A Tucson Symphony Suggestion

If the Tucson Symphony published a list of every piece they have ever played, I can guarantee you that I could provide them with a list of dozens of great orchestral works from past and present times that they have never played that I am certain would be well received by the listening public. And I am sure there are other TSO season subscribers who could also make such a list of never-before-programmed yet accessible works. My point is—and this would apply to any symphony orchestra—that some of us classical music lovers have devoted a lot of time and energy uncovering great music that is not part of the standard repertoire. Yes, we do love the standard repertoire as much as anyone, but wouldn’t it be exciting to regularly hear great orchestral works that our beloved orchestra has never played before?

Composer and musicologist Robert Greenberg speaks frankly and convincingly about this and related subjects at the end of the last episode of his 2011 DVD lecture series The 30 Greatest Orchestral Works1:

What Will Happen to the Orchestra?

Any institution that relies strictly on the past to preserve its future is dead meat. America’s orchestras do not perform nearly enough contemporary music and are therefore failing to create that very repertoire that will guarantee their relevance into the future. Assuming that I am right about this, and I most certainly am, we must then ask whose fault is this? The answer, sadly, is the obvious one. It’s our fault. It’s the audience’s fault.

Orchestras are market-driven institutions that are struggling to stay alive. The margin between breaking even and bankruptcy-inducing debt can be the ticket sales for just a few concerts. For the most part, modern audiences go to concerts to be entertained by music that is familiar, a fact that militates entirely against the creation of new repertoire. I, for example, would love to compose for orchestra, but I will not waste my precious time writing music that will never be played or that will only be performed once. This is a sentiment shared by virtually every one of my colleagues whose creative energies are being lavished instead on chamber music and vocal music.

By my unofficial count, there are 223 professional orchestras in the United States and Puerto Rico, most of them regional orchestras. In a world in which the basic repertoire has been recorded a thousand times over at a time when more and more people are forgoing the comradery of the concert hall in favor of consuming their music in their cars and in front of their computer screens, the great bulk of those 223 orchestras will simply become irrelevant in a generation unless they do something to make themselves relevant. Taking music to the schools certainly helps as does giving performances in unusual venues. But, really, it is music that feeds the orchestral beast, and without the roughage provided by fresh music, the beast will die of unrelieved constipation.

Cultivating and performing new orchestral music is not an aspect of an orchestra’s mission or even a duty. No. Along with playing the pre-existing repertoire, cultivating and performing new music is the orchestra’s very reason to be. Just as living things mate and reproduce in order to guarantee the survival of their genetic lines, so the orchestra as an institution must create viable repertoire in order to stay relevant and therefore to survive. In this, orchestras must lead and not be led by polls that ask their audiences what music they should perform. There should be a piece of new music five to eight minutes long on every concert program, with a longer featured new work appearing, say, two or three times a season.

When it comes to new music, charity starts at home. Local composers should be cultivated, commissioned, and then paraded on stage before the performance so that (1) the audience can see that they are indeed alive, and (2) so that the the composers might briefly describe what their pieces are about. Conductors must become, as they once were, advocates for fresh repertoire. The orchestral players, realizing that their careers are at stake, must forgo their usual cynicism and lassitude over having to learn a new piece and actually practice their parts at home so that the brief amount of rehearsal time allotted to the new work can be used effectively. The performances of these new works should be posted on an orchestra’s website so that anyone, anywhere can hear what is fresh and new and exciting, in Texarkana, or Sarasota, or Hartford, or Oakland.

Regional orchestras should band together to create consortia that would commission emerging and mid-career composers of promise to compose works, particularly concertos that would feature the section leaders of the orchestras themselves. Yes, charity starts at home. Why bring in an overpriced outsider when your own principal flutist, for example, would be thrilled to be a featured soloist.

The composers themselves also have a huge responsibility as well. I would suggest that they take a page from Aaron Copland’s compositional career. Copland’s chamber music tends to be quite virtuosic and uncompromising in its modernity, while his orchestral music, which he knew he was writing for a wider public, tends to be relatively less virtuosic and more accessible. Now, Copland wasn’t writing down to his orchestral audiences. No. He was writing smart on exactly these lines and in direct opposition to the modernist screed, “Who cares if you listen?” Contemporary composers must care who listens. And if we want the traditional orchestral audience to re-embrace what is new, we as composers have to be willing to meet the audience halfway by composing music that gives something back immediately in terms of rhythm, melody, harmony, and expressive content. In all fairness to most living composers, I would point out that the daunting and ferociously modernistic music of the post-World War II era, music that gave the phrase “modern music” a bad name, has been pretty much a thing of the past since the 1980s. Generally, but accurately speaking, most contemporary composers would no more write such ear-scalding music than drink battery acid.

