THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

Evening Star, Issue 21116, 31 May 1932, Page 3

THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

[By L.D.A.j “ Music gives tone to tho universe, wings to the wind, flight to the imagination, a charm to sadness, gaiety and life to everything.”—Plato. In view of the recital tours of this country by such eminent artists as Moseiwitsch, Paul Vinogradoff, and Madame Galli-Curci, which are now being eagerly discussed by all ardent concert-goers—the two former have, in fact, begun their itineraries—it may bo of interest here to examine the intricate problem of audience psychology. Every travelling performer knows that the attitude, or re-action, of auditors is subject to variation at every concert. In tho words of Galli-Curci: “No two audiences anywhere are alike in their manifestations of appreciation.” If tho great virtuosi were closely questioned on the point, it would probably bo found that each has experienced a bigger volume of applause in some particular and entirely different town or city. •»« ■ » Since tho audience is tho other half, and sometimes the better half, of the music, the critic who desires properly to evaluate a musical performance must necessarily take heed of the listeners as well as the players or singers. An audience is a curious composite—an amalgam of differentiated temperaments whose impulses defy exact definition when resolved into the constituent parts of tho unit. This peculiarity is, of course, characteristic of crowds everywhere; immediately individuals congregate in tho mass their separate entities coalesce and unify into a body of inconceivable potentiality, having no inherent will of its own, but susceptible to the sway of any powerful and dominent influence —whether for good or evil—and finding expression in a whole gamut of explosive emotionalism—from window smashing to the frenzy of hero worship. The parts, indeed, are so various and so fortuitously associated that it is surprising how, on the least provocation, they will tend to act as one, at tho behest of ecstasy or passion.

Let us consider a. typical concert audience. The cheaper seats are usually filled with those who have stood patiently, perhaps for hours, awaiting the opening of the ticket office. These early applicants are invariably tho truest and most devoted of unisielovers. In the larger centres they may form a double or triple queue extending round a block; they huddle in the angles of doorways and windows, regardless of weather conditions, intent only upon tho treat in stove that crowded hour of glorious life, subsequently to be enjoyed in a two-fold rapture of realisation and retrospect. These are the faithful who would scorn to change their seats, hard and uncomfortable though they he, for the seats of the mighty—the stalls of the plutocrats thntj strangely enough, are nearly always placed in the least advantageous portion of the auditorium for hearing purposes. For this reason alone, apart from considerations of pocket, the genuine music-lover prefers the lesser-priced location. » • ♦ ♦ However, it is a commonly accepted fact that the denizens of the expensive seats are by no means the most musical and appreciative; they may be, and usually are, decorative and ornamental, but the demonstrations of knowledge and enthusiasm they usually leave to tho humbler patrons. These arc the real “ cognoscenti.’' Amongst them you will find violinists ready to take the true measure of a Heifetz, pianists seeking, with all their ears, to probe the wizardry of a Paderewski, and budding singers, full of the latest doctrines of voice production, eager to pounce upon the slightest defect in the widelyheralded prima donna. And some there are who can make no music—who merely attend because they are moved by concord of sweet sound, finding life’s dull round illumined bv its light celestial for many days following a concert long awaited. These do not ask how or why the' music stirs their 'innermost being, nor do they want to analyse its method of creation; they seek effects, not causes; they come neither for instruction nor amusement, but to be lifted for a while out of the world’s ruck to that, intangible sphere where the soul abides in a peace passing all understanding. This latter class of concert-goers comprises a larger number than is commonly supposed, and their attitude is very apt to give rise to complete misapprehension because often they are too deeply moved by good music to applaud. Their silence must not be mistaken for apathy. The angles of approach to musical appreciation are, m fact, as divergent as the facial dissimilarities of the listeners; here one sees the professional musician, chin in palm, expertly arraying his points of critical comparison, and there is an amateur with owlish spectacles, score in hand, and forefinger hot on the trail of performance. Neither of these is, perhaps, minded to make a noisy demonstration when the music closes; and, after all, how crude and uncouth is tho customary ebullition of approval—a patter, or a shower, or a roaring torrent of applause, a beating of the hands together: how curious and inept a response to musical sounds, when one pauses to consider it! Therefore, let us not misjudge those who sit silent in the midst of this percussive palm-smiting—like isles of inanimation in a sea of turbulence.

Quito conceivably a great performer might, by some extra flight of genius, exert this paralysis of awe upon the major portion of his auditors, in which case the artist himself is liable to draw a wrong inference, for the greater number of virtuosi are certainly accustomed to measure the success of their efforts by the resultant plaudits, and by applying Che gauge to the duration and violence of the noise. It is truly a queer thing, this physical manifestation of approval, but so slightly are we “ changed from the semi-apes tv ho ranged India’s prehistoric clay," that manual concussion is the accepted outword and visible sign of our inward and spiritual appreciation. No doubt, in the millennium, mankind will evolve some subtler means of conveying tokens of approbation. « » « « Then there arises the vexed question of encores. The average audience is a cormorant which swallows avidly as much as the performer is

willing to concede, and whose appetite grows h.v what it feeds upon. There in a type' of listener altogether unreasonable and insatiable in this resjiect. Quite apart from the obvious fad that after a two-hour recital the artist, being' merely human, is subject to the ordinary onslaught of fatigue, wo must not overlook the further aspect of honourable commerce. By his programme the performer contracts to supply a certain number of items or quantity of goods for which the prospective listener. agrees to pay a stipulated price. The circumstance of enforced payment in advance docs not necessarily entitle the purchaser of the ticket to demand more goods than he has paid for; consequently an insistence upon encores means not only taking undue advantage of an artist’s generosity. but also a distinct violation of a common business pledge. That this view is shared to some extent by performers themselves is shown by occasional programmes of striking brevity, it being taken for granted that the bill will bo filled by tbe concession of extra numbers. Thus, for instance. Vladimir do I’achmann, at his farewell recital at the Albert Hall, London, not long ago had arranged a schedule of n.nly half a dozen items. MevertheWs the concert lasted two and a-half hours owing to the voracity of the audience. This is an extreme case, of course, but. tbc idea otters a way out to tbc virtuoso who sometimes finds that excessive popularity exacts its I penalties.