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When the World Stopped to Listen Lib/E: Van Cliburn's Cold War Triumph and Its Aftermath
April of 1958, the Iron Curtain was at its heaviest, and the outcome of the Tchaikovsky International Piano Competition seemed preordained. Nonetheless, as star musicians from across the globe descended on Moscow, an unlikely favorite emerged: Van Cliburn, a polite, lanky Texan whose passionate virtuosity captured the Russian spirit.This is the story of what unfolded that spring - for Cliburn and the other competitors, jurors, party officials, and citizens of the world who were touched by the outcome. It is a behind-the-scenes look at one of the most remarkable events in musical history, filled with political intrigue and personal struggle as artists strove for self-expression and governments jockeyed for prestige. And, at the core of it all: the value of artistic achievement, the supremacy of the heart, and the transcendent freedom that can be found, through music, even in the darkest moments of human history.
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Published April 18, 2017
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March 14, 2018
The first album my mother ever purchased with her hard-earned baby sitting money was Van Cliburn. I had known about this person, of course, but I did not know the details and background to this story. If this story was not turned into a film, it should have been!!
Van Cliburn nearly single handedly (or double handedly) eased Cold War tensions by not only going to Moscow and winning a prestigious competition like the Tchaikovsky Piano Competition, but by winning over and charming the Muscovites themselves. People cried after his performances. Students rappelled into the auditorium from the roof to get attendance.
He was sent flowers, lilac bushes, faberge eggs, balalaikas, etc. All this at the height of the Cold War, where having a good word to say about the Russians was treated by the right wing in the US as treasonous words. (Now, the right wing ignores and even embraces Russians for interfering in US elections. How times have changed.)
This is a wonderful book, well written and full of anecdotes and interviews from those on the inside, from both sides of the Iron Curtain. I highly recommend this.
Now I think I'm going to play some YouTube videos of Cliburn.
Van Cliburn nearly single handedly (or double handedly) eased Cold War tensions by not only going to Moscow and winning a prestigious competition like the Tchaikovsky Piano Competition, but by winning over and charming the Muscovites themselves. People cried after his performances. Students rappelled into the auditorium from the roof to get attendance.
He was sent flowers, lilac bushes, faberge eggs, balalaikas, etc. All this at the height of the Cold War, where having a good word to say about the Russians was treated by the right wing in the US as treasonous words. (Now, the right wing ignores and even embraces Russians for interfering in US elections. How times have changed.)
This is a wonderful book, well written and full of anecdotes and interviews from those on the inside, from both sides of the Iron Curtain. I highly recommend this.
Now I think I'm going to play some YouTube videos of Cliburn.
June 26, 2017
For a great many years, the only books written about the pianist were The Van Cliburn Legend by Abram Chasins - a book that took many liberties with facts about Cliburn, and Howard Reigh’s Van Cliburn, which is better researched, but still rather one-sided. Within a year, however, there have two books written about the pianist. Last year, Nigel Cliff’s Moscow Nights gave a more in depth and comprehensive picture of Cliburn’s win in Moscow, as well as the impact he had on the musical world. This past weekend, I finished reading Stuart Isacoff’s When the World Stopped to Listen – Van Cliburn’s Cold War Triumph and Its Aftermath (Alfred A. Knoff, New York, 2017).
In this latest volume, Isacoff begins by revealing some interesting information about Cliburn’s mother, an accomplished pianist in her own right, as well as the young pianist’s upbringing. Starting at four years old, Cliburn had to wait on his parents at the dinner table, “as if they were guests, and then to do the same for neighbors.” Cliburn’s parents believed that this would instill a sense of humility in the young man, as well as prevent him from feeling too special. According to the author, “serving graciously became a life refrain”, and would affect Cliburn’s attitude towards his many fans and audience members. Isacoff writes: “This was especially true in the concert hall, where he came to view the audience as guests to be served, a notion that brought such attendant pressures it could turn routine musical occasions into ordeals.” Even to his dying days, Cliburn was known for his courteousness towards even strangers. Perhaps it was this attitude to please that prevented him from having an aloofness of spirit, something that all great artists need.