The local media, radio, and press must commit themselves to new programming as well, with the knowledge that by doing so they, too, will be making themselves culturally relevant. A sense of importance and occasion could be built around the performances of even short pieces of new music that could begin to transform an orchestra’s self and public image.

Speaking of the public, it is all too easy to be cynical about public taste. From David Hannum’s famous line, misattributed to P.T. Barnum, that there’s a sucker born every minute, to H.L. Mencken’s admonition to never overestimate the intelligence of the American people, we are faced daily with the evidence of our cultural cretinism, from network television to Chia Pets, but I would point out that a concert hall is not a baseball stadium and that filling the seats of a concert hall is not a matter of drawing 45,000 people but rather of attracting those people who are predisposed, or who could be made to be predisposed, towards concert music in the first place. I am just foolish enough to believe that if you give the music-liking public a reason to believe there’s something new and exciting happening at the concert hall that they can’t get and won’t find anywhere else, they might very well show up!

We can only hope that at least some of this comes to pass because I fear that the epitaph, particularly for regional orchestras, is already being written. “Here lies an organizational dinosaur that never figured out how to maintain its duty to the past while staying relevant to the present.” Let us hope that such reports of the orchestra’s possible demise are entirely premature.

I would like to offer a few comments on Greenberg’s enlightening essay.

The Tucson Symphony, like many orchestras I’m sure, frequently presents new and often commissioned works, though they are always short, no more than 10 or 15 minutes in length. Many of these works are pleasant enough to listen to, but where are the more substantial works? The new symphonies and the new concertos? Also, there is an overemphasis on works from the Americas. In my opinion, most of these works are heavy on percussion and light on melody, harmony, and thematic development. I find what is going on in Europe, especially Eastern Europe, to be much more interesting and substantial. I would like to see some of these contemporary European works played. And there are many, many works from the past from all over the world that are not in the standard repertoire that also deserve to be regularly heard.

Greenberg brings up a disquieting thought: that composers won’t write what won’t get played. In other words, it may be that the reason we don’t have more symphonies, tone poems, suites, and concertos being written today is that the public isn’t demanding and, yes, paying for them. We could all be doing more to encourage composers to write longer and more substantial orchestral works and to see that they get performed by many orchestras and, yes, commercially recorded and released on CD. I do think this is more of a problem in the United States than it is in Europe, however.

In conclusion—and to expand on my original suggestion for the TSO—are there any orchestras that provide a complete list of all the works they have ever played on their website, and that invite suggestions for works not on this list from their concertgoers, and that program some of them? How exciting that would be!

  1. Greenberg, Robert. 2011. The 30 Greatest Orchestral Works. The Great Courses. ↩︎

Cecilia Payne and Gustav Holst

Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin (1900-1979), as a woman, had to endure an enormous number of challenges and setbacks but her perseverance, professional dedication, and brilliance led her to become one of the important astrophysicists in the 20th century. In her 1925 Ph.D. thesis, Cecilia Payne demonstrated that stars are primarily composed of hydrogen and helium. This was highly controversial at the time, but she was eventually proved correct. In 1960, the noted astronomer Otto Struve called her 1925 thesis, Stellar Atmospheres; A Contribution to the Observational Study of High Temperature in the Reversing Layers of Stars “the most brilliant Ph.D. thesis ever written in astronomy.” Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin would make an excellent subject for a full-length documentary as well as a biographical movie, and it is disgraceful that neither has been done yet.

I recently completed teaching a new five-week course on the English composer Gustav Holst (1874-1934). The research I did for that course plus my lifelong interest in astrophysics naturally led me to take an interest in the relationship between Cecilia Payne and Gustav Holst. Clearly from what you will see below, they had profound respect and admiration for each other.

Cecilia Payne attended St. Paul’ Girls’ School, where Gustav Holst taught, during the 1918-1919 school year. However, Holst left for war service in Salonika, Greece on October 29, 1918 and didn’t return to St. Paul’s until the 1919-1920 school year, after Payne had graduated and gone on to the University of Cambridge in Cambridge, England.

Frances Ralph Gray was the founding “high mistress” of St. Paul’s School for Girls in the Brook Green neighborhood of London…Like Cecilia, she adored music; unlike Cecilia, she had had great difficulty learning mathematics. Also unlike Cecilia, she was small in stature. She was, however, commanding in presence. Students reported that being sent to see Miss Gray “was their greatest fear.”

Frances perceived that there was something different about the seventeen-year-old girl in her office who so wanted to be admitted. Yes, Cecilia had been told to leave her current school, but not because she was disruptive or a problem learner—quite the opposite. She was a serious student who loved music and science, whose goal was to go to Cambridge. She had responded to Elizabeth Edwards and to Dorothy Daglish. If St. Paul’s had similar teachers who could recognize Cecilia’s love of learning and would take time to nurture her, surely she would be a good fit.

