This is the second blog post in a projected series reviewing The Legacy of Elise Hall: Contemporary Perspectives on Gender and the Saxophone, edited by Kurt Bertels and Adrianne Honnold, published by Leuven University Press, 2024.
This post focuses on the first chapter by Andrew J. Allen titled: “Incomparable Virtuoso” A Reevaluation of the Performance Abilities of Elise Boyer Hall.
William H. Street’s 1983 Doctoral Dissertation, Elise Boyer Hall, America’s First Female Concert Saxophonist: Her Life as a Performing Artist, Pioneer of Concert Repertory for Saxophone and Patroness of the Arts will also be referenced. Quotes from this source will be identified as follows: (WS, page –)
As will This is Your Brain on Music: The Science of a Human Obsession (2006), by Daniel Levitin. Quotes from this source will be identified as follows: (DL, page –)
I would like to preface the entire discussion with the following statement:
“But of course, there is no such thing as objective reporting. As journalists ourselves, we are well aware that the “facts” we provide about a story—and more importantly, those we omit—depend on the angle according to which we write the story…” Jean-Benoît Nadeau & Julie Barlow in Sixty Million Frenchmen Can’t Be Wrong: Why We Love France but not the French
Appraisal Via Concert Reviews
The evidence presented in Andrew Allen’s chapter reassessing Hall’s performance ability was laid out very convincingly. His use of direct quotations from primary sources in the US (Boston Evening Transcript, New York Times, Musical America) and overseas (Paris Musicale et Dramatique, Le Guide Musicale) prove that critics on both sides of the Atlantic consistently rated her playing in a favourable light.
(Aside: This also drove home the point that newspaper or journal reviews are an essential part of the musical ecosystem.)
The description “incomparable virtuoso” is taken from a French review of Hall’s May 1905 performance in Paris at the Salle Pleyel. In a profile for Paris Musicale et Dramatique it is noted that: “… she assiduously studied the saxophone, and became an incomparable virtuoso.” (page 40)
Allen uses this term for the chapter title, in quotes, to designate attribution, but also—subconsciously perhaps—to make known his own conclusion. In the Abstract he notes, “…this chapter demonstrates that Hall was an artist of the highest caliber.” (page 29) I particularly noted that he didn’t use the word virtuoso as a descriptor.
Pleasingly, in the Conclusion, he states, “The goal is to learn from this case study and avoid repeating discriminatory assumptions about today’s performers.” (page 51) Agreed! And I thought it was unusually democratic and practical to state the goal of this academic research—a nice touch.
So, was Elise Hall a virtuoso? An artist of the highest calibre Or simply an excellent player?
Let’s dig in!
Allen presents a substantive defence of Hall’s skills by quoting many reviews contemporary to the period. However, as scholars such as William Street have noted, reviews aren’t necessarily transparent reflections of the truth. Elise Hall was a wealthy woman. A major caveat is acknowledged in the Introduction to this book:
“In terms of the positive reviews that Hall received following several of her performances in Boston, it is important to keep in mind that she exerted a great deal of influence—socially and financially—on the music culture of Boston. Because of her financial support of institutions in the city at that time, it is possible that the reviews of Hall’s performances may have been generously interpreted to favor her and her musical colleagues.” (pages 18-19) It is not unimaginable that there was a tacit understanding in the air, a willingness on the part of concert reviewers to play nice in order to keep the funding in place. And who, if not journalists, would know how to choose their words carefully?
