But Barber, of course, wrote much more.  Yesterday, for example, I listened to Gil Shaham’s wonderful recording of Barber’s Violin Concerto, which deserves a place in the regular concert repertoire.

Happy Birthday, Samuel Barber.

UPDATE:  When I arrived at work this morning, I noticed that Exploring Music this week is devoted to Samuel Barber.  Tomorrow, in fact, the show will feature Knoxville: Summer of 1915, and the fabulous Summer Music for Woodwind Quintet.  Friday’s show will have the Piano Concerto played by John Browning – a recording I have on CD.

Before I brought these speakers home last month, I knew practically nothing about them.  But, a quick internet search took me to a wonderful website called The Classic Speaker Pages, and there I found the document that became my bible as I undertook the project of bringing my AR-3as back to life: “Restoring the AR-3a”.  The Classic Speaker Pages also have a discussion forum devoted to Acoustic Research loudspeakers, and several members of the board have extensive experience with the AR-3a going back decades.  They provided valuable assistance as I remedied the little technical issues that, understandably, affect a forty-year-old speaker.

What goes wrong with the AR-3a over time?  A couple of things.  The first is something that goes wrong with all old loudspeakers: woofer surrounds deteriorate.  Most speakers use foam to connect the cones to the baskets, and over time that foam disintegrates and crumbles away.  The early AR-3a used cloth surrounds, and while the cloth itself will stay perfect, the material used to keep that cloth acoustically sealed fails over time.  Acoustic suspension speakers like the AR-3a rely on a practically airtight cabinet, and when the material that seals the cloth surrounds deteriorates, the cones move too freely.  In the bass-rich AR-3a, too much movement in the woofer can destroy the voice coil.  Replacements for AR-3a drivers are no longer made.

Meanwhile, inside the AR-3a cabinet, two issues almost always need addressing.  First, the forty-year-old capacitors have drifted from their original values, and need replacing.  That’s no big deal, since capacitors are inexpensive and easy to find.  The second problem that plagues many Acoustic Research loudspeakers is corrosion in the potentiometers.  The 3a has one potentiometer each for the mid-range driver and the tweeter.  They are fairly simple contraptions, but invariably have become oxidized or corroded, and that means they often no longer make electrical contact.

So, bad capacitors and bad potentiometers mean that many old AR-3a loudspeakers no longer sound the way they should.  And, when people play them loudly without making sure the cloth surrounds are still sealed, they risk serious damage.  I was extremely lucky that my 3as had no damage whatsoever.  Even the walnut cabinets are perfect, which is almost unheard of.

Following directions in the “Restoring the AR-3a” guide, I quite easily re-coated the cloth surrounds on the woofer with Permatex Hi-Tack Gasket Sealant that I readily found at the auto parts store.  A very thin coat over the surrounds and dust caps–which are also cloth–sealed everything very well.

With the woofers out, I removed the fiberglass that fills every AR-3a cabinet.  The crossover network inside seems very complicated at first glance, but after staring at the schematic it began to make more sense.  I was fortunate that these cabinets had never been opened, and all the wiring matched the schematic perfectly.

Not wanting to get in over my head, I took the potentiometers out, cleaned them, and reinstalled them one at a time.  One of the four was like new.  The rest showed a good amount of oxidation.  My Dremel tool took care of that.  I re-soldered each potentiometer as I put it back in, and avoided needless confusion that way.

The original capacitors in the AR-3a look nothing like the capacitors made today.  One large box inside the cabinet houses a 50- and 150 micro-farad capacitor.  A separate small box contains the 6 micro-farad capacitor.   I simply cut out the old capacitors and soldered in the new ones.  It is amazing how much smaller modern capacitors are than the ones installed in older speakers.

Having cleaned the potentiometers and replaced the capacitors in each cabinet, I then replaced the grey putty that encircles the woofer opening, providing an acoustic seal.  The original was still somewhat malleable, but I didn’t trust it to do the job, and new putty is cheap.  I ordered it from an eBay seller that specialized in Acoustic Research restoration projects.  I placed the heavy woofers back in each cabinet, tightened the screws, then re-installed the grilles.  I was ready to test the speakers.

