WORLD of MUSIC

Hawera Star, Volume XLVIII, 11 October 1924, Page 14

WORLD of MUSIC

NOTES AND COMMENTS. It is bad news that the Male Choir | have had to cut out their performance of the immortal oratorio ‘‘Messiah,” towards which one looks at the end of the year. This has been caused by the inability to secure the orchestral parts, owing to so many societies giving the same work. While this 'is much to, be regretted, we hope the choir will not give up their excellent schemes of mixed choral work, a feature which is tremendously interesting and is likely to help them to improve their position. * Mr. Newberry is to be congratulated on his energy and enterprise in putting on so good a. programme at his Violin recital. It was one that needed a great deal of courage, for much of the work was not quite what one would call popular. He had the worst of luck in striking a week when there were. 1 three musical attractions that must' have militated very seriously against his prospects. The new organist at the Hawera Presbyterian Church is well reputed as a player in Wellington, and is said also to be exceptionally qualified in choral ..work. If he can ‘link up all the singers into one kig choral under-, taking there is no reason why Hawera should not put on performances of the' greatest choral compositions. His advent to Hawera will strengthen the musical confraternity very materially. Mr. Hutton, of the Methodist Church, i has been appointed to a- bigger church in Auckland and will be leaving shortly. His musical friends will wish him success.

Sir Walford Davies, Gresham Professor of Music, is a worthy successor to the late Sir Frederick bridge, who held the appointment for over thirty years and made the Gresham lectures more popular than they had been since Sir Thoma s Gresham founded them in 1597. At one time the sure passport to a Gresham professorship was to be a member of the Gresham Committee. That was how a man named Griffin became Music Professor in 1763. He knew nothing of music, being a barber, but he kept the job for eight years. I much prefer the, humour of Gilbert and Sullivan to the humour of Mark Twain, says a critic in Occasional Notes, and leaving ‘‘the Innocents’ Abroad” I turned with relief to the text of “The Gondoliers,” which was Queen Victoria’s favourite opera, a “command” performance being given in the Waterloo Chamber in Windsor Castle in March. 1891. “The Gondoliers” was first performed at the Savoyon Saturday, Deeeihber 7, 1889, and during its long run the partnership of Gilbert, Sullivan, and D’Oyly Carte was broken up by a regrettable difference over so trumpery a matter as the cost of a carpet. The first act of theopera is Venetian in its setting, and it introduces the two gondoliers Marco and Giuseppe and their brides-to-be, Gianetta and Tessa. When the Duke of Plaza-Toro enters in a gondola he remarks, “At last we have arrived at our destination. . . As a Castilian hidalgo of ninety-five quarterings. I regret that I am unable to pay my state visit on a horse. As a Castilian hidalgo of that description I should have preferred to ride through the streets of Venice; hut owing, I presume. to an exceptionally wet season, the streets are in such a- condition that equestrian exercise is impracticable.” The Duke’s entrance is preceded by a duel between Marco and Giuseppe, with the refrain. “We’re called gondoliers.” The lines are typically Gilbertian : When morning is breaking, Our couches forsaking, To greet their awakening -- With carols we come. At summer day’s nooning, When weary lagooning, Our mandolins tuning. We lazily thrum. When vespers are ringing, To hope ever clinging, With songs of our singing A vigil we keep. When daylight is fading, Enwrapt in night’s shading, With soft serenading We lidl them to sleep. It is only fair to Mark Twain, however, to remember that these first impressions, which made occasion for an outburst of a humour somewhat crude, were“ argely obliterated as the charm 1 of Venice took possession of his soul. “I began to feel,” lie wrote, “that the old Venice of song and story had departed for ever. But I was too hasty. In a few minutes we swept gracefully out into the Grand Canal, and under the mellow moonlight the Venice of poetry and romance stood revealed. Right from the water’s edge rose long lines of stately palaces of marble; gondolas were gliding swiftly hither and thither and disappearing suddenly through unsuspected gates and alleys; ponderous stone bridges threw their shadows athwart the glittering waves. There was liglit and motion everywhere, and yet everywhere there was a hush, a stealthy sort of stillness, that was suggestive of secret enterprises of bravoes and lovers; and clad half in moonbeams and half in mysterious shadows, the grim old mansions of the Republic seemed to have an expression about them of having an eye out for just such enterprises as these at the same moment. Music came floating over the waters—-Venice was complete.” In contrast to this picture of Venice by moonlight, Mark Twain glowingly describes a grand fete by day in honour of some saint “who had been instrumental in checking the cholera three hundred years ago.” All Venice was abroad on the water, for “the Venetians did not know how soon they might need the saint’s services again.” Two 'thousand gondolas participated, and Mark Twain ends his description with a lapse into his peculiar humour: “There was music everywhere—choruses, string hands, brass hands, flutes, everyth!nu. I was so surrounded. walled in with music, magnificence, •and loveliness, that I became inspired with the spirit of the scene and sang one tune myself. ’ However, when I observed that the other gondolas had sailed away, and my gondolier was preparing to go overboard. I stopped.”

