Orchestras forced to play for their supper

By contrast, the Berlin Philharmonic has 90 sets in a season and gets half of its revenue from the box office, says Li Nan, president of the China Philharmonic. "Even if you have only 15 shows a season, you must do it. It is a hallmark of a professional orchestra," he says.

Li admits that things have been backtracking in recent years. What is supposed to be taken care of by the market is now once again a baby crying for food. Worse, the "parents", the government officials in charge, may have different opinions on the importance of a symphony orchestra. If the top managers of a city love classical music, you'll get more funds; if not, you may sink into a battle for survival.

The second kind of concert is for the public good. Musicians play in order to reach out to people who either do not have the purchasing power, or are simply not in the habit of going to a concert hall. Often subsidized by government departments, they serve as a tool of music appreciation for college students. But the system has a lot of problems. For example, the China Philharmonic is paid by the Ministry of Education to play 16 concerts a year, for which they are paid 80,000 yuan a show. But the money comes with strings attached. The concerts must be performed at colleges outside of Beijing. To offset the hefty traveling costs, the orchestra needs to shell out an additional million or more each year to maintain the program.

The Guangzhou Symphony Orchestra stopped touring college campuses in 2006. "The canteen or the gym is not the best place to introduce classical music to an emerging audience," says Chen Qing, the orchestra's deputy president. Instead, they started to invite students to the concert hall.

The third kind of performance is called commercial, which means a government or business organization acts as an institutional buyer. It pays a lump sum to the orchestra, who play to the staff, family and guests of the organization. Not everyone with a ticket will come, and those who do may not be the right audience. Orchestras are not proud of these gigs, but they will do them for the easy money. Often there is no need for rehearsal as the program is made up of light and fluffy tunes.

The ability to secure financing from either government agencies or corporate donors depends partly on how much these people with resources see classical music. Most view it as icing on the cake. There is the occasional success story of breaking out of the "either mayor or market" quandary. An orchestra in Inner Mongolia had a lucky break last year when an entrepreneur named Su Ri approached it. Su had learned to play the accordion while young. Later he turned to mining and made a fortune. When attending a concert in Beijing, he had an epiphany that children in his hometown should be exposed to this kind of musical enjoyment. He paid the orchestra 1 million yuan to tour schools deep in the prairie, performing 11 concerts. At each stop, he would provide further financial support to two of the poorest kids.

Orchestras are exploring new ways to survive. Some have merged with concert venues, while others were spawned by the venues. Eventually, everyone asks the same questions: Whom does the art serve? And who should foot the bill? It may be a long time before the so-called "crown" in a nation's performing arts becomes a regular venue of art appreciation as well as a source of civic pride.

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