On the Waterfront (1954) offers a particularly interesting case study of both film and music in the 1950s. Elia Kazan’s iconic depiction of waterfront corruption in Hoboken, New Jersey is revered for its neorealist cinematic techniques, masterclass in method acting, and concern for the collective plight of blue-collar longshoremen, but is perhaps best remembered as a classic story of one man’s tragic fall and ultimate redemption through the love of a woman. Concerned that the film lacked sufficient ‘star power’ for success at the box office, independent film producer Sam Spiegel eventually convinced Leonard Bernstein to compose what would be his first and only film score. This chapter argues that Bernstein’s music interacts with the film’s narrative in a way that is not only remarkable for one’s first score, but also represents an important contribution to 1950s cinema, employing textures and influencing composers who are still with us today.

Bernstein, perhaps more than any other conductor in the last century, seemed to dance on the podium. This chapter explores the reception of Bernstein’s dancelike conducting by both critics and musicians. When describing Bernstein’s conducting, whether praising or panning it, critics have regularly described it as ‘choreography’, with the word almost always used pejoratively. For some, Bernstein’s shameless bodily movements enhanced their appreciation of the music; for others, it was a distraction approaching desecration. What has been overlooked is that Bernstein’s conducting was surprisingly consistent – not only in the general movement vocabulary he employs (his infamous leaps, for an obvious example) but also in set patterns of specific movements that he employs from performance to performance of the same work across years. The chapter suggests that we understand Bernstein’s conducting not as spontaneous and random, but as planned, iterative, and locked in his muscle memory: that is, as choreography.

Bernstein was a larger-than-life figure on stage as conductor, composer, pianist, and media persona, and off stage, too, in his physicality, sociality, charisma, and sensuous engagement with the world. His artistic and celebrity status granted wide berth to Bernstein’s ‘bohemian’ sexual and relationship practices, but he was not exempt from contemporary social expectations and anxieties. Indeed, Bernstein’s life and career illustrate the pivotal effects of twentieth-century sociosexual norms and homophobia on US musical modernism. A gay man in a heterosexual marriage, Bernstein was both a victim and beneficiary, and a sometime agent, of homophobia. In Bernstein the forces of twentieth-century homophobia converged with talent, ambition, and repression, yielding momentous results for his family, intimates, colleagues, and rivals, and for US and international arts and culture. Bernstein’s life and career were fatefully shaped by prevailing social forms and mores, and ultimately his social and cultural influence would contribute to their reshaping.

Leonard Bernstein’s career-long involvement with the New York Philharmonic Orchestra intersected with the Cold War, the Civil Rights movement, and the growth of television. He first conducted the Philharmonic in 1943, at age twenty-five, and his term as music director (1958−69) is remembered as a particularly vibrant period in the orchestra’s history. On taking over that role, Bernstein embarked on an ambitious agenda both for thematic programming, including focuses on American music and the symphonies of Gustav Mahler, and for public-facing initiatives, such as the televised Young People’s Concerts and touring. In addition, Bernstein used his position to highlight the work of solo performers who were members of minority groups, and he oversaw the orchestra during its period of racial integration.

In working with Stephen Sondheim as lyricist on West Side Story, Bernstein seemed to have forged an important new collaboration with an edgy young writer to contrast with his previous musicals with musical comedy writers Comden and Green. Yet the young Sondheim saw himself as a composer-lyricist, perhaps even with more of an emphasis on the music than the words, so the success of the team was short-lived. This chapter examines primary source accounts of their work together, considering how they met, what they thought of each other, and how productive their creative tensions were. The chapter also briefly addresses their other short-lived projects, including the abandoned The Exception and the Rule.

The growth of Bernstein’s career coincided with the growth of television, so many knew him through his broadcasts. His fifty-three hour-long award-winning Young People’s Concerts (1958−72) are among his most significant television work and were seen at their height by nearly ten million in the USA and in over forty countries. In each show, the maestro would expound on some musical principle, with clarity and appeal, accompanied by demonstrations by him and the New York Philharmonic. While the series clearly shows Bernstein’s brilliant pedagogy, a deeper story lies beneath. No other musician in the late twentieth century so fully addressed the issues of the day as did Bernstein, and no other classical musician has ever been so widely seen. Through his Young People’s Concerts, the maestro not only spread his love of music but also raised his artistic voice from this bully pulpit to work for a better world.

