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The Sting of a Bad Review — And Revenge!
by
When I was a college student, I performed one of my first solos with an orchestra. I had just won the school wide concerto competition and I was chosen to perform Tchaikovsky’s Rococo Variations. It was in a fabulous new concert hall in Ottawa, Canada. The review said, “… nice tone, iffy intonation…a talented but premature exponent of the Rococo Variations for Cello and Orchestra.”
Reviews can be nasty. Some of these are infamous. Perhaps you’ve heard worse? “Often dull and obscure…” wrote Leon Escudier about Bizet’s ever-popular opera Carmen. Regarding Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9, The Harmonicon, an influential monthly journal of music, printed the following review, “… Frightful indeed, which puts the muscles and lungs of the band, and the patience of the audience to a severe trial…” \
Famed writer George Bernard Shaw was quoted as saying about the Brahms Requiem, “It is so execrable and ponderously dull…“
Another favorite composer, Rachmaninoff, didn’t escape the vindictive words of Cesar Cui. He wrote “… This music (Rachmaninoff’s Symphony No. 1) leaves an evil impression with it’s broken rhythms, obscurity and vagueness of form, meaningless repetition of the same short tricks…” And fellow Russian, Tchaikovsky?
“Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto, like the first pancake, is a flop,” said Nicolai Soloviev.
Lexicon of Musical Invective
Between its hundreds of pages The Lexicon of Musical Invective, by Nicolas Slonimsky, first published in 1953, and later revised in 2000, is a collection of brutal outbursts. I suppose it is more entertaining to read a slam than a gushing review. None other than Peter Schickele of P.D.Q. Bach fame wrote the foreword to the book:
“It is a widely known fact—or, at least, a widely held belief—that negative criticism is more entertaining to read than enthusiastic endorsement. There is certainly no doubt that many critics write pans with an unbridled gusto that seems to be lacking in their (usually rarer) raves, and these critics often become more famous, or infamous, than their less caustic colleagues.
– From “Dangerous Minds”, Posted by Ron Kretsch
Klaus Tennstedt
One of our favorite conductors of all time was Klaus Tennstedt our principal guest conductor of the Minnesota Orchestra from 1979 to 1982. We just clicked! Everything we performed with him was magic. He was known for his brilliant interpretations of Mahler symphonies and we played many of those, but we also performed other works including Beethoven and a memorable performance of the New World Symphony of Antonin Dvořák. The interpretation was so deep and riveting that many of us were literally in tears on stage. It was one of those times that we ascended into the spheres making music that transcended boundaries. Sadly, the reviewer didn’t think so. We were aghast. The headline read:
“Is Klaus Tennstedt Losing His Touch?”
As perhaps you know, the slow movement has a memorable melody for the English horn, which was performed with great heart and soul by our young English horn player now a member of the Philadelphia Orchestra. The reviewer, with stunning ignorance, referred to the famous solo as an oboe solo — indicating to us that this person not only lacked discernment but also of basic knowledge of orchestral music.
Normally one has to take a bad review and swallow it! It’s a matter of taste, preference and perhaps experience of other performances. But here was a case of blatant ignorance.
The members of the orchestra decided to do something that we’ve never done before — not only did several of us write individual letters to the newspaper, we wrote a collective letter— a rebuttal, that was signed by virtually all the members of the orchestra, head lined:
Dvořák Conductor Didn’t Deserve Critic’s Caviling
“As members of the Minnesota orchestra, we wish to express our collective outrage at the criticism written by X. We strongly question the credibility of the XX in engaging a free-lance writer who knows so little about the subject matter. A cursory glance through the program notes would have revealed to X that the solo in the LARGO movement of Dvořák New World Symphony was not an oboe, as X stated, but an English horn…. unable to distinguish a great performance from a bad one….X stated Maestro Tennstedt had “nothing new to say about the New World Symphony…” criticizing the orchestra for including a “Warhorse” on the program that was capable of, “bringing down the house even with a high school orchestra… the last movement seemed to have nothing to say, but said it loudly…”
…The spontaneous ovation from the 2,200-plus members of the audience and the 82 members of the Minnesota Orchestra on the stage …constituted an eloquent testament to the depth of the performance and the profundity of Tennstedt’s interpretation…
The orchestra is forced to compete with the orchestras of Berlin, London, Boston, New York and Philadelphia (to name a few) for his time and talent and it is lamentable that the X prints insulting columns by a writer who not only displays a dearth of simple musical knowledge but also a total lack of critical acumen… Klaus Tennstedt’s knowledge and genius are not in question. However the critical perceptiveness of X and the editorial integrity of XX most certainly are.
The reviewer was fired. Bad reviews may be part of the business but the next time you are rejected, passed on or criticized, remember our sweet revenge!
Bedřich Smetana
by Georg Predota
“My fatherland means more to me than anything else”
Bedřich Smetana
Bedřich Smetana (1824-84) is widely considered the father of Czech music, and his music posthumously became synonymous with a Czech national musical style. Establishing a Czech classical music canon, Smetana became a national symbol who pioneered a musical style that endured shifting politics, administrations, and ethnicities.
Bedřich Smetana was born 200 years ago, on 2 March 1824. He was the son of a master brewer who rented a brewery in the city of Litomyšl from the estate owner Count Waldstein. Music was an important part of the family’s domestic and social life, and Bedřich became a gifted pianist who first performed in public at the age of six.
Statue of Smetana in Litomyšl
Like many educated Bohemians, Smetana spoke German rather than Czech, and his musical education and orientation were entirely Germanic. Young Bedřich dabbled in composition, writing dances, and salon pieces for piano. By 1843, he decided to pursue a music career and declared in his diary, “By the grace of God and with his help, I will one day be a Liszt in technique and a Mozart in composition.”
