FUTURIST MUSIC.

Dominion, Volume 7, Issue 1876, 9 October 1913, Page 5

FUTURIST MUSIC.

A CONVERSATION.

[Br Sylvius.]

"Were you at the futurist concert last evening, Mrs. do Schotz " "No, I was at Lady von Crochet's crush—such a crowd, my dear, though everyone tried to economise in space as mucli as possible, judging by the clothes they didn't wear. Was the music as mad as they say it is?" "Mad! Why, my dear, it was really quite magnificent. It is a new sensation, you know, just what we poor jaded creatures require at this time of the year." 1 "Oh, I heard it was fearfully noisy and silly. Isn't it funny tlie different ideas people get in those times? Men may talk about our fashions, but their ideas on some tilings are extraordinary. Mr. Wrussell told mo that futurist music was 'tripe'—but of course he's a musician, and dotes on Beethoven and Chopin and a lot of those old writers that every student strums from morning till night all tho year round." "Mr. Vrussell is sadly out, believe ine. 1 found the music full of emotion —it made such an appeal to the bizarre and barbaric in our natures. To me it typified the grandness of Nature in tho rough, tho war of tho elements as tlio.y were understood when the world was young." "Is that you, Mrs. Le Quaver," said Mrs. Gusherwurds, coming forward. "I thought it must have been. I was at tho concert. Wasn't it just too, tool There is no mistaking it being the music of the future. My husband said it was the music of the very distant future, and that a guard should be placed over Herr Rumbelberg, but he is not in least, degree advanced. I have tried to do my best to lift him out of the slough, heaven l;nows ; but ho keeps on talking about weaklings such as Wagner and Tschaikovsky." "My dear, be patient—there are always the backwards and tho forwards in this world, and thanks to our club we are among the advanced guard iu musical thought. I was imhiensely impressed with Herr Rumbelberg's fantasy, 'A Slump oil tho Bourse.' Tliero you have a pam torn out of real life. Do you remember that telling solo for the snorter, with tho firm ■accompaniment by the wrustler —that was really a fino example of tho art to be. Do you know, 1 fancied I could hear tho sobs of tho poor stockbroker as he was hammered to death.

"Yes," said Mrs. Gusherwurds dreamily, "it was all perfectly beautiful, but the piece that appealed to mo more than anything else on the programme was that nocturne 'Ode to a Broken-down Steam-roller.' There was a thrill of clamant pathos as the poor old playedout roller crashed through tho road into tho hidden sewer as the moon roso at tho end of tho street. There you have poetry wedded to mundane realism in a most astonishingly clever manner." "The number that followed I will never forget," said Mrs. Lo Quaver, with a quiver in 'her baritone voice, '' it was called, I fancy, ' Tho Sea Elephants' Prayer.' Did you mark the noblo dignity of tho grunter as he sounded the great invocation to tho god of the white waters, and tho mocking laughter of the penguins given out in bold relief by tho double squeakers. It was all too, too, sad. What struck mo as most remarkable in that piece, Mrs. Gushorwurds, was the freedom —tho entiro absence of anything in the way of tone, and t'lie courageous breaking away from that slavish adherence to melody, which is slowly but surely trailing tho robes of Beethoven, Mozart, and Haydn in the dust of^yesterday." "Mrs. Lo Quaver," "sighed Mrs. Gusherwurds ecstatically, "you express yourself beautifully. You should really write to the papers, and enlighten the dullards on the ideals of futurist music. It is entrancing to find mjself in tho company of a kindred soul with such a clear insight into tho mysteries of tho new art. I might tell you, strictly in confidence, you know, that I met Herr Gustav Rumbelberg last night, and I saw his amber eyes lightup as ho referred to his next great work, a suite, my dear, entitled 'In Cold £tore, or tho Frozen Mutton's Lament.' Fancy the bold daring of the darling. He has shown the world, I think, that these boasted old masters had failed to grasp the true inwardness of life, that they left neglected a field of musical inspiration that tho public is ' huugry for. Am I right, dear?"

"Of course you arc, my sweet," responded Mrs. Lo Quaver sympathetically, " you have plumbed the depths— you aro of the forwards." " And I'm one of the backs," broke in Mr. Gusherwurds, who had advanced upon the party unawares. ''Come on, Maria, get your scarf on or we'll miss the Kelburne car. Old _ Rumbelberg ought to have a go at fixing our emotions when wo miss it and have to climb the hill. Upon my word, Maria, you women do. talk a lot of nonsense— and I believe you know it's nonsense all the time. If you don't, then that follow Kellog, who said tho whole world was going crazy, is not so far out I" "There's uucouthness for you," said Mrs. Lo Quaver as the Gusherwurds left. ' "I don't know much about this futurist music, Mrs. Le Quaver," said Mrs. De Schotz, " but ho may bo right —we might loso our balance and fall, over if we lean too far forward. Goodnight!"