Some thoughts on cancellation, boycotts, and the like
Editor’s Note: The below is an expanded version of an essay published in the May 16, 2022, issue of National Review.
Long ago, I made a rule: I had to separate art from politics. Otherwise I would be driven nuts. There will always be people whose politics you object to. If you rule out listening to them, or reading them, or watching them, or what have you — you may find that it never ends. Your blacklist goes on and on.
But you will want to draw lines now and then, of course. In all likelihood, you would not want to sit down and listen to Jack the Ripper play a sonata — especially if Jack has ripped, say, your favorite aunt. But I was talking about politics, not murder, right? Right. But sometimes the two blend.
The question of art and politics has been on many minds lately, owing to Russia’s assault on Ukraine and controversies surrounding Russian artists. Especially those who are strong and public backers of Vladimir Putin. For example, Valery Gergiev was fired as chief conductor of the Munich Philharmonic. Is he a victim of “cancel culture”? I will get to him and other Russian performers shortly.
When I was a youth, I picked up the second volume of Arthur Rubinstein’s memoirs, newly published. They turned out to be a chronicle of the great pianist’s conquests — and not of a musical kind. Think of the catalogue kept by Leporello, Don Giovanni’s servant. I was a Sunday-school kid (still am). The memoirs were disillusioning, or enlightening. I learned a lesson: Artistic virtue and virtue virtue do not necessarily correspond.
Lest you think I was the only weird kid around, let me quote Emanuel Ax, the pianist, who also read the memoirs. “Until then, I had idolized Rubinstein,” he told Harvey Sachs, a Rubinstein biographer. But “the book changed all that.”
All right, what about the Nazis in music? What are you going to do about them? What are you going to do about Wagner, that forerunner of the Nazis, certainly in his cultural beliefs? The “Wagner question” is an old one, about which many volumes have been written. I will not get into it here. But I will mention a few things.
Some years ago, I picked up a biography of Wagner. I had to put it down, however. I had to stop reading it, permanently. What Wagner had to say about Meyerbeer, the Jewish-German composer, who had helped Wagner a great deal, was so vile, so ugly — I could not continue in the book. I felt physically sickened.
Is Mime a Jewish caricature? (Mime is a character in The Ring.) Does he have stereotypically Jewish characteristics? I’m afraid so. Is the last scene of Die Meistersinger nauseating, with its paean to “holy German art”? It can be to me, especially in certain productions, replete with flags.
And yet and yet — what a work.
Some of the greatest conductors of Wagner over the years have been Jewish, starting with Hermann Levi, that son of a rabbi and fixture at Bayreuth, and moving on to Bruno Walter, Fritz Reiner, Georg Solti, Lorin Maazel, James Levine, et al. Does this matter? It is probably irrelevant, but it may be interesting, to some.
Wagner’s music, at its best — which it often is — is transcendent. Transcending even the human personality of its composer.
Let me tell you a funny story. About 15 years ago, a reader wrote me to say that he would no longer read me. Some views of mine had upset him. “I know I’ll miss some good pieces,” he said, “but then, Wagner wrote some good things too.” I doubt I have ever received a higher compliment (by implication or otherwise). My political columns and Die Meistersinger? Or Tristan und Isolde?
Elisabeth Schwarzkopf, the great soprano, made several films for Goebbels. What am I going to do about that? Schwarzkopf is sovereign, in hundreds of songs, and not a few opera roles. How about the conductors Karl Böhm and Herbert von Karajan, who had sketchy careers in the Third Reich? How about Alfred Cortot, that divine interpreter of Chopin, and stalwart of Vichy? Can we listen to their recordings, in this third decade of the 21st century, without . . . thinking of anything else?
Enough of Nazis, let’s talk Communists. Kabalevsky, for example, a founder of the Union of Soviet Composers. He received every decoration in the Soviet arsenal, including four Orders of Lenin. What lovely piano pieces for children he wrote. Equally highly decorated was Tikhon Khrennikov, another leader of the union, who participated in the persecution of Prokofiev, Shostakovich, and worthy others. In 2021, Yevgeny Kissin, the pianist, included Khrennikov on a recital program. This surprised me. “Kissin is a staunch anti-Communist,” I wrote. “He may also be an understanding sort — someone who understands the pressures that Soviet composers, like all Soviet citizens, were under. In any case, Khrennikov was a good composer.” So was Hanns Eisler. He wrote, among other things, the East German national anthem.
