THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

Evening Star, Issue 20688, 10 January 1931, Page 5

THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

['Written hr “ L.D.A..” for the ‘ Kvening Star.’] “ Music gives tone to the universe, wings to the wind, liighb to the imagination, » charm to sadness, gaiety and life to everything.”—Plato. In my last article I voiced a . lament concerning the rub in which music seems to move in most countries, but, as I have since discovered, there is at least one nation to whose musical members variety is, seemingly, the salt of life. I allude to France. By the last mail L received from a friend in Paris a copy of ‘ La Semaine,’ a weekly journal devoted entirely to music and the opera, a perusal of which has proved a veritable “ eye-opener.” France has produced, of course, numbers of great composers and executants, but I do not believe it is generally realised how intensely artistic and musical the French nation is as a whole; for this journal reveals immense concert activity, not only in Paris, but throughout the country. Also, the willingness of the public to pay generously for their music is a most striking feature ; at many concerts the prices of seats range from a minimum of ten francs to one hundred francs, which—basing the value of the franc at par—means from Bs ; 6d .to £4 4s. After all, the pocket is the ultimate criterion of any community’s musical enthusiasm, and.it must be remembered that in financial astuteness the French approximate to the Scotch.

Tlie first concert notice which caught my eye was that of M. Albert Leveque, a well-known Parisian pianist, who was advertising recitals of nothing but Bach’s music—to wit, the entire “ 48 Preludes and Fugues,” usually known as ‘ The Well-tempered Clavier.’ These he proposed to play at three concerts, for which the cheapest seat was fifteen francs—about 12s 6d. As a musical feat this is a tremendous undertaking, though by no means unprecedented ; there have been a fair number of pianists and organists who could perform, from memory, the whole “ bag of tricks ” which J. S. Bach is supposed to have composed for the education of his sons. Mendelssohn, Rubinstein, Busoni, Sir Walter Parratt (who knew them when only ten years of age), and many others, all had these celebrated preludes and fugues at their finger tips ; whilst no doubt there are countless unknown but devout students who play them religiously every day of their lives. Musicians feel instinctively, of course, that this music is nob merely the food of the gods; it is the staple fare, the very bread and butter, of every toiler in the musical way, eminent or humble. But most of uS think, in our inmost hearts, that Bach’s famous “48 ” arp better suited to the atmosphere of the study than the concert hall; consequently the recitals above-mentioned speak volumes for 1 the intellectual capacity of Parisian audiences.

This is also demonstrated by the nature of concert programmes advertised in ‘ La Semaine,’ in which one notes the frequency of composers’ names, such as Falla, Borodine, Ibert, Ravel, d’lndy. Tcherepnine, Stavinsky, Breval, Granados, Touruemire, and many others quite strange to me; whilst the comparative absence of the names with which we are more familiar —Chopin, Schumann, and so fortli—is equally striking. It is very noticeable, too, that the radio programmes generally show a marked superiority to those of other countries. There seems to be no demand for dance music—at least, none is advertised. So apparently the Frenchman, if he likes it at all, regards jazz as one of those things unmentionable in polite society. More power to him! * * * * ‘ La Semaine ’ is extremely interesting, and I even found humour in it, albeit unintentional. A very prominent French vocalist rejoices in the name of Martial Singher, to which is lent a comical emphasis by the item lie is announced to sing—Schumann’s ‘ Two Grenadiers.’ Even the composer could scarcely have desired more appropriate handling than this. It suggests possible future pseudonyms such as ‘ Lo, the Gentle Lark,’ sung by Miss Dizzy Warbler, or ‘ The Lost Chord,’ by Miss Laid Rope. . ‘ Another most intriguing piece of information found in the journal was to the effect that the Italian composer Andrea Ferretto luis invented a machine which actually writes music. At long last! It Jiad to come, one supposes, in these days of marvellous robots ; but the difficulties to be overcome iu the successful working of such if machine seem, to the average musician. almost insuperable. However, the inventor claims more than the mere typing of notes for his discovery. According to this authority, the apparatus is also capable of arranging orchestral parts and of making instantaneous transpositions. It is hardly to be wondered at, therefore, that the name given to this epoch-making invention should be of dimensions equal to its calibre. It is called the “dactylomusicographc.” So it you meet one unexpectedly you need not run away.

For a hundred years or more scientists aud others have grappled with *he intricate problem of making miusic more easily put upon paper, but. despite all their efforts, nothing has yet successfully displaced ordinary pen and ink. The* labour of writing music is simply stupendous, and the dexterity and 'industry of the great composers lias always appealed to me as being something superhuman. Anyone who has written any music at all, even if merely copying, knows what a time it takes'to set even a par or a line upon paper. Now, just imagine the amount of work involved in writing a whole opera: the full score of orchestra aud voices, then each part separately; imagine, also that all the while the various themes have to be remembered, arranged, and developed, and you will get a faint idea of the enormous volume of manual and mental labour required-. When it comes to works like Vvagner’s ‘ King des Nibelmgen ’ one stand.* almost aghast at the evidence oi astounding power and super-achieve-ment herein revealed. And now all this is to be rendered easy by the dacty etc. * * * * Among composers’ names in these French programmes I noticed that of Kubio, which opened for me the floodgates of memory and carried me back thirty odd years. Rubio was a cellist of phenomenal attainments who flourished in Europe, during the ’nineties—possibly later, hut 1. lost sight of him in 1902, and have never heard any news concerning tins wonderful Spanish musician since. Despite the undoubted genius of Casals, he was never the player of Rubio’s calibre; here s an instance: the latter positively could play a fugue in three or four voices on Ins ’cello. Hy some manipulation of the bridge lie was enabled to use all four string's at once, and 1 can vouch lor it that in that fugue the various parts

could be distinctly heard separately—it sounded precisely like lour instruments playing a voice apiece. Rubio was altogether a surprising person. Of surpassing, almost childlike, simplicity, he was very easily imposed upon, and although he earned huge sums by his performances he seldom had any money on him. A friend of mine once met him in a London street dressed very shabbily. When remonstrated with Rubio said: “ Ah, veil, I ’aVe no money to buy close, vat does it matter?” My friend replied: “ Now, look here. Ruby, I happen to know yon received X'.'jO " lor playing at Lady So-and-so’s the other night. What have you done with that?” Said Rubio: “Ah, veil, ven I come out 1 meet a poor man in ze street vot says he ’ave large family and no money and no food, so 1 give ’im ze feefty pound?. Voila!” A "popular man with mendicants was Rubio. (To bo continued )