Portrait of Percy Grainger (Eastman Studies in Music)

PORTRAIT OF PERCY GRAINGER

Eastman Studies in Music Ralph P. Locke, Senior Editor Eastman School of Music (ISSN 1071–9989) The Poetic Debussy: A Collection of His Song Texts and Selected Letters (Revised Second Edition) Edited by Margaret G. Cobb Concert Music, Rock, and Jazz since 1945: Essays and Analytical Studies Edited by Elizabeth West Marvin and Richard Hermann Music and the Occult: French Musical Philosophies, 1750–1950 Joscelyn Godwin “Wanderjahre of a Revolutionist” and Other Essays on American Music Arthur Farwell, edited by Thomas Stoner French Organ Music from the Revolution to Franck and Widor Edited by Lawrence Archbold and William J. Peterson

Music and Musicians in the Escorial Liturgy under the Habsburgs, 1563–1700 Michael Noone Analyzing Wagner’s Operas: Alfred Lorenz and German Nationalist Ideology Stephen McClatchie The Gardano Music Printing Firms, 1569–1611 Richard J. Agee “The Broadway Sound”: The Autobiography and Selected Essays of Robert Russell Bennett Edited by George J. Ferencz Theories of Fugue from the Age of Josquin to the Age of Bach Paul Mark Walker The Chansons of Orlando di Lasso and Their Protestant Listeners: Music, Piety, and Print in Sixteenth-Century France Richard Freedman

Musical Creativity in Twentieth-Century China: Abing, His Music, and Its Changing Meanings (includes CD) Jonathan P.J. Stock

Berlioz’s Semi-Operas: “Roméo et Juliette” and “La damnation de Faust” Daniel Albright

Elliott Carter: Collected Essays and Lectures, 1937–1995 Edited by Jonathan W. Bernard

“The Music of American Folk Song” and Selected Other Writings on American Folk Music Ruth Crawford Seeger

Music Theory in Concept and Practice Edited by James M. Baker, David W. Beach, and Jonathan W. Bernard

Portrait of Percy Grainger Malcolm Gillies and David Pear

PORTRAIT OF PERCY GRAINGER

Malcolm Gillies and David Pear

University of Rochester Press

Copyright © 2002 Malcolm Gillies and David Pear All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under current legislation, no part of this work may be photocopied, stored in a retrieval system, published, performed in public, adapted, broadcast, transmitted, recorded, or reproduced in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. First published 2002 by the University of Rochester Press The University of Rochester Press 668 Mt. Hope Avenue, Rochester, NY 14620, USA Boydell & Brewer, Ltd. P.O. Box 9, Woodbridge, Suffolk IP12 3DF, UK www.urpress.com ISBN 1–58046–087–9 ISSN 1071–9989 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Gillies, Malcolm. Portrait of Percy Grainger / Malcolm Gillies and David Pear. p. cm. — (Eastman studies in music, ISSN 1071-9989 ; 17) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 1-58046-087-9 (alk. paper) 1. Grainger, Percy, 1882–1961. 2. Composers—Biography. I. Pear, David. II. Title. III. Series. ML410.G75 G55 2002 780.92—dc21 [B]

20001048100

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Designed and typeset by Straight Creek Bookmakers Printed in the United States of America This publication is printed on acid-free paper

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view these images please refer to the printed version of this book.

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

Grainger, cross-dressed in Karen Holten’s clothes, ca. 1909

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

Grainger, derrière, ca. 1909

To the Memory of Rosemary Florrimell, A True Friend of Grainger

CONTENTS Illustrations, xiii Acknowledgements, xv Chronology, xvii Introduction, xxxi 1 Australia, 1882–1895, 1 John H. Grainger, 3 Rose Grainger, 5 ‘Medidney,’ 6 Caulfield Barton, 9 Ruth Curtain, 10 W.C. Gordon, 13 Amy Chalk, 13 The South Australian Register (Adelaide), 15 2 Germany, 1895–1901, 21 Cyril Scott, 23 Pauline ‘Butzie’ Schumacher, 27 Kaare K. Nygaard, 28 Carlo Fischer, 29 General-Anzeiger (Frankfurt), 30 3 Britain, 1901–1914, 35 Cyril Scott, 37 Ernest Thesiger, 38 Ferruccio Busoni, 40 Henry J. Wood, 41 Alfhild Sandby, 42 Winefride Elwes, 46 Charles Villiers Stanford, 48 The Throne (London), 49 Edvard Grieg, 50 Frederick Delius, 51 H.G. Wells, 53 The Age (Melbourne), 53 Eugene Goossens, 54 Lionel Tertis, 55

x

contents

Kitty Parker, 56 Dagny Petersen, 59 Hulda Garborg, 62 Thomas Brentnall, 63 G.W.L. Marshall-Hall, 64 Peter Warlock, 65 4 America, 1914–1922, 73 Antonia Sawyer, 75 Richard Aldrich, 78 Henry T. Finck, 79 Nellie Melba, 81 Daniel Gregory Mason, 82 Aeolian Company, 83 Harriette Brower, 85 Robin H. Legge, 86 D.C. (‘Charlie’) Parker, 90 Richard Franko Goldman, 92 Albert Goldberg, 94 Rose Grainger, 96 Antonia Sawyer, 99 5 America, 1922–1939, 109 Evald Tang Kristensen, 111 Ella Grainger, 112 Emma Crooks Bevan, 113 Louise McDowell, 115 Storm Bull, 118 Vera Bradford, 122 Eric Fenby, 124 D.C. (‘Charlie’) Parker, 127 Frederick Fennell, 131 Martin Bernstein, 132 Gustave Reese, 134 Anselm Hughes, 136 Benjamin Britten, 139 Peter Pears, 139 Ella Grainger, 140 Gordon Aldridge and Evie Aldridge, 144 Gordon Laws, 145 John Douglas Todd, 146 Sparre Olsen, 150

contents

Maurice Lowe, 154 Alfred Hill, 155 Richard Hindle Fowler, 155 6 America, 1939–1961, 165 Maurice Loriaux, 167 Ella Grainger, 168 Joseph M. Rezits, 171 Walter S. Hartley, 173 Cyril Scott, 175 Burnett Cross, 177 Robert Lewis Taylor, 180 Susana Walton, 184 Richard Bowen, 185 Richard Hindle Fowler, 186 John Amis, 188 Daniel N. Leeson, 189 Kaare K. Nygaard, 191 Autopsy, 193 7 Grainger on Grainger, 201 Select Bibliography, 209 Index, 211

xi

ILLUSTRATIONS Frontispieces: Grainger, cross-dressed in Karen Holten’s clothes, ca. 1909 v Grainger, derrière, ca. 1909 vi 1 Grainger, tout ensemble, 1882 18 2 ‘Medidney’ 18 3 Ancient warrior’s profile, drawn by Grainger, aged six 19 4 Collins Street, Melbourne, ca. 1895 19 5 Grainger, aged fourteen 20 6 The city of Frankfurt am Main from Sachsenhausen, ca. 1895 32 7 Cyril Scott, 1898 32 8 Karl Klimsch with Grainger, 1923 33 9 Carlo Fischer, 1899 33 10 Grainger in 1903–4 66 11 Herman Sandby, Derwent Wood and Grainger, in Wood’s studio, Chelsea, ca. 1903 67 12 Ernest Thesiger in The Robe, 1953 67 13 Grainger during 1903–4 Australasian tour 68 14 Grainger, Ada Crossley and friends, Durban, South Africa, 1904 68 15 Alfhild Sandby, Ella Grainger, Percy Grainger and Herman Sandby, 1929 69 16 Edvard Grieg, Grainger, Nina Grieg and Julius Röntgen, at Grieg’s home, Troldhaugen, Norway, July 1907 69 17 Kitty Parker, ca. 1914 70 18 Grainger’s mother, Rose, 1908 70 19 Concert brochure, 1914 71 20 Bandsman Grainger in pensive mood, late 1917 104 21 Grainger with concert manager, Antonia Sawyer 104 22 Promotion postcard, 1915 105 23 Nellie Melba 106 24 Grainger by a pianola, ca. 1916 106 25 Louise McDowell, 1953 107 26 Rose Grainger in death, May 1922 107 27 Balfour Gardiner with Grainger, 18 September 1922 158 28 Evald Tang Kristensen examining a full score of ‘Jutish Medley’, a birthday gift from Grainger, late 1920s 158

xiv

29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

illustrations

Roger Quilter with Ella Grainger, Pevensey Bay, Sussex, 1929 159 The Crooks family at Barstow, California, 1938 159 Grainger and Storm Bull, 1930 160 Grainger with Delius and Eric Fenby, 1 July 1929 160 D. C. (‘Charlie’) Parker, 1932 161 The Dolmetsch family and friends, mid-1930s 161 Ella and Percy Grainger, arriving in Australia, 1934 162 Sparre Olsen with Percy and Ella Grainger, Norway, June 1939 162 Manuscript of ‘Lord Melbourne’, 1939 163 Rejected plan for second stage of Grainger Museum, Melbourne, mid-late 1930s 164 Sketch of completed Grainger Museum, December 1938 164 Grainger and members of the concert band of Gustavus Adolphus College, St Peter, Minnesota, 1941 195 Maurice Loriaux with Grainger, 1941 195 Cyril Scott composing into a dictaphone 196 The eyes of Ralph Vaughan Williams, 1954 196 A ‘Free Music’ experiment, 1950 197 Sketch of ‘Kangaroo-Pouch’ machine, 1952 198 Richard Hindle Fowler and Burnett Cross, 1976 (photo by Dr. John Fowler) 199 Kaare K. Nygaard, 1985 199 Monument at Grainger’s grave, West Terrace Cemetery, Adelaide 200

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The texts of many of the recollections found in this volume have been prepared from materials held in the Grainger Museum at The University of Melbourne, Australia. We are grateful to the Baillieu Librarian and successive curators at the Grainger Museum for granting us access to the Museum’s Collection, and permissions to publish materials where these have been assigned to the Museum or the University. In particular we have appreciated the support of the late Rosemary Florrimell, Kay Dreyfus, Alessandro Servadei and Brian Allison. We acknowledge the assistance of the Centre for the Study of Higher Education at The University of Melbourne with the preparation of illustrations, and for the permission to publish illustrations afforded by the Baillieu Librarian at The University of Melbourne. For permission to reproduce portions of Grainger’s own writings, and the writings of his parents and wife, we acknowledge the kind agency of Stewart Manville (White Plains, New York), representing the Estates of Percy and Ella Grainger. We are also grateful to Barry Ould, for granting permissions on behalf of the Grainger Society. The reminiscences by John Amis, Peter Cahn (General-Anzeiger), Gustave Reese and John Douglas Todd are reproduced by kind permission of the Callaway International Resource Centre for Music and Music Education at the University of Western Australia. The reminiscence by Ruth Curtain is reproduced by kind permission of the Provincial Archives of the Society of the Sacred Heart of Jesus (Melbourne). Interviews with Burnett Cross and Kaare K. Nygaard as heard on ABC Radio, are reproduced by kind permission of the Australian Broadcasting Corporation. We thank Britt Mo Nummedal at Det Norske Samlaget for her efforts in contacting the executor of the estate of Sparre Olsen. The authors are grateful to the following for permission to reproduce extracts (full references to sources are provided at the end of each passage): Gordon and Evie Aldridge, John Amis, Ashgate Publishing (Lionel Carley/Frederick Delius), Virginia Lubkin Bernstein (Martin Bernstein), John Bird (Kaare K. Nygaard), Richard Bowen, Vera Bradford, Colin Brumby (Dom Anselm Hughes), Storm Bull, Burnett Cross, Elkin Music Services on behalf of Thames Publishing (Peter Pears), Anton Eisdell (Kitty Parker), Faber & Faber and Dover Publications (Eric Fenby),

xvi

acknowledgements

Frederick Fennell, Richard Hindle Fowler, Daniel Franko Goldman (Richard Franko Goldman), Walter Hartley, Heinemann Educational (Ernest Thesiger), Mette Sandby Hokenfeldt (Alfhild Sandby), Claire Laws (Gordon Laws), Daniel N. Leeson, Lynn and Michael Loriaux (Maurice Loriaux), Mr and Mrs Ed Fader and Bernard Lowe (Maurice Lowe), William Moody, Journal of Band Research (Daniel N. Leeson), A.J. North (Alfred Hill), Barry Ould (D.C. Parker and Albert Goldberg), Kegan Paul (Cyril Scott, The Philosophy of Modernism), Thérèse Radic (Nellie Melba), Joseph Rezits, Schirmer/Wadsworth/Thomson Learning (D.C. Parker), Vestal Press (The Aeolian Company), Susana Walton (William Walton). Benjamin Britten’s reminiscence appears by kind permission of Oxford University Press; Frederick Delius’s reminiscence in Christopher St John, Ethel Smyth: A Biography by kind permission of Pearson Education Limited. Any permission holders who may have been overlooked are requested to contact the authors so that rectification can occur in a subsequent edition. We are grateful to the following for their assistance in the preparation and refinement of this volume: Gordon Abbott, Bronwen Arthur, John Bird, Kay Dreyfus, Paul Kildea, Kathleen Nelson, Britt Mo Nummedal, Stewart Manville, Barry Ould, Simon Perry, Alessandro Servadei, Ralph Stang and Derek Stiller. To Mark Carroll we express our gratitude for assistance in the final stages of preparation of the volume.

CHRONOLOGY 1882

ca. 1884

ca. 1886 ca. 1887 1888 ca. 1888

ca. 1889 1890 ca. 1891 1892

1894

8 July Born George Percy Grainger in Brighton (near Melbourne), Victoria, son of John H. Grainger (1855–1917), architect, and his wife, Rosa (Rose) Annie (née Aldridge) (1861–1922). His father contracts syphilis and infects his wife Rose. Leaves Brighton and lives in various hotels in the Melbourne area for several years; frequently holidays in Adelaide with his mother, staying with her relations. Starts formal lessons, at home. First reads stories of Hans Christian Andersen; writes his first letters; starts to draw and paint. Opening of Princes Bridge, Melbourne, designed by John H. Grainger. Moves to live in Hawthorn district of Melbourne; starts taking daily piano lessons with his mother, who also supervises his practice. Starts reading Homeric stories, followed by much Dickens. His father takes a curative sea voyage to London and back; on returning to Australia lives apart from his family. Starts to study acting and painting with Thomas A. Sisley and drawing with Frederick McCubbin. First reads Grettir the Strong, kindling lifelong interest in heroism, muscularity and ultra-democracy; starts to study piano with Louis Pabst in Melbourne. Moves with his mother to South Yarra, Melbourne, where he briefly attends a school (his only formal schooling). July First plays the piano in public, with several pieces by Bach. September Plays Beethoven, Bach, Raff, Schumann, Schubert, Scarlatti and Handel pieces at a public concert in

xviii

1895

1896 1897 1898

1899

1900

chronology

Melbourne; his mother starts to seek support for his career from leading figures in Victoria. October Plays three times in ‘The People’s Promenade Concerts’ at the Exhibition Building, Melbourne. December Pabst leaves Australia to return to Europe, suggesting that Grainger should continue his musical education there; he commences studies with one of Pabst’s pupils, Adelaide Burkitt. May Plays works by Bach, Beethoven, Handel and Scarlatti at a farewell Benefit Concert in the Melbourne Town Hall; travels by train to Adelaide with his mother, thence by steamer to Genoa. July Arrives in Frankfurt am Main; his mother takes on students of English. October Commences studies at the Hoch Conservatory in Frankfurt, with James Kwast (piano) and Iwan Knorr (composition, theoretical subjects). Starts to develop friendships with other British (‘Frankfurt Group’) students: Balfour Gardiner, Norman O’Neill, Roger Quilter and Cyril Scott; later develops friendships with the Danish student Herman Sandby, the American Carlo Fischer and the German Clemens von Frankenstein. October Plays a Mozart piano concerto at his first concert at the Hoch Conservatory. Reads Whitman’s Leaves of Grass; forms close friendship with Karl Klimsch, who gives him fatherly advice about his studies. Forms short-lived ‘sweetheart’ liaison with Mimi Kwast, daughter of James Kwast, who soon rejects him for Hans Pfitzner; apparently fails Knorr’s counterpoint course; begins his Kipling ‘Jungle Book’ Cycle, composed ‘as a protest against civilization’. Starts to compose the five works (completed 1901, later revised) eventually published in 1950 as Youthful Suite; begins to teach piano in Frankfurt, partly under financial pressure caused by his mother’s worsening illness. Spring-Summer Visits France, Britain and Holland, with his mother and, for part of the time, his father (then involved with the Paris Exhibition).

chronology

1901

1902

1903

1904

xix

December Presents first solo public recital in Frankfurt. May Moves with his mother to London, where he soon appears in numerous ‘society’ concerts, particularly in association with Australian contralto Ada Crossley. Completes Youthful Rapture (originally A Lot of Rot) and Love Verses from ‘The Song of Solomon’; commences Marching Song of Democracy, inspired by Whitman; establishes reputation in London as a reliable accompanist and assistant artist, with very occasional orchestral solo roles; average of 50 concerts per year (to 1904). February Gains his first concerto appearances, in Bath, playing Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto. Summer Meets with the French writer and painter JacquesÉmile Blanche in Dieppe and first studies the music of Debussy. Forms sexual relationship with society figure Lilith Lowrey; starts to develop social connections with London art-world figures such as William Rathbone, Ernest Thesiger and John Singer Sargent; attends lectures and reads books of G. B. Shaw; tours in Britain with Herman Sandby (also in 1903) and Adelina Patti; arranges Irish Tune from County Derry for unaccompanied mixed chorus; completes initial setting of Hill-Song No. 1. February Meets and plays before Ferruccio Busoni, in London, who offers to teach him without charge. May Conducts trial performance, at Mrs Lowrey’s, of some of his choral settings. June-July Studies with Busoni in Berlin. August Departs with Ada Crossley’s party for an extended concert tour of Australasia and South Africa, presenting nearly eighty concerts in six months. January Takes part in highlight concert of the tour held in the Exhibition Building, Melbourne, before an audience of over 15,000. May Arrives back in Britain; soon concludes relationship with Lilith Lowrey.

xx

1905

1906

1907

chronology

October Undertakes concert tour of Denmark with Sandby; meets with the Danish pianist Karen Holten, to be his girlfriend to 1912. Starts to support his father financially; begins to perform under the baton of Henry Wood. March Hears Lucy Broadwood’s lecture about collecting folksongs, which rekindles his earlier interests in folk music; joins the Folk-Song Society; performs with Sandby at Buckingham Palace before Queen Alexandra. April Travels to Brigg, where he starts to collect Lincolnshire folk tunes; makes the acquaintance of the singer Joseph Taylor. October Performs at the Danish Court. First appears as soloist under the baton of Charles Villiers Stanford (with whom he establishes a personal friendship), and at the Hallé Concerts (Manchester), under Hans Richter; increased number of concerts in provincial Britain, still mainly as assistant or joint artist in recital programmes; average of 75 concerts per year (to 1909). March First performs the Schumann piano concerto at a London concert. May Conducts several of his folksong settings at the festival in Brigg, including Brigg Fair; meets Edvard Grieg in London, initiating a close friendship. July First uses phonograph to record folksongs. November Moves with his mother from Chelsea to South Kensington. April Meets Delius in London; admires his Appalachia Variations. July-Aug. Spends ten days with Grieg at his home near Bergen, Norway. September Learns of Grieg’s death; gives commemorative performances of the Grieg piano concerto in Aalborg (September), Leeds, Copenhagen and London (October). October Takes part in over eighty concerts as part of Ada Crossley’s British tour (to March 1908). Sets Molly on the Shore for string quartet.

chronology

1908

1909

1910

1911

xxi

January Moves with his mother to their final London residence, 31a King’s Road, Sloane Square. Jan.-Feb. Meets in London with Debussy, whom he finds ‘a little spitting wild animal’. May His controversial 100–page article ‘Collecting with the Phonograph’ appears in the Journal of the Folk-Song Society; makes first gramophone recordings, of short passages by Grieg, Liszt and Stanford. August Departs on second Australasian tour with Ada Crossley, taking part in over one hundred concerts in nearly eight months (to mid-May 1909). February Comes in contact with Polynesian music, in New Zealand, and claims the South Seas as a potential ‘second Scandinavia’ for him musically. June Arrives back in Britain; under Maori influence starts to wear towelling (terry-cloth) clothes. September Irish Tune and Brigg Fair are warmly received at a concert of contemporary British music in Liverpool; he is encouraged to allow more of his works to be performed in public. Completes Father and Daughter setting of Faeroe Islands music. January Performs before King and Queen of Norway in Oslo. April Meets Richard Strauss, in London, who programmes some of Grainger’s pieces in Germany in 1911. October Mock Morris and Molly on the Shore are premièred in Copenhagen. Establishes himself in new role as solo recitalist and orchestral soloist, averaging one hundred concerts per year (to 1914). A majority of these concerts take place in continental Europe. Summer Comes to know Elgar, Beecham and Rodin through ‘society’ circles. September Undertakes extended recital tours of Norway, Denmark, Holland and Germany (to February 1912). October Changes his professional name to Percy Aldridge Grainger.

xxii

1912

1913

1914

chronology

Completes initial settings of Shepherd’s Hey; Schott (London) starts to publish his compositions; his performing instructions in colloquial English draw critical comment. February English Dance is premièred in London by Beecham; start of performing collaboration with Beecham. Mar.-May First Balfour Gardiner concert series in Queen’s Hall, London, involving performances of seven Grainger compositions, many conducted by Grainger himself. May Organizes first concert devoted solely to his own works, in the Aeolian Hall, London. August Takes last holiday with Karen Holten in Denmark. October Unexpectedly cancels concerts in Berlin and Hamburg, apparently suffering a nervous breakdown; visits an ethnographic museum in Leiden, Holland, where his interest in south-east Asian percussion instruments is aroused. Completes Handel in the Strand. Feb.-Mar. Second Balfour Gardiner concert series in Queen’s Hall, London, which includes works by Holst, Bantock, Bax, Vaughan Williams, O’Neill, Quilter and Delius, as well as Grainger. June Plays in Jubilee Concert of Melba in Royal Albert Hall, London. July Declines prestigious teaching position at Institute of Musical Art, New York (the forerunner of the Juilliard School of Music). August Breaks off recent engagement to his piano student Margot Harrison; conducts Shepherd’s Hey and Irish Tune at a Promenade concert in London. October Briefly visits Russia. Rapid increase in popularity of his compositions throughout Europe and America. April First performs the Delius piano concerto at a music festival in Devon. July Makes gramophone recordings of Debussy and Grainger works with His Master’s Voice.

chronology

1915

1916

1917

xxiii

August Puts off nearly all concert engagements with the declaration of war; moves with his mother from London to Kent. September Sails with mother on the Laconia from Liverpool to Boston, to accusations of cowardice and failure to face up to his patriotic duty. December First appearance in New York, playing the piano part in Shepherd’s Hey. Completes Random Round, an early experiment in ‘chance music’. February Makes his recital début in New York’s Aeolian Hall, immediately generating many solo and concerto engagements across the country. March American concerto début playing the Grieg concerto with the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. May Contracts with Duo-Art Company to make piano rolls (to 1933). January Collaborates with Melba in recitals in support of the Allied war effort. March Appears in concert before President Woodrow Wilson at the White House; premières J. A. Carpenter’s Concertino in Chicago. June Première of In a Nutshell orchestral suite at music festival in Norfolk, Connecticut. Completes The Warriors: Music to an Imaginary Ballet, dedicated to Delius. April His father dies in Melbourne. June Première of his The Warriors at the Norfolk Festival; he enlists in 15th Band, Coast Artillery Corps of the United States Army, playing oboe and soprano saxophone; takes first steps for American citizenship. August Makes first gramophone recordings with Columbia (to 1931). Sept.-Nov. Takes leave from the Army to play in many charity concerts for the American Red Cross. October Première of Marching Song of Democracy at festival in Worcester, Massachusetts.

xxiv

1918

1919

1920

1921

1922

1923

chronology

Starts relationship with Mrs Lotta Mills Hough, later his assistant at the Chicago Musical College. February Expects to be sent with the band to France, but is, instead, soon appointed a music instructor near New York. June Satisfies requirements for American citizenship. July Completes Country Gardens, based on a Morris Dance tune collected by Cecil Sharp. Completes Children’s March: Over the Hills and Far Away, for band. February Is discharged from the United States Army. July First teaches at the Chicago Musical College summer school, which he continues through most summers until 1931. December Visits Cuba for concerts. First attempts at ‘elastic scoring’ with an arrangement of Irish Tune; undertakes long concert tours of the American Far West. May Plans to visit Europe in 1921 are deferred owing to a decline in his mother’s health. Moves with his mother to their final home, 7 Cromwell Place, White Plains, New York (now The Grainger Library); rescores a number of his early works. January Further deterioration in his mother’s health; she is no longer able to accompany him on his frequent concert tours across America. April Rose Grainger commits suicide in New York; many sensational press reports follow; Grainger immediately returns by train from California. May Première of The Bride’s Tragedy at Evanston Festival. August Sails for Scandinavia, and undertakes collecting of Danish folk music in Jutland with Evald Tang Kristensen before giving concerts in Norway, Denmark and Holland. Jan.-June Spends six months in Frankfurt, renewing acquaintance with many old friends and trying out various compositions with a local orchestra; arranges the production of a memorial volume to his mother.

chronology

1924

1925

1926

1927

xxv

June Returns to Denmark for further folksong work with Tang Kristensen, followed by time in Norway with the Deliuses. August Returns to the United States, and a busy schedule of concerts. Publication of his Guide to Virtuosity (New York, Schirmer). April Arranges concerts in Carnegie Hall, New York, in memory of his mother and in honour of Delius, hiring the New York Philharmonic Orchestra for the occasions. May Sails on the Tahiti via Polynesia to Australia, where he stays with his mother’s relations in Adelaide and visits Sydney and Melbourne to present lecture-recitals. September Returns to the United States in the company of old Melbourne friend Dr Hamilton Russell. Adopts vegetarianism. April Arranges two concerts in New York devoted to his own works or other recent chamber works (Schreker, Nathaniel Dett, Natalie Curtis, Grieg, Hindemith). August Undertakes further ethnological work with Tang Kristensen in Denmark, and stays for some weeks with the Deliuses in France. Columbia issues his recording of Chopin’s Piano Sonata in B minor. May Departs for concert and lecture-recital tour of Australia. August Meets in Hobart with the linguist Robert Atkinson, a fellow enthusiast of ‘Nordic’ English, whose work Grainger then funds. November Sails back to the United States, meeting with the Swedish artist Ella Viola Ström (1889–1979); reads works of Houston Stewart Chamberlain en route. August Visits Ella Ström at Pevensey Bay, Sussex, before calling on Delius near Paris and going on final collecting trip with Tang Kristensen in Denmark. October Proposes marriage to Ella Ström. November Starts to draft the long essay ‘The Love-Life of Helen and Paris’, his first major writing in ‘Nordic English’.

xxvi

1928

1929

1930 1931

1932

1933

1934

chronology

August Marries Ella Ström in the Hollywood Bowl, Los Angeles; première of To a Nordic Princess. Completes initial setting of his Danish Folk-Music Suite. January Visits Sweden with his wife, and later other Scandinavian countries and Britain. July Organizes performances of ‘Frankfurt Group’ compositions at a festival in Harrogate; soon afterwards returns to the United States. December Writes Preface to Spoon River, outlining his views on ‘elastic scoring’ and orchestration in general. Summer Conducts the final concert at the National Music Camp, Interlochen, Michigan. July Attends Haslemere Festival in Surrey, organized by Arnold Dolmetsch; his interest in music pre-Bach is rekindled. Completes his Tribute to Foster; gives final solo recital in Carnegie Hall, New York; recording collaboration with Columbia ends; starts practice of agreeing to perform popular concertos for a minimal fee if his compositions or those of his friends are also programmed. August Takes first steps towards building a museum at the University of Melbourne. September Commences a year as associate professor and music departmental head at New York University, during which he delivers a series of lectures entitled ‘A General Study of the Manifold Nature of Music’ and takes composition and orchestration classes. Comes to know Dom Anselm Hughes, leading to their joint work in editing English Gothic Music. September Travels from Copenhagen to Australia with his wife aboard the sailing ship L’Avenir, arriving in Adelaide in early January 1934; writes the massive manuscript ‘The Aldridge-Grainger-Ström Saga’, while on board, as preparation for a projected autobiography. June Learns of the death of Delius, and arranges a memorial chamber concert at the University of Adelaide.

chronology

1935

1936 1937

1938

1939

1940

1941

xxvii

During 1934–35 tours Australasia intensively, undertaking over 200 engagements; draws up plans for his museum; delivers a series of lectures ‘Music: A Commonsense View of All Types’ for the Australian Broadcasting Commission, including première of experimental Free Music No. 1. June Commencement of first stage of Grainger Museum, Melbourne . December Leaves from New Zealand for the United States. May Travels to Pevensey Bay, Sussex, also attending Haslemere Festival and undertaking first BBC broadcast. Jan.-Mar. Writes Lincolnshire Posy, for immediate premièring at a band convention in Milwaukee. Summer Joins the teaching staff at the National Music Camp, Interlochen, Michigan, where he teaches during most summers to 1944. January Appears in concert before President Franklin D. Roosevelt at the White House. August Returns to Australia; with the help of a loan from Balfour Gardiner, completes his museum building and purchases important items for it. December Official opening of the Grainger Museum in Melbourne; returns to America. May-Aug. Visits Britain, Denmark and Norway, returning to the United States just before outbreak of war. Completes ‘The Duke of Marlborough’ Fanfare, subtitled ‘British War Mood Grows’, and The Immovable Do; begins glossary of his ‘Nordic English’. May Invites Henry Cowell, just released from San Quentin prison, to stay with him at White Plains. June Fearing invasion, leases rooms in Springfield, Missouri, as a war-time base. Copies his correspondence and memorabilia; has his folksong cylinders copied by Library of Congress, Washington. Travels widely giving many concerts for the Red Cross and troops (to 1945).

xxviii

1942 1943

1944

1945

1946 1947

1948

1949

chronology

Jan.-Feb. Premières of his Kipling ‘Jungle Book’ Cycle (incomplete). Completes The Power of Rome and the Christian Heart, in its orchestral form (premièred at Interlochen in 1944); underwrites costs of production of False Foundations of British History by James Mackinnon Fowler; gives radio broadcast entitled ‘English-speaking Music and the War Effort’; writes essay ‘The Specialist and the All-Round Man’ in honour of Carl Engel. Summer Last substantial association with the Interlochen camp. October His favourite aunt, Clara Aldridge, dies in Adelaide. June Comes to know the scientist Burnett Cross, with whom he soon starts to work on his ‘Free Music’ experiments. July Collaborates with Leopold Stokowski in Hollywood Bowl performance of Grieg piano concerto, In a Nutshell suite and Danish Folk-Music Suite. March Première of Youthful Suite. Aug.-Sept. Visits Sweden. January Writes ‘Bird’s-Eye View of the Together-Life of Rose Grainger and Percy Grainger’. April Rejoices at West Point Band’s performance of his Hill-Song No.1. June-July First post-war visit to Britain, where he presents his first recitals since 1914. February Embarks upon his last formal concert tour in America, although he continues to perform on an occasional basis, mainly for educational institutions (to 1960). July-Dec. Visits Sweden and Britain, where he takes part in a performance of his Danish Folk-Music Suite at a Promenade Concert in London (further visits to Europe in 1950 and 1952). October Commences his collection of ‘Anecdotes’ (to November 1954).

chronology

1950

1951 1952 1953

1954

1955

1957

1958

xxix

May Takes part in recordings of some of his best-known orchestral works, newly scored, conducted by Stokowski. June Balfour Gardiner dies. Is increasingly involved in home printing of his scores, both those out-of-print and those unpublished; slowly increasing deafness. Devises the ‘Estey reed tone tool’, with Cross, for playing Free Music. Invents ‘Kangaroo-pouch’ machine, with Cross, allowing greater possibilities for Free Music. August Undergoes operation for prostate cancer in Aarhus, Denmark; recovers slowly. September Roger Quilter dies. October Karen Kellerman (née Holten) dies. Plans for an extensive concert tour of Australia but abandons these plans because of ill health. Undergoes further operations for cancer; is awarded St Olav medal for services to Norwegian music by the King of Norway. September Sails from San Francisco for Australia, mainly to work at his museum in Melbourne, returning to the United States in June 1956. Jan.-May Holidays in Europe, visiting Britain, Denmark, Sweden, Germany. February Makes final recording of the Grieg piano concerto, with the Aarhus orchestra in Denmark. May Makes his only television appearance (BBC, London), playing Grainger and Grieg works; conducts band concert of his works at Kneller Hall, Twickenham. June Starts to suffer from mental disorders, experiencing occasional trouble with speech and comprehension. October His physical pain and distress increases; testicles removed. February Plays the Delius piano concerto in a DeliusGrainger concert at Baylor University, Texas.

xxx

1959

1960

1961

chronology

Apr.-May Visits Britain, meeting with Benjamin Britten and many folk music acquaintances. November Attends lecture of Stockhausen on electronic music at Columbia University. Apr.-July Visits Britain for the last time. August Considers adding the planned second storey to his museum in Melbourne, but does not proceed with plans. September Draws up his last will, leaving the bulk of his artistic legacy to his museum. April Gives last concert and lecture-recital, at Dartmouth College, Hanover, New Hampshire (experiencing some problems with concentration). Undertakes final work on ‘Free Music’ machines; growing physical and mental weakness. January Writes last of his many thousands of letters. 20 Feb. Dies of cancer in White Plains Hospital. 2 March His remains are flown to Australia for burial in the Aldridge grave at the West Terrace Cemetery, Adelaide.

Note: Grainger’s compositions are difficult to date concisely as they were often conceived over many years, and then revised and arranged for a variety of performing resources. Dates provided mainly refer to the initial, substantially complete form of a work. For a more detailed listing of his compositions see Malcolm Gillies and David Pear, ‘Grainger, Percy’, The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed. (London: Macmillan, 2001), vol. x, pp. 269–73, http://www.grovemusic.com/grovemusic; David Josephson, ‘Grainger, Percy’, The New Grove Dictionary of American Music (London: Macmillan, 1986), vol. ii, pp. 272–74.

INTRODUCTION The Fates of music history have ever been fickle. This is especially true in the last thirty years, as the easy availability of sound sources—that is, the music itself—has placed under renewed scrutiny those inherited canons of greatness propagated in mid-century. At the time of his death, in 1961, Percy Grainger had every reason to believe that, despite a few well-known ‘pot-boilers’, he had failed to influence the course of ‘musical progress’ and would, at best, only be accorded footnote status in the history of music. Six years later, when presented with the first documentary study of Grainger’s life and works, by the Australian composer Colin Brumby, a well-known London publisher caustically replied that ‘Grainger’s contribution to music was rather slight’, that ‘any study or biography of him needs to have very special qualities’ and, moreover, that ‘its only possible appeal would be to the Australian market’. By century’s end Grainger’s footnote and geographical pigeonholing has turned out to be premature. Print, sound and film publications have now emerged to defy those mid-century assessments of his ultimate contribution to Music’s course. Above all through the engaging qualities of Grainger’s music, they have raised an increasing interest in the qualities of the extraordinary man himself. Right from the start, Percy Grainger raised multiple problems of identity. Was he Australian, British or American? Born in 1882 in the British colony of Victoria, Australia, he had by 1895 moved to Germany to further his musical studies. In 1901 he determined to base his career as a pianist in London, but was persuaded by the onset of war in 1914 to move to New York, where he resided for the remainder of his life. In 1918 he became an American citizen, but persisted in identifying as an Australian national and, thereby, as a British subject. Grainger, however, looked to a broader, supranational affiliation. He saw himself as a member of the Nordic race, which to him was self-evidently the most talented and heroic race on earth. Through its pioneering zeal this race had spread further across the globe than any other, and had, he believed, a natural claim to world leadership, including in the arts. As a musician, was Grainger to be accorded a serious status more as a composer, pianist, or commentator? Despite compositional training in Germany and a steady flow of compositions from his mid-teenage years,

xxxii

introduction

Grainger long withheld most of his compositions from performance or publication. Until he was nearly thirty he preferred to be known as a pianist. Only when his pianistic reputation was firmly established in the virtuoso class (around 1911) would he allow his compositions to be released. His concerts and his compositions then rapidly gained international fame, peaking in the second half of the 1910s with frequent trans-American tours and the publication of his greatest ‘hit’, Country Gardens. At this time, to capitalize upon his growing fame, Grainger also started to publish controversial tracts about music, including the view that quantity rather than quality of tone was what mattered technically in piano playing. Grainger himself rejected any characterization by musical specialization. He believed specialisms were dehumanizing, and advocated the ideal of the ‘all-round man’, ennobled by his disparate resourcefulness. His was an ultra-pluralistic, ever-restless view of music, and of all human endeavour. He could never settle in one track for long and pursue it to ultimate success, for other avenues ever beckoned him too alluringly. He had to taste of the widest-possible fare and that, in the end, encouraged his age to discount his ultimate worth. At a time when most Classically-trained musicians lived within the narrow avenues to which they were introduced in the conservatories, Grainger was seeking to peer over these neatly-constructed fences. Despite broad foundations in the Classical piano repertory, he was, as this volume shows, also interested in jazz, film and popular music. He was one of the earliest systematic users of the phonograph to record folk music, and marvelled in the treasury of Scandinavian, British, American, Asian, Polynesian and African musics. In the Melbourne of his childhood he became a lover of the sounds of nature—the lapping of the waves, the whistling of the wind—and sought in his more experimental compositions to emulate these sounds. Unlike most of his pianistic colleagues, Grainger never saw Bach as some musical Adam. Rather, he looked much further back, in later life collaborating with early-music scholars to bring about performances and publication of the music of earlier eras of the Western tradition. As a performer Grainger was unconventional. His concerts often mixed the high and the low-brow; sometimes he traded the performance of a standard concerto for the inclusion of a new work by one of the many composers he championed or by himself. His view of ‘all-roundedness’ grew from a concern for musical democracy which led him to prefer chamber music to solo repertory, and to devise principles of ‘elas-

introduction

xxxiii

tic scoring’ so that works could be played by whatever performing resources were to hand. This democratic belief led him to plan for a ‘Free Music’—a gliding, sliding, malleable mix of sounds—set free from the constraints of fixed pitches, rhythms and dynamics, and ultimately, with the aid of electronics, set free from all forms of human intervention. What the world has only managed to catch up with at century’s end is the very extent of Grainger’s output. He set such exacting goals in personal achievement over such a broad territory that his significance as a musician has, until recently, only been able to be estimated rather than established. That output includes over 250 original recordings or piano rolls, which bear witness to his application of a craggily brilliant pianistic technique to Romantic war-horse concertos and the simplest of folk melodies, alike. By one method of counting there are some four hundred compositions, plus myriad arrangements of these works and of many works by other composers. His compositions include highly popular folk-music arrangements (which Grainger considered his least significant works), mainstays of the band repertory such as Lincolnshire Posy, and those experimental works which are still least known but which Grainger himself treasured most. His experimental compositions range from his largest-scale work, The Warriors, to his fragmentary Sea-Song and Train Music. Then there is his ever-scribbling pen, which, in addition to over 150 essays, produced many thousands of letters (promoting his views on every conceivable topic within his ken, and a good few topics beyond) and over a quarter of a million words of largely unpublished reminiscences. Grainger’s total output alone must lead him to be recorded as one of the century’s more breathless all-rounders, who has paid the price for not more neatly packaging himself within the bounds of established specialisms. Portrait of Percy Grainger looks at the musician and his world through the eyes of others. Only in the final section, ‘Grainger on Grainger’, do we allow the ever-loquacious musician to sketch some aspects of his own self-image. Otherwise, these recollections are by family and friends, pupils, fellow professionals and interested bystanders. Some of the reminiscences, particularly those originally appearing in newspapers or diaries, were penned soon after events occurred, while the majority enjoy the greater benefit of hindsight, being offered towards the end of Grainger’s life or after his death. They neatly cover the seventy-eight years of his life, taking the reader from the comfortable middle-class colonial environment into which Grainger was born through to the America of John F. Kennedy, in which Grainger died, via his lengthy

xxxiv

introduction

residences in Germany and Britain. The different recollectors represented in this volume naturally did see different Graingers, who often—if their reports are to be believed—expounded different beliefs and behaved differently in different contexts. As editors, we have not sought to reconcile these differences, apart from including a detailed Chronology against which the veracity of individual recollections might be checked. The portrait is, then, one which the reader will ultimately compile, using whatever ingredients are preferred. Nonetheless, a core of similar features emerges—the same sunny, good-natured humanity— which makes one wary of placing too much store upon Grainger’s selfanalytic writings of later years, in which he was sometimes obsessed with the darker side of his personality, particularly its racial and sexual obsessions. While not wishing to spin those ‘silly and harmful myths of innocence’ which Grainger saw being perpetrated about his composer friend, Frederick Delius, it is worth noting that most of Grainger’s acquaintances had no idea of his flagellantic pursuits, which have been so exposed since his death as his private papers have become more publicized. Nor, as the recollections will bear out, were his Nordic racial views—now seen as abhorrent because of their supremacist overtones— considered particularly abnormal, or even, as with the case of his attempts to rid the English language of Mediterranean influences, taken as anything more than tiresome games. In Grainger’s portrait one ingredient is unavoidable: his athleticism. Two of the most endearing and enduring visions of Grainger are of his throwing a ball over the house of one of Delius’s neighbours and running through the house to catch it on the other side, and, secondly, of the one-man tennis show, with Grainger constantly leaping the net to return the ball which he himself had already hit from the other side. Robert Lewis Taylor’s popular biography of Grainger summed up this image simply as The Running Pianist. But Grainger’s athletic, muscular stance, so indebted to American nineteenth-century poet Walt Whitman, is evidenced in the wider sphere of his activity, being a manifestation of that ‘unity of all things’ which he believed was typical of the man of genius. ‘Virility’ was a frequent word in reviews of his pianism and stage presence; a full-blooded earthiness, even vulgarity, was early identified in his ‘democratic’ compositions, an impression reinforced by his use of colloquial English in performing instructions. Few composers had dared simply to write ‘louden lots’ (molto crescendo). His private life was similarly athletic: he enjoyed the ‘manly’ thrill in flagellation, and privately praised pornography as ‘a means of releasing the sexual fury

introduction

xxxv

proper in a vigorous male’. In the recollections of those who only knew him in his seventies, and even in his autopsy, Grainger’s sinewy physique elicited special comment. As the fuller extent of Grainger’s output has become known, and in particular as the age of the compact disc has spawned a wealth of quality recordings of pieces never before available (sometimes never before even performed), his significance has moved from ‘slight’ through ‘awaiting further evaluation’ stages to a present-day affirmation of Grainger as one of the century’s lost geniuses. Grainger’s rehabilitation is now well under way like the American Charles Ives.

