American Composers Of The Time

"**' <" 'V^f ^1r^ , r .,..: ;; *f I'*L\

/ ' i, . , ' s -| , ,'lv'l '" i fh;!;''V ' " f' ' ' ;

' ', ' f ' .'>' ,. ' '''.V f'l'"-^^'^*! ^/ '!" J, ''-i l " s ' " ' ,[*''"'/. T''

i ,, f ' / ,,,,'/, d/, j 1 [./, J <;^7'V ;J - ii 1 ^ >f'< ,!,,. ^.v* ,, ,'

^^$!p||i;illi

rsr4?H:^^f^W?J/^i^^;^^'^,y%^

Composers
of Our Time

Joseph K4aclt 1 is

ISfow thr* * , mesric i ** is finally coming

int<. -t ; ; * ; , i L '!>, of our com-
r'- > ;t ; ; i| , niversally recognized, It is

esptxiJU,} .!>:: ' to %vho they
art? wh*it

*- ?f t , < f Is much

involved In the sccne^

. t f .V f " I i! "" tO

: it . - * : He six-

fern r : n i

i a "; ( utions to the field o American
< orn position. of

* \ , \ - ' vi el I I

iit of its deve

CTarlo are

every their

as an

i* r'>rn talent

%% y e as a

of

-i

i *** &

1 *t Jk. *;^ It

*S W*

Kansas city public library

M *> Kansas city, missouri

Books will be issued only

en presentation of library card.
Please report lost cards and

change of residence promptly.
Card holders are responsible for

all books, records, films, pictures
or other library materials

checked out on their cards.

American Composers of Our Time

Joseph Machlis

American
Composers

of Our Time

Thomas Y* Cro*well Company * Ne<w York

<C) 1963

rights reserved* No -part of this book -may
be re-produced in any jorm y except by a
without th& 'p&r'missiorZ' of the 'publisher^
Designed by Albert Burkhardt

Mamtiact'ured in the United States of America
by V 'ail-Ballots Press y Inc..
Library of Congress Catalog Card No.
First Printing

For Leslie, Karen., and Stefanie

By the Author

The Enjoyment of Music: An Introduction to Perceptive Listening
Introduction to Contemporary Music

Operas in English (singing versions)

Beethoven: Fidelia

Falla: Atlantida

Mascagni: Cavalleria rustic ana

Monternezzi: L'Amore dei tre re (The Love of Three Kings)

Poulenc: Dialogues des Carmelites-, La Voix humaine (The Human Voice)

Prokofiev: War and Peace

Puccini: La Bo/ieme; 11 Tabarro (The Cloak) ; Tosca

Verdi: Rigoletto^ La Traviata

For Young Music Lovers

Young People's Introduction to the Great Composers: a series

of recordings on the life and music of the great masters

I. Franz Liszt 2. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart 3. Ludwig van Beethoven

4. Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky 5. Felix Mendelssohn 6. Franz Schubert

7. Frederic Frangois Chopin 8. Johannes Brahms 9. Robert Schumann

10. Johann Sebastian Bach n. Josef Haydn 12. Claude Debussy

By Way of Introduction

"What <uoe must arrive at is the youthful optimistic vitality and the
undaunted tenacity of spirit that characterises the American man.
T hat is 'what I hope to see echoed in American music?*

Edward M.acDowell

Music came to America with the Pilgrims. The first book to be
printed in the New World was an almanac j second was the Bay
Psalm Book, which was published in Cambridge in 1640. The Pil-
grim Fathers, understandably, did not have the leisure to cultivate
music as a fine art. Conditions of life in early New England were
too harsh for that. The chief function of music, as far as they were
concerned, was the singing of psalms and hymns.

Virginia, on the other hand, developed an aristocratic society of
planters who tried to recapture, in their new homeland, the social
graces they had known in Cavalier England. They looked upon
music as a gentle recreation and a necessary part of gracious living.
Thomas Jefferson, for example, called music "the favorite passion
of my soul." He himself was an amateur violinist and, during his
stay at William and Mary College, played string quartets at weekly
gatherings in the Governor's palace at Williamsburg. He invented

vi i

BY" WAY OF INTRODUCTION

an ingenious violin stand which, when folded, did double duty as
an end table.

When he planned his estate at Monticello Jefferson wanted very
much to have a little orchestra of his own. To a friend in France
he wrote: "I retain among my domestic servants a gardener, a
weaver, a cabinet-maker, and a stone-cutter, to which I would add
a vine-grower. In a country where, like yours, music is cultivated
and practiced by every class of men, I suppose there might be found
persons of these trades who could perform on the French horn,
clarinet, or oboe, and bassoon, so that one might have a band of
two French horns, two clarinets, two oboes, and a bassoon, without
enlarging their domestic expenses ... If there is a gratification
which I envy any people in this world, it is to your country its
music." There are many references to music in Jefferson's writings.
Typical is his observation that music "furnishes a delightful recre-
ation for the hours of respite from the cares of the day, and lasts
us through life."

Public concerts were given in such cities as Boston and Charleston
in the 17303. A type of musical play known as ballad opera found
great favor with our ancestors. In Boston the city fathers found it
necessary to pass a law against such entertainments, stating that they
discouraged industry, frugality, and piety (in that order). To get
around the law, musical shows masqueraded as "moral lectures"
and "readings. 37 By the end of the eighteenth century the Bosto-
nians had succumbed to several dozen ballad operas.

The best known of our early composers was not a professional
musician at all, but an aristocratic amateur. Francis Hopkinson
( I 737"~ I 79 I ) came from the same level of society in Philadelphia
as did his friend Jefferson in Virginia. Composing was only one of
his many interests, for he was also a lawyer, a writer, a statesman,
a signer of the Declaration of Independence, and one of the f ramers
of the Constitution. Hopkinson's most successful song was My

viii

BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION

Days Have Been So Wondrous Free. In 1788 he published a col-
lection of songs a in an easy, familiar style," for which he also wrote
the words. He dedicated the collection to George Washington, to
whom he wrote: "However small the Reputation may be that I
shall derive from this work, I cannot, I believe, be refused the
Credit of being the first Native of the United States who has pro-
duced a Musical Composition." To which Washington replied, "I
can neither sing one of the songs, nor raise a single note on any
instrument to convince the unbelieving. But I have, however, one
argument which will prevail with persons of true estate (at least
in America) I can tell them that it is the production of Mr.
Ho-pkinson."

A more substantial composer was William Billings (17461 800) .
A tanner by trade, this enthusiastic musician was the product of a
pioneer culture. What little he knew about composing was gained
from reading the instructions contained in the popular hymn books
of his, day. Billings is known especially for his "fuguing pieces,"
in which he treated hymn tunes contrapuntally that is, he combined
them with other voice-parts, so that soprano, alto, tenor, and bass
each sang a different melodic line. In this way he produced music
that was, he claimed, "twenty times as powerful as the old slow
tunes. Each part striving for mastery and victory. The audience
entertained and delighted. Now the solemn bass demands their
attention 5 next the manly tenor. Now here, now there, now here
again. O ecstatic! Rush on, you sons of harmony!" Billings' psalms,
anthems, humorous pieces, and patriotic songs were widely per-
formed in the late eighteenth century. His hymn Chester became
one of the battle songs of the Revolution. He was rewarded for his
efforts with a pauper's grave near Boston Common. His memory
lived on, however, to inspire some twentieth-century Americans.
William Schuman's William Billings Overture, Otto Luening's
Prelude to a Hymn Tune by William Billings y and Henry CowelPs

ix

BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION

Hymn and Fuguing Tune are among the works that pay homage
to this extraordinary American "primitive."

A more glamorous figure was the pianist Louis Moreau Gott-
schalk (18291869)5 who was born in New Orleans, the son of
an English Jew and a Creole. Gottschalk was one of the most popu-
lar pianists of his time. Handsome and magnetic, he received the
same kind of adoration in this country as Franz Liszt did in Europe.
He would leave his white gloves on the piano, to be torn to shreds
by ecstatic ladies in search of a little souvenir. Gottschalk left be-
hind a number of pieces, such as The Last Hope and The Dying
Poet, which were much played by several generations of piano
students. More important were the miniatures he wrote during the
18408 (Bamboula, Le Bananier, The Banjo) in which he exploited
the local color of New Orleans. By so doing, he set an example for
American composers to use specifically American material.

In spite of these and other native-born musicians, music in
America for two hundred years was dominated by the European
tradition. This was understandable. For ours was a pioneer country
whose main efforts had to go into more practical pursuits than the
creation of music and art. Nor did we have a hereditary aristocracy
such as the princes and dukes of Europe, who had been patrons of
music for centuries. Throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth cen-
turies we imported music and musicians from the three great musi-
cal cultures of the Old World Germany, Italy, and France. True,
we did produce a great American composer in the years before the
Civil War. But he did not issue out of the tradition of Haydn and
Mozart. He came out of the humbler realm of the minstrel show,
and his name was Stephen Foster.

In the decades following the Civil War a number of trained
composers were active in this country. However, most of them had
studied in Germany. And when they returned to the United States
they tried to compose in the style of Schumann and Mendelssohn

BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION

or Wagner and Liszt. They thought that if they did this, they
would establish in America the same high standards of technique
that prevailed in Europe. As a result, their music was hardly typical
of our country or its people. And so both they and their composi-
tions were soon forgotten.

At the end of the nineteenth century it was the foreign composer
who held the spotlight in this country. Thus, when Carnegie Hall
was built, the great Russian composer Tchaikovsky was invited to
come to New York in 1891 to take part in the ceremonies that
marked the opening of the new hall. A year later, when the Na-
tional Conservatory of Music was opened in New York City, the
Czech composer Antonin Dvorak, then at the height of his fame,
was invited to become the director of the new school. Dvorak, who
spent three years in the United States, gave his American students
some good advice. "Stop trying to compose like Europeans/ 7 he
told them. "Learn to stand on your own feet. You have beautiful
folk songs that express the spirit of your country. Use those as the
basis for your music. Only in that way will you become American
composers."

With the opening of the twentieth century, our composers began
to throw off the European influence. They grew more sure of them-
selves j they tried more and more to give expression to the life
around them. They became aware of a wealth of musical material
that was not to be found in any other country: the melodies of the
American Indian, Negro spirituals, cowboy songs , the songs of
the southern mountaineers $ the hymns and religious tunes that had
such vivid memories for Americans everywhere j the patriotic songs
of the Revolution and the Civil War. There were, in addition, pic-
turesque work songs from every part of the country : songs of share-
croppers, lumberjacks, miners, river men 5 songs of prairie and rail-
road, chain gang and frontier. Then there was the folk song of the
city dwellers musical comedy hits, Tin Pan Alley tunes, jazz. All

XI

BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION

these formed a world of melody, rhythm, and mood that was dis-
tinctively American: an inexhaustible treasury of folk and popular
material that could inspire our composers to write truly American
works.

A nation may build an active musical life by importing famous
performers and composers from abroad. Sooner or later, however,
if it is going to come of age artistically, it must learn to create its
own music and develop its own school of composers. All the same,
modern American music did not have an easy time in establishing
itself. On the contrary, its path was strewn with obstacles. In the
early years of our century, the serious American composer was some-
thing of a stepchild in his own country. His music, being modern,
did not appeal to the public, which was strongly conservative. And
it lacked the made-in-Europe label that carries such weight in our
concert halls. He had no powerful publishers to champion his cause.
There was no system of awards and fellowships to give him finan-
cial assistance. In addition, the conductors of our great orchestras
were mostly Europeans who preferred to devote their talents to
Beethoven, Brahms, and Tchaikovsky. As we follow the careers of
the older members of the modern American school, such as Charles
Ives and Charles T. Griffes composers, that is, who were born
between 1870 and 1890 we cannot help feeling that they appeared
upon the scene before their country was ready for them.

The middle generation, composers born between 1890 and 1910,
had an easier time of it. The gradual victory of modern music in
Europe had an influence on our own country. Besides, it became a
matter of national pride to develop a strong American school. The
era of prosperity in the 19203 encouraged wealthy music lovers to
help composers with awards and prizes. American composers found
increased opportunities to see their works in print and to hear them
performed* The big radio networks began to broadcast modern
American musia At this time, too, our composers began to play an

xii

BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION

ever more important part in our musical life as directors of con-
servatories, critics on newspapers, and teachers in our colleges and
universities. Slowly but surely the tide turned, and the modern
American composer came into his own.

In the years after the Second World War our native music made
important strides forward. Publishing houses and record companies
became more interested in contemporary American music. Our
government came to the assistance of deserving musicians through
the Fulbright grants. During the 19503 the large philanthropic
foundations began to contribute to our musical life in ways that
helped composers. Most important o all, the public began to take
an interest in modern. American music and modern American com-
posers. As a result of these developments, the third generation o
the American school, the composers who were born since 1910, have
found much more favorable conditions for their work than did
their elders.

Once our composers achieved a measure o independence from
the European past, they no longer had to emphasize their Ameri-
canism. Indeed, certain composers began to feel that the music
written in this country did not always have to wear a made-in-
America label. They preferred to write in the international idioms
that came into fashion in the twentieth century. Others managed to
unite both attitudes, using American folk material in certain of their
works, but maintaining an international point of view In others. It
was gradually realized that Americanism in music was a much
broader concept than people had supposed. American music could
not but be as many-sided as America itself. A musical composition
did not have to quote a Negro spiritual, an Indian harvest song, or
a dirge of the prairie in order to qualify for citizenship. As Virgil
Thomson summed it up, "The way to write American music is
simple. All you have to do is to be an American and then write any
kind of music you wish."

xiii

BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION

The music of the modern American school, therefore, does not
follow any single formula. It reflects the contradictory traits in our
national character: our humor, and our sentimentality; our ideal-
ism, and our intensely practical nature 3 our rugged individualism,
and our desire to look and think like everybody else 5 our capacity
for dreams, and our even greater love of action. No matter which
aspect of our character a certain work reflects, American music as
a whole has a youthful vitality and bounce. It is energetic, optimis-
tic, virile. It is conceived along big lines. Above all, it is the music
of a young, active nation.

In the following chapters you will find the life stories of sixteen
modern American composers. Some are outspoken nationalists 5
others adhere to the international point of view. Some are classi-
cists 5 others follow the romantic ideal. (For an explanation of these
and other terms used in this book, consult the Glossary of Musical
Terms at the back of the book.) These composers represent a cross
section of the modern American school. They and their comrades
have created and are continuing to create America's music.

Each chapter ends with the description of a work that is typical
of its composer a work, moreover, that is available on records. The
purpose of this book will be fulfilled only if you make it a point to
listen to these compositions. True, it is possible to learn a great deal
about a composer by reading about his life. But this is only the first
step. For a composer's true story lies not in the external events of
his life, but in the sounds that he has created. Only when you have
heard his music will you make contact with his inner self. Only
then will you really know what his life is about.

xiv

Contents

1. Edward MacDowell I

2. Charles Ives 15

3. Charles T. Griffes 29

4. Douglas Moore 42

5. Walter Piston 54

6. Howard Hanson 63
7- Virgil Thomson 76

8. Roy Harris 87

9. George Gershwin 100
10. Aaron Copland 114

*.i i . Samuel Barber 126

12. William Schuman 137

13. Gian-Carlo Menotti 149

14. Norman Dello Joio 162
-15. Leonard Bernstein 17 3

1 6. Lukas Foss 189

A Glossary o Musical Terms 201

Books for Further Reading 229
Index

American Composers of Our Time

1. EDWARD MAC DOWELL

Edward MacDowell Is remembered as the composer of such peren-
nial favorites as To a Wild Rose and To a Water Lily. More im-
portant, he was the first American composer who won fame in
Europe.

Edward MacDowell was born in New York City on December
1 8, 1 86 1. He came of Scotch-Irish parentage. His father was a
prosperous businessman who encouraged the boy's artistic tend-
encies. Edward began to study the piano at the age of eight. At
first he did not enjoy practicing scales and exercises. He preferred
to dream at the keyboard, making up his own melodies and har-
monies. In time, however, he ceased to dream ; he developed a
supple technique and became an accomplished pianist. Edward's
gifts showed themselves in a number of directions. He had a re-
markable talent for drawing. He wrote poetry. And he made up
fairy tales with a vivid imagination worthy of his Celtic ancestors.

By the time he was fifteen his interest in music had gained the
upper hand ovfer his other pursuits- At that time, gifted young
Americans who could afford it went to Europe to complete their
musical education. Edward, accompanied by his mother, sailed for
Paris in 1876. He passed the examination for admittance to the
Paris Conservatory, one of the most famous schools in Europe.

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

There he studied piano, harmony, and composition. His mother
also engaged a tutor, a gentleman with an extraordinarily big
nose, to teach him French. To dispel the boredom o the lessons,
Edward secretly began a pencil sketch of his teacher. One day, just
as he was completing the portrait, the Frenchman demanded to see
what he was drawing and, to Edward's intense embarrassment, ex-
amined the sketch. The teacher was so impressed with the drawing
that he showed it to an artist friend of his, who immediately offered
to give Edward free instruction for three years, so convinced was
he that the young man could become a talented painter. For a time
Edward was uncertain as to which course he should pursue. In the
end music won the day, and he continued his studies at the Con-
servatory.

However, the French conception of piano playing did not appeal
to his temperament. After two years in Paris he went to Germany,
where he found an environment more congenial to his taste. He
entered the Frankfort Conservatory, worked intensively to perfect
his piano playing, and studied composition with Joachim Raff, a
composer who was very much admired at that time. Edward made
such progress that when his piano teacher left the Conservatory,
he was recommended to become his successor. But the other profes-
sors objected to his receiving the post. He was much too young,
they said.

He began to teach privately. Although he was a painfully shy
young man, his gift for arousing the enthusiasm of his pupils made
him a remarkable teacher and soon brought him a reputation. In
Frankfort he came to be known as "the handsome American" be-
cause of his bright blue eyes and fair skin. When he first went to
Europe his ambition had been to become a concert pianist. As time
passed, he became more and more interested in composing. His
teacher, Joachim Raff, encouraged his first creative efforts and
spurred him on to continue in this direction. MacDowell taught for

EDWARD MAC DOWELL

a time in the Conservatory o Darmstadt, a town not far from
Frankfort. He commuted between the two cities. As all his time
was taken up with playing the piano and giving lessons, he spent
the hours on the train in writing his music. In this way he com-
posed his first important works.

MacDowell was twenty-one when he completed his First Piano
Concerto. Raff urged him to go to Weimar and show his Concerto
to the famous composer Franz Liszt. The young man dreaded the
prospect of facing one of the outstanding artists of Europe. He
finally mustered up enough courage to go to Weimar and play
the Concerto before Liszt. The visit was a pleasant surprise. Liszt
praised both his music and his piano playing. Even more im-
portant, when MacDowell returned to Frankfort he received a
most friendly letter from the great man. The letter informed him
that a music festival was about to be held in Zurich, and Liszt was
recommending that a work by MacDowell should be included in
the program. Liszt also suggested that the young American should
be invited to Zurich to play his piece. MacDowell had a great
success at Zurich. When he finished playing he was greeted with a
burst of applause and called out for many bows. A year later Liszt
again intervened in behalf of the young composer, by recommend-
ing his two piano suites to the most important publisher in Ger-
many. These were the first works by MacDowell to appear in
print. In gratitude, he dedicated his First Piano Concerto to Franz
Liszt.

At this time a lovely American girl named Marian Nevins ar-
rived in Frankfort to study music. She wanted to take lessons from
one of the German professors. Since they were all very busy, she
decided to work with MacDowell. She had wrenched her back in a
fall, some weeks before. Undaunted by this accident, she turned up
for her first lesson on crutches. Marian was as musical as she was
pretty. Before long, she and MacDowell were very much in love.

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

When she returned to the United States he followed, eager to
marry her. Although he had made a good start with his composing,
he realized that he could not earn a living by writing music, espe-
cially now when he would have a wife to support. He decided to
abandon his aspirations as a composer and to settle down in the
United States as a pianist and teacher.

But Marian had other ideas. She believed in MacDowelPs gifts,
and she was not going to see him sacrifice because of her the
thing he wanted to do most. She had inherited five thousand dol-
lars (which in those days was a considerably larger sum than it is
now). "We'll go back to Europe," she told her fiance. "There we
can live much more cheaply than in the United States. You will
have five years in which to make your mark as a composer, without
having to worry about earning a living."

MacDowell would not hear of this. "No man should live on
his wife," he insisted. "We'll stay right here and I will work for
both of us as a husband should. I certainly won't let you support
me!"

"In that case," she replied, "I won't marry you." Marian was a
girl who knew her mind. Despite all that MacDowell could say,
she stuck to her decision until he gave in. The two young people
were married and sailed for Europe shortly after. In Marian, Mac-
Dowell found a wonderfully understanding wife and comrade who
devoted her whole existence to his well-being.

After a brief honeymoon in England they settled in Frankfort,
where MacDowell divided his time between his piano playing and
composing. This was a time of quiet joy for the young couple. Their
life revolved around his creative work 5 Marian was determined
not to let anything interfere with that. They lived very modestly,
in a single room. As a result, Marian had to go out every after-
noon so as not to disturb him when he was composing. She would
visit friends. As she soon ran through the list of those, she often

EDWARD MAC DO WELL

ended up by visiting acquaintances whom she had not the slightest
desire to see. Or she sat alone in the park, which was not very con-
venient when the weather turned cooL When he finished working
they spent happy hours walking in the woods outside the town. In
the evening MacDowell would read aloud to her from his favorite
poets Keats, Shelley, Tennyson, Victor Hugo, Heinrich Heine $
or from the romantic fairy tales that appealed so strongly to his
imagination.

On two occasions MacDowell was recommended for an official
post with a conservatory. But his youth was against him, as well as
the fact that he was an American. At that time the United States
had not yet produced any composer with an international reputa-
tion. As a result, American musicians were not regarded highly in
Europe.

After a time the MacDowells settled in the pleasant town of
Wiesbaden, where they bought a little cottage. After hours of
composing, MacDowell would find relaxation digging in his garden
or walking in the woods. He had every reason to be satisfied with
his existence in Wiesbaden. He was composing steadily, and had
completed his Second Piano Concerto. His works were beginning
to make their way. As his reputation grew, more and more
musicians from America came to visit him. They urged him to re-
turn to the United States. They pointed out that it was his duty
to play his part in building the musical life of his country. And
so the five years of retirement made possible by Marian's gen-
erosity came to an end. In September, 1888, the MacDowells sold
their cottage and returned to their native land, not without a pang
of regret at leaving the place where they had been so happy.

Although both of them were native New Yorkers, they decided
to live in Boston, where life was less hectic. MacDowelPs fame had
preceded him. He was welcomed by the musical world. His ap-
pearances as a composer-pianist were extremely successful. He was

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

admired not only in the performance o his own compositions but
also when he played the music of Chopin, Liszt, and others. When
he performed his Second Piano Concerto with the New York
Philharmonic,, the newspapers reported "a success such as no Ameri-
can musician has ever won before a metropolitan concert audience.
A Philharmonic audience can be cold when it does not like a piece
or a player, but Mr. MacDowell had an ovation such as is accorded
only to a popular prima donna at the opera."

In 1896 Columbia University received a large gift to be devoted
to the founding of a department of music. The committee in charge
of the appointment announced that the new professorship was being
offered to MacDowell because, in their opinion, he was "the
greatest musical genius America has produced." MacDowell felt
extremely honored at this offer. All the same, he weighed carefully
whether he should accept it. He was having a good career in
Boston. He had more piano pupils than he could teach. And he
was able In Boston to lead the kind of life that accorded with his
retiring disposition. At the same time he realized what a challenge
it would be to organize a department of music in a great university.
Besides, the appointment at Columbia offered greater financial
security than he had achieved during his eight years in Boston.
Most important of all, in his new position he would be able to in-
fluence the course of music education in America. After balancing
the pros and cons, MacDowell decided to accept the offer. That
autumn he and Marian moved from Boston to New York 3 and he
took up his duties as the first professor of music at Columbia Uni-
versity.

Although by temperament he was an artist rather than a prac-
tical organizer, MacDowell threw himself into his task with all
the imagination and energy at his command. He designed a series
of courses covering all aspects of music and proved to be a bril-
liant teacher. One of his pupils left a vivid account of the com-

EDWARD MAC DOWELL

poser in the classroom. "Professor MacDowell never sank into
the passionless routine of lecture giving. His were not the dry
discourses that students link most often to university professors.
They were beautifully illuminating talks, delivered with so much
freedom and such a rush of enthusiasm that one felt that the hour
never held all that wanted to be said, and the abundant knowledge,
in its longing to get out, kept spilling over into the tomorrows/ 5
MacDowelPs duties at Columbia ranged from teaching and ad-
ministering the music courses to the drudgery of correcting student
papers. All this took much time and effort. Nevertheless he kept
up his composing and piano playing. His summer vacations were
spent on a piece of property he had bought at Peterborough, New
Hampshire. MacDowell was extremely sensitive to noise and found
it very difficult to compose in New York. Even in Peterborough
he was disturbed by the noises that came from the household.
Marian, unknown to him, had a log cabin built in the heart of the
woods, away from the main house, which he could use as a work-
room. When the cabin was finished she surprised him with this
thoughtful gift. Here, surrounded by the woods and the hills that
he loved, he composed some of his finest music. In the last piece he
ever wrote, From a Log Cabin, he depicted the quiet joy he found
in his secluded studio. On the manuscript he inscribed the follow-
ing lines:

A house of dreams untold,

It looks out over the whispering tree-tops

And faces the setting sun.

MacDowell would go to the studio early in the morning. He
took along a lunch basket, so that he would not have to return
to the house until he had finished his day's work. There was
a fireplace inside the cabin, and on cool days he lit a fire. Mac-
Dowell was diffident about his music. It often happened that when

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

he finished a piece, he felt it wasn't worth anything at all. He
would crumple the sheet into a ball and throw it into the flames.
One afternoon he just missed the fire. The crumpled manuscript
lay near the hearth until Marian rescued it. The piece she saved
from destruction was To a Wild Rose> which became one of
America's best-loved melodies.

In planning the music course at Columbia, MacDowell pictured
a Division of Fine Arts that would include not only music but also
painting, sculpture, architecture, and literature, giving the student
a complete experience of the arts. The president of Columbia, Seth
Low, was most sympathetic to MacDowelPs bold conception. In
1902 Seth Low was succeeded by Nicholas Murray Butler, whose
ideas did not coincide with MacDowelPs. Butler, a man of practical
affairs and an excellent organizer, viewed the arts as a useful tool
for teachers rather than as a profound emotional experience. He de-
cided to reorganize the Division of Fine Arts as part of Teachers
College, in conjunction with a model kindergarten. For MacDowell
the issue was much more than a personal disagreement between
himself and President Butler. He saw it as a clash between the
artistic and the materialistic view of life. If music was one of the
great arts of our civilization, as he believed it to be, then it had to
play a leading part in the intellectual life of the university. If it
was no more than a pleasant pastime and an accessory to school
teaching, as Butler believed it was, then it could just as well be ad-
ministered by Teachers College. In that case, MacDowell insisted,
the Division of Fine Arts acquired "somewhat the nature of a co-
educational department store, and tends towards materialism rather
than idealism."

When MacDowell saw that Butler was completely unsym-
pathetic to his ideals, he handed in his resignation. The next day
"the MacDowell Affair" broke into print. The New York papers
seized on the story and came out with headlines quoting Mac-

8

EDWARD MAC DOWELL

Dowell: "No Idealism Left in Columbia." Butler issued a state-
ment to the press saying that MacDowell had resigned in order to
devote his time to composing. MacDowell issued a counterstate-
ment which said: "President Butler has evidently misunderstood
my interview with him when he affirms that my sole object in
resigning from Columbia was to have more time to write 5 he
failed to explain the circumstance which led to my resignation. There
is certainly individual idealism in all universities, but the general
tendency of modern education is towards materialism. For seven
years I have put all my energy and enthusiasm into the cause of
art at Columbia, and now at last, recognizing the futility of my
efforts, I have resigned the chair of music in order to resume my
own vocation."

The publicity attendant upon his leaving Columbia was most
distasteful to MacDowell. Yet he had to take a firm stand where
his convictions were concerned. Embittered by the failure of his
bright hopes for Columbia, he sought refuge in the peace and quiet
of his home at Peterborough. But he was not destined to enjoy for
long the solitude of his cabin in the woods. Years of overwork, of
trying to carry on his career as a composer along with his teaching
and piano playing, finally took their toll. He was mentally and
physically exhausted. On top of this had come the tension and ir-
ritation of his struggle with President Butler. A year after he re-
signed from Columbia, MacDowell developed alarming nervous
symptoms. Shortly thereafter he suffered a mental breakdown.

He was found to be suffering from a brain lesion that was in-
curable. His mind became like ' the mind of a child. He would sit
staring before him for hours, or gaxe down at a book of fairy tales
that had once given him so much pleasure. In vain he tried to
recognize the friends who flocked to his side. He lingered for two
years in this condition. Despite Marian's devoted care, despite all
that the doctors could do, he failed to rally. He died in New

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

York City on January 23, 1908, at the beginning of his forty-
seventh year. His body was taken to Peterborough. He was buried
on an open hilltop where he and Marian had often come to watch
the sunset. A bronze tablet on his grave bears the lines he wrote
about his "house of dreams untold."

MacDowell was at his best in the short lyric pieces that he wrote
for the piano. These show his gift for appealing melody, the
charm and tenderness of his poetic imagination. His most widely
played set of piano pieces, the Woodland Sketches (1896), includes
not only To a Wild Rose but also At an Old Try sting Place, From*
an Indian Lodge y To a Water Lily > and From Uncle Remus.
Popular too are the Forest Idyls (1884), Sea Pieces (1898), Fire-
side Tales (1902)., and New England Idyls (1902). His songs are
among the most attractive that this country has produced. Among
them are such favorites as Thy Beaming Eyes> The S c uoan Bent
Low to the Lily y and As the Gloaming Shadows Cree^. MacDowell
also cultivated the large forms of music. His two piano concertos
(1882, 1885) and four piano sonatas the Tragica (1893), Eroica
(1896), Norse (1900), and Keltic (1901)- reveal a romantic tone
poet. Of his orchestral works, the best known, dating from 1897, is
the Second {Indian) Suite.

MacDowell's career unfolded at a time when it was of crucial
importance for composers in this country to find their way as
Americans. He took a broad view of nationalism in music. On the
one hand he was deeply attached to the European heritage, espe-
cially to the tradition of German romanticism. On the other, he
believed that American composers ought to reflect their environ-
ment and to interpret the spirit of their country. Yet they had to
do this, he maintained, on a deeper level than by merely quoting
an Indian tune or a Negro spiritual. He felt that if our composers
truly loved their country and were identified with its spirit, their
music would be American even without their consciously striving to

IO

EDWARD MAC DOWEL3L

make It so. He expressed this conviction with remarkable clarity:
"Before a people can find a musical writer to echo its genius it
must first possess men who truly represent It that is to say, men
who, being part o the people, love the country for itself: men who
put into their music what the nation has put into its life. 3 '

MacDowell knew from his own experience how difficult it was
for an artist to find the peace and quiet necessary for creative work.
tie wished that other artists could enjoy the same ideal conditions
which he had found at Peterborough. He dreamed of a group of
artists musicians, painters, writers living and working together,
each deriving stimulation from the company of the others. During
his last years, when he was no longer able to compose, he kept
wishing that someone else could make use of his log cabin. When
he died, Marian was left heartbroken, for she had found in him
the great love of her life. She was wholly dedicated to his memory
and his art. And so she resolved to make his dream come true.
Thus was born the idea of the MacDowell Colony. She decided to
convert the estate at Peterborough into a colony where writers,
composers, and painters could come for four months every sum-
mer and create under ideal conditions, undisturbed by material
cares or by the distractions of the outside world. It would take a
lot of money, she realized, to transform the dream into a reality.
She set out bravely to raise it. She traveled all over the country,
giving recitals of MacDowelPs music and trying to interest people
in her plan. A woman of Indomitable spirit, she let no obstacles
deflect her from her goal. As a result of her efforts there sprang
up MacDowell clubs throughout the country to help her with her
work. Before long the MacDowell Colony was able to receive Its
first group of artists.

The Colony embodies the New England ideal of "plain living
and high thinking." Each colonist is assigned a studio in the woods
where he can work undisturbed. Approximately twenty-five studios

ii

AMERICAN" COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

have been erected in the course of the years. A basket lunch is de-
livered to each studio, so that the occupant does not have to in-
terrupt his work in the middle of the day. Dinner is served in the
common dining roomj the evenings are spent in conversation,
games, listening to music, or walks to the village. Mrs. MacDowell
succeeded, after years of effort, in raising a substantial endowment
fund for the Colony 5 the artists who go there are required to pay
very little for their keep. Those who cannot afford even a little
pay nothing at all. Many young musicians, painters, and writers
receive fellowships at the Colony. This gives them an opportunity
to live for a summer in close contact with artists who already have
achieved a reputation in their field. As time went on, an impressive
list of works came out of the MacDowell Colony. Here to men-
tion only a few Thornton Wilder wrote The Bridge of San Luis
Rey, DuBose and Dorothy Heyward wrote Porgy, Elinor Wylie
produced The Venetian Glass Nephew, and Edwin Arlington
Robinson wrote his beautiful poem Tristram. Most of the com-
posers whom we will discuss in the following chapters found a
haven at one time or another at the MacDowell Colony.

Mrs. MacDowell, during its first years, played a most active
part in running the Colony. A woman of exquisite tact, she knew
how to remain in the background. She encouraged the artists, she
helped them and served them. But she never interfered either
with them or their work. One afternoon, as she was working in
her garden, a car drew up, the driver asked for directions. Sud-
denly the lady in the car asked her if she was one of the help. Mrs.
MacDowell thought a moment and replied, "Yes. That's exactly
what I am." She guided the enterprise for many years. On her
ninety-fifth birthday she received greetings from all over the
country and was hailed as one of the remarkable women of her
time. She died three years later, having lived to see the MacDowell
Colony established as a unique institution in our cultural life a

12

EDWARD MAC DOWELL

monument to her husband more enduring than marble or bronze.

She lived also to see the triumph of her husband's ideas about
the place that music should occupy in a university. Today the music
departments of our colleges play a vital role in the artistic life of
our country. The art of music is considered to be as important as
other academic subjects, and is taught at our colleges in all its
branches history, theory and esthetics, harmony and counter-
point, ear-training and sight-singing, analysis, orchestration, and
composition. Columbia University has made amends for its un-
gracious treatment of its first professor of music. The most im-
portant member of its music department is known as the Edward
MacDowell Professor of Music.

The best introduction to MacDowell's music is through piano
pieces such as To a Wild Rose and To a Water Lily. These amply
show his heartfelt lyricism. Equally enjoyable is his Indian Suite,
which he based on melodies of the Iroquois, Chippewa, and other
Indian tribes. He used the Indian tunes freely, changing them ac-
cording to his fancy and giving them the imprint of his own style.
The work is broken up into five parts: I. Legend. The introduc-
tion is marked "Not fast 5 with much dignity and character." A
dark orchestral tone sets the scene for a tale of ancient times. The
movement itself is marked "Twice as fast, with decision," and
sings of brave warriors and heroic deeds. It is based on a ceremonial
song of the Iroquois. II. Love Song. "Not fast. Tenderly." Here
we encounter MacDowell's gentle lyricism and romantic ardor.
He took as his point of departure a love song of the lowas. III.
In War Time. "With rough vigor, almost savagely." A war dance
of the Iroquois Indians leads into a traditional melody associated
with their Scalp Dance. The movement works up to an exciting
climax. Suddenly a slow passage intervenes to break the mood. It
forecasts the lament of the next movement. The war dance returns
and mounts in fury until the end. IV. Dirge. "Slowly, mourn-

13

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

fully." The theme previously announced in the middle o the war
dance is now expanded into a song of mourning. A horn plays off-
stage, with an effect of mystery and remoteness. u Of all my music/ 5
wrote MacDowell, "the Dirge in the Indian Suite pleases me most.
It affects me deeply and did when I was writing it. In it an Indian
woman laments the death of her son; but to me, as I wrote it, it
seemed to express a world-sorrow rather than a particularised
grief." V. Village Festival. "Swift and light." This is a lively,
strongly rhythmic finale that brings the suite to a rousing con-
clusion.

The composer of this work was one of America's first tone poets.
His art announced to the world that our country musically speak-
in g had come of age, and was ready to take its place among the
nations that create their own music.

2. CHARLES IVES

The story of Charles Ives is one that is not uncommon in the an-
nals of modern art. His music was ignored for decades. Then, at
the very end of his life, he was hailed everywhere as the first truly
American composer of the twentieth century.

Ives was born on October 20, 1874, in Danbury, Connecticut,
not far from where his ancestors had settled soon after the landing
of the Pilgrims. His father had been an army bandmaster in the
Civil War. When the war was over George Ives continued as a
bandmaster in Danbury. He was an extraordinarily progressive
musician who was interested in exploring the nature of sound. On
holidays such as the Fourth of July, when his own band was
augmented by other bands from the surrounding countryside, he
would divide the players into groups and station them in different
places, one in the church steeple, another on the roof of a building,
a third on the village green, each in turn playing a variation on a
tune that he had specially arranged, so that he could test the effect
of the sound coming from all directions. His son never forgot a the
echo parts from the roofs played by a chorus of violins and voices."
Or he would make his family sing Swanee River in the key of E-flat
while he played the accompaniment in the key of C, "in order,"
as Charles Ives wrote later, "to stretch our ears and strengthen
our musical minds."

15

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

Despite his love of experiment, George Ives believed that a
musician ought to have a solid foundation. He taught his son to
play a number of instruments, and introduced him to the music of
Bach and Beethoven. In addition, he saw to it that Charles did
the necessary exercises in harmony (the science of chords) and
counterpoint (the art of combining several melodies simultane-
ously) . When Charles was thirteen he was playing the organ at the
West Street Congregational Church in Danbury. A year later,
when he was hired by a larger church, he was described in the
Danbury News as "the youngest organist in the state." Charles had
already begun to compose. His Holiday Qmck-Stef was performed
by his father's band and won the unanimous approval of Danbury.
All the same, Charles was slightly ashamed of his interest in
music. "Most boys in the country towns of America, I think, felt
the same way," he stated many years later. "When other boys on
Monday morning in vacation were out driving the grocery cart,
riding horses or playing ball, I felt all wrong to stay in and play
the piano." To make up for this he took care to be a regular fellow
and excelled in sports, especially baseball and football. When
people made much of his musical talent and asked him what he
liked to play, he would reply defensively, "Shortstop!"

After Charles was graduated from Danbury High School he
went on to the Hopkins Preparatory School in New Haven and
entered Yale University at the age of twenty. There he studied
composition with Horatio Parker, a conservative composer who,
as his pupil pointed out, was entirely governed by the rules he had
learned in Germany. "Parker's course," Charles wrote, "made me
feel more and more what a remarkable background and start
Father had given me in music. Parker was a composer and Father
was not j but from every other standpoint I should say that Father
was by far the greater man. After the first two or three weeks in
Freshman year I did not bother Parker with any of the experi-

16

CHARLES IVES

mental ideas that Father had been willing for me to think about
and try out."

Shortly after Charles entered Yale, George Ives died. This was
a severe loss for Charles, who had found in his father both an
inspiring teacher and a sympathetic friend. He always felt that
if he accomplished anything worth while in music, it was primarily
because of his father. He was grateful not only for what his father
taught him about music but also, as he wrote when he was a man,
for "his influence, his personality, character and open-mindedness,
and his remarkable understanding of the ways of a boy's heart and
mind."

Charles was active in music throughout his four years at Yale.
Nevertheless, when he had to choose a career he decided against
becoming a professional musician. "Father felt," he explained,
"that a man could keep his music interest stronger, cleaner, bigger
and freer if he didn't try to make a living out of it. Assuming a
man lives by himself and with no dependents, he might write music
that no one would play prettily, listen to or buy. But but if he has
a nice wife and some nice children, how can he let the children
starve on his dissonances? So he has to weaken (and if he is a man
he should weaken for his children), but his music more than
weakens it goes c ta-ta' for money! Bad for him, bad for music!"
Thus Charles Ives from the beginning suspected that the uncon-
ventional kind of music he wanted to write was not the kind that
would ever bring him any money. He was right.

Ives moved to New York and shared an apartment on the West
Side with several friends 5 they called it Poverty Flat. At this time
he entered the field of life insurance. The young man was ambitious
to get ahead and, after a few years as a clerk, went into business
for himself. Together with a friend he formed the firm of Ives
and Myrick, which eventually became the largest insurance agency
in the country. Shortly after the beginning of his business career

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

Ives fell in love with Harmony Twichell, daughter of a New
England minister who had been a friend of Mark Twain, John
Greenleaf Whittier, and other famous writers. Harmony was very
beautiful, and Charles was afraid that he would never win her for
his wife. For a while things were very tense in Poverty Flat. Soon,
however, Ives and Harmony were married. Some years later they
adopted a baby daughter named Edith. The marriage was an ex-
tremely happy one. During the long years when the world re-
fused to accept Ives's music, it was his wife who sustained him with
her encouragement and understanding.

Ives's career as a composer was carried on simultaneously with
his career as a successful businessman. He wrote his music at night,
during week ends, and in his summer vacations. His busy life did
not allow him much time to go to concerts and listen to the music
of other composers. But he did not regard this as a disadvantage,
for it encouraged him to be original and to put down on paper
only the sounds that he heard in his head. As he said, "I felt I
could work better and liked to work better if I kept to my own
music and let other people keep to theirs."

Ives found inspiration in his New England heritage, in the
tradition that came to flower in the idealism of Ralph Waldo Em-
erson and Henry Thoreau, of Nathaniel Hawthorne and the Al-
cotts. His thinking had been nourished by Emerson's faith in
man, by Thoreau's belief that nature is good, and by his own con-
viction that, as he expressed it, "the soul is each man's share of
God." At a time when American composers were still guided by
the musical traditions of Europe, Ives turned to his roots to the
world of his childhood. He based his musical language on the
melodies he had grown up with: the hymn tunes and popular
songs he had learned in Danbury, the sound of the town band at
parades, the lively square dances and reels of the fiddlers at Sat-
urday night dances, patriotic songs and parlor ballads, the melodies

18

CHARLES IVES

of Stephen Foster, the medleys that he had heard in small
theaters and at country fairs.

Other composers had been attracted to this wealth of American
music. But they had weighed everything according to European
standards. And so they proceeded to smooth out and "correct" the
popular tunes according to the rules they had learned in Leipzig
or Munich. Ives, on the other hand., disregarded the European
tradition in music exactly as Walt Whitman had done in poetry.
His keen ear caught the sound of untrained voices in a village
church singing a hymn, some straining a little and sharping the
pitch, others just missing it and going flat; so that in place of a
single tone there was a cluster of tones that made a wonderfully
dissonant chord. Some were a trifle ahead of the beat, others lagged
behind j so that the rhythm sagged and swayed, and turned into
a mixture of different rhythms all going on at the same time. He
retained in his mind the exciting sound when two bands in a
parade, each blaring a different tune in a different key, came close
enough together for the two melodies to overlap and clash. He
remembered the effect when fiddlers at a country dance, in order to
heighten the excitement, played just a little off pitch or added off-
beat accents to the music. He never forgot the sound of the wheezy
harmonium at church that was slightly out of tune as it accom-
panied the hymns. All these sounds, Ives realized, were not "mis-
takes" that had to be corrected. They were the heart and soul of
American musical speech. To correct the popular melodies of
America according to the rules taught in European conservatories
would be the same as correcting the speech of a Yankee farmer
according to the rules of grammar taught at Yale. It would de-
prive our folk songs of their flavor, their tang, their special Ameri-
can quality. And so he wrote down the melodies, harmonies, and
rhythms exactly as he remembered them, exactly as he heard them
in his mind.

19

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

But in the early years of our century no one was writing in
several keys at the same time (polytonal music), or in no definite
key at all (atonal music). No one was using a variety of rhythmic
patterns simultaneously (polyrhythms). Nobody was building
chords by using all the tones of the scale together (cluster chords),
or combining melodies that met head-on in clashing intervals (dis-
sonant counterpoint). These things became fashionable many years
later in the music of Stravinsky, Schoenberg, Bartok, Milhaud,
Hindemith, and other European composers. Yet here was a pio-
neering American, isolated from his fellow composers as well as
from the public, finding his way to these daring innovations all by
himself. It was only because Ives was so intent on expressing the
truth as he felt it, and because he was so fiercely independent of
European traditions, that he was able to explore new realms of ex-
pression and to forecast the direction in which twentieth-century
music was going to move. In so doing, he created something en-
tirely new.

Ives wanted to reach people. He hoped that they would under-
stand what he was driving at. But he was so far in advance of his
time that when he showed his music to others they could make
neither head nor tail of it. Some of them smiled, convinced that
such strange scores could come only from someone who had never
properly learned the rules of composition. Others assured him that
the music he was writing was absolutely impossible to play. Still
others came away persuaded that the man was cracked. "Said I
to myself: Why do I like to work in this way and get all se?t up
over what just upsets other people? No one else seems to hear it
the same way. Are my ears on wrong? I began to feel that if I
wanted to write music that was worth while (that is, to me) I
must keep away from musicians."

In his heart he had only contempt for those who clung to the
traditions of the past, fearful of the present and the future. On

20

CHARLES IVES

one of his scores he scribbled: "Don't mind the soft ears a-lolling
around in the hall knock 'em over the ropes! Make 'em work
their ears like real men! 73 Many years later, when a piece of his
was performed at a concert, some people in the audience began
to boo and jeer at his music. Ives sat quietly by. But when they
did the same to a work by another modern composer, he sprang to
his feet and cried, "Don't be such a sissy! When you hear strong
music like this, get up and try to use your ears like a man ! "

As the years passed, Ives realized that he would not be able to
interest conductors and performers in his music. He gave up show-
ing his manuscripts, and continued on his own along the path he
knew he must follow. Yet at times he felt a great need, as every
composer does, to hear his music and to find out whether it sounded
the way he thought it did. On such occasions he would engage a
group of musicians to run through one of his scores. Needless to
say, these were altogether inadequate performances, as a number of
instruments were missing; but at least they gave Ives some idea of
the sound of his music. When he hired men from a theater or-
chestra they were able to make their way through the score, for
they were accustomed to playing all sorts of popular music. But
when he picked musicians from the New York Symphony Or-
chestra they were completely baffled by the unconventional har-
monies and rhythms, for they were hidebound by tradition. Except
for these rare performances, Ives never heard his music save in
his imagination. He persevered, piling up one score after the other
in his barn in Connecticut. His friends urged him to write the kind
of music that people were accustomed to 5 then it would be per-
formed. But he would answer, "I can't do it I hear something
else!" There was only one person who unfailingly encouraged
him his wife. She kept telling him to remain true to his inner
vision, and never to allow himself to be deflected from his course
by those who failed to understand him.

21

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

The twenty years that it took Ives to achieve his success in the
business world roughly, from the time he was twenty-two to
forty-two were also the years when he wrote all his music. The
most important compositions in his output were his four sym-
phonies. He worked on the First Symphony from 1896 to 1898, a
period when he was still developing his style. The Second, a
romantic work in five movements, occupied him from 1897 to 1902.
Concerning this piece Ives stated: "The part suggesting a Steve
Foster tune, while over it the old farmers fiddled a barn dance with
all of its jigs, gallops and reels, was played in Danbury on the old
Wooster House bandstand in 1889." I* 1 h* s Third Symphony, on
which he worked from 1901 to 1904, Ives quoted the old hymn
Take It to the Lord as well as the Welsh battle song known as
All Through the Night. The Fourth Symphony for orchestra and
two pianos, written in the years 19101916, contains the hymn
tune Watchman^ Tell Us of the Night. During these years Ives
also wrote A Symphony: Holidays, based, as he said, on "the recol-
lections of a boy's holidays in a Connecticut country town." The
four movements are entitled Washington's Birthday, Decoration
Day, Fourth of July, and Thanksgiving Day. In several other
works Ives went back to the memories of his New England child-
hood j as in Hallowe'en (1911) for string quartet and piano, which
he called "a kind of April FooPs piece for a Hallowe'en Party."
This became the first of Three Outdoor Scenes, the others being
The Pond (1906) and Central Park in the Dark (1898-1907).

