GRAMOPHONES

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 256, 19 January 1928, Page 16

GRAMOPHONES

Mozart at liis best is to be heard in a record by Columbia (L. 1545-8) — “Quartette in C Major.” It is in eight parts and played by the Lenor String Quartette. The quartette in C Major has long been reckoned as the finest that Mozart ever produced, though it is one of his earlier works. I cannot recall any work that gives such a clear picture of the personality of its lovable, good-humoured, easy-tempered composer. Serene in movement, gracious in tone, quiet and yet firm in construction, and transparently lucid in style, it is surely the most charming example of chamber music that can be heard. Delicious, melodic themes abound in all movements, and one is treated to a particularly lovely trio in the third movement. The playing is worthy of the Lenor String Quartette, and higher praise than that can hardly be given. AH praise of them 13 superfluous after the tremendous success of their recent London season. A really great recording.

On June 2 last year Sir Edward Elear OM„ celebrated his 70th birth dav and as a tribute of homage the Gramophone Company have made a snecial issue of some of his principal compositions, in particular the Second Svmphony in E Elat.” This recording bv the London Symphony Orchestra, conducted by the composer, occupies six large records, and is issued complete in a well-arranged album (H.M.V. D 1230-1235). This symphony is, perhaps, easier to understand, and, therefore, to enjoy, than the composer s first symphony, as there is less mystery in it, and by placing the quotation from Shelley’s poem at the head of the score, “Rarely, Rarely Comest Thou, Spirit of Delight,” he has given a clue to his own personal aspect upon the music. One feels that Elgar has in his music gone in search of that elusive spirit of delight, and that in his last movement he has been successful in capturing it The work opens with a fine swirl of music, rhapsodic in character, which is splendidly recorded, particularly on the second side of the first record. Then there comes a sudden change to pensive larghetto, the second movement The rondo, the third movement, is very fine, perhaps one of the brightest examples of rhythmic variety, with the composer quite obviously letting his feelings have full play. So on to the magnificent last movement, in which Elgar seems to have enshrined the spirit of delight. The recording is beyond reproach, and altogether the work is a fitting tribute to a great British composer.

Eva Turner is a British soprano who has done particularly well abroad. Recording for Columbia she sings particularly well “O Cieli Azzurri” (Verdi) and “Suicidio” (Ponchiellie). For some time she was engaged in minor parts with the British National Opera Company, and then courageously recommenced her training, going this time to Italy. Her courage was well rewarded, for she is now definitely established in the front rank of living sopranos. One wishes, however, that she would avoid the more common arias that can safely be left to lesser lights, and introduce to us the fine material so usually passed over. Nevertheless, these two arias from “Aida” and “Giaconda” demonstrate how colourful and robust her voice has become, and they are a delight to listen to. She has a fine sense of the dramatic; whatever faults she may be accused of, and she will never become uninteresting.

No tenor has developed more rapidly of recent years than the Australian, Alfred O’Shea. One might say no one has more deserved to, for his training has been long, arduous and painstaking. Six years in Italy and a further period in Paris have rounded off his voice and developed in him certain qualities that no other tenor can claim in such degree. His use of mezza voce is matchless, and he reveals a marvellous breath-control, which is the best feature of modern Italian teaching. His enunciation is splendid, and no fault could be found with his pronunciation of Italian or French. As a result of his training he returned to Australia with a European reputation that has since grown considerably, and in his own country there is now no more popular singer. The last few years have found him playing principal roles opposite Dame Nellie Melba and Toti dal Monti. But two of his recent records will speak more for him than any words can. They are “Had You But Known” (Denza) and Bishop’s “Home, Sweet Home.” Bishop’s ever popular “Home, Sweet Home” has been a favourite with so many great singers that the inevitable comparison makes it a more and more ambitious test for the young singer. O’Shea comes out with flying colours. His voice has a caressing quality that is finely suited to the ballad with a touch or more of sentiment in it. And O’Shea sings true. On the other side he gives a first recording of Denza’s “Had You But Known,” with violin obliggato by Mowat Carter —finely sung, finely played and finely recorded. “Bird Songs at Eventide (Barrie and Coates) and The Foggy Dew” (old Irish air), are also two beautiful songs that demonstrate how exceptionally well O’Shea’s voice records —better, in fact, than that ® many a more famous singer. Kacii disc carries a living, breathing personality. These two numbers are finely contrasted. I prefer “The Foggy Dew,” a lyrical old Irish air that somehow has escaped frequent recording, but Eric Coates’s setting of Bird Songs at Eventide” is delightful, too.

A Beethoven concerto which provides an interesting study is recorded by Columbia (L 1686-89). It is ‘ Concerto in C Minor,” in eight parts. It is played by Wm. Murdoch (pianist) and the Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Sir Hamilton Harty. Written when Beethoven was 30, this concerto provides an interesting study of the extent to which the early Beethoven was influenced by Mozart. Traces of Mozart’s method? of construction are certainly in evidence, but Beethoven is obviously beginning to strike out along original lines. The final movement gives proof of this. Here we have that combination of Sonata and Rondo form that he developed to a great extent in his later works. The Rondo, too, is enlivened by his original use of candenzas. The Concerto was written about the same time as the first symphony, and is thus contemporaneous with the early masters, but compared with these it is strikingly mature. The Rondo in particular shows how he is beginning to depart from the construction formalised by Mozart, and with this departure he becomes capable of expressing a wider range of moods. Murdoch’s playing is brilliant in the extreme, but a purist might object to his frequent interpolations. The pianist’s tone is thrillingly rich and sensitive to the subtle nuances of light and shade. The orchestral accompaniment does just its right proportion of the work, and no more, but a more solid use of ’cellos and violins would strike a better balance.

It was in America that I first came across a song of Roger Quilter’s —in 1906, I fancy—and th» singer who showed it to me was that rarely-gifted artist, Lillian Nordica, writes Herman Klein- in “The Gramophone.” She made me go over it five or six times in succession, and the more I played it with her the more I liked it. That song was “Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal,” a delicious little romance (to use the French term for once), fragrant with the odorous charm of the East called forth by Tennyson’s lines. Many vocalists attempt it;' few succeed in giving it perfect expression (as Mme. Nordica did), or in conveying something of its elusive beauty through the medium of the gramophone. Th© one who comes nearest, perhaps, is Browning Mummery (H.M.V. 8.2355, 10-inch).

Cyril Scott’s writing presents features of “modernism” which were much more novel and strange when he first came to the front 15 or 20 years ago than they are to-day. What sounded very complex then appears quite simple now, and, as has been said, his music possesses “a strangely exotic charm; he has a horror of the obvious.” Of the two songs alluded to, writes Herman Klein in “The Gramophone,” I prefer “My Lady Sleeps,” with its graceful curves in the voice-part and piquant dissonances in the accompaniment; but would prefer a less languishing, slurring delivery than Sydney Coltham’s (H.M.V. 8.1968, 10-inch), a suggestion of physical torment that would be calculated to disturb my lady’s slumbers. On the contrary, one perceives both earnestness and conviction in Eric Marshall’s rendering of “Immortality” (H.M.V. E. 425, 10-inch). The tone is steady and strong, and one feels genuine force in the fine utterance, “There no death;, there are no deadj.”