WS-THE PUBLISHER OF THE ETUDE CAN SUPPLY ANYTHING IN MUSIC-Mr VOL. XVII. PHILADELPHIA, PA., MARCH, 1899. NO. 3 ©H E €TUDE . € IKot&thly Publicatio n ton th e Teaehef s an d Student s of ^Suaie . SUBSCRIPTION RATES, $1.50 per year (payable in advance). Two Subscriptions or two years in advance, . . . $1.35 each. Three Subscriptions or three years in advance, . . 1.30 each. Single Copy, 15 cents. Foreign Postage, 48 cents. DISCONTINUANCE.—If you wish the Journal stopped, an explicit notice must be sent us by letter, otherwise it will be continued. All arrearages must be paid. RENEWAL.—N o receipt is sent for renewals. On the wrapper ot the next issue sent you will be printed the date to which your subscription is paid up, which serves as i receipt for your subscription. THEODORE PRESSER, 1708 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa Entered at Philadelphia P. O. as Second-class Matter. COPYRIGHTED 1899, THEODORE PRESSER. THE moss-grown bucket has become a dear image to those who love the poetry of tender sentiment; the mossy rock is an object of beauty to the nature-lover ; but the log with a fine, spongy overcoat of green fungus is an impressive metaphor of decay. College students have a slang phrase which is so good that it ought to be admitted into the royal family of good English. A rustic with ignorance, curiosity, and self-satisfaction oozing from every pore is a moss-back. The musician can not afford to have any moss upon him, either of the green variety which adorns the log or stone reposing in sluggish waters, or of that gray, ven-erable variety which hangs its flaunting banners upon the cypress trees of the Southern bayou. Music moss, the feeling of "kno w it all," whether it be of the fresh green species which says " I have just learned the whole subject of music," or of the dry, gray species which says " I learned the entire art of music forty years ago,'' is proof positive of death, the outward and visible sign of inward and spiritual decay. Whenever a fungus fastens upon any living organism, plant or animal, it begins at once to sap the life. The healthy plant is in as steady a process of change as an animal, as a flame. The modest roots hide themselves in the ground, but search with diligence in all directions for new substance for the plant ; the stout stalk stands up bravely and asserts the true worth of the plant; and the expanded flower smiles and utters the joy of the life of the plant. In this let us read a symbol of the musician's life. Deep below the surface, and far out of sight, ramify his studious thoughts ; in the sacred hours of self-commu-ning he is modest as a child ; in business hours, when battling with the world for the outward advantage which is expressed in terms of money, he is positive, aggressive, persistent with the ruder persistence of commercial life ; and, again, in the free, sweet ameni-ties of social life, he is a glad, happy, communicative being, rejoicing to feel himself a part of a universe so wonderful as this in which God has placed us. The musician, by his birthright, should be one of the very brightest, quickest, and most quiveringly alive of intelligences. The dew-drop upon the morning flower, distilled out of the air, resting upon earth, yet flashing with all the brilliancy of the sun whose form it re-produces in little, is the metaphor of the musician who apprehends the loveliness of his function in the uni-verse. Poets and novelists, as a rule, have understood musi-cians but vaguely, and George Eliot, who, being herself a good pianist, did better than any one else, has given us in the character of Herr Klessmer in " Middlemarch " a noble and correct portrait. Although it contains just a suggestion of satire, nevertheless the fine rage of Kless-mer at being patronized by the parliamentarian is really superb, and should be emulated, at the right time, by every sincere musician. RUBATO TEMPO means "robbed time."" One note is shortened that a little too much time may be given to some other note. It is the highest grace of performance, and its greatest peril. It is, in truth, a snare to the unwary. It is not rhythmical anarchy, but, on the con-trary, it is that highest expression of law in which government is least manifested because most obeyed. It was Chopin whose music made rubato playing the rage, for the simple reason that his music is surpassingly beautiful, and it contains the rubato tempo as the patchouli plant contains its peculiar, pungent, and permanent perfume. The rubato is as vague, sweet, illusory, and pervasive as the fragrance in the atmosphere of June. It consists of extremely slight deviations from strict beating, every one of which must be accounted for and compen-sated for as severely as the proverbial laws of the Medes and Persians. Many a poor tyro, however, makes the accelerations and ritards of which the rubato is compound-* ed nothing but a distressing and irritating series of slight, sudden jerks. With them the perfumes are of definite kinds, and put up