The Life of Beethoven (1998), by David Wyn Jones, revived for me an old question about how we pay for art, and the consequences of that choice. Consider the words of Christian Gottlob Neefe, Beethoven’s first teacher of any note:
A composer should not concern himself with the plebeian listener, who never knows what he wants, and understands virtually nothing . . . . Woe betide the composer who wants to address such people. He will spoil his talent, that has been given to him, by having to compose minuets, polonaises, and Turkish marches. And then—good night talent, genius, and art.
In Neefe’s day and in Beethoven’s younger years, “plebeian” listeners could be more easily ignored, as musicians were hired—not for “gigs,” as they are today, but on salary—by noblemen, for whom a retinue of court musicians was as necessary as coachmen and gardeners:
For Neefe and Beethoven princes and patrons had a moral duty to support the work of the artist, something that would earn them respect; if they did not offer this support they deserved, and in Beethoven’s case were to receive, contempt.
This comfortable situation was disrupted for Beethoven when Napoleon’s armies occupied Bonn in 1794, turning Beethoven’s patron into an out-of-work aristocratic refugee. That particular cataclysm was part of a general trend, however, and Beethoven spent most of his career earning his living by selling his work—which required him to pay attention to the tastes of “plebeian listeners,” as seen in this letter he wrote turning down a request to write music for an opera because the popular taste had turned to realistic plots in contemporary settings:
If your opera had not been an opera with magic I would have snatched it with both hands. But the public here is now as prejudiced against a subject of that kind as it formerly looked for and desired it.
Today, a full-time musician must cater to popular taste. The jazz saxophonist Lou Donaldson, asked why he had abandoned avant-garde music for rhythm and blues, said, “I like to eat.” The theoretical alternatives are these: 1) find a patron, either a wealthy individual or a foundation or government body dedicated to supporting the arts; 2) inherit enough wealth that earning a living is unnecessary; 3) resign yourself to poverty; or 4) play what will sell. Each of these options is problematical in ways similar to other aspects of life. David Wyn Jones writes of Beethoven,
As a musician he wanted to compose only the greatest of music, but was also obliged to compose for money; as an individual he wished to maintain the highest ethical and moral standards but continually fell short.
In some semi-mythical community of yesteryear, music was a pastime, not a profession. In the evenings or on holidays people would put aside their work and pick up their instruments. Music was also at the centre of religious services. The resulting “folk music” was simpler than anything Beethoven or Duke Ellington composed, but occasional virtuosos of a kind would emerge. The blind singer or musician, like the limping blacksmith, is a familiar figure from ancient Greece to our own time—though blacksmiths have all but disappeared. These days, most people do not pick up an instrument or join a community sing when work is done—they listen to professionally produced music, usually by themselves, with tiny speakers stuck in their ears. And most of the professionally produced music they listen to, though composed and performed by immensely skilled musicians, is written to appeal to “plebeian listeners” who have, for the most part, zero musical education, and whose tastes are predictably unrefined.
As patrons, like blacksmiths, have virtually disappeared, musicians determined to play and compose “only the greatest of music” are left with few options. On the margins, a few serious jazz and classical musicians are still able to find work, supported by small but devoted audiences, but almost all of them must supplement their performance income with teaching jobs, either privately or in universities or music schools, or both—or with other “revenue streams” generated by “creating a brand” on social media. Or they depend on their spouse’s income. Or they do some other kind of work on the side to support their music-making.
Since we are now in a world run by billionaires, it would be nice if the super-rich “had a moral duty to support the work of the artist, something that would earn them respect.” So far, however, that does not seem to be happening.