THE COLONISTS.
Art does not prosper as hermit. Of course, every great creator has a
certain aloofness of soul, and an inner isolation; but he must at
times submit his work to the comparison of his fellow artists; he must
profit by their discoveries as well as their errors; he must grow
overheated in those passionate musical arguments that never convince
any one out of his former belief, and serve salutarily to raise the
temper, cultivate caloric, and deepen convictions previously held; he
must exchange criticisms and discuss standards with others, else he
will be eternally making discoveries that are stale and unprofitable
to the rest of the world; he will seek to reach men's souls through
channels long dammed up, and his achievements will be marred by naive
triteness and primitive crudeness.
So, while the artistic tendency may be a universal nervous system,
artists are inclined to ganglionate. The nerve-knots vary in size and
importance, and one chief ganglion may serve as a feeding brain, but
it cannot monopolize the activity. In America, particularly, these
ganglia, or colonies, are an interesting and vital phase of our
development. For a country in which the different federated states
are, many of them, as large as old-world kingdoms, it is manifestly
impossible for any one capital to dominate. Furthermore, the national
spirit is too insubordinate to accept any centre as an oracle.
New York, which has certainly drawn to itself a preponderance of
respectable composers, has yet been unable to gather in many of the
most important, and like the French Academy, must always suffer in
prestige because of its conspicuous absentees. In the second place,
New York is the least serious and most fickle city in the country, and
is regarded with mingled envy and patronage by other cities.
Boston is even more unpopular with the rest of the country. And New
York and other cities have enticed away so many of the leading spirits
of her musical colony, that she cannot claim her once overwhelming
superiority. And yet, Boston has been, and is, the highest American
representative of that much abused term, culture. Of all the arts,
music doubtless gets her highest favor.
The aid Boston has been to American music is vital, and far outweighs
that of any other city. That so magnificent an organization as its
Symphony Orchestra could be so popular, shows the solidity of its
general art appreciations. The orchestra has been remarkably willing,
too, to give the American composer a chance to be heard. Boston has
been not only the promulgator, but in a great measure the tutor, of
American music.
In Boston-town, folk take things seriously and studiously. In New York
they take them fiercely, whimsically. Like most generalizations, this
one has possibly more exceptions than inclusions. But it is
convenient.
It is convenient, too, to group together such of the residents of
these two towns, as I have not discussed elsewhere. The Chicago
coterie makes another busy community; and St. Louis and Cleveland have
their activities of more than intramural worth; Cincinnati, which was
once as musically thriving as its strongly German qualities
necessitated, but which had a swift and strange decline, seems to be
plucking up heart again. For this, the energy of Frank van der Stucken
is largely to credit. Aside from the foreign-born composers there, one
should mention the work of Richard Kieserling, Jr., and Emil Wiegand.
The former went to Europe in 1891 and studied at the Leipzig
Conservatory, under Reinecke, Homeyer, Rust, Schreck and Jadassohn. He
also studied conducting under Sitt. At his graduation, he conducted a
performance of his own composition, "Jeanne d'Arc." He returned to his
native city, Cincinnati, in 1895, where he has since remained,
teaching and conducting. Among his works, besides piano pieces and
songs, are: "A May Song," for women's chorus and piano; six pieces for
violin and piano; "Harold," a ballad for male chorus, barytone solo,
and orchestra; "Were It Not For Love," composed for male chorus;
several sets of male choruses; a motet for mixed chorus a cappella; a
berceuse for string orchestra, an introduction and rondo for violin
and orchestra; and a "Marche Nuptiale," for grand orchestra.
Emil Wiegand was also born in Cincinnati, and had his first tuition on
the violin from his father. His theoretical studies have been received
entirely in Cincinnati. He is a member of the local Symphonic
Orchestra, and has composed an overture for grand orchestra, a string
quartette, and various pieces for the violin, piano, and voice.
In San Francisco there is less important musical composition than
there was in the days when Kelley and Page were active there. The work
of H.B. Pasmore is highly commended by _cognoscenti_, as are also the
works of Frederick Zeck, Jr., who was born in San Francisco, studied
in Germany, and has composed symphonies, a symphonic poem, "Lamia," a
romantic opera, and other works; Samuel Fleischmann, born in
California and educated abroad, a concert pianist, who has written,
among other things, an overture, "Hero and Leander," which was
performed in New York; and P.C. Allen, who studied in Europe, and has
written well.
But the larger cities do not by any means contain all the worthy
composition. In many smaller cities, and in a few villages even, can
be found men of high culture and earnest endeavor.
In Yonkers, New York, is Frederick R. Burton, who has written a
dramatic cantata on Longfellow's "Hiawatha," which has been frequently
performed. In this work use is made of an actual Indian theme, which
was jotted down by H.E. Krehbiel, and is worked up delightfully in
the cantata, an incessant thudding of a drum in an incommensurate
rhythm giving it a decidedly barbaric tone. The cantata contains also
a quaint and touching contralto aria, and a pathetic setting of the
death-song of Minnehaha. Burton is a graduate of Harvard, and a writer
as well as a composer. He organized, in 1896, the Yonkers Choral
Society, of which he is conductor.
At Hartford, Conn., is Nathan H. Allen, who was born in Marion, Mass.,
in 1848. In 1867 he went to Berlin, where he was a pupil of Haupt for
three years. In this country he has been active as an organist and
teacher. Many of his compositions of sacred music have been published,
including a cantata, "The Apotheosis of St. Dorothy."
At Providence, R.I., a prominent figure is Jules Jordan, who was born
at Willimantic, Conn., November 10, 1850, of colonial ancestry. Though
chiefly interested in oratorio singing, in which he has been
prominent, he has written a number of songs, some of which have been
very popular. The best of these are a rapturous "Love's Philosophy," a
delicious "Dutch Lullaby," "An Old Song," and "Stay By and Sing." He
has written some religious songs, part songs, and three works for
soli, chorus, and orchestra, "Windswept Wheat," "A Night Service," and
"Barbara Frietchie;" also "Joel," a dramatic scene for soprano and
orchestra, sung at the Worcester Musical Festival by Mme. Nordica.
This I have not seen, nor his romantic opera, "Rip Van Winkle." In
June, 1895, Brown University conferred on him the degree of Doctor of
Music. Two albums of his songs are published.
A writer of many religious solos and part songs is E.W. Hanscom, who
lives in Auburn, Me. He was born at Durham, in the same State,
December 28, 1848. He has made two extended visits to London, Berlin
and Vienna, for special work under eminent teachers, but has chiefly
studied in Maine. Besides his sacred songs Hanscom has published a
group of six songs, all written intelligently, and an especially good
lyric, "Go, Rose, and in Her Golden Hair," a very richly harmonized
"Lullaby," and two "Christmas Songs," with violin obbligato.
In Delaware, Ohio, at the Ohio Wesleyan University, is a composer,
Willard J. Baltzell, who has found inspiration for many worthy
compositions, but publishers for only two, both of these part songs,
"Dreamland" and "Life is a Flower," of which the latter is very
excellent writing.
