Benevolent Master

After a performance in Boston's Symphony Hall some years ago, an excited dowager swept backstage to the conductor's dressing room. "Maestro!" she cried. "Maestro, you play so magnificently! You --you are God!" Serge Koussevitzky turned to his fan and, with a perfect deadpan, replied humbly: "Yes, modom, and soch a responsibility."

Last week Russian-born Serge Alexandrovich Koussevitzky was dead, at 76, of a cerebral hemorrhage. No one could deny that his responsibility, although self-imposed, had been well carried out; he had made a phenomenal contribution to world music in general, to American music in particular.

A Great Dream. At 17, "Koussy" left his home town of Vyshny-Volochek to study the bass fiddle in Moscow. Soon he was playing with the Imperial Opera orchestra, toured on the side for ten years as a soloist. Not content with his specialized fame as the world's greatest virtuoso performer on the double bass, he began conducting in Germany, England and France. In 1909, already rich* and respected, he went back to Russia to head the Imperial Music Society's concerts in St. Petersburg. His reputation as a conductor spread throughout Russia, but in 1920 he fled to Paris ("I left Russia because of Lenin and Trotsky; I had a million dollars, and they took it from me").

Meanwhile, the Boston Symphony which had risen under Dr. Karl Muck, had been floundering badly since the war years. Pierre Monteux made great progress in whipping the orchestra into shape again, but before the 1924 season the Boston's trustees decided to make another change, and sent the call to Koussevitzky. From Paris he sent word: "I will present in Boston music never heard before."

Thus began the fulfillment of Serge Koussevitzky's great dream. Composers in both Europe and the U.S. soon learned that in Boston, if nowhere else, their music could get a sympathetic hearing. Nearly every program Koussy scheduled included pieces by such contemporary foreign composers as Sibelius, Stravinsky, Prokofiev and Shostakovich, and such Americans as Aaron Copland, Roy Harris, Walter Piston, Howard Hanson, William Schuman and Samuel Barber.

The dream grew. In 1936 Koussy and the orchestra began playing concerts at the Berkshire summer symphonic festivals. Four years later, he became head of Tanglewood's Berkshire Music Center. At Tanglewood, students and laymen came each year to play, to listen and to learn. There they also could see their benevolent chief, wearing his favorite tweed cape, strolling along the lanes and chattering in his broken English.

A Perfect Gem. In 1949, tired and grey, Koussy turned his baton over to Charles Munch. In 25 years, he had brought to U.S. ears more contemporary music than anyone else in history. His Koussevitzky Music Foundation had commissioned works from such giants as Bartok and Britten. His dream was realized.

For music lovers who liked the record straight, Koussy's talents could be evaluated on two planes: 1) his activities on behalf of contemporary music and 2) his musicianship. On the first count, Koussy clearly led the field. The second point may be debated for years to come. Unlike most conductors, Koussy made hard work of reading scores; his conducting technique sometimes confused musicians; his beat was often erratic. Yet, in a less obvious facet of technique, Koussy shone like a perfect gem. His constant, tyrannical demand for tonal perfection made the Boston one of the world's three or four greatest orchestras; where poetry lay hidden in music, Koussy found it.

According to Koussy's interpretation, 18 members of the Symphony played Bach's soaring Air for the G String at the funeral service in Boston last week. The church bell tolled 76 times. Next day he was laid to rest in the maple-shaded grave he had chosen for himself two miles from the music center at Tanglewood.

* Through marriage to a millionaire tea merchant's daughter.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.