[On May 5th,
1891, Carnegie Hall—first
known as Music Hall—opened in New York City. In the 125 years since, the
hall has become synonymous with classical music in America. So this week I’ll
AmericanStudy five iconic figures from that tradition, leading to a special
weekend tribute to some 21st century classical musicians and
composers!]
On what’s funny,
and what’s much more serious, about a famous failure.
Florence Foster Jenkins
(1868-1944), late 19th century Gilded Age socialite turned early 20th
century wannabe opera singer (with the only problem being her complete and total lack of
talent for that very demanding role), is already one of American history’s
most famous failures. She became well known enough in her own lifetime to perform at
Carnegie Hall in October 1944, just a month before her death; the concert
unfortunately received
scathing reviews, as it marked the first and only time Jenkins performed
before professional critics and they took full advantage of the opportunity. She
has been the subject of at least four plays and many other pop culture
responses in the decades since. And as of April 2016, she’s the subject of a newly
released feature
film (Florence Foster Jenkins)
starring none other than Meryl Streep as Florence, a project that promises to
make this tragicomic story into an even more famous example of failing upward
in American history and society.
There’s no doubt
that Jenkins’ story reveals, humorously but also frustratingly, the ways in
which privilege can create opportunity and even a form of success where they
seem largely (if not entirely) undeserved. Yet as with any American story and
life, hers also connect to other and more complex contexts, and illuminate
other aspects of our history and culture in the process. For one thing, I would
link her to the two Gilded Age women on whom I
focused in this post, Alva and Alice Vanderbilt. It’s undoubtedly hard for
most of us to feel a great deal of empathy for extremely wealthy women working
to find a purpose to their lives beyond (or at least alongside) the kinds of
social gatherings that the Vanderbilts and the Fosters hosted and frequented. But
at the same time, one of my favorite and most inspirational American figures, Isabella
Stewart Gardner, was precisely such a woman, and like Alva and Alice
Vanderbilt she leveraged her fortune and privilege to achieve a great deal of
communal good. If Jenkins did not quite manage the same, that doesn’t mean that
her own attempts to find an individual place and purpose, separate from and
perhaps more genuine than the sphere of her wealthy family, aren’t likewise
worth our thoughtful attention and analysis.
Jenkins and
Gardner were also both prominent parts of another significant turn of the 20th
century community: artists and their patrons. Jenkins founded New York City’s Verdi
Club, which helped support and nurture American classical musicians and
music in this foundational era. And she served for a time as the president of
the American League of Pen Women
(still going strong as the National League of American Pen Women, as that
website illustrates), a recently created organization devoted to providing
community and assistance for female authors and artists. The fact that Jenkins
herself possessed so little artistic talent has, again, made her musical career
a famous laughingstock. But in truth, her support—financial, organizational,
personal, and otherwise—of music and musicians was far more influential and
lasting than her individual career could have been in any case, even if she
were a prodigious talent. The story of classical music in America isn’t just
about the talents who created it, after all; it’s just as much about the
figures and institutions that supported and strengthened and shared it. Jenkins
played a prominent role in that process, and deserves to be remembered for that
role and those efforts as well as for the famous failure that was her opera
career.
Special post
this weekend,
Ben
PS. What do you
think? Other classical music greats you’d highlight?
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