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M U SIC AL COURIER
May 18, 1922
VARIETY OF “UNOFFICIAL” CONCERTS
CONTINUE TO DRAW BERLIN CROWDS
New Alfven Symphony an Interesting Experiment—Some Remarkable Pianists—Nicolai Medtner Appears for the First
Time Outside Russia—A Russian Yvette Guilbert
asked to return, and last night again, at the end of a very long program in which some half a dozen numbers had to be repeated, there were the usual shouts of “Come back!”
They sang, as usual, old English madrigals and motets in four five and six parts from the famous collection of Dr. E H. Fellowes, of Oxford, but also some remarkable folk song settings by Vaughan Williams, of which one, “As I Walked Out One Morning,” is the most remarkable example of the use of the human voice as impressionistic color material that we know of. Never has a matinal fog been more aptly painted in music. The ensemble departed from its usual a capella manner only in some charming accompanied duets by Purcell, sung with exquisite taste by Flora Mann and Lillian Berger. Thomas Morley’s “Now Is the Month of Maying,” as usual, brought down the house.
The purity of these people’s intonation, the beauty and clarity of their diction, their phrasing and general musical style, and especially their wonderful art of balancing the individual voices against each other with constant variety of nuance and color constitutes a unique phenomenon of culture, unsurpassed—if indeed equalled—at the present time. Their performance has the nonchalance of an impromptu pastime, sitting as they do about a long table with their song books before them, conducted only by an occasional nod or look of the basso, Cuthbert Kelly, who seems to be the elder of the clan. The baritone, by the way, is the admirable Don Giovanni whom we recently heard at the “Old Vic.” He further attested his all-round musician-ship by the excellent piano accompaniments which he furnished for the Purcell duets.,
Ernest Whitfield, mentioned above, is an unpretentious and sincere artist whose accomplishment might do honor to many another not similarly afflicted as he. His championship of modern English music is, in the circumstances, positively touching. At his Berlin concert he introduced Frederick Delius’ violin concerto in D, op. 77, which has the accustomed elements of beauty and loftiness that are characteristic of its composer’s work. It manages to be effective with an almost total abstention from the brilliant virtuoso qualities which usually commend concertos to their players. Whitfield gave further tests of his musicianship in concertos by Mozart and Brahms.
Introducing Nicolai Medtner.
There remains to be recorded an event of real artistic significance, namely, the first appearance in Berlin, and indeed the western world, of Nicolai Medtner, the Russian composer and pianist. Whether this remarkable personality will eventually figure in music as a creative or an executive artist will perhaps be decided only by posterity. One of the two is certain, however, for besides being a composer with absolute command over his medium and a sincere and uncompromising exponent of a definite ideal, he is possessed of such astonishing and unusual interpretative powers as to arouse the admiration or envy of every honest pianist, alive. There is in his playing, nothing pretentious, nothing “flashy” nor intentionally brilliant whatever. Yet he masters the most tremendous difficulties in which his own music abounds with utter ease, and without ever compromising for the slightest moment the effects of his exquisite touch. Rarely if ever have we heard a more consistently beautiful tone upon the piano; it must have been thus with Chopin, except that Medtner has resources of power which he by no means exhausts.
His music—written mostly for the piano—is a curiously well amalgamated compound of Schumann-Brahms romanticism and Chopinesque poetry with Russian phraseology, animated by a keen native sense for the keyboard, such as perhaps no composer since Chopin has had. It all sounds as natural and appropriate as a pianist’s improvisation, but it has the masterful harmonic and formal construction (Continued״on page 14)
of thirty-four and of flattering reputation. Whether he is the man Munich needs and must have is yet to be proven.
Hausegger Threatens to Leave, Too.
A crisis is also threatening the Munich Konzertverein; Sigmund Hausegger intends to lay down his conductorship and that would mean another very serious loss to Munich’s musical life, for Hausegger has proven himself the right man in the right place. Owing to his unceasing efforts and to his really fascinating personality as an artist and conductor, the orchestra of the Konzertverein has reached a high standard of excellence; the subscription concerts are crowded to the doors, and Hausegger, the leading spirit, is by public and press acclaimed as the successful reorganizer of this badly shaken institution. Now he means to go, and for reasons that, hardly seem credible: the board of directors refuses to grant the sums necessary for the acquisition of modern orchestral scores and parts which Hausegger, who is a large minded pioneer of modern works, wishes to set on his programs. It is true, the Konzertverein is in sore financial straits—since the newly rich have but little interest for music and other serious artistic exploitations—but on the other hand it is also true that, if Hausegger goes, a large number of the present subscribers will subsequently drop off. And that, I fear, means the end of the Konzertverein, since the subsidy granted by the ci y is too small to keep up such an expensive apparatus. However, the last word is not yet spoken in this matter and 1׳ may be that the board of directors will finally have to yield to public opinion. The clamorous demonstrations on the mcasion of the last concert, in which Hausegger gave a masterful reading of Brahms’ first symphony, cleaily showed which way public opinion tends in the matter.
