Reading the introduction of Melissa D. Burrage's book The Karl Muck Scandal: Classical Music and Xenophobia in World War I America might lead one to believe that the story being told is that of the Boston Symphony Orchestra (BSO) conductor Karl Muck's mistreatment at the hands of an American government that perpetuated wartime anti-German sentiment and appropriated it for their own gain. This might remind readers that weaponized xenophobia used against Muck was one instance of many in U.S. history, especially in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, part of a line connecting Muck to the internment of Japanese American citizens, and the targeting of Arabs and Muslims after 9/11. What Burrage's monograph actually reveals is a far more salacious, insidious, and perhaps more interesting story. The scandal's real heart is not emergent wartime policies but the struggle between two cities and the clash between two ideologies: The Old World, European, conservative, insulated culture of Boston and the modern, capitalist, “American,” diverse culture of New York. It is in this discussion around Boston and New York that the book shows its verve and personality. Burrage's explicated dilemma of two competing ideologies creates two competing storylines in the book. Although both vie for prominence, Burrage moves seamlessly between the two: (i) situating Muck within the history of American internment and xenophobia, meandering and pulling at loose threads and (ii) the politics between two cities and two orchestras, leaping dazzlingly off of the page.
The Karl Muck Scandal vacillates between deftly researched reception history, salacious tell-all, and morality play in telling the story of German–Swiss conductor Karl Muck. Burrage spends a great deal of print constructing background throughout the book and this background always pays off, though sometimes it is not quite clear at the outset how it will and for what purpose. For to tell the story of Karl Muck—his rise to prominence both in Germany and in the U.S., his arrest and deportation, and final years in Germany—one must tell a myriad of other stories, a task to which Burrage commits. The need for those stories only becomes clear as the picture surrounding the events in the Muck scandal comes together. This way of presenting information might be seen as a barrier at first, until the pattern is recognized. Deep dives into Great War history, such as the Halifax Explosion (a shipping disaster in 1917 that killed almost 2000 Canadians) or the lynching of several German American farmers, seems related yet out of place until they are re-introduced in a way that directly ties them to the incidents surrounding Muck. These references show the remarkable interrelationships amongst her narratives regarding World War I, Boston, and Muck. Structuring the book as such is a novel way to present reception history and the payoff is very satisfying for the reader. What is clear throughout the book is just how much archival work Burrage has done in order to present this story. The Karl Muck Scandal is a treasure trove of information, sourced through newspapers, images, and government documents. Most notable is the history of the BSO, as this book is as much about the symphony as it is about its conductor. Through detailed research, Burrage discusses how the BSO came to be and the environment in which it emerged.
There are times, however, when it feels that Burrage is trying to do too much or provide too much information. This is not unreasonable; the story here is immense with hundreds of fascinating alleyways and turnoff points. However, the place where this is felt the most is in what might be considered Burrage's initial premise: that the story of Karl Muck is a warning to all of us about the almost unlimited power of an overreaching government—namely that of the U.S.—especially in wartime. Muck is often referred to as an example of the vulnerability of immigrants to the U.S., both during World War I and beyond through the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Burrage makes a connection from the Alien Enemies Act of 1798 to the targeting of Arab and Muslim Americans and the Patriot Act as proof of the U.S.'s “long tradition of suspicion toward its immigrant residents” (103−4). While there is no negating this, connecting Muck to this history poses a greater and more difficult challenge. Muck absolutely was a target of a paranoid and empowered government (specifically, the Bureau of Investigations, the forerunner to the FBI) and was a victim of anti-Germanism, interned under false pretenses, with his reputation destroyed.
Yet Muck was not just another immigrant. He was a man of prestige and stature who perhaps provided reason for suspicion. Burrage describes in detail Muck's virulent anti-Semitism, first before the war during his time in the Wagners’ coterie at Bayreuth, and again after his return to Germany and his close association with Adolf Hitler. Muck seemed to love Boston and the U.S.—at least, enough to express his desire to become a citizen—but he continued to view himself through the lens of Old World Germany, like so many of his fellow German Bostonian Brahmins. Muck's continued connection, not just to his Swiss–German heritage, but to Germany itself colors the comparison of Muck to others targeted by the government in a way that lessens Burrage's argument that one history of the U.S. is wartime xenophobia and that Muck's internment is another example of that history.
The far more convincing story detailed in the book is that of two Americas and the part played by World War I and the arts in that story. At the turn of the century, the emergence of the U.S. as a true global player was on the horizon. While the nineteenth century was about defining the identity of a nation, the twentieth century would be about the coalescing of that nation. It was in this moment that America had to determine what that coming together would look like: would America continue to make itself in the image of its European forebears or would it be something new, original, innovative? This battle was played out on the stages of Boston and New York City, respectively. Burrage meticulously describes how late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Boston became a European-style city, drawing immigrants from various parts of the continent, though most attractive to those from Germany. For example, Burrage reminds us that Symphony Hall was modeled after the Gewandhaus in Leipzig, with the names of Beethoven and other European composers carved into the façade.
New York City's development as a cultural and economic center occurred alongside the rise of anti-Germanism in the U.S., an unfortunate coincidence for Muck. The financial barons of the age, intent on securing their wealth (and, in some instances, distancing themselves from their own Germanic heritage), invested in New York City institutions. However they also put their money and time behind the cultural takedown of Boston and its institutions. Burrage illustrates this brilliantly with the introduction of socialite Mrs. William (Lucie) Jay. Jay, in her role as board member for the New York Philharmonic and wife to a publishing magnate, used her position to publicly humiliate, threaten, and target Muck in the press at every opportunity. The chapters on Jay almost seem more reality show than history. In Jay, this larger story comes together almost too neatly: her distaste for Muck stemmed, Burrage argues, from her own need to obscure her German heritage; her anger toward BSO founder Henry Lee Higginson was directly related to his anti-immigrant views; her own views were only pro-immigrant when they helped her own capitalist enterprises; and her concern for the status of the Philharmonic after Gustav Mahler's death fueled her desire to destroy Muck and the BSO. The focus on Jay and how the Muck scandal unfolded again reminds us that the larger story here revolves around cultural capital, national identity, and personal vendettas—more so than a xenophobic government. The government's complicity in Jay's plan to take down Muck shows their willingness to engage with someone who had no issue with acting as a tool for the state. The U.S. government was happy to enable citizens pushing their own agendas, as long as that agenda lined up with the agenda of the state.
The Karl Muck Scandal is a compelling work, even when it is at odds with itself. The desire to depict Muck as a victim seems misplaced. The book's insistence on painting Muck as another example of state violence and overreach—in a way that aligns him with targeted minorities—is not entirely convincing. Rather than reading Muck's story as a cautionary tale regarding the systemic xenophobia built into the U.S. government, read Muck's story as a cautionary tale of what happens when politics, oligarchy, and personal interests coalesce: the personal horror of Muck's love letters to a student being released to the press as part of a targeted joint campaign by Muck's detractors and a nascent FBI, the absurdity of the death threats over the BSO not playing the “Star-Spangled Banner” incited by an established New York news media machine, and the all-too-real terror of the Spanish flu spreading through the internment camp where Muck was detained. Even so, Burrage tells all of these stories with an almost fictional tone of voice, albeit with support from a wealth of primary sources in a narrative that brings to light a very timely story from a pivotal moment in American history.
