Music and Its Masters

by O. B. Boise

A glance backward over the course of music's evolution suffices to show that, until in very recent times, it furnishes no pregnant data for the historian. The first era of music's evolution began before the advent of historic man, for the earliest races of whom we know anything had a well-defined appreciation of its significance, but no noteworthy landmarks appear until after music came in touch with modern culture; indeed, no great advancement is traceable until after the invention of notation. The first record of melodies produced is supposed to have been made in the fourth century (A.D.),—viz., that of three Greek hymns,—to Apollo, Nemesis, and Calliope,—which, however, possess meagre means of proving their authenticity. From this shadowy period until harmonies enter the field, nearly a thousand years later, the historian finds no fruitful material, no verified accomplishments.

The march of material events was amply recorded, but melodies were passed from mouth to mouth and ear to ear, necessarily changing their outlines in the process, for the line that connects memory and expression seems, in most of humankind, to run so near that which leads from imagination to expression, as to engender inaccuracy in transmission. (This crossed-line influence is recognizable in the productions of most composers. Memories become entangled in their fancies.) Although our modern melody has doubtless come down to us through long lines of heritage, yielding to the prevailing influences of each successive stage in transmission, there is no statistical light on its line of development.

It would be interesting to know in what form the first musical intuition manifested itself, and then to trace an unbroken chain of cause and effect from that first manifestation to date, but that knowledge would not materially benefit music, which is the only art whose career does not follow well-defined cycles,—the features of periods reproducing themselves with the recurrence of conditions.

In sculpture, poetry, and architecture we have seasons of reverting to the antique, and with good results. These arts dealt with tangible material, could be kept present to the eye and mind, and therefore developed quickly. We return to their ancient forms, so restful in their conformity to natural adjustment, for relief from the tireless ingenuity of modern producers, and to find bases for new flights.

Music is, however, so essentially intangible that it required ages to discover sufficient of its underlying principles to afford the foundation for an art. Nothing within our ken has been as slow in evolving, and yet nothing has shown such an unwavering tendency forward and upward. These characteristics, and its insidious influence upon man's nature, entitle it to be called the divine art. It is in course of evolution from its original germ, but the outlines of its early technical forms have no significance for the nineteenth-century composer.

For the above reasons statistics will be avoided when they are not essential in locating and verifying conditions. Some periods were too influential in broadening and defining the scope of musical expression to be ignored. I shall endeavor to make my theories in regard to the origin and growth of music accord with its inherent qualities, as well as with man's devious and changing nature. The greater the music the more direct is its appeal to our imaginations, and the stronger its effect upon our emotions. Each intrinsically great composition has its distinguishing mood or temperament, which is the sequential expression and perpetuation of an emotion. This mood is first announced by the chosen themes, and then its varied phases and the cumulative intensity essential to sustained expression are secured through the logical manipulation of these themes.

I would divide music into two classes, natural and artificial. The latter class is, as the name assigned to it implies, a mechanical combination of musical means, the result of purely intellectual processes, incited by will force, and not by inspiration. It lacks all reason for being, and I shall dismiss it without further ceremony. It is to natural music, which springs from our imaginations, is formulated for purpose by intellect, appeals to the sympathies, and sways the emotions, that I shall devote my attention. The music of the barbarous races, although developed little beyond the initial stage, is adapted in its character to their habits and sensibilities, and is among them quite as powerful an agency for stimulating the passions as is our nineteenth-century music among the people of this Western civilization. Their musical exercises are purely emotional, and therefore natural.

Natural music is composed of two species, that which is earnest and edifying, and that which is entertaining only. These diverse growths are equally spontaneous, and each develops form, substance, and proportions in keeping with the intellectual soil by which it is nurtured.

The world requires that music shall suit its varying moods. Some of Johann Strauss' waltzes are quite as genuine music as are Beethoven's symphonies, and each in its own way contributes to the pleasure and benefit of mankind. Which would be the greater loss, were it blotted out of existence, is unquestionable, for the resultant deprivation must be measured by the comparative numbers who would feel the lack of each. The great majority of the public, and even some of music's devotees, derive more pleasure from entertaining than from earnest (so-called classical) music. This is partly because earnest music is quite often abstruse, requiring well-directed mental effort to understand its full significance; but a more generally prevailing reason for this condition (especially when dance music is concerned) is to be found in its cheering and exhilarating effect.

I think it pure affectation for musical persons to express a lack of respect for a good piece of dance music. A large percentage of those who do so are not sincere. They fear to discredit their appreciation of the classical, thinking wrongly that there would be something incongruous in liking both. The artist's ideals should embrace the whole gamut of human feeling, and music that strikes our sensibilities at any point in this line is genuine, whether it be a symphony, a love song, or a waltz.