THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

Evening Star, Issue 21092, 3 May 1932, Page 3

THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

[By L.D.A.]

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

Human nature is commonly credited with finding a malicious satisfaction in being able to say, “ 1 told you so!” Sometimes, however, a complete, or partial, verification of pessimistic prophecy is by no moans a reason for self-congratulation, especially when the subject of prediction is such an important one as the Wellington War Memorial Carillon. Nearly two and a-half years later than was originally expected, this long and eagerly-awaited peal of bells has at last been installed, and has made its debut m the Capital City at the hands ot England’s reputedly best carillonheur, Mr Clifford Hall. It is now my melancholy duty to record that some ot my predictions regarding the event are proving only too true, and a few excerpts from the article which appeared on January 11, 1930, in this column, may now be recalled with interest. Touching the suitability of Wellington for a carillon I wrote :

“ The art of bell-ringing is the musical personification of the rhythmical succession of pastures, wheat fields, and groves of trees. Hills, or uneven ground, interrupt the sound waves; the musical effect is also spoiled by winds. The carillon requires the plains, even and graceful, and the distant horizon, unbroken and circular, it requires, also, the calm of night; that is why the carillon is so successful in Flanders, where the evenings are marvellously sweet. ...”

“To anyone knowing Wellington intimately,” I continued, “ it will occur at once • tkat the requisite conditions just described are the . exact opposite of those existing in New Zealand’s chief city. Wellington is all hills and gullies, whilst as for wind, well . . . not for nothing has the capital centre earned the soubriquet of ‘ Windy Wellington.’ It remains to be seen whether the topography, and the capricious breezes of the northern city are going to enhance, or destroy, the beauties of the much-discussed carillon that is to be erected at such enormous cost. 1 wonder whether anyone has considered the consequences in the event of the great enterprise tailing through unsuitable conditions and environment. The configuration and climate of -Wellington are so obviously antagonistic to its establishment that if the promoters of the carillon expect anything like the success attending it m Belgium they are going to bo grievously disappointed. . . .”

Mow, as a matter of fact, and by a strange coincidence, the climatic conditions for the inception of Wellington’s carillon could not have been bettered, each recital of the opening week being attended with exceptionally mild and windless, weather. The carrying power of the bells could not possibly have been tested under more favourable auspices, so that the result is doubly disappointing. For it is beyond dispute that less than half a mile from the campanile the carillon is practically inaudible, and, hut tor tho radio broadcast, expectant listeners even in the near suburbs would not know that any bells were playing. 1 mysell listened intently one evening from Seatoun heights, a chain of hills not more than two and a-half miles distant Irom the bell-tower, as the crow flies, and I was astounded to find that, although a gentle breeze was blowing directly towards me from tho city, not a single sound of the carillon could bo heard. The question naturally arises, it the greater portion of the inhabitants cannot hear the bells under tiie finest weather conditions, what will be the effect upon the carillon of Wellington’s normal northerly and southerly blasts? And the interference of hills and dales and winds is not the solo obstacle to uninterrupted audition. During the first series of recitals the disastrous effect of street traffic upon the resonance of the bells has already been severely criticised. Amidst tho continued din of trains and motors it is almost impossible to hear the carillon except at very close range, and then one is immediately conscious of other disagreeable factors.

It must be admitted that, from the purely musical standpoint, the bells are a disappointment. Mo one as yet has had the courage to voice this lact publicly, but it cannot bo ignored. In the first place, several notes are excruciatingly out of tunc, some being Hat and others sharp. Why this very obvious detect was not noticed and corrected when the carillon was tried out in Hyde Park, London, I am at a loss to understand; it is, naturally, oie first thing that strikes a musician. Then there is a considerable discrepancy in volume—the middle register being altogether disproportionate to the upper bells, with the result that the melody is frequently obscured by the accompaniment, and it becomes a matter ol extreme difficulty to recognise the tune. Besides all this. 1 fear the quality ol some of the bells leaves a good deal to be desired; there is a very noticeable harshness and jangle of tone at times that is positively distressing even to a non-musical car. Some of the comments I overheard from bystanders at the initial recital conclusively demonstrated this fact. Carillon music at its best and most ideal can never make a great appeal to the cultivated musician ; it is designed primarily for the general mass of the people. Therefore, when we find the *‘ man in the street ” discovering faults in the bolls, it is very evident that there must be a nigger in the -woodpile somewhere. One or two of the detects,are remediable, I hope, and should bo' taken in hamt without the least delay. For the rest, I suppose we must just resign ourselves to the inevitable. Frankly, 1 have heard many unpretentious Fnglish village chimes that pleased me more than the Wellington carillon.