I carried them into the living room, hooked them up to my stereo, and played the music I always use on these sorts of occasions, Trevor Pinnock’s recording of the Brandenburg Concerto No. 2.  It is complex music that isn’t too bottom-heavy, but has plenty of texture.  I set the volume to a low level and pressed play.  I put my ear to each driver on the right speaker, and was thrilled to hear sound from each.  I had to tweak the potentiometers on the back of the cabinet: the AR-3a has plenty of bottom end; the mid-range driver is strong, too, and needs to be turned down a bit; and the tweeter is bright and clear, but needs to have its pot turned wide open.  Satisfied, I put the grille back on and moved over to the left speaker.  The woofer and tweeter seemed perfect, but the mid-range driver produced no sound.  I was crushed.

My first thought, of course, was that the potentiometer was still a bit dirty, so I rotated it, hoping to find the sweet spot.  No luck.  So I carried the speaker to the back room and began the arduous process of opening it up again.  The guts seemed just right.  The right colored wires connected to the right components, just like the schematic.  I inspected all my solder spots, and they seemed to be fine, too.  But maybe one was a little loose, so I did it over, re-stuffed the cabinet, re-sealed the woofer, and carried it back out to the living room for another test.  (It took me several days to find the time to do all this.)  Still, the mid-range driver produced no sound.  I began to worry.

Of all the things that can go wrong with the AR-3a, the worst, of course, is a bad driver.  They don’t make accurate replacements for the originals, and when you can find authentic ones on eBay, they sell for hundreds of dollars.  That seems like a lot of money for a one-and-a-half-inch dome speaker.  If I did have to replace the driver it wouldn’t be the end of the world, since I paid nothing for the speakers, and even putting a few hundred dollars into them would still be well worth the expense.  But I certainly hoped that it was almost anything besides the driver.

I didn’t have a multi-meter to test the driver, but the engineer at work loaned me a small tone generator used to test speakers.  You press a button corresponding to the frequency you want to generate, hook the leads to the speaker and see if makes a sound.  I was dreading the result, but to my great relief, the mid-range driver emitted a 15kHz tone, which told me the driver was fine, and the problem was somewhere else.  I went to Home Depot the next day and bought a small multi-meter, then began the process of testing each component inside for connectivity.

The potentiometer was still the most likely source of the problem, but the meter showed that it functioned perfectly.  The wire from the potentiometer to the speaker terminals on the front of the cabinet were also fine.  So the problem lay somewhere before the pot.  My multi-meter doesn’t work on capacitors, but I doubted that a brand new cap would be a dud.  I was stuck.

I turned to the AR Forum on The Classic Speaker Pages, and posted a message describing my malady.  A short time later somebody posted a list of potential problems, still convinced that it was a wiring error.  One thing mentioned in passing, though, caught my attention, because it related to something I did inside the cabinet.  When I removed the potentiometer for the tweeter, I un-soldered all the wires leading to it, then re-soldered them.  But when I removed the pot for the mid-range, I cut the last quarter inch of wire, re-stripped, and soldered the pot back in.  A long coil of seemingly bare copper wire leads to the mid-range pot.  (You can see it in the center of the picture here.)  I just soldered that where it was supposed to go.  It never occurred to me that that copper wire had a thin but tough lacquer coating.  Having cut the last bit of that copper wire, I had cut out the portion with the coating removed and re-soldered a coated portion.  That was the cause of my trouble.  I corrected my mistake, closed the cabinet, hooked up the speaker, and repeated my listening test with felicitous results.

The AR-3a sounds amazing.  The bass is deep and solid, the mids are stunningly lifelike, and the treble sparkles.  Listening to Bringing it All Back Home, I was stunned by “Mr. Tambourine Man”.  The acoustic guitar seemed completely natural, so that if I closed my eyes, I couldn’t tell that there wasn’t some living person playing an acoustic guitar in my living room.  Meanwhile, new details are being revealed in songs I have known for a long time.

I am indescribably lucky. Huzzah, AR-3a!

