The Rush to Capitalize on <i> Glasnost</i> : The major U.S. players are vying intensely to import Soviet performers--and, suddenly, artistic famine becomes marketing glut

They know each other quite well for all three are rivals in the same field--doing their best to capitalize on the new, open Soviet Union by importing music and dance performers into the United States. They conduct business in that tight little enclave of mid-town Manhattan that’s virtually a baton’s throw from Carnegie Hall and Lincoln Center, and these days might just as easily bump into each other on Moscow’s Gorky Street as on Manhattan’s West 57th Street.

Of course Lee Lamont, 58, president of ICM Artists Ltd.; Charles Dillingham III, 47, president of the Entertainment Corp. U.S.A., and R. Douglas Sheldon, 48, a vice president and division head at Columbia Artists Management Inc., knew each other before glasnost . Only now their agencies’ rivalry has intensified.

“We don’t lunch,” Sheldon says.

During the rush to import Russian and other Soviet artists in the 4 1/2 years since former President Ronald Reagan and Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev renewed cultural ties, these three agencies have moved to the top in snapping up the best of classical and traditional Soviet artists.

If there is a downside in all this, it is excess. After a virtual six-year absence, there was such a rush for Soviet performing artists in music, dance and theater that agencies now face the problem of glut. Agencies can control what they bring but not what their rivals bring. Already in dance there have been conflicts. And notes Sheldon: “You face the possibility that three different orchestras could come in the same concert season. I don’t think there’s any agency in New York who believes the market could handle all of that.”

Cultural exchange had essentially shut down with the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan at the end of 1979, and that coincided with the expiration of a cultural treaty between the United States and the Soviet Union. So, when things opened up again, a lot of people saw--or thought they saw--a golden opportunity.

“Suddenly the United States got Russian fever,” Lamont said. “Everybody--whether it was a manufacturer of goods or a promoter of rock troupes--decided they were going to become very wealthy by going to the Soviet Union, getting a contract and presenting attractions. . . .”

Soviet authorities happily cooperated, and still do. In their rush for hard foreign currency, Sheldon noted, “they’ll sell absolutely anything to absolutely anybody . . . . I don’t even know the names of the (buyers here) because they come out of nowhere . Any organization that would put up hard cash. Or who they thought could put up hard cash. . . .”

Giving the rivalry an edge is the fact that like American and other Western artists, the Soviets have gotten into the habit of defecting from one American management to another. A significant change under perestroika , or restructuring, is that increasingly Soviet artists and companies have a say as to who their Western managers will be.

While money is always a motivator, there are other forces in this particular market.

“Direct From the U.S.S.R.” on the bill brings a certain amount of prestige and visibility. And then there is always the emotional factor. “This is a country that has been shut off in many cases,” says Dillingham, “and their artists deserve to perform in the West and be seen.”

But primarily it is the art.

“Traditionally they have produced fantastic artists--artists of the highest international standard,” explains Sheldon. “The history is full of these people whether it’s (cellist Mstislav) Rostropovich or (violinist David) Oistrakh or (pianists Emil) Gilels or (Sviatoslav) Richter. And no dance companies in the world had the renown (of) the Kirov and the Bolshoi . . . . Of course, the Russian culture is one that is to most Americans a little mysterious.”

And for American audiences getting over the Cold War, there is something heady in hearing a Soviet company, having learned the words phonetically, singing “America, the Beautiful,” as did a folk dance troupe from Soviet Georgia.

For nine years--longer than its rivals--Columbia was treated, Sheldon said, as if it was “ persona non grata “ with the Soviet Union, having been blamed for the 1979 defections of a number of Bolshoi Ballet members including principal Alexander Godunov. Allowed back in early last year after some quiet negotiating, the 60-year-old agency is fast becoming a major player once more.

The largest classical artist management agency in the world, with nearly 800 clients and 14 divisions, Columbia carries considerable clout. As Sheldon, who does most of Columbia’s negotiations with the Soviets likes to note: “My division is larger than some artist agencies--77 clients or something like that.”