Years later, in a touching letter recommending Cecilia for a fellowship at Harvard, Frances wrote: “It is not my practice to admit girls who have reached the age at which Cecilia Payne was admitted [age seventeen], but I was requested to make an exception in her case by the headmistress of the School she had previously attended, who assured me that she was a girl of very unusual promise.”

Unbeknownst to Cecilia, St. Paul’s needed her as much as she needed the school. Founded just over a decade earlier by the Worshipful Company of Mercers, it prided itself on consistently outperforming other schools. The “Paulinas” were not viewed as, or trained to be, socialites; this was a serious school. The social snobbery of other private schools had no place here.

Cecilia described her move to St. Paul’s as stepping from medieval times into the modern day. Instead of chapels there were laboratories—in biology, chemistry, physics—and teachers who were specialists. Here she was not just “allowed” to study science; she was encouraged. She only attended the school for one year. But from the moment she approached the Queen Anne-style pink brick building and walked up the stone steps and through the marble and oak arched front door, she was home.1

Donovan Moore goes on now to write about Holst.

Frances Gray…made good on her professed love of music when she hired Gustav Holst. Holst was a relatively unknown trombone player when he accepted the job of director of music at St. Paul’s. Like Cecilia, he was shy and reserved, and he disdained fame. And like Cecilia, he was practiced in overcoming obstacles: neuritis in his right arm had forced him to stop playing the trombone and the piano, so he had to turn to composing.

Frances encouraged him; in fact, she worked with him, supplying the text for both a light-hearted masked dance in 1909 and a more ambitious orchestra work three years later. She had an entire music wing built in 1913, including a large soundproof room where Gustav composed on Sundays, when the school was locked up, in silence and solitude. It was in this room that he wrote his most famous work, the orchestra suite The Planets. Cecilia was among a group of students who heard it performed shortly after it was composed.2

As we shall see later through Cecilia’s own words, she must have heard some sort of run-through of The Planets at St. Paul’s. I wonder whether she was among the invited audience of about 250 people who attended the first performance of The Planets at Queen’s Hall, London, on Sunday, September 29, 1918, with Adrian Boult conducting the New Queen’s Hall Orchestra? Given that the choir for “Neptune: The Mystic” in that performance was comprised, in whole or in part, of students from St. Paul’s, it is possible she was present for the Queen’s Hall performance though perhaps unlikely given that the audience consisted of close friends and associates of Holst and many professional musicians in London.

Holst was also a great teacher. For three decades—from 1905 until his death in 1934—”Gussie”, as he was known, would cast his musical spell over his students. The contemporary composer Ralph Vaughan Williams described Holst’s long tenure at St. Paul’s: “He did away with the childish sentimentality that schoolgirls were supposed to appreciate and substituted Bach and Vittoria; a splendid background for immature minds.”

Holst discerned Cecilia’s love of music. He asked her to play her violin for him, made her a member of the school’s orchestra, and taught her how to conduct. He encouraged her to become a musician but did not prevail. Cecilia instinctively felt that a career in music would control her; as a scientist, she would be in control.3

In her autobiography, Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin writes of St. Paul’s, Holst, and music:

The school ministered to my twin loves, science and music. Here I came under the spell of Gustav Holst, or “Gussie” as we affectionately called him. Aside from my shadowy Father, and my schoolboy brother, he was the first man I ever knew. He radiated music; the organ in the great hall reverberated to the great Toccata and fugue of Bach. Here for the first time I heard The Planets (then newly composed) and took part in a performance of the Hymn of Jesus. He was like a father to us, shy, abrupt and charming. He was quick to learn of my love of music, asked me to play the violin to him, and urged me to become a musician. I played in the orchestra, and learned conducting from him, but my love of science triumphed. It seems odd to think that the only career I was ever encouraged to follow was that of a musician. As a student at Cambridge I trained and conducted a choir that won an award. One of the judges told me that my conducting had been the decisive factor, and that my future lay there. Indeed, the feelings evoked by conducting a choir or orchestra are so powerful as to be overwhelming, but I recoiled instinctively from something I felt would control me; as a scientist I should be in control of my material. Who knows whether I was right?4

St. Paul’s Girls’ School did indeed have a great hall with an organ, so one wonders how Cecilia Payne heard The Planets there. It is also interesting that she first heard The Hymn of Jesus at St. Paul’s during her 1918-1919 school year, as the first known performance was on March 10, 1920 at the Royal College of Music with Holst conducting. Though Holst began composing the work during the summer of 1917, it was apparently not completed until after he returned from war service in Salonika, Greece on June 29, 1919. Cecilia Payne must have heard an early version of the work, or a part of it that had been completed.