Baltzell was for some years a victim of the musical lassitude of
Philadelphia. He had his musical training there. He has written in the
large forms a suite founded on Rossetti's "Love's Nocturne," an
overture, "Three Guardsmen," a "Novelette" for orchestra, a cantata,
"The Mystery of Life," and an unfinished setting of Psalm xvii. with
barytone solo. These are all scored for orchestra, and the manuscript
that I have seen shows notable psychological power. Other works are: a
string quartette, a trio, "Lilith," based on Rossetti's poem, "Eden
Bower," a nonet, and a violin sonata. He has also written for the
piano and organ fugues and other works. These I have not seen; but I
have read many of his songs in manuscript, and they reveal a
remarkable strenuousness, and a fine understanding of the poetry. His
song, "Desire," is full of high-colored flecks of harmony that dance
like the golden motes in a sunbeam. His "Madrigal" has much style and
humor. He has set to music a deal of the verse of Langdon E. Mitchell,
besides a song cycle, "The Journey," which is an interesting
failure,--a failure because it cannot interest any public singer, and
interesting because of its artistic musical landscape suggestion; and
there are the songs, "Fallen Leaf," which is deeply morose, and
"Loss," which has some remarkable details and a strange, but
effective, ambiguous ending. Other songs are a superbly rapturous
setting of E.C. Stedman's "Thou Art Mine," and a series of songs to
the words of Richard Watson Gilder, a poet who is singularly
interesting to composers: "Thistledown" is irresistibly volatile;
"Because the Rose Must Fade" has a nobility of mood; "The Winter
Heart" is a powerful short song, and "Woman's Thought," aside from one
or two dangerous moments, is stirring and intense. Baltzell writes
elaborate accompaniments, for which his skill is sufficient, and he is
not afraid of his effects.
In the far Xanadu of Colorado lives Rubin Goldmark, a nephew of the
famous Carl Goldmark. He was born in New York in 1872. He attended the
public schools and the College of the City of New York. At the age of
seven he began the study of the piano with Alfred M. Livonius, with
whom he went to Vienna at the age of seventeen. There he studied the
piano with Anton Door, and composition with Fuchs, completing in two
years a three years' course in harmony and counterpoint. Returning to
New York, he studied with Rafael Joseffy and with Doctor Dvorak for
one year. In 1892 he went to Colorado Springs for his health. Having
established a successful College of Music there, he has remained as
its director and as a lecturer on musical topics.
At the age of nineteen he wrote his "Theme and Variations" for
orchestra. They were performed under Mr. Seidl's leadership in 1895
with much success. Their harmonies are singularly clear and sweet, of
the good old school. At the age of twenty Goldmark wrote a trio for
piano, violin, and 'cello. After the first performance of this work at
one of the conservatory concerts, Doctor Dvorak exclaimed, "There are
now two Goldmarks." The work has also had performance at the concerts
of the Kaltenborn Quartette, and has been published. It begins with a
tentative questioning, from which a serious allegro is led forth. It
is lyrical and sane, though not particularly modern, and certainly not
revolutionary in spirit. The second movement, a romanza, shows more
contrapuntal resource, and is full of a deep yearning and appeal,--an
extremely beautiful movement. The scherzo evinces a taking jocosity
with a serious interval. The piano part is especially humorous. The
finale begins with a touch of Ethiopianism that is perhaps
unconscious. The whole movement is very original and quaint.
Goldmark's music shows a steady development from a conservative
simplicity to a modern elaborateness, a development thoroughly to be
commended if it does not lead into obscurity. This danger seems to
threaten Goldmark's career, judging from his cantata for chorus and
orchestra, the "Pilgrimage to Kevlaar," which, while highly
interesting in places, and distinctly resourceful, is too abstruse and
gloomy to stand much chance of public understanding.
Many of the works that I have had the privilege of examining in MS.
have since been published; there is much originality, much attainment,
and more promise in a number of his songs. His setting of Marlowe's
"Come Live with Me," in spite of a few eccentricities, shows, on the
whole, a great fluency of melody over an elaborately beautiful
accompaniment. His solemn and mysterious "Forest Song" could deserve
the advertisement of being "drawn from the wood." "Die erste Liebe"
shows a contemplative originality in harmony, and ends with a curious
dissonance and resolution. "O'er the Woods' Brow" is very strange and
interesting, though somewhat abstruse. Less so is a song, "An den
Abendsstern;" it has a comparison-forcing name, but is a delightful
song. "Es muss ein Wunderbares sein" is notable for novel effects in
harmonies of crystal with light dissonances to edge the facets. A
sonata for piano and violin and a romanza for 'cello have been
published, and his "Hiawatha" overture has been played by the Boston
Symphony Orchestra. On this occasion the always quoteworthy
mezzotintist, James Huneker, wrote:
"The nephew of a very remarkable composer,--for Carl Goldmark
outranks to-day all the Griegs, Massenets, Mascagnis,
Saint-Saens, and Dvoraks you can gather,--he needs must fear
the presence in his scores of the avuncular apparition. His
'Hiawatha' overture was played by Mr. Gericke and the Boston
Symphony Orchestra Wednesday of last week. At the first
cantilena on the strings I nearly jumped out of my seat. It
was bewilderingly luscious and Goldmarkian,--a young Goldmark
come to judgment. The family gifts are color and rhythm. This
youth has them, and he also has brains. Original invention is
yet to come, but I have hopes. The overture, which is not
Indian, is full of good things, withal too lengthy in the
free fantasia. There is life, and while there's life there's
rhythm, and a nice variety there is. The allegro has one
stout tune, and the rush and dynamic glow lasts. He lasts,
does Rubin Goldmark, and I could have heard the piece through
twice. The young American composer has not been idle lately."
_The New York Colony._
In every period where art is alive there must be violent faction, and
wherever there is violent faction there is sure to be a _tertium quid_
that endeavors to bridge the quarrel. The Daniel Websters call forth
the Robert Haynes, and the two together evoke the compromisers, the
Henry Clays.
In the struggle between modernity and classicism that always rages
when music is in vitality, one always finds certain ardent spirits who
endeavor to reconcile the conflicting theories of the different
schools, and to materialize the reconciliation in their own work. An
interesting example of this is to be found in the anatomical
construction of one of the best American piano compositions, the
fantasy for piano and orchestra by Arthur Whiting.
The composer has aimed to pay his respects to the classic sonata
formula, and at the same time to warp it to more romantic and modern
usages. The result of his experiment is a form that should interest
every composer. As Whiting phrases it, he has "telescoped" the sonata
form. The slow introduction prepares for the first and second
subjects, which appear, as usual, except that they are somewhat
developed as they appear. Now, in place of the regular development,
the pastoral movement is brought forward. This is followed by the
reprise of the first and second subjects. Then the finale appears. All
of these movements are performed without pause, and the result is so
successful that Whiting is using the same plan for a quintette.
Handwriting experts are fond of referring to the "picture effect" of a
page of writing. It is sometimes startling to see the resemblance in
"picture effect" between the music pages of different composers. The
handsomely abused Perosi, for instance, writes many a page, which, if
held at arm's length, you would swear was one of Palestrina's. Some of
Mr. Whiting's music has a decidedly Brahmsic picture effect. This
feeling is emphasized when one remembers the enthusiasm shown for
Brahms in Whiting's concerts, where the works of the Ursus Minor of
Vienna hold the place of honor. The resemblance is only skin deep,
however, and Whiting's music has a mind of its own.