It was also a great surprise for me to learn that Cliburn’s legendary teacher, Rosina Lhévinne, was not the original choice of Mrs. Cliburn to be Van’s teacher. Cliburn’s friend and fellow pianist Jimmy Mathis was studying with the (at the time) even more famous Olga Samaroff. It was only Samaroff’s sudden death that led his parents to consider Lhévinne as Van’s teacher. As in the Cliff book, Iscaoff reveals how much Lhévinne was hurt by Cliburn’s failing to acknowledge her teaching – not to mention the many hours of free lessons he received from her before the competition – as his famed rose after the competition.
For me, the most interesting chapters were the ones addressing the socio-political landscape of the Soviet Union and the evolution of the Tchaikovsky Competition, as well as the chapter giving a picture of Russian society at the time. It was the year of Sputnik, when the Soviets were “basking in its scientific glory in the space race,” and they wanted to show their superiority in the sphere of music. The organizers of the competition were certain that the winners would be Soviet pianists and violinists. It was a common belief among Russians that in spite of great wealth, American society was “brutish and empty.” In that way, Cliburn’s love affair with Russians, from Khrushchev to ordinary men and women, went a long way into altering that perception. Both Cliff and Isacoff point out in their respective books that Cliburn’s win at the Tchaikovsky sowed the seeds of democracy that led eventually to Gorbachev’s Perestroika and the dissolution of the Soviet Union.
Isacoff also reveals some startling facts about Cliburn’s personal struggles with fame. According to the author, Cliburn came to rely heavily upon the treatments of Dr. Max Jacobson, whose patients included, among many celebrities, Marilyn Monroe and John F. Kennedy who was well known for his health problems. You can read more about Dr. Jacobson in many of the presidents’ biographies.
We now know that Jacobson’s infamous injections were a cocktail of amphetamines, vitamins, painkillers, steroids, and human placenta – a frightening pharmacological combination. Jacobson’s license to practice medicine was eventually revoked. It was also revealed in the current book that Cliburn had come to depend on astrology in making his personal and professional decisions, to the extent that “he did not make a move without consulting an astrologer.”
Cliburn’s eventual win at the Tchaikovsky, according to Isacoff, was far from a forgone conclusion. In the Appendix of the volume, the author includes the breakdown of scores for the pianists in the second-round which show that the race was very close between Cliburn and Lev Vlassenko, the leading Soviet contender, and Liu Shikun, the leading pianist from Communist China (who was to suffer grievously during the Cultural Revolution). It was only Van’s performance of Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1 as well as Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 3 that propelled him to the very top. If you listen to his magisterial performances of these two concerti in the final round, you would understand why. I believe that in that great hall, and in front of that audience, Van Cliburn was truly inspired to give his all. And perhaps nothing that came afterwards would match the intensity and inspiration of that moment.
For me, Cliburn’s greatest impact had to be his elevation of the status (and financial well being) of concert artists, as well as, perhaps unfortunately, focusing our attention towards music competitions, and for its proliferation. There had been other American pianists who had captured top prizes at international competitions. None of them really captured the imagination of the world like Van Cliburn did.
If you were to ask pianists or musicians to name their favourite pianists, probably very few would list Van Cliburn to be among them. No, Van Cliburn’s place in music history is, for me, a result of his really creating for our generation this image of the artist as hero, and for perhaps bringing many people towards an awareness, if not an appreciation, for classical music. I believe that Van Cliburn would be for my generation what Ignacy Jan Paderewski was to the early decades of the century – an inspiring, even larger than life personality, more than a musician or a pianist.
Anyone who has an interest in music, in cold war politics, and in Soviet history and society, would find Isacoff’s well-researched and eloquently written volume a very rewarding read.