Following four years at the University of Cambridge, Cecilia Payne arrived in New York aboard the RMS Laconia on Thursday, September 20, 1923, and from there proceeded to Cambridge, Massachusetts to begin her work in astronomy at Harvard University. Just a few months earlier, Gustav & Isobel Holst had visited the United States from April 27 through June 12, 1923. This was Isobel Holst’s only visit to the U.S., but Gustav would make two more visits, in 1929 and again in 1932.

Gustav Holst was in the United States from April 16-27, 1929, and on the evening of Friday, April 26, 1929, Holst gave a well-received lecture at Harvard University. It seems likely that Cecilia Payne would have attended that lecture and visited with Holst, but he was only in Cambridge for a day and had to take an early morning train to New York to board the RMS Samaria for the trip back to England. I have not been able to find any evidence that indicates they saw each other during Holst’s 1929 American visit.

Nor have I found any evidence that Cecilia Payne visited Holst in England after she moved to the United States in 1923, though New York ship passenger records show she arrived in New York from Southampton, England aboard the SS Leviathan on September 21, 1925, aboard the SS Berengaria on January 3, 1929, and aboard the SS Bremen on October 7, 1931 and August 30, 1933.

Gustav Holst and Cecilia Payne did meet again in 1932, when Holst conducted the Boston Symphony Orchestra at the first of two concerts in Symphony Hall in Boston.

After the concert Holst met Mrs. Arthur Foote and Cecilia Payne, a St. Paul’s Girls’ School alumna, who was studying astronomy.5

This would have been Friday, January 22, 1932, during Holst’s final visit to America. The all-Holst concert was at 2:30 p.m. and featured St. Paul’s Suite; Prelude and Scherzo, “Hammersmith” (Boston premiere); and the Ballet from the Opera, The Perfect Fool (Boston premiere); followed by an intermission and then The Planets. Here is the concert program courtesy of the Internet Archive which includes pages from the previous program suggesting that a last-minute program change occurred substituting St. Paul’s Suite for Somerset Rhapsody (an excellent early work by Holst, by the way) and switching the order of Hammersmith and The Perfect Fool:

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Incidentally, you might notice from the program that Arthur Fiedler was a violist in the orchestra and prepared the women’s chorus for the final movement of The Planets.

I met one ex Paulina at Harvard—Cecilia Payne who is doing research in astronomy.6

This is from a letter that Holst began on Tuesday, January 26, 1932 to his daughter Imogen.

He also spent some time with ex-Paulina Cecilia Payne, meeting her for lunch one day and for dinner at her place on another. This was followed by her lecture on a subject of great interest to him, the Zodiac.7

This was after Holst returned to Harvard from his four-day trip to Montreal and New York, and before his lecture at the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C., thus sometime between Tuesday, March 15 and Saturday, March 26, 1932.

Holst’s train from Ann Arbor arrived at Boston’s South Station at 11:15 a.m. on Saturday, May 21st. The next two days were spent packing and writing letters. He met with the Davisons the following morning and had dinner with Cecilia Payne at the Faculty Club that same evening.8

This dinner with Cecilia Payne would have been the evening of Sunday, May 22, 1932.

Later that same evening, Cecilia Payne drove Holst over to the observatory to view Jupiter and a star cluster. Holst enjoyed her company and visited with her again the day of his Boston departure.9

The observatory visit would have been on Tuesday, May 24. I’m guessing that the star cluster they observed after Jupiter would have been M13 in Hercules, which that evening was high in the eastern sky. Holst’s last visit with Cecilia Payne was on Thursday, May 26, 1932. Later that day, he left Boston by boat for New York where he boarded the SS Europa the following day to return to England. This was the last time Holst and Payne saw each other.

Cecilia Payne first met Russian-born astrophysicist Sergei Gaposchkin at the Astronomische Gesellschaft (Astronomical Society) meeting in Göttingen, Germany, on August 4, 1933. She helped him emigrate to the United States, and they were married on March 5, 1934. Less than three months later, Gustav Holst would be dead.

  1. Moore, Donovan. 2020. What Stars Are Made of: The Life of Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin. London, England: Harvard University Press, pp. 34-35. ↩︎
  2. Moore, pp. 37-38. ↩︎
  3. Moore, p. 38. ↩︎
  4. Haramundanis, Katherine. 1984. Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin: An Autobiography and Other Recollections. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, p. 108. ↩︎
  5. Mitchell, Jon C. 2001. A Comprehensive Biography of Composer Gustav Holst, with Correspondence and Diary Excerpts: Including His American Years. New York, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, p. 442. ↩︎
  6. Mitchell, p. 447. ↩︎
  7. Mitchell, p. 485. ↩︎
  8. Mitchell, p. 543. ↩︎
  9. Mitchell, p. 547. ↩︎