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May 25, 19 22
MUSICAL COURIER
THE TREND OF MODERN MUSIC
(Presented at the Forty-third Annual Meeting of the Music Teachers’ National Association, Detroit, 1921)
By Leo Ornstein
that Scriabin had, is not to be denied. His greatest virtue is his rhythmic invention. He, of course, more than anyone else, is a complete expression of his age. There are moments in his work when one feels as if the very stone buildings had in some way loosened themselves from the ground, and begun a sort of savage dance. Stravinsky as a temperament is continually in action. While Scriabin is the more contemplative type, Stravinsky is continually in a sort of flux of restless activity.
I do feel, after all, that Stravinsky has limited himself in music to what I should call the “tableau,” where you see one picture after another; and while these successive pictures are in a way an outcome of each other, they are not really outgrowths as they should be. The sense of movement is the supreme thing in Stravinsky, the moving spirit in his work. It is high time for him to cease producing mere dance music. He has probably written the most magnificent dance music since the Bach suites, but he ought not to limit himself to writing mere ballets. He ought to commence writing music in the abstract, music that is its own end, and does not depend on any accompanying choreography. He ought to be doing composition in which the sound is the end in itself, where the sound exists for its own sake, and not for its descriptive and illustrative value. It is to be hoped that Stravinsky may tire of being so eternally clever, and go deeply into himself. He has become too absorbed in the sparkling peasant colors. It may be, of course, that that is his medium, that what he can do best is to give just the flaming colors and violent movements, but it seems as if there were really more in him, and that, were he only to sacrifice a little of his brilliance, perhaps even of his passion, and turn more into himself, a very great musician might well appear.
Schoenberg, for his part, is a modernist with all the instincts of a Brahmsite. He is a modernist in outward form, but within he is a thorough born Brahmsite. One need only inspect the three piano pieces, op. 11, to see under what complete dominance not only emotionally, but to a certain extent even technically, he is under the influence of the German master. Schoenberg is an intellec-tualist first and foremost, an intellectualist of the keenest water. One feels from internal evidence that with him, at least, theory always precedes rather than follows composition. One feels always that he has had an intellectual concept, which he attempts to translate backward into an emotional experience, rather than vice versa. Schoenberg’s province is rather that of the quartet, op. 7, than of the piano or the five orchestral pieces. He feels the post-Wagnerian idiom much more livingly than he does the idiom which he has created for himself in his later works. The most extraordinary thing about Schoenberg is, of course, his form. His sense of form, even in the five orchestral pieces, is extremely interesting.
Of contemporary composers, probably one of the most significant is Ernest Bloch, at present, as you probably all know, a resident of Cleveland. While of course his mode naturally becomes limited through his constant application of the Hebraic motive, within his own limits his style is naturally almost perfect, as magnificent as that of Scriabin.
There has recently appeared both in Italy and in England, a set of young composers, neither of which has yet shown anything of marked significance, or of real inspiration. All these composers, both British and Italian, are inordinately clever. They are all able to get motives. But they none of them get themes, and out of these themes develop their compositions. They remain at the motive stage. They all seem to be absorbed in the whirl of cleverness which spreads all over the globe, and to remain there. While certain things of theirs are quite charming, like the “Films” of Casella and the “Poemi Asolani” of Malipiero, they are all extraordinarily short of breath, and do not have, so it seems, the power of sustaining. Of the younger men in England, Goossens appears to have the most talent. At least, his piano compositions sound, which is already something. Of course, Casella, for instance, is an excellent musician, who may eventually evolve for himself a personal expression; but, for the present, he is enmeshed in the mannerisms of all the stronger men who surround him. The placard which ought to be hung in the room of every composer nowadays is “Let us cease to be clever and begin making music.”
expressive. In this, Gerhardt’s most recent work, there are plenty of ideas, and the technic, without falling into certain exaggerated ultra-modernisms, is that of a finished work, entirely worthy of a mature artist. The composition as a whole is notable both for its originality and absolute sincerity.
The Classics Win.
The famous Rosé Quartet, of Vienna, which had been previously heard in Barcelona, has given two concerts with its usual success. Owing to the addition to their number of the pianist, Alfred Rosé, a son of the founder, the quartet is now able to transform itself into a quintet at will. Moreover, the place of the cellist, Frederick Buxbaum. has been taken by Anton Walter. In spite of these changes, the Rosé combination retains its unique qualities of precision, color and purity of tone. Consequently every work played was a triumph for its interpreters.
Orfeo Sings “St. Matthew Passion.”