The most important of Ives's piano pieces is the Sonata No. 2,
which he named Concord, Mass. . . . 18401860. The four move-
ments, on which he worked from 1909 to 1915, reflect four aspects
of the flowering of New England. The first movement, Emerson,
evokes Ives's favorite writer, whom he imagines "standing on a
summit, at the door of the infinite where many men do not dare
to climb, peering into the mysteries of life, contemplating the

22

CHARLES IVES

eternities., hurling back whatever he discovers there now thunder-
bolts for us to grasp., i we can, and translate now placing quietly,
even tenderly, in our hands, things that we may see without effort
if we don't use them, so much the worse for us." The composer
took for his basic theme the opening four notes of Beethoven's
Fifth Symphony, which he identified with the spiritual message
at the heart of Emerson's philosophy as Ives described it, "the
Soul of humanity knocking at the door of the Divine mysteries,
radiant in the faith that it will be opened and the human become
Divine ! "

Second is Hawthorne, the kind of light, rapid movement which
is known in music as a scherzo (sker'-tso). This part is supposed
to suggest, Ives explained, some of Hawthorne's "wilder, fan-
tastical adventures into the half-childlike, half-fairylike phantasmal
realms." Third is The Alcotts y a gentle, slow movement inspired
by the family of the beloved author of Little Women. "As one
walks down the broad-arched street," Ives wrote, "he comes
presently to the old elms overspreading the Alcott house. It seems
to stand as a kind of homely but beautiful witness of Concord's
common virtue. Within the house, on every side, lie remembrances.
There sits the little old spinet piano on which Beth played the
Fifth Symphony . . ." The movement is meant to evoke "the
memory of that home under the elms the Scotch songs and the
family hymns that were sung at the end of each day ... a con-
viction in the power of the common soul which, when all is said
and done, may be as typical as any theme of Concord and its tran-
scendentalists." (The transcendentalists were the New England
idealists who believed in the philosophy of Emerson and Thoreau.)
The last movement is called Thoreau "as it might be a day with
Thoreau alone at Walden Pond, with an echo over the water . . ."
The Concord Sonata is a powerful work that shows Ives's style at
its noblest.

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

Ives wrote many songs and choral pieces; works for orchestra j
and chamber music, such as string quartets and sonatas for violin
and piano. However, his double life as a big-business executive by
day and composer by night eventually undermined his health. In
1918, when he was forty-four years old, he suffered a physical
breakdown that left his heart permanently damaged. The years
of protracted toil without recognition, without encouragement or
reward of any kind had taken more out of him emotionally than
he had suspected. Although he lived almost forty years longer,
he did not have the energy to produce anything further of im-
portance. His work was done.

When Ives recovered from his illness, he realized that the world
of professional musicians was closed to his compositions and would
remain closed. He felt that he owed it to his music to make it
available to those who might be interested in it. Accordingly, he
had the Concord Sonata printed at his own expense, along with a
little book he had written which he called Essays Before a Sonata
a kind of program note that not only explained what the music
meant but also expressed his views on life and art. These two
volumes were followed by a third, 114 Songs > which contained all
the songs he had written between 1896 and 1916. The three books
were to be distributed free of charge to libraries, music critics, or
anyone else who asked for them. Ives wrote an explanatory note for
the 114 Songs that is characteristic of his way of expressing him-
self: "Some have written a book for money 3 I have not. Some for
fame 5 I have not. Some for love 5 I have not. Some for kindlings 3
I have not. I have not written a book for any of these reasons or
for all of them together. In fact, gentle borrower, I have not writ-
ten a book at all I have merely cleaned house. All that is left is
out on the clothes line but it's good for a man's vanity to have
the neighbors see him on the clothes line."

The three volumes were completely ignored by the musical
world. But they came to the attention of a few discerning souls who

24

CHARLES IVES

became Ives's enthusiastic supporters. One of these was the music
critic Henry Bellamann, who later gained fame as the author of
the novel King's Row. He did everything in his power to obtain
performances of Ives's compositions and to draw attention to the
man and his music. The volumes also reached a few experimental
composers who were struggling to make their way in an unheeding
world. One of them, Nicolas Slonimsky, conducted three move-
ments from Holidays in Paris, Budapest, and Berlin. The Euro-
pean critics were astonished to hear such modern music written by
an American composer. Ives began to see that he was not as alone
as he had thought. There were others who grasped what he was
driving at and who were engaged in the same struggle as he.

As the 19205 wore on, new conceptions came to the fore in the
art of music. The techniques that Ives had experimented with
twenty-five years earlier, which had so puzzled those to whom he
showed his scores, now became part of the vocabulary of music. The
world was catching up with him. His day came at last when the
Concord Sonata received its first performance, almost a quarter-
century after Ives had written it. The piece was played by the
American pianist John Kirkpatrick at a concert in Town Hall, in
New York, in January, 1939. When Kirkpatrick repeated the
Sonata several weeks later, it scored a triumph. Ives's dream came
true: an audience responded spontaneously to the sounds he had
heard in his mind, and understood all that he was trying to say.
Those present at the concert never forgot the sense of excitement
that filled the hall. The next morning the famous critic Lawrence
Gilman described the Concord Sonata as "the greatest music com-
posed by an American." Ironically enough, Ives was not present
to witness his victory. He was then sixty-five, a semi-invalid living
in retirement on his Connecticut farm. Kirkpatrick had played the
Sonata to him privately, but he did not feel up to attending the
concert.

Now Ives was "discovered" by the public and hailed as "the

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

father o American music" the first composer, that is, who drew
his inspiration exclusively from the American scene without relying
in the least on European sources. The season 1944-1945, which
marked his seventieth anniversary, witnessed several important
performances of his music. A year later Ives was elected to the
National Institute of Arts and Letters. In 194? his Third Sym-
phony was performed for the first time, more than forty years
after he composed it. The piece won a Pulitzer Prize. "Prizes are
for boys I'm grown up," Ives commented wryly when he was
told the news.

Here certainly was a story to capture the imagination. It was
carried by newspapers throughout the country. Ives awoke at
seventy-three to find himself famous. Four years later Leonard
Bernstein and the New York Philharmonic presented the premiere
of his Second Symphony, exactly fifty years after Ives had written
it. Bernstein offered to set a rehearsal at Ives's convenience, and
to arrange for the composer to be alone in Carnegie Hall. But the
prospect of hearing his work at last strangely agitated the old man,
and he attended neither the rehearsals nor the performances. He
did listen to the radio broadcast of the piece, and realized that the
symphony which had once been pronounced unplayable and crazy
was now giving pleasure to millions. In the remaining years of his
life Ives was recognized as one of the most original artists this
country had produced. Thus, by remaining true to himself, he won
the fame and admiration that had been withheld from him and
won them on his own terms. He died in New York City in 1954,
at the age of eighty.

As an introduction to Ives's music, listen to the recording of
Three Places in Net En gland > one of his best-known works. This
set of orchestral pieces was written between 1 903 and 1911. The
first piece evokes the famous statue by Saint-Gaudens in Boston
Common a monument to Colonel Shaw and his Colored Regi-

26

CHARLES IVES

ment. The piece opens very softly, in a mood of solemn dedication.
The melody conjures up the world of the Stephen Foster songs and
the emotional atmosphere of the Civil War. Gradually the music
builds to a powerful climax in which the woodwinds, in high
register, are thrust against the brass in the low. Ives's keen ear for
rhythm shows itself in an observation he wrote in the score : "Often
when a mass of men march uphill there is an unconscious slowing
up. The drum seems to follow the feet, rather than the feet the
drum." The piece ends, as it began, very softly.

The second number in the set is called Putnam's Cam$, Redding,
Connecticut. It is marked allegro (fast), "in Quick-Step Time."
Ives explained what he wanted to express in this piece. "Near
Redding Center is a small park preserved as a Revolutionary
Memorial, for here General Israel Putnam's soldiers had their
winter quarters in 1778-1779. Long rows of camp fireplaces still
remain to stir a child's imagination." Ives imagined a Fourth of
July picnic in a small American town. The music suggests the gay
crowds, the shouting and the horseplay, the two bands in the
parade whose sounds overlap and clash. During the picnic, one
little boy wanders off by himself into the woods. He remembers
the stories he has so often heard about Putnam's soldiers and the
hardships they endured, and how they wanted to break camp and
abandon their cause, but were recalled to their duty when Putnam
came over the hills to lead them. Amid the silence of the old trees
he dreams of those stirring times. "The little boy awakes," Ives
wrote. "He hears the children's songs and runs down past the
monument to ^listen to the band' and join in the games and dances."
All this is told in the music. There is one passage where two march
rhythms clash, four measures of one equaling three measures of
the other. The ending is loud and dissonant an exciting close for a
holiday celebration.

Third and last is The Housatonic at Stockbridge* This piece, the

27

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

composer recalled, "was suggested by a Sunday morning walk that
Mrs. Ives and I took near Stockbridge the summer after we were
married. We walked in the meadows along the River and heard
the distant singing from the Church across the River. The mist
had not entirely left the river bed, and the colors, the running
water, the banks and trees were something that one would always
remember." The piece opens with a rippling current of sound set
up by the string instruments. A serene melody emerges, which sug-
gests the hymns at the prayer meetings that Ives recalled from
his boyhood. The music of this lovely nature-piece flows calmly
and steadily to a climax marked fortissimo (very loud). Then it
subsides to a quiet ending, even as the river flows off quietly in the
distance.

A deep love for all things American lies at the heart of this
music. Three Places in New England springs from our native soil
and could have been written nowhere else. Certainly no other com-
poser captured so eloquently the spiritual quality of his heritage.
Like Emerson and Thoreau, the two writers whom he admired
above all others, Charles Ives has become an American classic.

3. CHARLES T. GRIFFES

Charles Tomlinson Griffes was one of the most poetic composers
that this country has produced. He appeared upon our musical
scene just a little too soon, before the public was ready to under-
stand the subtle beauty of his art.

Charles was born on September 17, 1884, in Elmira, New York.
He showed musical talent as a boy. For example, he would listen
intently to the birds and whistle an accurate imitation of their calls.
Or he would pick out on the piano a melody he had heard. When
he was eight years old his sister Katherine tried to give him piano
lessons. But he lost interest in music when he had to practice scales
and exercises. Instead he turned to painting, and showed a sensi-
tivity to color that remained with him throughout his life.

It was not until he was eleven that Charles developed a real in-
terest in music. While he was convalescing from an attack of ty-
phoid fever he listened to his sister practicing a piece by Beethoven,
and was filled with a desire to be able to play it himself. Piano
lessons were begun as soon as he got well. Now he regretted the
time he had wasted, and applied himself to his, music with so much
energy that before long his sister did not have anything more to
teach him. She turned him over to her own teacher at Elrnira Col-
lege, Mary Selena Broughton, a cultivated Englishwoman who
quickly recognized the remarkable talent of her new pupil. Miss

29

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

Broughton gave him extra lessons, tried to improve his mind by
recommending books for him to read, took an interest in every-
thing he did, and became, indeed, a second mother to him.

Charles took part in the musical life of Elmira. He played the
organ at the Lutheran Church, accompanied the Y.M.C.A. chorus,
and performed at Miss Broughton's concerts. All the same, he did
not have many friends among the boys at the Elmira Free Acad-
emy, where he spent his high-school years. He was a dreamy,
sensitive lad who lived in a world of his own a world that con-
sisted of his music, his books, and long walks in the woods. He was
a lonely wanderer from the start, and a lonely wanderer he re-
mained.

Miss Broughton eventually decided that she had nothing fur-
ther to teach her protege. She wanted him to continue his studies
in Germany, where she herself had studied when she was young.
Since Charles's family could not afford the expense, Miss Brough-
ton decided to send him abroad herself. He was a good investment,
she said, and would pay back the money when he had become a
successful musician. Charles was graduated from the Academy in
1903, That summer, at the age of nineteen, he set out on what is
one of the most exciting experiences that can befall a young Amer-
ican musician the journey to the rich musical culture of the Old
World.

Charles enrolled at the Stern Conservatory in Berlin, where he
studied piano, theory, and composition with German musicians who
gave him a thorough grounding in his art. He learned to speak
German fluently and read the classics of German literature. He
met other music students who were as eager for musical knowledge
as himself. He attended concerts and operas, and heard artists of
international fame. He came to admire the operas of Richard Wag-
ner, the symphonic poems and operas of Richard Strauss. He made
friends with several music-loving Berliners who opened up a new

30

CHARLES T. GRIFFES

world to the young man from Elmira. Most important of all, he
was stimulated by an environment where music was not a specialty
or a sideline, as it had been back home, but an essential part of daily
living. In one of his letters he wrote that in America music "is gen-
erally used to give people's tongues a little time to rest, and often
not even that." He could not listen to the songs of Schubert, Schu-
mann, and Brahms without realizing their superiority to what he
had heard in Elmira. "I must say," he wrote, "that most of the
American songs seem pretty empty and shallow after the German
ones."

The most important thing that happened to Charles during his
four years in Berlin was that his interest gradually turned from
piano playing to composing. This change is reflected in a letter he
wrote to his mother during his second year abroad. "Last year I
began to realize what a lot there was for me to know besides the
piano, especially if I wanted to do anything with composition and the
other branches. I feel this almost more in the composition than in
the piano playing. For instance, I am beginning orchestration now
and by June will have finished an overture and have learned a
good deal. But in this short time and this one thing I shall not
have gained enough facility in writing for the orchestra so that I
could go ahead and attempt anything alone."

He realized the handicaps that his environment had imposed
upon him. "A composer nowadays has to be able to write for the
orchestra. The Americans are under a great disadvantage 3 unless
they happen to live in New York where things are given and have
money enough to take them in, they generally know only their
own instrument and its literature, at most. With me, who never
heard an orchestra in my life but three times in Philadelphia and
twice in New York and who didn't know one instrument from an-
other, it takes a long time to get even a slight knowledge of the
different instruments and of what can be done with the orchestra."

31

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

Charles already saw in what direction his future lay. "I don't
want to become merely a piano teacher. And I feel sure that ~L
shall never become a great concert player and virtuoso, for I re-
alise now that to be such one has to begin much earlier than I did
and has to devote much more time to it than I ever did at home.
So I want to be an all-round musician who can do something else
besides teach and play the piano. I want to know music in general,
especially if I want to do anything with composition." Charles re-
turned to this point in a subsequent letter. "It is rather a fault of
piano students," he wrote, "and especially of Americans that they
know nothing except the piano and its music. They practice it all
the time and go principally to piano concerts and in the end never
learn anything except just that."

Charles's father died that year. He came home to spend the
summer with his family. But he desperately wanted another year
abroad. Miss Broughton had given him all the help she could.
Assistance came unexpectedly from another source. A young Ger-
man who had become a devoted friend of his and who believed in
his gifts offered to pay for his fourth year of study. By now, too,
he was able to earn some money himself by giving lessons and ac-
companying singers. And so Charles returned to Berlin. During his
final year abroad he took some lessons in composition with Engel-
bert Humperdinck, the celebrated composer of the opera Hansel
und Gretel. He played in a few concerts. Most important of all,
he performed his first compositions in public, and they were quite
well received. The year went by as swiftly as had the others. In
the summer of 1907 Charles Griffes, immeasurably enriched by
his stay in Europe, returned to America to begin his career as a
professional musician.

Through a teachers' agency he obtained a position at the Hack-
ley School in Tarrytown, New York. This was a school that pre-
pared the sons of well-to-do families for college. Griffes was ex-
pected to give piano lessons to the boys who desired them. He had

32

CHARLES T. GRIFFES

to accompany the singers and violinists who occasionally played at
the school. He trained the choir and took charge of the musical
services in the Chapel. And he gave informal piano recitals for the
students on Sunday nights. These duties would not have been too
heavy for someone who wanted to be only a teacher. For a crea-
tive artist they were a grievous burden.

There were many things wrong with the job. To begin with,
music occupied an inferior position at Hackley. The main emphasis
was on sports and on those subjects that would help the boys get
into the university of their choice. The pay was low and the hours
were long. When he came there Griffes was paid $1,300 a year
that is, thirty-six dollars a week with room and board. Even
more depressing was the fact that the duties he was called upon to
perform fell far short of his abilities. In all his years at Hackley
he never once had a really talented pupil, as far as piano playing
was concerned (although he did meet a few thoughtful boys who
appreciated what he had to offer). But the worst thing was that
his work took up so much of his time. The precious hours that
might have been spent in composing had to be sacrificed to all sorts
of unimportant tasks. Griffes often rebelled against the drudgery
of his post. But he was trapped by his own feeling of insecurity,
as well as by his obligations to his family $ he was his mother's
chief support. Besides, there were not many opportunities open
to an aspiring composer at that time.

He continued to compose in spite of all interruptions: at night,
during week ends and holidays, and in the all-too-short summer
vacations. Also on the train during the one-hour journey from
Tarrytown to Manhattan. More and more he was attracted to the
exciting atmosphere of New York. "Life isn't worth living any-
where else," he wrote to a friend. As the years went on, his trips
to New York became more frequent. Apart from the pleasure
he found in getting away from Hackley, these visits were neces-
sary for his career as a composer. He would play his music for

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

singers, pianists, dancers, publishers, and fellow composers, trying
to interest them in his work. But he would often come back dis-
couraged, because those who controlled the musical world in the
first quarter of our century were not eager for compositions that
were fresh, new, and off the beaten track. At the end of a typical
day, during which he had played his manuscripts to various people,
Griff es wrote in his diary: "Took the 12:35 train back and had to
walk up the hill in the pouring rain. It wasn't worth while."

Griffes gradually acquired a circle of friends in New York who
believed in his gifts and lost no opportunity to further his cause.
He came to know Alice and Irene Lewisohn, founders of the
Neighborhood Playhouse, and wrote the music for some of their
productions. He found an enthusiastic ally in the critic Paul Rosen-
feld, who championed the cause of modern music. He met Rose
Pastor Stokes and others who were active in the labor movement.
Under their influence Griffes, who had always felt a deep sym-
pathy for the underprivileged, began to take an interest in social
problems. During the strike of the New York garment workers in
1916 he played the piano at some of their rallies. This brief ex-
cursion into the labor movement had one musical result a choral
piece called These Things Shall Be, on a poem by John Adding-
ton Symonds, which Griffes wrote for a friend who conducted the
New York Community Chorus. This was his only attempt to write
in a popular style. The song found its way into the Army and
Navy Songbook during the First "World War.

Griffes reached maturity as a creative musician at a time when
composers were turning away from the major scale, that is, the
familiar do-re-mi--fa-sol-la-ti-do on which European music had been
based for the better part of three hundred years. His delicate,
dreamlike art reflected an imagination that was stimulated by far-
away places and far-off times. He found inspiration in the exotic
scales of Oriental music the music of India, China and Japan, Java

34

CHARLES T. GRIFFES

and Bali and in ancient scales that had existed long before the
major-minor. "Modern music," he declared, "tends more and more
toward the archaic, especially the archaism of the East. The an-
cient Greek modes, the five-tone scales o China and Japan are
much used. In the dissonances of modern music the Oriental is
more at home than in the consonance of the classics."

Griffes came to admire the composers who at that time were
attracting the attention of progressive musicians, such as Modest
Musorgski and Alexander Scriabin, Igor Stravinsky and Arnold
Schoenberg. In several of his compositions he was influenced by
the French impressionist composers, Claude Debussy and Maurice
Ravel, who captured in music the misty coloring and fluid rhythm
that marked the canvases of painters such as Claude Monet, Au-
guste Renoir, fidouard Manet, and Edouard Degas. Griffes be-
came the leading American impressionist composer. Yet he took
from the Europeans only what fit in with his own way of express-
ing himself. "If I have written into my score Oriental sounds and
Slavic themes," he stated, "it is only because those tonal combina-
tions and melodies have said and expressed the things I wanted to
say."

Griffes's music, with its exotic atmosphere, borrowed nothing
from American folk song. He represents that group among our
composers which was most responsive to foreign influence. He
stood at the opposite end from those who were trying to create a
homespun American music. This came out during a visit to Boston
when a friend took him to see the American composer Henry
F* Gilbert, who at that time was a leading figure among our na-
tionalist musicians. Griffes played some of his piano pieces j Gil-
bert was filled with admiration for their refined workmanship.
However, it soon became clear that the two men. disagreed vio-
lently as to the proper course for American music. Gilbert insisted
that our composers must base their works upon Indian and Negro

35

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

melodies, folk songs, and similar Americana. Griffes maintained
that the artist's first duty is to express sincerely what he feels in his
heart, and to create beauty, no matter what its nationality. There
was absolutely no meeting ground between the two points of view.
But as Griffes left, his host exclaimed in wonderment, "How can
such hypersensitive art and technique exist in an American car-
cass?"

Griffes's relations with the music publishers well illustrates the
plight of the American composer in the first decades of the twen-
tieth century. They accepted his early songs, for those were written
in a familiar style and would sell well. Editors were far less will-
ing to take a chance on the works in which he found his true musi-
cal language. In 1912 Griffes, in a letter, described himself as
"in a bad humor all day" because his publishers had refused to ac-
cept three of his new piano pieces. "It takes away one's confidence,"
he commented. "Am I on the right track or not?" Five years later
he had answered that question to his own satisfaction, having de-
cided to stick to his course no matter what anyone else thought.
To a young composer he wrote: "Keep your conscience even if the
publishers have none in fact, just because they have none. Some-
body must have one, you know."

Griffes's efforts finally bore fruit. The more progressive musi-
cians began to present his works. Artists such as the singer Eva
Gauthier and the flutist Georges Barrere became champions of his
art. His scores, whether in published form or in manuscript, were
arousing ever greater interest. But in 1916 his royalties totaled
only sixty-two dollars and forty-nine cents, the highest they were
ever to be in his lifetime.

He continued to be torn between his duties in Tarrytown and
the precious moments in New York 5 between his teaching and his
composing. Increasingly he felt that he must break loose from
Hackley. America's entry into the war in 1917 made such a step

36

CHARLES T. GRIFFES

impossible. "There is a great deal of hardship," he wrote to a
friend, "among smaller musicians just now. Concert engagements
are few and not so well paid as usual. I am glad for my steady
job, as dull and uninteresting as it is. Between you and me, it is
a deadly bore, but I have stuck it out for quite a sum of years
and shall not give it up in these uncertain times." He decided
finally that he wanted to join the war effort, and was on the point
of enlisting in Military Intelligence, where he could use his knowl-
edge of French and German, when the Armistice was signed.

The fall of 1919 saw Griffes finally on the road to fame. To
his old teacher Miss Broughton (to whom he had paid back the
money she had advanced for his education), he wrote proudly:
"The Boston Symphony is to give the first performance of my
symphonic poem The Pleasure-Dome of Kubla Khan on Nov. 28,
the Philadelphia Orchestra gives the first performance of a set
of four pieces for orchestra this fall, and the New York Symphony
gives for the first time on Nov. 16 a new Poem for solo flute and
orchestra. All these things have to be put into final shape and parts
prepared. What a nuisance lessons are ! "

A composer writes his orchestral works in a score, that is, on
a page containing a number of staffs, each of which represents an-
other instrumental part. On top of the page are the parts of the
woodwind instruments (piccolo, flutes, oboes, English horn, clari-
nets, bass clarinet, bassoons, and contrabassoon). Immediately be-
low are the staffs representing the brass instruments (horns, trum-
pets, trombones, and tuba). In the middle of the page are the
parts of the percussion (kettledrums, bass and side drum, glocken-
spiel, celesta, xylophone, triangle, cymbals, tambourine, castanets,
and similar instruments). The staffs representing the string group
(first and second violins, violas, cellos, double basses) are at the
bottom. By looking straight down the page at a certain measure one
sees what is going on in the whole orchestra at that point. In other

37

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

words, all these separate lines are really one line the full orches-
tral sound produced by all the different instruments playing to-
gether. When the work is about to be performed by an orchestra,
all the lines in the score that represent the flute part have to be
copied out on a separate sheet of music that is given to the flute
players 5 the same for the oboes, clarinets, bassoons, and all the
other instruments. This is a dull, laborious task that is done by
a copyist. Griffes, in order to save money, did a good deal of the copy-
ing himself, working late every night after the long day at school
was over. One of his students found him engaged in this task,
and asked why he did not have someone else do it for him. Griffes
replied that it would take more money than he could afford.

The Poem for flute and orchestra won a resounding success in
New York. Griffes was called out seven times to take a bow. He
went to Boston for the premiere of The Pleasure Dome of Kubla
Khan. It had taken him four years to obtain a performance of this
work, which was now received with enthusiastic applause. He re-
turned to give his lessons at Hackley. A week later he had his final
triumph when the Bostonians repeated Kubla Khan in New York.
Griffes sat in a box at Carnegie Hall and received the plaudits of
the crowd.

A few days later the accumulated strain of years took its toll at
last. Griffes collapsed. The doctors diagnosed his illness as pleurisy
and pneumonia. The deeper cause was total exhaustion of the physi-
cal and nervous system. After several weeks in bed the composer,
accompanied by his mother,, entered a sanatorium for the tuber-
cular in the Catskill Mountains. He lingered for a few months,
oppressed more and more by the fear that he would not recover.
He was brought back to New York for an operation on his lungs,
and failed to rally. He died in the New York Hospital on April
8, 1920, at the age of thirty-six.

Suddenly everyone was sorry. The New York Times declared
in an editorial: "We speak with pity or scorn of a public that could

38

CHARLES T. GRIFFES

let a Mozart or a Schubert die and think that those bad old days
are gone, but from time to time something uncomfortably like
them and of the same sort is revealed in the present." A long
eulogy in the magazine Musical America carried the headline:
"Charles T. Griffes Cut Down in His Prime, a Victim of Our Bar-
barous Neglect of Genius," with the subcaption: "American Com-
poser whose Art was Blossoming into Glorious Fruition Died as
the Result of Overwork." His publishers, in a paid advertisement,
mourned the loss that American music had sustained, and said how-
privileged they had been to publish the work of one "to whom,
during his lifetime, musicians, critics, and public denied the ap-
preciation so necessary and precious to a composer of lofty ideals."

Griffes's fame rests on a comparatively small number of works.
He did not favor the large forms of music like the symphony and
concerto. His style was at its best in the short lyric forms the pic-
turesque piano piece and the song or the symphonic poem. (For
an explanation of this and other musical terms see the Glossary.)
He was a lyricist of exquisite sensitivity who commanded the in-
timacy of mood and spontaneous emotion that make up the subtle
world of the art song. His three songs to lyrics by Fiona MacLeod
The Lament of Ian the Proud , The Rose of the Night, and Thy
ID ark Eyes to Mine (1918) rank with the finest that this country
has produced. Equally distinguished are such songs as By a Lonely
Forest Pathway ; Symphony in Yellow, on a poem by Oscar Wilde 5
and his setting of Henley's We'll to the Woods and Gather ~MLay.

Griffes was just as successful with the short piano piece. He
brought into American piano music a poetry that had hitherto been
found only in the writing of French composers like Debussy and
Ravel. Characteristic of his picturesque style are the Three Tone
Pictures of 19101912: The Lake at Evening, The Night Winds,
and The Vale of Dreams^ the Fantasy Pieces of 19121914: Bar-
carolle (Boat Song), Notturno (Nocturne or Night Song), and
Scherbo* The most famous set of Griffes's piano pieces is the Four

39

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

Re-man Sketches of 1915-1916, consisting of The White Peacock,
Nightfall, The Fountain of Acqua Paola y and Clouds. Griff es later
arranged The White Peacock for orchestra. Along with The Pleas-
ure Dome of Kubla Khan, which he wrote in 1912 and revised in
19163 it has remained the most popular of his orchestral works.
We should mention also the Two Sketches on Indian Themes
for string quartet., the Poem for flute and orchestra, and the im-
passioned Piano Sonata, which revealed Griffes to be standing on
the threshold of new developments in his art.

When you listen to the music of Charles Griffes you will find
that tone color plays a very important part in his art, especially
in his imaginative use of such woodwind instruments as the flute,
oboe, and clarinet. This sensitivity to color is to be expected from
one who always responded strongly to painting. "A beautiful color
is lovely in itself, 37 he wrote, "quite aside from any part it plays
in the design of the picture." He associated certain keys with colors:
E-flat for him was yellow or golden, A-flat was bright red, C major
was the most brilliant key of all, a blazing white. It is worthy of
note that when he described the music of his dance-drama Sho-Jo,
he did so in terms of painting: "The orchestration is as Japanese
as possible: thin and delicate, and the muted string organ-points
serve as a neutral-tinted background, like the empty spaces in a
Japanese print." (Organ-points are tones that are held in the bass
while the harmonies change above them.)

The White Peacock offers a splendid introduction to the music
of Charles Griffes. The orchestral score, which dates from 1919,
carries a quotation from a poem by Fiona MacLeod (the Celtic
pen name of the Scottish poet William Sharp) :

Here where the sunlight floodeth the garden,

Where the pomegranate reareth its glory of gorgeous blossoms 5

Where the oleanders dream through the noontides

40

CHARLES T. GRIP FES

Here as the breath, as the soul of this beauty

Moveth in silence, and dreamlike, and slowly,

White as a snowdrift in mountain valleys

When softly upon it the gold light lingers:

Moves the white peacock, as tho' through the noontide

A dream of the moonlight were real for a moment,

Dim on the beautiful fan that he spreadeth

Pale, pale as the breath of blue smoke in far woodlands,
Here, as the breath, as the soul of this beauty,
Moves the White Peacock.

The music conjures up an image of the proud, graceful bird
as he moves languidly through the golden light. A solo oboe in-
troduces a little motive that recurs throughout the work; a flute
follows with the langorous melody that symbolizes the White Pea-
cock. Dreamlike impressionistic harmonies caress the ear with their
fluid rhythms. Flute, oboe, and clarinet are used in such a way that
their melodies stand out as single strands of color against the or-
chestral web. There is an upsurge of sound at the climax, when the
bird spreads his feathers. A beautiful passage follows, in which a
solo violin soars high above the orchestra.

The creator of this haunting music did not live to fulfill the rich
promise of his gifts. But he captured in his art a vision of beauty
that was of prime importance to the musicians who came after. The
popularity of his music after his death made amends for the neg-
lect he suffered during his lifetime. Charles Tomlinson Griffes re-
mains one of the most appealing figures in the history of American
music.

4. DOUGLAS MOORE

Douglas Moore advocates a wholesome Americanism in music.
"The particular idea," he explains, " which I have been striving to
attain is to write music which will reflect the exciting quality of
life, traditions, and country which I feel all about me." He has
adhered to this goal throughout his career.

Moore was born on August 10, 1893, at Cutchogue on Long
Island. His ancestors on his father's side came to this country from
England before 1640 and settled in Southold Town on Long Is-
land, the first English-speaking settlement in New York State.
His mother was a descendant of both Miles Standish and John
Alden. Moore's older daughter married into a family as illustrious
as his own, for her husband is a descendant of Governor Bradford.

The composer's father was the publisher of Ladies' World, one
of the earliest women's magazines, of which his mother was the
editor. She was an ardent music lover and presided over the local
choral society, which frequently held its rehearsals and concerts
in the spacious music room of the Moore home in Brooklyn. As a
child Douglas loved to hear his mother play the piano. His in-
terest in music went hand in hand with a passion for dramatics,
which he shared with his brothers. They produced a melodrama
entitled The Bride's Fate in the family attic. Douglas, who was

42

DOUGLAS MOORE

seven years old at the time, not only wrote the play but also acted
the leading role and managed the enterprise. The price o admis-
sion was one penny. Considering that the box office took in five
cents, the production was regarded as a huge success by all con-
cerned.

Douglas's pleasure in music took a sudden turn for the worse
when he began to take piano lessons and had to practice scales and
exercises. His dislike mounted steadily until his mother promised
to stop the lessons. But when the time came for him to go away to
school he was thirteen then she changed her mind and insisted
that he must continue to study the piano. "I felt very bitter about
it at the time," he recalls, "as if I'd been betrayed." However, he
began to take a more friendly view of the piano when he was al-
lowed to make up his own melodies. Indeed, during his years at
the Hotchkiss School he recaptured something of his earlier love
of music. During one summer vacation, when he was fifteen,
Douglas and one of his brothers put on a musical show at their
father's clubhouse. He composed the score, which made such a hit
that he proudly informed his mother, "Now I can write any kind
of music I want,"

At Hotchkiss Douglas found a congenial friend in his classmate
Archibald MacLeish, who later became one of America's best-
known poets. MacLeish was always scribbling verses. When Doug-
las saw these, he decided to set them to music. Thus began a col-
laboration that continued through the years, after both of them
had achieved fame.

Douglas Moore looks back to his schooling with a certain regret.
"At that time," he says, "I should have been sent to a conserva-
tory." This remark reveals the difficult choice that many young
musicians have to make. If they go to college they receive a gen-
eral education as well as a musical one$ but the music course is
apt to be less intensive than at the conservatory, where the whole

43

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

curriculum revolves around music. Besides, at a conservatory the
student specializes in music from the beginning, whereas at col-
lege he has to devote the better part of his first two years to his
required subjects, which have nothing to do with music. It took
Douglas Moore many years to receive a thorough grounding in
the technique of composition. For this reason he feels that it would
have been better for him to attend a conservatory. Today, of course,
the two types of institution have drawn closer together. Our con-
servatories offer a much broader academic education than they used
to, and our colleges give the music student a more intensive train-
ing in his chosen field.

Douglas was eighteen when he was graduated from Hotchkiss
and entered Yale University. His gift for turning out a good tune
was already in evidence. During his freshman year he wrote a
number of songs, one of which, Good Night > Harvard, became
Yale's favorite football rally. It was not until he reached his junior
year that Douglas decided to become a musician. He was asked to
write background music for a college production of Walter Scott's
Quentin Dur<uoard. Up to this time he had written only songs.
Music for a play involved much more, for he had to compose a
series of orchestral numbers that would connect the different scenes
and create the proper atmosphere for each. Douglas had no ex-
perience in this direction, but he didn't let that stop him. He
tackled his new task with enthusiasm and turned out a highly
satisfactory score for the play.

One afternoon, seated at the piano, he was going over the music
for Quentin Dur f ward with some classmates. He played for them
one of his favorite bits, the march. Suddenly the door opened and
the senior professor of music walked in. It was the composer Ho-
ratio Parker, who was something of a legendary figure at Yale.
Douglas had seen him before, but had never dared to approach
him. The professor turned to Douglas. "Did you write this?" he

44

DOUGLAS MOORE

asked. "I did, sir," the young man answered timidly. Parker sat
down at the piano and played the march from beginning to end.
He had picked it up by ear at one hearing. "It's not at all bad/' the
professor said. From this meeting there sprang up a friendship that
was of the greatest importance for Douglas Moore. He became
Parker's pupil and threw himself heart and soul into the study of
composition, working with redoubled zeal to make up for his late
start.

After he finished the course at Yale Moore stayed on for two
more years to do graduate work with Parker, who wanted him to
teach at the university. By this time the United States had entered
the First World War, and Moore enlisted in the Navy. He con-
tinued to write songs while he was in the service. One of these,
called Destroyer Lije y became extremely popular with his ship-
mates. At this time the ballad singer John Jacob Niles was collect-
ing material for a book of folk songs. He thought that Destroyer
Life was a folk tune, and decided to include it in his book. When
he was told that the song was by Douglas Moore, Niles looked up
the young composer to find out if this was really so. The two young
men quickly became friends and collaborated on a book which ap-
peared under the intriguing title Songs My Mother Never Taught
Me.

When the war was over Moore was faced with an important de-
cision. His father had died. His older brother had taken over the
management of the magazine and wanted Douglas to enter the
business. "You've fooled around with music long enough," his
brother told him. "It's time you settled down to something practi-
cal." But Moore could not abandon his dream of becoming a com-
poser, even though it seemed to promise a far less practical career
as far as financial gain was concerned than the publishing busi-
ness. He turned to his schoolmate Archibald MacLeish for advice.
Moore set three of MacLeish's poems to music and asked the poet

45

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

what he thought of them. MacLeish and his wife praised Moore's
songs to the skies. "But am I good enough to make my way as a
composer?" Moore wondered. There was only one way to find
out: to try*

He did not have to worry about making a living for the time
being, for he had inherited some money from his father. He felt
that he needed further study and, like so many young American
artists after the First World War, decided to go to Paris. Moore
was vastly stimulated by the year he spent in the French capital,
studying composition and the organ. Of the many new friendships
he made, the most important was that with the poet Stephen Vin-
cent Benet, many of whose poems he subsequently set to music.

Moore interrupted his studies to come home and marry Emily
Bailey, in whom he found a devoted wife. Emily was most sympa-
thetic to his aspirations as a composesr. Moore took her back to
Paris for what he remembers as "a second marvelous year," dur-
ing which he continued his studies. When they returned to the
United States, a splendid opportunity opened up for Moore. The
Cleveland Museum was looking for someone who could give organ
recitals and organize concerts. Archibald MacLeish suggested him
for the post, and the young composer was appointed curator of
music at the Cleveland Museum, of Art.

The Moores spent four happy years in Cleveland. They had two
daughters, Mary and Sarah. Moore obtained valuable experience
as an educator and organizer of musical events. He also had an op-
portunity to indulge his old love of dramatics, by acting in the
plays that were put on by the Cleveland Playhouse. Most im-
portant of all, he came in contact with a group of talented young
musicians who were studying with the composer Ernest Bloch.
Moore decided to follow their example, and in Bloch he found the
best teacher he had ever had.

While he was at Yale Moore had spent an exciting summer at
the MacDowell Colony in Peterborough, New Hampshire. He

46

BOUGLAS MOORE

now returned to the Colony and wrote his first serious work, a
suite called Four Museum Pieces (1922), in which he expressed
in music his impressions of four art treasures at the Cleveland
Museum: Fifteenth Century Armor y A Madonna of Botticini >
The Chinese Lion and the Unha^-py Flutist y and A Statue by
Rodin. Moore originally wrote this composition for the organ-,
but later orchestrated it and conducted the first performance with
the Cleveland Symphony Orchestra. In his next work Moore
struck out toward his future path as an American nationalist. The
Pageant of P. T. Earnum (1924) is an orchestral suite in five move-
ments that evokes the composer's childhood memories of the cir-
cus. From the first note until the roistering Circus Parade at the
end, this piece vividly captures the flavor of the American scene.

Not long afterward Moore won a fellowship that freed him for
one year from the duties of his job, so that he could devote him-
self completely to composing. Although he already had two suc-
cessful works to his credit, he felt that he needed further study.
He went to Paris and began to take lessons from Nadia Boulanger,
a brilliant musician who taught a number of our important com-
posers. Mile. Boulanger made him go back and master certain
fundamentals that had been neglected in his early training. She
insisted, for example, that he learn to read the different clefs with
ease. In this country most of us learn only the treble and bass clefs.
Abroad, where sight-reading in the different clefs is taught in the
early grades, musicians learn the soprano, alto, and tenor clefs as
well. As a result, they achieve a facility in sight-singing which
American musicians do not ordinarily possess. Moore had to work
hard to master what he should have been taught at the beginning
of his studies. As a result of this experience, he believes that solfeg-
gio (ear-training and sight-reading in the different clefs) should
be taught to every pupil in public school ; for it is much easier to
learn this when one is young.

When Moore returned from Paris, he was invited to join the

47

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

music department of Columbia University. There he found a sym-
pathetic atmosphere for his activities. He was a kindly, warm-
hearted teacher with a special knack for explaining music to non-
musicians. He was able to put himself in the place of the student
who had no musical training, and explained the fundamentals of
his art in simple terms that could be understood by all. Moore's
courses in music appreciation at Columbia and Barnard College
became popular. He organized the material of his lectures into two
books, Listening to Music (1932) and From Madrigal to Modern
Music (1942), which offered the layman a simple and attractive
introduction to the art. In time Moore received the Edward Mac-
Do well Professorship at Columbia University and became head
of the music department.

In his development as a composer Moore realized that he would
find his own style only if he shook off the foreign influences to
which he had subjected himself during his years abroad. He felt
that he must go back to his roots. The European styles of compo-
sition, he maintained, were all very well for Europeans. "I can-
not believe," he wrote, "that they are likely to be appropriate or
becoming for us." Just as the European composers found inspira-
tion in the writings of their national poets and dramatists, Moore
found inspiration for his music in American literature. His or-
chestral piece Moby Dick (1928) came out of his enthusiasm for
Herman Melville's great novel. His Overture on an American
Tune (I93 1 ) conjures up the boisterous world of Sinclair Lewis's
Babbitt. The American scene is further evoked in such works as
Village Music (1941), a suite for orchestra in four movements:
Square Dance, Procession, Nocturne, and Jig. Farm Journal
( I 947)? r chamber orchestra, suggests four rural pictures: U<p
Early, Sunday Clothes, Lamplight, and Harvest Song. When he
sets the verse of our poets his favorites are Stephen Vincent
Benet, Vachel Lindsay, and Archibald MacLeish Moore's me-

48

DOUGLAS MOORE

lodic line follows the rhythms and inflections of American speech in
the most natural way. As a result, the melody is characteristically
American in its shape and character. Even his abstract works, such
as the lively Quartet for Strings (1933), the tuneful Symphony
in A (194.5), and the Quintet for Clarinet and Strings (1946),
have an unmistakable American flavor.

Moore's music is tuneful and unpretentious. It reflects the sim-
plicity and optimism of the composer ; his sincerity, and his love
for his homeland. Moore's most important trait is his gift for
melody. His music has an abundance of appealing tunes. He is
a romantic at heart. As far as he is concerned, the romantic atti-
tude is ingrained in the American character. "We are incorrigibly
sentimental as a race," he points out. "The best of what we ac-
complish is usually achieved by dint of high spirits, soft-hearted-
ness, and a great deal of superfluous energy." He realized that
many of our composers in the 19205 were being influenced by the
new styles of composition that held sway in Paris. But he was con-
vinced that such a course would only lead them into ways of ex-
pression that were alien to them. In their desire to sound modern
and advanced our composers, he felt, were giving up the best part
of their heritage. "If we happen to feel romantically inclined, if
we like a good tune now and then, if we still have a childish love
of atmosphere, is it not well for us to admit the fact and try to
produce something which we like ourselves?"

"I've always liked setting words better than any other form of
composition," Moore declared fairly early in his career, "and I've
always had a passion for the theater." A composer who loves to set
words and who has a passion for the theater inevitably ends by
writing operas. Moore leaves us in no doubt as to his favorite
type of composition. "I love to write operas. To me it is the most
spontaneous form of expression. The music writes itself if the book
is good." His early love of dramatics gave him a keen feeling for

49

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

what is effective in the lyric theater. As a result., he has been able
to pick stories that make good operas.

Moore's most ambitious work for the lyric stage, The Ballad
of Baby Doe (1956), is based on an American legend that really
happened: the rise and fall of Horace Tabor, who struck silver in
Leadville, Colorado 5 became one of the wealthiest men of his
time 3 and was ruined when the United States abandoned the sil-
ver standard for gold. The action takes place in a stormy period of
American history, against the lusty background of a Colorado min-
ing town. The love story involves Augusta, Horace's domineering
and strait-laced wife, who accompanied him from his humble be-
ginnings to power and riches j and Baby Doe, as she was known
among the miners, a twenty-year-old beauty for whose sake the
middle-aged millionaire divorced his wife. Before his death Horace
made Baby Doe promise that she would never sell the Matchless
Mine which had made his fortune. She kept her word. She guarded
the abandoned mine, a solitary eccentric dressed in castoff men's
clothing, with gunny sacks wrapped around her feet, until she
was found frozen to death on the floor of her shack in March,

1935-

The Ballad of Baby Doe received a gala premiere in Central
City, Colorado, not far from where the drama of Horace and
Baby Doe took place. As a matter of fact, there were people in
the audience who still remembered them. The opera won a huge
success, and rightly so. Moore's music for Baby Doe is rich in feel-
ing and atmosphere. It is both lyric and dramatic. It contains some
enchanting melodies. The opera evokes a turbulent era in our
country's past, and makes first-rate theater.

Equally attractive is Moore's one-act opera The Demi and
Daniel Webster (1938), which offers an excellent introduction
to his music. Stephen Vincent Benet wrote the libretto, basing it
on his celebrated short story which tells how Daniel Webster
matched his wits against the Devil's. In discussing the piece Moore

50

DOUGLAS MOORE

declared: "Mr. Benet and I have classified The Devil and Daniel
Webster as a folk opera because it is legendary in its subject mat-
ter and simple in its musical expression. We have tried to make an
opera in which the union of speech, song and instrumental music
will communicate the essence of the dramatic story." Even though
no folk tunes are actually quoted in the opera, both the libretto
and the music vividly capture the spirit of American folklore.

Be sure, when you listen to The Devil and Daniel Webster, to
follow the music with the text that comes with the records. In this
way you will not have to strain to catch the words, especially when
the chorus sings. The action takes place at the home of Jabez
Stone in New Hampshire, during the 18403. The inhabitants of
Cross Corners are celebrating the wedding of Jabez and Mary.
Jabez had always been poor 5 but in the past few years he has pros-
pered in an amazing fashion, and is now a state senator. There is
even talk of his running for governor. Everybody at the wedding
is in a festive mood; and the occasion is made even more festive
with the arrival of Daniel Webster, the great orator and Secretary
of State, who is the pride of New England. Webster receives a
real New Hampshire welcome.

The gay mood is dispelled with the arrival of an unexpected
guest a Boston lawyer named Scratch. "He is, of course, the
Devil, a New England devil, dressed like a rather shabby attor-
ney, but with something just a little wrong about his clothes and
appearance, possibly his gloved hands, certainly his air. He carries
a large black tin box, like a botanist's collection box, under one
arm." The bridegroom is strangely upset when he catches sight of
the unbidden guest. Scratch sings a devilish ditty that terrifies the
neighbors. The village fiddler opens the Devil's box. Out flies a
lost soul in the shape of a moth. Then the guests realize that
Jabez Stone has sold his soul to the Devil. Horrified, they de-
nounce Jabez and run away.

Mary remains. She loves Jabez and will not abandon him. He

51

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

confesses to her that. In his eagerness to raise himself from poverty
and win her love, he had indeed made a pact with the Devil.
Daniel Webster too has remained. He is not the kind who runs
away. He decides to help the young couple. When Mr. Scratch
arrives to claim his due Jabez's soul Webster demands a trial
for his client. Scratch summons from the depths of Hell a jury
of famous American traitors and renegades. (Daniel Webster
inquires why Benedict Arnold is not among them, but the Devil
explains that Arnold is busy on another assignment.) Presiding is
the infamous Judge Hathorne of the Salem witch trials. This
jury of damned souls is hardly likely to give Jabez a fair deal. Yet
the impossible happens. Webster is so eloquent an orator that he
turns the tables on the Devil, and persuades the jury to set Jabez
free. "The neighbors rush in to drive the Devil out of New Hamp-
shire, and the case ends with pie breakfast, as it should."

From the square-dance atmosphere of the opening scene you
will find this folk opera a sheer delight. The action unfolds in
both speech and song. In the sung parts Benet's text moves toward
the lyricism of poetry. The spoken parts that explain the action
are in a simpler style. The highlight of the opening scene is the
tender duet between the bride and groom, and the sinister ballad
of the Devil, " Young William was a thriving boy . . ." (That is,
he was thriving until the Devil got hold of him.) The second scene
contains a rousing song by Daniel Webster, "I've got a ram, Go-
liath" y also Mary's touching song of faith and hope, "Now may
there be a blessing and a light betwixt thee and me, forever." The
climax of the play is, of course, Webster's speech to the jury. This
is spoken against a musical background, which gives special elo-
quence to the words. The work ends with a jubilant chorus that
sings the praises of New England virtue and New England pie.

Benet's libretto is a beautiful piece of writing, and Moore has
set it with affection and understanding. You will hear people say

52

DOUGLAS MOORE

that they like opera better in a foreign language because English
is not easy to sing. You have only to listen to a work such as this
to realize how singable is our language when it is properly set.
The Demi and Daniel Webster is suffused with love for our coun-
try, her past, her legends, her people. You will feel proud of
being an American when Daniel Webster's ringing speech to the
jury reaches its culminating point: "They have broken freedom
with their hands and cast her out from the nations, yet shall she
live again while man lives. She shall live in the blood and in the
heart, she shall live in the earth of this country, she shall not be
named in vain. When the whips of the oppressors are broken and
their names forgotten and destroyed, I see you, mighty, shining,
liberty, liberty! I see free men walking and talking under a free
star! God save the United States and the men who have made her
free."

The Devil and Daniel Webster has established itself as an Amer-
ican classic. Its composer expresses American feelings in a sincere
and convincing way. For this reason Douglas Moore has become
one of our leading nationalist composers.

53

5. WALTER PISTON

Walter Piston differs in a fundamental way from composers like
Charles Ives and Douglas Moore, who tried to create a distinctly
American music. He believes that a composer's first duty is to
write down what he hears in his mind and feels in his heart, with-
out worrying whether this is especially American or not. Conse-
quently he is one of our internationally minded composers, and
a most distinguished member of this group.

