Eugene Ormandy was born Jenö Blau in Budapest, Hungary, November 18, 1899 (he arrived in the U.S. on the S.S. Normandie, altered the steamer's name and adopted it as his own surname). Arriving in America in 1921, his original intention was to perform as a virtuoso violinist, but found that the series of concerts promised him never materialised. So, he took his lemons and made lemonade; He joined an orchestra which accompanied silent movies at the Capitol Theater in New York City, as a violinist, later becoming its conductor.
His career got a jump-start after famed impresario Arthur Judson went to see a recital at the Capitol and wound up, instead, becoming enthralled with Ormandy's fiery conducting. Ormandy's relationship with the Philadelphia Orchestra began in 1931 after Judson booked Ormandy as a last-minute replacement for an ill Arturo Toscanini. To the audience's surprise, the unknown conductor more than filled the legendary Italian's shoes. This exposure led to Ormandy being named conductor of the Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra in 1931, replacing the ailing Henri Verbrugghen.
After five years of making the Minneapolis into an orchestra of international repute, churning out numerous recordings for RCA Victor, Ormandy left Minneapolis to become the Philadelphia Orchestra's associate conductor in 1936. In 1938, he replaced the flamboyant Leopold Stokowski to become Musical Director of the Philadelphia Orchestra, a position Ormandy held until 1979, when he became Conductor Laureate, until his death in 1985.
Among conductors, Ormandy himself is a special case, as he was - and is still - vastly under-rated. Yet, who but Ormandy did Vladimir Horowitz choose when he played Rachmaninoff's Third Concerto on the occasion of his 50th anniversary of Horowitz' Carnegie Hall debut? Who else but Ormandy could bring a continuity of line and precise execution to the New York Philharmonic - notorious for giving guest conductors a hard time - for that very concert?
He was dismissed by some as "conservative" and "unimaginative." Yet, in his own, quiet, way, Ormandy built one of the finest, well-honed orchestras of the twentieth century. Ormandy was clearly a true romantic, whose main concern was the sound of the music itself, rather than imposing a "scholarly interpretation" upon the score. Hence, the Philadelphia Orchestra under Ormandy's baton was famed for its "Philadelphia Sound," known for its clarity, skillful execution, warm tonality and precise timing. He placed heavy, though not inordinate, emphasis on the orchestra's peerless string section, forging the Philadelphia Orchestra seemingly into his own singular instrument. He was known for his authoritative performances of Romantic composers, especially Rachmaninoff, Sibelius, Franck and Dvorak. On the other hand, he brought the same clarity and insight to his performances of Beethoven, Schubert and Mozart. And though wrongly regarded by some as a lightweight "time beater," he brought singularity of purpose and a scorching intensity to the "heavier" works of Mahler, Orff, Shostakovich and Bartok.
Yet, at no time could Ormandy's emphasis on sound be mistaken for a lack of emotion; Rather, Ormandy was one of those rare alchemists of music, who could impart the most heart-rending, yet honest, emotions by getting the most he could out of every instrumentalist in his orchestra. Unlike Lenny Bernstein, he didn't need to jump up and down in wild abandon remind his audience of how much he "cared" about the music.
Soloists, from pianists such as
Sergei
Rachmaninoff, Artur Rubinstein,
Vladimir Horowitz, Robert Casadesus and Van Cliburn to violinists like
Isaac Stern, Joseph Szigeti, Fritz Kreisler and David Oistrakh, were
put
at ease by Ormandy's non-confrontational style and the great extent to
which the conductor put the Philadelphia Orchestra at the service of
their
own, unique, performances. This was no self-effacement on
Ormandy's
part: Listen to Wagner's Bruennhilde's Immolation Scene
that
Ormandy recorded with Kirsten Flagstad in 1937, and you will captivated
by how Ormandy's and Flagstad's musical visions are distinctly
imparted,
yet seamlessly integrated.
While I was growing up in the 1970s and 80s, there were two conductors who especially captured my attention: Arturo Toscanini and Eugene Ormandy. This was no coincidence, especially given that Ormandy readily admitted Toscanini as his primary musical influence (I did not know that fact at the time, however). As I listened to the old Toscanini RCA records, his overpowering presence on those recordings made me want to stand up and cheer. Toscanini was known for being such a perfectionist and listening to his performances literally blew me away. No one could touch Toscanini, I thought, because he made each performance sound unrepeatable and impossible.
Yet Ormandy, though equally concerned with the quality of sound as was Toscanini, represented to me the other side of the coin. Whereas Toscanini had the power to mesmerize, Ormandy had that uncanny ability to convince. Whereas Toscanini's virtuosic ability left me awestruck, Ormandy's conducting made me comfortable, pulling me into the music itself. Toscanini made it sound difficult and superhuman; Ormandy made it sound easy and natural.
