THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

Evening Star, Issue 20570, 23 August 1930, Page 3

THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

[Written by L.D.A., for the ‘Evening Star.'] “ Mu»ic giTM tout to the unirene, winji to the wind, flight to the imagination, a charm to aadnew, gaiety and life to everything.”—Plato. The celebration of Music Week in Wellington has come and gone, and its passage has given rise to a variety of conflicting emotions, which have found expression in tho correspondence columns of the local Press. 1 do not propose to quote these views in extenso, mainly lx: can so they emanate largely from persons of no musical intelligence; but one cannot lightly dismiss all tho opinions put forward as to tiie unquestionable failure—from almost every standpoint—of 1 this much-discussed festival. That is to say, the long-awaited commemoration came up to expectations in one respect only—c.g., tho standard of performance, which really was high. No doubt tho promoters of Music Week were intensely conscientious and earnest in their endeavours — indeed, one might hazard tho notion that the organising committee was so obsessed with tho gravity of its task as to lose all sense or proportion and perspective; its members were unable to see the forest for tho trees. One cannot escape the general conclusion that tho-programmes were designed by a cabal without knowledge of—or deliberately blind to —the idiosyncrasies of public taste.

Time was when the stomachic ills to which childhood is prone were drastically purged by remedial agents relentlessly undisguised and inexorably administered. Tho horrors of senna tea and castor oil used not to be mitigated in days of yore by any excess of sacchcarino palliatives, as this deponent well remerabereth. Nowadays we coat tho pill and make smooth tlm absorption of unpleasant antidote. This analogy may bo applied to the musical disorder from which tho nation at far"-* is allegedly suffering. The doctor's diagnosis predicates a condition of mechanical fever, which may develop into syncopativc spasms, resulting—if unchecked —in chronic jazzitis; and the alleviation of the disease may take one of two courses—the old-fash-ioned prescription of concentrated nastiness, or the numaner method- of chemical dissembling. According to critics, the former treatment has prevailed, and is much resented.

Ono writer said: “The whole secret of the failure of Music Week is summed up in a few words—it catered for, roughly, 10 per cent.. of the musical population ... whilst thousands of music-lovers were ignored.’’ Another wrote: The promoters of Music Week had a splendid ideal in trying to revitalise popular interest in good music. Hut how did they set about it? Why, by allowing the Programme Committee to compile itineraries utterly devoid of popular appeal. Beautiful music, certainly, but absolutely hopeless considered as a ‘ draw ’ for tho public the movement designed to reach. People able to appreciate that type of music do not need the stimulus of a Music Week.” These critics are not far from stating the whole truth about the matter, though I should be inclined to rate the really appreciative among the community at about 1 or 2 per cent., rather than 10; that proportion, seems to obtain almost everywhere in the civilised world. The argument put forward is fairly sound: classical music must be made palatable, and must be given in very judicious doses, if that predilection for it so earnestly desired is to bo firmly and permanently rooted. » . * » «■ • Two aspects of the question, however, present themselves . obtrusively from out the welter of critical assail • ment. The first is the note of intolerance which permeates all the divergent views expressed from those of the highbrow down to the possessors of fringe impinging upon the eyebrow. Almost the same bitterness underlies the discussions that formerly, was—and. perhaps still is—characteristic of religious dissension. “ Live and let live ” seems to bo a forgotten doctrine when vehement protestation as to what ’.a good for the other fellow , is under weigh. Tho air of superiority, that de-hnut-en-bas demeanour, assumed by many allegedly musical pedagogues, does no service whatever to the cause of good music, and is, besides, frightfully galling to those whose tastes run in lighter grooves. It is no crime to be unmusical. Certainly it is a misfortune from the musician’s point of view; but what you never have you never miss, and there arc, and have been, many eminent men who knew not one note of music. Recent cables informed us that Dean Inge is one of those, also that Swinburne was another. «• !!• * * For those who know the beautiful melody with which all the verse of Algernon Charles is identified, this accusation may be difficult to swallow: but, if true,’the great poet erred in good company, as Tennyson likewise is

alleged to have been not only tone deaf, but colour blind. There is a story about him in this connection which is apropos. On the occasion of a Royal Academy exhibition in London he was “spotted” by a party of heroworshipping Americans who shadowed him pertinaciously for three hours in tho hope of hearing some words of wisdom from his lips. Leaning on his wife’s arm, the Laureate wandered about the rooms, gazing upon this picture and upon that, but no syllabic spako he until his followers had nearly given up hope. Then at last tho oracle broke silence with: “My dear, I think I’ll go and get some beer.” •«■ * * From the sublime to the ridiculous is proverbially but a hair’s breadth, and it is was exemplified recently at tho Dunedin Town Hall, when the Backhaus admirers sat at the feet of the master whilst he discoursed to them of Beethoven in the concert chamber, what time some thousands of gyrating couples were “hoofing it to the whines, squeaks, and other noises perpetrated by a jazz band in the Town Hall. At one period the contrast threatened to be even more painful than it actually was, because tho original intention of tho danco instigators was to have misused the grand organ for the purpose of abetting their nefarious counter - demonstration. Rumour hath it that a certain wellknown organ manipulator had been approached with tho view of soliciting his services as dance accompanist, but an tho eleventh hour saner counsels prevailed. md thus definitely prevented the dignity of the great, instrument from starting on tho wane. * » * * Another example of incompatible juxtape silion was offered in a letter from one oi the critics of Wellington’s Music Week. He instanced the contrast .presented in the programmes given by Mr Bernard Page, the city organist, at his Sunday night organ recitals; and the concerts with which Wellington is simultaneously inflicted by various bands. Let mo quote in full a recent programme given under the auspices of tho P.N.5.8.; Hymn, ‘Sandon.’ March, ‘ Stein Song.’ Fantasia, ‘ Nautical Moments.’ Selection, ‘Lightning Switch.’ Patrol, ‘ Jamie’s.’ March, ‘Radio.’ Nowhere in this list is there a hint of genuine music, whilst the opening hymn is tho solo concession to the nature of the day. At one time these band concerts were supposed to be allowed subject to a revision of tho items by the City Council. I believe that was also tbe procedure in Dunedin. But to-day there is little or no pretence about the matter, and these entertainments have mostly degenerated into semi-vaudeville shows. What is wanted in all concerts designed for tho unsophisticated masses is a leaven of tho happy medium—programmes which preserve tho sanctity of good music, whilst ranking as intelligible to those myriad listeners who lack tho comprehension of their more fortunate brethren. And this brings me to the second aspect mentioned in my fourth paragraph-—Dunedin musicians showed their good sense in eschewing any music week functions. This young country is not yet ripe for such celebrations. (To be continued.)