MUSIC.
A perfect _sostenuto_ piano has been the dream of many a musician
whose ardent desire it was to perform his music exactly as it was
written. A sustained piano note is, indeed, the great mechanical
desideratum for the music of the future. In music, as at present
written and published for the piano, which is, and must continue to
be, the real "King of Instruments," there is a good deal of
make-believe. A long note--or two notes tied in a certain method--is
intended to be played as a continued sound, like the note of an organ;
whereas there is no piano in existence which will produce anything
even approximately approaching to that effect. The characteristic of
the piano as an instrument is _percussion_, producing, at the moment
of striking the note, a loud sound which almost immediately dies away
and leaves but a faint vibration.
The phonographic record of a pianoforte solo shows this very clearly
to the eye, because the impression made by a long note is a
deeply-marked indentation succeeded by the merest shallow
scratch--not unlike the impression made by a tadpole on mud--with a
big head and an attenuated body. Every note marked long in pianoforte
music is therefore essentially a _sforzando_ followed by a rapid
_diminuendo_. Anything in such music marked as a long note to be
sustained _crescendo_--the most thrilling effect of orchestral,
choral, and organ music--is necessarily a sham and a delusion.
The genius and skill which have enabled the masters of pianoforte
composition not only to cover up this defect in their instrument, but
even to make amends for it, by working out effects only suitable for a
percussion note, present one of the most remarkable features of
musical progress in the nineteenth century. So notable is that fact in
its relation to the pianoforte accompaniments of vocal music, that it
seems open to question whether, even in the presence of a thoroughly
satisfactory _sostenuto_ piano, much use would for many years be made
of it for this particular purpose. The effects of repeated notes
succeeding one another with increasing or decreasing force, and of
_arpeggio_ passages, have been so fully explored and made available in
standard music of every grade, that necessarily the public taste has
set itself to appreciate the pianoforte solo and the accompanied song
exactly as they are written and performed. These are, after all, the
highest forms of music which civilisation has yet enabled one or two
performers to produce.
Yet, in regard to solo instrumentalisation, there is no doubt that a
general hope exists for the discovery of a compromise between the
piano and the organ or between the piano and the string band. Some
inventors have aimed in the latter direction and others in the former;
but no one has succeeded in really recommending his ideas to the
public. Combined piano-violins and piano-organs have been shown at
each of the great Exhibitions from the middle of the nineteenth
century to its close. Several of these instruments have been devised
and constructed with great ingenuity; and yet practically all of them
have been received by the musical profession either with indifference
or with positive ridicule.
The fact is that revolutionary sudden changes in musical instruments
are rendered impossible owing to the near relationship which exists
between each instrument and the general body of the music that is
written for it. No one can divorce the two, which, as a factor in
aesthetic progress, are really one and indivisible. Therefore, if any
man invents a musical instrument which requires for its success the
sudden evolution of a new race of composers writing for it, and a new
type of educated public taste to hail these composers with delight, he
is asking for a miracle and he will be disappointed.
What is wanted is not a new instrument, but an improved piano that
shall at one and the same time correct, to some extent, the defects of
the existing instrument, and leave still available all the brilliant
effects which have been invented for it by a generation of musical
geniuses. We want the sustained note, and yet we do not wish to lose
the pretty turns and graceful devices by which the lack of it has been
hidden, or atoned for, in the works of the masters. Therefore our
sustained note must not be too aggressive. For a long time, indeed, it
must partake of the very defects which it is intended ultimately to
abolish.
In other words, we want to retain the percussion note with the dampers
and with the loud and soft pedals, in fact, all the existing
inventions for coaxing some of the notes to sustain themselves while
others are cut short, as may be desired, and at the same time we have
to add other and more effective means to assist the performer in
achieving the same object.
The more or less complicated methods aiming at the prolongation of the
residual effect of the percussion have apparently been very nearly
exhausted. Some of the most modern pianos are really marvels of
mechanical ingenuity applied to this purpose. We have now to look to
something slightly resembling the principle of the violin or of the
organ, in order to secure the additional _sostenuto_ effect for which
we are searching. Having to deal with a piano in practically its
existing form, we obviously require to take special account of the
fact that the note is begun by percussion, and that any attempt to
bring a solid substance into contact with the wire while still
vibrating, with the object of continuing its motion, is likely to
produce more or less of a jarring effect.
The air-blast type of note-continuer for _sostenuto_ effect therefore
offers the most promising outlook for the improvement of the modern
piano in the direction indicated. By directing a blast of air from a
very thin nozzle on to the vibrating wire of a piano, the sound
emitted may be very greatly intensified; and although naturally the
decreasing amplitude of the vibration may in itself tend to create a
_diminuendo_, yet it is possible to make up for this in some degree
by causing the air-blast to increase in force, through the use of any
suitable means, modified by an extra pedal as may be desired.
