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Horowitz’s Performances of Piano Transcriptions Show “Reception as Work” 1

Horowitz’s Performances of Piano Transcriptions

Demonstrate That His “Reception as Genius” Was “Work”

An Essay Presented

by

Sean L.A.M. Bennett

To

The Department of Music

in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements

for the Degree of Master of Philosophy

in the Subject of

Musicology

Wolfson College

Cambridge University

Cambridge, England

January 18, 2002


Critics on Horowitz: “How dare Horowitz tamper with Mussorgsky’s original masterpiece?” Horowitz’s reply: “They say I put graffiti on Mussorgsky, but I don't give a damn. I worked hard on that transcription; I'm not ashamed of it. I am proud of the transcription. I did a good job, and I think perhaps I played it very well. You see, I felt the Pictures had to be brought forward. They were too introverted, and this was possibly because Mussorgsky was a little bit of a dilettante, and he was not really a pianist. Ravel orchestrated the work, and I "pianostrated" it. When I change any thing, it is only to make a better piano sound. And Mussorgsky did not know how. I'm sorry but that is true, and the score is also much more awkward to play in the original.” (Dubal, 1991, p. 11)

Introduction

What constitutes the “work” in musicological terms has been an oft-debated question.

In the example above, and when Vladimir Horowitz performed any of his piano

transcriptions -- what constitutes the “work?” Is it the original Mussorgsky score? Is it

a written score of the performance that Horowitz may or may not have completed? Is

it anything other than the “original” as Horowitz comments above? Is it my written-

down, note-by-note, dynamic-by-dynamic, articulation-by-articulation rendition of the

transcription from a recording? Is it the recording itself? Until the 1980s,

musicological debates of “work” were largely couched, like the critics and questions

above, in linguistic and terminological debates always favoring the idea of a physical

entity defining the “work” (Bradshaw, 1998). Seldom did “work” debates move to the

ideas of Ingarden (1986) to look at possible “work” definitions other than the

traditional musicologically denoted score, performance, or recording, and even more

seldom did the debate challenge the necessity that there must be a “work.”

However, with Ingarden’s (1986) The Work of Music and the Problem of Its

Identity and Lydia Goehr’s (1992) The Imaginary Museum of Musical Works: an

Essay in the Philosophy of Music, we have new accounts of the “work” that expand

existing musicological notions this term. First, Ingarden acknowledges that “a musical

work is not a real but a purely intentional object and, strictly speaking, one of a higher

order” (p. 119). He allows his “work” of “a higher order” to exist by insisting that


both sounding and non-sounding elements comprise the musical “work.” One of these

non-sounding elements allows “emotional impressions” to constitute a portion of the

“work.” For example, a composer might want to convey the impression of

“happiness” with his composition, and thus “happiness” comprises part of the “work.”

While Ingarden allows the emotions of a composer to constitute part of a

“work,” he rejects the idea that conscious experiences or the emotions of listeners are

part of an autonomous “work.” This is because he reasons that, most likely, there is no

longer a definable “work” when one begins to remove the centrality of the composer.

However, he does acknowledge that perhaps psychologists or sociologists, after much

effort, may demonstrate the importance of listener’s perceptions in relation to the

“work.”

Goehr, in a variation of Ingarden, presents the idea that “work” is a

construction reliant on the post-Bach Germanic canon of performances in formal

concerts. She believes that anything musical that has been performed since 1800

currently falls within the boundaries of the “work-concept” debate. While Goehr’s

account of the “work” is controversial (as challenged in one way or another by Solie

(1993), White (1997), Erauw (1998), and Josipovici (1993)), one aspect of her theory

suggests that the solidification of the divide between “creation” and “reception” in the

post-Bach concert era confirms that “reception” could constitute a partial

understanding of the identification of the “work.” Additionally, Goehr explains how

an emotional impression, such as an audience describing music as “beautiful,” in itself

helps to create an aesthetically appreciable “work.”

Ingarden’s “non-sounding emotional impressions” as “work” and Goehr’s

“reception opposite creation” as “work” gives new insights into the identity of the

“work” – and the combination suggests that it may be possible for an emotion or


impression gained through audience reception of a performance to indeed constitute

the “work” itself.

Tagg (2000) does a good job of facilitating an additional understanding of

what is meant when Ingarden’s views and Goehr’s views are combined. In his essay

questioning whether the musical “work” exists or not, he gives us the following

excerpt from the Oxford English Dictionary defining “work” in its four English

senses:

[i] the application of mental or physical effort to a purpose;... [ii] a thing done or made by work; the result of an action; an achievement;... [iii] a person's employment or occupation etc., esp. as a means of earning income; [iv] literary or musical composition.