Accordingly, some of these reviews seem a tad underwhelming and simply polite: “The Musical Courier wrote that ‘Mrs. Hall played the saxophone solo admirably.’” (page 34)
Others are much more flattering, but contain a subtext; a current of low expectation. The idea of a woman playing this new, untested and unknown instrument seems to have surprised many of the critics. The overall tone in several reviews suggest that some treated her with kid gloves. This is an unidentified review from Allen Brown’s Boston Symphony Orchestra Scrapbook:
“Mrs. R. J. Hall of Bay State Road is the first woman to play an instrument in the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Yesterday afternoon, when a saxophone player was taken suddenly ill, Mrs. Hall consented to take his place. Mrs. Hall played the difficult solo parts in the “L’Arlesienne” of Bizet without the slightest hesitation and was warmly applauded. It was a novel sight and one which was thoroughly appreciated by the lovers of good music, for it required superb pluck and courage as well as skill to carry through the performance. Had Mrs. Hall not proved equal to the task, the orchestra would have been seriously embarrassed… The fact that this social leader was such an adept at the saxophone was known to but compar-atively few people and there was considerable surprise when she took her place in the orchestra yesterday.” (page 45)
In this review, Hall isn’t being held to the standard required by other professional musicians in the orchestra. No other member would be congratulated for playing, “without the slightest hesitation” or noted for their, “superb pluck and courage as well as skill to carry through the performance.” The praise given to Hall for her ability to satisfy these basic playing requirements is overblown. The reviewer is pleasantly surprised that Hall managed to get the job done and spared the orchestra from being, “…seriously embarrassed…” This suggests that he thought that the orchestra was taking a chance with Hall, and that he himself expected the experiment to backfire. The novelty of the situation prevents him from completing a more critical adjudication according to universal standards.
It seems that wherever Hall played, the critics were aware of her financial largess. Would it really have been possible to give poor reviews to someone who had benefited all involved so substantially? This is from a review by Julien Torchet, writing for Le Guide Musical:
“If you were a great lady, passionate about music and mistress of a very large fortune, would you come up with the idea of diverting part of it to the propa-gation of the saxophone; I doubt it. You would think that this instrument does not yet have enough nobility to deserve this sacrifice, and you would rather reserve the surplus of your wealth for the glory of the organ, the violin, or the piano. An American, Mrs. Hall, in love with the saxophone, has dedicated herself to the study of this instrument and plays it as a talented virtuoso. But, as there is little ad hoc music, she commissions, every year, from young musi-cians special works where, of course, the main part is reserved for the saxo-phone, and has them edited and performed at her expense… Mrs. Hall comes to Paris every year to give a hearing of new compositions of this genre… For Mrs. Hall, I have only one word to say about her talent: her virtuosity is undeniable, her very pure style and the sound she draws from her instrument is both soft and full; her success has therefore been lively and deserved.” (page 41)
Torchet’s admiration is overflowing, and for good reason—the things Elise Hall did for the saxophone are monumentally important. But we only get a sentence or two about her playing skills. Her “story” is just so unbelievable and magnificent that it seems to overshadow her role as a player. Torchet suggests that her success has been, “deserved”. Is this due to her skill playing the saxophone or simply how and what she chose to do with her money? Does anyone actually deserve virtuosity? I would say this is an unusual but very clever review. Torchet side-steps saying anything very specific about her playing ability, and chooses instead to focus on the nobility of her decisions.
A 1903 review from the Boston Daily Evening Transcript describes one critic’s thoughts after listening to a performance of Georges Longy’s Pièce pour Saxophone: “The solo part was very beautifully played by Mrs. R. J. Hall, who is developing more and more into an artist after going through several preliminary phases of amateurism. Not that she is a professional now, but she might be if she chose.” (WS, page 50)
Six years later, after a Longy’s Club concert on January 19th, 1909, there is another review in the Boston Evening Transcript that reads as follows: “Mrs. Hall, who has gained appreciably in her art since she last appeared in public, played admirably indeed, with very beautiful tone, with frequent exquisite phrasing, and often with extreme brilliance of execution. If the saxophone ever gains recognition as an instrument for chamber concerts, it will be largely due to Mrs. Hall.” (page 38)
These critics have a history with Hall, having presumably reviewed previous performances. They are in a unique position to comment on and highlight the progression of her skills. Several reviews feature some take on the idea that Hall was an amateur player, but on her way to becoming a professional. Rather than disparaging her efforts, many of these reviewers seem to be encouraging her on.
Having accompanied her on this journey; this trajectory of skill development, so-to-speak, was it impossible for some critics to give her an objective and ruthlessly analytical review? It seems so.
Even when the words are overwhelmingly positive, some reviewers still feel compelled to point out that she has amateur status. In the 1909 review above, the critic mentions that Hall has, “…gained appreciably in her art…” indicating that her previous playing wasn’t as good. This wavering between amateur and professional categorization may be an attempt at objectivity. It’s easier for the reviewer to use complimentary language if the reader is reminded that Hall is only an amateur.
