The Industry of Music-Making

A GROWING enterprise which annually involves the use of several million dollars and each year shows a deficit which seems to increase almost in like ratio to the amount of capital involved, would hardly appeal to the average American as a good business proposition; yet this is the situation which constantly faces those who cater to the musical demand of this country. Here is a business, the ramifications of which reach from New York as a principal centre into nearly all the cities, towns, and villages of the country. It carries on its pay-roll several thousand artists, instrumental and vocal, ranging from the “star,” who may receive in one afternoon or evening what most capable clerks would be glad to get for a year’s labor, down to the humble struggler on some lyceum circuit who is fighting for a meagre livelihood, buoyed up by the hope that some day recognition

and greater rewards may come. On this pay-roll, also, are some thousands of non-musicians, from managing directors down to janitors and ushers in concerthalls, the majority of whom gain their entire living from music. Real estate, and for the most part unproductive real estate, valued at several millions of dollars, is used in this business, for concert halls and the like. The total amount paid to newspapers throughout the country for advertising purposes will run easily into the hundreds of thousands, and the total paid to the railways for transportation is far greater than that. Printers, lithographers, and bill-posters come in for a not inconsiderable share of this expenditure, and the total amount paid the government for carriage of mail would support a very respectable post-office of the second class. Theoretically this total should be offset by the total sum accruing from the sale of tickets of admission. Practically, it is doubtful if the public pays for more than fifty per cent of the music it listens to. Nor is there any reason to believe that this state of affairs will soon be remedied; for experience has shown fairly conclusively that the greater the outlay, the greater will be the deficit.

Several years ago, shortly before the death of Anton Seidl, some women of New York felt that he should have an orchestra of his own and, incidentally, New York should have what it had never possessed, a permanent orchestra, organized solely for the purpose of giving concerts and commanding the entire time of its members. It was decided that the only way in which this could be done was by the establishment of an endowment fund of not less than one million dollars. These women went to a very rich man who was not only liberal but had given signs of a liking for music, who could, moreover, give the whole amount without feeling its loss. Listening to their arguments he seemed favorably inclined and asked them casually how long they thought it would be before the orchestra would become self-supporting. The answer was frankly given that in all probability the orchestra would never pay for itself; whereupon the millionaire closed the conference abruptly, saying that he could never support so unbusinesslike a project. If they could assure him that in ten, twenty, or even fifty years the orchestra could pay its expenses, he would give the money, but he did not feel justified in giving the public something in which it would not take sufficient interest to support it.

Fortunately for the cause of music, all men do not take that view, for if they did music would soon become, in this country at least, one of the lost and forgotten arts. On the contrary, the luring quality of music did not cease with the death of Orpheus. It may not now be able to charm the beasts of the forests, but it certainly has a powerful influence on the check-book. The music-lover — meaning, of course, the layman — is so curiously constituted that he not only wants to enjoy music himself but he wants others to enjoy it. He wants to force them to enjoy it, and to that end he will pay money out of his own pocket. That is the secret in a nutshell. Such elements as the spirit of speculation and local or civic pride may enter into the process of making up this huge annual deficit, but ultimately the subsidies which, direct and indirect, make possible a musical life in America will be traced to this curious characteristic. And this, incidentally, accounts for the many bored faces one sees wherever music is the entertainment.

The business of supplying music to the public may be divided roughly into three divisions, the opera, the orchestra (including chamber-music organizations), and the soloist. Of the opera little need be said. It is an exotic flower which flourishes only in New York, where special conditions rule not merely in opera but in all branches of music. A population of nearly four millions, a daily floating population now estimated at half a million, great wealth and the desire for pleasure which is its corollary, and last, but not least, the important function which opera plays in the social life of the city, — these are elements which exist nowhere else in the country. Moreover, opera presents music in its most attractive and most easily assimilated form. It gives it as handmaiden, theoretically at least, a plot or a story to be developed in the course of a performance; in other words, a tangible, human element; and it surrounds it with all the illusion the plastic arts can provide. But even in New York, it is only in the last ten years that opera has become profitable, and it remains even now to be seen from the interesting experiment being made at the new Manhattan Opera House, whether it can show a profit at the end of the season without the subvention given to the director of the Metropolitan Opera House by the stockholders of that corporation.

