March 2, 1922
MUSICAL COURIER
10
dire necessity of the hall directors to pay expenses. It is to be hoped that the Kensington protest will not rupture the friendly relations between Britain and France. Perhaps if the British Government disavows the rash act of the Kensingtonians, war may be averted.
But as I was saying about Richard Strauss, the audience gave the distinguished visitor many hearty cheers and much hand clapping, which resounded from afar like the roll of breaking billows on the pebbled shore. As a conductor, however, Richard Strauss on this occasion did not shine as brilliantly in his own works as he has shone in former visits to London as a conductor of Beethoven and Mozart. Perhaps the great hollow spaces of the hall so swallowed up the volume of the orchestra’s tone that the conductor felt it was useless to demand more from the instruments.
The heartiest applause of the evening followed Ethel Frank’s singing of several songs by Richard Strauss. No doubt some of the applause was intended for the composer, but no one can deny that the charming, artistic, fresh voiced American soprano made a splendid impression on the huge though scattered audience. Two or three of the songs, with orchestral accompaniment conducted by the composer, had to be repeated. The three symphonic poems on the program were: “Don Juan,” “Til Eulenspiegel,” “Tod und Verk-larung.” Several of my friends have told me that they stayed away from the concert because they knew the orchestra would be lost in the Albert Hall. Unquestionably, two concerts in Queen’s Hall would have better satisfied both composer and public.
An American Soprano.
On Wednesday evening, January 18, an English woman who has spent many years in the United States and was announced as an American soprano, Florence Parbury, gave a vocal recital in Queen’s Hall, which was very well filled— fuller, in fact, than the box office’s receipts might indicate. Florence Parbury’s most valuable assets are an attractive appearance and an undeniable ability to hold the attention of the public. Her interpretations of the various songs on the program, however, were often considerably at variance with accepted traditions and common usage. So long as Florence Parbury remains an enthusiastic amateur who gives expensive recitals as a musical pastime, no one is likely to find fault with her. But the young professional singers who allow themselves the luxuriant commingling of styles favored by Florence Parbury will not make friends of the music critics, to say the least.
Pilgrimage to Manchester.
On Saturday, January 21, I decided to visit Manchester, for the double purpose of hearing Toscha Seidel and letting Richard Strauss know that I knew his works were heard at a great disadvantage in the Albert Hall. Railway journeys are short in England. By S o’clock in the afternoon I was in Manchester, having passed through John Bunyan’s Bedford, Herbert Spenser’s Derby, Bacon’s St. Albans, near Dr. Johnson’s Lichfield, and the Staffordshire potteries of the famous Josiah Wedgewood. Across the aisle of the dining car I saw two ladies engaged in the highly instructive and edifying occupation of reading and discussing the Musical Courier. They proved to be pianist Katharine
(Continued on page 54)
STRAUSS HEADS A POLYGLOT AND
FESTIVE BOARD IN MANCHESTER
Recitals More Numerous Now That Holiday Festivities Are Done Away with—Seidel Scores Brilliant Success with Orchestra—Strauss Conducts—Florence Parbury, American Soprano, Pleases in Recital—Pilgrimage
to Manchester—Modest R. S.
as the actor is who can rise to the dramatic heights of Shakespeare’s “King Lear.” But how much more dreary is the Brahms concerto to sound when it is played by ill equipped violinists, who can neither interpret it intelligently nor play the double stopping in tune!
When I went into the artists’ room after the concert to throw my modest bunch of complimentary violets at the young vanquisher, I found my little praise entirely superfluous, for Richard Strauss was shaking Toscha Seidel’s hand most vigorously and complimenting the violinist to the full extent of his English vocabulary. Then he continued his pean of praise in French, to which Seidel replied in German, evidently to the relief of the famous composer, who thereupon said what he had to say in the language he had diffidently refrained from using. Dr. Strauss subsequently discovered that, although the Britishers strenuously objected to German speaking conquerors, they paid not the slightest attention to the speech of visitors of genius.
Sir Henry Wood told me at the same time that he had never heard a finer performance of the Brahms concerto. And Toscha Seidel afterward told me that it would be impossible to have a finer accompanist than Sir Henry Wood in the orchestral part of the work. I am of the same opinion. No soloist ever gets at sixes and sevens with the orchestra when Sir Henry wields the stick.
Strauss Conducts.
On Tuesday evening, January 17, Dr. Richard Strauss gave an orchestral concert in the Royal Albert Hall. Probably he had no choice in the matter, for he told me later that the hall was far too big for an orchestra and that he was not happy in it. There were several thousand men and women and music critics in the vast hall, however—more than could have been jammed by hydraulic pressure into any other two halls of London. Yet the great arena looked distressingly empty. A week earlier the hall had been the scene of a beautiful encounter between those two apostles of high art—Georges Carpentier and George Cook. A British subject had been battered limp by the delicate science of an ally—a native of the sunny land of France, where the brutalizing tendency of modern German music was so mercilessly exposed by many pens not long ago. Perhaps it was just as well that good Queen Victoria should have gone to her long home before brutal music by the greatest living composer was played within the walls of the royal hall she had caused to be raised to the memory of her dear, dead, German husband, Prince Albert. The inhabitants of aristocratic Kensington, however, are of a different opinion. They protest, strangely enough, against the use of the Albert Hall for prize fights, notwithstanding the exquisite beauty of the French art and the
London, January 26, 1922.—London is slowly getting back into the concert swing again after the stagnation of Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, but most of the concerts have been too unimportant for transatlantic notice.
Sarah Fischer’s vocal recital on January 11, however, calls for attention, first, because the young lady herself is artistic, and secondly, because she drew a very large audience and packed Wigmore Hall to the doors. A large audience is such an unusual sight in these hard times that I cannot refrain from mentioning Sarah Fischer’s feat. _ I must also mention her voice. It is musical throughout its entire range and is evidently thoroughly under the singer’s control. Sarah Fischer very wisely refrains from forcing her voice in the vain attempt to make it big and dramatic. So many young singers are only too ready to sacrifice beauty for size, that a word of praise is due to the singer who respects the natural size and beauty of the tone. Her program included songs with Italian, French, German, and English words, and in all styles of music from Pergolese to Stravinsky. Many of the songs had to be repeated, and, wonderful to relate, the young artist had a gift of real humor, and made five parodies by Herbert Hughes very amusing. Those who like to take their pleasures sadly had the opportunity in three German songs by Brahms and one by Wolf. Perhaps she felt most at home in her French group, for she was born in Paris and brought up in the semi-French city of Montreal, which she now calls her
Seidel with Orchestra.
home.
On Saturday afternoon, January 14, Queen’s Hall was fairly well filled by the lovers of serious _ music. The symphony was by Brahms, in F, a work which has never yet been called sensational, although the sensation of extreme weariness is often experienced when an uninspired conductor plods through its full measured length. No symphony stands more in need of a great conductor’s magnetic personality. Sir Henry Wood, in his younger days, gave very little attention to Brahms. Of late, however, he has made amends, not merely by performing the symphonies, but also by seeking out and revealing the greatness of them. His rendering of the symphony in F was admirable.
The great success of the afternoon, nevertheless, was the Brahms violin concerto with Toscha Seidel as the soloist. He was recalled times without number, and the chorus of praise in all the. newspapers was extraordinarily in unison. The verdict of the jury on this occasion was absolutely unanimous. When I recall the dreary hours I have spent in years gone by waiting for the interminable Brahms violin concerto to finish, I can hardly yet believe that the young Russian made every note of the ponderous German work delightful. He proved himself to be as great an interpreter
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