In this latest volume, Isacoff begins by revealing some interesting information about Cliburn’s mother, an accomplished pianist in her own right, as well as the young pianist’s upbringing. Starting at four years old, Cliburn had to wait on his parents at the dinner table, “as if they were guests, and then to do the same for neighbors.” Cliburn’s parents believed that this would instill a sense of humility in the young man, as well as prevent him from feeling too special. According to the author, “serving graciously became a life refrain”, and would affect Cliburn’s attitude towards his many fans and audience members. Isacoff writes: “This was especially true in the concert hall, where he came to view the audience as guests to be served, a notion that brought such attendant pressures it could turn routine musical occasions into ordeals.” Even to his dying days, Cliburn was known for his courteousness towards even strangers. Perhaps it was this attitude to please that prevented him from having an aloofness of spirit, something that all great artists need.
It was also a great surprise for me to learn that Cliburn’s legendary teacher, Rosina Lhévinne, was not the original choice of Mrs. Cliburn to be Van’s teacher. Cliburn’s friend and fellow pianist Jimmy Mathis was studying with the (at the time) even more famous Olga Samaroff. It was only Samaroff’s sudden death that led his parents to consider Lhévinne as Van’s teacher. As in the Cliff book, Iscaoff reveals how much Lhévinne was hurt by Cliburn’s failing to acknowledge her teaching – not to mention the many hours of free lessons he received from her before the competition – as his famed rose after the competition.
For me, the most interesting chapters were the ones addressing the socio-political landscape of the Soviet Union and the evolution of the Tchaikovsky Competition, as well as the chapter giving a picture of Russian society at the time. It was the year of Sputnik, when the Soviets were “basking in its scientific glory in the space race,” and they wanted to show their superiority in the sphere of music. The organizers of the competition were certain that the winners would be Soviet pianists and violinists. It was a common belief among Russians that in spite of great wealth, American society was “brutish and empty.” In that way, Cliburn’s love affair with Russians, from Khrushchev to ordinary men and women, went a long way into altering that perception. Both Cliff and Isacoff point out in their respective books that Cliburn’s win at the Tchaikovsky sowed the seeds of democracy that led eventually to Gorbachev’s Perestroika and the dissolution of the Soviet Union.
Isacoff also reveals some startling facts about Cliburn’s personal struggles with fame. According to the author, Cliburn came to rely heavily upon the treatments of Dr. Max Jacobson, whose patients included, among many celebrities, Marilyn Monroe and John F. Kennedy who was well known for his health problems. You can read more about Dr. Jacobson in many of the presidents’ biographies.
We now know that Jacobson’s infamous injections were a cocktail of amphetamines, vitamins, painkillers, steroids, and human placenta – a frightening pharmacological combination. Jacobson’s license to practice medicine was eventually revoked. It was also revealed in the current book that Cliburn had come to depend on astrology in making his personal and professional decisions, to the extent that “he did not make a move without consulting an astrologer.”
Cliburn’s eventual win at the Tchaikovsky, according to Isacoff, was far from a forgone conclusion. In the Appendix of the volume, the author includes the breakdown of scores for the pianists in the second-round which show that the race was very close between Cliburn and Lev Vlassenko, the leading Soviet contender, and Liu Shikun, the leading pianist from Communist China (who was to suffer grievously during the Cultural Revolution). It was only Van’s performance of Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1 as well as Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 3 that propelled him to the very top. If you listen to his magisterial performances of these two concerti in the final round, you would understand why. I believe that in that great hall, and in front of that audience, Van Cliburn was truly inspired to give his all. And perhaps nothing that came afterwards would match the intensity and inspiration of that moment.
For me, Cliburn’s greatest impact had to be his elevation of the status (and financial well being) of concert artists, as well as, perhaps unfortunately, focusing our attention towards music competitions, and for its proliferation. There had been other American pianists who had captured top prizes at international competitions. None of them really captured the imagination of the world like Van Cliburn did.