The 1909 review in particular, seems excessive. Her playing is described as, “…very beautiful…”, “…exquisite…” and with “…extreme brilliance…” Would it really be possible for someone hovering between amateur and professional status to so dazzle the audience? The reviewer does qualify this in several ways: “…with frequent exquisite phrasing…” (frequent, but not all the time) and, “…often with extreme brilliance of execution.” (often, but not always). This wordsmith is clever. On first reading, Hall seems to have played perfectly. But with a closer eye on the text, we can deduce that the positives are highlighted and the negatives are simply not mentioned. It’s all so glowingly polite and respectful—and unbelievable.
Education and Training
Elise Hall took up the saxophone around the age of forty. Would she have had the time to complete the requisite 10,000 hours of practice? As Dan Levitin notes in This is Your Brain on Music, “Ten thousand hours is equivalent to roughly three hours a day, or twenty hours a week, of practice over ten years.” Levitin continues, “It seems that it takes the brain this long to assimilate all that it needs to know to achieve true mastery.” (DL, page 197)
Amazingly, the answer is yes! According to William Street, Elise started playing in Santa Barbara in 1895, at age forty-two. Andrew Allen suggests she started a few years earlier, in 1892, the year in which she would have been thirty-nine. She took lessons in addition to playing and performing with the Santa Barbara Amateur Music Club. After her move back to Boston in 1898, she began lessons with oboist Georges Longy in 1899. Thus began her storied association with the Boston Orchestral Club. According to Street, “Mrs. Hall had an abundance of free time…” (WS, page 27) With her daughters in their teenage years, five servants in the house and no need to work, it would have be possible for Elise to commit to an intensive practice schedule.
Street had access to an important interview with Renée Longy, daughter of Georges, conducted and recorded by Kenneth and Nancy Radnofsky. In this interview, we get an illuminating first-person account of someone who knew and interacted with Elise Hall. Street notes, “Renée Longy remembered the daily coaching sessions that Mrs. Hall took with her father, Georges, during the summers spent in France.” And then we hear from Renée herself, describing Elise: “She played well, she was always practicing, because it was her life. She wanted to be good and she was, of course she needed a lot of coaching. That was her baby (the Orchestral Club) she was not interested in concerts as such, she was not trying to be a concert artist or anything like that.” (WS, page 51)
So we know she played frequently, and took her studies seriously.
But, you might be thinking, adults don’t learn as easily or quickly as children. As Renée Longy observed, Hall, “…needed a lot of coaching.” Indeed, as Levitin points out, we know that neuroplasticity slows as we age: “If a student hasn’t had music lessons or mathematical training prior to about age twenty, he can still learn these subjects, but only with great difficulty, and it’s likely that he will never “speak” math or music like someone who learned them early.” (DL, page 233)
We don’t know much about Hall’s early training. She was the child of a well-to-do and cultured family. Raised in France and the United States, it seems likely that her environment was an artistic one. Allen provides a review which mentions that she was in Paris around the age of twelve, and that she received her education at the Couvent des Oiseaux. Street suggests that, “From an early age she most probably played the piano and the violin.” (WS, page 12) She did not attend college or any type of post-secondary institution. Were her neural pathways switched on and receptive to additional training in middle-age? Perhaps. We just don’t know.
Who were her saxophone teachers? In Santa Barbara, Hall studied with, “…one of the laborers in the village who played saxophone…or at least had a saxophone.” (WS, page 21) This suggests an amateur player with some knowledge of the instrument. Hall had a much longer association with Georges Longy, a composer, conductor and the principal oboist of the Boston Symphony. He opened The Longy School of Music in 1915, in Boston, to establish a model of learning based on the classes at the Conservatoire de Paris. He was certainly a top professional. But he was not a saxophonist.
Contrast Hall’s training with that of other music students, past and present. Typically, students practice extensively as teenagers and into their twenties. They often study with several teachers, most of whom are professional saxophonists. Eventually, after 10,000 hours of practice, the benefits of a young, spongy brain and superior instruction, they will have attained skills great enough to be considered experts.