lamplight shed, writes Lebury Smith in the Daily Mail. On the stage a group of dancers pirouettes slowly in harmony with the music, and there is exotic rythm in their movements that makes *a drum seem the only possible accompaniment. Looking like mermaids, in. their little wired-out jackets and the swathed skirts that swirl into a pool of silk at the ankle, they twist themselves into three right angles and turn and turn on one foot with an even swing. The same old story has held the stage for immemorial years. A king and queen, a prince and princess, whose true love takes any time from twentyfour hours to a. week to conquer all difficulties, a pair of comedians, and. a group of dancers are .the central figures • in a drama that varies to suit the premier danseuse or the well-paid comedians, whose jokes are always carefully localised. And the audience? To European eyes, perhaps, the most interesting part of the performance! Squatting on "the mud floor in groups, the shrouded figures have all the mystery and aloofness of the monks. Black" and white, orange and bronze, the sharp contrasts move and change like a kaleidoscopic view. The women draw their scarfs about their heads, the men wrap themselves in cowl-like hoods, and the children run from group to group, thread their way among th-9 musicians, and stand in rows at the foot of the stage, their little black heads silhouetted against the footlights. A friendly nonchalance characterises the arrangements; the audience lives in the theatre while ,the performance lasts, sleeping through the dull turns, eating, smoking; and moving about. The actors who are not performing walk backwards and forwards across the stage, or sit in a corner and eat unconcernedly, and in front of the audience the musicians are scattered about, beating with individual zeal and persistence their muff-shaped drums. LIKE A CLARIONET. “C.E.J.” inquires about another bird seen and heard about Deniliquin. They are described as something like the familiar magpie lark, in colour and size, and clear note, heard first at the encl of July, was simply wonderful. From the top branch of a tree they pipe with a great i variety of notes, some of which are very like those of a* clarionet. They are rather shy, and have gone away, probably to nest. ' w It is the pied butcher bird, like others of its family, a lovely whistler, especial! ly in the autumn, when after the nesting season it is always heard at its best. One wishes that its habits .were always as charming as its. song, for, ALWAYS WHERE THERE IS MUSK' like the other “Jack,” it is a killer of smaller birds. Always where there is music, it is you Who come between me and the sound of strings; The cloudy portals part to let you through, ! Troubled and strange with long rememberings. Your nearness . gathers ghostwise down the room, And through the pleading violins they play There drifts the dim and delicate perfume That once was you, come dreamily astray, , ■ —David Norton. A LONDON ROSE SONG. Roses, roses, who’ll buy roses? Roses, lady? Buy them here: White for day-dreams, red for gay dreams, Red or white for love, my dear. Roses, roses, lady,’roses? Fragrant roses, fine and fair: White or sad dreams., red for mad dreams, Red or white to crown your hair. Roses, sir? Nice roses, roses Choose your fancy, that or this: White for new dreams, white for true : dreams, But a red rose for a. kiss! • —Wallace B Nichols.