I Australia 1882–1895 Percy Grainger was born on Saturday 8 July 1882 in Brighton, a seaside suburb on the outskirts of Melbourne, then the largest city on the Australian continent. His early family life was relatively affluent but inharmonious because of poor relations between his parents. Grainger soon revealed special talents in drawing and music-making. His father, an architect, supported his development in graphic arts, while his mother, a pianist, promoted his musical interests. In the late 1880s the Graingers incurred large losses in mining speculation and the family was forced to live more humbly. By 1890 Grainger’s parents had separated. Except for three months of formal schooling in 1894, most of his education was undertaken at home under his mother’s tutelage. She paid scant attention to mathematics, science or physical education, but fostered his abilities in reading, writing, history and the arts, teaching him piano each day and supervising his two hours of practice. By the early 1890s he was receiving special lessons in drawing and acting, French tutorials, and was starting to study piano with one of Melbourne’s leading teachers, Louis Pabst. At the age of twelve he started to perform in public, to widespread acclaim, and in 1895, with the financial support of his father and an enthusiastic local committee, he left Melbourne with his mother to study at the Hoch Conservatory in Frankfurt am Main. Although Grainger toured Australia many times over the following sixty years he never again resided in the country.

JOHN H. GRAINGER (1855–1917) Percy Grainger’s father was a flamboyant, talented but irresponsible character. He had migrated to Australia from northern England in 1877 to take up a position as an architectural engineer in Adelaide. In October 1880 he married a nineteen-year-old local girl, Rosa (Rose) Aldridge. The couple soon moved to Melbourne, where John Grainger established a practice as an architect. One of his most important constructions there was the Princes Bridge over the River Yarra. Despite outward appearances, relations between John and Rose Grainger were frequently tense during the 1880s, because of his worsening alcoholism, her possessiveness of her son, their early cross-infection with the then rife syphilis, as well as occasional financial problems. They lived apart from 1890. John Grainger later took a position as government architect in Western Australia, but had to retire from that post before he was fifty because of failing health. His last years were spent in Melbourne, where he died in April 1917. This recollection dates from the last year of their family life together, when Percy Grainger was aged seven.

We have a charming little house and garden, a little way out of town, and are quite happy and comfortable. I am now working as manager for another architect at 8 guineas a week, besides private work, and as soon as I am clear of my beastly mines I shall go most likely into partnership with a man here, and as the people of Melbourne are always saying I am the cleverest man in Melbourne, well we shall have a good practice—But you must always remember that these same people are always saying the same thing to all men. But I know my work and I do not care a damn for them all. I made £25 the other day out of one bit of work [in] a competition, and £100 for designing a church, and am now engaged on several other works which will soon put me on my legs again. Of course don’t imagine for one single moment we have lost our social grade. Money is made and lost so fast here that it is quite a common occurrence for people of the best social scale to come down with a run; but for the wife I should [have] been totally disheartened, but she in the needy moment came, as all good women do, to strengthen the mind and the will of the man in trouble. She is now and has been some time giving private musical les-

4

portrait of percy grainger

sons, and I may tell you she is the best amateur pianoforte player in this city, is admired everywhere and by everybody for indomitable pluck, energy virtues, her devotion to the boy and me and her own beauty, which is growing more beautiful day by day. She has taught the boy all his music and, by the way, he plays and sings very well and is the greatest favorite wherever he goes. He is most devotedly attached to the twin daughters of Dr. Fisher of Melbourne here, two charming and clever children, and as we go to a musical afternoon every Wednesday there, where all the best musical people go, the whole room were suddenly sent into convulsions of laughter, by his making a proposal of marriage to their mother to marry one of them and, as the mother could not let one go without the other, that ‘they could all sleep in the same bed’. They, the ‘twins’ as we call them, are so much alike in day time that I am afraid it would scarcely work. . . . You would so like to see him, fair, very, with long curling golden hair, blue eyes, and legs fit to carry the Tower of Babel. Of course, as all fathers are, I am proud of him, not alone on account of his beauty, which is undeniable, but of his intelligence, purity of mind, strictness of keeping straight to the truth even if a promised whipping from his mother would prevent it (which by the bye seldom comes off ), his kindness in giving over his toys and playthings to his little friends and, above all, his ardent desire to be an Artist. These sweet characteristics have all been brought about by his mother’s care of him and, so far as I can judge at present, I think she will be amply rewarded for the loving care she has so lavishly given to him. At present he draws well, immensely well in fact, and it is a frightful thing to keep him from being always at it, and his mother is most anxious he should be an artist. I am afraid if he becomes one that he will be dangerous, and his mother’s ambition is to take him to London or Paris where some old Duchess, or young with influence, may ‘take him up’; that is, to introduce him to a lot of people who buy pictures not on account of the picture, but for the artist. Well, after all, perhaps it’s the best method, but I am afraid he will make a pin mark in a few of their hearts but I feel certain the lad will turn out well and not taint his name in any way. Influence, by the way, is a great factor in the getting on of a man. If I had attended garden parties, made calls & such like—what I call damned absurdities—I should have been better off. If I am with him I shall not allow that matter to stop him. You ought to know me pretty well and when I say that I consider him brilliant, because I am careful

australia 1882–1895

5

not to praise too much always, you may imagine the sort of boy he is— well to put it straightforwardly, if he does not turn out to be a genius, in the words of old Hobbs, ‘I be jiggered’. From unpublished letter to John Grainger’s father, 14 January 1890, held in the Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

ROSE GRAINGER (1861–1922) With marriage turning out unhappily, Rose Grainger sought to live her life for, and through, her son. So close was the bond that she fostered between the two that, in later years, many mistook them for lovers. They lived together until Rose’s death in 1922, never in nearly forty years being apart for more than two months at a time. Although Grainger realized the stifling effect of this maternal bond upon his other relationships and his personal development, he never dared to leave her, probably out of pity for her continuing sufferings from venereal disease and its drastic treatments. In the same volume from which the following accounts of her early life are drawn Rose Grainger outlined some of her ‘vivid esthetic impressions’ from their Melbourne years, including the first hearing of Wagner’s music at the Melbourne Centennial Exhibition of 1888, participation in various Shakespearean performances (1889–95), and the natural beauties of such near-by locations as Heidelberg, Narbethong, Woodend and Ferntree Gully. This account dates from 1916–18, when Rose Grainger was living in New York.

My Dearest, As you have so often asked me to write down some of my ‘remembrances’ I am really going to try & please you by so doing, although I am afraid they will prove very dull, & uninteresting. . . . A short outline of my Life. Early memories (from 7th year). Great love, for, & from Grandmother—(my mother’s-mother) who made her room a Fairy-Land for me. No unpleasant memory of her. (Not one.) She sang me old ditties, played with me, dressed dolls (men, women, children, soldiers, heroes, & heroines). She died aged 84. ... Experienced a full, happy childhood—Great love for & from parents, brothers, & sisters. Intense admiration for my mother, & sister Clara. Great love of Poetry, Music, horses & most Animals, birds & trees, &

6

portrait of percy grainger

flowers. 3 happy School years—remembering no unpleasantness—no great friend at School—no enemy. Loved by Head Teacher—petted & spoiled by Men Examiners, who gave me extra Prizes. Loved acting & dancing. ... Had great fun with College boys (from St Peter’s Col & Wesley Col in Adelaide) at Lunch time—meeting at Store where we assembled—buying fresh rolls, butter, & sweets. Australia, as country, I always loved, & still love. Its nature & climate appeals to me. ... Always had a sweetheart, nothing serious. Cannot remember having any unpleasant experience before marriage, no quarrel with any-one at all. Always had the feeling of being liked & loved, by men & women, children, & animals. ... Married young. Impelled by some fate to marry an Englishman whose physical attraction & mental outlook never appealed to me. Married Life—unhappy—experiencing both physical & mental Cruelty. Felt love, for, & from friends in Melbourne. The greatest feeling in my Life: Intense love & devotion to my beautiful boy—whose Physical Beauty & whose Genius, was, & is a great Joy to me. He is, to me, like some glorious work of Art—good to live with, & look upon—feel his Genius is sacred to me, & to the World. From letters to Percy Grainger, 3 July 1916 and 5 May 1918, reproduced in facsimile in Photos of Rose Grainger and of 3 Short Accounts of Her Life by Herself, in Her Own Hand-writing, privately published by Percy Grainger, 1923, pp. 7, 10–11.

‘MEDIDNEY ’ (1871– CA .1945) Mrs Mabel Todhunter (née Gardner) was Grainger’s governess in Melbourne between 1888, when she had just left school, and 1894, when she returned to England. During those years she loyally remained with the Graingers, following them from one dwelling to another in the eastern suburbs of Melbourne. In her later, married years she lived in Sussex, from where in 1937–38 she wrote exten-

australia 1882–1895

7

sive recollections of Grainger’s early life. Grainger visited her occasionally in England, and owed much of his fascination with the ‘extraordinary’ nature of his boyhood years to her flattering accounts.

I was just going to leave school when we met the Graingers. Mrs G was wanting someone to help her look after Percy, take him for walks & teach him his letters etc. What a delightful, fascinating little fellow he was. As I look back it seems such a short time ago. He met me at the door & so sweetly asked me if I would like to go down the garden with him & see the ship he was building & we went. He waved his hands about & explained he was just putting the cylinders in the ship & didn’t I think it was a lovely ship. (There was nothing there.) I entered into the make-believe very enthusiastically as I saw Percy was very serious over it & quite believed he was showing me a ship. We began a great & lasting friendship then. Percy, when quite small, did not get on with other children very well. They did not enter into his land of makebelieve & some of them would tell me that Percy told untrue stories, lies, & they did not believe a word he said, & they caused Percy a great deal of childish sorrow & tears, telling him bluntly there was no ship, etc. Mrs G was a pretty, petite woman, a wonderful mother who worshipped her only child, but did not spoil him & was so very clever in her treatment of him. She gave the most delighted children parties for Percy, so that he should mix with other children & gradually they got to know & understand him & [a] very happy time he had. One could never be dull with Percy for a companion. His small brain was always working out things. We had very interesting walks & he learnt his letters & small words as we walked along, always accompanied by his imaginary friend he called Shorterte, a gnome. His remarks were divided between us; now & again he would want to call my attention to his friend & say, ‘Medidney (his pet name for me; how it came into being I do not know) will you please let Shorterte have more room to walk? He has only the edge of the pavement to walk on,’ & I, of course, moved to give back room. We had wonderful stories related during our walks & I am afraid our lessons were very haphazard. It was so difficult to keep Percy to uninteresting things. He had to learn; his thoughts were often far away. We had some very happy days together. Percy’s mother took us all on excursions by sea. I remember one steamer we went by called S.S. Glenelg. Percy was very interested in the name, spelling the same both ways & tried to make up some more names like it. Percy’s father was a very clever man. . . . He was very musical; he

8

portrait of percy grainger

came of a good North Country family & went out to Australia. Fell in love with Rose Aldridge of Adelaide, & they married. (I was very fond of Mrs Grainger. She was a very clever & very plucky woman. When things were not as they had been, she took the helm, gave music lessons & earned an income & kept the home together with the faithful servant Martha.) [The] Melbourne Exhibition stands out in my memory. We all went & Percy was very excited over the music. He was presented to Frederick Cowen, who had come out from England to conduct the Concerts. Frederick Cowen patted Percy on the head & asked what he was going to be when he grew up. Percy answered, ‘a musician like you’. . . . I think at one time it was a question if Percy was to be an artist or musician. He showed great promise in both. I remember after the Melbourne Exhibition Percy’s father bought him a little violin. Percy was aged 6 or 7 & it was wonderful that he played some tunes on it from the music at the Exhibition. I can see him now with his golden hair falling on his collar, standing back to the piano singing to us, his mother playing for him. One song stands out in my memory, ‘The arrow’. He could not read then but his mother taught him the words. Another memory—a great red-letter day—Percy’s first concert in Melbourne. How proud we all felt. Percy aged 12. Dr O’Hara, one of Melbourne’s leading Drs, presented Percy with a laurel wreath. . . . Percy could not be punished or treated like other children. He loved being put to bed, as he could then have time to think out his makebeliefs & also think out what he had had read to him out of books. Taking away any food was no punishment—he was absolutely indifferent about food. Mrs Grainger found caning him on the hand the best punishment, but I must say she very seldom had to cane him. She was so particular about truthfulness. Percy never to my knowledge told a lie. He was a most truthful boy & would take his punishment like a man instead of trying to get off with a story as children do. Most, Percy was a wonderful devoted son & the love, affection & understanding between mother & son was lovely to see. Percy was very good to his father & looked after him in his last years.* *I knew more than most people of the family life of the Graingers, but there are some things one cannot talk about. From unpublished recollection, attached to letter to Percy Grainger, 30 March 1938, held in the Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

australia 1882–1895

9

***** In the letter which accompanied this recollection, however, ‘Medidney’ did explain some of those ‘things one cannot talk about’.

You must remember your mother, when I knew her, was young & very sensitive about your father’s drinking bouts & I helped her hide things from the public, as it were. When things got too bad to hide up she also did not want you to see your father in the state he often was in & I took you out & kept you out of the way. I can see you now laughing such a merry laugh at your father, you thinking he was being funny to amuse you; now & again he played on the floor with you & threw sovereigns for you to catch & all you caught you were allowed to have. You took them & gave them to your mother. Your father at times had plenty of money & then hardly any. Your mother was very short of ready cash because often he was not fit to sign cheques. You must remember I was young—only just left school—& did not know much about married life, but I know your father was very fond of your mother, also of you. He used to say to me ‘Medidney (he called me your pet [name] too), isn’t my wife a pretty little thing? She is a wonderful woman’, & he was very proud to take her out. We all had some very nice times together & then your father got worse & worse. Came home so very drunk & fell down in the hall as he opened the front door, & your mother & myself used to pull him up. I got him to his room & when he was like that we used to go to bed & put the chest of drawers in front of our bedroom door. Your mother was frightened of him when he was very bad. She was so frightened he might hurt you.

CAULFIELD BARTON (b. 1852/3) The violinist Caulfield Barton frequently played chamber music at the Graingers’ Melbourne home during the late 1880s. There, he partnered Grainger’s mother in a variety of violin-piano duos. Some years earlier he had also played in a quartet organized by John Grainger in Adelaide. This recollection dates from 1937, by which time Barton was an invalid living in Port Lincoln, South Australia.

I don’t think you were more than 7 to 9 yrs old when I knew you; your Father & Mother overwhelmed us with kindness while we were in Melbourne; my recollections of you are principally seeing your Mother

10

portrait of percy grainger

give you your bath, also giving you your first lessons on the piano. I was not a teacher at that time. I was playing in the Princess Theatre Orchestra. Watching your Mother teach you was a great lesson to me. I never knew any Teacher who took as much trouble & laid so much stress on five fingered exercises and Scales, also touch. She was a very good Pianist & accompanist. My favourite Beethoven [Violin] Sonata was (Peters Ed.) No. 5 in F major, Op. 24. I have always thought it superior to the Kreutzer; the Minuet & Trio movement I always thought wonderful. I also used to play with her No. 1, Op. 12 D major, No. 2 A major Op. 12, No. 4 Op. 23 A minor and the Kreutzer. [These] were my favorite Beethovens. I also played with her a Sonata of Grieg’s, Op. 8, several small things of Golterman[n], a Sonatina, Romance & Rêve. Of course, Raff ’s Cavatina, Ernst Élégie & Mendelssohn Violin Concerto. I am an admirer of old De Bériot. I consider hardly any writer so really wrote for the Violin & so fully knew the capabilities of the Violin. We used to play several albums of Extracts from the Masters. They were very beautiful, well chosen. But my greatest happiness was playing in the Quartette. I was very fond of some of Mozart’s Sonatas, Mendelssohn & Schubert. Your Father was really a very wonderful Man. Although so fond of Music and the other Arts, Painting, etc. he always remained a Man’s Man and I believe his greatest pleasure was having a Boxing match with anybody. He was far above the average as a Boxer. . . . Your Father was most generous (too generous) & was always half supporting some impecunious Musician. . . . Your Father used to provide Room, Refreshments & Music when he first got the Quartette together. From unpublished letter to Percy Grainger, 10 February 1937, held in the Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

RUTH CURTAIN (1883–1947) The Graingers were friendly with the Curtain family. Young Percy frequently visited their home, ‘Oakdene’, in Brighton, where he played with the sisters Ruth and Mary. In 1906 Ruth Curtain joined the Society of the Sacred Heart, and spent much of the rest of her

australia 1882–1895

11

life teaching at the Sacre Coeur Convent in Glen Iris, Melbourne. There she was best known for her dramatic work with the students. This recollection of 1935 was inspired by a letter from Grainger which asked specifically about Old Norse and Saxon aspects of his childhood behaviour.

Yes—you were strongly linked in my mind with the Old Saxons and I remember the first day you told me about them sitting at a table in the sitting room at Oakdene. You asked me if I did not admire them, and in response to my ignorance described to me their physical qualities of strength and beauty, their bravery and their weapons & proceeded to draw me specimens of battle axes and shields. ‘Now’, you said, with a gleam of triumph in your eye after drawing a battle axe, ‘isn’t that a lovely shape?’, and I saw and loved for the first time the beauty of line in the old axe heads. Sometimes since, with that memory awakened, I have pointed out their beauty in my teaching, and quite lately when making a celtic shield for an old time Irish Play I remembered your drawings and the admiration they evoked for the lovely old round decorated shields and felt an extra wave of enthusiasm in my task! The special game you refer to was played in the front hall—at the end was a low couch backed with movable cushions, which under your inspiration soon became a Saxon fortress behind which you & Mary & I crouched, the cushions formed a battlement before us and the whole contents of the hall stand ready to hand. You, the hero, kept up a lively narrative urging us not to begin action till you gave the word—tense silence for a short spell then vibrant exclamations such as ‘they’re coming, look, do you see them stealing round the corner on the right?’ There was no corner as a matter of fact, just an ordinary straight wall, but at these graphic words the wall seemed to melt away, and, positively to this moment, my imagination can see what it saw then (or perhaps I should say my memory can recall what my imagination saw then) a dim jagged cliff and armed figures fast coming into view—more excited directions to be ready—‘Begin to throw the moment I tell you’, and at last shouts of ‘Quick, hurl your javelins’ and there followed a shower of umbrellas, parasols, walking sticks, everything in that line which we had been able to lay hands on—it was a thrilling moment especially when the narrator told us to watch the enemy falling and fleeing till only dead & wounded were left and the victory was ours! That the grown-ups and semi-grown-ups hurried to the spot to know

12

portrait of percy grainger

the cause of the cavalcade was a matter of no import to us, and why those sticks and umbrellas did not go through the stained glass panes of the front door, I cannot guess! It was a great game and was repeated more than once. Do you remember that your mother and you used sometimes to go to the 11 o’clock Mass at St. Mary’s Dandenong Rd. to hear the singing and used then to come to Oakdene for the rest of the day? Sometimes you came to us on Saturday and stayed the night—it was on one of these occasions that you championed my cause against another boy companion of our own age who I thought had done me a great wrong. The stable was the scene of action this time. Whether you had been reading tales of chivalry or whether, as in the case of the sofa, the stable became a Saxon fortress under your imagination I cannot say but you gave the ‘villain’ the length of your tongue and threatened him with the strength of your fist, while I felt my wrongs had been gloriously avenged by a great hero! But details of this would be of no use I think, or of the time you frightened me at night with the story of the land crab. Be it said to your honour, you reassured me when you found I was scared! You were always very gentle with us and I remember Mary & I agreeing that we liked playing with you better than with any other boys because you never hurt us. Except for the fact that you were very strong, athletic and wildly exuberant, you seemed to have none of the animal nature about you, an unusual thing in young boys, and I have no recollection of anything whatever to do with eating! You remarked to me lately that you were struck by Frederick McCubbin’s never having spoken of money or food all the time you were going to him for drawing lessons. I think it is equally remarkable that a boy at that early age should have taken note of the fact. In escapades with other playfellows I have vague memories of feasts in apple trees, the disastrous results of eating sour cherries and of sundry visits to ice cream shops etc, but nothing of that description where you were concerned, which shows that your tastes were of a far different kind. Devotion to your mother was of course another outstanding feature. I recall your dismay for her sake when you got white paint on a new suit—new suits did not grow on every bush in those days! If I listen hard I can hear you singing Schubert’s Slumber Song, and another little song ‘I’m so shy’! What a lot of rubbish I have written! From unpublished letter to Percy Grainger, 4 February 1935, held in the Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

australia 1882–1895

13

W. C. GORDON (b. 1862) Gordon worked as a butcher’s delivery man during the time that Rose and Percy Grainger lived in the Melbourne suburb of South Yarra (1893–95). Forty years later, Gordon recalled one unusual day on his rounds.

. . . I was employed at my trade in Toorak Road South Yarra. One morning I was on my round in Punt Road; a little Boy came up to me and said ‘please, Butcher, will you give me a ride with you?’ I had never seen this boy before. I asked him where he lived; he showed me the House. I told him to get permission and I would take him. He ran inside and brought out a Lady who told me if I was careful of him he could go. I drove him all over Punt Hill, down by the river, up Anderson St. to Domain Road then to St. Kilda. I got back with him after Lunch time. He shook hands with me and told me to see him tomorrow. I am very sorry to say I have not seen him since. He was dressed in a little grey tailor-made Suit, black Shoes, white Sox and fair hair in Curls down to his Shoulders. He was the most refined child I have ever met. I am an old man now in my 72nd year and I do still think of him now. . . . [T]hat was one of the happiest days of my life. I wonder do you remember any thing about it? Did you ever hear an Irish Ballad called ‘Molly McNamara’? That’s what I had to sing for your amusement as we went along to St. Kilda. Every place I called at I had to take him off the Cart for safety and I fancy I can feel his dear little arms around my neck still, and that is how I came to love him. From unpublished letters to Percy Grainger, 23 February and 29 April 1934, held in the Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

AMY CHALK (b. 1868/9) One of those close to all members of the Grainger family during the 1880s and 1890s was Amy Chalk (née Black). When Amy’s own father died in 1885 John Grainger had been particularly kind to the Blacks, who lived nearby in Brighton, and Amy stayed several times at the Graingers’ house. Amy’s older brother Archie (b. 1862) worked

14

portrait of percy grainger for some time in Grainger’s office. After the Graingers’ separation Amy Black remained on very friendly terms with John for nearly two decades. Rose Grainger, however, she always found cool and manipulative. In the 1930s she was spurred to write a long essay ‘in defence’ of John and to send it to Percy Grainger, whom she felt knew little of his father’s real character and too readily adopted his mother’s attitudes.

Young as I was, I knew him [John Grainger] to be a great man not like any I had met, and today at 65 I know he was the only genius who has crossed my path. His design for Princes Bridge was considered too costly & I cut out of the paper his reply saying the price should not be grudged as they were building for the future. Dates are not my strong point. I cannot remember when the Bridge was finished (it was designed before he was 23, Mrs Grainger told me) but I know that when J. Grainger went to the banquet given for the Opening Ceremony & saw that the contractor’s seat was on the right & his son’s on the left, while his was down the middle of the table, he would not countenance the slight, but left the room—I remember Mr and Mrs Grainger spending an evening at our house—it was before Percy’s birth. Mr Grainger brought his songs buttoned across his chest, much to my surprise, never having seen them carried in this fashion. He had a splendid tenor voice & the Northumbrian accents came out clearly in ‘Three jolly sailor boys’. My uncle, C. Hughes, by the way, was his fag [a junior pupil who does chores for a senior pupil] at school in Durham. Mrs Grainger, at that time, was a very pretty girl in her early twenties. Golden hair, bright blue eyes & clear pink & white complexion. I can see her now as she sat at our piano, while her tall dark husband towered above her & all of us—my mother termed him handsome; he certainly had a very distinguished appearance—I think Percy was born about 1883—being too young to be interested in babies I do not remember him clearly at this stage, but still have a photo of him given me by his mother which was taken of him in the tout ensemble, lying in a shell—I wondered at the time why parents do such things to helpless infants! . . . The Graingers took a house in Glenferrie & I often went to see them. Percy was a very pretty boy, blue eyed & golden haired like his mother, so like ‘Bubbles’ that a picture of it hung in the nursery. He spoke good English at an early age, owing to his parents never having ‘talked baby’ to him; he was an intelligent child fond of books, and later developed a

australia 1882–1895

15

gift for drawing, so that there was talk of making him an artist—He gave me a picture of a tree, in black & white, which drifted into a drawer in our pantry—of all extraordinary places—& eventually was lost. I wish I had it now! . . . About ’95 Percy was brought to see us by his mother & my brother took him out for the afternoon—gave him the dingy to row about in, to his great delight. He was returned to his mother in a wet & sandy condition—he who was usually so immaculate—I don’t know what she thought, but Percy was full of joy. She told me afterwards that he said ‘Mother, if my concert is a success, may I go out with Archie?’ Hence, in Collins St. when my brother was with his young wife I heard that an impetuous figure dashed across the street & cast himself into Archie’s arms—it was Percy. My brother said he did not mind being asked questions by him because he was sufficiently intelligent to understand the explanation; he also said ‘Poor kid! he is never allowed to get dirty!’ In his eyes a bar to boyish enjoyments. He played a minuet & trio for us at ‘Barone’ about the time he had his first concert in Melbourne. It was quite a success, so I hope he ‘went out with Archie’ but cannot remember if he got the longed for reward. From the unpublished essay ‘John Grainger’, June-July 1934, held in the Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

THE SOUTH AUSTRALIAN REGISTER (Adelaide) During 1892–94 Grainger studied with the German pianist Louis Pabst, a pupil of Anton Rubinstein. Pabst and his wife organised some of the earliest concerts at which Grainger performed in Melbourne. After Pabst’s return to Europe in late 1894 Grainger’s tuition was entrusted to Adelaide Burkitt, one of Pabst’s advanced pupils. It was under her guidance that Grainger prepared for his final concerts in Melbourne, culminating in a Benefit Concert, on 14 May 1895, in aid of his future studies in Frankfurt. One week later he gave a recital in Adelaide, before boarding the steamer Gera for the trip to Europe. The critic for the South Australian Register, founded in 1836, recorded the concert of the twelve-year-old Grainger for posterity.

A large number of ladies and gentlemen including many of the leading professional and amateur musicians in Adelaide, assembled by invitation at Marshall’s music-rooms, on Friday afternoon, to listen to a pri-

16

portrait of percy grainger

vate pianoforte recital by Master Percy Grainger, the talented son of Mr. John H. Grainger, the well-known architect and civil engineer of Adelaide. Next week Master Grainger proceeds, in the company of his mother, to Germany for further musical tuition, and it was very thoughtful on the part of his relatives to afford their many friends in Adelaide an opportunity of hearing this young artist prior to his departure. Master Grainger is not yet thirteen years old, having been born in Brighton, Melbourne, in July 1882. His musical talents and inclinations were discovered very early, and he had the inestimable advantage of a mother also possessing the musical faculty in a very high degree, and who, moreover, was endowed with exceptional abilities for teaching children. From his fourth to his tenth year Master Percy practiced and studied assiduously under his mother’s sole tuition. That these studies were eminently a labour of love by both mother and son is now abundantly apparent. The fire of genius having been discovered in the boy it was discreetly fanned into flame, and when he had completed his first decade of life he commenced study under Herr Louis Päbst, a very talented Melbourne teacher, who until his recent departure for England supervised the boy’s studies with most gratifying results. There could have been but one opinion in the minds of the interested assemblage who listened to Master Grainger’s playing on Friday afternoon—that he is a young artist of whom much should be heard in the future. With the requisite study to which he now proceeds he will almost assuredly shine in later life in the rôle of composer, for his studious playing reveals a wonderful insight for one so young into the underlying construction of his pieces. His quiet and easy manner when playing is very pleasing. There is nothing mechanical about it, but all his efforts seem soulful, and not mere body work. This was conspicuously shown in his interpretation of Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in C Minor, with which he commenced his recital; and in the allegro and andante from Beethoven’s sonata in G major, No. 10, op. 14, his second effort. The tempo observed in the sonata movements revealed a very pleasing discrimination, often conspicuously absent on the part of more mature players, while the innate beauty of the music was brought out with pleasing sympathetic expression. Schubert’s impromptu in A flat major also afforded the young artist an opportunity of displaying his powers of discernment as well as executive skill, his mastery of technique being very striking. Later on he played the bracketed soli, Bach’s prelude in D minor and gavotte (with musette) in the same key, with rare artistic skill. Other soli bracketed together were Scarlatti’s pastorale in E minor and

australia 1882–1895

17

the minuet (G major) from Handel’s ‘Samson,’ the latter as arranged by Herr Louis Päbst. Throughout every effort Master Grainger displayed a careful attention to light and shade effects, and a discriminating insight generally into the meanings of his composers quite phenomenal for his age. Having been closely associated with Adelaide his future career will be watched with especial care by all South Australians interested in music. We understand that it is intended to enter Master Grainger as a student at the Schumannhoff School, Frankfort. By way of adding a little variety to the programme Mr. R. Nitschke sang in his usually pleasing manner Barnard’s song ‘Bid me to love,’ with piano accompaniment by Mr. W. R. Pybus. It should be added that the piano Master Grainger played on was an orchestral full grand by Brinsmead & Sons, kindly lent by Messrs. Marshall & Sons. ‘Master Percy Grainger’, The South Australian Register, 25 May 1895.

18

portrait of percy grainger

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

1 Grainger, tout ensemble, 1882

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

2 ‘Medidney’

australia 1882–1895

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

3 Ancient warrior’s profile, drawn by Grainger, aged six

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

4 Collins Street, Melbourne, ca. 1895

19

20

portrait of percy grainger

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

5 Grainger, aged fourteen

II Germany 1895–1901 From 1895 to 1901 Grainger studied at the Hoch Conservatory in Frankfurt am Main. In its cosmopolitan environment he learnt piano with the Dutchman James Kwast and composition with Iwan Knorr, a Prussian musically attuned to Tchaikovsky. Grainger’s relations with Kwast were variable, but with Knorr were always strained. Eventually he turned for advice on composition, and his studies generally, to a local retired printer, Karl Klimsch. At the Conservatory Grainger associated with several British students—Balfour Gardiner, Roger Quilter, Cyril Scott and, to a lesser extent, Norman O’Neill—later to be dubbed ‘the Frankfurt Group’. Of his other friendships at this time that with the Danish cellist Herman Sandby was the most enduring. Despite spending nearly six years in Frankfurt Grainger did not complete his course. In 1900 he took an extended holiday with his mother in France, Britain and Holland; after presenting his first solo public recital in Frankfurt late that year the Graingers decided to move to London. As a composer Grainger was increasingly active during his later Frankfurt years, although he withheld many of the works then written and considerably revised them in the succeeding decades.

CYRIL SCOTT (1879–1970) Of Grainger’s ‘Frankfurt Group’ friends, Cyril Scott was the most constant and long-lived. As with Grainger, Scott had arrived to study at the Hoch Conservatory first when only twelve years old, and by his early twenties, with the aid of the conductors Hans Richter and Henry Wood, was gaining a good reputation as a composer in Britain. He, too, was best known for his smaller pieces, of which Lotus Land (1905) was the most popular, and came to lament the inability of audiences to appreciate his larger-scale endeavours. As a pianist his skills were of a lesser order than Grainger’s and his devotion to a performing career less firm. His extra-musical interests, however, were just as profound: he translated the poems of his friend Stefan George, wrote extensively on medical questions and was a controversial practitioner of the occult. Using such skills he claimed to have contacted Grainger’s mother shortly after her death in 1922, but Grainger was averse to receiving any messages from her through his mediation. By the 1940s Scott’s income had dwindled, leading to his financial dependence upon Grainger for some years. He continued to write about Grainger until well into the 1960s and probably knew his music better than any.

Already at the age of thirteen, Grainger was composing works for the pianoforte in a style which distinctly flavoured of Handel, for it is a noteworthy fact that as the human embryo goes through all the stages of pre-human evolution before it becomes Man, so does the creative talent go through the styles of the old Masters before arriving at modernity and its own individuality. There may be exceptions to this in the domains of music and art, but certainly the exceptions are not so many as to nullify the tendency. Percy Grainger studied at Frankfort-on-the-Main when the Hoch Conservatoire was one of the finest musical educational institutions in Europe. Among its staff were to be found the celebrities of the day— Hugo Heermann, that incomparable violinist, Hugo Becker, the ‘cellist of fame’, Frau Schroeder-Hanfstaengel, the prima donna, and the equally famous teachers, James Kwast for the piano, and Iwan Knorr, who has launched so many composers forth into the world. Strange to say, however, though Grainger learnt much in his pianistic art from Kwast, yet with Iwan Knorr he could not be said to ‘get on’, and apart from a

24

portrait of percy grainger

certain grounding in harmony and counterpoint, he never availed himself of that Master’s valuable criticism in purely compositional matters. From the first, Grainger elected to go his way, and to be guided by his intuitions rather than the suggestions of a teacher, and I think he never really understood Knorr, nor did Knorr really understand him. In fact, there is a certain type of embryonic genius that is impatient of any species of restraint, and prefers to blunder along many wrong roads independently than be led along the right one by a masterful hand, and Percy Grainger is not so very exceptional in this respect, for one of Germany’s greatest living painters, Melchior Lechter, showed this same characteristic, when he remarked: ‘I have never learnt anything of much value from my masters; I found out everything for myself.’ Grainger, then, did not trouble to learn the rules (as most of us do), in order to know how to break them—he merely broke them from the beginning. Swerving away very soon from his Handelian tendencies he began to show a harmonic modernism which was astounding in so young a boy, and at times excruciating to our pre-Debussyan ears; and, strange to say, he began writing in a whole-tone scale without knowing of Debussy’s existence. At sixteen years of age he had, in fact, developed a style, and that style was the outcome of a discovery, and a literary discovery, not a musical one; for he had discovered Rudyard Kipling, and from that writer he imbibed an essence and translated it into music. Those who know well the life of Robert Schumann will remember the influence that genius of vision, Jean Paul Friedrich Richter, exercised upon his musical personality. It would be hard indeed to be able to trace from what musical fountain Schumann imbibed his style, and one is constrained to feel that if Jean Paul had never existed, never could there have been a Schumann as we see him to-day, or even a Schumann at all. And that same question undoubtedly applies to Percy Grainger and Kipling; although, in reality, the question is vain, for Chance is only that phantom outlet by which certain difficulty-involved scientists attempt to emerge from the ruck of their dilemma, but for a philosopher the word hardly exists. We may take it, then, that there is an artistic link between two souls, and as much the outcome of a self-made destiny, i.e., the law of sequence and consequence, as there are links of hatred and love: and that great law destined Kipling and Grainger to exist on the material plane at the same time. Now, one notes that it is only a great artist who can draw his influence from another art instead of his own. A small composer is usually influenced by a greater com-

germany 1895–1901

25

poser whom he copies with an admixture of an unpleasantly tasting honey; a sweetness which is the invariable concomitant of weakness. But it was not in the nature of Grainger’s talents to do this, except at the very babyhood of his musical awakening, and in finding Kipling he found also himself; or I should add, at any rate a great part of himself. Certainly the best music he produced at that early period was to be found among his settings of that famous writer, and one song, ‘The Men of the Sea’ (1899), stands out as a gem which the dust of a good many eventful years has not succeeded in tarnishing. It is, of course, obvious that where the writer and the composer were so unified, a perfect work of art was the result, and from that beginning up to the present time, whenever Grainger elects to produce one of his Kipling’s settings, be it song or chorus, he becomes Kipling in a manner which nobody else in the music arena can approach. Cyril Scott, The Philosophy of Modernism: In Its Connection with Music (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner, n.d. [ca. 1916–17]), pp. 125–27.

***** Apart from Balfour Gardiner, my co-pupils in Frankfurt were Roger Quilter, Percy Grainger, and Norman O’Neill, though the latter left fairly soon after my arrival. There are in that most agreeable town some pleasure gardens, where we often used to sit discussing musical politics, while we consumed Wiener Schnitzel, and listened to the strains of a very passable orchestra. . . . From the first years I knew him he [Grainger] seemed imbued with the idea of making a sensation in the world, and entirely revolutionising music. One of his schemes was to dispense with regular rhythm and bâton-waving conductors, and to substitute yards and yards of tape on which music should be written and from which orchestral players were to play as it passed through a certain space on specially-designed music desks—something after the manner of the pianola; the whole thing to be worked by machinery. But this was not all; it was essential to his scheme that the whole orchestra, including himself, should be dressed in white uniforms, for although he had no intention of conducting it in the usual way (how could he?) he would be present in the conductor’s desk as a kind of glorified superintendent. As it so happens, the first part of his scheme has come about naturally through the process of evolution, for most modern composers have already dispensed with regular rhythm, but the latter part—well, I for one regard its materialisation as doubtful, as I already did at the time of its inception.

26

portrait of percy grainger

Still, through my listening to Grainger’s schemes with a not too stifling amount of criticism, he was induced to listen to mine. They were of a less revolutionary type, but very definite all the same. My ideal was to invent a species of Pre-Raphaelite music, to consist mostly of common chords placed in such a way as to savour of very primitive church music, thereby, as I thought, reminding its listeners of old pictures. I even wrote a Symphony and a pretentious Magnificat along those lines, and was rewarded by exciting the admiration of both Quilter and Grainger. But, although the Symphony was performed a year later at Darmstadt, I have since consigned both those works to the crematorium, which is the best and safest place for them. . . . I should have felt somewhat lonely, had not Grainger, who was almost a trick rider, bicycled out to see me [at Cronberg] once or twice a week; and those hours we spent together on such occasions were magical hours indeed. I had the youthful pleasure (long since departed from me) of showing him my latest piece of work and of hearing his enthusiasm—unaccountable though it seems now. Often we used to go for long rambles, during which he would divest himself of his shoes and socks, and paddle in the streams, while I looked on; for I was less enthusiastic over that form of sport than he. But then he had just discovered Walt Whitman, and was imbued with the idea of living up to his, shall we say, athletic philosophy; while I, for my part, was a worshipper of that very different type of poet, Ernest Dowson, and more inclined to dream of pale nuns and Horatian courtesans than of brawny sunburnt bodies. Cyril Scott, My Years of Indiscretion (London: Mills and Boon, 1924), pp. 24, 25–26, 30, 60– 61, 85–86.

***** To begin with, as a soul-type, Grainger is obviously a Northerner, saturated with the influence of a previous Northern incarnation. His entire appearance is replete with this idea, and his love for Northern folksong, Northern languages, authors, and the people themselves, point to something for which alone the doctrine of reincarnation can furnish a rational explanation. From the spirit of force, physical and otherwise, Grainger has derived a deep inspiration. . . . He has, in fact, for an artist, in him a most strange spirit of athleticism, and whenever circumstances allow (and sometimes when they do not allow) he will run or jump, when other persons would be walking, and make the ordinary things of life, such as opening a door, into athletic feats by trying to turn the handle with his foot. In short, the viking having no longer

germany 1895–1901

27

difficult crags to climb, it would seem that he is compelled to make difficulties to let off the steam of that viking spirit transported into the present century. But this athleticism does not stop here, it flaunts itself in places where it is strangely out of place, and unblushingly becomes nothing else but extremely vulgar, for, to the despair of his eminently refined and much-respected publishers, Messrs Schott & Co., Grainger insists on filling his catalogues and musical works, not only with golfing expressions, but also with culinary phrases, so that his prospectus is a very masterpiece of slang and vulgarity, causing not a few people to dismiss him and his works as something not worthy of being taken seriously. Now, it is not difficult to understand that a certain type of athlete might entertain a dislike for the artistic, but that a musician should incline that way seems undoubtedly very strange. Nevertheless, with Grainger this is certainly the case, and his dislike of the artistic brings him so far in the opposite direction as to end on the plane of vulgarity. . . . Grainger, then, unblushingly likes vulgarity, and I wish to emphasise the fact, because when the obvious and the vulgar appear in his music at times, it is not because nothing better ‘occurs to him’ (to use a foreign idiom) but because, as with Kipling, the vulgar evidently means to him a certain strength. The equivalent to such a line as ‘We stood upon the starboard, a-spittin’ in the sea’, gives to Percy Grainger seemingly the same sort of sensation of strength that a swear-word gives to Masefield, or some unpoetical part of the human body gives to Walt Whitman! It is also for this reason, obviously, that Grainger often selects words for his songs, which cause his female singers to be quite unable to preserve the normal tint of their cheeks when obliged to pronounce those words to an audience. I do not imply that the words are vulgar in the sense that Bessie Bellwood was, but simply that they are flavoured with that archaic tendency of calling a spade a spade—which is no longer a habit of polite society, even if it ever were so. . . . Scott, The Philosophy of Modernism, pp. 130–32.

