The concerts that make the most direct, simple, and probably most successful appeal to the ma.s.ses, are those devoted to ballads. They are universal throughout the country, and from the Royal Albert Hall, to the concert-room on the pier of the smallest sea-side resort, are always in evidence.

Although series of them on an elaborate scale are given in every important town in the kingdom, perhaps those at the Albert Hall and Queen's Hall, in London, under the respective directions of the renowned firms of Boosey & Co., and Chappell & Co. (Mr. William Boosey, director) are the most universally known, and they may be justly regarded as typical of such entertainment at their best. There is not the slightest doubt that, as regards the standard of artistic taste, this cla.s.s of concert has in recent years made great progress. It is not long ago that songs without the slightest pretence to any musical value attained to immense popularity, and when a scream at the end of one of them, on a note known as high F, would draw volumes of applause on the panting and highly gratified singer.

Happily those days are either numbered, or in the quick course of becoming so.

To-day songs of great beauty are being constantly produced, and appreciated at their true worth. The art, too, of ballad-singing has immensely improved, as those whose memories can carry them back thirty years gratefully recognise, when they hear such past-masters of their craft as Madame Clara b.u.t.t and Mr. Kennerley Rumford.

The song writers who have attained to the greatest popularity in England, are mainly English--men and women.

The cult of cla.s.sical chamber music is not one that appeals very strongly to the average English music-lover; it is rather to the enthusiast or the foreigner, that its purveyors must appeal for support.

But that there are large numbers of both these cla.s.ses in London is proved by the success with which the late Mr. Arthur Chappell carried on for so many years, those celebrated concerts known as the Monday and Sat.u.r.day "Pops."

Since those days, the golden days of chamber music, so far as England is concerned--the days of Madame Norman-Neruda, Joachim, Piatti, Madame Schumann and Charles Halle--its interests have been mainly watched over in London by the historic firm of John Broadwood and Sons.

That the standard of taste in every branch of music has risen enormously in this country during the past few years none will be found to deny; but, nevertheless, I cannot regard without suspicion the apparent outbursts of enthusiasm, on the part of the average English opera-goer, for such a work as Richard Strauss's "Salome"; they appear to me altogether artificially contrived.

That the critic, saturated with music at its highest development should hail with joy a work so well calculated to act as a stimulus to his highly-tried faculties, I can quite understand, but, that the less-trained intellect of the average opera-goer could grasp, with any appreciable understanding, at a first or second hearing, the tremendously complex music that is here presented, is quite beyond comprehension, or credence.

Yet foreign newspapers reported that the music was received in England with extraordinary enthusiasm. One may be, I think, justified in doubting the value of the sources from which the information was derived. In many instances the music of Richard Strauss has been claimed to be an advance on that of Richard Wagner.

I do not think that one in a thousand English musicians would admit the claim.

The question of the censor has been much in evidence of late, and it is not to be wondered at, seeing the eminence of many of those in opposition to the continuance of the office, that public opinion has been shaken in its old-time confidence in his decisions. So far as music is concerned I think there is little of which one may with reason complain.

It would be absurd to expect from any official, however distinguished, the gift of infallibility. When "Samson et Dalila" was inhibited, there was undoubted reason in cavilling at the decision, for, after all, the story is one that might be taken from heathen mythology, and has no religious significance whatever.

With "Salome" the case is quite different. The poem by Oscar Wilde, was founded on an incident recorded in the New Testament. This fact in itself was quite sufficient to make the censor hesitate to permit its public performance, knowing, as he would, that it was calculated to wound the feelings of, and arouse justified resentment among, thousands of religious people in England. After all, England is a Christian country, although London does not declare the fact in its highest manifestation. Viewing the trend of events to-day, the sense of unrest, the prevalent feeling of doubt and uncertainty, and the craving for excitement satisfied in however questionable a manner, I think the existence of an official who has the power to cry "halt!" in the important matter of stage performances, is a thing for which we should be profoundly grateful.

It must be borne in mind that the position of those responsible for giving advice on such delicate questions, must be extremely difficult, and therefore commands from all who are capable of taking an unprejudiced view, sympathetic consideration.

