THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

Evening Star, Issue 20778, 28 April 1931, Page 3

THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

[Written by L.D.A., for tlio ‘Evening Star.’] “ Music gives tone to the universe, wings to the wind, flight to the imagination, a charm to sadness, gaiety and life to everything.”—Plato. Not long ago I alluded in this column to the vagaries of the professional operatic singer, and more especially to the idiosyncrasies of the prima donna. It was something of a, coincidence that a leading London musician should at about the same time have been also writing on the same topic, , and, as his account is wider in scope than mine, it may be of interest to summarise it here. Of course, we are reminded that the prima donna—-like all her sex—is ah enigma'; We can say no more of her than that she is a woman and can sing. Here, perhaps, I may be pardoned for relating a little-known story of the Indian, seer, Rasakosha, who, when requested to describe the nature of women, replied: “In the beginning, when Twastri came to the creation of women he found that he had exhausted liis materials in the making of man and that no solid elements wore left. So he took the rotundity of the moon, and the curves of creepersi the slenderness of the reed, and the bloom of flowers, the joyous gaiety of sunbeams, and the weeping of clouds, the vanity of the peacock/ and the, sweetness of honey, the. cruelty of the tiger, and the hypocrisy of the crane; and compounding a,H these together ho made woman and gave her to man,” • * *■ * : If these’ are the component parts of the ordinary woman, there are certainly more of the same kind in the average prima donna—no solid elements, but an unending variety of attributes brighter and more beautiful. Her charm eludes definition, and to describe it would bo to destroy itr--she is so many different persons at once. Glance back at some of the famous feminine operatic stars of other days. • They were all wilful creatures, and all quite different; yet how alike, in their piquant perversity. There was Lavinia Fenton, “6f the moon face,” who sang ‘Polly Peachum ' for sixty nights, then she married a duke and was heard no more—the shortest vocal reign on record. The mortal jealousy of those celebrated con- ' temporaries, Cuzzbni , and .Faustina, 1 have touched upon in a previous article, but here is a fresh anecdote.' At a certain dinner party the rival singers met and, -to the horror of the hostess, caused a deadlock by each refusing to accord precedence to the other, nor would they go into the dining room together, until a sagacious guest solved the awkward contretemps and poured oil on the troubled waters by suggesting that “ the younger should give way to*the elder.” After this there was a temporary truce. • * .« « Then we are informed about a song which the great Malibran once had to sing. I cannot identify it, but the words contained a line to the effect that somebody’s “ mouth is like the slit in a . letter box.” When Malibran reached this point in the song she stopped, and, saying loudly “ Just like mine,” she scandalised the audience by suddenly producing an orange which , she stuffed whole into her own capacious mouth. (“ Let us devoutly trust it was a 4 tangerine ’ specimen of the fruit,” comments the nartator.) The bewilderment and furious annoyance of her husband, de Befiot, who was present, may well be imagined. Another good yarn concerns La Mara,' when she was commanded to appear before the Tsar Nicolas. - The singer’s response was that she was too ill, being laid up with a severe cold; but the messenger, having duly reported this to his royal master, quickly returned with instructions to fetch her, dead of alive., and finding her in bed, was commanded “to bring bed and all;” We are not told the sequel. • * » • The series of anecdotes concludes with a, good, example of neat repartee on the part of Grisi. This wonderful singer, as is ; pretty well known, was on very friendly terms with Mario, the famous tenor, for many years prior to her marriage with him. She had several children, and on one occasion, meeting the Tsar.„ when out with . her family, the royal wit was pleased to remark: “ We compliment you on your ‘ grisettes,’ ihadame.”. Grisi replied: “Pardon, sire, these are my marionettes,” It is to be feared humour is less subtle nowadays, ■ •' ■*■ « * But, ’midst the general uncertainty of the prima donna, this may be asserted; there is more stability in her voice than in her manner—for almost always she is a soprano. !• say almost, because Malibran wS a striking exception,.and Melba was nearly another; it is not known that the latter’s voice was originally acontralto. In the heydey of the great vocal queens no particular distinction was made about/quality: of voice—or, rather, and more correctly-concerning “genre”: there was no nice discrimination between “ light ” and “ heavy ” or “ dramatic,”.sopranos, as we bail them to-day. Meyerbeer was' prpbaby the first to define a clear line of cleavage between varieties of the genus:' brilliant coloratura was all that the public then . wanted—marvellous trills/ staccato runs, long diminuendos, and thrill mg crescendos y such were the chief desiderata which never failed to “ bring down the house,” or to “ sweep the audiejice off : its feet ’’—you can take your choice of the mixed metaphor. ~ * . * * # There have existed but few prjma donnas who were fully-fledged all-round artistes, such as Ternina and Lilli Lehmann; most of them' excelled mainly owing to some _ extraordinary endowment, coupled with fascinating personal charm and stage presence. As instances of this may be cited Albani and her exceptional mezzo voce; the peculiar velvety _ tone of Tietjens; eveness. and brilliance without flaw in Nielssen’s voice; Jenny Lind with her unrivalled colorature; Malten’s amazing low notes; Nordica’s ■ faultless style; and the wonderful • memory-. of de Murska—the feminine equal, in this respect, of Anton Rubinstein—who could sing all Wagner’s operas by heart. The pity.of.it is thatthe voices of nil those incomparable singers died with them: there was no reproducing for posterity" in those days, or the gramophone might have had a story to tell 'that would put to shame most of . the so-called singers of to-day. • • ♦ » Rut, in justice to those vocalists who aspire to the interpretation of modern music, it must be admitted that few composers know how to write for the voice; Schubert, Gounod, and Sullivan had all been singers themselves, and knew by instinct how a singer feels when singing, consequently their songs are really vocal and are enjoyed as much by the; performer as by the listener. Wagner is alleged to have remarked once at a Beyrouth rehearsal “Wo want no singing here.” He knew little, and cared less, about vocal art; dramatic declamation was what ho wanted,, which in many cases degenerated, into more qt less musical shout-

ing. Wagner wrote marvellous music, but bis ideas were too lofty and vast to worry over the trifling weaknesses or shortcomings of the human voice—what chance has the average operatic singer to make himself or herself heard above an orchestra of over, a hundred instrumentalists? But Wagner, supteme master as he was. and is yet in his imperishable legacy to mankind, did not and does not spell the beginning and end of operatic art. There- have been and will be again composers who, can write music that can be sung naturally, easily, and brilliantly; when that day arrives a new generation of prima donnas may arise which will ecpial—it could never eclipse—thc_ singers of the past. For the time being the species is practically extinct—Melba was the last example of tho old style.

(To be continued.)