He was born in Rockland, Maine, on January 20, 1894. His
grandfather, an Italian sailor named Antonio Pistone, came to this
country as a young man, settled in Maine, and, when he became
Americanized, dropped the final cc e" from the family name. As
a boy Walter showed no inclination for music. His parents did
not even have a piano in the house. When he was ten the family
moved to Boston, where Walter attended the Mechanic Arts High
School. At this time he was interested mainly in painting. It was
only when he was around seventeen that he began to take an in-
terest in music. He studied the violin, taught himself the piano,
and worked his way through school by playing in bands in dance
halls, restaurants, and theaters. His ambition was still to become
a painter. With that end in view he enrolled in the Massachusetts
Normal Art School, which he attended for four years.

When he was graduated from art school he was torn between
painting and music. His mind was made up for him by external

54

WALTER PISTON

events: the United States entered the First World War. Walter
enlisted in the Navy because, ever since his childhood on the coast
o Maine, he had loved the sea. But he never saw the ocean while
he was in service. "The only battle I took part in/ 3 he recalls,
"was the 'Battle of the Charles River' !"

As he was a musician, Walter naturally wanted to play in the
Navy Band. "What instrument do you play?" he was asked at his
enlistment. Walter hesitated. The only instruments he played
were piano and violin, neither of which would make him eligible
for a brass band. So he put down, "Saxophone." On his way home
he bought a saxophone, stopped in at the public library, and bor-
rowed a book on how to play it. All that day and far into the night
he proceeded to become acquainted with the instrument. When he
reported for duty the next morning he was on the way to becom-
ing a saxophonist. His technical rating in the Navy was "second-
class musician," a designation, he feels, that accurately described
his playing. During the time he spent in the Navy Band he learned
to play most of the wind instruments. "They were just lying
around," he explains, "and no one minded if you picked them up
and found out what they could do."

By the time the war was over he had made up his mind to be-
come a musician. He went back to the violin and became so pro-
ficient at it that he was able to play in a symphony orchestra.
But was this, he asked himself, what he really wanted to do? A
violinist, he reflected, spends his life playing what other men have
written, and has to play it as the conductor directs him to. Piston
realized that this would never give him the opportunity to assert
his own personality. He had to have the kind of work in which he
would be on his own. He had already begun to compose a little
and had discovered what an exciting challenge creative work can
be. Accordingly, although he already was twenty-seven years old
a late age for a man to begin the serious study of composition

55

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

he enrolled in the music course at Harvard University. It was a
gamble, he knew 3 for if he failed, it would be too late to turn to
something else. But he was willing to take a chance.

During his years in art school he had met a lovely girl named
Kathryn Nason, who was in the same class as he. Piston fell in love
with her. During his second year at Harvard they were married.
Kathryn subsequently became a well-known painter. Piston is con-
vinced that his wife's talent at painting had very much to do with
his becoming a composer. "She painted so much better than I
did," he says, "that I had to give up art and become something
else a musician, or a plumber!" Kathryn encouraged her young
husband in his desire to become a composer. Through the years
she enthusiastically shared in Piston's career, even while she found
the time and energy to continue her own.

At Harvard Piston made rapid progress and gained a thorough
grounding in the fundamentals of his art. He was graduated with
the highest honors and won a fellowship that enabled him to study
abroad. Soon after his graduation Piston and Kathryn set sail for
Paris, which at that time was the Mecca of all aspiring musicians.
He wanted to study at the Paris Conservatory, but he had already
passed the age limit for admittance to that famous school. Some
friends advised him to work with Nadia Boulanger, who had won
the reputation of being the most brilliant teacher in Paris. Piston
could not get used to the idea of studying with her. How could
a woman possibly teach composition, he wondered. But when he
met Mile. Boulanger he was so impressed by her tremendous grasp
of music that he immediately began to take lessons from her, and
he found her to be an inspiring teacher.

When he returned from Paris he was faced with the problem
of earning a living. He would have been delighted to stay at home
and spend all his time composing. But writing serious music, he
well knew, was not going to bring him enough to live on. He
felt that, of all the ways open to composers to gain a livelihood,

56

WALTER PISTON"

teaching was the one most congenial to his temperament. It was
also the occupation least likely to interfere with his creative work.
He therefore joined the music department of Harvard University,
where he spent the major part of his career. For several years
he served as chairman of the department. In time he was made
a full professor and resigned the chairmanship, so as to free
himself from the duties of an administrator. Piston gradually
established his reputation as one of America's outstanding com-
posers. Harvard was very proud of him. Ultimately he taught
only a few hours a week, which left him all the time he needed
for writing his music.

As professor of composition at Harvard University, he influ-
enced many composers of the younger generation. His pupil El-
liott Carter has given us a vivid picture of Piston as his students
saw him. "In class Piston is affable, tolerant, and reserved. Though
quiet, he is far from the dry professor because he casts over his
subject a penetrating wit or a thoughtful seriousness that comes
from a deep concern with the subject at hand. Usually willing to
talk about his music to someone who is seriously interested, he is
not inclined to talk about himself. When he does, it is with a dig-
nified modesty. These traits seldom fail to command the respect
and liking of his students, especially those who share his concern for
the art." In his teaching Piston tried to give his students a thorough
grasp of the musical traditions inherited from the past. At the
same time he interspersed these with modern concepts, so that the
young musicians under his guidance would feel at home in the
music of the twentieth century. Out of his experiences as a teacher
came four books, Principles of Harmonic Analysis (1933), Har-
mony (1941), Counterpoint (1947), and Orchestration (1955),
that are used as textbooks in colleges throughout the country.

The art of music has alternated, through the ages, between two
attitudes. The classical ideal exalted beauty of form and elegance
of manner, even as the romantic ideal favored the expression of

57

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

intense personal emotion. The classical composers of the late
eighteenth century, such as Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven,
favored "pure" or absolute music music that has no outside mean-
ings attached to it in the form of a story, a title, or a scene of
nature. On the other hand, the romantic composers of the nine-
teenth century, such as Franz Liszt and his followers, favored
program music music that carries a poetic title and is associated
with a definite story or scene. (Mozart's symphonies, concertos,
and string quartets are examples of absolute music 5 Liszt's
Les Preludes, Tchaikovsky's Romeo and Juliet Overture, and
Smetana's The Moldau are examples of program music.) In other
words, the classical composers liked to present and to develop
abstract musical ideas, while the romantic composers tended to as-
sociate musical ideas with a specific mood, scene, or story. Classicism
dominated the thinking of the eighteenth century 5 romanticism
was in the ascendant throughout the nineteenth century. In our
own time many composers began to feel that romanticism had run
its course and that it was necessary to return to the principles of
the eighteenth century. "Walter Piston became one of the leading
representatives of the New Classicism.

His talent found its natural expression in the large forms of
instrumental music symphonies, concertos, sonatas, string quar-
tets, and the like. His main concern has been to create beautifully
designed forms and to develop abstract musical ideas j he does not
believe that music should be used to tell a story or describe a scene.
"Musical thought," he writes, "is not a translation into music of
what can be or has been expressed in some other medium such as
poetry or photography." For this reason he does not like to say
what any one of his compositions means. He feels that when a
composer attaches a specific title to a piece, it limits the listener's
imagination. If there is no title or explanation, you are free to
listen to a composition in your own way and to read your own
meaning into the music.

WALTER PISTON

In accordance with this point of view. Piston does not favor a
specifically American music. He does not feel that composers born
in the United States have to limit their inspiration to American
folk songs, or that they have to tie in their music with American
history and literature. As a result, he advocates the broadest pos-
sible interpretation of what is American: "The plain fact is that
American music is music written by Americans. Ours is a big coun-
try and we are a people possessing a multitude of different origins.
If a composer desires to serve the cause of American music, he
will best do it by remaining true to himself as an individual and
not by trying to discover musical formulas for Americanism. 3 '

What Piston feared was that American composers would fall into
stereotyped patterns if they all tried to express the spirit of the
prairie or based their works on cowboy tunes. "Is the Dust Bowl
more American," he asked, "than, say, a corner in the Boston
Athenaeum? Would not a Vermont village furnish as American
a background for a composition as the Great Plains?" He was
afraid that if our composers tried to be American all the time, they
would end by writing all alike instead of each developing his own
style. "The self-conscious striving for nationalism," he points out,
"gets in the way of the establishment of a strong school of composi-
tion and even of significant individual expression. The composer
cannot afford the wild-goose chase of trying to be more American
than he is."

This does not mean that Piston's music bears no relation to the
American scene. As a matter of fact he has absorbed into his style
certain elements of American popular music, especially the jazz
idiom that he came in contact with as a young man. But these
elements are not his main purpose. He refines them and uses them
to express musical ideas that are not tied down to any specific place.
Piston speaks the international language of the New Classicism,
which is understood with equal readiness in Paris, London, Vienna,
or New York. Having assimilated the most important trends In

59

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

the musical art o our time, he has combined them into a style that
bears the imprint o his own personality. He is a meticulous crafts-
man. "Each new work/ 5 he writes, "is for me the start of a new
problem, a new adventure the outcome of which I am never able
to predict. It is in a sense another study towards the perfect bal-
ance between expression and form."

The advocates of Americanism in music argue that Piston's
music lacks the earthiness which comes from contact with the native
soil. By the same token it gains, in the eyes of the internationalists,
a dignity and universality of outlook. Piston's music is elegant,
polished, witty, controlled. The grace and ease of his writing are
much admired by other composers. Aaron Copland has written:
"Piston's music, if considered only from a technical viewpoint,
constitutes a challenge to every other American composer. It sets a
level of craftsmanship that is absolutely first-rate in itself and pro-
vides a standard of reference by which every other American's
work may be judged." Coming from a fellow composer, this is
praise indeed.

Typical of Piston's early period is the brilliant Concerto for
Orchestra (1933) and the witty Concertino for piano and or-
chestra (1937). As the years passed, he moved toward greater
simplicity of speech, a more melodious style, and, above all, a
more personal lyricism. Seven symphonies form the central item
in Piston's output. The First was composed in 1937, the Seventh in
1960. The Third (1947) brought him a Pulitzer Prixe. The list
of his works includes three string quartets, two orchestral suites,
the Violin Concerto of 1939, and a Quintet for piano and strings
(1949) that is a distinguished addition to contemporary chamber
music.

These works show Piston's preference for absolute music. All
the same, his most popular piece belongs to the category of pro-
gram music. It is the orchestral suite from his ballet The In-
credible Flutist (1938) and offers a charming introduction to his

60

WALTER PISTON

music. The action of the ballet takes place in a Spanish village
during carnival time. The siesta hour is over. The Merchant's
Daughters reopen their father's shop and display its wares to the
customers. Various village characters appear. Suddenly a march
is heard, announcing the arrival of the circus. The grand parade
files past amid great excitement. The circus band is followed by
the Barker, the Jugglers, the Snake Charmer, the Monkey Trainer,
the Crystal Gazer, and the star attraction of the show, the In-
credible Flutist, whose playing charms even the circus animals.
He charms also the prettiest of the Merchant's daughters. She
agrees to meet him that evening in the village square.

When she arrives, the Flutist is waiting for her. But they are
not alone in the square, as other couples have been lured out by
the romantic night. The Merchant courts a rich widow who has
resisted his wooing for years. Love is in the airj the Widow
suddenly yields and grants the Merchant a kiss. Alas, they are dis-
covered by their prying neighbors. The lady swoons from em-
barrassment, but is revived by a little music from the Incredible
Flutist. The enchanted moment is over; the circus must be on
its way. The band strikes up. The Incredible Flutist, so gay, so
debonair, is off on new adventures.

The suite consists of eight sections: I. Introduction and Dance of
the Vendors. A languid melody establishes the Spanish atmosphere
and suggests the siesta hour in the market place. The Dance of the
Vendors has a tartly dissonant flavor. 2. Entrance of the Customers
and Tango of the Merchant's Daughters. The Tango is a graceful
tune in 5/8 time that shows off Piston's flair for appealing melody.
3. Arrival of the Circus and March. The villagers greet the circus
with shouts of joy. In these noisy measures we hear the expectancy
of the crowd and the excitement that attends the arrival of a circus.
The Circus March is properly brassy and bright. 4. Solo of the
Flutist. The hero of the ballet weaves his spell with trills and
roulades whose silvery tones display the magic of his instrument.

61

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

5, Minuet. The Widow and the Merchant mark their rendezvous
in the village square with a lovely minuet. 6. A gay Spanish f walt t z.
7. Siciliano Duet. The Flutist and the Merchant's Daughter have
their romantic moment to the tender strains of a siciliano (a dance
of Sicilian origin, generally in 6/8 time taken at a very moderate
tempo, featuring a soft lyrical melody of pastoral character). 8.
Polka Finale. For the brilliant conclusion of the ballet Piston uses
a polka, a lively dance in quick 2/4 time. In this number Piston
introduces a device that is always effective: he presents a catchy
tune which is repeated over and over again, each time a little
faster.

This music is tender and gracious. It has the feel of the theater,
the suggestion of ballet movement and gesture. You will be en-
chanted by its catchy melodies, lilting rhythms, and sparkling
orchestral color.

In a period of great experimentation and rapid change, such as
the age we live in, composers tend to be divided into a number of
camps. There are the conservatives, who want to hang on to tradi-
tion. There are the radicals, who adhere passionately to the newest
trends. And there are those who follow the middle of the road,
striving to combine what is best in the old with what is most
valuable in the new. Piston throughout his career has been a
mediator between the two extremes. a lt is not one of my aims,"
he has said, "to write music that will be called modern, nor do I
set out to compose according to any particular style or system. I
believe my music is music of today in both manner and expression,
since I am inescapably influenced by the art, thought, and daily
life of the present."

Walter Piston has fully achieved his aim of reconciling the
values of tradition with twentieth-century ways of thinking and
feeling. He is in the fullest sense of the term a modern classicist.

6. HOWARD HANSON

Howard Hanson's importance in our musical life extends far be-
yond his activities as a composer. It is no exaggeration to say that
during the 19205 and '305 no one in the United States did more
for the cause of American music than he.

Hanson was born on October 28, 1896, in Wahoo, Nebraska.
His grandparents had emigrated from Sweden and settled in the
town because it had a thriving Swedish community. Howard had
the advantage of growing up in an environment where music was
appreciated. The Lutheran Church had a large chorus that per-
formed the oratorios of the masters at annual music festivals.
Howard's love for music was further stimulated by the beautiful
old Lutheran chorales that were sung by the congregation. His
mother played the piano and began to give him lessons when he
was six. Soon afterward he began to compose. "At the age of
eight/' he recalls, "I turned out my Opus i, a little trio of doleful
melodies very much under the influence of Grieg, who was at that
time and who remained for some years nay musical idol."

Howard soon began to take part in the musical life of the town.
From the beginning he displayed the qualities of leadership that
marked his later career. At the age of nine he organized a string
quartet. "I was given the job of learning to play the cello, as none

63

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

of our group could play that instrument." Howard excelled In
sports and games 5 but best of all he enjoyed playing with the
string quartet. "We also had a creditable little orchestra/ 7 he
recollects, "which afforded great experience for all of us and a
great deal of fun." Howard's musical talent attracted the attention
of the teachers at Luther College, which was the cultural center
of the town. Shortly after he entered high school he was allowed,
as a special privilege, to study harmony and counterpoint at Luther
College, even though he was much younger than the other pupils.

On looking back upon his career, Hanson feels that he received
an excellent start in Wahoo. For this reason he objects strenuously
when he hears people say that the musical life of small towns is
inferior to that of the big cities. "It always riles me a little to read
the glib accounts of the Main Streets of the Middle West, for if
that little town where I was born didn't have as much appreciation
of good music per square foot as some of our large eastern cities,
I should be willing to eat the town, paved streets and all! People
who are brought up on Handel, Mozart, Beethoven, Grieg and
Lutheran chorales can hardly be considered musically illiterate."

Howard's natural ability as a leader asserted itself as soon as he
came to high school. By the time he was fifteen he was conducting
the school orchestra. (Ever since then, conducting has been as im-
portant a part of his life as composing.) He had already written
a considerable amount of music. Now he had an opportunity to
rehearse it with the orchestra and to find out how it really
sounded.

When he was graduated from high school the superintendent
warned him against a musical career. "Music is not a man's job!"
he told Howard. "With your ability you could make a first-class
success in some important position." But Howard had already de-
cided to devote his life to music, and was not to be dissuaded. He
had been studying piano, cello, and composition at Luther College

64

HOWARD HANSON

throughout his high-school years, and he now finished the music
course there with the highest honors. He had to obtain special
permission to graduate, as he was not yet seventeen.

Howard had no money with which to continue his musical
studies. But at this point his knowledge of the cello stood him in
good stead. For the next six months he played one-night stands
that took him from Colorado to New York and from Minnesota
to Texas. During this tour he gained what he called "an almost
too intimate acquaintance with the United States." The money that
he saved enabled him to go to New York. There he enrolled at
the Institute of Musical Art (which later became the Juilliard
School), and finished the course in one year. His piano teacher
urged him to practice hard, as he had the gift to become a concert
pianist. But the head of the composition department made Howard
realize that his real talent lay in composing.

Another summer of touring as a cellist brought him the money
to complete his college education. With this in mind he went to
Northwestern University at Evanston, Illinois. The dean of the
music school quickly recognized Howard's ability and allowed
him, while he was still a student, to teach the classes in harmony.
"I was in my nineteenth year and most of my pupils were older
than I, but they were courteous and friendly and we got along
beautifully." At the end of the year a visitor came to Northwestern,
looking for a teacher of theory and composition. This was President
Seaton of the College of the Pacific in California. He was very
much impressed with Howard Hanson's brilliant record and with
the young man's forceful personality. There was only one draw-
back: Hanson looked so young. "How old are you?" he asked. "I'll
be twenty next fall," Hanson replied. "You're rather young to be
a college professor. But," the president added with a smile, "that's
a fault which time will take care of. I'll take a chance."

The following September Hanson moved to California and took

65

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

up his duties at the College of the Pacific. His energy and enthu-
siasm made him an ideal teacher, and he soon was one of the most
popular professors on the campus. Three years later he was ap-
pointed to an even more responsible post: he became dean of the
music school, the youngest dean in the annals of American educa-
tion.

It was during his years in California that Hanson wrote his
first three compositions for orchestra: Symphonic Poem (1916),
Legend (1917), and Symphonic Rhapsody (1919). These works
came to the attention of the director of the Los Angeles Phil-
harmonic Orchestra, who invited Hanson to Los Angeles to con-
duct his Symphonic Rhapsody. This was the most important event
that had happened to the young composer, and in later years he
looked back to it with great affection. "I have conducted many
excellent orchestras since that time, but I never hope to get in this
world the thrill which I had in hearing the first chord of my own
music from a great orchestra."

Hanson continued as dean of the College of the Pacific for two
more years. Then there came to him an even more important op-
portunity. The American Academy in Rome had been giving its
annual Prix de Rome (Rome Prize) to painters and sculptors.
That year the Academy decided to include composers as well, and
instituted a competition for the prize. Hanson submitted his fourth
symphonic poem, Before the Dawn, and shortly thereafter re-
ceived a telegram informing him that he had won the prize. This
meant that he would be able to spend three years in Rome, utterly
free to compose. Hanson had never been to Europe, and he had
never before had an opportunity to devote himself completely to
writing music. It was an excited young man indeed who, in Janu-
ary, 1922, set sail for Italy.

At this time most young composers, eager to free themselves
from the heritage of nineteenth-century romanticism, were at-

66

HOWARD HANSON

tracted to an ultramodern style of "writing that was based on dis-
sonant harmony. The new classical school cultivated a type o
music in which the composer was more interested in exploring the
possibilities of his material than in expressing personal emotion.
Hanson at first tried to write in this style. But he was a romantic
at heart, and found his true path by following in the footsteps of
such composers as Cesar Franck, Johannes Brahms, and Jean
Sibelius. In his First Symphony, the Nordic (1922), he paid hom-
age to the heroic sagas of his Scandinavian ancestors. The first
movement, he explained, "sings of the solemnity, austerity and
grandeur of the North, of its restless surging and strife, its somber-
ness and melancholy." The gentle second movement he inscribed,
"To My Mother." The third movement, based on sturdy Swedish
folk songs, he entitled "To My Father." In this way he acknowl-
edged the gift his parents had bequeathed to him a heritage of
manly effort and devotion to ideals.

Hanson wrote several other works in Rome: the symphonic
poems North and West (1923) and Lux Aeterna (Eternal Light,
1923), as well as a string quartet. He also began The Lament -for
Beowulf, a work for chorus and orchestra. After two and a half
years at the Academy in Rome, Hanson returned to America in
order to conduct North and West with the New York Symphony
Orchestra. He also conducted his Nordic Symphony with the
Rochester Symphony Orchestra. The visit to Rochester proved to
be the turning point in Hanson's life. For there he met George
Eastman, the Kodak millionaire who had just endowed a new
music school at the University of Rochester. Eastman and the
president of the university, Rush Rhees, were looking for someone
to direct the new music school. They were deeply impressed with
Hanson's dynamic personality, with his confidence and enthusiasm.
"When I returned to Rome," Hanson relates, "I received a letter
from Dr. Rhees, offering me the directorship of the Eastmain

67

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

School o Music. Realizing the tremendous opportunities of this
school, I was quite willing to leave the quiet haven o Rome for
the arduous duties of the direction of a great organization."

Thus, in 1925 before he was yet thirty Howard Hanson took
over the direction of the school which, under his imaginative lead-
ers-hip, became one of the most important musical institutions in
the United States. Until that time the important music schools in
our country were headed by performers. The pianist Josef Hof-
mann directed the Curtis Institute in Philadelphia, and was suc-
ceeded by the violinist Efrem Zimbalist. The pianist Ernest
Hutcheson was president of the Juilliard School in New York j the
pianist Ossip Gabrilowitsch directed the Chicago College of Music.
Under their influence our major conservatories concentrated on
turning out performers pianists, violinists, cellists, singers who
hoped to achieve success as concert artists (a goal which, naturally,
only very few of them attained).

Now, for the first time in this country, the destiny of a great mu-
sic school was entrusted to a composer. Hanson realized from the
beginning of his career as an educator that it is the composer who
is the central figure in a musical culture. For if he did not write
the music, instrumentalists and singers would not have music to
perform. Under Hanson's guidance the Eastman School became a
center of training for composers 5 and he himself, in his composi-
tion classes, helped to train a generation of young creative musi-
cians. "I have a profound conviction/' he stated, "that the creative
artistic life in American music is all-important, more important
than orchestras, operas or any other form of musical activity."
Hanson realized that our country would never come of age mu-
sically if our musicians devoted themselves exclusively to playing
over and over again the works of the great European masters. Only
by encouraging our native composers could we hope to build a
truly American musical culture. His aim, consequently, was to cre-

68

HOWARD HANSON

ate in Rochester, as he put it, "a center of musical composition
that would serve the needs of the young American composer."

Since he was a composer himself, he knew exactly what those
needs were. He was aware from his own experience how valuable
it is for a composer to hear his works played, for only in this way
can he judge whether the effects he heard in his imagination really
work. Hanson realized only too well that the American composer
did not receive the proper opportunity to hear his music. As we saw
in our opening chapter, the famous conductors were mostly Euro-
peans and naturally favored the European classics which they knew
best. If they did play a twentieth-century work, it was apt to be by
a Frenchman or German rather than by an American. Hanson's
first care, therefore, was to give the American composer a fair
hearing. To this end he inaugurated at Rochester a series known
as the American Composers 7 Orchestral Concerts, presented under
the auspices of the Eastman School. "What seemed to be neces-
sary," he writes, "was the creation of a laboratory for composers, a
place where the young composer might come and hear his works
performed by a competent orchestra under conditions sufficiently
sympathetic to give his compositions a fair test." On May i, I9 2 5?
the first American Composers' Concert was given in the Eastman
Theater. With these concerts, Hanson realized, he would also help
to educate the public and create a receptive audience for American
music. The public reacted favorably. "Listeners began to discover
for themselves the fascinating adventure of hearing new music.
Sometimes they suffered, but they came again and again, and in
increasing numbers."

It was in Hanson's nature to throw himself wholeheartedly into
everything he did, as though it were a magnificent adventure. Yet
even with his infectious enthusiasm, he could not hope to convince
everybody of the rightness of his course. "Some felt that this
'coddling' of the young composer was a waste of money. After all,

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

was it not a tradition o good composers to starve in the garret and
be 'discovered' after they were dead?" Fortunately Hanson had
the backing o George Eastman, who never wavered in his support
o the enterprise. "One ultraconservative critic,' 3 Hanson relates,
"remarked to Mr. Eastman that the concerts had been going on
for five years and he had not yet observed that we had discovered
any Beethoven. George Eastman's answer was characteristic of
the man. 'If we discover one Beethoven in fifty years I shall con-
sider this venture an enormous success.' "

The Composers' Concerts were soon supplemented by an annual
spring festival of American music that was presented by the
Rochester Symphony Orchestra under the direction of Howard
Hanson. At these concerts some of the most significant American
compositions of our time were given their first performance. In-
deed., a number of American composers who subsequently achieved
fame owe their start to Hanson. During these years more new
American music was presented in Rochester than by all the other
orchestras of the United States put together. In time Hanson
widened the sphere of his activities. He conducted orchestras
throughout the country, always featuring new American works.
Ultimately he carried his crusade abroad. He gave concerts of
American music in the music centers of Europe, and revealed to
the world what our native composers were achieving.

Hanson realized that a single performance of a new work is
not enough to establish it in the repertory. He therefore adopted
the enlightened policy of repeating the works he played. It was
also important that the work be published, so that other musicians
would be able to study the score. Besides, once a piece was pub-
lished, conductors would be more likely to consider it for perform-
ance with their orchestras. Yet as we learned from the careers of
Charles Ives and Charles Griffes at that time our big publishing
houses were not very hospitable to new American music. They

70

HOWARD HANSON

could make more money by concentrating on the established
masterpieces. Hanson therefore saw to it that many new American
works were published under the auspices of the Eastman School.

Even more important was the recording of a work. When a new
piece is played at a concert, this one hearing of it is hardly enough
to leave a lasting impression on the listener. However, if it is made
available on records, the work can be played over and over again
until the listener is familiar with it. Of the many enterprises
initiated by Hanson, perhaps none was more significant than his
series of recordings with the Rochester Symphony Orchestra, in
which he made available to the public many striking new works by
American composers.

Hanson's activities proved that the new American music could
make its way with the public if it was presented by a conductor
who believed in it with all his heart. Once Hanson set the ex-
ample, many other conductors began to find a place on their pro-
grams for American music. In this way Hanson's activities had far-
reaching results. He had the vision to become a champion of Ameri-
can music at a time when it desperately needed a champion. His
efforts on its behalf bore rich fruit.

Hanson's many duties took him away from composing. Only a
man with his enormous capacity for hard work could have found
the time to go ahead with his own creative efforts. His composing
was often done at night, after an arduous day at the school and
the concert hall. It meant that he had to give up, for long periods
of time, the pleasure of social evenings and the relaxation of seeing
his friends. As he always said, "In the creative field it is necessary
to fight for every bit of leisure.' 5 For many years he remained a
bachelor. He was so busy, he explained, that he simply did not
have time to think of marrying. However, in 1946 he married
Margaret Elizabeth Nelson, a girl of charm and taste who centered
her life around his needs and shared in all his activities with true

7*

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

wifely devotion. She built him the kind of home a composer needs
in order to be able to pursue his work. Hanson found, to his
astonishment, that after his marriage he had more time for com-
posing than he had ever had before.

His five symphonies form the most important item in his sub-
stantial list of works. The most popular of these is the Second
(1930)5 which he named the Romantic. "My aim in this sym-
phony/ 7 he declared, "has been to create a work that was young
in spirit, lyrical and romantic in temperament, and simple and
direct in expression." In this piece Hanson took his stand against
those who wished to lead music away from romantic expression.
He affirmed his belief that "romanticism will find in this country
rich soil for a new, young and vigorous growth." The Third Sym-
phony was completed in 1938. The Fourth, the Requiem (1943),
in memory of his father, brought Hanson a Pulitzer Prize. Fifth is
the Sinfonia Sacra (Sacred Symphony, 1955), a work suffused with
mystical feeling.

Hanson never forgot the beauty of the choral singing in the
little town where he grew up. He has written a number of choral
pieces and has done some of his best work in this medium. The most
important of his choral pieces are Three Songs -from "Drum-Taps"
and The Lament for Beowulf. Hanson's opera Merry Mount was
produced at the Metropolitan Opera House in 1934. He has writ-
ten a variety of orchestral pieces, chamber music, piano and organ
music, and songs. In these works Hanson upholds the romantic
point of view, which regards music as the language of the emotions.
"Though I have a profound interest/' he states, "in theoretical
problems, my own music comes 'from the heart' and is a direct
expression of my own emotional reactions." He wants music to
convey its message to as many people as possible. "There is music
for everyone, music for every mood, music for laughter and tears,
music frivolous and music serious, music for joy and music for hope

72

HOWARD HANSON

and faith. Let no one deprive us of any of its beauty, for we need
it all."

You could have no better introduction to Hanson's music than
through Three Songs from "Drum-Taps," for baritone solo, mixed
chorus, and orchestra. The work is based on three poems by Walt
Whitman (1819-1892), who is considered by many to be the
leading poet of American democracy. Hanson's piece takes on a
special eloquence because of the fiery character of Whitman's lines.
Drum-Taps communicates Whitman's intense reaction to the drama
and the urgency of the Civil War.

i. Beat! beat! drums! blow! bugles! blow!

Through the windows through doors burst like a ruthless

force,

Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation ,
Into the school where the scholar is studying ;
Leave not the bridegroom quiet no happiness must he have

now with his bride,
Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, ploughing his field or

gathering his grain,
So fierce you whirr and pound you drums so shrill you

bugles blow.
Beat! beat! drums! blow! bugles! blow! . . .

The orchestral introduction captures the immense excitement of
these lines, which were written in 1861 in the heat of the struggle.
Drums and trumpets create an atmosphere of travail and terror.
The entrance of the voices piles tension upon tension. The music
surges forward, relentless in its advance, its frenzied and persistent
rhythms driving all before it as the composer captures in sound
the terrifying images of the poet's vision. (Be sure to follow the
music with Whitman's text before you. The poem is given in its
entirety on the back of the record cover.)

73

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

2. By the bivouac's fitful flame,

A procession winding around me, solemn and sweet and slow

but first I note
The tents of the sleeping army, the fields' and woods' dim

outline.
The darkness lit by spots of kindled fire, the silence . . .

O tender and wondrous thoughts

Of life and death, of home and the past and loved, and of

those that are far awayj

A solemn and slow procession there as I sit on the ground,
By the bivouac's fitful flame.

A baritone voice sings these words, written in 1865, against a
background of strings, in a mood of lyric sweetness and sorrow.
Presently the chorus is heard in the background, singing no words
but humming or vocalizing on the syllable A h> setting up a curtain
of sound behind the solo voice. The mood is one of solemn re-
membrance, which the music encompasses with a strangely stirring
eloquence.

3. To thee old cause!

Thou peerless, passionate, good cause,

Thou stern, remorseless, sweet idea,

Deathless throughout the ages, races, lands,

After a strange sad war, great war for thee,

(I think all war through time was really fought, and ever

will be really fought, for thee.)
These chants for thee, the eternal march of thee.

In these lines of Whitman, written in 1871, emotion is "recol-
lected in tranquility." The poet becomes the voice of his people,
hymning the ideal of freedom for which the nation had fought so
bitterly. The music rises to a great climax on the words Deathless

74

HOWARD HAISTSON

throughout the ages, races, lands. It reaches Its final affirmation
a statement that is positive, unflinching, fulfilled on the last
line of the poem.

The creator of this deeply felt, moving piece has been a vital
force in America's artistic life. As composer and conductor, educa-
tor, administrator, and organizer of musical events, Howard Han-
son has played a key role in our musical coming of age.

75

7. VIRGIL THOMSON

The two most important cities in Virgil Thomson's life are Kansas
City., where he was born, and Paris, where he found his spiritual
home. These two places are far away from each other in every
possible way. Yet Virgil Thomson regards his art as a link between
them. "I wrote in Paris," he says, "music that was always, in one
way or another, about Kansas City. I wanted Paris to know Kansas
City, to understand the ways we like to think and feel on the banks
of the Kaw and the Missouri."

Virgil Thomson was born on November 25, 1896. His father's
ancestors came to this country long before the Revolution. On his
mother's side he is descended from one of the first settlers of
Jamestown, Virginia. Virgil was interested in music from his early
childhood. Two of his cousins played the violin and piano. He was
so excited when he heard them play that, he recalls, he "rolled on
the floor in ecstasy." He began to take piano lessons when he was
five years old, and before long was known as a child prodigy. All
the same, his immediate forebears were anything but musical. "My
father and his mother before him," he writes, "were what used to
be called *tone deaf.' They never sang or whistled or paid any at-
tention to musical noises. The four to six hours a day piano practise
that I did for some years in my father's house never fazed either

76

VIRGIL THOMSON

o them. They would read or sleep while it was going on as easily
as I read or sleep in a railway train."

By the time he was twelve Virgil was giving piano recitals and
playing the organ in the Calvary Baptist Church in Kansas City.
Although he spent hours every day in practicing, he still found
time to do his school work. He went through grammar and high
school with a string of A's, and was graduated from Central High
School at the age of eighteen. It looked as if he had come to the
end of his schooling, for his father could not afford to send him
away to college, and there were no institutions of higher learning
in his home town. Fortunately for him, that very year the Kansas
City Junior College opened its doors. Virgil enrolled immediately
as a member of its first class.

He soon gave evidence of the literary gift which., in later years,
made him one of the most widely admired critics of our time. He
formed a literary society and before long, together with a few
classmates who shared his artistic interests, founded a little maga-
zine devoted to the newest trends in the arts. "We are a group of
young men, 3 ' he wrote in the first issue, "organized ostensibly for
mutual benefit. We are interested in anything that can be known.
Like Bacon, we take all knowledge to be our province, and like a
good governor, we hope to get acquainted with our province,"

Young Thomson's carefree life in Kansas City was interrupted
when the United States entered the First World War. He went
into the Army in February, 1917, and ultimately reached the rank
of second lieutenant in the Military Aviation Corps. He received
some of his training as a radio officer at Columbia University in
New York. Thomson took full advantage of the opportunity of-
fered by the city's theaters and concerts. In September, 1918, he
received his orders to go overseas. But the Armistice was declared
just before his troop ship was to sail.

Thomson returned to Kansas City to complete his studies at the

77

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

Junior College. His experience in the Army had given him a con-
fidence in himself that he had never possessed before. It had
broadened his experience, brought him into contact with all kinds
of people, and made him realize that he was able to take care of
the practical details of life. Besides, two important decisions had
taken shape in his mind. He was determined to become a musician.
And he was going to study at Harvard University.

He lost no time in pursuing both goals. One of the churches in
Kansas City maintained a fund to help promising young people.
Thomson applied for a loan and was soon in Cambridge, Massa-
chusetts. During his first year at Harvard he was granted a
scholarship and an assistant instructor ship. He also held a job as
an organist in Boston. He studied philosophy, languages, and
English composition along with his courses in harmony, counter-
point, and orchestration. And he became a member of the famous
Harvard Glee Club. Harvard offered him a more exciting intel-
lectual atmosphere than he had ever known before.

The year 1921 was an eventful one for Thomson. He was chosen
one of the fifty members of the Harvard Glee Club who were to
go on a summer tour of Europe. And he won a fellowship that
gave him a year's study in Paris. The Harvard Glee Club made
its first European appearance in Paris. Thomson fell in love with
the city. Then came performances throughout France, Italy, and
Germany and in Geneva. When the rest of the group sailed for
the United States, Thomson remained.

His year in France brought him into contact with an old culture
to which he responded wholeheartedly. He also achieved a new
awareness of himself as an American, because he was able to see
his homeland and his heritage from the outside. He made many
friends in artistic circles and worked hard at his music.

While in Paris, Thomson studied with the famous teacher Nadia
Boulanger. Although she was very strict when it came to such basic

78

VIRGIL THOMSON

disciplines as harmony, counterpoint, and fugue, she nonetheless
gave him a freedom in composing such as he had never enjoyed
previously. At Harvard he had been made to feel, when he wrote
a piece, that he was competing with the great masters of the past,
and that compared to them he had little that was worth saying.
Mile. Boulanger, on the other hand, was able to make him feel
that what he had to say was very much worth saying as long as he
said it clearly and sincerely. A young composer, she insisted, was
not supposed to imitate the classics but to develop his own powers
of musical expression.

After his return to Harvard in 1922, Thomson became assistant
conductor of the Glee Club. He taught in the music department,
played the organ at King's Chapel, and gave concerts of modern
French music at the Harvard Musical Club. After his graduation
from Harvard, there came a year of study in New York. He
then returned to Harvard as an assistant instructor. That year saw
an important new development in his career. He began to write
articles about music for the magazine Vanity Fair. He revealed
such skill in writing about music that his friends were convinced
he ought to become a music critic. To which Thomson replied,
"My business is making music, not talking about it."

In 1925 Thomson was offered a job teaching music in a uni-
versity and a post as organist of a large church in Kansas City.
But he had a much better idea. With five hundred dollars in his
pocket and a third-class ticket, he sailed for France. He was going
back to Paris to try to establish himself as a composer. As he put
it, if he was going to starve, he "preferred to starve where the
food was good."

Paris in the mid-twenties was one of the most stimulating spots
in the world. Here were gathered representatives of the modern
movements in painting, poetry, and music. Thomson soon found
his way into the most advanced intellectual circles of the French

79

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

capital. During the fifteen years that he spent in Paris, he became
friends with such artists as the novelist Andre Gide, the painter
Pablo Picasso., the poet Jean Cocteau, and the American novelists
Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald. He acquired a knowl-
edge of literature and painting most unusual for a musician. This
breadth of view was apparent in the articles he wrote for such
periodicals as Vanity Fair, the New Re-public> and the American
Mercury. During his years abroad Thomson carried out his inten-
tion of letting Paris know how people felt back home in Kansas
City. In his Symphony on a Hymn Tune (1928) he combined the
advanced musical techniques of Parisian musicians with the hymns
and folk songs he remembered from Missouri.

An event of far-reaching importance was his meeting with the
American writer Gertrude Stein. Miss Stein was famous for a
special kind of writing: she used words for their sound and color
rather than for their meaning, combining them in the most un-
expected ways. She achieved thereby the same effects of shock and
surprise that Picasso and other Cubist painters achieved by break-
ing up familiar objects and combining them in new patterns.
Thomson had admired Miss Stein's remarkable prose-poetry while
he was still in Harvard and had set some of her poems to music.
Now that they were friends, it occurred to them that they might
unite their talents. The result was the opera Four Saints in Three
Acts, which created a sensation when it was presented in 1934,
first in Hartford, Connecticut, then in New York.

The remarkable acting, singing, and dancing of the Negro cast;
the imaginative costumes and stage sets a fantasy of cellophane,
crystal, and feathers by the painter Florine Stettheimer$ the
combination of Gertrude Stein's disconnected lines and Thomson's
flowing melodies made for a musical show of the most extraor-
dinary originality. Nobody quite knew what the opera was about
except the Stein experts (and there weren't many of those! ). The

80

VIRGIL THOMSON

opening chorus, a vigorous waltzlike movement, was sung to the
following mysterious lines:

To know to know to love her so.

Four saints prepare for saints.

It makes it well fish.

Four saints it makes it well fish.

For saints prepare for saints it makes it well well fish prepare for

saints. . .

No less mystifying was Miss Stein's famous "Pigeons on the
grass alas. . . . Shorter longer grass short longer longer shorter
yellow grass. Pigeons large pigeons on the shorter longer yellow
grass alas pigeons on the grass. . . ." All this set to perfectly
simple tunes, as if it were the most sensible material in the world.
The surprise, the vitality and freshness of the production en-
chanted its audiences. Four Saints in Three Acts made operatic
history. It ran up sixty performances in one year, a record for
American opera. It was broadcast, it was recorded, it was performed
in Europe. And it made Virgil Thomson famous.

In the next years he divided his time between Paris and New
York. This period in his life came to an end in 1940, when Hitler
conquered France. Thomson left the beautiful city on the Seine
shortly before the Nazis marched in. His return to the United
States opened a new chapter. He became chief music critic for the
Nevo York Herald Tribune and soon established himself as one of
the most penetrating chroniclers of the musical scene. He was
outspoken in his judgments and, a great virtue in a critic, he was
not afraid to be wrong. In other words, he was not afraid of taking
a stand as to what he believed, instead of hedging and trying to
play it safe. He had his prejudices and his blind spots. But even
those musicians who disagreed with his columns could not resist
reading them.

81

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

There were several reasons for Thomson's success as a critic. In
the first place, he complimented his readers by never writing down
to them. In the second, he approached his task with enormous
gusto. In the third, he brought into his writing the spirit of a bril-
liant performance. As he himself said, writing a review "is some-
thing like giving a concert. Of course there is no Carnegie Hall
glamor and that sort of thing, but there is a certain resemblance.
It is a c quick* thing like a concert. In the space of two or three
hours you hear some music, you rush off to your office and (in
solitude and silence, to be sure) you write your piece about it;
presently the paper appears and there you are! It is really a kind
of performance. 7 '

Early in his career as a critic Thomson let it be known that he
considered a concert to be news only if it offered some new artist
or some new music. In this way Thomson rendered a great service
to the cause of contemporary music. Many pianists, violinists,
cellists, singers, and conductors who for years had been repeating
the same pieces over and over, went looking for new material in
the hope of luring him to their performances. Many of them
commissioned new works: that is to say, they asked a composer
to write a piece specially for their New York concert, and paid
him for it.

His first book, The State of Music (1939) was followed by three
others: The Musical Scene (1945)3 The Art of Judging Music
(1948)3 and Music Right and Left (1951). These show his per-
sonal blend of seriousness and wit. Almost any page communicates
the special flavor of his prose. For example, in reviewing a con-
cert by the New York Philharmonic he reported that the con-
ductor, Dimitri Mitropoulos, "for the most part did everything
to the orchestra but conduct it. He whipped it up as if it were a
cake, kneaded it like bread, shuffled and riffled an imaginary deck
of cards, wound up a clock, shook an umbrella, rubbed something
on a washboard and wrung it out. There were few moments when

82

VIRGIL THOMSON

a film taken of him alone, without sound, would have given any
clue to the fact that he was directing a musical composition." Of
the French composer Claude Debussy: "He did not sculpt in
music or build architectural monuments. He only painted. And no
two of his canvases are alike. That France, classically the land of
freedom, should have produced a model of musical freedom is
only natural. All the same, Debussy, even for France, is some-
thing of a miracle. His music is not only an ultimate, for our
century, of sheer beauty. It is a lesson to us all in how to make use
of our liberty." Of the celebrated operetta La Vie farisienne
(Parisian Life) by Jacques Offenbach: "It is a crown of waltzes
picked out with polkas and quadrilles and interwoven with melodies
that distill the tender sentiment, the whole tied up with a great
big lacy ribbon in the form of a cancan. And the melodies are as
fresh as the day they were picked 5 the rhythm pops like
champagne."

Thomson belongs to that group among American artists who
found themselves through contact with French civilization. Paris
revealed to them the clarity and directness of the Latin spirit in
art, its fine taste and wit, its careful avoidance of everything that
is overblown and pretentious. Paris freed them from provincialism
and forced them to measure themselves against the craftsmanship
of a great tradition. Yet, like Aaron Copland and Ernest Heming-
way, who also served their apprenticeship in Paris, Thomson at
heart remained an American. His music is rooted in the hymns and
folk tunes, the Civil War melodies and popular waltzes amid
which he grew up. His direct, forthright melodies, supported by
plain harmonies, are altogether American in character. Thus
Thomson's music represents an unusual mixture of Parisian so-
phistication and good American homespun.

When Thomson first came to Paris, modern composers, in their
need to leave behind the outworn ways of nineteenth-century
romanticism, were emphasizing emotional detachment, technique,

83

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

and objective forms rather than personal expression and lyricism.
Thomson embraced this trend. However, as the years passed his
warm lyrical nature impelled him in another direction. He found
his true path in the camp of a new romanticism which, as he ex-
plains, aims "to express sincere personal sentiments with a maxi-
mum of directness and spontaneity." Music, he felt, had been
taking itself too seriously 5 it had become too complex, too intel-
lectual. Now it had to learn to relax. Accordingly, he wrote music
that was simple and elegant, that would entertain and please, and
that would not be above spoofing itself occasionally. He had talent
as a humorist to begin with. He developed a gift for parody and
satire that endeared him to those listeners who enjoy a good
musical joke.

The list of Thomson's compositions shows his activity in all
branches of his art. The Symphony on a Hymn Tune (1928) was
followed in 1931 by a Symphony No. 2 which, like its predecessor,
is based on American folk material. Two symphonic "landscapes"
pay homage, respectively, to Paris and Missouri: The Seine at
Night (1947), and Wheat Field at Noon (1948). To these the
composer added Sea Piece with Birds (1952). A melodious Con-
certo for Cello and Orchestra (1950) has been widely played.
Among his piano compositions are four short sonatas. His chamber
music includes two string quartets. His four sets of Variations and
Fugues on Gospel Hymns, for the organ, are a worthy addition
to the literature of that instrument, which is so neglected nowa-
days.

Thomson has produced much vocal music to French and English
texts. His ear is remarkably sensitive to the inflections of American
speech. He sets our language with great felicity, letting the words
float on the music without ever submerging them. Thomson's as-
sociation with Gertrude Stein resulted in a second opera, The
Mother of Us All (1947), based on the life and career of the

84

VIRGIL THOMSON

feminist leader Susan B. Anthony. Characters from different dec-
ades of American history are brought together in this work.
General Grant declares gravely, in excellent Steinese, "As long as
I sit I am sitting." Miss Anthony sings with conviction, "You're
entirely right but I disagree with you," and is informed that "a
Cause is a Cause because." Thomson's collaboration with Miss
Stein came to an end with her death. One wonders what their next
opera would have been like.

Thomson is particularly vivid in his film music. The concert
suites that he fashioned from his music for The Plough That Broke
the Plains (1936), The River (1937), and Louisiana Story (1948)
are among his most widely played works. Louisiana Story, which
was written for Robert Flaherty's documentary film, offers a fine
introduction to Virgil Thomson's music. The film deals with the
coming of the oil industry to the bayou country, as seen through the
eyes of a boy. It shows what happens when modern industrialisation
invades a rural area where simple folk have lived quietly for gen-
erations. The concert suite consists of four pieces.

1. Pastoral (The Bayou and the Marsh Buggy). This is a
descriptive piece which, in the film, accompanies the boy as he
paddles his canoe through his beloved bayou. The music evokes a
quiet, lonely landscape of giant trees, sky, and water. The mood is
projected through an old Louisiana folk tune played by the Eng-
lish horn. The music becomes louder and faster what is known
as a crescendo and accelerando as the boy's canoe approaches the
marsh buggy (an amphibious tractor used in oil prospecting). The
swell of the water almost overturns the canoe.

2. Chorale (The Derrick Arrives). A chorale is a hymn tune,
or a melody-and-chords in the style of a hymn. The stately chorale
in this piece is associated with the derrick that is used in pumping
the oil. It is preceded by a lively folk songj the two themes are
used in alternation. The chorale expresses the boy's wonder as

85

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

he gazes at the lofty mesh of steel that thrusts against the sky.

3. Passacaglia (Robbing the Alligator's Nest). A passacaglia
pronounced fah-sa-cah'-lya is a piece of music in which a short
melody or theme in the bass is repeated over and over while
the voices above it weave a pattern of countermelodies, that is,
melodies against the theme. Thomson's Passacaglia accompanies
the exciting scene in which the boy decides to steal the alligator's
eggs and is suddenly confronted by the angry beast. The theme,
announced pianissimo (very soft) by the violas, cellos, and double
basses, builds suspense as it is repeated again and again, while the
other instruments trace ever-fresh patterns against it.

4. Fugue (Boy Fights Alligator). A fugue is a polyphonic
composition (see Glossary) which is generally in three or four
voices. The theme or subject of the fugue is stated at the outset in
one voice say, the soprano then in the other voices, such as the
alto, tenor, or bass. The theme reappears throughout the fugue,
now in one voice, now in another, against counterthemes in the
other voices. The Fugue from Louisiana Story accompanies the
dramatic struggle that forms the climax of the film. The alligator
tries to drag the boy into the swamp. He is finally rescued by his
father. The theme is announced by bassoons, trombones, and tuba,
and is then imitated by the other instruments of the orchestra, with
steadily mounting tension. The harmonies communicate the ex-
citement of the scene as the boy fights for his life.

The creator of this thoroughly attractive work played an im-
portant part in our musical life at a time when the battle for
American music still had to be won. Despite his being a citizen
of the world, he has retained his affection for his American back-
ground, for his homeland and its past.

