A MUSICAL EVENING.

New Zealand Times, Volume LVIX, Issue 2923, 12 September 1896, Page 2 (Supplement)

A MUSICAL EVENING.

(Written for the Neio Zealand Mail.) \by Diogenes.] , .. ,>• Mri* Jci ; m o‘<? pl«»3'Wo o! _Mr Brown's company at o musical evening, June l(3tb,” .. /"• , , , , Now, I was tired after ray day s work and this pleased me, for I am a student of music and ot human nature, so, as the occasion would a (lord mo scope tor studying these two, I determined to go. The evening arrived, I donned my dress clothes with a feeling ot satisfaction, and slowly wended my way Towards the Jones’ imposing-looking mansion. , , , . T A loud buzis of talking granted me, and I saw before me the many frilled end fnrbelowcd dames oE fashion. “Ah ! ’ said my hostess' daughter, coming forward to grant me, >■ I aitl SO glad yod hdve tjdnie early befote that hbrfid nidsio Md ikould nave starts ; such it bore;. I bate music. “ I dote on music, 1 ’ exclaimed rdy fight band neighbour Mts (Jushe, “I cbuld listen all night td It. Oh there la Mr BrOwJl, one of our most talotlted young dmattinra,” _ I looked at the rtlusiciail in question. A broad expanse of white shirt, and a diamond stud wore very perceptible, hut what stimek every casual observer was his Smile. That smile which any Cheshire cat might indeed have enVied, ild bilge and complacent was it. “I only sldg comic songs) 1 ] ho assured onr hostess, ” and don’t trouble for an accompanyst. I can manage admirably by myself.” . , Ho began. A crash which I presumed was a maltreated chord, and then Last Night down our Alley came a Toll” was rendered, with a smile at the audience to see it his talent was being appreciated. The accompaniment consisted of a crash to every six words, tho effect being most original* “Too delightful,” gushed the admiring aadiencc. Nosy one can understand that class of song. The next performer got up, niter an onhand “ Will you play V from Mrs Jones, a pale, fragile girl) who touched the notes with the affection one gives to an old friend. “Ah! this wretched classical music, * I heard my music-loving friend, Mrs Gushe, say* ” When will the girl stop f 4 1 stopped a moment to listen to the girl s playing, a beautiful piece of Chopin’s, one of thosd noctiirries fiill d£ subtle meaning and deep pathos-, the player being a musician such as one seldom meets. My neighbour evidently objected to my listening to the music, for I was soon interrupted. “ I think that style of music is so obscure, and it really has no tune in it, in fact I very over-rated.” 11 Cut you cannot hear its beauties in this noise,” I said, for at that moment the audience, evidently incited by Chopin, were trying to outdo each other in their conversational powers. “My dear, would you believe it, she loft mo without even a week’s notice,” remarked the musical Mrs Gushe, tolling her friend _of her domestic’s delinquencies. “ I wish that horrid creature would stop that tuneless stuff.” . „ , “Now, this is what I call music, she continued, as a gaily dressed young damsel took the place vacated by our little friend. She thumped a few chords, and played some tinkling runs, and this composed one of those beautiful pieces, distinctly not classical. She is quite ready for conversation* nor playing must not stop that, for she gaily informs her audience, “ I often leave out the bass or invent one if I want to talk. But now, thank Heaven, she has left the piano stool, and I am compelled to listen to my companion again. “Now, cant you see what exquisite tune there is in that music, and after all what more do we want? What need is there for phrasing, rhythm and expression and all the nonsense you talk. My daughter can play classical music, she plavs the notes, and as far as I am concerned it sounds just the same as when these conceited professionals play,” I glance round and see an aged woman inclining towards embonpoint walk to the piano. She sings “An Kevoir,” so I take the hint and shake hands hurriedly with my hostess. I go homo dispirited, quite convinced music exists not.