It was in 1982 that I first saw Eugene Ormandy conduct in person. He appeared at a concert of the National Symphony Orchestra at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C., in conjunction with being presented the Kennedy Center Honours award. I don't remember the other items on the program, because there was only one piece that I was really there to see him conduct: Rachmaninoff's Second Symphony in E Minor, Op. 27. I had a record of it by Ormandy and the Philadelphia (now available as a CD on RCA Victrola 60132-2-RV; RCA Victor Basic 100 68022; RCA Red Seal Japan BVCC-38057), and had played it so often that the grooves had turned white from dust and being eaten by a cheap Radio Shack needle.
From the moment that Ormandy lowered his baton to open the impassioned first movement, until the end of the triumphant finale, I was astounded to be sitting just fifteen rows back from the conductor who was one of Rachmaninoff's favorite accompanists, the man to whom the great composer had dedicated his final masterpiece, the Symphonic Dances. At the podium, Ormandy (who was in his 80s) conducted with a minimal amount of body movement, but I could see him signaling to the orchestra with his very intelligent eyes. The National Symphony Orchestra filled the concert hall with the most beautiful sounds I had ever been privileged to hear in person.
After the concert, I rushed backstage to meet this man, who, on album covers seemed to be a very towering presence. But when I finally met him, he was hardly what I had thought; instead, standing before me was an unassuming, elderly Jewish man who barely stood five feet tall. Although I only talked with him for only about five minutes, he impressed me as a very gracious, easygoing person.
Two years later, while stationed at Redstone Arsenal, Alabama, I caught wind that Ormandy would be appearing with the Atlanta Symphony, to conduct Rachmaninoff's Second Symphony again. Being an Army private, I called up the ticket office in Atlanta and purchased all I could afford: A balcony seat in the nosebleed section. Unfortunately, when I showed up to the concert, I had learned that Ormandy had canceled due to an illness. Some other conductor filled in for him; I don't remember who he was, nor what pieces were on the program.
About a year later, while stationed in Germany, I learned of Ormandy's death. Reading a German newspaper, I saw the cold, objective ink, "Eugene Ormandy ist Gestern Gesterben."
Slowly, Eugene Ormandy's reputation
is growing
-- especially in the Far East. Romantic music - which just a few short
decades
ago was denounced as "artificial" and "vulgar" -- is now resurgent. And
so are the conductors of that era. In his own lifetime, Ormandy took
the
slings and arrows from those oh-so insouciant music critics who
dismissed
his performances as shallow and unimaginative. Other critics, seeking
to
give Ormandy his due, gave him the backhanded compliment that he
"maintained"
the Philadelphia Sound bequeathed him by Stokowski. Ormandy did
more
than that: He transformed the Philadelphia Orchestra into his own
unique musical voice. In a 1960 interview, he - without a trace
of
conceit - remarked: "The Philadelphia sound - it's me."
Explaining
his emphasis on strings, he continued: "My conducting is what it is
because
I was a violinist. Toscanini was always playing the cello, Koussevitzky
the double-bass, Stokowski the organ. The conductors who were pianists
nearly always have a sharper, more percussive beat, and it can be heard
in their orchestras."
Seven years after I first wrote this
biographical essay, Ormandy, in fact, is no longer dismissed out of
had: He is now widely regarded as being overlooked and
under-rated, and many critics are helping rebuild Ormandy's hitherto
neglected reputation. From Gramophone's
Jed Distler and Don Vroon at the American
Record Guide to Jay Nordlinger at the New Criterion and San Francisco
critic Stuart Canin, Ormandy's legacy is resurgent in the public
eyes and ears.
The board of the Philadelphia Orchestra has gotten the message, too: A couple years ago, they replaced music director Wolfgang Sawallisch with the enegetic German conductor Christoph Eschenbach, who is remolding the orchestra. Eschenbach was a youth in postwar Germany and grew up listening to 78 rpm records of Ormandy and Stokowski conducting the Philadelphia Orchestra that he could get from American GIs. He has brought -- through his musical scholaship and enthusiasm -- a unique and powerful sound back to the Philadelphia Orchestra. It's all his own doing, and I would rank Eschenbach and his orchestra right up there with Daniel Barenboim and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, and Leonard Slatkin and the National Symphony. Classical music lovers can start talking about a "Philadelphia Sound" once again.
Yet, Eugene Ormandy still lives
on. Even today, his recordings stand -- as they have before
-- as a living testament to his skill, grace, passion and musicianship.
Type in the name "Eugene Ormandy" at amazon.com, and you'll find that
legacy thriving on over 500 compact discs .
Eugene Ormandy was a man who put the music first. Few people realise what a man of stature this little man was.
