Music Awards That Mean Something

Picture this: In one place, at the same time--Elisabeth Furtwangler, widow of Wilhelm Furtwangler, king of the cult conductors, conversing with Myriam Scherchen, daughter of the late conductor Hermann Scherchen, whose spirit is beginning to attract its own army of rabid admirers. The frail and nearly blind composer Sir Michael Tippett, at 90 arguably the most honored living practitioner of his craft, making an entrance on the arm of actress Zoe Wanamaker (she of the harrowing encounters with Helen Mirren in the original “Prime Suspect”). The spry, 93-year-old composer Berthold Goldschmidt, last remaining survivor of the Nazis’ “Entartete Musik” pogrom (directed chiefly against Jewish composers and their “degenerate” art) getting bear-hugged from behind by Simon Rattle--Sir Simon, the most lionized conductor of his generation. The twin kingpins of HIP (Historically Informed Performance), conductors William Christie and John Eliot Gardiner, talking shop. The 21-year-old Siberian Sensation, violinist Maxim Vengerov, a model of casual chic in tight black jeans and tight white T-shirt, surreptitiously checking his pecs in a mirror.

This A-list of (mostly) musical celebrities includes just some of the winners and presenters at the 1995 Gramophone Awards in October. The event--a boozy, cholesterol-laden, four-hour lunch and ceremony--and the awards themselves are not to be confused with the Grammys (for which initial balloting is taking place as these words are written). The venue, for instance, wasn’t the tacky Shrine Auditorium, it was the stately Savoy Hotel in London’s West End, and the sponsor wasn’t the National Academy of Recording Arts & Sciences, it was Gramophone magazine, the journal of review (mainly) and interview that is, if you will, the Rolling Stone of classical recording.

There were no drum rolls, twittery envelope openings or climactic cymbal crashes at the Savoy. The winners had been informed well in advance, and nearly all attended, even if it meant, as it did for conductor William Christie (who picked up awards for his Purcell and Rameau recordings on Erato), an early-morning dash by train from Paris to London via the Chunnel, and then heading back to Paris immediately for an evening of rehearsal with his Arts Florisants ensemble.

And the honorees weren’t the only ones who made the effort to get to the Savoy. Recording executives, who must pay for seats at the luncheon tables, want to be seen here whether their products are winners or not. Simon Foster, director of RCA’s British classical operations, observes, with a touch of rue, since his label came away empty-handed in ‘95: “The awards are immensely meaningful to the industry. They’re honest, and they’re determined by professionals. People who know and care about what they’re doing and what we are doing.”

In other words, and again in sharp contrast to the Grammys, when it comes to classical music, these awards are taken seriously .

The reason, as Foster indicated, is the selection process. The 40 staff critics of the heavyweight Gramophone choose the award winners, with nominees drawn from among those most favorably regarded over the preceding 12 months of reviews.

Compare this rational, unashamedly elitist exercise to the convolutely democratic process by which the classical Grammy winners are chosen: The 7,000 recording industry professionals who are paying members of National Academy of Recording Arts & Sciences have the right to nominate and ultimately select the year’s top classical recordings, regardless of whether they have any classical music background or involvement.

The fact that Gramophone magazine is a commercial enterprise supported by music industry advertising could be regarded with suspicion when award time comes around. But scrutiny of its pages shows a remarkable evenhandedness in panning and praising the product of the record companies, advertisers and non-advertisers alike. (The companies, by the way, have no input regarding nominees, whereas as members of NARAS, they do with the Grammys.)

G ramophone’s influence is clearly out of proportion to the number of its subscribers, a mere 65,000 worldwide, according to editorial director Christopher Pollard, who represents the third generation of Pollards to head up the publication since it was founded in 1923 by the music-loving novelist Sir Compton Mackenzie. Gramophone is pored over by programmers at classical radio stations everywhere and is visible on library shelves and in the larger record stores on four continents. The presence of a copy or two on newsstands in downtown Madrid, Helsinki or Tokyo speaks volumes for its clout.

In accepting his 1995 Gramophone awards, Simon Rattle remarked on their power to make a wide audience aware of important, non-mainstream music such as that of the composers for whom he was being honored, Schoenberg and Szymanowski (on EMI). Regarding the wildly talented Vengerov--who won the ’95 concerto award (Prokofiev and Shostakovich, for Teldec) and was named Artist of the Year--Chris Pollard points to the “artist development” aspect of the process, referring to a Young Artist award Gramophone gave to Vengerov a while back, signaling the emergence of a major, as yet little-known talent. OK, perhaps Gramophone this year was consciously fulfilling its own prophecy, but it did spot him early.

The proof of the power of a Gramophone Award, of course, is the bottom line. To determine how the awards affect sales, it’s helpful to talk to the smaller record companies. They’ll discuss figures, whose revelation is anathema to the secretive giants. Rene Goiffon, president of Los Angeles-based Harmonia Mundi USA, and Ralph Couzens, founder and artistic director of Britain’s Chandos label, tell similar stories of immediate increases in sales (as much as tenfold) of their usually esoteric releases after copping a Gramophone Award. More importantly, the recording may continue to sell for years thereafter, while the vast majority of releases stop moving within two months of their appearance in stores. Chandos has sold nearly 50,000 copies of its 1987 Gramophone Award-winning recording of piano concertos by Johann Nepomuk Hummel, a lesser contemporary of Beethoven, and continues to sell about 500 a month. “Gramophone is responsible,” Couzens exults.

There is, simply put, no other media voice with this sort of clout. American record magazines, indifferently edited and staffed by raggedy mixes of sober professionals, who are in the minority, and enthusiasts of varying degrees of competence, have no such influence. Our best publications, High Fidelity and the original American Record Guide, are long gone, while the sole British competitor worth mentioning, Classic CD, is more notable for its gossipy features than for trustworthy criticism.

Gramophone survives by being serious--often to a fault--and informed. By making criticism its main event, it has also made itself necessary, and by maintaining its standards over many years, it has made itself trustworthy. And then there are those attention-grabbing awards.*