Phonograph Monthly Review, Vol. 4, No. 10 (1930-07)

332 The Phonograph Monthly Review July, 1930 This Thing Called Recorded Music By PETER HUGH REED A nerve tonic that eases the tension of modern living T HIS thing called recorded music has taken on a new significance in the past five years. It has become, instead of the frosting on the cake of an artistically appreciative minority, the daily bread of an artistically appreciative majority. Many people wonder why, while others pass the problem over—if it may be called a problem—as they pass over most of the “whys” and “wherefores” of every-day living. “It’s a great life if you don’t weaken,” is the pet slogan of the crowd, but how many of those that advo- cate it realize that music virtually helps us not to weaken? Life in the cities today is a high-powered exis- tence. And even in the small suburban places the tension of the metropolis still manifests itself. The overflow is consistent. The dynamo of life is at the present time in America running at a terrific rate of speed. We work, play, eat and sleep, so to speak, on the run. Some of us exer- cise our muscles. Some of us exercise our brains. And some of us exercise our digestions. But the majority of us who obey one or another of these instincts are apt to overdo them, because few of us understand the value of taking things grad- ually. A winter of inactivity is followed by eighteen holes of golf or two or three sets of tennis, a moderate diet by a seven course dinner, total abstinence by intemperate drinking. Cer- tainly, it is a great life'—if one does not weaken. But we continually- forget that all of this reacts, not alone on the physical system, but also on the nervous system—a mechanism as infinitely fine and complex as the many-thousand-wired control board of a big radio station. But—where does music come in? Well, mu- sic with its own variety of emotional and rhyth- mical stimulus is an exercise—a tonic for the nerves. It stimulates, soothes and strengthens the vibrant control-board of our complex sys- tems, that is if it is in accord with our own in- dividually approved mental receptivity. To one perhaps the rhythmic unrestraint of jazz, to an- other the well-ordered undulations of symphon- ic music. To yet another the sanguine sentiment of theme-songs, love ditties, etc. To others the more poetical sentiment of a Bachian chorale, a Beethovian overture, or the stimulating impet- us of a Wagnerian Valkyrie Ride or a Stravinsk- ian Spring Rite. “It's quite a matter of individ- ual desire and taste,” said the dear Duchess as she kissed her favorite Pekinese and turned her back upon an undesirable suitor. There are many people who believe that the in- creased interest in music, in the past quarter of a century, is due to the influence of recorded music. This may well be. Certainly the various sound reproducing instruments have helped to bring music into the four corners of the earth. So much so in fact that we wonder if there is a spot left where human nature can satisfactorily exist on this planet called Earth, which has not as yet re-echoed to some kind of music—recorded or not. If so we are certain curiosity would take us there to feel the atmospheric condition of such a place and find out whether Nature loses or gains by being musically innocent. There are some people who believe that the in- creased velocity of life has turned naturally to- ward music and particularly toward recorded music, with its repetitive and rhythmic stimulus and its many privileges, as a massage or tonic for the nervous system, thus accounting for the great demand for it that proves to be existent today. Personally we believe they are right and it would not seem foolish for us to avow that re- produced music developed psychologically, be- cause human nature began going so fast in an hourly milage that there became a crying need for something which could give a more consistent repetition of a beneficial nerve-exerciser, just as the muscles of the tired business man cried aloud for the need of a mechanical contrivance that was answered by the electric motor exerciser. Mankind no longer seems to have the time to do the thing for itself. There is no question of in- dividual blame, the condition is universal, and the result of the rush of modern existence. Back to the theme-song of this article : “this thing called recorded music” in the past five years has certainly developed a new appetite. In fact, the general trend of musical taste has been multiplied by several hundred thousands. Which only goes to prove that the philosopher who con- tended that music was spiritual food was some- what right, and that the poet who said “Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast” was a born prophet. Look at what music in general has done for the bosom of America in the past quar- ter of a century, once savage in its denouncement of it as a business, a career or an avocation, but now fostering symphony orchestras, jazz-bands, radio broadcasting and phonograph discs—to say nothing of individual careers. When we face the statistics of radio and rec- ord audiences and realize what they are getting out of music, we have reasons to rejoice, for daily the quality of reproduction is bettering it- self, and the quantity in consumption also grows. What of it—if it is only the record auditor who finds it no longer difficult to discriminate, while the radio fan is still consuming the tastes of na- tional advertisers? After all, this may well be an existent state always, since radio at best im-