Radio Digest (May 1931-May 1932)

8 the saga of the wandering gypsies. And Harry Horlick becomes more personal in his musical reminiscences as he takes up his violin and tells of Tiflis, his native city; and of the quaint Constantinople cafes. When this war veteran came to the United States he brought with him a few compatriots whose bodies were racked with privation but who glowed with the fire of music. They, as well as Horlick, had learned the Gypsy songs from the Hungarians, and were such able musicians that when they expressed their emotions musically, a hardened New York took to the string quintet immediately. Their fame grew. In 1922 they signed their first contract as the A & P Gypsies, under the direction of the round-faced, dark haired young man, their comrade Harry Horlick. Of the original Gypsy orchestra, after eight successful years of broadcasting, Horlick still retains three men, and the four of them are inseparable companions. The A & P Gypsy orchestra has now reached true symphonic proportions, having a personnel of twentyseven musicians, a tenor and a contralto. A: _T the NBC studio the leader is "Harry" to all of his men. His quick, vibrant personality allows for a spirit of good fellowship that is recognized and appreciated by the members of his orchestra. After the weekly broadcast, Mr. Horlick and his men always find their way to some quiet restaurant where they solve the music problems of the day, and where they sing Russian and Gypsy songs. He likes his men. He wants to be, not the Maestro Horlick, but plain Harry Horlick, one of the Gypsies. "I am just a friend with my men," he says. His voice has a strong Russian accent and his speech retains the academic touch that his English studies in Russia left with him. "I want always to keep in very close contact with them. I am not strict. I do not have to be. My men are true musicians, they are all artists. I do not tire them out with weary rehearsals, and that is why they are at their best during broadcasting." He alludes with evident pride to the fact that there are members of his orchestra who are also members of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra, a world-famous group admitting only outstanding musicians. A true Gypsy is Harry Horlick. He has two great loves: primarily his music; and then, to be in the sun's rays. He chose his studio because it is such a sunny place, and he delights in playing his violin in the spotlight of the sunbeams that come in through the wide-open windows. And he is an outdoor man, also. An excellent swimmer and oarsman, he spends the summer days at a beach, and finds keen enjoyment in motor boating and yachting. He goes for long tramps, his ears tuned to the music of the wayside. The snatches of songs he hears he jots down, and now has thousands of these musical notes — the Gypsy songs he keeps in the form of memos, and also the tunes he heard in Russia and Turkey. From these he takes the music which brings relief to those who turn aside from the jazz of the modern day. JTTLe has often been called the apostle of the "popular concert", and well he might be, for his musical philosophy gives no quarter to "hot-stuff" (as he calls it, with a grimace). "I cannot stand dance arrangements as they are done now," he said, his black eyes flashing with the spirit of the evangelist. "There is no soul to the music, but only a thinness that makes the music disappear. That is not music — it should be tangible, and should be retained in the heart of the hearer. Concert music is slowly coming back; there are many lovely songs in the popular vein today, and these in concert form are melodic and stimulating. I am trying to make every popular number I offer have concert form. That is why Max Terr is with me. I want my presentations to be original, of course, and I also want to contribute something to the spirit of music here, just as the music of the Gypsies has given something to the mu sic of every country. So many people write me that my orchestra is filling a musical deficiency in their lives. I think soon all orchestra leaders will realize that such music is wanted and needed. Everybody needs music." He speaks with great feeling. It is his life. He becomes excited and glows with an inner fire. When he speaks of Max Terr — his concert arranger, he speaks with the warmth of close friendship. Terr, while comparatively a newcomer to the A & P Gypsies, has carried out the spirit of the organization in every sense. His arrangements, unique and inspiring, have raised the orchestra to new heights of musical success. When Milton Cross announces a Max Terr arrangement, listeners-in settle back to a period of keen enjoyment, for the melody of the number is woven with the symphonic countermelody into a delightful pattern. The reputation Mr. Terr achieved while music supervisor of the Paramount West Coast studio has been more than sustained by his record with the Gypsies; hence Harry Horlick, whose religion is music, offers whole-hearted friendship to a man who unfolds the beauty in the world of melody. H« Max Terr (left) and Frank Parker ORLICK is thirty-four years old, unmarried. He makes up the paradox of the artist and business man in one. In his frequent conferences with members of the corporation to which he is contracted, he shows a surprising grasp of those things too many artists find beyond comprehension. Perhaps it is this spirit of worldliness, which enters into the interpretations of the compositions he and his orchestra play, that accounts for the popularity he enjoys in a field where success is often all too transient. "The satisfaction I find in conducting is but a vicarious one," said Mr. Horlick. "To me, my violin is everything." So the history of a lad who had many adventures; who saw the primitive side of life, but who heard much of the harmony of the land. So a history filled with blood and terror, with privation and suffering, but one with an ending even happier than tradition demands. Harry Horlick has not only carved himself a niche in the hall of Radio and musical fame, but has opened a new road to musical enjoyment for those who find the usual symphonic way too rocky, and the primrose path of the "hotstuff jazz" too artificial and unreal for enjoyment.