From world premieres with Leonard Bernstein to a once-in-a-lifetime collaboration with Frank Sinatra at Madison Square Garden, Splendid Encounters offers a glimpse into two of the century’s most exciting decades of classical music. Renowned choral conductor Abraham Kaplan provides a fascinating look at his association with more than forty talented musicians who touched his life with their genius and accomplishments.

In some instances, Kaplan crossed paths with these musicians momentarily, and in other cases, he had the privilege of working intimately with some of the world’s great maestros. In all, Kaplan collaborated with twenty-eight world-renowned conductors, nine internationally famous composers, and other celebrated personalities-from William Schuman to Igor Stravinsky and Vincent Persichetti-whose vignettes are delivered in this compilation.

Splendid Encounters, stories of great musicians told by a great musician and storyteller, is both infectious and inspirational, and demonstrates that these legendary musicians are indeed real human beings. This music biography revives the living, breathing experiences of a generation of musical legends who should not be forgotten.

Splendid Encounters

Memoirs of Collaborations, Interactions, and Conversations with Many of the Most Celebrated Musicians of the Twentieth CenturyBy ABRAHAM KAPLAN Dafna (Kaplan) Zilafro

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2009 Camerata Singers, Inc.
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-3200-1

Contents

PREFACE..........................................................................................ixINTRODUCTION.....................................................................................xiChapter 1. William Schuman.......................................................................1Chapter 2. Vincent Persichetti...................................................................7Chapter 3. Leonard Bernstein.....................................................................10Chapter 4. Frank Sinatra.........................................................................31Chapter 5. Igor Stravinsky.......................................................................34Chapter 6. Aaron Copland.........................................................................40Chapter 7. Pierre Boulez.........................................................................42Chapter 8. Ernest & Suzanne Bloch................................................................45Chapter 9. Seiji Ozawa...........................................................................48Chapter 10. Leopold Stokowski....................................................................50Chapter 11. Alfred Wallenstein...................................................................53Chapter 12. Rafael Kubelik.......................................................................56Chapter 13. Darius Milhaud.......................................................................57Chapter 14. George Szell.........................................................................60Chapter 15. Skitch Henderson.....................................................................63Chapter 16. Thomas Schippers.....................................................................66Chapter 17. Neville Marriner.....................................................................68Chapter 18. Josef Krips..........................................................................71Chapter 19. Marian Anderson & Frank Miller.......................................................75Chapter 20. Zoltn Kodly........................................................................78Chapter 21. Gerard Schwarz.......................................................................82Chapter 22. Robert Starer........................................................................84Chapter 23. Gershon Kingsley.....................................................................87Chapter 24. Jan Pierce...........................................................................89Chapter 25. William Steinberg....................................................................92Chapter 26. Charles Munch........................................................................94Chapter 27. Kurt Adler...........................................................................96Chapter 28. Martina Arroyo.......................................................................100Chapter 29. Hans Rehfuss.........................................................................101Chapter 30. Carlo Maria Giulini..................................................................103Chapter 31. Zubin Mehta..........................................................................105Chapter 32. Joseph Szigeti.......................................................................106Chapter 33. Randall Thompson.....................................................................108Chapter 34. Lukas Foss...........................................................................109Chapter 35. Madeline Marshall....................................................................110Chapter 36. Claudio Abbado.......................................................................113Chapter 37. Beverly Sills........................................................................114Chapter 38. Karl Haas............................................................................116Chapter 39. Georg Solti..........................................................................119Chapter 40. Erich Leinsdorf......................................................................121Chapter 41. Shlomo Kaplan........................................................................123ADDENDUM: What Does a Conductor (Maestro) Do ... And Who the Hell Needs Him?.....................129ABOUT THE AUTHOR.................................................................................137

Chapter One

WILLIAM SCHUMAN

If I could describe Schuman in a phrase, I would say that he was the quintessential American composer-and he would have liked to be described as such.

