THE GRAMOPHONE

Southland Times, Issue 20205, 16 June 1927, Page 11

THE GRAMOPHONE

RECORDS OF THE RECORDINGS.

(By

“Vox Populi.”)

Now that winter has brought the indoor evenings and hospitality of the home back, the gramophone will be requisitioned again for dance parties (says an exchange). And what better fun can there be than these jolly affairs, where a dozen or so friendly couples dance on a floor from which the drawing-room furniture has been moved and the carpet rolled back? But even in these informal dances there can be —as many a hostess knows—a very thin dividing line between success and failure. We venture to suggest a few hints that have been passed on to us by experienced hostesses. They will save a great deal of confusion and make the party go with a swing, and send the guests away with a very pleasant notion of your hospitality. Always put on the latest dance records. The favourite dance tunes even of a year ago become very stale with repeated playing. Choose your dance records not so much for the tune as for the quality of the band. After all, the records are to be danced to rather than listened to, and a good rhythm is more important than a catchy tune. Keep the records played at the speed marked on the record. This is most important. If your guests complain that the music is too fast or too slow they will soon stop dancing. Draw up a fixed programme before the dance starts, and stick to it. Never mind if Betty wants every one to be a fox-trot, and Jack wants all tangoes; a varied programme will please most people. If possible it is an advantage to display the kind of dance—waltz or fox-trot, just before it starts. Co-opt a friqndly uncle or somebody to look after the gramophone, and let him have sole charge of it—changing records and needles, etc. Don’t leave the job for a general rush. And don’t have too many encores; one particular number may seem popular at the time, but the effect is to make the whole evening seem rather monotonous.

It is a good point to see that the guests start warm. Nothing prevents enjoyment so much as a chilly room. Be very generous with heaters and fires for half an hour before the guests arrive, not only in the dance room, but also in the sitting-out spots, the supper room, and where they take off their coats.

Nearly everybody smokes nowadays, and your guests will be grateful for a plentiful supply of cigarettes and—an important point—plenty of ash trays where they are likely to be used.

Good food, of course, is half the battle. Have a longish interval halfway through the programme, and provide plenty of attractive and varied fare. By the end of the interval guests will have decided whether they are enjoying themselves or not, and a good supper will go a long way to making up their minds for them. But keep it light! Heavy eating does not ma Ice for light-hearted dancing.

In an interview in Sydney, Ignaz Friedman, the distinguished pianist who is about to tour New Zealand, said that he was looking forward to his meeting with new audiences in this part of the world. Speaking of Mr Henri Verbrugghen, another old friend whom he had met not long ago in Minneapolis, he stated that a proposal had been made some time since in that city that the Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra, of which the late director of the New South Wales Conservatorium is conductor, should pay a visit to Australia. The project received strong financial support, And a six months’ tour was actually planned, but through some hitch the enterprise was not proceeded with at the time. “Mr Verbrugghen,” he said, “is a very able man, and very popular in Minneapolis and St. Paul; I think I am sorry for Australia that this country has lost his services.”

The mastery Heifetz (coming to New Zealand soon under the J. and N. Tait management) possesses over violin technique is the more remarkable in view of the obstacles which stood in the way of his studies. In pre-war Russia, Jews could reside in St. Petersburg only by special permission, which was very difficult to obtain. A student of the University or Conservatorium could take up residence in the city, but this did not apply to his family. When Heifetz went to the city to study under the famous professor, Leopold Auer, the violinist’s father had to be enrolled as a pupil also, for it was not permissible for the wife and children of a student to be separated from him. “Since the students were without exception expected to attend the classes in solfeggio, piano, and theory,” writes Auer in his reminiscences, “and since Papa Heifetz most certainly did not attend any of them, I had to battle continually with the management on his account.” Later Auer was able to arrange for young Heifetz to remain in his father’s care at the Conservatorium.

Here is a peculiar request, which I grant readily. It is from an Elgar enthusiast who asks me if I will reproduce the following review by a Wellington writer of the Enigma Variations recorded by the Queen’s Hall Orchestra, under Sir Henry Wood, for Columbia (L 1629-32 Here it is—l haven’t heard these records myself: This is the typical Elgar. Elgar, unfortunately, is known to the greater part of the public only, as the composer of such comparatively simple trifles as “Salut d’Amour” and “Land of Hope and Glory,” but while he serves a definite purpose by appealing to a wider public with his less sophisticated work, one should never neglect the opportunity of hearing that part of it which really matters. The “Enigma Variations” definitely rank as great music. First performed in London in 1899, they rapidly won a European reputation for their composer. The motive of the whole work is interesting. The name “Enigma” arises from the fact that Elgar says there is a hidden theme that goes with the one used, and with all the variations. It is never heard, and, so far, only the composer knows it. In a letter to a friend regarding this work, Elgar says—“l have just completed a set of symphonic variations for orchestra, thirteen in number (but I call the Finale the fourteenth because of the ill-luck attaching to that number). I have in the variations sketched portraits of my friends —a new idea, I think—that is, in each variation I have looked at them through the personality, as it were, of another Johnny.” Many of the “Johnnies” are well-known people, including his wife and the son of Matthew Arnold. The orchestration has the curiously personal character associated with his best work, and the themes (for though, technically, there is but one theme and thirteen variations, some of the ’ variations are so far removed from the original that new themes Abound) have an air of unconscious dignity, even at their highest. The theme (Andante) is divided into three sections. The first in the minor is given out by the first violins, the second in the major by the second violins and clarionets, and the third repeats the first but with a major close and a beautiful counter-melody for the ’cellos and clarinet. The curiously undulating character of the melody makes it easy to recognise on its subsequent appearances. All the variations are pleasant and very skilfully orchestrated, but no one can help having their own facourites. Those we liked best—perhaps because Sir Henry Wood seems so thoroughly at home with them—are Variation 7, at the end of the first record, and the Finale, which occupies the whole of the last record. In Variation 7 timpani and basses lead off with a riotous figure built on the rhythm of the principal theme. Rushing scale passages for the violin add to the impetuosity of the middle portion. Just at the end a short passage for brass alone gives unexpected contrast. The Finale is a recapitulation of former variations, but here they are invested with a grandeur and solemnity that immediately raises the whole work in the scale of importance. What a grip Sir Henry Wood