One of these, the official recognition of merit in distinguished musicians, is, probably, not one of the easiest to deal with, and this, perhaps, explains to the man in the street some of the amazing decisions (one would almost hazard the thought of sardonic humour in some hara.s.sed courtier as the mainspring) that have at times, been arrived at. For instance, it may be observed that, whereas many Englishmen--professors of universities, administrators of great schools of music, historians of mark, and authors of theoretical books of immense importance--have been pa.s.sed by, foreign composers of music that has not the slightest claim to serious consideration, have been the recipients of honours equivalent to those awarded to a General, on the conclusion of a successful campaign.

A prominent feature of present musical life in England, and one that has only come into existence in recent years, is the amazing pa.s.sion for examinations that has seized on old and young alike, all over the country. That the influence is largely for good will, I think, be generally admitted, but that there are objections, and grave ones too, I shall speedily show.

The craving to be able to put some mysterious-looking letters after their name, has become a positive mania among those whose occupation, mainly, is that of teaching music in its humbler spheres. The result is that inst.i.tutions of all kinds, good, bad, indifferent or altogether worthless, have been springing up all over the country with a view to satisfy this longing and, _inter alia_, take benefit by the fees that are willingly paid by the applicants, who may be said, veritably, to be numbered in thousands.

I am afraid they little know, poor people, how absolutely indifferent the public have gradually become to this matter of certificates of efficiency. People, in fact, have become so accustomed nowadays to see a whole string of letters after a person's name, which in ninety cases out of a hundred have no significance to them whatever, that, beyond flattering the vanity of the individual, the use of letters authorised by these self-appointed inst.i.tutions has no effect. The least educated could hardly be deceived by them.

That certificates from such places as the Royal College of Music, Trinity College, or the Royal Academy of Music are valuable to the young teacher, there is not the slightest doubt, but that the fact of similar ones being positively showered on young people from one end of the land to the other must, unless something is done, soon darken the prestige and lower the value of even these, I think there can be little question.

A government enquiry into the whole question is decidedly needed, for it must be remembered that the general public have neither time nor inclination to solve the intricate question of the relative value or importance of the letters placed after the names of such crowds of people in these days, and, naturally, harm must accrue to those who have pa.s.sed legitimate examinations and obtained recognised degrees that are witness to their competence.

That examinations by approved persons are both desirable and even necessary it is needless to insist on.

In the years immediately following on 1880, I held the position of senior teacher in a school of considerable importance, and, becoming sensible of the solemn farce of annual examinations by teachers of their own pupils, that had been the custom of many years past, I suggested to the authorities that they should engage an examiner from one of the princ.i.p.al inst.i.tutions. I was, accordingly, desired to go to the Royal Academy of Music and see whether that body would entertain the proposition.

I was informed that there was no machinery for such purposes, but that the matter would be placed before the committee. In the event, the late Mr. Walter Macfarren came down. In the following year, I approached the Royal College of Music, with the same object in view, and had an interesting interview with the late Sir George Grove.

He expressed himself as being highly interested in the idea, announced his intention to accede to the request, and asked if I had any preference as to the member of his staff he should select. I replied that the school authorities would prefer to leave the question, absolutely, to his discretion.

We were fortunate enough to have the services of Mr. (now Dr.) Eaton Faning placed at our disposition. The result was all that could be desired, as the prestige of these great inst.i.tutions would, naturally, presage.

I mention these facts merely to ill.u.s.trate the extraordinary rapidity with which the examinational system has spread over the country.

If the true advance of the spirit of music in England correlate with the energy that is displayed in this particular direction, one can only be thankful for the evidence it presents, even though incidents in connection with it may justly give occasional cause for uneasiness.

But that there are other and striking indications that afford indubitable proof of increasing interest on the part of the public in everything to do with music in England, the public press of the country conclusively proves.

It may be safely said that where, thirty years ago, one short paragraph dealing with the subject was thought sufficient to meet all requirements, the leading journals of to-day devote two or three whole columns to satisfy the demands of their readers.