I met him when I came to Juilliard as a student. I took the Juilliard entrance exam in theory and conducting after graduating from the Israeli Conservatory in Jerusalem. The people who examined me in theory said, "Well, we could pass you to the graduate school, but you know our president, William Schuman, has instituted a new undergraduate program in theory that is different from other conservatory programs. We call it "L & M: Literature & Materials of Music." Now of course, you have already learned in the traditional way, but would you be interested (they noticed that I loved theory) in taking the last year of undergraduate before you move on to graduate school?" I said I would love to, as I was interested in learning a new way. So I went to a class taught by Peter Mennin (who later became the President of Juilliard). The students in the class had already studied theory at other conservatories or with other traditional Juilliard teachers. Mennin wanted to do a survey to find out what everyone knew, so he asked all sorts of specific questions, like "what is a Neapolitan sixth chord?" A few people raised their hands and started philosophizing about their answers. He had a suspicion that they probably didn't know what chord he was asking about. So he asked, "Can anyone spell" the Neapolitan sixth chord in C major?" Up until then I hadn't said anything. Of all these people, nobody raised his or her hand. So I went ahead and spelled it. A few other incidents transpired like this, where students knew the general idea, but the hard facts were not understood. So a few weeks into this class, I noticed that there seemed to be holes in most of the students' education.

Schuman had a wonderful ritual as president. After a few months into every year, he would meet with all of the new students that year, and listen to their questions and comments personally. Very often those who came from other countries had wonderful talents and perspectives to share, but were intimidated when they encountered the richness and breadth of talents possessed by their fellow students. Schuman wanted to know how all of the students were doing. So in the gathering that I witnessed, students kept raising their hands, saying, "Mr. Schuman, maybe I wasn't prepared enough for the L & M class-I am having a hard time"

He explained that he started this course because he himself studied under the old system, where you studied harmony separately, form separately, and counterpoint separately. As a musician, he found it very dry and boring. He thought that if a good teacher would incorporate all of those subjects into one class, it would be much more interesting. Still, the comments came. So I, who was doing very well in L & M level four, thought that I should speak up. I raised my hand and mentioned that I studied the traditional way, doing each one separately studying under specialists in each. I never did find it boring, perhaps because I enjoyed theory. However, after a bit of the L & M class, I discovered that there was a slight problem with the method. For instance, we know that Schubert at the end of his life needed to study more counterpoint. But the teachers that were teaching L & M might be like Schubert. Although they might be good at two of the disciplines, they might not be strong in the third. For this reason I suggested that the three be taught separately, each by a specialist in his or her field. While this might be boring for some, it might also provide the best education. For example, I understand that grammar is boring to study, but it wouldn't hurt a poet to study grammar.

What I found fascinating and wonderful was that I was a new student, barely could express myself in English, but within two years of hearing my input, Schuman modified the L & M Program, first starting with traditional theory (the least boring textbooks that he could find), and then in the last year or two moving students into L & M, where they incorporated those different theories into different pieces of music.

My next encounter with Schuman was when I graduated from Juilliard and decided that it was time to go back to Israel. He had seen me conduct and was trying to talk me into staying in the country. His choral teacher was going to be moving on in about two years, and he wanted to appoint me for the job as head of choral music at Julliard. As a young student, with my Israeli chutzpah intact, I said that I just didn't believe in "waiting around" for a job. I said that I had come from Israel to study, and that I should probably go back. He offered to find me a two-year, temporary professorial job somewhere in the country before coming, and the salary at the time sounded like a dream. In 1958, the beginning salary was $10,000. Nevertheless, I declined and decided to return to Israel.

After a year in Israel, I came back to America with a touring choir. This time, Schuman put his hand on my shoulder and said, "You are not going back! You are starting next season part-time, and then will switch to the head of the choral department."

I had learned something from my year back in Israel-metaphorically, that one cannot be in love with two mistresses. You see, I had two ideas somehow fixed in my head. One was that I wanted to be back in my homeland. The other was that I wanted to make music at the highest level that was available to me. By the time Schuman put his hand on my shoulder that day, I had realized that I couldn't do both things. Obviously, I ended up choosing music, and have never looked back.

Years later I performed some world premieres of Schuman's music. I did a concert of choral music at Circle in the Square, a series of contemporary music in downtown Manhattan. I also performed an opera that he wrote based on the poem Casey at the Bat, which forced me to learn all of the rules of baseball very quickly-since it was required to understand much of the timing of the different section entrances.

