MUSICAL COURIER
18
May 4, 19 22
“JAZZ”—THE NATIONAL ANTHEM (?)
BY FRANK PATTERSON
fully monotonous, and the public, even the most uncultured, would enjoy it more were this objectionable rhythmic feature omitted.
Other objections are, the borrowing of classical tunes, except when they are parodied and made humorous—the endless use of Foster tunes and other American folk songs in the form of meaningless medleys, and, finally, the fact that so much of this music consists of a “verse” entirely lacking in inspiration, tacked on to a good refrain, to which the composition owes its life. Most of the music is melodically commonplace, of course, but it is enlivened and beautified to an extraordinary degree by the arrangers, who are, one might almost say, the actual makers of it. They must, of course, have a tune, and a good one, on which to hang their arrangement. The public must have a tune it can catch and likes to whistle and sing at work and at play. But the tune, as it comes out of the mind of the composer, is generally nothing but a tune. The arrangers say that, mostly, composers who know nothing about music make the most successful popular melodies. They play piano a little, perhaps, but have no knowledge of how to write down what they play. More often still they are singers, like the minstrels of old, and their inventions must be taken down by the arrangers from dictation.
They are then made up into all sorts of forms. The piano arrangement issued for sale is very simple indeed, made to suit the capacities of the average American amateur. But the player piano arrangements, the orchestra arrangements, are highly complex, and could not be written except by a skilled musician with a thorough knowledge of counterpoint, at least practical counterpoint, and a no less thorough knowledge of what Lampe calls the “symphony dance orchestra,” a felicitous term. The arranger must make introductions, “vamps,” interludes, three or four arrangements of the melody to be used as desired, and a coda. In the comic opera or musical comedy the arranger has to write the overture, all of the entrances and exits, dramatic interludes, and so on. All he gets is a set of melodies. Out of this he makes the work. And it may be true that the success of the work depends upon the attractiveness of the tunes; but if it fails the arranger gets the blame, though he gets little enough of the credit if it succeeds.
Yet one must acknowledge that the arrangers have made the great American popular music of the day. To them is due the credit of having done away with the old combinations of instruments and having introduced into popular music the “wind” (wood and brass) effects that have become in recent years more and more pronounced in classical music. The problem of the arranger was not an easy one. First of all he had to contend with the fact that, in popular orchestras, all of the instruments are supposed to play all the time. There are no rests. Then again, he had only a few instruments—frequently only one violin. Furthermore, instruments capable of playing inner counterpoints, such as the clarinet and cello, were either not loud enough to be properly heard or unsuitable, too difficult, or not of the proper tone color.
The solution is the American popular orchestra as it now stands—two or three saxophones, generally tenor and alto, sometimes soprano and bass interchangeable, violin, piano, two trumpets (not cornets), tenor trombone, bass tuba, banjo and drums. Sometimes two horns are also used, and occasionally a bass clarinet, of which, however, the tone is too dull in comparison with the saxophones for dance purposes. Of course in larger orchestras the usual strings are used. There are also other instruments such as an ordinary funnel played with a trumpet mouthpiece, slide whistles, and all sorts of traps, xylophones, bells, which play sometimes melody, sometimes harmony. The effect, for instance, of a bass xylophone provided with resonators and played with four hammers, is exquisite. The player holds two hammers in each hand and plays harmony. It is an effect worthy to be introduced into the classic orchestra. Saxophones and muted brass instruments already have found their place in the classic orchestra which will undoubtedly be expanded in the direction of color as time goes on. In the American popular orchestra several kinds of mutes are used on the trumpet and trombone, the latest being the “kazoo” mute, which gives much the same effect as that obtained by the children when they put a piece of paper over a comb and sing through it. It fits perfectly into the color scheme of the orchestra as now constituted. It may be added that a debt of gratitude is due the arrangers for having gotten rid of the cornet, the trumpet now being in universal use (B flat trumpet, not F). Also the B flat clarinet is almost universally used at present, the A clarinet only rarely being needed, thanks to the skill of the players.
Also the solo orchestra has arisen, a thing utterly unknown and unheard of in the past. The solo orchestra is a special combination of instruments controlled by some expert and owing its color to his taste and management. Among the solo orchestras there is no standardized combination of instruments, each leader or arranger having his own ideas and expressing his own personality. And they will not play the ordinary arrangement. They, each individually, employ an arranger to do their work for them (or the leader does his own arrangement) and assure that particular effect that they desire and which soon becomes known to devotees as characteristic. These leaders only occasionally “jazz” a piece, although most of us would think that all they played was “jazz.” There is, however, a distinction, a real difference. Once or twice in an evening they “let themselves go,” putting all the humorous touches possible into the music. But most of the music is decorously played from the special arrangements made by special arrangers and the color of it, musically speaking, is highly interesting and effective.
(To be concluded in next •week’s issue.)
O’Brien Under Friedberg Management
Donnell O’Brien, tenor, is another addition to the list of artists being managed by Annie Friedberg. Mr. O’Brien was born in Ireland, but came to this country at an early age and has had his entire education here.
Althouse Sings in Boston
Paul Althouse, Metropolitan Opera tenor, sang “Elijah” in Boston on Easter Sunday afternoon, and two weeks ago he appeared in “King Olaf” with the Bridgeport. Conn., Oratorio Society and in Chicago with the Mendelssohn Club.
on deck, in the first and second_ cabin and steerage, and the ship of state, carrying this “National Anthem, is sailing the seven seas, and carrying Americanism to every end of the earth.