Where traditional musicological definitions of “work” have focused on [iv],

specifically a score or recording, theories of “reception as work” focus more on the

“achievement” part of definition [ii]. In order for a performer to “achieve” anything

requires that, in the philosophical sense, several audience-acknowledged criteria are

present to recognize the achievement. These audience members, with their criteria for

identifying achievement, constitute the whole of the reception of the performance.

This logic explains how the “reception” of a performance by an audience can equal

the “work” in a new musicological sense.

This essay will demonstrate that Horowitz, during 1928-1968, his prime

transcription performing years, created a set of circumstances where there was no

“work” in the traditional sense of definition [iv]. In the place of the void where there

was no “work” in that sense, Horowitz left behind, through reception, the impression

that he was a “genius.” Thus, it could be said, and will be argued, that when

examining the performances of Horowitz, and particularly his transcriptions, that the

resulting “reception of Horowitz as genius” is equivalent to his “work” in the sense of

definition [ii]. Thus, this essay will defend the idea that “reception as genius as work”

is a valid musicological analogy when placed in the appropriate context.


Not any one single aspect of Horowitz’s talents or abilities contributed to this

“genius as work” result – rather, a unique collection of his individual skills and

distinctions interacted to form the basis for this notion.1 With Horowitz, we have

perhaps the only 20th century instance of a classical pianist creating a set of

circumstances that allowed him to [indirectly] control what constituted his “work.”

However, first, to adequately understand how Horowitz’s performances of

piano transcriptions have created this notion of “reception as genius as work” it is

helpful to consider some background about the Horowitz piano transcription.

Therefore, let us consider what is meant by “Horowitz’s performances of piano

transcriptions” and briefly explore the history that surrounds them.

Then, there will be an explication of the four categories of Horowitz’s skills

that have secured this definition of “reception as genius as work.” The first section

will examine how the distinctive characteristics of Horowitz’s performance practice

dispel traditional musicological notions of “work.” The second section will examine

how Horowitz as a master arranger but mediocre composer was discouraged from

conforming to traditional musicological definitions of “work.” The third section will

examine how Horowitz’s utilization of the complete topographical capabilities of the

piano parallels audiences’ cognitive predispositions and how this parallel allowed his

listening audiences to perceive him as a “genius.” The fourth section will examine

how Horowitz, as a master marketer, placed the audience and media context ahead of

the score and the performance, and how this action allowed Horowitz to self-

determine the entities people would label as his “work.”

Then, to conclude, there will be an examination of the role that intellectual

1 Because this collection of skills and circumstances, like most collections of skills and circumstances is not linear and unidirectional like the progression of an essay, there is some conceptual overlap between the main four points.


property disputes and impinging technology are playing in the downfall of

musicological and legal definitions of “work” using examples related to Horowitz.

This last argument will also explain how the legal notion of “recording as work” is

faltering throughout the music industry – and that ultimately, Horowitz’s self-

construal of “reception as genius as work” is one of the only possible paradigm shifts

for the immediate future of the musicological term “work.”

The Definition of “Horowitz’s Performances of Piano Transcriptions.”

The meaning of “Horowitz’s performances of piano transcriptions” throughout this

essay should be clarified. First, the “transcriptions” of Horowitz most colloquially

would be considered “arrangements” or “paraphrases.” Horowitz’s transcriptions take

an existing musical score either for piano or for some other instrumentation, change

sections and notes while retaining the original principal themes, and add elements of

virtuosity. The “Horowitz transcription” label is traditionally applied to the dozen or

so pieces Horowitz performed live from 1926 until 1968 ranging from a completely

original composition based on one borrowed theme (the Bizet-Horowitz Carmen

Fantasy) to pieces where most of the performance followed the written original score

with a composed or altered ending (the Liszt-Horowitz Hungarian Rhapsody #2). In

between these two extremes were such pieces as the Saint-Saens/Liszt/Horowitz

Danse Macabre and Horowitz’s “pianoscription” of Sousa’s Stars and Stripes

Forever.2 To define the “performance of these piano transcriptions,” this essay refers

not just to the recordings, but the actual unique concerts, at specified dates on Sunday

afternoons, in which Horowitz performed his creations.

Historical Context of Horowitz and his Transcriptions

It is also useful to know a bit of the historical background concerning both Horowitz

2 A list of the major arrangements with recording dates that constitute “Horowitz’s performances of piano transcriptions” for the purposes of this essay are listed in Appendix A.


and his transcriptions to set the groundwork for exploring the circumstances that

created Horowitz’s “reception as genius as work.” In 1926, at the age of 22, Horowitz

started to concertize seriously outside of Russia. It was in this year that he wrote his

first transcription for piano, the Carmen Variations, based on a theme from the last

part of the second act of the Bizet opera3. With a successful group of European

concerts, in 1928, Horowitz gave his American debut at Carnegie Hall playing

Tchaikovsky’s 1st Piano Concerto with Sir Thomas Beecham conducting. Soon after,

in his Carnegie Hall solo debut, Horowitz played his Carmen Variations as his encore.

