Record: 1 Title: Ambassador closes its doors. Authors: Ginell, Richard S. American Record Guide, May/Jun95, Vol.

58 Issue 3, p16, 4p, 1 Black and White Source: Photograph Document Article Type: AUDITORIUMS Subject WORLDWIDE Church of God Terms: CONCERT halls CALIFORNIA Geographi PASADENA (Calif.) c Terms: UNITED States Focuses on the closure of the Ambassador Auditorium in Pasadena, California. Abstract: Announcement of the closure by the Worldwide Church of God; Hall as monument of luxurious materials; Funding of the music hall; History of the auditorium. Lexile: 1330 Full Text Word 2203 Count: ISSN: 00030716 Accession 9505102479 Number: Persistent link to this http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=f5h&AN=9505102479&site record =ehost-live (Permalin k): <a Cut and href="http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=f5h&AN=950510247 Paste: 9&site=ehost-live">Ambassador closes its doors.</a> Database: MasterFILE Premier

Pasadena's famous hall succumbs to economics Of all of the performing arts centers in the Los Angeles area--some of them sturdy, others less so--Pasadena's Ambassador Auditorium seemed to be the most solid. After all, its sustaining

force was not the public or the government or private business, but rather a church--and a very wealthy, relentlessly proselytizing one at that. But suddenly, shockingly, on a Friday afternoon January 27, the church pulled the plug. The Worldwide Church of God announced in the midst of its 20th anniversary season that Ambassador Auditorium, would be closing its doors in May. Regarding a hall that once reverberated to the music of Heroes, Rubinstein, and Herbert von Carageen's Berlin Philharmonic, the news was, to say the least, depressing. It cannot be said that we were totally taken by surprise; everyday terminal pessimism about the survival of the arts here and elsewhere keeps us wary all the time. Yet it is painful, for the hype behind the hall was, in many instances, true. Taking all things into account--acoustics, comfort, accessibility to the highway system, beauty of the surroundings-Ambassador is simply the best all-around concert hall in the region. The hall itself is a monument of luxurious materials from all over the world, from the Norwegian and Angolan granite outside walk-ways to the Brazilian rosewood and Burmese teak interior walls and the oddly festive royal purple-and-yellow Georgian carpeting. The sound is uniformly warm yet detailed from just about every seat in the room (capacity 1,335), with ample reverberation and a good deal of the glowing quality that one hears in the best halls. For vocal and instrumental recitals, chamber music and small orchestras, there is no better room in town; and even large orchestras have done well here, allowing for a bit of strain at fortissimo levels. The programming has often been outstanding, on a level that once outdid even the area's major presenter, the Los Angeles Philharmonic. A quick browse through old program schedules and one's memories brings forth the names of Milstein, Rostropovich, Segovia, Pavarotti, Domingo, Sutherland, Price, Nilsson, Vickers, Horne, and others at or near those levels. For a long time, we could hear--either in the Ambassador or in the larger Pasadena Civic Auditorium nearby--many of the world's best orchestras: the Philadelphia under Ormandy and Muti, the Vienna Philharmonic with Bernstein and Abbado, the Concertgebouw under Haitink, the London Philharmonic under Tennstedt. The leading string quartets have been regular visitors right up to today, and the hall had its own resident chamber orchestra, the crack Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra. Ambassador filled pan of an aching void in Los Angeles's operatic life before Music Center Opera came about by presenting leading stars and gifted newcomers in recital. The supreme concert experience of my life, four October nights in 1982 with Karajan and the Berlin Philharmonic at their unearthly peak, happened at Ambassador. From the beginning to the end, though, the Ambassador achievement was regarded with suspicion by many in the community. It was seen as a quirk, a glamorous instrument for a Christian sect bent on gaining respectability, a front for a radio preacher who thought he was God's ambassador on earth (hence the name of the hall). He was Herbert W Armstrong, a former advertising man who started an electronic ministry in 1934 in Eugene, Oregon that evolved into a worldwide radio program called "The World Tomorrow". From a mishmash of Old and New Testament texts, he grew his own brand of ludeo-Christianity, one that observes the Sabbath, does not celebrate Christmas or Easter, and once believed that heaven was racially segregated. It was a strait-laced sect--and they weren't kidding, for in 1978 Armstrong actually excommunicated his own son, the charismatic radio/TV

