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The Honolulu Advertiser

Posted on: Tuesday, February 11, 2003

Book documents local orchestra's colorful history

By Wanda A. Adams
Advertiser Books Editor

The Honolulu Symphony Society is probably the only orchestral organization in the country that began life as a private, men-only drinking club, instruments optional, says music historian Dale Hall.

The organization — which had its 100th birthday either last year or in the year 2000, depending on which version of history you believe — has altered considerably since that time, of course. But Hall said it faces many of the same challenges: primarily, how to finance its mission of bringing the best possible symphonic music to Honolulu.

In the early days, the problem was a lack of a full set of instruments and musicians. The problem today is more complex, and well laid out in the final chapter of Hall's new book, "The Honolulu Symphony: A Century of Music," (Goodale, hardback, $35).

Hall, who taught music history and musicology at the University of Hawai'i until retiring in 1999, has been researching the history of the symphony society, which today is the community-support and administrative arm of the orchestra, his interest piqued by an article he wrote for a book on American orchestras.

He had no publishing plans, however, until he got a call from Jeremiah Gruenberg, a writer and editor. Gruenberg is a member of the Twigg-Smith family, longtime orchestra supporters (and former owners of The Advertiser) who also own a publishing house, Goodale. Gruenberg's grandfather, William Twigg-Smith, had served the orchestra in capacities ranging from principal flutist to manager, and Gruenberg wanted to know what Hall had found out about his musical ancestor.

Having read the whole manuscript, he suggested Goodale publish the work.

This is the first history of this orchestra outside of a master's thesis written in the 1950s, Hall said. He noted that the German beer-drinkers (many of them employees of Hackfeld's, the parent company of what became American Factors) soon gave way to the power elite of Honolulu, who made it a membership organization open to those of good character who could pony up a subscription fee.

In the latter half of the 20th century, the steady trend was to make the orchestra ever less of an elite organization and ever less of an amateur operation.

Right up until the 1950s and '60s, the orchestra regularly called on amateur players and members of military orchestras to make up its numbers. Today, anyone can be a member for a contribution of $40, and the musical reach of the organization extends to a lively pop schedule and educational outreach to schools. And of course, all the musicians are professionals.

It certainly hasn't been 100 years of beer. The chapter covering recent times was the hardest to write, Hall said, because it has been a period of controversy, financial calamity, labor strife and disagreements about the organization's musical direction — a good deal of which was carried out rather colorfully behind closed doors.

"People are not so anxious to talk about these things. It was hard to get their confidence and show them that you would try to be fair," said Hall. The book was written independently of the orchestra, but Hall said he chose to leave some stories untold: "I wanted the book to have dignity."

A musician himself, Hall has great sympathy with the challenges the orchestra faces in trying to build up an endowment in tough economic times, and to satisfy the musical preferences of its principal audience (Beethoven, Bach, Brahms) while not alienating those with more adventurous tastes (including himself).

He praises present music director Samuel Wong's willingness to include the work of local musicians in the repertoire, but there's a little wistfulness in his voice as he talks about the orchestra's most colorful and charismatic conductor, George Barati (1950-67). He can't resist telling a story he didn't include in the book.

Barati was known for championing 20th-century works and, though much of the audience loathed them, kept this audience because he was such a mesmerizing character. One local judge, however, would ostentatiously walk out whenever a contemporary work was played. Barati retaliated by saying he was going to name a new piece "The Judge So-and-so Quickstep."