George Hunka - Notes and comment

Strike up the band

When I was a wee lad in short trousers, my father regularly took my brother and me to the Sunday afternoon Philadelphia Orchestra matinees at the Academy of Music. At that time, I caught the tail end of Eugene Ormandy’s directorship of the orchestra and the very beginning of Riccardo Muti’s. This was in the 1970s and early 1980s, and these concerts, along with the now defunct WFLN-FM radio station, instilled me with an ongoing love of what philistines like myself call “classical music.” Although I recently made a pilgrimage to the Kimmel Center in Philadelphia to experience the 21st-century Philadelphia Orchestra (under Riccardo Muti again — I guess old habits die hard), it’s the Ormandy era I feel the most affection for, and any recording performed by the PhilOrch under Ormandy that comes up on my streaming channels still catches my attention — off I am down memory lane. What I most admired about Ormandy, and still do, was his supreme devotion to the music rather than any podium antics, and he was surprisingly attuned to the work of contemporary composers as well. The Ormandy strings, of course, were the main contributor to the orchestra’s reputation for the performance of works of the Romantic era as well as the Russians, but any exposure to its performances of works like the Saint-Saëns Organ Symphony, especially with E. Power Biggs at the keyboard, reveals just what a powerhouse the orchestra as a whole was at its height. A crowdpleaser, sure, even a barnburner, but it was one of my father’s favorite recordings, and it pleases me too:

My friend Bruce Hodges, who kindly invited me to that Kimmel Center performance of the Verdi Requiem a few months ago, has just reviewed the new 94-CD box set from Sony, Eugene Ormandy: The Columbia Stereo Collection 1964-1983, for WRTI in Philadelphia — of which I am a proud supporter, and you should be too — and I recommend his review as a sensitive and long-overdue appreciation of Ormandy and the Philadelphia Orchestra with which I fully concur. In my readings of classical music criticism, I often find that Ormandy is described as an excellent conductor, no doubt, but especially that he was “dependable” — not a firebrand like Bernstein — and the Philadelphia Orchestra, however excellent an ensemble, similarly “dependable” as well, especially those strings.

Saith Mr. Hodges:

[The] sumptuous, staggering new box of recordings … makes a compelling case for an outsized proclamation found elsewhere, declaring the Philadelphians as “America’s Finest Orchestra.” While the debate over that phrase could cause months of conversation over coffee or a nice bourbon, this latest compendium confirms that, during those 19 years, he and the musicians produced many of the classical music world’s most cherished documents. …

The remainder of the set contains myriad treasures, which demonstrate the Orchestra’s sleekness, versatility and fire. And while competition for some of the standard repertoire is fierce — I’m looking at you, nine Beethoven symphonies, as well as his well-traveled instrumental concertos and those by Mozart and Tchaikovsky — other discs show an exploratory instinct at a time when composers like Kodály, Nielsen, Ives, and others weren’t as well known in the United States. In the current age, when Mahler recordings are everywhere, people may forget that Ormandy steered the initial release of Mahler’s Tenth Symphony, in its completion by Deryck Cooke. Since that time, other ensembles and scholars have weighed in, but Ormandy was there first. …

But as this overwhelming collection shows, in conjunction with previous compilations, Ormandy’s era was complex — and “dependable” turns out to have its pluses. During these decades, he and his hardworking crew often released multiple recordings in a given year. Anytime that artists adopt a workaday pattern, some results will land on ears as routine or middle-of-the-road. That’s the byproduct of a conductor who placed a priority on showing up. Ormandy knew he had a team of tireless, world-class musicians — an American powerhouse — and was eager to share them with the world. With this kaleidoscopic showcase, it is clear that he succeeded.

For me, the Philadelphia Orchestra under Ormandy’s baton (as well as that of others) is one of the great American orchestras of all time, as the Vienna Philharmonic, when under Georg Solti’s baton (as well that of others), is one of the great European orchestras of all time. Both were born in Hungary; there must have been something in that Budapest water. Mr. Hodges checks off a lot of other boxes and digs deeper into Ormandy’s repertory of the period than few people could ever hope to. His review is here.

There are two very good books about the orchestra as well. Herbert Kupferberg’s Those Fabulous Philadelphians: The Life and Times of a Great Orchestra was published in 1969 by Charles Scribner’s Sons, and as readable as that is, it’s been superceded by The Philadelphia Orchestra: A Century of Music from Temple University Press in 1999, which boasts many excellent photographs.

A personal note

On June 1, I was formally confirmed as a member of the Episcopal Church, the US branch of the Anglican Communion, at Grace Church, New York, Bishop Mary Glasspool officiating. This was not the result of any road-to-Damascus moment — the skies did not open and I did not drop to my knees (a good thing, given the condition of my knees at my age) — but a decision that I’ve been circling around for quite some time. In large part it was the result of reading and considering the Christian gospels for years, and that can have this kind of effect on some people. That effect was not unlike that experienced by E.V. Rieu, who translated the Gospels for the Penguin Classics series some years back (and I do wish they’d reprint that translation). In 1953 he spoke on the BBC with J.B. Phillips, who had just completed a translation of Paul’s letters himself:

Phillips: Did you get the effect (I think I mentioned it in the Preface to Letters to Young Churches) that the whole material is extraordinarily alive? I think I used there the illustration that it was like trying to rewire an ancient house without being able to switch off the mains, which was quite a vivid and modern metaphor, I hope. I got that feeling, the whole thing was alive, even while I was translating. Even though one did a dozen versions of a particular passage, it was still living. Did you get that feeling?