No one so inspired the generation of American musicians born in the 1940s and 1950s as did Bernstein, an ‘inescapable’ and ‘incontroverible’ icon of the 1960s and beyond. His celebrity was particularly linked to the explosive growth of television, beginning with appearances on Omnibus (from 1954) and the New York Philharmonic Young People’s Concerts (from 1958). Two texts complicate his reputation as Wunderkind of American music: Tom Wolfe’s ‘Radical Chic: That Party at Lenny’s’ (1970) and Leon Botstein’s ‘The Tragedy of Leonard Bernstein’ (1983). But by the time of his 100th birthday celebrations in 2018, Bernstein’s stature as cultural icon seemed intact and secure, resting largely on West Side Story.

While scholars have often acknowledged the relationship between Bernstein and Blitzstein by focusing on their Jewish immigrant backgrounds, shared love for the musical theatre, modernist approach to music, and socio-political goals, there is little discussion on how their sexual orientation might have shaped this friendship and their work. Yet, attempting to understand the bond between the two composers, both married yet unequivocally gay, without considering their queer identities leaves a major component out of the picture. In this chapter, I consider the queer intimacies that are at the core of their bond and how works that they dedicated to each other – Bernstein’s Trouble in Tahiti, an opera about gender alienation; and Blitzstein’s Six Elizabethan Songs, a set of pieces concealing possible homoerotic meanings – can uncover new perspectives on their friendship and compositional approaches.

The Library of Congress is the premiere institution for research on the life and works of Leonard Bernstein. This chapter details how Bernstein’s relationship with the library was established, documents the donations he made to the library during his lifetime, and describes how the relationship with the Bernstein estate has continued to thrive. This chapter gives an overview of the richness of the library’s Leonard Bernstein Collection, one of the most exceptional in the Music Division in terms of the variety and scope of material it contains. In addition to documenting Bernstein’s work and creative process, the Bernstein Collection provides countless avenues of research for those studying music history, television history, education, the Civil Rights movement, LGBTQ+ topics, Jewish identity, and pop culture. The chapter also highlights relevant archival material found elsewhere in the Music Division’s collections, and connects readers with digitized collection material available on the Library of Congress website.

Early on, Bernstein often conducted operas (Cherubini, Bellini) and other sung stage works (Blitzstein, Weill). He would later make renowned opera recordings in New York and Vienna. His greatest contributions to the genre are three quite varied compositions. The short, all-sung Trouble in Tahiti (1952) is bitingly satirical. Candide (1956) is an operetta, with plentiful spoken dialogue. The words were provided by a half-dozen collaborators, partly for later productions (each production included a somewhat different selection of musical numbers). The entirely serious A Quiet Place (1983−86) deals with family tensions and disappointments. Its style is highly eclectic, ranging from blues to twelve-tone. A Quiet Place has one official version (in which Trouble in Tahiti becomes two interludes in Act 2) and one in which the orchestration has been reduced by Garth Edwin Sunderland. The latter omits Tahiti but restores important passages that the official version omits.

Bernstein was a popular figure, in the conventional sense of garnering attention and admiration from a great many people, but his relationship to popular music was hardly straightforward. Bernstein expressed scepticism about much of popular music from the 1960s on and his personal taste hewed to the musics of his youth, such as swing-era jazz, blues, and the Golden-era of Broadway and popular song, while occasionally expanding to include rock’n’roll. However, Bernstein also viewed popular music as a kind of wellspring that composers could draw from, whether it was Mozart’s Magic Flute or his own West Side Story. Not only could borrowing from popular music revitalize tonal classical music for the twentieth century, as opposed to twelve-tone serialism and other mid-century modernist trends, but Bernstein also firmly believed that popular musics, particularly jazz, were the key to creating a uniquely American musical style.