According to Dubal (1991), after each variation increasing numbers of audience

members stood up in amazement. His next wave of transcriptions, which included the

Mendelssohn-Liszt-Horowitz Wedding March and the Saint Saens-Liszt-Horowitz

Danse Macabre were written and first performed in the early 1940s.

From 1944-1950, Horowitz composed the majority of his piano transcriptions.

These included the Liszt Hungarian Rhapsody arrangements and his most famous

transcription, his piano rendition of Sousa’s Stars and Stripes Forever, which stunned

a 1945 Carnegie Hall audience and later millions in New York City’s Central Park. In

1953, he took a 12-year retirement from performing and quit writing new

transcriptions. He created immense “hype” upon his return in 1965 with a series of

Carnegie Hall recitals that had concertgoers queued around the block to purchase

tickets.

Horowitz continued to experiment with his first transcription, Carmen, until he

made his last recording of it in 1978. However, Horowitz stopped performing his

transcriptions publicly in the late 1960s because he felt that they were causing him to

3 It is interesting to note that Horowitz made exaggerated claims concerning his transcriptions. Horowitz claimed that Carmen came about as a series of improvisations after playing the Sarasate version of the Carmen Fantasy with Milstein (Schonberg, 1992). It was later noted by individuals living across from Horowitz’s apartment that he spent countless hours working on perfecting the Carmen and his other transcriptions (Carolyn McCracken, 1994).


shrink artistically and intellectually (Dubal, 1991).4 For the rest of Horowitz’s career

until his 1989 death, he attempted to find obscure works to interpret in place of

transcriptions, and if he arranged, he generally only added some cadenza-like

technical runs and passages to the coda of a work. His recordings and performances of

obscure works included but were not limited to Clementi Sonatas and lesser-known

Scarlatti. However, to this day, his recordings that contain transcriptions are among

the high revenue earners in the classical music industry.

I. Horowitz’s Defining Characteristics as a Musical Performer in Relation to the

“Work”

As the preceding historical context suggests, Horowitz was a truly distinct performer.

This can be demonstrated further by considering that he was the only classical

performer ever to have a book of 125 remembrances written on his behalf after his

death (Dubal, 1993). His characteristically original performing style is the first skill

that helps to explain why he did not perform “works” in the traditional musicological

sense.

Horowitz’s first distinct performing characteristic was that he maintained a

most liberal view about interpreting other’s music. One of his quotes exemplifies his

attitude towards interpreting and performing quite well: “A performer may sit down

and play one passage one way and then perhaps exaggerate the next, but, in any event,

he must do something with the music. The worst thing is not to do anything. It may

even be something you don’t like, but do it!” (Sachs, 1982, p. 170). This passage

demonstrates that Horowitz was anything but a purist. He often disregarded the score

entirely when he performed, rather choosing to interpret works in his own way.

4 However, Horowitz didn’t object to his transcription recordings being produced, as long as he was paid for it (Plaskin, 1983).


Horowitz’s very act of creating transcriptions shows that he did not consider the

composer’s score to be the final, autonomous, musical “work.” Horowitz thus gave

himself a great deal of interpretive freedom – and it is this freedom from the score as

a “work” which forces the musicologist to consider other options which might

embody “the work” when describing Horowitz and his performances.

A second distinct performing characteristic of Horowitz was his use of

contrast to manipulate an audience. Arthur McKenzie, who attempted to write down

some of the Horowitz transcriptions, explains. He noted that Horowitz “was very

streetwise on the stage: he spent much of his time playing pppp so that when he felt

he might be losing his audience he could jab them with one of his fffffs. He could

manipulate an audience better than any other pianist.” (Plaskin, 1983, p. 250). By

exaggerating his pianism, he could appear to be a transcendent musician. This helps to

explain why audiences might not remember specific performances as Horowitz’s

“work” – rather they would remember the impression his performance left.

The third distinguishing aspect of Horowitz’s performance is seen through a

comparison of Horowitz and another contemporary transcriber, Georges Cziffra.

Pianist Cyprien Katsaris praised Horowitz heavily but also spoke highly about

Cziffra: “Georges Cziffra combines rigor and discipline… his own amazing

transcriptions… are unparalleled for their technical brilliance.” (Dubal, 1993, p.175).

However, there is a distinction between Horowitz and Cziffra. While Horowitz aimed

to please the audience, Cziffra had no patience for the desires of the audience, and

performed rather to please himself. So while Horowitz and Cziffra may have had

equal talent for the technical aspects of piano playing, Horowitz, much like Liszt, paid

attention to the impression left on the audience. When audiences attended a Horowitz

concert, they received more than Cziffra’s quick notes and thunderous octaves – they


received a performance that had been tailored specifically in many non-technical

ways to impress them5 (Dubal, 1991). This is a major indication that positive

reception was the central element of the Horowitz performance – and indeed that this

bid for positive reception was Horowitz’s main “work.”

