I come not to praise Gilbert Kaplan, nor to bury him. Instead, what follows is my attempt to make peace with an unusual situation in which I found myself embroiled during the past week -- in large part within the confines of my own skull.
Not quite two weeks ago, I had the unique experience of being sent by The New York Times to review the New York Philharmonic conducted by Gilbert Kaplan in Mahler's Symphony No. 2, "Resurrection." I'd heard Kaplan's two recordings of the work, and was neither overwhelmed nor especially turned off.
The concert, a benefit for the musicians' pension fund, was sold out; lonely souls prowled the plaza with a digit extended as if trying to crash a Dead show. It also marked the 100th anniversary of the night Mahler himself conducted a prenatal New York Philharmonic in his symphony's U.S. premiere. Unburdened by predisposition, I wrote about what I saw and heard, in a review that was on the whole very positive.
Not long after, I found my words swept into an acrimonious furore over the orchestra's ill feelings toward Kaplan.
If anyone is coming late to the story, the controversy largely arose when David Finlayson, a trombonist in the orchestra, wrote a blog post blasting Kaplan's lack of skill, in the process taking to task orchestra managements (his own included) in enabling Kaplan's fraudulent fantasy.
Dan Wakin reported the story in The New York Times, in the process breaking the news that the entire orchestra had demanded a meeting with orchestra president Zarin Mehta to vent their anger regarding Kaplan's engagement. Understandably, the blogosphere erupted with condemnations of this latest Wall Street swindle, pointing to yet another example of how the super-wealthy get whatever they want at the expense of the impoverished, the qualified and the soulful. Blogger Charles Noble pointed out that two members of the orchestra had posted negative comments on the Charlie Rose web site, attached to the page with Rose's Kaplan interview.
There were also opposing opinions. Norman Lebrecht, a friend of Kaplan's, blasted Finlayson and his colleagues for their bad behavior, and the orchestra's lack of corporate discretion. Pliable, ever a wise observer, connected the event to an ever-growing confluence of interests -- complicity, one might say -- between arts organizations and big business-cum-philanthropy (and the press, he adds), and scolds the players involved for being disingenuous.
What concerned me personally, of course, was that my review was among those cited by Kaplan in Dan Wakin's article as evidence that his work is meaningful. And in looking back at my review, and discussing it with Dan, I discovered something that made my blood freeze: I'd made an error, and it was a serious one. It just wasn't the one everyone likely thought I'd made.
As far as I'm concerned, I reported on this concert accurately. Even now, everything I wrote reflects my memory of that evening:
That Mr. Kaplan is no professional conductor was immediately apparent. Square-shouldered and stiff, he indulged in no flamboyant gymnastics. He conducted from memory, beating time proficiently and providing cues as needed....
But his efforts were evident throughout a performance of sharp definition and shattering power. From the acute punch of the opening notes, every detail of this huge, complex score came through with unusual clarity and impeccable balance. Every gesture had purpose and impact, and the performance as a whole had an inexorable sweep.
The orchestra played with astonishing control and beauty.
All of that still holds true for me. But during the process of writing and self-editing my review, I tend to write things, move on, go back, tweak and reshape until I'm basically satisfied with my work. And in this particular case, I would discover when rereading the review with a more critical eye, that I'd cut a phrase -- one very small phrase -- that had disrupted my entire position.
Here's a sentence I used in succinctly describing Kaplan's background:
...after a crash course in conducting, he went on to lead high-profile performances of the symphony and made the all-time best-selling Mahler recording.
Originally, there were three credentials in that list. The last was "...and co-edited the critical edition of the score." But during the process of polishing the review before turning it in, I'd looked for places to trim, shape and streamline my work. Referring to Kaplan in the next line as "the world's leading 'Resurrection' authority," I reckoned, would make the point better to the lay reader, so I cut the bit about the score.
What I didn't realize at the time was that my whole argument was based on that single fact. I established in the review that he had no real conducting technique; that he "beat time proficiently" denoted competence, but not mastery. Then I went on to say that "his efforts were evident throughout a performance of sharp definition and shattering power."
How could these opposing points be reconciled? Only through making a strong connection to Kaplan's knowledge of, and extensive work with, Mahler's score. My assertion -- some would call it a supposition, I guess -- was that the striking clarity and balance I perceived was an effect of Kaplan's preparation during rehearsal, in combination with a copiously skilled ensemble's own deep knowledge and familiarity with the piece.
I'm not in any way unconfident about my ability to process what I heard in the hall that night. I have heard more than a few Mahler Seconds, including Bernstein's great last recording of the work with the Philharmonic, and I knew what was different about Kaplan's account. This was a high-definition representation of precisely what was on the pages of the score -- nothing more, but just as importantly nothing less. Mahler knew exactly what he was doing, and that was all that Kaplan ventured to convey. (He admitted as much in a preview article by Matthew Gurewitsch that appeared in the Times the day before the concert.) But by dropping the mention of the score, I sabotaged my argument.