If you look at his entire compositional output, Schuman's music always had a touch of Americana. If I had to assess the character of his music, I would call it visceral and masculine, if there is such a thing-kind of angular. He was a very modest man as far as his music was concerned. When my father came to visit, they hit it off right away. I don't know if it had to do with the fact that he was my father and Schuman felt paternal toward me-but he described to my father about how he ran his life. He said, "I get up around 6:30 in the morning, have a light breakfast. I go to my shed and write music until 10:00, and then I go over to Juilliard and handle those responsibilities for the day." About his writing music, he said, "I don't know how good it is-I just do my best."

One of his first jobs was as a choral conductor in a girls' college, Sarah Lawrence. But he was never a symphonic conductor, and he didn't continue conducting after that point. He always preferred that conductors like myself perform his choral music, and Bernstein his symphonic music.

After Sarah Lawrence, he was asked to be the director of publishing at G. Schirmer, because he was thoroughly organized and a terrific administrator. Juilliard heard that this fabulous American composer was the administrator there, and they asked him to take the job as President of Juilliard. He at the time, although young, gave them conditions. "First thing, I am not showing up at the office until 11:00. Secondly, don't try to give me advice about how to run the school. If you don't like the way I do it, don't renew my contract." That's how he became president, and he could have done it for the rest of his life.

When Juilliard was going to be integrated into the new Lincoln Center development, Schuman attended all of the meetings. The administration noticed again that he had a very organized mind and a talent for management, and so they asked him to be the president of Lincoln Center. Again, he set conditions: "I don't want to be a landlord. I will become president if Lincoln Center will initiate a huge budget for public music education, bringing kids from the inner city, from the suburbs, and other places to learn about music. Under the heading of Lincoln Center, there must be some creative work." They accepted his conditions, not just because they wanted him, but because his suggestions were good. The timing was fantastic, as contributors like the Rockefellers and others wanted to make a mark on the city.

I think his greatest musical influences are hard to assess, because it is difficult to see where music is going to go. For instance, Chopin had an incredibly wonderful, original style. But if you ask anyone if they were influenced by him, they would say no. The case with Schuman though-he really instituted what American music is, along with Copland, Roy Harris, and Samuel Barber. Copland went to Paris to study under Nadia Boulanger, but Roy Harris, William Schuman, Barber and Bernstein were all American-educated.

To those who wish to conduct his music, I would first say to study several of his works. Get a feel for what he is all about-the character is quite direct, simple, and powerful.

For my fifth concert in New York, I received a mediocre review and brooded for a week. He came to me and said, "When they gave you amazing reviews-better than you even thought that you deserved, you didn't question it!" One of his comments to me was a masterpiece: "Don't believe the critics when they tell you that you are a genius. Because when they tell you that you are a dog, you can't ask, 'what do they know?'"

Two weeks after hearing this great quote from Schuman, his latest symphony was premiered with the New York Philharmonic. The reviews the next day were devastating. I've never seen them so vicious ... but it was understandable. It came at a time when atonal and other disturbing music was in fashion, and Schuman's work was probably too musical to satisfy the trend. Anyhow, his piece received terrible reviews. I thought, after his wise comments to me that he wouldn't pay attention to them; however he did take it hard.

One has to develop a strong skin as a performing artist. The worst part about it is that more people read the reviews than actually hear the concert.

One thing that I can assure you of is that regardless of the criticism, it never occurred to William Schuman even for a split second to quit writing music. After a couple of weeks, he forgot about the whole damned thing.

Chapter Two

VINCENT PERSICHETTI

When I conducted the world premiere of Vincent Persichetti's Stabat Mater at Carnegie Hall with the Collegiate Chorale, he attended all of the rehearsals with the chorus and orchestra. I kept asking him specific questions about certain spots - whether he had suggestions or wanted anything changed - but for the most part he was fine with everything as rehearsed. During the last on-stage rehearsal, when I turned to him and asked "Vincent, is that OK?" He yelled from the hall-"Abe, forget that I'm here now! The piece is yours!" He knew that in order to get a great performance out of a conductor, it was best if the performers weren't concerned about the composer's presence. Of course, Bernstein had the same kind of wisdom. It did not necessarily indicate whether or not he would enjoy the performance, but he knew that trying to control the process wouldn't yield better results.