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I suppose that advances in the sport make every skater feel like he or she needs to do the hardest trick.  I admit is is impressive to watch when it’s done well.  But when it isn’t done well it looks like a disaster.  Yet, teams that fall or only double jumps that ought to be triples still win medals and teams that appear to do everything right wind up way down the score card.  That’s the part I really do not understand.

I don’t dispute that the gold- and silver-winning teams from last night’s pair skate skated exceedingly well.  But the third-place German team–who looked great the night before–fell all over themselves.  On the other hand, the team I liked, who didn’t fall at all, weren’t even in the top five.

I suppose someone who knows a lot about figure skating will say that it comes down to artistic presentation, or complex technical elements.  Again, I may be missing some fancy foot movements, or not realizing that a backwards lift is much more difficult than a forwards lift.  But no one can miss the falling down.

That said, there was some good music last night.  My favorite pair, Caydee Denney and Jeremy Barrett, skated to Scheherazade, which was a fine complement to the Firebird they chose the night before.  But, later in the program, another team skated to Scheherazade, and not as well, I thought.  Another team skated to Rachmaninoff.  I was most pleased last night, though, that someone chose to skate to Grofé’s Grand Canyon Suite.  That’s one of my favorite pieces of American music.

I’m looking forward to the rest of the figure skating.

UPDATE: I found the great picture on the left at this website.  If that goes down, there is another.  It’s number ten of the twelve pictures in this gallery.

UPDATE: Later in the program, two Russian skaters, Yuko Kavaguti and Alexander Smirnov, performed wearing outfits with bird designs in sequins – his white, hers black.  Before they began I wondered what other bird-themed music they could skate to.  It turned out to be, appropriately enough, “Le cygne” from Saint-Saëns’ Le carnaval des animaux!

I listen to a lot of music, and for years I have dreamed of owning a genuinely deluxe pair of loudspeakers.  Many such speakers exist, but none of the affordable ones sound as good as the JBL bookshelf speakers I already own.  Those JBLs are the ideal size to fit in any room, but are simply too small to offer deep bass.  If you have ever been to a concert with a full orchestra (at least a hundred players) performing nineteenth- or early twentieth century repertoire, you know that the frequency range is as large as the dynamic range.  High violin pianissimi one instant make way the next for low brass and basses that shake your ribcage.  Obviously, nobody would listen to music at home at volume levels you find in the concert hall.  But my dream has been to own the sort of loudspeakers that can reproduce the full spectrum of sound the human ear can discern.  Those sort of speakers, alas, are hilariously unaffordable.

In a remarkably serendipitous way, I have become the proud owner of a pair of vintage AR-3a loudspeakers.  The 3a was the top-of-the-line speaker made by Acoustic Research of Cambridge, Massachusetts until the mid- to late 1970s.  In 1969, the year my speakers were built, the AR-3a cost over $500 a pair – a huge sum of money.  Expensive speakers like these were purchased primarily by studios, wealthy audiophiles, and professional musicians.  In fact, contemporary AR advertising demonstrates that their flagship loudspeaker was marketed largely to classical music fans.  In ad after ad, the 3a is shown in the listening rooms of the world’s most prominent conductors: Karl Böhm, Erich Leinsdorf, Seiji Ozawa, and Herbert von Karajan.    In a 1972 catalog, they make a point of mentioning that Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau–my favorite musician–listens to his own recordings on AR-3a loudspeakers!

How did I come to own such wonderful speakers?  I cannot say in this public forum, but it was pure luck.   The best way I can describe it is this: Imagine the physical thing that you want the most.  Then, imagine that somebody just gives it to you for nothing.  Then, imagine that they didn’t just give you that thing, but the very best version of that thing.  I could not be happier about it.

In another post, I’ll write about restoring these speakers, tell you what they look like, and how they sound.

