Reprinted from Settling Scores: German Music, Denazification, and The Americans, 1945-1953 by David Monod. Copyright (c) by the University of North Carolina Press. Used by permission of the publisher.
Reeducating the Public
(from Chapter 3, Reforming Music Culture, 1945-1946)
ICD‘s Music Branch did not limit its reformist efforts to containing the influence of the state but also sought to change attitudes among the public. “The basic objective of the occupation requires the democratization of the German government and people,” declared one directive, an approach that involved “teaching democracy to the individual German.” Where denazification would force each person to “renounce the doctrines of Nazism and militarism by making him aware of the moral issues involved in German aggression and of his personal share in the collective German responsibility for the acts of the Nazis and militarists,” cultural products might be employed to “strip away German misconceptions about Germany and its relationship to the world.” Initially, “music, opera and ballet will be given preference over other forms of entertainment” in this public reeducation program, as these forms provided few “opportunities for subversive propaganda” and might be “designed to restore the exchange of ideas between Germany and the world outside it.”30 Just as ICD directives suggested that there was a salvageable core to German music culture and that state-subsidized institutions could be democratized through reform rather than revolution, they also implied the existence of a receptive public that could be made to appreciate new and foreign music. Effort had to be made to humanize and demote the country’s cultural titans and show the local population that central Europe was not the repository of all that was best in music history. In particular, concertgoers had to be taught that during the preceding twelve years far more interesting music was composed outside Germany’s borders than within.
“Adolph Hitler,” the branch declared, “[had] succeeded in transforming the lush field of musical creativity into a barren waste.” During the Third Reich, the occupiers believed, most of Germany’s best artists were abroad, the country was “completely isolated from international development” and its own composers were “produc[ing] nothing . . . [but works] psychologically effective to the Nazi cause.” Under these circumstances, pressing a new and internationalized musical repertoire on German audiences was considered good therapy. “There is still a strong feeling of arrogance and superiority among Germans in regard to their own music,” the Americans concluded, which a broader repertoire would help to destroy. Listening to the modern music of different countries “will introduce . . . breadth of outlook, international understanding and non-political attitudes.” Music Branch officers were fairly broad-minded in the repertoire they suggested, as promoting the music of all of the Allied nations (and they included in this group the works of émigrés such as Toch and Martinù and Menotti and Bartók) was seen as important in “help[ing] to stress the significance of an unpolitical art in Germany.”31
But before this could be done, a functioning agency for the collection of royalties had to be established. The American League of Composers and ASCAP, which policed copyrights in the United States, made very clear that they would not allow unauthorized or unrecompensed performances of works, no matter what their presumed educational value. The institution that handled copyright in Germany, STAGMA, had been a Nazi organization attached to the RKK and under the direct control of the Propaganda Ministry. The party paid a lump sum each year for rights to perform any music it wanted in propaganda films or at official functions, and STAGMA, in turn, was required to use the party’s contribution to subsidize musicians and organizations specially selected for it by the Propaganda Ministry. Although a servant of Nazi racial policy, the agency was such a cash cow that when the war ended everyone from the city of Berlin to the GDB to the Kammer für Kunstschaffenden lobbied to take it over. While the Allies decided what to do, two senior executives of the Nazi period, Erich Schulze and Pierre Cretin, maintained STAGMA’s operations, though they were generally unsuccessful in their effort to convince artists and theater directors to pay them for performed material. The actions