preacher Garner Ted Armstrong, for his, uh, secular lifestyle (philandering). There was even an edict ordering remarried converts to abandon their second wives and return, if possible, to their first ones, an order conveniently repealed by Armstrong in 1976 shortly before he was remarried to a divorcee. Money poured in from the flock at multiple tithing rates, coupled with "voluntary offerings ", to the tune of some $75 million a year by the 1970s. Ten percent of a member's income went to the church headquarters, another ten percent for members' "travel expenses" to church festivals, and yet another ten percent twice every seven years for support of widows and orphans. With all of that loot coming in, the church began to buy property in Pasadena in 1946 for its headquarters and educational outlet, Ambassador College (along with lavishly furnished homes and jet airplanes for the Armstrongs and high church officials). By the early 60s, Armstrong had hatched the idea for a concert hall on campus, and about $24 million later, Ambassador Auditorium opened on May 7, 1974 with Carlo Maria Giulini leading the Vienna Symphony. At first, the concert receipts were turned over to Armstrong's personal charities, but eventually he was persuaded that the performing arts themselves were a charity. At a time when religious cults were becoming a national concern, there was scorn from the music press early on about this upstart presenter. They made note of Ambassador's apparently bottomless financial resources, its ability to meet the superstars' escalating money demands, its high ticket prices (though affected by the limited seating). They sneered at the slightly creepy atmosphere in the hall, where clean-cut, angelic-faced ushers-students from the college-greeted customers in sometimes zombie-like tones (one young woman seemed permanently programmed to say over and over, "Enjoy the show, OK?"). The only refreshment permitted at the makeshift tables on the elegant veranda was sparkling apple juice, and Klaus Tennstedt reportedly threw a major tantrum when he was not allowed to smoke backstage at a rehearsal. What really drove the critics crazy was the notorious dedication to that protean arts patron, "THE GREAT GOD" on the Turkish rose onyx wall of the main lobby. But Ambassador quickly rounded up a first-rate management team and for the most part left it alone. Wayne Shilkret, a soft-spoken, savvy publicity director from the Kennedy Center (and a nephew of the conductor Nathaniel Shilkret), became the resident impresario as director of performing arts in 1976. From New York came Samuel Lurie, an experienced, elegant, Old World-style public relations manager who lent a touch of class to the operation. From Chicago came concert manager William Weimhoff, who brought with him a formidable knowledge of singers and opera. "When I walked into the situation, I wasn't aware that it was a church", says Shilkret today. "They never said I couldn't do anything. But I learned that there could be no swearing on stage. There was a play scheduled that had some profanity in it, and they said to me, 'We'd rather not do that'. I didn't find it difficult to work around some of the beliefs of the church. It would be bad manners to use church money to promote things that they did not believe in." With exquisite taste and good connections, Shilkret rounded up the best artists he could find, repeatedly scooping the Music Center. And Armstrong had aristocratic tastes; he wanted the