Columbia has already signed the U.S.S.R. State Symphony and its chief conductor Yevgeny Svetlanov (formerly with ICM) for a major national tour in early 1991, and the Soviet Philharmonic Orchestra and its chief conductor Gennady Rozhdestvensky (formerly with Entertainment Corp.) for a tour in early 1992. The agency now lists the Bolshoi Theatre Orchestra and the Leningrad Kirov Orchestra and is looking to add ethnic dance companies, balalaika orchestras, chamber orchestras, vocalists and instrumentalists. “You have to work at this all the time,” Sheldon says.

Since glasnost, ICM Artists, with about 200 clients, has been in the forefront of the Soviet market with nine company tours. ICM got back in during the summer of 1986 with the Kirov Ballet (now with Entertainment Corp.). The 14-year-old agency is a direct descendant of the company founded by impresario Sol Hurok, who in the 1950s and ‘60s essentially had the Soviet show to himself.

Probably ICM’s best-known Soviet client is the Moiseyev Dance Company, which, in 1958 under Hurok, became the first Soviet troupe in decades to break the cultural ice. The Moiseyev returns for its third trip since glasnost in the fall of 1991.

Besides about 15 soloists, ICM has toured the Leningrad Symphony Orchestra, the Moscow Philharmonic and next season brings in the Leningrad Philharmonic, the Lezginka Folk Dance Company, the Moscow Soloists and the 101-year-old Andreyev Balalaika Orchestra--the old Royal Court Orchestra. “I really had no intentions of bringing a balalaika orchestra. Balalaikas are native instruments that look like moons . . . ,” Lamont said. “But then I heard them. They invited me to a recording session when I was in Leningrad.”

Entertainment Corp., the fast sprinter in the field, has brought in seven Soviet companies and 15 Soviet soloists starting with conductor Yuri Temirkanov and pianist Nikolai Petrov--the first under the new exchange treaty in January, 1986.

The agency--formerly known as Classical Artists International--makes a major splash this summer co-presenting (with James M. Nederlander) the Bolshoi Ballet in a 7-city, 11-week tour--which is on a somewhat grander scale than the 1987 Bolshoi tour brought by Metropolitan Opera. Entertainment Corp., with 50 clients overall, is also sponsoring for return visits for the Kirov Ballet (mainly in the Midwest) and the Georgian State Dancers.

Bolstering its prestige and perhaps its coffers, the parent London-based Entertainment Corp. Group has signed separate six-year exclusive agreements with the Bolshoi Theatre of Moscow, the Kirov Theatre of Leningrad, and Gosconcert--the state artists agency--to develop marketing and promotional opportunities, including jewelry, perfume, a line of clothing, books and videos.

The arrangement is 60% for the theaters--which could use hard foreign currency--and 40% for the agency. If this seems larger than what might be considered a normal 20% commission, company co-chairman Peter Brightman and Victoria Charlton explained at a press conference that they’re responsible for all investments including start-up costs, so far amounting to over $750,000.

The British husband-and wife team have been dealing with the Soviets since they founded their agency in London in 1982. According to Dillingham, the Soviets suggested that Brightman and Charlton open an office in the United States. “And you can do some business,” he quoted the Soviets as saying. “Not all of our business but some business because we trust you and enjoy doing business with you.”

“It’s a business relationship,” Dillingham explained. “Once you have a business relationship, it’s just like where you get your cleaning done. You keep going until you have a problem.”

The Bolshoi and the Kirov did not become clients in this country until last summer--about the time that Dillingham, who had been general manager and executive director of American Ballet Theatre for eight years, joined Entertainment Corp. The agency, Dillingham said, had to build “a relationship with the Bolshoi and the Kirov companies first of all, and with Gosconcert and the Ministry of Culture . . . . We had to convince all these people. It didn’t just fall in our lap.”

Is there big money to be made in capitalizing on glasnost?

Lamont, who began working for Hurok in 1957, notes that overall “your (profit) margin is very small compared to what it was in the ‘50s and ‘60s, and the costs are going up. It used to be relatively inexpensive to tour a group. Never mind hotels. . . . Union costs eat away most of your profits. Travel--you have to fly somebody. We have a very large country. You can’t bus tours around the United States. . . .”