of Schulze and Cretin did, however, help ensure that STAGMA rather than a new agency would continue to collect fees, and the Americans temporarily backed them as alternatives to state control. The whole process of negotiating a structure for the new agency lasted months, in large measure because the Soviets had little use for a private collection agency and were unsure whether to support it. So it was not until late summer 1946 that all four powers agreed to recognize the private organization’s exclusive right to administer royalties. In the meantime, ICD needed another solution if it were to launch Germany’s cultural reeducation. In December 1945, therefore, the division opted to act alone: it appointed a director of STAGMA for the American zone, established branch agencies in different cities, and ordered all performers and theaters to pay royalties only to that agency. By Christmas, ASCAP had negotiated terms of payment with the American zone STAGMA (renamed GEMA in 1949), clearing the way to performances of U.S.-copyrighted works. In addition to this function, the German agency was charged with collecting all royalties for the performances of works by blacklisted composers and holding them in a closed account until such time as the individuals were cleared.32
With copyright now protected, musical material began to flow into Germany in January 1946, but it came in strange packages. OWl’s former overseas offices, now being liquidated or absorbed by the Department of State’s IIA, contributed a large number of scores and recordings, but this arrangement changed when the army took control and ICD was placed under the operational control of the Civil Affairs Division. Unfortunately, CAD, which stood at the head of OMGUS’s supply line, did not appoint a music administrator until March 1946, further delaying ICD’s field operations. When the scores and parts did arrive, they came as microfilm, requiring enlargement and photoduplication at the headquarters of ICD’s Film Branch in Munich. The process proved time-consuming and some of the material was unreadable, requiring new photographing. All of this served to slow the dissemination of American music in Germany, and by July 1946 ICD had only about 100 compositions, as compared with 600 made available by the Russians and 300 by the British. One important advance in facilitating the use of Military Government’s supply of scores came with the creation of an Interallied Music Lending Library in Berlin in September 1946. Located in the state library in the Russian sector, it provided a central lending point for music supplied by the occupation powers.33
As most of the first generation of music officers had studied in Europe and lived in the northeastern United States, they included in Germany’s cultural tonic works by Stravinsky and Milhaud, Shostakovich, Hindemith, and Bartók. This was the modern music the officers heard in Boston and Philadelphia and New York performed by such European conductors as Koussevitsky and Rodzinsky, Toscanini and Stokowski. A few, like John Evarts and John Bitter, were knowledgeable about American composers, but to others, like Newell Jenkins and Edward Kilenyi, it was unfamiliar terrain. Still, the music officers were all fairly catholic in their tastes and through their supplier in IIA, they secured scores by Prokofiev, Bartók, Honegger, and a host of others for their German licensees.
American music, in the eyes of senior planning officials was, however, always thought to have a special role to play in Germany. This was especially true for State Department authorities, who saw American culture as the vanguard of democratization. According to an influential report on reeducation activities: “Germans, weak in their political tradition, tend to judge American political democracy by the kind of cultural life they imagine it to produce, and as they are convinced that it produces nothing of value, their minds are for the most part closed to the suggestion that they adopt it for themselves. . . . If Germans are once convinced that America does have a culture of its own, and moreover one that has progressed beyond theirs in certain fields in which they have prided themselves, they will begin to listen with more interest to talk of political democracy.” 34 Breaking down the Germans’ sense of cultural superiority would therefore be more effectively achieved through American music than through the works of other nations.