His music is pervaded by a great longing and tenderness. Long-
ing is one of the prime traits of the romantic artist. Virgil Thomson
is in every sense of the term an American romantic.

86

8. ROY HARRIS

Roy Harris burst upon our musical scene in the 19303 as a home-
spun, outspoken young man from the West who boldly upheld his
American heritage. When he appeared on the stage to take a bow he
looked, as one commentator put it, "like a mid-western farmer in
city clothes/ 7 With his spare frame, soft drawl, and inexhaustible
energy, he captured the imagination of his countrymen and was
soon hailed everywhere as the most American of our composers.

Harris was born on Lincoln's Birthday, 1898, in Lincoln
County, Oklahoma. "Ever since," he says, "the shadow of Abe
Lincoln has remained with me." He came of pioneer stock. His
parents, who were of Scotch-Irish extraction, had traveled by ox-
cart and staked out their claim to a homestead. They cut down the
trees, built the log cabin in which the future composer was born,
and went into farming. When Roy was five years old his mother's
health began to fail. His parents moved to Southern California,
where life was easier, and established themselves near Los Angeles.

Great changes were taking place in California in the early years
of our century. Roy witnessed, as he later wrote, "the end of the
pioneer days and the beginning of commercial standardized Amer-
ica." The Harris home contained the only piano in the neighbor-
hood. Roy would listen to his mother play and was fascinated by

87

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

the sounds she drew from the instrument. His mother gave him
his first lessons. "Then a teacher came to the house each week.
Soon I was performing in public." But the boys with whom he at-
tended the Covina Public School felt that only sissies were inter-
ested in music. "I became very sensitive," the composer recalls,
"about the disapproval which my schoolmates showed after each
concert." It became important for him to prove to his friends that
he was a regular guy, so he gave up the piano and played football.
Then he broke his arm and permanently injured one of the fingers
of his right hand which ended his career as a pianist.

When he reached high school his interest in music reawakened.
He became a member of a small group that met every week to
discuss literature and art, music and philosophy. He and his new
friends took long walks together. They often went into Los
Angeles to hear a concert or an opera. Through this band of
kindred souls Roy found, as he described it, "faith in beauty, peace
of mind, ideas, spiritual aspirations, and individuality." Yet he
grew more and more aware that his friends lived like exiles in their
little town. Their interests had nothing in common with the prac-
tical, everyday life that surrounded them. "As I finished high
school my world was dividing into two parts. Music, philosophy,
poetry, the wonder of clouds, mountains, bird songs and sunsets
all belonged to a beckoning, unknown world, while the farming
and bank account belonged to a very sure, well-known world
which laughed at the other and slept and worked and ate between
the Fourth of July, Thanksgiving and Christmas."

Roy tried to follow in his father's footsteps and became a farmer.
At this time our country entered the First World War. Roy en-
listed in the artillery and spent an unhappy year trying to adjust
to army life. When the war was over he found it just as difficult
to adjust to civilian life. He could not decide what to do 3 he was
driven by a strange restlessness. He wanted to see things and to

88

ROY HARRIS

find out about life for himself. For a time he drifted from place
to place, bumming his way across the country. He slept in hay-
stacks and on park benches, did odd jobs to keep body and soul
together. On one occasion he worked as a gatekeeper for a rodeo.
Finally he decided to study at the University of California in Los
Angeles. "I turned to college to search for the truth," he relates.
But the things he learned there failed to satisfy him.

Roy was now twenty-two, and felt that he was getting nowhere.
He decided to leave college and took a job as a truck-driver for a
dairy company, delivering milk, eggs, and butter. His interest in
music was growing by leaps and bounds. He wanted to hear as
much of it as possible. As he could not afford to buy tickets to con-
certs, he worked at night as an usher in the Los Angeles Audi-
torium. Those years were not very eventful outwardly. Yet, he
remembers, "they were years crowded with enthusiasms. Each
new harmony, each new melody, each composer I discovered was
a milestone for me."

But it was not enough for him to listen to the music that other
men had written. He felt within himself a desire vague and ob-
scure at first, yet more and more insistent to create melodies and
harmonies of his own. He was twenty-four when he finally de-
cided to become a composer. He studied with various musicians in
Los Angeles until he found the teacher who was right for him.
Arthur Farwell, a composer himself, gave Harris a thorough
grounding in the fundamentals of composition. Farwell believed
in Harris's talent, encouraged him in every way, and was con-
vinced that he had a brilliant career ahead of him.

Harris's first attempts at composition were crude and halting.
But he made up in ambition for what he lacked in experience, and
went from one piece to the next in a roughhewn style that had in
it an elemental power all its own.

When Harris finished his first composition for orchestra, an

89

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

Andante., his teacher was so enthusiastic about it that he persuaded
the conductor Willem van Hoogstraten to perform it at one o
the concerts in the Hollywood Bowl. The manuscript was so poorly
written that when Hoogstraten received it he almost decided not
to play the piece. However, he soon came to like it so much that he
not only presented it in Hollywood but repeated it that summer
with the New York Philharmonic Orchestra at the Lewisohn
Stadium.

Meanwhile the Andante for Orchestra had come to the notice
of Howard Hanson, the dynamic conductor of the Rochester Sym-
phony. Hanson decided to play it with his orchestra and wrote
Harris a letter inviting him to Rochester to hear the work. Harris
left California thinking that he would be gone for two weeks. He
stayed away for five years. The Andante made a deep impression
upon all who heard it. Suddenly the musical world became aware
of a new voice from the West. Harris, who had no money to live
on, was invited to stay at the MacDowell Colony. At the end of
the summer, through the generosity of some wealthy music lovers,
he was given the opportunity to continue his studies in Paris.

His friends had advised him to study with the famous Nadia
Boulanger. Harris lost no time in presenting himself at her studio.
He was not an easy pupil to work with, for he had definite ideas on
how he should go about improving his technique. He was con-
vinced that the best way to do this was not through exercises in
harmony and counterpoint, but through actual composition by
writing down the music that he felt was in him. Mile. Boulanger,
he confesses, "had the patience of an angel." Although she believed
wholeheartedly in the value of discipline, she did not try to force
him into a mold that did not suit his personality. Instead she al-
lowed her unruly pupil to develop in his own way. In time he came
around to her point of view. He discovered the string quartets of
Beethoven from which he learned, he tells us, "about the passion

90

ROY HARRIS

and discipline of uninterrupted eloquence." He studied these great
works day and night. As a result he became., as he says, "a pro-
found believer in discipline and form."

During his first year abroad Harris wrote the Concerto for
Piano, Clarinet, and String Quartet, which added greatly to his
reputation. The piece brought him a Guggenheim Fellowship.
Harris was one of the first musicians to benefit from these fellow-
ships, which made it possible for him to remain in Paris for two
more years. His stay abroad was cut short by an accident: he slipped
on a stairway and fell on his back, breaking three vertebrae. He
was brought back to the United States on a stretcher and was op-
erated on in a New York hospital. For six months he lay flat on
his back in a plaster cast, but he continued to compose. In later
years Harris looked upon this accident as a blessing in disguise, for
it taught him to write music without relying on a piano. As a re-
sult, he achieved a freedom he could not have found in any other
way.

When he returned to California he had to face the fact that he
was not going to be able to support himself by composing. A com-
poser, Harris realized, was supposed to earn a living by teaching
in a school, or playing in an orchestra, or working as an arranger.
He was expected to compose in his spare time, as though writing
music were a hobby or a luxury. "Of course, if I could have the
energy left to write a few little piano pieces and songs or even
some choruses not too difficult to perform, that would boost my value
as a teacher." Harris was determined not to accept this state of
affairs. He had decided that composing would be his main activity,
not a sideline. At this juncture his problem was solved for him in
a most opportune way. He was awarded a fellowship of two thou-
sand dollars by a group of art-loving citizens of Pasadena, which
made it possible for him to throw himself into creative work.

Yet he was not satisfied with this stroke of luck. He was deeply

91

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

troubled by the fact that composing serious music was not looked
upon in America as a profession. He had worked just as hard to
become a composer as did a doctor or lawyer when they prepared
for their professions 3 yet so far he had never received any money
for his music. He had been taught to believe that a composer stood
above money, relying if he was lucky on fellowships or the gen-
erosity of patrons. But Harris did not want to be supported any
more by grants and fellowships. He wanted to practice his profes-
sion just as a doctor or lawyer did. He gave up his fellowship and
came to New York with five dollars in his pocket. At last he un-
derstood what was wrong with the composer's position in our so-
ciety. "I walked the streets watching the janitors, the cops, the
garbage men. It suddenly occurred to me that I was living in a
twentieth-century civilization where cops and janitors and every-
one else got paid for being what they were. Everybody except com-
posers. So I decided never to write again except for a fixed sum
of money agreed upon in advance." It took courage to reach such
a decision, and even greater courage to stick to it. But he did. "I
have proved that a composer of serious music can get paid for his
work." Roy Harris considers this to be one of his main achieve-
ments.

In the early 19305 Harris became the American composer. The
time was ripe for him. Performances, broadcasts, commissions, and
awards came to him from all sides. Part of his popularity was due
to the fact that he was the first of our composers to bridge the gap
between modern music and the general public. At that time many
composers were writing an advanced kind of music which only a
select minority of music lovers could understand. But Harris was
trying to produce works that, even though they remained on a
high level, would have meaning for the country at large. Besides,
he was able to talk about his aims in down-to-earth language that
made sense to the man in the street. "If nobody bought corn and

92

ROY HARRIS

wheat it meant that the corn and wheat were bad. Music wasn't
much different. To buy music people had to like it. For them to like
it, it had to be good. I it weren't good no one would buy it." His
countrymen enjoyed knowing that, even though he had achieved
fame and success, deep down in his heart Roy Harris was still "the
Oklahoma farm boy who gave up chickens for music."

Yet there was another side to Harris's complex personality. He
could also write about his art in altogether different terms, with
an almost mystical exaltation. "The creative impulse is a desire
to capture and communicate feeling. Call that feeling what you
will. Call it romantic fervor call it a longing for Truth . . ,
Always it is a lonesome hunger that gnaws within the human
heart, forcing us to search for understandable expression." When
an artist, Harris explained, translates his creative impulse into a
work of art, he gives shape to all the wonderful forces that lie
hidden in the human spirit. "It is small wonder then that humanity
regards the creative impulse as sacred."

Harris's wife Johana is an accomplished pianist. She has played
her husband's piano pieces in concerts and has recorded them. Roy
and Johana Harris have been very happy together, for they share
their musical as well as their personal interests. For several years
they presented an educational series on the radio, "Let's Make
Music," that attracted wide attention. They have three children.
Paddy, Sharen, and Daniel. Harris and his family have moved
from place to place, as he has been connected with a number of
colleges Cornell University, Colorado College, Utah State Col-
lege, Peabody College for Teachers, and other institutions. Harris
does not like to become a regular member of a college faculty, as
this might involve him in all kinds of duties that would inter-
fere with his composing. He prefers to serve as "composer-in-
residence": a kind of visiting professor who guides a few advanced
pupils without becoming a full member of the staff. For a time

93

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

he tried out an interesting experiment in education. He had a few
gifted pupils live with him and his wife. They helped him by
doing all kinds of musical chores, such as copying out the parts
of his scores 5 in other words, they served as apprentices. It was
precisely in this way, of course, that the great painters of the Ren-
aissance taught their pupils.

Harris is a spontaneous artist who yields completely to his in-
ner impulse. His music is extremely lyrical and owes its appeal
to its freshness and enthusiasm. There is a certain roughness m
his style that is part and parcel of his way of expressing himself,
like the roughness in the poetry of Carl Sandburg or in the prose
of Theodore Dreiser. His music is American in its buoyancy and
drive, its expansiveness and manly strength. It has zest and emo-
tional sweep $ it is warm and compassionate.

Harris is clear about his direction as an artist. "I am trying,"
he states, "to write a music which expresses our time and period
in America and which is serviceable to our musical life. By service-
able I mean music which effectively uses the instrumental and
choral and other resources available at present." For example, he
wrote his Folksong Symphony "so that the adults and young people
of our cities could sing and play the folk songs of our nation for
pleasure. I wrote the choral parts for the range of good high school
choruses, with the thought in mind that such choruses might have
a work to prepare with the symphony orchestras of their cities." He
maintains that there are many ways of being American in music.
An American artist has to express the spirit of our country accord-
ing to the region from which he comes and which he knows with
every fiber of his being. "What I am trying to say in music is re-
lated principally to the region of the West where I was born and
where I understand life best."

Harris is at his most effective in the large forms of instrumental
music. In this he is a classicist. His seven symphonies occupy the
central position in his output. The First was written in 1933. The

94

ROY HARRIS

Third (1938) is one of the finest symphonies yet written by an
American. The final passage strikes the epic tone in its power and
majesty. As one critic wrote, it echoes "the dark fastness of the
American soul, its despair and its courage, its defeat and its tri-
umph." The Fourth is the Folksong Symphony (1940), a fantasy
for chorus and orchestra on American popular tunes. In his Fifth
Symphony (1942), which was written in time of war, Harris tried
to portray "the qualities of heroic strength determination will
to struggle faith in our destiny" which struck him as the essence
of the American character. The Sixth (1944), based on Lincoln's
Gettysburg Address, was dedicated to "the Armed Forces of Our
Nation." Both the Fifth and Sixth Symphonies were broadcast
to our armies in Europe and Africa during the Second World War.
Harris received many letters of appreciation from soldiers and
sailors who were moved by his music. He treasured these letters,
for they made him feel, more than anything else could possibly
have done, that he had truly reached his audience. His Seventh
Symphony was written in 1951.

Chamber music occupies an important place in Harris's output.
Among his chamber works are the Quintet for Piano and Strings
(1936) and Third String Quartet (1937). His piano music in-
cludes the suite Children at Play (1942), which has been recorded
by Johana Harris. Two major choral works, the Song for Oc-
cupations (1934) and Symphony for Voices (1935), are on texts
by Walt Whitman, a poet to whom Harris feels very close. Whit-
man's poetry also inspired American Creed (1940) and Walt Whit-
man Suite (1944). Harris has written music for the stage, films,
and ballet , but his imagination does not take to the kind of music
that evokes specific images and situations. He is at his best in the
realm of "pure" or absolute music music that is concerned pri-
marily with the statement and development of musical themes,
without trying to suggest a specific story, scene, or mood.

The Folksong Symphony offers a fine introduction to Harris's

95

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

music. In discussing this work the composer stated, "I was brought
up with simple folk attitudes by my pioneer parents. Folk music
was as natural to our way of life as corn bread and sweet milk.
My mother played the guitar and we hummed along with her after
supper on the front porch or in the kitchen. We whistled folk
songs as we worked on the farm. When I began to study music, I
decided that composers were folk singers who had learned to write
down the songs that took their fancy $ and that therefore folk songs
could be recast to suit a composer's purpose, and that they could be
legitimately used to generate symphonic forms." Harris goes on
to say: "I wrote my Folksong Symphony in 1940, when our nation
was deeply committed in World "War II, and I conceived a form
that reflected the feelings of the time." Because he wanted his
listeners to share these feelings, he picked famous folk songs from
different parts of the country that are known to all. Here is the
composer's description of his symphony:

"First Movement. The Girl I Lap Behind Me. This is a Civil
"War song which is sung in the spirit of bravado to keep up the
courage of both the young men and the young women whom war
has parted. It should be sung in the gayest of moods."

If ever I travel this road again and tears don't fall and blind me,
I'm goin' back to Tennessee, to the gal I left behind me.

Oh the pretty little gal, the sweet little gal, the gal he left be-
hind himj

With rosy cheeks and curly hair, the gal he left behind him.

If ever I travel this road again and angels they don't blind me,
I'll reconcile and stay awhile with the gal I left behind me.

Oh the pretty little gal, the sweet little gal, the gal he left be-
hind him^

With rosy cheeks and curly hair, the gal he left behind him.

I'll cross Red River one more time, if tears don't fall and drown
mej

ROY HARRIS

A-weepin' for that pretty little gal, the gal I left behind me.

(Refrain)
I'll build my nest in a hollow tree where cuckoos they won't find

me,
I'll go right back to see that gal, the gal I left behind me.

(Refrain)

"Second Movement. Western Cowboy. This movement uses
three well-known Western folk songs: Oh Bury Me Not on the
Lone Prairie, The Old Chisholm Trail, and Laredo. These three
songs characterise the lonesomeness, hilarity, and tragedy which
the early Western cowboys lived with every day."

"Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie."
These words came low and mournfully
From pallid lips of a youth who lay
On his lone bed at break of day.

He wailed in pain till o'er his brow
Death's shadows fast were gath'ring now.
He thought of home and his lov'd ones nigh
As cowboys gather'd to see him die.

As I recall the well-known words

Of free wild wind and the song of birds,

I think of home in the shady bower

And scenes I've loved in childhood's hour.

It matters not, I've oft been told,

Where the body lies when the heart grows cold.

Oh bury me not on the lone prairie

In a narrow grave six foot by three,

Where buffalo paws o'er prairie sea 5

Oh bury me not on the lone prairie. . . .

97

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

As I walked out in the street o Laredo,

As I walked out in Laredo one day,

I spied a poor cowboy wrapped up in white linen,

Wrapped up in white linen as cold as the clay.

"I see by your outfit that you are a cowboy 5"
These words he did say as I boldly stepped by.
"Come sit down beside me and hear my sad story
I'm shot in the breast and I know I must die. . . .

Oh, beat the drum slowly and play the fife lowly,
Play the dead march as you carry me along j
Take me to the valley and lay the sod o'er me;
I'm a young cowboy and know I've done wrong."

"Third Movement. First Interlude for String Orchestra and
Percussion. This is a dance for fiddles and is naturally made from
a combination of many fiddle tunes of the early pioneer days.

"Fourth Movement. Mountaineer Love Song. A love song from
the life of the mountain folk of the South, based on the tune He's
Gone Avoay, possessing both the pathos and the savage wildness
which characterizes these passionate people."

I'm goin' away for to stay a little while.

But I'm comin' back if I go ten thousand miles.

Oh, who will bind your hair, and who will glove your hands,

And who will kiss your ruby lips when I am gone?

Oh, Pappy'll tie my shoes, and Mammy'll glove my hands,

And you will kiss my ruby lips when you come back.

"Fifth Movement. The Second Interlude for Orchestra. A gay
work using the folk song Jump U-p My Lady y and a dance tune
which is a composite of many fiddle tunes.

"Sixth Movement. Negro Fantasy. Two Negro Spirituals, Little
Boy Named David and De Trum-pet Sounds It In My Soul, from

ROY HARRIS

the deep South of long-standing tradition, are used in this move-
ment."

De trumpet sounds it in my soul.

Lawd! Lawd! De trumpet sounds it in my soul.

I ain't got long to stay here.

De trumpet sounds it in my soul.

"Seventh Movement. Johnny Comes Marching Home. This is,
o course, the famous song that came out of the Civil War. In it I
hoped to capture the spirit of exhilaration and joy "which our people
would feel when the men came home from war."

When Johnny comes marching home again. Hurrah! Hurrah!

We'll give him a hearty welcome then. Hurrah ! Hurrah !

The men will cheer, the boys will shout,

The ladies they will all turn out.

And we'll all feel gay when Johnny comes marching home. . . .

The creator of this rousing work has succeeded remarkably well
in capturing in his music the spirit of the American scene. Roy
Harris has played a significant role in the development of our coun-
try's music.

99

9. GEORGE GERSHWIN

George Gershwin has become something of a legend. He is the
most widely played among modern American composers j and not
even his most enthusiastic admirers could have foreseen that, a
quarter-century after his death, he would become a world figure.

He was born in Brooklyn, New York, on September 26, 1898, the
son of Russian- Jewish immigrants. The family moved to Manhat-
tan 5 George grew up on the lower East Side. He was a restless, dy-
namic boy who loved games and sports. School he regarded as a
bore, and he was frequently taken to task for failing to do his
homework, misbehaving in class, or getting into scrapes. He showed
no interest in music when he was young, especially since the boys
of his neighborhood regarded anybody who studied music as a sissy.
Yet on the rare occasions when he heard music, he found himself
drawn to it almost against his will.

One day, when he was ten, he heard a schoolmate play Dvorak's
Humoresque on the violin. "It was to me," he remembered in later
years, "a flashing revelation of beauty. I made up my mind to get
acquainted with this fellow, and I waited outside from three to
four-thirty that afternoon, in the hopes of greeting him. It was
pouring cats and dogs, and I got soaked to the skin." The boy,
Max Rosen, who later won fame as a violinist, opened up the
world of music for George. They became inseparable companions.

100

GEORGE GERSHWIN

Under the influence of this friendship George was soon trying to
make up his own melodies. He brought one of these to Max, who
told him with an air of certainty: "You haven't got it in you to
be a musician, George. Take my word for it. I know."

Despite this admonition, George was not to be dissuaded. Soon
afterward a piano arrived at the Gershwin household on Second
Avenue. Mrs. Gershwin had bought it for George's older brother
Ira, who was a quiet, studious boy. Ira soon tired of the piano les-
sons, but George was fascinated by the instrument from the start.
He amused himself by picking out tunes on the keyboard. Then he
began to take lessons. He threw himself into his musical studies
with an intensity that he had shown, till then, only in his games
and sports. He learned not only by practicing, but also by going to
concerts. By the time he was fourteen he was a devoted concert-
goer. "I listened not only with my ears," he recalled in later life,
"but also with my nerves, my mind, my heart. I listened so
earnestly that I became saturated with music. Then I went home
and listened in memory. I sat at the piano and repeated the mo-
tives." Before long he outgrew the neighborhood teacher. When
he was fourteen a friend took him to the studio of Charles Ham-
bitzer, a dedicated musician who was impressed by George's talent
and gave him a firm foundation in all branches of the art.

At this time George entered the High School of Commerce. He
appeared as a pianist at the school assemblies. The following sum-
mer he took a job at a summer resort in the Catskill Mountains,
playing the piano for the munificent sum of five dollars a week.
That year he wrote his first song, Since / Found You, which was
never published. George was fascinated by popular music. He was
a passionate admirer of Irving Berlin, whose first big hit, Alex-
ander's Ragtime Band, was sweeping the country. "This is Amer-
ican music," he told his teacher, who looked down on popular
music and jazz. "This is the kind of music I want to write."

101

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

George was determined to find a job in Tin Pan Alley. This was
the name given to the neighborhood in New York City where
the publishers of popular songs had their offices. Tin Pan Alley
originally was off Broadway on Twenty-Eighth Street. Later it
extended roughly from Forty-Eighth to Fifty-Second Street along
Seventh Avenue, in the Times Square district. The song publishers
located in this area were building a powerful industry based on
the sale of sheet music throughout the country. This sale reached
impressive figures at a time when millions of homes had pianos.
Tin Pan Alley was the natural goal of every aspiring song writer.
George felt that if he could work for a publisher of popular music
he would learn his profession from the ground up.

His mother wanted him to finish high school and then enter
the fur business. Again and again she pointed out to him the un-
certainties that every musician faced. But George had made up his
mind. He left the High School of Commerce when he was fifteen.
A friend of the family introduced him to the manager of Remick's,
one of the most enterprising song-publishing houses of the day.
George was given a job and became the youngest song-plugger
(or "piano-pounder") in Tin Pan Alley, at a salary of fifteen dol-
lars a week.

Today it is the disc jockey who helps to make a song popular.
In those days it was the song-plugger, whose duty it was to play
the songs published by his company for those who could make it
popular singers, actors, vaudeville stars, leaders of dance bands
and restaurant orchestras, singing waiters, managers of theaters,
and the owners of the stores that sold sheet music. During his
years at Remick's George was able to learn the song-publishing
business in all its aspects. Most important, he was establishing his
reputation in a world where he knew he belonged. He carefully
studied the songs of Irving Berlin and Jerome Kern, the two com-
posers he admired most, then tried to write his own songs. But

i O2

GEORGE GERSHWIN

when he showed them to his employer at Remick's, he received no
encouragement. "You're paid to play the piano, not to write
songs," he was told. "We've plenty of song writers under contract. 37
He persevered, however, and before long his first song was pub-
lished. It was called When You Want y E,m> You Can't Get *Em,
and it brought him exactly five dollars.

During his first attempts as a song writer, George diligently
continued to study the piano, harmony, theory, and orchestration.
He realized that the popular song in this country was entering
upon a new era. The older generation of song writers had been
men like Irving Berlin, who possessed no formal musical training.
They were essentially folk singers who had only their talent to
guide them. Now, however, the time was ripe for a new type of
song writer: a trained musician who could bring to his tunes all
the techniques and resources of classical music. One day, in his
cubicle at Remick's, George startled the other song-pluggers by
practicing a Prelude and Fugue from Bach's Well-Tempered Cla-
vier. "Are you studying to be a concert pianist?" he was asked.
"No," he answered. "I'm studying to be a great popular-song
composer,"

In 1917 George left Remick's. He had learned all that Tin Pan
Alley could teach him. His next objective was Broadway. He found
a job at Fox's City Theater where he was supposed to accompany
the vaudeville acts during the supper hour when the orchestra
went out to eat. George reported for work in a hopeful mood. He
did quite well for the first few acts, particularly since some of the
numbers were Remick songs. But when the headline act came on,
he had to read at sight from a manuscript and missed his cue. He
suddenly realized that he was playing one song while the chorus
was singing another. The comedian made some wisecracks about
the piano player 5 the audience began to laugh 5 and George fled
from the pit, overwhelmed by embarrassment.

103

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

He then became a rehearsal pianist for the musical show Miss
i g 17 and enjoyed close contact with his idol, the composer Jerome
Kern, who had written several numbers for the show. Often, af-
ter rehearsal, he would remain at the piano, playing his own songs,
while the members of the cast listened, spellbound. He had a
wonderful sense of rhythm when he played j and he introduced
all kinds of unexpected melodies and off-beat rhythms in the bass,
which he made up on the spur of the moment to embellish the
main tune in the right hand. Those who heard him at these
impromptu recitals felt that it was only a matter of time before
this talented young man made his mark.

The manager of Miss igij was so impressed by George that
he introduced him to Max Dreyfus, head of the publishing house
of T. B. Harms and the most powerful man in the popular-song
business. Dreyfus listened carefully while the young composer de-
scribed the kind of song he hoped to write. Then Dreyfus came
forth with an unusual offer. George was to receive thirty-five dol-
lars a week as a drawing account. All he had to do in return was
to continue writing songs and to submit them to Dreyfus. In later
years Dreyfus was often pointed out as the man who discovered
George. Dreyfus's comment is illuminating: "A man with Gersh-
win's talent did not need anybody to push him ahead. His talent
did all the pushing."

It was in 1919 that George Gershwin's career hit its stride. He
was twenty-one; he had just completed the score for La La Lucille,
his first Broadway show 5 and he produced his first song hit.
S'uoanee was introduced at the Capitol Theater in New York by
Arthur Pryor's band. Night after night Gershwin and Irving Cae-
sar, the author of the words, stood outside the theater to watch
the sale of the sheet music in the lobby. Only a few copies of the
song were sold. Caesar was so discouraged that he was willing,
one evening, to sell his rights to the lyrics for two hundred dollars
to anyone who would buy them. But Gershwin dissuaded him.

104.

GEORGE GERSHWIN

That same night Al Jolson, the famous singer, gave a party to
which he had invited Gershwin. In the course o the evening
Gershwin played his new song. Jolson liked it so much that he de-
cided to sing it at the Winter Garden. Svoanee brought down the
house.

Jolson next introduced the song into his hit show Sinbad. Now
S<voanee caught on and swept the country like wildfire. Over two
million records of the song and one million copies of sheet music
were sold in that year. George Gershwin came into his own as one
of the most gifted song writers this country had produced.

In the next five years the George White Scandals provided an
ideal showcase for his songs. The Scandals were lavish spectacles
that competed with the Ziegfeld Follies for the favor of the New
York public. Of the many songs that he wrote for the Scandals,
several such as Somebody Loves IVLe (1924) bear the true
Gershwin stamp 5 that is, the melody is highly original., marked
by a powerful rhythmic thrust, and wreathed in an atmosphere of
devil-may-care gayety and charm.

During these years George found his ideal lyricist in his brother
Ira. Ira's smooth, clever lyrics provided the perfect framework
for the subtle type of song that George was trying to create. The
two brothers worked together in perfect harmony. In the course
of their long collaboration, the brotherly love they felt for one
another was enriched by a deep respect for each other's talents.

Gershwin's career unfolded at a crucial moment in the history
of American music. On the one hand our composers were strongly
under the influence of the European tradition. On the other, they
were trying to find their way to a musical language that would be
specifically American. Yet most serious musicians in America looked
down on jazz and the tunes of Tin Pan Alley. They built up a
forbidding wall between "classical" and "jazz." Gershwin saw that
jazz and classical were not necessarily opposed to one another. It
was his great achievement to realize that, on the contrary, each

105

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

might be used to enrich the other. As he put it, "Jazz is music.
It uses the same notes as Bach used."

Even more important, he realized that jazz reflected the very
soul of our country. Consequently, i American composers wanted
to shake off the European influence and to portray the soul of our
land, what better way than to base their serious works on jazz.
"I regard jazz," he declared, "as an American folk music, a very
powerful one which is probably in the blood of the American peo-
ple more than any other style of folk music. Jazz is the result of
the energy stored in America. I believe that it can be made the basis
of serious symphonic works of lasting value." Thus Gershwin
became the natural link between jazz and classical music. On the
one hand he wrote popular songs that were more advanced, more
sophisticated in melody, harmony, rhythm, and form than any that
had gone before. On the other, he used the jazz idiom as the basis
for serious symphonic works.

Naturally, he was not alone in believing as he did. Many jazz
musicians were trying to give their art a greater dignity and im-
portance than it had had up to that time. Among them was Paul
Whiteman, whose orchestra was the leading jazz ensemble of the
day. Whiteman, who was known as the "King of Jazz," and his
orchestrator Ferde Grofe had brought popular music to a new high
level by using orchestrations of a symphonic type that were care-
fully rehearsed and that were presented as artistically as possible.
Despite his success in the popular field, Whiteman was painfully
aware of the great distance that still separated Tin Pan Alley from
the concert halls in New York where serious music was performed.
He decided to invade the enemy's territory with a concert that
would display to the world the possibilities of jazz as a serious art.
He needed a major symphonic work for the end of the concert,
and decided that George Gershwin was just the man who could
provide him with such a work.

106

GEORGE GERSHWI2ST

Gershwin was reluctant to accept the assignment, for he was
busy at the time with preparing the scores for several musical
shows. But the more he thought of it, the more challenging White-
man's request seemed. Finally he composed a dazzling piece for
piano and orchestra, in which he combined jazz, ragtime, and the
blues with a brilliant piano style in the manner of Liszt's Hun-
garian Rhapsodies. He thought of naming the new piece American
Rhapsody. It was his brother Ira who hit upon the title Rhapsody
in Blue.

The work received its premiere at the history-making concert
presented by Paul Whiteman in Aeolian Hall on Lincoln's Birth-
day, 1924. Gershwin himself played the piano part and the au-
dience went wild. The Rhapsody in Blue became one of the best-
loved works of the twentieth century. During its first ten years it
brought Gershwin, in royalties from the sale of sheet music and
records, more than a quarter of a million dollars. And it carried
his name around the world.

During the twenties and early thirties Gershwin produced many
of the tunes that have become classics of our popular-song litera-
ture. The list includes Somebody Loves IMLe from the Scandals of
1924; Oh > Lady Be Good, Fascinating Rhythm, and The MLan
I Love from Lady Be Good (1924)3 Looking for a Boy y That
Certain Feeling, and Sweet and Low Down from Tip Toes ( 1925) 3
Clap Yo* Hands, Do, Do, Do, and Someone to Watch Over Me
from Oh Kay (1926)3 *S Wonderful from Funny Face (1927)3
Lixa from Show Girl (1929)3 Embraceable You, I Got Rhythm.>
and Bidin* M.y Time from Girl Crazy (1930) 3 I've Got a Crush
on You, Soon, and A Typical Self-Made American from Strike Up
the Band (1930) 3 Love Is Sweeping the Country and Who Cares
from Of Thee I Sing, which was the first musical to win a Pulitzer
Prize (1931)3 Mine from Let >Em Eat Cake (1933)5 Let?s Call
the Whole Thing Off from the motion picture Shall We Dance?

107

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

(1937)5 Love Is Here to Stay and Love Walked In from the
Gold<wyn Follies (1938).

Many of these songs did not catch on with the public at once.
Gershwin's subtle melodic line and tricky rhythms did not make
for easy popularity. In some cases the melody did not reveal its
true personality without the harmonies that formed its back-
ground, so that people did not enjoy humming or whistling the
tune without an accompaniment. In others he varied the usual con-
struction of four phrases with four measures in each. The form
consequently was puzzling to the ear. As a matter of fact, Gersh-
win was trying to get away from the standardized structure of Tin
Pan Alley. He was leading the Broadway show tune into new ter-
ritory. He created a new type of sophisticated song that captured
perfectly the spirit of the 19203 and 19305. What is more, his
songs retained their freshness and their popularity long after
many of the song hits of those years had been forgotten.

On December 3, 1925, Gershwin appeared as soloist with the
New York Symphony Orchestra under the baton of Walter Dam-
rosch. At that point he successfully bridged the gap that lay be-
tween Broadway and Carnegie Hall. He introduced his Concerto
in F. In this work he combined popular materials drawn from
jazz, Charleston, and waltz rhythms with brilliant writing for the
piano and the ample form of the classical concerto. Like the Rhap-
sody in Elue^ the Concerto achieved immense popularity all over
the world.

Gershwin was a handsome man who was endowed with a mag-
netic personality. He gave the impression of one who not only had
enormous charm but who was gifted in the highest degree. He
was the center of an adoring circle of friends. He enjoyed life, and
threw himself into everything he did with the utmost enthusiasm.
He fell in love frequently, but never married.

Gershwin's gifts were not limited to music. In his early thir-

108

GEORGE GERSHWIN

ties he became interested in painting, and he turned out a number
of canvases that show genuine talent. Many of his friends remem-
ber him in exactly the same way as did Rouben Mamoulian, who
directed Porgy and Bess: "George loved playing the piano for
people and would do it at the slightest provocation. At any gather-
ing of friends, if there was a piano in the room, George would
play it. I am sure that most of his friends in thinking of George
at his best, think of George at the piano. IVe heard many pianists
and composers play for informal gatherings, but I know of no
one who did it with such genuine delight and verve. George at the
piano was George happy."

Gershwin loved the music he wrote. That is to say, he knew that
he had made a unique place for himself in the world of music, and
he had a sense of his own achievement. At the same time he pos-
sessed the true humility of the artist and realized that there was
very much about the technique of composition he did not know.
He wished he had been given a broader musical training in his
youth and often thought of studying with some European master
in order to remedy his deficiencies. Accordingly, when he went
abroad in 1928, he approached a number of celebrated musicians
with the intention of studying with them. He wanted to take les-
sons from Maurice Ravel, but Ravel said to him: "Why do you
want to become a second-rate Ravel when you already are a first-
rate Gershwin?" He then asked Igor Stravinsky to teach him.
When Stravinsky learned that Gershwin made over a hundred
thousand dollars a year, he remarked, "In that case perhaps it is
I who ought to take lessons from you." Both Ravel and Stravinsky
realized that Gershwin needed no more formal training, for his
best guide was his talent. Studying with a famous master might
have strengthened his technique, but it might also have taken away
something of his spontaneity and charm.

Throughout the years Gershwin was haunted by the idea of

109

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

writing an American opera. From the moment he read Porgy
DuBose Hey ward's novel of Negro life in Charleston he knew
that he had found an ideal theme. But the project had to wait for
several years, as Porgy was being made into a play by Heyward
and his wife Dorothy.

In 1933, after the play had gone through a successful run in
New York, Gershwin began his adaptation. It was to become his
greatest work. "It's going to be a labor of love," he wrote to a
friend after signing the contract, "and I expect quite a few labor
pains with it."

Gershwin decided to visit Charleston in order to get the "feel"
of the city and its atmosphere. "I would like to see the town," he
wrote to Heyward, "and hear some spirituals, and perhaps go to
a colored cafe or two." He returned to Charleston in the summer
of 1934 and spent much time among the Gullah Negroes on James
Island. For Gershwin, as DuBose Heyward pointed out, this visit
was "more like a homecoming than an exploration." He now came
face to face with the creators of the jazz rhythms and the blues
that he had used so effectively in his songs. "The Gullah Negro,"
wrote Heyward, "prides himself on what he calls 'shouting. 3 This
is a complicated rhythmic pattern beaten out by feet and hands as
an accompaniment to the spirituals, and is undoubtedly of African
survival. I shall never forget the night when, at a Negro meeting
on a remote sea island, George started 'shouting' with them and
eventually, to their huge delight, stole the show from their cham-
pion *shouter.' I think that he is probably the only white man in
America who could have done that."

We think of folk music as the product of countless anonymous
singers through the ages. But Gershwin believed that even a mod-
ern composer of sophisticated popular music could be a folk singer
at heart and could capture in his melodies the simplicity of folk
song. "When I first began work on the music," he wrote about

no

GEORGE GERSHWIN

Porgy and Bess, "I decided against the use of original folk ma-
terial because I wanted the music to be all of one piece. There-
fore, I wrote my own spirituals and folk songs. But they are still
folk music and therefore, being in operatic form, Porgy and Bess
becomes a folk opera. However, because Porgy and Bess deals with
Negro life in America, it brings to the operatic form elements that
have never before appeared in opera j and I have adapted my
method to utilize the drama, the humor, the superstition, the re-
ligious fervor, the dancing and the irrepressible high spirits of the
race. If, in doing this, I have created a new form which combines
opera with the theater, this new form has come quite naturally out
of the material."

Porgy and Bess opened at the Alvin Theater in New York on
October 10, 1935, with Todd Duncan as Porgy and Anne Brown
as Bess, Ira Gershwin had added some of his finest lyrics to DuBose
Heyward's book. Despite the high level of the production, Porgy
and Bess was just a little beyond what the Broadway theater at
that time was prepared to accept. Gershwin's "folk opera" did not
achieve success, and its first run lasted only four months.

However, little by little the principal songs Summertime, I
Got Plenty o* Nuttin y , It Ain't Necessarily So, A Woman Is a
Sometime Thing, and Bess, You Is My Woman Novo began to
make their way around the country. After a few years the work
was revived, first in the United States, then in Europe 5 and the
public began to respond to the power, the beauty, the originality,
and the dramatic fitness of Gershwin's score. Before long Porgy and
Bess took its place in the eyes of the world as the American opera.
Its ultimate triumph came in 1952 when our State Department
sent a Negro company abroad so that Europe could see the work
in its original form. The company returned to the United States
for a long run, and was then sent by the State Department on a
second tour that extended from Italy, Yugoslavia, Egypt, Greece,

III

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

Spain, and Israel to France, Switzerland, Belgium, Holland, South
America, and the Soviet Union. In all these countries Gershwin's
melodies, rising above the barriers of language and race, worked
their magic and aroused audiences to scenes of indescribable en-
thusiasm. But neither Gershwin nor Heyward lived to see their
work become an international favorite.

When the talking pictures became popular, Gershwin went to
Hollywood and wrote two movies for Fred Astaire Shall We
Dance? and A Damsel in Distress. He began work on a third, the
Goldwyn Follies. He was now at the pinnacle of his success. Then
the fates caught up with him. One day, while he was playing the
Concerto in F with the Los Angeles Philharmonic, his mind went
blank for a moment. Soon thereafter he began to suffer from vio-
lent headaches. The doctors found that he had a brain tumor, and
decided to operate. He did not survive the operation.

The Rhapsody in Blue and the songs from Porgy and Bess offer
the best introduction to Gershwin's music. Next in popularity
comes An American in Paris. Gershwin's aim in writing this sym-
phonic poem was, as he explained it, "to portray the impressions
of an American visitor in Paris as he strolls about the city, listens
to the various street noises, and absorbs the French atmosphere."
Although An American in Paris comes under the heading of pro-
gram music for it has a title and evokes a definite scene the
music does not attempt to tell a specific story. Rather, the piece is
programmatic in a general way, so that, as the composer pointed
out, "the individual listener can read into the music such episodes
as his imagination pictures for him."

Gershwin's symphonic poem opens with a bright theme that
suggests the excitement and gayety of the French capital. There
is a vivid reference to Parisian taxis and the way they honk their
horns. Then a saucy melody emerges such as one might hear at one
of the French cafes. From there on the music brash, saucy, gay

GEORGE GERSHWIN

hovers between jazz (with a slightly French accent) and the can-
can (with a slightly American accent). Presently the mood of
hectic animation gives way to a gentle nostalgia, as i the visitor
suddenly faced a moment of homesickness. The music turns to a
delicious "blues," one of those heart-warming, sweeping melodies
of which Gershwin alone knew the secret, Even in Paris, it seems
to say, one may find oneself longing for home. The moment passes.
A jaunty Charleston rhythm sweeps through the orchestra. The
finale, noisy and gay, brings back themes from the earlier part of
the work. It is plain that our American is having a lot of fun in
Paris.

The creator of this thoroughly attractive piece combined a
great musical talent with the popular touch. George Gershwin was
one of the most gifted composers of his generation, and he has
remained the most widely loved among them. His death at the
age of thirty-nine, just when he had found his mature style, was
a tragic loss for American music.

113

10. AARON COPLAND

"I was born on a street in Brooklyn that can only be described as
drab. Music was the last thing anyone would have connected with
it." This is how Aaron Copland remembers the neighborhood
where he was born on November 14, 1900. Like George Gershwin,
Aaron was the son o a Russian- Jewish immigrant who had come
to the United States in search of a better life. The elder Copland
had done quite well in the New World. He owned a small depart-
ment store in Brooklyn and made a comfortable living for his
wife and five children, Aaron was the youngest.

" When the boy was eight and a half years old he fell ill with a
mild attack of typhoid fever. During his sickness his brother's
wife was very kind and attentive. She sent him a bag of ripe red
cherries his favorite fruit. Aaron was eager to show his apprecia-
tion of her thoughtfulness. As soon as he recovered, he decided
to write a song for her. It was his first attempt at composition.

The older children of the family had all studied music, but had
not gone very far with it. Aaron's parents felt there was no point
in wasting any more money on lessons for him. However, he was
so eager to learn to play the piano that his sister Maurine began
to teach him when he was around thirteen. His parents soon had
good reason to be dissatisfied with his musical interests. Up to

AARON COPLAND

that time Aaron's marks at school had been uniformly good. Now
he became so absorbed in the piano that he neglected his school-
work and fell behind in several subjects, notably mathematics.

Aaron entered Boys 5 High School when he was fourteen. He
worked harder than ever at the piano and made rapid progress.
His sister began to feel that she had taught him all she knew.
Aaron begged his parents to allow him to go to a professional
teacher. They were very much opposed to this at first, but in time
they gave in to his pleading. At the age of fifteen he began to
study with Leopold Wolfsohn, a very competent pianist whose
studio was not far from Aaron's home.

By this time he had already made up his mind to be a com-
poser. But a composer had to know harmony. Aaron tried to learn
by taking a correspondence course. After a few trial lessons he
realized that this was no way at all to learn harmony, and asked
Mr. Wolfsohn to help him find a teacher. Wolfsohn sent him to
Rubin Goldmark, who was one of the best-known harmony teach-
ers in New York. Aaron presented himself at Goldmark's house
and explained his ambition. Goldmark stared at him and asked him
gruffly, "What do you want to become a composer for?" It was a
very sensible question, considering the difficulties that attend a
composer's career. But it would have taken much more than this
to dissuade Aaron from pursuing his goal.

Goldmark was a thorough musician who gave his students a
solid foundation in the rudiments of their art. At the same time,
like most teachers of musical theory he was extremely conserva-
tive and warned his pupil against having anything to do with the
"moderns." This of course only whetted the young man's appetite,
and he eagerly studied the works of the new European composers
who were beginning to be known in this country: the Russian Alex-
ander Scriabin, the Frenchmen Claude Debussy and Maurice Ra-
vel. Nor did Goldmark want him to write in the modern style.

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

Aaron soon found a solution that satisfied both his teacher and
himself. He wrote one group of compositions that followed all
the rules which Goldmark taught him. These he dutifully sub-
mitted to his teacher. But in his spare time he wrote other works
like his early piano piece The Cat and the Mouse, in which he
gave free rein to his imagination, rules or no rules. "By the time
I was eighteen/' he recalls, "I already had something of the repu-
tation of a musical rebel in Goldmark's eyes, at any rate."

Aaron was graduated from Boys' High School when he was
eighteen. "It seems curious," he wrote years later, "that the school
played so small a part in my musical training. I neither sang in
the school chorus nor played in the school orchestra. Music classes
were a kind of joke we were not even taught to sight-read a single
vocal line properly. Perhaps things have changed for the better
in that respect. A young person with musical aptitude would prob-
ably find more scope in the regular school curriculum for his or
her talents nowadays."

His parents wanted him to go to college. But he was now sure
enough of his goal to realize that he must devote all his energies
to music. More important, he was able to persuade his parents to
go along with this. They were still hoping that he would prepare
for a practical career like law or medicine. But they could not help
being impressed by his seriousness and determination, and they
were willing to give him a chance.

Much as he enjoyed studying with Goldmark, Aaron missed the
atmosphere of a music school. It was a great disadvantage, he
realized, not to be able to discuss music with other students. At
this time he read that a new summer school for Americans, in
music and art, was to be opened in the Palace of Fontainebleau in
France. He sent in his application immediately and was the first
student to be accepted. His parents promised that he could remain
in Paris for a year in order to perfect himself in his chosen field.

116

AARON COPLAND

Before the First "World War young Americans had gone to Ger-
many to study music (as Edward MacDowell did). Now., how-
ever, Paris had become the musical center of the world. So it was
that young Copland, with high hopes, looked forward to spending
a year in the lovely city on the Seine.

He set sail for Europe in June, 1921, with a group of students
who were going to attend the new school. He was twenty-one years
old. Fontainebleau, he found, was a quiet little town situated on
the edge of a forest. The school was held in a palace that had
originally been the hunting lodge of French kings. The most
modern wing had been added by Napoleon and contained many
objects associated with the Little Corporal's reign. Copland was
disappointed in his composition teacher, who was just as conserva-
tive as Goldmark had been. But he soon began to hear about a
wonderful harmony teacher called Nadia Boulanger. He was re-
luctant at first to attend her class. After all, he had finished his
harmony course. But his curiosity soon got the better of him. And
so he met the woman who more than any other musician influenced
his career. "I had never before witnessed," he wrote later, "such
enthusiasm and such clarity in teaching. I immediately suspected
that I had found my teacher."

Jrle had still to overcome a few prejudices in regard to Mile.
Boulanger. He had never before heard of anyone studying com-
position with a woman 3 and he knew that the idea would sound
altogether strange to his parents. Nevertheless, when the summer
session ended and he had to make plans for the winter, Copland
visited Mile. Boulanger and asked if he could work with her. He
was her first full-time American student in composition. In later
years so many others followed his example among them Douglas
Moore, Walter Piston, Virgil Thomson, and Roy Harris that
this remarkable woman had a tremendous influence on the course of
modern American music. Two qualities, in Copland's estimate,

117

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

made Mile. Boulanger unique. One was her consuming love for
music. The other was her ability to inspire a pupil with confidence
in his own creative powers. Unlike many composition teachers, she
did not seek to force her personality upon her students. On the
contrary, she strove to guide each and every one of them to the
fullest expression of his own individuality.

Copland benefited so much from his studies with Mile. Bou-
langer that his parents allowed him to extend his stay in Paris.
"What was to have been one year abroad stretched out to two and
then to three years. Through his teacher Copland met the leaders
of the modern movement in music, such as the Russian composer
Igor Stravinsky. He heard all the new music he could. And he
began to find his own path as a composer. "The watchword in
those days/ 5 he recollects, "was originality. The laws of rhythm, of
harmony, of construction had all been torn down. Every composer
set out to remake these laws according to his own conceptions. And
I suppose that I was no exception despite my youth or possibly
because of it."

He returned to New York in 1924 with a number of composi-
tions under his arm. A stroke of luck had come his way. Nadia
Boulanger had been engaged to appear as organ soloist with the
New York Symphony Orchestra and had asked him to write a
piece for her. In order to earn a living Copland took a job with a
trio In a summer hotel in Pennsylvania. He spent every spare
moment in composing his Symphony for Organ and Orchestra,
and finished the work in time. The following January the Sym-
phony was presented in Carnegie Hall by Nadia Boulanger and
the orchestra under the direction of Walter Damrosch. The famous
conductor felt he should offer a word of comfort to the conserva-
tive listeners who had been shocked by so modern a work. After
the piece was over he turned around to the audience and said,
"Ladies and gentlemen, if a young man at the age of twenty-

118

AARON COPLAND

three can write a symphony like this, it seems evident that in
five years he will be ready to commit murder." Everybody
laughed, including the composer. Fortunately for all concerned,
Dr. Damrosch's prophecy never came true.

