by Gary Blanchard

Just before Van Cliburn won the first Tchaikovsky competition in 1958, the United States and the Soviet Union were locked in the protracted, tiresome endgame of World War II: the Cold War. Only the year before, the Russians had successfully lobbed the first artificial satellite into Earth orbit, and Americans instinctively knew what to expect after a competitor had gained such a leading technological edge.

The national mood vis a vis the Russians was a grim determination to come from behind (later culminating in the Apollo program), and progress was measured in millimeters. The stage thus was set for Van Cliburn's unexpected triumph in a cultural arena: The gangling boy from Texas, who, Galahad-like, conquered the formidable official cultural apparatus of the only competing world order, Soviet Russia.

In retrospect it seems easy to see how Cliburn's musical powers were destined to prevail: his ability to transmute the most intractable material into spun gold; the lushness, natural elegance, and poise of his playing set him apart from the competition to such an exten that one of the judges, Svjatoslav Richter, having been instructed to grade each contestant rigorously on a scale of one to 10, gave Cliburn straight 100s and the others straight zeros.

Cliburn's victory was seized upon by the American public in a big way. Upon his return to the United States, he was given the accolade of a ticker-tape parade, an honor usually reserved for military heroes. He had demonstrated that Americans were not all nyekulturniks -- people debased and without culture -- and that the best America had to offer was very good indeed; as good as anything the Russian had, in fact.

Van Cliburn will perform with the Austin Symphony on May 24, 8pm, at UT's Bass Concert Hall. Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 5 in E-Major, Op. 73 "Emperor" and MacDowell's Piano Concerto No.2 in D Minor, Op. 23 are on the program. Austin Symphony Assistant Conductor Timothy Muffit will conduct the performance. Call (512) 476-6064 for more information.

Van Cliburn's appearance in Austin brings to mind the best aspect of this unimaginably ominous competitive spiral that was the Cold War. For a moment, the combatants in this protracted stalemate called a short truce, a common ground emerged, and, at least for a few minutes, the combatants were able to set aside their temporary differences and dwell on lasting things like the glory of music. Cliburn's image at the piano recreates this moment perfectly; tall and aristocratic, with his movements creating the perfect golden sound. His playing and demeanor are the living extension of the European romantic tradition into the 20th Century world of consumate technicians: the triumph of music over daily and humiliating reality.