Sheldon explained that normally in the West, managers make all the arrangements for booking an artist or orchestra with presenters of classical music events and take a 20% commission. “The normal arrangement is an orchestra receives all fees minus the commission and pays all bills. The Soviet arrangement is a buy-sell. . . . They always wanted to sell for a given fee and make you pay all the expenses possible.”

He added: “In the early days, or part of the early days when Hurok did it, he’d have to pay to Gosconcert $1,000 for Rostropovich, and he’d sell for $5,000, and he was able to make some money. And, when he brought the Bolshoi tour, he was able to buy it very inexpensively and make tons of money. (Then) the Soviets became more sophisticated, the costs kept going up and it became really impossible to do that . . . . What you hope to do is perhaps create a scenario where perhaps you make the same 20%.”

“But it’s not fail-safe,” he noted. Touring a major Soviet orchestra costs $55,000 per concert--including the fee and all expenses. He figures a likely profit is 15%.

Lamont says that costs can be three times as much as the basic fee and she’s satisfied “if I can pull 8-12% on an attraction--an orchestra or a dance ensemble--because of the costs. The margins are small but that’s OK, this is fine. . . . I also represent some major artists and I get commissions out of them. I’m not just making my money out of the Soviets.”

As manager/producers or co-producers on many tours, Entertainment Corp.--and sometimes ICM--assumes other financial risks including rental of the hall, local advertising, local production costs, and myriad details. “It’s financially riskier,” Dillingham said, “but if you’re successful at it the rewards are greater.”

On individual artists, the agency executives say they sometimes reach the standard 20% profit.

On the negative side, there is the problem of market glut, particularly in dance. This year at least 10 companies have come in or are scheduled to come. They are: the Bolshoi, the Kirov, the Georgian State Dance Company, the Rustavi Company (also from Soviet Georgia), the Don Cossack Song and Dance Company, Lezginka from Daghestan in the Caucuses north of Georgia, the Koslov Youth Ensemble, the Moscow Chamber Ballet, Leningrad Ballet--and the Leningrad State Music Hall Dance Company, currently performing at City Center Theater in New York. That last troupe was brought here by Leon Zemshman, a car-leasing company executive in Queens, and an emigre from the Soviet republic of Moldavia.

ICM’s Lamont, who said she was having a problem “properly booking” Lezginka this fall because the Georgian State Dance Company is also coming this fall, discussed her recent tour of the Don Cossacks. “They did, in some places, very, very well and in other places very, very poorly. It did not do well in Chicago (in March). There was an article in the Tribune which said basically it’s a good company, they kick as high as all the other folk dance companies, but do we need another Russian attraction?”

At Entertainment Corp., Dillingham said “the people here who have been booking the Georgian State Dance Company have heard from some people (who) feel there have been too many, or enough, Russian ethnic dance companies in (certain) cities . . . . There is, either in some cities or in some art forms, a glut. But the market will rectify that . . . if you look at it over a five-year spectrum. And there probably are some areas that haven’t seen the Georgian State dancers. But, instead of going to the old circuit everybody knows about, you’ve got to find new places to go.”

John Ballard, president of Space Agency Inc. in Salt Lake City, who brought Soviet jazz groups in the early years of glasnost, co-sponsored the Red Army Chorus tour last year with Atlanta entertainment promoter Alex Cooley and Canadian John Cripton. Neither Ballard nor Cooley has any immediate plans to bring more Soviets.

In fact Ballard said he recently canceled a prospective tour by the Krasnoyarsk dance troupe from Siberia because it’s simply “too much.” He also said he turned down an offer to bring a folk ensemble from Ukraine.

Don Hughes, president of International Attractions Inc. in La Jolla, who has brought a number of Soviet dance and acrobatic troupes since last summer, estimates that he will lose several hundred thousand dollars on the Rustavi’s recent massive 26-city, 12-week tour. The tour, which he produced, ended April 27.