If you were to ask pianists or musicians to name their favourite pianists, probably very few would list Van Cliburn to be among them. No, Van Cliburn’s place in music history is, for me, a result of his really creating for our generation this image of the artist as hero, and for perhaps bringing many people towards an awareness, if not an appreciation, for classical music. I believe that Van Cliburn would be for my generation what Ignacy Jan Paderewski was to the early decades of the century – an inspiring, even larger than life personality, more than a musician or a pianist.
Anyone who has an interest in music, in cold war politics, and in Soviet history and society, would find Isacoff’s well-researched and eloquently written volume a very rewarding read.
October 18, 2017
PRELIMINARY NOTE: In this non-review, I spell the composer's name Chaykovskiy, a more accurate English transliteration of the Russian Чайковский than the French Tchaikovsky or German Tschaikowsky.
No, this is not a review. It's a rant. But first, some thanks.
I thank the long-serving keyboard accompanist at my church for lending me this not-quite-biography. When I first joined the church, our backup accompanist was Jimmy Mathis, a dear friend of Van Cliburn from their Juilliard days, who is quoted extensively in the book.
I also thank Cliburn himself for recording My Favorite Chopin while still hale and hearty, basking in the afterglow of his inaugural Chaykovskiy Competition victory. His Polonaise in A-flat still gives me spinal shivers of awe. Like Cliburn, Freddy Chopin was a skinny, neurasthenic kid who kept his orientation hidden for years and could get crowds swooning with his playing. Legend has it that, by the time he had finished writing that particular Polonaise, he was too weak from consumption to perform it. (Thanks to you as well, Freddy.)
The main portion of the events depicted in When the World Stopped to Listen happened almost 60 years ago. In various subtle ways, however, the story is quite relevant in 2017. As he began the research and writing, Stuart Isacoff likely could not have foreseen the push toward a new Cold War that emerged from the 2016 election cycle. Also, he reminds us that so much of what we consider high art and culture is created or interpreted by LGBT+ folk, in this post-Obergefell time of homophobic and transphobic backlash.
It is not nostalgia for the original Cold War era that made reading about the mass government-induced paranoia in both the US and USSR such dark fun. All the recollections of listening devices planted in hotel rooms, KGB agents shadowing the performers, and J. Edgar Hoover dithering about whether to blow the whistle on Van Cliburn's sexual orientation seem quaint today. I would never want to return to that time or revive the circumstances. I would also love to see the current kinder, gentler surveillance state demolished in the US, Russia, and wherever it exists, thank you very much.
With his sentimentalized approach to Romantic concerto repertoire, Cliburn won the hearts of Russian/Soviet music-lovers and First Secretary Nikita Khrushchev in 1958. Isacoff and his various interview subjects give Cliburn credit for beginning the Great Thaw that culminated in the 1980s with Mikhail Gorbachev's glasnost i perestroika.
It spoils nothing to emphasize that Cliburn was gay; as was Sviatoslav Richter (supposedly), his greatest advocate on the Chaykovskiy Competition jury; as was Pyotr Ilyich Chaykovskiy himself, Russia's most celebrated composer for piano and for orchestra. And yet, after all this time, after all these events, Russian society has never really warmed to its LGBT+ population; in fact, today there is a revival of official institutional homophobia there—as there is in the US, but here we see more pushback against the homophobic agenda.
A more salient point for me is that, although he was born just across the Louisiana line in Shreveport, Cliburn was a gay Texan. After living and studying for some years in New York, where the classical music scene was one big convivial closet, he chose to move back to Texas, settling in Fort Worth. Texas is not known for its acceptance of LGBT+, as our GOP-dominated state government has amply illustrated in recent years.
Cliburn is merely the most internationally famous of many non-straight celebrities who have called this state home. Sadly, his name is less known here than in his second home, Russia. Nine out of ten Texans, when asked "Who was Van Cliburn?" would reply either "I don't know" or "Wasn't he a football coach?"
