SIR HENRY WOOD

Evening Post, Volume CX, Issue 133, 3 December 1930, Page 6

SIR HENRY WOOD

An Interview With a Famous Conductor

Written for "The Post' ' by Valeric C. Corliss.

LONDON, 17th October. Last Friday, was ..my. lucky day.. It iv.-is luck, iirst of all, that Sir Henry. "Wood, in the ■ midst of nil his mighty sunsoual activities, should bu rehearsing1 with the senior orchestra, of the Hoyal Academy of Music wht-n I arrived there for nn afternoon's listening in the Duke's lIkII. It was liu-k again that 1 had a sudden- inspiration to semi my j t-ard up to him in recess, when he was discussing details of a concerto ■ with the composer. And the most unexpected hick of.all was tlmt he consented to give- 1116 an interview. Not one of those dim, distant -.promises, but one that said definitely: "Come to sue me here at 5.30 to-day after rehearsal." Of course, it was difficult to believed Sir Henry is one of those speeding giants who stride about the world doing stupendous things and being hopelessly difficult to1 capture for the fell purposes of the pen and the Press. Ho is here, there, and everywhere. London,' Manchester, Birmingham, Leeds,. Hull, Nottingham, Bristol, New York, Chicago —so it goes on. Ono day you rend that he is conducting a festival in Nonviqli; the' next liight you sqe him pegging a tray at tho Queen's Hall; and the,following morning you meet a. pianist who tells you that he is just ofi to Liverpool to rehearse with Sir Henry in the afternoon and play at his orchestral concert in. the evening. Ho is one of those shining stars to which you hitch a wagon that you never hope to sit in. I havo called him both a giant and a star —speeding and shining—and I will leave it like that, for that is how tho "world finds Mm. At 5.30 I was sitting, rather apprehensively, in a dimmed hall under a »otice: "Silence is requested during performances." Sir Henry's coat, hat, scarf, and long leather baton case lay on. a chair beside me, suggesting an eventual hasty departure. I was deeply engaged with a large tuning fork and a little goug-stick when I heard quick footsteps approaching. .. . Sir Henry, smiling at me and saying, "Come along here where we won't be disturbed." He led tho way to the back of the hall. I said: "You must bo terribly busy just now." . "Yes, I'm. at it all the time, you know. I seem to get busier and busier every day." He smiled a little. ... "Have you anything more to do tonight?" "Yes, I have to catch a train to at 6.45." It was now nearly a quarter to six. 3\o time to spare. An orchestra was beginning to assemble. Lights shot up all round the hall; a librarian fussed about with music; various instruments were enjoying a preliminary canter; the percussion executed an intriguing little jhythm. Here, I thought, was the perfect setting for an interview with a ■famous conductor. Luck again, you see. I plunged: "Sir Henry, I-come from a young country which needs orchestras badly. They have some good ones, but it is difficult for conductors 1o get players for regular rehearsal. They are very keen to do good \rbik, but there are »swiy difficulties j;.i the way." I cnmnerSSwl some of t>etn. Sir Henry regarded lii-p *«d problems with those vital and Umdly eyes, and to the accompaniment of the opening bare of a Beethoven Symphony he began "to talk of many things." "I always stress this point," he feaid, "that