Music: Iturbi Troubles

José Iturbi, swart, muscular pianist-conductor, began the 1936 U. S. summer music season with more engagements than any other hot-weather maestro (TIME, July 6). By last week, when the season was closing, Iturbi had made more news than any of his colleagues, less by able conducting than by magnificent exhibitions of Spanish spunk.

In Manhattan, where in July he played at the Lewisohn Stadium, José Iturbi brooded over the Spanish revolution, cried to newshawks, “Spain needs a strong man!” For that he was booed and picketed by the city’s tireless and ubiquitous leftwingers.

In Philadelphia last fortnight, at a Robin Hood Dell Concert, José Iturbi led the Philadelphia Orchestra and Violinist Albert Spalding through the first movement of a Beethoven concerto. When, in a brief interval that followed, news cameramen began popping flashbulbs and snapping pictures, Iturbi and Spalding flounced off the stage. From an anteroom where they fumed & raged for ten minutes, a chair came whizzing into the audience’s view. Explained Iturbi later: “I was annoyed and I blew up.”

In Cleveland one night last week, a non-paying audience at the Great Lakes Exposition beheld José Iturbi mount the podium for the first of six scheduled concerts with the Great Lakes Symphony. When the last number of the program was about to begin the audience became aware that something was wrong on the stage, and for nine minutes radio listeners on the Mutual Broadcasting chain heard nothing but ad-libbing by an anxious announcer. Conductor Iturbi, it became apparent, balked at starting Impressions of Buenos Aires by José André. To Cleveland’s Conductor Rudolph Ringwall, who asked what was the matter, the stocky Spaniard snapped: ”Piano!” Ringwall, who is not psychic, finally gathered that Iturbi wanted a pianist to help with the Impressions. While the Clevelander was off hunting one, Iturbi informed his orchestra: “I’ve just sent a telegram to New York asking to be released from this series. Understand, the trouble is not you. You played beautifully. But I can’t stand these hot dogs — pop — whistles — street cars!”

A pianist was finally found and the performance of Impressions of Buenos Aires reached its dismal end, with seven minutes of radio time still to fill. Iturbi rejected Ringwall’s suggestion that he conduct an encore, stalked off stage, returned only to take a bow when the orchestra applauded him back.

Despite the fact that at rehearsals Conductor Iturbi had given everyone a clear impression that he did not consider a pianist essential, the swart Spaniard stormed: “Did I not give the librarian the score the day before? Did [it] not say Impressions of Buenos Aires requires a pianist? And then, when I am about to commence, there is no pianist! Without a pianist I do not play!” Iturbi on frankfurters: “Hot dogs! The audience eating hot dogs while we play the second symphony of Jean Sibelius! People scraping their feet on the floor. Like thees : Scrape ! scrape ! Madre de Dios, it is disgraceful! Diablo! It is un dignified! … I like hot dogs — no, I must say I adore them! But you do not give me hot dogs when I am invited to a formal dinner. No respect for the artist!”

Iturbi on encores: “What does Mr. Ringwall think I am? Am I burlesque? Am I jazz band? I finish my program, it is over. If Mr. Ringwall think I am that, I am very sorry for him.” From his $1,000 contract José Iturbi was that day duly released.