MUSIC
GREAT conductors, like other great 'men, are surrounded by many temptations which the rest of us are spared ; but they resemble the rest of us in that they often succumb to those temptations which seem most improbable. The conductor of genius knows that under his direction great works of art take on a still brighter sheen and even lesser music can be made to reveal unsuspected charms and graces. Thus Toscanini lends his magic power to give some tawdry orchestral pieces of Respighi the glitter of authentic gold ; or Sir Thomas Beecham will delight in recovering from a dusty shelf in the music-historian's library some long- forgotten bverture by Paisiello or Gretry which, newly furbished by him, will once again spread its mild enchantment. To make Respighi seem a little better than he is and to rescue Paisiello from oblivion—these are surely legitimate, even rather endearing activities; but they represent the first steps on a steep and slippery path. Having once tasted the pleasure of re-creating something that seemed dead, the great conductor is tempted to go one further and to try to give at least the semblance of life to that which is really still-born. Even Toscanini has occasionally descended to lending the prestige of his name to music that is more or less worthless ; and on November 25th Sir Thomas Beecham appeared at the Festival Hall in this role, so closely allied to that of Dr. Coppelius, expending his own energy and his audience's time on trying to bring to life a work that was manifestly not alive nor susceptible of life'.
It is not very long ago that Sir Thomas returned to this country with a new Canadian work, which had somehow found favour with him but, even with his sponsorship, found none with us ; and perhaps the most characteristic—and praiseworthy—of his
main achievements has always been to give absolutely first-class performances of second- class music. Richard Arnell's Lord Byron, therefore, might have belonged to one of two classes—with the Canadian work, a dead piece that nothing can bring to life, or with Massenet 's Dernier Sommeil de la Sainte Vierge and Paisiello's Nina, as a charming Beecham trifle. Unfortunately it took its place unambiguously with the former. This" symphonic portrait "of the poet was cast on the lines of Ein Heldenleben, with prelude and epilogue framing continuous episodes labelled respectively "Newstead," " Augusta " (a slow waltz), " Success and Disgrace," " Voyage," " Serenade " and "Battles." Poor Byron ! it could not be said that he lived again in these fluent and colourless music, with its big gestures and puny themes, its charming moments which would make useful "fill-ups" for a film, and its general air of remote relationship to
some gaga Berlioz. Every composer occasionally attempts something for which he is quite unfitted, but not all have the misfortune to find a great conductor who will commission such a work and sponsor the unhappy result.
MARTIN COOPER
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