MALCOLM SARGENT

Evening Post, Issue 29, 3 August 1936, Page 9

MALCOLM SARGENT

A GREAT CONDUCTOR

VISIT TO WELLINGTON

HIS WORK IN LONDON

(Written for "The Post" by Valeric C. Corliss, A.X.A.M.) One Of the most outstanding events in the musical history of this Dominions occurs tomorrow when Dr". Mak colm Sargent, one of the leading conductors of the world, will arrive to conduct a series of concerts before Wellington audiences. When one realises the manifold activities of this eminent musician in the old world one is arrested by the knowledge of New Zealand's good fortune in having him here. He is not only a great conductor, educationist, and. pianist, but a vital and constructive force in the progress of music in the British Empire. He possesses constructive genius, and his power in the world of music is the direct outcome of this magical gift. Upon hearing him conduct one is made aware immediately of .three outstanding qualities in his work—imagination, analysis, and the control of a perfect technique directed towards a musical objective, with the greatest simplicity and economy of means. He has a wide . sympathy and understanding in his interpretation of. the great music of the world in its varying, vivid contrasts of style and period. One feels while he is at work that he is revealing the spirit of the music to the orchestra, with the result that his interpretations create an uplifting quality which one remembers as a thing of beauty and a joy forever. Hermann Scherchen defines a great conductor as "The most spiritual form of the manifestation of reproductive art." Apart from the resulting advantages to music, a visit from such an artist acts like a tonic. He is one of the Olympians; one of those who are accomplishing great things in music, art, letters, and education in the wide centres of the old world. A QUEEN'S HALL SCENE. I have a treasured memory of glimpses of this famous conductor engaged in various aspects of his work in London a few years ago. A vivid impression comes to me of the scene from the front seat in the balcony of the Queen's Hall on a magnificent occasion when Dr. Sargent conducted the London Symphony Orchestra with the great Schnabel playing three pianoforte concertos. I can see again' the glittering scene as the hall gradually filled. There was colour everywhere. Suddenly the orchestra was standing with a clamour of applause, and Dr. Sargent, tall, slim, elegant, mounted the dais. One could never forget the terrific ovation which greeted Sargent and . Schnabel at the close of the Schumann Concerto; or the thrilling sight of these two artists—one of the greatest conductors and one of the greatest pianists in the world—shaking hands before an almost frenzied Queen's Hall. SARGENT AND SUGGIA. Vivid are my memories, also, of hearing Sargent in another capacity—that of pianist, when he gave a never-to-be-forgotten recital with the famous 'cellist, Suggia, at the Wigmore Hall. It was the fashionable hour of 5.30 p.m., and it was to be the final. recital of three given at the close of. a strenuous season on the eve of Suggia's holiday departure for her native Portugal. On this occasion her pianist was , none other than the eminent conductor, Malcolm Sargent. It was a capacity house; it always is with Suggia, or with Sargent. A satisfying programme; Beethoven Sonata in F Major; Brahms's Sonata in E Minor; and Sonata in G Minor—Rachmaninoff. The stage door opened. A whisper ran round the hall .—"Here they come." They bowed, and bowed again: Suggia smiled. She stepped up to a chair enthroned on a minute platform,: and engaged in a tuning tete-a-tete with Malcolm Sargent. They held us all suspended in a breathless silence, and then they ' began to play. How easy it seemed! Suggia's head thrown slightly backward and to the right.^ How powerfully moved the magic bow! Here was Augustus John's famous portrait come to life. There was a compelling sweep from the tip of her bow to the crown of her head, which seemed to typify, both her vital .personality and her music. With the utmost composure Suggia ranges from the giant to the fairy, the tempest to the zephyr. Sargent sat easily at the piano, playing With the greatest fluency, perception; delicacy, and restraint. His compact figure and his neat, dark head scarcely moved. But how his fingers' capered! There was a power there too, and a compelling tone in reserve when he wanted it. A new light, this, on the Sargent whom 'I had so recently heard conducting on that notable occasion, with Schnabel at the Queen's Hall. .. . How well I remember great bunches of tulips and violets; Suggia and Sargent bowing and bowing away, and then the beginning of the Rachmaninoff. Two expressive notes from the 'cello; an answering phrase from the piano and—"away, away on the. tide of his music" we started. . . . There was a unifying interplay between 'cello and piano., To travel with Suggia and Sargent upon a long-drawn note of colourful timbre,5 hold back just a little in time and tone,' mount to a richer inflection, press onwards and then gently descend exactly on time at the phrase climax is an experience never to be forgotten. ... A tumultuous climax, arrested bow, a tidal wave of applause, two figures rising, bowing, shouts, cheers—it was over. In the artists' room after the concert Suggia and Dr. Sargent received a number of distinguished people, and during the conversation I had with Suggia, she seized Sargent's hand and swinging it backwards and forwards asked with engaging naivete, "Did we go well together?" They stood there, laughing and seemingly carefree. Behind, the scenes indeed. These two great ones. Why is it always a surprise to find them so simple and charming in their ways? MEMORABLE CONCERTS. The Duchess of York was present amongst the distinguished audience which assembled at the Queen's Hall to hear that notable pianist Chavchavadze play three Concertos with the New Symphonic Orchestra, of which Dr. Malcolm Sargent was the brilliant and enterprising director. It was a memorable occasion, with the at the top of its form, Sargent seemingly inspired and Chavchavadze stirring a vast audience to an enthusiasm which expressed itself in waves of applause and long thrilling cheers." Schumann Concerto in A minor; Mozart Concerto.' in A, No. 5; and the Rachmaninoff No. 2, in C minor—thus the programme ran. "To the poignant melodies, delirious harmonic colourings and soaring progressions of the Rachmaninoff Concerto, the audience responded with great cries of "Encore! Encore!" On and on they went, and back and back came Chavchavadze, twice bringing Sargent with him by the hand . . . and then they were gone, and we had to be content with a memory. .. . Round in the artists' room the crowd was immense. Never have I seen such a packed room