The music officers agreed with this and promoted works by Piston and Copland and Harris and Schuman, without abandoning their more internationalist goals. But by the summer of 1946 their effort to supply modern music, as opposed to narrowly American works, had run into a major obstacle. When the War Department finally assumed full responsibility for ICD, it appointed Harrison Kerr as its music administrator in its New York field office and the job of supplying scores was transferred from IIA to the Civil Affairs Division. Kerr was a composer and former administrator of the American Music Library, and he had a far narrower concept of the Military Government’s mission in Germany than the field officers or his predecessors in IIA. His job was to purchase the supplies needed for reeducation purposes and he, not the music officers, controlled the budget and exercised final decision-making authority. Kern refused to authorize the dispatch of music by non-Americans or even of émigrés such as Hindemith, Martinù, and Køenek, even when asked to do so by the field officers. In Kerr’s opinion works by these composers were not sufficiently representative of America and would have no reeducational value. The branch officers did not agree with Kerr, but they had no official alternative to the New York office. Whenever they could, they ordered scores from Switzerland and England, and one of them, who had previously been in charge of 11A’s music program, continued to use the old channel and had material shipped through the Music Division of the Library of Congress. But the American officers had to pay for much of this material themselves or make use of friends and donors in the United States.35
ICD’s officers worked hard to provide German performers with music from Europe and the United States, but they were not always so selfless in their actions. On a number of occasions, they took advantage of their positions to showcase their own work or ability. John Bitter led the Berlin Philharmonic three times and his third string quartet premiered in the city while he was still a music officer; Pastene conducted frequently in Heidelberg; and John Evarts started writing a chamber piece for a Munich ensemble until ordered to stop by Kilenyi, his fastidious superior. Harrison Kerr shipped a disproportionate number of his own works to Germany, including big ones like his forgettable First Symphony. William Castello, who worked with Jenkins in Stuttgart, was reportedly heavily involved in the black market. Activities like these do not reflect well on ICD’s officers, though the urge of musicians to make music and of composers to promote their wares is not unusual. Still, like so many others, they were hoping to lay the foundations of their post-MG careers by enhancing their resumes with some European credits. A great number of Americans did exactly the same thing, including army officers who used their authority to conduct leading orchestras; amateurs who ordered Europe’s top musicians to give them lessons; musicians with stalled or stillborn careers who moved to Switzerland in the hopes of descending on Germany or Austria the moment travel restrictions were lifted. Not all of these were artistically unworthy; Erich Leinsdorf, for example, a gifted if hard-driving opera conductor, whose career in America had been derailed by military service, slipped into Vienna in the hopes of landing a top job. On the scale of things, the abuse of power shown by those ICD officers who conducted or pushed their compositions was relatively inconsequential, if nonetheless inexcusable.36
Directing an orchestra oneself did have the advantage of allowing a music officer to choose his repertoire, and it is noteworthy that Pastene, for one, performed American pieces whenever conducting in Heidelberg. The first American works performed in Germany were played before Allied service personnel: in early September 1945 the black activist, composer, and clarinetist Rudolph Dunbar led the Berlin Philharmonic on invitation of Leo Borchard, and conducted Still’s Afro-American Symphony in an Armed Forces concert. In a subsequent concert, early in December, John Bitter and the same orchestra performed Barber’s Adagio. But convincing German licensees to try out an American composition was never easy, even when the musician was as cooperative a person as Rosbaud or Celibidache. American music was, at the time, virtually unknown in Germany, and most artists shared the national bias that it could not be very good. Even friendly musicians complained that the style of American music was too unfamiliar or that they could not induce their orchestras to give it a try. Consequently, it was not until spring 1947 that Solti performed his first American works, Barber’s Essays for Orchestra, and Rosbaud only directed his first (Copland’s An Outdoor Overture) in September 1946, five months after Celibidache conducted Barber’s Adagio in Berlin. The less prominent orchestras proved more forthcoming: what appears to have been the first orchestral work presented to a German audience was Piston’s Incredible Flutist Suite, offered in Heidelberg on 8 March 1946; a few days later, the first American symphony, Howard Hanson’s Third, was heard by coricertgoers in Wiesbaden; and shortly thereafter the first ballet danced to an American score was staged before a local audience in Karlsruhe. Chamber works were also easier to get performed and the first U.S. work presented to Germans during the occupation was Quincy Porter’s Music for Strings. By June 1946 there had been 47 performances of 25 American works in the occupation zone and nine months later the total had reached 173 performances of 57 pieces. Many of these works had, however, been played by orchestras under direct ICD control, such as Radio Frankfurt’s.37