The fantasy in question (op. 11) is full of individuality and
brilliance. The first subject is announced appassionato by the
strings, the piano joining with arabesquery that follows the general
outlines. After this is somewhat developed, the second subject comes
in whimsically in the relative major. This is written with great
chromatic lusciousness, and is quite liberally developed. It suddenly
disappears into what is ordinarily called the second movement, a
pastoral, in which the piano is answered by the oboe, flute, clarinet,
and finally the horn. This is gradually appassionated until it is
merged into the reprise of the first movement proper. During this
reprise little glints of reminiscence of the pastoral are seen. A coda
of great bravery leads to the last movement, which is marked
"scherzando," but is rather martial in tone. The decidedly noble
composition ends with great brilliancy and strength. It is published
for orchestral score and for two pianos.
Whiting was born in Cambridge, Mass., June 20, 1861. He studied the
piano with William H. Sherwood, and has made a successful career in
concert playing with the Boston Symphony Orchestra and the Kneisel
Quartette, both of which organizations have performed works of his. In
1883 he went to Munich for two years, where he studied counterpoint
and composition with Rheinberger. He is now living in New York as a
concert pianist and teacher.
[Music: Idylle.
Arthur Whiting.
Copyright, 1895, by G. Schirmer.
A FRAGMENT.]
Four works of his for the piano are: "Six Bagatelles," of which the
"Caprice" has a charming infectious coda, while the "Humoreske" is
less simple, and also less amusing. The "Album Leaf" is a pleasing
whimsy, and the "Idylle" is as delicate as fleece. Of the three
"Characteristic Waltzes," the "Valse Sentimentale" is by far the most
interesting. It manages to develop a sort of harmonic haze that is
very romantic.
For the voice, Whiting has written little. Church music interests him
greatly, and he has written various anthems, a morning and evening
service, which keeps largely to the traditional colors of the
Episcopal ecclesiastical manner, yet manages to be fervent without
being theatrical. A trio, a violin sonata, and a piano quintette, a
suite for strings, and a concert overture for orchestra complete the
list of his writings.
On the occasion of a performance of Whiting's "Fantasy," Philip Hale
thus picturesquely summed him up:
"In times past I have been inclined to the opinion that when
Mr. Whiting first pondered the question of a calling he must
have hesitated between chess and music. His music seemed to
me full of openings and gambits and queer things contrived as
in a game. He was the player, and the audience was his
antagonist. Mr. Whiting was generally the easy conqueror. The
audience gave up the contest and admired the skill of the
musician.
"You respected the music of Mr. Whiting, but you did not feel
for it any personal affection. The music lacked humanity. Mr.
Whiting had, and no doubt has, high ideals. Sensuousness in
music seemed to him as something intolerable, something
against public morals, something that should be suppressed
by the selectmen. Perhaps he never went so far as to petition
for an injunction against sex in music; but rigorous
intellectuality was his one aim. He might have written A
Serious Call to Devout and Holy Composition, or A Practical
Treatise upon Musical Perfection, to which is now added, by
the same author, The Absolute Unlawfulness of the Stage
Entertainment Fully Demonstrated.
"There was almost intolerance in Mr. Whiting's musical
attitude. He himself is a man of wit rather than humor, a man
with a very pretty knack at sarcasm. He is industrious,
fastidious, a severe judge of his own works. As a musician he
was even in his dryest days worthy of sincere respect.
"Now this fantasia is the outward and sure expression of a
change in Mr. Whiting's way of musical thinking, and the
change is decidedly for the better. There is still a display
of pure intellectuality; there is still a solving of
self-imposed problems; but Mr. Whiting's musical enjoyment is
no longer strictly selfish. Here is a fantasia in the true
sense of the term; form is here subservient to fancy. The
first movement, if you wish to observe traditional
terminology, is conspicuous chiefly for the skill, yes,
fancy, with which thematic material of no marked apparent
inherent value is treated. The pastorale is fresh and
suggestive. The ordinary pastorale is a bore. There is the
familiar recipe: take an oboe the size of an egg, stir it
with a flute, add a little piano, throw in a handful of
muted strings, and let the whole gently simmer in a 9-8
stew-pan. But Mr. Whiting has treated his landscape and
animal kingdom with rare discretion. The music gave pleasure;
it soothed by its quiet untortured beauty, its simplicity,
its discretion. And in like manner, without receiving or
desiring to receive any definite, precise impression, the
finale interested because it was not a hackneyed form of
brilliant talk. The finale is something more than clever, to
use a hideous term that I heard applied to it. It is
individual, and this praise may be awarded the whole work.
Remember, too, that although this is a fantasia, there is not
merely a succession of unregulated, uncontrolled, incoherent
sleep-chasings.
"In this work there is a warmer spirit than that which
animated or kept alive Mr. Whiting's former creations. There
is no deep emotion, there is no sensuousness, there is no
glowing color, no 'color of deciduous days.' These might be
incongruous in the present scheme. But there is a more
pronounced vitality, there is a more decided sympathy with
the world and men and women; there is more humanity.
"The piano is here an orchestral instrument, and as such it
was played admirably by Mr. Whiting. His style of playing is
his own, even his tone seems peculiarly his own, with a
crispness that is not metallic, with a quality that deceives
at first in its carrying power. His performance was
singularly clean and elastic, its personality was refreshing.
He played the thoughts of Mr. Whiting in Mr. Whiting's way.
And thus by piece and performance did he win a legitimate
success."
[Illustration: HENRY HOLDEN HUSS.]
Many American composers have had their first tuition from their
mothers; few from their fathers. Mr. Huss is one of the latter few.
The solidity of his musical foundation bespeaks a very correct
beginning. He was born in Newark, N.J., June 21, 1862. His first
teacher in the theory of music was Otis B. Boise, who has been for the
last twenty years a teacher of theory in Berlin, though he was born in
this country. Huss went to Munich in 1883 and remained three years. He
studied counterpoint under Rheinberger, and won public mention for
proficiency. At his second examination his idyl for small orchestra,
"In the Forest," was produced; and at his graduation he performed his
"Rhapsody" in C major for piano and orchestra. A year after his return
to America this work was given by the Boston Symphony Orchestra. A
year later Van der Stucken gave it at the first of his concerts of
American compositions. The next year Huss' "Ave Maria," for women's
voices, string orchestra, harp, and organ, was given a public hearing.
The next year he gave a concert of his own works, and the same year,
1889, Van der Stucken produced his violin romance and polonaise for
violin and orchestra at the Paris Exposition.
His piano concerto for piano and orchestra he played first with the
Boston Symphony Orchestra in 1894, and has given it on numerous
occasions since.
Other works, most of which have also been published, are: "The
Fountain," for women's voices a cappella; a festival "Sanctus," for
chorus and orchestra; an "Easter Theme," for chorus, organ, and
orchestra; "The Winds," for chorus and orchestra, with soprano and
alto solos; a "Festival March," for organ and orchestra; a concerto
for violin, and orchestra; a trio for piano, violin, and 'cello; a
"Prelude Appassionata," for the piano, dedicated to and played by Miss
Adele aus der Ohe, to whom the concerto is also dedicated.
