But the major sources of decline run deeper and broader than mere presentation. The prime economic cause is the collapse of the classical recording industry which once provided a full second salary for London musicians, essential in a high-priced town. To make up the loss of £250 sessions at Abbey Road, London orchestras set about touring the world, bumped from one bucket airline to the next, blurring their brand in Asian markets. Their absence left a hole in the heart of London’s music. The Philharmonia and the London Philharmonic, both nominally “resident” at the South Bank, each play fewer than three dozen concerts there a year. For all but tax purposes they are practically exiles.
The London Symphony Orchestra play twice as often at the Barbican, in a cheerless hall that no one loves and which they are keen to leave. The Royal Philharmonic entertain Sloane Rangers at Cadogan Hall, off the beaten track. The BBC Symphony is barely seen outside Proms time. The sound of the five big orchestras, once so pronounced we could tell them apart blindfold, has homogenised. The bands sound much the same. Their competitive raison d’etre is gone.
The smaller orchestras have likewise outlived their stated purpose. The London Sinfonietta, designed to play modern music too abstruse for the BBC, saws away at mainstream stuff from the last third of the 20th century. The Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, a pioneer in period practice, now spuriously plays “authentic” Mahler. Each clinging to a false niche, they are sustained by an Arts Council which shrugs their presentation off onto its chief client, the South Bank, serving a messy potage of unpromoted concerts.
The musicians, growing anxious, surrendered their birthright in exchange for a banker’s mantra. The swagger of London’s orchestras arose from the fact that they were owned and governed by their musicians. No more. They are now ruled by boards on which hedge-funders, minigarchs and Tory fixers outvote the few musicians. When it comes to music, City types know best.
The ones who know best of all are the orchestra managers who sit in their jobs, motionless as Cleopatra’s Needle, for up to 30 years. Their doyen, David Whelton, retires this month from the Philharmonia with the sense of a job well done — as indeed he should, given that he has kept them alive and in good nick against the odds. But for what purpose? The Philharmonia is indistinguishable from the rest. Managerial stasis has reduced great orchestras to grids of routine.
The music directors are no less to blame. Vladimir Jurowski, ten years at the London Philharmonic and holding parallel jobs in Moscow and Berlin, has run low on ideas. Esa-Pekka Salonen’s London season pales beside his work with the LA Phil. The RPO, once Beecham’s salt of the earth, is captained by an octogenarian Swiss for all seasons. The fuss around Simon Rattle’s arrival at the LSO is occasioned mostly by his predecessor’s absenteeism.
The best fresh talent is found in the second city, Birmingham, where the choice of 29-year-old Mirga Gražinytė-Tyla as music director made The Times’s front page. Her predecessor, Andris Nelsons, is now the hottest baton in America. London has missed out, time and again, on renewal. London’s music has gone flat. I wish it were not so.
The London Symphony Orchestra play twice as often at the Barbican, in a cheerless hall that no one loves and which they are keen to leave. The Royal Philharmonic entertain Sloane Rangers at Cadogan Hall, off the beaten track. The BBC Symphony is barely seen outside Proms time. The sound of the five big orchestras, once so pronounced we could tell them apart blindfold, has homogenised. The bands sound much the same. Their competitive raison d’etre is gone.
The smaller orchestras have likewise outlived their stated purpose. The London Sinfonietta, designed to play modern music too abstruse for the BBC, saws away at mainstream stuff from the last third of the 20th century. The Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, a pioneer in period practice, now spuriously plays “authentic” Mahler. Each clinging to a false niche, they are sustained by an Arts Council which shrugs their presentation off onto its chief client, the South Bank, serving a messy potage of unpromoted concerts.
The musicians, growing anxious, surrendered their birthright in exchange for a banker’s mantra. The swagger of London’s orchestras arose from the fact that they were owned and governed by their musicians. No more. They are now ruled by boards on which hedge-funders, minigarchs and Tory fixers outvote the few musicians. When it comes to music, City types know best.
The ones who know best of all are the orchestra managers who sit in their jobs, motionless as Cleopatra’s Needle, for up to 30 years. Their doyen, David Whelton, retires this month from the Philharmonia with the sense of a job well done — as indeed he should, given that he has kept them alive and in good nick against the odds. But for what purpose? The Philharmonia is indistinguishable from the rest. Managerial stasis has reduced great orchestras to grids of routine.
The music directors are no less to blame. Vladimir Jurowski, ten years at the London Philharmonic and holding parallel jobs in Moscow and Berlin, has run low on ideas. Esa-Pekka Salonen’s London season pales beside his work with the LA Phil. The RPO, once Beecham’s salt of the earth, is captained by an octogenarian Swiss for all seasons. The fuss around Simon Rattle’s arrival at the LSO is occasioned mostly by his predecessor’s absenteeism.
The best fresh talent is found in the second city, Birmingham, where the choice of 29-year-old Mirga Gražinytė-Tyla as music director made The Times’s front page. Her predecessor, Andris Nelsons, is now the hottest baton in America. London has missed out, time and again, on renewal. London’s music has gone flat. I wish it were not so.
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