On Writing about Music

Author(s): W. H. Mellers
Source: The Musical Times, Vol. 82, No. 1177 (Mar., 1941), pp. 96-98
Published by: Musical Times Publications Ltd.
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/921036 .
Accessed: 26/11/2013 12:42
Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at .
http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp

.
JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of
content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms
of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org.

Musical Times Publications Ltd. is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to The
Musical Times.

http://www.jstor.org

This content downloaded from 132.229.187.104 on Tue, 26 Nov 2013 12:42:11 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

96

THE MUSICAL

after a breakdown, he found in a bas-relief

decorating a country school the inspiration for
the tone poem about 'The Children of Lir,'
changed into swans by witchcraft-music pervaded by the thought of the sea.
There ought to be, about every sane, salty,
imaginative benefactor, a little collection of
materials that will tell later comers something
about the man and his ways of work, his habits
and dealings with his fellow-musicians. About

TIMES

March 1941

Harty there is a good chapter in Bernard Shore's

'The Orchestra Speaks,' telling of his quietness,
his intimacy, his beautiful use of the orchestra in
accompanying, his wit (some Hall6 expert should
collaborate there !), his brief pictures for the
players of what the music can mean ; always his
colours were strong. Mr. Shore concludes:
'Harty is a conductor the orchestra likes to serve.
. .. This is not too common.' Much is said
with reserve, there.
W. R. ANDERSON.

On WritingAboutMusic

W.H.MELLERS
By

'Music is of all arts the nearest to the

the most nearly related to
abstract sense. ...
Nature: not to its forms but to its being.'-FERRUCCIO BuSONI.

never was a more imbecile notion

than the twentieth-century cult of Pure
Music, for the simple reason that although
in one sense all music must be programme music
since it is concerned with human emotions, in
another sense music, in so far as it is music, can
never be anything but pure. No one could ever
prove (though it is always being said) that
Beethoven is a 'more philosophical' composer
than Mozart; there is a very real distinction
implied, but it is one that can be made only in
terms of quality and kind of emotional response.
We have just got to admit that as soon as we
start to use words to describe the effectof music
we are to some extent interpreting in non-musical
terms something which is not the music but which
is more or less closely related to it. It remains
for the critic to seek verbal correlations for, or
references to, certain psychological attitudes
which are implicit in the created experience
which the music is; and thus train the mind of
the listener to seize on only those particulars
which appear to him to be relevant to the sincere
response to the musical experience involved.
Obviously the distinction as to where exactly
the borderline is to be drawn between what is
relevant to the musical experience and what
is not, rests ultimately on personal judgment;
but something parallel to this seems to me to be
true of any sort of criticism whatever.
A word, of course, is something that can be
held up for inspection ; it has definable meanings,
even though these meanings may be complex
and not reducible to prose analysis. Yet even
though we may know, ultimately, a little more
about the relation of the experience of (say)
'
King Lear' to the emotions of ' real' life than
we know about the relation to real life of the
attitudes involved in a musical composition, I
doubt if the matter is, in the literary case, so very
much simpler ; and when we consider the pictorial
arts we realize only too clearly how troublesome,
rather than helpful, the element of representation
may be. The whole question comes back, I
think, to the problem of Language. One is bound
to use words to communicate about anything;
the problem is, how far is it possible to describe
'feelings' in words at all, and what degree of
precision can one hope to attain to when one is
HERE

