Welcome to THE CULTURAL WORKER, a blog dedicated to arts of the people, from the radical avant garde and free jazz to dissident folk forms, punk and popular arts . The Cultural Worker celebrates revolutionary creativity and features a variety of essays, reviews, fiction, reportage, poetry and musings through the internet pen of this creative writer, journalist, musician and cultural organizer. Scroll straight down and you'll also find an extensive historical Photo Exhibit of cultural workers in action, followed by a series of Radical Arts Links. The features herein will be unabashedly partisan---make no mistake about that. The concept of the cultural worker as a force of fearless creativity, of social change, indeed as an artistic arm of radicalism, has always been left-wing when applied with any degree of honesty at all. No revolutionary act can be truly complete in the absence of art, no progressive campaign can retain its message sans the daring drumbeat of invention, no act of dissent can stand so strong as that which counts the writers, musicians, painters, dancers, actors, photographers, film and performance artists within its ranks. Here's to the history and legacy of cultural work in the throes of the good fight...
Friday, May 18, 2018
British Suffragette Composer Celebrated
with Carnegie Hall Debut:
Dame Ethel Smyth was an early champion of feminism and equality
by John Pietaro
Dame Ethel Smyth, “The Prison”
Text by HB Brewster
The Cecelia Chorus of New York with Orchestra
Mark Shapiro, Music Director and Conductor
Chelsea Shephard, soprano; Tobias Greenhalgh, baritone
Carnegie Hall, May 11, 2018
Dame Ethel Smyth, deceased some 74 years, has finally arrived to public consciousness in the era of #MeToo, Stormy Daniels and annual Women’s Marches. The bitter irony is that this spokeswoman of democracy, women’s liberation, LGBTQ rights and radical cultural work has stood, at best, as a footnote of late-Romantic period British music. In her time Smyth struggled against conservative music academics who sought to have her disavowed, as much as the flagrant sexism riddling paternalistic gentry. Born just outside of London, 1858, Smyth was formally educated in English music colleges before traveling to Germany where she embarked upon a close study of Brahmsian composition. Debuting several early works by the 1870s, Smyth earned critical acclaim and yet experienced the disdain of male musicians, culminating in the refusal by many to perform the works of “a lady composer”.
Smyth travelled throughout Europe over the last decades of the19th Century, ever independent, composing prolifically. Her works in this period included an opera, Fantasio, and her noted piece for chorus and orchestra, the Mass in D. She conducted her own music in the concert halls of Germany, France and Britain, breaking new ground in this decidedly male forum. While in Florence Smyth first encountered Harry Brewster, an American expatriate with whom she’d hold a powerfully, visceral bond. She called “HB” her soul-mate and greatest champion and together they explored Classical Greek dramas, contemporary French poetry and philosophy. Brewster helped her write the librettos of several operas but also embarked upon his own literary projects. Among these was an 1891 work of fiction, the Prison: a Dialogue, which metaphysically portrayed an innocently convicted man living out his final days in solitary confinement. Brewster died in 1908.
Smyth became a central figure in the British women’s movement, composing the theme of UK suffragettes, “the March of the Women”, in 1911. Inspired by the leading feminist, Emmeline Pankhurst, she enthusiastically defied police orders during a rally for voting rights and was among a large group jailed for 60 days, convicted of throwing stones at the windows of Parliament. It is said that as her sister inmates sang the anthem, she conducted the proceedings through bars with a jail-issued toothbrush. Smyth was an active member of the Women’s Social and Political Union, a particularly radical branch of feminists, and spoke openly of her lesbian lifestyle, no matter the Tory hysterics.
The composer suffered crushing blows throughout her career, none more so than the hearing loss which greatly curtailed her role as conductor. She found new inspiration in the writing of essays and books and it was through this medium that she befriended Virginia Woolf who also became a lover. In 1922, her artistic merits were finally acknowledged by the British government which granted her the Member of the British Empire honor and the title of Dame.
At age 72, in 1930, Smyth completed her last major composition, the Prison, a symphony for soprano, bass, chorus and orchestra, adapted from Brewster’s novelette. With this piece, she was able to symbolically realize the isolation she’d experienced throughout much of her life, but refused to be paralyzed by. And with advancing deafness, the remainder of Smyth’s existence was clouded by a more present inner world than that which was outward. Still, she was able to successfully conduct the world premiere of the piece at Edinburgh’s Usher Hall in February 1931, an act that must have given her the greatest sense of accomplishment: the silence which rapidly encroached upon her was here confronted by Smyth’s own resolve and core strength, much as the Prisoner character (the bass vocalist) and his Soul (the soprano) interact to an end most powerful and moving.
With her Carnegie Hall debut this month, Dame Ethel is posthumously brought to the wider attention of what remains a male-dominated music industry. The Prison is composed quite squarely in the late Romantic style, classically aligned, meticulously plotted, but painted with emotional flourishes associated with the back-to-nature philosophy of the latter 1800s. Bits of programmatic music, character motifs, antiphon and flowing counter-themes offer an atmosphere that both represents the protagonist’s sense of urgency as much as the confined stasis of the singular setting. Throughout, the Prisoner and his Soul exchange thoughts which lead toward his realization of life’s beauty and majesty, even when marked by such repressive terms. “A great yearning seized me”, the Prisoner sings devoutly. “I would like to go out once more among the living! Can nothing of it all be good to others?” he ponders and asks what he would say to those existing freely. His Soul responds: “Tell them that no man lives in vain…” a concept well rooted in progressive, humanist philosophy.
The chorus’ role, as designated by the Greek dramatists Brewster so admired, is narrative and speaks more to the audience than the characters down front. Acting as an aggregate higher power or perhaps the conscience of society itself, the Voices state: “We are full of immortality/This hour that is with us now/Will endure forever”. More so, the protagonist’s growth is exemplified in Part II, the morning it would seem, of his execution. He exclaims: “I disband myself/And travel on forever in your scattered paths/Where ever you are there shall I be/I survive in you!/I set my ineffaceable stamp/On the womb of time”, an homage to collectivism, it seems, that holds an endearing similarity to the final writing of IWW labor organizer, journalist and songwriter Joe Hill, unjustly executed in Utah seven years after Brewster’s death. Hill’s “Last Will” alerted his followers to his wishes for cremation, “And let the merry breezes blow/My dust to where some flowers grow/Perhaps some fading flowers then/Would come to life and bloom again”. But John Steinbeck’s masterwork, “The Grapes of Wrath”, offers a still more poignant statement: “I’ll be all around in the dark. I’ll be everywhere you look. Where ever there’s a fight so hungry people can eat, I’ll be there…”
And so Dame Ethel Smyth, whose music accompanied the oppressed women of England in their struggle for a truly democratic voice. A composer of great skill and talent, a bold visionary in a time of profound reaction, Smyth’s rediscovery may have occurred at just the right time to inspire a new generation of feminist activists. On both sides of the Atlantic.