you must think of the future, and that the future of orchestral playing is going to depend largely on the amateur orchestra. The amateur orchestra trained by the best musician possible." NOT TO GET OUT OF TOUCH. "The success of the amateur orchestra depends on getting the girls and toys to join immediately they leave school. It is no use their waiting until they are twenty-five or so. Young people should never get out of touch with music. There are not nearly enough of these orchestras,' either at the schools, or in the communities: where they live after leaving school. Professional musicians should all have orchestral societies . . . and especially amateur societies." CURLS AKD WIND INSTRUMENTS. "Girls and boys —and particularly girls," went on Sir Henry, "should learn to play wind instruments. My own daughter learns the clarinet," he ad^ed with a chuckle. "You think women, would make good woodwind players?" '•Most certainly. They are capable tif playing any instruments well—except, perhaps, the trombone! You sec, jt is- worth while learning to play a ■woodwind instrument as it takes only two or three.years before you are ready £0 play in an orchestra. You can become quite a respectable orchestral flute *r clarinet player in that time!" MAKE IT YOUKSELVES. Tj» ihe appropriate accompaniment of battling- drums, wailing violins, and pulsing 'cellos, Sir Qenry urged the necessity for personal effort: "Wireless iand gramophones are all very well. 'They provide music for you . . . but you also want to make it yourselves and you want to make it adequately and with a big orchestra. Here is one of the advantages of the amateur orchestra. There's no use in having a scrappy and scraping orchestra of ton. In Nottingham, for instance, I have 125 players in an amateur orchestra and we give three to five concerts a year. I have a similar society in Hull. They pay a nominal fee of ten shillings a year for the advantages of training, etc." "Do you train them yourself?" "No, I have a trainer; but "I take ■them for three rehearsals of each concert we give." GROUP TRAINING. Sir Henry then began to tell mo of san existing, scheme in which different sets of orchestral instruments were taken in turn and trained by experts. A violin teacher trains the strings, a '•'wind man" tho woodwind family, ji.nd.so on. These specialists assist the permanent conductor in perfecting his orchestra and in stimulating a critical appreciation of good playing. It was extraordinarily interesting to hear this great man talking of the actual schemes which are being carried ■out in different parts of England and Scotland so successfully to-day and for the most part, I knew, under his lown patronage. SUNDAY FOR MUSIC. I mentioned our difficulty in New Zealand regarding busy professional musicians and rehearsals. "I know ... I know," murmured Sir Henry sympathetically. "Couldn't you us© Sunday afternoons?-" "For concerts, too?" "Yes, I think so. Why not? I see nothing irreligious in playing a Bach concerto or a Beethoven symphony." His eyes twinkled. YOUNG CONDUCTORS. T explained the rather perplexing position of young musicians in l\"o.\v Zealand who wish to become conductors. ■ "Yes, it i 3 a little difficult." Sir 32enry said thoughtfully, "because really conductors learn their job mostly by goingl to sco other conductors at work, and to hear fine orchestras re-

