THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

Evening Star, Issue 23689, 24 September 1940, Page 3

THOUGHTS ABOUT MUSIC

[By L.D.A.] Music gives tone to the universe; wings to the mind; flight to the imagination; a charm to sadness; gaiety and life to everything.—Plato. Mr Neville Cardus. formerly the ‘ Manchester Guardian’s ’ music critic, lias figured prominently of late in the columns of tne ‘ Sydney Morning Herald ’ and other Australian papers. 1 am not aware of any urgent reason for Mr Cardus’s visit to Australia, other than the obvious one that England just now offers no scope in the field of music criticism. My business, however, is with Mr Cardus’s public utterances on musical matters. As a critic he has loomed large for many years; not only in music, but in the more popular domain of sport, particularly cricket. Some may think ho knows more about the latter than the former, though 1 don’t propose to stress that aspect at the moment.

I was very interested in a recent ‘ Herald ” article by Mr Cardus, under the heading 1 Gentle Art of the Critic, in which, as it .were, he turns the searchlight on his own calling. Let me quote some of it:— “The music critic is always asked—4do you play any instrument V Usually the implication is that the piano is the'one and only instrument. The question is entirely irrelevant as far as the function of the music critic goes; you might as well express curiosity about his ability at golf or cooking. . . , Don Bradman has never suggested that I am not qualified to describe his batting merely because I have never scored a century in a test match. . . •* Frankly I confess I am a bad pianist. . . . How did the idea arise amongst English-speaking people that some ability at the piano is the one and only proof of musical culture and understanding ? ... My experience of pianists is that their interest in music seldom goes beyond compositions for the piano. It is much the same with all specialists in a certain technique. . . . Artists are invariably incapable of enjoying one another’s work. ... It is not necessary for the music critic to know how to play an instrument in order to know whether that instrument is played well or badly by someone else. . . . The critic’s task transcends that of any specialist practitioner; lie must try to take all musical knowledge for his* province.” • • • • The above contains much truth and some shrewd reasoning, though I don’t agree with it all. For it is rash to insinuate that the majority of pianists are uninterested in other forms of music, and quite wrong to assert that “ artists are invariably incapable of enjoying one another’s work.” My experience, which is considerably longer than that of Mr Cardus, has given me quite the opposite impression. I am referring, of course, to the larger world of music, and not to the petty jealousies of parochial cliques. In small communities, which are well represented in New Zealand, the amount of envy, spite, and uncharitableness generally existent amongst the musical sections is almost beyond belief. But really talented artists are usually devoid of such weaknesses. Naturally there are exceptions. When I was in London a few years ago, for example, I was greatly astonished to hear a very famous conductor refer to Sir Thomas Beecham as “ that wealthy amateur.” However, this kind of silly jealousy is happily rare in the ranks of the truly great. I could mention the names of scores of world-renowned instrumentalists and singers many of whom Are close personal friends and feel nothing for each other but admiration and affection. « * * * Mr Cardus then goes on to reveal his idea of the essentials of the music critic’s job. Referring to what ho calls the “ method of imaginative presentation,” he says the critic “ must now play on his own instrument, which is not the piano, but an instrument much more difficult to master—i.e., none other than the English language.” He alleges that while many people play the piano with distinction, few can perform well “ on the instrument of good prose.” I fully endorse this statement, because I am only too painfully aware of its personal application. But when Mr Cardus proceeds to put his precept into practice I am no longer in agreement. As an example of his method of “ imaginative presentation,” he offers us his own criticism of Madame Suggia’s performance of Saint-Saens’s ’cello concerto. It is worth a fresh paragraph: * * * • “ Suggia was, of course, as fine to see as ever, poised with her freedom, yet enigmatical and hinting at strange deeps and evasions in her. Ironically, she played this concerto which is all ice and surface. And the gleaming surface melted, touched by Suggia’s bow. But we did not, could nob, listen to SaintSaens; we’had eyes only for Suggia, who looked more like Augustus John’s painting of her than ever. There is in Greek mythology—or should he—the story of the woman so magnificent to look upon that all power passed from the beholder’s senses, excepting _ his sense of sight, which was so strained in its endeavour to drink in to the full the loveliness before the eye, that the effort stole all energy from the other four faculties. So does Suggia transform all music to sights to he seen, and conjures ears into eyes.” * • • ♦ Mr Cardus complacently describes the above as “ah example of the qritic as artist on his own account-” An American word, in my opinion, would better describe it as “ punk! ” If such balderdash has any meaning at all, it amounts simply to this—that Mr Oardus, on his own showing, is temperamentally unfitted to wear the critic’s mantle. A man who can allow feminine charm to confound his power of musical appraisement has no right to sit in judgment; we can no longer place any confidence in his pronouncements. Strict and undeviating impartiality is the critic’s first and indispensable requirement. That is why I have always advocated that competition adjudicators should sit behind a screen. It would seem, after all, that radio broadcasting provides the only unassailable criterion of artistic merit in music.

New Zealand has produced, and continues to produce, many young pianists of outstanding ability, but so far none of them compares with Coliu Horsley, who. is still in London, a student at the R.C.M. Some weeks ago he played at a students’ concert, and the ‘ Daily Telegraph ’ commented as follows: “A couple of Liszt’s Etudes were performed in an unusually brilliant manner by the New Zealander, Colin Horsley, who is the most gifted young pianist wo have heard for a long time past.” The subsequent intensive aerial attacks on London have, of course, put an end to all public music in the metropolis, and it will be a miracle if Queen’s Hall survives the hail of bombs that daily fall around it. Meanwhile we can'only pray for the safety of those dear to us who are in the thick of danger. At this distance it is impossible to imagine what Londoners and other British communities are suffering. And vet Mr Neville Cardus can write: “In ’ a properly civilised community concerts would be as much the concern of the State as education.” He forgets that Germany has always had Statesponsored music. The inference is, according to him, that the Germans are properly civilised. If Mr Cardus were in England now he might have cause to revise this estimate