II. Horowitz as Master Arranger but Mediocre Composer Explains His Dislike

For the Traditional “Work”

Horowitz was a master arranger and performer but a mediocre original composer.

Born in 1904, he started composing before the age of 8. The teenage Horowitz wrote

many works judged by his teachers as of high quality, including his only recorded

original composition, Danse exotique (Schonberg, 1992). However, Horowitz would

not sustain his compositional calling and nor would he publish any of his original

works, which included several piano pieces, a cello work, a violin sonata, and a few

songs.

Horowitz often claimed that the Russian Revolution forced him to perform

rather than composing. In 1977 at a Symposium at the University of Michigan at Ann

Arbor, Horowitz spoke of himself as a frustrated composer and not a performer – and

that this frustration led him to write transcriptions (Dubal, 1991). However, one

critic’s opinion was more likely -- Horowitz’s talent was on the piano as a performer

and he actually had little patience for regular creative composing (Dubal, 1991). This

is supported by the fact that Horowitz barely passed his theoretical studies at the Kiev

Conservatory but was clearly the most outstanding pianist in his class (Dubal, 1991).

While Horowitz continued to believe that he was a composer first, and a

pianist second, his only sustained hint of composition was in his transcriptions. The

times when Horowitz tried to compose, such as his desperate attempts in 1957 to

expand his Carmen Variations into a large-scale composition (even test recording the 5 See section III for an explanation of these ways.


result in Carnegie Hall), proved mediocre. Horowitz himself realized that his

compositional strengths were limited to the short transcriptions he had become most

famous for and usually abandoned his compositional projects completely (Schonberg,

1992).

The fact that Horowitz was an arranger and not a composer, supposedly did

not write his compositions down6, and constantly changed his performances of his

transcriptions demonstrates that neither the score or the single performance could

have denoted an autonomous “work” as it is traditionally musicologically defined.

Rather, the perception of the audience, the group Horowitz had in mind when

arranging in the first place, must be the source for the identity of the “work.”

Horowitz’s audiences may not have remembered his technical tricks, the melody, or

the rhythm, and certainly did not remember the complete details of his performances

and arrangements, but they did remember the sensation, the emotion, and the feeling

they had after the performance was finished. The audience did remember that

Horowitz was a “genius.” This is exactly as Horowitz wanted it7.

III. Horowitz as Master Topographer of the Piano As It Relates to His “Work”

Being Labeled “Genius”

Horowitz’s ability to see the topographical ways in which the piano could be aurally

and visually more stunning to the perceptions of the audience allowed him to exploit

an element of reception which is growing in popularity in musicological debates: a

match between performance practice and the cognitive predispositions8 of the

6 However, this is quite a controversial point as you will see in Section IV. McKenzie claims that Horowitz kept notated copies in a safe in his New York apartment. Several recording engineers have testified that Horowitz used bits of written down manuscripts in the recording process for his transcriptions (Dubal, 1991). If this is true, it just reinforces the idea that Horowitz wished for something other than “the score” to be synonymous with his “work.”

7 Horowitz did however note later in his career that this notion of “Horowitz as genius” was exactly the problem that was ruining his artistry. This is one of the reasons he abandoned his transcriptions in concert: he wanted people to remember works that were on the program, not just Carmen or Stars and Stripes (Schonberg, 1992).

8 By cognitive predispositions, I refer to triggers in the brain that cause an audience member to


audience (Bradshaw, 1998). This was no accident: Horowitz has been quoted as

asserting that one must know the way the audience’s minds work in order to perform

effectively on the piano (McCracken, 1994)9.

Having written down several of the Horowitz transcriptions myself, I can

safely assert that there are technical parameters that were exploited on the piano by

Horowitz that no other contemporary concert pianist had used up to that point10. For

example, Horowitz “cheated” extensively, but not so much that the difference between

“cheating” and “not-cheating” was perceivable. He skipped steps in chromatics to

make the sound more brilliant and the execution easier. He rewrote passages

interchanging hands during thirds, chords and octaves to create a more sensational

run. When Keith Albright played his version of the Stars and Stripes for Horowitz in

1988, Horowitz showed him how he could make it easier by leaving imperceptible

notes out. Horowitz strove for the absolute maximum effect with the least amount of

effort in his transcriptions (Dubal, 1991). By “cheating,” Horowitz was able to focus

again on optimizing his audience reception – a trait that further allowed his “genius”

to be remembered.11

Horowitz also stressed the rhythmic impetus over the melody, the harmony,

attend more to performance at hand. They are likely created by a combination of genetic, hormonal, environmental, and auditory factors. For example, extreme contrast in dynamic level causes the normal human brain to attend more to the sounds presented. This is an example of a match between topography and cognitive predisposition Horowitz used to capture the attention of his audience.