The most important factor in our musical life is the orchestra, and by the continual formation of new orchestras throughout the country it promises soon to be the dominating factor. And yet, there is hardly an orchestra in this whole country, from the great permanent organizations of Boston, Chicago, New York, and Philadelphia, down to the little semi-professional bands of small inland cities, which at the end of a season does not have to call for money to make up a deficit. These deficits run, in the case of large orchestras, from $15,000 and $20,000 to $70,000 and $80,000 a year, and very insignificant is the band which has not a guarantee fund of at least $5000 a year.

The deficits are made up in various ways. In one case, an individual who organized the orchestra has cheerfully made out his check for the needed amount at the end of each season. In another case, what amounts to an endowment fund was raised by public subscription, put into an office building which contains a concert-hall, and the net income from this building is expected to wipe out the annual deficit. In still another case, where the orchestra is a coöperative society, its members dividing as their pay whatever may be left at the end of a season, a fund has been raised which has secured for it an expensive conductor whose personality is expected to increase the size of the receipts. The general rule, however, is to secure a certain number of guarantors for a term of years, who bind themselves to be responsible for a certain maximum amount — and when the amount is exceeded, as it usually is, the guarantors go into their pockets a little deeper and make the best face possible.

The case of chamber music is relatively worse than that of orchestral, for while the supply is naturally small, the public which will pay to hear a string quartette is even smaller. Yet, quartettes flourish throughout the land. It is safe to say that not a single chamber music organization begins to take in at the box-office the money it costs. But here another factor enters into consideration. Chamber music has come to be regarded as having exceptional educational value, and as the cost of giving such a concert is comparatively small, very few concerts are given on the responsibility of the organizations themselves. Clubs, colleges, and the like pay them a certain set sum for a concert, which brings us back again, as in the case of orchestras, to the necessity of a subsidy. If even the most popular of these organizations were compelled to live on what it “brings in at the door ” after the actual expenses of the concert are paid, its members would be more prosperous digging ditches.

This brings us to the subject of soloists

— the individual virtuoso, the pianist, the violinist, the ’cellist, the whole army of instrumentalists which is touring the length and breadth of the country from October to April, and particularly the singer. Much delicacy should be used in revealing the sordid facts of dollars and cents, for when was there a virtuoso, instrumental or vocal, who had not enormous success, artistically and financially ? One has only to read the columns of journals published for the edification of artists and managers to learn that such a one never existed. Unquestionably many of them do make a living from their art, else they would not stick to it as they do. But how many of them have not to eke out the earnings in art by the drudgery of teaching; or worse, how many of them do not spend a good part of the money made in the drudgery of teaching in a vain effort to make a living from the art ? What of those who spend the money of others, lent to them or given, to this same futile end ? And what of the managers — not the agents who direct tours — but the local managers, the clubs and the like that stand responsible for the concerts ?

In the city of New York during a musical season of approximately five months, over four hundred concerts of all kinds and descriptions are given, and in this number only those are included for which the public is invited to buy tickets through newspaper advertisements. It does not include charity concerts or private or semi-private affairs, If we assume that fifteen per cent of these concerts take in enough money from the sale of tickets to pay the “local expenses ” socalled, — hall-rent, advertising, etc., — the estimate is a very generous one. Out of that fifteen per cent must be taken certain fixtures, orchestral and chamber music, choral concerts, and recitals by a few popular artists, all of which are assured of large receipts. This leaves very few for the rest.

