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278 The Gra'mophone, Decembe1', 1929 This is an excellent vocal and instrumental combination, equipped at ali points to do justice to a difficult theme. One perceives, from the very start of the busy introductory bars, the requisite sense of life and energy. More vital still, one can feel, as the opening episodes proceed, that peculiar entrain, that unbroken continuity-apart from the changing of records-which can alone be infused by stage artists of experience, ready with and for their" cues," in fact, working together with the same easy realism as though they were actually going through the business. I know none better than Italians, if so good, for introducing this atmospheric element into the operation of recording dramatic music; and i t is another good reason for my argument that gramophonists do well to put up with the foreign language so long as they can gain more of the composer's original colour and hear (as they can here) every syllable of the text. The translation this t ime has not been specially provided, being the one printed in the Ricordi vocal score. Cay. Molajoli evidently has the Milanese traditions of Butterfly in his veins-presto, e sempre pi ii presto I-a game which our own drill-Sargents are also fond of indulging in. But in this instance i t does no harm to the music and enables the opera to be recorded with fewer cuts. These, by the way, I find on compa,ring them with my New York copy of the score, are very nearly identical with those made by Tito di Ricordi, which had probably been approved by Puccini himself. Those of us who have heard Rosetta Pampanini sing B1.ttterfly at Covent Garden will recognize at once the salient features in her treatment of the part in these records. She is brimful of emotion and intensely dramatic, without ever losing the unexaggerated artistic touch. Only one trifling blemish strikes me at the outset: she does not graduate from a pp to a i f her tender melody (afterwards the main love theme) when she climbs the hill to Pinkerton's dwelling, but starts off at her loudest, a,s i f she had already reached the top. Her friends and relations ought also to enter a shade more delicately; though they are perhaps a l i t t le less assertiverelatively. The only other fault for which I hold SgTa. Pampanini responsible is her failure to rise a full major third to the F natural when she describes her t iny dolls as " the souls of my forefathers." This leaves the key for a moment in doubt. On the other hand, she sings Un bel dt better than any other soprano I have heard since DelStinn; but none of her achievements is really cleverer than her almost startling contrasts of tone as she embodies in turn the joyous, irresponsible geisha-girl of the first act; the anxious yearning of the waiting Butterfly; the defiant pride of the mother in her and Pinkerton's child (happily out of sight and therefore no older or bigger than that he ought to be); and, finally, the tragic disillusioned creature who commits hari-kari. I find all these phases quite admirably depicted. The marriage scene, with i ts Japanese bells and quaint orchestral touches, comes out more clearly than i t does as a rule on the stage. The love duet at the end of the first act also receives i ts due, for Alessa,ndro Granda has a fairly steady voice of considerable charm, and almost persuades us that Pinkerton means to prove a constant lover. (It would be difficult, moreover, to pick holes in the recording either here or elsewhere in this album.) In the second act the tendency to hurry rather robs the passages between Butterfly and Suzuki of some of their mournful and poignant sweetness. But i t does not affect the subsequent rapid passages in which Sharpless and Yamadori are concerned; there we get broad, sympathetic tone from Gino Vanelli and Aristide Baracchi-good a,rtists both. Throughout the act, which includes the graceful flower duet, the voice of Rosetta Pampanini stands sharply outlined against the others; while i ts dark t imbre and the undercurrent of sobs lend a peculiar presentiment of sorrow to the Japanese tune wherein Butterfly predicts her baby's future destiny. In addition to all this, a distinct success is scored with the highly original finale, where the two women (in the opera) post themselves before the shosi whilst the chorus hum, bouohes jennies, the haunting melody of the Letter theme. Is this, too, pseudo-Japanese ~ I shouldn't wonder. The second part of Act II-which we generally consider the third act-is preceded by an Intermezzo founded upon some of the main themes of the opera. I t is not an inspired bit of music, however, and in the opera-house is mostly played amid the disturbance caused by people returning to their seats. I t sounds better in this tranquil form, as played by the Milan Symphony Orchestra, and is in a measure indispensable to the completeness of Puccini's design. Not so Mrs. Pinkerton. She has been ruthlessly reduced to a few bars; which is about all she is worth, pOOl' lady! Her appearance upon the scene and her confab with Butterfly have always struck me as a piece of hollow sentiment, utterly superfluous and about as hypocritical as that final cry of Pinkerton's, heard outside just before the curtain falls upon the tableau of his victim's suicide. As i t is given here on a single disc, we get quite enough explanation to render the situation clear. After which the events of the tragedy move swiftly, as they should, to their climax, with all the best or the music always in evidence. Rosetta Pampanini does not spare us quite so many sobs and ejaculations as I should like her to in a gramophone performance, but she is otherwise splendid to the end. The Suzuki, too, improves immensely in this act; she seems to gather confidence as she goes on. On the whole, therefore, I may congratulate Columbia upon an excellent production of this exacting opera. HERMAN KLEIN.
