Music: Elijah

On Nov. 8, 1876, in the second year of its existence, the New York Oratorio Society gave its first performance of Mendelssohn’s Elijah. They gave it again last week, 50 year later, in Carnegie Hall with a chorus of 200 and a large orchestra drawn from the New York Symphony. An earnest audience, knowing Elijah to be good, assumed the performance to be equally good; applauded indiscriminately mediocre singing by Marjorie Nash, soprano; by Jeanne Laval, contralto; the Elijah of Baritone Louis Gravewre, celebrating his tenth anniversary in the role with a performance well below his usual excellent standard; Septuagenarian Dan Beddoe, greatest of all oratorio tenors at his very best; voluminous but monstrous choral work under the leadership of Albert Stoessel.

Furtwangler

A year ago Wilhelm Furtwangler,* famed German conductor, came tor the U. S. to serve a four weeks’ guest conductorship with the New York Philharmonic. He did his work well, he was a success, a sensational success, some said. On the basis of his success he was engaged for this season as a regular conductor for a ten-week term. Last week he arrived, began rehearsals with an orchestra still quivering with the thrill of Toscanini’s administration, gave his first concert in Carnegie Hall.

He offered a conservative program: Beethoven’s Egmont overture, Mozart’s “Eine kleine Nachtmusik,” Brahm’s Fourth Symphony and the Meistersinger prelude. His audience approved of his program, of his workmanship, gave him a cordial reception.

Critics reached under their chairs, found the duffel-bags full of ready-to-wear words and opinions that they had tucked there surreptitiously at the first Toscanini concert, drew them out. They dared to comment on “occasional roughness,” “lagging tempo,” “indiscriminate climaxes and crescendos”; agreed that he had acquitted himself well, commended his “energy,” his “enthusiasm,” his “excellence.” One of them took out “sensational,” looked at it earnestly, put it back again.

King Gieseking

A German pianist was scheduled to make his U. S. debut in Aeolian Hall, Manhattan. His name was Walter Gieseking. He was 30 years old. He came “fresh from European successes.” But so do many of his colleagues, according to their press notices. This particular Sunday afternoon was a very busy one in Manhattan music halls. There were orchestral concerts and recitals by artists with bigger names than Gieseking, and the Friends of Music under Artur Bodanzky were doing interesting things down the street in the Town Hall. No, there was little time for the critics to spend in Aeolian Hall.

But the size of the audience made little difference to the long-legged, bulky shouldered man with the almost baby face. He walked on to the stage, bent himself up in a bow, sat down, played numbers by Bach, Scarlatti, Schumann, Busoni, Debussy, played no one better than the other, played them all magnificently. The small audience hugged itself in ecstacy, would scarcely wait to applaud after the concert, ran out to tell others about Gieseking the Great. They heard him again, heard him as soloist with the New York Symphony play a new Hindemith concerto and de Falla’s “Night in the Gardens of Spain,” heard him again at a Biltmore musicale, waited eagerly to hear him again in recital, bought tickets for themselves and friends.

Last week, again in Aeolian Hall, Walter Gieseking gave his second recital. There were no yawning seats this time. There were no office boys or office hangers-on filling critics’ chairs. There was a very large audience and the air was electric with expectations and pianists. On came Walter Gieseking, went through his program with the complete concentration of a master, a program that made no concessions to popular taste, a program that paid court only to Music. He played Bach’s English Suite in D Minor, played it with marvelous fluency, never, no matter how involved the mechanics, lost the easy singing melody without which there is no Bach. He played Schubert’s Fantasie in C, played the second book of Debussy preludes, played with long slim fingers that hovered over the keys without seeming, ever to come actually in contact with them, made Debussy a thing of darkness and light.

There were encores for which hundreds jammed their way to the front, stood with their noses hard pressed against the platform to see by what trick the long slim fingers drew such beauty from a mere piano.

There was an announcement by Manager Charles Wagner to the effect that Gieseking the Great had outgrown Aeolian Hall, that he would give a third and last recital sometime in March, in Carnegie.

U.S. Best

William Mengelberg, famed Dutch conductor, leader** for the first half of the season of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra, arrived last week in Rotterdam after several months in the U. S. Said he to pressmen there: “America leads the world in the field of music.”

*Wilhelm Furtwangler was born 40 years ago in Schonberg, just outside Berlin, the son of an archeologist. He began his musical career in the theatres of Breslau, Zurich, Munich and Strasburg. From 1911 to 1915 he was symphony conductor at Lubeck; in 1915 succeeded Artur Bodanzky as conductor of the opera in Mannheim; in 1920 succeeded Richard Strauss as conductor of the symphony concerts of She Berlin Staatsoper orchestra; at the same time followed Willem Mengelberg as conductor of the museum concerts at Frankfort. When Artur Nikisch died in 1922, Herr Furtwangler succeeded him as leader of the Gewandhaus concerts at Leipzig and of the Berlin Philharmonic. He is also associated with the Vienna Friends of Music. His programs in the U. S. last season were notably conservative. Abroad he is famed as a supporter of “moderns.” Last year, he said, for his first apearance in the U. S. he wanted the public to judge him in familiar works. This year’s programs will bring many novelties and renewals.

**Leaders of the New York Philharmonic for the season 1925-26: Willem Mengelberg, first half; Wilhelm Furtwangler, second half; Arturo Toscanini, guest conductor; Henry Hadley, associate conductor.