To be sure, here again New York is blessed, or cursed, with exceptional conditions. A vast majority of those who give concerts in New York do not expect to make money. They set aside a certain sum to pay for the concert. The hall, large or small, is filled chiefly with deadheads, when it is filled, and the artist hopes to find his reward for all this expenditure in the criticisms which may be found in the newspapers the next day. Of late years in the theatrical business there has been a growing feeling that a “New York endorsement ” was not absolutely necessary to the success of a play. However that may be, it is an accepted general rule that no executant musician or singer may hope to get out of the ruck of mediocrity until New York has stamped him with its approval. The very few exceptions to this rule have long since proved its value. For this reason, New York gets much of its music gratis.

The case in the rest of the country is not so bad as it is in New York, but if profit and loss were ultimately the consideration of those who promote music in this country through concerts, the stonepile would have many recruits. Take first the case of pianists. With a very few exceptions the professional pianist to-day is nothing more than an itinerant advertising medium for the manufacturer whose piano he plays. In fact, if piano houses were not in deadly competition to get rid of their wares, the amount of music made in this country would easily be cut in half, for their largess penetrates into all the cracks and crannies of the business.

If the pianist be a foreigner, more or less distinguished, he makes a contract with a manufacturer to play his piano. In return the manufacturer guarantees him a certain number of concerts at a certain price per concert, or promises to pay him a lump sum for a maximum number of concerts. Naturally, when the artist leaves America in the spring, he is to leave behind him a letter setting forth the unrivaled merits of the instrument he has used. In such cases the manufacturer takes for himself all the receipts which may come from the tour. He counts on from ten to twenty engagements with the leading orchestras, from each of which he expects to get rather more money than he pays his pianist; but in order to place him with such orchestras for the necessary réclame, he wall sell him for less. He counts on selling him to a few clubs about the country, or on playing him with local managers on a percentage basis, although for highpriced artists there are not many such opportunities. For the rest, he will place his artist in a city, scatter free tickets in all directions, and thus get a house. When the season has come to an end, he will charge up the deficit to the advertising fund, for on the programme of every concert where his artist appears is the announcement that Herr So-and-so plays the Such-and-such piano. This fact also appears in most of the newspaper advertisements and on all the “paper,” meaning the posters which decorate blank walls and bill-boards.

If the manufacturer does not care to undertake the whole responsibility of a tour, or if the artist has faith in his own ability to attract the dollars of the public, the manufacturer will pay him a set sum per concert for playing his instrument, will supply the instruments, standing the cost of their transportation, which in a long tour is very heavy, and will usually contribute a certain sum for advertising. In the end he gets the same returns as under the other plan. Few pianists under this plan receive less than fifty dollars a concert, and it has been plausibly stated that one very popular pianist is to receive a gratuity of forty thousand dollars for playing a certain instrument in a tour of a hundred or more concerts.

This will go toward explaining the mystery which surrounds the existence of so many concert pianists, who play week after week to handfuls of people or to audiences which are obviously of the deadhead variety. It is a sad and solemn fact that of all the pianists who have played over this country since Rubinstein was here, the number that have actually made money, over and above what they cost their managers or backers, is probably less than a score. Indeed, it would be very difficult to name even ten whose tours showed at the end a balance on the right side of the ledger. Of these, a few, a very few, have made large sums. The rest have made what, if music were really conducted on a business basis, would be a modest livelihood.

The activity of piano manufacturers does not end with pianists, although naturally the greatest part of their energy and money is spent on them. They often subsidize tours of orchestras, of violinists, of ’cellists, of conducting-composers and composing-conductors, and few singers of prominence start on a concert tour without the comfortable knowledge that a snug sum is to come from the makers of the piano which is to be used in the concerts. Violinists especially are notoriously a “poor business proposition.” Very few of them, however picturesque in appearance, make money for those who back their tours, and an explanation of their personal prosperity is very often found in the “underline” on the programme of the concerts where they appear, to the effect that “The Piano is a Such-and-such,” even when no piano appears on the stage. And so it is with other instrumentalists.