Hughes blames the glut. “Theatrically, they were an enormous success; we didn’t have a bad review anywhere. Financially, I think we were up against too many folk dance companies coming through at the same time.”

But Hughes, who is bringing the Koslov this fall, says he has done well on other attractions like the Soviet Acrobatic Revue. He was back in the Soviet Union earlier this month to finalize arrangements for the Obraztsov Puppet Theatre, his enthusiasm undiminished. “There’s not been a glut of puppets.”

It’s “a mess, a total mess” dealing over there, says Sheldon.

It’s “confusing . . . unsettled,” notes Lamont.

And Dillingham points out that “the rules are changing, the laws are changing, the regulators are changing . . . (but) once you are attuned to that, business can be conducted.”

For the Soviet artist, the agents agree, it’s better. Gosconcert, a division of the Ministry of Culture-- gos standing for government or state--no longer holds the monopoly on who can perform abroad and for how much.

“It’s not just a question of (us) making money,” Lamont said. “These are people who have been locked up or limited in their touring . . . . I have to tell you I really feel for these people. I see the lines they stand on. I see the way they live. I know the way they’ve been paid in the past. Gosconcert may have received $3,000; that artist might have gotten $250 . . . . We’re talking about people coming out, sharing their arts, and there’s some very great art in the Soviet Union.”

Gosconcert’s monopoly ended 13 months ago. Artists can go through other government agencies such as the cultural ministries in the various republics, through certain unions, through an organization called Sovinart run by a former top official at Gosconcert and through the state record company Melodia.

Artists can also have exit permits arranged through certain cooperatives--government-licensed private businesses--such as Unex, an export/import company whose business is recycling paper goods or trash. In La Jolla, Hughes flashes a business card from the Moscow-based cooperative. Through Unex, he pays his representative in Moscow--Galena Bokareva who worked at Gosconcert--who will help bring the Koslov Youth Ensemble.

Anthony Phillips, director of international operations for Entertainment Corp.’s parent company, said he believed “(conductor Gennady) Rozhdestvensky was instrumental in getting the legislation changed.”

In the summer of 1988, after reported mistakes in scheduling and repertory, the conductor canceled several U.S. appearances claiming that he did not have to abide by the contractual arrangements made by Gosconcert. There had also been an apparent dispute over his fee. Brightman later revealed that after the dispute was resolved, Rozhdestvensky’s share was “more like 50-50”--as opposed to his previous share of only 20%. And he got an open visa.

The conductor’s current contractual relationships in the Soviet Union are unclear. Asked whether he still has the 50-50 arrangement, Columbia Artists President Ronald Wilford--who now handles the account--allowed: “I don’t know that he pays Gosconcert. I don’t even know if he’s with Gosconcert.”

Increasingly Soviet artists and companies consult with their Western managers, though the actual contracts are drawn up by Gosconcert or some other agency. “Now they mostly all have a say,” notes Lamont. “ ‘We only want to do four concerts a week, we won’t travel more than four hours on the day of a concert’--that’s getting closer to the European/American level of working, where at least the artists have some control over what they do.”

Meanwhile there has been a change at the top of the Ministry of Culture. The new minister is Nikolai Gubenko, an actor at Moscow’s Taganka Theater who was playing the title role in “Boris Godunov” at the time of his appointment last November. The year before, Gosconcert--an arm of the ministry--also got a new chief: Vladimir Panchenko, a top official of the Composers Union.

“He speaks very good English,” Dillingham said of Gubenko. “Very quiet--not shy, but reserved. And he’s very serious about continuing the perestroika, restructuring the whole arts infrastructure in the Soviet Union.”

Dillingham disclosed that at Gubenko’s request, his agency prepared two reports. “He asked us to give him a comprehensive report on the contractual relationships between performing artists and their employers and unions in this country, and secondly on social welfare programs as they impact performing artists--unemployment insurance, health insurance, disability . . . .”

The reports were sent to Moscow in January.

