FRIEDMAN IGNAZ FRIEDMAN

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 96, 14 July 1927, Page 16

FRIEDMAN

IGNAZ FRIEDMAN

A GENIUS WHO IS BRAVE ENOUGH TO PLAY SIMPLY

Referring to Ignaz Friedman as “a genius who is brave enough to play simply,” F. E. Baume, in the “Sydney Guardian,” states that “Sydney musical audiences are so used to the guinea-a-seat celebrity who plays—and collects —on a reputation, that this little greyhaired fellow with the neck and shoulders of a wrestler set them gasping.

“Friedman,” states the critic, “faces his public courageously. Never does he force the standard programme on us. More, he is brave enough to play us the bugbears of those ghastly musical snobs who judge a man’s playing by the erudite incomprehensibilities of his programme.” “Probably the jewel of a concert of jewels was his simple but so impellingly beautiful playing of a little Brahms waltz, which has been plucked on the heartstrings of generations. “For Friedman has wedded simple beauty in music, great though his scholarly technique be.” Though smaller than the great fivestringed instrument made by Mr. E. Stansfield, of the Halle Orchestra, there is in the Victoria and Albert Museum a three-stringed double bass, known as “The Giant,” which is probably an easy second in point of size. Made in the 17th century by Gasparo di Bertollotti, its body measurement is sft Gin high by 3ft Gin wide, its total height, with neck, being Bft 7in. It was once the property of Domenico Dragonetti, one of the greatest known players of the double bass, who became choirmaster of St. Mark’s, Venice, at the age of 18 and who died in London in 184 G. At his death lie bequeathed this giant fiddle to the Duke of Leinster, who gave it to the museum in 1872. This is not, however. Drogonetti’s famous double bass, whose powers he once tested upon the monks of St. Giustina, Padua, bringing them from their cells in the dead of night by imitating a thunderstorm. That instrument is at St. Mark’s, Venice.

Mr. George Antony, the conductor of the Stoll Picture House, takes a strong personal view of the problem of fitting music to the film. He insists that good music can be just as much out of»place as bad. It is quite true that music-lovers, instead of being gratified at hearing some favourite composition, are often irritated by the incongruity of the scene for which it has been requisitioned. Mr. Antony maintains that jazz and the saxophone, aga.inst which serious-minded musicians so often fulminate, should not be banned, but should be reserved for use at points where they are most appropriate. Just as a clever orchestratist such as Tchaikovsky knew exactly where to make the most effective use of the bass-clarinet, the musical director at the cinema should know at what point of a film a saxophone would supply the right timbre.