THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

Evening Star, Issue 23725, 5 November 1940, Page 5

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. Paderewski celebrates his eightieth birthday anniversary to-morrow. This is unquestionably the outstanding musical news item of the week. A week or two ac*o it seemed probable that the lenowne'd pianist would be compelled to remain in Spain, where his journey to America had been held up by fussy officialdom, obviously acting under Gestapo orders. But through somebody s good offices, or sheer luck, he managed to elude detention and to get safely away, and the musical world gave a sigh of relief. Bet us hope that the dawn of his birthday will find him once again in 'New York, scene of his countless pianistic triumphs during the past half-centurv. It is extremely improbable that this prince of keyboard artists will ever again venture across the Atlantic. His few remaining years seem destined to be spent far from his beloved Poland, though we fervently trust he may be spared to learn of her ■liberation from the oppressor’s yoke.

: Paderewski is unique in musical annals by reason,of the fact that for 50 years his name has stood as a symbol of pianism the world over. Maltreated and mispronounced by British tongues, it has borne the brunt of characteristic lingual ineptitude during two generations, but whether as Payderooski or Paddywhisky, it is still recognised everywhere as a kind of generic term for pianoforte virtuosity of a supreme order. Paderewski is indeed a magic name, which captured the _ world's imagination and has held it in bond through five decades. And if this still holds good for the contemporary man in the street, with what force does it apply to those favoured ones able to recall the pristine days of the illustrious Polish musician 1 • • • * 1 Who that had the good fortune to see and hear Paderewski in his prime could ever forget the personal impression—the ineffaceable picture of a sublime artist crowned with an aureole of red-gold hair? In the ’nineties it was the fashion for instrumental recitals by eminent soloists to be given during the afternoon ; evening concerts were confined almost exclusively to the orchestral and choral variety. These

solo recitals took place invariably in St. James’s Hall, the once-famous auditorium situated where the Piccadilly Hotel now stands (unless shattered by German bombs). Through the western windows of this concert hall, between 3 and 5 p.m. on a bright summer’s day. the declining sun was wont to, throw a brilliant beam on to the platform. Some artists disliked this, and insisted' upon the blinds being lowered. But not so Paderewski, who combined with his consummate musicianship a cunning instinct for publicity and a sure eye to theatrical effect. Anything more striking than the vision of him seated at the piano, thrown into dazzling relief by Nature’s own spotlight, could not be conceived. To London music lovers it was a sight without precedent, nor has its parallel ever been witnessed since.

Exactly how much the great pianist owed to his picturesque personality cannot be estimated. But it must never be overlooked that no matter what the degree of popularity achieved by extraneous circumstances, behind it stood an artist of superlative quality, converted into genius by the traditional capacity for taking infinite pains. Contrary to general belief, Paderewski was ■' by no means a heaven-born pianist; he 1 attained to supreme virtuosity by sheer, indomitable hard work—all the more meritorious because in certain important respects he wag physically ill-adap-ted to the role of concert performer, y His hands were decidedly not those of *’ the predestined virtuoso, and only by < dint of almost superhuman efforts was i he finally able to bring them under complete control. He practised incrediblv long hours to overcome technical difficulties which far less gifted players

mastered comparatively easily. For several years he slaved at the keyboard no fewer than 15—often 17—bouts a day. Any pianist who has given four or five hours daily to regular practice will realise what this means. It is all the more astonishing because Paderewski’s physique is apparently slight. But never was outward appearance more deceptive. Beneath an exterior almost feminine in its delicacy and refinement there was a sturdy frame and an iron will and constitution.

When Paderewski played, however, everything seemed spontaneous and unpremeditated ; that was his groat charm. He gave no sign of the enormous preliminary exertion involved in presentations which, in those days I write of, were as perfect as anyone could desire. The earlier Paderewski simply disarmed criticism. The man’s musical soul conquered his public; he did not try to astonish by feats of keyboard gymnastics—one never thought about technique at all in listening to him, but sat enthralled by interpretations that were more completely satisfying than anything in their line at that period. I have never heard any other pianist play Chopin like Paderewski in his prime—please note the last three words; for the later Paderewski is as far asunder as the poles—no pun intended. Moreover, he is the last link with the tradition established by Liszt; the final representative of the concert platform grand manner; the sole surviving pianistic aristocrat to resist the guillotine of prosaic modernism. Nowadays the piano virtuoso is a businesslike person who outwardly differs in no way from the ordinary man_ of affairs. Picturesqueness and romanticism have given place to individual normality and tiresome efficiency. Concertgoers may admire and applaud vociferously, but they no longer storm the platform in frantic rushes at the conclusion of recitals. Paderewski alone held the secret of stimulating uncontrollable mob enthusiasm.

Young Colin Horsley, the Wanganui pianist, who has been studying in London during the last two years and whom I have often mentioned, had a remarkable experience a few weeks ago. It happened at a promenade concert in Queen’s Hall. Despite rumours and predictions, the “Proms.” make their usual start in August, but only lasted a week or two, on account of air raids. Horsley was present at one of the last concerts, and towards the end of the programme there came an air raid warning. Bombs were heard falling near Queen’s Hall,, but the audience remained calm, although there was an uncomfortable feeling. To dispel this Sir Henrv Wood had a brain wave. He suggested that members of the audienceshould improvise a concert, whilst he and the orchestra sat in the auditorium for a spell. The response was enthusiastic,, and some surprising talent came to light. But it seems that Colin Horsier captured chief honours. His piano solos so astonished and delighted everyone that Sir Henry immediately -engaged him to play at a regular “Prom.” concert. Unfortunately this has had to he deferred, owing to the suspension of Queen’s Hall concerts, but Horsley’s future success, barring accidents, now seems assured. It confirms what I have always predicted for him.