Bernstein’s later Broadway shows, West Side Story and 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, represent his greatest smash hit success and his biggest flop. This chapter focuses on the music of these two shows, and more specifically on what happened to the music after the initial runs were over, when the theatres went dark, and how, in both cases, the music became abstracted from its original context through arrangements, cover versions, and use in advertising, film, and television, sometimes reframing the meaning of the original material. As is to be expected, the two stories are quite different: West Side Story has become deeply embedded in the culture while 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue was nearly banished to obscurity. The reception of both shows, however, reveals something about the enduring nature of Bernstein’s music.

Bernstein loved to conduct works (e.g., by Liszt, Mahler, Ravel) inspired by dance rhythms and folk songs of various lands and peoples. His own compositions, similarly, often invoke distant places and their musics. Fancy Free and West Side Story include such Latin American dance-types as danzón, mambo, and cha-cha-chá. The soprano in Trouble in Tahiti sings about a film full of stereotypical Pacific-island ‘natives’. Other references to various Elsewheres occur in Songfest (a rhythmically adventurous Latin American sound for ‘A Julia Burgos’; Middle Eastern stylistic allusions in ‘Zizi’s Lament’), On the Town (the Congacabana nightclub scene; the humorously klezmer-ish, rather than Arab-sounding, call of Rajah Bimmy), Wonderful Town (‘Conga!’), and two works inspired by visits to Palestine/Israel: ‘Silhouette (Galilee)’, based on a well-known Arab song (including some Arabic words); and Four Sabras, no. 2, for piano (‘Idele, the Chasidele’), which abounds in typically East European Jewish musical traits.

By the mid-sixties, Leonard Bernstein was engaging with the Civil Rights Movement and the Vietnam War resistance. Bernstein took part in greeting Martin Luther King in the Selma Alabama fifty-four mile march to gain voting rights. He campaigned for war resistor Eugene McCarthy in the election of 1968. In 1970, Bernstein’s and his wife Felicia’s fundraising support for the Black Panthers Legal Defense brought him under public attack organized by the FBI’s J. Edgar Hoover. In 1971, Bernstein’s support for war resistor Daniel Berrigan, and his seeking the latter’s help in writing the libretto for Mass, brought him again under attack by Hoover, this time with the connivance of President Nixon, who had missed the inaugural performance of Mass for fear that Bernstein would publicly humiliate him. Nixon now placed Bernstein on his infamous ‘Enemies List’, but Bernstein was saved from victimization by Hoover’s death and Nixon’s forced resignation due to the Watergate scandal.

Stephen Schwartz entered Bernstein’s life at a crucial moment when the composer needed assistance in writing Mass, especially with the lyrics for English ‘tropes’ that transmit much of the show’s message and political commentary. Schwartz has stated that he also helped Bernstein develop the loose plot that ties Mass together as an organic whole, an assertion that has been accepted by the Leonard Bernstein Office. Bernstein and Schwartz were very rushed and worked through the score mostly in performance order with little time for revisions. This chapter includes biographical material on Schwartz before he worked on Mass and his recollections of which lyrics he wrote for the show, his opinions on Mass and the work’s continuing popularity, his memories of working with Bernstein, how Schwartz later revised his lyrics for Mass, and how he has felt the influence of the older composer in his own Broadway works.

As a socially and politically engaged composer, Leonard Bernstein created works for the stage that dramatize and explicate the changing status of women, gender relations, and heteronormative sexuality in the society around him. His Trouble in Tahiti (1951), for all its parodic hilarity, constitutes a powerful critique of bourgeois marriage under McCarthyism and establishes the garden as a recurring trope in his subsequent theatrical compositions. The woman-authored Wonderful Town (1953) turns a nostalgic eye on working women in 1930s Greenwich Village, and, elsewhere in Manhattan, West Side Story (1957) both advances the garden trope and gives us Anita, the wise and powerful Latina. In Trouble in Tahiti’s sequel, A Quiet Place (1983) the garden returns musically and textually to prompt a loving reconciliation between non-binary characters and the family patriarch, brokered by a woman.