Preface

This little book professes to be nothing beyond a simple expression of personal views. It is addressed, in the first place, to head masters and head mistresses who may be considering the addition to their curriculum of the new subject of 'Musical Appreciation'; in the second place, to Music Teachers who are called upon, or are likely to be called upon, to teach that subject; and in the third place, to any Parents who take an intelligent interest in the education of their children. The greater number of the pages that follow are capable of being read independently, as a general exposition of their subject; others make reference to The Book of the Great Musicians:  a Class Book of Listening, issued by the same publishers.

Attention is called to the request upon the last page of the book.

Introduction

I T would probably be reasonable to say that one of the chief difficulties of the teacher of music is the fact that the children who are being taught music on right lines hear as a rule much more music of a doubtful kind than of a definitely good kind. It is very obvious that children who live in surroundings where they hear their mother tongue mispronounced and misconstructed have infinitely more difficulty in absorbing the refinements of language and the delights of good pronunciation which they may enjoy in their school-time. This fight for light in the midst of so much darkness is the real difficulty music teachers have to face. They penetrate one ear with the truth of their doctrines at the same time as the other ear is assailed with every kind of harmful sound—at home, in the streets, in the theatres, and in the churches.

The hope of improving this state of things seems to lie not so much in active hostility to undesirable music as in the development of the faculties of appreciation. Let children learn to love what is beautiful in music and to realize the sources of pleasure comprehended in its pursuit. If the faculty of appreciation is strengthened, and the necessity for its operation realized, a new generation of children will grow up armed with the best of all weapons to withstand the insidious attractions of music which is vulgar, plausible, quasirhythmically-attractive, shallow, meaningless, and utterly without reason for its existence, except to resound in heads empty of brains, and ears deaf to anything but the lower pulses of a degraded taste.

To cultivate this power of appreciation the training must be begun as early as possible and must be carried out on lines the simplest and broadest. The methods must be alive—as they will only thus become operative. They must not be such as will seem to make music a thing divorced from other subjects, but such as will make it appear what it is, an integral part of the lives of all of us. The musical instinct is all but universal (in some form or other), and it is only because the guidance in the right direction was not forthcoming in earlier days that it so often has gone astray on a line of least resistance. Good music, properly pursued, often demands thought; bad music requires none. If children are taught the processes of musical thinking they will find not only a great pleasure, but a continually increasing facility in understanding the thoughts underlying music—exactly as with the greater experience of a language, the facility of conversation and the anticipation of thought is enormously increased.

The Book of the Great Musicians,  designed for the children on lines calculated to interest them, is an addition to the most important branch of musical education. Its very simplicity is its highest recommendation; it invites the children's confidence and stimulates their curiosity; it makes the whole thing rather like a game in which the whole class, as much as the individual, may find a great deal of pleasure. It combines in a happy way the basic facts of music (such as melody, harmony, structure) with the living examples in composition and the personal qualities of history.

In the hands of an imaginative teacher an Appreciation Class becomes a fascinating employment. It is not given to all, this power of making instruction alive, and it is just for the less fortunate that this book will be the greatest help. It can be infinitely varied in application, and should always be interesting. If once the well-trained ear and eye are coupled to a Nvell-developed faculty of appreciation of music there will be little to fear for the future.

The Present State of Musical Culture

I T must be evident to all that, despite some recent advance, the present state of musical culture (in every country) is unsatisfactory. I have just been reading a set of essays, by professional musicians and keen amateurs, written in connexion with a competition. Each takes the form of a 'Letter to a Millionaire, describing the present state of Musical Cultivation in Britain'. Most of them take a broad view of their subject and discuss not so much the originality or otherwise of our composers, or the interpretative skill of our public performers, as the general musical or unmusical state of the population as a whole. The inquiry is an interesting one.

The winning essay expresses the view that 'our average  standard is deplorably low'. The writer, who has had nine years' experience as a clergyman in the East End of London, has fought there a fight against 'barbarism in music'—as he sadly confesses, a losing fight. 'What chance had I', he says, 'against the overwhelming avalanche of music-hall productions with their mawkish tunes and their vulgarizing stanzas?'

What is true of the East End is, as he points out, true also of the respectable suburbs and the West End. There is everywhere plenty of music—but of the wrong sort. Ephemeral songs and tawdry dance music fill every shop window. The classics and the works of the serious composers of our own day are inside—waiting for their small discriminating public to come and ask for them.

Of course there are magnificent concerts in West London, there is excellent fare provided in many of the great provincial towns, with their accomplished orchestras and incomparable vocalists, but these are patronized chiefly by the faithful few who go the round and, in their own words, "would not miss one for anything".'

Most of the competitors allude to those 'faithful few', either by that name or some other, and one of them estimates their numbers at three per cent. of the population. This estimate is probably not unfair. For ninety-seven out of every hundred men and women, Bach, Beethoven, Elgar, Macdowell have never yet been born. A similar calculation as to the real lovers of literature or painting might yield no happier result. That does not concern me, however. If the literary men and the painters are satisfied with that percentage it is their own look-out. But as a musician I am not  satisfied with it; and I know no musician who is—though some have quietly accepted it as one of the sad, inevitable facts of life.