This concerto, which is in D major, is a good example of the
completeness of Huss' armory of resources. The first movement has the
martial pomp and hauteur and the Sardanapalian opulence and color that
mark a barbaric triumph. Chopin has been the evident model, and the
result is always pianistic even at its most riotous point. Huss has
ransacked the piano and pillaged almost every imaginable fabric of
high color. The great technical difficulties of the work are entirely
incidental to the desire for splendor. The result is gorgeous and
purple. The andante is hardly less elaborate than the first movement,
but in the finale there is some laying off of the _impedimenta_ of the
pageant, as if the paraders had put aside the magnificence for a
period of more informal festivity. The spirit is that of the scherzo,
and the main theme is the catchiest imaginable, the rhythm curious and
irresistible, and the entire mood saturnalian. In the coda there is a
reminder of the first movement, and the whole thing ends in a blaze of
fireworks.
On the occasion of its first performance in Cincinnati, in 1889,
Robert I. Carter wrote:
"It is preeminently a symphonic work, in which the piano is
used as a voice in the orchestra, and used with consummate
skill. The charm of the work lies in its simplicity. The
pianist will tell you at once that it is essentially
pianistic, a term that is much abused and means little. The
traditional cadenza is there, but it is not allowed to step
out of the frame, and so perfect is the relation to what
precedes and follows, that the average listener might claim
that it does not exist. Without wishing to venture upon any
odious grounds of comparison, I want to state frankly that it
is, to me, emphatically the best American concerto."
Huss is essentially a dramatic and lyric composer, though he seems to
be determined to show himself also a thematic composer of the old
school. In his trio, which I heard played by the Kaltenborn Quartette,
both phases of his activity were seen. There was much odor of the lamp
about the greater part of the trio, which seemed generally lacking
that necessary capillarity of energy which sometimes saturates with
life-sap the most formal and elaborate counterpoint of the
pre-romantic strata. The andante of the trio, however, displayed Huss'
singularly appealing gift of song. It abounded in emotion, and was--to
use the impossible word Keats coined--"yearnful." Huss should write
more of this sort of music. We need its rare spontaneity and truth, as
we do not need the all too frequent mathematics of those who compose,
as Tybalt fought, "by the book."
For the piano there are "Three Bagatelles:" an "Etude Melodique,"
which is rather harmonic than melodic; an "Albumblatt," a graceful
movement woven like a Schumann arabesque; and a "Pastoral," in which
the gracefulness of the music given to the right hand is annulled by
the inexplicable harshness of that given to the left.
For the voice, there is, of course, a setting of "Du bist wie eine
Blume," which, save for the fact that it looks as if the accompaniment
were written first, is a very pure piece of writing. The "Song of the
Syrens" is a strong composition with a big climax, the "Jessamine Bud"
is extremely delicate, and "They that Sow in Tears" has much dignity.
There are two songs from Tennyson, "There is Sweet Music Here" and
"Home They Brought Her Warrior Dead," with orchestral accompaniment.
By all odds the most important, and a genuinely improved composition
is the aria for soprano and orchestra, "The Death of Cleopatra." The
words are taken from Shakespeare's play and make use of the great
lines given to the dying Egypt, "Give me my robe, put on my crown, I
have immortal longings in me," and the rest. The music not only pays
all due reverence to the sacred text, but is inspired by it, and
reaches great heights of fervor and tragedy. From Shakespeare, Huss
drew the afflation for another aria of great interest, a setting for
barytone voice of the "Seven Ages of Man." The problems attending the
putting to music of Shakespeare's text are severe; but the plays are
gold mines of treasure for the properly equipped musician.
A vivid example of the difficulties in the way of American composers'
securing an orchestral hearing is seen in the experience of Howard
Brockway, who had a symphony performed in 1895 by the Berlin
Philharmonic Orchestra, and has been unable to get a hearing or get
the work performed in America during the five years following, in
spite of the brilliancy of the composition. The scoring of the work is
so mature that one can see its skill by a mere glance at the page from
a distance. When the work was performed in Germany, it was received
with pronounced favor by the Berlin critics, who found in it a
conspicuous absence of all those qualities which the youth of the
composer would have made natural.
Brockway was born in Brooklyn, November 22, 1870, and studied piano
with H.O.C. Kortheuer from 1887 to 1889. He went to Berlin at the
age of twenty and studied the piano with Barth, and composition with
O.B. Boise, the transplanted American. Boise gave Brockway so
thorough a training that he may be counted one of the most fluent and
completely equipped American composers. At the age of twenty-four he
had finished his symphony (op. 12), a ballade for orchestra (op. 11),
and a violin and piano sonata (op. 9), as well as a cavatina for
violin and orchestra. These, with certain piano solos, were given at a
concert of Brockway's own works in February, 1895, at the
Sing-Akademie. His works were accepted as singularly mature, and
promising as well. A few months later, Brockway returned to New York,
where he has since lived as a teacher and performer.
His symphony, which is in D major, is so ebullient with life that its
dashing first subject cannot brook more than a few measures of slow
introduction. The second subject is simpler, but no less joyous. The
thematic work is scholarly and enthusiastic at the same time. The
different movements of the symphony are, however, not thematically
related, save that the coda of the last movement is a reminiscence of
the auxiliary theme of the first movement. The andante, in which the
'cellos are very lyrical, is a tender and musing mood. The presto is
flashing with life and has a trio of rollicking, even whooping,
jubilation. The finale begins gloomily and martially, and it is
succeeded by a period of beauty and grace. This movement, in fact, is
a remarkable combination of the exquisitest beauty and most
unrestrained prowess.
Another orchestral work of great importance in American music is the
"Sylvan Suite" (op. 19), which is also arranged for the piano. In this
work the composer has shown a fine discretion and conservation in the
use of the instruments, making liberal employment of small choirs for
long periods. The work is programmatic in psychology only. It begins
with a "Midsummer Idyl," which embodies the drowsy petulance of hot
noon. The second number is "Will o' the Wisps." In this a three-voiced
fugue for the strings, wood, and one horn has been used with
legitimate effect and most teasing, fleeting whimsicality. The third
movement is a slow waltz, called "The Dance of the Sylphs," a very
catchy air, swaying delicately in the bassoons and 'cello; a short
"Evening Song" is followed by "Midnight." This is a parade that
reminds one strongly of Gottschalk's "Marche de Nuit." The march
movement is followed by an interlude depicting the mystery of night,
as Virgil says, "_tremulo sub lumine_." The composer has endeavored to
indicate the chill gray of dawn by the ending of this movement: a
chord taken by two flutes and the strings shivering _sul ponticello_.
The last movement is "At Daybreak." Out of the gloom of the bassoons
grows a broad and general luminous song followed by an interlude of
the busy hum of life; this is succeeded by the return of the sunrise
theme with a tremendously vivacious accompaniment.
Other works of Brockway's are: a cantata, a set of variations, a
ballade, a nocturne, a Characterstueck, a Fantasiestueck, a set of four
piano pieces (op. 21), and two piano pieces (op. 25). All of these,
except the cantata, have been published. Two part songs and two songs
with piano accompaniment have also been published; a violin sonata, a
Moment Musicale, and a romanza for violin and orchestra have been
published in Berlin.
These works all show a decided tendency to write brilliant and
difficult music, but the difficulties are legitimate to the effect and
the occasion. The Ballade works up a very powerful climax; the
Scherzino swishes fascinatingly; and the Romanza for piano is a
notably mature and serious work.
[Music: Copyright, 1894, by Schlesinger'sche Buch und Musikhandlung
(Rob. Lienau), Berlin.
