First of Modern French Composers.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLV, Issue 18, 3 May 1911, Page 16

First of Modern French Composers.

An Interesting Interview with Debussji.

1 DON’T know how I compose; really, I don’t,” said Claude Debussy in Paris to an in-terviewer

for the New York “ Times.” “At the piano? No, I can’t say I d<x 1 don’t know how to explain it exactly. It always seems to me that we musicians are only instruments, very complicated ones* it is true; but instruments which merely reproduce the harmonies which spring up within, us. I don't think any composer knows how he does it. Of course, in the first place, ! must have a subject. Then I concentrate on that subject, as it were—no, not musically, in an ordinary way, just as anybody would think of a subject. Then gradually, after these thoughts have simmered for a certain length of time, music begins to centre around them, and I feel th.it 1 must give expression to the- harmonies which haunt me. And then I work unceasingly. There are days and weeks and often months that no ideas come to me. No matter how much f try, I cannot produce work that I am satisfied with. They say some composers can write, regularly, so much music a day; 1 admit I cannot comprehend it. Of course, 1 can work out the instrumentation of a piece of music at almost any time,, but as for getting the theme itself—that 1 cannot do. I have tried it. I have forced myself to work when I felt least like it, and I have done things which did not seem so bad at the time. I would let those compositions lie for a couple of Jays. Then I would find they were onfy fit for the waste basket. No,” turning to another subject, “ I have never been in America. In fact, I never go to any pla(ee where niy work is being performed. I never go to hear my own work. I can’t. It is to terrible for me. The interpretation is always so- different from what I mean it to be; not in the singers, but in the general interpretation. An opera is not like a drama. In a drama the words go directly to tile spectator's brain or to his heart, as the case may be. At any rate, he understands them. But in music it is so d’.fferent. In the first place, how many persons really understand music? Of course most people are fond of some form of it. I mean they like to hear it, but how many think in music? How many associate- music with ideas? While the dramatist’s words- may nof always reach the spectator’s hea<rt, fhey at least reai'h his brain, and thus the dramatist stands a much greater chance of be ng understood than the musician, who has to work with what is- an unknown quantity to most of the audience. In the

second place, the dramatist makes his words felt directly. He does not have to have a third person interpret them. A composer’s works have to pass through a conductor. If the conductor is at all good, even though he may try to render the composer’s idea, he will'put in his own soul, and tlie moment the conductor puts in his soul the composer is already in tlie background. So it pains me to hear my own work. I cannot bear to havo my work interpreted just the contrary of the way I want it. Yes, I was always fond of music,” lie continued in answer to a question. “I! hat kind of music? All kinds. Here you hit upon what I think is the greatest mistake of the present day—the desire to classify all music. How ean you do that? You speak of German music, Italian music, impressionistic music, and various other kinds. What is the difference? I mean, if you are speaking of a work of art, you cannot say definitely that it belongs to any great group. It is a work of art. and that is enough. There is no vital difference lietw.een French music and German music, for instance. There is a difference between the temperaments of the various composers, that is all. Of course, as a rule, we French people have a love of clearness of expression and of harmony (which we are losing, by the way), which the Germans do not have to such a great extent. Italian music may have more melody, you say. Yes—in a way. I really don’t know. What do I think of it? That all depends upon the humour I am in. I may go to hear a Verdi opera when in a pleasant state ef mind, and I find it admirable; I go smother day Tess well disposed, and I find it abominable. Italian- music commonplace? I don’t know. You say it is like a woman who is beautiful, but has no intelligence. But lieauty is a great deal—a very great deal, indeed, and not everybody can have that. See how people are carried away by Italian music. It touches a chord in their hearts. Beauty in a woman —and in music—is a great deal,, a very great deal.”