Although some of the music ICD promoted might rest comfortably among the finest of the century—Thompson’s Second and Schuman’s Third symphonies, for example, or Copland’s Quiet City—and some stood, like Barber’s School for Scandal Overture or Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue, among the most fun, much of what they had to offer was not very memorable. When Otto Matzerath presented Robert McBride’s Strawberry Jam Overture, the greater part of the audience was “completely horrified by what some Germans referred to as ‘Eine amerikanische Schweinerei’” This hostile reaction should not be entirely taken as a sign of anti-Americanism, for when Hindemith, four years before, had been asked to review the work, he described it as a “sloppy, tossed-off piece of crap.” Piston’s Incredible Flutist was also received with “puzzlement” by a Mannheim audience, while his Concertino for Piano and Orchestra was greeted in Heidelberg with “energetic whistling” (a sign of disapproval ). Some of this negativity was due to the problems German orchestras had with the American musical idiom and with poor preparation and a lack of enthusiasm among artists who only mounted the work in order “to keep in good graces with the Americans.” But the results could be horrific. A performance of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Karlsruhe was mangled so badly that intelligence officers took it as criticism of the occupation and suggested the military police close down the theater. A few months earlier, “confused” choreography meant to seem broadly American, together with dancers dressed up like cowboys and scenery that looked as though the whole thing were “laid out in New Mexico,” badly distorted a production of Copland’s ballet Appalachian Spring.38
ICD did score some real hits in Germany. Barber’s Adagio was everywhere well received, as was Menotti’s The Old Maid and the Thief. But the problem of overcoming German apathy toward American classical music remained. As Newell Jenkins conceded, “the trouble involved in placing an American work is tremendous.” In an attempt to overcome some of that resistance, in March 1947 Jenkins established a series of chamber concerts of American works preceded by lectures and followed by group discussions. He borrowed the idea from the American composer Virgil Thomson and called the gatherings The Friends and Enemies of Modern Music Society Concerts. The concerts “worked amazingly well” attendance was good, and “precious few enemies” showed up. This inspired John Evarts, who founded similar societies in Karlsruhe in April and in Munich in May. By the end of 1947, Friends and Enemies were meeting in all the major cities where American cultural officials were stationed. Attendance at these concerts remained strong and positive because ICD passed out free tickets to music students and local artists, and it managed to press such pro-American notables as Rosbaud, Hartmann, and the music critic H. H. Stuckenschmidt into service as lecturers. The concerts did much to familiarize the next generation of German musicians with American classical music and helped remove some of the prejudices with which they had been raised.39
When it came to indigenous, as opposed to American or other European music, politics strongly influenced official tastes. The Americans in Bavaria regarded Orff with considerable disdain because they saw him as overly bayerisch; he was much more popular among the authorities in Stuttgart, where his regionalism carried fewer political implications. In Munich the control officers favored Karl Amadeus Hartmann, a composer of solid political credentials who seemed delighted by the American presence in his city. Hartmann’s Musica Viva series got OMGUS support, through block ticket purchase, a subsidy for concerts featuring U.S. works, and free performance space in the Amerika Haus. In Berlin the Americans’ darling was Boris Blacher, for whom Bitter managed to secure extra food rations and who became acquainted with a number of wealthy American patrons and influential musicians. In Heidelberg, Pastene befriended and pushed a young Fortner student, Hans Werner Henze. No one gave Egk or Pepping much thought; Strauss and Pfitzner, rightly or wrongly, were regarded as tainted relics from the past. By and large, local governments echoed American preferences so long as the occupiers were watching. Orff was offered a job in Stuttgart, but Munich officials only talked to him in secret; Hartmann’s Musica Viva organization received strong backing from the Bavarian and Munich governments, but Strauss and Pfitzner were snubbed. Blacher was the best connected and one of the most performed composers living in the American sector of Berlin. But the man everyone talked about, the dominant composer in both American and German eyes, Paul Hindemith, remained the absent hero in these years. Although politicians and artists begged for his return and his operas and works were performed in his absence as events—as a kind of ritual act of invocation and contrition—Hindemith did not visit until 1947 and then quietly and on private business.
For two years, Hindemith maintained that he would only return if Military Government sent him on tour as a visiting expert, something the War Department refused to allow as it considered his “connections with the Nazi Party . . . closer than had been supposed in the early days.” Unaware of the blemishes on his record, the field officers continued to promote Hindemith as a symbol of resistance. The Americans urged local musicians to perform his works, especially those composed in America, but the position the composer adopted was that if musicians wanted them, they knew where they could get them: from Schott, his publisher (something they had been able to do throughout the Nazi period).40 At one and the same time a symbol of Weimar and of America, of resistance to Nazism and of the émigrés’ abandonment of their homeland, of new music and old, Hindemith was, in his public image and private dealings, the most complex of composers. And yet, like the others, only more so, he was celebrated by the occupation and the state as a contemporary composer conservative music-lovers might appreciate.