FRAGMENT OF A "BALLADE" BY HOWARD BROCKWAY.]
Two ballads have made the so romantic name of Harry Rowe Shelley a
household word in America. They are the setting of Tom Moore's fiery
"Minstrel Boy," and a strange jargon of words called "Love's Sorrow."
In both cases the music is intense and full of fervor, and quick
popularity rarely goes out to more worthy songs.
[Illustration: Autograph of Harry Rowe Shelley]
[Illustration: HARRY ROWE SHELLEY.]
But Shelley would doubtless prefer to be judged by work to which he
has given more of his art and his interest than to the many songs that
he has tossed off in the light name of popularity.
Shelley's life has been largely devoted to church work. Born in New
Haven, Conn., June 8, 1858, and taught music by Gustav J. Stoeckel, he
came under the tuition of Dudley Buck for seven years. His twentieth
year found him an organist at New Haven. Three years later he went to
Brooklyn in the same capacity. He was the organist at Plymouth Church
for some time before Henry Ward Beecher's death. Since 1887 he has
been at the Church of the Pilgrims. He visited Europe in 1887 and
studied under Dvorak when the Bohemian master was here.
Shelley's largest works have been an opera, "Leila," still in
manuscript, a symphonic poem, "The Crusaders," a dramatic overture,
"Francesca da Rimini," a sacred oratorio, "The Inheritance Divine," a
suite for orchestra, a fantasy for piano and orchestra (written for
Rafael Joseffy), a one-act musical extravaganza, a three-act lyric
drama, and a virile symphony. The suite is called "Souvenir de
Baden-Baden." It is a series of highly elaborated trifles of much
gaiety, and includes a lively "Morning Promenade," a dreamy "Siesta,"
a "Conversationshaus Ball," and a quaint "Serenade Orientale" that
shows the influence of Mozart's and Beethoven's marches alla turca.
The orchestration of this work I have never heard nor seen. Its
arrangement for four hands, however, is excellently done, with
commendable attention to the interests of the _secondo_ player.
The cantata is called "The Inheritance Divine," and it is much the
best thing Shelley has done. It begins with a long, slow crescendo on
the word "Jerusalem," which is very forceful. Shelley responds to an
imaginary encore, however, and the word becomes little more than an
expletive.
Page 7--to refer more conveniently than technically--is marked by
sonorous harmonies of especial nobility. Now begins a new idea worked
up with increased richness and growing fervor to a sudden magnificence
of climax in the second measure on page 11. The final phrase,
strengthened by an organ-point on two notes, is fairly thrilling. A
tenor solo follows, its introductory recitative containing many fine
things, its aria being smoothly melodious. A chorus, of warm harmonies
and a remarkably beautiful and unexpected ending, is next; after which
is a sombre, but impressive alto solo. The two successive choruses,
the quartette, and the soprano solo catch the composer nodding. The
bass solo is better; the final chorus brings us back to the high
plane. Page 62 is particularly big of spirit, and from here on the
chorus climbs fiery heights. In spite of Berlioz' famous parody on the
"Amen" fugues, in the "Damnation of Faust," Shelley has used the word
over a score of times in succession to finish his work. But altogether
the work is one of maturity of feeling and expression, and it is a
notable contribution to American sacred music.
In 1898 "Death and Life" was published. It opens with a dramatic
chorus sung by the mob before the cross, and it ends daringly with a
unisonal descent of the voices that carries even the sopranos down to
A natural. In the duet between Christ and Mary, seeking where they
have laid her Son, the librettist has given Christ a versified
paraphrase which is questionable both as to taste and grammar. The
final chorus, however, has a stir of spring fire that makes the work
especially appropriate for Easter services.
The cantata "Vexilla Regis" is notable for its martial opening chorus,
the bass solo, "Where deep for us the spear was dyed," and its
scholarly and effective ending.
A lapidary's skill and delight for working in small forms belongs to
Gerrit Smith. His "Aquarelles" are a good example of his art in
bijouterie. This collection includes eight songs and eight piano
sketches. The first, "A Lullaby," begins with the unusual skip of a
ninth for the voice. A subdued accentuation is got by the syncopation
of the bass, and the yearning tenderness of the ending finishes an
exquisite song. "Dream-wings" is a graceful fantasy that fittingly
presents the delicate sentiment of Coleridge' lyrics. The setting of
Heine's "Fir-tree" is entirely worthy to stand high among the numerous
settings of this lyric. Smith gets the air of desolation of the bleak
home of the fir-tree by a cold scale of harmony, and a bold simplicity
of accompaniment. The home of the equally lonely palm-tree is strongly
contrasted by a tropical luxuriance of interlude and accompaniment.
The sixth song is a delightful bit of brilliant music, but it is quite
out of keeping with the poem. Thus on the words, "Margery's only
three," there is a fierce climax fitting an Oriental declaration of
despair. The last of these songs, "Put by the Lute," is possibly
Smith's best work. It is superb from beginning to end. It opens with a
most unhackneyed series of preludizing arpeggios, whence it breaks
into a swinging lyric, strengthened into passion by a vigorous
contramelody in the bass. Throughout, the harmonies are most
original, effective, and surprising.
Of the eight instrumental pieces in this book, the exquisite and
fluent "Impromptu" is the best after the "Cradle Song," which is
drowsy with luscious harmony and contains a passage come organo of
such noble sonority as to put it a whit out of keeping with a child's
lullaby.
Smith was born December 11, 1859, at Hagerstown, Md. His first
instruction was gained in Geneva, N.Y., from a pupil of Moscheles. He
began composition early, and works of his written at the age of
fourteen were performed at his boarding-school. He graduated at Hobart
College in 1876, whence he went to Stuttgart to study music and
architecture. A year later he was in New York studying the organ with
Samuel P. Warren. He was appointed organist at St. Paul's, Buffalo,
and studied during the summer with Eugene Thayer, and William H.
Sherwood. In 1880 he went again to Germany, and studied organ under
Haupt, and theory under Rohde, at Berlin. On his return to America he
took the organ at St. Peter's, in Albany. Later he came to New York,
where he has since remained continuously, except for concert tours and
journeys abroad. He has played the organ in the most important English
and Continental towns, and must be considered one of our most
prominent concert organists. He is both a Master of Arts and a Doctor
of Music. As one of the founders, and for many years the president, of
the Manuscript Society, he was active in obtaining a hearing for much
native music otherwise mute.
In addition to a goodly number of Easter carols, Christmas anthems, Te
Deums, and such smaller forms of religious music, Smith has written a
sacred cantata, "King David." Aside from this work, which in
orchestration and in general treatment shows undoubted skill for large
effort, Doctor Smith's composition has been altogether along the
smaller lines.
The five-song'd opus 14 shows well matured lyric power, and an
increase in fervor of emotion. Bourdillon's "The Night Has a Thousand
Eyes," which can never be too much set to music, receives here a truly
superb treatment. The interlude, which also serves for finale, is
especially ravishing. "Heart Longings" is one of Mr. Smith's very best
successes. It shows a free passion and a dramatic fire unusual for his
rather quiet muse. The setting of Bourdillon's fine lyric is indeed so
stirring that it deserves a high place among modern songs. "Melody"
is a lyric not without feeling, but yet inclusive of most of Smith's
faults. Thus the prelude, which is a tritely flowing allegro, serves
also for interlude as well as postlude, and the air and accompaniment
of both stanzas are unvaried, save at the cadence of the latter
stanza. The intense poesy of Anna Reeve Aldrich, a poetess cut short
at the very budding of unlimited promise, deserved better care than
this from a musician. Two of Smith's works were published in Millet's
"Half-hours with the Best Composers,"--one of the first substantial
recognitions of the American music-writer. A "Romance," however, is
the best and most elaborate of his piano pieces, and is altogether an
exquisite fancy. His latest work, a cycle of ten pieces for the piano,
"A Colorado Summer," is most interesting. The pieces are all lyrical
and simple, but they are full of grace and new colors.