In my remarks last week concerning the prevalence of “ jargon ” in nearly all discourses and essays about music, especially as regards technique and interpretation, I did not mention one very noticeable circumstance which differentiates contemporary methods of pianoforte teaching from those of instruction in violin playing and in singing. The budding Heifetz, for example, is not continually worried iu his studies by persistent admonitions about forearm notation, application of arm weight, etc., nor, in conjunction with the vocal student, is ho eternally browbeaten and bewildered by unceasing exhortations in respect of that modern technical bugbear—relaxation. i do not vn<h,.to be misunderstood upon this topic. Jsvtny pianist knows the importance of avoiding muscular stiffness in practice and performance, My contention, however, is that in concentrating too much on the necessity of escaping from this tension many piano students are apt, by the force of suggestion, to fall into the very error they are trying to circumvent. Particularly

is ibis flic case with young children. The arm and finger of childhood arc naturally supple, pliant, and adaptable; and up to about ten years of age there is practically no finger or wrist movement' which under competent guidance a child cannot execute without the least effort or strain. This being admitted, why must the modern teacher complicate an already difficult art by insistence upon so-called relaxation studies?

For adult learners there may bo something to be said in favour of the Tobias Matthay system, which has become, such a fetish with present-day pianistic pedagogues; or, at least, in favour of the theory lying behind this system. Rut if similar results can bo obtained by simpler means the student should be grateful that he is spared tliose elab&- ' e key-board gesticulations which instantly betray the Matthay disciples. In the old days we used to bo taught the strict observance of economy ol motion'. All such adventitious digital aids as rolling the hands or forearms sa, Hired of laziness, and were absolute!" taboo. Tho performances of tin great virtuosi then—as they are, indeed, to-day—were characterised by the supremo effortlessness which eaiy immobility at the piano invariably coi.veys. Very largely this complete abscice of unnecessary movements was dm to the acquirement of natural technh e in early life —nearly all famous pkyo : have been childprodigies. Is time nowadays before the public a single great product of the Matthay system? That is the vital test, when all is said and done. Many very excellent pianists abound, of course, who haw studied under this method, but thej would probably have been good perforirers in any case. What I am asking is wfether an example can bo shown of i really front-rank virtuoso resulting e lusively from undeviating pursuant of tho Matthay principles ? ««; » «

But apart from his consideration it becomes self-evident that no method of piano practice shoul bo ignored which offers the 'cquireient of complete muscular control aitl relaxation without any of the movements advocated by jVatthay. One very simple and effective tay is to practise with the eyes closed,lor blind-fold. A number of cniinent frtuosi have employed this means of fcyboard mastery. Playing in complete darkness lias a similar effect, but is nt quite the same thing; it will be fonnl better to shut the eyes, and to keep hem shut for at least an hour at a tint. The practice of scales, studies, and afficilt passages in very slow time undeitheso sightless conditions has an effect the playing that is truly remanable. If the student is one of those unfortunates who can perform nothing without the printed page, lie can at lent play simple five-finger exorcises,_ trill', etc., from memory; and it ; waderful how quickly the inability to rinember can be conquered by this aUn-tbe-dark idea. Space docs not pcniit me to enter into sci. Tic explamiipns of the results attained under the lethod. It is distinctly a case of being worth more than theory, afl I would advise every pianist, or instrumentalist, who reads this trtgivo it a trial for, say, a month, lie consequences will ; -.rprise him, oilier.