in very definite amounts, like the artificial perfumes of the druggist—not like the fresh, tantalizing bewitchment of spring odors. IT has been said that the American has an irresistible inclination to organize. If a small body of Americans meet in any quarter of the globe, they are sure to find some point of union upon which to form an organization. It is certain, however, that while American musicians have displayed this characteristic, the results have been by no means what might reasonably have been expected. The thought arises whether the cooperation of every individual member, which organization implies, has not been more apparent than real in the case of many musi-cal organizations. It is not amiss to say that real co-operation develops power, and to urge our brethren to keep this fact prominently before them in their efforts to induce solidarity of effort in any community. MUCH is written about memorizing music and never playing from notes before an audience. Many teachers require their pupils to memorize all or nearly all of their pieces. There are two sides to the subject. One is that, when memorizing, there is an intensity of musical feel-ing, a mental and musical force of thought that helps to impress the musical content into the player. This tends toward a finer and more effective expression, provided this latter is memorized as well as the notes. There are, however, some players with so fine a musical organi-zation that it always expresses itself with emotional feeling. But the great majority of pupils must also memorize interpretation as well as notes. Every care-ful observer has noted the great amount of expression-less playing that pupils do when playing from memory. Nearly all play in false time, with incorrect notes, at too rapid a tempo, and at an irregular speed until they have memorized the expression and style. Then, too, repose and certainty of feeling must be worked into a piece by memory, for if the piece has been practiced at a tempo that caused halting and a fear of "impending dis-aster," this feeling of uncertainty becomes a fixed part of the piece. An occasional playing up to the correct tempo should be attempted, but the greater part of the practice must be of the painstaking, slow and sure kind, all within a tempo that secures repose. Pieces memorized under the foregoing conditions can be easily played in an effective manner. IT is a common assertion that good taste is the final arbiter in the case of a controversy concerning good and bad in music. If this be so it clearly shows the point toward which all earnest musicians should direct their energies—that is, to accustom all persons to judge in music according to the same principles which govern in other conditions, and not to allow themselves to be swayed by a popular acclaim which often rests on an unstable basis. " THERE is too much talk about methods," say some. This may be true. Method alone will not bring artistic results. The great teacher may not have an ironclad " method " which he uses with all, but it is safe to say that every successful teacher follows some well-defined principles which have the force of what many people call a "method." Good teachers and good methods imply each other ; the one is inseparable from the other. THOUSANDS of teachers know enough about fine play-ing to make really first-class teachers if they only knew it a little harder—that is, if they had their knowledge so settled in their mentality as to make of it a settled conviction and an active working force. They know that pupils are not phrasing right, that they are using a poor touch, and what the right touch should be, and that their scale-playing might be greatly improved in certain particulars ; but with all this, the teachers do not consider these details seriously enough to become convinced in their own minds of the necessity of making this knowledge a working knowledge. But, after all, perhaps many times it is indolence on the teacher's part that makes him fall short of his best work. The present writer has repeatedly seen young teachers whom he knew to be qualified for good work fall short of it, and then later find them taking a summer course of study and getting these self-same ideas more deeply in mind, deeply enough to become a settled conviction, to feel that they were the things that they must make pupils do. After that these young teachers did much superior work. Really knowing no more, perhaps, but knowing it as a settled conviction. THE Greeks are said to have pictured the god of Opportunity as having a forelock protruding over his brow, but as being otherwise bald. That was for facility in grasping the "god " as he came, but to show the impossibility of seizing him once he had passed. In no part of our daily work is there so much lost opportunity as not doing things when the opportunity presents itself, and this arises from not having a time to do a duty and not doing it at its own time. Applying tl.is
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