Prague
Smetana at the piano
Smetana made his way to Prague in October 1843 and took official composition lesson from Josef Proksch, who operated a music institute in the city. Through Proksch, he received an official recommendation from Johann Friedrich Kittl, the director of the Prague Conservatory at that time. Smetana gained a position as a music teacher to the family of Count Leopold Thun, and he met Liszt, Berlioz, and Robert and Clara Schumann.
Smetana detailed his career goals by writing in 1847, “I want to travel the world as a virtuoso, accumulating money and gaining a public position as a Kapellmeister, conductor, or teacher.” He did embark on a concert tour of Western Bohemia, and upon his return to Prague he opened a music studio, supplementing his income with private lessons to aristocratic families.
1848
Robert and Clara Schumann, 1850
Political stirrings of national identity and pride ignited a great awakening across Europe in 1848. Smetana was profoundly sympathetic to the patriotic yearnings of his fellow people and urged an end to Habsburg’s absolutist rule. Smetana openly participated in this revolution, and he could barely escape arrest.
The pianist and composer eagerly looked to develop his music career in Prague, completing his first substantial orchestral works. A number of small piano pieces were sent to Clara Schumann and Franz Liszt for feedback, and Smetana participated in both the Beethoven and Mozart celebrations as a pianist. He also dabbled in conducting but dejectedly wrote to his parents in 1856, “Prague did not wish to acknowledge me, so I left it.”
Smetana moved to the city of Göteborg to work as a music teacher, and he once again opened a music institute and established a singing school for ladies. He directed several amateur music societies, and he suffered the death of his first wife. While traveling in and around Göteborg, Smetana established an important relationship with Franz Liszt.
Franz Hanfstaengl: Liszt, 1870
Liszt accepted several Smetana dedications, and Smetana would identify himself as a Liszt advocate throughout the rest of his career. As he wrote to Liszt in 1858, “Regard me as your most passionate supporter of our artistic direction who in word and deed stands for its holy truth and also works of its aims.” By 1861, he was looking to turn his back on Göteborg, writing that “I must attempt finally to
Return to Prague
Smetana returned to Prague in 1862 and welcomed the conductorship at the new Provisional Theatre, the first professional Czech stage in 1862. During his years in exile, Smetana had honed his compositional direction. He blended the folk songs of his homeland with his personal style and created a poetic musical language. Smetana was inflamed by the rhythms and melodies of Czech folk music without copying them. As he famously said, “By imitating the melodic fall and rhythm of our folk songs, you do not create a national style.”
Bedřich Smetana monument in Prague
During his initial years in Prague, Smetana primarily gained recognition through his social engagements. He participated in various musical organisations and established the arts organisation called “Artistic Circle.” He enthusiastically participated in a political movement asserting the autonomy of a uniquely Czech nation, and he dreamt of operas and symphonies based on themes from Czech history and mythology.
Nationalistic Czech Opera
Title page of the libretto of Smetana’s The Bartered Bride (Metropolitan Opera House, 1908)
Smetana proudly proclaimed, “I am Czech in body and soul,” and the establishment of the Provisional Theatre, and later National Theatre, celebrated the autonomy of a unique Czech nation. It was the proving ground to exclusively promote Czech music, and specifically Czech nationalist opera. Nationalistic Czech opera became the genre that defined Smetana’s career, and The Bartered Bride is quintessentially Czech in spirit, full of realistic characters living and loving in a Bohemian village.
The Bartered Bride is the intimate realisation of the composer’s artistic vision. Set in a country village with realistic characters, the spirited heroine has to use all her determination, charm, and cunning to marry the man she loves. It is a joyous celebration of Czech culture and identity, and the distinct rhythmic inflections of the Czech language and Czech folk dances combine irresistibly. Smetana “clearly felt the pulse of peasantry” and the simplicity of the music not only connected to a broad folk base but also proved highly inspirational to the emerging independence movement.
Over the next couple of years Smetana composed a treasure trove of nationalistic operas, but his conductorship was marked by controversy. A number of high-profile members within the city’s musical establishment considered his identification with the progressive ideas of Liszt and Wagner inimical to the development of a distinctively Czech opera style. Smetana became increasingly distracted from composition, and he was deeply offended when The Bartered Bride was described as a work “no better than that of a gifted fourteen-year-old boy.” And a particularly hostile distractor claimed that under Smetana’s leadership, “Czech opera sickens to death at least once annually.”
Vltava in Prague
If Czech opera was ailing, Smetana was decidedly ill. By October 1874, he had lost all hearing and was profoundly deaf. He sought medical treatment abroad and contemplated suicide. As he wrote in his diary, “If my disease is incurable, then I should prefer to be liberated from this life.” He had resigned from his conducting post, but during his period of worsening health, Smetana continued to compose.
Final Years
Grave of Smetana
In order to save money, Smetana moved his family from Prague to the rural village of Jabkenice in 1876. Here he completed the first two movements of Má vlast, and wrote the four remaining movements of the cycle over the next five years. He also completed his last three operas and his autobiographical String Quartet No 1, subtitled “From my Life.” In addition, he crafted a series of Czech Dances for the piano, a song cycle, and a number of choruses.
Smetana gradually became recognized as the primary representative of Czech national music. And Smetana was fully aware of the role some of his works had begun to fill. As he wrote in 1882, “I must seek to keep that honourable and glorious position which my compositions have gained for me in my nation and my country. According to my merits and my efforts, I am a Czech composer and the creator of the Czech style in the branches of dramatic and symphonic music – exclusively Czech.”
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