Into the the Fray

The post of music director for the Chicago Symphony is sometimes known as a conductor's Waterloo. No wonder. Artur Rodzinski lasted exactly one year before the dissatisfied trustees ousted him. Rafael Kubelik was hounded out of the job by Claudia Cassidy, the relentlessly hostile--toward Kubelik, at any rate-- but now retired critic of the Chicago Tribune. Jean Martinon quit last year after a series of disputes that culminated in a clash with his musicians over discipline. The only recent conductor to succeed in the job was the late Fritz Reiner, a Hungarian with Germanic musical tastes, who brilliantly led the ensemble from 1953 to 1962 before illness forced him to retire.

Undaunted by Chicago's reputation, Conductor Georg Solti has decided that if Reiner could win that kind of fray, he can too. Perhaps the fact that Solti is also a Hungarian with distinct Germanic musical preferences had something to do with his decision to sign on for three years. Certainly, any conductor would think twice before turning down the Chicago offer. It reportedly pays $90,000 a year, and though Solti will be responsible for planning the orchestra's entire year, he will only have to conduct three months of subscription concerts. But the overriding reason for his decision, he says, is that "the Chicago Symphony combines all the elements that I seek in an orchestra. It has a deeper, more German overall sound than most American orchestras, but at the same time it has that typical American ability to be light. Within a few years, the Chicago Symphony will be one of the finest orchestras--if not the finest--in the world."

Natural Rhythm. If anyone can do it, Solti (pronounced Shol-tee) is the man. Currently music director of London's Covent Garden, and a frequent guest conductor at the Metropolitan Opera and the New York Philharmonic, Solti last week concluded a three-week guest engagement with the Chicago Symphony prior to the formal takeover in September. His final concert--devoted entirely to Mahler's Second Symphony--demonstrated the kind of technical brilliance and interpretive sagacity that have made him one of the world's half-dozen best conductors. The audience gave Solti one of the biggest ovations ever witnessed at Orchestra Hall. Although he has the natural rhythm of a dancer, his performances tend to be chaste and severe rather than fiery or sentimental, with the emphasis on outlining the architectural structure of a work. The sound of the Chicago Symphony was remarkably lustrous and clear under Solti's direction--a tribute, perhaps, to the fact that he is a tough disciplinarian. "The orchestra is already afraid of me," he says, half seriously. "They think I'm some kind of Nazi."

Actually, the orchestra members have found, to their delight, that he is not quite the temperamental Magyar they had been led to expect. "Usually conductors are relaxed at rehearsals and tense at the concerts," says First Violinist Victor Aitay. "Solti is the reverse. He is very tense at rehearsals, which makes us concentrate, but relaxed during the performance, which is a great asset to the orchestra."

Friday Matinee. All that Solti really has to worry about now is Chicago's Friday matinee. This traditional concert is attended mostly by suburban housewives who appear to be in perfect health until the concert begins. Then the rows of seats begin to shake with coughing, choking, bracelet jangling and idle chatter. Solti's goal is to teach the girls a few musical manners: "They will hear about it humorously at first. I will say: 'Please don't cough in the piano. Wait until the forte; it will come soon.' " Ultimately, he would like to abolish that matinee altogether. "Two o'clock in the afternoon just isn't the time to make music," he complains. "Besides, I don't believe in one-sex audiences."

Solti also wants to take some of the social snobbery out of the orchestra's life and broaden its appeal, especially among the young. "I don't believe that music is just for top people," he says. "It is the common property of all people." Unfortunately, his views strike at the heart of the traditional patronage of the Chicago Symphony: of the 2,500 or so sponsors who underwrite the orchestra's annual $1.6 million loss, half are strongwilled, socially conscious women. Said one of them last week: "The Friday concerts will be here long after Mr. Solti has moved on." In the end, the ladies may test Solti's disciplinary powers more than the orchestra members.

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