THE MUSICAL EVENING.

Auckland Star, Volume LVIII, Issue 89, 16 April 1927, Page 21

THE MUSICAL EVENING.

FORMS ANCIENT AND

MODERN.

THE BOREDOM OF BOTH.

AX ELDER'S IMPRESSIONS,

(By "MASKEE.")

The old order has indeed changed. Those of us who have already wandered far along the way of life must needs mark it. In the days of our joyous youth the "musical evening" was a cherished feature of the home circle. Almost every family had its piano—the only time-payment article to he found under the roof in those times. Mary and Jane, and even little Tommy were forced to proceed gradually from fivefinger exercises to the mechanical mastiry of a piece that was always an item for hypocritical praise from visitors, and an anathema to father who endured its painful repetition morn and night. Then, too, some could, and most folk would, sing., The music case, or the leather bound volume of songs, as weli sung as hymns ancient and modern, was an indispensable adjunct for an evening visit. Stephen Adams, Ciro Pinsuti, Piccolomini, Weatherley and others were household gods. Teachers of music flourished or struggled in battalions, cultivating talent, and for the sake of their livelihood, heroically dissembling where uo talent existed. The Old Style. One looks back on those days with pleasant memories, yet with a sigh of relief that they have gone into the realm of time almost forgotten. They had their moments of supreme satisfaction to those who would display their talents, and, of course, if there were a fair young vocalist in the assembled company, there was always the chance of "seeing her home," and of carrying her precious music during the enchanting walk of the pre-motor days. But to sit and endure, for endurance it too often was, seemed in most cases inevitable. Often was one tortured with pathetic appeals to '"Thora" who was full-throatedly implored to "speak once again," while the audience longed that she might, and that the fervent declaimer might for ever hold his peace. Mayhap a love-sick swain, suffering from that disease known as a tenor voice, would threaten an eternal vigil "Tin the Sands of the Desert Grow Cold," little realising that it is really a nightly habit with the said sands. Ask anyone who has been in Egypt, and has slept on them. A maiden lady of about forty summers would trill lightly that "love was once a little boy," quite neglecting to explain how she missed him, and many a soulful contralto would be "Out on the Rocks"—a song far more appropriate to these days of financial stress. The old-time supper provided a blessed interlude, a chance for real conversation, and a change from the expression of a flattery that was akin to lying.

The Modern Mode. The musical evening is still with Us, but to-day it is of a different type. Genius or eccentricity is turned on from a mechanical font, or from varied mechanical fonts, and, if these are insufficient, players upon cunning instruments will diversify the fare. No longer does one sit in mute admiration, or the pretence of it. Talk and laughter seem to blend with what modern taste craves fur, and strains certainly appeal more to the feet than to the ear. One of the old school who ventures for the first time, to a home where ultra-modern "music" is the vogue, is bewildered. He asks a charming hostess will she play something, as was the custom iu former times. Smilingly she agrees, seizes a roll of perforated paper, pedals it through a player-piano—probably tiniepayment—and "Rose Marie,*' or something that syncopates of U.S.A. is served nip hot and fresh. Would he like a song? The gramophone is wound, and for a space canned Caruso delights him. But very little of this suits the modern taste. Other .guests have come, not with the music cases of former days, but with latest records. On these go while the younger set chorus their approval of weird noise, but catchy rhythm. The appeal to the feet is irresistible. Furniture is shifted, the door to the verandah is thrown open, and soon couples are moving to, swaying to, and talking through the lilt.

The host takes pity on the old-timer and lures him to the wireless set. This is the resort of children and the aged. Strange it is that those in their twenties give little heed to anything that requires much manipulation. Let father or the kids fiddle with the radio. You can never be sure what you will hear, or that you will get the place you want, and besides, jazz music is not usually on till very late in the evening. Such is the terse summary of the present generation. So father twirls knobs and says he is tuning in. It sounds like it —only worse. Static maybe takes his turn, and the visitor has to be content with an account of the wonderful reception on the previous night. But he is soon drawn away from wireless to the twanging of the wire. Mamie Jones has brought her ukelcle? an instrument forced upon the world by a dying race of Hawaiians. It certainly accounts for the fact. From the choruses that are lustily or languorously sung to its twang the old-timer learns as much about Hawaii as the flying tourist knows, and wonders why in the name of all that is musical American millionaires choose it as their playground. To him there is one relief for the evening. No one has attempted to produce sounds from a saxophone.

Reflections. The old-timer is squeezed into a motor car filled with high spirits, giggles, and bursts of rag-time melody. Thus, be■wildered, lie is delivered at his staid abode. Preparing for rest, he visions the musical evening of his youth, when people played and sang, when there was real music, and when everybody remarked, at the conclusion of an item, Thank you so much!" What he had experienced that evening must be a mere craze, an evanescent frivol. And, as he reaches for his pyjamas, be finds himself chantmg softly that hell "climb the Jugnest mountain" or that he "won't bring Lulu." Next day he rates to ais particular cronies about the utter iutnity of jazz, scorns to regard it as music and during his work in the office nnds himself whistling a tune that has somethmg to do with weather prophecy and the coming of a prolonged drought. Finally he reaches this puzzle. Is it better to be bored in the evening, as in Jays of yore, or to be haunted by a E?L^ y J2 ext 25 £§ && pregondition of men? ~ ?■ »r-^-