A Long Winded Ballet.
The latest novelty of the opera was a mimo-drama called “Arambel,” by the Swiss composer, Pierre Mourice; the action is by the dancer, Ingeborg Ruvina, and tells at ponderous length the story of the shepherd youth Arambel and (Continued on page 14), .
Brilliance is the outstanding quality of his playing, with a brilliant, glowing tone as its basic asset. This conquistador of the piano rides with assurance atop the waving billows of the Lisztian muse. His “Mephisto Waltz” was masterful indeed, with the suggested wizardry of Lenau’s demon, and an actual wizardry of his own. Beautiful, for the most part, were the Chopin etudes. Iturbi, too, took the Paganini variations as his trial of strength, but this we were obliged to miss.
Eleanor Spencer Substitutes for Max Rosen.
That the American element is becoming a real factor in Berlin’s concert industry was demonstrated at an orchestral concert conducted by the Polish conductor, Adam Dolzycki, in the Bluthner Saal. Max Rosen had been announced as the soloist, but was prevented from playing by a slight injury to his arm. At the last moment another American jumped into the breach, namely Eleanor Spencer, who played the Liszt E flat major concerto without preparation, but with an assurance and dash that belied the hastiness of the arrangements This was Miss Spencer’s third appearance with orchestra in Berlin this season, and since they have all been remarkably successful her forthcoming recital is looked forward to with genuine interest.
Graveure's Debut Successful.
Great interest, too, attaches to the personality of Louis Graveure, whose first appearance in Berlin the other evening registered an almost sensational success, and certainly provided a surprise for that part of Berlin’s critical fraternity which thinks that no good can come out of the West. Male voices of the quality of Graveure’s are very, very rare hereabouts; vocal culture, in the specific sense of song-interpretation combined with genuine singing in the bel canto manner, is almost non-existent at present. When Graveure, therefore, made his initial test in groups of Schubert, Schumann and Brahms (on all of whom the Germans are supposed to have a patent) it was a valuable contribution to that revision of values which we have advocated of late. Especially successful was his singing of Strauss’ “Geduld” and Erich Wolff’s boisterous “Trinklied,” in the most boisterous moments of which he never forgot his leading ideal, which is beauty of tone.
Young American Pianist Plays.
Another American, Ruth Klug, pianist, made her initial Berlin appearance with the Philharmonic Orchestra. She chose the Mozart D minor and the Chopin E minor concertos. While she seemed rather uneasy in the first (which was perhaps partly due to the conductor, Meyrowitz, pulling back the tempi now and again), the rondo was charmingly rendered. The young pianist was at her best in the quieter passages, where her nice singing tone showed to advantage. The Chopin concerto was well played on the whole and finished up with a good deal of sprightliness. Altogether she proved herself to be a pianist of merit and we look forward to her own recital next week.
English Music Becoming a Constant Factor.
England’s contribution to German musical life is becoming a constant factor, too. Two English items this week were the appearance of Ernest Whitfield, the blind violinist, in an orchestral concert under Gustav Brecher, and the repetition of the tremendously successful concert of the English Singers. The Singers have, in the interim, captured the hearts of Vienna and Pressburg and repeated their initial success in Prague. Wherever they appear they are
Munich, April 16.—Our opera is passing through a crisis. The director, Bruno Walter, has, as I have already reported, handed in his resignation, which has been accepted after long negotiations. There was a possibility of holding Walter if the leave of absence asked for (six months during the next season and three and a half months in each following year) had been granted to him. The State Department and the “Intendanz,” however, were of the opinion that our opera could not be left without its leading spirit for such a long time, and so it came about that, in spite of all earnest efforts and arguments promulgated by both parties, negotiations ended in Walter’s final resignation.
His going means a serious loss to our opera, for Walter proved himself not only an eminent conductor, but also an organizer of rare foresight and ability. He was a man who knew and appreciated the value of orchestral, choral and other discipline, and owing to his persuasive and winning personality he succeeded, especially during the revolution, in avoiding many a crisis and in surmounting obstacles and difficulties which otherwise might have proven fatal to the institute. Walter will not leave immediately, but at the end of the festival season. Efforts are now being made to win him for a number of performances during the year as “guest conductor.”
Who Will Succeed?
Of Walter’s successor nothing definite is known as yet; for a time Dr. Muck was the favorite candidate, and he had, indeed, the greatest chance. But in the meantime Muck has, together with Eugen Papst, one of the most gifted and promising of the younger German conductors, been elected director of the Philharmonic Society in Hamburg, and since “unemployed” opera directors of international repute are at present as rare as a German goldpiece, it has been decided to make a trial with younger conductors of at least national fame. The candidate now in favor is Dr. Wilhelm Knappertsbusch, hitherto Generalmusikdi-rector of the opera in Dessau, which completely burned down a few months ago. Knappertsbusch is a young artist
Berlin, April 13.—At last, barely three days before Easter, the German weather man, who has apparently been more interested in proving the Einstein theory than giving service to the public, has softened his heart and produced something approaching the atmosphere of Spring. Until Maundy Thursday people have been going about in ulsters, shivering and disturbing their fellow sufferers in concert halls with their coughs (It has always been a mystery to me why people with colds will insist on trotting them about in draughty concert halls). Now, however, another malady, namely, Spring fever, is keeping them at home.