Though music is a constantly evolving art, change has, by and large, been slow, and radical change has been relatively rare.  By the first decades of the twentieth century, however, classical music was undergoing a swift transformation that even the least astute could discern.  Throughout Europe, composers were breaking with established conventions and seeking new methods of expression, paralleling similar movements in literature and the visual arts.   This era of modernist experimentation reached its zenith in the years of the Weimar Republic.  Continuous radio transmission in Germany began on October 29, 1923, with a concert of classical pieces broadcast from the Vox-Haus at Potsdamer Platz.[1] Bolstered by a burgeoning publishing business, growing recording industry, the availability of music increased substantially.[2] The prevalence of highly-skilled German orchestras and opera companies, attracted not only audiences, but composers from within and without Germany, who premiered an astonishing array of chamber music, orchestral pieces, and works for the stage during the Weimar years.  Among the major compositions debuted in Germany during Weimar’s “Golden Years” were Alban Berg’s Wozzeck (Berlin, 1925), Paul Hindemith’s Cardillac (Dresden, 1926), Bela Bartók’s Miraculous Mandarin (Cologne, 1926), and Serge Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No. 5, with the composer himself as soloist (Berlin, 1932).  Igor Stravinsky, already an international musical celebrity, saw the Rundfunk-Sinfonieorchester Berlin premiere his Violin Concerto under the direction of Serge Koussevitsky in Berlin in 1931.[3] Founded in 1923 for the purpose of radio broadcasts, that orchestra was notable for its frequent concerts of modern classical music.  Countless other modernist pieces premiered elsewhere were performed in Germany during the years of the Weimar Republic.

Meanwhile, in Vienna, Arnold Schönberg’s music reflected the expressionist aesthetic of Gustav Klimt and Egon Schiele.  An amateur painter himself, Schönberg had shifted from a lush chromaticism reminiscent of Richard Wagner, to a free atonality, before finally arriving upon his serial twelve-tone system in 1921.  His Neue Wiener Schule counted Alban Berg and Anton Webern among its pupils.  The works of these composers, though powerful and innovative, were dismissed or rejected by some musical and social conservatives, who perceived atonality to be ugly and un-German.  Alfred Rosenberg, the influential editor of the right-wing newspaper Völkischer Beobachter, trumpeted a view held by many conservatives that “the entire atonal movement [is] contrary to the heartbeat and soul of the German people….”[4] One of Germany’s leading composers, the musical reactionary Hans Pfitzner—who had been introduced to Hitler himself in 1923—rejected modernism on its face, and openly criticized Schönberg and his disciples, whom Pfitzner rightly perceived to be ascendant in the late 1920s.  Leaving Vienna in 1925, Schönberg became a professor at the Preussische Akademie der Künste in Berlin—where Pfitzner himself would teach a masterclass until 1929—and for several years was among the most prominent exponents of Weimar modernism active in Germany.  He enjoyed the support of other prominent musicians, including “progressive Radio Frankfurt conductor Hans Rosbaud, who provided [Schönberg] with the opportunity to broadcast his views on music and actually performed his works to his great satisfaction.”[5] But as the 1930s began, Arnold Schönberg certainly perceived a surge in anti-modernist sentiment.

The rising reactionary tide against composers like Arnold Schönberg was attributable in a large degree to their ethnicity.  Schönberg—and his musical allies Kurt Weill, Berthold Goldschmidt, Franz Schreker, Alexander von Zemlinsky, among others—was Jewish, and following the substantial victories by the NSDAP in the Reichstag elections of 1930, Jews holding civil service and academic positions witnessed their job security vanish.[6] In a letter dated 18 September 1930, Schreker cautions Schönberg that his position at the Preussische Akademie der Künste was in jeopardy, and that “Hitler-Berlin” was not a safe place for Jews.[7] Schreker understood the seriousness of the situation from his own experience.  He, too, held a prestigious position in one of Berlin’s important musical institutions, the Musikhochschule.  During his tenure, he had invited the young star Paul Hindemith to teach, but as the Nazi Party rose to prominence, the careers of each of these men came under threat.  Hindemith, who enjoyed the support of renowned conductors like Fritz Busch, was at that time most notable for his Kammermusik (1924-1927), and the sensational Sancta Susana (Frankfurt, 1922).  Schreker, whose works were among the most frequently performed of the Weimar period, saw his reputation—earned through the tremendous success of Die ferne Klang in 1912—sullied by accusations of decadence: “Schreker was branded because he wrote about branded souls – people haunted by their sexuality or deformity or perversity.”[8] A common strategy for the reactionary right was to conflate Judaism with decadence, and vice versa.  In this way, Jewish composers like Schönberg and Schreker could be grouped with non-Jews like Hindemith because their musical idiom was superficially similar.

