THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

Evening Star, Issue 22354, 2 June 1936, Page 13

THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

[By L.D.A.]

"Music gives tone to the universe: wings to tlie mind: llighfc to the imagination: a charm to sadness; gaiety and life to everything.”—Plato.

A habit of delving into old periodicals and records of days gone by brings to light many a good story and reminiscence. It also impresses one very forcibly with the 'conviction that in some departments of musical endeavour the standard of achievement of past generations is hardly likely ever to be surpassed. Listen, for example, to tTv° following anecdote concerning Edward Solomon, a brilliant musician who nourished (1 use the word in its conventional sense; there were times when he did not flourish) in London some 40 or 50 years ago. I have wondered, incidentally, whether ho was a forbear of the present-day well-known pianist of that name.

Teddy Solomon, as he was called, began his musical career as pianist in a second-rate London music hall—the Old Mogul Tavern, in Drury Lane. From there he gradually rose to be musical director in several West End theatres, and made a big name for himself as an .executant and arranger of orchestral scores. He bade fair at one time, too, to develop into a first-rate composer of light opera—so much so that good judges looked upon him as a serious rival to Arthur Sullivan. He had certain qualities which Sullivan lacked, and vice versa. Both men were almost incurably lazy; but Sullivan, when really on his mettle, could work with a feverish energy—witness his ‘ Cox and Box,’ written and produced in a fortnight. On the other hand, he could never be got to write the overtures to his operas: somebody else always had to do it for him. But more of Sullivan anon.

Solomon, besides being an extremely clever musician, was a fascinating man to the other sex, as evidneced in five “legitimate” marriages and goodness knows how many other attachments. The stories told in professional circles were legion concerning “ Solomon and his wives and concubines ’’; but these are hardly admissible here. He bad a marvellous talent for impromptu composition on the piano, and when in financial straits—a frequent occurrence —it was not difficult for him to charm money out of a music publisher or a theatre directorate by means of his wonderful gift. Here’s the story I had in mind; One morning-Solomon received a letter from the manager of the Alhambra Theatre asking it the musician had an opera ready, as one was wanted immediately. , , , ,

Imagine the surprise of Sydney Grundy, the eminent librettist, when at 11 a.m. he received the following telegram 1 from Solomon: —“ Have lunch with me 1 o’clock. We play our new opera to Alhambra directors at 3. Teddy.” ... Grundy was surprised, for the simple reason that this telegram gave him the first inkling of any new opera—he hadn’t even thought of one previously —and said so very emphatically when he arrived to keep the lunch appointment. “ Never mind,” said Solomon, you tell them a good story—of Indians, say —stolon white-face—attempted rescue by cowboys—battle—defeat of rescuers —burning at stake—spectacular Redskin ballet, etc., etc.—lt will be quite all right, and we’ll pocket the deposit, £2OO. You’ll see.” « » * * And so it happened. Grundy spun the dramatic synopsis, while Solomon at the piano enthralled the directorate with .the ‘ Grand March of the Sioux Indians,’ * Love Song of the Pale White Face,’ ‘ The Battle in the Forest,’ ‘ Warriors’ Dance Round the Stake, ‘ Rescuers’ Triumphant March,’ and several more brilliant numbers, all improvised at the keyboard on-the spur of the moment. Every listener was delighted. One director said it was lovely, another thought it simply great; but none of them really knew much about music, and, unfortunately, the only director who did know was absent, therefore “ Would Teddy come again to-morrow and play the opera all over again? ” Meanwhile Teddy made sure of getting his £2OO on account. The next day they all met again, and Solomon endeavoured to repeat his effort. Alas! he could hardly recall a single note of his former inspiration; he simply could not recapture that first fine careless rapture. . The performance fell flat, and the opera did not eventuate. But he had his £2OO. « « « • However, Solomon’s conscience smote him, and later on he conceived the idea of an Indnau ballet entitled ‘ Pocohonlas.’ He actually wrote the piano score of the work and then played it to the directors, who at once commissioned its production. As the play then running at the theatre was not a success, it was decided to put on “ Pocohontas ’ a week later. There were seven days in which to orchestrate the work, arrange the ballet, and complete rehearsals. London was scoured for orchestrators and copyists. When tho curtain went up on the opening night only the first act was ready for the orchestra, and, as it progressed, tho silk-wet music sheets of the second act were passed along, fresh from the hands of the dozen or so copyists who were working' at white heat under tho stage. Once or twice, when a number wasn’t quite ready, the principal actors were asked to “ gag ” to fill up the time. We are told that, as far as the audience could tell, the whole show went off without a hitch and was a brilliant success. Could such a tour de force be executed nowadays? I wonder. * • * * Regarding Teddy Solomon’s facility for getting married, the story runs that, just after one of his periodical divorces, he was in New York rehearsing his latest new opera, and at one point of the rehearsal he suddenly got an idea for a new tune, which he there and then improvised on the piano. The famous and beautiful actress, Lilian Russell, was on the stage at the moment, and when Teddy had finished his impromptu solo the lady exclaimed impulsively; “ I’d leave my homo for the composer of that melody! ” “Right von are,” answered Solomon, “ we’ll sail on Saturday.” And sail they did, arriving in England 10 days later, where they were immediately married. It will bo seen that the Solomon of ancient legend had “ nothing on ” Teddy of that ilk. * * * # I referred just now to tho not widely known fact that Sir Arthur Sullivan never wrote the overtures to his famous operas. The countless admirers of G. and S. may find this hard to swallow, but there isn't any doubt about it. Sullivan all his life struggled against two insidious enemies—ill-health and

inherent laziness. As I have said, lie could work -at enormously high pressure when really put to it, but the compiling of the preludes to the savoy productions he invariably left to other hands. The earlier overtures were written by Alfred Collier, composer of ‘ Dorothy,’ but Hamilton Clarke, for many years Henry Irving’s musical director, was responsible for the greater number, though ho got little credit for it during his lifetime. Many musical critics have waxed eloquent over the skill displayed by Sullivan in the orchestration of his operatic overtures, but—now the cat is out of the bag—he never wrote them.