| hearsing and giving -coimi;rts. They t tvaut to be-always at it, you sou." • "What would you suggest for New ■ I'ieulauJ students?" ; ;' "Well .. . do as much of this as 1 i tr.ey tan, .of course, and read good litcrj jam re 'on the subject. They (.-an aceotn- ; ulisli quite a lot this way. 1 advise I two books —one by the famous cunuue- • j tor, .Wcingartuer, and t lio other by i •\dam Carse; These are both splendid i j books on conducting." ■ I scribbled hard. "Also," lie added with a smile, "join the amatcu. or- ! chestra as ar player and become- thor- ' oughlv acquainted with the different I instruments -first. Then your young I conductor can rehearse occasionally under the1 guidance of a professional." "There is no end," ho went on eii- '' thusiastieally, "to the future possibilities of tlio young amateur orchestra. There should be numbers of them in all countries." , ! "Look at their usefulness as regards 1 tho community, Not only do they give > performances'-.of orchestral works, but ' see--what a boon they can be to choral ■ societies!" '< "Yes," I said. "The orchestra fro- '■ quently seems to be a sore point there!" ' Sir Henry laughed linderstandingly, ' and, I thought, somewhat reminis- ' contly: "AVell .... suppose you have 1 250 voices in your chorus. To be adequate you must have 75 in the orchestra." "Difficult," I murmured. "Exactly! But remember that forty of those could bo drafted from your ; amateur society 1" 1"I could never," he said emphatically, "accomplish the choral work I ■do in Hull and Leeds without the help of amateurs." WOMEN AS CONDUCTORS. ! Encouraged by past references towomeu as woodwind players, I ventured to ask Sir Henry his opinion of women as conductors. "They ought to do very well as conductors. There are some women doing splendid work these days." He mentioned one name that I could not catch because just at that moment tho full orchestra was executing a series of detached chords of an extraordinarily forceful nature. Sir Henry's head was giving decisive little nods of rhythm and approval. . . . "And Leginska," he was saying, . . . "the pianist . . . she has an enormous talent for conducting" .KEEN AMEEICA. "Sir Henry" (1 hastened on, as 1 fancied that I had caught a kind of warhorse glint in his eye, and I was afraid tho orchestra would catch him if I didn't watch out, "you have had such marvellous experiences in America with the big ochestras there . . . what did you feel was the attitude and the reaction of the American audiences to music?" , , A fond gleam came into1 his eye at tho mention of America: "I have always found American audiences very ipcolligent, eager, and tremendously J.-een to learn —extraordinarily keen to learn." "And the orchestral players?" "Oh, well! The orchestras are the finest in the world." An envious note crept into his voice: "They have the pick of the world. If they want a special' orchestral ' player—they import him!"' ' ■ "And can't you here?" . "Oh! No . .no ... no . .■■l can't import foreigners in England, If I have a foreigner in any of "my orchestras- the union might throw him out ■.'-. -Now, in the days of my old Queen's Hall Orchestra, I was allowed no deputies, but they paid star players to coino from all over the place whenever I needed them." He waved a commanding hand: "First oboe from. Vienna,• first trumpet from Amsterdam. ,-. .We gave 150 concerts a year with that orchestra. It was run privately by a rich man and later by Chappell's. Since the war, of course,sall that has gone to pieces. ..." THE 8.8.C. SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA. I remarked that I was looking forward to the forthcoming season, of the 8.8.C. Symphony Orchestra. Sir Henry uttered an exclamation of deep satisfaction and keen enthusiasm. "The 8.8. G. Orchestra is a magnificent body of players—the pick of England, Scotland, and Wales. It's the top orchestra' ... all the young blood ... a permanent orchestra of 114 players. It's a new scheme . ... what we have been waiting for all those years. They are giving a season of twenty-three concerts." "SPACED OUT." "And now about broadcasting," 1| said. "In New Zealand it has been proving a little difficult to satisfy the demands of tho man in, the strc-ot, so to apeak, and at tho' same, tune provide the good music which the comparatively smaller community wants —and wants rather urgently." "That is always a difficult problem," said Sir Henry. "The man in the street will always want rubbish until he is educated. He wants to b© entertained, and you can't try to entertain him with classical music. Don't try to bring classical music down to this level.. .. " "Would you suggest having certain nights given up to good music?" "Yes, good idea. Tho point is, that to have a successful broadcasted programme, it must be properly spaced. Spacing is the great factor. It's no use mixing everything up in a kind of enter-tainment-salad. It kills good music to havo the funny man suddenly popping up- in the middle . . . And if you space your programme properly your man in the street can always switch oft' in time," he added quickly, just beforo the big drum suddonly asserted itself with a terriffic bang. ... He knew it was coming, of course! Now, I thought—quick! Hobbies and things. "Sir Henry—please something about yourself" (he smiled). ' "You're an ; artist and you're a carpenter." . . . 1 I ticked them off with what I hoped • was a confident, and at the same time, cunningly' inquiring, air. He laughed i outright: "Well, then," he said .. . ! "as a child, music. Then tho Slade ; School of Art, where I studied painting ■ ''tremendously.' " fTho vim which- he put into this word was deliciously en--1 lightening.) . . . "It was quite a toss ■ up, as a matter of fact, whether I should go in for music, ultimately, or ■ landscape painting. When I was seventeen I drifted into opera- and went about conducting. ..." "And-what wag your favourite instrument as far as solo purposes were concerned?" "I played everything, more or less," ho murmured, somewhat dcprecatingly. "But piano and organ mostly.'' "And what finally decided your CVTCCI' ? ' ' "Well, ... I don't know. ... I had to get my living, and help my parents a little. Music paid better, of c arse, and I was so tremendously interested in singing. ... I accompanied singers for hours a day. My mother used to sing most charmingly, and my father, although he was an engineer, taught singing—so I was very mixed up in it all." "WORKERS! WORKERS! WORKERS!" 1 "You have some very decided ideas about tho trend of modern singing," I ; said tentatively (I knew I wns on fruit- ■ Cul ground here because I had so often