Interestingly, although a great many of the American and modem European composers ICD promoted were Jewish, the division never specifically advertised the fact. Nor did it ever insist that musicians perform works by Mendelssohn or Mahler simply because they had previously been banned on “racial” grounds. No one in ICD ever explained why this was, but one can easily imagine. How would the division have singled out the works of Jewish composers without reinforcing Nazi assertions that “race” mattered? A German population that thought of Jews as different and foreign, and which was now being made to feel guilty for those feelings, would only find reassurance in an Allied program that racially identified its subjects. Moreover, since many of the American and contemporary European works performed were received unfavorably, one risked reinforcing stereotypes by drawing attention to the fact that their composers were Jews. And so, even though a number of the regional branch officers and both deputy chiefs Benno Frank and Walter Hinrischen were Jews, ICD policy pointedly overlooked the issue. Apparently, the music officers believed the case for tolerance was more powerfully made by presenting Toch and Blacher as equally German and Copland, Ives, Stravinsky, and Menotti as equally American. As John Evarts maintained in one of his lectures to German audiences: “America has opened its doors to every type of music from all over the world, and many powerful works have emerged.” Pointedly, he added, U.S. music was charting “a new direction, one absolutely American, one that draws as much from African rhythms as from the dissonant chords of Debussy, as much from Negro Spirituals as from Jewish liturgical chants?”41
What did tend to unite the composers whom the Music Branch advanced was that they were among the more accessible modernists. Although dissonance was part of their twentieth-century musical language, these composers tended to express it without casting away from the traditional tonal moorings; Milhaud and Hindemith and Harris all shared an interest in polytonal, polymodal, and polyrhythmic effects together with an adherence to the tonic. It is notable that the Americans did little until 1949 to promote the more avant-garde music of their time, whether Cowell’s or Schoenberg’s or Messiaen’s. Consequently, the avenues of the avant-garde remained unexplored in the concert halls in 1945-46, and it was not only German conservatism that was to blame. American officials were no more fond of twelve-tone or politically engaged music than were most Germans. Furthermore, neither Americans nor Germans believed popular music belonged in the concert hall, and the only Broadway work ICD reproduced for German use was Kurt Weill’s hit Knickerbocker Holiday. Some groups, like Hartmann’s Musica Viva or Steinecke’s Darmstadt Ferienkurse, did present some of the more adventurous contemporary works, and they did received ICD’s financial patronage, but the Americans also bemoaned their repertoire. The fact is that the field officers were interested in pushing the boundaries of public taste, not alienating musical conservatives. Although they advanced music they believed would be challenging for audiences, they remained reformers in the concert hall and not revolutionaries.