With the same solemnity as last year, the Orfeo Catala has given two complete performances of Bach’s magnificent “St. Matthew Passion,” causing such enthusiasm that all the Catalan choral societies and other musical organizations intend to contribute to a testimonial which is to be given to the director of the “Orfeo,” Señor Millet. The “Amigos de la Musica,” with the help of the cellist Aurelia Sancristofol, the violinist Eduardo Toldra, and the pianist Bias Net, are giving a complete series, in chronological order, of Beethoven’s ten sonatas for violin and the five for cello. The en-(Continued on page 51)
bin, I scarcely believe he was at all conscious of the fact anyone else was enterting the regions into which he, in his later works, was penetrating.
I will here again repeat that it was only after the first of the radical compositions of these composers had been written that any theory covering their work was developed. Then it was only that Scriabin, for instance, developed the theory that he was building up his compositions, not on the triad, but on fourths—the fourths in which the overtones sound when a note is struck upon the piano. For this reason, his scale has been dubbed by Dr. Eaglefield Hull, the English aesthetician, as “nature’s scale.”
Ultra Modern Composers.
We do not claim that the ultra-modern composers are necessarily great composers. It is possible that they are. It is also possible that they will not figure very largely in the history of music. That is for the future to say. As a matter of fact, I do not for an instant think that any musical period that has occurred since the time of Bach has surpassed that of the great cantor of Leipsic. But it is necessary that every period, great or small, express itself. If it did not, the process of evolution would merely be retarded for a generation or a century. The time that took up the development of music would then have to go through processes that should have been transcended long since. I am very glad to say that it is not in our power to cease from expressing ourselves, and that every age, great, or like our own, patently a period of transition, has to give itself for what it is worth. The individual men whom I am going to discuss briefly are, therefore, interesting to us, not for the reason that they are great composers or not, but for the reason that they have expressed their day. They are, therefore, bridges to any future evolution in the art of music that life has in store for the human race.
Undoubtedly the three most interesting personalities in the contemporary period are Scriabin, Stravinsky and Schoenberg. Now, although from a superficial and merely theoretical point of view there appears to be a great similarity between them, intrinsically, there is as great a dissimilarity between their styles as there is between that of any composers. Scriabin, to begin with, was undoubtedly the most sensitive of all three, and probably the most inspired. Out of a volume of sound he appeared to be able to pick always the most essential notes, the notes that were absolutely necessary to the form of the piece that he was writing, and that could not be replaced by any others. That he is one of the great masters of form is undeniable. Careful analysis of some of the shorter pieces, among the longer, of the ninth sonata, exhibit a comprehension of development of material which almost verges on the uncanny. Take the sonata, for instance: Beginning with the first and second subjects, the entire composition is a constant and uninterrupted growth. The work has a dimensional quality of its own. In it is a restless evolution of ideas out of those already stated, which does not cease until the coda has beep reached. While there is a certain aristocratic aloofness in Scriabin, it is not really coldness. What produces this apparent reticence is the fact that he uses so few lines, is so sparse in the quantity of sound which he employs. Scriabin is undoubtedly the great romanticist of the ultra-modern school. His "delicacy comes from the fact that he transcended his grief, so that it no longer became a matter of sobs and moans and tearing of hair, but became something beautiful in its purity and calm. It is grief that we feel in his work, but it is grief under the greatest control, where it almost reached the strangulation point.
You will, of course, understand that these remarks about Scriabin refer entirely to his compositions for piano. The piano was undoubtedly his natural mode of expression. There was a certain unfolding in his compositions which only the pedal could make possible. His orchestral works, though showing much talent, are far less characteristic of the man. There are certain significant moments in Prometheus, of course, but it will be through his piano works that his influence will be felt.
S.ravins-ky. however, is the very opposite from Scriabin. Whereas Scriabin uses just a few notes to create a certain effect. Stravinsky immediately employs tremendous bodies of volume. That he has not the sense of continuity
Barcelona, April 20.—Serge Koussevitzky, who was so successful in conducting “Boris Godounoff” and “Snegou-rotchka” in our opera season, has recently conducted a series of four symphonic concerts in the Teatro Liceo, for which he has drawn mainly on the works of the German composers—Bach, Haydn, Beethoven, Weber, Wagner and Strauss —and, of course, the Russians, from Moussorgsky to Stravinsky and Scriabin. The French school was represented by Debussy and Ravel, and the Spanish by Albeniz and Nicolau. It was. in fact, as though the organizer of the programs had deliberately chosen works representative of the most diverse schools and tendencies, ancient and modern. classic and romantic, in order to test the conductor’s art.
Koussevitzky proved himself to be an easy and persuasive leader, producing interpretations which were full of color, tinged warmly with his own sympathetic personality. He received enthusiastic ovations, and his farewells were in the nature of an “au revoir,” for Koussevitzky, in addition to his exceptional artistic qualities, possesses the gifts of sympathy and understanding.
A New Composer.