PAULINE ‘BUTZIE’ SCHUMACHER ( CA . 1878– CA . 1970) ‘Butzie’ Schumacher (née Pauline Klimsch) was the youngest daughter of Grainger’s father-figure in Frankfurt, Karl Klimsch (1841– 1926). Between 1890 and 1896 she studied at the Hoch Conservatory, learning from Uzielli (piano) and Knorr (theory). She also

28

portrait of percy grainger taught under Knorr in 1894–98. Here, in a letter from 1953, she looks back on their time together in Frankfurt.

I often think of times in my life when you were an important person in my days. First, when we both were young, playing at billiards or you running besides my bicycle. The terrible days I had to practise with you and thought your fingers were too stiff; you played Haydn D dur [D major] and the scales didn’t run equally. I liked you with your mother, the way you adored her. I liked your fair hair and your drawings. One of them, an Aquarelle of the Römer, I kept with me even after we had lost house and all, but the nasty soldiers may have taken it, not knowing what a nice memory it was for me. From unpublished letter to Grainger, 5 October 1953, in English, held in the Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

KAARE K. NYGAARD (1903–1989) Nygaard was ten when he first heard Grainger give a recital in his hometown of Lillehammer, Norway. Years later, in the 1950s, he became Grainger’s physician in White Plains, New York. Because of his own artistic talents as a sculptor as well as a professional interest in deviant behaviour, Nygaard was drawn to Grainger, whose case he studied intensively and with Grainger’s full cooperation. He came to see Grainger’s mother as something of a hero, battling during their years in Frankfurt to keep her deviant son on the track of socially acceptable behaviour. This Australian radio interview dates from 1985.

Nygaard: You have to think about Percy as an entirely different human being than most of us, because most of us have the feeling that something has to be hidden and cannot be told; and at the same time, Percy was the other way around: everything had to be told, everything had to be understood. Q: His mother, Rose, who was a very strong person, is often blamed for the conflict and turmoil of Percy’s personality. How do you feel about the effect she had on his life? Nygaard: Percy had aberrations, sexually. He could not go out in public life at age 17–18 and make dates, because any human being responsible for Percy would say ‘Is he going to make a scandal by hitting

germany 1895–1901

29

[her] if he has a date with her, or using her as an object?’ There had to be a protection, and Rose obtained that protection with the willingness of Percy—as a pact, so to speak, between the two—that Rose had to be the choreographer. She had to tell to whom he can make a date, with whom he can make a date, and how long—and prevent any kind of scandal. She had to make some move, she had to go on, or Percy would be only a café pianist for the rest of his life. And God bless her for it. Q: So she was responsible for his great success as a musician, but she was also responsible for his sexual deviance to do with flagellation? Nygaard: I’m only concentrating on what Rose thought about the situation: ‘Where did I go wrong? Percy’s bringing back bloody shirts day after day. Where did I go wrong? Might it have been I that did this to Percy during the early years? When he was two, when he was three, I was whipping John, my husband, and once in a while I was whipping Percy. Can it be that the love for me of Percy and the simultaneous pain in Percy when I was whipping him combined, so to say, into one reaction, one human biologic reaction, almost like a reflex of Pavlov?’ Pain and dear love all were going together . . . and this was Rose’s great meditation of despair, and she had two nervous breakdowns in Frankfurt, very likely because of her conception or misconception concerning the cause of flagellation. I do not know . . . the psychologic reaction of the two of them at the time of Percy’s puberty, when things were suddenly appearing as if they were going to blow up. And it took a natural strong mother instinct, with a high intelligence and willingness to carry through. . . . It took a courageous Australian woman to stand up in the situation of disaster and find a way out. From interview with Maria van Damme, Australian Broadcasting Corporation, 3 June 1985.

CARLO FISCHER (1872–1954) During the 1890s the American cellist Carlo Fischer studied with Bernhard Cossmann and Hugo Becker in Frankfurt am Main. There he became friendly with both Percy and Rose Grainger. After returning to the United States he joined the Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra, with which he remained until 1949, assuming administrative responsibilities with the orchestra in later years. When Grainger wrote to Fischer in 1938 disclosing some of the root causes of his sexual troubles during the years they were in Frankfurt, Fischer

30

portrait of percy grainger was shocked but still tried to understand what Grainger had told him.

And so, you see Percy, while I love you enough to want to understand you, there are sides to your character and being that are simply beyond me. I do comprehend however that you have been dreadfully up against it at a time of life when most other kids were leading a care-free, happy life like a young pup, and you have never gotten over it. To me, you and your mother in the old days in Frankfurt were lovable people, extremely intelligent and gifted, hard working and self disciplined to a point that was a bit puzzling at times, but that was none of my business and did not call for any understanding thought on my part. I always marvelled that you two seemed to care for me and were willing to have me around when I really had nothing to offer spiritually or otherwise. . . . I am far from convinced that you are on the right track but I do not know how to prove or demonstrate it to you. I cannot see how the abuse of the body can lead to happiness of the heart or mind. The fundamental cause of all you are doing has passed beyond and I cannot see that what was is an alibi for what is. It’s too deep for me. I feel that I am reaching a point where my reaction is to ask myself, ‘What the hell are you talking about?’. Old dear, you give me credit for having far more intelligence than I possess, so here is where I say goodnight. From unpublished letter to Percy Grainger, 21 March 1938, held in the Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

GENERAL-ANZEIGER (Frankfurt) After more than five years of study in Frankfurt Grainger, in December 1900, gave his first dedicated recital at the Hoch Conservatory.

On Thursday a pupil of Professor Kwast, Mr Percy Grainger from Melbourne, gave his first solo evening piano recital in the hall of the Hoch Conservatoire and acquitted himself on this occasion, having earlier been heard several times within the framework of school occasions, as a technically secure pianist of distinguished, rather cool disposition, of whom good and better things can be expected when he forgets his self-consciousness and interprets more emphatically. Nevertheless he succeeded very well with the Brahms piano pieces, the Inter-

germany 1895–1901

31

mezzi veiled a quiet, autumnal resignation, and the Capriccio where he played the staccato passages very clearly. Especially the Intermezzo Opus 119 No. 2 in E minor was beautifully understood and the Lullaby in Eflat major, Opus 117 No. 1 was delicately played. His rendering of Schumann’s Etudes Symphoniques was a creditable achievement, even if the difficult bass passages could sometimes have been clearer. Chopin was very cleanly and elegantly approached but could be interpreted much more warmly and poetically. The young pianist had excellent success with the final number of his evening, which had begun with a transcription of Bach-Liszt, namely Liszt’s twelfth Hungarian Rhapsody. Without letting himself be carried away from his strong, calm approach to extravagances of interpretation, Mr Grainger demonstrated the good, sensitive training to which he owes so much. Th. Sch. From General-Anzeiger, 9 December 1900, reproduced in Peter Cahn, ‘Percy Grainger’s Frankfurt Years’, trans. Martin Lindsay, Studies in Music, vol. 12 (1978), pp. 101–13 (p. 111)

32

portrait of percy grainger

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

6 The city of Frankfurt am Main from Sachsenhausen, ca. 1895

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

7 Cyril Scott, 1898

germany 1895–1901

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

8 Karl Klimsch with Grainger, 1923

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

9 Carlo Fischer, 1899

33

III Britain 1901–1914 Percy and Rose Grainger quickly settled into British life. Through ‘society’ connections Grainger gained access to the lucrative world of London’s private concerts and thereby gradually built up a more public following. The colonial affiliation was also useful in forging performing links, in particular with the Australian singer Ada Crossley. With Crossley’s party he undertook extensive tours of provincial Britain and Australasia in these pre-War years. From 1905 to 1908 his interest in collecting British folk music was at its height, and it was then that he collected many of the songs through the arrangements of which he would later become so well known. It was only in 1910–11, however, that Grainger’s following reached a level that allowed him to promote himself successfully across Europe as a solo recital pianist and orchestral soloist. During these years, too, he gained the confidence to place his compositions before the public. He contracted with Schott (London) in 1911 to publish his works and in the following year organized in London the first public concert devoted solely to his own compositions. By 1913 the popularity of his works was spreading quickly across Europe and the United States, with Shepherd’s Hey being particularly successful with orchestras. Personally, however, Grainger was suffering an inner turmoil, between his feelings for his girlfriends and his sense of devotion to his ill mother. With the advent of war in 1914 Grainger postponed his concert bookings and advanced plans for a short visit to America. There, however, he decided to stay.

CYRIL SCOTT (1879–1970) Scott had left Frankfurt in 1899, and was pleased to renew close contact with the Graingers when they moved to London in May 1901. As this recollection shows, Scott, too, was soon ‘taken up’ by society hostess Lilith Lowrey, although was not required to perform the ‘love-serve-job’ demanded by her from Grainger.

I found the Graingers living in rooms somewhere in Kensington, but for the first twenty minutes of my visit Percy was so delightsomely preoccupied with the spectacle of three perspiring men trying to get his piano up a poky little staircase, that conversation with him was out of the question. On the other hand, Mrs Grainger—young-looking, pretty, and affectionate as always—supplied the deficiency, and told me they had now decided to settle in London for good, and that she was doing all that was essential to further Percy’s career. Mrs Grainger, beyond doubt, was a marvellous manager; fundamentally, she had but three interests in life: her son, his well-being, and his work. It is significant, as I learnt from her, that she showered love on her prospective child before it was born; for certainly the result was a well-nigh unexampled closeness of relationship between the two. Although Percy had grown more manly in appearance since the last time I saw him, in other respects he was unchanged, especially in his speech, which was if anything more slangy and unaesthetic than it had been in the Frankfurt days. Indeed, this love of slang was proclaimed by the fact that the first composition he played to me that afternoon was entitled ‘A Lot of Rot for Cello and Piano’. But its title, over which, of course, I expostulated with him, very much belied its contents: far from being ‘rot’, it absolutely transported me. There was a painted, powdered pathos about it, to use my own words at the time, which haunted me with its beauty for weeks afterwards. Grainger had caught something of the sad, sentimental vulgarity of the music-hall, and had embodied it in a genuine work of art. And even months later it was still the memory of this music-poem which prompted me to write my ‘Two Pierrot Pieces’, with their atmosphere of the variety stage, though I doubt whether those who heard them were conscious of my intentions, and the full significance of the word ‘Pierrot’ in this connection. . . .

38

portrait of percy grainger

When the late spring of that year [1903] approached, I made another journey to London and stayed with various acquaintances, among whom was Mrs Frank Lowrey, a friend of Grainger’s. She then resided in Queen’s House, Cheyne Walk, where Whistler or Carlyle or some eminent man had lived. Mrs Lowrey, a tall, statuesque woman of about fifty, had become a fervent admirer of the golden-haired composer, and had collected a number of people to sing certain choruses of his which he had recently composed. Among these were such devotees as Quilter, Balfour Gardiner, Herman Sandby, the cellist, and Gervase Elwes, then hardly known as a singer, but afterwards to become so famous. And those chorus rehearsals were entertainments, for we composers, strangely enough, found part-singing surprisingly difficult. I remember Gardiner saying, with that ultra-refined Oxonian intonation of his: ‘The only way I can possibly sing my part is by closing my ears, so that I can’t hear what you others are singing. As soon as I hear you, I inadvertently begin to sing your parts.’ And there was Gardiner singing at the top of his voice with his hands clapped over his ears, as if every moment he expected the loud report of a gun. Moreover, to add to the strangeness of the spectacle, Percy Grainger was to be seen conducting, not with a bâton, but with his fists—a little habit he has when enthusiastic. I must gratefully mention that Mrs Lowrey exerted herself not only for Percy’s advancement, but also for mine. She would take me to dine with Lady This and Lord That, and in fact introduce me to any ‘useful’ people (how I dislike that term) she happened to know. One night she took me to a little house near by, where on the drawing-room table I saw a signed photograph of King Edward. ‘Ah, yes,’ she said, ‘very often a little brougham drives up to this door, and out steps the King.’ Scott, My Years of Indiscretion (London: Mills and Boon, 1924), pp. 60–61, 85–86.

ERNEST THESIGER (1879–1961) Ernest Thesiger was educated at Marlborough school, and then privately in Switzerland. Although destined for a career in the Civil Service, he surprised his family by turning to art. He studied at the Slade school in London, where he found ‘French training was combined with English respectability’. Thesiger’s musical talents were also exercised: he took violin lessons at the Guildhall School of Music, participated in many of the Graingers’ musical evenings,

britain 1901–1914

39

and was, in Grainger’s words, ‘an undeveloped but gifted composer’. His greatest artistic fame, however, was to come as an actor, on the stage and, later, in films such as The Bride of Frankenstein, The Robe and Battle of the Sexes. Thesiger probably first met Grainger in February 1902, and they corresponded and met frequently during the succeeding decade.

One well-remembered day I went to a party at the ‘Queen’s House’ in Cheyne Walk, and there for the first time I met Percy Grainger and Cyril Scott. Percy was then about nineteen, Cyril a little older. I knew Grainger first as a pianist, and what a pianist! Cyril Scott did not play himself on that occasion, but Grainger played Cyril’s compositions. I knew nothing of the modern school of French music; Debussy and Ravel were quite unknown to me. Cyril’s music, more definitely influenced by Debussy then, was a revelation to me, and I knew at once that I had found what I had been searching for in the way of music. Till then I had thought Wagner the last word in music, but now the possibility of a new language was hinted at. On another night at the Queen’s House several compositions of Grainger’s were heard for the first time, chief among them were his wordless setting for a mixed chorus, now known to everybody as The Londonderry Air. Among the chorus were Ada Crossley, Gervase Elwes, Frederic Austin, Balfour Gardiner, and Roger Quilter. It has always been my habit to pounce on people if I wanted to know them, and before very long Percy Grainger and Cyril Scott were my intimate friends. . . . Percy Grainger, with his breezy charm and his corn-gold hair, which his mother never allowed time to darken, was just becoming known as a pianist. I remember the pangs of nervousness I suffered at his first appearance at the Queen’s Hall when he played the Tschaikovsky Concerto. He was a personal friend of Edward Grieg’s, who used to say that no pianist interpreted him better; and it was through Grainger’s playing that Cyril Scott first became well known. Percy certainly was a most lovable creature, so full of enthusiasm and strange Australian slang. His letters were almost unintelligibly original in their phrasing, and he carried this trait into his compositions. Instead of the usual ‘molto crescendo’ Percy would put ‘Louden lots’, and such expressions as ‘Breathe when blown’ or ‘Louder hugely’ enliven his MSS. His mother had left a none too satisfactory husband in Australia, and had brought Percy to Europe, and almost starved herself in providing him with a musical education in Germany. He certainly owed everything to her,

40

portrait of percy grainger

and later paid his debt in what—to to my mind—was a tragic fashion. But, like Desdemona, he perceived a divided duty, and perhaps in choosing what probably was the hardest course, he chose the right one. About this time, Percy was very busy writing part-songs and arranging old folk-songs for solos and choruses, and once a week we assembled to try them. Some of them had strange accompaniments. He was not above employing banjos and combs in his orchestra, and if any of the performers were too unskilled to strike a needed chord on banjo or guitar, their untutored hands were guided by pieces of stamppaper pasted on the finger-board. Several of these part-songs were given a first performance at the Queen’s Hall concerts organized by Balfour Gardiner [in 1912–13]. Percy was very keen on his Australian origin, and one night I took a very musical friend to hear him play for the first time. I had told my friend so much of Percy’s brilliance, that my horror can be imagined when Percy played quite abominably. It was no use trying to explain that he didn’t always play so badly; my reputation as a judge of music was lost for ever. Coming out we met Percy, and I saw at once that he realized that he had disgraced himself. ‘Wasn’t it awful!’ he said, and I couldn’t contradict him. ‘What was the matter?’ I asked. ‘Were you ill?’ ‘Not ill,’ answered Percy, ‘but terribly upset; Australia has been beaten in the Test Match!’ Australians cling to each other in England, and it was natural that Ada Crossley and Melba should have been among Percy’s friends and supporters. To the former he owed much in the vital matter of ‘stage deportment’. At first he was rather awkward on the platform, but Ada Crossley, whose gracious personality gained her as much applause as her lovely voice, took him in hand and made him practise coming on to a platform. Actors, of course, realize the importance of an effective entrance, but musicians and public speakers are often unaware of the value of first impressions. Ernest Thesiger, Practically True (London: Heinemann, 1927), pp. 16–20.

FERRUCCIO BUSONI (1866–1924) In the early years of the century the Italian Busoni was acknowledged as one of the world’s leading pianists and teachers. To his studio in Berlin he drew many of the most talented pianists of the younger generation. As a composer he was somewhat less recog-

britain 1901–1914

41

nized, although his opinions and works were greatly respected by such contemporaries as Schoenberg and Bartók. Early in 1903 Busoni met Grainger in London. He was sufficiently impressed to give him free lessons in Berlin during the following summer. The two were so different temperamentally, however, that difficulties soon arose between them. Some years later Busoni accused Grainger of being ‘nothing but a charlatan’.

Here I have made a dear and very promising acquaintance in a young musician, Percy Grainger, an Australian; he is a nice, pure, highly talented and thoughtful lad, who immediately attached himself to me. He played me a very good Toccata by Debussy. From letter to his wife, 24 February 1903, in Busoni: Briefe an seine Frau, ed. Friedrich Schnapp (Erlenbach-Zürich: Rotapfel, 1935), pp. 61–62.

HENRY J. WOOD (1869–1944) Through his conducting of London’s Promenade Concerts for half a century from 1895, Sir Henry Wood fostered the talents of innumerable performers and composers. Grainger was first invited to perform at these concerts in 1904; his compositions were first scheduled in 1912.

During this season [1904] I made the acquaintance of Percy Grainger. I remember Grieg speaking to me about him; he was very much taken with this promising young pianist. On August 17 [1904] Grainger played the Tchaikovsky concerto but I must say I preferred him to play Grieg even though his playing of the Tchaikovsky was energetic and cleanfingered. Balfour Gardiner gave quite a remarkable concert with my orchestra some years later in which he introduced an entirely British programme, including some of Grainger’s now popular works. Grainger collected a number of British folk-tunes, many of which he used as a basis for works like Molly on the Shore, Shepherd’s Hey, Handel in the Strand, and others. The clog-dance Handel in the Strand was originally written for violin, ‘cello and piano, but I scored it for full orchestra as a popular piece for the Promenade concerts. When Grainger heard it he asked me whether Schott’s might publish it, a compliment I very much appreciated. Henry J. Wood, My Life of Music (London: Victor Gollancz, 1938), p. 187.

42

portrait of percy grainger

ALFHILD SANDBY (1876–1961) Over fifty-five years Grainger and the Norwegian-born Americaneducated Alfhild Sandby (née Myhr) pursued a ‘love-hate’ relationship. At their earliest meetings they were hugely attracted to each other, but Alfhild preferred to develop a relationship with Herman Sandby (1881–1965), Grainger’s Danish friend, whom she married in 1909. Alfhild Sandby was one of Grainger’s few correspondents who tried realistically to address his warped relationship with his mother, and frequently incurred his wrath in consequence. On several occasions Grainger swore to have nothing further to do with her, but his resolve was usually short-lived.

Norway, December 1936. Dear Percy, Am here for a short vacation to get rid of my rheumatism. The snow lies in fluffy feathers on the old pines outside my window, but the white fog is bad for my cold, so I must spend the day alone in my room. Last night, your former pupils and myself spent an evening with your music, Mary Barrat[t] Due playing the old folksong settings for us. We had a glorious time, talking about the old days and reliving the memories of youth. . . . I became engaged to Herman in 1903. You were his only friend from the conservatory days in Frankfurt. He loved to talk about you. I got to know your whole life from your boyhood in Australia, your development in Frankfurt, your mother’s struggle to bring you forth artistically, and your own struggle to harmonise your expanding self to fit into her plans for you. It was a most heroic struggle on your part; for Herman told me that your mother always watched over you and was very exacting. Herman often had tears in his eyes when he told me about your first boyish love for the lovely little German girl [Mimi Kwast], which you heroically gave up to another [Hans Pfitzner]. Herman’s love for you, as his love for me, was something beyond himself. His nature has always been very singlehearted and elemental and his feelings—too deep to analyse. He idealized you in every way, and at times when he would speak of your interesting character, artistic talents and good looks, I would feel a little pang of jealousy which I openly admitted. Then Herman would say, ‘your eyes are a different blue, your hair a different gold, but really you look a whole lot like Percy; you two might be sister and brother.’ I was really, for him—Percy in the shape of a woman! Imagine how anxious I was to meet this boy-

britain 1901–1914

43

ish friend, who had meant so much to Herman in his studio days. The healthy competition, the mutual criticism, the games you played, the ideals and the philosophy you two shared, cast a romantic glow over your friendship. . . . At the time [1905], I was living in the same house with the Sandby family; having a big, sunny room upstairs, but taking my meals with them. You came!—Hurrah!—His brothers and sister all raved about you!—Every little thing that you did and that you didn’t was noted as something extraordinary!—You were lionized, petted, spoiled!—Not only Herman’s family, but all their friends and acquaintances were taught to rave over you!—Herman ran all over town, booming his young Australian friend with the golden hair, who played Grieg better than anyone else, and read H. C. Andersen in Danish!—I alone seemed to realize that darling Herman was just as handsome, just as gifted; but he wilfully withdrew into the shade of your lustre!—Herman ran to Grieg, to Svendsen, to all the musicians he knew, and talked as though he were your impresario and not a fellow-artist who needed a start himself. Some vulgar people even hinted that there must be more than Friendship between you two!—You came, and I greeted you rather coldly, for you seemed at first sight, rather conceited and selfish. Perhaps you thought I might be in the way!— But what happened?—After a few days, when we two had talked and talked and talked, you got up and kissed me!—There were tears in your eyes. You gave me the greatest compliment that you could at the time!— I remember your words so distinctly: ‘Really Alfhild, you do look like my mother; she must have been something like you, when she was young.’—What strange, touching points! And then you began telling me about your mother, and incidentally you told me how much you appreciated intellect, temperament, artistic talents in a woman. I realized that you were falling in love with me in spite of yourself; and in a way I was frightened. Herman sat for hours and listened to our discussions!—And what tremendous problems didn’t we tackle!—I came fresh from my years of study in New York: psychology, philosophy, religion, economics. If Herman had told you about me, he certainly hadn’t described that side of me to its full extent.—That time, I really had brains!—Alas, the world is still discussing the same problems of race, politics, and morals, and [they] don’t seem to have got any further than we were!—I remember once, when I had downed you terribly on the negro question, for I had just finished reading Ripley, you burst out, ‘My goodness, I really believe you just missed wearing specs!’ . . .

44

portrait of percy grainger

You confessed to me that you came with the intention of cutting me dead; I confessed to you that I was fully determined not to be captivated by you; and there we were—absolutely gone on each other!—I accused Herman of having idealized us both to each other beforehand, so that when we finally met, we had to fall in love with each other; but Herman said wistfully and wisely: ‘you and Percy are two pieces of the same kind of cloth; you were cut off in Norway—he, in Australia; I have discovered you both and pieced you together again!’ And so we went on for a time being pieced together as brother and sister, until one day at Dr. Sandby’s house in Regstrup, you made a shriek—a real soul shriek!—In his presence, you got on your knees before me, wept and said that you loved me!—He [Herman] understood it dimly in a way, but would not seem to mind.—What you felt was so much greater than mere erotic passion; there was nothing to be ashamed of; you had found a soul-mate!—To this day I remember your words: ‘With you, everything in love would be beautiful’!—Your innate craving was to make love holy and beautiful; to feel sex with a woman whom you could look up to and adore; to experience sex as the ultimate expression of tenderness, admiration, confidence, faith!—And this I say, had you married [at] that time: I know that you would have felt about love as Herman does to-day, that it must be true and beautiful, or not at all! It was your inmost heart which cried for the sanctification of life; your inmost desire to find peace, harmony, faith in a pure and exalted love!—To what extent you were under the influence of my thinking, I do not know; for many of our discussions had led up to this; but I do know that you had in you the making of one of the most faithful, tender, self-sacrificing husbands in the world!—I was awed by your intensity! I whispered Herman’s name!—‘Yes’, you cried, ‘but if you had met me before you met Herman?’ Yes, undoubtedly—My eyes told you the truth.— It took days and nights of speculation; but finally I came to a decision. Herman is the oversensitive, reserved nature that will suffer in silence; a nature like his gets crushed, if it experiences a great hurt—; but a nature like yours will ward off the pain by other conquests, by ambition, self-love, and not the least: your mother’s great affection! . . . But to come back to my evening with Mary, Dagny [Petersen] and old memories. A few years after our tour you were thrown in contact with some sweet Scandinavian girls who became your pupils in London—and to them all you seemed a most romantic figure! What your sex life had been before you met these girls, I don’t know; the principal

britain 1901–1914

45

thing is that your personality impressed them as being so sound and sweet and clean that they were all more or less in love with you. What might not have happened, if your mother hadn’t been there and watched over you like a dragon?—It was humorous to an outsider, but sad too!— The good little fairies weren’t allowed to come very close to you and give you the heart’s ease they might have done! . . . any one of them could have made a beautiful wife for you. You always wanted a mixture of Scandinavian and English; and strange enough Ella [Ström] is just that!—So you see, in spite of your years, the boy in you choosing a wife—according to your earliest ideas! . . . Analyse yourself, dear Percy, and you will see, that no one but yourself decided your sex-life for you. Inhibitions come from within; back in your subconsciousness something said, ‘a wife is a burden—children are burdens; I have my mother, my art; I can’t do justice to any more.’ You didn’t want to pay the price of love and marriage as every artist does who gets hitched up early. You went about as the unmarried man whom countless women worked for—and hoped—to win!—Marriage would have been healthier, but not so brilliant! I can say that. I’ve experienced the jealousy of women—God knows! And after all—isn’t it the spiritual conflict in ourselves, which puts us in touch with the conflict in others? The folksoul—!—We all have to crush something, to gain something! If duty, money-grubbing and sexnegation hadn’t kept you down, if you had lived as madly as you desired and created as madly as you had lived, perhaps you would have gone insane or been dead long ago—. My dear Percy, please keep within bounds—both in your art, and in your human life!—Keep your sex in the subordinate place where it belongs—you being a civilized male of the Christian era, 1936, and not a disgusting orientalist without brain or will—and without the knowledge of purity and uncleanliness—one of those sickly halfsexed beings that float around in the heat and the dirt of the East—and don’t exactly know whether they are male or female or both;—and, through the atheistic Jews and silly Freuds, are trying to corrupt our race!—We are Northerners, and our sagas are the sagas of love, hate and great feelings. Sex indulgers have some silly physical sensations, but no great emotions! I despise them!—Sex should serve love!—And Love is the last word in art and life! From unpublished letter to Percy Grainger, postmarked 11 December 1936, held in the Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

46

portrait of percy grainger

WINEFRIDE ELWES (1868–1959) Lady Winefride Elwes was wife of the tenor Gervase Elwes, with whom Grainger frequently appeared in concerts in the period 1905– 8 and who was tragically killed at a railway station in Boston shortly after leaving Grainger’s New York home in 1921. Grainger mourned his death, claiming that Gervase Elwes had managed magically to carry over into the twentieth century something of ‘the chivalrous, aspiring, tender-hearted Knighthood of Arthur’s Round Table’. In her capacity as Honorary Secretary of the North Lincolnshire Musical Competitions, Winefride Elwes helped to arrange the Brigg Festivals of 1905 and 1906, in which Grainger enthusiastically participated. (The new class of song supposedly instituted by Grainger and Winefride Elwes’s brother, Everard Feilding, was, as mentioned below, ‘the best unpublished old Lincolnshire folk song or plough song.’)

I believe that the institution of this class was primarily due to Percy Grainger and Everard, who had become infected by Mr. Cecil Sharp’s enthusiasm for folk music. Whatever its origin, North Lincolnshire proved to be a rich vein. The entrances were not numerous, but some wonderful tunes were unearthed. The first prize was won by Mr. Joseph Taylor, who brought from Saxby that lovely, haunting melody ‘Brigg Fair’, which has passed into musical history. Most people know the rhapsody which Delius was happily inspired to compose on its theme; and when this received its first performance some years later, Mr. Joseph Taylor of Saxby was sitting in the Queen’s Hall next to Everard, whose guest he was, hearing his tune in its exquisite, poignant orchestral setting. Though not all the folk-songs were as beautiful as ‘Brigg Fair’, others of great interest were found. The class also produced some amusement. It is often characteristic of folk-songs that they have innumerable verses, and one old gentleman, unfortunately very deaf, stood on the platform for an interminable time singing verse after verse of the same song. Efforts to stop him were made in vain by the judge, stewards and others until at last someone had to go on the platform and bellow in his ear that the judge had heard enough. Fired by these discoveries, Percy Grainger wrote to me immediately after the [1905] Festival:

britain 1901–1914

47

‘The results are so rousing that I am going to see I get a week off some time in the summer and do a sort of bike tour through Lincolnshire gathering tunes. . . . I risk asking you all this because one can ask folksong lovers to do anything, and I dare say Linc’ll prove rich. Anyway, you must feel proud at the jolly results your forethought of this year rounded up.’ Later, again, to Gervase: ‘I could hunt tunes with you till about the 5th or 6th September, then we might find some more to splash up with chorally for next year. Do let’s have a line telling if you can song-seek with me then. Come and look at the thro-the-skylight-leaking, but otherwise splendid and good-for-sound studio that I use as music-room.’ In September he duly descended on us, and he and the boys—Gervase being away—scoured the countryside. First they hunted up all the folksong singers of the previous Festival. Some of them, notably the now famous Mr. Taylor, had quite large repertoires of songs, which had existed only in their memories and in those of their fathers before them. Percy never had the slightest hesitation in pumping anybody he came across. He would go up to a man ploughing and ask him if he knew any songs, and as often as not the man would stand for a minute or two and sing him a song in the most natural way in the world. Percy used to jot down the tunes on bits of paper, while Geoffrey or Rolf caught the words. He also ‘drew’ the Brigg workhouse, where he found, among others, the most charming old gentleman, a real product of Lincolnshire, whom he brought in to lunch with us, and who sat at a table with us and our party without a trace of shyness, perfectly at his ease as if with friends—as indeed he was. Percy could never walk downstairs. He had to come bounding down several steps at a time and take a great leap to the bottom. Unfortunately he did it once too often during this visit, sprained his ankle, and had to lie up while I applied hot fomentations at intervals. While thus confined to the house, people were collected from all over the place and brought into his room to sing, as he lay in bed listening and writing down the tunes. One day I went in and found a row of ten singers at least sitting in a circle round the room. Before his foot was really well again he left for a concert tour in Denmark. Despising my offer of the station bus, he leaped on a bicycle and pedalled away with one foot in the air. From Denmark he wrote thanking us for our ‘never forgettable kindness’, and speaking of ‘the lovely tunes your help allowed me to

48

portrait of percy grainger

gather in; to think how few lands in Europe could boast such a crop— good old supposed-to-be-unmusical England!’ At the big Festival concert in the following spring [1906] the main feature of the programme consisted of Percy’s settings of some of these enchanting folk-songs. Gervase sang ‘Brigg Fair’, with the combined choirs. Percy had excelled himself in this, and a recurrent effect made by the solo following the strange, unearthly cadences of the tune against a hummed background of male voices had a haunting beauty impossible to imagine. The songs appeared on the programmes with the names of the people who had originally brought them to the Festival; here is an example: ‘Marching Tune’ (from the singing of Mr. J. Taylor, Saxby). ‘Six Dukes Went A-fishing’ (from the singing of Mr. G. Gouldthorpe, Barrow, and Mr. Dean Robinson, Scawby Brook). ‘The Gipsies’ Wedding Day’ (from the singing of Miss Ann Hiles, Kirton in Lindsey). I’m Seventeen Come Sunday’ (from the singing of Mr. Fred Atkinson, Redbourne). Some were arranged for solo and chorus, some as quartets and others as choruses. What a concert that was! Winefride Elwes and Richard Elwes, Gervase Elwes: The Story of His Life (London: Grayson & Grayson, 1935), pp. 162–65.

CHARLES VILLIERS STANFORD (1852–1924) The Irish-born composer, organist and conductor Sir Charles Villiers Stanford was Professor of Music at Cambridge University from 1887 to 1924. He met Grainger in March 1905, when Grainger performed the Grieg Piano Concerto under his direction, and was immediately captivated by his looks, nick-naming him ‘polar Bear’. From 1905 Grainger often performed his own arrangement of Stanford’s Irish Dances; he played one of these pieces, ‘A MarchJig’, over two hundred times before the War, making it by far his most frequently programmed item. (In explanation of Stanford’s poem: the cause of Grainger’s leg injury is described in the above recollection of Winefride Elwes; one of Grainger’s favourite dishes throughout his life was apple pie.)

britain 1901–1914

49

There was a gay dog of a Bear who lived on pomiferous* fare, Six helpings of Pie Duplicated his Eye** And he fell on a slippery stair. ——— Notes by the author. * of & pertaining to the form pomum. ** = powers of vision X 2 From an unpublished letter to Percy Grainger, September 1905, held in the Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

THE THRONE (London) Grainger was frequently described as having been ‘lionized’ during his London years. In 1906 The Throne, a London society magazine, considered Grainger, along with Cyril Scott, as musical ‘lions in embryo’, likely to come to full bloom around 1920, and so sweep away the last remnants of the decadent turn-of-the-century crop of artists.

Percy Grainger I discovered to be a very young man, living in a normal abode that even boasted such familiar accessories as whiskey, cigarettes, and syphons. One could talk to this young man—musicians, like the majority of actors, I had always regarded as people one listened to rather than approached. He had ideas of his own and could express them. An Australian, he was not hampered by the past as we in England sometimes are; with him, it was one new thing more. Our conversation, in essence, resolved itself to this. ‘You compose; and what becomes of your compositions?’ ‘I keep them; I shall not publish for a good many years. I am rather young, and don’t want to commit myself to a body of work that, in maturer years, I may regard as worthless.’ ‘Unlike myself, you have no wish to educate yourself at the public expense?’ ‘I play in public—other people’s work.’ ‘Your own is based, at least on an idea?’ Percy Grainger I discovered to be a Nationalist—a man whose will it is to serve his country rather than himself. He has collected hundreds of

50

portrait of percy grainger

old English folk-songs, almost forgotten; the aim of his life, among other things, will be to reconstitute this musical past. ‘Are they equal to the Scotch or Irish?’ said I. ‘Better.’ The age of them astonished me. These songs were pre-Elizabethan, pre-Tudor; the simple airs of a people as yet unacquainted with industrialism and the havoc of large cities. ‘What do you regard as the ultimate form of composition—musicdrama, like Wagner, or the symphony, like Beethoven?’ Percy Grainger is for the epic effects of choral singing, voices grown orchestral and rising clear above the strings and of brass. He has no wish to shine at Covent Garden; for him the summit is the Musical Festival, at work upon a resurrection of those national melodies and airs which he is busy rediscovering. ‘Daniel’, ‘1920: Lions in Embryo’, The Throne, 29 December 1906, pp. 310–11.

EDVARD GRIEG (1841–1907) One of Grainger’s greatest claims to fame during his London years was his unusually close relationship with the famous Norwegian composer Edvard Grieg. Grieg had heard of Grainger through Herman Sandby, and so when in London in May 1906 asked to meet him. Grainger’s personal impact upon Grieg was profound: ‘I love him almost as if he were a young woman’, Grieg wrote in his diary at the time. Grainger’s musical impression was equally deep.

There is no Norwegian at present who can touch him. And that is significant in more than one respect. It shows both that we do not yet possess a Norwegian pianist who has understanding enough to grapple with such tasks as that, and that though understanding is not found where it should be found, in our own country, it can be found abroad, yes—even in Australia, where the wonderful Percy Grainger was born. All this talk about its being necessary to be a Norwegian in order to understand Norwegian music and especially to perform it is so much twaddle. Music that counts, however national it may be, is yet lifted high up above the purely national level. Diary entry, 30 May 1906, translated in David Monrad-Johansen, Edvard Grieg (New York: Tudor Publishing, 1945), p. 376.

britain 1901–1914

51

***** In the summer of 1907 Grainger visited Grieg at his home near Bergen. There he vacationed, spent much time with Grieg working on the Piano Concerto for a planned joint tour, and climbed a nearby mountain with the composer. To his friend Roger Quilter Grainger observed that Grieg was ‘such a fighter for freedom; so unauthoritative; so unfossilized in his lithesome yieldingness to the young and new’. Grieg’s counter-affection was even stronger, as expressed in this diary entry written just a month before the Norwegian died.

What an artist, what a man! What an idealist, what a child and, at the same time, what a big and developed look at life. A future socialist of the clearest water. His folk song activity is of the greatest importance as it combines musical supremacy, ability in comparative linguistic science, historical and poetical view, and a tremendous enthusiasm for the task of collecting. Not only enthusiasm, but also, it seems, the practical approach. It looks like he will do his best work for the folk song, which I strongly regret, because it pre-supposes the under-estimation of his pianistic qualities, which he demonstrates so well. . . . As a pianist I don’t know whom I should compare him with among the very greatest. But any comparison fails when the really great is considered. He is himself. I am possibly weak when it comes to him, because he has really realized my ideas about piano playing. If I had his technique, my opinion of the nature of piano playing would remain the same. As a god, he is above all sufferings, all struggles. But one feels that they (the sufferings, struggles) have been there, and have been conquered. A human being, a great, fine man is playing. May he prosper and succeed in life! Diary entry, 5 August 1907, reproduced in Sparre Olsen, Percy Grainger (Oslo: Det Norske Samlaget, 1963), translated in associated typescript by Bent Vanberg, ed. Stewart R. Manville, p. 5.

FREDERICK DELIUS (1862–1934) During April 1907 Grainger met the French-resident British composer Frederick Delius in London. So began a close, although somewhat one-sided friendship. Grainger became an enthusiastic pro-

52

portrait of percy grainger moter of Delius’s works, allowed him to set the ‘Brigg Fair’ tune which he had himself recently arranged, and as Delius’s health slowly declined between the wars, visited him many times at his home in Grez-sur-Loing. In a long essay ‘About Delius’ of 1950, Grainger noted Delius’s thoroughly cosmopolitan, yet infinitely sad outlook on life, which he believed was reflected in his music. Delius was excited, however, on first meeting Grainger, as he reported to his wife. (Grainger’s ‘little note’ about Appalachia read, in part: ‘I do think the harmonies & all I can make out of the score just too moving & lovely’.)

. . . I also met Percy Grainger, a most charming young man & more gifted than Scott & less affected. An Australien—you would like him immensely. We all meet at his house on Thursday for music. My Concerto & Appalachia. I have become acquainted with the musical critic of the daily Telegraph—Robin Legge. He has a very charming wife & daughter & they have invited me already several times. He is all fire & flame. I left him the score of Appalachia & he & Percy Grainger are quite enthusiastic about it. Enclosed a little note Grainger left at my house after he had seen & played the score. He is impulsive & nice . . . From a letter to Jelka Delius, 21 April 1907, reproduced in Lionel Carley, Delius: A Life in Letters (London: Scolar Press, 1984), vol. 1, p. 287.

***** In a letter written about three years later Delius soberly assessed the state of European composition, but included an accolade for Grainger.

The French, although perhaps not great composers, know that their strength lies in charm and grace, and the light touch in the orchestra. The Russians also try to give that strange mixture of the Orient and Occident: the half barbaric—the peculiar mixture of Wagner and the Danse du Ventre. Grieg has given us charming and poetical music based on the Folk Song; the English nothing. They go conscientiously working on foreign models, and on biblical subjects, and indeed the public is so abruti that they will listen with respect and awe to any twaddle which has Jesus or the Virgin Mary as a subject. And when it is more than usually dry and long they call it ‘noble and austere’. Every conductor in England flatters that public except Beecham. I believe there is lots of talent in England and that it will gradually become more daring and independent, but there is as yet very little to encourage it. I consider

britain 1901–1914

53

Percy Grainger the most gifted of all your young composers I have met, and he is an Australian! He does quite remarkable things, and is most refreshing. From letter to Ethel Smyth, undated (about 1910), reproduced in Christopher St. John, Ethel Smyth: A Biography (London: Longmans, 1959), p. 139.

