Phonograph Monthly Review, Vol. 3, No. 9 (1929-06)

294 The Phonograph Monthly Review June, 1929 the alert to secure records of the national music of all countries. Nursery songs, folk dances and songs, national hymns, popular hits of yesterday and today provide an additional capital to form the initial investment in musical culture. (All the leading companies issue special catalogues and supplements of records in all foreign languages. No sincere music lover or student should overlook these fertile sources of valuable disks.) But, it may be asked, what purpose is there in hearing again the music that everyone knows already. Such records may give enjoyment, but what educational value will they have? The an- swer is that their educational value depends upon the records that are played. A few years ago a Berlin song, Blue Skies, was in everyone’s ears. Hearing it again on records is of no educational value—unless tKe record happens to be Kreisler’s. Then we have a familiar piece to which new musical elements have been added, those of technique and artistry. No one, no matter how musically illiterate he may be, can fail to dis- tinguish the difference between Kreisler’s per- formance and those with which he has been familiar. It is the same piece, but vastly dif- ferent. And a scale of relative values becomes apparent for the first time. These new elements that are apparent to even the most untutored person are color, smoothness, a lilt instead of a monotonous pound to the rhythm. There is an unmistakable air of mas- tery, of perfection. In another type of work the phonograph transmits the stupendous effects of ensemble^ larger than have been heard before by those who never attend concerts. The man in the street has often heard Handel’s Largo wheezed out on innumerable movie organs, but when he hears a great orchestra like the Chicago Symphony, play the same piece, he gets a new and electrifying thrill. (Such works are of course to be played for adults. * Children are reached first by records of nursery songs and the simplest folk music. Then gradually, as they grow older and unconsciously absorb the music that surrounds us everywhere in the street, churches, theatres, and parks, they acquire the heritage of elementary music upon which their further education can—and indeed must—be built.) Besides the legacy of music which is born and bred in one, everyone possesses also certain sus- ceptibilities towards various kinds of musical appeal. These are innate. Just as everyone is capable of feeling physical pleasure through the various senses, so he is capable of feeling mental and spiritual (and physical, too) pleasure from certain musical qualities. The first, and the most significant, is that of rhythm,—in its most ele- mental form the steady throb of the savages’ drums or the clapping of hands that accompanies primitive—and indeed more modern—dances. Second is the element of tunefulness, the easily recognized and remembered melodiousness of hymns and folk songs, simple to grasp on account of the symmetrical outline of their tunes and the simple intervals separating the notes of the tune. Whether or not a person is capable of what he calls “carrying a tune,’’ he almost invariably is capable (although he may deny even this) of recognizing a tune and distinguishing it from others. Following these basic elements at a con- siderable distance are those of color and richness, the timbre of different voices and instruments, the effects of harmony—the pleasing combination of notes into chords, and still later, counterpoint —the pleasing combination of whole melodies into a polyphonic web. These, and the element of form—pleasing proportion of the parts in an organic whole, take on an ever increasing signi- ficance as the musical ladder is ascended. But the experienced music lover who finds them the source of his keenest musical pleasure should never lose sight of the fact that for the beginner they are secondary in importance to the musical essentials—rhythm and melody in their simplest forms. (This point can hardly be too strongly stressed.) The beginner usually does not recognize rhythm and melody by their names or definitions, which mean nothing to him and which are not at all necessary for him to know. In fact the more music that is actually heard and the less terms and definitions that are learned, the more quickly advancement will be made. The im- portant thing (as emphasized above) is for him to hear music in which rhythm and melody are unmistakably present in their most elemental forms. Given them as al syrup, the educative medicinal dose of color and other effects may be swallowed easily and painlessly. Here is where the much maligned dance music plays an honor- able part in music appreciation. Dance perfor- mances by the best modern orchestras are often complex and highly interesting as fart as the orchestral coloring and arrangements go, but al- most invariably the simple basic rhythm and melody are not departed from, at least during the major part of the performance. (The “hot breaks” are after all incidental.) Consequently the familiar melody and simple two-beat or three- beat meter beguile the beginner into accepting without demur color and harmonic effects that would be confusing or repugnant to him if they were presented alone. In this way the constant and increasing elaboration of dance music has done more to bring about an increased apprecia- tion of modern orchestral music than even the careful study of the modernists’ immediate musi- cal ancestors has ever done. So it happens that we have the curious fact that youngsters inno- culated with the jazz germ are quite undaunted by modernist music that is intolerable to the ears of their musical elders. Twentv or even ten years ago a piece like Honegger’s Pacific 231 or Ravel’s La Valse would be anathema to most concert goers. Yet today both figure constantly on “popular” programs, and are looked down upon by the sophisticate as “old hat!” But to return to the person who has only the