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The Gramophone, December, 1929 279 THE BEAUTIES OF SCHUMANN By W. R. ANDERSON YOU remember the rather lovable old books of l i terary selections still to be picked up on second-hand bookstalls-" The Beauties of Donne," or of some old-time writer of rich prose. That is the kind of thing I want to sketch in these short articles; but in place of giving extracts from the composers to be considered, i t will be more useful, for gramophiles in general, to refer to records that are to be found in the catalogues of the chief makers whose products can readily be got from almost; any dealer. Such references, of course, are not exhaustive: these articles do not pretend to be c(>mplete guides to the whole of the recorded works of the composers I talk about. I shall mention, too, some works which I think ought to be recorded, as outstanding examples of characteristic and enduring qualities. I cannot hope, of course, to do more than suggest a few of the beauties of any composer, and I shall not attempt to describe his life and doings. What I hope to do jn some small measure is to reinforce the pleasure of those who already know a,nd love the great (and somo smaller but first-rate) composers, by reminding them of some of the choicest and most representative works available in recorded form; and to stimulate the gusto of tho se who, perhaps, have not yet fully made friends with these composers. "All good taste is gU8tO," says G.K.C.; if I can communicate a l i t t le of my gusto for these old friends, and make you w~nt either to enjoy their music again at once, or to start getting records of i t , I shall have hit my mark. All the b e t ter, too, if other tasters I ike to reinforce my plea for the recording of some works too long overlooked, by giving us their own ideas. What most of all endears Schumann quickly and surely to us ~ Clearly, at the start, his flowing, soaring romanticism. Almost as I write appear "Broadcast Twelve" records, astonishingly cheap, giving the first and last movements of the famous Quintet. (I hope you have either this, or the H.M.V. performance of the whole work, by the Flonzaley and Gabrilovitch). These two movements i l lustrate what I may call the gallant and chivalrous side of Schumann's romanticism-a side which, raised to a higher pitch of boldness and revelry, you hear too in the last movement of the fourth symphony (Columbia)-the only one done in England. Polydor has the first. You may find here the influence of Jean Paul (reading whom started Schumann off, maybe, on the road of mental instability which ended in so sad a decline). This, and other types of romantic feeling exemplified in Schumann, are still powerful to move and delight normal music-lovers, and to arouse in them moods in which the music reflects for them a beautiful and valid view of l ife-not the only view, but one which does, in a definite way, contribute to their mental make-up and their enjoyment of the world. Yet how common i t is to find easy disparagement of romanticism, such as happened to meet my eye just before I began this article. In the Radio Times a writer speaks of "the more sentimental kind of romance" (he is speaking of Mahler's music) as " not only out of fashion, but out of tune with the modern spirit, which has been shaped to starker habits of mind by the War." This kind of ta,lk may go down amongst the Bright Young People, but i t simple does not represent the attitude of the mass of informed musicians, either young or old. There i s liveJy interest in modern doings, and plenty of sympathy for all except the manifestly foolish extremists, but the old tags about rQma,nticism being out of fashion are already becoming hoary, and never were true. There is as great a welcome for the man who can use sentiment rightly as ever there was. I grant that mere weak sentimentality is not good enough; but people who run down sentiment nea,rly always show l i t t le discrimination, either in their anxiety to make way for the new young lions, or to get rid of something that does not happen to appeal to them. That is pure selfishness, and i t shows how out of touch with many types of music-lover the writers are. I go up and down the country, and can find no signs of the decay of romanticism. Human nature does not cha nge with such rapidity as that. Elgar brought new life to romance, and as I write Delius, the incurable romantic, is being honoured by tributes such as have scarcely ever been accorded to our musicians. Because a few blase people prate of the" decay of roma,nticism," are we to put away the beauties of Schumann for the deformities of Schonberg, and pull down vVagner to exalt 1\1ilhaud ~ The B.Y.P. always deny that they wish to do this, yet with the next breath they are off again, denying the validity for the present age of the masters of poetic music. Romanticism covers a large country and presents many views that are ever fresh. We do well to cleave to i ts best expositors, while never refusing to l isten to the ideas of to-day. Only, i f we are asked to give up the place of romantic music to something in other moods, we must insist that the new works give us as fine and as great pleasure as did the old. That is the test, and after twenty years of SchOnberg and fifteen or so at least of Stravinsky, i t is surely t ime to take stock, and ask how the moderns have stool!