I hasten to add that I cut this phrase myself; no one at The New York Times, not an editor or a proof reader, bears the slightest responsibility. And as my error was one of omission rather than commission, there was also no official channel by which I could go back and retroactively amend my review -- no chance of stating in print, "What the reviewer meant to say was...."
I'm still quite satisfied with the lines that closed my review:
To think there is nothing else to know of Mahler’s Second beyond what Mr. Kaplan has to show would be a mistake. But it seems likely that no one is better equipped to reveal the impact of precisely what Mahler put on the page.
Still, I do dearly wish that what I wrote on the page more precisely conveyed just what it was that I meant. And for that I apologize to the readers, and promise to be more diligent next time.
I read this post several times, but I really don't get it. Why are you beating yourself up about the omission of his editing history?
First, editing a score doesn't make you a good conductor -- otherwise any musicologist would be capable of leading an orchestra. Second, the kinds of questions that critical editors ask (is this metronome mark the intended one, which dynamic is meant here?) aren't necessarily going to translate into a better performance. For example, sometimes the correct marking, even though it's the one the composer intended, might be aesthetically less preferable to a later ("inauthentic") addition. (Think about the pizzicato notes that appear in the introduction to Zinman's recording of Beethoven 4th, but are typically played arco elsewhere: does this make or break a performance?) Third, I suspect that Kaplan's musicology is no better and no worse than his conducting.
Finally, the sort of major flaws of musicianship discussed by Finlayson would seem to overwhelm any minor benefit that might come from having a scholar on the podium.
The bottom line, I think, is that you disagree with Finlayson -- and at such a basic level as to raise some difficult questions. Finlayson suggested that the conducting did not meet minimal standards of professionalism; you had very positive things to say about the performance. Either Finlayson doesn't know what he's talking about, or you don't, or -- perhaps most disturbingly of all -- professional orchestras can get along fine even without minimally competent conductors. I see why this is something to worry about, but I can't see that an extra phrase would make a difference.
Posted by: Bettina | December 21, 2008 at 02:53 PM
the kinds of questions that critical editors ask... aren't necessarily going to translate into a better performance.
Thank you for the thoughtful response, Bettina. What I still seem to be struggling to get across is that I never meant to suggest Kaplan's intensive Mahler studies and his work with the score would translate into a better performance; I tried to say that I think they resulted in this performance, with the qualities I detailed -- all of which could be ascribed to Mahler's score, not an interpretation.
What I attempted to do, and apparently am still attempting to do, is A) show that the performance heard in the hall that night was effective in just the ways I described, and B) reach some sort of conclusion as to how and why that could be so. But by leaving out Kaplan's demonstrable connection to the score, I weakened my argument that he accurately delivered what was there, with Mahler and the musicians handling the rest.
Posted by: Steve Smith | December 21, 2008 at 03:20 PM
From my perspective, the focus on editing and "the score" is a bit of a red herring. What's really going on here, I suspect, is that we're having the latest iteration of a very longstanding argument between professional musicians and laypersons.
The fundamental issue, as I see it, is that musicians are typically very highly trained specialists who pay an enormous amount of attention to subtle details. We like to think that these details make a big difference for lay listeners -- and here I include journalists and critics -- but the reality is that they often don't.
Not having heard the performance, what I suspect happened is this. Kaplan did a mediocre job conducting. It was the sort of performance that an insider -- say, a professional conductor with experience conducting major orchestras -- would've recognized as mediocre. At the same time, the NYPhil is staffed with great musicians, and they made a good sound. Having played the piece a million times before, they compensated, to some extent, for Kaplan's inadequacies. But also, the subtleties that distinguish a great conductor conducting the NYPhil from a mediocre conductor conducting the NYPhil, are simply not very apparent to the lay listener. Most of them, including you, enjoyed what they heard.
As I see it, what's really going on here is that the internet has allowed professionals (like the trombonists in orchestra) to speak directly to the public. This has caused some friction with journalists, who used to play a vital role mediating between specialists and laypersons. You see the same thing happening in science journalism and in economics journalism -- read Mark Liberman at "Language Log" or some of Tanta's old posts at "Calculated Risk" for more. Across a wide range of fields we're seeing journalists struggling to keep up with the specialists and their blogs.
Posted by: Bettina | December 21, 2008 at 03:48 PM
It is not unusual for performing artists to be unaware of how their performance is being received. One might think that one is playing quite poorly only to be greeted with considerable approbation, which is almost as disconcerting as the opposite.
In the case in question, it is quite possible that the mediocrity of the conducting forced the orchestra to be especially on the mark and that the antipathy they felt to the conductor manifested as emotional comittment. And volume.
Posted by: Martin | December 23, 2008 at 06:49 PM