Until very recently, then, concerts—even if not of the “official” variety—have been fairly well patronized, considering the season of the year and the inevitable fatigue of audiences and artists. The “official” concerts, such as the Philharmonic and Staatskapelle series, have been disposed of for the season. Semi-official ones, like the “Fried Cycle” are nearing their end. The last of the Fried concerts aroused a degree of special interest by its unusual program. Contrary to Berlin custom, Fried permitted a young and hitherto unknown Italian composer, Gastone Usigli, to conduct his own work, entitled “II Canto dell’ Isonzo,” thus setting a precedent which may be fruitful in many ways, and pointing the way for conductors to sidestep reproaches bound to arise through the insufficiency of rehearsal—the chronic malady of Berlin’s orchestral activity.
“The Song of the Isonzo”
Lack of rehearsal was the trouble with the “Song of the Isonzo” too, though even the inadequate performance revealed a musician of marked ability in the harmonic and formal handling of his material, and sufficient personality to amalgamate eclectic influences with a certain degree of originality. A striking faculty for the realization of sound values in the orchestra suggested an intelligent study of Liszt and Mahler, but also was a rare and laudable renunciation of the impressionistic lure. There was no traceable patriotism nor any obvious use of local color in the work. Usigli was a pupil of Alfano in Bologna and resides in Venice. Oscar Fried preceded the work with an emotional reading of Schömberg’s “Verklärte Nacht” in the orchestral version (which sounds more like “Tristan” than ever), and followed it with a rather bombastic performance of Berlioz’ “Roman Carnival,” which got the loudest applause by far.
The Human Voice as an Orchestral Instrument.
An orchestral concert of the free-lance variety that aroused more than ordinary attention was that of Nils Grevillius, the young conductor of the Stockholm opera. The center of interest here was the fourth symphony of Hugo Alfvén (C minor), in which a not altogether unsuccessful attempt is made to introduce the human voice as an instrument—an instrument which emits sounds without an underlying text. The qualities of the two voices—a tenor and a soprano—in their contrast with the instruments constitute a fascinating element of color. But their somewhat too “solistic” treatment induced by the rather primitive “program” of the work finally disturbs the balance by absorbing most of the listener’s attention. It is a problem that still awaits its final solution.
As for the composition itself, it is strongly influenced by Wagner, not only in its color, but in the application of the dramatic form, with the use of the leit-motif, to the symphony. Though it is played without interruption there is discernible the contour of four movements or “acts” which trace the story of some primeval couple finding one another and uniting in love, with all the emotional strain and relaxation induced by the erotic experience. There are moments of great beauty and fascinating combinations of sound, but the all-too-literal following of the program renders it purile at times.
Young Grevillius exhibited a remarkable mastery of the orchestra in the conducting of this work, and gave evidence of esprit and verve in the reading of “Till Eulenspiegel” which followed. That he is predestined for his profession by his natural gifts is evident in every motion he makes. .His success was. great and well deserved. It was shared in large measure by the soloist, Alexander Borowsky, who played the Beethoven concerto with dazzling virtuosity and in accordance with a structural conception altogether magnificent.
Borowsky’s Growing Fame.
The same qualities were evident in the Russian pianist’s fourth recital, which culminated in an astoundingly clear, colorful and varied performance of the Brahms-Paganini variations. Here his almost uncanny velocity, which has that “pearly” quality associated with the very greatest technicians of the piano, his dynamic and coloristic powers, and his exemplary pedalling were exhibited in their fullest. Two months ago Borowsky, though famous in Russia, was entirely unknown in Berlin; today he is already counted among the celebrities.
The Paganini variations seem to enjoy a special sort of popularity among first-rate pianists just now—probably because of their great difficulty, which keeps minor competitors out of the running. Carl Friedberg, known as a master on two continents, also put them on the program of his only Berlin recital this season, as the climax of an interesting group of Brahms. Friedberg’s subtle interpretation of this monumental series, in contrast to Borowsky, showed a remarkable reticence in the earlier numbers, working up gradually to a terrific climax at the end. It would be difficult to say which of the two versions was more interesting; they both fascinated not only as exhibitions of _ keyboard sovereignty, but also as experiments in dynamic design. Friedberg’s vision moreover, is that of a poet delighting in the delicately romantic aspects of his texts. His recitals here, all too rare, are feasts of art.
A Pianistic Conquistador.
And, while we are on the subject of pianists, let me signalize the first appearance in these regions of yet another wonderful technician, José Iturbi, of Spanish blood, resident in Geneva as professor of the pianistic master class.
MUNICH’S MUSICAL LIFE THREATENED
BY DEPARTURE OF WALTER
Hausegger, Too, Wants'; to Resign—A Ballet Failure—A New Lieder Singer—Elman and Szigeti Play