ARTISTES' ALIASES.
An interesting meeting was held at the Memorial Hall last Saturday in order to discuss schemes of brightening the nomenclature of British musicians.
Sir Frederic Cowen, who presided, said that whereas in the last century it was the common practice of British singers to Italianize their surnames, we had now gone to the opposite extreme of an aggressive insularity. He thought that a compromise between the two entremes was feasible, by which a certain element of picturesqueness might be introduced into our programmes without exposing us to the charge of deliberately seeking to denationalise ourselves.
Sir Henry Wood suggested that the method of the anagram or palindrome yielded very happy results. Nobody could be charged with running away from his name if he merely turned it upside down or inside out. For instance, Miss Muriel Foster would become Miss Leirum Retsof, which had a pleasantly Slavonic sound, while Mr. Hamilton Harty would reappear in the impressive form of Mr. Notlimah Ytrah.
Miss Carrie Tubb protested vigorously against the proposal, on the ground that, if it were adopted, her name would sound just like Butt, which was already that of a contralto singer. (Sensation.)
Madame Clara Butt supported the protest, pointing out that, if the suggestion were acted on, her name would sound just like Tubb, which was that of a soprano vocalist. (Great sensation.)
Professor Granville Bantock pleaded eloquently for calling in the glamour of the East to illuminate the drab monotony of our Anglo-Saxon surnames. He was quite ready to be known in future as Bantockjee or Bangkok, if the sense of the meeting was in favour of the change—always subject, of course, to the consent of Sir Oliver Lodge, the Principal of Birmingham University. (Loud cheers.)
Mr. Delius was strongly opposed to any change of nomenclature being made compulsory. He was quite sure that he would not compose nearly so well under, e.g., the alias of De Lara. In any case, artists should be safeguarded against the appropriation of their names by others.
Mr. Algernon Ashton (who was greeted with soft music on muted violins) deprecated all unseemly pranks. Nothing would induce him to change his patronymic or turn it upside down or inside out.
Mr. Landon Ronald expressed sympathy with musicians who were handicapped by cacophonous or undignified names. For example, a singer called Hewlett or Ball laboured under a serious disadvantage when competing with artistes blessed with melodious appellations such as Bellincioni or Sammarco.
Mr. Ben Davies observed that Welsh singers wore terribly hampered by the poverty of their nomenclature. Two out of every three bore the surname Davies, and at least one in three of our Welsh male soloists was christened Ivor. Ivor was a good name in itself, but it was becoming terribly hackneyed.
Mr. Henry Bird thought that all musicians should be at liberty to assume names provided they were appropriate. But for a composer to call himself Johann Sebastian Wagner was to court disaster. He ventured to submit the following list for the benefit of persons who contemplated making the change. For a soprano: Miss Hyam Seton. For a contralto: Miss Ritchie Plummer. For a tenor: Mr. Uther Chesterton. For a bass: Mr. Deeping Downer. For a pianist: Mr. or Miss Ivory Pounds. For a banjoist: Mr. Plunkett Stringer.
Miss Phyllis Lett, in a brief speech, explained that her name was all-British and had no connection whatever with Lithuania.
Ultimately, on the proposal of Lord Howard de Walden, seconded by Mr. Josef Holbrooke, a small committee was appointed, consisting of Sir Edward Elgar, Professor Bantock, Madame Clara Butt, Mr. Ben Davies and Sir Henry Wood, to enquire into the different proposals, and the meeting dispersed to the strains of "For he might have been a Rooshan."