H. G. WELLS (1866–1946) On 4 April 1908 the English novelist accompanied Grainger on a ‘folk-song hunt’ in Gloucestershire, and was amazed at the detailed information Grainger noted down. Grainger himself commented about the day that Wells had been ‘tremendously hived by the sweet humanity of folk singers’.

You are trying to do a more difficult thing than record folk-songs; you are trying to record life. Quoted in Grainger, ‘The Impress of Personality in Unwritten Music’, Musical Quarterly, vol. 1 (1915), pp. 416–35 (p. 420).

THE AGE (Melbourne) Although living in London, Grainger gave most of his concerts out-of-town, either in provincial Britain, northern Europe, or the Antipodes. His two extended tours of Australia and New Zealand in 1903–4 and 1908–9, undertaken as a member of the touring party of the singer Ada Crossley, brought him into contact with tens of thousands of Australasian music-lovers and reinforced his appreciation of his own essential ‘Australianness’. On these tours Grainger was keen to stretch the musical horizons of his listeners, who often had little opportunity to hear the latest European repertory. The anonymous critic from Melbourne’s The Age was as interested in Grainger’s promotion of Debussy’s ‘Toccata’ from Pour le piano as in his performing qualities when reviewing a concert of 22 October 1908 held in Melbourne’s Town Hall.

Prophets are not quite without honor in their own country. Apart from Madame Crossley, Mr. Percy Grainger has evidently ‘caught on’; if he has not, in actual fact, ‘come to stay’, it is not the fault of his compatriots. Last night his chief success was won in Liszt’s transcription of the

54

portrait of percy grainger

Rakoczy March: one that differs toto coelo from that of Berlioz, be it noted. A double encore resulted, the additions being a waltz by Brahms and Grieg’s Spring Song. But more particular interest attached to his performance of Fauré’s Nocturne and Debussy’s Toccata. The former is a well conceived, well written piece of music—music ‘as she was wrote’ when there were those around who could write music. It might have been composed by—well, lots of people; but Debussy’s contribution could surely have been composed by no one but Debussy. Though not so wildly hilarious in its contemptuous disregard of all that constitutes melody and harmony—in the sense in which these terms have been hitherto used—as some other works from the same pen, it certainly breaks new ground. There is underlying it an undeniable charm; the mere listening to something quite unlike what anyone else has, or could have, done before is, after all, something. But even here Debussy, though he does not give us cats rushing up and down the keyboard, makes fairly comprehensive demands on our notions of harmonic progression and aesthetic possibilities. Debussy never had quite such a good chance of mesmerising an Australian or any other audience—and surely they must be mesmerised ere they will really take him seriously—as when he enlisted Percy Grainger on his side. But by comparison with Jardins sous la Pluie, for example, this is perspicuous vanity. ‘Amusements: Madame Ada Crossley’, The Age, 23 October 1908.

EUGENE GOOSSENS (1893–1962) The son and grandson of Belgian-British conductors, Sir Eugene Goossens studied violin in Bruges, Liverpool and London, before taking a position in the Queen’s Hall orchestra (1911–15) and playing as second violinist in the Langley-Mukle Quartet. After the war he became better known as a conductor, firstly in London, then in Rochester, N.Y. (from 1923) and later in Cincinnati (from 1931) and Sydney (from 1947). He first knew Grainger before the First World War and they met periodically until the late 1950s. When dismissed from his posts in Sydney in 1956, Goossens gained muchneeded ‘moral’ support from his old friend.

There were joyous evenings, too, at Percy Grainger’s flat in King’s Road, Chelsea [in 1910–11], where, over a tobacconist’s shop, we made music

britain 1901–1914

55

far into the night. On almost every one of these occasions at least one novelty from his pen was forthcoming, and many of the jovial pieces which are associated with his name must have received their first quartet and piano performances at our hands in the long music-room. Percy’s mania at the time was exotic percussion instruments, for he had just discovered the American firm of Deagan, whose staff-bells, marimbas, xylophones, etc., inspired a number of his works, and were always to be found in great profusion in his apartment. An athletic type, he could often be seen carrying some of these instruments on his back whenever they were needed at his concerts. Later, when he married, his wife, a dignified, handsome woman, often volunteered to relieve him of this chore. One day, meeting him at the train in Cincinnati, I asked, ‘Where’s Ella?’ Glancing down the platform, he replied, ‘She’s coming right along with the staff-bells.’ Sure enough, she was. An affectionate and loyal friend, Percy Grainger; a sensitive composer with the greatest relish for sheer beauty in musical sound. Eugene Goossens, Overture and Beginners: A Musical Autobiography (London: Methuen, 1951), p. 95.

LIONEL TERTIS (1876–1975) ‘Father of the viola’ in Britain, Tertis brought the instrument to new prominence in both chamber and solo settings. Many contemporary British composers wrote works for him, including Cyril Scott, Frank Bridge and Arnold Bax. So did Grainger, and although Tertis never performed his ‘A Platform Humlet’ (1912) for solo viola, the work later resurfaced in other instrumentations as ‘Arrival Platform Humlet’ in Grainger’s In A Nutshell suite.

Another young composer I got to know in the early 1900s was Percy Grainger. . . . He was a brilliant pianist, and I became very friendly with him. More than once I went backstage to listen when he was giving a recital or playing a concerto. Before he was due to go on to the platform he would invariably slap his knees ferociously for at least half a minute and the noise he made could be heard many yards away. When I asked him why he did it he said: ‘To make my blood run fast and give me courage.’ . . .

56

portrait of percy grainger

The impression of him that remains in my mind is of his always being chock-a-block full of masculine strength and spriteliness. I remember in New York my apartment was a good many floors up, but he would never deign to take the lift no matter however high he had to climb; instead he would leap up the staircase at full speed two steps at a time to arrive panting at my door. On one occasion—whether in London or America I cannot remember—he invited me to come to a railway station to meet his fiancée. While walking up and down the platform he sang a tune, bouche fermée, a strange sort of noise to my ears to say the least of it, and when I asked him what it was he replied that it had just come to him, that he would write it out and dedicate it to me for unaccompanied solo viola and would give it the title ‘A Platform Humlet’. However, when I received the manuscript and played it through it sounded so devastatingly ugly that I never performed it either in private or public—neither do I remember to what infernal end I consigned it! Lionel Tertis, My Viola and I: A Complete Autobiography (London: Paul Elek, 1974), pp. 35– 36.

KITTY PARKER (1889–1971) Kitty Parker, later Mrs Hubert Eisdell, was born near Longford, Tasmania. In 1909 she commenced several years of piano study with Grainger in London, where she later took up a career as pianist and composer, most notably of songs. In 1936 her piece Down Longford Way was arranged by Grainger for ‘elastic scoring’ and published by Boosey & Hawkes. At the bottom of the following glowing recollection which she wrote in 1935 Grainger added the note: ‘Kitty Parker was the most gifted piano pupil I ever had. She did everything right by nature . . . & I felt a fool trying to teach her because there was never anything to say—except praise’.

He, and his mother, were then living in Sloane Square. They had a very attractive house with a beautiful studio. In fear and trepidation I sallied forth; I was terribly shy, and nervous in those days; unfortunately I still am. I arrived at their house, and was shown upstairs to the studio where I was greeted by Percy in the most charming and friendly way. He had a wonderful manner, and very great charm, and made me feel welcome, at once. He looked like a young Apollo, his hair was gloriously golden,

britain 1901–1914

57

his eyes blue, and very penetrating, his figure was strong and very broad, tho’ not very tall, rather the type of figure of a Rugby football player. He has that great gift (which I think all really clever people have) of intense concentration. I told him all I had done abroad in the world of music, and where I had studied. I played for him Chopin’s G minor Ballade and several other things, and then I asked him if he would play for me. He was utterly unspoilt then, as he is today, and sat down at once and played the Jeux d’Eau of Ravel. I was completely spellbound, and if I shut my eyes now, and think of that afternoon, I am back in the studio. The light was fading—it was winter—and was growing darker and darker outside, and the fire light was throwing its shadows here and there. Until then I had never heard any modern music, and the modern French school of Debussy and Ravel was quite new to me. Percy Grainger’s playing of that music was a pure revelation. The water-like effects he produced in that ‘play of the fountains’ is quite indescribable. How glorious it was, and from that day I began my musical education. Before leaving, Percy took me upstairs to meet his mother. She was an extremely pretty woman, and as fair as Percy was. They were both extraordinarily Scandinavian in appearance, and I always felt a very strong Scandinavian influence permeating round them. . . . Mrs Grainger was a very strong personality, she knew what an abundance of gifts Percy possessed, and she was the handle that turned the wheel towards all the aims and ambitions which she cherished for him. I was awfully fond of her. There is no doubt that she had a tremendously strong influence on Percy’s life, but that is only to be expected between a devoted and adoring mother, and her only son. Perhaps also, their having been thro’ so much sorrow together works an influence on both which is never eradicated. I am speaking purely from the professional side of his life, as regards his music, for I don’t know how much influence dominated his private life. My own experience leads me to affirm that it is essential for genius to be nurtured, fostered, and spurred on and on, for that which comes easily is apt to be taken far less seriously than with the less talented individual who very often ‘gets there’ through sheer persistency. Another most important fact is this—really great artists suffer from such a variety of moods. One moment in the seventh Heaven, the next down into the depths of despair, therefore they must have someone who appreciates their work, listens intelligently, criticizes kindly, and fans the flame of enthusiasm again and again. The eternal practising and work necessary for a solo pianist becomes so wearisome day after day unless one is being urged on by someone and stimulated perpetually.

58

portrait of percy grainger

Well, having gone on a little reminiscing I must now go back to the time after my first meeting with Percy and Mrs Grainger. I had lessons once or twice a week, and spent many hours at the Graingers’ house. All the world of Art and Literature were to be found there. The great Sargeant (Painter and Sculptor), Gervase Elwes, Cyril Scott, Roger Quilter, Alma Strettel, Balfour Gardiner, and others too numerous to mention. They used to have very amusing students’ concerts about once a fortnight, and we all performed before a large audience, finishing up with a magnificent tea. Mrs Grainger was a wonderful hostess, and the table always ‘groaned’ with tempting delicacies. About this time [1912] Balfour Gardiner began a series of concerts to be given at the Queen’s Hall. They were I think primarily given for young British composers’ works to be performed. A lot of rehearsals took place in Percy’s studio. He was rehearsing his folk song settings. What fun we had! It was all so thrilling too, as they were brilliant arrangements. Absolutely inspired. The great night at length arrived, and I don’t think I have ever heard such enthusiasm at any concerts before. After the performance of Percy’s works the Queen’s Hall rose and cheer after cheer rang out, and he was recalled again and again, every number having to be repeated. The orchestral arrangements were complete masterpieces. ‘Brigg Fair’, ‘What shall we do with the drunken sailor’, ‘Molly on the Shore’, etc., etc. Each one was quite unsurpassed in originality of rhythm, beauty of harmony, and glorious melodies. The rollicking lilt of the ‘Drunken Sailor’, the haunting beauty of ‘Willow Willow’, the perfection of the setting of ‘Brigg Fair’, the gurgling rhythm of ‘Mock Morris’, and ‘Molly on the Shore’, bubbling over with merriment, caught the whole audience with a spontaneous enthusiasm seldom heard. The effect was marvellous, and it was a never-to-be-forgotten night. There were many nights which followed that great début, as these concerts were held frequently, and Percy had success after success. (Dear Cyril Scott, and Roger Quilter too, had their fair share.) Well, my student days went on. Percy used to give recitals a lot abroad, and was away from time to time, and life was then very quiet and dull, but I would go very often and see Mrs Grainger, and when he came back we began our music again. He was not only a magnificent teacher, but such a great musician; I learnt so much just by listening to him. His harmonies were always so beautiful, and each part brought out its melody from the first bar to the last. He always played like an orchestra. As a teacher he was unique. He never tried to alter one’s individuality or turn any of his pupils out of the same mould as so many teachers do.

britain 1901–1914

59

From unpublished essay, ‘Memories of Rose and Percy Grainger’, included in letter to Percy Grainger, 7 February 1936, held in the Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

DAGNY PETERSEN ( CA . 1894–1982) Dagny Petersen (née Sørensen), a young pianist of Norwegian-Danish extraction, joined Grainger’s group of students in early 1912. She went back to Norway in 1913, but returned to her studies in London for about five months in 1914, until war intervened. During these months she stayed with Rose and Percy Grainger in their Sloane Square apartment. Grainger was immediately attracted to Dagny Petersen, commenting in a letter to his then girlfriend Karen Holten, ‘she is so pretty and good and fresh, she reminds me often of you’. Grainger and Petersen met for the last time in 1952, on his final trip to Norway. (The transcript of the following interview, conducted in English when Petersen was in her eighties, has been edited to allow for occasional sharpening of meaning.)

Q: Mrs. Petersen, how did you come to meet Percy Grainger and take lessons from him? Petersen: I was wanting to study in Germany, but then I heard about Percy Grainger and everything was arranged, not to Germany but to England. I went there; I never thought about going to such a big pianist. I was rather nervous at first when I went there, but I was getting on very nicely, and I thought that it was very interesting to play with him. I think he was a very, very good teacher. And when I came for a lesson, for instance, I had worked it out for myself, but when I had had the lesson with him, I always felt that it was a quite new piece. He was very inspiring, and sometimes I hadn’t practised [or] I had practised much but didn’t feel I could play it well enough, so I said, ‘No, you’d better play it for me’. So I got him to play very much for me, when I had not practised very much, and in that way I got a good idea about all the new music at that time that was not known here in Oslo. The only one [Norwegian] who had been there before was Mary Barratt, a good pianist, and she was the first to play all this new music. When I came back here I had a lot of new music—a good deal of Balfour Gardiner . . . and, of course, Percy Grainger himself. And I had much Debussy. . . . Q: And when you went to London did you live with the Graingers? Petersen: Yes. Not at the beginning. Mrs. Grainger asked me when I came over ‘Oh, do come and stay with us’. I didn’t dare. I was too shy!

60

portrait of percy grainger

But the next time, in 1914, I stayed with him. And we had an awfully nice time there. Q: Tell me a little bit about Mrs Grainger. Petersen: Oh, she was very impressive, very sweet and very lively. And I think she cared very much about us Norwegian girls. I had lessons with her in English and she had lessons with me in Norwegian, but mostly we talked about the lesson. . . . We had a very easy falling in love, you know, but that didn’t last long—it didn’t last long. It was always a new one. She [Rose] thought that was rather funny. You see we didn’t do it like they do today: they have a friend all the time, but we changed friends as soon as we knew he was in love with me . . . and she always thought it was very nice always to hear about those things. She was asking about us. . . . Q: And did he have many pupils? Petersen: Oh yes! He could have had as many pupils as he wanted to have. And very clever pupils. He had pianists from different countries who played with him: Dutch pupils, Danish, and Norwegian. I think he had many pupils. But he started his day at 7 o’clock then; he started to practise himself. And so on. He had pupils—not all day long. I think he had most before lunch and after lunch, sometimes after tea, too. But then he was in many concerts, and he was travelling a lot. Oh he worked hard! . . . I never saw him tired. He was rushing around, and he had such shorts he put on, and then he rushed out, down into this—I don’t know—this park nearby. And, for instance, when he went up the staircase, he didn’t take one step, he took two or three at a time. He was very healthy, and I think Mrs Grainger was very healthy, too. She looked very nice, a very nice-looking person, very particular in her dresses, and was very particular with Percy, too, that he should be nice looking. . . . Q: Percy Grainger played a lot in society, didn’t he? I mean, he used to play for ‘At Homes’. Petersen: Yes, a lot of that. We were at some of those places, I remember. He was at such an ‘At Home’ playing at the Prince of Battenberg’s, that was Mountbatten. That place. And as a Norwegian I was invited with him to where they played—I think it was—Mock Morris for string quartet. And it was very, very nice. So we met a lot of all sorts of persons, too, [whom] they had to invite. . . . Q: What were the ‘pupil concerts’? Petersen: Oh, that was eight-ten pupils who played different things. But I was always asked to play his things, and then also, was asked to play these Norwegian peasant dances from Grieg. And I played a lot.

britain 1901–1914

61

The Grieg concerto, of course, I played with him. Tchaikovsky—he was a very good teacher, I must say that. And I always knew when I played very badly. Then he said some funny things, of course, and made fun out of these if I played badly, and that was worse than if he had said that was very bad. So I felt always that it was no good. He had a special way of teaching. I liked it. It suited me very well. But, of course, I didn’t study much technique with him. That I had to do when I came back. Then I had a very good teacher here. Q: And did you go out to concerts together? Petersen: She [Rose] didn’t go very much to concerts because at that time she was not so very well. But, of course, they went together to all those concerts which they had to go to. But we got a lot of concert tickets from them because they didn’t use them themselves. He was very interested in the Russian Ballet. That was at the time that it was in London. We had not much money of course, we students, so we went to the top place, of course, but we saw all the Russian ballets there. We saw them—Pavlova, Karsavina, Fokine, Fokina—and one of these ballets I saw then had the most impression on me. That was at the Covent Garden, and they danced to Schumann’s Carnaval. And all those pictures: I can see them still, after so many years. I have played Schumann’s Carnaval . . . and when I sat there practising I could see all these things still. It made a very big impression. And so we saw Pavlova in ‘The Death of the Swan’. It was at that time that the Russian Ballet was at its height. And that interested Percy very, very much. From taped interview with Kay Dreyfus, 7 January 1977, held in the Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

***** Early in 1982, just weeks before Dagny Petersen died, Malcolm Gillies wrote to her with a series of questions arising from the 1977 interview. These were some of her replies.

Q: You said on the 1977 tape ‘I didn’t study much technique with him.’ Do you have any recollections of Grainger’s use of the pedal, his views on arm, hand and finger positions at the keyboard, or other views about technique? Petersen: The first lesson I had with him was only about the use of the pedal. I had never learnt anything about that before. Then, the use of counting: tact! Then, about his special rhythm. I had the feeling, after

62

portrait of percy grainger

a lesson with him, of quite new music! And it has given me his way of teaching. I had no difficulty with my début concert in Sweden with the Grieg A minor concerto, with Liljefors as conductor. (I had to repeat it a few days later, thanking Percy for that!) Q: Did he have any special methods as a teacher or specialize in a particular repertory? Petersen: He could demonstrate everything. Special: Bach, Beethoven (the last piece I heard him play here in my home (in 1952) was the 32 Variations of Beethoven), Brahms, Schumann (Carnaval), Chopin (4 Ballades, Barcarolle—I never heard a pianist play that in such a romantic way!—perhaps I didn’t quite understand the Mazurkas). But in any case: he was a great artist and one couldn’t have a lesson with him without noticing his influence. Q: Did Grainger show tension or fear in performance? Petersen: No, I think he felt safe. Q: Did you ever see him conduct? Petersen: Yes, as a conductor he was very inspiring. Q: You mentioned Grainger as playing much Debussy, Ravel and many contemporary English works. Was he a good player of impressionist works? Petersen: He was a very good player of impressionist works, which at that time were unknown here. . . . In Norway we never had a pianist who could play the Norwegian folk dances like he did. From unpublished letters, Malcolm Gillies to Dagny Petersen, 28 January 1982, and Petersen to Gillies, 4 February 1982, private collection.

HULDA GARBORG (1862–1934) The Norwegian author Hulda Garborg (née Bergerson) first came in contact with Grainger in about 1910 through Grainger’s interest in Norwegian dialects, particularly the new national form introduced around the time of its independence from Sweden in 1905. They continued to correspond about linguistic issues until Garborg’s death in 1934, reflecting Grainger’s abiding interest in ‘everything genuinely Norwegian in language, culture, thinking, and customs. And nature.’ In this short passage, a diary entry for 27 October 1913, Hulda Garborg describes a journey with Grainger along the Trondheims Fjord from Trondheim north to Steinkjar.

britain 1901–1914

63

I’m sitting in the Blue Guest Room here on Lø (at Steinkjar). I came Sunday (the 25th). From Trondheim I travelled with Percy Grainger, who yesterday gave a concert at Levanger. He is the same wonderful man, warm, and interested, and so different from the regular modern young artist set. He has will, character, and a superior independence. His travel literature was an Icelandic version of the Grettir saga and a little book in Maori, ‘Hinemoa’, with English vocabulary. Maori is the native language of New Zealand. He told me he knew a bit about it, but he wants to master it, because he dreams about settling down there when he quietens down. ‘I want to live there’, he continued. ‘I don’t like the big European cities; I want to row on the waters, see nature, and talk to natural people. And it is so beautiful down there.’ ‘But to live there, that will never do for you. You will be constantly travelling.’ He smiled: ‘Yes, maybe.’ ‘Is it not tiresome to play every day, as you have been doing?’ ‘No, it is good to know that you will be warm at least one hour a day.’ Reproduced in Sparre Olsen, Percy Grainger (Oslo: Det Norske Samlaget, 1963), translated in associated typescript by Bent Vanberg, ed. Stewart R. Manville, p. 6.

THOMAS BRENTNALL (1846–1937) Thomas Brentnall was a chartered accountant in Melbourne, although in his spare time he played the violin, sang and helped manage several musical societies. Since the 1870s he had visited London frequently and followed musical events there closely. Among the recollections he penned when in his nineties were two glimpses of the hugely enthusiastic reception accorded Grainger’s orchestral works in 1914, shortly before the outbreak of war.

During each of my visits to the Old Country, I have kept all my programmes, made a complete index of them, and had them bound under their various classifications. . . . At one of Sir Henry Wood’s concerts two of Percy Grainger’s compositions were played—the ‘Londonderry Air’ arrangement and the ‘Morris Dance’. The applause was so insistent and Sir Henry so determined not to break his rule about encores that it became a trial of lungs and hand clapping. At last Sir

64

portrait of percy grainger

Henry started the next item on the programme, but this simply strengthened the determination of the audience to hear the air again, and doubled the applause, so that the orchestra was simply not heard, and finally the audience won, much to Sir Henry’s chagrin. . . . Naturally, I was constantly meeting Melbourne friends at the concerts. Marshall-Hall, Mrs. Fisher (née Miss Pinschoff ), Una Bourne, all came into my ken. At the Philharmonic concert, Percy Grainger’s ‘Mock Morris Dance’ was played, Mengelberg conducting, and received such an undeniable encore that against all the sacred traditions of the Society, the conductor had perforce to repeat it. Thomas Brentnall, My Memories (Melbourne: Robertson & Mullens, 1938), pp. 178, 189.

G.W.L. MARSHALL-HALL (1862–1915) G.W.L. Marshall-Hall was the foundation Ormond Professor of Music at The University of Melbourne. In 1894–95 he had chaired the benefit committee which had raised funds for Grainger to go to study in Frankfurt am Main. Marshall-Hall happened to be in London at the time of Grainger’s last formal recital there, held on the afternoon of 30 June 1914 in the Aeolian Hall. At that concert Grainger played works by Bach (a Prelude and Fugue in A minor, unarranged), Debussy, Ravel, Albéniz, Brahms, Chopin, Scott, Grainger and Grieg. For history’s benefit Marshall-Hall recorded his impressions in an article for the expatriate paper The BritishAustralasian.

Percy Grainger, as we knew him in Australia, was a talented artist; Percy Grainger, as he is known throughout Europe at the present moment is a master. . . . He rolled out the great theme of the Bach in A minor, as a huge ship is rolled along the huger billows of ocean—with a mighty, inexorable, irresistible swing. There were moments when the bar-accents swished round with a plunge and an upheave which held one fascinated. In the quietest places the rhythm never for an instant lost its buoyancy, but slid along as water hissing past the side of a vessel. Grainger has seized the idea of the grandly modulated line of Bach. He invests it with nervous, elastic vitality, and pours it forth like the interminable ocean its billows, and we never tire of gazing. It is a gorgeous concep-

britain 1901–1914

65

tion. . . . Under his infallible fingers the notes of the pianoforte became as flakes of fancy born and melting in the ether of mind. Never once did any pianistic irrelevancy recall one to the fact of the Aeolian Hall. Like another Aladdin, Grainger has the genius of illusion at beck and call; his audience cannot but surrender themselves to the spell—save here and there some poor chemically-manufactured imitation of a human, in whom the soul has got left out. G.W.L. Marshall-Hall, ‘On Music and Musicians: Percy Grainger’s Pianoforte Recital’, The British-Australasian, 9 July 1914.

PETER WARLOCK (1894–1930) The British composer-critic Peter Warlock, alias Philip Heseltine, was one of the keenest and most controverial observers of the British musical scene in the 1910s and 1920s. Here, in a journal article of 1917, he analyzes Grainger’s Englishness.

Percy Grainger is called the most ‘national’ of our composers, which means, perhaps, that being an Australian, he can see England objectively, just as Bax sees Ireland. He may be said to express modern England in much the same way that Irving Berlin expresses modern America. This is no disparagement of Grainger, though some may consider the comparison disparaging to America. Grainger builds upon the folksongs of the day before yesterday: Irving Berlin makes the folk-songs of today. Both these composers excel in the expression of simple, effervescent jollity, alternating with simple unashamed sentimentality. Both are real primitives—which is a healthy sign. Compare the ‘Syncopated Walk’ with ‘Mock Morris’, Berlin’s ‘When I Lost You’ with Grainger’s ‘Colonial Song’, and their essential similarity is at once apparent. Peter Warlock, ‘The Condition of Music in England’, New Age, 14 June 1917.

***** Warlock’s pungent musical limericks gained a notoriety equal to that of his own personal life.

66

portrait of percy grainger

The personal appearance of that ingeniously culinary composer P. GRAINGER Was of a kind that frequently causes young virgins to be in grave danger. BUT, ON THE OTHER HAND, He had lived with Mama ever since he was a tiny kid, And so, He never did. From ‘One Dozen Cursory Rhymes Dedicated to the Brit. Mus. Soc. & the Soc. of Brit. Composers’. (British Library, Add. MS 57969)

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

10 Grainger in 1903–4

britain 1901–1914

67

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

11 Herman Sandby, Derwent Wood and Grainger, in Wood’s studio, Chelsea, ca. 1903

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

12 Ernest Thesiger in The Robe, 1953

68

portrait of percy grainger

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

13 Grainger during 1903–4 Australasian tour

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

14 Grainger, Ada Crossley and friends, Durban, South Africa, 1904

britain 1901–1914

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

15 Alfhild Sandby, Ella Grainger, Percy Grainger and Herman Sandby, 1929

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

16 Edvard Grieg, Grainger, Nina Grieg and Julius Röntgen, at Grieg’s home, Troldhaugen, Norway, July 1907

69

70

portrait of percy grainger

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

17 Kitty Parker, ca. 1914

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

18 Grainger’s mother, Rose, 1908

britain 1901–1914

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

19 Concert brochure, 1914

71

IV America 1914–1922 Within six months of arriving in the United States Grainger had scored triumphs as a composer, recitalist and concerto player before the New York public. He quickly eclipsed his status in London to become one of America’s most sought-after musicians. During the War years he toured extensively to raise money for the Allied forces and the Red Cross, and eventually, stung by persistent British charges of cowardice, joined the U.S. Army, where he played saxophone and oboe in bands. During these War years some of his larger compositions, such as In a Nutshell and The Warriors, were premièred in America; his most popular work, Country Gardens, gained its initial successes shortly after the end of the War. In 1919 he became associated with the summer school of the Chicago Musical College, where he would remain a teacher until 1931. His reputation as a pianist remained very high until 1922, when his mother committed suicide. The shock of her death and the surrounding publicity aged him. He cancelled most of his concert commitments and undertook an extended tour of Europe seeking out persons and places associated with their earlier life. In 1923 Grainger privately published a memorial volume of photographs of, and recollections by his mother ‘for her kin and friends’.

ANTONIA SAWYER (1863–1941) For the first eleven of his years in America Grainger relied on Antonia Sawyer (née Savage) as his concert agent. Sawyer had herself pursued a career as a singer, mainly on the American east coast, before turning to concert management in 1910. Among others in her charge were the pianist Katharine Goodson and singer Julia Culp. Later, Busoni and Schnabel also contracted with her. Sawyer lived in White Plains, then a developing township a few miles outside New York City, and it appears to have been at her suggestion that in 1921 Grainger bought the nearby 7 Cromwell Place, which would remain his home until his death in 1961.

One morning in the Autumn of 1914 Rudolph Schirmer phoned my office and informed me he was coming over to introduce Percy Grainger, pianist, and his mother. Grainger looked a very young man then and seemed quite indifferent to my questions. Finally Mrs. Grainger said, ‘Do you want Mrs. Sawyer to manage your concerts?’ ‘Oh, yes,’ he replied, ‘but Mrs. Sawyer has never heard me play.’ The following day I did hear him, but on a very poor piano. I called on the Steinway firm, and he has since that time had as many Steinway pianos as he wished. The Sunday afternoon following my interview with Percy and his mother, he played the orchestral piano part in his orchestral composition, Shepherd’s Hey with the New York Symphony Orchestra, Walter Damrosch conductor. From that day, although he had not appeared as soloist, he was acclaimed a success. His first New York recital was a thrill from beginning to end. In appearance somewhat resembling Paderewski in his youth, he came on the stage with his buoyant step and in less than half an hour he had convinced his cultured audience that he belonged in the same rank as Paderewski and Kreisler. When Percy Grainger’s first recital was announced, I received a letter from Enrico Caruso, the great tenor, asking that a box be reserved for him. He came to the recital with three other artists and sat all the afternoon in the rear of the box. Nothing that anyone could say was able to induce him to take a bow or make himself known. His remark was, ‘This is Grainger’s recital.’ Percy’s success was instantaneous. The press of New York City acclaimed him and his American career was made. The recital was given

76

portrait of percy grainger

in Aeolian Hall before a most distinguished audience, society out in full force and every artist who was in New York there. James Huneker called him ‘the young Siegfried’ adding, ‘I wish we had an operatic tenor who looked the part so well.’ The Evening Sun wrote, ‘This young Siegfried, with his tawny mane, is bound to be lionized.’ Finck said, ‘He makes the contrapuntal web of a Bach Fugue as clear to the ear as a piece of lace to the eyes.’ No less astounding was the opulence and variety of his tone. His instrument was both piano and organ, and he showed at once that he could build up a climax as gradually, overwhelmingly, on the piano as Anton Seidl did with his Wagnerian orchestra. The audience was bewildered, delighted, and no wonder; he made it as real and up to date as the latest dance or opera. He is an opera all the time. . . . Grainger appeals first to the imagination; he has his audience with him before he plays a note. His mother always said he would excel in his compositions and so he has. To me his Colonial Song is the most beautiful of all his writing. I love every note of it, can see and feel the wonders of nature as in no other piece of music. A Tribute to Foster is exquisite and I weep copiously when that is given. His folk songs have perhaps gained by his friendship with Grieg. . . . Grainger is a great favorite with the orchestral conductors. He is a splendid conductor himself and is always in the picture. No artist has ever been more considerate, and I love to see him, after a performance, shake hands with the conductor. He is so cordial and so very sympathetic with the members of the orchestra and is much beloved by them. It is not necessary to tell my readers of his numerous great successes. Many pianists have given pleasure artistically to the world, but I do not know of one who has given so much of himself. The second year I lived in White Plains Percy bought a charming house here and has made it his real home since that time. He has so many sides—he is a great pianist, a composer of renown, an able and with a head clear and wise enough to become a statesman. He reads rapidly and remembers it all. Both he and his mother liked America well enough to become citizens. So perhaps during the great war he accomplished more for our country than some of the native Americans. The first recital Grainger gave after he wore the United States uniform, was presented at the home of Henry F. Davidson, president of the Red Cross, on Long Island. Dr. Davidson invited me to come to his library after Grainger had finished his program, and advised me to go to Washington the following week to confer with him and members of the War department on the advis-

america 1914-1922

77

ability of Grainger continuing these concerts. I was there for three days. It was July, the hottest days I ever lived through. The first morning when I was ready to attend the conference being held in the Red Cross rooms, I asked the old colored man at the Hotel Lafayette how far it was to the office of the Red Cross. When I learned how near it was, I started to walk, only to have him say, ‘Excuse me, lady, it’s much more stylisher to ride over.’ I received from these clever men at the conference permission for Grainger to play the season of 1917–18, eighty-five percent of the entire sum to be sent direct to the American Red Cross. ‘Musician of the hour’—that was one of the interesting head lines given him. Grainger joined the United States Army, and held the position of bandsman, playing the saxophone. He was stationed first at Fort Hamilton but later was transferred to Governor’s Island, bearing the title of instructor at the Army School of Bandmasters stationed there. Percy Grainger has the most original personality of any artist I have ever come in contact with. He is always kindly, especially to older people; never for an instant does any one wonder what he will do next; he does the right thing while we are thinking about it. I heard his tailor, here in White Plains, say one day that he felt honored every time Grainger came to his shop, he always spoke to him (the tailor) as though he were a titled gentleman. I could write an entire book on Grainger. Whenever he came to my office or my house, everyone listened because he had something to say and said it so perfectly. There is a tender place in my heart for him, perhaps a little nearer than for any one of my great stars. I have many things to be grateful to him for and I do so love his independence in accomplishing what seems to him necessary to be done at that moment. I fear that is one of my traits. I sometimes have been censured, but like Percy simply keep on, even to trundling a wheel-barrow. He stands for everything that is fine in this busy world and his example should be an incentive to would-be artists. Through Grainger’s influence, these memories and stories have been published, and I am more than grateful that he has had faith in me to that extent. This last season he gave me a wonderful thrill when he was conducting. The moment he took the baton in his hand, sparks flew. Up to that moment it had been good; but when he conducted, we all knew ‘Grainger was there’ and we would just sit still and listen with no fear. Some of the happiest hours in my artistic career have been when Grainger would come to my house and play his entire program to us.

78

portrait of percy grainger

That was perfect. He would lower the light a little and we would just listen with not a sound. I would love to live it all over again. Antonia Sawyer, Songs at Twilight (New York: Devin-Adair, n.d. [1939]), pp. 126–27, 128–31, 135–36.

RICHARD ALDRICH (1863–1937) Richard Aldrich studied at Harvard before working as a reporter and then a U.S. senator’s private secretary. Between 1902 and 1924 he was music critic for The New York Times and, following that, its emeritus critic. During the First World War his critical faculties were also devoted to military intelligence. Here he reviews Grainger’s first solo recital in New York.

Feb. 12. [1915] Percy Grainger, the young Australian musician now in New York, is a pianist of altogether uncommon quality and accomplishment, as he showed yesterday afternoon in a piano recital in Aeolian Hall. He had hitherto made himself known as a composer of original gifts, a zealous student, and collector of folk-songs, an arranger of them into stimulating and delightful forms, and not a little of his music of both kinds had been made known here before and since his coming. As a pianist he showed a distinctive personality that marks him out even in this season crowded with pianists of great and distinguished powers. Above all, he possesses an intensely musical feeling that vitalizes all he does, and his playing gave an unusual pleasure. There are a certain youthful freshness and robust vigor in Mr. Grainger’s playing that are not inconsistent with a mature and many-sided outlook upon the art and a poetical temperament. He has the technical equipment that is indispensable for the modern player and opulent tone, a vivid sense of rhythm, a feeling for tonal color and variety of touch. There was more than a virtuoso’s power in his playing of Busoni’s transcription of Bach’s organ Prelude and Fugue in D—more than a clear exposition of its counterpoint and its phrasing. His playing of Brahms’s Variations and Fugue on a Theme by Handel was very engaging; an individual view of the music, not a stereotyped reproduction of some standard ‘reading’, enlivening its spirit and doing no violence to its letter. Except for these, Chopin’s posthumous Study in A flat and Ravel’s piece called Water Sprite, the other numbers on the program had a close

america 1914-1922

79

relation to Mr. Grainger’s folk-song sympathies. They were three Norwegian folk-songs and dances as set by Grieg in some of his later publications (Op. 66 and 72), Mr. Grainger’s own Colonial Song and Mock Morris Dance, and the Triana from Isaac Albéniz’s Iberia. It should be said, however, that Mr. Grainger has used no actual folk tunes in these pieces by himself. They were all played with great charm, with poetic insight and, his own two especially, with an obvious joy. There was an audience of exceptional cordiality and sympathy. Richard Aldrich, Concert Life in New York 1902–1923, ed. Harold Johnson (Freeport, N.Y.: Books for Libraries Press, 1941), pp. 454–55.

HENRY T. FINCK (1854–1926) Aldrich’s counterpart on New York’s Evening Post was Henry Theophilus Finck. He too had attended Harvard, but then spent several years studying the new science of psychology at universities in Germany and Austria. Returning to the United States, he was appointed professor of music history at the National Conservatory in New York. Among his many writings are books about psychology, travel, food and gardening, as well as music. His music criticism was noted for its inflexible partisanship: Brahms and Richard Strauss were out; Schubert, Wagner, Grieg and MacDowell were in. And so was Grainger.

I have often wished that Percy Grainger—now an American, though he was born in Australia and came to us via England—had the operatic bee in his bonnet. But let us be grateful that we can enjoy him in our concert halls. Truth to tell, Percy is a whole opera in himself. If you have ever attended one of his recitals you will know what I mean. I shall never forget his initial recital in New York. . . . Following the example of Schumann when he first came across a piece by Chopin, I wrote ‘Hats Off! A Genius!’ over my article on Percy’s New York début. He began with Bach—an arrangement by Busoni (who was one of his teachers) of an organ prelude and fugue in D major. ‘And what a Bach!’ I wrote. ‘The pianist made the contrapuntal network as clear to the ear of even the uninitiated as a piece of Venetian lace is to everybody’s eyes. . . . The audience was stunned, bewildered, delighted. Seldom, if ever, has a Bach fugue been so riotously applauded, and no

80

portrait of percy grainger

wonder: he made it appeal to all—making it as real and up-to-date as the latest dance or opera.’ In this quotation I have substituted riotously (applauded) for the ‘profusely’ I used originally. Riotously is just the word to apply to the applause Grainger gets usually, especially when he plays his own pieces, such as the ‘Mock Morris Dance’, ‘One More Day’, ‘Walking Tune’, ‘Shepherd’s Hey’, ‘Irish Tune from County Derry’, ‘Molly on the Shore’, ‘Country Garden’ and the soulful ‘Colonial Song’, which expresses the feelings aroused in the composer by Australian scenes. Its plaintive undertone suggests that it is reminiscent with a touch of homesickness. It has the tenderness and depth which we find in the songs of America’s two most original melodists, Stephen Foster (‘Old Folks at Home’) and Edward MacDowell. . . . But hold on! Percy Grainger is a contradictory individual. One time, when he was visiting us in Maine, I said to him: ‘It’s a glorious morning, Percy, come into the garden with me.’ ‘No thank you, Henry,’ he replied. ‘When I am in the country I prefer to be indoors.’ And he sprawled on the sofa on his stomach and penned a magazine article which he had promised. Don’t imagine from this that Percy is an indoors man—heaven forbid! He loves to do things—extraordinary things—outdoors more than anywhere else in the world. . . . That remark was thoroughly characteristic: he is a bundle of contradictions, personally and in his compositions. From what I have said of them you would think they were mostly of the simple mellifluous folk-music order, but most of them are not, and many of them are as intricate and almost as dissonantal and ‘futuristic’ as Stravinsky’s or Scriabin’s. Yet even in these ultra-modern works his gift of popular melody does not desert him; and that makes a fascinating combination. As a teacher, Grainger belongs in the rank of Liszt; and he comes right next to Liszt as an altruist, always doing things to help other musicians on their path. Once more, he has followed in the footsteps of Liszt in introducing in the orchestra new uses for instruments of percussion and even employing entirely new ones symphonically, like the American Deagan percussion instruments, which suggest the quaintly exotic music of South Sea Islanders that Percy loves. There are grand possibilities along that line for the music of the future. . . . As soon as Percy came to New York I began the ‘press-agent’ work I delight in doing when I come across a new genius. He refers to this in a

america 1914-1922

81

letter dated September 18, 1916: ‘It is too miraculous the way you manage to wedge old P.G. into the most unpromising looking openings in your stunning weekly writings! No matter what the subject, I soon see my name looking along, and if I fail to become a “household word” it will certainly not be your fault! It is luck to be one of the artists to whom your pure and brave heart goes out . . . I have never yet met any really critical soul who at the same time has your obviously creative mind, and that is no doubt why your word sways thousands of readers as no other writer’s and why you penetrate the inner soul of a giant like Grieg in the way you do.’ Henry T. Finck, My Adventures in the Golden Age of Music (New York: Funk and Wagnalls, 1926), pp. 391–93, 394–96.

NELLIE MELBA (1861–1931) Helen Mitchell, alias Nellie Melba, dominated European and American opera houses for nearly forty years from 1887. Because of common heritage and old Melbourne-based family ties Melba tried to help Grainger in his career, although she often offended him, especially in offering unsolicited advice about his attitude to his ailing father. The two only rarely appeared in concerts together, but did mount joint recitals in aid of the Allied war effort in Boston and Pittsburgh during January 1916. Despite his personal dislike of Melba, Grainger recognized the beauty of her voice which, he claimed, had ‘some kind of a peach-fur-like nap on it that made me think of the deep blue that forms on any Australian hill if seen a mile or more off.’