I once had to prepare the Juilliard chorus and orchestra for a world premiere of Persichetti's The Creation. He came to one of my final rehearsals, and at some point I felt that I was finished, and had done everything in my power to prepare the piece. I turned to him and said, "Would you like to take over and conduct the rest of the rehearsal?" He very kindly refused and said, "No, no, you please finish the rehearsal," which I did. When I got off the podium and we went for coffee afterwards he admitted, "I was not ready to conduct the piece. I wrote the piece, I know the music, but as you know, you have to prepare to conduct it, to study it from the conductor's point of view and from the player's point of view in order to conduct it well. That's why I refused to take over the rehearsal." That gave me a very interesting insight into this man, who was highly trained as a pianist, a conductor, an organist, and a composer - a person who knew the conducting profession from the inside out. One of his greatest strengths was his understanding of his own capabilities. He was a versatile musician, and his attitude could have gone one of two ways: he could have had a vague idea about some of his talents, or the clear perspective that he had about his abilities in each of the separate disciplines. For all of his gifts as a composer, teacher, conductor and keyboard player, he had a correct and wonderful sense of humility about each. His legacy will of course be his composition. In an age where so many composers were confused as to whether they should write in the dodecaphonic (twelve tone) style or another that was fashionable at the time, my own observation is that Persichetti wrote what I call "real" music, not bending to the fashion of the day. Of course, only future generations will be able to judge the staying power of his music, but to me, of all his compositions that I am familiar with, the Stabat Mater was probably the most beautiful and profound. Like other meaningful choral works, the inspiration of the music parallels the depth of the text in that mysterious and powerful way. There are pieces of music that are beautiful, independent of their texts, and there are texts that are beautiful, independent of the music to which they are set; but when the inspiration of the musical invention dovetails the inspiration of the text, and the most profound words are set to the most beautifully moving music-that is where choral music becomes deep, moving and profound.

While Persichetti achieved this duality spectacularly, he was a man of great humility. Once we were sitting for coffee, and he had a score of Mozart in front of him. He showed me a passage of the music he was looking at and said, "If through all of my life I have written twelve measures that are as good as this, I will feel that my life was worthwhile."

Chapter Three

LEONARD BERNSTEIN

"Musical down to his bone marrow." Both my father and grandfather used that expression when they encountered someone extremely musical. From the first moment I met Leonard Bernstein, the phrase immediately entered my mind. The man was music incarnate.

First Collaboration

During the summer of 1961, I was appointed Director of Choral Music at the Juilliard School. Prior to the beginning of the school year, I received a call from Mr. Bernstein's secretary, Helen Coats. Hearing of my appointment, Bernstein wanted to know if the Julliard chorus would be interested in collaborating with him and the New York Philharmonic in a performance of Bach's St. Matthew Passion at Carnegie Hall. I must tell you that the rest of my colleagues didn't look at Bernstein as the legend that he turned out to be-but I was already in awe of his genius, and was exhilarated at the thought of working with the Maestro. I responded that I would be honored to work with Maestro Bernstein, but that I would need to first check with my new bosses at Juilliard. To my great surprise and amazement, the dean actually rejected the request! To this day I do not understand his rationale-but since I had not even started my job there yet, I did not ask for an explanation. Nevertheless, I found a way to work on the project.

During that same summer I had also been selected as Director of the Collegiate Chorale, a group that was started fifteen years earlier by Robert Shaw. The community chorus took its name from the venue in which it had originally rehearsed, the basement of the Marble Collegiate Church of New York. I decided to use the Collegiate Chorale in order to fulfill Mr. Bernstein's request, despite one significant challenge: this group, prior to my appointment, had dwindled from one hundred and fifty singers down to only fifty-seven-which would not be enough to perform the St. Matthew's Passion. To be honest, fifty-seven is an overstatement, if it means that all of the members actually showed up at every rehearsal.

(Continues...)

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