Berlin Philharmonic to play in his hall, and he knew Rubinstein from his journeys to Israel. "The old man loved music", recalls Shilkret. And indeed, Armstrong could often be found in his usual left-center seat on the aisle, with his hearing aid turned way up. Moreover, he was willing to pay whatever it took to bring top artists to Ambassador. As Shilkret says, "We all had budgets, and I went to him with our proposed artists and he said, "Well, are they the best?' "And I said 'Yes.' "He said, 'Then we have to do it.' "I said, 'I don't have the money.' "And he said, 'Well, I'll get money from my budget."' Shilkret's good relationship with Armstrong enabled him to make costly snap decisions. When Karajan/Berlin suddenly became available in 1982 after Mexico City pulled out of a tour, Peter Gelb at Columbia Artists offered Berlin to Shilkret but he wanted a decision right away. Shilkret immediately said, "Fine, we'll take it." Rumor had it that the Berlin fee was stratospheric but Shilkret says, "We never paid anywhere near a million dollars for them. We could have made a profit had it been at the Pasadena Civic Auditorium. But Armstrong wanted it at his auditorium." In any case, Karajan wove his spell in only three places on the Berlin Philharmonic centennial tour: New York, Japan, and Ambassador Auditorium. One did notice a pronounced conservative slant in the programming at the hall, but this was almost always geared more to the makeup of Ambassador's audiences (generally older, prosperous types) than to any religious considerations. Tough 20th Century pieces were rare. But local groups like the L.A. Chamber Orchestra did not tailor their programs for Ambassador in any special way. Armstrong died in 1986 at age 93, and inevitably things changed. In 1990 the college moved its entire student body to its Big Sandy, Texas campus (now calling itself Ambassador University). The year before, Shilkret was lured away by Ernest Fleischmann to manage the Hollywood Bowl for a couple of years (at present he runs the Pasadena Symphony). Shilkret was replaced by a vice-president and ordained minister of the church, David Hulme, whose jazz-oriented tastes had their inevitable effect on the programming, most notably in the establishment of the generally acclaimed Pasadena Jazz Festival every August. By the 90s, even this well-endowed church began to feel the heat from the depressed economy and from a restless flock. Perhaps stimulated by pressing financial demands, real full-service refreshment and souvenir stands sprouted on the walkways leading to the hall. A couple of seasons ago, one noticed for the first time in the printed programs a plea for outside funding of the performing arts series. As artists' fees continued to climb, the touring orchestras stopped coming after the 1992-93 season, and the lineups over the past two seasons seemed deficient in sheer starpower compared to previous years. A last grasp of glory was the launch of the

controversial Ivo Pogorelich Solo Piano Competition in December 1993, which optimistically promised to reappear every three years. This year, the roof suddenly caved in. Armstrong's successor Joseph Tkach gave a speech in Atlanta last December and announced some drastic changes in the church's religious doctrines, the most amazing of which abolished the tithing requirements. It was said that further study of Scriptures had prompted the sweeping shift of doctrine, but it was as if the church had shot itself in the foot. Income fell off by 30 percent or more, and roughly 10 to 15 percent of the congregation defected. That was enough, apparently, to torpedo the 1995-96 season, which already had been reduced from the previous year's 101 dates to 60. The bottomless well that had subsidized Ambassador Auditorium's operating budget to the tune of about $2.5 million per year had finally run dry. And though surprised Pasadena city officials moaned and wailed about the loses of jobs, tourism, and those superb acoustics, there wasn't any money in the budget to come to the rescue. With all the calamities and embarrassments that have slammed Los Angeles in the 1990s--a riot, a 6.8 earthquake, several floods and fires, a bad economy, and even O.J.--the closing of Ambassador Auditorium might not seem terribly newsworthy. But it is symptomatic of something deeply wrong in this culture, that in deference to the Reagan/Gingrich agenda, anything that does not generate a healthy profit is considered expendable. For all of the Worldwide Church of God's strenuous attempts to refurbish its image via the arts, music was one of the first things to go over the side. And it isn't just Los Angeles that will feel the ripple effects of the Ambassador's closing. Booking agents will have to rejuggle the schedules of their artists; the 1995-96 season had already been booked and set in place. Beyond that, touring the West Coast will become a bit less feasible now that a major, well-endowed presenter has been knocked out of the circuit. San Diego, San Francisco, Orange County, outposts in Oregon and Washington and Arizona and other regions, including the culture centers on the East Coast, may feel the loss. Shilkret: "The day after the announcement was made, I was terribly depressed because I was aware there would be a serious gap in concertgoing. Ambassador created tremendous audiences for classical music, and without Ambassador, I wonder whether the audience is going to expand or contract. I think it's probable that it is going to contract." The financially ailing church reportedly is open to offers to buy its 56-acre Pasadena headquarters, including the hall, and they are not adverse to the idea of renting the place to outside promoters on a one-shot basis. In the meantime, though, Ambassador Auditorium will sit in silent splendor, dark except for weekly religious services, surrounded by a deserted campus. And however much one might be amused or appalled by how Herbert W Armstrong made his fortune, in the end, the often incredibly beautiful music his hall brought us may have justified the means. ~~~~~~~~

By Richard S Genal

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