He’s a genius. There is always something fresh and charming about Grainger’s compositions. . . . It is not surprising that he has been so strongly attracted to the folk music of different countries. There is something in his music of the same quality of morning freshness. . . . His father and mine, you know, were closely associated in building in Melbourne, and when some fine place in the city reminds me of the fact I often think that Percy Grainger is a builder of Australian art. In my own way I aim to be one, too. Entry, 14 August 1917, in ‘Melba Memorial Conservatorium Diary 1917’, reproduced in Thérèse Radic, Melba: The Voice of Australia (Melbourne: Macmillan, 1986), p. 146.

82

portrait of percy grainger

DANIEL GREGORY MASON (1873–1953) Although author of various music history books from the turn of the century on, and, from 1909, a member of the music faculty of Columbia University (eventually becoming MacDowell Professor in 1929), Mason received little recognition as a composer until well into mid-life. He was particularly grateful, therefore, to Grainger for programming his works and persistently introducing them to others.

Another pianist who, like [Josef ] Hofmann, was himself a composer, and therefore hospitable-minded towards his fellow-composers, was Percy Grainger. This ruddy-haired young Australian, with his cordial attitude, his paradoxical and often wildly fantastic opinions, his quaint way of calling chamber music ‘room music’ and quartets ‘foursomes’, and loading his page with strange barbarisms like ‘louden lots’ (for molto crescendo), his fundamentally genuine musicality shown already in such fascinating things as Shepherd’s Hey, one instinctively liked. He might be a little mad, but at any rate he was not in the least a snob (as were so many of the pianists with anything like his vogue). We met him, I believe for the first time, at David and Clara Mannes’s, in the fall of 1914 just after our return from France. The following spring I sent him Country Pictures, and he returned a hearty note with many underlinings, and the characteristic sentence: ‘So far I have had a very enjoyable skim through, in which the delicious page 6 of The Whippoorwill very particularly got home.’ He was the first, I think, to play any of the pieces, publicly, including The Whippoorwill in a New York recital of November, 1917—on the program of which he is pictured in his army uniform of a band master, looking incredibly young. He was at this early period, it must be confessed, a little too devoted to what one may call muscular pianism—by analogy with muscular Christianity—to be quite happy with a twilight or moonlight bird such as a whippoorwill. His playing had a good sunny, broad daylight effect, especially by its swinging rhythm, but the halftones were not always there. One sometimes felt like exclaiming, with Richard Aldrich’s little girl: ‘Mr. Grainger, you play too loud.’ But that was only one side of the early impression of a splendidly sincere artist. He has matured since then. A year or two later, when he was teaching summer classes in Chicago, he made friendly effort to disseminate my pieces among his students, but was unable to

america 1914-1922

83

get copies. At any rate his comradely solicitude was heartening, and I have never forgotten it. Daniel Gregory Mason, Music in My Time and Other Reminiscences (New York: Macmillan, 1938), pp. 295–96.

AEOLIAN COMPANY Soon after arriving in America Grainger started to feature in the Aeolian Company’s catalogue of Duo-Art piano rolls. Between 1915 and 1933 he made over eighty rolls, playing works by a wide range of composers. A major achievement in 1921 was the recording on piano rolls of an adapted version of Grieg’s Piano Concerto. The interview below, probably from the late 1910s, is unashamedly promotional, although most of Grainger’s comments are supported by other sources.

The Aeolian Co. carried an effective advertisement in this week’s newspapers, featuring an interview with Percy Grainger, the talented Australian composer-pianist, anent the Duo-Art Pianola. Mr. Grainger, who has made a number of rolls for the Duo-Art library, has achieved remarkable success and fame both here and abroad. His musical writings have received world-wide recognition, and the following interview is one of the finest tributes which could be accorded a musical instrument: ‘If people sometimes are listening to music, and sometimes taking part in it, we shall have better musicians, much keener listeners—and greater enjoyment in music!’ Mr. Grainger thus epitomized for me his idea of music at its best. ‘Why,’ I asked, ‘do you require that people take part in music as well as listen?’ ‘I feel that quicker, clearer understanding comes that way,’ he replied. ‘If a man plays a bit himself, he better appreciates what the musician is trying to do. But just as making music sharpens our wits and our taste for hearing it, so listening to fine music feeds and stimulates our musicianship.’ ‘Then surely our Duo-Art pianola is quite your ideal of a musical instrument for the home,’ I suggested. ‘Yes—quite,’ said Mr. Grainger, ‘I am frightfully interested in the Duo-Art. I play it as a piano, and sometimes as a Pianola. Does the idea of a pianist using a Pianola seem odd to you? Well, you know, I am thinking of doing some compositions for the Pianola. From the view-

84

portrait of percy grainger

point of the composer, it is a very interesting instrument, with perhaps broader possibilities even than the piano.’ ‘And, of course, we do not lose sight of the third faculty of the DuoArt. When I am on tour, my mother may have it to reproduce my records, and for the time, I am with her in spirit—The Duo-Art reproductions are so vividly like my playing.’ ‘On the whole, the Duo-Art is quite wonderful indeed—one of the greatest marvels I have found in your remarkable America.’ ‘You sincerely think that the Duo-Art reproduces from your records so accurately as to satisfy one so well qualified to judge critically as your own mother?’ ‘Yes, surely. And when I myself hear the records which I have played at my best and then edited and corrected until they are my fullest musical expressions, I think to myself—“Ah, on the days when I play like that I am very well pleased.”’ ‘This is quite a fine thing you are saying for the Duo-Art, Mr. Grainger—tell me, do you mean to go on record with the statement that the Duo-Art actually simulates your art even in such subtle things as gradations of touch and tone quality?’ ‘That is a very legal sounding query, if you understand what I mean,’ replied Grainger, smiling—‘yes, I think the Duo-Art simulates every phrase of my work, rhythm, tone and all the rest. With reference to rhythm particularly, I am amazed at the absolute accuracy with which the instrument reproduces the artist’s most personal characteristics.’ ‘You have found record-making an exacting task, then,’ I suggested, ‘each detail must be so carefully considered in order that the finished record may be you at your best.’ ‘Extremely interesting, yes, and exacting—but very valuable too. My mother, who has always been my inseparable companion and advisor, the other day remarked upon my improved interpretation of a work which I present frequently in recital. “You play that differently and much more tellingly these last few days,” she said, “has anything occurred to give you a new point of view?”’ ‘“I’ve been hearing my interpretation on the Duo-Art pianola—I have been playing the part of the audience, listening to my own work. The improved interpretation is the result of a new kind of self-criticism,” I replied.’ ‘The Duo-Art actually has helped greatly in study and practice,’ he went on, ‘for obviously as one sits at the keyboard it is impossible to know how some effects reach the audience.’

america 1914-1922

85

Mr. Grainger slid deep down in his chair and sat thoughtfully quiet for a few moments. ‘I quite sincerely think that the Duo-Art Pianola is going to do great things for music. Artistic interpretations by great musicians make musical classics clear and comprehensible—and entertaining to the layman. With these fine interpretations presented so widely by means of the Duo-Art, the result must be a rapidly advancing taste in music—a quickly increasing interest in music.’ ‘The musical world surely owes much to the Aeolian Co., for you with your high ideals and your very liberal spirit have added a distinct impetus to the advancement of musical art.’ Anon., ‘Interview with Percy Grainger on Duo-Art Pianola’, reproduced in Harvey Roehl, Player Piano Treasury (New York: Vestal Press, 1973), p. 73.

HARRIETTE BROWER (1869–1928) Harriette Brower was an American music journalist and author of several books about pianism, including The Art of the Pianist and two Piano Mastery books. The second in her ‘Mastery’ series included interviews with famous pianists, such as Hofmann, Godowsky, and Hutcheson. Grainger also was interviewed for the volume, leading to the chapter entitled ‘Freedom of thought in piano study’.

It has been aptly said that a musician can do little or nothing without enthusiasm. In Percy Grainger, the quality of enthusiasm is a potent force in his character and career. According to his own testimony, he loves to play, to compose, to teach, to visit new lands, to become familiar with new people. He has the youthful buoyancy that welcomes with eagerness each new event and experience. To come into personal touch with Percy Grainger, to hear him in recital and with orchestra, is to be conscious of an entirely new series of experiences. . . . It is the same when he plays. Sincerity shines through everything he does, and the buoyancy of a fresh, earnest, healthful spirit carries you along with it. There is no flagging of energy, no moment of languor, all is vital and alive. At times his playing is electrifying. To hear him deliver the opening of the Tschaikowsky B minor Concerto is the most exciting experience; something that carries you off your feet like a whirlwind. As a pianist remarked to me recently, ‘A recital by Percy Grainger always makes one feel happy, inspired and ready to meet everything.’

86

portrait of percy grainger

Although it has been my privilege to confer with Mr. Grainger at various times, it is pleasant to recall the memory of our first conversation. We were seated in the sitting room of their apartment in the hotel, and Mrs. Grainger had just poured tea for us. She might easily be taken for an elder sister of the young artist, instead of his mother. The same sun-bright hair, clear blue eyes and fresh ruddy color. She is his devoted and constant companion, accompanying him everywhere. You feel they must both have lived much in the open, have tramped ‘o’er moor and fen’, have been steeped in fresh air and sunshine. ‘I had not expected to come to America at this time,’ began Mr. Grainger; ‘but we came primarily on account of my mother’s frail health, which I am happy to say she has regained in this country. My European tour, embracing many concerts, had of course to be relinquished on account of the war. We sailed at three days’ notice, and our intention was to stay two or three months at the most. It looks now as though we would remain in America for a long time.’ Harriette Brower, Piano Mastery: Second Series—Talks with Master Pianists and Teachers (New York: F. A. Stokes, 1917), pp. 1–4.

ROBIN H. LEGGE (1862–1933) From 1906 to 1931 Legge was a music critic for The Daily Telegraph in London. His earlier columns sympathetically plotted Grainger’s achievements in Britain as pianist and composer, but during the First World War, as seen below, he took to ridiculing Grainger and accusing him of opportunism while his many British colleagues were risking their lives at the Front. In a bitter letter of 12 April 1917 (two months before Grainger joined the U. S. Army), Legge warned him that ‘England is no place for you after the war I fear. . . . Don’t forget that over 4—four—millions of good and true Britons sacrificed their Ego—and God knows how many more others—for a Kosmic Cause. It is of the 4 millions and more that we take account here—not of the paltry residue.’

Hysterical Criticism Musicians in this country who keep in touch with what is happening in ‘their’ world on the other side of the Atlantic will not need to be told of the very strong position Mr. Percy Grainger has made for himself there

america 1914-1922

87

in the last year or so. The musical section of the American—or at any rate the New York—Press appears to delight in discussing that young Australian’s personality and his work as pianist and composer. Perhaps the day will come when Mr. Grainger will feel that he has had a surfeit of adulation—and return to England, which we had always thought was his home. But that’s another matter. Meanwhile he might well exclaim ‘Save me from my friends’ (on the Press)! At least it is difficult to believe that any artist can really relish the kind of fulsome gush of which this particular star of the musical world has been made the ‘victim’ since he settled down in the land of the dollar. Listen to this, as a typical example of the sort of thing that is being written about this gifted young man: ‘More than any artist I have ever known, Grainger represents the sheer enjoyableness of living. He seems to go through life in a perpetual living ecstasy.’ (The writer does not add ‘even in wartime’.) ‘His personality is a sort of bubbling, golden effervescence. When he comes upon the stage he seems to bring a clear, keen sunny atmosphere with him.’ Note, further that ‘Grainger is of a type which never grows old, an eternally beautiful, buoyant type, which stimulates our fancy, piques our envy, and contributes more, when all is said and done, to the sum total of the world’s worth-whileness than is contributed by any other type of artist.’ We need not, perhaps, stop to inquire what the writer means by a musician’s contribution to ‘the world’s worth-whileness’. Rather, let us try to be duly awed by his assertion that ‘I have never had an artist impress me as so full of sheer animal spirits, of glowing, glorious health’. Yet ‘sometimes’, we read further, ‘Grainger’s muscular strength literally takes the bit between its teeth and plunges away in a kind of acrobatic extasy (sic).’ After this brilliant flight of imagination the writer, with a fine disdain for the dangers of mixed metaphors, tells us that ‘to hear Grainger tossing great masses of tone about and beating great chords out of the piano is to think irresistibly of some rather impertinent young god wallowing with a superb contempt for peril in huge, rolling waters.’ Surely Mr. Grainger will ask to be ‘saved’ from friends who liken him in one breath to an animal performing acrobatic feats with a bit between his teeth, and an ‘impertinent young god’ struggling with rolling waves!

New Instruments and Suite Coming down from these dizzy heights of rhetorical fancy to plain facts, the writer informs us that the composer has been experimenting lately

88

portrait of percy grainger

with new instruments of percussion, including a ‘marimbaphone’ and a ‘nabimba’—‘which have never before been used in classical music’ (why drag in the classics?). The ‘nabimba’, we are told, is played with hammers of different strength, and the effect is ‘an indescribable combination of a tone at once sharp and yet sustained’. The composer has introduced these and other percussion instruments into an orchestral suite which he calls ‘In a Nutshell’, and a critic who has heard the novelty describes it as ‘music which will set the old fogies wagging dolorous heads, for three or four movements are very brisk and lively, distinctly of the foot-tapping variety, and Mr. Grainger never shies at melody’. The first movement, called ‘Arrival Platform Humlet’ is intended to suggest ‘the sort of thing one hums in Australia when walking up and down the arrival platform at a railway station waiting for a friend who is just coming back from London.’ In the second movement, ‘Gay but wistful’, the returned traveller reflects upon the good times he has had in our metropolis, and intermingled with the tunes he has heard there at music-halls is ‘the wistful longing to be back again’. Surely this should be the very thing for a Saturday night ‘Prom’ programme in these rather trying times. Robin H. Legge, ‘Musical Notes’, Daily Telegraph, 19 August 1916.

*****

A New ‘Poet’ These are days in which it is not easy to raise a laugh, but sometimes circumstances are stronger than ourselves, and we laugh because we cannot help ourselves. This week’s American mail has brought me a piece of music which I think would rouse mirth in any household—yet not at itself, for the music is admirable, and sometimes beautiful. It is the—but let me explain. The work is a ‘Marching Song of Democracy’, written by Percy Grainger, ‘in loving adoration of Walt Whitman’. It seems to have occupied the composer for a term of years, since we read that it was begun in the summer of 1901 at Frankfort, continued in 1908 in Australia, again in 1915 in New York, and completed there this last summer. The vocal score, however, fills only thirty-eight pages. It is written for a chorus of ‘high and low women and high and low men’, with orchestra and organ. The poetic basis is a series of extracts from Walt Whitman’s ‘Leaves of Grass’. So far, there is nothing much to laugh at. Whitman has often inspired our composers, teste Drs. Charles Wood and Vaughan Williams.

america 1914-1922

89

But these composers utilised the rugged strains of the poet as the poet left them. Not so the Australian. He seems to have been the author of his own poem, and a rich and rare thing he has evolved, for it could be sung with masterly ease by the inhabitants of any yet discovered continent or of any part of any known continent, of that greater world to which the composer now belongs. True, he lays down the law that ‘all the vowels should be pronounced as in Italian, with the exception of “u” which should be sounded as “u” in rum. Thus “rum” should sound like English “rum” (incidentally, what does rum sound like? I’ve heard analogously of a man catching rabbits by going into a field and making a noise like a turnip), “pum” should rhyme with English “plum”, the vowel “i” should always be sounded like “ee”. Thus “pim” should rhyme with English “dream”; “hm” stands for a sharply-accented “h” occurring in the middle of a continuous humming (“m”).’ There you have the whole of the new language round which Mr. Grainger has woven wonderful mazes of sound. His Song opens, orchestrally, ‘at quick marching speed’, but vocally ‘easygoingly but richly’ (the former one word). To the accompaniment of strings, wood wind, and brass, the ‘low men’ boom out this fine, resonant phrase (note the multitude of vowels so dear to all singers, men or women, high or low), ‘Ta da di da ra da da’, while at the expressive ‘di’ the ‘high men’ troll out, also ‘easygoingly’, the unforgettable, almost Shakespearean phrase ‘Dum pum pum pum to di diri diri’; the ‘easygoingly low women’ warble a phrase in counterpoint, and then the ‘high women’ respond (they seem to set their caps at all those beneath them) in these superb words, ‘Ta ra dira dara diridi di di pum pum pam’. A little later the ‘low women’ sing a pretty phrase to the words ‘Ti di di di di di di di di di ta dim pa’, and after this order, ‘Don’t tire yourselves over this; keep fresh for what’s to come’, and this, to ‘louden lots’, ‘Now, sing up!’, you begin to feel that a crisis is approaching. For the full orchestra is supported by the full organ and bells, fff, the stage direction says ‘heavy and hammeringly’, the chorus is subdivided into many parts, another f is added, and there is a terrific howl of sound as, metaphorically, the curtain falls upon the ‘low men’ singing, ffff, the high f sharp (on which they are directed to ‘louden to the very end’), the ‘low women’ singing the octave above, all on the marvellously expressive and glorious monosyllable ‘PA’. It really makes one quite hot even to read these last pages, so powerfully do they carry the conviction that ‘pa’ was in distress—or that his singing children were. Robin H. Legge, ‘World of Music’, Daily Telegraph, 14 October 1916.

90

portrait of percy grainger

D. C. (‘CHARLIE’) PARKER (1885–1970) The Scottish critic D. C. Parker was a loyal supporter of Grainger through the mid-war period, when British allegations of Grainger’s cowardice and criticism of his recent compositions were strongest. One of his earliest writings about Grainger appeared in The Monthly Musical Record of September 1915, where Parker claimed: ‘In him there is something of Puck, and we sorely need a musical Puck in these distressing days.’ Parker’s 36–page promotional booklet Percy Aldridge Grainger: A Study, from which the extracts below are taken, appeared in 1918. It was substantially based on letters Grainger had written to Parker. Although Grainger expressed pleasure at its appearance and most of its analyses, he was worried about Parker’s presentation of his character. When Parker was revising the booklet for reissue in 1933 Grainger was driven to comment: ‘If you will forgive my saying so, you seem to have the same difficulty in understanding my temperament & tendencies that most Britishers experience with me. It is obvious to me that to Britishers such as yourself, Cyril Scott, Basil Cameron & others I appear “thrawn”, perverse, inconsistent, queer & often highly original, whereas to Germans & Scandinavians I appear quite normal, human and elastic—tho much less original.’

The problem with him, as with many others, is to get the continuous flow without sacrificing the harmonic colour. He has not the grand manner of Strauss, with its eagle-like sweep, but he is careful to prevent his music from lapsing into that static condition which is the normal state of much of the impressionist art, the creators of which make a mistake in placing a too great reliance upon atmospheric effects. Regarding the perpendicularists as primarily contemplative and the horizontalists as primarily dynamic, we see that circumstances compel Grainger to take a middle course. His inherent vitality precludes his indulging in the impressionism of the extreme aesthetes; he wants his music to have some of the spirit which is expressed in the Maori proverb, ‘Die like the shark, fighting to the last gasp.’ His critical method precludes his losing contact with the ‘chord feeling’. . . . [T]he truth is that the most arresting pages of Grainger spring from original impulses rather than from influences, however strong. More than once he sounds that victorious and ecstatic note which is born solely of his joy in life. One critic, Charles L. Buchanan, has spoken of this art as ‘a kind of exquisite slanginess’. The definition is happy, for there is here no at-

america 1914-1922

91

tempt to reach Miltonic heights or to cultivate the heroic vocabulary. The music jogs along in a happy and seemingly careless way, and one is often conscious of its creator’s impatience with arbitrary formulae and the hundred and one commandments of the text-book compiler. . . . When we speak of his ‘styles’ we really mean that he does not express himself along one line. Certain little foibles probably constitute the quintessence of Graingerism; but, these apart, his compositions present an unusual variety. He is a humorist and his wide sympathies must be expressed in his art. And he has a habit of jotting down ideas which are put away in a box of surprises to be brought out and furbished up at wide intervals. He writes and re-writes, experiments, adds and rejects. (Not more than about a quarter, or at most a third, of his works has so far been published.) The result is that some of the pieces differ much from others. Here he seems to be disporting himself in chromatics, there to be setting a fashion in a new sort of diatonic writing. At the present time he is very much absorbed in the question of irregular rhythm and in the system which he calls ‘double-chording’. . . . To turn to another aspect: Grainger has a good choral and orchestral technique. His practical knowledge is, perhaps, hardly realised by those who know only one or two of the popular pieces and who, consequently, regard his music as the chips whittled by a pianist in his leisure hours. ‘Father and Daughter’, ‘The Merry Wedding’, and the ‘Marching Song of Democracy’, show an understanding of the capabilities of the chorus, and the scoring is not that of a man who conceives his work in terms of the piano and transplants it to the orchestral sphere. . . . Of considerable interest are his valuations of other composers, for they shed light upon his personality. If French in his attitude towards the East, he is Lisztian in his capacity for hero-worship. He has a genius for enjoyment and is unlike the blasé ‘highbrow’ in that he relishes many composers who differ widely in style. What he thinks of Grieg and Delius will be plain from what I have already said. The former he credits with having foreshadowed, in his harmonic originality, the boldest developments of today, an estimate which may well stick in the gizzards of those who have persistently underrated this composer, but which, nevertheless, reveals a keen perception of the man’s historical significance. His favorite writer is Bach. ‘If Bach were living to-day,’ he exclaims, ‘I feel he would include ragtime, Schönbergism, musical comedy, Strauss, and all the grades in between’—an opinion which, perhaps, is more reasonable than seems so at the first blush. He revels in the ‘glow’ of Wagner and Brahms and in the smoothness of Mendelssohn. Strauss

92

portrait of percy grainger

has a place in his affections, Debussy is a ‘transcendental iconoclast’, and he pays an eloquent tribute to Albéniz, whom he describes as ‘in several ways the greatest pianistic advent since Chopin’. He is not among those who regard Schönberg as a madman. On the contrary, he rejoices in the fact that that modern prophet has pointed the way of escape from the inevitability of harmony, and, because of this, feels grateful to him. But he recognises, what is often forgotten, that a taste for the music of men like Debussy and Stravinsky is dearly bought indeed if, in acquiring it, we lose our capacity for learning the lesson which only the older masters can teach; and he is alive to the fact that modern conditions tend to make the artist of to-day rebellious, ‘because the artist sees on all hands the bulk of humanity submitting to utterly needless and useless drudgery, and wishes to avoid this anti-art at all costs’. What mainly rivets his attention is the blood-relationship of the present and the past, and he argues that Scriabin, Delius, Stravinsky and Ravel are to their age not unlike what Monteverdi was to his. He emphasises the point that the real innovator makes a good use of what has been bequeathed to him. There is the diatonic as well as the chromatic aspect of Wagner, just as there is the diatonic as well as the chromatic aspect of Grieg. D. C. Parker, Percy Aldridge Grainger: A Study (New York: G. Schirmer, 1918), pp. 8, 10, 13, 16–17, 25–27.

RICHARD FRANKO GOLDMAN (1910–1980) The Goldman Band has been a feature of American band life for most of the last century. Founded by Edwin Franko Goldman in 1911, it was taken over by his son Richard Franko Goldman in 1956 and in 1984, after his death, reformed as the Goldman Memorial Band. Both Goldmans appreciated Grainger’s keen interest in composing for bands, which had been kindled by his years in the army, and kept in frequent touch with him into the 1950s. Richard Franko Goldman went on to become the director of the Peabody Conservatory, Baltimore, between 1968 and 1977.

Grainger came to the United States in 1915 [sic], to settle permanently, and was an Assistant Instructor at the Army Band School on Governor’s Island during World War I. It was at this time that his interest in band music revived, and the earliest of his published band works date from

america 1914-1922

93

this period. They include the beautiful settings of Shepherd’s Hey, Molly on the Shore, the Irish Tune from County Derry, and many original works including the Children’s March, Over the Hills and Far Away, the Gumsucker’s March (both of these for band with piano) and the Colonial Song. All of these date from the years 1917–1919, and thus represent the first interesting body of new work for band after the Holst Suites. All of Grainger’s works for band are characterized by the most imaginative exploitation of band sonorities. With the exception of a very few scores composed in recent years, I think that there are no works in the entire band literature that compare with Grainger’s in sheer beauty of sound. Grainger’s originality and resourcefulness as a composer and virtuoso manipulator of instruments is only now beginning to be truly appreciated. But even so simple a piece as his setting of the Irish Tune speaks for itself. Grainger’s band works are all written purely and simply as music; they are not specially designed for amateur bands, standard instrumentations or limited levels of ability. All of them use a full complement of normal band instruments, and several of them require relatively uncommon instruments such as soprano saxophone or contra-bassoon. Cues, where possible, are usually provided for these, but no cues can replace the important parts often assigned to such instruments as the French horns, Eb clarinet, bassoons, piccolo and others whose particular timbre is desired for those parts. These parts are on occasion of considerable difficulty, although always idiomatically written, and indeed beautifully conceived for the instruments. But of course they must be played, and the ensemble must be in balance. Two scores of Grainger are of special beauty and interest, and may serve as the most characteristic examples of his style. They are the Children’s March, Over the Hills and Far Away, written in 1918, and the suite, Lincolnshire Posy, completed in 1937. Both of these works may be heard in recordings that the composer himself considered nearly perfect: the first by the Goldman Band with Grainger himself at the piano; the second by Frederick Fennell and the Eastman Wind Ensemble. The Children’s March is probably the first original composition using piano as an integral part of a band score. It also is the first band score which represents an entirely new type of band sound, making a liberal and highly effective use of low reeds such as the bassoon, English horn, bass clarinet, contra-bassoon and low saxophones, contrasting with brighter sounds of brass, and with a notably fresh and vigorous use of percussion. The Lincolnshire Posy is a masterpiece of band sonority, in which

94

portrait of percy grainger

all of Grainger’s accumulated skill in writing for wind instruments is fully exploited. This work, unlike the Children’s March, which is entirely original in melodic material, is based on folk tunes, but set in an inimitably imaginative and distinguished manner, full of fresh invention and inspiration. . . . Grainger served, with Victor Herbert, as judge of the competition for the prize offered in November 1919, by Edwin Franko Goldman, for the best new original composition for band. This prize was won by the distinguished Danish-born composer, Dr. Carl Busch (1862–1943), who at the time was conductor of the Kansas City Symphony Orchestra. Dr. Busch’s work, the Symphonic Episode, A Chant from the Great Plains, was performed during the 1920 season of the Goldman Band and was published by Carl Fischer. The principal motive of the composition is an idealized version of a theme taken from Alice C. Fletcher’s A Study of Omaha Indian Music. Subsequently Dr. Busch wrote several other works for band, all characterized by a high degree of professional skill and by a thorough understanding of the problems of band scoring. The contributions of Percy Grainger and Carl Busch to the advancement of original band music were recognized by the American Bandmasters’ Association soon after its formation, when both composers were made Honorary Life Members. Richard Franko Goldman, The Wind Band: Its Literature and Technique (Westport, N.Y.: Greenwood Press, 1974), pp. 226–29 (originally published Boston: Allyn & Bacon, 1961).

ALBERT GOLDBERG (1898–1990) Brought up in Shenandoah, Iowa, Albert Goldberg first came to know Grainger’s works when he moved to Chicago to study piano in 1917. He soon came under the spell of such pieces as Molly on the Shore, Shepherd’s Hey and Colonial Song, and contrived to attend Grainger’s masterclasses in the city. Of Grainger, the pianist and teacher, however, he was less in awe. Goldberg later became a critic with the Los Angeles Times.

As much as I admired him, I cannot honestly say that Grainger was my favorite pianist. In that golden age I was hearing for the first time Paderewski, Hofmann, Lhévinne, Novães, Godowsky, Gabrilowitsch, Bloomfield-Zeisler and Ignaz Friedman, among others. It was hard to make a choice among such riches.

america 1914-1922

95

It was either in 1921 or 1922 when I enrolled in Grainger’s master class at the Chicago Musical College. Master classes of that type, in which famous musical personages held forth for five or six weeks during the summer months, were probably the invention of Carl Kinsey, the harddriving owner and unscrupulous business manager of the Chicago Musical College. The school had been built on a solid artistic foundation by Dr. Florenz Ziegfield, father of the Ziegfield of Follies fame. But it remained for Kinsey and his reputedly shady modes of operation to put the College in the category of successful financial enterprises. Kinsey had a flair for publicity, and his dealings with faculty and students generally worked out to his advantage. Hard up as I was at that time, I could not resist the lure of Grainger’s class. . . . As I recall, the fee for the master classes was $125 for the term, though by present standards that seems extremely reasonable and hardly in keeping with Kinsey’s policy of pricing music education as high as the traffic would bear. The class was held in Grainger’s roomy studio on the 10th floor . . . Grainger, noted for his penuriousness, also maintained living quarters in his studio during the summer. The room contained no plumbing and the nearest toilet facility was two floors below. One night, Grainger started for the restroom, the wind blew the studio door shut. Rather than call for assistance Grainger simply stretched out on the bare marble floor. . . . Grainger would arrive for the class promptly at 1 p.m., after having run up 10 flights of stairs, often carrying a piano bench or a large armful of music. He never walked when he could run or jump; when he wanted to get across the room he either vaulted over the two Steinway Grands or crawled beneath them on hands and knees. In the class he talked a lot and played a lot, and was generally lenient with the students who performed. His constant advice was to follow his example and practice for at least one hour each day with the metronome. He seemed to give the metronome credit for the unrelenting rhythmical drive of his playing. At that time the metronome was considered to be an old-fashioned and mechanical sort of discipline, and up-to-date piano teachers of that day would never recommend it. Grainger’s advocacy of the metronome was nothing less than shocking to the students of that time. He talked a great deal about what he called ‘simultaneous tone-color contrasts’, and he took great delight in all the tricks he had devised for the middle or sostenuto pedal of the piano. In discussing music history he placed stress on the rise of the proletariat during the 19th century, and the expression of that movement in the use of folk music by serious composers of the Romantic period.

96

portrait of percy grainger

From Grainger’s point of view, that was the principal factor in 19th century music. . . . Grainger’s mother, Mrs. Rose Grainger, attended every class. As the time neared the end she never took her eyes off the watch. Promptly at the moment of 3 p.m. she would call out loudly, ‘Percy! It’s 3 o’clock!’, and everything had to stop on the second, whether Grainger was playing or talking, or whether some student was in the middle of a piece. Grainger would stop whatever he was doing on the instant and meekly say, ‘Yes, mother!’, and the class would file out promptly. Mother saw to it that there was no lingering nor unpaid intrusions on Grainger’s time. It was probably the following spring that I had my only private lesson with Grainger. He was to be soloist with Frederick Stock and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra at the annual North Shore Music Festival, held in the vast Patten Gymnasium of Northwestern University in Evanston. Somehow I made advance arrangements for him to hear me at the conclusion of the rehearsal. The piano stood in the midst of a clutter of music stands and double bass cases on the empty stage. I was aflutter with nerves in such strange surroundings. Grainger was kindly but obviously not very impressed nor very interested. I played such of his pieces as One More Day My John, Irish Tune from County Derry, Molly on the Shore, Colonial Song, and the like. Aside from a few neat tricks with the sostenuto pedal, I cannot recall that I learned anything from the lesson. But at least I could henceforth legitimately label myself ‘Pupil of Percy Grainger’, a considerable recommendation at that time. When the lesson was over, promptly at the end of a half hour, I handed Grainger a sealed envelope containing three $10 dollar bills. When my mother learned that I had paid $30 for a single lesson I feared she would suffer a stroke. But for non-musical reasons at least, it was worth it. Albert Goldberg, ‘Percy Grainger: A Recollection’, The Grainger Journal, vol. 7, no. 2 (Fall 1985), pp. 15–19.

ROSE GRAINGER (1861–1922) In June 1921 Percy and his mother, Rose, moved to White Plains, New York, about a forty-minute train ride from central Manhattan. Rose Grainger’s reactions to her new surroundings would be mixed, but here, one month after the move, she was still in a thoroughly positive frame of mind.

america 1914-1922

97

July 3rd, 1921. 7 Cromwell Place. White Plains. New York. My 60th Birthday. I awoke at 5.30 this morning hearing the birds singing in the lovely trees which surround our sweet home, which my beloved Son bought for us last May, 1921. He also bought a piece of ground on one side, adjoining that which he purchased belonging to the house. The house was built & owned by Mr. and Mrs. Prigge & suits us well. It has 10 rooms & a large front verandah, which we have furnished very comfortably indeed with Chinese Mats (3 large ones), willow furniture, 2 willow swinging hammocks, cushioned with very coarse, handsome patterned crettone, willow-made working table with added glass top, for Percy, 2 chairs, & china cabinet to match. We live a great deal on this Porch, & often take our tea there. We have an electric connection there to boil our water for our tea. I feel well to-day, the weather being warm, sunny & bright. My dearest seems happy & well, & has given me a work of his own entitled ‘Creepin’ Jane’ (Voice & Piano) an English Folk Song, collected by Percy at Brigg, at N.E. Lincolnshire, England, July 28, 1906, from the singing of dear old Joseph Taylor, who stayed with us at our home in London, some years afterwards. This was Jos. Taylor’s 1st visit to London. Everard Feilding (Lady Winefride Carey-Elwes’s brother) took Taylor & Percy & me to hear Delius’s orchestral version of ‘Brigg Fair’ at Queen’s Hall Concert as Percy had collected Brigg Fair from Taylor’s singing! I have been practising Percy’s ‘English Dance’, which he has set for 3 players at 2 Pianos. Mrs Hough, Percy & I are to play it, here, on Percy’s Birthday, July 8th. I love working at it, it is fascinating. Some of us have been practising Guitars & Ukeleles for Percy’s work ‘Shallow Brown’, for Voice (high Baritone), Strings, Guitars, Ukeleles, 5 wind instruments, reed organ & piano. We have some dear little Squirrels living in our trees, which seem not unfriendly. We leave water, bread & nuts for them, near the verandah. Percy also discovered 2 toads, near the side of our house, which he liked, but since a severe storm a few days ago we have not seen them. We hope they will come again. Percy has been practising his Tenor Sarrusophone this morning on the top floor of our house, which he found pretty warm. We have no maid living with us, but Mamie Sammons, a very nice coloured girl, who has been coming to sew & do light work for us, for over 4 years, comes 3 days a week, & 2 other

98

portrait of percy grainger

coloured women come different mornings, to keep us all clean, & comfy. I prepare our meals, which consist greatly of Eggs, milk, bread, butter, jam, fruit, nuts, George Washington Coffee (for me, only), meat & chicken, cold tongue, bread & milk, porridge, rice, provide food for us [sic]. Percy does not care to eat much meat, therefore we do not have very much of it. I take Kellogg’s Food ‘Paramels’ every day. Our dear friend Henry T. Finck, the musical critic on the ‘Evening Post’, recommended this food for me, & it has worked wonders. Since a bad illness I contracted many years ago, I have had great trouble with my bowels, having taken pills, etc., every day for over 20 years. The ‘paramel’ food has done away with all that inconvenience, happily. Percy continues wearing U. States Army underclothing, & thick, broad, Army Boots & Army Socks, under his silk ones. He used to have inconvenience with the skin of his toes pealing off, but since wearing the army boots has no such trouble— July 5. 1921. Percy told me a funny story he had read in the daily paper. Boss. ‘I shall get after that young cub of an office boy.’ Office boy appears. ‘Here, what do you mean by saying, I was the baldest man you had ever seen [?]’. Office Boy, ‘I didn’t say that, I said “When the Boss takes his hat off, he is half undressed”.’ The weather is very warm today, as was yesterday, but rain threatens. Percy has 3 Piano pupils today. Mrs Goldmark, talented little Hannah (pupil), & another lady to tea on the Porch—I, & Percy have great fun playing through his ‘English Dance’ for 2 Pianos. (3 Players.) July 8. 1921. Percy’s 39th Birthday. A terribly hot day. He, & I both well, he wrote letters to dear Balfour Gardiner & others, & so did I. We played a little & amused ourselves feeding the birds & 3 Squirrels, which are becoming tame, they come on to Porch for Pea Nuts. Miss Dillon, the Calif.n Composer (nice girl), Mrs. Sawyer (Percy’s Concert Manager), & Mr. Leonard, the English Singer, came to tea, & stayed on to dinner, which Aimie came to cook for us. Miss Dillon, Percy & I played through his ‘English Dance’, & Percy played through his ‘Hill Song’. A very hot night.— We had a nice talk about Percy’s future. I advocated his trying to find a suitable mate; to keep him companion in his comfy home, I, to live in N. Y. where he could come & sleep, dress for Concerts, practise etc., etc. He showed no desire for a wife; said, in the future, he would love to go into the desert, for a while, go walking through S. Am. & travel steerage, by boat, to out-of-the-way places. He

america 1914-1922

99

has a taste for unrefined life, & would like to indulge this love, sometime. ‘Why not?’; he is a real man & no ‘Fanny’. I want him to live out his likes, according to his nature. I feel very happy about him, his compositions, etc., etc. Very happy to have lived to see him almost independent, healthy, young looking, & able to feel really strong desires to living in Nature, unafraid; even alone, in Nature. I would enjoy his home coming, & his relating to me all his adventures. Were I strong enough, I would love to enjoy adventures, also; it is in the Aldridge blood. From recollections, 3, 5, 8 July 1921, reproduced in facsimile in Photos of Rose Grainger and of 3 Short Accounts of Her Life by Herself, in Her Own Hand-writing, privately published by Percy Grainger, 1923, pp. 12–14.

ANTONIA SAWYER (1863–1941) Rose Grainger’s mental condition deteriorated further in early 1922 but Grainger decided to hold to his concert schedule, which involved being absent from White Plains for several months—the longest time he had ever been away from his mother. Rose’s condition was worsened by persistent rumours that her relationship with her son was incestuous. On 29 April 1922 she wrote, but did not send, a letter to her son which ended: ‘Every day gets worse—I am an idiot, and no one seems to realize it. I am so sorry—I have loved you and so many others so dearly. Your poor insane mother.’ The following day she created headlines around the nation by leaping from the New York skyscraper in which Antonia Sawyer’s office was situated.

