Phonograph Monthly Review, Vol. 5, No. 12 (1931-09)

326 The Phonograph Monthly Review i¥ one of the barer, muscular mazurkas, end- ing in a passage of consecutive harsh fifths and sevenths that give us an indication of what Chopin might have accomplished had he wooed the muses of sweetness and light less steadfastly. No. 35, despite Huneker's accusation that it is “composed with the head, not the heart, nor yet the heels,” it has much of the forceful grip missing in such a popular favorite as No. 25 in B minor with its pleasant excursions to and from an insistent gracile tune. No. 37 with its masterly development of a single phrase is an elaboration of the popular mazurka in A flat, No. 31. No. 38 is considered by Huneker the finest of them all, and there is much to be said for his conten- tion. Surely it is the most superbly formed, and in many respects the most tenderly mov- ing of the dances. Delicacy, restrained power, exquisite clarity, and above all the sense of inevitability with which phrase follows phrase that marks the true masterpiece of any artistic period, make this mazurka rep- resentative of Chopin's finest creative flower- ing. Three of the major mazurkas have not yet been recorded: No. 18 in C minor, Op. 30, No. 1; No. 32 in C sharp minor, Op. 50, No. 3—an almost Bachian work in its closely knit, fine-spun texture; and No. 36 in A minor, Op. 59, No. 1—one of the most originally con- ceived of the entire group. Several of the minor mazurkas possess qualities that make them distinctive, notably No. 7 in F minor, that Friedman plays with such admirable masculinity and abrupt vigor; No. 10 in B flat, boldly chivalrous; No. 13 in A minor, one of my own favorites, a paintive, vaccilating, desperately pathetic little work that has been the subject of many fanciful programmatic conjectures; No. 15 in C, with its curious experimentation in modal writing (as yet this mazurka is un- recorded) ; the brief No. 24 in C major, that precipitated the violent argument between Chopin and Meyerbeer—the latter claiming that it should be notated in two-four instead of three-four measure; No. 30 in G major, healthily good-humored; and No. 33 in B ma- jor (unrecorded), with its interesting decora- tive contrapuntal writing. Special interest is attached to No. 49 in F minor as the last composition penned by Chopin — a singular piece of morbid, fancifulness that would have given grim pleasure to Poe and which cer- tainly indicates as strongly as any music could the decadence and approaching disso- lution of its author. It is not my intention to conclude this hasty trial of the Polish Israfel by pronouncing a decision on the survival of his work as a po- tent musical force in the twentieth century. FIRST ANNUAL HALF PRICE SALE IMPORTED PHONOGRAPH RECORDS Hundreds of choice items available at a saving of one-half. Early selection is advised. H. ROYER SMITH CO. "The World's Record Shop" 10th and Walnut Streets PHILADELPHIA A 12-page list of the Records in this sale will be mailed free upon request No one critic, speaking far more authorita- tively than I, can hand down that verdict. I embarked on this return to Chopin to dis- cover for myself—and I hope for some of my readers — whether our contemporary aes- thetic trend is justified in dethroning Chopin from his high place among the immortals, whether anything could be salvaged from the wreck left by the healthy, but perhaps over- impetuous revolt against the romantic flower- ing in keyboard literature. I have satisfied myself—and again I trust some of my read- ers—that this revolt has so far only purged Chopin's works of their dross. Erase with a stern hand the slightest traces of sentimen- tality, of impotence, of affectation, and one still has left a small, but ineffably precious remainder that is ample justification of the frail Pole's claim to the voice of Israfel—one of the sweetest of all God's creatures. Musical evolution is not to be stopped. Perhaps its further sweep will destroy even this belief, but when it does one of our strongest links with the nineteenth century will be lost. Music's roots lie far deeper than in this lux- uriant garden, but it is the soil in which we of the last two generations have been nur- tured and the final transplanting will destroy something in us that can never be replaced. Even the purest of Chopin's beauty is evanes- cent ; let us cling to it while we may.