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278

The Gra'mophone, Decembe1', 1929

This is an excellent vocal and instrumental combination, equipped at ali points to do justice to a difficult theme. One perceives, from the very start of the busy introductory bars, the requisite sense of life and energy. More vital still, one can feel, as the opening episodes proceed, that peculiar entrain, that unbroken continuity-apart from the changing of records-which can alone be infused by stage artists of experience, ready with and for their" cues," in fact, working together with the same easy realism as though they were actually going through the business. I know none better than Italians, if so good, for introducing this atmospheric element into the operation of recording dramatic music; and i t is another good reason for my argument that gramophonists do well to put up with the foreign language so long as they can gain more of the composer's original colour and hear (as they can here) every syllable of the text. The translation this t ime has not been specially provided, being the one printed in the Ricordi vocal score. Cay. Molajoli evidently has the Milanese traditions of Butterfly in his veins-presto, e sempre pi ii presto I-a game which our own drill-Sargents are also fond of indulging in. But in this instance i t does no harm to the music and enables the opera to be recorded with fewer cuts. These, by the way, I find on compa,ring them with my New York copy of the score, are very nearly identical with those made by Tito di Ricordi, which had probably been approved by Puccini himself.

Those of us who have heard Rosetta Pampanini sing B1.ttterfly at Covent Garden will recognize at once the salient features in her treatment of the part in these records. She is brimful of emotion and intensely dramatic, without ever losing the unexaggerated artistic touch. Only one trifling blemish strikes me at the outset: she does not graduate from a pp to a i f her tender melody (afterwards the main love theme) when she climbs the hill to Pinkerton's dwelling, but starts off at her loudest, a,s i f she had already reached the top. Her friends and relations ought also to enter a shade more delicately; though they are perhaps a l i t t le less assertiverelatively. The only other fault for which I hold SgTa. Pampanini responsible is her failure to rise a full major third to the F natural when she describes her t iny dolls as " the souls of my forefathers." This leaves the key for a moment in doubt. On the other hand, she sings Un bel dt better than any other soprano I have heard since DelStinn; but none of her achievements is really cleverer than her almost startling contrasts of tone as she embodies in turn the joyous, irresponsible geisha-girl of the first act; the anxious yearning of the waiting Butterfly; the defiant pride of the mother in her and Pinkerton's child (happily out of sight and therefore no older or bigger than that he ought to be); and, finally, the tragic disillusioned creature who commits hari-kari. I find all these phases quite admirably depicted.

The marriage scene, with i ts Japanese bells and quaint orchestral touches, comes out more clearly than i t does as a rule on the stage. The love duet at the end of the first act also receives i ts due, for Alessa,ndro Granda has a fairly steady voice of considerable charm, and almost persuades us that Pinkerton means to prove a constant lover. (It would be difficult, moreover, to pick holes in the recording either here or elsewhere in this album.) In the second act the tendency to hurry rather robs the passages between Butterfly and Suzuki of some of their mournful and poignant sweetness. But i t does not affect the subsequent rapid passages in which Sharpless and Yamadori are concerned; there we get broad, sympathetic tone from Gino Vanelli and Aristide Baracchi-good a,rtists both. Throughout the act, which includes the graceful flower duet, the voice of Rosetta Pampanini stands sharply outlined against the others; while i ts dark t imbre and the undercurrent of sobs lend a peculiar presentiment of sorrow to the Japanese tune wherein Butterfly predicts her baby's future destiny. In addition to all this, a distinct success is scored with the highly original finale, where the two women (in the opera) post themselves before the shosi whilst the chorus hum, bouohes jennies, the haunting melody of the Letter theme. Is this, too, pseudo-Japanese ~ I shouldn't wonder.

The second part of Act II-which we generally consider the third act-is preceded by an Intermezzo founded upon some of the main themes of the opera. I t is not an inspired bit of music, however, and in the opera-house is mostly played amid the disturbance caused by people returning to their seats. I t sounds better in this tranquil form, as played by the Milan Symphony Orchestra, and is in a measure indispensable to the completeness of Puccini's design. Not so Mrs. Pinkerton. She has been ruthlessly reduced to a few bars; which is about all she is worth, pOOl' lady! Her appearance upon the scene and her confab with Butterfly have always struck me as a piece of hollow sentiment, utterly superfluous and about as hypocritical as that final cry of Pinkerton's, heard outside just before the curtain falls upon the tableau of his victim's suicide. As i t is given here on a single disc, we get quite enough explanation to render the situation clear. After which the events of the tragedy move swiftly, as they should, to their climax, with all the best or the music always in evidence. Rosetta Pampanini does not spare us quite so many sobs and ejaculations as I should like her to in a gramophone performance, but she is otherwise splendid to the end. The Suzuki, too, improves immensely in this act; she seems to gather confidence as she goes on.

On the whole, therefore, I may congratulate Columbia upon an excellent production of this exacting opera.

HERMAN KLEIN.

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