Adolf Hitler assumed the official title of chancellor on 30 January 1933, and though nearly two months passed before “the so-called enabling law of 23 March…gave the government the power to impose laws without the Reichstag,” the systematic intimidation and ouster of Jewish- and anti-Nazi musicians was already underway.[9] In February, Otto Klemperer had aroused “violent antagonism in the Nazi press” during a new production of Tannhäuser at the Berlin Staatsoper.  Nazi Sturmabteilung (SA) shut down a rehearsal by Fritz Busch at the Semperoper in Dresden on 6 March.  Ten days later, following Nazi threats, Bruno Walter—a towering musical figure who could count among his friends not only the Jewish Gustav Mahler, but the anti-Semite, and early Nazi favorite, Hans Pfitzner—was forced to cancel a concert at the Gewandhaus in Leipzig, then another with the Berliner Philharmoniker, replaced, in the latter instance, by Richard Strauss.  The Städtische Oper Berlin lost its intendant, the noted Marxist Carl Ebert, to Nazi pressure that same month.  He was replaced by Max von Schillings, president of the Preussische Akademie der Künste, who, on 1 March, had begun the process of dismissing Arnold Schönberg from his teaching position at the Akademie – a move that Klemperer had warned his friend Schoernberg was imminent.  Schilling’s explanation for the firing was blunt: “the Jewish influence at the academy must be eliminated.”[10] Schönberg’s ouster was complete on 23 May 1933, and in November “he became an exile in America.”  He was “among the first to recognize the futility of remaining in Nazi Germany.”[11] He would not be the last.

The crackdown on Jewish and modernist composers and musicians in the first half of 1933 was largely an extra-governmental affair.  That is, though the intimidation of Fritz Busch, Otto Klemperer, and Bruno Walter was carried out by members of the Nazi party and in the Nazi press, Adolf Hitler’s government had yet to articulate a specific artistic or musical agenda.  That changed on 30 June when “Hitler declared that the Ministry of Propaganda had the authority to deal with ‘all areas that influenced the mind, including complete control of cultural affairs’.”[12] Almost immediately, a rivalry between two powerfully influential Nazi figures ensued.  On one side, Joseph Goebbels petitioned Hitler to authorize the creation of a culture ministry with comprehensive legal authority over all German intellectual and artistic endeavors.  On the other side was Alfred Rosenberg, a man even more ideologically driven than Goebbels.  Rosenberg’s Kampfbund für deutsche Kultur (KfdK), founded in 1929, had for several years been among Germany’s most reactionary cultural institutions, and maintained close ties to the Nazi party.  Its tens of thousands of members vociferously attacked the perceived excesses of Weimar society.  They even had their own prestigious journal, Die Musik.  Still, however potent the KfdK was as a musical force, “Hitler appeared reluctant to reward Rosenberg by giving him permission to turn…a party organization into one which was run by the state.”[13] That power was handed to Goebbels, whose new Reichskulturkammer (RKK) was established on 22 September, and included—in addition to chambers responsible for fine art, film, literature, the press, radio, and theater—a dedicated Reichsmusikkammer (RMK).  Rosenberg had failed, and his KfdK soon folded, having suffered mass defections of its members to the RMK, which made membership compulsory for professional musicians.[14] But for the RMK to become truly successful, Goebbels—who had never managed an orchestra or an opera house—needed to find men with talent and experience, who could enact its agenda, and “further the advance of German music.”  He chose the most qualified, but, in some ways, least appropriate men for the job.