Delicate _pianissimo_ effects, somewhat resembling those of the Eolian
lyre, are produced by playing the notes with the air-blast alone,
without the aid of percussion. But the louder _sostenuto_ notes depend
upon the added atmospheric resistance offered by a strong current of
air to those movements of the wire which have been originally set up
by percussion, and the fact that this resistance gives rise to a
corresponding continuance of the motion. The prolongation of a note in
this way is analogous to the continual swinging of an elastic switch
in a stream of water, the current by its force producing a rhythmic
movement.
When these Eolian effects, as applied to the pianoforte, have been
carefully studied, many devices for controlling them will be brought
forward. The main purpose, however, must be to connect the air-blast
with the percussion apparatus in such a manner that, as soon as a key
is depressed, the nozzle of that particular note in the air-blast is
opened exactly at the same time that the wire is struck by the hammer,
and it remains open as long as the note is held down. The movement of
an extra pedal, however, has the effect of throwing the whole of the
air-blast apparatus out of gear and reducing the piano to a percussion
instrument, pure and simple.
It will be on the concert platform, no doubt, that this kind of
improvement will find its first field of usefulness. Performers will
require, in addition to their grand pianos, reservoirs of compressed
air attachable by tubes to their instruments. In private houses
hydraulic air-compressors will be found more convenient. When the
piano has by some such means acquired the faculty of _singing_ its
notes, as well as of _ringing_ them, its ascendency, as the finest
instrument adapted to solo instrumentalism, will be assured.
The common domestic piano is rightly regarded by many people as being
little better than an instrument of torture. One reason for this
aversion is that, in the great majority of cases, the household
instrument is not kept in tune. Probably it is not too much to say
that the man who would invent a sound cottage piano which would remain
in tune would do more for the improvement of the national taste in
music than the largest and finest orchestra ever assembled. The
constantly vitiated sense of hearing, which is brought about by the
continual jangle of notes just a fractional part of a tone out of
tune, is responsible for much of the distaste for good music which
prevails among the people. When the domestic instrument is but
imperfectly tuned, it is natural that those pieces should be preferred
which suffer least by reason of the imperfection, and these, it need
hardly be remarked, generally belong to the class of music which must
be rated as essentially inferior, if not vulgar.
The device of winding a string round a peg and twisting it up on the
latter in order to obtain tension for a vibrating note is thousands of
years old. It was the method by which tension was imparted to some of
the earliest harps and lyres of which history is cognisant; and it is
still to be found to-day in the most elaborate and costly grand piano,
with but few alterations affecting its principle of action. The
pianoforte of the future will be kept in tune by more exact and
scientific methods, attaining a certain balance between the thickness
of the wire and the tension placed upon it by means of springs and
weights.
Besides the ravages of the badly-tuned piano, much suffering is
inflicted by the barbarous habit of permitting a sounding instrument
to be used for mere mechanical exercises. The taste of the pupil is
vitiated, and the nerves of other inmates of the house are subjected
to a source of constant irritation when long series of notes,
arranged merely as muscular exercises, and some of them violating
almost every rule of musical form, are ground out hour after hour like
coffee from a coffee-mill. The inconsistency of subjecting the musical
ear and taste of a boy or girl to this process, and then expecting the
child to develop an innate taste for the delicacies of form in melody
and of the beauty of harmony, is almost as bad as would be that of
asking a Chinese victim of foot-binding to walk easily and gracefully.
The use of the digitorium for promoting the mechanical portion of a
musical education by the training of the fingers has already, to some
slight extent, obviated the evils complained of. But this instrument
is, as yet, only in its rudimentary stage of development. The dumb
notes of the keyboard ought to be capable of emitting sounds by way of
notice to the operator, in order to show when the rules have been
broken. Thus, for instance, the impact caused by putting a key down
should have the effect of driving a small weight upwards in the
direction of a metal bar, the distance of which can be adjusted.
Another bar, at a lower level, is also approached by a second weight,
and the perfect degree of evenness in the touch is indicated by the
fact that the lower bar should be made to emit a faint sound with
every note, but the higher one not at all. The closer the bars the
more difficult is the exercise, and remarkable evenness of touch can
be acquired by a progressive training with such an instrument.
The organ has been wonderfully improved during the nineteenth century.
