Continuing to catch up on recent issues of American Music, I read with great interest Carol A. Hess's article "'If That Be Treason, Let Them Make the Most of It!': Olin Downes, the Spanish Civil War, and Civil Liberties," in the Summer 2022 issue. Downes, the chief critic of the New York Times from 1924 until his death in 1955, is not generally seen as one of the titans of the profession: he lacked the stiletto-sharp style of Virgil Thomson, his chief rival, and his judgments on contemporary composers bordered on the philistine. In my book The Rest Is Noise I had a certain amount of fun at his expense, noting how his worshipful attitude toward Sibelius may actually have facilitated that composer's creative block, particularly when Downes was badgering the composer to finish his Eighth Symphony. In one letter, Downes sent along urgings from his mother, who said that Sibelius must move on from the Eighth to write a Ninth equaling Beethoven's.
There is, however, much to be said in Downes's favor. At a time of rising snobbery, elitism, and high-mindedness in classical-music discourse, he was an unabashed populist, speaking for the "common man." He was a vigorous opponent of the "No Applause Rule," arguing that audiences should applaud whenever they felt like it. And — this is the core of Hess's research — he was a formidable voice on the American left, organizing fundraisers and speaking at meetings. As the Cold War stoked repressive measures against leftist artists, Downes spoke up in the pages of the Times. In 1947, he protested the deportation of Hanns Eisler, and the following year, in an essay titled "Composing by Fiat," he gave a prickly response to reports of Zhdanov-era persecution of composers in the Soviet Union, observing that political oppression was also taking place on American soil, notably in Hollywood. He wrote: "Great nations, including our own, do lip-service to democracy while clearly showing that they do not believe in democracy at all, but only in power politics and force." Hess has uncovered correspondence and memos revealing tensions between Downes and Times publisher Arthur Hays Sulzberger, who, to his credit, ultimately supported his critic's independence. Hess concludes:
In often timid times, Downes took risks. As a result he suffered financial loss, endured the hassle of mindless paperwork and interrogation, and was the object of both hyperbole and downright falsehood. With his fundraising (which often yielded large sums of money) and his stature as an orator, Downes effectively lived a double life, balancing his career in music with activism. He walked a similar tightrope in explaining himself to Sulzberger, whom he seems ultimately to have respected, whatever their differences of principle, rhetoric, and tone.
To compare Downes and Thomson is an interesting exercise. The latter cannily shifted with the political tides, switching from New Deal-ish writings in the thirties to a sterner, anti-populist line after 1945. He spoke unswervingly for an élite musical community and mocked crowd-pleasing musicians such as Toscanini, Heifetz, and Horowitz. Downes, it might be said, was a lesser critic but a better musical citizen.
Image from the Oregon Historical Society.
