In Celebration of Gay Pride Month and Tchaikovsky on Maestro Curry’s 66th Birthday (Today!)

A Special Message from Maestro Curry

Dear Friends of the Durham Symphony Orchestra,

Gay Pride Month exists and remains necessary because for centuries LGBTQ people were excluded from equal rights, public life, politics, and textbooks.

There have been many gay 20th Century American composers, including Aaron Copland, Leonard Bernstein, Cole Porter, Samuel Barber, Stephen Sondheim, John Cage, Gian Carlo Menotti…and William Henry Curry.

However, at the beginning of the gay rights revolution, precipitated by the Stonewall riots in June 1969, all these men were closeted. At that time, it simply wasn’t possible for a gay person to be taken seriously in this country—or even to be considered as a decent human being.  Most Americans thought that gays “chose the wrong lifestyle,” were “deviants,” or were “a genetic mistake.” I hope this explains the need for Gay Pride Month to be recognized and celebrated by every American.

Born in Russian in 1840, Pyotr llyich Tchaikovsky
(the most popular composer of orchestral music) was also gay.
In his high school graduation picture from May 1858, Tchaikovsky’s
“special friend” Vladimir Gerard can be seen holding his hand as
Tchaikovsky looks directly, even defiantly, into the camera.

Some Soviet scholars, having seen documents unreleased to the West, suggest that Tchaikovsky’s feelings for Gerard inspired his most famous tone poem, Romeo and Juliet overture-fantasy. When Tchaikovsky turned 37, he attempted to quell the rumors about his sexuality by marrying a woman he hardly knew and did not love. In this picture taken on their wedding day, July 6, 1877, the bride looks serene—but the groom seems to be having second thoughts. Before the wedding, the composer told a younger brother, Anatoly, “I have warned her that she can rely only on my brotherly love.”  It is not known how Antonina interpreted this.

The marriage was a disaster. On the evening after the wedding, perhaps “encouraged” by his eager young bride, Tchaikovsky attempted unsuccessfully to consummate the marriage. Things went from bad to worse. He found her to be intellectually limited and quickly developed an extreme aversion to her (which she seemed oblivious to). He was close to a nervous breakdown when he left her a few months later. As he slowly recovered, he withdrew from the world and created his first great symphony, the Symphony no. 4.  He and Antonia never lived together again.  But they remained married until the composer’s death, and he continued to support her financially—due in part to her frequent hints at blackmail.

During the next 16 years, Tchaikovsky achieved a
worldwide reputation as Russia’s greatest composer. Here is a
photograph of him taken at Cambridge University on June 13, 1893,
when he had just received an honorary doctorate. He was at the
height of his fame, yet the ever-present threat of being “outed”
was something he described as “the sword of Damocles hanging
over my head.” In five months he would be dead.

In August of the same year, he would put the finishing touches on what he knew to be his masterpiece, the Symphony no. 6., “Pathetique.”  This word does not translate as “pathetic.”  Rather it refers to emotional suffering.  The last movement is very obviously farewell music, a swan song burdened with despair.  Because of the evident “message” of this music, his death at 53, just 10 days after conducting the premiere, has naturally raised questions about his intent and the manner of his death.

Durham Symphony Orchestra conducted by Maestro William Henry Curry
IV. Adagio lamentoso (Symphony No. 6 ‘Pathetique’)
Tchaikovsky, arr.& orch. William Henry Curry
The Mystery of the Last Days and Last Masterpieces of Tchaikovsky Concert
The Carolina Theater April 15, 2017

There are multiple versions of what caused Tchaikovsky’s death. One asserts that he committed suicide by drinking arsenic to avoid a public scandal over his sexuality.  I have talked to the greatest Tchaikovsky scholar, Alexander Poznansky, about this, and he has argued convincingly that this was not true.  Instead, he asserts, the composer recklessly drank unboiled water at the height of the cholera season.  But if so, the composer surely was tempting fate: his mother had also died this way.  Could it be that the drinking of this possibly poisonous water was the fulfillment of a death wish, after having composed his own requiem—The “Pathetique”?  Whatever the true story, the mystery and impact of the “Pathetique” remains.

If Tchaikovsky were alive today, he might be happily married to a man he loved.  The unanswerable, but unavoidable, question is what effect such happiness would have had on his music.  Would it have been more temperate, therefore less moving and eloquent—less universal in its appeal to us?   It is a sobering thought that “suffering leads to wisdom,” and we encounter that thought also in regard to the challenges faced by Schumann and Beethoven.  If Robert Schumann had access to lithium for his bipolar disorder, if Beethoven had not been deaf, would their music have carried the same depth and urgency?  Might it have been greater still?  These are unanswerable questions.  However we know that their life’s work as dedicated composers “saved” them, and we are the beneficiaries of their artistic and personal achievements.

As I celebrate my 66th birthday and my 50th anniversary as a symphony orchestra conductor, I look back with total acceptance at my career and personal life.  I have been blessed by my loved ones, music, and books.  And though I have been a sinner, I believe God has redeemed me with various setbacks that nevertheless provided golden opportunities to improve myself and my attitude toward others.

In this regard, I have found the following to be very helpful to me. It is the closing dialogue between the incurable optimist Dr. Pangloss and the title character in Voltaire’s novella Candide, which inspired Bernstein’s musical play of the same name:

Dr. Pangloss: For after all, if you had not been expelled from a fine castle with great kicks in the backside for loving Mademoiselle Cunegonde, if you had not been subjected to the Inquisition, if you had not travelled America on foot, if you had not lost all your sheep…you would not be here eating candied citrons and pistachios.

Candide: That is well said, but we must cultivate our garden.

So keep working.  Make your garden grow.  Keep on keepin’ on.

— William Henry Curry

Provided to YouTube by GeneralDAS
“Make Our Garden Grow” from Candide
Leonard Bernstein