dealing with such a comparatively unfamiliar

language as music. Neither the literary nor the
music critic can find any equivalent for the
experience the music or the poem is; he can
merely offer clues and pointers. The music
critic's task is the more difficult,simply because
the language of music is more remote, and
because no acceptable technique of analysis has
as yet been so much as suggested.
Willy-nilly, then, the music critic is forced to
a compromise. On the one hand, he may
' account for' the music in terms of the established
technical jargon-account
for it as a matter of
second subjects, developments and inversions,
which method is useless as a means towards
value-judgments (and they are the ultimate end
of criticism) and is only in a very limited
sense a help towards understanding and apprethe further
ciation; or, on the other hand-at
extreme-he may substitute for the composer's
music a poem (or rather a prose-fiction) of his
own creation which he imagines to be a literary
version of whatever it was the composer ' meant.'
The first of these alternatives is unhelpful; the
second is both unhelpful and impudent. I suppose
the ideal the critic should hold out for himself is
to keep as close to the simple description in
technical terms as is consistent with saying
anything at all about the sort of experience the
music precisely is, and the sort of value that
may be attributed to it.
In a few cases I think the salient features of
the mesh of feelings and attitudes which make
up a musical composition may be deduced from
a detailed examination of its technical characteristics, with some reasonable chance of demonstrating that one's conclusions are tenable if not
unanswerably right. For instance, it is possible
to relate a certain factitiousness in Cesar Franck's
sugary harmonic clich6s, the
technique-the
notorious tendency of his melodies to droop back
with monotonous persistency to the acoustically
weak mediant, their inability to 'grow,' the
spurious (because externally applied) logic of
a certain
the ' cyclical' formal processes-to
religiose factitiousness in the composer's ways
of experiencing. An equally convincing case can
be made out with reference to Puccini: Dr.
Mosco Carner has deduced the characteristic
Puccinian neurasthenic emotionalism from an
analysis of his melodic structure conceived
Dr. Carner
entirely in terms of technique.*
* ' Puccini's
Early Operas,' in Music and Letters,July 1938.

This content downloaded from 132.229.187.104 on Tue, 26 Nov 2013 12:42:11 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

March 1941

THE MUSICAL

points out (a) how the typical Puccini melody

(like the French sentimental
operatic aria) begins
to develop, but soon slows down and comes to a
'
standstill; psychologicallyit is the expression
of a feelingthat lacks the powerto stretchout in
a long melodic sweep, but soon loses energyand
rests beforea freshstart'; (b) how the melody,
often in a minor key, is usually built on simple
fallingdiatonic scale progressionswhich (c) tend
to be brokenup into briefphrasesby the frequent
appearance of the 'final' interval of the falling
fifth;and (d) how Puccini unconsciouslytriesto
counteract this falling tendency by grouping
these brief(usually two-bar)phrasesin sequences
whichrise. ' These sequences have the effectof
a forcible screwing up of melody which would
much rather fall,' and thus induce a peculiar
neurasthenic flush into the limp and spineless
mode of feelingthe originsof which have been
described above. 'The tired melody,' says Dr.
Carner,' is Puccini's most personal creation and
embodies perhaps his finestideas.'
Now this is a piece of textual criticismgiving
rise to an account of Puccini's representative
significancethat is, or so it seems to me, unanswerable. It is an epitome of what music
criticismought to be. Unfortunately,however,
this treatmentseems to be applicable mainly to
composers-such as Franck and Puccini, Chopin
and Delius-whose workis of a somewhatnarrow
and idiosyncraticinterest. The more profound,
complex and 'central' are the experiences
involved, the less possibilitythere seems to be
of backing up one's personal opinions with an
'unanswerable' display of critical method.
Thus thereare fewwho would deny that Elgar's
use of the brass and his sequences and descending
sevenths are intrinsicallyimportant aspects of
his technique; but whereassome thinkhis brass
vulgar and his seventhsand sequences glutinous,
others think his brass stirringlyheroic and his
sevenths and sequences ardently expressive.
I believe one can demonstratefairlyclearlythat
Elgar's technique isn't factitious as Franck's
occasionally tends to be; but it is a much more
difficultundertakingto justifythe judgment of
sensibility that still remains to be made-to
explain why Elgar is (as he seems to me at his
best undubitablyto be) a great composer.
When one turnsto such a difficultand impersonal a composeras Mozart one can hardly say
anything precise about the reasons a melodic
phraseis ' so and not otherwise' : one can suggest
why at this point or that it departs fromconvention, but one can do little to indicate the
'local manifestations' of an 'interesting complexityof feeling.' Yet I don't know that this is
a difficultyso peculiar to music criticismas it
superficiallyappears. If it is true that what is
communicatedin a musical compositioncan only
be the music itself,thisis equally ifless obviously
true of a poem also. Because we cannot at
present say anything validly critical about
Mozart I do not think we should assume that
we shall always be unable to.
Connected with this is the problem of quotation: the music critic cannot even put the text
beforehis readersas can the literarycritic. The
legitimate functionof musical quotation is, as