[Music: Spring.
Words by Alfred Tennyson.
GERRIT SMITH, OP. 13, NO. 4.
Bird's love and bird's song,
Flying here and there,
Bird's song and bird's love,
And you with gold for hair.
Bird's song and bird's love,
Passing with the weather,
Men's song and men's love,
To love once and forever.
Copyright, 1894, by Arthur P. Schmidt.
A FRAGMENT.]
But Smith's most individual work is his set of songs for children,
which are much compared, and favorably, with Reinecke's work along the
same lines. These are veritable masterpieces of their sort, and they
are mainly grouped into opus 12, called "Twenty-five Song Vignettes."
So well are they written that they are a safe guide, and worthy that
supreme trust, the first formation of a child's taste. Even
dissonances are used, sparingly but bravely enough to give an idea of
the different elements that make music something more than a sweetish
impotence. They are vastly different from the horrible trash children
are usually brought up on, especially in our American schools, to the
almost incurable perversion of their musical tastes. They are also so
full of refinement, and of that humor without which children cannot
long be held, that they are of complete interest also to "grown-ups,"
to whom alone the real artistic value of these songs can entirely
transpire. Worthy of especial mention are the delicious "Stars and
Angels;" the delightful "A Carriage to Ride In;" "Good King Arthur," a
captivating melody, well built on an accompaniment of "God Save the
King;" "Birdie's Burial," an elegy of the most sincere pathos, quite
worthy of a larger cause,--if, indeed, any grief is greater than the
first sorrows of childhood; the surprisingly droll "Barley Romance;"
"The Broom and the Rod," with its programmatic _glissandos_ to give
things a clean sweep; and other delights like the "Rain Song," "The
Tomtit Gray," "Mamma's Birthday," and "Christmas at the Door." To have
given these works their present value and perfection, is to have
accomplished a far greater thing than the writing of a dozen tawdry
symphonies.
One of the most outrageously popular piano pieces ever published in
America was Homer N. Bartlett's "Grande Polka de Concert." It was his
opus 1, written years ago, and he tells me that he recently refused a
lucrative commission to write fantasies on "Nearer My God to Thee" and
"The Old Oaken Bucket"! So now that he has reformed, grown wise and
signed the musical pledge, one must forgive him those wild oats from
which he reaped royalties, and look to the genuine and sincere work he
has latterly done. Let us begin, say, with opus 38, a "Polonaise" that
out-Herods Chopin in bravura, but is full of vigor and well held
together. A "Dance of the Gnomes," for piano, is also arranged for a
sextet, the arrangement being a development, not a bare transcription.
There are two mazurkas (op. 71), the first very original and happy.
"AEolian Murmurings" is a superb study in high color. A "Caprice
Espanol" is a bravura realization of Spanish frenzy. It has also been
brilliantly orchestrated. Two songs without words make up opus 96:
while "Meditation" shows too evident meditation on Wagner, "A Love
Song" gets quite away from musical bourgeoisery. It is free, spirited,
even daring. It is patently less devoted to theme-development than to
the expression of an emotion. This "Love Song" is one of the very best
of American morceaux, and is altogether commendable.
Opus 107 includes three "characteristic pieces." "The Zephyr" is
dangerously like Chopin's fifteenth Prelude, with a throbbing
organ-point on the same A flat. On this alien foundation, however,
Bartlett has built with rich harmony. The "Harlequin" is graceful and
cheery. It ends with Rubinstein's sign and seal, an arpeggio in
sixths, which is as trite a musical finis as fiction's "They lived
happily ever afterward, surrounded by a large circle of admiring
friends."
Three mazurkas constitute opus 125. They are closely modelled on
Chopin, and naturally lack the first-handedness of these works, in
which, almost alone, the Pole was witty. But Bartlett has made as
original an imitation as possible. The second is particularly
charming.
In manuscript is a Prelude developed interestingly on well-understood
lines. There is a superb "Reverie Poetique." It is that climax of
success, a scholarly inspiration. To the meagre body of American
scherzos, Bartlett's scherzo will be very welcome. It is very festive
and very original. Its richly harmonized interlude shows a complete
emancipation from the overpowering influence of Chopin, and a great
gain in strength as well as individuality.
In his songs Bartlett attains a quality uniformly higher than that of
his piano pieces. "Moonbeams" has many delicacies of harmony.
"Laughing Eyes" is a fitting setting of Mr. "Nym Crinkle" Wheeler's
exquisite lyric. "Come to Me, Dearest," while cheap in general design,
has fine details.
It makes me great dole to have to praise a song about a brooklet; but
the truth is, that Bartlett's "I Hear the Brooklet's Murmur" is
superbly beautiful, wild with regret,--a noble song. It represents the
late German type of _Lied_, as the earlier heavy style is exemplified
in "Good Night, Dear One." Very Teutonic also is the airiness and
grace of "Rosebud."
To that delightful collection of children's songs, "The St. Nicholas
Song Book," Bartlett contributed largely. All of his lyrics are
delicious, and "I Had a Little Pony" should become a nursery classic.
In his "Lord God, Hear My Prayer," Bartlett throws down the gauntlet
to the Bach-Gounod "Ave Maria," with results rather disastrous. He
chooses a Cramer etude, and adds to it parts for voice, violin, and
organ. While Gounod seems passionate and unrestrained, Bartlett shows
his caution and his cage at every step. A Cramer etude is among the
most melancholy things of earth anyway. "Jehovah Nissi" is an
excellent sacred march chorus that won a prize, and there is a
cantata, "The Last Chieftain." Bartlett's cantata is without efforts
at Indian color, but is a solid work with much dignity, barbaric
severity, and fire.
Bartlett was born at Olive, N.Y., December 28, 1846. His ancestry
runs far back into New England, his mother being a descendant of John
Rogers, the martyr. Bartlett is said to have "lisped in numbers,"
singing correctly before he could articulate words. The violin was his
first love, and at the age of eight he was playing in public. He took
up the piano and organ also, and in his fourteenth year was a church
organist. He studied the piano with S.B. Mills, Emil Guyon (a pupil
of Thalberg), and Alfred Pease. The organ and composition he studied
with O.F. Jacobsen and Max Braun. With the exception of a musical
pilgrimage in 1887, Bartlett has not come nearer the advantages of
Europe than study here under men who studied there. He has resided for
many years in New York as organist and teacher. As a composer he has
been one of our most prolific music-makers. His work shows a steady
development in value, and the best is doubtless yet to come.
He finds a congenial field in the orchestra. Seidl played his
instrumentation of Chopin's "Military Polonaise" several times. As the
work seemed to need a finale in its larger form, Bartlett took a
liberty whose success was its justification, and added a finish made
up of the three principal themes interwoven. A recent work is his
"Concertstueck," for violin and orchestra. It is not pianistic in
instrumentation, and will appeal to violinists. While not marked with
_recherches_ violin tricks, or violent attempts at bravura, it has
both brilliance and solidity, and is delightfully colored in
orchestration. There are no pauses between the movements, but they are
well varied in their unity.
There is an unfinished oratorio, "Samuel," an incomplete opera,
"Hinotito," and a cantata of which only the tenor solo, "Khamsin," is
done. This is by far the best work Bartlett has written, and displays
unexpected dramatic powers. The variation of the episodes of the
various phases of the awful drought to the climax in "The Plague,"
make up a piece of most impressive strength. The orchestration is
remarkably fine with effect, color, and variety. If the cantata is
finished on this scale, its production will be a national event.
The New England farmer is usually taken as a type of sturdy
Philistinism in artistic matters. It was a most exceptional good
fortune that gave C.B. Hawley a father who added to the dignity of
being a tiller of the soil the refinements of great musical taste and
skill. His house at Brookfield, Conn., contained not only a grand
piano, but a pipe organ as well; and Hawley's mother was blessed with
a beautiful and cultivated voice.
At the age of thirteen (he was born St. Valentine's Day, 1858) Hawley
was a church organist and the conductor of musical affairs in the
Cheshire Military Academy, from which he graduated. He went to New
York at the age of seventeen, studying the voice with George James
Webb, Rivarde, Foederlein, and others, and composition with Dudley
Buck, Joseph Mosenthal, and Rutenber.
His voice brought him the position of soloist at the Calvary Episcopal
Church, at the age of eighteen. Later he became assistant organist at
St. Thomas' Episcopal Church, under George William Warren. For the
last fourteen years he has had charge of the summer music at St. James
Chapel, in Elberon, the chapel attended by Presidents Grant and
Garfield. For seventeen years he has been one of the leading spirits
of the Mendelssohn Glee Club, and for ten years a member of the
Mendelssohn Quartet Club. Most of his part songs were written for the
club and first sung at its concerts. He is also a successful teacher
of the voice, and has been too busy to write a very large volume of
compositions. But those published show the authentic fire.
Notable features of Hawley's compositions are the taking quality of
the melody, its warm sincerity, and the unobtrusive opulence in color
of the accompaniment. This is less like an answering, independent
voice than like a many-hued, velvety tapestry, backgrounding a
beautiful statue. It is only on second thought and closer study that
one sees how well concealed is the careful and laborious polish _ad
unguem_ of every chord. This is the true art of song, where the lyrics
should seem to gush spontaneously forth from a full heart and yet
repay the closer dissection that shows the intellect perfecting the
voice of emotion.
Take, for example, his "Lady Mine," a brilliant rhapsody, full of the
spring, and enriched with a wealth of color in the accompaniment till
the melody is half hidden in a shower of roses. It required courage to
make a setting of "Ah, 'Tis a Dream!" so famous through Lassen's
melody; but Hawley has said it in his own way in an air thrilled with
longing and an accompaniment as full of shifting colors as one of the
native sunsets. I can't forbear one obiter dictum on this poem. It has
never been so translated as to reproduce its neatest bit of fancy. In
the original the poet speaks of meeting in dreams a fair-eyed maiden
who greeted him "auf Deutsch" and kissed him "auf Deutsch," but the
translations all evade the kiss in German.
"The Ring," bounding with the glad frenzy of a betrothed lover, has a
soaring finale, and is better endowed with a well polished
accompaniment than the song, "Because I Love You, Dear," which is not
without its good points in spite of its manifest appeal to a more
popular taste. "My Little Love," "An Echo," "Spring's Awakening," and
"Where Love Doth Build His Nest," are conceived in Hawley's own vein.
The song, "Oh, Haste Thee, Sweet," has some moments of banality, but
more of novelty; the harmonic work being unusual at times, especially
in the rich garb of the words, "It groweth late." In "I Only Can Love
Thee," Hawley has succeeded in conquering the incommensurateness of
Mrs. Browning's sonnet by alternating 6-8 and 9-8 rhythms. His "Were I
a Star," is quite a perfect lyric.
Of his part songs, all are good, some are masterly. Here he colors
with the same lavish but softly blending touch as in his solos. "My
Luve's Like a Red, Red Rose" is altogether delightful, containing as
it does a suggestion of the old formalities and courtly graces of the
music of Lawes, whose songs Milton sonneted. I had always thought that
no musician could do other than paint the lily in attempting to add
music to the music of Tennyson's "Bugle Song," but Hawley has come
dangerously near satisfaction in the elfland faintness and dying
clearness of his voices.
He has written two comic glees, one of which, "They Kissed! I Saw Them
Do It," has put thousands of people into the keenest mirth. It is a
vocal scherzo for men's voices. It begins with a criminally lugubrious
and thin colloquy, in which the bass dolefully informs the others:
"Beneath a shady tree they sat," to which the rest agree; "He held
her hand, she held his hat," which meets with general consent. Now we
are told in stealthy gasps, "I held my breath and lay right flat."
Suddenly out of this thinness bursts a peal of richest harmony: "They
kissed! I saw them do it." It is repeated more lusciously still, and
then the basses and barytones mouth the gossip disapprovingly, and the
poem continues with delicious raillery till it ends abruptly and
archly: "And they thought no one knew it!"
Besides these scherzos, Hawley has written a few religious part songs
of a high order, particularly the noble "Trisagion and Sanctus," with
its "Holy, Holy!" now hushed in reverential awe and now pealing in
exultant worship. But of all his songs, I like best his "When Love is
Gone," fraught with calm intensity, and closing in beauty as
ineffable as a last glimmer of dying day.
To the stencil-plate chivalry of the lyrics of the ubiquitous F.E.
Weatherby and John Oxenford, the song-status of England can blame a
deal of its stagnation. It is not often that these word-wringers have
enticed American composers. One of the few victims is John Hyatt
Brewer, who was born in Brooklyn, in 1856, and has lived there ever
since.
[Music: When Love is gone.
(_Soprano, or Tenor._)
C.B. HAWLEY.
The mind has a thousand eyes,
The heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is gone, when love is gone.
Copyright, 1894, by G. Schirmer.]
Brewer made his debut as a six-year-old singer, and sang till his
fourteenth year. A year later he was an organist in Brooklyn, where he
has held various positions in the same capacity ever since,
additionally busying himself as a teacher of voice, piano, organ, and
harmony. His studies in piano and harmony were pursued under Rafael
Navarro. Counterpoint, fugue, and composition he studied under Dudley
Buck.
In 1878 Brewer became the second tenor and accompanist of the Apollo
Club, of which Mr. Buck is the director. He has conducted numerous
vocal societies and an amateur orchestra.
Of his cantatas, "Hesperus" is a work of the greatest promise and
large performance.
For male voices Brewer has written a cantata called "The Birth of
Love." Its fiery ending is uncharacteristic, but the beautiful tenor
solo and an excellent bass song prove his forte to lie in the realm
of tenderness. Brewer's music has little fondness for climaxes, but in
a tender pathos that is not tragedy, but a sort of lotos-eater's
dreaminess and regret, he is congenially placed. Smoothness is one of
his best qualities.
Out of a number of part songs for men, one should mark a vigorous
"Fisher's Song," a "May Song," which has an effective "barber's
chord," and "The Katydid," a witty realization of Oliver Wendell
Holmes' captivating poem. His "Sensible Serenade" has also an
excellent flow of wit. Both these songs should please glee clubs and
their audiences.
For women's voices Brewer has written not a little. The best of these
are "Sea Shine," which is particularly mellow, and "Treachery," a
love-scherzo.
For the violin there are two pieces: one, in the key of D, is a duet
between the violin and the soprano voice of the piano. It is full of
characteristic tenderness, full even of tears. It should find a good
place among those violin ballads of which Raff's Cavatina is the
best-known example. Another violin solo in A is more florid, but is
well managed. The two show a natural aptitude for composition for this
favorite of all instruments.
For full orchestra there is a suite, "The Lady of the Lake," also
arranged, for piano and organ. It is smooth and well-tinted. A sextet
for strings and flute has been played with favor.
Brewer's chief success lies along lines of least resistance, one might
say. His Album of Songs (op. 27) is a case in point. Of the subtle and
inevitable "Du bist wie eine Blume," he makes nothing, and "The
Violet" forces an unfortunate contrast with Mozart's idyl to the same
words. But "Meadow Sweet" is simply iridescent with cheer, a most
unusually sweet song, and "The Heart's Rest" is of equal perfection.
The best-abused composer in America is doubtless Reginald de Koven.
His great popularity has attracted the search-light of minute
criticism to him, and his accomplishments are such as do not well
endure the fierce white light that beats upon the throne. The sin of
over-vivid reminiscence is the one most persistently imputed to him,
and not without cause. While I see no reason to accuse him of
deliberate imitation, I think he is a little too loth to excise from
his music those things of his that prove on consideration to have been
said or sung before him. Instead of crying, "_Pereant qui ante nos
nostra cantaverunt_," he believes in a live-and-let-live policy. But
ah, if De Koven were the only composer whose eraser does not evict all
that his memory installs!
De Koven was born at Middletown, Conn., in 1859, and enjoyed unusual
advantages for musical study abroad. At the age of eleven, he was
taken to Europe, where he lived for twelve years. At Oxford he earned
a degree with honors. His musical instructors include Speidel, Lebert,
and Pruckner, at Stuttgart, Huff the contrapuntist at Frankfort, and
Vannucini, who taught him singing, at Florence. He made also a
special study of light opera under Genee and Von Suppe. He made
Chicago his home in 1882, afterward moving to New York, where he
served as a musical critic on one of the daily papers for many years.
De Koven has been chief purveyor of comic opera to his generation, and
for so ideal a work as "Robin Hood," and such pleasing constructions
as parts of his other operas ("Don Quixote," "The Fencing Master,"
"The Highwayman," for instance), one ought to be grateful, especially
as his music has always a certain elegance and freedom from vulgarity.
Of his ballads, "Oh, Promise Me" has a few opening notes that remind
one of "Musica Proibita," but it was a taking lyric that stuck in the
public heart. His setting of Eugene Field's "Little Boy Blue" is a
work of purest pathos and directness. His version of "My Love is Like
a Red, Red Rose" is among the best of its countless settings, and "The
Fool of Pamperlune," the "Indian Love Song," "In June," and a few
others, are excellent ballad-writing.
Victor Harris is one of the few that selected New York for a
birthplace. He was born here April 27, 1869, and attended the College
of the City of New York, class of 1888. For several of his early years
he was well known as a boy-soprano, whence he graduated into what he
calls the "usual career" of organist, pianist, and teacher of the
voice. In 1895 and 1896 he acted as the assistant conductor to Anton
Seidl in the Brighton Beach summer concerts. He learned harmony of
Frederick Schilling.
Harris is most widely known as an accompanist, and is one of the best
in the country. But while the accompaniments he writes to his own
songs are carefully polished and well colored, they lack the show of
independence that one might expect from so unusual a master of their
execution.
Except for an unpublished one-act operetta, "Mlle. Maie et M. de
Sembre," and a few piano pieces, Harris has confined himself to the
writing of short songs. In his twenty-first year two of unequal merits
were published, "The Fountains Mingle with the River" being a taking
melody, but without distinction or originality, while "Sweetheart" has
much more freedom from conventionality and inevitableness.
[Music: To N.N.H.
Song from Omar Khayyam.
VICTOR HARRIS, Op. 16, No. 3.
Oh! threats of Hell and hopes of Paradise!
One thing at least is certain--
_This_ Life flies,
One thing is certain, and the rest is Lies!
The Flower that once has blown for ever, for ever dies.
Copyright, 1898, by Edward Schuberth & Co.]
A later song, "My Guest," shows an increase in elaboration, but
follows the florid school of Harrison Millard's once so popular
rhapsody, "Waiting." Five songs are grouped into opus 12, and they
reach a much higher finish and a better tendency to make excursions
into other keys. They also show two of Harris' mannerisms, a constant
repetition of verbal phrases and a fondness for writing close,
unbroken chords, in triplets or quartoles. "A Melody" is beautiful;
"Butterflies and Buttercups" is the perfection of grace; "I Know not
if Moonlight or Starlight" is a fine rapture, and "A Disappointment"
is a dire tragedy, all about some young toadstools that thought they
were going to be mushrooms. For postlude two measures from the
cantabile of Chopin's "Funeral March" are used with droll effect.
"Love, Hallo!" is a headlong springtime passion. Two of his latest
songs are "Forever and a Day," with many original touches, and a
"Song from Omar Khayyam," which is made of some of the most cynical of
the tent-maker's quatrains. Harris has given them all their power and
bitterness till the last line, "The flower that once has blown forever
dies," which is written with rare beauty. "A Night-song" is possibly
his best work; it is full of colors, originalities, and lyric
qualities. Opus 13 contains six songs: "Music when Soft Voices Die"
has many uncommon and effective intervals; "The Flower of Oblivion" is
more dramatic than usual, employs discords boldly, and gives the
accompaniment more individuality than before; "A Song of Four
Seasons" is a delicious morsel of gaiety, and "Love within the Lover's
Breast" is a superb song. Harris has written some choric works for men
and women also. They show commendable attention to all the voice
parts.
One of the most prominent figures in American musical history has been
Dr. William Mason. He was born in Boston, January 24, 1829, and was
the son of Lowell Mason, that pioneer in American composition. Dr.
William Mason studied in Boston, and in Germany under Moscheles,
Hauptmann, Richter, and Liszt. His success in concerts abroad and here
gave prestige to his philosophy of technic, and his books on method
have taken the very highest rank.
His pedagogical attainments have overshadowed his composition, but he
has written some excellent music. As he has been an educational force
in classical music, so his compositions show the severe pursuit of
classic forms and ideas. His work is, therefore, rather ingenious than
inspired, and intellectual rather than emotional. Yale made him Doctor
of Music in 1872.
Another composer whose studies in technic have left him only a little
inclination for creation is Albert Ross Parsons, who was born at
Sandusky, O., September 16, 1847. He studied in Buffalo, and in New
York under Ritter. Then he went to Germany, where he had a remarkably
thorough schooling under Moscheles, Reinecke, Richter, Paul, Taussig,
Kullak, and others. Returning to this country, he has busied himself
as organist, teacher, and an editor of musical works. What little
music he has composed shows the fruit of his erudition in its
correctness.