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Robert P. Commanday, Editor
Institutional histories, like celebrity biographies, are typically
boring excercises, more puff and gloss than real story--but not
Juilliard: A History by Andrea Olmstead, (University of Illinois
Press, 1999, 368 p.). Olmstead keenly chronicles the school that stands
squarely front and center in America's musical life. The story is
fascinating, involving as it does the legendary musicians from the past
who taught legendary musicians of yesterday and today.
Given the tensions, rivalries, competition and temperament threaded
throughout the histories of every academic institution, you can imagine
the liveliness of the Juilliard story. Even the name, Juilliard School,
is unust. The school should properly be named after Frank Damrosch, who
conceived and then in 1905 founded the Institiute of Musical Art (I. M.
A.). It was not until 1927 that the more formidably endowed Juilliard
Musical Foundation merged its Juilliard Graduate School (J. G. S.) with
the Institute for Musical Art.
Ironically, the Juilliard Graduate School had no right to use the word
"Graduate," since its admission requirements called for only a high
schol education, no previous degree. It wasn't even a true school,
since it had no core curriculum, serving chiefly as an agency that
assigned students to faculty teachers and paid for the lessons.
The J. G. S. didn't even have a charter. The naive will of the textile
magnate Augustus Juilliard had left an enabling bequest of between $125
and $150 million (in today's dollars), but inadequate instructions. The
Juilliard Musical Foundation consequently fell under the control of an
unscrupulous, musically ignorant autocrat, Edgar Noble.
Noble wasted three years and a lot of the Foundation's money misapplying
and misappropriating its resources. Under today's laws he would have
been prosecuted by the state attorney general to a fare-thee-well.
The New York newspapers conveniently looked the other way, for, as
Olmstead points out, the J. G. S. and the J. M. F., as well, had
co-opted the press by hiring the city's leading music critics. However,
thanks to the editor of the independent Musical Digest, Pierre
Key, who really got on the Juilliard case, the New York Times
and other papers finally had to pursue the story.
His outrageous performance exposed, Noble was forced to resign the
presidency in 1927, remaining on as a trustee for another ten years.
In 1924, the Juilliard so-called Graduate, so-called School was set up
handsomely in a large apartment house of 50 lavishly appointed rooms,
the former Vanderbilt guest house at the posh address of 49 East 52nd
St. Noble took up residence, rent-free, on the sixth of its seven
floors. At that time, a distinguished seven-man examining committee was
created, and a stellar faculty of 12 acquired, including the great
soprano Marcella Sembrich, Francis Rogers, Ernest Hutcheson, Josef
Lhevine, Olga Samaroff-Stokowski, Erno von Dohnanyi, Georges Enesco,
Felix Salmond, and Rubin Goldmark. Offering fellowships with free
lessons, the J. G. S. received 500 applications and chose 81 for its
first class in 1924.
By that time, after 19 years of successful operation, Damrosch's I. M.
A., ensconced in it uptown home at 120 Claremont Ave., near 122nd St.
and Broadway, had 943 students working under its distinguished faculty.
(Damrosch started out with 45 teachers). Additional inspiration was
provided by visiting guests who were the greats of the time, including
D'Indy, Schnabel, Bachaus, Boulanger, Klemperer, Glazunov, and
Rachmaninoff.
Most important, the I. M. A. students were immersed in a curriculum
that, for its era, was a model for comprehensive musical education.
With the noble goal of producing musicians of thoroughness, of wide
horizons, Damrosch had established a remarkably thorough, if
narrowly focused music curriculum that held up, essentially, for 28
years. The Damrosch discipline that governed student performance in
studies and behavior was strict and enforced--also comprehensive.
The Institute of Musical Art, the implementation of Damrosch's vision,
was made possible by the generous philanthropy of James Loeb, of the
Wall Street firm of Kuhn, Loeb and Company. A psychologically complex,
often troubled man, Loeb was the son of the firm's founder, and allied
through arranged marriages to the great financier Otto Kahn and the
noted Warburg family, the prominent members of which were active board
members of the I. M. A.
In 1927, after extensive secret negotiations, the J. G. S. and the I. M.
A. merged. The impetus for the I. M. A. to accede to a merger is not
explained by Olmstead. Presumably that information is no longer
available. The Juilliard Foundation's money was obviously a major
factor.
John Erskine, a noted writer and eminent literary figure, but as a
musician not more than a proficient amateur pianist, was made
President. Ernest Hutcheson, a pianist of considerable reputation, also
a conductor and composer, was named Dean of the new Juilliard School of
Music.
Damrosch, passed over and now placed under these two, was named Dean of
the I. M. A. In 1933, Hutcheson took over Damrosch's deanship as well,
and succeeded Erskine as President in 1937.
In the mid-1930s, when I began my studies at the I. M. A., the situation
and nature of the split-level institution was apparent even to one of my
youth and inexperience. The most gifted students, working under the
master teachers, excelled and were frightfully competitive. There was a
palpable separation between students of different instruments and
between those and the singers.
The ear-training, sight-singing and especially the analysis and theory
often seemed mechanical, formulaic, and not connected with the actual
music the students were practicing and preparing. Very little new muic
was heard or encouraged. Debussy and Ravel were considered
moderninsts. And the spirit of the students, reflecting, no doubt,
their teachers, was hypercritical and competitive.
The glass door that separated the Juillliard (graduate) School from the
I. M. A. felt like a wall.
In sum, by the late 1930s, the two schools, wedded though they were,
joined at the administrative head, were firmly set in their ways,
solidly conservative. Change was inevitable, and it would come,
radically, but after the War.
Olmstead, a violinist, former teacher of music history at Juilliard, now
coordinator of the Department of Music History and Literature at the
Boston Conservatory, probes into the modern phase of the Juilliard
history penetratingly, making it immediate and real.
The transformation of the Juilliard School, following the fusion of the
two entities, was thorough, radical, troubled, controversial, and often
brilliant. Olmstead makes it as provocative in the reading as it seemed
when it was happening.
(To be continued)
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