Without question, however, the Americans seriously misunderstood the recent history of modern music in Germany. Although it is never a bad thing to attack cultural prejudices, and many people must have profited from their exposure to the new music being composed in the United States and other European countries, the principles on which the field officers based their initiatives were flawed. The Americans were convinced that Nazi Germany had been a cultural desert and that the public needed and appreciated them for supplying the refreshing waters of hitherto unavailable music. What they failed to realize was that much good contemporary music was performed in Hitler’s Germany and that until the war the country was not closed to the works of British or French or other European composers. Although modern composers like Honegger and Stravinsky were periodically denounced in the Nazi Party press, their compositions continued to be sporadically performed in the 1930s, and some, like Bartók’s, never suffered any type of official proscription. As Jenkins remarked a half-century later, “it was ridiculous thinking that we could teach the Germans anything about contemporary music, because they were very good in that themselves. They were very aware of what goes on. Because I remember, even in the early Nazi days, when I was [a student] in Germany, that the contemporary music festivals … used to take place in Baden-Baden and they still had a very powerful bunch of people associated with them and performances from international artists?”42 Unfortunately, not only did the Americans fail to realize that that portion of the concertgoing public that was most likely to react favorably to their efforts—students, musicians, and those already interested in contemporary music—was more knowledgeable than they had imagined, but they also made an error in believing that they could force-feed the rest of the audience a diet of contemporary, albeit tonal, music. Ironically, they were attempting to build in Germany what had not developed anywhere: a mass audience for modem music. The field officers were sensible enough to favor in their work composers like Shostakovich and Britten and Copland who were on the more conservative side of the compositional spectrum, but that decision also carried a cost. What the Americans ultimately did was to alienate both the more conservative music lovers, who avoided concerts featuring American and modem works, and many of the new music cognoscenti, who thought the pieces being offered were too old-fashioned. As a result, although commendable in myriad ways, the branch’s efforts on the part of new music were predestined to enjoy only modest popularity.
30.“Working program for Democratization in Bavaria,” 6 May 1947, file: Bavaria, box 201, Records of the Cultural Exchange Programme, CAD, OMGUS; HQ US Forces, European Theater, “Priority of Information Control Activities,” 28 August 1945, Speech by Brig. Gen. Robert A. McClure, 27 August 1945, and ICD Standing Directive No. 1, 20 July 1945, entry 172, box 330, War Department, Rg 165, NA.
31.“Reorientation Activities of ODIC, Theater and Music,” 15 April 1947, and “Reconstruction of Musical Activity in U.S. Zone of Germany since June 1945,” box 248, General Records, CRB, E&CR, OMGUS.
32.J.F. Edney to Hans Aldenhoff, 18 February 1947, 4/12-2/23, B Rep 36, LB; G.K. Schueller, “STAGMA,” 24 October 1945, 4/8-3/12, B Rep 36, LB; Control Officer, “History: ISD, 8 May 194530 June 1946,” file: History, box 454, EO, OMGUS; FT&M Report, April 1946, file: FTM, box 77, HO, DHQ, ICD, OMGUS.
33.Thacker, “Playing Beethoven Like an Indian,” 370-71; “Minutes of Preliminary Meeting of Theater and Music Officers,” 20 October 1946, file: Meetings, box 3100, T&M, E&CR, OMGWB, OMGUS; “History: ISD, 8 May 194530 June 1946,” file: History, box 454, EO, OMGUS; Minutes, ICSG, 7 January 1946, and Minutes of Quadripartite Meeting, 10 May 1946, file: Quadripartite, box 77, HO, DHQ, ICD, OMGUS.
34.“Report to the Department of State of the USIE Survey Mission on the OMGUS Reorientation Program in Germany,” 21 July 1949, box 205, LOT 53D311, Department of State, Rg 59, NA.
35.For the assistance the officers provided orchestras, see John Bitter to Virgil Thomson, 2 October 1946, 25/35, Virgil Thomson Papers, YUA; Carlos Moseley to Harrison Kerr, 26 February 1948, and Carlos Moseley to Arthur Vogel, 2 March 1948, file: American Personnel, box 18, CRB, E&CR, OMGB, OMGUS; interview with Carlos Moseley, 18 March 1996.
36.John Bitter Scrapbooks, 1945-48, PAJB; Heidelberg Detachment, Semi-Monthly Report, 10 December 1947, file: Württemberg-Baden, box 240, T&M, E&CR, OMGUS; John Evarts’s Diary, 28 November 1945, JEPA; Weekly report, 15 April 1946, file, T&M, box 20, Administrative Records, Director’s Office, E&CR, OMGB, OMGUS; interview with Newell Jenkins, 6 July 1996; Heyworth, Otto Klemperer, 2:146-47 and 158; Ernst Legal to Otto Klemperer, 29 July 1946, C Rep 167/16, LB; Frederic Mellinger, Weekly Report, 26 June, 3 July, and 5 February 1946, file: Berlin Reports, box 238, T&M, E&CR, OMGUS; interview with Virginia Pleasants, 19 May 1996; Erich Leinsdorf to Harold Spivacke, 25 February 1944, box 9, Joint Army and Navy Committee on Welfare and Recreation: Sub-Committee on Music, LC; Semi-Monthly Report, 31 December 1947, box 20, General Records, EO, ISB, USACA.
