Phonograph Monthly Review, Vol. 5, No. 2 (1930-11)

40 The Phonograph Monthly Review Confessions of a Self-Made Critic By DAVID L PIPER A western music critic acknowledges his debt to the phonograph A T this writing Ravel's widely ballyhooed Bolero has not been given a public per- L formance by a qualified symphony orches- tra within the territorial confines of the Pacific northwest. Yet, I, serving in the capacity of music critic for a leading local daily, will go to the re- gional premiere of the piece next month with a very definite and not unbiased idea of how it may most effectively be played. Ten years ago, the answer to such a riddle would be that one had pro- cured a copy of the score and laboriously picked the work to pieces at the piano. As a matter of fact, I can read an orchestral score with some^- what the facility an American tourist reads a Polish bill-of-fare. But the answer is only too ob- vious today: two renderings of the Bolero have been released by major phonograph compan- ies within the past few months. After some ses- sions with the new discs with the collaboration of my faithful phonograh, I am able to plunk the ever-recurrent themes on the piano, give a resume of the instrumental combinations utilized by the composer, as well as talk learnedly about passa- caglia rhythm, south sea tribal dances, and the astonishing modulation near the close. This is a latter-day illustration of how the phonograph aids the provincial music critic in writing intelligently and confidently on works with which his fellow concert-goers are not in- timately acquainted. Counterbalancing this ad- vantage, there is the danger that too great a famil- iarity with a given phonographic rendition will make the provincial critic intolerant of the local conductor's somewhat different interpretation. Too, there is the possibility that the critic will al- ready have wearied of the innovation, and what critical enthusiasm he is compelled to register will be unfelt. Both these hazards are, however, to be preferred to utter ignorance. Musical criticism is a hybrid profession. On the one hand, it entails more than a mere liking for music; on the other, it entails journalistic sense. In journalism erudition is most frequently util- ized in behalf of the editorial page or the literary supplement. With a few notable exceptions, musi- cians seem to be sadly incompetent as journalists. In the great musical centers there is ample oppor- tunity for the journalist, the critic-to-be, to obtain the experience and background essential to the music-critic's calling. In the provinces the enor- mous bulk of musical performances are given by talented amateurs or third-rate professionals. Perforce the would-be critic's opportunities to gain necessary experience are deplorably limited. The occasional symphony concert, the one or two series featuring celebrities and the biennial visit of an opera troupe provide him with only a frac- tion of the first-hand experience he must have. No school of journalism can impart this ex- perience, nor even incessant reading of music re- views in the great metropolitan dailies. Nor even a lifetime of piano lessons. Nor even, latterly, close heed to what the radio can impart. Having only this experience behind him the newly-ap- pointed critic must bluff and bluff hard. There was a day when I bluffed quite brazenly, and there are some colleagues of mine Who still do. One need not be an overly astute between-the-lines reader to know when the writer has wandered far from the confines of his own first-hand knowledge and experience. Much musical criticism—“review- ing" is the gentler, and more appropriate term— is the journalistic equivalent of the average radio announcer's flounderings in a morass of musical terminology. The critic's perfunctory allusion to “generous and well-merited applause" is not a whit hollower than the announcer's pitiful mis- pronunciations. I was a duly invested critic when I first heard Strauss' Don Juan. Those in the audience with me who were hearing the tone poem for the first time were no more at sea over the work than was the critic whose review they would read in the next morning's paper. Naturally I put up the bluff of my life. I composed a dissertation which was intended to give the reader the impression that Don Juan and I were room-mates at college and that Richard Strauss was the composer of our college song. I deceived no one, in fact. Least of all myself. Today I am seldom embarrassed by utter un- familiarity with the masterworks our worthy con- ductor elects to introduce. The phonograph has almost entirely obviated the danger of my making an ass of myself and of the newspaper I represent. There was a good deal of correlative study to be undertaken, of course, but the phonograph has been the principal medium for enlightenment and edification.