In the next few years Copland wrote one work after the other-
He still faced the problem of supporting himself, as it was impos-
sible to earn a living by writing serious music. He found un-
expected support in the critic Paul Rosenfeld, who believed in his
talent and persuaded a wealthy music lover to help him. At this
time, too, Senator Simon Guggenheim and his wife set up the
Guggenheim Foundation in memory of their son John who had
died in 1922. Their intention was to grant fellowships annually
to deserving young artists. Copland was the first musician to re-
ceive one of these awards, which in subsequent years brought help
to many of our composers. He found another supporter in Serge
Koussevitzky, the Russian-born conductor of the Boston Symphony,
who from the moment he arrived in this country firmly championed
the cause of the American composer. In the summertime Copland
went to the MacDowell Colony in New Hampshire where, along
with other artists, he could devote himself to his work free from
interruption and care.

In his early works Copland was, naturally, under the influence of
French music. But he was most eager to develop an American
style, and turned for inspiration to jazz. He used jazz in a dif-
ferent way than did George Gershwin. Whereas Gershwin be-
longed to the world of popular music, Copland employed the
rhythms of jazz in serious, "ultramodern works. The jazz influence
is very strong in two important compositions of this period
Music for the Theater, which received its first performance at a
concert of the Boston Symphony Orchestra under Koussevitzky in
1925, and the Concerto for Piano and Orchestra, which was
presented by Koussevitzky two years later with the composer

119

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

playing the solo part. In spite of their jazzy rhythms, these works
did not have, and were not meant to have, the popular appeal of
Gershwin's music. The Concerto contained complex rhythmic
patterns and harsh dissonances that puzzled some listeners and
made others furious. This music was still too advanced for the
conservative public. After the Concerto, Copland realized that he
had done all he could with the jazz idiom. He felt that jazz was
limited, by and large, to two moods, the blues and the snappy
number. He knew that he must look farther afield to find his
true musical language. All the same, jazz rhythm became a
permanent part of his thinking and feeling, and gave his music a
special American tang.

In 1929 the RCA Victor Company offered a prize of twenty-five
thousand dollars for a symphonic work. This was a huge sum of
money to offer for a serious composition. Copland decided to enter
the contest and began to work furiously on a symphony in one
movement. He called it Symphonic Ode. Two weeks before the
deadline he realized that he could not finish the Ode in time. He
was in despair at not having a piece to submit for the prize. Sud-
denly he had an excellent idea. He brought out the manuscript of
a ballet he had written in Paris. Selecting the three movements
that he liked best, he named the piece Dance Symphony and sent it
In on the final day. The judges decided that no one work deserved
the full award, so they divided the prize among five contestants.
Thus Copland's Dance Symphony brought him five thousand dol-
lars. He later completed the Symphonic Ode, which was one of a
series of modern works commissioned by the Boston Symphony to
celebrate its fiftieth anniversary in 1930.

The pieces that Copland wrote in the early thirties, such as the
Piano Variations^ the Short Symphony, and Statements for Or-
chestra, aroused great interest among advanced musicians. But
they were hard to play and very hard to understand as far as the

1 2O

AARON COPLAND

average music lover was concerned. Copland felt more and more
dissatisfied with what he was writing. He asked himself whom he
was trying to reach with his music. It seemed to him that he and
his fellow composers had lost touch with the big public. It was as
if they were working in a vacuum 3 or writing just for each other
and a few friends. He began to realize that an entirely new public
had grown up around the radio and phonograph. "It made no
sense to ignore them/' he decided, "and to continue writing as if
they did not exist. I felt that it was worth the effort to see if I
couldn't say what I had to say in the simplest possible terms."

This period of self-questioning led to a vast change in Copland's
manner of writing. He simplified his style so that the mass of
music lovers could enjoy his music. He decided to create for the
mass media of communication radio, ballet, motion pictures, also
to write music suitable for young people. He hoped in this way to
reach out beyond the narrow circle that had appreciated his music
up to this time. Once he had taken this decision he produced a
succession of memorable works that spread his fame all over the
world.

The new direction is apparent in three pieces he wrote in 1935:
What Do We Plant? y a chorus for high-school students 5 and
two children's pieces for piano, Sunday Afternoon Music and The
Young Pioneers. A year later he completed one of his most widely
played works, El Salon Mexico, named after a popular dance
hall in Mexico City. Based on songs and dances of Mexico, this
piece evokes Copland's happy memories of a visit to the color-
ful land below the Rio Grande. Latin America gave him the in-
spiration for another work, Danxon Cubano (Cuban Dance), which
is written for two pianos.

In 1936 Copland wrote The Second Hurricane, a "play-opera"
specially designed for high-school students. The plot concerns six
boys and girls and the exciting adventure that befalls them when an

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

aviator appears at their school to ask for help in bringing supplies
to a region that has been hit by a hurricane. This operetta has been
performed by high-school students all over the country. It shows
that a modern composer can have something vital to say to young
people when he puts his mind to it. In the same class is An Out-
door Overture, which Copland wrote for the orchestra of the High
School of Music and Art in New York City. This piece has the
bright, clear outdoor sound that is so characteristic of Copland's
music.

Music for Radio, also known as Saga of the Prairie, was com-
missioned by the CBS Network and presented on a popular pro-
gram called "Everybody's Music." Shortly afterward Copland
wrote the music for Billy the Kid, which was presented by the
Ballet Caravan in 1938. It soon became one of his most popular
works. No less important are his two other ballets. Rodeo (1942)
and Appalachian Spring (1944). Rodeo is a lighthearted cowboy
ballet. The heroine is an energetic cowgirl who is determined to
get her man and does! Copland subsequently extracted four
numbers from the score and arranged them into a breezy concert
suite: Buckaroo Holiday, Corral Nocturne, Saturday Night Waltz,
and Hoe-down. You may be sure that no listener has any difficulty
in understanding this music. Appalachian Spring is a ballet about
pioneer life in early Pennsylvania. It revolves around a young
Quaker bride and her farmer husband, who celebrate the coming
of spring and the building of their farmhouse. This work was
made famous by the great American dancer Martha Graham, and
brought Copland the Pulitzer Prize for 1945.

In the meantime he was invited to go to Hollywood to write
music for motion pictures. He soon achieved a great reputation as
a film composer. He wrote the score for five important pictures:
John Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men (1939)$ Thornton Wilder's
Our Toixm (1940); Lillian HeUman's The North Star (1943)5

122

AARON COPLAND

Steinbeck's The Red Pony (1948)5 and Henry James's The
Heiress (1948). The score for The Heiress brought him an
"Oscar."

During the years of the Second World War Copland was mind-
ful of an artist's duty to his country. His music expressed the
solemnity of the great ordeal through which our nation was pass-
ing. A Lincoln Portrait) for speaker and large orchestra (1942),
was based on lines drawn from the speeches of the Great Emanci-
pator, a tribute to the ideals of freedom and justice for which we
were fighting. Fanfare for the Common !VLan y for brass and per-
cussion (1942), is a stirring call to action. Letter jrom Home
(1944) captured the loneliness and the longing that were felt by
so many Americans far from home. To this period too belongs
Copland's most important work for orchestra, the Third Sym-
phony, which he completed in 1946. A few years later he wrote a
Concerto for Clarinet and String Orchestra for Benny Goodman.
He also composed The Tender Land (1954), an opera that is
American to the core, and many other works which have brought
pleasure to performers and listeners alike.

Copland realized at an early stage in his career that a composer
today not only has the job of creating music but must also take a
hand in educating the public to listen to it and appreciate it. He
became active as a lecturer, writer, and teacher. He gave courses
on modern music at the New School for Social Research in New
York City. He wrote many magazine articles about his own music
and the works of his friends and colleagues. Together with the
composer Roger Sessions he organized the Copland-Sessions Con-
certs, which ran for four years and presented many new works. He
was active in the League of Composers, an organization that
promoted the performance of new music and that helped many
young musicians to gain a hearing. He realized too that composers
ought to band together in order to gain better economic conditions

123

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

for themselves. To this end he helped to found the American
Composers' Alliance, and served as its president for seven years.

Amid all these activities he found time to produce two books,
What to Listen for in Music and Our New Music. These are writ-
ten in such a clear, simple style that the reader without musical
background has no difficulty in understanding them. In 1951 Cop-
land gave a series of lectures at Harvard University which were
published in a third book, Music and Imagination* He has been
associated with the Berkshire Music Center at Tanglewood, Massa-
chusetts, ever since the founding of that remarkable summer
school. Here he has been able to play an active part in training the
young generation of American musicians, first as a member of the
faculty and then as director of the school. Copland's interest in
Mexico, originally that of a tourist, brought him a genuine ap-
preciation of Latin-American culture. In 1941 he was asked by
the Office of Inter-American Relations to undertake a good-will
tour of nine Latin-American countries, and became the first Ameri-
can musician to be sent abroad in an official capacity. In 1947 our
State Department sent him on a similar mission.

The best way to get to know Copland's music is to listen to a re-
cording of El Salon Mexico. You will be enchanted by the bright
orchestral sound and the seductive Latin-American rhythms of
this work. Or you can begin with Billy the Kid, which is so Ameri-
can in mood and atmosphere. The ballet revolves around the
brief but eventful career of William Bonney, the desperado who
became one of the legends of the Southwest. We first see Billy as
a boy of twelve, when his mother is killed by a stray bullet in a
street brawl. Billy stabs the man who caused her death. Later,
during a card game with his cronies, ones of the players accuses
him of cheating. Billy kills him. He is captured after a running
gun battle and put in jail 5 but he murders the jailer and escapes.
There is a romantic scene when he joins his Mexican sweetheart in

124.

AARON COPLAND

the desert. Yet even as he holds her in his arms his pursuers close
in on him. This time there is no escaping. At the end the girl
laments the death of the dashing outlaw.

Copland selected five episodes from the music of the ballet and
wove them into an exciting concert suite. First is the prologue,
The Of en Prairie, that conjures up the vast, lonely quiet of the
open spaces. Then comes Street Scene in a Frontier Town, jaunty,
gay, and brash, which quotes some famous cowboy songs The Old
Chisholm Trail; Git Along, Little Dogies; and Good-bye, Old
Paint. Card Game at Night goes back to the wistful, quiet mood
of the opening. We hear a beautiful setting of The Dying Cowboy
{Oh Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie}. The next episode is
Fight, which depicts the chase that leads to Billy's capture. The
rat-tat-tat of the muted trumpets is so vivid that you can almost
see the gun battle taking place before your eyes. The Celebration
that follows Billy's capture is properly brassy and gay, with its
lilting dance-hall tunes that evoke the spirit of the West. The
epilogue brings back the 0-pen Prairie music, as if to say that,
though men may come and go, the prairie remains forever remote
and brooding and vast.

The composer of this eloquent music has had a distinguished
career. Through ceaseless effort he perfected himself in his art.
His unswerving dedication to his ideals has brought him fame and
honor. In the eyes of the world he is the foremost American com-
poser o our time.

125

11. SAMUEL BARBER

Samuel Barber was born on March 9, 1910, in West Chester,
Pennsylvania, a quiet little town not far from Philadelphia. He
grew up in a comfortable middle-class environment where music
and art were very much appreciated. His father was a doctor, his
mother played the piano. She was the sister of Louise Homer, one
of the most famous opera singers of her time. Both Mme. Homer
and her husband, the composer Sidney Homer, encouraged their
nephew's first attempts to write music.

Sam showed his interest in music at an early age. By the time
he was six he was playing the piano. Then, because his mother
wished him to learn the cello, he studied that instrument for a
year. But the piano was his first love, and he soon returned to it.
"I began composing at seven, 5 ' he reports, "and have never
stopped."

His parents wanted him to share the interests of the average
American boy and to participate in sports. But Sam knew his own
mind even before he knew how to spell, as is evident from a note
he wrote his mother when he was eight : "I was not meant to be an
athelet I was meant to be a composer, and will be, I'm sure. Don't
ask me to try to forget this and go and play foot-ball. Please
Sometimes I've been worrying about this so much that it makes
me mad! (not very)."

126

SAMUEL BARBER

When he was ten Sam began to compose an opera on a libretto
that was written for him by the family's cook, a Mrs. Noble. The
action revolved around a famous operatic tenor who comes to a
small town for his vacation and unexpectedly falls in love. Only
the first act was written. After that Mrs. Noble ran out of ideas.
The composer did not attempt an opera again until he had found
a more inventive librettist.

When Sam was in high school he organized a small orchestra
that gave concerts. He also played the piano at various club meet-
ings. Despite these activities, he was a shy, withdrawn lad who was
passionately fond of reading and of roaming by himself through
the countryside. Within the intimate circle of his family and
friends he was gay and confident. With strangers he was inclined
to be reserved and distant.

His musical gift was so impressive that, when he was only
fourteen, he was appointed organist at the Westminster Presby-
terian Church and received $100 a month for his services. He did
not keep the job long: he insisted on playing the hymns and re-
sponses as they were written, instead of stopping at the end of
each phrase, as the congregation was accustomed to. But his brief
career as a church organist had one good result : out of his earnings
he bought a subscription to the concerts of the Philadelphia Or-
chestra, and this opened up for him a new world of music.

At just about this time Mary Curtis Bok, the daughter of the
publisher Cyrus Curtis, founded the Curtis Institute in Philadel-
phia. Mrs. Bok's generosity made it possible for gifted students to
study with such world-famous artists as the opera singer Marcella
Sembrich, the pianist Josef Hofmann, and the conductor Leopold
StokowskL As a result, the new institution quickly established itself
as one of America's most important conservatories. Sam was among
the first group of students to be accepted at the Curtis Institute.
Since his father, Dr. Barber, was head of the school board in West

127

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

Chester, a special rule was put through that permitted any high-
school student in West Chester who was a composer to attend the
Friday afternoon concerts of the Philadelphia Orchestra. As a
result of this dispensation Sam was able to have his lessons at the
Institute on Friday mornings, hear the orchestra later in the day,
and at the same time continue with his high-school education. He
was graduated from high school when he was sixteen. From then
on he devoted himself exclusively to music.

He was soon known as one of the most gifted students at the
Curtis Institute. Once again an exception was made in his case: he
was allowed to major in three subjects piano, singing, and com-
position. During his fourth year at Curtis he met a newcomer from
Italy, a boy named Gian-Carlo Menotti, who was one year younger
than he. Menotti was restless, talkative, full of temperament, the
very opposite of the reserved American. They were soon insepa-
rable, and formed a lasting friendship. West Chester became
Menotti's second home. Years later the little Quaker town sug-
gested the locale for Menotti's opera The Old Maid and the Thief.

When he was eighteen Sam read about the Beams Prize of
$1,200 offered by Columbia University for the best new work by
a young American composer. He submitted a violin sonata and won
the prize, which paid for a trip to Europe during his summer
vacation. This was the first of several summers spent with Menotti's
family in Cadegliano, a village on the Italian side of Lake Lugano.
Cadegliano was the first spot in Europe where he felt completely
at home.

"Hidden away in mountains of extreme natural beauty," he
wrote to his parents, "almost unpastured, and overlooking a mag-
nificent valley with parts of three lakes dividing new mountain-
ranges which in turn form a background for the vistas of Switzer-
land hidden away here, little known, not caring to be known, is
this little settlement of quaint villas, of all styles, of diverse de-

128

SAMUEL BARBER

grees of luxury, and most all of them owned and inhabited by
relatives or members of Gian-Carlo's family. There are no hotels^
hence there are no strangers but only guests."

Following his four years as an undergraduate, Sam served for
two years as a student-teacher at the Curtis Institute. Upon his
graduation, he could have joined the staff. But he had no desire
to pursue a teaching career. Many of his composer friends taught
music at various colleges and conservatories. Sam saw that their
teaching seriously interfered with their composing. Indeed, most
of them were able to compose only during week ends, holidays, or
summer vacations. Sam was determined that no official position
should keep him from doing the one thing he wanted to do. "Give
me a place to live in the country " he wrote in a letter to his family,
"and a peaceful room with a piano in which to work and I ask for
nothing more."

Instead of joining the faculty of the Curtis Institute, Barber
went to Europe with Menotti. They spent the winter of 1933 In
Vienna, where Barber studied conducting and gave a song recital.
He also made his debut as a conductor. A touch of excitement was
added to this event when Barber discovered (later) that under-
neath the platform on which he conducted were hidden guns and
ammunition, placed there by a workers' group in preparation for
a revolt against the government.

Fame came early to Samuel Barber. When he was only twenty-
three the Philadelphia Orchestra performed his Overture to "The
School -for Scandal" at a summer concert in Robin Hood Dell. He
had written the piece two years before. The Overture made a
strong impression on all who heard it. Another important per-
formance came the following year. The New York Philharmonic
presented his Music for a Scene from Shelley, which he was in-
spired to write after reading Shelley's Prometheus Unbound.
Shortly afterward, a program consisting entirely of his music was

129

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

heard over the radio. These performances added considerably to
Barber's growing reputation.

All the same, his financial situation was far from satisfactory. He
settled in New York and tried to earn a living by singing on the
radio, but without success. He applied for a Prix de Rome, one of
the most valuable prizes open to young American composers, as it
carries with it several years' residence at the American Academy
in Rome $ but his application was rejected.

However, things looked up for Barber when he was awarded
a Pulitzer Traveling Scholarship of $1,500 for a year of study
abroad. In the meantime his music was being presented in London
with success. "Lady Astor," he informed his parents, "went behind
the scenes during the concert and complimented my music by ask-
ing if I was dead yet!" Then the American Academy in Rome
invited him to reapply for the prize. He sent in the same works
that he had submitted the first time his Cello Sonata and Music
for a Scene -from Shelley. Obviously the judges felt that they had
made a mistake, for they gave him the prize.

Although he did not have to worry about finances during his
stay in Rome, Barber did not relish the atmosphere of the Acad-
emy. "Do you know," he wrote to Menotti during his first month
there, "that I have not yet unpacked my trunk, out of sheer
perversity, because I do not wish to feel at home in this room?
And I shall not. My half-full trunk stands open, in complete dis-
order. And I shall not unpack it. I will never call this room mine."
He felt more kindly toward his studio, which, he stated, was
"situated apart from the Academy, in the made-over stables of the
old Villa Aurelia, which is full of charm, and I love the garden,
the pines by moonlight, Rome in the distance, the yellow stone
stairs." His parents wrote to ask whether he was happy. "Yes and
no," he replied. "In fact no different from any place else. My
great satisfaction and consolation is that I am not a bother to any-

130

SAMUEL BARBER

one for two years, and this means a great deal: and that I am able
to do the work which interests me to my heart's content (or dis-
content) ."

During his stay at the Academy Barber's Symphony in One
Movement was performed in Rome, and was subsequently pre-
sented by Artur Rodzinski and the Cleveland Symphony Or-
chestra. In 1937 Arturo Toscanini, whom Barber and Menotti had
visited at his summer home in Italy, began to take an active interest
in Barber's career. The Maestro was not particularly fond of either
contemporary or American music. All the same, he was deeply im-
pressed by Barber's talent. In 1938 he conducted two works by
Barber, the Adagio for Strings and the Essay for Orchestra, No. i.
The Adagio was the only work by an American composer that
Toscanini put on his programs when he toured South America
with the NBC Symphony Orchestra and was the first American
work that he recorded. Toscanini's interest did very much to
further Barber's reputation. His compositions were taken up by
other conductors, and before long he was one of the most fre-
quently performed of all contemporary American composers. He
was not yet thirty, and he had realized his ambition to make a
living as a composer. What with royalties, performance fees, and
commissions for new works, he was free to devote all his time to
composing.

At the outbreak of the Second World War in 1939 Barber,
who was returning from Europe as the Nazi army marched into
Poland, did not realize that a chapter in his life had come to an
end and another was about to begin. For a time he continued in
his accustomed way, immersed in his music and his books. But in
1943 he was inducted into the Army. Because of his defective
vision he was assigned to Special Services and did clerical work.
Some months later he was transferred to the Air Force. Barber's
military career was summed up by Gian-Carlo Menotti, who re-

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

marked: "Sam is the only soldier in the United States Army who
never learned how to take a gun apart and put it together again."

As a result of an unusually intelligent policy. Barber was allowed
to serve in the best way he could by composing. He wrote the
Commando March, which received its first performance by the
Army Air Forces Band. Next he was commissioned to write a
symphony specially for the Air Force. Barber felt some misgivings
when he had to play part of the work for the officer in charge of
the assignment, a captain. He was afraid that a symphony written
in the twentieth-century idiom would be above the captain's head.
To his astonishment, the captain turned out to be a devotee of ad-
vanced modern music and criticized the piece for being too con-
servative. The Symphony "Dedicated to the Army Air Forces was
completed early in 1944 and received its first performance by the
Boston Symphony Orchestra under Serge Koussevitzky. The event
brought him the most memorable piece of fan mail he ever re-
ceived. "Dear Corporal," the note ran, "I came to hear your sym-
phony. I thought it was terrible, but I applauded vociferously be-
cause I think all corporals should be encouraged."

When he was discharged from the Army Barber settled at Mt.
Kisco, New York, in a house that Menotti and he bought jointly.
They called it Capricorn. Situated on a wooded hill, about an
hour's drive from Manhattan, Capricorn is laid out in two separate
wings with a studio at the end of each. Both composers are able to
work without hearing each other. Here Barber finally found what
he had long dreamed of, "a place to live in the country and a peace-
ful room with a piano in which to work."

Barber composes slowly. The themes for his compositions do
not come easily. He discards many ideas until he has found exactly
what he wants. While the search is going on he will be in a bad
humor and quite absent-minded. The inner struggle is so intense
at such moments that he is hardly conscious of anything around

132

SAMUEL BARBER

him. Once he has found what he is looking for, his mood changes
instantly. He becomes cheerful and is eager to set to work.

Barber retains the traits he showed as a boy. He is reserved
and somewhat distant with people he does not know well, but
relaxed and merry with his intimates. He still loves to take long
walks in the country and to read. He has no patience with games of
any sort. Although he plays the piano well, he never learned any
other type of coordination. "He is constantly losing things," a
friend once said of him, "and cannot fry an egg or operate a
phonograph." However, in all that regards his work he is ex-
tremely punctual, well organized, and meticulous.

Barber is one of the few composers who was trained as a singer.
(Most composers are instrumentalists.) This may help to explain
the melodic quality of his music. He is at his best in works marked
by poetic lyricism and romantic feeling. Although he is completely
American in his background he is a descendant of Robert Fulton
he does not share the folklore interests of composers like Doug-
las Moore, Roy Harris, or Aaron Copland. On the contrary, his
many trips abroad and his long association with Gian-Carlo
Menotti have made him highly responsive to the European tradi-
tion. Hence he is one of the internationally minded members of
the contemporary American school. Both in his personal viewpoint
and in his music he is a citizen of the world.

Barber's early works have remained extremely popular. Among
them are the lighthearted Overture to "The School for Scandal"
(1932)3 Music for a Scene from Shelley (1933), which evokes
the flamelike imagery of that poet's Prometheus Unbound; the
deeply expressive Adagio for Strings (1936), an arrangement for
orchestra of the slow movement from the String Quartet, Opus 1 1 j
and the Essay for Orchestra^ No. i (*937)- Barber uses the term
essay, as did Lamb, Hazlitt, and other English writers, to indicate
a form in which ideas are developed concisely within an intimate

133

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

framework. In his Symphony No. i (1936) Barber binds the four
movements of the traditional symphony into a single movement
with contrasting sections. (The piece is also known as the Sym-
phony in One Movement.*) To this period belong also Dover Beach
(1931), a setting of Matthew Arnold's famous poem for solo
voice and string quartet j Three Songs Set to Poems -from "Chamber
M.usic" by James Joyce (1936)5 the melodious Violin Concerto
( I 939)j songs based on poems by Housman, James Stephens,
Gerard Manley Hopkins, W. B. Yeats, and other poets 3 and the
serenely beautiful setting of Emily Dickinson's Let Down the Bars,
O Death) for four-part chorus (1936).

The second decade of Barber's career witnessed important
changes in his style. The romanticism of the early years was en-
riched by his growing awareness of the techniques of contemporary
music. His vocal line grew bolder and more expressive, his har-
monies more dissonant, his rhythms more complex. The Symphony
"Dedicated to the Army Air Forces (1944) bears the mark of this
turbulent period. This symphony, Barber's second, contains sug-
gestions of whirring propellers,, of the solitude of night flight, of
hovering danger, and the suspense of waiting. The most important
composition of this period is the Piano Sonata (1949), marked by
an intensity and a bigness of conception that stamp it as a work of
the artist's maturity. A Stopwatch and an Ordnance Ma-p (1940),
for chorus of men's voices and three kettledrums (four horns, three
trombones, and tuba optional), is a moving work based on Stephen
Spender's poem about the death of a soldier in the Spanish Civil
War. It was followed by the Second Essay for Orchestra (1942);
the Capricorn Concerto for flute, oboe, trumpet, and strings ( 1 944) ,
a witty piece named after the house at Mt. Kisco; and the Cello
Concerto of 1945.

In 1946 Barber wrote a ballet for Martha Graham based on the
legend of Medea and Jason. The climax of this work which

134

SAMUEL BARBER

Barber subsequently fashioned into an independent piece called
Medea's Meditation and Dance of Vengeance is marked by a
dramatic intensity that his music had not shown up till that time.
Knoxville: Summer of igi$y for soprano and orchestra (1947), is
a setting of a prose poem by James Agee that first appeared in the
magazine Partisan Revue. (This forms the first chapter of Agee's
beautiful book A Death in the Family*} Barber's music captured
the sensitive quality of Agee's memories of his childhood. Among
the late works there stand out Melodies passageres (Transient
Melodies, 1951) for voice and piano, a setting of five French
poems by Rainer Maria Rilkej Hermit Songs for voice and piano,
to poems translated from anonymous Irish texts of the eighth to
thirteenth centuries $ and Prayers of Kierkegaard for chorus,
soprano solo, and orchestra, on texts drawn from the writings of
the Danish philosopher-mystic. It is clear from this list that Barber
is attracted to European more often than to American -writers.

For many years Barber was eager to write an opera, but he could
not find a suitable libretto. The problem was solved by his friend
Menotti, who wrote for him the libretto of Vanessa, an opera with
a European background. The work received its first performance
at the Metropolitan Opera House in 1958. Barber had to over-
come a number of problems in adapting his lyric style to the neces-
sities of the opera house 5 for opera involves the unfolding of a
plot, the development of characters through dramatic conflict, and
a steady heightening of tension as the action proceeds. Naturally
he did not fully solve all these problems at his first attempt. But
he turned out an impressive score that shows his tasteful workman-
ship and his ability to create melody.

The Overture to "The School for Scandal" reveals the lighter
side of Barber's gift. He did not try to represent specific Incidents
or characters of Sheridan's famous comedy. He wished rather to
capture in his Overture the spirit of eighteenth-century comedy:

135

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

its classical elegance, its delightful artifice, its robust humor that
forms an effective contrast to episodes of tender sentiment. Barber
wrote the Overture as his graduation piece from the Curtis Insti-
tute. It has all the buoyancy and enthusiasm of youth. At the same
time it displays the refined style that characterizes the works of
Barber's maturity. The piece is marked Allegro molto e vivace
(very fast and lively) and opens with a flourish. The first violins
present a sprightly, strongly rhythmic theme that represents the
comic element. This is worked up into a rousing orchestral cre-
scendo. Then, at a somewhat slower tempo, a solo oboe sings a
lovely melody that represents the romantic element. Tenderly ex-
pressive, it unfolds in a long lyric line. After an exciting develop-
ment section, the two basic ideas are restated. However, this time
the lyric theme is presented by the English horn (the alto of the
oboe family). In the final section of the piece the comic spirit holds
full sway.

Barber's works have established themselves firmly in the rep-
ertory. Most of them have been recorded and are heard frequently.
He owes this eminence to the fact that his music issues from a
genuine lyric impulse. Among the composers of his generation
Samuel Barber stands out for his ability to communicate emotion
with eloquence and charm.

136

12. WILLIAM SCHUMAN

William Schuman was born in New York City on August 4, 1910.
His grandfather came to this country from Germany at the time
of the Civil War, and was drafted into the Confederate Army. His
father fought in the Spanish-American War. Bill was an active,
fun-loving boy who excelled at sports. He was much keener on
playing baseball than on practicing the violin. But practice he did,
and by the time he was in high school he played the violin well
enough to organize a jazz band, in which he also sang the vocal
solos. In the summertime he worked as a counsellor in a camp in
Maine. He began his career as a composer by writing songs for the
camp shows. Together with his friend Frank Loesser he turned
out about forty popular songs, of which one, In Love with a
Memory of You, with lyrics by Loesser and music by Schuman,
was published. This is the same Loesser who in subsequent years
won fame on Broadway as the composer of Guys and Dolls,
Whereas Charley ? y and other successful musicals.

When Bill was graduated from high school, he was not sure
what he wanted to do. He registered at the School of Commerce of
New York University, and earned some money on the side by
working for an advertising agency. But he had not given up his
dream of becoming a popular song writer.

137

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

His sister often asked him to go with her to concerts j but he
refused, for he was convinced that he would be bored by an evening
of "classical" music. One night she finally persuaded him to ac-
company her to Carnegie Hall, to a performance of the New
York Philharmonic Orchestra. For the first time in his life he heard
a great orchestra. An indescribable excitement took hold of him.
It was as if a new world had opened up before him. That evening
marked a turning point in his career.

The next morning, when he returned to the School of Com-
merce, he could not put the sound of the orchestra out of his mind.
For the rest of the day he did not hear a word his teachers said.
When he left the School of Commerce that afternoon, he knew
with absolute certainty that he was not coming back. He had
reached a major decision: he was going to become a musician.

On his way home he passed a building with a sign in front: the
Malkin Conservatory of Music. He had heard somewhere that a
composer had to begin his studies by learning harmony. Deter-
mined not to lose any more time, he entered the building and
registered for a course in harmony.

His parents received the news with mixed feelings. "You're
almost twenty," they told him, "and that's very late to begin
studying music seriously.' 3 With his drive and intelligence, they
said, he could achieve success in business or almost any other field.
But music was in a class by itself. "Unless you have real talent,"
they argued, "you can never hope to get to the top." But Bill was
not to be dissuaded. He had been searching for years for the thing
he really wanted to do. At last he had found it! His parents gave
in and hoped for the best.

In the next years Bill worked furiously to make up for lost
time. He decided that, if he was going to be a composer of serious
music, the best way to support himself would be by teaching music.
So he entered Teachers College at Columbia University. He still

138

WILLIAM SCHCUMAN

had not given up his hopes of making a lot o money with a
popular song hit, and he continued his efforts in that direction.
But he soon realized that, in order to succeed on Tin Pan Alley,
he would have to adapt himself to the formulas of a thoroughly
commercial market. The more he listened to the works of the
great composers, the less concerned he was with Tin Pan Alley.
In the end he lost all interest in writing popular songs.

Even before his graduation from Teachers College, Schuman
began to look for a position where he would be allowed to carry
out his ideas of how music should be taught ideas that did not in
the least agree with the traditional methods. When he read the
bulletin of Sarah Lawrence College, a progressive school for young
women in Bronxville, New York, he knew he had found the
institution he was looking for. He wrote to the college and was
invited for an interview. He expressed his views to the president
of Sarah Lawrence and several members of the faculty, and was
so convincing that he was soon appointed to the staff.

At Sarah Lawrence Schuman soon established himself as an
exciting teacher who was able to communicate to his students his
own enthusiasm for music. He became conductor of the Sarah
Lawrence chorus and persuaded it to commission new works from
American composers. He performed compositions by students of
the college. He arranged concerts where the chorus joined forces
with choral groups from other schools. He took the chorus on
tour. Under Schuman's energetic leadership the chorus contributed
so much to the reputation of Sarah Lawrence that the college
newspaper declared, "Our chorus is the football team of Sarah
Lawrence. Notre Dame had Knute, but we have Bill!"

Several important things happened to Schuman during his first
year at Sarah Lawrence. He completed his First Symphony (1935)
and also began to see its faults , in other words, he was growing
rapidly as a composer. He began to study with Roy Harris at the

139

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

summer session o the Juilliard School of Music, and found in
Harris an inspiring teacher who gave him warm encouragement
and helped him develop his talent. His music began to attract at-
tention. And he married Frances Prince, the girl he had been in
love with ever since he was twenty-one.

His Second Symphony, which he wrote in 1937, was performed
in New York by the orchestra of the Federal Music Project. The
work found an enthusiastic supporter in Aaron Copland. Before
long Copland brought the score to Serge Koussevitzky, the con-
ductor of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Koussevitzky examined
the score of the symphony and decided to play it. The New York
performance by a minor orchestra was not a very good one, and
left Schuman somewhat discouraged. Koussevitzky reassured him.
"It is important that a composer should hear his music well
played." Although the Boston Symphony Orchestra, one of the
finest in the country, could be counted on to give a beautiful per-
formance, Koussevitzky knew that his public was much too con-
servative to appreciate the work of a new American composer. "To
be sure," he told Schuman, "your symphony will probably have
no success with my public. But with me it has a success."

Schuman finished his Third Symphony in 1941. The piece was
presented by Koussevitzky and the Boston Symphony Orchestra,
and made an extraordinary impression on all who heard it. The
critics who had torn down Schuman's earlier works hailed the new
symphony with enthusiasm. They said that he had changed. "It
was they who had changed/ 3 Schuman commented wryly, and he
was right. They were now more familiar with contemporary music
and were ready to praise a piece which, only a few years earlier,
they would have been eager to attack.

Schuman now found a powerful ally in the publishing house of
G. Schirmer. The first manuscript that he submitted to Schirmer
had been turned downj but he tried again, this time with success.

140

WILLIAM SCHUMAN

Soon Schirmer was publishing everything he wrote, and agreed
to pay him a monthly retainer so that he might teach less and
compose more.

By the early 19405 Schuman had firmly established his reputa-
tion as one of the foremost composers of his generation. His music
was performed by major orchestras both in this country and
Europe. He had received a number of important prices and honors,
among them two Guggenheim fellowships, the Composition Award
of the National Institute of Arts and Letters, and the first Pulitzer
Prize ever awarded in music for his choral piece A Free Song
(1942).

In 1945 Schuman was appointed director of publication of G.
Schirmer. This was the first time that a major music publishing
house had invited a composer to head its publication department.
Up to this time the decision to accept or reject a new work was often
made by someone totally out of sympathy with modern music (as
was the case during the careers of Charles Ives and Charles T.
Griff es). Now times had changed. It was a composer himself
and one most actively identified with the cause of contemporary
American music who was going to decide which new compositions
were fit to print.

During his years at Sarah Lawrence College, Schuman often
talked with his friends about his theories of music education. He
outlined the things he would do if he were ever to become the
head of a great music school. Among those with whom he dis-
cussed his ideas were two directors of the Juilliard School of
Music. When the famous pianist Ernest Hutcheson retired as head
of the school, the directors asked Schuman to succeed him. But
Schuman's answer, when he was asked if he wished to become
head of the Juilliard School, was that he was not interested in ac-
cepting the job if he was expected to continue in the traditional
paths. He wanted a free hand in instituting the reforms that he

141

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

felt were necessary. The board o directors assured him that they
were seeking a progressive educator, not a traditional one. And so,
in 1945 , William Schuman's dream came true* At the age of
thirty-five he found himself at the head of one of the most im-
portant conservatories in the world, free to carry out his exciting
ideas.

Like Howard Hanson at the Eastman School twenty years be-
fore, Schuman approached his task from the standpoint of the
American composer. He brought young composers into the faculty.
He made the students aware of the modern movement in music
and of what contemporary composers were doing. He saw to it that
the Juilliard Orchestra performed twentieth-century works and
that the opera department presented new operas. In short, under
Schuman's dynamic leadership the Juilliard School took on a
twentieth-century point of view.

He was especially interested in broadening the students' hori-
zons, so that they would see the whole field of music instead of
concentrating exclusively on a particular instrument. He argued
that the different branches of music whether theory, harmony,
counterpoint, ear-training, sight-singing, orchestration, composition,
or history must be taught not as separate subjects but in rela-
tionship to each other, so that the student would achieve a compre-
hensive view of the art as a whole. He insisted that students play
and listen to all kinds of music, and grow familiar with the great
works of every century. In this way they would begin to under-
stand the music of the different historical periods - y they would not
apply the standards of the nineteenth century to the music of the
twentieth, but would learn to judge every kind of music on its own
merits.

Up to this time the students at Juilliard had been, for the most
part, pianists, violinists, and singers who dreamed of giving a
concert in Carnegie Hall that would launch them on an interna-
tional career. Needless to say, this dream was seldom fulfilled.

142

WILLIAM SCMUMAN

Now the school turned to the more practical and more important
objective o training well-rounded musicians equipped to play
a constructive part in their community as teachers, leaders o
choruses and bands, directors of schools, and organizers of a
vigorous musical life throughout the country.

The world thinks of the composer as an impractical dreamer
shut away in his attic, removed from the concerns of his fellow
men. William Schuman is no such dreamer. He is a man of action,
thoroughly at home in the world, and with a talent for getting
things done. He had to call on all his great reserves of energy to
continue with his composing in spite of his arduous duties as presi-
dent of the Juilliard School. By dint of carefully organizing his
time, he was able to carry on his work as a creative artist along
with his duties as an administrator,

He settled in New Rochelle, a residential community within
commuting distance of New York. There he found a congenial
home for his wife and their two children, Anthony and Andrea.
He composed every morning for two hours before going to his
office at the school. Often he returned to his -writing table when
he came home at night. Then there were the week ends, holidays,
and summer vacations when he could devote himself entirely to
creative work.

Schuman's music reflects the man. It is the music of an active
personality optimistic, vigorous, assertive. It is planned on a
large scale. This bigness of gesture is characteristic of Schuman. "If
my music should eventually prove a failure," he has said in typical
fashion, "I want it to be a great big failure, not a little piddling
failure." His tunes are bold and sweeping. "My music," he says,
"is completely melodic. I write by singing, not by sitting at the
piano." His rhythms are thoroughly American, as might be ex-
pected of one who found his way to music through jazz. "When he
was asked If one of his ballets did not show the influence of jazz,
he retorted, "That's no influence that is jazz." The jazz element

143

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

is especially apparent in the way he has of setting up a steady
pulse in the bass while above it unfold all kinds of syncopations.
(The accent in music generally falls on the strong beat, the one.
In syncof>atiQn y which is the basis of jazz, the accent is shifted to the
off-beat.)

Schuman has a natural flair for the large forms of instrumental
music symphony, concerto, string quartet. This tendency places
him among the classicists. The large forms are based on the de-
velopment of musical ideas in a continuous line, so that each detail
will spring out of what came before and will lead as inevitably to
what follows. Such a structure appeals to Schuman's logical,
orderly mind. His orchestral sound is bright and vigorous. He
achieves unusual effects by pushing the instruments to the limits of
what they can do. He is fond of vivid contrasts between soft and
loud, between high and low register, between the string instru-
ments and the brass. Such contrasts emphasize the vitality and
vigor of his music.

Schuman's music is thoroughly American even though he does
not make direct use of folk tunes. Neither the song of the cowboy
nor the poetry of the prairie fires his imagination. Having grown
up in New York, Schuman has retained the mentality of the big-
city boy. His music is American in the impression it gives of physical
activity and enthusiasm, in its freshness and bounce. These traits
are to the fore in his seven symphonies, of which the best known
is the Third. Among his full-scale works are the Concerto for Piano
and Small Orchestra (1942), the Violin Concerto of 1947, and the
Fourth String Quartet (1950). The American Festival Overture
(1939) is a bright, festive piece in Schuman's earlier manner. The
first three notes, the composer explains, "will be recognized by
some listeners as the c call to play' of childhood days. In New York
City it is yelled on the syllables Wee-Awk-EE' to get the gang
together for a game or a festive occasion of some sort." Schuman
naturally was not interested in duplicating the 'call to play' of his

144

WILLIAM SCHUMAltf

boyhood days. His aim rather was to capture the mood of ad-
venture and expectancy with which a boy on a city street will
summon his comrades. The Overture shows the breezy American-
ism of Schuman's music at its best. While Schuman has retained
the buoyancy that characterized his early -works, in later years he
has turned increasingly to more serious moods and a more persona]
type of expression.

He is fond of writing choral music, in which he became inter-
ested while he was conducting the chorus at Sarah Lawrence
College. His choral pieces have a full, sturdy sound. He feels
especially close to poetry such as Walt Whitman's, which enables
him to communicate emotion of a vigorous, manly kind. Whitman's
lines inspired Pioneers, for unaccompanied chorus (1937), as well
as Schuman's most successful choral work, A Free Song (1942).
Another favorite poet is Genevieve Taggard, whose verses he set
in Prologue for Chorus (1939), This Is Our Time (1940), and
Holiday Song (1942). In these pieces Schuman has provided a
useful repertory suitable for school and community groups. "Music
which the layman can perform," he believes, "is essential if we
hope to reach a wide audience. Only in this manner can we com-
municate to our countrymen in intimate fashion the unique feel-
ings of the contemporary composer."

Schuman's vivid sense of rhythm enables him to write effective
ballet music. Undertow, which he composed for the Ballet Theater,
was presented at the Metropolitan Opera House in 1945, with
choreography by Anthony Tudor, Schuman produced a powerful
score, rich in mood and color, that evoked the big-city atmosphere
so dear to his imagination. He also wrote two ballet scores for the
distinguished American dancer Martha Graham Night Journey
(1947) and the intensely dramatic Judith (1949), based on the
Biblical story of Judith and Holofernes.

Schuman shares the recent upsurge of interest in American
opera. He conceived the idea o writing a one-act opera about his

145

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

once favorite pastime, baseball. Thus came into being The Mighty
Casey (1953), a dramatization of Ernest L. Thayer's immortal
poem Casey at the Eat. The work is as American as an opera could
possibly be.

Credendum: Article of Faith > for orchestra, was written in
1955 at the request of the United States National Commission for
UNESCO through the Department of State 5 it was the first sym-
phonic composition to be commissioned directly by an agency of
our government. In 1943 Schuman wrote his William Billings
Overture, in which he turned for inspiration to William Billings,
the eighteenth-century American composer whom we discussed in
our Introduction. He subsequently refashioned the material into
a longer work called New England Triptych. (A triptych is a
composition in three parts.) This orchestral piece, which he com-
pleted in 1956, is based on three hymns by Billings Be Glad Then
America, When Jesus Wept, and Chester, He also wrote an over-
ture for brass band on Chester. This thoroughly attractive work
offers a fine introduction to William Schuman's music.

Chester was one of the most popular of Billings' hymns. During
the American Revolution it became a marching song for the
Continental Army, as both the words and the tune expressed the
faith of Washington's soldiers in the justice of their cause:

Let tyrants shake their iron rod
And slav'ry clank her galling chains,
We'll fear them not, we trust in God,
New England's God forever reigns!

What grateful ofPring shall we bring,
What shall we render to the Lord?
Loud Hallelujahs let us sing,
And praise His name on every chord!

146

WILLIAM SCMUMAN

Schumaii's Overture is in the form of a theme and variations.
This has always been a favorite form with composers, for it enables
them to exercise their imagination in transforming a melody,
whether their own or someone else's. In varying a theme the
composer may change the melody, the harmony, or the rhythm,
he may shift the tune up or down to a higher or lower register 5 he
may change the tempo, that is, the speed of the music $ or he may
alter the dynamics from soft to loud or the other way around. He
may change the color by assigning the tune to different instruments,
or he may combine the theme with other themes. As a result, we
glimpse the theme in ever new transformations, just as we may see
a character in a play appear in each scene in a new costume, or
come out in disguise. In recognizing the familiar features o the
original melody we are aware at the same time that they have
been altered in a number of ways.

Chester opens with two statements of the hymn tune, first in a
mood of quiet faith, the second in a majestic -fortissimo (very loud)
that suggests the "loud Hallelujahs" mentioned in the second
stanza of the poem. The composer here reveals this historic Ameri-
can tune in all its simplicity, dignity, and strength. From then on
Schuman uses all the resources of his craftsmanship and his fantasy
to play around with the melody, presenting it in ever varied garb.
Now it appears as a lively marching song that suggests a fife and
drum, conjuring up the indomitable Spirit of y j6 the spirit of
the ragged soldiers who, throughout all the hardships that con-
fronted them, never lost faith in their ultimate victory. Now the
melody appears with new harmonies, and now it is brightly arrayed
in jazz rhythms. One part of the tune hurries by in shorter notes$
another holds back in longer ones. Presently we hear the melody
sung in stately fashion by the trumpets. Throughout all these
transformations the hymn tune retains its sturdy contours^ its
optimistic spirit, its hope and faith, until the rousing climax in

147

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

-which Schuman exploits to the full the powerful effects of which
the massed brass is capable.

A new honor came to William Schuman in 1961: he was ap-
pointed president of Lincoln Center of the Performing Arts in New-
York City, a bold new project for the performing arts opera, sym-
phony, ballet, and drama designed on a vast scale such as has never
before been approached in this country. At Lincoln Center Schu-
man will not only have a greater outlet than ever before for his
abilities as an administrator 5 he will also be able to exercise a
significant influence upon the artistic life of the United States.

William Schuman won success without any compromise on his
part. It is precisely because he remained faithful to his ideals that
he has been able to impress his personality, both as a composer
and educator, upon the American scene. In both capacities he has
made a vital contribution to our musical life.

13. GIAN-CARLO MENOTTI

Gian-Carlo Menotti does not belong, strictly speaking, in a book
about American composers. Out of loyalty to his native land he has
never renounced his Italian citizenship. Nevertheless there are
good reasons for regarding him as one of us. In the first place, he
received his musical training in this country and has spent most
of his life here. In the second, he writes his librettos in English.
Most important of all, it is in the United States that he has won
his great success.

He was born on July 7, 1911, in a little town in northern Italy
named Cadegliano, in a pink villa that stood high on- a hill over-
looking Lake Lugano. He never lacked for company, for there
were ten children in the family j Gian-Carlo was the ninth. His
grandfather had been the mayor of the town and his family was
not only important but also wealthy 5 his father ran a successful
import-export business with South America.

Gian-Carlo cannot remember a time in his life when he was not
surrounded by music. His brothers and sisters sang and played,
and the family spent its evenings making chamber music. His
mother gave him his first music lessons. He wrote a song when he
was four and at the age of six decided to become a composer. Three
years later he received a fascinating gift: an elaborate puppet the-

14.9

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

ater. The boy's career as a puppeteer centered about his vivid pres-
entation of the Devil, whom he wreathed in clouds of suffocating
smoke by burning sulphur behind the scenes. Once his interest
in the theater was aroused, the next step was an opera, which Gian-
Carlo wrote when he was eleven years old. He called it La IVLorte
di Pierrot {The Death of Pierrot}. In this work, as he describes
it, "everyone sings and plays all the time and dies in the last act."

The Menotti family moved to Milan, where Gian-Carlo entered
the Conservatory. Having started out as a child prodigy, he did
not think it necessary to pay much attention to his studies. Why
bother to work when composing came to him so easily? He was
a good-looking boy with a charming personality 3 he played the
piano well 3 and so he was invited to all the aristocratic homes of
Milan. Since he loved people and parties, he was soon frittering
away his time in society instead of buckling down to his studies.

His mother watched all this with dismay. She was afraid that
if he continued in this manner he would squander his musical gifts.
Then Gian-Carlo 7 s father died, leaving the family business in dif-
ficulties. Signora Menotti decided to go to South America in order
to restore the family fortunes. She was convinced that Gian-Carlo
would study much better if he were left alone, with no one to dis-
tract him, in a foreign land. So she took him with her on the trip
to South America, and left him in the United States.

Accordingly, at the age of seventeen Gian-Carlo found himself
enrolled at the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia. He spoke
no English. He wore a foreign-looking pair of knickers that made
people stare. And he knew no one save his countryman Rosario
Scalero, the professor of composition at the Curtis Institute. It had
been the custom for American musicians to go to Europe to com-
plete their studies. Now Gian-Carlo reversed the process.

His first concern was to buy American clothes. His second, to
learn English 3 in order to do so he would go to the movies four

150

GIAN-CARLO MENOTTI

times a week. His mother had been right in supposing that he
would work more diligently once he was removed from the social
life of Milan. Shy and lonely in his new surroundings, Gian-Carlo
applied himself to his studies with zeal. He realized how much
time he had wasted in Milan and worked hard to make up for it.
He was helped by the fact that his new teachers did not in the
slightest treat him as if he were a genius. On the contrary, they
were extremely strict with him and gave him a thorough ground-
ing in the technique of his art.