Percy Grainger’s Mother When Percy Grainger’s mother, Mrs. Rose Grainger, came to my office for the first time, I felt that we were going to be friends. She was a beautiful woman and had great charm. In all the years we were together she never addressed me as Mrs. Sawyer, but always as dear Mrs. Sawyer. A splendid musician, she showed great judgment in her personal care of Percy’s work. A perfect hostess always, her house was eagerly sought for and remembered. Her luncheons, and the people she gathered at her apartment for them, were perfect. Cultured people were always there. One reception in particular I remember when she invited her friends to

100

portrait of percy grainger

meet The London String Quartette. In some unforeseen way Mrs. Fritz Kreisler was not on her list, and before the luncheon Mrs. Kreisler spoke to me and remarked that she would like to be invited. I told her I was sure Mrs. Grainger would welcome her appearance. When I reported this conversation to Mrs. Grainger, her answer was just her dear self, ‘Of course, Mrs. Kreisler will be more than welcome.’ Her cleverness was shown always in inviting the right people to those social affairs. This was also of great assistance to Percy and I have often wondered why other mothers with beautiful homes did not copy her. She did not wait for a beautiful house, but gave them at her apartment, wherever they might be living. Later, here in White Plains, she had a beautiful spacious house where the same kindly hospitality was shown. It would be impossible to enumerate all the fine things she did for her friends. Always more than generous, I have many beautiful gifts she bestowed on me and I have greatly missed her these past years. . . . When Percy was out of town giving concerts, I often noticed that Mrs. Grainger seemed depressed. So when his 1922 Canadian tour was arranged, the most lucrative one he had undertaken, Mrs. Grainger wanted to go with him. She was not very well and with Percy’s strenuous programs plus his luggage, I knew it would be a very serious trip for her. She went so far with the idea that she wanted me to find a sealskin wrap or cape for her. I told Percy that he could not make the trip and look after his mother at the same time. She often, while not lame, seemed to lose control of her limbs simply through fatigue. Years before she came here, she had had a very serious fall which troubled her and a physician in Europe thought then that she would never walk again. But with her courage, she partially recovered from it. After Percy left for this trip, I arranged for her to see a physician. He called several times and recommended a first-class nurse who could read to her. I was very nervous about her, however. She never said ‘I wish I had gone with Percy’, nor blamed me in any slightest degree because I had been so sure she could not make the trip. She fully understood this and when we talked about it she was very wise and sensible over it all. She possessed a great judgment. Before moving to White Plains, she had never shown her ‘nervous days’ and I believe she was homesick. Once she gave a little supper for a few of her White Plains friends. That evening she seemed not quite herself, so I told her I would attend to everything. During Percy’s absence in Canada and on the Pacific Coast (MarchApril, 1922) I called at Mrs. Grainger’s nearly every night on my way

america 1914-1922

101

home from New York, and was much relieved when I found her comfortable. There was never a complaint. A few times I read to her. She always said, ‘You are very strong, dear Mrs. Sawyer, but you must be weary yourself.’ I never seemed to be tired during those days. One Saturday I wrote all day for her, listing documents she wanted to keep which she took from the safe. Very soon before her tragic end, I called on Mrs. Grainger and when I entered she said, ‘Please do not wait, I cannot give you any tea, I am not feeling well.’ My reply was, ‘Then I can give you some tea.’ The colored man and I arranged her on a couch and after drinking some tea she seemed stronger, and at her urgent request I left her. At times she was very positive—one could not have remained when she wished to be alone. But I have always been sorry I left her that night. She insisted however that I go home and I felt that it was impossible not to do just what she expected of me; as weak as she seemed, her strong personality won. During the evening I phoned the house and she answered the phone and seemed just herself, and through the advice of my family I did not go back to her, nor ring again. We can always feel the right thing, and I did want to return to her. At the breakfast table Sunday morning (April 30th, 1922) Mrs. Grainger called quite excitedly and wanted to know how soon I could take her for a ride to New York. I was quite used up myself and endeavored to dissuade her, but she was determined to go. She wanted to know if I had any money. I told her I would take some. I called her physician and told him about her wanting to go to New York and he said, ‘Go with her, it will be all right, may do her good.’ After sitting in her taxi for a few moments, I noticed the way she was dressed—had never seen her look that way before. Although the 30th of April, it was not a warm day and I wore quite a heavy coat. I was concerned about her, fearing she would take cold. She evaded my questions, and contrary to our usual meetings, said very little, scarcely looking at me. In about a half hour I inquired why she wanted to go to New York on Sunday. She said she would like a housekeeper, Percy was coming home. I told her my office was a lonely place on Sundays. I wanted to stop at the Belmont, where she and Percy had often lived when in New York. She quite angrily asked me why she could not go to my office. As we entered the large office (I had three rooms) she stopped before an almost life-sized picture of Percy. She put her bag down and remarked that it was very close there. Before going down to a little

102

portrait of percy grainger

restaurant near Aeolian Hall she said, ‘Please give me some air.’ It was not easy to raise one of those heavy windows, but I finally got one open about twenty inches. ‘Now,’ she said; ‘please get me a warm drink.’ When I came back to the office I was so nervous that I could not open the door and went back to the elevator for Harry to open it. There was no one in the room when we entered it. I rushed to the ladies’ room, we went all over that floor a dozen times. I wanted to go to the roof, but Harry said, ‘Wait.’ In front of the open window was a high chair that I had not noticed, and he asked me what that chair was for. He started to look out the window, when I called ‘Please Harry, do not look, she must be somewhere.’ Finally he said, crying to himself, ‘Oh, Mrs. Sawyer, she has fallen on the roof to the next house.’ In a few moments the confusion around my rooms was beyond description. I telephoned my home in White Plains. Fred and Tonie came in at once. An interne from Bellevue Hospital was of great assistance—he seemed to understand everything. He told me I must identify the body and he, with another physician, went with me to the roof next door. My niece, Tonie, sent telegrams to Behymer and to Percy in Los Angeles, where he was conducting that day. I spoke to a physician about taking her to White Plains. He said it would be impossible. So she was placed in a special room at Campbell’s funeral place. On our way home that evening Tonie and I went to her home and chose the loveliest things she had to place around her. Her beautiful head and face were perfectly natural. On Monday I had a beautiful blanket of sweet peas placed on her casket, which was fresh when Percy arrived the following Friday. I met Percy, in Cleveland, and his first question was, ‘Have you brought any money?’ ‘Enough,’ I said. We talked nearly all night. Almost anyone would have blamed me; but not he. I endeavored to tell him everything. Mr. and Mrs. Finck were of great assistance when I finally reached them and Mr. Finck wrote a finely worded letter for the newspapers. Percy at first said he desired a strictly private funeral, but we persuaded him to have Frederic Steinway and Henry Junge there. John Haynes Holmes conducted the service, a very beautiful one. Mrs. Grainger had met him and liked him. At her request, given Percy a few months before he left, she was cremated. There were so many sensational reports. The Steinway firm requested me to come to their office and give the particulars. When I told Mr. Frederic Steinway that I was sorry I had left her alone in my office, he

america 1914-1922

103

remarked, ‘You might not be alive now—because evidently she was almost beside herself at the last.’ It was not a comfortable time for me. I have to thank Margaret Tjader; she was at my office early the next Monday morning and offered me her car and chauffeur for as long a time as I needed it. My rooms, when I arrived about nine thirty, were packed with the best physicians in the city, and many visitors who were here from all over the country. Sawyer, Songs at Twilight (New York: Devin-Adair, n.d. [1939]), pp. 136–42.

104

portrait of percy grainger

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

20 Bandsman Grainger in pensive mood, late 1917

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

21 Grainger with concert manager, Antonia Sawyer

america 1914-1922

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

22 Promotion postcard, 1915

105

106

portrait of percy grainger

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

23 Nellie Melba

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

24 Grainger by a pianola, ca. 1916

america 1914-1922

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

25 Louise McDowell, 1953

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

26 Rose Grainger in death, May 1922

107

V America 1922–1939 In the period 1922–27, between the death of his mother and engagement to Ella Ström, Grainger lived the life of a fugitive. He wanted to escape from the treadmill of concert life to seek solace in the company of friends, relatives and favourite places. He visited Australia twice and made his first post-war visits to Europe. There, he spent much time with his ‘Frankfurt Group’ friends and Delius, and undertook the Danish folk-music collecting tours with Evald Tang Kristensen which the outbreak of war had precluded. These tours provided the tunes for some of Grainger’s loveliest arrangements. Even after his marriage and settling more happily back into American life Grainger did not return to the hectic concert schedules of the 1910s and early 1920s. He realized the need to indulge more his compositional and broader artistic passions, before age sapped his inspiration. He developed his ‘Nordic’ (‘Blueeyed’) English, writing his first long essay in this awkward language in the final months of 1927; he thought and wrote about his ‘Free Music’, leading to the first experimental piece in 1934–35; in collaboration with Anselm Hughes and Arnold Dolmetsch he helped propagate the music and instruments of the earlier periods of Western music. From 1935 to 1938 he also oversaw the implementation of long-nurtured plans for a music museum in Melbourne. Through this period of his life he maintained links with educational organizations: Chicago Musical College to 1931, New York University in 1932–33, and the National Music Camp at Interlochen, Michigan, between 1937 and 1944.

EVALD TANG KRISTENSEN (1843–1929) The greatest of all folksong collectors was, in Grainger’s opinion, Evald Tang Kristensen. As early as 1906 Grainger had been an enthusiast for Kristensen’s 1871 collection of Danish melodies, which he found ‘soft and gentle without being in the least characterless’. These qualities he considered typically Danish. In 1913 he met Kristensen in person—‘He is marvellous, very amusing to be with’— and planned to spend some of the late summer of 1914 helping collect songs in Jutland, using a phonograph. War put an end to these plans, however, and it was only in 1922, during Grainger’s first post-war visit to Europe, that they could tour together. Their collaboration was resumed during Grainger’s visits to Denmark in 1925 and 1927. Grainger’s Danish Folk-Music Suite (1928) was based on songs collected during their expeditions, and its final number, ‘Jutish Medley’ (1927), was dedicated to Kristensen ‘as a token of boundless admiration’.

I also wish to say a few words about my especially good friend Percy Grainger, who has visited me now (in 1927) three times, and with whom I have made journeys to collect folklore. Since no one else, except H. Grüner-Nielsen, ever volunteered to do this, it is the more praiseworthy that he, with his fiery love for our folklore, was willing to come and do this work which no one from the capital city of our own country wanted to undertake. Not one single musician from over there [Copenhagen] would ever think of travelling around and listening to what the old people could sing and say. In my young days there were many here who knew old folklore and a rich harvest could have been collected, but now, at the eleventh hour comes this man from the other side of the world, and [he] took hold. He was not afraid of either the great expense nor the great labour, but came without being called and took up what the Danish musicians had let lie neglected, because they couldn’t take the trouble to travel around and talk to the people. If the right interest had been there, they could have come, but they were clinging to the notion that there was nothing left to collect. According to the introduction to Nyerup and Rahbeck’s Selected Danish Folksongs, Vol. 5, from 1814, it was very hard even then to gather and record the melodies there presented, although nothing was easier at the time than to hear them sung. 50 years later many melodies could also have been collected, but

112

portrait of percy grainger

the right men were not on the spot to do it, and neither were they present in this country 100 years later. I myself have heard many hundred melodies, but could only record a few; but for an experienced musician with the right interest it would have been a simple matter indeed. Even in this last year Percy Grainger wrote up 172 melodies in a few days, and for this we are greatly in his debt. From Minder og Oplevelser, as quoted in Joan Rockwell, Evald Tang Kristensen: A Lifelong Adventure in Folklore (Aalborg: Aalborg University Press, 1982), pp. 323–24.

ELLA GRAINGER (1889–1979) In November 1926 Grainger sailed from Australia back to the United States aboard the Aorangi. Also on board was Ella Ström, a blonde, blue-eyed Swede, with a background in fine arts and diplomacy. For Grainger, ‘every romantic thought of my life seemed to rise out of dim memories & rush towards her for fulfilment’. For Ella Ström, their initial meetings seem to have been friendly rather than convulsive, but she soon developed a deeper affection for him. She had just lost a lover; he was still grieving for his mother. The following October they became engaged, and were married in August 1928 at the Hollywood Bowl before a crowd of about fifteen thousand. In this interview from around 1970 Ella Grainger recalls her first impressions of Grainger’s music.

Q: You went to see him musically because it was something you wanted to express yourself? Ella Grainger: I was very keen on hearing him play. Q: And did you like his music when you eventually did hear it? Ella Grainger: I didn’t understand it. When we first got engaged I was out in Australia and he sent me some of his compositions—some choral work called Marching Song of Democracy—and in it the chorus sings ‘Tum tum taa ta ti tum taa’. You know, nonsense syllables: so I thought ‘He’s crazy!’ But afterwards that has been adopted by many musicians who use sort-of syllables instead of words. Q: And he was doing it then? Ella Grainger: He was doing it then. That was way back in, shall we say, the ’20s—1926 [1927]. Q: What music do you like most of his, because he’s written some very popular music and some very deep music? Do you like his popular music?

america 1922–1939

113

Ella Grainger: Oh yes, very much. I like it, I like it very much. I can’t say I prefer one thing to the other because I’m too soft-minded. I can’t keep my own opinions long enough. I like the last the best. I’m a fairweather friend. . . . From tape of interview with Pam Saunders, ca. 1970, held in the Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

EMMA CROOKS BEVAN (b. 1924) In the spring of 1920 Grainger spent several ‘heavenly’ days with his mother at Barstow in the Californian desert. Two years later, just before the death of his mother, Grainger returned to the area alone. It was on this later occasion that he met Clifford Crooks, Emma Crooks Bevan’s uncle, and a long friendship with the family was forged. Some of Emma Crooks Bevan’s earliest recollections concerned Percy and Ella Grainger, and the domestic fun which they generated when visiting the family. Emma Crooks Bevan later moved to Idaho.

On August 28th [9th], 1928, my father read in the newspaper that Percy was marrying Ella Viola Ström in the Hollywood Bowl that evening. We were pleased and excited for him, but father said, ‘We will probably never see Percy again!’ But two days after they were married, they both came to visit our family, bringing along Percy’s manager and wife, Mr and Mrs Frederick Morse. This date is remembered clearly, as it was my sister, Mary Alice’s 12th birthday. Thereafter, whenever Percy and Ella were touring they reserved a suite of rooms at the Beacon Tavern in Barstow, requesting a piano in their suite for Percy’s faithful practicing, ‘to keep his fingers limber’ he told us. Upon arrival, as soon as possible, they changed into what looked like U.S. Army field clothes and heavy boots, and hiked the 32 miles to our ranch. We had such happy visits; Percy playing games with us children, but always found time to play our piano as well. His beautiful music filling our home and our hearts. Mother kept our piano in a corner of the living room close to a wall, and I had just enough space to slide down between the piano and wall, to sit down and press my right ear against the side of the piano, close my eyes and not move a muscle as long as Percy played. He would pause from time to time to peek around the corner of the piano to say, ‘Yes, she is still there!’ and then resume playing. The music vibrated through my little body, and how I loved it! By the time I was 11 or 12

114

portrait of percy grainger

years old, Percy insisted I come out of my corner and sit beside him while he played. I was transported to heaven! Percy’s music is woven into my earliest memories. . . . Mother fixed big dinners for Percy and Ella, using fresh vegetables, fruits and melons from her garden. She also made butter, cottage cheese and delicious ice cream. Percy insisted mother was the best cook in the entire world! When she served peas at a meal, all 6 children watched Percy breathlessly, and he never disappointed us, as he picked up one at a time and carefully laid them in a straight line on his table knife. Then he lifted the knife slowly and poured the peas into his mouth, never dropping a single one! Also, to our delight, if Percy wanted a bowl of food on the other side of the table, he never asked for it. Instead, he hopped up and ran around the table after it, offering a serving to everyone on his way back to his chair. . . . Over the years, Percy had given to Clifford and our family many photographs of himself and Ella, a book about his career, phonograph records of his music and many letters too. Most of these were lost when our home was flooded during March 1938. This flood by the Mojave river completely destroyed our ranch, covering it with several feet of mud and silt. Only the house remained, sitting forlornly, half-buried in mud. My father had the house jacked-up and moved to a lot on the outskirts of Barstow, but our cool, green, beautiful little ranch was gone forever. I am not positive about this, but I believe that Percy helped my father out financially to move our house, dig a new well and become established again. The contractor cut our house in two to move it, and on the day that he had the first half jacked-up and sitting on moving dollies (big wheels) about 4 feet off the ground, here came Percy and Ella to see the flood damage and visit us! The electricity was still connected to the part of the house on the moving equipment. This was our kitchen, living room, bathroom and 2 bedrooms. The piano had been cleaned and restored perfectly, and was back in place in our living room, but scant furniture! Anyway, Percy and Ella climbed up into the house and to their surprise mother had a big dinner ready. Percy played the piano and as usual he pounded out the lovely chords, causing the house to rock back-and-forth on the moving rollers, and we feared the house might ‘fall off and crash’, but no one really cared, for Percy’s music was just what we needed that night—our spirits had been so low thinking of all we had lost. My parents began again with a big garden, a milk cow, chickens and honey bees in this new location, but it never really felt like home to me, the little ranch I had grown up on.

america 1922–1939

115

Emma Crooks Bevan ‘The Crooks Family Friendship with Percy Grainger’, The Grainger Journal, vol. 6, no. 2 (August 1984), pp. 27–29.

LOUISE M C DOWELL (1872–1965) Louise McDowell was born into the family of a clergyman living in eastern Ontario. She graduated from the Toronto Conservatory of Music in 1893, but continued her studies during several visits to Leipzig over the following twenty years. Eventually she settled in Winnipeg, where she maintained a vibrant teaching practice for several decades and in 1931 became President of the Manitoba Music Teachers’ Association. In 1919–20 and again in 1927–28 she attended Grainger’s masterclasses at the Chicago Musical College.

In the spring of 1927 Mr. Grainger was heard in a concert in Winnipeg and I entertained for him afterwards. He mentioned that he would be at Chicago Musical College again in the summer and that he had some new ideas to present to his Classes. So in the summer Gabrielle and I again went to Chicago sure of benefiting by the experience. The session had all the charm of novelty and surprise engineered by the amazingly fertile brain of Mr. Grainger. . . . But the Auditors’ Class was only one branch of Mr. Grainger’s activities. I spoke earlier of special plans he had formulated, and on July 5th he set them in motion. First he conducted a ‘Lecture Program’ in the Central Theatre (on the College property), where all the Artist Concert Series were held, and for this he had prepared a really wonderful program. The title of the lecture was ‘How to Increase Musical Culture in Your Community’, and his idea of so doing was so sublimely simple, and of so much common-sense, one felt one’s own previous acceptance of established procedure in Ensemble playing completely revolutionized, and was eager to put Mr. Grainger’s views into practice. (Alas! it has not been so easy of accomplishment!) Mr. Grainger’s argument was that in any community or group of neighbouring localities there must be at least one pianist, or organist, a violinist, perhaps a ’cellist, a cornet, horn, clarinet or flute, at any rate some musicians willing to come together at regular intervals to make music. In his program he had gone to a great deal of trouble to present a sample of what might be done along these lines, hence the zeal which we employed in preparing copies of his arrangements. . . .

116

portrait of percy grainger

Almost I had decided that I would attend no more Classes in Chicago. Mr. Grainger was always kind, and the members of the Class had shown almost an affectionate interest in me, but I was no longer young and I felt it was a little absurd to enact the rôle of student over and over again. But before I had definitely decided I received a letter from Mr. Grainger, saying that if I were thinking of coming to Chicago in the summer [of 1928] he would like me to be one of ten pianists (for ten pianos) he was using in the performance of his composition ‘The Warriors’, at the Commencement Exercises of the College. This request gave me genuine pleasure, for I had had a glimpse of the score of this great work while Mr. Grainger was still working on it. So, once more, on June 13th, 1928, I found myself on the train for Chicago. . . . Then came June 21st, the great day for which we had been preparing—Commencement Day, and the performance of ‘The Warriors’! . . . Only an artist could paint a word-picture of such splendour. What of our efforts to make of this picture a living, glowing reality? We rehearsed at the auditorium from 10 to 12, and again from 2 to 3. A flashlight photo was taken of the orchestra which, for the ‘The Warriors’, meant an addition of ten pianos to the regular orchestra of the Musical College, as well as marimbas, glockenspiel, tubular chimes and— (here I am on uncertain ground)—doubtless others. The pianos were in the rear, high on built-up platforms. The lids had been removed so that the performers might more readily see the conductor. In the flashlight photo the orchestra members were all in their places, the pianists were standing by their instruments, and Percy Grainger and Sametini, who was Summer School conductor of the College Orchestra, were down front stage. I wish I could give an adequate account of what the audience was hearing in our performance. A volume of sound eddied around me, and it was tantalizing not to hear just what was going on, but each of us had a responsibility towards the entire production, so we daren’t stop to listen. It is my earnest hope that some day I may be an auditor when this inspiring creation of Mr. Grainger’s genius is played. On the night in question he was recalled again and again to acknowledge the plaudits of a capacity audience. After the excitement occasioned by the preparation for ‘The Warriors’ had subsided we settled down to the routine of the five-week summer session. In addition to private teaching we had a ‘Repertoire-Interpretation’ Class, a ‘How to Study’ Class, a ‘Chamber Music’ Class, and the ‘Piano

america 1922–1939

117

Ensemble’ Class. It seemed as if he would leave no channel of musical experience unexplored. On June 25th took place the artist ‘Lecture Recital’ to which I have earlier alluded. The title of the lecture was ‘Many-voiced Music for Pianists’ (‘Showing that a knowledge of Many-voiced Music—old and new—is needful to the growth of all true musicianship, and, that this knowledge may be acquired in many forms of Keyboard Ensemble, for pianos, reed organs, celesta, marimbas, etc.’). . . . Hugh Ross once said to me, rather disapprovingly I fear, that I thought too much of ‘sound’ in music. I’m not sure that I realize what he meant, but I do know that the mere sound of many instruments sets up an ecstasy in my being that does not always take heed of the form of what is being performed. I lived some wonderful moments while participating in Debussy’s ‘Pagodas’, and once I was so absorbed in what was going on around me that I messed a cue to draw a lazy, muted glissando up the keyboard of the small piano on which I was playing, and only wakened up to the fact when I heard it being carried on by others. In consternation I glanced up at Mr. Grainger and he smiled faintly, so I hoped he understood what had happened. . . . Now, I have been promising myself to take up the question of technic in the few instances in which Mr. Grainger discussed it. A number of students had leanings towards a system of key-propulsion that was followed by an outward and upward thrust of the elbow, presumably for relaxation, but in extreme cases it gave rather an impression of flapping wings. Mr. Grainger on one specific occasion in the ‘How to Study Class’ proved his preoccupation with the question of finger and arm control by making the following suggestions:– ‘Play or practise with high fingers—one is more conscious of what they are doing.’ ‘There is no problem in Octave playing if one uses blow (strike) touch and concentrates on raising the arm very quickly after striking, if doing quick octave passage work. Use arm from elbow, it increases ability to raise. Practise Chords in same manner.’ Then he gave the names of celebrated pianists to back up his argument:– D’Albert produced his tone with blow touch. Sophie Menter used stiff wrist and blow action. Busoni used blow action—direct movement, not complex movement.

118

portrait of percy grainger

‘That high blow is absolutely the only one for octaves’—a remark of Josef Hofmann to Percy Grainger. During the summer of 1927 we watched with a great deal of interest the progress of Martin Soames of Australia. In 1928 that interest was extended to include Vera Bradford, also from Australia. The distance they had travelled imparted to them a very special significance. In the Class we heard Vera in Schumann’s Sonata in F sharp minor; Chopin’s Nocturne in C sharp minor; Rubinstein’s Staccato Etude; Bach’s Gigue from Partita, No. 1; and part of Carpenter’s (J. A.) Concertino— Martin Soames playing the second piano part. Mr. Grainger had told me that on July 12th the ship on which his fiancée, Ella Viola Ström, had secured passage, had sailed for Hollywood from Australia, and he was utilizing every spare moment to complete the composition which was to be his wedding gift to her—a ‘Bridal Song’ bearing the inscription ‘To a Nordic Princess’. It was specially written to form part of the marriage ceremony which was to take place on August 9th, in Hollywood Bowl. He was anxious to find a piece of ornamental paper—preferably silver and blue—to cover the folder which was to encase the music, and appealed to me to help him. So I set out on a voyage of discovery which led me to all the large stores within the radius of several blocks from the College. I found something but whether it was deemed worthy of its pretty task I never heard. One evening towards the end of the summer session a few of us repaired to the Central Theatre and there we held an impromptu rehearsal of the ‘Bridal Song’. It seemed very beautiful to us, and the purpose for which it was to be used added a tender significance to it. And then came the last evening. Our number at that last Class was augmented by the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Morse, who were Mr. Grainger’s business managers and had come to accompany Mr. Grainger to Hollywood. Louise McDowell, Past and Present: A Canadian Musician’s Reminiscences (Kirkland Lake, Ont.: private publication, 1958), pp. 170–72, 174, 176, 177–80, 182–84.

STORM BULL (b. 1913) Another of Grainger’s piano pupils at the Chicago Musical College during the late 1920s was Storm Bull. Grainger paid particular at-

america 1922–1939

119

tention to Bull’s development not just because of his great musical talent but because of his descent from the Norwegian violinist and composer Ole Bull (1810–80). From 1932 to 1935 Storm Bull studied in Budapest with Bartók, of whose Second Piano Concerto he gave the American première in 1939. Soon after the Second World War Bull was appointed to the piano faculty of the University of Colorado, at Boulder, where he remains an emeritus professor. In this interview he discusses his early lessons with Grainger as well as some aspects of their continuing friendship.

Q: What would you say were the most important things you gained from your studies with Grainger? Bull: I think, a many-sidedness in music. Conceivably both Bartók and Grainger gave part of the same thing. I first got it with Grainger. . . . I can remember, probably 1927 or thereabouts, at Chicago Musical College—that was about the year that The Warriors was being performed there—and there were a number of the ‘best pianists’ that were there, in which I was fortunate enough to be included, that did not play the pianos in The Warriors. He gave . . . me the opportunity to learn on my own to play the xylophone, playing the solo part of The Warriors. And while I was learning the xylophone, Ralph Dobbs was doing his marimba business and Marshall Sumner and Vera Bradford were playing percussion parts. Percy arranged for practice facilities but it was up to us to learn to play the instruments, using four hammers and all. No instruction books, no nothing! That’s the way Percy had learned to play many instruments. . . . If I hadn’t worked with Percy I doubt that I would have been able to work with Bartók. Q: So Percy laid something of a foundation for you? Bull: Yes. I think of the joy of Bach. I can remember . . . the fugues of Bach for two pianos, four people—reading through things in his studio and trying to experience the music and the flow of things. And all of this was something that Percy gave and that I don’t believe I would have gotten from another source. Oh, pianistically speaking, the ability to differentiate dynamically within the same hand, and learning how to do that, from which I later deduced the actual physical things which were happening. Without Grainger as a background in that I think that I would probably have learned to have done it, but I would never have known what it was I was doing. . . . Q: When you were studying with Percy . . . what kind of a lesson did you have? In your lessons during these various summer visits would you start to play, and would he then comment, or what?

120

portrait of percy grainger

Bull: It was always a matter of playing things: ‘Pagodes’ by Debussy, I can remember. I can remember the E major fugue from the second book and the prelude from the first book—that he liked to combine— and a number of things of that kind, and—oh, yes—I remember that I had composed certain things which he had me perform. And then he sent me some directions on transcribing the woodwind and brass parts for piano and harmonium of the Handel-Harty Water Music, which he had me conduct with the Chicago Musical College Symphony Orchestra there. . . . Q: Would Grainger actually play through a whole piece in a lesson, or was he the kind of person who would get you to play a section a few times, and show you that small section? Was he someone who taught over great sweeps, or was he someone who was really getting down to the technical nitty-gritty of little troublesome sections? Bull: I think technical nitty-gritty things, but largely verbalising, or more frequently, when he demonstrated, then he just demonstrated in kind, rather than the specific. In other words, if you’re going to bring out this note, this is the way you do it. And he wouldn’t do it with that particular thing, but would show the principle. Q: When you were in the lesson, were you by yourself, or were other people there? Bull: This happened both ways. Because there were what were referred to as Masterclasses. There were also private lessons. Q: And what would he do during any of these lessons? Some people have recalled that he used to lie down on the ground, walk around, climb under the piano—all sorts of things. Bull: The fact is that he did those very same things. I understood his actions, and later, in my own teaching career, when teaching individuals in private, I would go over to a flower box and start to pick off the dead leaves. I could concentrate better by doing things than by sitting doing nothing. I know that when I first started to teach as my main focus, following the Second World War, when I was down at Baylor, that there was a long slab on one side of the room, which I would frequently lie down on while they were playing, quite probably because I’d seen Percy doing it . . . Q: Would he write to you frequently? Bull: Oh yes. You see my mother and I met him on board one of the Scandinavian-American liners. He got on at Copenhagen and we were going to New York. . . . And my mother and Percy became very good friends, and he also managed to be helpful to me as well. Now here’s an

america 1922–1939

121

interesting piece of information. Unfortunately, nearly all of our correspondence with Percy was burnt up in a storage room fire at my parents’ place years ago, but prior to the time that I got married, in 1939— to Ellen—I received a thirteen-page letter from Percy, telling me what a terrible mistake this would be—my squandering of a good Nordic background on a Mediterranean type. . . . I can remember his feeling that he was the product of a mixed marriage, and that all the problems were really due to mixed marriages of this kind, and that really I had no right to perpetrate this kind of a crime. Well, I perpetrated the crime, and, following that time, Percy was guest in our house, staying overnight, oh, several times—I don’t know, three, four, five times—and when we were down here [Boulder] at Sixth and Spruce, where we lived for eighteen years, then once, seating himself beside Ellen, he looked into her eyes and said, ‘You know, really, Ellen, your eyes aren’t brown. They’re grey.’ He couldn’t admit that his racial theories were faulty rather than his impression regarding the colour of her eyes. Q: Tell me: do you think that that idea of virility, of athleticism, that came through as a big part of his promotion right around the world— the fact that he ran from one concert to the other, that he’d jump up onto the stage—do you think that that was ever part of pure commercialism and show, or do you think that it was just part of an exuberant personality? Bull: Whether he would have been so public in doing it if he had not been in the business he was in, I can’t say. . . . But I am totally convinced—shucks, I thought I knew him very well—but I was totally unaware of his sexual proclivities, totally unaware. No idea of them, whatsoever! It never occurred to me, but it makes far more sense to me now: the wrestling he used to do with Morse, his photographer, and acceptance of some of the pain that went with that. Now I understand that, or think I understand it better. Q: So that ties in with your view of his athleticism: the running, the carrying of the heavy cases? Bull: Oh yes, and I do know that he was particularly approving of my athleticism. I was chairman of the athletic committee at the University for a period. During the Second World War I taught judo, hand-tohand combat, and I was a frogman. When I was in Budapest, I joined the sports club of the University, and represented the sports club in ice hockey, cross country skiing, lightweight rowing—two-man, four-oar— boxing. This was a very important part of his approval of me. From tape of interview with Malcolm Gillies, 15 November 1990, private collection.

122

portrait of percy grainger

VERA BRADFORD (b. 1904) Vera Bradford’s connection with Grainger dates from 1928, when she studied at the Chicago Musical College on one of Grainger’s special scholarships. She continued to study and perform in the United States until 1934. Apart from some years living in London during the 1960s, Vera Bradford has been based in Melbourne, where her name is associated with numerous Australian premières of recent compositions. In this recollection, recorded in 1975, Bradford starts by describing her first lesson with Grainger.

Well, it was a very exciting lesson, really, because I just didn’t know what to expect. He didn’t talk about technique or anything like that. He just asked me to play something for him. And one of the works that I won the scholarship with was the ‘Eroica’ Sonata of MacDowell, and he asked me to play it for him again, and he said, ‘You know, I like this work so much that I’m going to include it in my recitals.’ However, whether he did or not, I don’t know. But we went on, we did some Bach, and we read through, and then he sat down and played the [Carpenter] Concertino. . . . Well, it was so different from my gentle work, you know. . . . Percy’s style was entirely different again, and although he didn’t play with weight, like the old tradition of Liszt, he had his own weight. I mean, he worked it out; he had such a mathematical mind, and he was so clever, that he just worked it out for himself, with all the teachers and the influences he’d had. And he got some very beautiful tone . . . he used to say that you need to have your hands very set and make it hard and work hard, but he really didn’t when he played. He was really quite relaxed. . . . You couldn’t go on what he said, because very often it would be the extreme opposite. So, then I listened to this work and I realised that rhythm, contrast, dynamic contrast, and all these things, had been sadly neglected. And after I’d played a little while, he looked at me and said, ‘You know, you’ve got no rhythm’. And I was very upset about it; I soon realised I had a natural rhythm, but I wasn’t using it. And that’s the one thing that he gave me. . . . He had this studio—he liked to live at the College—and he had a screen in one part of it. There were two Steinway grand pianos in each big studio, and he had this screen in the corner, and he hadn’t had much sleep all night, evidently, and he was tired. And this often happened. I’d be playing something, and all of a sudden, he said, ‘Excuse

america 1922–1939

123

me, just go on playing’. And away he’d go, and he’d take this piece of paper out and put it flat on the floor, and he’d lie down for a couple of minutes and relax. Well, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. It was a bit of a shock the first time. I thought, ‘Will I go on playing? I’ve come all the way from Australia, and what am I supposed to be doing for a lesson?’ And all of a sudden I looked at him, and here he is, absolutely relaxed. He knew how to relax, you see: eyes closed, his hands stretched out, his feet stretched out, and all of a sudden he hopped up, and came round and knocked me off the stool, just about, and said, ‘No, no, no, no. Not like that. Look! your pedalling!’ And so on. He told me I didn’t know anything about pedalling, so then the sustaining pedal was another thing. I didn’t know anything about the sustaining [middle] pedal, although I had had one on my American piano before I went away. Well, everybody uses them in the States, and they put them in all their pianos, but they don’t with the German Steinways or other instruments. And he was absolutely the finest master of using that. If you have a pedal point, or want to sustain a note—like ‘Clair de lune’, or something like that, where you want to change your pedal but keep the sustaining note, and especially in Bach transcriptions—he taught me how to do that marvellously. . . . He used the middle pedal quite often. One very funny experience [occurred] in one of his classes when he was talking in the class about the sustaining pedal, and one of the girls in the front row very facetiously said, ‘Mr Grainger, I can’t use the three pedals—two pedals with the left foot—with these high heels.’ ‘So’, he said, ‘well, we’ll just prove that you can.’ So, he sat down at the piano and he said to the people: ‘Would you please lend me your shoes?’ And the girl took her shoes off, or the left shoe, you see, and then that didn’t fit. He tried it at the piano to see if he could manipulate [the pedals] with the high heels. Then he called for another. Well, it ended up that he had a pile of shoes—he had about thirty or forty left-hand shoes on the pile there—trying to use both [pedals], including the soft pedal. And he was manipulating this heel, with his heel sticking out of these shoes, and it really was hilarious! He finally did it. He made his point. After it was over, he went on talking oblivious to everything, and here was this pile of shoes. We all sat there with one shoe on, until he finished, and then all collected their shoes afterwards. But his classes were extraordinary, really. Sometimes he’d hardly talk about music. He’d wander off on diet, and democracy, not really politics, but there’d be a little touch of them in, through his great admiration of Walt Whitman. He was always quoting Whitman. And his

124

portrait of percy grainger

Marching Song of Democracy has been very influenced by that. And he had some very ‘way out’ ideas about a lot of things. Some of them were too soon. I mean, he was premature in a lot of things, but he was such an individual and it was so stimulating that you went into the class and you never knew what he was going to talk about. . . . One very hot night we had a lecture at the College, and we were on the tenth floor in this lecture. It was nearly 10 o’clock at night, and some student living in was practising his Country Gardens downstairs. Well, you can imagine! And they were playing very slowly and very badly. Well, this went on, and we all started to laugh, because the sounds were coming up from the windows downstairs, and it became slower and slower, and more stumbling, [so] that in the end we all just roared laughing. We couldn’t help it. And Percy went on talking about something quite different, as if he’d not heard it. So in the end, somebody said, ‘Mr Grainger, I’m very sorry, but can’t you hear what’s going on?’ ‘What is going on?’, and, of course, that set them off more, because it was getting louder and louder by this time, and we laughed so much until he gave us a lecture about being able to control ourselves and shut out anything we didn’t want to hear. He said, ‘I can’t hear it, and I haven’t heard it.’ He said, ‘I’ve come here to give you classes, and to talk about other things’, and he said, ‘Here you are making fun of me’. And he reprimanded them to such an extent that that made them much worse, and everybody exploded just trying to keep a straight face as this went on downstairs. From tape of interview with Kay Dreyfus, 15 July 1975, held in Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

ERIC FENBY (1906–1997) Eric Fenby greatly admired the music of Frederick Delius. The thought that illness, particularly blindness, might prevent Delius from further composing prompted Fenby to go to Grez-sur-Loing in 1928, where he acted as amanuensis during Delius’s final six years. Fenby did manage to take down several compositions, as is told in his reminiscence of 1936, Delius As I Knew Him. In the succeeding decades Fenby pursued his own musical career as composer, pianist and conductor.

And now Grainger announced his intention of spending a fortnight in Grez that June (1929). Delius was delighted. A few days before his arrival I received a parcel of arrangements of his music, ‘dished up’ for one

america 1922–1939

125

or two pianos, with a note saying that he would like to play them over with me to Fred. Amongst these were ‘The Arrival Platform Humlet’— the sort of thing one was expected to whistle whilst awaiting the arrival of one’s girl at the station—‘The Drunken Sailor’, ‘The Stable-boy’s Romance’ [probably, ‘Lord Peter’s Stable-Boy’], several ‘Room-music Tit-Bits’, his ‘Hill-Song’, and an excellent MS. arrangement for two pianos of Delius’s Song of the High Hills. There were ‘many more to follow’, and some ‘choral and piano-scores (to sing from)’, but these we did not need. All these arrangements, with their curious directions— ‘louden slightly’, ‘louden lots’, ‘accompanyingly’, ‘very rhythmicly but not unclingingly’—were obviously the work of a first-rate musician, certainly of a very unusual person. It was a sweltering day, with scarcely a breath of air, and the gardener was in hiding down the garden with his bottle of red wine, when Grainger and his wife, a sturdy and good-looking Scandinavian with soft eyes, walked into the courtyard below. To our astonishment, Grainger said that he felt cold, and shortly afterwards appeared wearing thick breeches with puttees, a heavy shirt, and an enormous sweater. He must have been nearer fifty than forty, but he looked not a day older than thirty. He had a fine, arresting, yet rather boyish head, and I liked the look in his eyes. But for his fair bushy hair, one would have thought that here was a professional athlete. He was smaller than I had expected him to be, and moved with all the alacrity of a man very wide awake. The more vigorous sports have never been in my line, but that fortnight I did more chasing about than in all my schooldays put together. Up with the blacksmith in the morning, Grainger used to drag me out of bed to go running with him. Now, I should not have minded a gentle trot before breakfast each morning, but when you were expected to gallop along and catch a ring that was being thrown at you like lightning from all angles, to fling it back with equal zest, and to keep up this strenuous performance for as long as you were able, I regretted that I had misspent my sports days idling with a book whilst my more active schoolfellows showed off their prowess before adoring females. This galloping about was not confined to out of doors. Grainger would dash from one room to another, and, bounding down the staircase in two jumps, fly through the doorway in mid-air and land with a crash beside Delius’s carriage half-way across the yard; the old man would shake his head and say that he really could not bear it. Once when we had gone round to see Brooks, and were sitting on the terrace overlooking his garden, somebody made a remark about an

126

portrait of percy grainger

amazing jump he had witnessed; in fact, it was almost as high as the terrace. ‘Why, that’s nothing’, said Grainger, and, before we could say a word, he had sprung up from his seat, cleared the parapet, and disappeared from sight! ‘Thank God there isn’t a greenhouse down there’, said I to Brooks, who was still sitting speechless in his chair. A few seconds later Grainger came running up the steps from the garden, and would have jumped over again had we not forcibly dissuaded him. I had noticed that if he accompanied us on our evening walks, he never left the house with us in the normal way, but always sprang into our midst from a window facing the street. Brooks now began to dare him to do this, that, and the other, but Grainger could do everything. And when they had said that there was one thing he could not do, namely, to stand on the terrace below the house and from there throw a tennis ball over the house, then run up the dozen steps to the door, through the house, and catch it before it fell into the yard on the other side, and, incredible though it may seem, he had done it three times, I took his arm and led him home, lest in the end he should break his neck. I had never seen such energy in a man. It was unhuman. He was always impatient when walking, and was for ever wanting to run. He could not understand why we forbade him to gallop up the road with Delius in his carriage! Despite his tremendous energy, he was rarely hungry, ate very little, was a non-smoker, non-drinker, and a vegetarian. Whilst we delighted in the pleasure of the table, he would sit with his bran and his glass of ‘Château de Pump’,—tepid water with a few drops of milk in it—and Delius would say, ‘Jelka, stuff Percy well with oatmeal and macaroni; we know better, don’t we, Eric?’ On the first evening on which he played to us, I had walked through the corridor from Delius’s bedroom to the music-room to tell Grainger that Delius was ready, when I was astonished to find him patting his knees furiously. Then, when he was black in the face, he sat back, calmed himself and was ready to play. After a very spirited performance of Chopin’s B Minor Sonata—Delius’ favourite work of Chopin—I ventured to ask him about that other performance, to which he replied that it was an exercise which he invariably did before going on to the platform. It consisted of four pats to the second, and this he kept up for a minute and a half. He must always feel excited before he could play. I tried it for thirty seconds, and could not play at all! The first time we played together he stopped me after a few bars and said, ‘Fenby, you’re a composer, are you not?’ I answered that I was fond of writing music, if that was the same thing.

america 1922–1939

127

‘I thought so’, he commented. ‘It’s a theory of mine that people like you all play alike; you do the same sort of things in your playing at precisely the same sort of places. I have noticed it again and again.’ Grainger was full of theories. There was scarcely a subject on which he talked (and he talked very brilliantly at times) without bringing in some pet theory of his—in fact, Delius said that he was ‘bunged up with theories’. I could never understand his love of the harmonium as an instrument in the orchestra, and was amazed when he said, with all seriousness, that he wished the wood-wind of the orchestra could employ the perpetual tremolo of the cinema organ. During his stay with Delius he orchestrated his ‘Hill-Song’ for the fourth time. The pages of his scores were so thick with alterations, which had been glued one on top of the other, that Mrs. Delius used to say that one could have built houses out of them. Grainger was extraordinarily frank about his own music, and claimed that Delius had been much influenced by it. Yet I never heard him boast. One afternoon on the river he told me, with the utmost nonchalance, that Beecham had said, ‘Grainger, your “Colonial Song” is the worst piece of music I have ever set eyes on’. It was impossible not to admire the independent spirit of this charming Australian, even though one differed so greatly from him on most of the things he said, and, as I look back on those happy days, my chief recollection of him is his kindness. What could one say more of any man? Eric Fenby, Delius As I Knew Him (London: G. Bell, 1936), pp. 75–79.

D. C. (‘CHARLIE’) PARKER (1885–1970) Although having written extensively about Grainger for nearly fifteen years and frequently corresponded with him, Parker only met his subject personally in the late 1920s, probably 1929, during a trip of the Graingers to Europe. From then on they met frequently during Grainger’s visits to Britain.

