-
Epilogue
- University of Illinois Press
- Chapter
- Additional Information
epilogue A month after Szell’s death, Irving Kolodin, who had reviewed Szell concerts over the years and had written the script for the 1966 Bell telephone Hour featuring Szell and the Cleveland orchestra, prophesied Szell’s future place in the pantheon of musicians: “the size of his figure,” Kolodin wrote, “will grow as time recedes and the magnitude of his accomplishment emerges in ever greater grandeur against its background.”1 Szell’s achievement with the Cleveland orchestra will associate him with that ensemble for all time. Shortly after Szell died, a concert review by frank Hruby bore a telling headline: “Szell’s Spirit Hovers over Concert.”2 to this day, Szell’s influence has persisted even as the number of musicians who played under him diminishes; eventually there will be none left. But the fierce pride and ethic of excellence that Szell instilled was passed on from the generation of orchestra musicians who played under him to the next generation, who did not. And that next generation is passing on Szell’s powerful tradition to the generation that follows. Donald rosenberg noted in 1994 that “many observers believe the ghost of Szell . . . still haunts Severance Hall,” and argued that after ten seasons of lorin Maazel and ten of Christoph von Dohnanyi, it was time “to bid the ghost of Szell goodbye.”3 rosenberg opined that the orchestra was superior to that of Szell’s day, and that one should no longer dwell on the past. But Szell’s stewardship that raised the orchestra to the ranks of world class is a unique legacy that many believe remains unmatched. Whether Szell’s ghost still haunts Severance Hall, his memory and influence is instilled in musicians and in music lovers around the world—in the many cities where he conducted, wherever broadcasts of his concerts are still heard, where his recordings excite and inform new generations of listeners. Someone once asked Szell what major lessons musicians, especially young musicians, can learn from 290 . epilogue toscanini. His answer was as much a personal credo as a summing up of toscanini’s example: “Self discipline, highest degree of competence, relentless dissatisfaction with everything including oneself . . . based . . . on a sufficient amount of talent.”4 Szell led by force of his authority and experience, but most of all, by example. Knowing full well his enormous talent and depth of knowledge, he remained humble in the face of great music and respectful of the composers who wrote it. A year before he died, the seventy-two-year-old conductor, reflecting on his life, summed up this key to his greatness: “I started as a pianist, actually I was a prodigy pianist, and also started composing at seven and went on until my occupation with other composers’ music became so intensive that there was no concentration left for my own music. I was a pretty finished musician at the age of twelve. I kept on learning and I keep on learning and I hope to keep on learning until my last days.”5 Szell learned and he taught—and his example will continue to teach us far beyond his last days. All the Cleveland orchestra’s technical proficiency alone would not have set it apart from any other top-notch orchestra. Any one of their many virtues—the impeccable precision of ensemble and intonation, the finely calculated balances, the gradation of dynamics, the power—was matched at various times by one or another of their peer orchestras: the Chicago under reiner or the Berlin with Karajan, for example. What made the Szell-Cleveland collaboration special and unique was the combination of all those virtues, plus Szell’s stylistic insight and depth of musical understanding, which he infused into the orchestra. the orchestra’s deep involvement in the music and caring about the standards that Szell set created a climate of dedication and hard work in which all gave their best to achieve the best. If some grumbled over Szell’s tediously detailed rehearsals of thrice-familiar works—and they did—the results were cause for individual and collective pride. At times, some players left Cleveland for higher and better-paying positions in other orchestras, but many who could have left stayed for the rewards of music making there. It was a golden age, not found elsewhere or at another time, and those who were aware of that knew how fortunate they were to have been a part of it. ...