In this connection, the subject of musical criticism naturally obtrudes itself, and it may at once be said that one of the most satisfactory features in modern musical life is its general fairness, and the entire absence of savagery that was so prominent a feature in it in days of not long ago.

To read the effusions of so fine an old musician and writer as J. W.

Davidson, simply makes one feel stupefied. Wagner was to him as nothing but typical of the Evil One. Chopin was nearly as bad, and the language he used concerning them both is calculated to make one's hair stand on end.

Those were days when the old order was just beginning to give place to the new, and the critics of the old school fought for their principles with a tenacity, and even ferocity, that can only excite admiration, if tempered with surprise, in these times of laxity of purpose.

But, after all, they were genial souls at heart, and the words written to-day were, evidently, expected to be forgotten to-morrow.

For example: many years ago, when quite a boy, I had the pleasure to spend an evening in the company of one of them, then an old man. He was pleasant, communicative and evidently fond of indulging in reminiscences. In the course of the conversation, I said, "I can never understand what caused you to write so virulently about ----" He interrupted me with "Did I? I don't remember." This was staggering, since I had often been told of the sensation his articles caused at the time. It irresistibly brought back to my mind, and I recall it with all reverence, that wonderful sketch by Anatole France, of Pontius Pilate, in his old age at Baiae: "Jesus?... Jesus de Nazareth?... Je ne rappelle pas." They were days of hard striking, with the confident expectation of receiving a like return.

In the case of Chopin, his nature was altogether too sensitive to enter upon warfare of this kind. He simply suffered. With Wagner, it was entirely different. His nature was combative, his pen vitriolic, and he was a skilled controversialist. No critic ever entered into conflict with him without carrying away distinct evidence of the fray.

It must be said in justice, that whatever the vehemence of expression, or the open and unabashed hatred of the ideas he condemned, the critic of those days avowed himself, and stood out, fearlessly, to meet any reprisals that his words might subject him to.

In this I say frankly my sympathy goes out to him. To-day, it must be conceded, that musical criticism is on a distinctly higher plane. But, while cordially admitting the inspiring and thought-compelling material that constantly emanates from the pens of the distinguished men who represent the foremost journals of London and the great provincial cities, one has got to record the fact that the pall of anonymity is over it all.

From every point of view this seems most regrettable. It is as unfair to the critic who writes, as to the public that reads.

The signed article not only adds weight to the views expressed, but enhances, and most justly, the reputation of the writer, through the publicity it extends to his name.

As things are at present, the public are kept entirely in the dark as to the authorship of the criticism they read, and, therefore, have no means of knowing what precise importance need be attached to it.

It may be written by the eminent and experienced chief musical representative of the journal, or some callow youth making his first efforts in a difficult, and, it must be admitted, often a very thankless occupation.

The public know nothing. I think, however, that among the immense majority of readers, whatever may be put forward, is usually accepted as the reasoned view of the paper in which it appears.

It is then, obviously unfair to public and critic alike, and if to them, what is to be said of the person criticised? He is the one who suffers most, and, what is more, has no means of retaliation.

Judged from any point of view, anonymity in criticism, seems to me to be absolutely indefensible.

The question is an old one, I admit, but it is none the less serious for that, and comes readily to the pen and the memory.

That the critic, in the long run, is in the ascendant will be granted, but when he, in the person of Lord Brougham, attacked Byron, or through some less powerful channel, attacked Keats, thereby bringing down the magnificently expressed scorn of Percy Bysshe Sh.e.l.ley, he did not come off with his accustomed success.

The criticisms were ephemeral, the replies immortal. One may venture upon a wish that more such offences should be perpetrated, could similar results be certain of arrival. At any rate we owe to them Byron's "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," the first work which revealed his genius to the world, and made himself conscious of it, and the still greater "Adonais," of Sh.e.l.ley.

In the rush and flurry of musical events to-day, it is naturally impossible for one representative of a paper to record, much less criticise them, and this fact often leads to things that, if inevitable, are none the less regrettable. I have in my possession two issues of a prominent London paper. They contain critical notices of a certain orchestral work. In the first, it is written of in terms of high appreciation, among others, the word "remarkable" being applied to it.