11 JANUARY 1957, Page 19

Contemporary Arts

The Prince of the Pagodas—Two Views

Britten Can Make It DURING and after the first night of The Prince of the Pagodas, mutters could be heard from several of those who had gone there mainly for the music, to the effect that this, as one fellow-critic put it, 'was excessively simple,' or in the words of another, 'added nothing to the achievement or stature of the composer of The Turn of the Screw.' Without sharing these views, I thought the work too spun-out dramatically, and felt that it would have been better condensed into one act, like Bart6k's Wooden Prince, to which it has distant resemblances. Keener concentration on the music at subsequent performances, how- ever, when the stage action, being now familiar, needed less attention, has revealed an increasing richness in the music, and shown this first impres- sion to be completely mistaken. Even if correct, my two colleagues' objections would hardly be valid criticisms of the work. The function of the music in a ballet is not the same as in an opera or symphony, and its methods, manners and choice of language must be cor- respondingly different. It must not have too great a density of musical interest, but must be clear and uncomplicated in style, tuneful and rhythmi- cal at a fairly elementary level for dancing, and easily accepted, even if not fully appreciated, by a musically philistine or at best uninterested audience. Britten has simply observed these re- quirements. He has not lavished any less genius on doing so than he did on writing The Turn of the Screw, but to expect the ballet score to have the same musical concentration as that work is as irrational as to expect ITV to broadcast Billy Budd. Britten has in fact anticipated this expectation, and has answered it rather wickedly through the character of the King of the West, in the scene of the four suitors in Act 1. At one point he is made to count up to twelve on his lingers, in a jerky rhythm, obviously counting up the notes of a twelve-note series, the completion of which, so dear to him, is jeeringly emphasised in the music by the fourfold repetition of the last note in descending octaves. There may be some satire here on the general interest in twelve-note tech- nique among composers in the West, but Britten clearly intended this ridiculous figure mainly as a new Beckmesser, to make fun of those who are too eagerly looking for twelve-note series in his own music. The dig is unkind, but not without provocation, and although it need not mean that Britten, having once toyed with serial technique, has found it wanting and will not employ it again, the whole score of the ballet does seem like a deliberate demonstration of what a masterpiece he can still create from the simplest diatonic resources. it certainly knocks on the head any suspicion that his invention in his old style was wearing thin, or that his old ready flow of simple, memorable melody was drying up. There are some forty or fifty 'numbers' in the score, and at least half of them are in the simplest kind of three-part form (i.e., with contrasting middle section), giving something in the region of sixty different tunes, of which, after the third hearing, there are barely a dozen that do not come instantly to mind in an imagined run through the sequence of scenes. And any lack of complexity of thematic development or of density of har- monic and thematic interest is compensated for in the extreme richness of the rhythm, which is inexhaustible in variety and resource, and although always clearly marked and full of natural movement is full also of subtle metrical iregularity and variation that continually arrest and delight. It is a popular score, but not a light-weight nor a frivolous one. Everything in it bears the stamp of Britten—not merely Britten the master crafts- man but Britten the mature genius. As a step in Britten's development, apart from any signifi- cance it may or may not have as a declaration of the attitude to twelve-note technique, it is certainly a work of almost operatic importance, belonging to the line of his full-scale operas and continuing what is perhaps the most valuable trend in Gloriana. That was his least introspective opera. The historical subject compelled him to occupy himself more with external events and to extend his psychological range. This resulted also in a fuller exploration of his musical range, further helped by his use of a full orchestra, which led him away from the atmosphere of faintly man- nered and precious private cosiness that he some- times seemed in danger of falling into in his isolated cultivation of chamber opera. The fairy tale of Cranko's scenario for the ballet, and the still larger orchestra, have taken him still farther out of himself, with similarly beneficial effect. One other important aspect of the music should be mentioned. in writing his first ballet Britten has obviously been studying the example of the greatest of all ballet composers, Tchaikovsky, not for musical ideas but to learn from him what kind of writing ballet likes best. The results of these studies show most plainly in the orchestral writing, especially for the wind instruments, of which Britten uses an enormous number and keeps them all very busy with scales, trills and other rapid figurations (as well as tunes, of course) that unmistakably owe something to Tchaikovsky. He does not capture, and probably has not attempted, the fluttering, feathery quality, the speed. nor the effortless, smooth euphony of Tchaikovsky's woodwind writing. He adapts Tchaikovsky's methods, and secures with them different but no less ravishing sounds, of a deeper, richer and utterly personal sonority, of which the most striking characteristic seems to be his doublines of instruments to give a rich and curiously deceptive blend of sound in which several constituent instrumental parts can be heard and vet often cannot be identified with certainty. This device has always been prominent

in Britten's use of wind instruments, and here it is carried farther than ever before, to colour the whole score. Sole master of that twelve-piece ensemble of his own devising, Britten here shows himself one of the two greatest, most original and individual living masters of the full orchestra too.

Such a score is too good to be buried in a ballet. Mr. Cranko's imaginative creation, in my lay view (my better-qualified colleague gives his else- where), deserves and should enjoy a long life and many revivals, but the music must also be heard in the concert hall, where there is a great need for it, and would certainly be a great demand if it were available. Britten has written no major orchestral work for over ten years, and only a couple before that. it is ironical, though perhaps in the nature of things, that almost the only living composer from whom a new symphony (or instrumental chamber work) would be something to look forward to is the very one who does not write one.

CO1.)N MASON