THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

Evening Star, Issue 22142, 24 September 1935, Page 2

THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

[By L.U.A.] $ *

“ Mutic gives tone to Uip-/univerte: wings to Hie mind; flight to-jllic miagij nation; a charm to sadness|jgaietj ana life to everything.”—Plato-;

During the six years that it has been my privilege to write this column I do not think I have \ e 7%- a specific mention of the \\elsh Eistedd fod, the celebrated musical and literary festival held anmtally—usually m August—at one or otßer of the cniot towns in Wales. I am reminded of this omission by the circumstance t.iat while the present article is being writter the 1935 Eisteddfod is taking place—this year at Caernarvon (which, I believe, 'is the proper way to spell Carnavon, though I may be wrong). As other matters kept me m the East of England, I was unfortunately unable to carry out my original intention of discovering at first hand what an Eisteddfod really is like; but a kind friend who was present has written me such an interesting and amusing account that I intend to quote it fully hero - » * * *

Before doihg this, however, it may satisfy the curiosity of some readers to learn a few details concerning these annual Welsh gatherings. _ Only comparatively recently—within the last half-century—have they been held yearly, but their origin is lost in remote antiquity, though there exists, I believe, a record of an Eisteddfod as far back as the seventh century, m the reign of King Cadwaladr. Formerly, the festivals were triennial, and for hundreds of years took place at Aberffraw, the royal seat of the princes of North Wales and Anglesey, alternating with celebrations at Dynevor, in South Wales, and Mathravael, m Merionethshire. Then ensued a period of stagnation during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and for a long while the festivals were revived only spasmodically, not coming into popular favour again until 1819, when the Cambrian Society held a great Eisteddfod at Carmarthen. «• » ■ * * In regard to. actual Welsh music, I must confess that I know very little of it—in fact, I cannot call to mind any beyond ‘ Land of My Fathers, ’ and, of course, ‘ Men of Harlech. 1 The origin of the latter famous song I have been unable to discover, though my researches show it to have first appeared in print in 1794. ‘ Land of My Fathers ’ dates only from 1860, and ‘ God Bless the Prince of Wales 5 appeared two years later, • but the lastnamed tune is merely a hotch-potch, and cannot he dignified by the description of Welsh music. If there are in existence other Welsh melodies of _ distinction that are legitimately entitled to he called national, I shall be glad to hear of them. 4 * * * * Nevertheless, I have always laboured under the impression that the Welsh people, as a race, were definitely musical, and that a Welsh crowd may threaten to break into song at the least provocation. Consequently, my friend’s letter from Caernarvon, which I will reproduce, gave me a bit of a shock—all the more piquant because the writer is himself a Welshman:—_ “In the company of some five or six thousand persons I am helping to celebrate a nation’s festival of self-praise—-the Royal National Eisteddfod of Wales. They tell me there are Welsh folk here from remote countries, such as Japan, Canada, United States of America, Australia, and New Zealand, who have travelled thousands of miles to share in the glory. But never mind what they and other foreigners may think and say about us, it is enough that we Welshmen think well and speak well of ourselves. . . . There’s a crowd of Welsh nationalists here—this town being the centre of Welsh nationalism. Nobody in Wales knows its strength, and, consequently, many are afraid of its frown. A few years ago the town was becoming Anglicised. To-day it’s the most Welshy place in Wales.” r. - (At this point of my friend’s letter I almost expected him to say that he had met many “ welshers,” and was agreeably disappointed.) “I hear,” he continued, “that the nationalists wanted the entire Eisteddfod programme printed in Welsh, and that advertisers threatened_ to boycott the affair if this were insisted on. Eventually a bi-lingual compromise was arrived at; even your rabid nationalist can see reason when money talks. But English is positively barred from the platform, and I’m told that some of the newspaper reporters, flabbergasted by an orgy of eloquence apparently spelt only with consonants, got over their difficulties hy writing the awkward words phonetically. So it would seem that the speakers were without vowels of compassion. But the story loses point by reason of the fact that reporters always do write phonetically. Isn’t that the basis of shorthand? Don’t get impatient; I’m coming to the music presently. ♦ * # # “ Oqe of the most important speakers was the Archdruid. He’s a Welsh bard who rejoices in the name of Gwili. He appealed very strongly for the rites and ceremonies of the Eisteddfod to be conducted in Welsh: otherwise, he said, we shall be the laughing-stock of the English. “ No man is able to dramatise his individual self better than the Welshman, but when he comes to mass production he’s a failure. “This Eisteddfod opened on a hot, sweltering Bank Holiday, with a. brass band competition, and the contest lasted all day. The pavilion in which they played seats about 6,000 people, yet I doubt if at any time of the day there wore 1,000 persons listening to the bauds. One potent reason was the heavy and uninspired nature .of the test pieces, and another—if I must tell the truth—lay in the poor quality of the performances. « « * « “The time, has come to be frank ’about the Eisteddfod, which wouldn’t take place at all but for the money prizes. Cash is the one and only attraction for competitors, and this cupidity throttles aesthetic altruism and murders true artistic endeavour. I don’t believe that in all Wales there is a single choir with a repertory of a dozen pieces, or a soloist with more than that number—on which they ring the changes year after year. The Welsh seem to me to stop learning when they leave school. Choirs and soloists who have rendered the same piece 99 times cannot do it without the script at the hundredth rendering. _ Therefore it is not odd that the National Eisteddfod, like the British House of Commons, attracts only the mediocre. It has no artistic standard. Brief is the life of Eisteddfodic glory. Prize-winners .will return to their shops and farms. They may perform at obscure village concerts. Next year we shall see them competing again at the Eisteddfod—

for the same faces are seen and tin same works are heard year after year, # • • • “ The prizes gained do not advance the winners in the slightest degree. Why? Because the Eisteddfod has no real status in the world of arts , and crafts. It has given the world no great thought and has produced no first-rate compositions or performing artists. lt« standard is the lowest in Europe—tha < criterion of a nation of penny whistlers. The highest award will not carry tha victor beyond the Welsh border. Iti needs new blood, but not Welsh bloodj The blight of Nonconformity lies toe heavily upon Wales and Welsh talent. “I suggest that control of the Eisteddfod be vested in a couple of Jews and a couple of Scots. If this were done the festival —and the nation—• might be lifted from its rut of selfcomplacency.” This suggestion might be put to Mr Lloyd George for incorporation' in hisf New Deal.