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The Orchestra's bankruptcy: Ruin or renewal?
Philadelphia Orchestra's bankruptcy, reconsidered
Tom Purdom
Allison Vulgamore and her team absorbed much heat when they took the Philadelphia Orchestra into Chapter XI bankruptcy in April 2011. Now that the orchestra has emerged from bankruptcy for nearly a year, that drastic act can be seen as a realistic, gutsy and necessary decision.
Bankruptcy as a general concept may arouse squeamish reactions in those of us who grew up reading Victorian novels, but today it's become a common, useful, almost routine business maneuver. A Chapter XI bankruptcy enables a company to continue doing business while it works out deals with its creditors, labor unions and other interested parties. A business that might have folded instead re-emerges from the process and continues to fill its function in the marketplace.
Vulgamore arrived at the orchestra only three years ago. She hadn't created the situation she inherited. It had been building up for decades. Something had to be done. And Vulgamore and her associates did it.
Cultural consensus
At the time the Philadelphia Orchestra was born in 1900, America's civic and cultural leaders all agreed that an evening with Beethoven and Brahms was a good thing, like going to church on Sunday. According to this view, a great city should be a center of high culture, and everyone agreed on the definition of high culture.
That consensus still seemed firm when I arrived in Philadelphia in 1954. But it's been eroding steadily for the past 40 years.
Today American intellectual and cultural leaders tend to note that the classical music repertoire is a product of European society, and consequently they question the whole idea of "Eurocentric" culture in a multicultural society. In contemporary America, no art form can demand special treatment because it embodies the values of our national culture. We no longer have an accepted national culture.
My taste vs. yours
American arts organizations must contend, in addition, with the logic of a relentlessly democratic society. On what grounds can you argue that one kind of art is superior to another and therefore deserves special support? If you and your friends want to hear that Beethoven stuff, go right ahead. But don't tell us that foundations and philanthropists are obliged to fund it, or that every educated person must sit through it.
In this brave new world, if you enjoy Classical music— well, dude, that's just your kind of entertainment. Pay for it at the ticket counter, just the way the rest of us pay for movies and trips to Disney World.
Consequently, American arts organizations must market themselves just like any business. They must locate the people who like their product and then bombard them with promotional brochures. They must hustle grant money by convincing philanthropists and foundations their art can serve some extra-artistic purpose, such as promoting tourism or boosting the local economy.
Thriving Classical groups
None of this means that Classical music is dying. Philadelphia has produced several new and successful organizations in the 25 years that I've covered the Classical music scene.
The growth of the Philadelphia Chamber Music Society since its founding in 1986 is a national success story that's every bit as notable as the rise of the Philadelphia Orchestra in the 1930s. The Chamber Orchestra of Philadelphia, created in 1964, has outlasted its founder, Marc Mostovoy, and seems to be standing on a firm foundation. In more specialized areas, Piffaro and Orchestra 2001 have achieved international renown in the early music and contemporary music worlds. Astral Artistic Services, Dolce Suono and Tempesta di Mare have all demonstrated serious staying power.
These organizations have obviously been well managed, but they enjoy an advantage that would make Allison Vulgamore think she had arrived in heaven: low overhead.
Graffman's challenge at Curtis
They don't have to pay the salaries of 96 musicians, not to mention the fees commanded by big-time international soloists. They don't have to fill a large hall with 2,800 customers three or four times a week.
A symphony orchestra is one of the most expensive artistic organizations that any society has ever generated. The Philadelphia Orchestra's staggering annual budget of $46 million was actually less than that of five other orchestras as of 2011, and less than half that of the Los Angeles Philharmonic. If the Philadelphia Orchestra didn't already exist, no one would try to create it today.
When Gary Graffman became president of the Curtis Institute in 1986, he surprised interviewers by remarking that he didn't want to make the kind of revolutionary changes that new leaders usually tout. He wanted to keep Curtis just as it was: a small, tuition-free school that accepted students strictly on the basis of merit, not ability to pay. But he also noted that Curtis had a serious problem.
Into the marketplace
Curtis had survived for 60 years on the proceeds of the huge endowment created in 1924 by its founding benefactor, Mary Louise Curtis Bok. But inflation had eroded that endowment. Curtis couldn't maintain its traditions without new capital.
Graffman met the challenge by instituting major backstage innovations. Under his leadership, Curtis acquired a public relations department and a development department— facilities it had never needed when it was coasting along on its initial capital. A school that had maintained a genteel, unobtrusive profile entered the tempestuous American marketplace.
In a similar fashion, the Philadelphia Orchestra coasted for most of its history on the social capital it accrued in the first half of the 20th Century. It didn't need aggressive management. That social capital has now eroded, just like Curtis's endowment.
Two key decisions
The new management has made two decisions that indicate it may possess the drive and competence that the situation demands: It took the orchestra into bankruptcy, and in Yannick Nézet-Séguin it recruited the kind of youthful, charismatic conductor that the orchestra needs today.