has on his orchestra! Having once seen him, no one can listen to these records and fail to imagine that short-bearded figure soothing the large orchestra to a dignified quietness or lashing them to a frenzy. Considering the personal character of the variations, Sir Henry wisely insists on the importance of the violins, and keeps the more artificial wood and brass instruments well in the background until they are called for. These are marvellous records. Amongst the new Brunswick dance records the most attractive are—“Ev’rything’s Peaches” and “Lonely Acres” (Ernie Golder and his Hotel McAlpin Orchestra). The former has an impelling Charleston rhythm; the other excellently played, but not a good tune. —3359. “Sugar-foot Stomp” and “Snag It” (blues), (Savannah Syncopators).—336l. “If You Can’t Land ’Er” (one-step) and “Where Do Ya Work-a John?” (6-8 onestep). These for “pep” and fun!—3374. “When Day is Done” and “There Ain’t No Maybe” (Harry Archer and his Orchestra). The latter is a Charleston.—3394. “Who’ll Be the One” and “Lonely Eyes” (Ben Bernie and his Hotel Roosevelt Orchestra). Both smooth fox-trots. —3401. “Washboard Blues” (blues) and “That’s No Bargain” (Red Nichols and his Five Pennies). The latter is a very quick Charleston. —3407. “Hello! Swanee, Hello!” and “Muddy Water” (Ben Bernie and his Hotel Roosevelt Orchestra). The latter has an appropriately slow Black Bottom rhythm.—-3414. “Everything’s Made for Love” and “The Song of the Wanderer” (Vincent Lopez and his Casa Lopez Orchestra). —3415. “Blue Skies” and “Since I Found You” (Vincent Lopez and his Casa Lopez Orchestra). These are both good sentimental smooth fox-trots, the latter being rather like “Waiting for the M00n.”—3426. Jan Kiepura, the young Polish tenor, whose voice is said to have created a sensation in Europe, is now recording. His first exclusive Parlophone electrical records are: Tosca, “E lucevan le stelle” (Puccini), coupled with, Tosca “Recondita armonia”; and, Rigoletto, “La donna e mobile” (Verdi), coupled with, Rigoletto, “Questa o Quella” (Verdi). Of his singing, the London Daily Mail says: “Here is a new star in the sky. Before he finished his first song, Cavaradossi’s air from the first act of ‘Tosca/ the audience had made up its mind, and rightly, that here was the ‘real thing’—a charming lyric tenor with the born singer’s effect of spontaneity. . . . Four encores were required from him in the second part of the programme. For those who ask of singing that it shall be carefree and warm-hearted, sweet and true in tone, simple and sensuous, not searchingly serious and deep, here is the man. Let him not be accused of a vibrato of which he was quite guiltless.” The Daily Chronicle said: “M. Kiepura made an instant success at the Albert Hall. His voice is wonderfully smooth and even, with upper notes of unusually rounded quality.” According to the Evening Standard, his voice is remarkable. He has power, a fine tone quality, a pleasant personality, and no ‘break’ in his register. The most promising tenor who appeared in this country since the sensational debut of Mr. Alfred Piccaver.” FRENCH RIVAL TO EDISON An American recently expressed to a Frenchman his surprise that in the country of Pasteur pasteurisation of milk was almost unknown. “Yes,” replied the Frenchman, “it is we who make the discoveries and inventions, and it is other peoples who apply them.” He might have illustrated his remark by reference to the contention, reiterated on the recent occasion of the eightieth birthday of Thomas A. Edison, that a Frenchman of far less practical bent invented a phonograph at about the same time that Edison invented his. Charles Cros, who in 1877 sent to the Academy of Science a memorandum on the subject, is regarded by some Frenchmen as being one of the inventors of the phonograph. It is not asserted that his achievement antedated Edison’s (Edison made his first phonograph in 1876), but that he found a way to reproduce the sounds of the voice at approximately the same time.

The difference in their procedure is perhaps typical of American and French methods. Edison hit upon a scheme for reproducing sounds. He at once built a phonograph, which soon became known to the public. Cros also discovered a means of recording sounds. He did not construct an instrument to do it. Instead, he prepared a communication to the Academy of Science explaining how it could be done. The result was equally typical. Cros sent his* communication to the Academy in May, 1877. The Academy did not read it, or at least did not acknowledge its reception, until December of that year. Meanwhile, Edison was gaining fame and his phonograph was in operation, while Cros was wondering how he could pay his rent and the members of the Academy were probably wondering whether there was really anything in this scheme.

Edison was a highly practical young man, sticking to his laboratory and utilising his ideas. Cros was a poet as well as a man of science, and he apparently was at least as much interested in reciting his verse at meetings of literary circles and in sitting in cafes late at night discussing art and music, as he was in making a phonograph. He was also evidently more intent upon making a hit with the Academy of Science than upon actually producing a marketable instrument.

• ’ s to Pl ace d upon a house in the Rue de Tournon— the house where Cros died—recalling the invention of the phonograph, “a French invention,” But it was in America that the phonograph was developed and distributed soon after its invention.