9 It is interesting to note that the “cognitive predispositions” that the audience desired: faster notes, broad sweep, visually changing pianism were not the “cognitive predispositions” Horowitz sought for himself as an artist. After his transcriptions became his trademark, Horowitz remarked that his pianism had become too fast. (Dubal, 1991). For the remainder of his career after 1968, Horowitz mostly interpreted works for his own enjoyment, and thought less about the audience. However, he was unable to get away from certain cognitively impressive interpretive gestures or his masterful marketing, and thus, even when performing obscure works supposedly to his own liking, his reception by the audiences contained the same enthusiasm and ovation as before.

10 It is important to note that these technical parameters were not any more difficult to perform than those utilized by Cziffra, they were just more visually and musically exciting to the audience.

11 It is interesting in light of this argument to note the comment of [email protected] on YahooGroups in 2001, “As an aside, now that these pieces are becoming common property, I've noticed some people are starting to denigrate them as being much easier to play than they sound'. This may be true, and it may well be one of the main reasons why Horowitz guarded them so jealously.”


the dynamics, or any other parameter of the music. He heightened the tensions by

bringing out countermelodies and internal themes. He never repeated the theme

directly – each time he added more daring and visually exciting technical tricks. He

insisted on biting dynamic contrasts and his tone at times had a brassy and plangent

quality.

Plaskin (1983) put it well when he noted that for most of the 20th century,

Horowitz’s transcriptions were accessible only to a Horowitz. By expanding the

technical and musical limits of the topography on the piano, Horowitz “cast a spell”

over the audience in a way that other pianists, dependent on composer’s scores,

recordings, and less cognitively optimum creative outlets could not. He individualized

himself further than other performers, a trait which won him much regard with his

audiences, and ultimately secured as his “work” his wish of being known as “genius.”

IV. Horowitz as Master Marketer Creates His Own Notion of “Work”

His other talents aside, as Horowitz was a brilliant marketer, he was able to

manipulate audiences into believing that he was the greatest pianist in the world. By

virtue of his marketing stunts, Horowitz demonstrated that he thought about the

audience first, and his music second. Which such care and attention to ensure positive

reception, Horowitz knew he had the ability to create “impressions” among the public

that would be synonymous with his “work.” To demonstrate some of the ways this is

true, let us consider how Horowitz successfully marketed.

First, it is crucial to note that the Horowitz piano transcriptions were not

published, and were not available to anyone in score format except perhaps one

recording engineer in the 1960s (YahooGroup). This allowed Horowitz to perform as

he wished, increasing his ability to persuade an audience. This persuasion had already

led to widespread “hype” by the 1930s. With widespread “hype” in place, Horowitz


was able to take advantage of the fame created by it throughout his career.

Psychologically speaking, an audience primed to believe that Horowitz is the greatest

ever would automatically give more curtain calls, remember features of the

performance as “brilliant,” and would quickly buy LPs and more tickets. Horowitz

knew this, and used it to do such things as successfully taking a 12-year retirement at

the height of his career.

To further demonstrate that Horowitz relied on the lack of a score (or one

might say, lack of a “work” in the traditional musicological sense) for his marketing

“hype,” consider the following. Horowitz was neurotic about seeing scores of the

transcriptions whenever any pianist, such as Ian Hobson, Arthur McKenzie or Kong

Ju claimed to have written one of them down (Dubal, 1991). Horowitz managed,

through a combination of his intimidation and charm, to stop each of these pianists

from performing the transcriptions publicly. Horowitz likely went to these extents

because he viewed these pianists as a threat to his marketability: the illusion of

complete spontaneity in his transcriptions would be damaged if other pianists were

playing his works, and would be ruined were his transcriptions to be published. Even

though Horowitz knew that pianophiles were writing his transcriptions down, when

speaking to the media he stuck to a story that he had not written them down and that

they were impossible to write down (Dubal, 1991).