Does it seem likely that Hall, who started on the saxophone later in life, and had but two teachers, neither of which was a specialist, would rise to the greatest heights of the profession?
Conclusion
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, a virtuoso can be either, “A person highly skilled in the technique of a fine art, especially music.” Or, “A person with special knowledge of or taste for works or virtu.”
The New Harvard Dictionary of Music definition gets a bit more specific: “A performer of great technical ability. The term is now most often associated with the tradition of celebrated soloists that began in the 19th century with performers such as Paganini and Liszt and is applied to conductors and singers as well as to instrumentalists. It sometimes pejoratively implies technical skill in the absence of musical sensitivity. Earlier uses of the term reaching back to the 16th century imply training in theory or composition as much as skill in performance.”
In la monde de musique, the title of virtuoso is the highest bar we have, typically reserved for the most outstanding artists. Some bona fide virtuoso performers of the period include pianist Sergei Rachmaninoff (1873–1943), international opera star Emma Albani (1847–1930) and tenor Enrico Caruso (1873–1921). Does Elise Hall (1853–1924), who performed around thirty concerts in her lifetime, in two cities, belong on this list?
Even by the Oxford’s second definition, “A person with special knowledge…” the evidence seems weak. Having been partially raised in France, and familiar with the language and culture, Hall was certainly a Francophile. Several French composers that Hall commissioned had won the Prix de Rome, Europe’s top composition prize. One wonders: Had each composer been specially selected for their unique style or was she simply paying for the best according to the standards of the day? Renée Longy said that her father Georges provided Hall with the names and addresses of the composers she commissioned. Longy, who received his education in Paris, would have been familiar with the composers who were active on the scene. It’s hard to account for Elise’s depth of knowledge, thoughts or motivations without private diaries or journals to consult.
So, was Elise Hall a virtuoso? No.
An artist of the highest calibre? No.
Or simply an excellent player? One who started as an amateur and through sheer tenacity and a formidable work ethic transformed herself into a professional, even though the title proper was not formally available to her at the time? Yes!
Perhaps you are thinking, “This is just semantics!” I beg to differ. To truly advance the discussion, it’s important to be clear about what there is to celebrate about Elise Hall. And there is plenty.
Undoubtedly, she was Londeixian in her passionate embrace of new music and faith in the saxophone as an instrument capable of the highest forms of expression. In almost every possible way she presents herself as a competent professional able to work, collaborate and make things happen, yes, through her wealth, but also as an active participant. To be honest, my admiration knows no bounds. The repercussions from her efforts are extraordinary. She has earned her seat in of the upper echelons of the classical saxophone world. But not through superior playing skills. And this might be the most modern part of the discussion: Are we finally ready to admit that the best players don’t necessarily have the biggest and/or most important impact on the repertoire and the community at large?
I suggest that the question of her virtuosity or skill-level is a moot point.
Some of the questions I hope to investigate in further posts include:
Does the fact that she was not a technically advanced player devalue her contributions? Is there some degree of resentment because a) she had the money to create opportunities for herself and b) she didn’t need to dazzle composers with a superior technical ability?
More generally, the questions around technique itself are interesting:
Is technique for the pleasure of listeners or players? Is it a core part of musical expression or simply a divertissement? Is technical ability overvalued because it’s possible rather than desirable?
These are all uncomfortable concepts worth grappling with.
“Comments concerning Mrs. Hall’s saxophone performances almost always verify her strong musical ability and high artistic aims. Very few of the articles and reviews about the Orchestral Club ever approached a serious criticism of her talent. Whether or not Mrs. Hall truly had musical talent or whether she received flattering concert reviews purely on the grounds of her generous financial support of the Orchestral Club is of little importance. Society has benefited through both the short-term and the long-range goals set by Elise Hall. Short-term goals include the concerts presented for the Boston Society of 1900, the possibility of participation for interested persons and the opportunity to experience the newest forms of musical art. Longer-range goals helped to establish a new orchestral repertoire, based on twentieth-century French music, and the development of a repertoire for saxophone, based on new compositions in the most modern style and transcriptions in a more traditional and accessible style.” (WS, pages 59-60.)
Je suis d’accord.
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