Before long Gian-Carlo found a friend in his schoolmate Samuel
Barber. The two young musicians became inseparable. Gian-Carlo
enjoyed his visits to Sam's home in West Chester, Pennsylvania,
where he had his first glimpse of life in a small American town.
His friendship with the Barber family did much to make him
feel at home in the new world. Some time later he was able to
reciprocate by inviting Sam to the Menotti home in Cadegliano.

When he was twenty-two Gian-Carlo began to compose his first
successful opera, Amelia Goes to the Ball, a lighthearted comedy
in one act for which he wrote his own libretto. He did not trust
his English, so he first wrote the text in Italian and then translated
it into English. In Amelia Gian-Carlo gently poked fun at the aris-
tocratic salons that he remembered so vividly from his years in
Milan. By this time Mrs. Curtis Bok, who had endowed the Curtis
Institute, was taking an active interest in Gian-Carlo's career. She
saw to it that Amelia Goes to the Ball was produced at the Curtis
Institute in the spring of 1937. Gian-Carlo's opera delighted
everyone who saw it.

He returned to Italy at the end of the school year in order to
spend the summer with his family in Cadegliano. The townspeople
were proud of his success and welcomed him warmly. They were
doubly proud one day toward the end of the summer when the
postmistress, an excitable little woman, came bicycling down the

151

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

main street as fast as she could, waving a telegram in her hand
and shouting its contents to everyone she encountered. Finally she
reached the Menotti home and cried, "II Metro-politano ! II Met-
ro-politano! n It was true: the Metropolitan Opera House had de-
cided to present Amelia Goes to the Ball during its next season.

The production of Amelia at the Metropolitan established Gian-
Carlo's reputation as one of the most promising among the younger
composers. The work was so successful that he received a communi-
cation from the Italian Embassy in Washington, informing him
that Mussolini's Minister of Culture wanted to make him an
honorary member of the Fascist party. Gian-Carlo declined the
honor even though he knew that by doing so he endangered the
success of his opera in Italy. The work was presented in his home-
land the following year, not in Rome but at a small provincial
theater. When Gian-Carlo asked the director of the Rome Opera
why his work had not been given there, that gentleman pointed
to Gian-Carlo's empty lapel, indicating that it was because the
composer lacked a Fascist party button.

In 1939 the National Broadcasting Company commissioned
Menotti to compose an opera. He wrote The Old Maid and the
Thiej y a lyric comedy that was even more successful than Amelia
Goes to the Ball. This time Menotti wrote the libretto directly in
English, and has done so ever since. In writing The Old Maid and
the Thief Menotti remembered his visits to Sam Barber's family
in West Chester, and evoked the atmosphere of that quiet Quaker
town.

After the war Menotti settled at Mount Kisco, New York,
where he and Sam Barber bought the house that they named
Capricorn. Here Menotti was able to pace up and down, shout,
sing, and bang the piano as he created the scenes of his operas.
Here too, in congenial surroundings, he was able to relax with
his many friends and to enjoy his favorite sport, tennis. At Capri-

152

GIAN-CARLO MENOTTI

corn Menotti produced the works that carried his name around
the world.

For many years he dreamed of bringing hi-s native land closer
to his adopted country. He realized this ambition by organizing
the "Festival of Two Worlds" that takes place every summer in
Spoleto, a little town not far from Rome. Spoleto, set on a hill-
side,, has retained all the charm of the past. Here American and
Italian works are produced and performed by American and
Italian artists, thereby fulfilling Menotti's desire, as he put it,
"to bring young artists from the New 'World into contact with
those of the old." Many American tourists as well as Italians come
to Spoleto for the Festival, which presents opera, ballet, drama,
and chamber music. A number of scholarships are granted to young
American musicians and students of the theater, so that they may
become acquainted with Italy and her culture. Although Menotti
has put much time and effort into the Spoleto Festival, he feels
that the artistic results are well worth it.

As a composer Menotti finds his natural outlet in the opera house.
He has the theater in his blood. "As far back as I can remember,"
he writes, "I wanted to be on the stage. Apparently I was so des-
perate that no one would let me. The only chance I got was in a
school show, and I must have hammed it up so badly they never
gave me another. And now, of course, I can't sing well enough to
appear in my own pieces. All that's left for me is to write them."
Endowed with a vivid imagination, Menotti sees life in terms of
dramatic conflict, suspense, shock, surprise in short, in terms of
the theater. Hence his operas are extraordinarily effective from
the dramatic point of view.

The human appeal of his stage works derives from his ability
to arouse emotion. "First, last, and always," he maintains, "the
appeal of any stage piece must be to the heart." He selects themes
that are rich in feeling, in compassion, in sympathy for the under-

153

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

dog. He shows extraordinary sensitivity in his portrayal of chil-
dren. He has no interest in sophisticated subjects 5 his art springs
out of the Italian theater, which is based on strong, simple emo-
tions. (You become aware of this when you see any of the great
Italian films.) "Music/' he believes, "can express only fundamental
immediate emotion. In the theater the medium is usually prose.
But when prose cannot say a thing, you must turn to poetry. And
when poetry can no longer say what you have to say, you must
turn to music. You must sing it out. In each case you must move
to another area of expression to get more truly at the human
heart." This desire to move the heart is the mainspring of Menotti's
dramas.

The opera composer is strongly dependent on the dramatist or
poet who writes his libretto. He has to work as closely as possible
with the librettist so as to shape each act in such a way that the
arias, duets, trios, quartets, choruses, and ballet numbers will come
at the most effective spots in the dramatic action. Both the com-
poser and his librettist have to revise their work many times in
order to coordinate the drama and the music in the most harmoni-
ous manner. It is therefore a great advantage for a composer to
be able to write his own librettos. He is then able to create the
drama and the music simultaneously, and to make them fit one
another from the very start. Very few composers have written
their own librettos., for it happens only rarely that a man who has
the talent to write music will also have the talent to write dramas.
The outstanding example in the nineteenth century was Richard
Wagner. The most successful composer-dramatist of our time is
unquestionably Gian-Carlo Menotti. By writing his own librettos
Menotti is sure to have the kind of story that will release the music
within him. In his operas, music and text are so closely interwoven
that the one hardly exists apart from the other. For this reason he
regards his operas as "plays with music" or "musical dramas."

154

GIAN-CARLO MENOTXI

Menotti handles the English language In a most personal way.
The fact that he learned it when he was grown made him sensi-
tive to all sorts o expressions that the rest of us take for granted.
"To me English is an exotic language. An American in Italy may
hear the word andiamo, and it sounds fresh and strange and rich
to him. To an Italian it is just another word and has as much im-
pact on him as the words 'Let's go* (which it means) on an Ameri-
can. But ordinary English words sound different and good to me.
The phrase 'A pane of glass' which I use in The Consul has a spe-
cial tang to me. The word ^a^er Is somehow different to me.
These words set me to thinking in terms of music." There are peo-
ple who consider English a difficult language to sing. Menotti
is most certainly not one of them. In his estimation, English is
the ideal language for opera.

The dialogue that carries the action and the plot of an opera
is known as recitative (reh-tchee-tah-teev'). At the emotional mo-
ments lyric melody takes over 5 here we find the arias. It has al-
ways been difficult to make recitative sound natural in English.
For this reason, in a popular Broadway musical only the arias
that is to say, the songs are sung 5 the dialogue relating to plot
and action is spoken. In traditional opera, on the other hand., the
recitative is sung. Menotti has been extremely successful in de-
veloping a recitative in English that sounds natural and convinc-
ing. The plot and the action of his operas are revealed in a suave
musical declamation that is molded to the rise and fall of every-
day English speech. This recitative is so distinctive that an opera
can immediately be recognized as his from the dialogue alone.

Menotti comes out of the great tradition of Italian opera, which
is based on the beauty of vocal melody. He is a master of melody.
"I am convinced," he states, "that every great melody is buried
somehow deep in the memory of man, and when a composer brings
it forth we all recognize it and respond to it at once, as though we

155

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

had known it all our lives." Menotti's operas abound in melody
a flowing, poetic melody that is molded to the curve o the
human voice.

One o Menotti's strongest works is The Medium) which was
first presented by the opera theater of Columbia University in
1946. The eerie plot concerns Madame Flora (Baba), a fake spirit-
ualist, her daughter Monica, and Toby, a mute Gipsy boy whom
Baba has adopted. Monica loves Toby. Baba tolerates him, and
mistreats him when she is drunk, Baba tricks her clients into be-
lieving that they are speaking with their dear departed ones. One
night, at a seance, the unexpected happens 5 something touches her
in the dark, and she cannot explain it. She begins to fall victim to
the very delusions that she had been foisting upon others. Finally,
half crazed with fear, she shoots at the ghost that seems to threaten
her and inadvertently kills the mute Gipsy boy. The Medium
generally is presented on a double bill with The Telephone
(194.7), a comic opera in one act about a young man who is unable
to propose to his girl because her telephone is constantly ringing.
He finally conceives the bright idea of going out and telephoning
her himself. Needless to say, he wins the girl.

The Consul brought Menotti a Pulitzer Prize for 1950. In this
deeply compassionate opera the composer concerned himself with
the plight of those who were trapped by history in our troubled
time} who had to flee their country when tyranny took over
but found themselves unable, because of red tape and bureauc-
racy, to obtain the precious visa that alone would admit them to
another land. Magda SorePs great aria in the second act, "To this
weVe come that men withhold the world from men!" 5 the scene
in the Consul's office when the Magician is able to conjure every-
thing out of his sleeve except the precious visa 5 and the duet be-
tween the sad little woman who sings of her woes in Italian and
the sad little man who translates her words into English are among
the high points of this profoundly moving lyric drama.

156

GIAN-CARLO MENOTTI

Among Menotti's other operas are Amahl and the Night Visi-
tors (1951)5 The Saint of Bleecker Street (1954), which brought
him another Pulitxer Prize 3 and ML aria Golomn, -which received
its premiere at the Brussels World Fair in the summer o 1958.
MenottPs theater pieces, standing approximately midway between
traditional opera and the popular musical theater o Broadway,
succeeded in bridging the gulf that had separated the two types
o entertainment. His career opened at a time when Broadway still
regarded opera as being "long-hair" and forbidding. The Medium
was first produced on Broadway in 1947 and received enthusiastic
notices j yet the public stayed away. The production was about to
close. But word had got around that here was a serious musical play
that made exciting theater. There was a sudden upsurge of interest,
and The IVLedium ended by running on Broadway for seven
months. Since then this opera has been performed more than
two thousand times all over the world.

'With The MLedium and The Consul, which also had an impres-
sive run on Broadway, Menotti created a new public for modern
opera, a much broader public than that which attends the Metro-
politan Opera House. This new audience, he points out, "is any-
body and everybody, not an audience of specialists or subscribers.
These are people who come without fixed views. They want to be
entertained and moved. It is an audience that represents every
phase of American life, and if this audience approves, any audience
in the world will approve. Frankly, I want to write for no other
audience."

Amahl and the Night Visitors offers an enchanting introduc-
tion to MenottPs style. "This is an opera for children," he writes
in his introduction to the recording of Amahl \ "because it tries to
recapture my own childhood. You see, when I was a child I lived
in Italy, and in Italy we have no Santa Claus. I suppose that Santa
Claus is much too busy with American children to be able to handle
Italian children as well. Our gifts were brought to us by the Three

157

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

Kings, instead. I actually never met the Three Kings it didn't
matter how hard my little brother and I tried to keep awake at
night to catch a glimpse of the Three Royal Visitors, we would
always fall asleep just before they arrived. But I do remember
hearing them. I remember the weird cadence of their song in the
dark distance ; I remember the brittle sound of the camePs hooves
crushing the frozen snow $ and I remember the mysterious tinkling
of their silver bridles.

a To these Three Kings I mainly owe the happy Christmas sea-
sons of my childhood and I should have remained very grateful
to them. Instead, I came to America and soon forgot all about
them, for here at Christmas time one sees so many Santa Clauses
scattered all over town. They made me forget the three dear old
Kings of my own childhood. But in 1951 I found myself in serious
difficulty. I had been commissioned by the National Broadcasting
Company to write an opera for television, with Christmas as a
deadline, and I simply didn't have one idea in my head. One
November afternoon as I was walking rather gloomily through
the rooms of the Metropolitan Museum, I chanced to stop in front
of the Adoration of the Magi by Hieronymus Bosch, and as I was
looking at it, suddenly I heard again, coming from the distant
blue hills, the weird song of the Three Kings. I then realized that
they had come back to me and had brought me a gift." The gift
was one of the most enchanting operas ever written. Amahl and
the Night Visitors was presented by the NBC Television Theater
on Christmas Eve, 1951, and speedily established itself as a classic.

The action centers about a crippled shepherd boy called Amahl
and his mother, an impoverished widow. One night, as he sits play-
ing on his pipe, he sees a large star flaming in the sky. When his
mother calls him he hobbles into the cottage on his crudely made
crutch and tells her about it. But she doesn't believe him, for
Amahl has the imagination of an artist and is always telling tall

158

OIAN-CARLO MZNOTTI

tales. She is the realist $ and reality for her is an empty cupboard
and an empty pocket. "Unless we go begging/ 5 she tells her son,
a how shall we live through tomorrow?" Amahl tries to console her.
"Don't cry. Mother dear, don't worry for me. If we must go beg-
ging, a good beggar I'll be. I know sweet tunes to set people danc-
ing. We'll walk and walk from village to town, you dressed as
a gipsy and I as a clown." He paints a bright picture of their
future. Then mother and son bid each other a tender good night.

On this night the Three Kings and the Page, guided by the
star, go forth to bring gifts of gold and silver, frankincense and
myrrh to the newborn Child. The night is cold 3 they seek shelter
in the widow's humble abode. Amahl and his mother can scarcely
believe their eyes as their royal visitors, clad in splendid robes,
enter the wretched cottage. King Kaspar, who is quite deaf, sings
a lovely aria telling Amahl about the contents of his magic box. In
the top drawer he keeps his magic stones, in the second drawer
his beads. "In the third drawer . . . Oh, little boy! oh, little boy !
... In the third drawer I keep licorice . . . black, sweet lic-
orice. Have some." The scene reaches its climax in the duet be-
tween King Melchior and Amahl's mother. Melchior sings of the
Child to whom they are bringing their gifts: "Have you seen a
child the color of wheat, the color of dawn? His eyes are mild,
His hands are those of a King, as King He was born." The Mother
sings, as if to herself: "Yes, I know a child the color of wheat,
the color of dawn. His eyes are mild, his hands are those of a
King, as King he was born. But no one will bring him incense or
gold, though sick and poor and hungry and cold. He's my child,
my son, my darling, my own . . ."

In the meantime Amahl has been sent by his mother to summon
the shepherds from the neighboring huts, since she has nothing to
offer her royal guests. The shepherds and shepherdesses arrive,
bearing baskets of fruits and vegetables. They dance in honor of

159

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

the Kings. Their dance, as Menotti conceived it, "should combine
the qualities of primitive folk dancing and folk ritual. It is both
an entertainment and a ceremony of welcome and hospitality. The
dancers are at first shy and fearful at the realization that they are
in the presence of three great Kings, and their movements are at
times faltering and hesitant. But later, the dance assumes the char-
acter of a tarantella, gaining in pace and sureness and ending in a
joyous frenzy.' 7 The shepherds leave. The three Kings and the
Page lie down to sleep.

But Amahl's mother cannot sleep. She is wrung by anxiety for
the future. She cannot take her eyes from the treasure guarded by
the Page. "All that gold! All that gold! I wonder if rich people
know what to do with their gold! Do they know how a child could
be fed? Do rich people know? Do they know that a house can be
kept warm all day with burning logs? Do rich people know?
. . . Oh, what I could do for my child with that gold! Why
should it all go to a child they don't even know? They are asleep.
Do I dare? If I take some they'll never miss it. For my child
. . . for my child . ."

She reaches out her arm for the gold. The Page awakes, seizes
her arm. Crying "Thief! Thief!" he arouses his masters. The
Kings awake. Amahl, choking with tears of shame, staggers toward
his mother and, letting his crutch fall, collapses, sobbing, into her
arms. Finally King Melchior speaks, saying with great dignity:
"Oh, woman, you may keep the gold. The Child we seek doesn't
need our gold. On love, on love alone He will build His kingdom.
And the keys to His city belong to the poor." He tells his compan-
ions to make ready to leave. Amahl's mother throws herself on her
knees before the Kings, spilling the gold onto the floor. "Oh no,
wait . . . take back your gold! For such a King I've waited all
my life. And if I weren't so poor I would send a gift of my own
to such a child."

1 60

G IAN-CARLO MENOTTI

Amahl has a happy thought. Why not send his crutch as a gift?
As he turns to offer it to the Kings, a miracle occurs. He takes a
step forward, then another, without the crutch. Incredulous, he
whispers, "I walk, Mother . . ." And the others, overcome with
wonder, echo, "He walks." The Kings accept the miracle as a
sign from God. Amahl, like a bird released, cries in joy, "Look,
Mother, I can dance, I can jump, I can run!" He asks his mother
if he may take the crutch to the Child himself. The Kings promise
to take care of him on the way, and she consents. "Yes. I think
you should go and bring thanks to the Child yourself."

Here is how Menotti describes the end of the opera: "Amahl
rushes into his mother's arms, bidding her goodbye, then hurries
to catch up with the departing Kings. Having taken his place at
the end of the procession, Amahl begins to play his pipe as he goes.
Outside, the soft colors of dawn are brightening the sky, and a
few great flakes of snow have begun to fall upon the road. The
Mother stands alone in the doorway of the cottage. Then she goes
outside to wave once more to Amahl, as he turns to her, just be-
fore he disappears at the bend in the road. The curtain falls very
slowly."

The creator of this beautiful fantasy is one of the most widely
loved figures in the music of our time. Gian-Carlo Menotti oc-
cupies a special place in the musical world. He has created a popu-
lar operatic theater all his own.

161

14. NORMAN DELLO JOIO

Norman Dello Joio's musical development reflects the influences
he absorbed in his early years. He is a first-generation American
whose outlook on art unites the heritage of his forefathers with
the thought and feeling of the land of his birth.

He came from a line of Italian musicians who had been or-
ganists in a little town near Naples. His father followed the family
tradition by becoming a church organist, choirmaster, and com-
poser; and he continued in his profession after he came to the
United States. Norman was born in New York City on January
24, 1913. He grew up in a home that was always filled with music
and musicians, especially opera singers. He took to music as natu-
rally as a child takes to walking and speaking.

His father encouraged his love of music, but under strict, old-
world discipline. He gave Norman thorough training in the funda-
mentals of piano, organ, and harmony, and saw to it that the boy
practiced conscientiously every day. He would play with Norman
four-hand piano arrangements not only of the classical symphonies
but also of such twentieth-century masterpieces as Stravinsky's
Petrushka. This broad interest in all kinds of new music was most
unusual, at that time, in musicians of the older generation. As a
result of his father's excellent teaching, Norman was a thoroughly

162

TSTORMAN DELLO JOIO

professional musician at an age when others are beginning to mas-
ter the technique o music. When he was fifteen he was able., in
his own words, "to read anything at sight."

By this time Norman was studying the organ with his godfather,
Pietro Yon, the organist of St. Patrick's Cathedral. On occasion
he was permitted to try the magnificent organ in the cathedral.
His heart leaped with excitement the first time he pressed the keys
and released the rich harmonies that soared aloft through the great
open space of the church. Although he knew that he was going
to be a musician, he did not yet know precisely which branch of
the art he would pursue. He simply assumed that he would fol-
low in his father's footsteps as a church organist. He became quite
sure of this when he obtained his first job: he was engaged to play
the organ at a church on City Island called The Star of the Sea.
He had to rise at dawn in order to get to the church in time for
early Mass. The first Sunday he lost his way, and almost came
late. Yet the inconvenience of the long trip was more than com-
pensated for by the glow of satisfaction he felt at taking part, in
such an important way, in the religious ceremony.

Norman's interest in the music of the Roman Catholic Church
represented only one aspect of his life. His other interests were
those of a typical New York boy responding to the exciting city
about him. From his earliest years he loved the crowded streets
that teemed with life and movement. He joined the boys on his
street in their games and developed a passion for baseball. Indeed,
he became such a fine player that he was offered a job on a pro-
fessional team. His interest in jazx represented another important
facet of his life. At the age of sixteen he was playing in dance
bands, and for a number of years thereafter he led his own band.
There was a violent contrast between the cloistered world of the
Church and the hectic life of the city, as great as the contrast be-
tween the ancient Catholic chants that he played on Sunday morn-

163

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

ings and the pulsating jazz rhythms to which he surrendered on
Saturday nights. He seemed to be torn between two irreconcilable
worlds. His religious upbringing urged him toward the one, even
as his hunger for life impelled him toward the other.

This inner conflict made it difficult for Norman to decide on a
career. On the one hand he toyed with the possibility of becoming
a professional ballplayer. On the other, he came under the in-
fluence of a Monsignor who took a personal interest in his spiritual
development. As a result, Norman for a time thought of becom-
ing a priest. Between these opposing goals was a third: his love of
music. The musician finally won out. After graduating from All
Hallows School he entered the Juilliard School of Music, where
he studied the piano and organ. More important, he made his first
attempts at composition. He also attended the College of the City
of New York. But he left after a year in order to devote himself
entirely to music.

Every composer goes through an arduous preliminary training
during which he follows the rules laid down by his teachers. Then
comes the exhilarating period when he begins to discover what
he wants to say, and how to say it. He now has to make the rules
obey him instead of blindly obeying them himself. There is no
one any more to tell him "This is right" or "That is wrong." He
must look within himself, and bring out what lies hidden there ac-
cording to his own taste and judgment. In short, he must find his
own voice. Norman Dello Joio remembers his last year at the Juil-
liard School as having been "terrific," for he was embarking upon
an exciting journey of self -disco very. Nor did he have to wait long
for recognition. When he completed his Trio for piano, violin,
and cello, the piece was submitted for the Elizabeth Sprague
Coolidge Award in chamber music and won the thousand-dollar
prize.

Dello Joio went on a trip to Europe shortly before the outbreak of

164

NORMAN DELLO JOIO

the Second World War. At that time most American composers
were fascinated by Paris, for the French capital was the center of
the modern movement in art and music. But for Dello Joio it was
Italy that proved to be the most significant experience of his jour-
ney. When he reached the land of his forefathers, he felt almost
as if he were returning home. Rome, Venice, Milan each fas-
cinated him in turn. But it was the region around Naples, where
his ancestors had lived for generations, that moved him most
deeply. The people, the language, the music all seemed won-
derfully close to his heart. He realized for the first time how much
this lovely land had contributed to his heritage.

An equally significant experience awaited him upon his return.
That summer he attended the Berkshire Music Center at Tangle-
wood, Massachusetts, where he studied with the famous German
composer Paul Hindemith. Until that time Dello Joio had not
thought very deeply about the problems of contemporary music.
Hindemith opened up a new world to him, the world of twentieth-
century musical thought. Even more, the German master held
up to him the high ideals of perfect craftsmanship, of clarity of
thought and logical design. Hindemith's powerful intellect and
his grasp of all aspects of musical art made a profound impression
upon young Dello Joio. When the summer was over Hindemith
returned to New Haven, as he was then teaching at Yale Univer-
sity. Dello Joio followed him there and continued his lessons.

Like all the musicians who came under Hindemith's influence,
Dello Joio received from his teacher a deep sense of the ethical
power of art. Hindemith maintained that music is not only an en-
tertainment or a beguiling of the senses, but a high moral force 3
and that he who truly lays himself open to its ennobling power
must lead a good life. The religious side of Dello Joio's nature
responded happily to this philosophy. He believes that "Music
is an expression of something real in human life. It is not a retreat

165

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

from life." So too he writes: "To know music is to become greater
in knowledge and insight and to know many other things than
music. It is to develop a sense of values about art and to learn about
another dimension of reality previously hidden."

Dello Joio felt that he should have made up his mind much
sooner to become a composer. He now worked furiously to make
up for the time he had lost,, with the result that he soon became
one of the best known among his generation of composers. His
Magnificat for orchestra won the Town Hall Composition Award
for 1943. He received Guggenheim Fellowships in 1944 an( i I 945?
and a thousand-dollar grant from the American Academy of Arts
and Letters in 1946. His Variations, Chaconne and Finale for or-
chestra won the New York Music Critics' Circle Award in 1949.
In 1957 his Meditations on Ecclesiastes brought him a Pulitzer
Prize.

Dello Joio taught composition for six years at Sarah Lawrence
College. Although he enjoyed teaching, he felt that it interfered
with his creative work and ultimately resigned from his post. In
1 947 he was invited by the Polish government to appear in a series
of concerts in that country. He served for several seasons as com-
mentator on the Saturday afternoon broadcasts from the Metro-
politan Opera House. But these have been no more than passing
distractions 3 his main activity has been the writing of music. He
lives in New York City with his wife Grayce, a former ballet
dancer who gave up her own career in order to devote herself to
his. They have three children, Victoria, Justin, and Norman, Jr.

An important element in Dello Joio's style springs from his
early immersion in church music, especially the Gregorian chants,
which he came to know through his father. These chants, which
sound wonderfully ancient and remote, date from the first cen-
turies of Christianity. They take their name from Pope Gregory
the Great, who reigned from the year 590 to 604 and helped to as-

166

NORMAN DELLO JOIO

semble the chants into a fixed religious service. Gregorian melo-
dies figure in a number of Dello Joio's works, imparting to them
an archaic charm.

Italian opera is another important element of Dello Joio's
style. Some of his earliest memories of music center around the
arias sung by the opera singers who used to visit his father. As he
himself points out, "It my father had remained in Italy, I should
probably have been an Italian opera composer, following faith-
fully in the footsteps of Bellini, Donizetti, and Verdi." He ad-
mires intensely the freely flowing melody of the Italian masters.
"What I strive for most of all," he has stated, "is the complete
confidence, the lyric quality, the feeling for line we find in Verdi."
Dello Joio is a lyricist by nature 3 the focal point of his music is
the melody. His melodies are supple and expressive. They range
in mood from gentle longing to a robust joviality, but they are all
unmistakably his.

An equally important ingredient in Dello Joio's style stems
from his interest in jazz. Lively jazz rhythms give his music its
lightness and forward thrust. He will subdivide the measure into
all kinds of intricate patterns. Yet these unfold above the regular
beat of the meter, as is characteristic of American jazz. Despite the
strong European influences in Dello Joio's style, his rhythm is
unmistakably American.

His flair for rhythm has made Dello Joio a successful composer
of ballet music. From 1941 to 1943 he was the musical director
for Eugene Loring's Dance Players, and he composed the score
for two ballets that were produced by Loring in 1942 The Duke
of Sacramento and Prairie. In 1945 he composed the score for
Michael Kidd's ballet On Stage! , which became one of the hits of
the Ballet Theater. He wrote a ballet for Martha Graham, first
called Wilderness Stair but later renamed Diversion of Angels.
The gentle lyricism of this score influenced Miss Graham to pro-

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

duce a ballet o serenely lyrical movement, with none of the brood-
ing intensity that generally marks her choreography.

The types of music that have most strongly influenced Dello
Joio Gregorian chant, Italian opera, American jazz, and modern
ballet are very different in character. But they have one feature
in common: they all communicate to a mass audience. Dello Joio
stands among those contemporary composers who have sought to
lead music back to the public. He feels that art should be emotional
rather than intellectual so as to reach a broad mass of listeners and
to move them in the most direct way possible. Hence his preoccu-
pation with melody and rhythm, the two elements of music that
most directly convey feeling. Dello Joio's art is rooted in the past.
As he says, "I was never consciously a modernist." He has been
intensely aware of the currents of change within our time, and is
thoroughly contemporary in his use of dissonant harmony and
driving rhythms. At the same time he has tried to remain tender
and simple in his music, a not altogether easy task for a composer
of the twentieth century. He feels that the composer of today
should not abandon tradition. Instead, he should adapt the great
traditions of the past to the needs of the present.

Dello Joio is the kind of natural musician who would rather
write music than sit back and theorize about it. He does not ap-
prove of the composer who writes one piece a year and carefully
analyzes every measure of it. A composer, he feels, should com-
pose all the time. True, not all his works are apt to be on a high
level. But those that are less good will prepare the way for his
better ones as in the case of the old masters, who finished one
work and immediately began the next.

Dello Joio has turned out a variety of works for orchestra. The
Sinjonietta of 1941 and Magnificat of 1942 are two early works
in which the composer is moving toward his fully formed style.
To a Lone Sentry (1943) is a mood piece dating from the war

168

NORMAN DELLO JOIO

years 5 it shows the composer's fondness for a quiet, meditative
lyricism. Concert Music (1944) is full of color and movement,
the middle part contains effective writing for the brass. Dello
Joio's ability to make the orchestra sing is illustrated by the Sere-
nade (1948), E-pi graph (1951), and Meditations on Ecclesiastes
(i957)- In New York Profiles (1949) he evokes four scenes dear
to every New Yorker: The Cloisters, The Park, Grants Tomb,
and Little Italy. The Cloisters is based on a Gregorian melody that
suggests the medieval atmosphere of the monastery-like museum
overlooking the Hudson. The theme is then ingeniously varied
in order to create the mood and atmosphere of the other three
movements. His most ambitious orchestral piece is the Variations,
Chaconne and Finale (1947), which has been performed by lead-
ing orchestras throughout the country. (A chaconne is a type of
composition in which a succession of chords is repeated over and
over as the basis for variations.)

Dello Joio has written a number of concertos, the most important
of which is the brilliant piano concerto, in the form of a Fantasy
and Variations, that was introduced by Loren Hollander and the
Cincinnati Orchestra in 1962. Of his chamber music we should
mention his Trio for flute, cello, and piano (1943), and the Varia-
tions and Ca-priccio for violin and piano (1948). He has written
several large works for the piano, such as the Second Piano Sonata
(1943) and the Third (1947), as well as a number of short pieces.

Dello Joio's gift for heartfelt lyricism has found expression
in a number of songs. The Assassination is a powerful song that
shows his ability to create dramatic tension. One of his most im-
portant vocal works is The Lamentation of Saul (1954), a "dra-
matic cantata" for solo baritone accompanied by orchestra. (There
is also a version of this piece that uses flute, oboe, clarinet, viola,
cello, and piano to accompany the voice.) Dello Joio is among the
many American composers who have found inspiration in Walt

169

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

Whitman, Three o his choral works are based on poems by Whit-
man: Vigil Strange, The Mystic Trumpeter , and A Jubilant
Song. Stephen Vincent Benet's Western Star furnished the text for
a "symphony for voices" for soloists, chorus, and orchestra (1944)
that celebrates the American pioneering spirit. An altogether
different type of piece is A Psalm of David (1950), which gives
expression to Dello Joio's fondness for lyricism of a somberly
meditative cast.

Given his love of vocal melody and his dramatic temperament,
it was to be expected that Dello Joio would be among the large
group of American composers who in recent years have turned
to opera. His first attempt in this field was a full-length opera on
the life of Joan of Arc, called The Triumph of St. Joan (1950).
He subsequently reworked this into a shorter opera centering about
Joan's final days, The Trial at Rouen (1950). Next came The
Ruby (1955)5 a one-act opera based on Lord Dunsany's famous
play A Night at an Inn. The action revolves around three thieves
who steal the precious stone that serves as a Hindu idol's eye,
whereupon the idol himself comes to reclaim it. In Blood-Moon
(1961) Dello Joio wrote a three-act opera on a romantic theme
based on the life of a famous actress of the Civil War period, Adah
Menken, who was half Negro. She guards the secret of her birth
from the Southern aristocrat who loves her, but in the end realizes
that she can never marry him.

In November, 1958, the Columbia Broadcasting System pre-
sented a series of documentary films on television, tracing the de-
velopment of air power from its earliest beginnings to the age of
the jet. Dello Joio was asked to compose the music for this am-
bitious project. He subsequently arranged the material into an
exciting suite for orchestra called Air Power. (By a suite we mean
a musical work consisting of several movements based on a central
idea. The suite may present a group of numbers extracted from a

170

NORMAN DELLO JOIO

longer work such as an opera, ballet, film score, or music for a
play. Or the suite may be an independent work.) Dello Joio's Air
Power Suite is typical of his musical style.

The first half of Air Power contains three movements: i.
Introduction. An eloquent melody sings of vast open spaces, of
mountaintops and the endless sea, of brave men poised for ad-
venture. 2. Frolics of the Early Days. This movement is in three
parts. Parade of the Daredevils is a breezy number that evokes
the early years of our century. Skylarking Is a lively little piece
in three-four time. Light and gay, it creates the proper devil-
may-care mood. Shorts Meet, with its energetic rhythm, continues
the suggestion of physical well-being and carefree gayety. The
music conjures up the exciting scenes in the early days of aviation
when daredevil flyers came together and performed all sorts of
hair-raising stunts, such as standing on the wings of their planes or
flying upside down. 3. Mission in the Sky. This movement too is
divided into three numbers. Alert and Take-of again suggests the
open air, and vistas of distant horizons. The music conveys an
image of purposeful men aware of impending danger. Air Battle.
The composer's imagination transforms the rat-tat-tat of guns into
a musical rhythm. This is music of action and suspense as the
planes engage each other high in the sky. Safe Return. The planes
swoop down toward their base, their mission accomplished. The
music rises to a triumphal climax, then subsides to a serenely lyrical
ending.

The second half of Air Power Is given over to a series of war
scenes, i. March of the German Legions. Trumpets and drums
envelop this military piece in an atmosphere of grim determina-
tion. The music conjures up a vision of goose-stepping battalions.
2. Lonely Pilots Letter Home. A poetic meditation filled with
longing and tenderness. There is deep feeling in this piece, and
an introspective lyricism. 3. Russian Soldier Dance. A vigorous

.171

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

dance tune in the style o Russian folk music. You can almost see
the manly figures bobbing up and down, arms crossed in traditional
fashion across their chests, heels flying. 4. Japanese Prayer -for
Victory. This piece accompanied scenes in the film showing Jap-
anese pilots going through religious ceremonies before taking off
on their missions. The music takes on the character of the ancient
Japanese ritual chants, evoking the atmosphere of an Oriental
shrine amid whose shadows lurk impassive faces and prostrate fig-
ures. 5. Convoy and Wolf Pack Attack. Vistas of sky and sea$ the
suspense of the chase; the atmosphere of danger. A bell tolls.
The orchestra takes on a dark menacing sound, 6. The Liberators
and War's End. The day everyone longed for has finally arrived.
The music leaps with excitement, thrusting forward in energetic
rhythms. Melodies heard earlier in the suite now reappear in a
mood of triumph. This return to themes from earlier movements
not only has all the charm of remembrance, but also serves to unify
the form as the suite comes to a happy ending.

This music, with its singing melodies and spirited rhythms,
makes an immediate appeal. It is not to be wondered at that Nor-
man Dello Joio has become one of the most widely performed
American composers of his generation. He is a leading representa-
tive of the new romanticism.

172

15. LEONARD BERNSTEIN

Leonard Bernstein is known to millions of Americans as one o
the most dynamic personalities in the musical world. His rise to
fame and his subsequent career have been nothing short of spec-
tacular.

Leonard or Lenny, as he is known to an adoring circle o
friends was born in Lawrence, Massachusetts, on August 25,
1918. His father was a Russian- Jewish immigrant who, after
years of poverty and hard work, built up a successful business
supplying equipment to beauty parlors and barber shops. "I was
a scared, sickly, skinny kid." Thus Bernstein remembers his early
years. He suffered from frequent attacks of asthma, and he was
lonely, because he was unable to stand up to the neighborhood boys
who bullied him whenever they felt like it.

One day when he came home from school he found a piano in
the living room. His aunt had sent it to the Bernstein home for
storage. It was an old, shabby instrument. But to Lenny, who was
eleven at the time, it seemed the most beautiful object he had ever
seen. "I made love to it right away," he remembers 5 he sat down
and tried to pick out on the keyboard Irving Berlin's Blue Skies.
A new chapter opened in his life. The piano became his friend,
his refuge from all the difficulties presented by the outside world.

173

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

Here he could sit for hours on end, losing all sense of time as
he made up melodies of his own. tie often continued to play into
the night. One night his parents were awakened by the sounds
of the piano. His father rushed into the living room.

"Lenny, it's two o'clock in the morning! Why are you playing?"

The boy looked up, unruffled. "I have to. The sounds are in
my head and I have to get them out."

Lenny begged his parents for piano lessons. They opposed the
idea. Mr. Bernstein remembered the half-starved musicians of his
native town in Russia, and was determined that no son of his should
embark upon so uncertain a career. He wanted Lenny to receive
a thorough education and then take over his thriving business.
Piano lessons, he felt, would only distract Lenny from his school-
work. But the boy was so insistent that his father finally gave in.
After several years with neighborhood teachers, Lenny came to
Helen Coates, a fine musician who opened up to him the world of
the great masters. Miss Coates guided and encouraged her pupil
in his insatiable quest for musical knowledge. "He was frighten-
ingly gifted," she said in later years. "He could read, sing, and
memorize anything. He absorbed in one lesson what took most of
my pupils five or six lessons to learn." As for Lenny, he had al-
ready made up his mind about his future. "I knew with finality
that I would be a musician!"

His musical studies, far from interfering with his schoolwork,
seemed actually to stimulate him. At the Boston Latin School,
which had exceptionally high standards, he became an outstand-
ing student. He was equally conscientious in his religious studies
at the school attached to his father's temple. When he had to de-
liver the customary speech at his confirmation, he wrote it him-
self in Hebrew. And the "skinny, sickly kid" was also becoming
an all-around athlete. "One day," he recalls, "I was a scrawny little
thing that everybody could beat up, and the next time I looked
around I was the biggest boy in class. I could run faster, jump

LEONARD BERNSTEIN

higher, dive better than anybody." He no longer held back from
meeting boys and girls of his own age. On the contrary, he kept
his friends spellbound with his lively performance of popular songs
and jazz. At social gatherings Lenny was the life of the party.
As he himself recalls, "I just ran for the piano as soon as I got in
the door and stayed there until they threw me out. It was as
though I didn't exist without music."

Lenny now began to attend concerts. He listened to records
and radio broadcasts 5 he borrowed musical scores from the public
library, which he read as avidly as other boys read books. "I can
hear it in my head as I read it," he told a friend. These experi-
ences gave him the feeling of being on a wonderful adventure, a
journey of exploration through an enchanted land. One night j
after a concert of the Boston Symphony, Lenny sat brooding
while the conductor, Serge Koussevitzky, was given an ovation
by the audience. The girl who was with him noticed the grim
look on his face. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Didn't you
like what Koussevitzky did?" "Not like it?" he answered. "I
loved it. That's the trouble. I'm just jealous of any man who can
make that kind of music."

Lenny's father watched these activities with consternation. 'What
kind of future awaited his son? "Are you going to be a piano
teacher and spend your life teaching children to play scales at
three dollars a lesson? Or will you play jazz in some hotel and
be unemployed six months a year? Or are you going to compose
that crazy modern music which nobody ever plays and nobody ever
listens to?" Finally, to placate his father, Lenny spent one summer
as a shipping clerk in the Samuel Bernstein Hair Supplies Com-
pany. Mr. Bernstein wanted him to learn every aspect of the busi-
ness, but Lenny suffered untold misery in his father's stock room,
and came out of the experience determined more than ever to be-
come a musician.

The arguments between father and son mounted in bitterness.

175

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

Mr. Bernstein even appealed to Helen Coates to persuade Lenny
not to be a musician 5 but she would do no such thing. Finally,
when Lenny was about to enter Harvard, a compromise was
reached. Mr. Bernstein agreed not to oppose Lenny's musical ac-
tivities as long as they did not interfere with his schoolwork. As
for Lenny's future, that decision could wait until he had finished
college. In the meantime Mr. Bernstein refused to pay for any
more piano lessons. Lenny solved that problem by teaching the
piano at a dollar an hour, and continued his own lessons along-
side his studies at Harvard.

He threw himself enthusiastically into the musical life of Har-
vard. He appeared as soloist with the college orchestra, accom-
panied the glee club, played the piano when a student film club
presented silent movies. He was a leading spirit in the concerts
organized by the Harvard Music Club, and wrote music criticism
for the college literary magazine. In his last year at Harvard he
conducted the orchestra in a production of Aristophanes 5 comedy
The Birds. And he composed a number of piano pieces. In the
summertime he continued his musical activities as a counsellor at
Camp Onota in Massachusetts, where he put on a production of
The Pirates of Pen^ance.

The most important event of his career at Harvard was a chance
meeting with Dimitri Mitropoulos, The famous Greek conductor
was making some guest appearances with the Boston Symphony
Orchestra, and the Hellenic Society of Harvard gave a tea in his
honor. Lenny heard about the tea quite by accident. He had in-
tended to spend the day studying for his examinations, but decided
at the last minute to drop in at the reception. Mitropoulos was im-
mediately impressed by the young man's knowledge of music, and
asked Lenny to play for him. Lenny was nervous, and felt that
he played horribly 5 but Mitropoulos evidently did not think so,
for he invited Lenny to attend his rehearsals with the Boston

176

LEONARD BERNSTEIN

Symphony. That week Lenny for the first time In his life watched
a conductor leading a great orchestra through a rehearsal. It was
an unforgettable experience. Before the week was out, Mitropoulos
was calling Lenny a "genius boy" and was asking him why he did
not consider becoming a conductor. Although neither knew it
at the time., this was a fateful encounter for Lenny: Mitropoulos
was destined to play a crucial part in his career.

In June, 1939, Lenny was graduated from Harvard, with
honors. The vexing question was: what next? Mr. Bernstein of-
fered to pay his son a hundred dollars a week if he would enter
the family business. But Lenny remembered the summer of agony
he had spent in his father's stock room, and declared that he
wouldn't take the job for a thousand a week. There was a vio-
lent scene between Mr. Bernstein and his headstrong son, at the
end of which the father announced that he was cutting off all fur-
ther financial support. If Lenny insisted on becoming a musician,
he would have to do so on his own.

On a sunny day in the summer of 1939 Lenny arrived in New
York, determined to make a place for himself in the world of
music. He had just enough money to see him through a few weeks.
He looked up Adolph Green, a young actor-writer who had played
a part in Lenny's production of The Pirates of Pen^ance at Camp
Onota. Green was a member of a group called The Revuers, which
presented sophisticated songs at The Vanguard, a night club in
Greenwich Village. (One of the Revuers was Judy Holliday, who
later won fame as a stage and screen star. Another was Betty
Comden, who collaborated with Green in writing songs and humor-
ous material for their act.) Green welcomed Lenny and let him
move into his apartment. He and Betty Comden took Lenny to
parties where he made many new friends among writers and
artists, and enchanted everyone with his piano playing and his wit.
Yet as the weeks passed, his efforts to find a job in the music world

177

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

came to naught. "There was just no place for me," he recollects.
His money was dwindling 3 he became more and more depressed.
Finally he had just enough left to take him back to Boston. For the
first time he was ready to admit that his father had been right, and
that there was no point in trying to pursue a musical career. "I
went home with my tail between my knees."

No sooner had he reached Boston than he heard from a friend
that Dimitri JMitropoulos was stopping at the Biltmore Hotel in
New York, on his way to Europe. Hope suddenly reawakened in
Lenny's heart. Mitropoulos had encouraged him. Perhaps the great
man would now find a way out for him. It was a wild gamble, but
it seemed to Lenny that this was his last chance before accepting
defeat. He borrowed some money, took the first train back to New
York, and poured out his unhappy story to Mitropoulos.

The conductor listened most sympathetically. He felt that it was
out of the question for Lenny to give up music. "I have great faith
in you, 33 he told the young man, "and I feel that you have in you
the makings of a fine conductor. But you do need some specialized
training." He promised Lenny to obtain an audition for him at the
Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia. There Lenny would be
able to study with Fritz Reiner, who was not only a great conduc-
tor himself but was also particularly skillful in teaching his pupils
how to conduct. "How will I pay for all this?" Lenny asked.
"Don't worry," Mitropoulos reassured him. "I am quite sure that
I can get you a scholarship." And he promised besides to give his
protege a small allowance for living expenses.

Reiner asked Lenny to read an orchestral score at sight. Lenny
did this with such ease that Reiner gave him a scholarship without
further ado. Thus Lenny entered the Curtis Institute, where he
studied for the next two years. He had to count his pennies, and
could afford nothing but the barest necessities. But he thoroughly
enjoyed his classes in conducting, orchestration, and piano. His

LEONARD BERNSTEIN

fellow students stood in awe of his extraordinary ability to read at
sight any music that was placed before him. Fritz Reiner was
greatly impressed. Lenny, he later stated, "was the most talented
all-around student I ever had." Before long the young man was
given an opportunity to conduct the Curtis Institute Orchestra. "I
was scared, tremendously scared," he remembers 5 but this was
only beforehand. The instant he mounted the podium his nervous-
ness disappeared. "It then seemed the most natural thing in the
world for me to be conducting."

Now a third great conductor entered Lenny's life: the redoubt-
able Serge Koussevitzky. The Russian conductor, whom Lenny
had envied long ago when he heard him conduct the Boston
Symphony Orchestra, had organized the Berkshire Music Festival
that took place every summer at Tanglewood, Massachusetts (the
scene of Nathaniel Hawthorne's Tanglewood Tales). In 1940 he
added the Berkshire Music Center, a unique summer school, where
gifted students could receive the best possible instruction in con-
ducting and composition, as well as vocal and instrumental train-
ing. Koussevitzky himself taught conducting, and offered several
scholarships in this course. Upon Fritz Reiner's recommendation,
one of these went to Lenny.

The next two summers at Tanglewood were like the realization
of a wonderful dream. He could live, breathe, think music all day
long. Most important of all, he quickly became Koussevitzky's
favorite pupil. The great conductor had no children of his own
and came to love Lenny like a son. He enjoyed the young man's
enthusiasm and self-confidence, his boundlessly curious mind, the
zest with which he attacked books, music, sports every aspect of
living. Koussevitzky never tired of listening to Lenny. He was
something of an autocrat and insisted on being obeyed 3 Lenny was
the only one whom he allowed to contradict and argue with him.
On one occasion Koussevitzky became convinced that Lenny ought

179

AMKRICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

to change his name. Whoever heard of anyone conducting a great
orchestra with a name like Leonard Bernstein? But Lenny stood
his ground. If he was going to achieve fame, he insisted, it would
have to be under the name with which he was born. For once
Koussevitzky gave in.

The summer of 1941 marked the end of Bernstein's studies. This
was hardly anything to be happy about. "In a way I was worse off
than before. I was a trained conductor. But who hired kid con-
ductors? And if I could not earn a living conducting, then how?
I was twenty-three. And I had nowhere to go." When the autumn
came Koussevitzky advised him to go back to Boston, and was
going to have him play a piano concerto with the Boston Sym-
phony. At that time, however, the orchestra was involved in a
dispute with the Musicians' Union. Lenny, as a member of the
union, was not permitted to play. In despair he rented a small
piano studio and waited for students to turn up. "I did the usual
things. I sent out announcements, and waited for results. Nobody
came. Nobody!" There was a reason. That very week Japanese
planes had bombed Pearl Harbor. People were thinking of other
things than piano lessons.

Lenny tried to enlist in the Army, but he was turned down be-
cause of his asthma. He spent the winter in Boston, composed a
sonata for clarinet and piano, took part in musical events. He was
frequently at Koussevitzky's home in Brookline. In the summer
he returned to Tanglewood. This time he was no longer a student,
but Koussevitzky's assistant in conducting the Boston Symphony.
Yet when autumn came he did not feel that he could face another
winter in Boston. Armed with two enthusiastic letters of recom-
mendation from Koussevitzky and Reiner, he again tried his
fortunes in New York. He rented a furnished room for eight dol-
lars a week and tried to make a living teaching the piano and ac-
companying dancers. But he could not make ends meet. That

1 80

LEONARD BERNSTEIN

winter he refers to as a my Valley Forge." "Bad though the year
before had been in Boston and it had been awful I used to walk
up and down Broadway and look back upon it as heaven. God,
how I was miserable in New York." On one occasion he was forced
to send his father a telegram asking for twenty-five dollars be-
cause he had not paid his rent for four weeks and was about to be
dispossessed.

Once again he lost heart. Once again he began to feel that his
father had perhaps been right after all. Why didn't he give up
the hopeless struggle and find a safe haven in supplying beauty
parlors? Then, on Broadway, he ran into Irving Caesar, a suc-
cessful lyric writer who had written the words for Gershwin's
Swanee and other song hits. Caesar had heard Lenny play the
piano at a party and had been impressed. When he heard that
Lenny couldn't find any work he cried, "What! You, a genius
starving?" He immediately brought Lenny to one of his friends
in the song-publishing business, and Lenny was hired by Harms-
Remick at a salary of twenty-five dollars a week. He had a variety
of odd jobs to do, the most important of which was to arrange
popular songs for the piano 5 as he later described it, "for four
hands on two pianos, eight hands on two pianos, two hands on
eight pianos."