Second, in addition to not publishing his transcriptions, Horowitz’s marketing

stunts to win over the media helped him to secure the widespread awe of audiences

everywhere. For example, In Carnegie Hall on March 28, 1945, Horowitz unveiled his

Stars and Stripes transcription as a surprise so that he would maximize his likelihood

of being chosen by the media to play for millions in Central Park on “I am an

American Day” (Schonberg, 1992). The following review in the New York Times


gives you an idea of how he succeeded:

“In music where pianistic craft is the raison d’etre, Horowitz rises to a level that no living pianist can match. His Stars and Stripes is sheer pianistic prestidigitation and, as such, can arouse a sharp esthetic response. Of course it is a stunt, just as running a mile under four minutes is a stunt, or flipping from one trapeze to another doing a triple somersault in mid-air. But it is a stunt on a transcendental level, and anybody who cannot enjoy it, admire it for what it is, has little sympathy for craft as such. You don’t laugh at things like The Stars and Stripes Forever when it receives a performance like this; you laugh with it, and at the end you are a little limp from empathic alliance with the performer; Will he falter? Break down? But Horowitz never does.” (Schonberg, 1992, p. 198)

Horowitz had his concert with the millions in Central Park (while using the

opportunity to publicize the fact that he had recently both raised 10 million dollars in

a War Bond Concert and had been granted American citizenship), but the review was

propaganda. The truth was that Horowitz did falter often – he had many memory

slips, played many wrong notes, and engaged in terse conversations with other

pianists and even the media. The reason Horowitz successfully navigated through

these blunders was because he was a “master puppeteer” of marketing via the media –

even though half the critics shunned him, he knew how to use the half who could not

praise him enough to his advantage. He would have his management at Columbia

position his positive reviews in such a way that the potential audience and critics

knew nothing but “Horowitz as genius.”

Third, Horowitz marketed hysteria and the idea of “performing magic” to

generate income after establishing to the public that his “work” was “genius.” By

Horowitz’s last concert in Paris in 1928, playing Carmen, the audience had become so

unruly that the police had to be summoned to bring order to the hall. Horowitz

periodically mentioned this example throughout his career to the press to impregnate

the idea of general hysteria among his fans. In 1965, hours after he had his wife

Wanda Horowitz proclaim to the media that he was “like a fifth Beatle,” he raised

ticket prices for his return-from-retirement concerts. He also created a shortage of

tickets, then personally went down to the street level where fans were lined up around


the block to hand out free coffee. As a result, he immediately became the highest paid

classical performer to date (McCracken, 1994). Similarly, Horowitz always scheduled

his concerts on Sunday afternoons. He always claimed that he scheduled the concerts

this way because of the indescribable electric magical feel of the afternoon (Dubal,

1991). However, it is more likely that Horowitz chose this time because it was the

time of the week that the most people were likely to be free to attend his concert, thus

creating more demand, more hysteria, more income, and more widespread love of his

pianism.

Fourth and finally, Horowitz able to market himself through a fake modesty

that created huge contrast when he played12. In a 1977 interview, Horowitz claimed

that he couldn’t play anymore, and that he had forgotten the Stars and Stripes.

Minutes later, with the camera rolling, he sat down and played the transcription

brilliantly. Horowitz used this self-deprecation to enhance the dramatic contrast of his

pianism in interviews – and it worked with his audiences everywhere. (Plaskin, 1983).

V. Horowitzian Intellectual Property Disputes and Technology Advancements

Affect the “Work” Notion

It has become increasingly clear within the past 20 years that the authors of notated

scores and recordings of originally unwritten transcriptions do not pay or owe

royalties to original performers like Horowitz (Shemel & Krasilovsky, 2000). The

lack of enforced laws in this area, the improving ‘sound to notation’ computer

technology, and Internet file sharing portals assure that royalties will likely never be

paid and the sanctity of the traditional musicological definition of individual “work”

will never be the same.

In 1996, Arcadi Volodos recorded two of Horowitz’s transcriptions on his

12 Close friends, such as Arthur Rubenstein, acknowledge that Horowitz’s modesty was fake. (McCracken, 1994).


debut CD for RCA. They were note-perfect renditions of the Horowitz recordings. At

this time, Wanda Horowitz, Horowitz’s widow, contacted Volodos to attempt to retain

a royalty for his recording of “her husband’s works.” In my personal interview with

Volodos in 1998, his interpreter revealed, “Wanda tried desperately to retain the

‘ownership’ of her husband’s famed transcriptions. She attempted to sue me after I did

not agree to pay a royalty. She eventually dropped the case shortly before her death

earlier this year [1998], admitting that only Volodya’s [Horowitz’s] recordings, and

not the notes contained within would be immortal.” While Wanda Horowitz’s

beneficiaries could still sue Volodos, the floodgate of soon-to-be-released Horowitz

Transcription recordings will likely prevent this action from occurring.