In late March, Lamont was in Moscow for a seminar at the Ministry of Culture. “I had suggested to USIA (United States Information Agency) and the Soviet Embassy that we carry on something like this,” she said. “With the co-opting and privatization of enterprises in the Soviet Union, there are suddenly a lot of people who are getting into touring or presentation of the performing arts who’ve never had to go through the mechanics before and truly don’t know the steps that have to be taken . . . .

“We dealt with the crowded market, we dealt with contracts, we dealt with negotiations,” Lamont said. “Basically the Russians have always felt that we in the United States are there to cheat them out of money . . . just a suspicion that exists that ‘you’re trying to take advantage of us,’ that ‘you’re really making all of this money and it should be coming to us’ without understanding or ever having had to deal with expenses.”

And Sheldon explained that “it’s almost impossible to find someone who speaks with real authority. Previously if you spoke to Gosconcert, if you made a deal, that was it”--though he also pointed out that there have been times when an artist was promised and failed to show when the plane landed at Kennedy Airport. “Now they’re in an era where they can’t be authoritative. They have to go and get the artist’s consent just like we’ve had to do for decades . . . .

“They don’t trust the West,” Sheldon continued, “so they always think if somebody offers them something, there’s a reason they didn’t offer them more . . . . And when you say, ‘Do we have an agreement?’ and they say, ‘Yes,’ you really have to find out if that means anything.

“What’s hard is that their need and their drive for hard currency make the negotiations a little difficult,” he added. “And they have had 70 years, maybe more, of distrust. Of themselves as well . . . . You never know who is the informer, you never knew who was your friend, so there is a psychology of mistrust.”

With the street-smart scrappiness of someone who rose from a secretary to the head of her company, ICM’s Lamont laces her conversation with little needles at her major agency rivals. She’s hardly alone. Going from one agency to the other, you hear bits of sniping on all sides.

Puffing away at a cigarillo, talking about her tour with Yevgeny Svetlanov and the U.S.S.R. State Symphony (billed then as the Moscow State Symphony), she whispered: “He’s now with CAMI (Columbia Artists). For a long time, Gosconcert would not work with Columbia, and then they started to work with them.” And she said the “logical thing” for Gosconcert to say to Columbia was, “ ‘Moscow State, you can have that . . . .’ ”

“I didn’t bid for the Bolshoi or the Kirov,” she said, “although it was put up on the block. ‘You can have it if you pay X dollars.’ . . . (The amount) I’m not going to quote. I can tell you it was above the logical market value. . . .”

Of the Bolshoi, she adds: “There aren’t the big stars there used to be . . . .”

Over at Columbia, using a cigarette for emphasis, Sheldon had already raised the matter of the Svetlanov acquisition. “Svetlanov, who had toured with ICM, wouldn’t do it anymore for reasons I don’t know. He just wouldn’t do it,” he said with lawyerly deliberation. “He wanted to be in Columbia. He made his decision before I ever went to Moscow. . . . So it was incumbent on Gosconcert to get him with another tour manager for the future, so literally that was the first thing they presented . . . .”

The same applied to violinist Vladimir Spivakov and his 28-ensemble Moscow Virtuosi chamber orchestra, which had been with Entertainment Corp. “Once the Soviets would deal with Columbia,” noted Sheldon, “he wanted to be back. His mind had never been different.”

Sheldon quickly moves onto a tour in early 1989 handled by Entertainment Corp. “The Osipov Balalaika Orchestra should have been a success. We brought it a couple of times in the ‘70s with a lot of success . . . . I have been told by different people, including some from Classical Artists, that the tour lost $300,000.”

Dillingham says that the Osipov tour happened before he went to the company last summer. On the Bolshoi he dismisses the notion that the company went to the highest bidder as well as the devaluation of its company. “Look at the those (star) names on our press release.”

“We’re going to be very professional,” he says. “We’re not going to run down other people’s tours or tell you that this company or that company’s been doing lousy business. . . . It’s an insult to the artist and may not have been his fault . . . . You’re not going to get ICM to tell you, ‘Oh yeah, we took a bath on that.’ ”

And about their “active” competition, Dillingham laughed. “Competition is competition. That’s what perestroika is all about. We’re an embodiment of Western capitalistic competition.”