The first time I saw him was in Liverpool on a Saturday morning when he and his delightful Swedish wife Ella were on the point of sailing to New York. We met at the Adelphi Hotel. I had travelled to Liverpool overnight and remember being called on the telephone at what seemed an unearthly hour by Percy who already awaited me in the hall. He, Ella

128

portrait of percy grainger

and I went into breakfast—and what a breakfast it turned out to be. I saw before me a small, wiry, active man with a great shock of fair hair, friendly, keen to talk, of decided opinions and unconventional outlook. His meals prove to be quite as unconventional. I have not seen him take what I should call a pleasant, appetising one. He did not drink anything alcoholic, tea or coffee; he did not eat meat and did not smoke. How much energy and enthusiasm could be sustained on milk and water 50–50, boiled cabbage, Swedish bread, cheese and so on, has always been a mystery to me. The breakfast at Liverpool started early and we were still sitting at the table when the waiter came along to arrange it for lunch. We really discussed the universe. I recollect so well how Percy brought forward an argument that all the beauties and wonders of music should be made readily available to those who enjoyed them and should not be debarred from those of slender purse; the idea, apparently, being that piano recitals, for example, should be free. Ella, however, would have none of this. In her fascinating, staccato, Northern manner she asked: ‘What if someone came to this hotel and ordered a steak and then when it arrived asked for the cruet? “Oh,” the waiter would reply, “Mr Percy Grainger thinks all these things should be free, so a man walked off with the cruet and you can’t have it.” It’s all nonsense, Percy.’ Having disposed of so many weighty matters, we walked about looking at the shops. It was extremely hot, one did not wish to do very much. But the stroll led to what was one of the strangest recitals I have ever attended. When wandering down a street we came suddenly upon a music shop. ‘Would you like to hear me play?’ Percy asked. Into the shop we three therefore walked. Percy informed a rather severe looking individual behind the counter that he wished to play one or two things on the piano to a friend: a proposition that was promptly frowned upon. ‘You can’t do that, I’m afraid,’ announced the man. ‘We’re just about to close.’ Percy said what a pity it was and told the man that it would not take long, that he would not be seeing his friend again for some time, and generally used his powers of persuasion to be allowed to run over a piece or two. But all to no avail. A passing remark, nevertheless, suddenly altered the entire situation. Percy mentioned casually that he noticed they had several of his pieces in stock. Whether this was addressed to the frowning gentleman, to Ella, or to me, I cannot remember. At any rate, the man heard what he

america 1922–1939

129

had said and asked if he were Mr. Percy Grainger. When he learned that he had been speaking to that identical person, he immediately ushered us upstairs into a room of good size at the end of which stood a grand piano. The only furnishing consisted of two or three small chairs. Ella sat on one, I on another, and she announced to Percy that he could begin because ‘the audience is here and the critics have arrived.’ We enjoyed quite a recital that day, the soloist being in excellent form and performing a large number of his compositions. He had a brilliant technique and a firm touch; indeed, he possessed a full command of his instrument. We played a duet or two on an out-of-tune upright piano when he visited Deeside some years later. But he seemed to enjoy it. Progress in the present case was humorously interrupted several times by members of the staff in the shop coming up very quietly with copies of his popular pieces and asking me if I could get him to autograph them; which, of course, he did. What I always found so refreshing was the originality, and often the unexpectedness, of Percy’s opinions. Whether in his letters or when talking with him in London, Pevensey, Glasgow, Liverpool, on MacBrayne’s steamer St. Columba, or, again, walking with him on Deeside, it has always been the same; stimulating, frequently surprising, and not seldom intensely irritating and provoking. A unique sort of outing was one to Durham, where the three of us spent most of a day searching for evidence of some remote ancestor or other. I think I interpret him faithfully when I say his outlook on music was, broadly, as follows. Music was great and wonderful in the days of Bach and Handel. It fell to a low level with Haydn and did not reach the Bach-Handel heights again until the heyday of Wagner and Brahms. He said to me: ‘In the hands of Haydn and Mozart the art definitely took a wrong turning. Beethoven is over-rated. His work suffers because it was written in a passion. The opening of the Eroica is only a bugle call.’ He has told me that the ‘second subject’ of Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony would be blue-pencilled by a professor in a music school. In fact, I am sure he had not the slightest fondness for the classical, Austrian repertoire, which impressed him as being very much an affair of eternally repeated tonic and dominant. As is well known, he was a whole-hearted admirer of Grieg and Delius. He got a most friendly reception from Grieg when he went to stay at Troldhaugen near Bergen, that delightful home familiar to some of us. I have heard him praise most enthusiastically the conducting of Svendsen and I remember his saying how much he thought of Massenet’s Thaïs

130

portrait of percy grainger

Meditation—a scandalously under-rated composer was his verdict. He had an admiration for Sullivan because he wrote ‘that lovely song’ The Lost Chord. He admired the music of Edward German and described the Henry VIII dances as classics. Once with an American composer (Charles Martin Loeffler?) he attended an afternoon concert in Chicago devoted to Puccini, at the end of which they agreed they had not heard one unmusical bar. He found no talent in Berlioz apart from the popular Faust excerpts; ‘a conductor’s composer’, he called him. . . . After having read these little word pictures, the reader will realise that nothing seemed to happen to him as it does to other people. Yet another small proof of this. I recollect being with him and Ella at lunch in the house of a friend who lived in London. After lunch, the hostess, a very elegant and fashionable lady belonging to a diplomatic family, who knew him well, asked him if he would play. He was kindness itself on such occasions and at once agreed to do so. Looking at the small piano, he apparently discovered that there was something wrong with it. In a few moments we beheld a marvellous sight. Having taken off his jacket, he had about half of the piano on the carpet and was toiling away with its inside like an engineer, much to the astonishment of the company. . . . The piano at the London party having been at length put in order, we had a capital recital, one typical example of Graingerism following another. Nevertheless, the last item on this impromptu programme capped the rest. For some reason which I never could fathom, Percy appeared to be fond of whistling. He must have approved of it, I presume, because he considered it popular and democratic. I did not agree; I told him I looked upon it as a vulgar habit. But no matter. He liked it so much that he made an arrangement of Ye Banks and Braes for chorus and whistlers. With this we ended our afternoon’s music. For he managed to persuade those present to sing or whistle it in chorus while he played the piano. Some sang, some whistled; I found it all surprisingly effective; but to look round and see a group of posh people in London joining in the performance of a Scots song impressed one with the comic aspect of the scene. . . . It was all like an adventure in the pages of R. L. Stevenson. It will, consequently, be understood that on looking over what I have just written, I recognise with regret that something has escaped me; perhaps the impish quality in him, his zest, his intellectual restlessness. It may be that for such a subject the point of the pen is slow and limited, but certainly all that made him what he was has not here been completely captured. Perhaps it would need a Shaw or, better, a Barrie to make the

america 1922–1939

131

reader feel that he has got to know this unique and unpredictable individual. Without trying to fly so high, I shall be quite content if I have conveyed some idea of a gifted, imaginative and original, if oft-times tantalising, personality. Of Y Verdi he liked only the march in Aida. He thought Tristan a miracle. Without religion, he realised his paradoxical love of religious music (Primitives, Bach and César Franck). Judging by what he heard of hers, he pronounced Chaminade delightful. Busoni he found supremely ungifted as a composer, uninspired and pretentious. But as a pianist he rated him as the highest of them all. . . . He had no use for Shakespeare because ‘he glorified war’; he declared that he was impervious to smells; and he composed a piece for cello and piano which he entitled ‘A Lot of Rot’. His musical interests were not confined to Europe. He studied and loved the music of primitive peoples. No lesson in polyphony was so instructive as the improvised part-singing of the Rarotongan natives. With Maori legends and Icelandic sagas he was quite at home, and he loved the songs of Stephen Foster. So perhaps in the future some traveller in a remote country, untouched by modern sophistication, will suddenly hear one of those tuneful, rhythmic numbers issuing from camp hut or arctic trawler into the still air. It would be poetic justice. For Percy was in a very real sense an incarnation of the unexpected. D. C. Parker, ‘Percy Grainger’, The Grainger Journal, vol. 2, no. 1 (July 1979), pp. 14–19.

FREDERICK FENNELL (b. 1914) Frederick Fennell studied and held early appointments as a director of ensembles at the Eastman School of Music, Rochester, N.Y. In 1952 he founded the Eastman Wind Ensemble, which made numerous recordings under his direction. From 1965 until retirement in 1982 he was conductor-in-residence at the University of Miami. In 1983 he became music director and principal conductor of the Kosei Wind Orchestra in Tokyo.

The first time I saw Percy Grainger could not have been more perfectly programmed; it was Grainger all the way! The setting was the huge stage of Cleveland’s Public Auditorium on which were assembled grand

132

portrait of percy grainger

pianos in great profusion. Percy was conducting a select high school piano ensemble as part of the final concert of the 1932 meeting of the Music Supervisors’ National Conference. It was about half an hour before concert time, and I was there early to fuss over the National High School kettledrums. Grainger was there early to fuss over his pianos. What a figure he cut as he strode from instrument to instrument, raising each lid, adjusting each piano bench. I could not take my eyes from him. It all registered—the beautiful, curly blond hair, the lithe body, the agile movement, the red silk-lined, black cape flowing from the shoulders, the infectious smile. Always sympathetic—I found out later— to percussion players, he stopped at the edge of the stage and spoke, ‘It’s fun to get here early, isn’t it!’ Percy Aldridge Grainger was one of those unfortunate artists who really got there early, and too many of us haven’t really caught up with him yet. Frederick Fennell, ‘Foreword’, in Thomas C. Slattery, Percy Grainger: The Inveterate Innovator (Evanston, Ill.: Instrumentalist Co., 1974).

MARTIN BERNSTEIN (1904–1999) During Grainger’s year as head of the music department at New York University, 1932–33, he was reliant upon a junior staff member, Martin Bernstein, for the day-to-day running of the department. Bernstein had been teaching at the University since 1926, and would become professor in 1947 and chairman of department between 1955 and 1972. In his youth he had played double bass in the New York Philharmonic Orchestra, and was a conductor for the American Bach Society in the early 1950s. As is evident below, Grainger and Bernstein did not see eye to eye on a good many matters. In a letter of 1939 to Roger Quilter, Grainger commented that Bernstein ‘has, in an exaggerated form, that conservative belief in the infallibility of German aims & methods that seems present in all Jews I know’.

In some way, about which I know absolutely nothing, Percy Grainger was announced as Chairman of the Music Department—there was no graduate department at that time. Q: This was not a matter on which the department members were consulted? Bernstein: The department members were not consulted at all, but nobody objected. Grainger was clearly a likeable type. I recall nothing

america 1922–1939

133

about his entry into the department. I recall the following about Grainger: some things pleasant, others ridiculous. He came to the University on Monday and Tuesday only; the rest of the week was given over to touring. He got back apparently late Saturday night, or early Sunday morning . . . and this meant that about half-past-six on Sunday morning I would be wakened by a telephone call from Percy Grainger, enquiring how things were in the department. I think this was done pro forma because there was very little I could tell him which he could do anything about. . . . As for his classes there: I don’t recall exactly what classes he gave. I think two: one in composition, and another was the equivalent of a survey course, the introduction course or appreciation course characteristic of any department, though his was unique—his was his own—and I continued to give the traditional one. And he gave one of his own with no prerequisites; almost anyone could wander in. His lectures were obviously extemporised, and I say obviously because anyone who knows Grainger knows that he would not come in with notes or that he would not give any footnotes or mention any bibliography or any of the things associated with a normal teaching arts college. In fact, the lectures Grainger gave might be described as free thought, somewhat analogous to his free music. He got a lot of things off the top of his head, some of them really quite scandalous. I recall him making some very disparaging remarks about Beethoven. Q: Oh, yes? Bernstein: This is, of course, unkind to Beethoven, I think. One sometimes wondered if Grainger really believed these things or was really throwing these things up in the air to see how his audience would respond. He had some very nice things to say about what was then called ‘jazz’, now called ‘rock-n-roll’, and I think he actually . . . brought Duke Ellington, or some members of his band, down to the class. He also, unfortunately, made some complimentary remarks—remarks of praise, high praise—of some individuals [students] who did not deserve it, and this sent them entirely off on the wrong direction as far as their personal evaluations of themselves were concerned. This was really quite damaging, quite destructive. . . . It wasn’t just a remark in conversation. These were public statements, giving these individuals dimensions which they never thought they possessed before. And again, [this] sent them off on something of a tangent of excessive self-appreciation. . . . Q: If you remember, what was your first contact with him? Bernstein: I don’t remember my first contact. He was always very cordial, and, I am sorry to say that I followed the pattern of so many

134

portrait of percy grainger

young people—I was just thirty at the time—in not interrogating Grainger about his early life . . . There were a great many facts attached to Grainger that, in my opinion, were much more valuable than his fantasies. He did tell me something about his music study, in Frankfurt, wasn’t it? And his mother was there . . . I didn’t ask Grainger these things. In fact, unfortunately, Grainger programmed himself almost as a circus type; everybody looked on Grainger as a curious sort of character—the wild pianist with long hair, who could be trusted only at the keyboard, and everything else he said was fantasy. Now this may not have been fair to Grainger, but he tried very hard to give that image of himself. . . . He never attended a faculty meeting of any kind. Q: He didn’t! Bernstein: He never expressed any ideas about what constituted music in education, or music and the liberal arts. I had the impression that his knowledge of music was quite circumscribed. I don’t think he knew the chamber music literature—I may be doing him a great disservice [after] fifty years—but I’m positive he knew absolutely nothing about opera, and I doubt if he went to an opera performance in his life. So I recall him saying some unkind things about Wagner, about whom I was much interested at the time, but whether it was just to give a contrary opinion or not, I don’t know. Q: So he had a very tenuous sort of position in the department as far as academic activity was concerned? Bernstein: No, his position in the department was purely as a ‘Visiting Professor’, with the term ‘Visiting’ taken this time absolutely literally. Q: [Laughter] Lovely! Bernstein: We all liked him, and he could have stayed on, but . . . we were suddenly told he was finishing and not coming back. There was no farewell, no dinner, nothing. He came, as he went. Almost like a comet, but his orbit continued. From tape of interview with Burnett Cross, 31 May 1984, held in the Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

GUSTAVE REESE (1899–1977) With his classic texts Music in the Middle Ages (1940) and Music in the Renaissance (1954) Gustave Reese gained recognition as one of

america 1922–1939

135

America’s leading musicologists. At the time that these books appeared he held important publishing positions, at G. Schirmer (1940–45) and then at Carl Fischer (1945–55). Earlier, in the 1920s and 30s, he had come in contact with Grainger, both at G. Schirmer and then at New York University, where Reese taught in the music department for a number of years.

It is more than fifty years ago that I first met Percy Grainger. I became assistant to O.G. Sonneck at G. Schirmer, Inc., in 1924, and Grainger was one of the modern luminaries in the catalogue of the firm. He was most kind to the young addition to the staff, and we struck up a pleasant friendship. Almost immediately personal respect and liking for the human being rounded out my admiration of the concert pianist and composer. A few years later, I became a part-time instructor at New York University, and, for the season 1932–33, he was chairman of the Music Department. Our contacts became more frequent, and I was greatly pleased when he occasionally visited my classes in Medieval and Renaissance music. He developed a deep liking for some of the music he heard there, and he independently investigated a repertoire of varied provenance, including 14th-century pieces printed in Worcester Medieval Harmony, transcribed from the original notation and annotated by Dom Anselm Hughes. While Grainger’s interest was stimulated by much else in the older repertoire, these Worcester pieces held a special fascination for him. At about this time, Dom Anselm travelled from his quarters at the Benedictine Abbey at Burnham, Bucks., England, to visit the United States. The three of us had several meetings in New York. They were the occasion for Grainger’s special responsiveness to the Worcester fragments to yield valuable results. Grainger wished to be instrumental in producing a performing edition of selected pieces from the fragments, and his contributions were not only practical, but respectful of the original readings. Out of this beginning grew the series, English Gothic Music. Grainger’s musical understanding and wide-ranging musical tastes certainly had something important to do with the spread of interest in this body of music and with the comparative popularity it now enjoys. Younger scholars have moved a great way since English Gothic Music was launched. They have learned a good deal about the basic material and its background. But the work that was done by Grainger out of his sheer love of a fine body of music that was then relatively unknown remains valid. And it is eloquent testimony to the man’s broad musical culture. Gustave Reese, ‘Percy Grainger and Early Music’, Studies in Music, vol. 10 (1976), pp. 13–14.

136

portrait of percy grainger

ANSELM HUGHES (1889–1974) As Gustave Reese mentioned, the English musicologist and historian Dom Anselm Hughes collaborated with Grainger during the 1930s and 1940s over a series of scores of English Gothic Music.

Out of the blue, in the year 1933 there arrived in my post a letter from Percy Grainger, whose name had of course been familiar to me for some time past, mostly in connection with Cecil Sharp, Maud Karpeles, and their folksong discoveries. In the previous autumn I had travelled for three months in the United States and Canada, lecturing on mediaeval music, and taking with me a gramophone record of some examples. In New York, after my return to England, Gustave Reese played it over to Grainger, who from that moment fell in love with early mediaeval harmony. It is hard to realise in 1966, with our abundant supply of historical discs and tapes, that this single record was almost unique at the time. Many others who heard it said that it opened a new world to them; but few of them did anything about it. Grainger’s energetic temperament would never have been satisfied with mere admiration, and accordingly he wrote saying that he was coming out to England and would like to meet me, and to hear more about this promising field of investigation. His experience in folksong collecting, allied to his natural faculty for penetrating at once below the surface of pretentious artificiality, meant that he found himself entirely at home in the unsophisticated atmosphere of 13th and 14th century polyphony: and his integrity of character made it a very concordant home. He always disclaimed any special antiquarian knowledge, or anything in the nature of palaeographical skill. Indeed, on one occasion he went so far as to describe himself with characteristic extravagance as ‘uneducated’; though as a matter of fact he was a keen philologist by way of a side-hobby from music, and more than once in our editorial partnership he revealed a flair for detecting the solution of an obscure passage, where the original manuscript was deficient in some way, which might be a cause of envy to any professional musicologist. During our first meeting at Nashdom Abbey in 1933 Grainger was able to see much more of this early music, both in score and in photostat, than had found space on my one record; and before long he sug-

america 1922–1939

137

gested to me the idea of a joint publication, for the use of choral societies, schools, and concert groups. A mass of material was sifted and considered, and on a later visit which Grainger paid to England in 1936 sixteen items were picked, to appear individually, and to form on completion an album, with an Introduction and musicological notes as to the original sources and other matters of interest. His suggestion for a title— English Gothic Music—was agreed, and we settled down into a very cordial partnership. My only share in this was to recommend items to him, supplying the text and music, and ensuring as far as possible that it was an accurate reproduction of the original. The words, when in Old English or Middle English, sometimes needed alteration to make them intelligible to the singers, but the music was invariably left intact, without any modification or emendation by way of concession to current musical tastes. The editorial work, consisting of decisions about the presentation and arrangement, suggestions for dynamics and so on, was left entirely in Grainger’s hands; and his characteristic directions are scattered over the pages of English Gothic Music numbers. The translations from the Latin were my only share in the editorial work. In only one way did the partners in English Gothic Music differ. For myself, I was always anxious to get a number, or many numbers, in print as soon as possible. Grainger, on the other hand, was all for patiently trying out each item in diverse ways—by actual sounding out experimentally at concerts—in varying pitches, varying combinations of voices, and other ways, including some instrumental combinations with or without voices. But though we had this divergence in temperament, accentuated by periods in which Grainger was too busy with his concert recitals to give as much time to English Gothic Music as he would have wished, and in his later years interrupted by illness, we never had the slightest suspicion of discord in our relations with one another. In 1937 Grainger began to include on his concert programmes the three items which we both thought would have the most immediate appeal to audiences—‘Alleluia psallat’, ‘Beata viscera’, and ‘Angelus ad virginem’. The first of these has indeed become almost a theme-song for recitals of medieval music. As with ‘Beata viscera’, and some other items of English Gothic Music, it is taken from the great find of mediaeval harmony at Worcester Cathedral. Adumbrations of the value of this collection had been made in the public Catalogue of the Cathedral manuscripts published in 1906, but except for a short visit when I examined them in 1911, they had not been followed up in 1914, when the

138

portrait of percy grainger

war intervened. In 1923 I was able to begin a more serious study of the manuscripts, and soon found that they had a value which was quite outstanding in music, and not merely antiquarian. Their immense importance was realised by such scholars as the late Charles Van Den Borren, and after I had published some academic scores in Worcester Mediaeval Harmony (1928) Arnold Dolmetsch, who was a great friend of Percy Grainger, also came to know and value them. But it was high time that they should get more widely known, and available in practical popular performing editions. Just as the 1914 war hindered the first, academic, appearance of Worcester Mediaeval Harmony, so also the 1939 war broke out at the very moment when English Gothic Music was beginning to take shape. The planned arrangements all had to be reconsidered, and this was found to involve a shift from a London publisher (Schott) to one in New York (G. Schirmer). The first publications were confined to the three items named above; and they were followed later by three others, of which Puellare gremium, also from Worcester, was Grainger’s great favourite in the series. In one of his last letters to me (1950) he wrote ‘I am particularly bowled over by Puellare gremium. What a gem that is, and how the voices and the instruments blend!’ As the years passed, and Grainger’s health broke down, it became evident to me that the full number of sixteen items in English Gothic Music was unlikely to reach completion. In the meantime one or more of our original selection had appeared in satisfactory editions by other hands, and we struck them off. Grainger’s last interest, the six-part ‘O rosa bella’, attributed to Dunstable and Bedingham, was ready for publication during his final illness, and I had the satisfaction of seeing it through the press, as a kind of memorial tribute, at the hands of Messrs. Schott & Co. of Great Marlborough Street, London, in the following year. But Grainger never gave up hope, even after illness had laid him low, of seeing the original scheme completed and the album issued. Yet it was not to be: and (as said above) all that could be added was ‘O rosa bella’. Meanwhile the rest of the material, with the explanatory notes and references, and a projected introduction in English and Latin, is filed at Nashdom Abbey until such time as an editor with funds at his disposal cares to take over and complete the plan which Percy Grainger and I outlined thirty years ago. From an unpublished recollection of 1966, reproduced in the unpublished manuscript ‘The Lovable Eccentric’ by Colin Brumby (1967).

america 1922–1939

139

BENJAMIN BRITTEN (1913–1976) Listening to the radio in 1933, the nineteen-year-old Benjamin Britten was surprised by the effectiveness of two Grainger arrangements of folksongs, and noted in his diary under 3 March:

. . . two brilliant folk-song arrangements of Percy Grainger—17 come Sunday, & Father & Son [Daughter], knocking all the V. Williams and R. O. Morris arrangements into a cocked-hat. As reproduced in Christopher Palmer, ed., The Britten Companion (London: Faber and Faber, 1984), p. 73.

***** Over forty years later, when writing a ‘Prefatory Note’ to John Bird’s biography of Grainger, Britten’s respect was undiminished. Together with Peter Pears he acknowledged:

To have met Percy Grainger even as an old man is a cherished memory. His warmth, his originality, his charm were unforgettable, and his genial energy had already become a myth. The masterly folksong arrangements with their acutely beautiful feeling for sound were our first musical introduction, and later the preparation of a record of his music was an exciting and revealing experience. Repeated performances strengthened our respect for his work, and our few meetings confirmed our affection and admiration for the man. Benjamin Britten and Peter Pears, ‘Prefatory Note to the First Edition’, in John Bird, Percy Grainger, 3rd ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), p. xii.

PETER PEARS (1910–1986) The British tenor Peter Pears was Britten’s companion for nearly forty years and the leading exponent of his vocal music and operas. In 1948 they together founded the Aldeburgh Festival.

I did not know Percy Grainger intimately. I wish I had known him better. I first met him in 1936, when he was in his middle fifties and I

140

portrait of percy grainger

was in my twenties, a member of the BBC Singers. Grainger was in London for a BBC concert of his music given by the BBC Orchestra and Chorus conducted jointly by Leslie Woodgate and himself. In the programme was a work which needed a tenor solo, and I was asked to undertake it. If they had thought it an important work, some outside singer would have been engaged. But it was not an enormous solo— just the piece for the likes of me: I was only in the BBC Singers, and delighted to earn a few guineas over and above my salary of £6 per week. The work of Grainger that I sang was Love Verses from ‘The Song of Solomon’—a characteristic, charming piece of rhapsodic utterance, with some graceful phrases for solo voices. From the concert I also remember The Marching Song of Democracy and Up-Country Song. And there was Tribute to Foster, in which we all had to play the musical glasses: we had wine glasses half full of water, and we had to dip our fingers into the water and run them round the tops, and make melodious chords of F sharp major. The occasion left me with one tangible souvenir which I have treasured ever since. Quite without asking, I was given by Percy Grainger a photo of himself with an extraordinarily kind inscription. That is in my experience an unusual acquisition: I have not generally been offered signed photographs of composers whose work I have performed. Indeed the only other one I remember receiving without solicitation was a photo of Shostakovich inscribed in barely legible Russian. That was very nice, but the photo itself shows Dmitri at his most tense and worried—not to say cross—so that I can hardly bear to look at it, much less display it. Percy Grainger was more photogenic than Shostakovich. His picture is much more agreeable to look at, being in fact the true likeness of a strikingly handsome and vivid man. Peter Pears, ‘A Personal Introduction to Percy Grainger’, in Lewis Foreman, ed., The Percy Grainger Companion (London: Thames, 1981), p. 23.

ELLA GRAINGER (1889–1979) Ever a party to adventure, the Graingers sailed from Europe to Australia in the final months of 1933 on the sailing ship L’Avenir. While on board Grainger wrote his familial reminiscence, the ‘Aldridge-Grainger-Ström Saga’. Ella Grainger’s desire to take another trip aboard the L’Avenir was thwarted by the ship’s sinking,

america 1922–1939

141

with the loss of all hands, on its next voyage. The Graingers remained in Australia for most of 1934 and 1935, while Percy undertook over one hundred engagements with the Australian Broadcasting Commission, including broadcast of the twelve-part lecture series ‘A Commonsense View of All Music’.

A voyage on a ‘Windjammer’ is fraught with romance and adventure. Sailing has for long years past enticed ‘landlubbers’ to come and taste the joy of real seafaring—to be one with racing tides, tossing foam and salt-tanged wind—and when this longing seized us, at the sight of a glorious four-masted barque in full sail, my husband and I decided, then and there, to take our voyage to Australia in the L’Avenir. L’Avenir was racing round the Cape to Australia in competition with a number of other sailing vessels to participate in the wheat race to England. We boarded her at Copenhagen, for the long voyage which, it was expected, would mean spending 100 days at sea without touching land. The first days out we met with fogs and storms—even had seven sails torn away—but after that we had perfect weather during our passage through the Atlantic Ocean until, south and west of the Cape of Good Hope, we found the weather the Captain had been longing for, and made our 300 miles per day until we sighted the Australian shore. During our voyage we did not sight land after we left the English Channel, with the exception of the island of Madeira, and Tristan da Cunha, in the South Atlantic Ocean. Life abroad the L’Avenir was ideal. Our cabins were lovely little homes in a great, big ocean. Our fellow-passengers were seven in all. This was an ideal number and we soon became like a happy family, each one having his own hobbies and pursuits, which made time pass more pleasantly. My husband was writing a book of memoirs, and worked steadily and faithfully during the voyage. His book contained 45,000 words at the end of the voyage, but even so, it was very far from being finished. When not writing, he entertained himself by climbing the rigging, mending sails, playing deck-tennis, or reading aloud in Icelandic and Danish. I, myself, had brought oil-paints and canvasses with me and diligently painted sea-scapes and cloud pictures, views of the ship, portraits of fellow passengers and crew and, last but not least, a life-size, threequarter-length portrait of the captain holding his beloved pet, the ship’s cat, in his arms.

142

portrait of percy grainger

Our companions were charming. One was an English woman learning navigation. A young British Flying Officer, who had come aboard for a rest cure, wiled away the hours for us by quoting, from memory, long poems, particularly works of Kipling and Adam Lindsay Gordon. A young Canadian girl, the daughter of a millionaire, was serving as an apprentice, doing a sailor’s jobs, to qualify for her master’s certificate, in order to be able to take command on board her father’s yacht. She was a pretty, slight girl, and looked very ‘chic’ in her boy’s clothes. Another passenger, a young Finnish man (the son of a University professor in Helsingfors [Helsinki]), seemed to have made a habit of travelling back and forth on these ships, knowing every nook and corner of the vessel and acting as a kind guide to newcomers. He met his fate on this trip! A young English girl, charming, intellectual, with Oxford degree, boarded the L’Avenir dressed in slacks, mackintosh, red Turkish Fez and American goggles—picturesque enough for any young man to fall in love with! They were married as soon as they arrived in Australia. Several of the passengers and crew were interested in arts and crafts. They painted pictures of ships, in water-colours, and made a lot of fascinating things with rope, such as belts, dog-leads, whips and cushion covers. Sometimes the cadet-room looked like a studio and workshop combined. There was a grand piano, somewhat rusty, which, however, sounded beautiful under the magic touch of my husband’s hands. He often played in the evenings while the passengers and sailors sat in a dim light, in picturesque groups on the floor. We were not encouraged to burn electric light late at night, it was generally put out at 9:30 p.m. However, this did not hinder the young and romantic from finding ways of entertainment. There was, after all, always some moonshine to expect. We also did some part-singing (13th century English church music, Russian peasant part-songs and American-Negro spirituals) and I had lessons with my husband in harmony and sight-reading. Thus, occupations on board were many and varied. Time never seemed sufficiently long for all the things we wanted to do. The sailors, also, never seemed to have an idle moment, for between navigating and hauling ropes they had to renew, oil and tar ropes and tackle, mend and sew sails, knock off rust in the holds and repaint these and the rest of the ship. There was a ship’s carpenter busy building new cabins and a new smoking room, which latter, on completion, I decorated with painted panels. Everyone seemed capable of everything. The most immovable of all objects, a capstan, was, one day, moved a few yards. There was

america 1922–1939

143

nothing needed that could not and was not done, then and there. At mealtimes we helped ourselves to food at a sideboard, Scandinavian fashion. The food was very good: simple Scandinavian home-cooking, tasty, clean and plentiful, consisting largely of tinned foods, of course, as well as dried fruits and grains. Fresh vegetables, like potatoes, cabbages, carrots and beetroot, kept very well during the whole voyage. Very good bread, white and brown, was baked on board. The tinned milk and the butter were wonderfully fresh. So there was no lack of interest when the bell sounded for mealtimes! We took with us 100 lemons, which kept us in lemon-drinks during the entire voyage. The sailors all wanted to do their best. These young apprentices, most of them from good families, were not like the proverbial, oldtime, unwilling rebellious, tobacco-chewing ‘old Salts’, but more like University students, paying for their apprenticeship and therefore doing their best to make their degrees with as many honours as possible. My husband suggested that it would be a good idea to start a ‘Floating University’, in which the students would mix their mental and physical efforts and have the advantage of fresh air, sea-water, sun-bathing and sailing experience. Besides sailing, the apprentices could study languages, singing, music, dancing, painting and all kinds of crafts. All dressed in as sailor-like a fashion as possible. We wore either overalls, slacks or shorts, with polo shirts or sweaters and, during the hottest weather, just ordinary beach costumes or bathing suits. Sleeping out in hammocks on deck was the coolest thing to do at the Equator; although, even there, we never suffered much from the heat, partly because it was not exceptionally hot, partly because the sails gave ample shade, so that we were rarely in the scorching sun. Someone had brought a film-camera with them and we had great fun concocting and acting a ‘movie’ on board, in which the part of the heroine was assigned to me. The officers and crew also took part with much zest. We did not regret the lack of interest in visiting ports. The sights we saw at sea filled us with wonder and love for the universe. The sunrises and sunsets were glorious beyond description; the sea and sky gave us exquisite pictures of unforgettable beauty; we saw porpoises playing before the bow of the ship, big whales followed us at the stern from time to time, lovely albatrosses and other sea birds surrounded our ship. One day a sea-hawk appeared from nowhere; circling high above the ship’s masts he spotted a piece of meat, lying on the after-deck house ready to bait an albatross, and when he thought it safe, came down and

144

portrait of percy grainger

devoured the meat in peaceful bliss, ignoring our presence, looking as tame as any goose or chicken. In fact, all animals strike me as being much more tame than one would think. They all seem so innocent, bland, tranquil and trusting, and I believe one could easily get them all into a state of perfect harmony with man. On the 105th day we arrived at Port Victoria, South Australia, and we also went to Port Germain, which gave us an opportunity to see Australia from quite a different angle to what one sees when arriving on a passenger steamer that calls at the big cities. Such outlying ports as these are really heavenly to visit and I was intensely happy to see these unfrequented shores. We were sorry to leave the L’Avenir and to say good-bye to the Captain, with whom we had become great friends. But we have in mind to make another trip with the same ship again, sometime. Ella Grainger, ‘Aboard a Windjammer with the Graingers’, The Australian Women’s World, 1 April 1934.

GORDON ALDRIDGE (1904–1987) and EVIE ALDRIDGE (1905–1991) Gordon Aldridge was Grainger’s cousin, being the younger son of Rose Grainger’s elder brother Charles. He and his wife, Evie (née Ekman), lived in Melbourne and hosted the Graingers several times during their visits to the city in the 1930s and 1950s. They came to know the more serious side of Grainger’s personality, particularly evident as he struggled to build and then arrange the exhibits in his museum. This television interview was broadcast during the centenary celebrations of Grainger’s birth.

Gordon and Evie Aldridge: He used to play the piano here sometimes—on Sundays, when he came to dinner. He’d play all kinds of jolly things for us for about an hour. Evie: When I met him first I was about twenty, and I thought he was divine. He had gold hair and [was] agile and quick and good-looking. Hollywood wasn’t any better today. Q: Was he a funny man? Evie: No. He had very sad moments. Gordon: No. I think he was quite grave. Evie: Grave in some ways, but very jovial. Nobody talked about his music.

america 1922–1939

145

Q: Are you proud of being related to him? Gordon and Evie: I never think anything about it—I don’t know, I think we’re rather awful. I think we should be proud of him. I think he’s just as important as Dame Nellie Melba. Q: Did you find him a strange man? Evie: No. Eccentric, but not strange. There’s a difference. Q: And was he an exciting person to be around? Gordon: No. No, he was a gentle sort of person. He had a lovely English accent, and he lived in America. We couldn’t understand it. Q: And what about these stories about the whips and the relationship with his mother? Do you believe any of it? Gordon and Evie: Well, that’s a bit difficult—we never thought anything about it. But people do say things now, because it’s unusual. Anything unusual causes criticism, but the criticism isn’t always kind. Q: Percy was pretty unusual though, wasn’t he? Gordon and Evie: Very unusual. From ‘Percy Grainger’, television programme, Channel 9 (Australia), 4 July 1982.

GORDON LAWS (1910–1998) A retired clergyman and public servant in Canberra, Gordon Laws had, in his youth, been a keen concert-goer in Melbourne. Here he records his impressions of Grainger in the inter-war years.

You have to remember that in the 1920s and ’30s Melbourne wasn’t very sophisticated musically. I’d only been going to concerts for a short time and knew only the Classics, and my father had only ever managed to get as far as Beethoven. So, Grainger came as quite a shock. I can remember three situations involving Grainger, but I don’t know the exact dates—they’re all from before the War, at any rate. One is of a performance of The Warriors in the Town Hall, at what must have been its Australian première. I couldn’t make anything of it—it just sounded like noise to me. I think it was part of an all-Grainger concert organized by Heinze shortly after he returned from Canada. And then I remember a recital given by Grainger—well, it said it was a recital on the advertizement. But he spent much of the time walking up and down on the stage telling us about the music—it was just like a lecture you’d have at the Con. And when he’d got to an interesting

146

portrait of percy grainger

point, he’d suddenly sit down at the piano and play for a while. I don’t remember what he played—all this happened at least sixty years ago— but I do remember being really surprised and wondering how surprised everyone else must have been. Because it had been advertized as a ‘recital’—and you don’t go on talking all the time at a ‘recital’. My other memory of Grainger is of meeting him in the street. I was walking down Bourke Street—you know, just near the intersection of Bourke and Elizabeth—and suddenly a small man dashed by. I’d just realized it was Grainger when I saw a woman following him, and she was having a go at him for heading off so fast. I immediately worked out that this must have been the ‘Nordic Princess’. They were going to the main hall of the P.O. I guess he had a lot of telegrams to send off. I never thought that much of Grainger. I had the feeling that, because he played in the Hollywood Bowl and other places like that in America, people here thought he should be given the full treatment in his home town. From interview with Malcolm Gillies and David Pear, 6 January 1991, private collection.

JOHN DOUGLAS TODD (b. 1916) The Sydney pianist John Douglas Todd came to know Grainger during his long tour of Australia in 1934–35. Todd took piano lessons with him and played several times in orchestras under his direction. In subsequent years Todd toured widely for the Australian Broadcasting Commission as a concert pianist and accompanist. In 1961 he joined the music staff of the BBC in London as a producer. Here Todd recalls Grainger both as pianist and conductor.

Henry T. Finck, reporting a 1915 recital in The New York Evening Post, declared uncompromisingly that ‘Grainger is the greatest of them all’. Now this does not tally with the playing of Grainger that I heard in the flesh and have since heard on gramophone records. The lasting impression is not of the virtuosity to which he undoubtedly aspired, but of the remarkable command of tone graduation (in both quality and dynamics), the acute awareness of line, the curiously simple yet very telling eloquence which marked his playing and, above all, his quite unique brand of rhythm. The Grainger rhythm had a sparkle and a foot-stirring quality that was matched by only one other artist of the era, Mischa Levitzki.

america 1922–1939

147

If, in virtuoso works, Percy Grainger sometimes gave the impression that he was playing almost in spite of his technique, there was always a strenuous emulation of the grand manner. In appearance, at least, he was the embodiment of the Klaviertiger, the hero-pianist whose ideal vehicle of expression was the late nineteenth century concerto in which the soloist contended with and attempted to dominate the orchestra. (Given the outright despotism of the famous conductors who flourished during Grainger’s heyday, a concerto performance was as likely to be a confrontation as a collaboration.) Amongst the hyperbole showered on Grainger in his youth was the appellation ‘the Siegfried of the keyboard’. This was doubtless brought on by the combined spectacle of Percy’s mop of golden hair and his very personal and rather self-conscious ‘athleticism’. The latter manifested itself in large, speedy, and what often seemed somehow unnecessary physical movements, not so much at the keyboard but as he walked towards the instrument before sitting down to play. This compulsion to move spectacularly was at work in his everyday life as well, and continually helped to sustain his reputation as an eccentric. Grainger’s finger technique was fundamentally of the Lebert and Stark school—high-lifted, percussive ‘fingers of steel’, and a deliberately firm holding of the wrist and arm. A much-repeated exhortation of his was: ‘Hold the wrists stiffly and play with the fingers alone’. He had also adopted Busoni’s view that non-legato should be regarded as the fundamental piano touch, a view he sometimes took to extremes in the form of a percussive rapping-out of passages with one finger, or with the ‘bunched’ fingering he advocated for certain martellato effects. (For white keys the thumb, index and middle fingers would be held tightly bunched together, the key being depressed by the middle finger thus reinforced. Black keys were to be played by the fourth finger with the first three fingers similarly braced together behind it.) . . . Playing the notes of a melody with the thumb alone was another technique which Percy employed, as did his contemporaries Rachmaninov and Friedman. To produce the loudest possible tone on black keys Grainger would occasionally use the side of his closed fist— and with remarkable accuracy of aim. Unfortunately, this attack tended to provoke unseemly mirth, so reminiscent was it of Chico Marx’s antics at the keyboard. Equally comical in appearance was Percy’s use of a silk handkerchief for black-note glissandi. The procedure was a sensible enough way of saving wear and tear on the skin of the fingers; but the handkerchief would be attached to a piece of elastic anchored inside the

148

portrait of percy grainger

coat sleeve, and its mysterious disappearance into Percy’s cuff made the preservation of a straight face a somewhat difficult exercise. (The difficulty was even greater during Cyril Scott’s Lotus Land whose double glissandi were played with two vanishing handkerchiefs!) Many generations of virtuosi have made it a point of honour to demonstrate their octave-playing prowess in the Tchaikowsky B flat minor Concerto and in the A flat Polonaise of Chopin. From the early days of his career, Percy Grainger rode those two heroic war-horses regularly, but with less than outstanding technical ease. Listening to the early disc of the Polonaise, one is impressed, first of all, by the modest speed of the octaves as they begin, and then by the huge ritardando which Percy introduces into the end of the passage. As there is no real musical justification for such a large slackening of tempo—interfering as it does with the impetus of the following measures—there is a strong suggestion that technical expediency is at work rather than musicality. I also recall Grainger’s rather clumsy execution in the famous octave passages of the Tchaikowsky—and this in 1934–5 when Percy was merely middle-aged. In the first movement’s bravura cascade of octaves in E flat following the long orchestral accelerando, Percy was not only rather slow but also curiously hesitant about the skips, which after all are not very large. The effect was of a hiatus after every eight notes, to allow time for the hands to be carried up to the next position on the keyboard. If such comment seems carping, it should be appreciated that the halo of superlatives which hovered over Grainger aroused the expectancy that his playing would be of the very highest technical and musical standards. Inevitably, comparisons were made with contemporary giants such as Rachmaninov, Horowitz and Lhévinne, and the verdict was not always in Percy’s favour. In Australia, there were also comparisons to be made with three notable resident exponents of the Tchaikowsky Concerto, Jascha Spivakowsky, Isador Goodman and Alan McCristal. Of course, the musical pendulum has swung the other way, and the virtue which Percy Grainger made out of technical necessity, namely slow tempi, is more highly valued now than it was in the nineteen thirties and forties. (One recalls Curci Edition’s publication of the Concerto in which the editor gives metronome markings for the tearaway tempi of Rubinstein and Horowitz, implying that such speeds are the ideal to be aimed at.) The deliberation and breadth of Richter’s or Berman’s playing in the Tchaikowsky does much to restore the work’s rightful grandeur. It is an approach which recalls the weight and dignity which Grainger gave to the Concerto. . . .

america 1922–1939

149

Grainger frequently deplored the need to perform in public from memory, and occasionally would use the notes—especially when playing his own compositions. Normally, though, he compromised by playing from memory, but with a copy of the music on the floor beside him in case of emergency. He gave considerable thought to the cultivation of the automatic memory which can guide the fingers safely during moments of mental blankness. With the intention of strengthening this faculty, he would sometimes recite verse while playing (and the more remote the sentiment of the poem was from that of the music, the better), giving his full attention to the verse and letting the playing take care of itself. He demonstrated this to me on one occasion by playing the Brahms Handel Variations as he recited Tennyson’s The Lotos Eaters. The effect was indescribably comic—especially as there was no discernible twinkle in Percy’s eye. He told me that he eventually abandoned the practice after listening to some recording of the exercise which gave the impression that he was playing in his sleep. Grainger’s playing was never notable for its accuracy. Of course, he grew up in an age before pianists had become neurotic about playing wrong notes. There were plenty of ‘dominoes’ to be heard in the recordings left by some of Grainger’s contemporaries—Cortot and Schnabel notably. Even the astonishing Rachmaninov split the occasional note and did not bother to correct it. But at least those players generally intended to play the same notes with the same fingers each time. With Grainger this was not necessarily so. On the keyboard, at least, his motto was: ‘live dangerously’. I remember reading a strange article by him in that splendid but, alas, defunct American music magazine The Étude. In it he advised pianists not to work out a fingering before settling down to learn a piece, but to allow the fingers themselves to evolve some sort of fingering instinctively—a kind of clutching hold of any note with whatever finger happens to be in its vicinity. He drew an analogy between piano-playing and mountain-climbing, pointing out that mountaineers have to develop an instinct for safe footholds and handholds as a survival measure. Yet however appropriate this advice might be with regard to the grosser physical movements of mountain-climbing, its application to piano-playing is likely to bring about a state of chronic uncertainty in which the poor pianist’s right hand never quite knows what his left hand is doing, and he himself doesn’t know what either hand is doing. John Douglas Todd, ‘Grainger the Pianist’, in Studies in Music, vol. 16 (1982), pp. 101–3, 106– 7.