fat the Queen's Hall. And what a notable gathering! Eminent men and women of letters, music, and art; beautiful society women; gorgeous silks; rose velvet cloaks; ermine, pearls, perfumes, flowers; peach-tinted satins; fascinating voices, charming manners. Sargent and Chavchavadze stood and received: "Yes! An enormous success, wasn't it?" said Sargent, boyishly. "Thank you so much!" "So kind of you, Lady M ," said Chavchavadze. "But you were such an attentive audience. It is marvellous the difference it makes. You could hear a pin drop!" I managed to get in a few words with Sargent, who stood behind a table laden with gifts of roses and tulips. "AN AUDIENCE OF ONE." The last glimpse I had of Sargent before leaving England was at the Kingsway Hall in London, when I heard him rehearsing a whole morning for part of a series of Gilbert and Sullivan records, with principals and chorus of some of the finest Gilbert and Sullivan singers in the world. As a lesson in perfection of work and patience, it could scarcely be surpassed. It was also a revelation in zest, taste, and personality. From among my first impressions of the interior of the Kingsway Hall the orchestra, choir, principals, and all the apparatus in connection with recording, one especially arrested my attention. Dr. Malcolm Sargent, who was to conduct, was wearing a dark brown suit—his morning, work-a-day apparel, instead of the evening clothes usually associated with his public performances. I was an audience of one—and for over three hours I had the privilege of hearing and watching this great man at work. When luncheon hour arrived and I had heard the same performance, I think, repeated seven or eight times; recorded; the record reproduced; frequently destroyed and a new start made—all part of the progress towards perfection which was finally attained, I was once again introduced to Sargent. We had an interesting chat, during which he told me that he was going to do the music at Elstree- for the film "Carmen," I told him how keen New Zealand was regarding records, and he said: "Yes, and they are very keen about Gilbert and Sullivan out there, aren't they?" and then proceeded to show me Sullivan's own manuscript, from which he had been conducting. He went to his desk and brought it over to me, a long book bound thickly in black, and the most exquisite manuscript I had ever seen. Sargent said: "These are kept at the bank, and no one sees them"—whimsically implying that this was an event for me indeed. These manuscripts^ are taken back to the bank when Sargent finishes conducting from them. 'He shook hands with me, and wished me well and bon voyage, and as I thanked him I wondered how long it would be before I could return to London and hear him at work again, little realising then that it would be in Wellington, New Zealand, so far away.