37.Dunbar was born in British Guyana and grew up in London. Trained as a band musician, he played in music hall and jazz orchestras and, in the late 1930s, briefly lived in the United States, in Harlem; see interview with Rudolph Dunbar, 29 November 1938, Federal Writers’ Project, LC; Bi-Weekly Report, 5 September 1945, file: Berlin reports, box 75, HO, DHQ, ICD, OMGUS; Dody Bitter to Virgil Thomson, 12 December 1945, 25/35, Thomson Papers, YUA; for Solti: Evarts’s Diary, spring/summer 1947, 6, JEPA; I am grateful to Dr. Joan Evarts for providing the date of Rosbaud’s first performance of an American work; WB T&M Weekly Situation Report, 9 March 1946, file; Weekly Reports, box 239, T&M, E&CR, OMGH, OMGUS; Film, Theater & Music Consolidated Report, March 1946, file: Reports HO, DHQ, ICD, OMGUS; Holger Hagen to William Dubensky, 11 November 1946, file: American Plays and Music, box 727, T&M, E&CR, OMGH, OMGUS; “Reorientation Activities of ODIC, Theater and Music,” 15 April 1947, file: Reorientation, box 248, General Records, CRB, E&CR, OMGUS.
38.Weekly Report, 23 November 1946, file: WB, box 240, T&M, E&CR, OMGUS; Paul Hindemith to Schleich, 19 July 1942, 16/296, Paul Hindemith Papers, YUA; Weekly Report, 25 January 1947, file: Karlsruhe Outpost, box 599, T&M, Field Relations Division, OMGWB, OMGUS; Weekly Report, 2 April 1946, file: Bavaria: Weekly Reports, box 239, and Weekly Report, 16 November 1946, file: WB, box 240, T&M, E&CR, OMGUS.
39.Interview with Newell Jenkins, 6 July 1996; “History of Information Control Division, Württemberg-Baden, to 1 July 1946,” 29, file: Historical, box 309, Correspondence and General Records, ISD, OMGUS; Evarts’s Diary, spring/summer 1947, 2, JEPA.
40.I am grateful to Toby Thacker for providing the quote regarding Hindemith’s dubious past; on his interest in making sales, see Paul Hindemith to Willy Strecker, 15 July 1946, in Skelton, Selected Letters, 196-200; on the availability of his works in the Third Reich, Kowalke, “Music Publishing and the Nazis,” 181-182; for a balanced treatment of Hindemith, see Kater, Composers of the Nazi Era, ch. 2.
41.Evarts, “Von Musikleben in Amerika,” 84-85.
42.Interview with Newell Jenkins, 6 July 1996; for new music in Nazi Germany, see Evans, “International with National Emphasis” and “Die Rezeption der Musik Igor Stravinskys.”
A Guide to the Acronyms in the Text and Footnotes:
CAD = Civil Affairs Division
CRB = Cultural Relations Branch
EO = Executive Office
E&CR = Education and Cultural Relations
DHQ = Divisional Headquarters
FT&M or FTM = Film, Theatre and Music
HO = Historical Office
ISD = Information Services Division
JEPA = Jeremiah Evarts Private Archive, Cornish, New Hampshire
LB = Landesarchiv Berlin
LC = Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
NA = National Archives, Washington, D.C.
OMGH = Office of the Military Government Hesse
OMGUS = Office of the Military Government, United States
OMGWB = Office of the Military Government Württemberg-Baden
PAJB = Private Archive John Bitter, Miami
T&M = Theater and Music
USACA = United States Allied Command Austria
WB = Württemberg-Baden
YUA = Yale University Archives