Now that he knew where his next meal was coming from, Lenny
took a studio in Carnegie Hall and threw himself into the musical
life of New York. He helped to organize and appeared in several
concerts of modern music. These engagements paid him nothing,
for modern music did not attract much of an audience in those
days. But they enabled him to play the kind of music he loved, and
brought him into contact with such musicians as Aaron Copland
and Virgil Thomson. He was so stimulated by his new activities
that he began to compose again. He wrote a song cycle, / Hate
Music: Five Kid Songs, which was published by the firm of Wit-

181

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

mark. Then he learned that the New England Conservatory in
Boston was running a contest for a symphony by an American
composer. Lenny decided to enter it, and wrote a symphony based
on the Lamentations of the prophet Jeremiah. He worked at white
heat, barely making the deadline.

The symphony failed to win the prize. Worse still-, it failed
to impress his mentor Koussevitzky. Another blow came when
Tanglewood failed to open that summer, because of the war. He
went to Lenox, Massachusetts, to assist Koussevitzky in a series
of lectures for the benefit of the Red Cross. But first he went to
Boston to try once more to get into the Army 5 he was again re-
jected. The result of all these disappointments was that he reached
Lenox in a dark mood. It was his twenty-fifth birthday, and he
was still nowhere.

A message was waiting for him at Lenox. Artur Rodzinski was
staying at nearby Stockbridge, and wanted to see him the next
morning. Rodzinski was one of the foremost conductors in the
country, and had just been appointed musical director of the New
York Philharmonic. When Lenny went over to Stockbridge the
following morning, Rodzinski took him for a walk. They finally
sat down "on a kind of haystack." Rodzinski told Lenny that he
had heard him conduct the student orchestra at Tanglewood the
previous summer and had been impressed. After a bit of conversa-
tion Rodzinski turned to Lenny and said: "How would you like to
be assistant conductor of the New York Philharmonic next sea-
son? 35 Thus, out of the blue, came the opportunity for which he
had been hoping. A few days later The New York Times carried
the announcement of Lenny's appointment. He tore the clipping
out of the paper and sent it to his old teacher Helen Coates. Above
the announcement he wrote in red ink : "Here we go ! "

His duties, for which he received a hundred dollars a week (the
same salary that his father had offered him for going into business)

182

LEONARD BERNSTEIN

consisted mainly of assisting Rodzinski in rehearsing the orchestra.
Lenny dreamed of a chance to conduct a real performance, yet
this seemed a remote possibility. But his chance came sooner than
he expected. One Saturday night shortly after the beginning of
the season, the singer Jennie Tourel performed his song cycle
I Hate Music at Town Hall. Lenny was especially pleased because
his parents had come down from Boston to hear his songs. After
the concert they all went to a party at Miss Tourel's. Suddenly
the telephone rang, the manager of the Philharmonic was calling
to say that the guest conductor, Bruno Walter, was sick in bed and
might not be able to conduct the Sunday afternoon concert. They
were trying to reach Rodzinski at Stockbridge. Lenny was sure
that Rodzinski would get back in time for the concert. Neverthe-
less he left the party and went back to his studio in order to look
through the scores of the works on Sunday's program, "just in
case."

"I stayed up until about 4:30 A.M. alternately dozing, sipping
coffee, and studying the scores. I fell into a sound sleep about
5:30 A.M. and awakened at 9. An hour later Mr. Zirato telephoned
and said., 'You're going to conduct/ My first reaction was one of
shock. I then became very excited over my unexpected debut and,
I may add, not a little frightened. Knowing it would be impossible
to assemble the orchestra for a rehearsal on a Sunday, I -went over
to Mr. Walter's home and went over the scores with him." He
returned to his studio for a few more hours of study. Then he
called his parents, who were planning to return to Boston that
afternoon, and told them, "You're going to see me conduct the
Philharmonic." At half-past one in the afternoon he began to
dress. Since he did not own the formal outfit that conductors wear
at an afternoon concert, he put on a gray sack suit, the best he had.
He had slept very little, he was keyed upj but there was no trace
of nervousness about him as, at three o'clock, he stepped out on the

183

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

stage. The manager of the orchestra announced to the audience
that Bruno Walter was ill and Leonard Bernstein was going to
substitute in his stead. "You are now going to witness," he added,
"the debut of a full-fledged conductor born, educated, and trained
in this country ."

From the moment that the opening chords of Schumann's Man-
fred Overture rang through the hall, Lenny forgot the audience
sitting behind him, forgot the audience of millions listening to
the concert over the radio. He lost himself in the music, molding
each phrase as he felt it in his heart, leading the orchestra with
a sure hand. At the end of the program the audience gave him
an ovation. As he stood there, exhausted, wet with perspiration,
bowing first to the cheering public and then to his parents, he knew
that his struggles were over and that they had been worth it.
The next morning, newspapers all over the country carried the
story of this spectacular debut. Leonard Bernstein was famous.

In the next few years Bernstein came to be regarded as the most
glamorous musician of his generation. He conducted orchestras all
over the world. He composed serious music as well as the scores
for successful Broadway shows. He appeared as a pianist in con-
certos, conducting the orchestra as he played. And his warm,
vibrant personality became known to millions throughout the
United States because of his memorable programs on television.
Few musicians have been so adored by the public. Certainly none
other has ever earned such huge sums from a career in serious
music. It has required a tremendous amount of energy for him to
be able to carry on at the same time as composer, conductor, pianist,
television personality, organizer of musical events, and educator.
He has been helped by his extraordinary memory and the speed
with which he learns a piece of music, by his unflagging enthusiasm
for every aspect of his art, and by his seemingly inexhaustible
capacity for work. "An artist," he maintains, "has the compulsion
to work. He'd go craxy if he didn't. I love my work ail of it!"

184

LEONARD BERNSTEIN

He rests by going from one branch of musical activity to the other.
As he puts it, "Shifting from one thing to another is my vacation."

In 1951 Bernstein married Felicia Montealegre, a beautiful
actress from Chile. The Bernsteins have three children: a daughter
named Jamie, born in 19525 Alexander Serge, who was born in
1955 and was named after Bernstein's benefactor, Koussevitxkyj
and Nina, born in 1962. In 1957 Bernstein was appointed co-
director of the New York Philharmonic along with his old friend
Dimitri Mitropoulos. When Mitropoulos resigned at the end of
that season, Bernstein became the first American-born conductor
and the youngest to be the head of what New Yorkers consider
the most important orchestra in the world.

He immediately instituted a number of reforms. For example,
the Thursday night concert became a preview, that is, an informal
dress rehearsal during which he addressed the audience in his
dynamic way, explaining the music to them. This innovation meant
that the newspaper critics reviewed the concert on Friday after-
noon, when the performance was smoother and the critics could
receive a better impression of what was being played. Even more
important was the change in repertoire. For decades the public in
Carnegie Hall had subsisted on a diet consisting chiefly of
Beethoven, Brahms, Tchaikovsky, and other classics. Bernstein
filled his programs with contemporary music, so that at his con-
certs the composers of the twentieth century especially the Amer-
icans finally came into their own. He is attuned to modern
American music, he has the rhythm of it in his blood, and he con-
ducts it with immense authority. Most important of all, he at-
tracted an entirely new audience to Carnegie Hall, including
thousands of young people who had never gone to symphony
concerts before, but who went now because they were familiar
with Bernstein through his Broadway and television shows. It
soon became practically impossible to obtain tickets when Bernstein
conducted. Those who got into the hall were treated to electrifying

185

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

performances by one of the most exciting stage personalities of our
time.

Bernstein differs in one important respect from the other com-
posers whom we have discussed. For most of them, composing has
been the central activity of their lives, to which all their other tasks
were subordinate. For Bernstein, on the other hand, composing is
only one outlet among several, his other activities being equally
necessary to his musical personality. For this reason he has written
considerably less than have other composers. The most important
among his earlier works is the Jeremiah Symphony (1942). The
final movement of this work, a Lamentation in Hebrew that is
sung by a mezzo-soprano, found a splendid interpreter in his
friend, the singer Jennie Tourel. The ballet Fancy Free (1944)
served as the basis for On the To e uon y a musical comedy hit with
book and lyrics by Betty Comden and Adolph Green. The ballet
Facsimile followed in 1946. In 1949 Bernstein wrote his Second
Symphony, The Age of Anxiety, a work for piano and orchestra
based upon a poem by W. H. Auden. Music from this composition
was used in the ballet of the same name (1950). Two years later
came Trouble in Tahiti,, a one-act opera on a libretto by Bernstein
himself, satirizing life in suburbia.

Wonderful Tovon (1951) was based on the play My Sister
Eileen, which Joseph Fields and Jerome Chodorov derived from
Ruth McKenny's stories in the New Yorker magazine. This
diverting musical comedy, for which his friends Adolph Green
and Betty Comden again supplied the lyrics, made a big hit on
Broadway. Bernstein's later works include the Serenade for violin
solo, strings, and percussion (1954)$ Candide, a musical comedy
on a book by Lillian Hellman based on Voltaire's satirical novel
(i956), which failed to attract the public 5 and West Side Story
( I 957)? the sensational musical play about gang warfare in New
Fork, which won enormous success both on Broadway and as a

186

LEONARD BERNSTEIN

motion picture. We should also mention his book The Joy of Music
(1959)3 which contains seven scripts o his television shows on the
Omnibus program.

Bernstein's music is exuberant, warm, overflowing with move-
ment and rhythmic vitality. He is a romanticist at heart. His or-
chestration is sumptuous and colorful. As for his music for the
theater, he has been a leader in creating a sophisticated type of
musical play, more subtle both in its lyrics and its music than the
usual Broadway fare. In plays like On the Town and Wonderful
Tovon he has been extraordinarily successful in capturing the hectic
tempo, the excitement of life in New York. West Side Story, which
contained stunning dance sequences by Jerome Robbins, trans-
planted Shakespeare's immortal tale of Romeo and Juliet to the
slums of New York, and did so with a poignance and poetry that
no one who saw either the play or the movie is likely to forget.

The music for Fancy Free offers a good introduction to Bern-
stein's style. This ballet centers about the adventures of three
sailors on shore leave, i. Opening Dance; Scene at the Ear. The
action takes place in a New York street on a summer night. The
three boys enter, all set for a good time. The music jaunty, full
of swagger and gay rhythms mirrors their mood. The piano
teases the ear with a little phrase that is repeated over and over
high in the treble. Then the orchestra takes over with brash,
vigorous sounds. This is real ballet music. It suggests movement
and gesture so vividly that you can almost see the dancing figures.
The Brunette enters, whereupon the sailors begin to show off in
order to attract her attention. She walks down the street, fol-
lowed by two of the boys. The third runs into the fiery Redhead.
They strike up an acquaintance and go into the bar.

2. Pas de Deux (Dance for Two}. The music becomes lyrical
as the sailor dances with the Redhead to the strains of a broadly
flowing "blues." The sailor's buddies return, bringing with them

187

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

the Brunette. Now there are five, that is, one boy too many. The
sailors begin to compete for the girls, each in turn eager to show
how well he dances. 3. Competition Scene: Galo^p. The dance of
the first sailor is breezy and full of action. The music builds up
tension through dissonant harmonies and rapid, exciting rhythms.
4. Wait?,. The second sailor is a quieter type. He seems to have a
romantic streak in him, for the sweet sound of the strings comes to
the fore as he dances. After a brief interlude of jazz rhythms,
the waltz returns. 5. Danxon. The third sailor exhibits his talents
to the exotic rhythm of a Cuban dan-zon. Here is Latin-American
grace and languor, with an undercurrent of emotion.

6. Finale. The girls join the sailors in a general dance, but the
spirit of competition gets out of hand. Suddenly there is a free-
for-all, in the course of which the sailors and their girls are knocked
down. For a moment there is a pile of tangled bodies on the floor.
Then the two young ladies pick themselves up and leave in a huff.
The three sailors disentangle themselves, and realize that the girls
have walked out on them. They shrug off this misfortune, saunter
into the bar, and have another beer. The Blonde passes by and turns
down the street. The sailors pretend that they are not interested.
Suddenly they realize that they are fooling nobody, and go chasing
wildly after her.

The music of the finale brings back themes from the earlier
scenes. Through this kind of musical reminiscence a composer
unifies his composition. There is a mood of tender remembrance as
the familiar themes return. The piano holds forth with a jazzy
passage. A final burst of animation and the sailors are off on a new
adventure!

This music is thoroughly American in its energy and breeziness.
Leonard Bernstein expresses the American point of view in a fresh,
exuberant way that is all his own.

188

16. LUKAS FOSS

Lukas Foss is known as one of the talented composers o the
present-day American school. Yet he was not born in this country.
His family lived in Germany, where he spent the first years of his
life. He grew up in an environment of art and culture: his father
was a professor of philosophy, his mother a painter. Lukas was
born in Berlin on August 15, 1922,. When he was three years old
his parents gave him an accordion as a Christmas gift. Almost at
once the little fellow began to pick out chords to accompany the
German folk songs that his mother had taught him. His parents
realized that Lukas was unusually musical, but they did not wish
to burden him beyond his years, so they did not let him take regu-
lar piano lessons until he was seven years old. He made such rapid
strides as a pianist that he could easily have become a child
prodigy. But his parents wisely decided that it was more important
for him to have a normal childhood and to develop into an all-
around musician. Accordingly, Lukas was not allowed to drift
into the exhausting career of giving concerts at an early age.

When Lukas was eight years old his mother told him a fairy
tale that made a deep impression upon him. It was about GrifEelkin,
a little Devil who is sent on earth to do mischief. Griffelkin com-
mits a terrible sin for a Devil: he does a good deed instead. For

189

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

this he is expelled from Hell and is doomed to become a mortal 5
that is, he begins a new life as a little boy. Lukas was so taken with
this story that he at once turned it into an opera.

The following year, when he was nine, he heard Mozart's
Marriage of Figaro. He immediately asked for the score and
learned the whole opera. Soon he was giving performances of the
Marriage of Figaro for his parents and their friends, singing all
the parts in turn soprano, alto, tenor, bass while he played the
orchestral accompaniment on the piano. To this day one of his
favorite pastimes is to play his choral works at the piano, while he
manages all the vocal parts with an ease and an enthusiasm that
must be heard to be believed.

When Hitler came to power in Germany in 1933 Lukas was
eleven years old. His father realized that there was no place for
German Jews under the Nazis, and decided to leave his homeland.
He took the family to Paris, where Lukas continued his schooling.
The boy studied piano, harmony, and composition with professors
of the Paris Conservatory and made extraordinary progress.

Despite this, Lukas's parents realized that they had nothing
more to hope for in Europe. During their four years in Paris they
had but one dream to come to America. This desire was ful-
filled when Lukas was fifteen years old. Full of hope, the family
set sail for the New World. Excitement filled their hearts as their
ship sailed past the Statue of Liberty and they caught sight of
their new homeland. In time Lukas's father was appointed profes-
sor of philosophy at Haverford College, a Quaker school in Penn-
sylvania - 7 and Lukas entered the Curtis Institute of Music in
nearby Philadelphia. Three years later he graduated from the
school with honors.

Lukas, like his friend Leonard Bernstein, belongs to the group
of gifted young musicians whom the conductor Serge Koussevitzky
gathered about him when he founded the Berkshire Music Center
at Tangle wood, Massachusetts. Lukas was one of the first to apply

190

LTJKAS FOSS

for admission when the school opened its doors in 1940. tie was
determined to enter Koussevitzky's class in conducting. Kous-
sevitzky smiled when he caught sight of the slender blue-eyed
boy whose curly brown hair and fair complexion made him look
younger than his eighteen years. "Aren't you rather young to want
to be a conductor?" Koussevitzky asked. But Lukas was not to be
put off. "Just let me go through the audition," he said eagerly.

The audition consisted of his leading the student orchestra
through a performance of Richard Strauss's symphonic poem The
Merry Pranks of Tyl Eulens-piegel. Lukas was afraid that he
might have a hard time convincing the Maestro that he should be
admitted to the class. But as soon as he stepped onto the conductor's
stand and raised his baton, his qualms disappeared. He went
through the audition so brilliantly that Koussevitzky immediately
began to take a deep personal interest in his new pupil.

At Tanglewood Lukas studied composition with Paul Hindemith,
and he was one of several young musicians who subsequently fol-
lowed Hindemith to Yale University, where the distinguished
German composer was then teaching. Shortly afterward, Kous-
sevitzky informed Lukas that he was appointing him pianist of
the Boston Symphony Orchestra,

Lukas had developed a dazzling technique at the piano and
could easily have embarked upon the career of a concert pianist,
But his first love was composition. He had been writing music ever
since he was a boy, and now devoted more and more of his time
to composing. He soon won recognition in this field. When he was
sixteen years old shortly after his arrival in the United States
several of his piano pieces were published by G. Schirmer, one of
our most important music publishers. He followed up this achieve-
ment by writing a suite for small orchestra to Shakespeare's magical
play The Tern-pest, as a result o which he won a Pulitzer Scholar-
ship.

During these years Lukas was discovering America. He had

191

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

come to love his adopted homeland. Not having grown up here,
he was perhaps more sensitive to the American way of life than
those who, having been born in this country, are inclined to take it
for granted. Thus, when he read Carl Sandburg's poem The
Prairie he was then nineteen he was profoundly moved. He
had never seen the rolling prairies of the West. But as he read on,
Sandburg's eloquent lines came alive in his imagination. They
seemed to be waiting to be set to music.

Most composers limit themselves at the beginning of their
career to fairly short and simple pieces. But The Prairie took
shape in Lukas's mind as a fifty-minute cantata for four soloists,
large chorus, and orchestra, an ambitious enterprise for a young
man to undertake. He threw himself into the task with all his
heart. It was only after he was deep in composition that he realized
he had never received permission to use the poem. Without such
permission all his work would be in vain. He wrote at once to Carl
Sandburg, explaining that he had already begun the piece and im-
ploring the poet to allow him to use the text. Sandburg replied
that it was up to his publisher to decide. But he interceded on be-
half of Lukas, asking his publisher to "give the young man a
break." Permission was forthcoming and Lukas, enormously re-
lieved at having hurdled this obstacle, was free to get on with the
work.

The Prairie was completed when Lukas was twenty-one. Serge
Koussevitzky had followed its progress with great interest. He
asked Lukas to prepare a short symphonic excerpt that could be
played by the Boston Symphony Orchestra. This was the first time
that a major orchestra played a work by Lukas Foss. He was the
youngest composer ever to have his work performed by the Bos-
tonians. For this occasion he wrote an explanation of what he had
tried to express in The Prairie: "The attempt to develop an oratorio
style based on the American soil and spirit is not new, but Sand-

192

LUKAS FOSS

burg's epic poem, it seems to me, offers new possibilities in its
earthy and almost religious approach. It is a new expression o an
old faith drawn from the native soil. The protagonist, simply, is the
prairie, but through this poem the prairie grows until it becomes
the symbol for the all-embracing principle of growth itself."

Some months later Robert Shaw and the Collegiate Chorale gave
the first complete performance of The Prairie at Town Hall in
New York, and repeated the piece on the radio. Artur Rodzinski,
who at that time was the conductor of the New York Philharmonic
Orchestra, happened to tune in on the broadcast. The music had al-
ready begun. Rodzinski listened with mounting interest. This was
obviously a major work by an important composer. But who could
it be? Copland? Roy Harris? Rodzinski was more and more in-
trigued as the composition unfolded. He was charmed by the fresh-
ness and buoyancy of this thoroughly American music. When the
announcer mentioned the composer's name at the end, Rodzinski
was more puzzled than ever. He thought he was familiar with all
the important American composers, yet he could not recall having
heard the name of Lukas Foss among them. He sent a telegram
to CBS requesting further details. The result was that in February,
1944, Rodzinski conducted an impressive performance of The
Prairie in Carnegie Hall with the New York Philharmonic Or-
chestra assisted by famous soloists and the Westminster Choir. It
was the most ambitious work by an American composer ever to
have been heard in the famous hall. Lukas Foss was acclaimed by
critics and public alike as a rising star on our musical scene.

That year was a memorable one for Foss. He appeared as soloist
with the Boston Symphony in his First Piano Concerto, written in
1942, and made a strong impression not only as a composer but
also as a pianist. He spent the summer at the MacDowell Colony,
where he wrote his First Symphony. His next work, Ode for
Orchestra, reflected the grim mood of the war years. (He himself

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

was rejected for military service because o his asthma.) He dedi-
cated the Ode -for Orchestra "to those who will not return. 73 With
this work Foss tried to express his conviction that the artist does
not live in a world o his own apart from his fellow men., but must
be directly involved with the great issues of the world around him.
"The artist/' he stated, "who feels that his art is not an escape from
the world but a direct expression of it, always has the urge to come
to grips with the problems of his time and seeks their solution
in this particular field of expression. There is no definite pro-
gram in my Ode. I can suggest the general idea: crisis, war, and
ultimately 'faith.' Anything beyond this the music should express
better than words."

In 1944 Koussevitzky invited Foss to become the pianist of the
Boston Symphony Orchestra. This was an ideal job for a com-
poser, for it left him time enough for his own creative work. And
it gave him an invaluable opportunity, by participating in the re-
hearsals and performances of a great orchestra, to become in-
timately acquainted with the character and the possibilities of the
various instruments. A year later Foss won a Guggenheim Fel-
lowship j he was the youngest musician to have received this honor.
He now felt sufficiently sure of himself to undertake what is un-
doubtedly the highest form of instrumental music, the symphony.
His Symphony in G, written in 1945, is a gay, sunny work that
amply shows the young composer's adroitness in writing for the
orchestra, his jaunty rhythms, and his spontaneous lyricism.

Foss next found inspiration in the Old Testament. He wrote
two solo cantatas on Biblical texts. The first, Song of Anguish, for
baritone and orchestra, was composed in 1945. Based on the Book
of Isaiah, this is one of his most powerful works. It was followed
a year later by the Song of Songs, for soprano and orchestra. In
this work Foss captured the sensuous poetic quality and the fervent
emotion of Solomon's immortal song. During these years he also

194

LTJKAS FOSS

produced two works of an altogether different character. His ballet
The Gift of the Magi, based on CX Henry's tale, is a lively score.
The ballet won success both in Boston and New York. Foss now
turned to opera, which had attracted him ever since his childhood.
He found an attractive subject in Mark Twain's well-known tale,
The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, and asked
Jean Karsavina to write a libretto for him. This highly entertaining
one-acter soon became popular with opera workshops and student
groups throughout the country.

In 1950 Foss was awarded a Prix de Rome, which meant that
he could stay at the American Academy in Rome and devote him-
self to composing without having to think about earning a living.
He resigned his position with the Boston Symphony and sailed
for Europe. He spent two years in Rome, composing steadily.
"When he returned to the United States he appeared as conductor
and pianist with various orchestras. His talent as a pianist never
failed to arouse audiences to enthusiasm. Foss distinguished him-
self especially by his brilliant performances of contemporary works,
and by his sympathetic interpretation of the music of Bach.

Despite his activities on the concert platform, Foss found time
to continue composing. His Second Piano Concerto, which was writ-
ten in 1951 and revised two years later, is a modern version of the
grand virtuoso concerto of the past. Foss himself plays it most
brilliantly. This concerto won the award of the New York Music
Critics 3 Circle as the best instrumental work of that season. A
Parable of Death (1952) was written for the Louisville Sym-
phony, It is a moving tale based on a text fashioned from the
writings of the German mystical poet Rainer Maria Rilke.

The NBC Opera Company asked Foss to write an opera that
could be presented on television. He looked about for a subject
that would be appropriate, but could not find any. Suddenly he
remembered Griffelkin, the little Devil who had stirred his

195

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

imagination twenty-five years before, when he was a boy of eight.
Much had happened in the world since then, but the fairy tale of
the kindhearted little Devil who was forced to become a mortal
seemed as fresh and as charming as ever. And so Foss wrote a new
work about Griffelkin, "a fairy-tale opera for children from eight
to eighty." Grifelkin was presented by the NBC Opera Company
in a coast-to-coast telecast in November, 1955.

In recent years Foss has developed a great interest in improvisa-
tion. The art of improvising making up music on the spur of the
moment played an important part in the musical life of former
times. Bach and Handel were famous for their improvisations on
the organ. So too Beethoven dazzled the public with his wonder-
ful improvisations at the piano. After Beethoven's time musicians
were expected to play only what was printed on the page, without
adding anything of their own. The art of improvising has found
its last refuge in the jam session of jazz musicians, who will take
a given melody or sequence of chords and then proceed to add
fanciful embellishments of their own.

Foss has tried to bring the spirit of improvisation into the con-
cert hall. He has formed a chamber ensemble consisting of four
musicians besides himself (percussion, flute, clarinet, and cello) j
he directs the ensemble from the piano. This group plays without
written or memorized music, creating melodies, harmonies, and
counterpoint on the spur of the moment. As in the case of jazz
musicians who are improvising, Foss's group works within an over-
all pattern that is decided on beforehand. But within that pattern
each of the musicians is able to give free rein to his imagination.

Foss is professor of composition at the University of California
in Los Angeles. He lives in Pacific Palisades with his wife Cornelia
and their two children, Christopher, who was born in 1957, and
Eliza, who was born in 1962. In the summertime he teaches at the
Berkshire Music Center in Tanglewood, where his own activity

196

LUKAS FOSS

as a composer and pianist began. Here he has an opportunity to
pass on to new generations of young musicians all that he has
learned about his art.

He is essentially a lyric composer. His music abounds in melody.
His impetuous rhythms show his wholehearted response to Ameri-
can jazz. His orchestral works are notable for their bright, lustrous
sound. He generates tension through powerful dissonances result-
ing from the clash of massed harmonies. He builds an effective
climax by repeating a melodic or rhythmic idea over and over
again in an "obstinate" pattern what is known as an ostinato. His
music communicates to the listener because it is rich in emotion and
dramatic force.

Foss's effective handling of American folk style is well ex-
emplified by his one-act opera The Jumping Frog of Calaveras
County. The Mark Twain story is set in California in the days
of the Gold Rush. The opening scene takes place in Uncle Henry's
saloon. Uncle Henry and his niece Lulu listen raptly while Smiley
holds forth on his prize pet Daniel Webster, the Jumping Frog
of Calaveras County. This trio, with its syncopated melody and
catchy rhythm, establishes the atmosphere of a frontier town.
Smiley takes Daniel out of his box in order to show off his talents.
The "frog music" is full of suspense and wonder as Daniel's ad-
mirers watch him exhibit his prowess. The scene ends with a lively
toast to Daniel.

The mood changes with the entrance of the Stranger. The music
becomes more sophisticated, suggesting a charming but slick char-
acter. The Stranger orders a rye whiskey, and is altogether unim-
pressed by Smiley's boasting. "I don't see no p'ints 'bout that frog
that's better'n any other frog," says he. Smiley, deeply hurt, offers
to bet forty dollars that Daniel will out jump any living frog in
Calaveras County. The Stranger retorts that he -would gladly take
up the bet if he had a frog} whereupon Smiley offers to find one

197

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

for him. The two men deposit forty dollars each with Uncle
Henry. In a tuneful quartet the Stranger exults that he will soon
outsmart Smiley, while the other three affirm their faith in Daniel.

Smiley leaves in order to catch a frog for the Stranger. Uncle
Henry goes off to spread the news about the forthcoming contest.
Lulu takes out a mirror from her purse and begins to make up.
The Stranger catches sight of a shotgun hanging above the bar.
He conceives the bright idea of emptying it of its buckshot and
filling Daniel with same. After a brief flirtation with Lulu, she
invites him to dinner and goes off to prepare the meal. The
Stranger takes down the rifle, removes Daniel from his box, pries
open the frog's jaws, stuffs him with buckshot, and puts him back
in the box. He sings a vigorous aria, somewhat in the style of a
"blues," which fulfills a dramatic function: it is not only interesting
for the sake of the music, but also furthers the story line and re-
veals the Stranger's villainous character. "Each time I hit a town,
turn on the charm . . . Each time I fool 'em, take what they got,
but this time, by golly, I hit the jackpot! Forty dollars U.S. money,
that's a good day's haul. Grab it up and kiss my honey, and good-
bye all!"

Scene II is laid in the village square. On the porch of the general
store two men are engaged in a crap game, while a third sits on
the railing strumming a guitar. "Oh don't you remember sweet
Betsy from Pike," he sings, "who crossed the big mountains with
her lover Ike . , ." The use of this famous song of the West,
like the opening number of Scene I, suggests the locale and sets
the proper atmosphere for the action. At the same time the varia-
tions on Street Betsy show how ingeniously a traditional tune can
be decked out with modern harmonies and rhythms.

Uncle Henry rushes in with the news that the Stranger is taking
bets on the forthcoming contest. In a jazzlike episode the men dis-
cuss the contest and express their conviction that the Stranger will

198

LUELAS FOSS

lose. They also voice their disapproval of Lulu's evident interest
in him. This lively interchange is marked by incisive rhythm and
a steadily mounting tension that finds expression in a crescendo
(getting louder).

ILulu arrives with the Stranger, with whom she seems to be quite
friendly. A brief romantic interlude follows, in the style of a folk
song. The Stranger regrets that he must soon be on his way. But
Lulu hopes that, now that he knows where she lives, he will come
back frequently.

Smiley arrives with the Stranger's frog. The onlookers place
their bets amid much excitement. Lulu, understandably, is torn
between her warm feelings for the Stranger and her loyalty to
Daniel. The contest begins. We hear the "frog music" of the open-
ing scene. The Stranger's frog makes a few small jumps. But
Daniel, despite the exhortations of his admirers, "is planted as
solid as a church." In an ensemble of consternation Smiley, Uncle
Henry, and their supporters plead with the Jumping Frog: "Don't
let us down, Dan'l!" The Jumping Frog, despite all his huffing
and puffing, is unable to budge an inch. His admirers mourn the
defeat of their champion to the strains of a doleful "blues." The
Stranger, triumphant, pockets all the money, and is gallant enough
to present Lulu with a twenty-dollar bill. Then he quietly clears
out.

Suddenly Smiley notices that Daniel is not feeling well. He picks
up the frog, discovers that his pet is abnormally heavy, and turns
him upside down. Daniel vomits up the buckshot* The men
realixe that they have been tricked, and rush off to catch the
Stranger. The "blues" is transformed into an allegro vivace (fast
and lively) as the Stranger is brought back. "Two of the men have
their guns trained on him. Firm hands have him by the collar,
and he is being propelled by knees in the backside."

In derision they cry, "So you don't see no p'ints 'bout that frog

199

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

that's better'n any other frog!" They maul the Stranger until they
have recovered all the money. "If you show your face in this town
again we'll tar and feather you and draw and quarter you and
string you up and ride you on a rail and truss you up like a
Christmas goose! " They kick the Stranger out. And the opera ends
with a triumphal ensemble saluting Daniel, the pride of Calaveras
County.

The composer of this delightful one-acter has known how to com-
bine many strains, both European and American, in his music. He
has succeeded in fusing them into a personal style. Lukas Foss has
firmly established his position as one of the fresh lyric voices of our
time.

200

A Glossary of Musical Terms

Key: Fr. y French^ Ger., German; Gr. y Greek; It. y Italian^ Lat. y
Latin. The words in the definitions that are printed in SMALL CAPI-
TALS are defined in their own alphabetical order in the Glossary.
Look up these cross-references.

ABSOLUTE MUSIC. Music without literary or pictorial associa-
tions 3 the opposite of PROGRAM MUSIC, Main forms of absolute
music: SONATA, SYMPHONY, CONCERTO, CHAMBER MUSIC.

ACCELERANDO (It., ak-sheh-leh-ran'-do). Gradually getting
faster. See TEMPO.

ACCENT. Emphasis or stress on a specific TONE or CHORD.

ACCOMPANIMENT. The HARMONY that forms the background
of the MELODY. As in a SONG with PIANO accompaniment.

ADAGIO (It., at ease}, (i) At a slow or leisurely TEMPO. (2) A
piece or a MOVEMENT in this tempo.

ALLEGRETTO (It. 5 a little allegro). Not as fast as ALLEGRO.

ALLEGRO (It., happy). At a quick pace 5 lively. See TEMPO.

ALTO. ( i ) A woman's VOICE of lower range than SOPRANO. The
second highest PART in a four-part CHORUS. See CONTRALTO. (2)
An INSTRUMENT in this range j e.g., alto SAXOPHONE.

ANDANTE (It., going), (i) At a moderate pace ; fairly slow.
(2) A piece or MOVEMENT in this TEMPO.

2OI

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

AND ANTING (It., a little andante}. Slightly faster than AN-
DANTE.

ANTHEM. A piece of sacred music usually based on Biblical
words, with or without instrumental ACCOMPANIMENT.

ARIA (It.). An extended SOLO song with instrumental ACCOMPANI-
MENT, either a separate piece or PART of an OPERA, ORATORIO,

CANTATA, etC.

ARPEGGIO (It.). A broken CHORD whose TONES are played in
succession instead of together.

ART SONG. A musical setting of a literary text. See LIED.

A TEMPO (It., in time}. A return to the original TEMPO.

ATONALITY. Absence of relationship to a KEYNOTE or KEY cen-
ter. Associated with Arnold Schoenberg and his disciples.

BALLAD, (i) A narrative poem, often of a popular kind. (2)
The musical setting of such a poem.

BALLKT. A dance spectacle that is presented with costumes,
scenery, and music. It may be an independent work or a PART
of an OPERA.

BAND. An ENSEMBLE composed mainly of wind instruments. It
may be a brass, jazx, or symphonic band.

BARCAROLLE. A boat SONG or a piece in the style of one, in 6/8
TIME.

BARITONE, (i) A male VOICE higher than BASS and lower than
TENOR. (2) An INSTRUMENT in this range, such as the baritone
HORN.

BAROQUE. The period from 1600 to 1750, marked by a style
of massiveness, grandeur, energy, and emotion. Produced a
rich literature of OPERA and ORATORIO, CANTATA, and INSTRU-
MENTAL forms based on COUNTERPOINT: CONCERTO GROSSO,

FUGUE, SUITE, PASSACAGLIA, CHORALE PRELUDE, TOCCATA, etc.

Composers: Monteverdi, Lully, Purcell, Vivaldi, Bach, Han-
2O2

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

del. Painters: Tintoretto, Veronese, Rubens. Writer: John
Milton.

BASS, (i) The lowest VOICE. (2) The lowest PART in a four-part
CHORUS. (3) The lower REGISTER: in PIANO music, the left-hand
part. (4) The lowest member of a family of INSTRUMENTS, such
as the bass CLARINET.

BASS DRUM. A drum of indefinite PITCH, used mainly to ac-
centuate RHYTHM. In the jaxx BAND the bass drum is fitted out
with a device that makes it possible for the drummer to accentu-
ate the BEAT with his foot.

BASSOON. The BASS of the WOODWINDS, a flexible and highly
useful INSTRUMENT. Its TONE is thick and weighty in the low
REGISTER, dry and sonorous in the middle, reedy and intense in
the upper. A double-REED instrument.

BATON. The stick used by the CONDUCTOR of an ORCHESTRA.

BEAT. The pulse of the meter} the unit of TIME.

BRASS INSTRUMENTS. The brass choir of the ORCHESTRA in-
cludes the TRUMPET, FRENCH HORN, TROMBONE, and TUBA. These

have a cup-shaped mouthpiece $ the TONE is produced by a column
of air in the tube that is made to vibrate by the tightly stretched
lips of player. Other brass instruments: CORNET, BUGLE.
BUGLE. A BRASS INSTRUMENT that is not equipped with valves,
and is therefore able to sound only certain TONES of the SCALE,
which accounts for the familiar pattern of military duty calls.
Has a powerful tone that carries in the open air,

CADENZA, (i) An elaborate passage for SOLO instrument intro-
duced into a work for ORCHESTRA in order to display the re-
sources of the instrument or the capacities of the player. (2) A
similar passage in vocal music.

CANCAN (Fr.). A gay Parisian dance in rapid 2/4 TIME.

CANTATA (It., cantare, to sing). A vocal work on a religious

203

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

or secular text, including RECITATIVES, ARIAS, DUETS, CHORUSES:
usually with instrumental ACCOMPANIMENT. Is shorter than an
ORATORIO.

CASTANETS. A pair of small clappers of ivory or wood, held
in the hand. Used by dancers to accentuate the RHYTHM, espe-
cially in Spain.

CELESTA. A kind of GLOCKENSPIEL operated by a KEYBOARD.
Its steel plates are struck by little hammers and produce a deli-
cate, silvery sound. Looks like a miniature upright PIANO.

CELLO. A STRINGED INSTRUMENT larger than the VIOLIN and
VIOLA, and lower in PITCH. Has a rich, mellow sound.

CHAMBER MUSIC. Music for small ENSEMBLES, with one per-
former to the PART, such as TRIO, QUARTET, QUINTET.

CHAMBER ORCHESTRA. A small ORCHESTRA consisting of
twenty to thirty players.

CHORALE. A HYMN tune, especially of Lutheran origin. Also
music in the style of a chorale.

CHORALE PRELUDE. An ORGAN piece based on a CHORALE.

CHORD. A group of three or more TONES conceived as an entity.
The tones are generally sounded together. See ARPEGGIO.

CHORUS, (i) A large body of singers. (2) Music for such a
group, written in four basic PARTS: SOPRANO, ALTO, TENOR, BASS.

CHROMATIC HARMONY. HARMONY based not only on the
seven TONES of the KEY but also on the five extraneous tones,
that is, on the twelve tones of the CHROMATIC SCALE. Especially
typical of Richard Wagner and his disciples. See DIATONIC.

CHROMATIC SCALE. The twelve SEMITONES (half-steps) of
the OCTAVE arranged in consecutive order. On the PIANO, in-
cludes the white and black KEYS.

CLARINET. A single-REED, WOODWIND INSTRUMENT that posses-
ses a beautiful liquid TONE, with a remarkably wide range from
lowest to highest NOTE and from soft to loud.

204

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

CLASSICISM. A style in art characterized by clarity, balance,
mastery of form, and control of emotion. The Viennese classical
school (c. 17751825) perfected the SYMPHONY, CONCERTO,
SONATA, DIVERTIMENTO, and CHAMBER MUSIC, especially the
STRING QUARTET. The four masters of this school are Haydn,
Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert. Painters: David, Reynolds, Gains-
borough. In literature, classicism came somewhat earlier: Pope,
Dr. Johnson, Voltaire. Classical art was largely under the pa-
tronage of the aristocracy.

CLEF. A sign written on the staff to indicate the PITCH of the
NOTES, (i) G-clef or TREBLE clef, used for high range: VIOLIN,
FLUTE, SOPRANO, and upper staff of PIANO music. (2) F-clef or
BASS clef, used for low range: CELLO, DOUBLE BASS, bass voice,
lower staff in piano music. (3) C-clef, used in several positions
such as ALTO clef and TENOR clef.

CLUSTER CHORD. A CHORD consisting of TONES lying either
next to or close to each other, giving the effect of DISSONANCE.
Much used in modern music by Bartok, Henry Cowell, and
other composers.

CODA (It., tail). A concluding section that rounds off a piece or

a MOVEMENT.

COMPOSER-IN-RESIDENCE. A composer who lives for a
semester or a year at a college or university, guiding a few ad-
vanced students more through personal contact than through
regular classes.

COMPOSITION. The study of how to write a musical work,
based upon the shaping of the sounds into a coherent, well-
organized structure.

CONCERTINO. A small CONCERTO.

CONCERTO (It.). A piece for SOLO instrument and ORCHESTRA,
usually in three contrasting MOVEMENTS.

CONDUCTOR. The leader of the ORCHESTRA who not only beats

205

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

TIME for the players and gives them their cues, but also shapes

the whole musical conception.
CONSERVATORY. A music school.
CONSONANCE. A combination o two or more TONES giving

the effect of completeness. Opposite of DISSONANCE.
CONTRABASSOON. Also known as double bassoon. The lowest

in range of the BASSOON family. Produces the lowest TONE in

the ORCHESTRA.

CONTRALTO. The female VOICE with the lowest range. In the

four-part CHORUS, the contralto PART lies between SOPRANO and

TENOR.

CONTRAPUNTAL. Pertaining to COUNTERPOINT.
CORNET. A BRASS INSTRUMENT with a shorter body and a rounder

TONE than the TRUMPET.
COUNTERMELODY. A MELODY "against" the main melody,

that is combined with it contrapuntally.
COUNTERPOINT, (i) The art of combining independent PARTS

or VOICES into a single musical TEXTURE. (2) A vocal line so

combined.

CRESCENDO (It., increasing). Gradually growing louder.
CYMBALS. A pair of metal discs which, when struck together,

produce a variety of interesting TONE colors.

DA CAPO (It., -from the head}. Abbreviated D.C. Indicates that
a piece or a section thereof is repeated from the beginning. Da
ca-po al -fine: repeat from the beginning to fine (the end).

DIATONIC (Gr., according to the key). Pertaining to the seven
TONES of a MAJOR or MINOR key. Opposite of CHROMATIC.

DIRGE. A lament for the dead.

DISSONANCE. A combination of two or more TONES giving
the, effect of incompleteness, therefore requiring RESOLUTION
to a CONSONANCE, Dissonance represents the principles of ten-

206

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

sion in music, just as consonance represents completion and rest.

DISSONANT COUNTERPOINT. A style of twentieth-century
COMPOSITION based on maximum independence of the CONTRA-
PUNTAL parts, with emphasis on the harsher INTERVALS and im-
pelled by a strong rhythmic impulse. Stravinsky, Bartok, Hinde-
mith, Piston, etc.

DIVERTIMENTO (It., diversion). A piece of light entertain-
ment music consisting of a series of brief MOVEMENTS, for

STRINGED and WIND INSTRUMENTS, Or mixed ENSEMBLE, With

one or two players to a PART.
DO. First and last TONE of the do-re-mi-ja-sol-la-H-do SCALE. The

KEYNOTE or central tone.
DOT. A dot after a NOTE prolongs its TIME value by half its

original length: J. = J + J
DOUBLE BASS. The largest in size and lowest in range of the

STRINGED INSTRUMENTS. Also known as contrabass. In the OR-
CHESTRA, the double basses carry the foundation of the HARMONY.
DOUBLE FLAT (bb)- Lowers the PITCH by two SEMITONES.

See FLAT.
DOUBLE SHARP (##). Raises the PITCH by two SEMITONES.

See SHARP.
DOUBLE-STOP. In VIOLIN playing, to STOP two strings together,

thus obtaining two-part HARMONY.
DUET. A piece for two performers, in which both PARTS are of

equal importance.
DYNAMICS. The volume of sound, the degree of loudness or

softness. Ranges from PIANISSIMO through PIANO, MEZZO-PIANO,

MEZZO-FORTE, FORTE, to FORTISSIMO.

EAR-TRAINING. A course of graded exercises designed to
strengthen the student's ability to recognize individual TONES
and CHORDS.

207

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

EIGHTH NOTE (/). Receives half the TIME value of a QUARTER
NOTE. In 4/4 TIME, there are two eighth notes to a BEAT (Of).

EMBOUCHURE (Fn, ahm'-boh-shoor). (i) The mouthpiece
of wind instruments. (2) The position of the player's lips,
tongue, etc.

ENGLISH HORN. An alto OBOE.

ENSEMBLE (Fr., together}, (i) A team of vocal or instru-
mental performers. (2) In OPERAS, a piece for more than two
singers, or for soloists and CHORUS.

EXOTICISM. A tendency in music and painting to exploit the
glamor of the East, or the color and gaiety of the sunny South.
Rimsky-Korsakov, Scheherazade. Mendelssohn, Italian Sym-
phony. Aaron Copland, El Salon Mexico.

FANTASY (It., fantasia). A fanciful piece that follows no set

FORM.
FINALE (It., -fee-nah'-lee). (i) The last MOVEMENT of a SONATA,

SYMPHONY, CONCERTO, STRING QUARTET, etc. (2) In OPERA, the

final number of an act.

FIVE-TONE SCALE. A SCALE of great antiquity found in differ-
ent parts of the world, from Scotland to China, also known as
^entatonic scale. Can be sounded on the PIANO by playing either
the black KEYS or C-D-F-G-A. Auld Lang Syne and Comin y
Thru the Rye are pentatonic melodies.

FLAT, (i) The sign (fc>) that lowers a NOTE by a SEMITONE, as
from B to B^. (2) Off PITCH, too low.

FLUTE. The SOPRANO of the WOODWINDS. A cylindrical tube made
of silver alloy rather than wood, stopped at the upper end and
held horizontally. The player blows across a mouth hole (EM-
BOUCHURE) cut in the side of the pipe. A most agile INSTRUMENT.

FOLK MUSIC. Folk art figures in human society from the most
primitive level on, and is a valid expression of the artistic im-

208

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

pulse that lies deep in human nature. This impulse finds ex-
pression in folk songs and dances that reflect every aspect of
life. The treasury of folk songs includes work songs, love songs,
drinking songs, cradle songs, patriotic songs, dance songs, songs
of mourning, marching songs, play songs, story-telling songs. A
folk song originates with an individual, perhaps on the spur of
the moment. It is taken up by others, a detail is changed, a stanza
is added, another version is created, and in the course of its
wanderings the folk song becomes the collective expression of a
group.

FORM. The arrangement of the material in a work of art so as
to achieve maximum effectiveness. Musical form aims for balance
and symmetry, unity and variety, and a significant relationship
of the PARTS to the whole. The musician achieves unity and
variety through a judicious use of repetition and contrast.

FORTE (It.). Loud. Abbreviated /. See DYNAMICS.

FORTISSIMO (It.). Very loud. Abbreviated ff. See DYNAMICS.

FOUR-FOUR TIME. A metrical pattern of four BEATS to a
measure, a QUARTER NOTE receiving one beat. See QUADRUPLE
METER.

FRENCH HORN. One of the most useful of the BRASS INSTRU-
MENTS. Can be mysterious and remote in soft passages, noble
and sonorous in loud. Also known as horn.

FUGUE (Lat., faga y flight). A POLYPHONIC COMPOSITION in which
a THEME or subject is stated at the outset in one VOICE and is
imitated in close succession in the other PARTS or voices. The
theme reappears throughout the piece now in one voice, now in
another, against COUNTERPOINT in the other voices. A fugue is
generally in three or four parts or voices. May be vocal or in-
strumental. Masters of the fugue: Bach, Handel.

GLOCKENSPIEL (Ger., a set of bells'). A PERCUSSION INSTRU-

209

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

MENT of definite PITCH, consisting o a series of horizontal steel
plates of various sizes that are struck with two hammers and
produce a bright, metallic sound.

GONG. A PERCUSSION INSTRUMENT in the form of a large round
metal plate that is struck with a stick and produces a low re-
verberating sound.

GRACE NOTE. An ornamenting NOTE that has no TIME value of
its own but is attached to the longer note that follows it. Printed
in small type. See ORNAMENTS.

GREGORIAN CHANT. The liturgical chant of the Roman
Catholic Church, named after Pope Gregory the Great, who
reigned 590604. Pure unaccompanied MELODY in free RHYTHM.
See MONOPHONIC.

HALF NOTE (J). Equivalent to two QUARTER NOTES. In 4/4
TIME a half note receives two BEATS.

HARMONY, (i) The sounding of TONES in CHORDS simultane-
ously. (2) The background of chords that accompany and sup-
port the MELODY. (3) The study of chords, their movements
and relationships.

HARP. A plucked-string INSTRUMENT that produces a clear, crys-
talline TONE.

HARPSICHORD. The main KEYBOARD instrument of the BA-
ROQUE. Its strings are plucked by little quills. Incapable of the
gradations from soft to loud that are possible on the PIANO, the
harpsichord, however, brought out the CONTRAPUNTAL lines of
baroque music with luminous clarity.

HOMOPHONIC (Gr., single-voiced). Music in which a single
line of MELODY is supported by HARMONIES in the ACCOMPANI-
MENT. Opposite of POLYPHONY.

HORN. See FRENCH HORN.

HYMN. A SONG* in praise of God.

Gl-OSSARY OF MUSICAL ' TERMS

IMPRESSIONISM. A refined style in painting and music that
centered about Paris in the late nineteenth and early twentieth
century. Marked by flowing RHYTHM and shimmering ORCHES-
TRATION, with use of WHOLE-TONE SCALE, CHORDS moving in
parallel motion, medieval MODES, Influenced by impressionist
painting and symbolist poetry. Composers: Debussy, Ravel,
Griffes. Painters: Monet, Manet, Degas, Renoir, Seurat. Poets:
Baudelaire, Mallarme, Verlaine, Rimbaud.