It irks me no end when bigots of all stripes refuse to recognize that what we call "American culture" has been cobbled together from Black, Italian, Jewish, and Gay/Lesbian components. Anyone who is proud to be a Texan, an American, or a Christian should know that Cliburn was too. With all his eccentricities, addictions, and repressed stage-fright that gnawed at him for years, he loved people, irrespective of national origin, orientation, faith tradition or lack thereof. He was generous in the extreme, so sincere and earnest as to appear naive, and deeply concerned that children and youth with musical inclinations should have the same opportunities he had. To my mind, that all makes him a better Texan, American, and Christian than all the bigots who would push him back into the closet.
No, this is not a review. It's a rant. But first, some thanks.
I thank the long-serving keyboard accompanist at my church for lending me this not-quite-biography. When I first joined the church, our backup accompanist was Jimmy Mathis, a dear friend of Van Cliburn from their Juilliard days, who is quoted extensively in the book.
I also thank Cliburn himself for recording My Favorite Chopin while still hale and hearty, basking in the afterglow of his inaugural Chaykovskiy Competition victory. His Polonaise in A-flat still gives me spinal shivers of awe. Like Cliburn, Freddy Chopin was a skinny, neurasthenic kid who kept his orientation hidden for years and could get crowds swooning with his playing. Legend has it that, by the time he had finished writing that particular Polonaise, he was too weak from consumption to perform it. (Thanks to you as well, Freddy.)
The main portion of the events depicted in When the World Stopped to Listen happened almost 60 years ago. In various subtle ways, however, the story is quite relevant in 2017. As he began the research and writing, Stuart Isacoff likely could not have foreseen the push toward a new Cold War that emerged from the 2016 election cycle. Also, he reminds us that so much of what we consider high art and culture is created or interpreted by LGBT+ folk, in this post-Obergefell time of homophobic and transphobic backlash.
It is not nostalgia for the original Cold War era that made reading about the mass government-induced paranoia in both the US and USSR such dark fun. All the recollections of listening devices planted in hotel rooms, KGB agents shadowing the performers, and J. Edgar Hoover dithering about whether to blow the whistle on Van Cliburn's sexual orientation seem quaint today. I would never want to return to that time or revive the circumstances. I would also love to see the current kinder, gentler surveillance state demolished in the US, Russia, and wherever it exists, thank you very much.
With his sentimentalized approach to Romantic concerto repertoire, Cliburn won the hearts of Russian/Soviet music-lovers and First Secretary Nikita Khrushchev in 1958. Isacoff and his various interview subjects give Cliburn credit for beginning the Great Thaw that culminated in the 1980s with Mikhail Gorbachev's glasnost i perestroika.
It spoils nothing to emphasize that Cliburn was gay; as was Sviatoslav Richter (supposedly), his greatest advocate on the Chaykovskiy Competition jury; as was Pyotr Ilyich Chaykovskiy himself, Russia's most celebrated composer for piano and for orchestra. And yet, after all this time, after all these events, Russian society has never really warmed to its LGBT+ population; in fact, today there is a revival of official institutional homophobia there—as there is in the US, but here we see more pushback against the homophobic agenda.
A more salient point for me is that, although he was born just across the Louisiana line in Shreveport, Cliburn was a gay Texan. After living and studying for some years in New York, where the classical music scene was one big convivial closet, he chose to move back to Texas, settling in Fort Worth. Texas is not known for its acceptance of LGBT+, as our GOP-dominated state government has amply illustrated in recent years.
Cliburn is merely the most internationally famous of many non-straight celebrities who have called this state home. Sadly, his name is less known here than in his second home, Russia. Nine out of ten Texans, when asked "Who was Van Cliburn?" would reply either "I don't know" or "Wasn't he a football coach?"
It irks me no end when bigots of all stripes refuse to recognize that what we call "American culture" has been cobbled together from Black, Italian, Jewish, and Gay/Lesbian components. Anyone who is proud to be a Texan, an American, or a Christian should know that Cliburn was too. With all his eccentricities, addictions, and repressed stage-fright that gnawed at him for years, he loved people, irrespective of national origin, orientation, faith tradition or lack thereof. He was generous in the extreme, so sincere and earnest as to appear naive, and deeply concerned that children and youth with musical inclinations should have the same opportunities he had. To my mind, that all makes him a better Texan, American, and Christian than all the bigots who would push him back into the closet.