Robert Gerhardt is one of our youngest and most remarkable composers, but his modesty, and the fact that he is far away from the musico-political circles, prevent his work— already very important—from being valued as it should be. Some lieder, sonatas for piano and a trio for string instruments, constituted until now his most important productions. But last night our “Amigos de la Musica” introduced to us his new trio, which is even more personal and
It is scarcely necessary to remind you that the human race is continually acquiring new ears. We not only hear differently than did the people of a hundred years ago but we hear differently than did the people of the generation that preceded our own. It is not even by ten-year cycles that this change in the power of hearing is taking place. The entire modern world is accelerated. Generations are produced, in America particularly, not every fifteen years, but every five, or even four. Our ears are evolving in subtlety with a much greater speed than did the ears of the people at the time of Bach, or even Beethoven. What once took several generations to accomplish is now done in a few years. It is not only the natural tendency to refine our senses that has produced this acceleration, but the mere mechanical facilities of modern life have conduced to this speeding-up process. In olden days, when printing and channels of circulation were not as developed as they are today, composers were not as immediately in contact with one another, jy man might write an important work and those of his contemporaries who were in a position to best benefit by his experimentation would not hear of it for years to come. Because of the general condition of life, it was not as possible for an era to crystallize as quickly into a single expression; for composers to exhaust the possibilities of certain sets of sensations. But today we live in a world of high-power machinery. We have a new body—the immense arm and legs and mouths created for us by inventions and technical perfections. As a result of this, we live much more on each others' doorsteps. We live more in contact with each other. What happens in Bombay on one day can be made known the next to the entire world. We have gotten a new set of nerves. We are, in certain respects, more sensitive, more vibrant. In consequence, the ear is becoming able to distinguish between more and more subtle harmonic differences, to sense harmonious relationships between what at another time appeared to be completely unrelated and unrelatable tones, to accept as self-understood certain logical processes which in other ages it was necessary to fully state.
I will not dwell upon this matter in any lengthy terms. You all know well that this process has been going on since the time of the origin of music; that each generation of composers has automatically transgressed certain limitations which in the previous era did not interfere with the complete self-registration of composers. It has now become rather tiresome to repeat the story of the minor thirds of Bach’s days which shocked the worthies of music; of the well known instance in which Beethoven floored his contemporaries by commencing the sonata in E flat major with the two-seven chord; of what seemed the sudden changes of Wagner that so infuriated the terrible Dr. Hanslick, of Vienna; of the consecutive fifths of Debussy, and the absence of the transitional process in Strauss’ changes from one key to another.
I will now go on to discuss the question of how this transgression of the limitation within which the composers of the last generation worked has taken place in our own time. No generation can fully express itself through the convention of an earlier age. Inevitably a composer is driven to new modes of self-registration. For the new sort of life that is in each generation and that is forcing itself outward in each sincere artist does not take a form already established. The creative imagination is not interested by what has already been accomplished; it is always trying to conquer new provinces of matter, to relate more and more of the universe to the spirit of man, to embrace more and more of inanimate nature in its sympathy. In consequence of this, the imagination of the individual composer is continually being driven to co-ordinate elements that at other times appeared absolutely irreconcilable. You must not think that any composer, or any artist, for that matter, sits down with a definite program in his mind. No, that is not at all the way in which new vital art is produced. A living musician will continually keep on hearing new rhythms and new combinations of sounds. They come into his head from nowhere, just as ordinary-thoughts come into the heads of everyone. Everyone has had the experience of having some past event suddenly return to his mind and give him a sensation of pleasure or of sorrow. This is what is continually taking place in the composer, with the difference that through his gift his sensations appear transformed into thematic material, into rhythm, into tone. In the process of organizing these inventions into musical form, the composer is being continuously pushed to transgress the limits within which the generation that preceded him has worked.
What happened in the case of the successors of Debussy was merely this: they found that under necessity in expressing themselves, they had to use consecutive minor ninths, consecutive major sevenths, and consecutive minor seconds. With this practice all theoretical limitations of combination of tones have been removed. The men who have been developing the art of music since Debussy have been forced to preach what they practice; that is, that all tones, under an intellectual and emotional stress, can be incorporated with each other. As a result of this, theorists are deducing all kinds of scales from the new music. One is called the duodecuple scale, or scale of twelve tones.
You must not think that the composers who broke the limits set for music by the generation of Debussy were conscious of each other! I am sure that at the time he was entering the new paths Stravinsky knew very little of what Schoenberg was doing. I know that I, myself, for instance, had already composed my “Dwarf Suite,” “Wild Men’s Dance” and various other pieces before I ever heard of Schoenberg or of Stravinsky. Indeed, it was only early in 1914 that Leschetizky, on hearing some of my compositions, informed me that there was another person, right in Vienna, working along the same lines and that his name was Arnold Schoenberg. Then, when I got to Paris, Calvocoressi told me that there was another composer, a musician of highest talent, who was working in a direction similar to mine—Igor Stravinsky. As for Scria-
KOUSSEVITZKY CONDUCTS IN BARCELONA