THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

Evening Star, Issue 20998, 12 January 1932, Page 11

THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

[By L.D.A.]

“ Music gives tone lo the universe, wings to the wind, flight to the imagination, a charm to sadness, gaiety and life to everything.”—Plato.

It is not widely known that there were two Franz Schuberts in musical history not related except by their art. F. Schubert, the violinist, was born in 1808, and consequently was twenty years old when his namesake, the famous composer, was cut off at the tragically early age of thirty-one. There is one other connection between them—viz., that charming little piece, ‘ L’Abeille,’ so often heard at violin recitals, is usually ascribed to the celebrated Franz, whereas it was the work of the more obscure musician, who has thus for years past shone by reflected glory.

The groat Schubert's birth anniverr sary occurs this month, and it may not bo out of place hero to discuss sonic aspects of his life and work that arc often overlooked. Until the publication of ‘ Lilac Time ’ it might have been said that Schubert’s compositions had evaded the indignity of too much popularity; but there is room for such a statement even to-day. His music is familiar, but not threadbare—in fact, there is nothing positively stale about nine-tenths of his piano works or the songs. The former are played far too seldom, and although some of his 600 songs are well-worn favourites—such as ‘ The Krl King,’ ‘ The Wanderer,’ and 1 Who is Sylvia ?’—they have not been mangled by the populace at, large. Other composers’ songs get sung to death and oblivion, but “ not, not the six hundred.” They will probably outlive Tennyson’s renowned lines.

An enormous amount of Schubert’s work remains unknown to-day, even to musicians. One rarely hears his chamber music, for instance; whilst of his symphonies the big orchestras play only the ‘ Unfinished ’ frequently, the ‘ C Major’ less often, and the [Tragic’ hardly ever. Yet the latter is, incontrovcrtibly, one of Schubert’s masterpieces, and its slow movement is quite as fine as the ‘ Unfinished.’ There are probably not half a dozen such slow movements in the whole of the world’s music. I defy anyone with discriminating ears to deny the sublime beauty of this work, yet it is almost a stranger, oven to the übiquitous gramophone.

That Schubert was an excessively modest man we know from the fact that iit his last days he thought of taking some lessons in counterpoint. It is not known what actual value he placed upon his own compositions, hut there has always persisted a legend—unduly enlarged upon by some biographers—that Schubert was obsessed, towards the end of his brief career, with the idea of contrapuntal deficiency in his work. Those who delight in picking holes in great artists have seized upon tin's absurd story with avidity, whereas there is abundant evidence to disprove it. One has only to examine the score of the ‘ Unfinished,’ for example, to discern the firmness and adroitness of the musical texture lying beneath the superficial melodic loveliness. There are combinations of themes and modulations in it that are woven into a fabric at once simple and complicated, but always beautiful. Here is contrapuntal writing at its very best, for the means are hidden by a perfect effect; it is the acme of art that conceals art, and the very antithesis of the kind of counterpoint that is taught by the pedants.

No doubt the superstition about Schubert’s alleged polyphonic weakness arose from the fact that he seldom wrote a formal fugue; but this is not to say he could not do it. Here and there wo find him tempted to start one, as in the finale of the tremendous ‘ Fautaisie in C Major.’ The truth is that this strict form was not in keeping with his natural bent. His inventions did not take the shape of terse, epigrammatic subjects, as with Bach and Beethoven; he only seemed to think in pure melody, some of the most entrancing ever heard in this world. But this surely cannot label him as inferior to the other masters; hi some respects, indeed, he was superior to all. Schubert could not rival Beethpveu as a technician; he could not equal the craftsmanship of some other great composers; but where be fell short as an artisan, ho soared as an artist. During his short life he invented more beautiful musical ideas than anyone else ever dreamt of, and ho put them on paper with an instinctive skill that surpassed any amount of mere profundity.

That such skill in counterpoint as he undoubtedly possessed was instinctive, rather than acquired, may be gleaned from its intense naturalness; he invests his polyphony with all the ease and charm of simple melody. You do not find him “ torturing ” his subjects and counter-subjects in order to comply with theoretical rules; they just flow on gracefully, with a ripple like that of grass in’ the wind. But they are not branded with the defect of mere prettiness, even when comparatively trivial Schubert’s melodies always have dignity. And in his more inspired works there _ are passages—notably in the 1 Unfinished ’—that arc unparalleled in music, whilst in his lesser-known writings almost equally divine portions abound —witness the rarely played quintette. It is hardly an exaggeration to assert that when Schubert died, this kind of art died with him; it belonged to him exclusively. Where other masters exploited the mind and the emotions of music, Schubert alone may bo said to have revealed its groat heart, and for this reason his music will never become archaic, .whatever may happen in the future developments of the art. Composers arc always experimenting. We hear continually that the old writers are out of date, and that the next generation will concern itself only with atonality, whole-toned scales, and so forth. Nevertheless, Schubert’s music was never more vital than it is to-day, and I have a shrewd idea people will turn to him with a sigh of relief when they tire of Cubism and other artistic eccentricities. The reason of this is simple: The compositions of Schubert are sincere, they are the work of an honest mind, of a man who was essentially true to himself. Schubert lived a dual life; outwardly a simple and unpretentious fellow, and condemned by poverty to an uneventful routine; inwardly his life was on the highest level, and there he walked with the gods. * » * • It is doubtful whether, in the entire history of musical art, there has over existed a man endowed with such stupendous natural talent as that possessed by Prams Schubert; indeed, it would not be easy to match him in any of the other line arts. Equipped by prodigal Nature with precise and perfect tools, he was perpetually moved

by an irresistible instinct to create beauty. Very little is definitely know about his mental processes; those among whom his short life was passed certainly commented with wonder upon his feverish activity, and almost savage industry; but of the actual marvels which his mind was producing during the twelve to sixteen hours per day that ho worked at his desk, they knew little, and cared less. Schubert himself was singularly uncommunicative concerning his work. What is certain, however, is that his ideas flowed like a cataract; there was none of the agony of conception with him which has been the lot of so many composers; his chiei difficulty lay rather in suppression. One might even say that his pre-eminence must be ascribed to a spontaneity and artlessness unequalled amongst creators of music. Although he was continually possessed of a lust to create, there is no “ smell of the lamp ” in his work, nor—despite his tremendous outputdoes his music ever show signs of intellectual poverty. Probably no other composer has so seldom been banal.

If it cannot be denied that Schubert was sometimes repetitious, oven, perhaps, a trifle tedious in some of his longer compositions, yet he was never obvious or empty, and this was because he never lacked ideas, and never looked like exhausting the supply. We cm only conjecture what he might have achieved had he lived, say. to sixty or seventy. But he did enough to enrol himself among the rare and enviable company of the immortals, and Ids works take rank with the imperishable glories of the human race.