Phonograph Monthly Review, Vol. 6, No. 1 (1931-10)

6 The Phonograph Monthly Review Ecstacy Without Grimace By R. D. DARRELL Embodying a review of Strawinski's "Symphonie de Psaumes"* I T SHOULD not be assumed from the fact that Symphonie de Psaumes was “written for the fif- tieth anniversary of the Boston Symphony Orches- tra” that it is in any sense a piece d } occasion. When Strawinski completed Le Sacre he himself realized what much have been obvious to any acute student that he had reached the end of a blind and on the whole unprofitable musical alley. The last word in gargantuanism, in rhythmical frenzy, in tortured color had been said. The work was a masterpiece. One heard it and was devastated. But when one’s ears cleared and senses sobered it was with duller, not keener, powers of feeling. Strawinski was not a Richard Strauss to butt his head against an un- budgeable wall, each bump noisier, emptier than the one before. He struck out on a new and more con- sidered course and after a period of floundering in experimental bogs began to mark his path with such milestones as Apollon Musagete and Oedipus Bex. He was spoken of carelessly as “returning” to Han- del or Bach or Verdi. Rather he was concentrating his vast and too versatile talents not to imitate an old style or to create a new one but to establish his own, unifying it, as Roger Sessions says, by re-absorb- ing or re-experiencing the old formulas of music so that they might regain freshness and vitality. (Ses- sions cites the example of a common D minor triad used as the basis of a critical moment in Oedipus with overwhelming and immediate effect.) Strawinski pushed resolutely forward toward this goal (the witty Capriccio is after all a momentary frolicsome digression) with the idea of perhaps re- writing the Russian Liturgical Service, perhaps writ- ing a Mass. The Boston anniversary was merely a fortuitous occasion for completing or finally issuing the work long since decided on. The Symphonie de Psaumes bears on its title-page the inscription—enigmatic or presumptuous to many ‘—“composed to the Glory of God.” Those who still consider Strawinski a sheer poseur or mountebank take this to be the sublime example of his effrontry. It may of course be that; it may be simply the ex- pression of a devout spirit. I cannot accept it as either. I take it as revelatory of Strawinski’s con- sciousness that has at last reached his goal, the achievement of a work in which the composer is writing not as an individual, flaunting the hall-marks of his personality, “expressing himself” and creating for himself, but as the anonymous composers of the ♦Strawinski: Symphonie de Psaumes, for chorus and orchestra, by the Alexis Vlassoff Chorus and the Straram Orchestra, con- ducted by Igor Strawinski. Columbia Masterworks Set 162 (3 D12s, Alb., 6.00). Gregorian Chants fulfilled a deeper urging, the mak- ing of music as a communal creative expression of faith and praise. Such music is neither archaic or modern. And its lack if time-placement will make it more difficult for superficial listeners than Le Sacre which, after the shock of first acquaintance subsided, proved to be quite as much post-war European as it was primitive Russian. The Symphonie de Psaumes being not the work of a day or a program or a definite color must be heard with unsophisticate ears, “tasted without passion, without impatience.” There are no fashions, no tricks of the trade here—vocal and instrumental writing is lean, unadorned, of merciless purity and directness. It makes difficult hearing in the distract- ing, theatrical atmosphere of the concert hall, and yet it is not strictly church music, flourishing in an almost equally oppressive and artificial atmosphere. Only on discs can one get near the music—become a part of it, experiencing—not merely hearing. Musi- cians may tell us that even this remarkable example of modern recording loses something of the actual tonal depths and nuance, that it is not as “impres- sive” as heard in the flesh. But such impressiveness is a matter of actual volume and human bodies. On discs one is stirred by the impressiveness of the music itself, the calm, sustained atmosphere into which every phase (unstriking, uncolored in itself) merges. The music may be heard as it must be heard for full assimilation, paradoxically in a manner at once more impersonal and more supremely personal than