THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

Evening Star, Issue 21822, 11 September 1934, Page 3

THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

[By L.D.A.]

“ Music gives tone to the universe : wings to the mind: flight to the imagination: a charm to sadness; gaiety and life to everything.”—Plato. The long arm of coincidence is to the fore again. Last week I had something to say about Edinburgh and the development of musical life m that picturesque Scottish capital. 1 alluded also to a musical festival held there in 1815, of which Sir Walter Scott was one of the prime organisers; therefore it is more than strange that during the last day or two I should have come across some versos by George Bruce entitled ‘The Musical. Festival: A Poem in the Scottish Dialect,’ which was published in the year of Waterloo, and deals with the very festival to which 1 referred. As far as I can gather Bruce was a minor poet who flourished early in the nineteenth century. Ajnong his other works are ‘ Poems and Songs on Various Occasions,’ ‘ Poems, Ballads, and Songs,’ ‘ Edinburgh: Another Poem in the Scottish Dialect,’ etc., etc. I am not sufficiently conversant with the niceties and intricacies of the Caledonian tongue to appraise the verses of George Bruce. Perhaps I do him an injustice in terming him a minor poet. But I am ‘ hero concerned chiefly with his musical allusions and their bearing upon the musical taste of the day. « * • • It appears that when the organisers of this 1815 festival got down to their work they affected' to discover that local talent alone would not carry the thing through; in fact, some of them uttered very rude disparagement of Scottish entertainment ability, and the motion was put and passed .that executants and vocalists be imported from England. This decision gave deep offence to a few perfervid patriots—George Bruce among- them—these enthusiasts, albeit in a decided minority, fiercely contending, as did Professor Blackic, that a good tune on the pipes was worth all the classical music in the world. The lines written by Bruce voice a remonstrance with the Festival Committee on the ground of its weak-kneed servility and flaccid patriotism; there are no half-measures about the poet’s condemnation, as may be seen in the opening stanzas: Auld Scotia, land o’ music sweet, For your pun"sons I maist cou’d greet; Sair, sair neglected in yon lect O’ foreign cattle. Weel, gin Pegasus keep his feet, They’s get a rattle. / 0 Scotia’s sons, far fam’d’s your sang; It’s borne the gree, right high, fu’ lang; Now your own kintramen to wrang Ye o’ your right, Bring squallin’ strangers ye amang. Plagues on them light! • •ft The poet, you observe, does not mince his words; evidently the idea of “ squallin’ strangers” rankled. After a passionate inquiry as to why “ Edina’s bairns ” found no place in the festival, but were “ left to stairve,” he proceeds ; How hard it is to see frae Lunnou Birkies come down, by trick and cunnin’, To seize our bread —faith, that’s nae funnin' To hungry folks. O sage directors, count your winnin’ To the puirs’ box. Those-wise directors now will gio Pounds fifty to tum-tweedle-dee, When they at hamc, believe ye me, Had gotten better For guineas twelve; it’s thus, ye see, The cash they scatter. * * * m Our poet seems to feel positively hurt at the idea of squandering fifty pounds whore twelve guineas might have sufficed. Scottish indignation and horror over unnecessary extravagance were surely never more-pithily expressed. He then goes on to laud the virtues of the neglected local performers : In this guid town there’s mony mair That I cou’d name, musicians rare, Who in a concert often bare A part right sweet: Now for an idiot’s skirl and rair They’re left complete. It grieves me sair to see neglected Our aim—an’ foreign loons protected; Because a Scotsman, you’re rejected, Whate’er your merit. While Signor Squallina’s respected, And drinks his claret. In another verse he is a trifle more condescending;— Let foreigners aye ha’o a share O’ patronage, when wc’v’t to spare. But first we should our ain lo’k sair, O’ talents bright ; This is but doing justice fair To ilka wight. ' * * * * This unwilling concession is but the calm before the storm. In succeeding stanzas, all pretence of artistic supen- . ority is thrown to the winds, and the poet’s fine frenzy concentrates upon the enormity of financial disparity: — How cou’d yo hae the face, ava’ To offer some but guineas twa ? Ye cou’d na give ano less to bla Your organ fine. - Wha cou’d discern the least at a’ Maun see design. How could ye gie ane hundreds three, Tho’ ho may stand in first degree? Can ony just proportion be ’tween guineas twa Offered to ane who, weel ken ye, Nane matched here saw? Had ye been stinted in jour means, An’ your projections wanted frien s, Lik ane whase mind to music leans, Wad ye assisted. An’ ilk musician’s heart sae keen’s ’Xhout cash he’d listed. But whan o’ moans ye had right plenty Ye had nae need to he sae tenty, An’ offers make sae small an’ genty To pair Scotch duels; But this I trust’s a sma’ momento To him who feels. * * * * Alter this outburst, the poet evidently thinks he has done enough for national honour, and he finishes on :;a much milder note. Perhaps he suddenly became alive to the fact that Sir Walter Scott was among the victims of his vituperation. So he dismisses the committee finally with an I’ll-forgive-you-this-time-but-don’t-do-it-again sort of verse:— Now fare ye weel. ye sage directors, May ye o’ genius he protectors; 1 gie yo credit as projectors, Guid was your plan. But ne’er o’ merit bo noglectors. Nor get its ban. George Bruce must have been one of the first to recognise poetically that few

artists enjoy profit in their own country. ♦ * ,* ♦ I have received from a correspondent a query as to when Mendelssohn’s •Wedding March,’ from his ‘ Midsummer Night's Dream ’ music, was first played at a wedding. This is a very intriguing question, indeed, and I shall have much pleasure in making tho requisite research. Meanwhile I am reminded of one or two anecdotes relating to nuptial music. At one wedding I attended some years ago the bride was excessively late in arriving at the church, and the organist caused considerable amusement by extemporising elaborately and cleverly upon the songs ‘ Alice, Where Art Thou?’—Alice being the bride’s name—and ‘ Waiting at the Church.’ I possess a couple of old newspaper cuttings, too, that bear on the point. One report of a fashionable wedding said: “As the happy couple loft the church the organist gave a masterly rendering of Lohengiin s ‘ Wedding March.’ The second excerpt stated that “ during the signing of the register the organist played _ the * Burial Chorus ’ from Lohengrin. This must surely have been an unrehearsed incident.