ON FOLK MUSIC

Southland Times, Issue 19294, 12 July 1924, Page 9

ON FOLK MUSIC

A RICH FIELD.

(By

R.L.R.)

During the week I spent an evening at a friend’s place—quite an enjoyable evening, too, with some truly excellent oyster patties included towards the end. But that is by the way. We had music, and the guests having exhausted their repertoires—some of them severely restricted—the gramophone was put into commission, and an hour spent among the notables. One of the records was by Alma Gluck, and as she sang the last bars of “Tse Gwine Back to Dixie,” a voice exclaimed in mj 7 ear “Oh, I do love those old folk songs, don’t you?” The same remark, or a similar one, followed the singing of “D’ye ken John Peel.” and both times I assented, knowing that I was holding converse with one who considered herself somewhat an authority on the matter. At the back of my mind I was not so sure that I did agree, but sometimes it is wiser not to differ On returning home I sat down and treat, ed myself to a big think, and on referring to certain musical works in my possession, was heartily pleased to find that my halfformed disagreement with the lady in question would in fact have been quite justified. For among the folk songs can be classed neither “I’se Gwine Back to Dixie” nor "D’ye ken John Peel.” Both are —or were —popular songs, but folk song is not that; it is not alone the song admired of the people, but the song created by the people, and sung by them, long before notes were placed on paper. These songs, characteristically expressing the feelings of the people, are marked by certain peculiarities traceable in a lesser or greater degree to racial or national temperament, modes and climatic conditions, geographical environment and language. At this stage it may be as well to stress the fact that at the birth of music, there was no scale as the term is understood to-day, though rudimentary forms of it may be discerned in many of the more savage forms of music. For instance, the pentatonic scale, that is, the modern diatonic scale omitting the fourth and seventh steps, is found in old Irish and Scottish songs, and in the music of Japan, Siam and China, and other Oriental music shows the frequent use of the augmented second, an interval embracing three semitones. This also comes into many Hungarian melodies. One of the best known elaborations of European folk music is the wistfully appealing “La Paloma,” used in these modern times for the dancing of the tango. “La Paloma” strikes on the listener’s ear with an emphatic reminder of the Habanera in Bizet’s “Carmen,” and the explanation is simple—both are built upon the same folk-tune of old Spain. And much of the music of modern Spain, Mexico and Italy has a similar origin, while through many of the great operas echo the simple melodies of the people of days gone by. An old Hungarian dance tune, surviving the centuries, has been used by Anton Dvorak in his well-known and popular “Humoreske,” and Francis Alex Korbay, well-known towards the latter part of last century as a pianist and composer of note, has also recovered to us much of the wonderful folk music of the Gipsies of Hungary. Chopin and many other Polish and German composers have also drawn heavily upon the melodies of their primitive forefathers in the compilation of their works. Dvorak, in his brief sojourn across the Atlantic, came under New York influences and as a result we have in the Largo in his “New World” Symphony, the composer’s reaction to the Negro spiritual. It is not a folk song elaborated; it is Dvorak’s imitation of Negro folk-singing. One likes to go searching for origins and explanations and my meandering thoughts seem to arrive somehow at the idea that for the origin of folk music we must go to the rhythmic sense of the uncivilised peoples. What is easier to suppose than that these people, with a sense of rhythm well marked, suddenly discovered that charts were necessary to keep the time in control? And from that think how the recounting of events, as the celebration of heroes, and the expression of hopes would be fitted to these charts. The songs would arrive even before composers. Some of these songs may still be traced in the customs and traditions of the peoples by whom they were evolved. A striking instance of the occurrence of a folk melody in a modern song is “The Floral Dance,” by Katie Moss, where the spirit of the old Cornish people stands out in a marked degree. Lady Nairne has also played a prominent part in recovering the ancient melodies of Britain. But to return to the remark which set my mind running in those channels. “I’se Gwine Back to Dixie,” and other similar songs, while having a strong Negro flavour, cannot, however, be classed as folk songs. The real darkie folk-music is presented to us in the form of the Negro “spirituals” to which local musicians have been introduced by means of the gramophone. While dealing with Negro spirituals it may be recalled the Coleridge Taylor, in his glorious career, turned his attention to recording the Negro folk of Africa and of the United States —a fine collection of which is published by Oliver Ditson, of Boston. Known less, sung less, but not less interesting, are the themes of the North American Indian. Charles Wakefield Cadman and Lieurance have both developed the songs of the red man. Carl Busch and one or two of the lesser American composers have also done their part.

The greatest difficulty, of course, in the scoring or writipg into modern notation of these old themes, is the fact that our system provides for no interval less than a semitone, while many of the primitive races, and indeed our own race before civilisation had made much progress, included quarter-tones in their melodies and ignored intervals in the tone scale we use. Some instruments can, of course, produce these intervals, but the impossibility of scoring them forms in many instances a barrier unsurmountable with the system of notation in use to-day. f As far as New Zealand is concerned, the recovery of the folk music of the Maoris is as yet but partly done. Alfred Hill, a composer to whom this country has done scant honour, has blazed the trail. In one or two songs, frankly Maori in character, he has used the Maori melodies without change, and in other works he has elaborated themes built on traditional tunes. His work shows how much can be done by the New Zealand composers to come. Hill has shown us the field, and time now waits for some successor of his to carry the task a stage further. The Maoris had their music and out of it can be built a school truly characteristic of our people, because through the recovery of the Maori folk music may come a richer treasury of Pakeha song belonging to our soil.