To give an idea of the Horowitz notation developments in just the past 18

months, consider that in October of 2000, [email protected] released a message

on the Horowitz message board on YahooGroups with links to MIDI iterated forms

and recordings of the various versions of the Carmen Fantasy. Within 5 months of his

post, I had used a free software program from CNET’s Download.com that slowed the

recordings without altering the pitch to write down the remaining Horowitz

transcriptions and to become the first to record the original Saint Saens-Liszt-

Horowitz Danse Macabre and the 1967 Bizet-Horowitz Carmen13. Throughout 2001,

Marcel Mombeek used the power of the Internet to gather all the notated versions of

all the recorded piano transcriptions of the 20th century (including several Horowitz

transcriptions) together on a single bootleg CDR to be sold to enthusiastic pianophiles

by wire transfer from a nonexistent address in Belgium. In the last few months, with

file swapping rampant on such sites as KaZaa.com, PDF files of scores of some of the

13 It is ironic that one can liken the activities of [email protected] and I as transcription in another sense: that spoken of by Shelemay (1990) – anthropological transcription. Thus, the Horowitzian creation of audience memory – “reception as work” lives on in the art of “transcription” as it is classically defined, even if the context has changed and the new audience will never see a living Horowitz perform.


famous transcriptions are becoming freely available at the click of a button.

Had these technological advancements existed when Horowitz was in his

performing prime, he would not have been able to successfully navigate his

“reception as genius as work” scheme. This is because not having his transcription

scores available to the public was too important of an element to his success at

disabling the reception of “score” or “recording” as his “work.” While the era of the

unique transcription writer as performer is virtually over, this does not mean that

another “reception as genius at work” artist could not exist. In fact, there is a current

void, not just in classical music, but also in pop for a musician who will embody the

Horowitzian distinctions and characteristics. The closest modern day equivalent may

be Madonna, an artist who has clearly spent a great deal of time contemplating and

changing her visible image to fit the demands of the public audience. Any modern

performers who embody this “reception as genius as work” role will have to do more

than Horowitz or Madonna though – they will have to present new and irreplaceable

skills in addition to wooing their audiences to assure their “genius” is remembered as

their “work.”

Legally speaking, for about 20 years, most intellectual property disputes

regarding music that have been debated in court have ruled that the only “work” that

may be copyright protected is the recording (Cronin, 1998)14. However, these

copyright protections of “recording as work” are faltering as badly as the “score as

copyrighted work” challenges because of the same technological advancements

already mentioned. Whereas 20 years ago the notion of “recorded work” in the Glenn

Gould tradition might legally constitute an original and copyright protected “work,”

the advent of digital sampling and Napster file swapping technology has pushed even

14 In some places, a score may constitute a legal representation of a “work.” However, one has to prove an “intent to copy” on the part of a defendant in order to sue them for illicit use of the score. This has proved to be a very difficult task to achieve in court (Lebrecht, 1997).


this definition and conceptual boundary into disrepute. Courts will only protect the

likenesses of recordings that garner the greatest market share of revenue. This is

because in present conditions, the amount of capital expenditure to fight the necessary

battle to win a copyright dispute is only economical in large-scale cases (Cronin,

1998). Thus, any individual in the classical music industry, with a current 3% total

market share in record sales, is unlikely to garner the attention that Metallica was able

to in their fight against Napster. Even the Metallicas of the world are finding

themselves unable to protect their recorded “work” – as soon as one file sharing site is

shut down, several more start up in countries that do not enforce copyright

restrictions. Thus, with anonymous worldwide information accessibility over the

Internet and little likelihood of internationally agreeable copyright law anytime soon

(Frith, 1998), it looks like even the notion of recording as respected “work” is in

danger15.

These advances in technology and information distribution may possibly

destroy the ability to frame any entity as “a work,” especially if we view the original

musicological conception of a “score or recording as work” as economically and

legally rather than philosophically or linguistically constructed. No longer is it

sufficient to define a musical “work” as a “score” – what does that make the 47

different in-print recordings of Rachmaninov’s 3rd Piano Concerto (including 3 of

Horowitz’s)? Neither can the “recording” adequately describe the “work” – what does

that make Darude’s 25 sampled versions of the techno-dance track Sandstorm that all

share the same sampling segments and borrow heavily from other recordings? These

difficult questions leave us longing for a new conception of “work.” It seems as if my

15 Perhaps a cynical view, but I would predict all intellectually original “work” in the traditional physical sense is in danger of losing its copyright protection because of technological advancements. Even if laws are put in place, the pace of technological advancement seems as is it will still outrun the legal barriers.


combination of Goehr’s (1992) and Ingarden’s (1986) idea of “reception” as “work”

may be the most promising and indeed the only foreseeable direction for the

contemporary notion “work.”

Conclusion

Horowitz’s performances of piano transcriptions lack a “work” in the traditional sense

of Tagg’s (2000) Oxford definition [iv] --- they instead sublimate the idea of “work”

with the reception-contingent achievement (definition [ii]) that Horowitz was a

“genius.” This idea of “reception as genius as work” derived from a synthesis of two

novel ideas about the work concept by Ingarden (1986) and Goehr (1992). This essay

has examined the four major criteria that suggest that Horowitz’s “work” was his

“reception as genius.” First, it examined how the distinctiveness of the Horowitzian

performance phenomenon disproves the existence of a traditional “work” and instead

embodies the notion of “reception as work.” Second, it looked at how Horowitz as

master arranger but mediocre composer shunned the idea of a traditional

musicological “work.” Third, it examined how Horowitz’s mastery of the topographic

capabilities of the piano parallels audiences’ cognitive predispositions thus placing

“reception” as the central “work” of concern, not the “score” or “recording.” Fourth, it

showed that Horowitz as master marketer was able to place the audience and context

ahead of other modalities of categorization to create an image of “genius.”

