By Olin Chism, KERA Arts Commentator
http://stream.publicbroadcasting.net/production/mp3/kera/local-kera-695277.mp3
Dallas, TX –
For anyone born after about 1945 it's hard to grasp the impact of Van Cliburn's victory. The world was different back in 1958. A cold war was under way, and it was not entirely clear to many Americans who was going to win it.
The Soviet Union seemed a dark and sinister place. It was mostly closed to outsiders, and to increase Americans' sense of vulnerability, the Soviets seemed to be surpassing them technologically. Less than six months before Cliburn emplaned for Moscow, the Soviets shocked Americans by launching Sputnik 1, the world's first artificial satellite. Within a month's time they launched a second. Intercontinental ballistic missiles might soon follow, many feared.
Art was less obviously dangerous, but still it was a political tool in the hands of the Soviets, and when they announced that they were planning a musical competition to be named for Russia's most famous composer, it was clear that they expected a Soviet pianist to win and confirm superiority in art as well as technology.
It was their misfortune that there existed a young American pianist who was not only immensely gifted but who seemed to be possessed of a Russian soul. He excelled in just the sort of music that Russians considered their territory, and he even had a Russian piano teacher in his teens and early adulthood.
When Van Cliburn gave his first performance in the preliminaries on April 2, 1958, it was the Soviets' turn to be shocked. He set the Moscow audience to buzzing. When he joined the Moscow State Symphony on April 11 for his finals performances - Tchaikovsky's First Piano Concerto and Rachmaninoff's Third - his victory was complete. There was something just short of a riot of approval.
The Soviet members of the jury had a problem, however. If they gave the top prize to an American instead, there might be high-level repercussions. The matter went all the way to the top, to Nikita Khrushchev, who had become premier of the Soviet Union just three days after Cliburn's arrival in Moscow. "What do the professionals say?" Khrushchev asked. "He is the best." "Give him the first prize."
The decision headed off any charge that the competition was rigged, it increased its prestige and it avoided any local outburst of audience outrage. The publicity on both sides of the Atlantic was a diplomatic boon to the Soviets. They could even claim that it was they, not the Americans, who had discovered an extraordinary talent unnoticed in his native land.
Not quite correct. Van Cliburn had won other prizes. He seemed on his way to a good career, with significant engagements. But he was not widely known outside musical circles. The Tchaikovsky made him an international superstar.
His talent helped, of course, and the fact that he felt artistically at home on Russian territory. Also his personality. He remains to this day a friendly and unassuming man with a sort of naivet that is appealing in a cynical age. But above all it was the international political situation. Van Cliburn's victory was like a sudden sigh of relief in a tense age. It's hard to imagine something similar happening today.
Olin Chism is an arts writer based in Dallas. For more on the arts, visit KERA's Arts & Culture blog at kera.org
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