April 10, 2019
Stuart Isacoff’s new book is a biography of pianist Van Cliburn that focuses on his victory at the 1958 Tchaikovsky International Piano Competition in Moscow. As the 1958 competition came at the height of the Cold War, Cliburn’s victory was seen as a proxy win for the United States over communism, and therefore came with an outsized aura of acclaim and publicity, culminating in the first, last and only ticker tape parade in New York City to honor a classical pianist, or indeed, a musician of any kind. “So startling was this victory in the middle of the Cold War,” as a 1989 New York Times article put it, “that even people with the smallest pretense to musical culture came to know his name.”
Read the rest of the review at Bookreporter.com - https://www.bookreporter.com/reviews/...
Read the rest of the review at Bookreporter.com - https://www.bookreporter.com/reviews/...
March 19, 2023
Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto No. 1, B-flat minor
Conductor - Kiril Kondrashin
Moscow State Philharmonic Academy Orchestra
Mosca, 1962
List's Hungarian Rhapsody No. 12 in C-Sharp Minor
The Kennedy Center, 1962
Breve video introduttivo del Cliburn, uno dei più importanti concorsi pianistici del mondo: il Van Cliburn International Piano Competition, intitolato in suo onore, e di cui Cliburn divenne il responsabile musicale.
pag.151 _______________________________
Poco prima di rientrare in patria, il vincitore del Cajkovskij diede un concerto d'addio a Mosca. «Ricordo ancora come suonò fin nei particolari», ha raccontato Vera Gornostaeva, la quale ha sottolineato un brevissimo, inatteso momento di quel concerto che dimostrò l'affetto di Van per chi era venuto ad ascoltarlo. «Aveva appena finito il Concerto di Cajkovskij, e il pubblico era in visibilio e stava applaudendo da un po'. Kondrasin aveva già la bacchetta in mano, ma Van aveva ricevuto un biglietto da una ragazzina». Di quell'esecuzione esiste una ripresa video. Vediamo il pianista, con in mano il foglietto piegato, usarlo per togliere petali e rametti dei bouquet tirati in palcoscenico che erano finiti fra i tasti. Kondrasin è pronto per dare l'attacco del Terzo Concerto di Rachmaninov, ma Van non vede l'ora di leggere il biglietto, molto probabilmente un messaggio da un'ammiratrice. «Il suo rapporto con il pubblico era così forte che lo aprì e si mise a leggerlo lì, al pianoforte, mentre Kondrasin aspettava con la bacchetta levata», ha raccontato la Gornostaeva. «Ridevano tutti. Alla fine depose a terra il biglietto e fece un cenno al direttore. Cominciò a suonare: genio puro dalla prima all'ultima battuta. Tutto quanto il pubblico rimase immobile, ipnotizzato».
Questo il video: Rachmaninoff: Piano Concerto No 3 in D minor, Op 30
Conductor - Kiril Kondrashin
Moscow Philharmonic Orchestra
Mosca, 1958
pag.167 _______________________________
Quando qualcuno domandò a Pablo Casals come mai, arrivato a ottant'anni, continuasse a studiare quattro o cinque ore al giorno, il violoncellista rispose: «Mi sembra di fare dei progressi».