Claudio Abbado, the great conductor, voted for Communists throughout his life. He contended that there was no other way of opposing fascism. Which is b.s. There were plenty of non-Communist alternatives to fascism in Italy.
Pablo Neruda and Gabriel García Márquez were two writers touched by magic. They were also terrible Communists, slobberers over Fidel Castro, for instance.
Speaking of him: Carole King once sang her song “You’ve Got a Friend” to him — to his face. That does not change the quality of the song, whatever you think of the song. But if you know about the crimes of Castro — the murders, the torture, the pulverizing oppression — your stomach revolts.
Sean Penn, that excellent actor, was a friend and backer of Hugo Chávez, the Venezuelan strongman. I once saw Penn walking down a street in Denver. He was smoking and glowering. Unbelievably charismatic. A real movie star. Chávez, too, had charisma, bewitching millions with his populism.
These days, Penn is a vocal friend and backer of Ukraine and its cause — its fight to stay alive. Kevin Spacey is another excellent American actor who trooped down to Caracas to sit with Chávez. Later, he backed protests against Chávez’s chavista successor, Nicolás Maduro.
Mention of Spacey opens up a new category, unfortunately: the sex offender, or those credibly accused of such offenses. There are people who won’t watch Kevin Spacey in anything anymore. Or a movie directed by Roman Polanski. There are people for whom Michael Jackson is off-limits. I know a critic, a fellow music critic of mine, who could no longer stand to listen to recordings by one of his favorite conductors, Levine.
I understand my friend, the critic. I understand everyone who can’t bear the sight or sound of the artists I have mentioned.
Let me bring up one other case (obliquely). There is a musician, a great musician, who was formally accused of rape. The rape of a minor. The musician denied the charges, and they were dropped. I believe the charges, 100 percent. I once swore (to myself) that I would never again review the musician. But, during the pandemic, I fell off the wagon. I was reviewing livestreams, rather than in-person concerts, and I reviewed him, once. With critical dispassion, mixed with internal queasiness.
I don’t think I’ll review him again.
A pianist — a great or near-great pianist — once tried to get me banned from the Salzburg Festival. He was bugged by something I had written. He did not succeed in a banning. This episode does not affect my judgment of him as a musician in the slightest. I can say that with confidence. Another pianist — good — once called me a “fascist.” (Not to my face. It got back to me.) Again, I have a critical mode that nothing extraneous can enter. It’s like a tightly sealed room.
Denis Matsuev is a very good pianist, who rises to greatness in certain repertoire, on certain evenings. He is something like an official artist of the Kremlin. He was a torchbearer at the 2014 Winter Olympics, in Sochi. He played during the closing ceremony. The next month, he signed a letter, circulated by the ministry of culture, endorsing Putin’s vision of Ukraine.
Outside his concerts in New York, there has long been a clutch of protesters. My practice has been to give them a thumbs-up, then go inside and review the concert.
There has long been a clutch of protesters outside Gergiev concerts, too. Valery Gergiev is the foremost musician in Russia, probably. The nation’s maestro. He is a very close friend and ally of Putin. The anti-corruption organization of Alexei Navalny has just released a documentary on Gergiev, detailing his financial arrangements, in particular. Navalny is the Russian opposition leader, and also a political prisoner. His organization now works in exile, of course.
Gergiev is one of the most intelligent people I have ever been around. Back in 2007, I did a public interview of him, in Salzburg. He is a friend of a friend. Five years ago, I was invited to attend a lunch in New York, at which Gergiev was the guest of honor. The hosts were lovely. I tried to ask a couple of questions about music. But Gergiev wasn’t in the mood. He wanted to talk about Russia–U.S. relations, from a Putin point of view. I found the lunch hard to endure.
That night, there were the usual protesters outside Carnegie Hall. I gave them my usual thumbs-up and went in to review Gergiev’s concert.
In late December 2021, Putin began his military buildup along the Ukrainian border. That buildup grew and grew. Putin looked intent on launching a full-scale invasion of Ukraine. On February 9, Denis Matsuev played a recital in Carnegie Hall. (I never heard a better Rachmaninoff B-flat-minor sonata.)