Richard Strauss and Wilhelm Furtwängler were undisputed musical titans – Germany’s greatest living composer and conductor, respectively.[15] Strauss earned his reputation with a string of concertante works and tone poems, including Don Juan (Weimar, 1888), Tod und Verklärung (Eisenach, 1890), Also sprach Zarathustra (Frankfurt, 1896), and Ein Heldenleben (Frankfurt, 1899), before turning largely to opera.  But his early works for the stage contain much music and action that audiences found shocking.  In Dresden, Strauss premiered Salome (1905), then Elektra (1909)—two stridently dissonant works with often ambiguous tonality—before eventually retreating to a safer, more traditionally Romantic aesthetic with Der Rosenkavalier (1911).[16] Furtwängler was among the most famous conductors on Earth, whose only true rival was Arturo Toscanini.  He had conducted the premieres of Bela Bartók’s Piano Concerto No. 1 (Frankfurt, 1927), and Schönberg’s twelve-tone Variations for Orchestra (Berlin, 1928), but was a musical conservative, vehemently pro-German, and considered himself an ambassador of his country’s musical heritage.[17] He was the principal conductor of the Berliner Philharmoniker, the Kapellmeister of the Leipzig Gewandhausorchester, and an Abonnementdirigenten of the Wiener Philharmoniker.   Strauss and Furtwängler were considered national treasures, but neither man was especially ideological politically, or was eager to see politics dictate artistic policy.  Indeed, as a creative artist, Strauss would be reluctant to relinquish his freedom of creative expression, and in spite of Furtwängler’s own personal distaste for the avant-garde, he believed that the audience alone should judge a work’s artistic merit.  Nevertheless, Goebbels selected these men to be the president and vice president of the Reichsmusikkammer.

“According to his own contemporary utterances and postwar testimony, conductor Wilhelm Furtwängler consciously attempted to oppose Nazi rule from the first time he decided to remain in Germany early in 1933.”[18] He was also open and unapologetic in his advocacy for Jewish musicians in his own Berliner Philharmoniker, “notably the concertmaster Simon Goldberg.”  Indeed, the evidence clearly shows that, “because of [Furtwängler], several musicians were able to stay and work in Germany longer than would have otherwise been possible.”[19] Among the most famous examples of the conductor’s breech of Nazi policy was an op-ed he published in the 25 November 1934 edition of the Deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung.  Entitled “Der Fall Hindemith,” Furtwängler’s essay was written in support of the composer, who was still the subject of protests by Alfred Rosenberg’s sycophants.  Furtwängler was eager to receive permission to stage Hindemith’s opera Mathis der Maler in Berlin, and hoped his article might persuade Adolf Hitler that Hindemith’s early atonal pieces were merely “Jugendwerk,”  and that the composer, indeed, represented true German musical ideals.[20] The conductor also cautioned against further political meddling in artistic matters.  But Furtwängler’s efforts backfired:

When [Joseph] Goebbels and [Hermann] Goering, sitting in their respective boxes in the Berlin Staatsoper, witnessed the public demonstrations in support of Furtwängler during a performance of Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde, they quickly realized that the applause signaled approval of the conductor’s defence of artistic freedom, and an implied rejection of the regime’s policies.  As a result, Furtwängler was denied a meeting with Hitler, in which the proposed performance of Mathis der Maler would have been discussed.[21]

Two weeks later, Furtwängler resigned his position as vice president of the RMK, director of the Berliner Philharmoniker, and the Staatsoper.[22]

Richard Strauss had been “active in support of the new order beginning in March 1933,” and he initially considered the presidency of the RMK “an honor, and possibly the crowning achievement of his career.”  And yet, “Strauss was no Nazi, and he believed himself capable of affecting politics on the strength of his international reputation, artistic achievement and professional authority.”[23] Strauss’s own daughter-in-law was Jewish, and he had many Jewish friends and associates, including librettist Stefan Zweig, with whom he collaborated on Die Schweigsame Frau.  While Adolf Hitler had initially approved its Dresden production—because, in Zweig’s estimation, banning it would have cost Strauss, and Germany, prestige—the Führer changed his mind on 6 July 1935, after the Gestapo intercepted a letter from Strauss to Zweig in which the composer “denied belief in Nazi principle…and made light of the RMK by claiming to ‘playact’ the role of its president ‘in order to prevent worse’.”  From Berchtesgaden, Hitler requested Strauss’s resignation, and received it one week later.[24] Strauss spent the rest of the war years writing music, and remained Germany’s most-performed—and richest—composer, premiering four new operas between 1937 and 1944, but his relationship with Goebbels and Hitler remained strained.

