MENUHIN: MAN OF MANY PARTS

Press, 12 November 1977, Page 17

MENUHIN: MAN OF MANY PARTS

Unfinished Journey. By Yehudi Menuhin. Macdonald and Jane's, Loni don. $16.10. (Reviewed by John Ritchie)

The built-in tragedy of the child prodigy lies in the potential for subsequent frustration on reaching unglamorous manhood, or for becoming an introverted and narrow performance machine whose weekly schedule is plotted round airport terminals, aircraft, taxis, hotel rooms and concert halls. Not such a case is that of Yehudi Menuhin whose autobiography, a sixtieth birthday commemoration, represents a triumphant vindication of family, personal curiosity, and religious and cultural background. Menuhin, the internationalist, shines forth inspiringly from its pages. Menuhin, the individualist, illuminates every paragraph. This is a large book. It is composed beautifully in language that, in itself, will attract the reader. The content ranges from the author’s own philosophies and the influences which shaped them to the anecdotal seasonings which flavour a long parade of musical triumphs with humour and random recollection. Menuhin has enjoyed his life. From his own powers of investigation and observation he has derived a breadth of interest and preoccupation which infiltrate the text to such a degree that even those not interested in his music will absorb important commentary on life in our century. For the musician, scholar or performer, this should be required reading. Some recent research reverts to the view that heredity is paramount in the determination of high talent. It claims that nine months before the birth of the parents is the critical time in the history of the great artist. Menuhin goes some way towards agreeing when he writes, “my sixtieth birthday and my sixty-first year (sixty-second, if one counted the prenatal period) mark a new and refreshing period in our lives.” But the early chapters leave no doubt that his parents and teachers, especially Persinger, contributed an overlay of environment which

exploited the innate musicality and digital command of the youngster whose debut at seven started the golden road. Bloch, Enesco, Bruno Walter, Busch, Toscanini (tearing a telephone from the wall because it rang during a piano rehearsal) and Elgar — to name a few — all had a hand in the process by the time the young Menuhin was 16. But along the way “we grew up naturally, shielded from the world of inquiry which would have turned us into selfregarding freaks if it could.” Parents, take note.

Menhuin’s view of competitions is succinctly expressed: “Perhaps because they were not persevered with my childhood was remarkably free of the deforming effects of competition.” Of music criticism: “The reviews in the next morning’s papers were never shown to me; the concert was over and forgotten; what mattered was the agenda for today.” The change from child to manhood happened — we can be excused for thinking — in 1932, in England and with Sir Edward Elgar. The celebrated recorded performance of Elgar’s Concerto was preceded by a piano rehearsal in the presence of the composer. The 16-year-old lad was perplexed by the “grandfatherly country gentleman . . . whose attitude to duty seemed, to say the least, relaxed.” Apparently Elgar heard a few bars, said the recording would go beautifully and, if he could be excused, “he was off to the races.” Menuhin’s wartime record, including brushes with American trade-unionism, give a measure of his strength and durability; also, his self-acknowledged weakness in backing down to union pressure, in capitulating to the breakdown of his first marriage and, as a consequence, developing an acute professional anxiety. But his rehabilitation came from within, taking surprisingly original forms. He searched out medical, athletic and gymnastic sources of refreshment; he re-read Flesch and Dounis; he talked to Szigeti and the Pashkuses, not to overlook the runner, Borrican, and the tap-dancer, Paul Draper.

A few years later, in Auckland (the only mention made of New Zealand),

in an osteopath’s waiting room, a book on yoga provided “the key to unlock old enigmas” and when he reached India it was Pandit Nehru who started him on the path to possessing a “yardstick of inner peace” and to a conscious understanding of the mechanics of violin playing through yoga.

While all will derive knowledge and inspiration from this handsome volume, teachers and parents may expect more. The chapter, “A Legacy,” describes Menuhin’s own school at Stoke d’Abernon in Surrey, established in 1964. The philosophy, organisation, and the pedagogical purposes which rule the lives of some 40 talented youngsters, are described persuasively and in such detail as to illuminate our understanding of the man and to instruct us in the methods employed, derivative as they are from his rich personal experience. Rather than go on reviewing a book whose very detail precludes summary, let a list of significant themes and apposite quotations whet the appetite: Audiences: “Of all audiences, the Germans and the Japanese are the most disciplined and polite.” Jewry: “The Jew has suffered for his religion and for his race; now he must suffer for his nationality. It may be the greatest peril yet.” Violins: "Owning Strads and borrowing Guarneri cleverly accommodated my desire to assert myself.” Apartheid: “Thereafter (1956) I decided I could not in conscience perform in a country where a powerful minority treated a powerless majority so inequitably.” Pianism: “I bless the destiny which guarded me from the piano.” Palestine: “Early in 1974 I tried to engage Mrs Meir’s sympathy for the Palestinian refugees, believing that common sense, if no nobler motive, counselled against raising up enemies.” Performing: “My goal has been so to play the violin that whatever I play is an exercise for whatever I might play.”

What else would he like to do? Conduct Italian opera. What a man of many parts. And what a very fine autobiographer.