Rieu: I won’t say I got a deeper feeling …

Phillips: Yes?

Rieu: … But I got the deepest that I possibly could have expected.

Phillips: Yes?

Rieu: It — changed me. My work changed me. And I came to the conclusion, as I said, I think, in my Introduction, that these works bear the seal of the Son of Man and God. And they are the Magna Carta of the human spirit.

If I wanted to be glib, I could say that any church willing to include Jonathan Swift and T.S. Eliot as members is good enough for me. To be less glib, I subscribe to the Apostles’ and Nicene Creeds, and find in the church itself the profoundly radical inclusion that I recognize in these creeds and the Gospels. And this spirit holds in the art, literature, and music that I find most profound, and in which I find comfort and the most important intellectual, emotional, and psychic challenges and significance.

I am especially moved to do so by what I see in the world in which we are now living: there is, too, a political element in my decision, since our culture also includes our politics, and if I am to be honest with myself my spiritual life determines how I live in this culture. The Episcopal Church, as part of that radical inclusion I mention above, is a haven for the rights and dignity of immigrants, LGBTQ+ people, the underprivileged, individuals of every race, creed, and color, and the victims of war and conflict, among so many others. According to the Book of Common Prayer, confirmation is a sacramental rite in which the candidates “express a mature commitment to Christ, and receive strength from the Holy Spirit through prayer and the laying on of hands by a bishop.” And to me it is important that it is a public commitment. It is a statement of where I stand.

I should express my gratitude to everyone who, knowingly or not, contributed to my decision and confirmation. In terms of art and music, I have to offer thanks to radio klassik Stephansdom, which provided the soundtrack for the thoughts that led me to the decision (a tip of my hat especially to Ursula Magnes and her “Bach & Co.” program, in which she introduced me to the Lukas-Passion by Heinrich Schütz and Buxtehude’s Membra Jesu nostri back in March, which made a difference; “Musica Sacra,” which follows “Bach & Co.,” is terrific too); in terms of literature, Swift’s A Tale of a Tub and Eliot’s Four Quartets; Reverend Don Waring and everyone at Grace Church, especially Associate Rector Reverend Julia Macy Offinger, who cheerfully saw me and the rest of the fine folks in our confirmation class through the process; and my family, who watched as their friend, dad, and husband took the hands.

Last years

Egon Schiele, *Sitzende Frau mit hochgezogenem Knie*, 1917. © Národní Galerie, Prag. Photo: National Gallery Prague 2024.

Opening tomorrow, March 28, at Vienna’s Leopold Museum, Egon Schiele: Last Years provides a comprehensive overview of Schiele’s work from 1914-1918 — the First World War — following the radically aggressive and discordant work of his earlier career. I’ve always been rather more fond of this late work; one of my favorite Schiele drawings, “Sitzende Frau mit hochgezogenem Knie,” dates from 1917. Unlike the early work, Schiele’s later art consists of rather less sensational landscapes and portraits, but to me they seem to exhibit a more compassionate perspective without sacrificing the sensuality of that early work: the erotics of the body shade into an erotics of the spirit.

The exhibition, per the Leopold Museum’s web site,

weaves together biographical and artistic elements, focusing on the ruptures and transformations in Egon Schiele’s “late works” from 1914 to 1918, a period that has received comparatively little attention until now. During this time, Schiele gradually abandoned the radical formal experiments of 1910 to 1914 and developed a more realistic style characterized by deeper empathy. His linework became calmer, more fluid, and organic, and the figures he depicted gained greater physical fullness. The exhibition also offers new insights into this pivotal period by incorporating contemporary archival materials, such as the previously unpublished diary of Edith Schiele.

The exhibition runs through July 13. There is a digital exhibition here, and the catalogue is available here. A short teaser trailer is below.

My five minutes and 25 seconds of fame

A special birthday gift this past weekend was a shout-out from radio klassik Stephansdom, and needless to say I was flattered and honored. They were also kind enough to accommodate my request for Scott Joplin’s “Reflection Rag” from my wife’s Syncopated Musings CD of a few years back. A tip of my hat, then, to Ursula Magnes, Christoph Wellner, and the rest of the gang at rkS. You can hear both their kind words and the music below.

The idea of community

From Stefan Zweig’s The World of Yesterday (1942), translated by Anthea Bell:

In fact, it must be said in all honesty that a good part, if not the greater part, of all that is admired today in Europe and America as the expression of a newly revived Austrian culture in music, literature, the theatre, the art trade, was the work of the Jews of Vienna, whose intellectual drive, dating back for thousands of years, brought them to a peak of achievement. Here intellectual energy that had lost its sense of direction through the centuries found a tradition that was already a little weary, nurtured it, revived and refined it, and with tireless activity injected new strength into it. Only the following decades would show what a crime it was when an attempt was made to force Vienna — a place combing the most heterogeneous elements in its atmosphere and culture, reaching out intellectually beyond national borders — into the new mould of a nationalist and thus a provincial city. For the genius of Vienna, a specifically musical genius, had always been that it harmonised all national and linguistic opposites in itself, its culture was a synthesis of all Western cultures. Anyone who lived and worked there felt free of narrow-minded prejudice. Nowhere was it easier to be a European, and I know that in part I have to thank Vienna, a city that was already defending universal and Roman values in the days of Marcus Aurelius, for the fact that I learnt early to love the idea of community as the highest ideal of my heart. (44-45)