MUSIC TO-DAY

Hokitika Guardian, 24 July 1930, Page 2

MUSIC TO-DAY

GREAT PIANIST’S OPINION. BACKHAUS TO REST FOR A YEAR, CHRISTCHURCH, July 21. If the great masters of music stand superhumanly above the everyday woiltl —and such is their reputation—then Wilhelm 'Backhausjf bne of the greatest of all, , is the exception. He goes to the talkies and enjoys them, unworried that they can hai/e any serious effect upon music. Fond of walking and climbing, ahxions to see tin; beauties of bush and mountainside, he looks forward to visiting Mount Cook or the Franz Josef Glacier. He takes a lively interest in the customs of the countries which be tours; he is reading now the memoirs of Reischek, once taxidermist at the Canterbury Museum. He studies his contemporaries in art, and, though he marks the rise of no genius, he will not admit any decline in music among the people. Most human of all, he looks forward earnestly to a. year’s holiday in 1931, when he may read and walk and talk and live Ills life not as a pianist, but as a man. So much, and more, of bis interests' Mr Backhaus told a reporter on his arrival in Christchurch yesterday. Four years ago he toured New Zealand for the first time, winning great success. Since then he has visited England, South America, and almost every country of Europe, One concert engagement followed another. From New Zealand he returns to Australia and thence to Europe for recitals in January and February. “I find that my life and piano-playing become the same thing,” he says. “The strain of playing always and travelling always becomes very great. I look forward to the end of mv European tour, when I shall retire for a year to read and walk and do the other things' I want to do. But all the same”—this with a smile—“l exepet I shall spend most of my time at the., piano.” The place of Ills re r tlrementVis not decided;, for lie and Mrs Backhaus have never had time to find themselves a home. It will be in Europe alniost certainly; perhaps at Vienna,; “tlie most musical city in the world.”' STUDYING AN INFINITE ART. Though small in stature, Mr Backbaus bears himself with dignity. A finely shaped head, eyes keen and alert, white, supple hands, .and red leather, slippers—these are the first impressions He rises often for another cigarette, and his hands move restlessly about the edges of his dressing room. Though his command of English is admirable he speaks deliberately, and only afte» thouerht. There is a ready smile at his lips. Will he give himself to composition? No. “I have written one or two things when I was younger. Indeed, I am not modest enough to think that I could not do better than some modern music I have heard. But with me it would be wasted effort. ,1 feel that my job is to play the piano. Pianist-composers always suffer as plan ists. In fact I have always enough to interest me. always new’ problems to meet. Piano-playing is an infinite art. and I am not yet approaching the end.’ The classical masters, Beethoven preeminently have his devotion in the literature of music. To them his programmes are given almost entirely. “I feel, too, that there is so much classical music untouched,” he says, giving that as another reason why he should not compose. “Even the people of Vienna know perhaps only fifteen of the thirty-two sonatns which Beethoven wrote. They are not all cast in the heroic mould of the ‘Appassionata’ of the ‘Waldstein,’ but all are fine and varied in style. I look upon it as a mission to spread the knowledge of these works. I have included some of the lesser-known sonatas in my programmes, but already I have requests for those which people know.” In Paris and Vienna he has given recitals of the whole thirty-two sonatas in series of six concerts. Even in Sydney and Melbourne he has been able to present all-Beethoven rogramines. “GENIUS IS ASLEEP.” Ah’ Backhaus has interests in modern music, but no more. “Genius is asleep in the world to-day,” he thinks “ ’Genius of course is a relative term but there are no modern composers com parable to the old masters.’ He blames modern composers in part for the smaller concerts audiences of to-day: their work demands such technical knowledge and offers so little but skill in technique that many no longer bother to listen. The outlook of music he insists, is good. “The modern age imagines that in ages of the ast’ there was a universal devotion to music. Yet the number given to the love of serious music has always been in the minority. When Beethoven, at the height of his fame, presented the ‘Choral’ Symphony in Vienna for a second time, lie could not fill the hall. Music-lovers have always been the minority, even in the golden age of Beethoven and Mozart. And in spite of its many distractions that minority to-day is growing.” To organise the musical interests ol New Zealand and to stimulate music he urges the establishment of a Conservatorium of Music. That such a conservatorium has been proposed for Christchurch delights him. “If you can only get 1000 people to take as much interest in music as they do in football or bridge, and, better still, if those 1000 have families, you could do a lot towards your conservatorium

Surely you can find them in a city ol 120,000, or even in a country of a million and a half. A conservatorium at first needs no new buildings—no temple of music; it is rather a spiritual bond to co-ordinate musical interests and raise their standing You cannot depend for your stimulus upon the visits of virtuosos alone. The English people as a rule, do not realise how music is a spiritual necessity and must be supported by the State, just as a museum is supported.” It would he as well, he thought; if the director of the conservatorium came from abroad. He must have ability to organise and to assemble a good staff about him. Mr Backhaus was pleased to hear of the amateur status of the • Christchurch Orchestral Society. “Even if the performances are not so good, that is the spirit in which the orchestra should he formed,” lie said. “The amateurs have interest and enthusiasm, and if they look upon it as a valuable privilege to play in the orchestra, that is very fine.” DIFFICULTIES OF RECORDING. Mr Backhaus has onylv broadcast by radio twice—once from New York ana once from London. He is, however, one of the leading celebrities of the gramophone, though to record is a very long and painstaking work. “You want me to record the 32 sonatas? If .1 did, i should have to take another year’s holiday. I have to divide tiie music up into four or foiir-and-a-half minute sections. Each section I have to pla;>‘ over first for trials on the wax aout three times. Then each has to be done twice in the recording proper, and often three, four, and five times. Why, if I had to play the finale of the ‘Waldstein’ four times on end, 1 should drop dead.” Before the records are issued, samples are submitted for his hearing. Very often the versions that please him do they please them. Sometimes, again they choose hat he will not allow. In either case the recording must be done again. Though the recording off piano tone has improved vastly, the artist has still to make «onie allowances for the microphone, and the subtleties of his playing are not always caught. For that reason, Air Backhaus has declined to play some works, feelimz that in the “Appassionata,” or “Waldstein” sonatas, for instance, the recording could hardly do justice to his performances. During his brief stay in Christchurch where he is to give three recitals, Mr Bachaus hopes to meet again many of the friends of his earlier visit. For the rest, lie will practise, read, walk a little, go .sometimes to the talkies—and look forward to the long holiday that will be his next year.