IMPROVISATION. The art of making up a COMPOSITION or
embellishing a THEME on the spur of the moment, while it is
being performed.

INSTRUMENT. A mechanism that produces musical sounds:

STRINGED, WOOD-WIND, BRASS, PERCUSSION.

INTERVAL. A combination of two TONES, named according to
the difference in PITCH that is, the distance between them.
Do-re or C-D, a second 5 do-mi or C-E, a third $ do-fa or C-F, a
fourth, do-sol or C-G, a fifth, etc. The tones may be sounded in
succession or together.

JAZZ. A style of American popular music influenced by Negro
dance RHYTHMS and based on SYNCOPATION.

KETTLEDRUM. A PERCUSSION INSTRUMENT of definite PITCH.
Consists of a copper shell shaped like a hemisphere, across which
is stretched a "head" of calfskin held in place by a metal ring.
Also known as timpani. In the ORCHESTRA, kettledrums are used
in sets of two or three.

KEY. ( i ) A group of TONES related to a common center or KEY-
NOTE, to which they all gravitate. A COMPOSITION is identified
by its key: Symphony in A major, Concerto in D minor. (2)
On KEYBOARD instruments, the part of the action pressed
down by the finger in order to sound the required PITCH.

21 I

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

(3) On wind instruments, a lever pressed down by the finger.
KEYBOARD. A set of KEYS in PIANOS, ORGANS, HARPSICHORDS,

etc.
KEYNOTE. The first TONE o a SCALE. The central tone of a

KEY, the DO.
KEY SIGNATURE. The SHARPS or FLATS written at the head

of a COMPOSITION in order to identify the KEY.

LARGO (It.). Very slow and broad.

LIBRETTO (It.)- The book that is, the text of an OPERA,

ORATORIO, CANTATA, etc.

LIED (Ger., song). The German ART SONG of the period of RO-
MANTICISM, marked by heartfelt MELODY and appealing lyricism.

MAJOR (Lat., greater). Larger. Said of INTERVALS, CHORDS,
SCALES, KEYS, MODE. A major interval is a SEMITONE larger than
a MINOR interval. C-E, major 5 C-E^, minor.

MAJOR-MINOR SYSTEM. The twelve MAJOR and twelve
MINOR keys, with their respective SCALES and CHORDS, that made
up the HARMONY of our music from the seventeenth to the
twentieth century. See MAJOR SCALE, MINOR SCALE.

MAJOR SCALE. The basic SCALE of Western music, the familiar
do-re-^ni-fa-sol-la-U-do. A succession of WHOLE TONES and half
tones (SEMITONES), the half tones occurring between steps 34
(mi-ja) and 78 (ti-do). The major scale may be built from any
one of the twelve TONES of the OCTAVE (from C, C$, D, D$, etc.)
giving twelve major SCALES and KEYS. Each key has another
KEYNOTE or DO to which the other tones gravitate, and another
KEY SIGNATURE, i.e., another number of SHARPS or FLATS. Each
key therefore has another group of seven tones out of the possible
twelve. G major has one sharp, F$ j D major has two sharps,

212

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

and C#5 A major has three, F|, C$, G#; E major has four, FJ,
C#, GJf, D$$ F major has one flat, B'^^ Bj? major has two flats,
B^> and [73 etc. The only key that has neither sharps nor flats
is C major. The C major scale is, consequently, the only major
scale that can be played on the white keys o the PIANO. See
MINOR, DIATONIC, CHROMATIC.

MARCH. A piece to accompany marching, often in 2/4 or 4/4
TIME.

MARIMBA. A XYLOPHONE of African and South American ori-
gins, associated with exotic dance music.

MASS. A musical setting of the chief rite of the Roman Catholic
Church, for VOICES, with or without instrumental ACCOMPANI-
MENT.

MELODY. A succession of TONES perceived by the mind as a
significant unit.

METRONOME. A device that translates musical TIME into physi-
cal time by indicating how many NOTES are to be played per
minute. If the composer writes J = 60 on his SCORE, the player
is able to set the metronome at that number and it will click
sixty times per minute, thereby indicating to the player the exact
TEMPO that was in the composer's mind, sixty QUARTER NOTES
per minute.

MEZZO (It., -meh'-tso}. Half, Mezzo piano (mf}, medium soft.
Mezzo forte (^/), medium loud. See DYNAMICS.

MEZZO SOPRANO. The female VOICE whose range lies between
SOPRANO and CONTRALTO.

MIDDLE-C. The C in the middle of the KEYBOARD of the PIANO 5
the NOTE between TREBLE and BASS staffs.

MINOR (Lat., lesser}. Smaller. Said of INTERVALS, CHORDS,
SCALES, KEYS, MODE. A minor interval is a SEMITONE smaller
than the corresponding MAJOR interval: C-Ej?, minor j C-E,
major.

213

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

MINOR SCALE. Differs from the MAJOR SCALE in that certain
o Its TONES are flatted. Harmonic minor scale, third and sixth
steps flatted: C, D, Eb, F, G, Afc>, B, C. Melodic -minor scale ,
third and sixth flatted ascending 3 third, sixth, and seventh flatted
descending: C, D, Eb, F, G, Ab, B, C, Bb, Ab, G, F, Eb, D, C
See MAJOR SCALE.

MINUET (Fr.)- (i) A stately French dance at the court of Louis
XIV, in 3/4 TIME. (2) The third MOVEMENT o the classical

SYMPHONY.

MODE, (i) The manner of arranging TONES in a SCALE or KEY.
Each mode represents another arrangement of whole steps and
half steps. Thus, the twelve MAJOR SCALES and keys represent
the major mode, the twelve MINOR SCALES and keys repre-
sent the minor mode. A scale can also be built according to
the WHOLETONE mode, or any one of the medieval church
modes.

MODULATION. The act of moving from one KEY to another.

MOLTO (It.). Very. Allegro molto, very fast.

MONOPHONIC. Said of pure single-line MELODY without HAR-
MONY. Either without ACCOMPANIMENT or with an accompani-
ment that duplicates or varies the melody. The music of the
ancient world was monophonic ? as is to this day the music of
Asia and Africa. GREGORIAN CHANT is monophonic. See TEX-
TURE, POLYPHONY, HOMOPHONIC.

MOVEMENT, A separate PART in a larger work such as a SYM-
PHONY, CONCERTO, SONATA.

MUTE. A device attached to an INSTRUMENT in order to muffle
or alter the sound.

NATIONALISM. A tendency in music to emphasize national ele-
ments by basing COMPOSITIONS on FOLK MUSIC and dances 5 by
associating music with a national hero or historic event, with

214

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

national myths, legends, folklore, with a beautiful spot in the
homeland, or with the writings of a national poet. Tchaikovsky,
1812 Overture. Smetana, The Moldau. Dvorak, Slavonic Dances.
J. Strauss, Blue Danube Waltz. Copland, A Lincoln Portrait^
Billy the Kid y Appalachian Spring. Douglas Moore, The Devil
and Daniel Webster.

NEO-CLASSICISM. A movement in twentieth-century music to
revive certain elements of the eighteenth century and earlier.
(i) "Back to Bach" and COUNTERPOINT, (2) Emphasis on AB-
SOLUTE MUSIC SYMPHONY, SONATA, CHAMBER MUSIC, etc. (3)

Revival of certain forms of the BAROQUE such as TOCCATA, PAS-
SACAGLIA. (4) Rejection of romantic PROGRAM MUSIC and NA-
TIONALISM. (5) Sober ORCHESTRATION, clarity of TEXTURE* e.g.,
Stravinsky, Piston.

NEO-ROMANTICISM. A movement in twentieth-century music
to revive a simple, direct, expressive style; e.g., Virgil Thomson,
Barber, Menotti, Dello Joio.

NOCTURNE (Fr., a night piece). A short lyric piece marked by
expressiveness of a highly personal nature. Especially Chopin's
Nocturnes for the PIANO.

NOTE. The written symbol for a musical sound, indicating its
PITCH and duration. See WHOLE, HALF, QUARTER, and EIGHTH
NOTES.

NUANCE. Subtle shadings in TEMPO, DYNAMICS, phrasing, and
touch that add character and distinction to a performance.

OBOE. A double-reed, WOODWIND INSTRUMENT with an intense,
reedy TONE. The PITCH of the oboe does not easily change, for
which reason it is used to sound the A for the other INSTRUMENTS
when the ORCHESTRA is tuning up.

OCTAVE, (i) The INTERVAL from a TONE to the one above or
below that bears the same name, as from C to C. (2) The dis-

215

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

tance from the first to last tone of the MAJOR or MINOR SCALE.
In Western music the octave is divided into twelve equal SEMI-
TONES, represented by the seven white and five black KEYS of the
PIANO.

OCTET, (i) A COMPOSITION for eight VOICES or INSTRUMENTS.
(2) A group performing such a work.

OFF-BEAT. The weak or the unaccented BEAT of the measure.
In duple meter, which is counted one-two one-two, the second
pulse is off-beat.

OPERA. A drama that is sung, presented with scenery, costumes,
and acting, and accompanied by an ORCHESTRA.

OPERETTA, A play with music, of a light romantic character.
The dialogue is spoken.

ORATORIO. An extended musical work on a dramatic text of
sacred or serious character, for SOLO voices, CHORUS, and ORCHES-
TRA. Performed without scenery, costumes, or acting. The em-
phasis is on the chorus. Handel's Messiah.

ORCHESTRA. A large ENSEMBLE of instrumentalists with a num-
ber of players to each PART. Consists of four sections or choirs:

STRINGED, "WOODWIND, BRASS, and PERCUSSION INSTRUMENTS. The

modern symphony orchestra consists of about a hundred players.

ORCHESTRATION. The art of arranging music for the OR-
CHESTRA.

ORGAN. A wind instrument whose pipes are controlled by two
or more KEYBOARDS and a set of PEDALS. Air is fed to the pipes
by mechanical means.

ORGAN POINT. A TONE sustained in one PART while the HAR-
MONIES change in the other parts. The organ point is usually in
the BASS. Also known as -pedal <point.

ORNAMENTS. Traditional figures used to embellish a MELODY:

TRILLS, ARPEGGIOS, GRACE NOTES, etc.

OVERTURE, (i) A piece for ORCHESTRA that serves as an intro-
216

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

ductlon to an OPERA, ORATORIO, drama, BALLET. (2) An inde-
pendent piece for orchestra on a picturesque or dramatic subject.
Tchaikovsky, 1812 Overture. Mendelssohn, Hebrides Overture
(FingaVs Cave).

PART, (i) The music executed by a VOICE or INSTRUMENT, either
alone or with others: viola -part, tenor ^part. (2) A section of a
piece.

PASSACAGLIA (It.). A CONTRAPUNTAL piece in moderately slow
TRIPLE METER 3 a short THEME is repeated over and over again in
the BASS while the other VOICES weave VARIATIONS above it.

PEDAL, (i) An action operated by the feet, as on the PIANO, to
change DYNAMICS and tone color j or on the HARP, in order to
change the PITCH. (2) On the ORGAN, the pedals constitute a

KEYBOARD.

PERCUSSION INSTRUMENTS. Instruments made to sound
by striking or shaking. Definite PITCH: KETTLEDRUMS (tim-
pani), GLOCKENSPIEL, XYLOPHONE, CELESTA, chimes. Indefinite
PITCH: BASS DRUM, SNARE DRUM, TAMBOURINE, CASTANETS, TRI-
ANGLE, CYMBALS, GONG.

PIANISSIMO (It.)- Very soft (#p).

PIANO (It.), (i) Soft (p). (2) An INSTRUMENT whose strings are
struck by little hammers controlled by a KEYBOARD mechanism.
Its full name, piano-forte (soft-loud), indicates its wide range
of DYNAMICS. The piano is extremely useful because of its self-
sufficiency: one is able to play on it both MELODY and HARMONY.

PICCOLO (It., -piccolo flautOy little flute). A WOODWIND INSTRU-
MENT of the FLUTE family, half as long as the flute and playing
an OCTAVE higher. Highest in PITCH of all the instruments of

the ORCHESTRA.

PITCH. The location of a TONE in the musical SCALE, in reference
to its being high or low. Pitch depends on the rate of vibration,

217

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

which in turn depends on the length of the vibrating body
(also the -width, density, tension, etc.)- The longer a string,
the more slowly it vibrates and the lower the pitch. The shorter
a string, the more rapidly it vibrates and the higher the
pitch.

PIZZICATO (It., -plucked ; $ih-sih-cah'~to} . Plucked instead of
played with the bow. An effect much used in playing STRINGED

INSTRUMENTS.

POLKA. A lively dance in 2/4 TIME.

POLONAISE. A stately march-dance at the court of the Kings
of Poland, in 3/4 TIME.

POLYPHONY (Gr., many -voiced} . Music in which two or more
independent MELODIES are combined simultaneously in a uni-
fied TEXTURE. See COUNTERPOINT.

POLYRHYTHM. The simultaneous use of two or more con-
trasting RHYTHMS.

POLYTONALITY. The use of two or more KEYS at the same
time. An effect much used in twentieth-century music.

PRESTO (It.). Very fast.

PROGRAM MUSIC. Music inspired by a "program, 53 that is,
a literary idea or a poetic mood specified in the title or in a
"program note" appended to the SCORE. The opposite of AB-
SOLUTE MUSIC. Main forms: SYMPHONIC POEM, incidental music,
OVERTURE. Also the program symphony. Liszt, Les Preludes.
Berlioz, Symphonie jantastique. Grieg, music for Ibsen's Peer
Gynt.

PSALM. A musical setting of one of the Psalms o David.

QUADRILLE. A square dance that alternates between 3/8 TIME

and 2/4.
QUADRUPLE METER. A metrical pattern of four BEATS to

a measure, as in 4/4 TIME, with the main ACCENT on the first

beat and a secondary accent on the third beat.

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

QUARTER NOTE (j). Equivalent to two EIGHTH NOTES. In

4/4 TIME a quarter note receives one BEAT.
QUARTET, (i) A vocal or instrumental COMPOSITION for four

performers. (2) A group performing such a piece.
QUINTET, (i) A vocal or instrumental COMPOSITION for five

performers. (2) A group performing such a piece.

RECITAL, A concert devoted to one performer. We speak of a
SYMPHONY concert, a PIANO recital, a SONG recital.

RECITATIVE (It., reh~tchee-tah-teerf} . A style of vocal decla-
mation that presents the plot or action of an OPERA, ORATORIO,
etc., by imitating the inflections of speech. At the lyric mo-
ments the action stops and recitative gives way to ARIA (or
DUET, etc.).

REED. A small elastic piece of cane that sets the air vibrating in
the mouthpiece of certain WOODWIND INSTRUMENTS, In single-
reed instruments like the CLARINET and SAXOPHONE, the reed
is fastened against a chisel-shaped mouthpiece. In double-reed
instruments like the OBOE and BASSOON the two reeds are so
shaped as to leave between them an extremely small passage for
the player's breath.

REGISTER, (i) A portion of the range of the VOICE, as head
or chest register. (2) A portion of the range of an INSTRUMENT,
as high, middle, or low register-

REQUIEM. A musical setting of the Mass for the Dead.

RESOLUTION. The movement of DISSONANCE to CONSONANCE,
of tension to response. The gravitation of an active TONE, IN-
TERVAL, or CHORD to one of rest.

RHAPSODY. A piece in very free style with abrupt changes of
mood, emotional intensity, and technical brilliance.

RHYTHM. The controlled flow of music in respect to TIME.

ROMANTICISM. A period in art marked by subjective emotion,
individualism, emphasis on expressiveness, and revolt against

2,19

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

tradition. Especially nineteenth-century romanticism, the after-
math of the French Revolution. Musical developments during
the Romantic Period (c. 18101900) included: (i) Growth in
size of the ORCHESTRA and a rise in the level of instrumental
TECHNIQUE. (2) Founding of CONSERVATORIES in the main cities
of Europe. (3) Growth of the middle-class public and concert
life. (4) Emphasis on virtuosity and the personality of the per-
former. (5) NATIONALISM and EXOTICISM. (6) Emphasis on
brilliant ORCHESTRATION and sensuous tone color. (7) Develop-
ment of PROGRAM MUSIC, especially the SYMPHONIC POEM and
the OVERTURE. (8) Love of short lyric FORMS the ART SONG
(LIED) and the PIANO piece. (9) Idealization of the Middle
Ages, as in the music dramas of Wagner. (10) Art is seen as an
escape from reality, self-expression, intoxication, infinite longing.
Composers: Weber, Schubert, Berlioz, Mendelssohn, Schumann,
Chopin, Liszt, Wagner, Verdi, Franck, Smetana, Brahms, Bizet,
Tchaikovsky, Dvorak, Grieg, Rimsky-Korsakov. Painters: Dela-
croix, Gericault, Turner, Corot. Writers: Wordsworth, Cole-
ridge, Scott, Byron, Shelley, Keats, Heine, Balzac, Hugo, Dumas,
Pushkin, Dickens, Emily and Charlotte Bronte, George Eliot,
Thackeray, Hawthorne, Poe.

RONDO FORM. A pattern based on the recurrence of a principal
THEME that alternates with contrasting material in symmetrical
sections, such as A-B-A-C-A.

ROULADE. A florid passage in a MELODY consisting of rapid
passages, runs, TRILLS, or other ORNAMENTS that show off the
performer's TECHNIQUE.

SARABAND. A stately dance of the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries in slow TRIPLE METER, of Spanish origin.

SAXOPHONE. A single-REED, -WOODWIND INSTRUMENT with a
metal body.

220

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

SCALE. An arrangement of the TONES of a KEY in consecutive
order. See MAJOR SCALE, MINOR SCALE.

SCHERZO (It., a joke; sker'-tso}. (i) A MOVEMENT in a SONATA,
SYMPHONY, QUARTET, etc. (often the third movement) which
Haydn and Beethoven substituted for the classical MINUET.
Usually in quick 3/4 TIME, strongly rhythmic and whimsical.
(2) An independent piece of this type, such as Chopin's Scherzos
for the PIANO.

SCORE. The arrangement on a page of all the instrumen-
tal and/or vocal PARTS of a work. The different parts appear
under each other on different staves (staffs), giving a com-
plete picture of what is happening in the ORCHESTRA at any
point.

SEMITONE. Half of a WHOLE TONE, as from C to C#. A half
step, the smallest INTERVAL in the music of the Western world.
See OCTAVE.

SERENADE, (i) An "evening song" of romantic character. (2)
A piece of social music of the late eighteenth century.

SEXTUPLE METER. A metrical pattern of six BEATS to a
measure, as in SIX-EIGHT (6/8) TIME.

SFORZANDO (It.). A sudden ACCENT on a TONE or CHORD (j/
or sfsi).

SHARP, (i) The sign ($) that raises a NOTE by a SEMITONE, as
from C to C#. (2) Off-prrcH, too high.

SICILIAN A (It., sih-tchih-lyah'-nati). A peasant dance of Sicilian
origin, in a moderately slow 6/8 or 12/8 TIME. Also a MOVE-
MENT in this style.

SIDE DRUM. A drum consisting of a cylindrical body of wood
or metal and two heads. The upper head is beaten with two
drumsticks. The drum is slung over the left thigh.

SINFONIETTA, A small SYMPHONY, usually written for a small

ORCHESTRA.

221

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

SIX-EIGHT TIME. A metrical pattern of six BEATS to a measure,
an EIGHTH NOTE receiving one beat.

SNARE DRUM. A SIDE DRUM that has gut strings or snares
stretched across its lower head. These give it a crisp, rattling
sound.

SOLFEGGIO. Vocal exercises designed to give the student fa-
cility in singing INTERVALS and RHYTHMS in all CLEFS and KEY

SIGNATURES.

SOLO (It., alone). To be played or sung by one performer.

SONATA (It., suonare, to sound). A piece for one or two INSTRU-
MENTS, in three or four MOVEMENTS that contrast in character
and in TEMPO. The first movement is generally an ALLEGRO of
epic-dramatic character. The second is apt to be the "slow move-
ment," of a soulful or meditative character, marked ANDANTE,
ADAGIO, or LARGO. The third is generally the dance movement,
marked allegro or ALLEGRETTO. In the classical symphony the
third movement is a MINUET: in the nineteenth-century sonata,
generally a SCHERZO. The fourth movement, in the sonatas of
Haydn and Mozart, is generally a lively FINALE in the character
of an allegro vivace, frequently in RONDO FORM. In the ROMANTIC
PERIOD it is apt to have a dramatic ending of a triumphal nature.
The four-movement cycle, when written for one or two instru-
ments, is called a sonata. When intended for small groups it is
known as a TRIO, QUARTET, QUINTET, etc., as the case may be.
For SOLO instrument and ORCHESTRA it is a CONCERTO 5 for full
orchestra, a SYMPHONY. Most ABSOLUTE MUSIC of the past two
hundred years is cast in the form of the sonata cycle.

SONG. A short piece for solo VOICE with instrumental ACCOM-
PANIMENT.

SOPRANO, (i) The highest woman's VOICE. There are three
types, dramatic, lyric, and coloratura, which is a very brilliant
type of soprano. (2) The highest PART in a four-part CHORUS.

222

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

(3) The highest In range of any family of INSTRUMENTS: so-
prano SAXOPHONE.

SPIRITUALS. Religious folk songs of the South. The Negro
spirituals are especially popular.

STOP. On STRINGED INSTRUMENTS, to bring down the finger at
a certain point in order to produce the desired PITCH.

STRINGED INSTRUMENTS. Produce sound by means of
stretched strings that are either played with a bow or plucked.
The string section of the ORCHESTRA includes four bowed instru-
ments: VIOLIN, VIOLA, CELLO, DOUBLE BASS. Plucked-string in-
struments: HARP, guitar, banjo, etc.

STRING QUARTET, (i) CHAMBER MUSIC for four STRINGED
INSTRUMENTS: first and second VIOLINS, VIOLA, CELLO. See
SONATA. (2) An ENSEMBLE of four musicians who play such a
work.

STYLE. The characteristic manner in which the material of art
is presented. May refer to: (i) A period in history: BAROQUE,
CLASSICAL, or ROMANTIC style. (2) An artist's personal manner:
Haydn's or Beethoven's style. (3) Purpose, function, or type:

INSTRUMENTAL Or VOCAL Style; OPERATIC Or ORATORIO Style$ SYM-
PHONIC or CHAMBER-MUSIC style.

SUITE, (i) A form of baroque instrumental music consisting of
a set of dance-forms all in the same KEY, such as Bach's Suites.
(2) A set of MOVEMENTS extracted from a longer work such as
an OPERA, BALLET, or music for a play: Tchaikovsky, Nutcracker
Suite; Grieg, Peer Gynt Suite. (3) A work in several movements
that are connected by a central idea. Ferde Grofe, Grand Canyon

Suite.

SYMPHONIC POEM, A work for ORCHESTRA in one MOVEMENT
that suggests a story, a scene, or a mood. This is specified
in the title of the piece or in a "program note" that the com-
poser writes in the SCORE. Liszt, Les Preludes. Strauss, The

223

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

Merry Pranks of Tyl Eulenspiegel. Also known as tone -poem.
SYMPHONY. An extended work for full ORCHESTRA, in three

or four MOVEMENTS. See SONATA.
SYNCOPATION. A shifting of the ACCENT so that it falls on

the OFF-BEAT, that is, the weak BEAT of the measure. The basis

of JAZZ.

TAMBOURINE. A small drum consisting of a shallow circular
hoop of wood or metal with one head of parchment. Metallic
jingles are fastened at several points in the hoop. The player
strikes the tambourine with his fingers, palm, knuckles, and
elbow. Used to accompany dancing in Spain, southern France,
and Italy.

TANGO. A slow, graceful dance of Argentine origin, in syncopated

2/4 TIME.

TARANTELLA. A lively Italian dance in 6/8 TIME.
TECHNIQUE. The mastery of the technical means of expression.

We speak of a pianist's technique, a composer's technique, etc.
TEMPO. The rate of speed of a piece or a section thereof. Tempo

markings range from slow to fast: LARGO, ADAGIO, ANDANTINO,

ALLEGRETTO, ALLEGRO, vivace, PRESTO.

TENOR, (i) The high male VOICE, lyric or dramatic. (2) In a
four-part CHORUS, the voice above the BASS and below the ALTO.
(3) An INSTRUMENT in this range: tenor TROMBONE.

TEXTURE. The "weave" of the music, the distribution of the
elements of MELODY and HARMONY. Three types of texture:

MONOPHONIC, POLYPHONIC, HOMOPHONIC.

THEME. A musical idea or subject that serves as the basis for
a COMPOSITION. Musical works are fashioned out of themes and
motives.

THEME AND VARIATIONS. A musical FORM that presents
a basic idea or subject in a number of transformations, each of

224

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

which explores a fresh aspect of the theme and constitutes a

VARIATION.

THREE-FOUR TIME. A metrical pattern of three BEATS to a
measure, with a QUARTER NOTE receiving one beat. Associated
with the WALTZ. See TRIPLE METER.

TIE. A curved line joining two NOTES of the same PITCH, pro-
longing the first by the value of the second: J j = J.

TIMBRE (Fr., tahm'-br). The distinctive tone color of an INSTRU-
MENT 3 the quality that differentiates a NOTE on this instrument
from the same note on any other instrument.

TIME. Musical time refers to meter, TEMPO, and/or the duration
of a NOTE.

TIME SIGNATURE. Placed at the beginning of a piece or
section to indicate the meter. The upper numeral shows the
number of BEATS in the measure. The lower indicates the kind
of NOTE that receives one beat. 4/4 TIME: four beats to a meas-
ure, a QUARTER NOTE receives one beat.

TIMPANI. See KETTLEDRUM.

TOCCATA. (It., toccare, to touch, i.e., the keys). A KEYBOARD
piece that exploits all the resources of an INSTRUMENT rapid

SCALES, ARPEGGIOS, CHORDS, TRILLS, OCTAVES, etc.

TONE, (i) A musical sound possessing four properties PITCH:
duration (see RHYTHM) 3 volume (see DYNAMICS) 3 and TIMBRE.
(2) An INTERVAL of two SEMITONES or half-steps, as from DO to
re or C to D. A WHOLE TONE.

TONIC, (i) The first and principal TONE of the SCALE and KEY,
the KEYNOTE or DO from which a musical MOVEMENT grows and
to which it ultimately returns. (2) The CHORD based on this
tone. The Tonic is the point of repose and completion to which
all the other tones and chords resolve. See RESOLUTION.

TRANSCRIPTION. An adaptation of a piece for INSTRUMENTS
or VOICES other than those for which it was written.

225

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

TRANSPOSE. To shift a piece from the KEY in which it is written
to a higher or lower key.

TREBLE, (i) The upper part of the REGISTER as distinguished
from the BASS or lower. In PIANO music, the right-hand part.
(2) The highest PART in a choral COMPOSITION, the SOPRANO.

TREMOLO (It., trembling). On STRINGED INSTRUMENTS, the
repetition of a TONE through a rapid up-and-down movement
of the bow. An effect much used in orchestral music for building
up tension and an atmosphere of suspense. (2) On the PIANO,
the rapid alternation of a tone with its OCTAVE or other tones of
the same CHORD. (3) In vocal music, a quavering tone.

TRIANGLE. A PERCUSSION INSTRUMENT consisting of a steel rod
bent into triangular shape, that is struck with a metal wand.

TRILL. A musical ORNAMENT produced by rapidly alternating
a TONE with its upper neighbor.

TRIO, (i) A piece for three players or singers. (2) The group
performing such a piece.

TRIPLE METER. A metrical pattern of three BEATS to a meas-
ure, ACCENT on the first, as in 3/4 or 3/8 TIME.

TROMBONE (It., large trum-pet). A BRASS INSTRUMENT fitted
with a movable U-shaped slide that changes the length of the
vibrating air column in the tube, hence the PITCH. Possesses a
grandly sonorous TONE.

TRUMPET. The SOPRANO of the brass choir, possessing a brilliant
TIMBRE that is associated with martial pomp and vigor.

TUBA. The BASS of the BRASS INSTRUMENTS. Has a dark resonance
that ranges from velvety softness to a growl.

TUTTI (It., all). Those PARTS in a work for ORCHESTRA that are
played by the whole orchestra.

TWO-FOUR TIME. A metrical pattern of two BEATS to a meas-
ure, a QUARTER NOTE receiving one beat.

226

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

VARIATION. A TECHNIQUE o transforming a musical THEME
or subject through changes in the MELODY, HARMONY, RHYTHM,
meter, and TEMPO $ DYNAMICS, ORCHESTRATION, REGISTER, KEY,
MODE$ type of ACCOMPANIMENT^ CONTRAPUNTAL combination
with other themes 3 etc. As a result of all these changes the basic
idea is presented in ever fresh guises. See THEME AND VARIA-
TIONS.

VIBRAPHONE. A PERCUSSION INSTRUMENT that combines the
principle of the XYLOPHONE with propellers, one to each NOTE,
that are driven by an electric motor, giving an unusual TONE
marked by a slow VIBRATO.

VIBRATO (It.). On STRINGED INSTRUMENTS, a slight wavering
of PITCH obtained by an oscillating movement of the left hand
in order to enrich the TONE. Also said of the VOICE.

VIOLIN. The SOPRANO of the STRINGED INSTRUMENTS, universally
admired for its singing TONE, which brings it of all instruments
closest to the human VOICE.

VIOLA. The ALTO of the string section of the ORCHESTRA. See
STRINGED INSTRUMENTS. It is somewhat larger than the VIOLIN:
its strings are longer, thicker, heavier 3 it is lower in range.

VIRTUOSO (It.). A master of instrumental TECHNIQUE.

VOICE. ( i ) The singing voice, the most personal and expressive
of INSTRUMENTS. There are six types: Female: SOPRANO, MEZZO-
SOPRANO, CONTRALTO. Male: TENOR, BARITONE, BASS. (2) A vocal
line or a PART in CONTRAPUNTAL music: a FUGUE in four voices.

WALTZ. A popular dance in THREE-FOUR TIME.

WHOLE NOTE O). Is equivalent to two HALF NOTES, In 4/4

TIME, a whole note receives four BEATS.
WHOLE TONE. An INTERVAL equal to two SEMITONES, such as

do-re or C-D.

227

GLOSSARY OF MUSICAL TERMS

WHOLE-TONE SCALE. A SCALE of six NOTES consisting only
of WHOLE TONES, such as C-D-E-FJ-GJ-AJ-C.

WOODWIND INSTRUMENTS. A group whose TONE is pro-
duced by a vibrating column of air within a tube that has holes
in its side. When one or another of these holes is opened, the
length of the air column is changed, and with it the rate of
vibration, consequently the PITCH. The air is set vibrating in
one of three ways: ( i ) The player blows across an EMBOUCHURE,
as in the FLUTE family. (2) By a single REED, as in the CLARINET
and SAXOPHONE families. (3) By a double reed, as in the OBOE
and BASSOON families. See WOODWINDS.

WOODWINDS. A section of the ORCHESTRA consisting of four
principal INSTRUMENTS, each supplemented by another member
of the same family, (i) FLUTE and PICCOLO. (2) OBOE and

ENGLISH HORN. (3) CLARINET and baSS CLARINET. (4) BASSOON

and CONTRABASSOON. See WOODWIND INSTRUMENTS.

XYLOPHONE. A PERCUSSION INSTRUMENT consisting of tuned
blocks of wood that produce a dry, crisp sound when struck. The
player uses two mallets.

Books for Further Reading

GENERAL

This Modern Music by Gerald Abraham. A fine Introduction to the
subject for those who have some musical background.

America's Music, -from the Pilgrims to the Present by Gilbert Chase.
The complete story of music in America from its earliest beginnings
to our own time. Especially good on the little-known composers of
Revolutionary and pre-Civil War times.

Modern Music-Makers by Madeleine Goss. Compact biographies of
thirty-seven modern American composers, with full-page photographs
and a listing of each composer's works.

Modern Music by John Tasker Howard and James Lyons. A lively ac-
count, in a popular vein, of the main currents in twentieth-century

music.

Introduction to Contemporary Music by Joseph Machlis. A comprehen-
sive survey of the musical scene of our time, with discussions of im-
portant composers and their representative works.

BOOKS BY AMERICAN COMPOSERS

The Joy of Music by Leonard Bernstein. A collection of the television
scripts that Bernstein presented on the Omnibus programs. They de-
lighted the country and make interesting reading.

Our New Music by Aaron Copland. One of the finest introductions to

229

BOOKS FOR FURTHER READING

the music of the twentieth century. It has been re-issued as a paper-
back.

Essays before a Sonata by Charles Ives. Thoughts, fancies, and impres-
sions by one of the most original figures our country has produced.
A fascinating book.

The Musical Scene by Virgil Thomson. A collection of Thomson's re-
views in the Herald-Tribune. Every page reveals Thomson's wit,
his skill as a writer, and his perception as a critic.

BOOKS ABOUT AMERICAN COMPOSERS

Samuel Barber by Nathan Broder. An informative account of Barber's
life and music.

Leonard Bernstein by David Ewen. A spectacular success story told
with relish.

Aaron Copland by Julia Smith. A detailed study of Copland's music,
preceded by an account of his life.

George Gershvuin: A Study in American Music by Isaac Goldberg. A
Journey to Greatness: George Gersh'win by David Ewen. Two books
that give a vivid picture of Gershwin's life and times.

Charles Tomlinson Griff es: The Life of an American Composer by
Edward M. Maisel. A sympathetic account of GrifFes' life and the
world he lived in.

Charles Ives and His Music by Henry and Sidney Cow ell. A thorough
study of the "grand old man" of American music.

Edward MacDovuell, A Great American Tone Poet by John F. Porte.
MacDowell by William H. Humiston. Both books are written in a
spirit of admiration for the first American who won a European repu-
tation as a composer.

William Schuman by Flora R. Schreiber and Vincent Persichetti. A
compact description of Schuman's career and his music.

Virgil Thomson by Kathleen Hoover and John Cage. Describes not only
Thomson's life and music but also the intellectual-artistic world of
Paris and New York that shaped his outlook and his art.

230

Index

Adagio for Strings y 131, 133

Age of Anxiety, 186

Air Power y 170172

Alcott family, 23

Amahl and the Night Visitors,

157-161

Amelia Goes to the Ball, 151152
American Academy, 66, 130, 195
American Composers' Alliance,

124
American Composers' Orchestral

Concerts, 69
American Greedy 95
American Festival Overture^ 144

I4S .
American in Paris y 1 1 21 1 3

Anthony, Susan B., 85
Appalachian Spring y 122
Assassination, The, 169

Ballad of Baby Doe, 50
Barber, Samuel, 126136, 151
Before the Daivn y 66
Bellamann, Henry, 25

Benet, Stephen V., 46, 5053
Berkshire Music Center, 124,

179, 190-191, 196-197
Berlin, Irving, ID I, 102
Bernstein, Leonard, 26, 173188
Bernstein, Mrs. Leonard, 185
Billings, William, 146
Billy the Kid, 122, 124-125
Bloch, Ernest, 46
Blood-Moon, 170
Bok, Mary Curtis, 127, 151
Boston Symphony, 120, 140,

191 ff.
Boulanger, Nadia, 47, 56, 7879,

90, 117118

Broughton, Mary S., 2930, 37
Butler, Nicholas Murray, 89

Caesar, Irving, 104, 181
Candid e y I 86
Capricorn Concerto, 134
Carter, Elliott, 57
Celebrated Jumping Frog of Cala-
veras County , 195, 196200

231

AMERICAN" COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

Chamber Music (Joyce), 134
Chester, 146148
Children at Play y 95
classicism, 58

Cleveland Museum, 46, 47
Coates, Helen, 174, 176, 182
College of the Pacific, 6566
Columbia U., 67, 8-9, 48
Comden, Betty, 177, 186
Commando March, 132
Concert Music (Dello Joio), 169
Concord, Mass. . . . 18401860^

22-24, 25

Consul, The^ 155, 156, 157
Copland, Aaron, 60, 114125,

140

Copland-Sessions Concerts, 123
Counterpoint (Piston), 57
Credendum: Article of Faith , 146
Curtis, Cyrus, 127
Curtis Institute, 68, 127128,

150-151, 178-179

Damrosch, Walter, 108, 118119
Damsel in Distress, 1 12
Dance Symphony (Copland), I2O
Danzon Cubano, 1 21
Death in the Family y 135
Debussy, Claude, 35, 83
Dello Joio, Norman, 162172
Dello Joio, Mrs. Norman, 166
Destroyer Lifey 45
De'vil and Daniel Webster, 5053
Diversion of Angels, 166167
Dover Be achy 134

Dreyfus, Max, 104
Drum-Ta'ps, 72, 73
Duke of Sacramento, l6j

Eastman, George, 67, 70
Eastman School of Music, 6770
Emerson, Ralph "Waldo, 18, 22

23
Essay for Orchestra, No. i y 133

Facsimile y 1 8 6

Fancy Free, 1 86, 187-188

Fanfare for the Common Man,

123

Fantasy Pieces (GrifFes), 39
Fantasy and Variations y 169
Farm Journal, 48
Farwell, Arthur, 89
"Festival of Two Worlds," 153
Folksong Symphony, 94, 9599
Foss, Lukas, 189200
Four Museum Pieces, 47
Four Roman Sketches y 3940
Four Saints in Three Acts y 80 8 1
Free Songy A, 141, 145
From a Log C abin, 6
From Madrigal to Modern Music,

George ^White Scandals, 105
Gershwin, George, 100113
Gershwin, Ira, 101, 105, 107,

in

Gift of the Magi, 195
Gilbert, Henry F., 35

232

INDEX

Oilman, Lawrence, 25
Goldmark, Reuben, 115116
Gold e wyn Follies, 1 1 2
Good Nighty Harvard^ 44
Goodman, Benny, 123
Graham, Martha, 122, 134, 145,

167-168

Green, Adolph, 177, 186
Gregorian chants, 166167
Griff 'elkin, 196
Griff es, Charles T., 29-41
Grofe, Ferde, 106
Guggenheim Foundation, 119

Hackley School, 3233
Hallo e we y en, 22
Hambitzer, Charles, 101
Hanson, Howard, 6375, 90
Hanson, Mrs. Howard, 71-72
Harmony (Piston), 57
Harris, Johana, 93, 94, 95
Harris, Roy, 87-99, 139-140
Harvard U., 56, 57, 78, 79, 176
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 23
Heiress, The, 123
Hermit Songs, 135
Heyward, Dorothy and DuBose,

no

Hindemith, Paul, 165, 191
Holiday Quick-Stef, 1 6
Holiday Song, 145
Hollander, Loren, 169
Holliday, Judy, 177
Homer, Louise, 126
Homer, Sidney, 126

Hoogstraten, Willem van, 90
Humperdinck, Engelbert, 32
Hutcheson, Ernest, 68, 141

/ Hate Music: Five Kid Songs,

181
In Love ijuith a Memory of You,

137

Incredible Flutist, 6062

Indian Suite, 1314

Ives, Charles, 1528

Ives, Mrs. Charles, 18, 21, 28

Ives, George, 1516, 17

Jeremiah Symphony, 1 86

Joan of Arc, 170

Jolson, Al, 105

Joy of Music (Bernstein), 187

Jubilant Song, 170

Judith, 145

Julliard School, 68, 141-143

Karsavina, Jean, 195

Kern, Jerome, 102, 104

Kidd, Michael, 167

Kirkpatrick, John, 25

Knoxville: Summer of 1915, 135

Koussevitzky, Serge, 119, 132,

140, 179180, 182; and Foss,

190-191, 192, 194

La La Lucille, 104
Lament for Beowulf, 67
Lament of Ian the Proud, 39

233

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

Lamentation of Saul, 169

League of Composers, 123

Let Down the Bars, O Death ,

134

Letter from Home, 123
Lewisohn, Alice and Irene, 34
Lincoln Center of the Performing

Arts, 148

Lincoln Portrait, 123
Listening to Music (Moore), 48
Liszt, Franz, 3
Loesser, Frank, 137
Loring, Eugene, 167
Los Angeles Philharmonic, 66
Louisiana Story, 85 86
Louisville Symphony, 195
Low, Seth, 8
Lux Aeterna, 67

MacDowell, Edward, 114

MacDowell, Mrs. Edward (Mar-
ian Nevins), 35 fL, 1113

MacDowell Colony, 1113, 46
47, 90, 119, 193

MacLeish, Archibald, 43., 4546

Macleod, Fiona, 39, 40

Magnificat (Dello Joio), 166, 168

Mamoulian, Rouben, 109

Maria Golovin, 157

Medea 3 s Meditation . . . , 135

Meditations on Ecclesiastes, 1 66

Medium^ The, 156, 157

Melodies fassageres, 135

Menken, Adah, 170

Menotti, Gian-Carlo, 128129,

131-132, 135, 149-161
Merry Mount, 72
Mighty Casey, 146
Miss 1 9 17) 104
Mitropoulos, Dimitri, 82-83,

176-177, 178, 185
Moby Dick (Moore), 48
Montealegre, Felicia, 185
Moore, Douglas, 4253
Moore, Mrs. Douglas, 46
Mother of Us All, 84-85
Music and Imagination, 124
Music for Radio, 122
Music Right and Left, 82
Music for a Scene from Shelley,

129, 130, 133
Music for the Theater, 119
Musical Scene (Thomson), 82
My Sister Eileen, 186
Mystic Trumpeter, 170

National Broadcasting Co., 152,

195-196

Nevu England Triptych, 146
New York Philharmonic, 181

184, 185

Nezu York Profiles, 169
Night at an Inn, A, 170
Night Journey, 145
Niles, John Jacob, 45
Nordic Symphony, 67
North Star, 122
North and West, 66

234

INDEX

Ode for Orchestra, 193, 194

Of Mice and Men, 122

Old Maid and the Thief, 152

114 Songs (Ives), 24

On Stage, l6j

On the Tovun, 1 86

Orchestration (Piston), 57

Our New Music (Copland), 124

Our Town, 122

Outdoor Overture, 122

Overture on an American Tune,

4 8

Overture to <c The School for
Scandal" 129, 135136

Pageant of P. T. Barnum, 47

Parable of Death, 195

Parker, Horatio, 16, 44, 45

Pioneers, 145

Piston, Walter, 53-62

Piston, Mrs. Walter, 56

Pleasure-Dome of Kubla Khan,

37> 38, 40

Plough That Broke the Plains, 85
Poem (Griffes), 37, 38, 40
Porgy and Bess, 109, 1 1 O 112
Prairie (Dello Joio), 167
Prairie, The (Foss), 192193
Prayers of Kierkegaard, 135
Principles of Harmonic Analysis

(Piston), 57

Prologue for Chorus, 145
Prometheus Unbound, 129, 133
Psalm of David, I JO

Raff, Joachim, 2, 3

Ravel, Maurice, 35, 109

RCA Victor Company, 120

Red Pony, 123

Reiner, Fritz, 178, 179, 180

Requiem Symphony (Hanson),

7 2

Revuers, The, 177
Rhapsody in Blue, 107, 112
Rhees, Rush, 67
Rilke, Rainer Maria, 195
River, The (film), 85
Robbins, Jerome, 187
Rochester Symphony, 70, 90
Rodeo, 122

Rodzinski, Artur, 131, 182, 193
R omantic Symphony ( Hanson ) ,

72

romanticism, 58
Rose of the Night, 39
Rosen, Max, loo 101
Rosenfeld, Paul, 34, 119
Ruby, The, 170

Saga of the Prairie, 122

Saint of Eleecker Street, 157

Sandburg, Carl, 192

Salon Mexico, 121, 124

Sarah Lawrence College, 139,

145, 166

Scalero, Rosario, 159
Schirmer, G., 140-141, 191
School for Scandal, 129, 135136

AMERICAN COMPOSERS OF OUR TIME

Schuman, William, 137148
Schuman, Mrs. William, 140,

scores, orchestral, 3738

Seaton (college president), 65

Second Hurricane, 121122

Seine at Nighty 84

Sessions, Roger, 123

Shall We Dance?, 1 12

Shaw, Robert, 193

Sho-Jo, 40

Sinfonia Sacra (Hanson), 7 2

Sinfonietta (Dello Joio), 1 68

Slonimsky, Nicolas, 25

Song of Anguish, 1 94

Song for Occupations, 95

Song of Songs, 194

Songs My Mother Never Taught

Me, 45

Spoleto, Italy, 153
State of Music (Thomson), 82
Stein, Gertrude, 80-81, 84-85
Stettheimer, Florine, 80
Stopwatch and an Ordnance Map,

Stravinsky, Igor, 109

Sunday Afternoon Music, 1 21

Svuanee, 1 04, 1 05

Symphonic Ode (Copland), 1 20

Symphonic Rhapsody (Hanson),

66
Symphony Dedicated to the Army

Air Forces, 132, 134
Symphony: Holidays, 22, 25

Symphony on a Hymn Tune, 80,

8 4

Sym-phony in One Movement,

13*3 134

Symphony for Voices, 95

Tabor, Horace, 50
Taggard, Gene vie ve, 145
Tanglewood, see Berkshire Music

Center

Tempest, The, 191
Tender Land, 123
These Things Shall Be, 34
This Is Our Time, 145
Thomson, Virgil, 7686
Thoreau, Henry, 18, 23
Three Places in Ne*w England,

26-28
Three Songs from "Drum-Ta^s"

7*> 73
Three Songs Set to Poems from

<c Chamber Music" by James

Joyce, 134

Three Tone Pictures, 39
Thy Dark Eyes to Mine, 39
To a Lone Sentry, 168169
To a Wild Rose, 8
Toscanini, Arturo, 131
Tourel, Jennie, 183, 1 86
Trial at Rouen, 170
Triumph of St. Joan, 170
Trouble in Tahiti, 1 86
Tudor, Anthony, 145

236

Undertow, 145

Vaness^ 135

Variations, Chaconne and Finale y

166, 169

Vie 'parlslenne, La, 83
Vigil Strange, 170
Village Music, 48

Walt Whitman Suite, 95
Walter, Bruno, 183, 184
West Side Story, 186-187
Western Star, 170
What Do We Plant?, 121
What to Listen 'for in Music, 124
Wheat Field at Noon, 84

INDEX

White Peacock, 4041
Whiteman, Paul, 106107
Whitman, Walt, 73, 95, 145,

169170
William Billings Overture, 146

148

Wolfsohn, Leopold, 115
Wonderful Town, 1 86
Woodland Sketches, IO

Yale University, 1617, 4445
Yon, Pietro, 163
'Young Pioneers, 12 1

Zimbalist, Efrem, 68

237

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Joseph Machlis's early training as a pianist and his study of English
literature provided an excellent background for his major interest:
lecturing and writing about music.

Professor Machlis received his B.A. and M.A. at City College in
New York and Columbia University, respectively. He studied at the
Institute of Musical Art of the Juilliard School, from which he gradu-
ated with the Certificate for the Artist Course in Piano. Mr. Machlis
also received a Steinway Scholarship at the Conservatoire Americain at
Fontainebleau, France, where he studied with Isidor Philipp.

At Queens College, where he is Professor of Music, Mr. Machlis
has directed one of the largest music appreciation projects in the coun-
try. He is the author of The Enjoyment of Music: An Introduction to
Perceptive Listening (which is used as a text by hundreds of colleges
throughout the country) and, more recently, Introduction to Con-
temporary Music*

Professor Machlis is well known as a translator of operas. A number
of his English versions have been presented on coast-to-coast television
by the NBC Opera Company, among them: La Boheme, La Traviata,
RlgolettO; Pldelloy Cavalleria Rustlcana y and Prokofiev's VFar and Peace.
His English version of Manuel de Falla's dramatic cantata Atlantlda
was presented by the Metropolitan Opera Company during the week
of gala performances that celebrated the opening of Lincoln Center's
Philharmonic Hall.

( C ontinu&tL jront front "fl a fi)

A characteristic work of each of the com-
posers is perceptively analyzed by Professor
Machlis, so that by listening to a recording
of the work (and listening is emphasized
throughout the book) the reader will under-
stand the style of each musician. These
analyses are presented in clear, nontechnical
terms, and give a panoramic view of the
most appealing compositions of the twen-
tieth-century American school.

Professor Machlis presents his material in
a lively style that communicates his enthusi-
asm for his subject. The stories of the com-
posers illuminate both the men and their
music. In addition, an introductory chapter
traces the development of music in America
from earliest times to the twentieth century 3
an extensive glossary defines basic musical
terms, and books for further reading are
recommended. American Composers of Our
Time is expressly designed to lead the reader
to an exciting awareness of our country's
composers and their music.

THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY

2O1 PARK AVENUE SOUTH

NEW YORK 3 ESTABLISHED 1834

5="

115520