TIMES

97

I have indicated, for location purposes; one

refersthe reader to this or that passage of the
score as an example of the sortof thingon which
one bases this or that judgment. But to quote
long passages fromorchestralscores is patently
impracticable,and even if it were possible, the
impression the reader would get from looking
over the quotation wouldn't be the same as that
which he would get from hearing the work
performed.Music, unlikepainting,is an art that
unfoldsitselfin time; nor,whenyou are listening
to music,can you go back to pick up any thread
you inadvertentlylet slip, as you can when you
are readingpoetry. Moreover,no two performances of a given work will ever be exactly alike
(excepton the gramophone). The presenceof the
performer
(yetanotherelementwhosepsychology
has to be taken account of) introducescomplications that the studentof poetrydoesn't have to
contend with. It is true that the dramatic
critichas to face similardifficulties,
but dramatic
criticismis in almost as rudimentarya condition
as musical.
Criticsnowadays oftenmake a show of being
'objective,' and are so concerned to see every
possible aspect of the case that they forget,or
are unable, to have a point of view of theirown.
When we have toiled through their equable
impersonalpages we may have gained an iota
of playful esthetic cultivation,but we comprehend the music in question neithermore wisely
nor moredeeply. The cult of objectivityin music
criticism,admirable enough in theory,too often
amountsto a refusal-whichbecomesan inability
-to make first-handjudgments at all. The
importantthing,I would say, is forthe criticto
avoid being taken in by the bogus or pinchbeck;
to build up his own criterionof value, and to
establishhis responsesinto some soTtof ' organization ' which will give him a point of reference
when he comes to approach new and unfamiliar
works of art-a point of referencewhich thus
does not depend on the application of nonaestheticand a priori standards. The critic
should,of course,tryto make allowances forthe
waywardnessof his own psychologicalmake-up
and for accidents of circumstanceand environment, but nothing can excuse him from the
first-handeffortof honestyin his response. It is
the businessof the artistto respondat first-hand
to life,and unless he does so he will never begin
genuinely to create: it is the business of the
to the workof art,
criticto respondat first-hand
and unlesshe does so he willneverbegingenuinely
to criticize. Thus thereis even somethingto be
said (I believe) forthe musical journalist; forif
one can be a reallyhonestjournalist-this is very
difficult-onehas gone a long way towardsbeing
a good critic. Good journalistic reviewing,I
would say, consists in franklymaking moral
judgments which may serve as a basis for discussion : criticismconsists in the analysis and
expositionof these judgments.
For all its imperfectionsand inadequacies
music criticismis a serious calling in so far as it
is directedto the trainingof true musical sensibility,as opposed to the spurioussort which the
abstract nature of the art sometimes tends to
encourage in musical academies. Knowledge is,

This content downloaded from 132.229.187.104 on Tue, 26 Nov 2013 12:42:11 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

98

THE MUSICAL

one well knows, necessary enough, and to it

therecan be no shortcuts ; but knowledgeis not
synonymouswith education. No one can claim
to be' musically' educated who is not emotionally
educated as well; in the relativelyartificialand

TIMES

March 1941

non-creativesociety in which we are all obliged

to live, some sort of training of sensibility,of
critical discrimination,would seem to be as
indispensableto musical culture as to any other
civilized departmentof art or life today.