Conductor - Kiril Kondrashin
Moscow State Philharmonic Academy Orchestra
Mosca, 1962
List's Hungarian Rhapsody No. 12 in C-Sharp Minor
The Kennedy Center, 1962
Breve video introduttivo del Cliburn, uno dei più importanti concorsi pianistici del mondo: il Van Cliburn International Piano Competition, intitolato in suo onore, e di cui Cliburn divenne il responsabile musicale.
pag.151 _______________________________
Poco prima di rientrare in patria, il vincitore del Cajkovskij diede un concerto d'addio a Mosca. «Ricordo ancora come suonò fin nei particolari», ha raccontato Vera Gornostaeva, la quale ha sottolineato un brevissimo, inatteso momento di quel concerto che dimostrò l'affetto di Van per chi era venuto ad ascoltarlo. «Aveva appena finito il Concerto di Cajkovskij, e il pubblico era in visibilio e stava applaudendo da un po'. Kondrasin aveva già la bacchetta in mano, ma Van aveva ricevuto un biglietto da una ragazzina». Di quell'esecuzione esiste una ripresa video. Vediamo il pianista, con in mano il foglietto piegato, usarlo per togliere petali e rametti dei bouquet tirati in palcoscenico che erano finiti fra i tasti. Kondrasin è pronto per dare l'attacco del Terzo Concerto di Rachmaninov, ma Van non vede l'ora di leggere il biglietto, molto probabilmente un messaggio da un'ammiratrice. «Il suo rapporto con il pubblico era così forte che lo aprì e si mise a leggerlo lì, al pianoforte, mentre Kondrasin aspettava con la bacchetta levata», ha raccontato la Gornostaeva. «Ridevano tutti. Alla fine depose a terra il biglietto e fece un cenno al direttore. Cominciò a suonare: genio puro dalla prima all'ultima battuta. Tutto quanto il pubblico rimase immobile, ipnotizzato».
Questo il video: Rachmaninoff: Piano Concerto No 3 in D minor, Op 30
Conductor - Kiril Kondrashin
Moscow Philharmonic Orchestra
Mosca, 1958
pag.167 _______________________________
Quando qualcuno domandò a Pablo Casals come mai, arrivato a ottant'anni, continuasse a studiare quattro o cinque ore al giorno, il violoncellista rispose: «Mi sembra di fare dei progressi».
December 27, 2017
When a tall 23-year old Texan from a small town called Kilgore won the first ever International Tchaikovsky Competition in a big town called Moscow in April 1958, the impact was cataclysmic both musically and politically.
It was more than fabulous technique. Cliburn had played Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto and Rachmaninoff’s Third Piano Concerto for his competition finale with such authentic love and romantic sweep that there was little doubt who was the best. But the jury hesitated, haunted by Stalin’s shadow, until Soviet premiere Nikita Khrushchev, happy to show that the generous Russian soul was alive and well, said give it to the kid. It was a Cold War coup that significantly melted international relations, made Cliburn the most famous pianist in the world, and elevated classical music once again to the forefront of the world stage.
Stuart Isacoff has been wanting to tell the Van Cliburn story since writing a cover story for Ovation magazine in 1990. The founding editor of Piano Today, Isacoff went to hear Cliburn play at the Van Cliburn Auditorium at Kilgore College, and began interviewing neighbors and friends. When he realized that his subject didn’t want him to do it, Isacoff put the project aside until a few years ago when the time seemed right.
The time turned out to be perfectly right. Published by Knopf, When the World Stopped to Listen: Van Cliburn’s Cold War Triumph and Its Aftermath is an absorbing read of a real life cultural fairy tale at the intersection of classical music and politics. It’s about holding on to love when genius disappears. It’s about the depth music reaches in our hearts. And the Cold War part of the title is becoming frighteningly relevant.
It was more than fabulous technique. Cliburn had played Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto and Rachmaninoff’s Third Piano Concerto for his competition finale with such authentic love and romantic sweep that there was little doubt who was the best. But the jury hesitated, haunted by Stalin’s shadow, until Soviet premiere Nikita Khrushchev, happy to show that the generous Russian soul was alive and well, said give it to the kid. It was a Cold War coup that significantly melted international relations, made Cliburn the most famous pianist in the world, and elevated classical music once again to the forefront of the world stage.
Stuart Isacoff has been wanting to tell the Van Cliburn story since writing a cover story for Ovation magazine in 1990. The founding editor of Piano Today, Isacoff went to hear Cliburn play at the Van Cliburn Auditorium at Kilgore College, and began interviewing neighbors and friends. When he realized that his subject didn’t want him to do it, Isacoff put the project aside until a few years ago when the time seemed right.
The time turned out to be perfectly right. Published by Knopf, When the World Stopped to Listen: Van Cliburn’s Cold War Triumph and Its Aftermath is an absorbing read of a real life cultural fairy tale at the intersection of classical music and politics. It’s about holding on to love when genius disappears. It’s about the depth music reaches in our hearts. And the Cold War part of the title is becoming frighteningly relevant.
May 18, 2025
Van Cliburn was undoubtedly talented. He was also a bit of an odd duck. His success and his place in history were mostly due to his being the right person at the right place at the right time. Technical expertise, an emotional style and a charming eccentric personality made him the winner of Chaykovskiy competition in Moscow in 1950s at a time in the Cold War when the superpower competition moved beyond ideology, nuclear weapons and Third World proxy wars to also encompass culture and science. He was very good, but perhaps never the best and always a bit uneven. His personality and emotional style allowed him to parlay his success in Moscow into a concert career that for a few years far exceeded what most classical pianists could ever hope to achieve. But his star faded as his eccentricities began to define his life. Quack doctors, an incorrigible inability to show up on time, his relationship with his domineering mother and personal burn out brought his career to an early end. However, his personal charm survived all of it. The tragedy of soaring high and falling low seems ironically appropriate for a musician whose style was defined by emotion.
July 12, 2017
Well written and concise review of Cliburn's improbable win in Moscow in 1958 and the consequence for both the pianist and the Soviet and US relations in its aftermath. Turns out it was probably more consequential than we have realized. The portrait drawn of Van is sadder than I had expected. The Dr. Feelgood angle was new for me and exacerbated the demons that haunted Van most of his life and definitely in the years after he became a world phenom.
July 14, 2017
Subtitled "Van Cliburn's Cold War Triumph and Its Aftermath." This book about American pianist Van Cliburn's unexpected victory in the 1958 Tchaikovsky International Piano Competition in Moscow covers much the same territory as Nigel Cliff's "Moscow Nights: The Van Cliburn Story" but is more focused on the competition itself and, because Isacoff is a pianist himself, more insightful about the music.
April 28, 2019
This book's subtitle is "Van Cliburn's Cold War Triumph and Its Aftermath." Cliburn's win in Moscow in 1958 really did thaw some of the Cold War antipathy between the US and Russia. This is a short book that explains why he won and his departure, not that many years later, from the concert scene. For music lovers, for historians interested in the Cold War, and for people that like biographies this book is for you. It's short and held my interest.
March 27, 2018
Incredible story of the American Van Cliburn winning the inaugural Tchaikovsky piano competition during the height of the Cold War. Found the writing to be a bit less incredible. Really wished there had been more from Cliburn in his own voice. What did he think of his experience, the competition, his preparation, the aftermath?
August 16, 2018
Good telling of a pivotal Cold War event. I confess I knew next to nothing about Van Cliburn and less about classical music. After reading, I feel I know about Cliburn in Russia in 1958 but little else about the man. Admittedly the book focuses on the contest he won in Russia. However, I felt there was more to share about Cliburn.
May 20, 2017
An excellent read. The author researched and interviewed over a period of many years, and writes with humanity, honesty and clarity of language. As a pianist himself, he gives a great account of Cliburn's musical life, and of his competitors at the Tchaikovsky competition.
July 11, 2017
This book provides good information on Van Cliburn's winning the 1958 Tchaikovsky piano competition but I found "Moscow Nights", on the same topic, to have more vivid details and to make characters better come to life. This book is quite good too, though.
May 23, 2020
Lots of delightful learning in this book for me.
March 25, 2020
A fascinating study of the interface between music and politics during the Cold War.
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June 15, 2017Read the last couple of chapters to find out about Cliburn's last years.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
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