B.B.C. REFRESHMENT
Snt,—In these days of mental and spiritual stress many of us in our fleeting moments of leisure turn to one or other of the eternal verities for comfort and relief. For some, it may be to God in prayer: others perhaps to the urgent beauty of Nature, but a multitude that no man can number to the spiritual solace and intellectual tefreshrnent of music.
Thus it was that on Monday last one of that multitude, eager for refresh- ment, turned the knob that let Hell loose with a programme of what the B.B.C. euphemistically called "Brazilian Music." There were three separate spasms, and each appeared to be scored for the same instruments of torture. Squirt-piccolos, xylophone-dentures, nasmyth-hammers, elephant-trumpets, and whale-organs (a complete school with all stops and couplers drawn) played, not by the hands, but with the seat. Travail
started at 9.50 p.m.: and the shrieks of what appeared to be some primeval beast giving birth to a triplet of monstrosities did not cease till the conductor's forceps crashed to the floor of the studio at 10.30 p.m.
Many years ago I happily sat at the feet of such masters as Parry, Stanford, Hadow, Parratt and Buck (a school of aesthetic with which I think your distinguished paper is not unfamiliar); and I still believe that the tenets and canons of good taste and right judgement in crafts- manship and design they held and taught were laid on sound and immutable foundations. But it seems evident that the trend of modern and contemporary art (and especially music) flouts and debases every known and established principle of truth and beauty ; and it is a sad and pungent commentary on our taste that nine-tenths of the music broadcast today consists of decadent dagoes and their tapioca orchestras, or adenoidal crooners baying for the moon.
The musician of perception, of course, has his unsatisfactory remedy: he turns the knob that cuts off this opulent ooze. But, Sir, when the B.B.C. announces a full-scale recital of music with all the pomp and panoply of "The B.B.C. Orchestra (Leader, Paul Beard)," &c., and, further, sets upon the works to be performed the seal and imprimatur of "The Best Day By Day" in their official journal, then, Sir, you will, I hope, allow one inarticulate musician to protest to heaven that this recital was a damnable affront to the musical intelligence of every listener who had the nerve and faith to hear it through.
If it was put into rehearsal and produced as a bouquet to our latest Ally, it smell'd to heaven ; if its purpose was to hearten and uplift us as a nation, it was a calculated crime ; and I can well imagine Mr. Clarence Raybould as he stepped from Broadcasting House into the peace- ful quiet of Portland Place murmuring to the stars as he wiped his bloody hands: "I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise?"
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