The Little Review, March 1917 (Vol. 3, No. 9)Various
General
The Little Review, March 1917 (Vol. 3, No. 9)
Various
Literature, Modern -- 20th century -- Periodicals
As for the things he does, most of them are the things that any good
musician does: he makes his conception run just ahead of his execution,
like a switchman who regulates trains from a high tower; he makes tone
contrasts that—what do the critics usually say? Of course he does many
things better than most good musicians: he throws out handsful of color
that most of them would give their souls to achieve; he makes the piano
sing more deeply than any one else has done; he strikes chords that no
piano except his Mason and Hamlin has ever given forth; he never hurts
the sounds, and he never applies music to the instrument instead of
drawing music out of it, as even the best pianists have a way of doing.
There is less diffusion of sound in his performances; you have a feeling
that it is the most closely-thought music you have ever heard. He edits
the composition until it is flawlessly adjusted to the piano’s best
values. All these are essentials of his playing; but they are not the
“difference” of which I wish to write.
Harold Bauer uses the piano as if it were an instrument endowed with an
intrinsic “significant form.” I once heard Fritz Kreisler play some
accompaniments, and I shall never forget how he showed his feeling that
the piano has a mysterious life of its own with which he did not mean to
interfere. It was as though he simply touched the springs which set that
life in motion. Not being a creator on the piano he did not try to do
more than that. Bauer believes the same thing; but on top of that theory
he builds up the edifice of his own “significant form.” With most
pianists you have a feeling that what they want to say is interspersed
with what the piano is saying on its own account, and the result is a
muddle. What Bauer has to say is placed carefully on top of that life
growing just beneath, and the result is the most consciously-intelligent
art I have ever come in contact with.
This is making the piano not what paint is to the painter, but what
color is to him. There’s a great difference. Even Hofmann can use the
keys as if they were paint—colors to be mixed into _color_; but to touch
them as if they were color—something already complete and living—is to
do a significant thing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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