Though his involvement in the Richard Strauss matter was apparently direct, Adolf Hitler was largely uninterested “in the finer details of music policy.”  He stepped in to resolve conflicts between Goebbels’s RKK and the myriad German cultural institutions that attempted to maintain some degree of autonomy – notably the opera houses in Munich and Dresden.  Hitler also was directly involved in the promotion of “conductors, instrumentalists, and singers to the titles of Professor, General Music Director, State Kapellmeister, Chamber Singer, and Virtuoso,” and often made such announcements at celebrations marking his birthday.[25] He also personally guaranteed the Bayreuth Festival’s solvency, funded Wagner research, and subsidized performances of the music of fellow Linz native Anton Bruckner.  Most directly, Hitler prescribed exact metronome markings for the “Horst-Wessel-Lied” and the “Deutschlandlied.”  These specific and seemingly random acts suggest that his “intervention in musical matters remained rather unpredictable and even capricious.”[26]

“Unpredictable and capricious” aptly describes much of the Third Reich’s approach to music policy.  Although it would have appeared to some as though the government had adopted rigid standards as to what it considered acceptable music (and for composers like Arnold Schönberg and Paul Hindemith the standards were, indeed, unduly rigid), the application of those standards in other cases was surprisingly lax, or even waived altogether.  Robert Schumann’s masterpiece Dichterliebe raised an interesting issue:  what should be done about works with Aryan and Jewish authorship?  No one questioned Schumann’s racial purity, but the Jewish poet Heinrich Heine’s books were being burned in German streets.  Losing one of the great Lieder cycles was inconceivable, and Dichterliebe was only the tip of the iceberg.  Nearly every composer of German art song set Heine’s poetry to music.  Rejecting him would mean losing Franz Schubert’s Schwanengesang, and beloved songs by Johannes Brahms, Hugo Wolf, and many others.  The novel solution proposed by musicologist and Nazi Karl Blessinger was to, in essence, deny the contribution of the Jewish poet, rationalizing that when audiences hear those Lieder, “it is not Heine who speaks to us, but Schubert and Schumann.”[27] Thus, Germans could continue to enjoy those songs in their own language.  Paradoxically, the immortal operas of Mozart were not granted the same latitude.  Cosi fan tutte, Don Giovanni, and Le Nozze di Figaro had libretti by Lorenzo da Ponte, a Christian with Jewish heritage.  Originally set in Italian, in Germany the works were known almost exclusively in translation.  That German translation, however, had been made by a Jew, Herman Levi, nearly a hundred and forty years earlier, and in the pages of Alfred Rosenberg’s Die Musik, critics on the far-right demanded new translations.  By 1938, Mozart’s operas were performed in new Aryanised translations.[28] Inversely, with the music of the unwaveringly German, but intolerably Jewish Felix Mendelssohn banned, Edmund Nick went so far as to compose new incidental music to replace Mendelssohn’s Ein Sommernachtstraum for a performance in 1934.  That the Third Reich preferred to reset the text of an English playwright than use Mendelssohn’s famous score demonstrates the lengths to which they were willing to go to recast German culture to fit a new, invented mould.[29]

“The arts occupied a central position in the ideology and propaganda of National Socialism.”[30] The Nazis considered the arts to be a reflection of the German spirit.  To the extent that that reflection appeared to contradict their own self-image, it was eradicated.  But music, the most abstract of the arts, often presented contradictions: although National Socialism could claim to be both traditional and revolutionary, music could not.  For anyone who had not yet come to that realization, the point was made clear on 24 May 1938, with the opening of the “Entartete Musik” exhibition in Düsseldorf.  That exhibit, which later traveled across Germany, expressly branded the works of Berg, Hindemith, Korngold, Krenek, Schönberg, Schreker, Webern, and Weil “degenerate” – conferring the stigma of sub-humanness.  By the beginning of the Second World War, the National Socialists had already undermined their musical institutions to an almost irreversible degree, prompting a mass exodus of creative talent that, for the most part, would never return.  By the conclusion of the Second World War, those musical institutions lay in ruins, destroyed not only by allied bombs, but by the Nazis themselves.