Finally, this essay argued that through intellectual property disputes and

impinging technology, many of which Horowitz was central in, artists are losing the

ability to label scores and recordings as “works” in the traditional sense. Ultimately,

reception will become the only musicological embodiment of “work,” and possibly a

new “reception as ‘genius’ as work” artist will emerge in the coming years, much like

the transcription-performing Horowitz of two generations ago.


Appendix A

List of arrangements that, for the purposes of this essay, constitute “Performances of Horowitz Transcriptions.” The year a version of the transcription was recorded is included in parentheses following each listing.

Bizet-Horowitz Carmen Variations (often also called the Carmen Fantasy) (1928, 1947, 1967, 1968, 1978)

Liszt-Horowitz Hungarian Rhapsody Number 2 (1951)Liszt-Horowitz Hungarian Rhapsody Number 15 (1950)Liszt-Horowitz Hungarian Rhapsody Number 19 (1968)Mendelssohn-Liszt Wedding March (1946)Moszkowski Etude in Ab Opus 72 #11 (1942)Mussorgsky-Horowitz Pictures at an Exhibition (1950)Saint Saens-Liszt-Horowitz Danse Macabre (1942)Sousa-Horowitz Stars and Stripes Forever (1950)


References

Bradshaw, S. (1998). A performer’s responsibility. In Thomas, W. (ed), Composition – Performance – Reception: Studies in the Creative Process in Music. Aldershot, England: Ashgate Publishing Company.

Cronin, C. (1998). Concepts of melodic similarity in music-copyright infringement suits. In W. Hewlitt and E. Selfridge-Field (eds), Melodic Similarity: Concepts, Procedures, and Applications. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

Dubal, D. (1991). Evenings With Horowitz: A Personal Portrait. London: Robson Books.

Dubal, D. (1993). Remembering Horowitz: 125 Pianists Recall a Legend. New York: Schirmer Books.

Erauw, W. (1998). Canon formation: some more reflections on Lydia Goehr’s Imaginary Museum of Musical Works. Acta Musicologica 70, 109-115.

Frith, S. (1998). Copyright and Music. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Goehr, L. (1992). The Imaginary Museum of Musical Works: an Essay in the

Philosophy of Music. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Ingarden, R. (1986). The Work of Music and the Problem of Its Identity. London:

MacMillan Press. Josipovici, G. (1993). Review of Goehr, L (1992) The Imaginary Museum of Musical

Works: an Essay in the Philosophy of Music. Music and Letters 74, 86-87. Lebrecht, N. (1997). Who Killed Classical Music? : Maestros, Managers, and

Corporate Politics. New York: Birch Lane Press.Mach, E. (1980). Great Contemporary Pianists Speak for Themselves. New York:

Dover. McCracken, C. (1994). Personal interview, Northbrook, IL. Plaskin, G. (1983). Horowitz. London: Macdonald and Co. Sachs, H. (1982). Virtuoso. Thames and Hudson, Essex. Schonberg, H. C. (1992). Horowitz: His Life and Music. New York: Simon and

Schuster. Shelemay, K.K. (1990). Musical Transcription: The Garland Library of Readings in

Ethnomusicology Volume 4. London: Garland Publishers.Shemel, S. & Krasilovsky, M. W. (2000). This Business of Music: A Practical Guide

to the Music Industry for Publishers, Writers, Record Companies, Producers, Artists, Agents. 8th Edition. New York: BPI Communications Inc.

Solie, R. (1993). Review of Goehr, L (1992) The Imaginary Museum of Musical Works: an Essay in the Philosophy of Music. NOTES 50, 604-605.

Tagg, P. (2000). ‘The work’: An evaluative charge. In M. Talbot (ed.), The Musical Work: Reality of Invention? Liverpool, England: Liverpool University Press.

Volodos, A. (1998). Personal interview (with interpreter), Chicago Symphony Hall, IL.

White, H. (1997). “If it’s Baroque don’t fix it”: reflections on Lydia Goehr’s “work concept” and the historical integrity of musical composition. Acta Musicologica 69, 94-104.

YahooGroups (1999-2001). The Horowitz Experience Message Group. http://groups.yahoo.com/the_horowitz_experience

Zaehr (2000). http://www.epinions.com/content_36053880452.

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