Phonograph Monthly Review, Vol. 3, No. 4 (1929-01)

January, 1929 The Phonograph Monthly Review 117 During the last two seasons, the fortieth and forty-first, Al- fredo Casella, distinguished Italian composer, conductor, and writer, has conducted. Before him, Agide Jacchia, Director of the Boston Conservatory of Music, was for ten years the familiar and well-liked leader of the season of lighter music in Boston. In Mr. Casella’s hands the programs have given outlet to a greater number of more serious works, although not to the extent observable at the Lewissohn Stadium in New York, or the Hollywood Bowl concerts in Los Angeles. Discussion has raged over the innovations; the public’s taste is eternally capricious, but there should be no reason why the “Pops” programs should not steer a success- ful middle course between the Scylla of a regular symphony concert and the Charybdis of all musical fluff and cream. THE MEN Before going on to the recordings of the Boston Symphony, mention (small enough in comparison with what is deserved) should be made of the men of the orchestra themselves. For, after all, conductors may come and go their meteoric way, but without the players who comprise the instrument on which they play, performances and conductor’s fame would be impossible. In an orchestra every man must subordinate himself to the imagination of the conductor; he is the intelli- gent, living key on which the latter plays. How necessary, then, that his technique be perfect, he mind alert for any contingency, ready at any moment to adjust his playing to the sudden caprice or demand of the director. An orchestra is an ensemble of which every member plays a vital part. It is possible to mention by name only a few here, many of whom have served years in the Boston Symphony, but to the others unnamed goes also credit which they so richly de- serve. Mention has already been made of Franz Kniesel, for so many years concert-master, and Richard Burgin, the present holder of the post. Also at the first desk sits Julius Theo- dorowicz, in the place once held by Professor Charles Martin Loeffler, the composer. Jean Bedetti, principal violoncellist; Georges Laurent, first flutist, and moving spirit of the\ Boston Flute Players’ Club; Ferdinand Gillet, worthy successor to the great Longy, long a w T ell-loved figure in the Boston or- chestra; Jean Lefranc, principal of the viola section; Abdon Laus, bassoon player unsurpassed; Georges Hamelin, prin- cipal clarinetist; Louis Speyer, English horn soloist; Georges Mager, who accomplishes such miracles with modern trumpet solos; Georg Boettcher, able successor to the great Wendler as principal of the incomparable horn choir; Albert Ritter, the timpanist;—these are but a few of the many who might be mentioned. The last year has seen the passing of several veteran mem- bers, particularly Richard Kurth (for forty-two yearsi a mem- ber of the orchestra) and Alwin Schroeder, distinguished ’cellist, both of whom lived but for a few years after their retirement from the symphony. Barth, ’cellist, is almost the last of the “old-timers,” now that Holy, harpist, Hofmann, violinist, and Arthur Brooke, flutist, have retired. The influence of these musicians in a community cannot be estimated. Not only in the orchestra, but in teaching and outside musical activities, and in the city’s social and artistic life, they have meant much to Boston. THE RECORDINGS Until this fall, Mr. Koussevitzky has never recorded, but the Boston Symphony itself, under the direction of Dr. Karl Muck, then conductor, has had one recording experience— and a notable one—to its credit. It was in 1914, when the orchestra was approaching the ideal toward which Dr. Muck aimed, and when the art of recording was in its infancy. The records made by Muck at that time, of which only two were ever issued, were among the first great successes of the phonograph in recording a symphony orchestra. They were the result of a series of extensive experimentation in the laboratories of the Victor Talking Machine Company, and all the startling developments that have been made since that time cannot dim the brilliance (absolute as well as rela- tive) of these records. It is hard to realize today the effect they had upon musi- cians of that time. “At last,” exclaimed Victor Herbert, on hearing them, “it is possible to present the performances of a symphony orchestra! Now, everything is possible!” There is a well authenticated story relating the effect of the first record, that of the finale of Tchaikowsky’s Fourth symphony, upon the men who had made it. Dr. Muck, Victor Herbert, and some of the Victor men had been delayed and reached the laboratory sometime after the orchestra on the day they were to make the other recordings. As they came to the door of the recording studio, someone exclaimed, “What are those men rehearsing the Tchaikowsky again for? They should be working on the Lohengrin prelude.” But on open- ing the door it was discovered that they had been hearing the reproduction of the record made the day before. (In those days the wax master could not be “played back” im- mediately, as it can be today.) The Victor Company does well to retain these two disks in their catalogue. Not only their historical significance, but their sentimental associations and their own absolute artistic merit entitle them to a permanent place in recorded litera- ture. But they were of another era: a past era of the orchestra and a past era of recording. Since their issue the orchestra has undergone a great revolution and a great reconstruction. The “Golden Age” of the Boston Symphony passed with Dr. Muck, but the preparatory work of Monteux, and the herculean labors of Koussevitzky have brought into being a new Boston Symphony, an orchestra acclaimed by able and unprejudiced musicians not only the superior of the older organization, but a vehicle second in expressive powers, in brilliance and color, to none in the world. The processes of recording, too, have been revolutionized. Where before a band of some forty musicians was clustered uncomfortably around the horn of the acoustical apparatus, today the entire orchestra records while playing on its own stage in Symphony Hall. The records are not merely of Koussevitzky and The Boston orchestra, they are also of the familiar and well- loved hall itself. The records themselves are dealt with in detail elsewhere, in editorial comment, review, and the interview with Mr. Koussevitzky. Here, it is perhaps sufficient to say that they were made in Symphony Hall, Boston, the week of Armistice Day in November, and that there is unofficial assurance that there will be other recording dates and releases. Their success is assured in advance. Mr. Koussvitzky is a conductor of unbounded dramatic and emotional powers. During his first years with the Boston Symphony one thought of him primarily as a virtuoso, but time has mellowed and broadened his as well as the orchestra. The concerts of this present season have revealed him at the summit of his powers. Never did the orchestra possess as many individual talents or as homogeneous and precise an ensemble never were its merits put to better use than at prsent. The records made today catch not only the characteristic qualities of conductor and orchestra, but they capture these qualities at the moment they are in their finest flower. Mr. Koussevitzky was very wise in waiting until now to record. His instrument is in its best voice, and he, too, is an artist of keener insight and broader sympathies than he was even four years ago. Above all, he has developed the capacity for taking pains, for build- ing his superb tonal and climactic edifices upon the secure and laboriously constructed foundation of refinement and ac- curacy of detail. THE FUTURE What does the future hold for the Boston Symphony Or- chestra? Much that is fine, if the progress made continually during its career even over the obstacles of temporary set- backs can be taken for an indication. It has won a real place in the hearts of Bostonians and in the musical institutions of the country. Symphonic music, both classical and modern, has acquired a firm place; the phrase “as dull as a sym- phony concert” is unconceivable today. Music, composers, conductors, artists, all have taken on a new vitality it seems; certainly the Symphony plays a more important part in the life of the community than it ever did before. And it is always growing. The difficulties have been enormous, especi- ally in the matter of expenses and public-spirited citizens have had to supply the money that in Europe is supplied by the government itself. But the support has not been lacking, the characteristic American desire to have the best has proved a valuable incentive, and the results are evident. One little story illustrates the feeling toward the Boston Symphony. For many years several concerts have been given in Providence, R. I. This last season, the old Infantry Hall where the concerts were held was doomed, and for lack of a suitable place, the management regretfully informed Prov- idence that the concerts which had taken place for so many