Is it Americanism? Well, that is a fine point of contention. There are those who say it is not, that it expresses nothing of the American character; that it is exotic, African. Oriental, what not. But if it were any of those things it would never have got a foothold in Europe. Europe has been living just across the Mediterranean from Africa for centuries, but did they ever hear of "jazz until America made it? They have been in close touch with the Orient since the beginning of time. Did they ever get any “jazz from it? No. They never got it at all until America took it to them. And then they received it with delight because of its vigorous rhythm, its fervid color, its (for them) exotic character.
The interesting part of it is that those who make “jazz” seem to feel that there is very little of it now in America. That sounds like a contradiction and needs some explanation. And, to begin with, one must ask: What is “jazz”? That is answered by the arrangers, who were called upon for information, by the term "ad libbing. In other words, real “jazz” consists of the players of the orchestra “making up” the parts as they go along. They also, very often, cut up capers and monkeyshines while playing. That is “jazz”—so say the arrangers—real “jazz” and there is very little of it anywhere in America at present. It has had its day, has left its influence, and passed. One arranger, indeed, said he had succeeded, once, in writing a piece that “sounded like ‘jazz,’” which is the same as saving that most of the arrangements do not sound like “jazz.”
The fact is that the “ad libbing” soon got tiresome because it was always so badly done. Scarcely any body of musicians could be found who could “keep apart, that is, play different parts. They found that, about half the time, they were drifting into the same part—sometimes all on the" melody, at other times all on the counterpoint. The necessity for some sort of an arrangement soon became evident, and the arrangers took the matter in hand and made what all the world now recognizes as refined “jazz,” or the offspring of “jazz.” For to say there is no “jazz” at present is hair-splitting, quarreling over terms, which mean one thing for one person and another for another.
For the sake of convenience let us call all music that is played by the modern “jazz” orchestra “jazz,” whether the players play the printed arrangement or “jazz” it. Then we will discover that out of the ugly, barbarous “jazz” of a few years ago a beautiful popular art has arisen, with reservations, of course.
The reservations might as well at this point be met and disposed of. They are manifold and regrettable. One of them is the unfortunate, stupid, silly, splitting of the tempo—that is to say. giving an accent to every eighth note of the rhythm. This is made all the more evident and nauseous by the fact that the players dance up and down, or, if sitting, dance their feet up and down, to this double rhythm. Many of the dancers also break the actual dance steps into pieces with this same absurd double rhythm.
This objection is, of course, made from a strictly musical point of view. And the objection becomes all the more forceful when one finds this double rhythm used in “jazzed” arrangements of classical compositions. For instance, one orchestra, consisting of three saxophones, violin, banjo, trumpet, trombone, piano and drums, plays an arrangement of the “Pilgrims’ Chorus.” The effect of the saxophones and muted trumpet and trombone, with the violin playing the well known counterpoint, is really excellent, but is spoilt by the drum, banjo and piano making a rhythm on every eighth note from the first to last. It becomes dread-
It was a clever thought, to dignify “jazz” with that high sounding title, and to make it the name and the subject of a play. It is a good play. Whether it proves anything or not may be a matter for debate, but it certainly makes one think and wonder. In it “jazz” is characterized as “poisonous, nerve-racking, shattering, the din and clatter, the tomtom music—no rhythm, no melody—just sex and bedlam.” And upon the strength of the misinformation contained in that phrase an article is to be written—with authority.
The authority is “he who makes the ‘jazz,’ ” or, one might say “He who gets slapped,” for, like the well meaning clown in the play, the “jazz makers” are getting slapped right and left. Not that it troubles them much. Why should it? They have clear consciences, they know that "jazz” is just fun and foolishness, and they know that, musically, much of it is of a high order; that is to say, contrapuntal and colorful, as music of the older order and generation was not.
Who, for instance, can compare the splendid orchestrations of the popular orchestra of today with the orchestrations of only a few years ago and not be aware of the vast improvement? The old. colorless, piano-violin-clarinet-comet aggregation, all playing the melody with scarcely ever a note of either “obligato” or counterpoint, has gone by the board, while “jazz.” or what people call “jazz,” is
BETTY TILLOTSON
Takes pleasure in announcing the sole and exclusive management of Daisy Krey, the young American contralto, for the season of 1922-23.
DAISY KREY
Miss Krey has one of those contralto voices of which one is quite sure that it will never sing off the key. Her high notes are clear and open and she sings with a welcome simplicity and absence of effort.—Katherine Lane Spaeth, New York Evening Mail.
Now booking, for next season. Engaged, for joint recitals and oratorios with Judson House, Marion Armstrong and Fred Patton.
The Betty Tillotson Concert Bureau
180 Madison Ave., New York City
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Datili anò Clara (Danne?,Directors
SEASON OF 1922-1923
ALFRED CORTOT
COURSE IN INTERPRETATION
Applicants who are not members of the school may enroll as listeners only
MLLE. BERTHE BERT
Assistant to M. Cortot, will teach exclusively at the school
Applications received now
157 East 74th Street
Telephone, Rhinelander 0010