[2] Emile Berliner had founded the Deutsche Grammophon Gesellschaft in Hanover in 1898, and Universal Edition debuted in Vienna in 1901, eventually becoming one of the leading publishers of modern music, issuing scores by Bartok, Berg, Mahler, Schoenberg, and Webern.

[3] Kendall, Alan. The Chronicle of Classical Music.  (London: Thames & Hudson, 2000), 218-226.

[4] Alfred Rosenberg, Gestaltung der Idee. (Munich: Zentralverlag der NSDAP, 1939), 337.  “Die ganze atonale Bewegung widerstrebte dem Rhythmus des Bluts und der Seele des deutschen Volks, wurde gerade deshalb von den politischen Machthabern von früher gefördert, und eine ganze Anzahl, zum Teil begabter, zum Teil sehr Minderbegabter Musiker hat sich hier in den Dienst dieser Pläne gestellt.”

[5] Kater, Michael H. Composers of the Nazi Era: Eight Portraits. (New York: Oxford University Press, USA, 1999), 184.

[6] In the German federal election that took place on 14 September 1930, the NSDAP gained ninety-five seats, becoming the country’s second largest party behind the SPD.

[7] Kater, Michael H. Composers of the Nazi Era: Eight Portraits. (New York: Oxford University Press, USA, 1999), 184.

[8] Tambling, Jeremy. Opera and the Culture of Fascism. (Oxford: Clarendon, Oxford UP, 1996), 209.

[9] Bell, P. M. H. Origins of the Second World War in Europe. (London: Longman, 1997), 80.

[10] Kater, Michael H. Composers of the Nazi Era: Eight Portraits. (New York: Oxford University Press, USA, 1999), 185.

[11] Brand, Juliane. Constructive Dissonance: Arnold Schoenberg and the Transformations of Twentieth-Century Culture. (Berkeley: University of California, 1997), xiii.

[12] Levi, Erik. Music in the Third Reich. (New York: St. Martin’s, 1994), 20.

[13] Ibid., 16.

[14] Kater, Michael H. The Twisted Muse: Musicians and Their Music in the Third Reich. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 17.

[15] Meyer, Michael. The Politics of Music in the Third Reich. (New York: Peter Lang, 1991), 193.

[16] Kobbe?, Gustav. The New Kobbe?’s Complete Opera Book. (New York: Putnam, 1976), 997-1018.

[17] Kendall, Alan. The Chronicle of Classical Music.  (London: Thames & Hudson, 2000), 218-226.

[18] Kater, Michael H. The Twisted Muse: Musicians and Their Music in the Third Reich. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 195.

[19] Ibid., 196.

[20] Luttmann, Stephen. Paul Hindemith: A Guide to Research. (New York: Routledge, 2005), 60. Google Books. Web. 1 Dec. 2009. <http://books.google.com/books?id=dxmBUdnQy0AC>.

[21] Levi, 113.

[22] Monod, David. Settling Scores: German Music, Denazification, and the Americans, 1945-1953. (New York: The University of North Carolina Press, 2005), 128-141.

[23] Meyer, 194.

[24] Meyer, 195.

[25] Levi, 35.

[26] Ibid.

[27] Ibid., 74.

[28] Kater, Michael H. The Twisted Muse: Musicians and Their Music in the Third Reich. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 86-87.

[29] Some forty different settings of Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream were composed during the Nazi era to replace Mendelssohn’s.  By the end of 1936, his statue in Leipzig was removed.

[30] Steinweis, Alan E. Art, Ideology, and Economics in Nazi Germany. (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina, 1993), 1.

I am receiving some solace, however, in the outpouring of popular support for classical music, and in the reighteous indignation from listeners who have written letters–published today–to the Gainesville Sun protesting the format change.  There have been op-eds, as well, from Raymond Chobaz, the conductor of the University Orchestra, and from Mickie Edwardson, a wonderful lady and former UF professor, with whom I have had the pleasure of working for years during the station’s pledge drives.  Dr. Edwardson knows tons about opera, and her recording collection puts mine to shame.  She is a fantastic emisary for classical music.  She once gave me a biography of Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau.

I don’t know if anything can change the dean’s mind at this point.  But it makes my heart happy to know that people don’t want to take this lying down.  My new battle-cry: