THE PLACE OF MUSIC IN LIFE
"Music is not merely a matter for the cultured: it is inextricably
bound up in the bundle of common life"
_Scholes_
Music, as we have seen, is implanted in the very nature of things, and
it is as deeply embedded in our lives. Was there ever a time when no man
sang? As a matter of evolutionary accuracy, yes, there probably was such
a time. But, looking at it in a commonsense way the answer is No. To-day
we find that savages and aborigines, who are still in the childhood
stage of evolution, are immensely susceptible to the sway of rhythm, and
in their weird dances to the beating of the Tom-toms accompany their
antics with a crooning or chanting, which no doubt to them stands in the
place of song.
Was there ever a mother who did not croon to her fretful child, and who
did not rock her babe to sleep with rhythmic lullaby? Song spans the
gap from mother Eve to the mother of to-day: the song may vary, though
the emotion of the mother-love remains the same. This crooning, with its
element of soothing monotony, it is interesting to note is distinctly
hypnotic in its effect, for the sleep of hypnosis is definitely induced
by monotonous stimulation of any of the senses. The rocking and crooning
on the part of the mother are quite akin, though unconsciously so, to
the approved scientific methods. It is also curious that the nature of
the monotonous stimulation does not seem to matter very much, for there
is a case on record where a doctor hypnotised a patient by reciting to
him in a low voice a few verses of "The Walrus and the Carpenter." The
psycho-analysts would probably say that the patient went to sleep in
self-defence. We can well remember how we were lulled to sleep in
earliest days to the following somewhat fearsome and original words sung
to the tune of a popular hymn:--
"Bye, bye, bye, bye,
Horse, pig, cow, sheep,
Rhinoceros, donkey, cat:
Dog, dickie, hippopotamus,
Black-beetle, spider, rat."
From which it appears evident that the actual words used as a soporific
allow considerable latitude of choice.
No doubt Pan piped, and the Nymphs danced to his music in their woodland
groves, much as the poor kiddies in the slums and alleys of our
smoke-ridden towns dance to-day when the Italian organ man comes round
with his instrument. The melody and rhythm float out and call to the
music lying hid in their hearts, and their self responds. Something
within them demands instant expression, and they forget their slums in
dancing their merry measure, till the music stops and the Italian passes
on to raise Fairyland in the next slum. Music has given them a glimpse
of something outside their dull and prosaic surroundings, it has touched
their hearts with a glamour which is a glint of spiritual sunshine in a
drab world.
It was our privilege a dozen years or more ago to have a small share in
the active work of the Art Studies Association of Liverpool. This
organisation, due to the zeal of the Director of Education, existed for
the purpose of introducing the joys of Music to the children of the
various elementary schools. Concerts of different types were given for
their benefit in their own schoolrooms in the evenings, and as
admittance could not be given to all it was considered a privilege to be
able to attend. The pathos stills echoes in mind when we recall how some
of these children, boys and girls, would trudge out in the wet
evenings, often ill-nourished and insufficiently clad, to taste the joys
of music. Never was there any question of attention, for they were
eagerness personified, and it seemed as if they found there something
that their souls had missed. Too little do we realise that food and
clothing do not suffice us, young or old. We cannot live by bread alone:
our stomachs may be full and our souls empty. The spiritual side of our
nature demands sustenance and, as in the case of these hungry and often
wet little school children, it is the province of Music to minister to
that need. "A love of music is worth any amount of five-finger
exercises, and the capacity to enjoy a Symphony is beyond all
examination certificates."[2]
[Note 2: "Everyman and his Music." Scholes.]
A brass band will fill a whole street with glamour, and the normal
person finds it quite impossible to be out of step with the rhythm of
the march. Watch the way in which, as the Pied Piper of Hamelin drew the
children after him, the band draws the elders to the window and the
children to the street: the appeal is never in vain. Marching in time
with the music tired feet forget their weariness, and new strength comes
from the reserves of the greater self, liberated at the unspoken appeal
of melody and rhythm. The Salvation Army with its sometimes quite
excellent brass bands ever attracts a crowd of interested listeners.
Their enthusiasm is quite as real as, and perhaps even more real than,
that of a fashionable audience in the Queen's Hall: more real, because
if the Salvation Army fails to please it is always possible to walk
away. If a person is bored at the Queen's Hall a lack of moral courage
will probably detain him to the end of the performance. There is magic
in a bugle call, there are whole volumes of countryside history in a
posthorn's blast as the four-horse coach swings past. The beat of the
drum and the shrill pipe of the fifes carry a "come-along" atmosphere
with them, and if we fail to answer the call it is most likely with a
lingering feeling of regret that the days of adventure for us are past
and gone.
All this is the incidental music of the highways and byways, but as a
perennial stimulant for the emotions we call for Music's aid in many
circumstances. Does not the villain of the piece enter and take the
stage to a suggestively diabolic tremolo in the orchestra, and is not
the lovemaking also conducted to an appropriately sensuous
accompaniment, sufficiently subdued, to keep the emotions susceptible
and fluid? Could the villain enter with the same eclat to a stony
silence, or the lovemaking thrill in the same way without the moral
support of a few well-chosen harmonies? It may be that in heightening
the emotional element we correspondingly diminish the appeal to the
intelligence, and thus render ourselves less critical both of
stage-villainy and of fictitious lovemaking.
Nothing can be accomplished without music of some sort. We must have it
in our churches and our chapels, in our moving pictures, in schools, at
banquets and dinners, and in the restaurants. Could any bride feel the
same satisfaction in walking down the silent aisle of the church, after
the most important ceremony in the world, as if the organ were pealing
out its good wishes in Mendelssohn's Wedding March? Oh NO. Music we must
have, for it has wedded itself to all our pomp and ceremony, and if we
may not have it in any other guise we must at least end up with "Auld
Lang Syne" or "For he's a jolly good fe-e-ellow," or at any rate the
National Anthem.
In the robust and plain-speaking days of old Pepys our forbears took
their Musick seriously. There was less of the gadding about that fills
the time to-day, and much of the melody was perforce home-made. Any
educated person was expected to be able to take his part in a glee at
sight, and some of the music was none too easy at that. The contrast
with the present lamentable lack of sight-reading ability is most
marked. The number of people who could do the same to-day is, in
comparison, small. We have not made progress in this direction, indeed
we have fallen back. But we have multiplied our choirs and our choral
societies, our Musical Festivals with their competitions have taken
solid root, training in musical work is now more widespread than ever
before, and these considerations have served, and are serving, to make
music more and more a part of the national life.
Sometimes indeed we happen upon music in unexpected quarters. One of the
most impressive scenes that comes to mind is an occasion during the
Great War--in which music played so valiant a part in sustaining the
morale of combatants and non-combatants alike--when, drawn up on the
departure platform of a Metropolitan railway station, in full kit and in
two long ranks, was a number of Welsh Guards. They were singing some
song in two parts, and while the one half sustained the melody the
others were rolling out a fine contrapuntal accompaniment with full,
resonant, and sonorous tone. The effect was quite remarkable. Song
heartens us when weary and helps the miles to slip past even though the
ditty be but "Tipperary" or "John Brown's body." In the emergency
someone will strike up a ditty or a hymn and at once the human spirit
and Will revive their native courage: did not the Titanic sink to the
strains of the hymn "Lead, kindly Light," sung by a group of those who
were facing death, and faced it with song upon their lips?
We have music in our heritage, we have Folk Songs by land and Chanties
that smack of the seas: in these there lies a wealth of melody and
sentiment of which we have made too little. But it is entirely charming
to see the way in which small children in the schools will sing these
songs with complete natural verve and appreciation. "Oh, no John, no
John, No" will be rendered with that Art which only springs from
artlessness. Surely it is to the young that we must look if the love of
music is to be fostered and encouraged in the coming years. "Let the
rising generation become thoroughly well acquainted with the best
Musical works through the medium of concert-lectures, the mechanical
piano-player, municipal, hotel, and garden concerts. Let them follow up
their knowledge with reading about Musicians' lives, work, and
influence. Throughout all this instruction--and from the very
first--let them become acquainted with the elements of musical theory,
both in their minds and also as exemplified on the pianoforte keyboard:
and when all this has been done we shall have a cultivated musical
public--a public that is able to discriminate between the good and the
bad, the true and the false art."[3] This may perhaps be the counsel of
perfection of an enthusiast, but progress lies more along the lines of
appreciation of music than in the personal performance of it. There are
thousands who are able to appreciate the technical mastery of an
instrument to every one who can accomplish it. Music as taught at
present in the non-elementary schools is largely a snare and a delusion.
A few are turned out with a musicianly equipment, largely in spite of
the system rather than by its aid, but the vast majority have little
more than a smattering of musical knowledge and a mediocre standard of
executive ability as the result of years of study. But the growth of the
artistic soul is not accomplished through the fingers, and indeed it is
not infrequently strangled at birth by five-finger exercises.
[Note 3: Newlandsmith. "The Temple of Art."]
Yet we are waking up. Music already occupies an unassailable position in
our daily activities, it will presently occupy a still greater place.
Nothing is still, and least of all does Art remain fixed. The whole
world is awakening to a new standard of values, for we have at length
discovered the impossibility of running civilisation on purely
materialistic lines. The inner side of things is becoming manifest, and
a measure of spiritual insight is being vouchsafed to us: therefore all
those things which minister to the spiritual will be increased in our
regard. Of these Music is certainly not the least. "Religion, love, and
Music, are they not the three-fold expression of the same fact, the need
of expansion under which every noble soul labours?"[4] So the Art of the
future may be expected to ally itself with religion, on the side of
spirit, for the battle royal against the forces of an outworn
materialism. The end is not by any means yet, but the issue is certain:
and we ourselves to-day may play the more valiant part in the moulding
of the years to be if we realise to the full, not only what Music is and
the part it plays in life, but also the fine possibilities that lie
hidden in the future.
[Note 4: Balzac.]