Our Gottschalk

Terry Teachout

Who was the first important American classical composer? It depends on how you define “first,” “important,” and “classical.” Aaron Copland, born in 1900, was the first composer to produce a large body of recognizably American-sounding concert music that continues to be performed regularly—unless you count as a classical composer George Gershwin, born in 1898, whose Rhapsody in Blue was the first piece by an American to enter the standard repertoire.

Charles Ives, born in 1874, and Charles Griffes, born in 1884, can both claim chronological precedence over Copland and Gershwin, but the proto-modern music Ives wrote prior to World War I has never been popular except among critics and a handful of performers, while Griffes, easily the most gifted American composer of his generation, died too young to establish himself as a major figure in American music. None of his works, not even the remarkable Piano Sonata of 1918, is heard with any frequency today.

As for the American composers whose European-style concert music was briefly in vogue around the turn of the 20th century, they were devoid of originality, and none of them, not even the once-popular Edward MacDowell, born in 1861, wrote a single piece that has stayed in the repertoire. A far stronger case can be made for John Philip Sousa, born in 1854, whose marches are miniature masterpieces with an unmistakably American flavor that have at least as strong a claim to being called “classical music” as do the waltzes of Johann Strauss or the operettas of Arthur Sullivan.1

If, however, a concertgoer of the mid-19th century had been asked to name an American classical composer, his answer would almost certainly have been Louis Moreau Gottschalk. Born in New Orleans in 1829, Gottschalk was the first American concert pianist of note and a prolific composer whose works were the first by an American to be widely played on both sides of the Atlantic. Though their popularity declined sharply after his death, Gottschalk’s music has since been the object of numerous “revivals.” Yet no internationally known concert pianist of the postwar era has played his pieces save as a novelty, and they are no more familiar today than in 1961, when Harold C. Schonberg, then the classical-music critic of the New York Times, wrote the first article to be published in the 20th-century mainstream press that treated Gottschalk not as a period piece but as a figure of significance.

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The near-complete failure of Gottschalk’s music to be taken up by American pianists is all the more inexplicable in light of the fact that so much of it incorporates elements of the folk and popular music of the Americas. In such tangy miniatures for solo piano as “Bamboula” (1848), “The Banjo” (1855), and “Souvenir de Porto Rico” (1858), he used Latin American and Afro-American melodies and rhythms in an idiomatic way that preceded by a half-century their similar use in ragtime and early jazz. Every American composer who blends classical and popular music is following in his footsteps—though few have heard the works in which he foresaw their attempts.

As well as a pianist and composer, Gottschalk was a superb writer of prose. During his lifetime he published in magazines like the Atlantic Monthly, and after his death in 1869 the notebooks on which he based his articles were edited by his sister and brought out in book form as Notes of a Pianist (1881). Known mostly to specialists in American music, Notes of a Pianist is a work of the highest importance, the first book of permanent interest by an American artist who was not a full-time author and a matchlessly vivid document of American musical life during the Civil War. Reissued in 1964 in a revised and annotated edition, it soon went out of print and remained unavailable until this past spring, when Princeton University Press republished it in tribute to the victims of Hurricane Katrina.2

Most of Notes of a Pianist is devoted to the years 1862 to 1865, during which Gottschalk barnstormed around the U.S. by train, giving one or two concerts a day in cities and towns from coast to coast. In many cases he appeared before audiences that knew nothing about classical music, recording in his notebook the reactions of his listeners (“The other evening before the concert, an honest farmer, pointing to my piano, asked me what that ‘big accordion was’”). He described his nonstop travels with a mixture of amusement and exasperation:

Eighteen hours a day on the railroad! Arrive at seven o’clock in the evening, eat with all speed, appear at eight o’clock before the public. The last note finished, rush quickly for my luggage, and en route until next day, always to the same thing! I have become stupid with it. I have the appearance of an automaton under the influence of a voltaic pile.

Unfortunately, Gottschalk had little to say about his own music in Notes of a Pianist. To learn more about it, one must turn to Bamboula! The Life and Times of Louis Moreau Gottschalk, S. Frederick Starr’s splendidly written, comprehensively informed 1995 biography.3 This book, one of the half-dozen best biographies of an American composer, fills in the gaps left by Notes of a Pianist, and in so doing answers the fascinating question of how an elegant, cultivated Creole who studied in Paris and befriended Berlioz should have ended up playing for Abraham Lincoln, crisscrossing the Western Hemisphere, and producing what would ultimately be recognized as the most original classical music to be composed in 19th-century America.

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Gottshalk’s improbable story begins with his tangled ethnic heritage. His father Edward, a merchant and slave trader who kept a black mistress, was a secular, London-born German Jew, while his mother Aimée was a Francophone Creole whose shabby-genteel Catholic parents had moved to New Orleans from Haiti, then a French colony.4 The eldest of eight children (not counting five half-siblings born to his father’s mistress) and the only one with musical talent, he began to study piano at the age of five. At that time, classical music was more popular in New Orleans than in any other American city, and the young Gottschalk grew up hearing a rich mixture of French and Italian opera, Creole folk song, and minstrel-show music, all of which would find their way into his later compositions.

In 1841, Gottschalk’s father sent him to Paris for further musical training, and four years later he made his recital debut there, playing Chopin’s E Minor Concerto and an operatic fantasy by Liszt. Though the concert, at which Chopin was present, was a success, Gottschalk did not appear in Paris again until 1849. Instead, he spent the next two years studying composition intensively, and when he returned to the concert stage it was as a virtuoso composer-performer in the manner of Chopin and Liszt.

Hector Berlioz, who in addition to being a great composer was a music critic of the utmost discernment, wrote a review of an 1851 recital by Gottschalk that leaves no doubt of its quality:

He phrases soft melodies with perfect grace and has mastered the keyboard’s delicate traits. With regard to deftness, spirit, surprise, brio, and originality, his playing dazzles and shocks. . . . In the presence of a musically civilized public Mr. Gottschalk’s success is immense.

The works that had the biggest impact on Gottschalk’s first audiences were “Bamboula” (named after an Afro-Caribbean drum), “Le Bananier,” and “La Savane,” respectively subtitled “Danse des Nègres,” “Chanson Nègre,” and “Ballade Créole.” These pieces, whose thematic material was adapted from Caribbean folk songs he had learned in childhood from his black nurse and Creole grandmother, appear to have been inspired by Chopin’s mazurkas and polonaises, themselves based on Polish folk-dance forms.

No American composer had ever made use of such material, and Gottschalk’s treatment of it was arrestingly original. From the drum-like repeated bass notes that open “Bamboula” to the dark, languid chromaticism of “La Savane” (whose main theme American listeners will recognize as a minor-key prototype for “Skip to My Lou”), these pieces speak in a wholly personal voice that took Europeans by surprise, and to which they responded with delight.

Though Gottschalk’s immaculate pianism was universally appreciated, it was the novelty of hearing such exotic music played by an American that made “Gottschalk of Louisiana” (as he was billed) a full-fledged celebrity. As a Paris journalist wrote, “We have discovered this Creole composer; an American composer, bon Dieu!”

More at: http://www.commentarymagazine.com/article.asp?aid=12202063_1

i always liked ives work. though it is seldom heard.

very interesting and original.

tom w

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