The first decision may look like an act of desperation to many people. At this point I think we should see it as a sign of hope.♦
To read responses, click here.
Bankruptcy as a general concept may arouse squeamish reactions in those of us who grew up reading Victorian novels, but today it's become a common, useful, almost routine business maneuver. A Chapter XI bankruptcy enables a company to continue doing business while it works out deals with its creditors, labor unions and other interested parties. A business that might have folded instead re-emerges from the process and continues to fill its function in the marketplace.
Vulgamore arrived at the orchestra only three years ago. She hadn't created the situation she inherited. It had been building up for decades. Something had to be done. And Vulgamore and her associates did it.
Cultural consensus
At the time the Philadelphia Orchestra was born in 1900, America's civic and cultural leaders all agreed that an evening with Beethoven and Brahms was a good thing, like going to church on Sunday. According to this view, a great city should be a center of high culture, and everyone agreed on the definition of high culture.
That consensus still seemed firm when I arrived in Philadelphia in 1954. But it's been eroding steadily for the past 40 years.
Today American intellectual and cultural leaders tend to note that the classical music repertoire is a product of European society, and consequently they question the whole idea of "Eurocentric" culture in a multicultural society. In contemporary America, no art form can demand special treatment because it embodies the values of our national culture. We no longer have an accepted national culture.
My taste vs. yours
American arts organizations must contend, in addition, with the logic of a relentlessly democratic society. On what grounds can you argue that one kind of art is superior to another and therefore deserves special support? If you and your friends want to hear that Beethoven stuff, go right ahead. But don't tell us that foundations and philanthropists are obliged to fund it, or that every educated person must sit through it.
In this brave new world, if you enjoy Classical music— well, dude, that's just your kind of entertainment. Pay for it at the ticket counter, just the way the rest of us pay for movies and trips to Disney World.
Consequently, American arts organizations must market themselves just like any business. They must locate the people who like their product and then bombard them with promotional brochures. They must hustle grant money by convincing philanthropists and foundations their art can serve some extra-artistic purpose, such as promoting tourism or boosting the local economy.
Thriving Classical groups
None of this means that Classical music is dying. Philadelphia has produced several new and successful organizations in the 25 years that I've covered the Classical music scene.
The growth of the Philadelphia Chamber Music Society since its founding in 1986 is a national success story that's every bit as notable as the rise of the Philadelphia Orchestra in the 1930s. The Chamber Orchestra of Philadelphia, created in 1964, has outlasted its founder, Marc Mostovoy, and seems to be standing on a firm foundation. In more specialized areas, Piffaro and Orchestra 2001 have achieved international renown in the early music and contemporary music worlds. Astral Artistic Services, Dolce Suono and Tempesta di Mare have all demonstrated serious staying power.
These organizations have obviously been well managed, but they enjoy an advantage that would make Allison Vulgamore think she had arrived in heaven: low overhead.
Graffman's challenge at Curtis
They don't have to pay the salaries of 96 musicians, not to mention the fees commanded by big-time international soloists. They don't have to fill a large hall with 2,800 customers three or four times a week.
A symphony orchestra is one of the most expensive artistic organizations that any society has ever generated. The Philadelphia Orchestra's staggering annual budget of $46 million was actually less than that of five other orchestras as of 2011, and less than half that of the Los Angeles Philharmonic. If the Philadelphia Orchestra didn't already exist, no one would try to create it today.
When Gary Graffman became president of the Curtis Institute in 1986, he surprised interviewers by remarking that he didn't want to make the kind of revolutionary changes that new leaders usually tout. He wanted to keep Curtis just as it was: a small, tuition-free school that accepted students strictly on the basis of merit, not ability to pay. But he also noted that Curtis had a serious problem.
Into the marketplace
Curtis had survived for 60 years on the proceeds of the huge endowment created in 1924 by its founding benefactor, Mary Louise Curtis Bok. But inflation had eroded that endowment. Curtis couldn't maintain its traditions without new capital.
Graffman met the challenge by instituting major backstage innovations. Under his leadership, Curtis acquired a public relations department and a development department— facilities it had never needed when it was coasting along on its initial capital. A school that had maintained a genteel, unobtrusive profile entered the tempestuous American marketplace.
In a similar fashion, the Philadelphia Orchestra coasted for most of its history on the social capital it accrued in the first half of the 20th Century. It didn't need aggressive management. That social capital has now eroded, just like Curtis's endowment.
Two key decisions
The new management has made two decisions that indicate it may possess the drive and competence that the situation demands: It took the orchestra into bankruptcy, and in Yannick Nézet-Séguin it recruited the kind of youthful, charismatic conductor that the orchestra needs today.
The first decision may look like an act of desperation to many people. At this point I think we should see it as a sign of hope.♦
To read responses, click here.
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