The Vienna Philharmonic was scheduled to play in Carnegie Hall on February 25, 26, and 27. The orchestra was to be led by Gergiev. Matsuev — a Gergiev favorite — was to be the concerto soloist in one of the concerts. I wondered: If Putin indeed launched a full-scale assault on Ukraine, could I attend? I had never in my life stayed away from a concert for such a reason, that I could remember. But could I really sit there, listening to these Putin men, as their murderous, expansionist dictator did his thing?
Call me conscientious, call me ridiculous, but these were my thoughts and feelings. I have done a lot of reporting on Ukraine and Russia, both, over the years. Nausea welled within me.
In the end, I did not have to make a call: Putin attacked on February 24, and Gergiev and Matsuev were replaced by another conductor and pianist. So they were canceled, right? Yes. Cancel culture had struck, right? You could say. My mind, however, runs to a Billy Joel lyric: “But you can make decisions too.” Yes. Putin supporters and enthusiasts have made their decisions in life. Are not other people entitled to make decisions too? Orchestras, concertgoers — all of us?
On March 3, Daniil Trifonov, another Russian pianist, gave a recital in Carnegie Hall. Before Trifonov took the stage, the executive and artistic director of the hall, Sir Clive Gillinson, came out to give a brief speech. He said, in essence, this: There are Russian artists who are strong supporters of the Putin regime. There are many other Russian artists. Distinctions must be made. Russia has contributed gloriously to the high culture of the world.
Should such a speech have had to be made? Was it even insulting, to say things so obvious and basic? Maybe. But, in light of the circumstances, it seemed appropriate.
In his remarks, Sir Clive also noted that many, many Russian, or Russian-born, artists live outside the country. I can think of six outstanding pianists, just off the top of my head: Trifonov, Kissin, Grigory Sokolov, Aracadi Volodos, Yefim Bronfman, and Igor Levit. One could keep going, without even changing instruments.
It smells of Soviet times, more and more. One is even tempted to use the word “defection.” The ballerina Olga Smirnova was outside the country when Putin attacked on February 24. “I never thought I would be ashamed of Russia,” she said, “but now I feel that a line has been drawn that separates the before and the after.” She left the Bolshoi for the Dutch National Ballet. As Alex Marshall reported in the New York Times, Smirnova did not tell her mother she had moved to Amsterdam until she could no longer avoid it. “For her, the Bolshoi Theater is the pinnacle,” the ballerina explained. “She couldn’t understand why I would change.”
Some Western responses to the Russian invasion have been absurd. A university in Milan earned 15 minutes of infamy when they postponed a course on Dostoevsky. After widespread ridicule, the university let the class proceed. During World War I, many Americans referred to sauerkraut as “liberty cabbage,” or “victory cabbage.” When the French government opposed the Iraq War, some Americans ate “freedom fries” instead of “French fries.”
I was touched by Alexander Malofeev, a Russian pianist, 20 years old (and brilliant). He had some appearances in Canada canceled. He said that, if he criticized the war, his family in Russia could come to harm. (That tells you something about Putin’s government, doesn’t it?) But he also said, on Facebook, “The truth is that every Russian will feel guilty for decades because of the terrible and bloody decision that none of us could influence or predict.”
He further said, “I do understand that my problems are very insignificant compared to those of people in Ukraine, including my relatives who live there.” What a mensch, that young man.
Here at the end of my piece, I should lay down a rule: When should you boycott a concert, let’s say, or an artist in general? When does a political stand, or a moral stand, take precedence over art? I can’t tell you precisely. As I have quoted Billy Joel, I will quote another singer-songwriter, Lyle Lovett: “It may be no big deal to you, but it’s a very big deal to me.” Everyone has his priorities, his conscience.
I think you have to go case by case. Day by day. I could discuss a thousand cases (Russians, Chinese, Venezuelans, Americans . . . ). Some of these cases are black and white, some of them are gray. We’re talking about a big, multilayered, complicated issue. Once, A. M. Rosenthal was asked how he edited the New York Times. “With my stomach,” he said. I sympathize with this, completely. I don’t know what else to say.