What money is made in music in America is made by singers, although the amounts earned by them are usually grossly exaggerated. Still, the singer appeals to a much wider public than the instrumentalist, whether it be an operatic star or a humble worker in the ranks of those who daily make havoc with oratorios and songs. And speaking of oratorios brings us at once to the subject of choral societies and “music festivals.” They may be disposed of in a few words. Few music festivals, backed as they usually are by the full influence of civic pride, manage to make more than their expenses; and if choral societies do not enjoy a guarantee or subsidy, it may be inferred with reasonable safety that during the Christmas holidays they give one or more performances of the Messiah. Handel’s masterwork constitutes the chief source of income of an overwhelming majority of choral societies. The announcement of its performance is sufficient to fill the house — not because of its intrinsic musical worth, however great that may be, but because it has become by tradition, as no other oratorio, a vehicle of worship peculiarly appropriate at Christmas, thus attracting thousands all over the country who are never seen in a concert hall on any other occasion. The money made by the Messiah concerts goes far toward paying the deficits incurred by those which present some more modern work.

It is an interesting fact that of all branches of music, it is only among singers that the supply is unequal to the demand, that is to say, of course, the supply of good singers. This naturally accounts for its being for managers, general and local, the most profitable branch of the business, and it is the branch which is conducted most nearly in a really business-like manner. Concerts by singers are bought and sold with the idea that they will make money for all concerned, the singers, the impressario, and the local manager. The singer’s fee, in the case of a “star.”is regulated generally by what he or she “can bring into the house.” No prima donna (we limit ourselves to them, as men singers of very high price are rarely available for concert work) gets in a series of concerts an average fee of $1000, $1500, or $2000, unless it has been fairly well proved by experience that she will bring in that much and more at the boxoffice, which is a final test of a singer’s success. Very few get such sums, but such as do may be fairly reckoned as earning them.

With the next grade of singers, those who give song recitals, sing in oratorios at the larger festivals and the like, for fees ranging from $150 to $500, their price is largely the result of supply and demand. Few of them, of themselves, could bring to the box-office the amount of money that is paid for their services, but they are necessary, there are not very many of them, and their names combined with others make the prospectus of a concert attractive. As for the great army of obscurities, the “serviceable,” the “reliable,” and the “conscientious” singers who will accept any fee, they sing chiefly for the sake of advertisement, thus to increase the number of their pupils. Wonderfully enough, they very often succeed in their end.

Yet despite the fact that this branch of the musical business is generally profitable, how many impressarios have died rich? Maurice Grau retired from the Metropolitan Opera House after five years of exceptional prosperity, the possessor of a comfortable fortune. He is the first man in the history of music in this country to do so. Abbey, Strakosch, Maretzek, Mapleson, de Vivo, to say nothing of the scores of “little fellows,” left nothing to show for their years of labor. They made singers rich, but the inevitable deficit got them at last.

If one has a commodity, or even a luxury, to sell, and after it has been placed on the market at a large expenditure nothing but loss results, either the public does not want the article and it is a failure or there is something radically wrong with the business methods which have exploited it. Music would be in that case were it not for a factor which is peculiar to itself. It is a luxury for which the public will not pay the amount necessary to produce and market it. Yet one cannot say that the public does not want it, since it spends several million dollars each year for it. Nor can it be said that there is something radically wrong in the manner in which it is sold to the public. All things considered, the business is fairly well administered. While in isolated cases commercial methods are used in its exploitation which are decidedly open to criticism, the musical activity of this country may be generally attributed to an altruistic purpose on the part of a minority to teach the great majority to find pleasure and comfort in the divine art. And until this majority has learned its lesson and has begun to contribute its part to the support of music, this great deficit will continue, increasing as a wider public is reached for, because the only way in which this great majority can ever be reached is by keeping the supply larger than the actual demand, thus leaving empty seats in the concert halls for new converts.