Yet the decline of its popularity in comparison with the pianoforte
may be accounted for on very rational grounds. While ardent organists
still claim that the organ is the "King of Instruments" the public
generally entertain a feeling that it is a deposed king. It remains
for the organ-builders of the twentieth century to attack the problem
of curing its defects by methods going more directly to the root of
the difficulty than any hitherto attempted.
As contrasted with the pianoforte, the organ is extremely deficient in
that power which the conductor of an orchestra loves to
exercise--facility in accentuating and in subduing at will the work of
each individual performer. For all practical purposes the ten fingers
of a piano-player are the ten players in an orchestra; and, according
to the force with which each finger strikes the note, is the
prominence given to its effects. An air or a _motif_ may be brought
out with emphasis by one set of fingers, while the others are playing
an accompaniment with all sorts of delicate gradations of softness and
emphasis.
By multiplying the manuals, the organ-builder has endeavoured, with a
certain degree of success, to make up for the unfortunate fact that
the performer on his instrument possesses no similar facility in
making it speak louder when he submits the note to extra pressure. One
hand may be playing an air on one manual, while the second is engaged
in the accompaniment on another; and the former may be connected with
a louder stop, or with one of a more penetrating quality than the
latter.
This device, together with an elaborate arrangement of swells and
pedal-notes, has greatly enlarged the capacity of the organ for
producing those choral effects which mainly depend upon gradations of
volume. Yet the whole system, elaborate as it is, offers but a poor
substitute for the marvellous range of individuality that may be
expressed on the notes of the piano by instantaneous changes in the
values ascribed to single notes. By the same action of his finger the
pianist not only makes the note, but also gives its value; while the
method of the organist is to neglect the element of finger-pressure
and to rely upon other methods for imparting emphasis or softness to
his work.
An organ that shall emit a louder or softer note, according to the
force with which the key on the manual is depressed, will no doubt be
one of the musical instruments of the twentieth century. Whether each
key will be fitted with a resisting spring, or whether the lever will
be constructed in such a way as to throw a weight to a higher or lower
grade of position, according to the force with which it is struck, is
a question which will depend upon the results of experiment. But the
latter method is more in consonance with the conditions which have
given to the piano its wonderful versatility, and it therefore seems
the more probable solution of the two. Upon the vigour of the finger's
impact will depend the height to which a valve is thrown, and this
will determine the speed and volume of the air which is liberated to
rush into the pipe and make the note.
The nineteenth century orchestra is a fearfully and wonderfully
constructed agglomeration of ancient and modern instruments. Its
merits are attested by the fine musical sense of the most experienced
conductors, whose aim it has been so to balance the different
instruments as to produce a tastefully-blended effect, while at the
same time providing for solos and also for the rendering of parts in
which a small number of performers may contribute to the unfolding of
the composer's ideas. The orchestra cannot therefore be examined or
discussed from a mechanical point of view, however much some of the
instruments of which it is composed may be thought capable of
improvement.
But the position of the conductor himself in the front of an orchestra
is, from a purely artistic standpoint, highly anomalous. It is as if
the prompter at the performance of a drama were to be seen taking the
most conspicuous part and mixing among the actors upon the stage. If
an orchestral piece be well played without the visible presence of a
conductor, the sense of correct time reaches the audience naturally
through the music itself; and any sort of gesticulations intended to
mark it are under these conditions regarded as being out of place.
The foremost orchestral conductors of the day are evidently impressed
with this unfitness of the mechanical marking of time by the wild
waving of a stick or swaying of the body; and accordingly, however
much they exert themselves at the rehearsal, they purposely subdue
their motions during a public performance. The time is not far
distant when the object of the conductor will be to guide his band
without permitting his promptings to be perceived in any way by the
audience.
For this purpose an "electric beat-indicator" will prove useful.
Various proposals for its application have been put forward, and for
different purposes several of them are obviously feasible. For
instance, in one system the conductor sits in a place hidden from the
audience and beats time on an electric contact-maker, which admits of
his sending a special message to any particular performer whenever he
desires to do so. The signal which marks the time may be given to each
performer, either visually by a beater concealed within a small
bell-shaped cavity affixed to his desk or to his electric light; or it
may be conveyed by the sense of touch through a mechanical beater
within a small metal weight placed on the floor and upon which he sets
one of his feet.
The electric time-beater in the latter system thus taps the measure
gently on the sole of the performer's foot, and special signals, as
may be arranged, are sent to him by preconcerted combinations of taps.
The absence of any distraction from the music itself will soon be
gratefully felt by audiences, and the playing of a symphony in the
twentieth century, in which the whole orchestra moves sympathetically
in obedience to the "nerve-waves" of the electric current, will be the
highest possible presentment of the musical art.