jlieavd his scathingly expressed ideas during rehearsals). "Tho teachers nowadays are, on the wholo, not serious enough," said Sir j Henry. "It takes a long timo to train a voice, .. . The great singers wereworkers, workers, workers. Nowadays they are in too much of a hurry . . . they were born hurrying. And besides, I they don't educate themselves generally." "Yes?" 1 prompted, pencil poised. "And another thing. Perhaps the' real cause of much inferior singing 1 icm in the fact that nowadays there seems to be a tendency to teach nothing but. 'voice production' for several years and then try to add musicianship when it is too late." "Too late," quoth the pencil. "Learn to sing by singing—that is sny motto," said Sir Henry. And here, lo my great satisfaction, ho discussed some of the .parallel principles which underly both instrumental and' vocal training. 1-low one never gives even a simple exercise without trying to reveal its musical aspect and awaken the sensibilities to rhythm, progression, shape, -and purpose. . . . NEW ZEALAND TOO FAR. j "Is there even the remotest chance of your ever coming to New Zealand with an orchestra, Sir Henryi!" "Never, I'm afraid. It's too big a financial undertaking, for one thing1. ... I had thought, some ycavs ago, of going out to New Zealand and Australia and giving some concerts with their own local orchestras. But it takes too long. Six weeks there, six back, the time spent in each country— I would want to spend a long timo in New Zealand, of course" —(this most engagingly)—"and then-all my work loft liere. ..." I saw the utter impossibility of it in that regretful but emphatic shake. "But I'm going to Africa on the 12th December." (As if that, perhaps, might cheer me up a little.) "I'm giving five concerts in Capo Town and Johannesburg." "Then back to London for the 8.8.C. Symphony Concerts in April . . . amongst other things," I prompted. Ho nodded. "Amongst other things. .. . And then America in June." . . . AY. AUDIENCE OF 25,000. "I can get to America in a week, give concerts in New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles, and be back in five weeks from the day Heft!" "You conduct in the famous out-of-doors Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles, don't you?" "Yes. Marvellous place. No air currents. You can hear perfectly —the music doesn't scatter in all directions. I had an audience there of 25,000 people." NINE HOURS A DAY. I saw him look with a horrible air of sudden inquiry at the 'cellos. "Sir Henry," I said forcefully, "What is the secret of your amazing power in the achieving of great things?" The horrible air of inquiry was turned full upon me. "Is it ... er ... because you do everything so easily, or ... er ... because of some magic method?" . . . I struggled manfully on. He came to my rescue. "I can manago a good deal," he whispered confidentially, "because-I have an exceptional physique! I always have had. I cau conduct for nine hours a day for three week? on end without getting in the least tired. For the next two weeks I shall be conducting fo six hours every day, sometimes nine—and (he twinkled) ! —hop© to keep musical as well!" j "That is the point," he added —"to keep musical as well. You can't be a 1 conductor without a good physique." "How old'were you when you first began to conduct?" "T was seven.' ■ j "Seven!" I gasped. ] "Yes, I conducted an amateur orchestral society when I was a child. It was called the -Jiayswater Orchestral Society. I believe it is still iji. existonce!" He-'fxhucklcd heartily over childhood memories. " "When I.was twelve I conducted nearly every night in the week . . . came home from school at 4 o'clock." But here, alas! the impending doom fell. • Sir Henry jumped up suddenly: "Excuse me for a moment —I must ask

him to play that ayain," and he ljustloil uIT to the singe, where he was greeted with tremendous applause. I could hi;ar him chatting with tho conductor and then congratulating the orchestra on the success of a recent concert. lie said the most amusing things and wonnd up with special praise for their power of "pulling together." "Not like a bargain basement!" ... I thought he would have forgotten me. But, no; back he came —all the way down the hull. "Sir Jlemy, I don't know how to thank you and I mustn 't keep you any longer. .. ." Ho glanced at the clock. It was twenty past six. Somehow he had to get dinner and leave by that train at 0.4.5. He shook me by the hand, wished New Zealand the best of luck, dashed into his coat and hat and fled. . . I had a sudden, vision of him at the Queen's Hull on tho last night of the recent amazingly and unprcccdentcilly successful promenade concert, season— bowing . . . bowing . . . bowing to the thunderous applause. Sir Henry Wood —so vital, so magnetic—so universally beloved.