Of This and That

Jy

W. R. ANDERSON

a
name honoured
READER bearing family

wherever
churchmusicis knowndoes me

the kindnessto feedthat'insatiable appetite forwonders' to which some time ago I confessed. He tells me that he, who is inclined to
singsharp,seemsto make choirssingsharp,tooeven beforehe has taught them. For example,
as a member of a certain congregationhe had
realized that the choir sang flat; yet when he
took over the controlof the music,but beforehe
had taken any practice, the choir sang sharp,
as soon as he played the organ,'and thistendency
continuedduringmy tenure' (it should be added
that his wifehas checkedall this; she has a very
keen and exact ear, and indeed, calls him to
account forhis sharp singing). Second example :
she, singing some carols to his organ accompaniment (the firsttime she had done so) told him
that she 'had a great fightnot to sing sharp.'
They are convinced that it has nothing to do
with his registration. In fourteen years at
another church 'there was always the tendency
[for the choir] to sing sharp, which was not
presentwhen my deputyplayed. He has an idea
that thought-transference
is at work, 'but this
seems very far-fetched.' Can anyone fetch a
nearershot ?
Equally queer-sounding,but easier to understand, was the storyof the man whomMr. Agate
met, who got asthma every time he heard 'God
Save the King.' 'The poor fellowwas a great
lover of opera, and afterevery Wagnerian crisis
had to retireto the cloak-roomto inject adrenalin.'
(We might, in a fantastic, hopeful
homeopathy, try adrenalin on our Wagnerhaters? Or somethingelse beginningwith the
same letter.)
Anotherof Agate's stories,told him by Moiseiwitsch, is of table-rappingin a countryhouse.
The pianistwas not takingpart. The table rapped
out 'L-I-S-Z-T,' over and over again, arid on
different
nights,it would appear. One evening
it ran over to the piano, 'and began knockingin
the rhythmof the Polonaise in E, includingthe
trill.' No trickerywas observed. More marvels,
please!
'
One offewrecentbroadcast' firstperformances
was of Aaron Copland's 'Outdoor Overture.' I
am always glad to hear Americanmusic,though
much of the recentoutput suffersfromthe jazztouch. This little nine-minuteramble picks up
bits of cheerful tune and treats them, with
xylophone trimmings,with a sort of Russian
irresponsibility.The orchestrationsoundedbrittle, and I feltsomethingof French shrillnessin

the expressionof the ideas. All in all, a cheerful

bustle, and not much more.- ' First broadcast
performance'was markedagainstHarryFarjeon's
thirdViolinSonata (L. Hirsch and Joan Boulter),
twenty-oneminutesof springing,invitingmusic
with tunes of great verve and resource. In a
planned ramblethereweremany typicallyvaried
phrase-lengths,and extensions; no 'tough' harmony,but optimisticmusic in a spiritthat ruled
thirtyyears ago, and that I, for one, hope will
come again.Herbert Ferrers's'Kubla Khan'
was sung by Henry Cummings,with orchestra
(8 minutes). There was a ready responseto the
poet's imagery, in massive colour effectsand
obvious melodic leads; far from present frets,
this went back beyond Farjeon, into, say, the
'90's. But does such poetry,in presentperspective, demand setting?- Arthur Benjamin's
five-movement
Piano Suite (Irene Kohler) lasted
fifteenminutes. It was cut offafterthe 'Tambourin,' the interval-signalbeing reiterated. I
hung about, takingtime fromotherwork,to see
if the music would be resumed. It was, but one
movementhad vanished. An apology was given
at the end ; but could not an announcementhave
been made that it was hoped soon to resume ?
An 'Air' had modal strength-a sort of Puritan
grace. I thoughttherewas a littleFrench tinge,
in key-usage. We musthear the Suite again.Frank Merrickplayed, with tremendousspirit,
a Concerto of Field's, which seemed endless.
Gratefulas we are forwhat Field taught Chopin,
I am afraid a whole concerto was beyond the
former'spower of sustentation. There are pretty
pleasances, demureor sparkling,but such acres
of um-tiddly-um-tiddly-um.A pianist's Fieldday, indeed, but one listener'sprairie-aeon.
'La Traviata' (with cuts) seemed ratherhard
voiced; or was it the reproduction,nowadays so
tantalizing? The virtues of discipline were
strong,notablyin quick taking-up; but the effect
was a bit breathless. At any rate, we got
through that monotonous recit. all the better.
The hero was cut offforthe news,just as he had
begun ' Di Provenza.' (I have given up tryingto
account of these B.B.C. guillotinings; after all,
we get the B.B.C., good and bad, boons and bans,
Jekylland Hyde, that we deserve.)I should think
rehearsalwas verythorough.Reading Mapleson's
memoirs, I came across his statement (among
many queer tales) that all the years Patti toured
for him she had a clause freeingher from any
compulsion to attend a rehearsal, and that she
neverwent,whoeverelse was singingand however
complex an ensemblemightbe.Harry Isaacs
and York Bowen played to admiration on two

This content downloaded from 132.229.187.104 on Tue, 26 Nov 2013 12:42:11 PM

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions