Something went screwy in the 20th century. That’s a silly statement: a lot went screwy. Holocausts, nuclear armageddon, terrorism, world wars. Perhaps I should narrow my topic.
So let’s try that again. Something went screwy with musical careers in the 20th century. There: that’s better. After a millennium or so of reasonably predictable career paths and options, it all went weird for a while, almost as if viewed through a funhouse mirror or described by one’s dinner companion after a half-dozen scotch-and-sodas. Here’s what happened, or at least what we were all told was happening: a talented young player went to study with a great teacher at a great conservatory, after which talented young player won a major competition or two, for which talented young player was given a limited recording contract with a mainstream label, together with an equally limited tour, including a few carefully-selected spots with major orchestras. The heavens smiled, audiences applauded, critics gushed, and everything was peachy from then on as talented young player morphed into the Next Big Thing then into Established Headliner and finally sailed into the sunset as Grand Old Master.
Except that it almost never happened, and when it did—at least up to the competition part and the recordings/tour—like as not it didn’t last, or turned out to be a living nightmare for talented young player. Quick blooming flowers, most of them, fading just as quickly and like as not forgotten by all save a few afficionados and record collectors. That oh-so-desirable brass ring, the gold at the end of the rainbow, the silver lining on the cloud, was mostly a fake or, at the very least, a fantasy.
And yet the public and the conservatories bought into the idea. It was good business. Kids came streaming in, all of them with their Chopin etudes and Prokofiev concertos and Paganini caprices and concertos by Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninoff and Brahms. The studios were sovereign and the big-name teachers were heads of state. The kids came out, the kids entered the competitions. Some won. Most didn’t. The ones who won mostly didn’t last. The brass ring remained stubbornly pewter. Despite the overwhelming evidence—that a big-name soloist popped up maybe once in five years, if that—people still kept buying into the notion that the high-end solo career meant success in music, with all else viewed as consolation prize. What lousy odds: one winner and ten thousand losers. But in fact it doesn’t work that way, and it never has worked that way. That occasional big-name soloist is an anomaly, not the only success amidst countless failures.
The reality of the musical profession is that the kapellmeisters occupy the leading edge, not the show-horse soloists, and the kapellmeisters always have been the bedrock of the profession. Nowadays we don’t necessarily work for the Duke of Anhalt-Spitzbergen-im-Rhine or the Cathedral of Notre Pique-Dame, but we remain kapellmeisters: players, teachers, managers, writers, readers, researchers, organizers, creators, re-creators, talkers. We make the music. Some of us play in orchestras or other ensembles; some occupy a seat in a university or a conservatory; others sing in choruses and opera companies; others found new-music or early-music ensembles; others found ensembles or companies or make recordings or create new tech or help others do the same. There are as many ways to be a kapellmeister as there are kapellmeisters, and there are a lot of us hanging around. It’s a full-bodied musical career, it’s satisfying, it can result in a reasonable income, but most importantly, it’s achievable without winning-the-lottery luck or once-in-a-generation genius. It’s a real career for real people. And that’s the career we should be training our students to follow.
Today a young musician needs to be a good businessperson, manager, organizer, teacher, thinker, writer, reader, and just about anything else you can imagine save, let us hope, master criminal. The narrowly focused training of the past might remain an option for those very few who absolutely must live the fantasy—and there are indeed a few opportunities on the big-time concert circuit. For most, however, a broader and more comprehensive training is not only desirable, but mandatory. We must put an end to the parade of overtrained half-wits, and get back to creating real, rounded, civilized musicians.
Nor should we indulge adolescent fantasies along the lines of but I came here to play the violin. Actually, you came here to receive a college degree and, along with it, an education. If all you want to do is play the violin, then go play the violin. Don’t go to a conservatory. We aren’t about playing the violin, at least not about only playing the violin. In fact, the broader the better, the more comprehensive the better, the more complete and well-rounded the better. We can train you for a career in music, but only if you understand clearly what you’re getting into and stop chasing after butterflies. It’s an overcrowded and challenging profession, and you need every advantage you can get, including playing the violin really, really well. It’s our obligation as your teachers to make sure that we give you every advantage we can. That includes reeling, writhing, and fainting in coils as necessary. Take it all in and be grateful for it, because you never know what is going to turn out to be useful.
Actually, I take that last sentence back. You do know what is going to turn out to be useful. All of it, that’s what. A real career in music is a real life, not a shadow-play or a kid’s fantasy about being the concert-hall equivalent of a movie star. The real thing is a lot better, but a lot messier. And it requires a lot more than just being a good player.