150

portrait of percy grainger

***** On several occasions I was on the receiving end of Grainger’s conducting, playing the celesta in some of his orchestral works. He was a tremendous giver of cues; but after a while the players found that the visual strain of watching this incessant movement produced hallucinations in which Percy took on the aspect of one of those Hindu gods with ten arms and four heads. One did not quite know which limb to look at. Percy did not confine his conducting to arm and head movements either. At one rehearsal, when difficulties arose over a passage of some complexity, he announced to the orchestra that he would indicate the second violins with his left hand, the first oboe with his right, the horns with his left knee and the trombones with his right foot! The resultant optical illusion of movement in every direction at once is my most treasured recollection of the truly original, one and only Percy Grainger. Todd, ‘Grainger: A True Original’, Studies in Music, vol. 16 (1982), p. 110.

SPARRE OLSEN (1903–1984) In the spring of 1929 Grainger was passing through Oslo. There, his former student of London years, Mary Barratt Due, had played to him Olsen’s Six Old Lom Folktunes Op. 2, which exhibited a very subtle treatment of the Norwegian verse and were gaining for Olsen a reputation as the spiritual heir of Grieg. Grainger was inspired to write to Sparre Olsen, then a violinist in the Oslo Symphony Orchestra. The two met in 1932, forging a friendship which lasted until Grainger’s death. One of its highlights was a long expedition in the Telemark region of Norway during the summer of 1939. Three years previously, Olsen and his wife had visited the Graingers in Pevensey Bay, Sussex, as described below.

In early summer 1936, Ella and Percy Grainger went to their summer place at Pevensey Bay, in England, where he hoped to rest and at the same time bring some order to many neglected things in his composing work. We received a touching invitation to come and visit them: ‘. . . Bring with you many of your compositions. Ask Edith to take with her also the piano scores. Bring poems by Aukrust and some other

america 1922–1939

151

poems and stories in New Norwegian, which I can read aloud for you. We are going to have a wonderful time together! WELCOME on Friday. The house is small but close to the beach. It looks like a doll’s castle, built of small round beach pebbles.’ We arrived at Pevensey Bay on June 26th, and Grainger met us at the railroad station. He had brought with him some ropes that he tied to the suitcase, which was rather heavy, and which we felt had almost killed us. He threw the suitcase easily up on his back and walked so fast ahead that we almost had to run to catch up with him. Grainger was right when he wrote that the house looked like a doll’s castle, but it was not so small, not to a Norwegian anyhow. Pevensey Bay is on the Channel coast, midway between Eastbourne and Hastings, with a wonderful beach. During our stay at Pevensey we learned quite a lot about how Grainger and his wife kept in physical shape. Grainger was a vegetarian. He loved the Norwegian goat cheese and lingonberries. He did not care for tobacco, liquor, coffee, and tea. Every morning, no matter what the weather, he walked or ran for awhile. I ‘ran’ with him to the post office. If we encountered a fence he jumped over it, while I had to open the gate. For a steeple chase he used all kinds of hindrances in order to keep trim. (When, a few years later, we hiked through Telemark, he loved all the fences in our way because he could jump over them!) He walked effortlessly, with long steps. He was built like the mountaineers and guides in the Norwegian Jotumheim Mountains. He loved open-air exercises. He told me that during a tour in Australia he once walked between two cities because he could not stand the smoke filled railroad compartment with its bad air. He was expert at standing on his hands, and he made one perfect ‘wheel’ after the other. I never saw him with a hat or cap on his head, but he used to carry an umbrella, even when we hiked. An umbrella can be useful, not only for its prime purpose. He did not like overcoats, and that in itself was a good enough reason for bringing an umbrella along. During long, tiring tours he liked to be dressed in a practical manner, a blue shirt without tie, and often with white pants similar to those construction workers used to have. He also carried his scores in a knapsack. No wonder, therefore, that people in the big cities were quite puzzled. . . . Inside, he liked to squat on the floor. He sat like that in the morning, when he wrote his letters, with the letter-block on one knee. During his numerous travels in his youth he had learned many of the secrets of primitive races. He mastered the art of falling asleep instantly and con-

152

portrait of percy grainger

trolling his sleep. When he was fatigued, he reclined on the floor, deciding that he would sleep for fifteen minutes. Sure enough, he went promptly to sleep and reawoke at the exact time, rested and revived. He was not at all a boring pedant who delivered sermons to others. The only thing for which I can remember him showing eagerness was how very important he thought it was for a concert pianist, with heavy concert schedules ahead, not only to watch his technical training at the piano but also to keep in top physical shape every day. This, he said, was a MUST, and he certainly was the one to know. The time we spent with the Graingers is unforgettable. He started the day at 5 o’clock by finishing the correspondence that had to go to all parts of the world. At 7 we had a light breakfast, and then we started our composing work, or discussed it. Later during the morning he went over the piano music with Edith, above all Grieg, according to her own wish. The first time he played the folk songs of Opus 66 for us, our eyes filled with tears; it was more beautiful than we had ever heard them played before. And ‘Slaatter’, ‘Ballade’—no it cannot be described in words. It was of such beauty that we will always remember. None of us were lazy; we all got much out of the day, work as well as pleasure, refreshing dips, trips to historical places in the neighbourhood, and reading and music in the evening. The last thing he would play for us before we went to bed was either the Bach-Busoni organ-choral, ‘I call on Thee, Lord’, or Grainger’s own piano arrangement of John Dowland’s ‘Now, O now, I need must part’. One weekend Grainger invited his composer friend, Cyril Scott, from London. We had a wonderful time together. The thin Cyril Scott, who looked like an ascete, was a lovely man with a tremendous sense of humour. In the evening Grainger put us all to work, listening to and trying out various new compositions. Grainger placed himself at the organ, Cyril Scott and Edith at the piano. Ella and I had to handle a strange-looking percussion instrument. We had fun. The parts that we did not thus manage to include, Grainger sang. Cyril Scott entertained with one of his famous party performances. Seated at the organ, he put a newspaper in front of him and ‘chanted’ in the gregorian manner. The text dealt with the market prices, the stock exchange annotations, and ads for everything, and finally we could stand it no longer. We laughed ourselves nearly into convulsions. The only one who continued in a serious manner was Cyril Scott. Another night we were reading poems by Aukrust, and Grainger was spellbound by ‘Kjeldune’ (‘The Sources’). He thought Aukrust clearly

america 1922–1939

153

indicated the way all creative art must go if it is going to be able to achieve enough spiritual power to reach and speak to the world. The roots must be fed in native soil, the way, as Aukrust points out, being from the local, through the national, to the universal. Grainger declared that Grieg was a unique example of how this occurs in the creation of music. He spoke warmly of Grieg’s influence in the music world, and said that Grieg was the instigator of the modern school together with Wagner. Grainger related that he had once been to a meeting of composers of the modern school, where among others the eminent French composer Maurice Ravel was present. They discussed the beginning of the modern French school, Debussy and César Franck. The discussion was heated, and finally a voice was heard stating that Grieg had exerted the greatest influence. Ravel got up declaring this to be true, and said Grieg had been unfairly treated in this respect. Grieg became important because he freed harmony, Grainger added, and was possibly the first one to cultivate harmony for its own sake. In addition to employing it as a servant of the melody, he let it live its own life. . . . We discussed at length the difference between the way Grieg used the Norwegian folk melodies and Grainger’s way of treating Irish and English folk tunes and dances. Grainger maintained that the difference was based on different nationality. ‘I come from a warm climate,’ he said. ‘Physically I’m drawn to the Italian tune colours, while spiritually I like the Nordic music better. The essence of the Norwegian spirit seems to me to appear so clearly in Grieg’s own “Vaaren” (“The Spring”) for strings, these high clean harmonies, this crystal clarity. Let me put it this way: If I say that Grieg’s music is cloudberries with cream, then my own music is apple pie!’ Grainger certainly could find words to express a concept! . . . Grainger wanted us to remain with him in Pevensey so we could go together to the annual Dolmetsch Festival at Haslemere, a cosy little Surrey village. ‘There is nothing like it,’ he stated. We were sorry we could not go. But the considerate Grainger arranged with his old friend, the French-born Arnold Dolmetsch, the man behind the festival, that we could visit him at Haslemere before we returned to Norway. . . . The entire Dolmetsch family came to the door to receive us. Old Dolmetsch embraced Grainger as a father would his beloved son, and it was quite evident that both had a mutual respect and admiration for one another. A wonderful dinner with French food and wine waited! And then we heard all the heart could wish for in beautiful classic music, masterly performed on old instruments by the Dolmetsch family, an experience never to be forgotten!

154

portrait of percy grainger

Sparre Olsen, Percy Grainger (Oslo: Det Norske Samlaget, 1963), translated in associated typescript by Bent Vanberg, ed. Stewart R. Manville, pp. 13–14, 16–17, 18.

MAURICE LOWE (1902–1999) The Canadian pianist, teacher and composer Maurice Lowe was concerned at the bad press which Grainger was receiving as a pianist, largely because of his apparent disregard for wrong notes. In a letter of 1938, written after one of Grainger’s concerts in Vancouver, Lowe claimed to be ‘the only person in this province who gets anywhere near understanding you properly!’ and enclosed a copy of an article he had written in defence of Grainger, from which the following extract is taken.

The soloist who finds most public favour is usually the one who regards playing (or singing or conducting) as an end in itself, not as a means to the universal ends of art. The creative mind, on the other hand, is largely indifferent to ‘perfect piano playing’, ‘perfect violin playing’, or a ‘perfect vocal rendition’, much as the great sculptor is largely indifferent to mechanical anatomy and naturalistic design. Though the creative musician is the last to deprecate technique, to him the vitality of an artistic idea is paramount, not tone quality or accurate fingering. The paradox of technique is that to fully achieve it is to cease to concentrate upon some of its refinements, with the result that all sorts of oddities crop out, like Paderewski’s trick of playing one hand before the other in chords intended to be simultaneous, and Grainger’s occasional wrong notes and smashing orchestral effects, which are not effects because no piano has sufficient tone in it for him to get them. However, I am not suggesting that Grainger was much criticized for lack of technique. (One complaint was that he had too much of it.) It is merely that he does not play like the approved ‘finished’ virtuoso. His piano style has a quality of informality, like his personal character, and the fashionable audience does not like informality of any kind. That is why it knows so little about the meaning of music, and why it finds in Grainger not only a disconcerting pianist but a ‘cold’ and ‘unsympathetic’ artist. There were complaints that his playing of the Grieg Ballade was ‘entirely without warmth’—a special criticism in view of Grainger’s well known association with and affection for Grieg. The truth is that people were looking for a type of emotional expression foreign to both Grieg and Grainger. They were looking for that

america 1922–1939

155

quality of feeling which gives Kreisler so much wider an appeal (even to musicians) than, for instance, Heifetz. Our notions of feeling in music are as parochial as our notions of technique are fossilized. From unpublished article, ‘The Art of Percy Grainger’, attached to unpublished letter to Grainger, 3 April 1938, held in the Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

ALFRED HILL (1870–1960) Although born in Melbourne, Alfred Hill was brought up in New Zealand and then went to Leipzig to study violin and composition when he was sixteen. Arriving back in Australasia in 1891, he worked first in Wellington and later in Sydney, where he helped to found the State Conservatorium of Music. Hill is now recognized as a father figure of Australian and New Zealand composition. His output included thirteen symphonies, seventeen string quartets and ten operas; a number of his works draw on Maori or Aboriginal material. In 1938 he was invited by Grainger to contribute material to the collections of his new Museum in Melbourne.

I was thrilled at your coupling my name with yours as a famous Musician. Good Lord, my name and work is not known, except to a few people, in Australia & New Zealand. I’m afraid I have lived my life in a world that teaches one to expect little, except the joy of writing and the understanding ‘pat’ on the back from one who knows. Perhaps it is as well. Your recognition of my work means more to me than recognition from the great ignorant G. P. and also the Money which means a different thing to each one of us. . . . It is wonderful that you have kept so simple & natural and wish to do a simple and beautiful thing for Music. That is the point. Doing things for Music. From unpublished letter to Percy Grainger, 20 October 1938, held in the Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

RICHARD HINDLE FOWLER (1910–1996) Richard Hindle Fowler and his wife Dorothy (1911–75) worked as part-time curators of the Grainger Museum in Melbourne from its

156

portrait of percy grainger opening in 1938 until the early 1960s, when Fowler became Director of the Science and Technology Museum in the city. Richard Fowler’s introduction to Grainger and his Museum is described below. Although surprised at Grainger’s arithmetic limitations, Fowler could only marvel at his musical abilities, once asking, ‘How do you remember all the music?’. Grainger replied: ‘It just runs in a sort of gutter.’

Q: He went down to the Industrial and Technological Museum, as it was then known, to look at some display cases, and he just happened to meet you there and got talking. Is that accurate? Fowler: On that day I happened to see him and recognized him and bowled up to him . . . and asked if I could be of any assistance. Well, of course, from then on there was no getting away from him . . . A fortnight later he dug me out and we met up at the Museum and he talked about his plans and the stage it had got to. Just that straight front part had been built. That had been started, I think, in 1934 [1935]. And I just saw this building on trips to the University, and wasn’t too sure what it was. Eventually I found out and then, of course, when I met Percy I did know it was the Museum he was establishing and I was interested to get inside and possibly lend him a hand in some way. He was very, very much the tiro when it came to display, and I was able to straighten him out a little bit on different things. It was extraordinary how inept he was. At the same time, he knew what his objective was. It was just the means of getting there— Q: Inept in what way? Fowler: Well, for instance, on one occasion he had a big plywood frame about six foot by three, and he had about thirty photographic prints of his family that he wanted to spread over it evenly, and make one big mount for all these photographs. And he was really struggling, so I said, ‘Why not just add up the total width of the pictures, measure the width of the frame, do a subtraction, and then divide that distance by the number of pictures, and it will give you the space between each one?’ But he turned, and he looked at me, stunned, absolutely amazed! He said, ‘How do you know that? How did you do that?’ I said, ‘It’s just arithmetic, really.’ ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘that’s wonderful. Of course, I never learnt arithmetic. My mother wouldn’t let me study arithmetic. I just had to stick to art.’ Q: Did you attend the actual opening of the Grainger Museum? Fowler: Yes, I was there. Q: And you heard Professor Laver speak?

america 1922–1939

157

Fowler: Yes. Professor Laver was the main speaker, and Percy spoke at some length, too, and the dear old soul who’d been his teacher, what’s her name? Q: Adelaide Burkitt, wasn’t it? Fowler: Adelaide Burkitt—she was there, a very, very old lady. And when Laver mentioned Adelaide Burkitt a voice from the crowd said, ‘She’s here!’. Percy looked around, spotted her, darted up to her and gave her a big hug and a kiss. From tape of interview with Helen Reeves Lawrence, 10 August 1984, held in the Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

158

portrait of percy grainger

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

27 Balfour Gardiner with Grainger, 18 September 1922

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

28 Evald Tang Kristensen examining a full score of ‘Jutish Medley’, a birthday gift from Grainger, late 1920s

america 1922–1939

159

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

29 Roger Quilter with Ella Grainger, Pevensey Bay, Sussex, 1929

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

30 The Crooks family at Barstow, California, 1938 (Emma Crooks Bevan, back, far right).

160

portrait of percy grainger

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

31 Grainger and Storm Bull, 1930

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

32 Grainger with Delius and Eric Fenby (right), 1 July 1929

america 1922–1939

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

33 D. C. (‘Charlie’) Parker, 1932

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

34 The Dolmetsch family and friends, mid-1930s

161

162

portrait of percy grainger

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

35 Ella and Percy Grainger, arriving in Australia, 1934

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

36 Sparre Olsen with Percy and Ella Grainger, Norway, June 1939

america 1922–1939

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

37 Manuscript of ‘Lord Melbourne’, 1939

163

164

portrait of percy grainger

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

38 Rejected plan for second stage of Grainger Museum, Melbourne, mid-late 1930s

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

39 Sketch of completed Grainger Museum, December 1938

VI America 1939–1961 The Graingers returned to America from a European vacation just weeks before the Second World War broke out. Although the United States was not immediately involved in that war, Grainger hurriedly copied his more valuable documents and recordings, and dispatched them to a variety of locations. Hitler’s Blitzkrieg into northern Europe during the spring of 1940 terrified him, and he hired an apartment in Springfield, Missouri, in the hope of being far from any combat which might occur on either the east or the west American coast. From Springfield he ventured out on concert tours, often playing to the troops. He also continued his summer work at the National Music Camp, Interlochen, through most of the years of war. Back in White Plains after the war, the Graingers devoted much of their joint energy to arranging material for the Museum in Melbourne and to the home printing of his music. In collaboration with the physicist Burnett Cross, Grainger worked on various ‘Free Music’ machines, achieving considerable success in realizing his life-long dream of a music of flexible pitches, rhythms and dynamics. Although continuing to perform until 1960, he increasingly directed his attention to educational institutions which would programme his own compositions in return for his performances of well-known concertos. His final recordings were made in 1957. From around 1953 Grainger suffered from cancer, to which he eventually succumbed on 20 February 1961.

MAURICE LORIAUX (1909–1998) Maurice Loriaux first met Grainger in 1939, when he took over arrangements for a section of Grainger’s concert tours in the American Midwest. He continued to manage Grainger’s tours in the region until the late 1950s, becoming one of the pianist’s closer friends in this final period. Loriaux’s own artistic interests were very broad. As well as playing and teaching string instruments, he designed over three hundred church interiors and worked with stained glass. A bust of Grainger features among his sculptures.

In Bartlesville [Oklahoma] Percy began using our residence as a ‘homefrom-home’, and continued in Santa Fe from 1947 to 1960—usually once a year or so, staying several days at a time. He called these his ‘rest stops’. Ella was sometimes with him. They both often told us how they enjoyed the privacy of these visits. We didn’t bring in a lot of friends and guests when they were in our home, as other hosts did—we thought they needed peace and rest and quiet. That’s probably why the talk was so fine and why we got to know each other so well. . . . Sometimes it seems like a long time ago, yet it is all so vivid that most of the time it’s like it was just yesterday. I can’t forget how Percy would go from an erudite discussion to asking to wring out the washing with his hands. ‘Strengthens them’, he would say. Or, how once at the cinema he asked if we could possibly stay for the second showing so that he could see once more, in a ‘telling scene’, Ida Lupino, of whom he was a great fan. Or, how he cut off the lower part of all his dress-shirt sleeves: ‘Can’t stand to have the cuffs riding on my wrists and hands when I play,’ he would explain. When shopping for shirts, he might have one in his hand that he planned to buy and teasingly pull at the sleeve seam above the cuff, pulling it apart a little. Then, to the very concerned looking assistant, he would say: ‘Not too well made these days poor post-war quality! By the way, I plan to take it.’ He’d take it home to Ella, who would hem-up the shortened sleeves—‘to last’, of course. . . . His mind was a questioning one and worked like lightning. With Grainger playing devil’s advocate, I found such conversation challenging to my wit, stimulating emotionally, and very, very enlightening. I haven’t experienced anything as interesting since. Grainger was a doer, yet so multifaceted in terms of talent that much was left imperfectly

168

portrait of percy grainger

fulfilled. He was a person concerned for quality in life, so full of wonder and always wondering. He called me ‘dear friend’ and considered me a peer, which makes me feel very proud to this day. Trusting me with his ‘unedited’ thoughts and feelings, Percy Grainger and I could truly relax in each other’s company. It was not all music, art and philosophy though! If you know anything at all about Percy Grainger, you’ll know what walking meant to him—in silence, and usually at a very brisk clip. Well, a great deal of walking got done, especially through the arroyos of the countryside surrounding our home. It is the kind of landscape you see in O’Keefe’s pictures. How Percy loved the whole out-of-doors. All these things remain fresh with me—quite unforgettable. Maurice Loriaux, ‘Reminiscences of Grainger’, The Grainger Society Journal, vol. 9, no. 2 (Summer 1989), pp. 29–30.

ELLA GRAINGER (1889–1979) One of Ella Grainger’s favourite memories was of the first Sunday morning they spent together in Springfield, Missouri, in 1940. The story was retold by Rolf Stang, President of the International Grainger Society, at her funeral in 1979.

As we took an early (and long) morning walk of some 5 miles, Percy explained that he had familiarized himself with the town upon our arrival. He told me that we would be able to have a very nice breakfast at the train station. He had, in fact, taken the trouble to familiarize himself with the menu! That was back in the days, you realize, when train travel was marvellous and train stations an excellent place to eat. Well, I got through the last two miles of my walk by dreaming about breakfast and enjoyed myself as I zeroed in on just what my huge breakfast might consist of—two eggs, or perhaps French toast (three pieces), sausages, cereal, juice, coffee, etc. We finally came to the station, still walking at a fast clip. I dropped into my chair; the waitress approached; I was all set to order. Before she had come half-way, Percy called out pleasantly: ‘Good morning, we will require only two baked apples followed by a cup of tea for each of us!’ ‘The best possible thing to have after a walk’, he said; ‘doesn’t it sound marvellous, Ella?’

america 1939–1961 From Rolf Stang, ‘Eulogy—for a very dear friend’, The Grainger Journal, vol. 2, no. 2 (February 1980), p. 6.

***** As well as an artist and occasional musician, Ella Grainger was a poet. Her first volume, The Pavement Artist and Other Poems, which appeared in 1940, contained a poem entitled ‘The Hero’, the inspiration for which is not too hard to guess. English was, of course, not Ella Grainger’s mother tongue. The Times Literary Supplement of 30 March 1940 generously commented: ‘At times the simplicity of her verse is a little facile, but it is always engaging, perceptive and spirited.’

The Hero marched over hills and dales to conquer Dragons as big as whales; He travelled East and he travelled West to obey an insistent grave behest. The Hero saw many a fearsome sight and Dragons fell of undreamt-of might, yet faltered not in his eager zest to conquer all Fears within his breast. Thus runs the story of fairy fame— and we needn’t mention the Hero’s name. There is a hero in everyone that conquers dragons within the man. There lives a dragon in every breast, that never gives it repose or rest— a dragon whose wiles you can’t foreknow that sets you travelling to and fro. This Hero sometimes got sick at heart and looked for nourishment in Art; but the Dragon goaded him on again to seek his Mission among strange men. The Dragon whipped with his ruthless tail the Hero onwards—he must not fail; there could be no peace, there could be no rest until the Hero had done ‘his best.’

169

170

portrait of percy grainger

But when the Hero had ceased to roam and returned again to his hearth and home his kin and friends didn’t recognize their erstwhile Lord in his altered guise. For he had changed both in heart and face— Instead of beauty he had found grace— instead of friendship he wanted peace and rest, but found not the boon of these. His friends were waiting, with welcome bright, to greet the Hero as they thought right; His wife and parents, on his behalf, had been preparing ‘the fatted calf.’ The Hero wanted to find relief, from his poor struggles, however brief; But they were festive and wanted feasts— for he had conquered such awful beasts. (Alas for Heroes who fare away to return again on another day with an altered heart and a change of mind not understood by their own Mankind.) His much beloved and cherished wife was what he liked best in all his life; But she had lost both her looks and health in looking after his home and wealth. Even so he found that there still was bliss in her fond embrace and loving kiss; for she was faithful and loving still— His ‘sweeter than sweet’—though she was ill. Thus all their happiness they forwent, and soon wealth, health and life were spent! Alas, that comfort and joy are banned from heroes’ lives which the Fates have planned!

america 1939–1961

171

Heroic Hero, why all this strife? Why not discover a better life? Why not withdraw from strain and stress, from tasks and worries that you oppress? But no, all Heroes—as heroes must— bequeathe their lives to men who trust in them as saviours from evil’s ban. They seem to need such a Superman. This is the Hero, of whom we’ve read— of whom most truly it can be said that as Man’s Defender he faltered not, but jeopardized merely his own life’s lot. Ella Grainger, The Pavement Artist and Other Poems (London: Hutchinson, 1940), pp. 118–21.

JOSEPH M. REZITS (b. 1925) During the summers of 1937 to 1944 Grainger taught at the National Music Camp, Interlochen, Michigan. Although he kept on returning to Interlochen, Grainger found his schedule there daunting and much of the work thankless. After his first camp in 1937 he had written to Herman Sandby: ‘Well! The Interlochen nightmare is over! Every day I worked from 4.30 or 5.00 or 5.30 a.m. to 10 or 11 or midnight. And such a lot of ungifted youngsters in the band & in the orchestra.’ One of his piano students at Interlochen was Joseph M. Rezits, who later became professor of piano at Indiana University, Bloomington. In this article from 1976 Rezits records some of the practices and views which Grainger propagated at Interlochen.

I noticed that he often used what might be called a ‘high arm preparation’ before coming down on the keys in percussive fashion. He sometimes preceded this motion with an upward hand ‘snap’. I’m not sure why . . . perhaps to ensure having the firm, even rigid hand position that was necessary to support this kind of motion. In one way or another, he often wrote in (by means of instructions to the player) this kind of effect on his own compositions—stiff hand, arm, shoulder, etc. (‘When one plays the piano, it is not the time to relax!’ he said.) How-

172

portrait of percy grainger

ever, he did believe in different degrees of tension, a concept that might be applied especially to the wrist, which ‘must be like a spring—tightly or loosely coiled, but a spring, nevertheless’. Strongly related to Grainger’s ideas on tension and relaxation are his thoughts on endurance. I firmly believe in his premise (it represents one of the most vivid recollections of my association with him) that lack of endurance is often confused with playing the ‘wrong way’. In other words, a player may become discouraged about his inability to play a passage (or an entire composition) and assume that he is doing it with an incorrect approach. In reality, he may not have given himself sufficient opportunity to develop endurance. Muscles sometimes take a long time to become accustomed to certain kinds of technical stresses. It is a form of ‘athletic training’. . . . Grainger stated that the greatest performers were composers—for example, Rachmaninoff. He thought they had perhaps a greater gift of ‘understanding’ and that this enabled them to look into a composition and see what the composer meant. Grainger himself divided composers into two categories: (1) those whose own musical ideas and emotions were given preference in their compositions, regardless of the instruments employed. In this classification he placed Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, Wagner, Grieg and Delius; and (2) those who concentrated on the physical nature of the instrument composed for, taking full advantage of coloristic resources. Examples of this latter group were Debussy, Ravel, Albéniz, Couperin, Scarlatti, Chopin and Liszt. Such classifications, however, seemed to have no particular bearing on his preferences. Some of his own compositions were truly avant-garde for their time (and in my opinion could well be considered avant-garde today), as evidenced by the ‘free music’ (that is, music without definite pitch) of his later life, and his experimentation with quarter-steps, even eighth-steps— gliding tones, as he called them. Half-steps, he felt, were ‘angular’. . . . Grainger abhorred what he called ‘sewing-machine Bach’, and felt that Bach should be played with more rubato than is generally done. As in his approach to the music of many other composers, he stressed the non-legato aspect, using the ‘one-finger system’ as preparation. Grainger felt that many people did not like or understand the music of Bach because they were not acquainted with the music that preceded Bach. He felt that knowing pre-Bach music was the greatest training, and that Bach’s music should be introduced in the actual chronology of its evolution—not ‘backwards’—i.e., after Beethoven or Mozart, as is so often done.

america 1939–1961

173

Beethoven and Mozart were rarely played by Grainger. He simply didn’t like their music! He made no secret of his opinion that ‘Beethoven was frivolous’ and did not compose music of great depth. There seems to be no further documentation of these opinions, but one might guess that Grainger felt that Beethoven’s approach was foreign to his own way of composing and thinking about music. Yet, claims Mrs [Dorothy] Payne, ‘he could play Beethoven beautifully and certainly could teach it’. Of Brahms, Grainger remarked, ‘He had a delicate and tender heart, but was well-encased in beer and sausages.’ He claimed that Brahms was often performed with insufficient lyrical romanticism, and that there was too much stress placed on the ‘bigness’ of his works. He maintained that very careful balance was necessary in the fortissimo passages to avoid the effect of harshness; one must be sure that the ‘tops’ were there. Chopin’s music, Grainger claimed, was interpreted (by most pianists) with insufficient dynamic range. People were often too ‘restrained’ in playing his music. He qualified this opinion by specifying that a ‘different kind of strength’ was necessary in accomplishing this; i.e., ‘reserve’ rather than ‘demonstrated’ strength. Perhaps this could be interpreted as one’s need to have the means of an absolute control that transcends any technical difficulties. Percy Grainger’s thinking and behaviour were often considered ‘different’ by his contemporary evaluators. The term ‘eccentric’ was used not infrequently. These labels were not necessarily used in a derogatory sense, but many had the feeling that he might be (to employ an expression in popular current use) ‘listening to a different drummer’. Yet as one analyzes every facet of his musical and personal endeavors, one finds a supreme logic behind every action, every musical thought or decision. When I am asked the inevitable question, ‘In what ways was Percy Grainger eccentric?’ I invariably confess that I don’t really know. That remark either stops the conversation or commences a new phase. Joseph M. Rezits, ‘Percy Grainger and the Pianistic Art’, The Australian Journal of Music Education, vol. 18 (April 1976), pp. 10, 14–15.

WALTER S. HARTLEY (b. 1927) As a teenager, the composer and pianist Walter S. Hartley also attended the National Music Camp. He then studied at the Eastman

174

portrait of percy grainger School of Music, and subsequently taught at Interlochen himself. In recent years Hartley has taught at the Fredonia campus of the State University of New York, of which he is now an emeritus professor. 1944 was Grainger’s last year of substantial association with the camp at Interlochen. He frequently complained of feeling giddy and depressed, although this does not seem to have been noticed by the youngsters, such as Hartley, whom he taught there.

Percy Grainger was the first famous musician I ever met, and the one who crystallized my desire to become a pianist and composer. . . . It did not take me long to realize that his presence, both musical and personal, was the dominating one at Interlochen (then a fragment of its present size and subject to the inconveniences of wartime, but a renowned center of American musical education, nevertheless). Biographical material of recent years indicates that he disliked the camp and its students; I can only say that (perhaps due to my extreme naivete) I never noticed the slightest evidence of this; he went out of his way to give positive encouragement, in lessons, master classes, ensembles and elsewhere, both to students who had professional ambitions and others; and in general he and his wife (to whom he was obviously devoted) seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves. He played often that summer, and memorably; I never heard anyone play the Gershwin Concerto with more feeling for its idiom, which he also displayed in the Morton Gould Interplay (then titled American Concertette); he also introduced me to the Second Piano Quartet of Gabriel Fauré, which I was not to hear again for many years. He also conducted his own works; I remember playing one of the piano parts in the fullest instrumentation of the Danish Folk-Music Suite and remarking on the use of the soprano saxophone therein. In his piano ensemble class he had us all play his arrangement of Ravel’s Valley of Bells for multiple pianists and mallet percussion, several mallets being also used inside the piano! When the Australian recording of this finally appeared, I recalled my experience perfectly, and appreciated all the more Grainger’s pioneering use of ‘tuneful percussion’. Of what Grainger said as teacher I remember only scraps; he attempted (unsuccessfully) to interest me in the music of his friends Balfour Gardiner and Cyril Scott (characteristically, never pushing his own music). He advised me as a composer not to revise work already composed, citing Scott as a bad example in this respect. He introduced me to Schoenberg’s Six Little Pieces, but expressed no interest (strangely enough) in Bartók. The only person I recall his mentioning with dis-

america 1939–1961

175

dain was the English critic Cecil Gray; he encouraged me to study the (at that time only available) orchestration text by Forsyth, another contemporary of his. He undoubtedly gave me some valuable tips on piano technique, but I have no recollection of what those were. He was less a formal teacher than a communicator, and reinforcer, of enthusiasm for music in all those he met; a valuable example for those of us who attempt to teach music! Walter S. Hartley, ‘Remembrances of Percy Grainger’, The Grainger Journal, vol. 7, no. 2 (Fall 1985), pp. 31–32.

CYRIL SCOTT (1879–1970) During the mid-1940s Scott again wrote about his life-long friend. By this stage he had become one on the long list of friends or relatives who received financial support from Grainger. This dependence, however, did not stop Scott from expressing his doubts about some of Grainger’s schemes: his ‘Blue-eyed English’, and his avid collecting of friends’ letters and clothes for his Museum in Melbourne. Nor did it prevent Grainger from harbouring deep reservations about Scott’s fascination with astrology and the occult.

When I first met him, and his mother, in Frankfurt—he was then only thirteen—I thought that his extravagant notions and fantastic projects were just boyish dreams that would vanish with maturity. But not at all; he still holds to the opinions he expressed in his ’teens and will vehemently argue in support of them. One of his curious dicta is that no democrat should write a concerto, for all concertos are undemocratic in principle, seeing that to the soloist is allotted a more important part than to the rest of the players! To cap his other idiosyncrasies, Grainger has an ardent desire to revolutionise our language by getting rid of all words with foreign derivations, and as far as possible only using words of Anglo-Saxon stock. He calls his particular type of English ‘Blue-eyed English’, because he declares, Anglo-Saxons had blue eyes. When I have asked him why he has set himself such a Herculean task, he has replied: ‘So that uncultured people may understand every word used.’ But will they? Here is a sample, in which I have employed my friend’s invented words, culled from his letters:

176

portrait of percy grainger

I would have joy-quaffed (enjoyed) the tonery (music) at the monk-packhouse (monastery) had the tone-tools (instruments) been more in tune with the singer-host (chorus) and the tone-smacks (accents) been in the right place. Besides, I pain-tholed (was jarred) because the middle-fiddle (viola) seemed all the time to be an othery (different) note from the wind-pipe-tone-box (organ). Nor was the tone-bill-of-fare (programme) to my liking, for most of the tone-art was of the rut-thought-full (conventional) kind, as one might fore-know (expect) when tonery is altar-slain (sacrificed) to Christ-belief (religion).

The strange thing about it all is that, whilst Grainger has such a flair for musical sound, he is apparently deaf to the sound of words and verbal jingle. Astrologically speaking, being a Cancerian, he possesses an intense love for things of the past—though that does not preclude an interest for things of the present, for he is certainly no musical ‘stickler’. He has in recent years gone to enormous trouble and expense to build and endow a museum in Melbourne, in which all the things of the past connected directly or indirectly with his own life are to be exhibited. Manuscripts, clothes, books, pictures, photographs and thousands of letters are to be housed in this ‘hoard-house’, as he calls it, including, to my horror, papiermâché effigies of his friends, living and dead. At first he thought to have us all there as wax figures, à la Madame Tussauds, but when I wrote and warned him that waxworks were highly inflammable (he has a phobia about fire) he modified his original idea. What upsets me, being a somewhat fastidious person, is the vulgarity of it all. A good bust or portrait is one thing, but when it comes to effigies and tailors’ dummies, then my sensitive flesh begins to creep. It may be asked how these ‘images’ are to be clothed? Well—some months ago I received a letter from Grainger asking me to send him old clothes I had worn forty years ago or thereabouts. ‘But my dear Percy,’ I replied, ‘surely you don’t imagine that I keep my shabby old worn-out garments all that time? Not being a hoarder, I have disposed of them long since.’ Whereupon he wrote suggesting that he would have a suit of clothes especially made, after the style I used to wear, and would I send him the exact measurements. Then suddenly I got an idea. There is a tailor in the vicinity (Eastbourne) who represents a London House, and to him I went. ‘Mr. Skilton’, I said, ‘a somewhat eccentric but famous friend of mine wants an old-fashioned suit made of doe-skin to clothe an effigy of me in a museum. He lives in America.

america 1939–1961

177

How much do you think it would cost him over there?’ ‘About sixty pounds’, was the answer. ‘And supposing you made it here in England?’ ‘Roughly speaking, less than half that amount.’ The final upshot was that the suit was made here as depicted in an old photo, and so successfully that after wearing it a few weeks I was reluctant to part with it! It all had its amusing side. But unfortunately these sartorial exhibits are merely a minor item, for every letter of mine that P. G. has or can get hold of is to go into his museum. He has even sent me special transparent paper on which to write or type every communication, no matter how trivial, I may address to him, the special paper being for duplication purposes in case of fire. ‘And do you imagine for a moment’, I have said to him, ‘that anybody will want to wade through this sea of letters, many of which are not of the slightest interest?’ To which he has answered, ‘They will be there for reference, and so at the disposal of any musicologist or biographer who may want to prove a given point.’ I fear, however, that as far as I myself am concerned I cannot share this optimism. Scott, Bone of Contention (London: The Aquarian Press, 1969), pp. 70–72.

BURNETT CROSS (1914–1996) Burnett Cross trained as a high-school science teacher at Columbia University, to which he returned to lecture after war service in a U.S. Army meteorological unit. In 1959 he became an editor of science textbooks with the New York publisher Harcourt Brace, where he continued to work until his retirement in 1984. Burnett Cross was one of Grainger’s closest male friends during his final years, and was appointed an executor of his will. Their friendship grew through a shared enthusiasm for ‘Free Music’ in the immediate post-war years, as Cross describes in this Melbourne radio interview of 1976. Cross has reconstructed some of their experimental machines, which are housed at the Grainger Museum in Melbourne.

When I met Percy and we started to work together I was teaching physics and working as a consultant in science education, but I’d always had a music background. There was music in the family, and I was actually an amateur kettle-drummer. I was playing in the Columbia University Orchestra and the Columbia University Symphonic Band, so there was a mixture of music and science in my life.

178

portrait of percy grainger

Q: What attracted you to work with Percy Grainger? Cross: Oh, the man himself, in the beginning, because in the beginning I didn’t know anything about ‘Free Music’ as he called it, at all, and in fact, it took some time before it began to penetrate into my head what kind of radical experimentation in music he was really interested in. That took quite a while to grasp, but the man himself was an extremely dynamic and attractive, intelligent—super-intelligent—man. He was really a genius. At first I was pleased to be working with a man who could play the piano so marvellously. He was a superb pianist, and even as he got older, when I suppose his technique may have dropped off a bit, his ability to phrase music on the piano increased. So it was just a joy to be working with someone who could play the piano as he did and who played it frequently, and I heard that. And then I began to understand the problem that he wanted to work on and the task of working with him became still more interesting. Q: It’s strange that he had this concept of a ‘Free Music’ machine. Had he given up playing and composing? Cross: Oh, no. Oh, no. Playing and composing continued almost up to his death in 1961. No: ‘Free Music’ was something that ran along parallel to all his other activities, almost throughout his life, because he told me that he had the germ of the idea that led to ‘Free Music’ back when he was eleven or twelve years old. Q: . . . Can you explain just what his concept of ‘Free Music’ was? Cross: By ‘Free Music’ Percy meant music that was free from the limitations of ordinary music. For example, as a composer Percy didn’t see why he should be limited to half-tones, or even quarter-tones or eighth-tones, for that matter. He wanted to use any pitch that he could imagine in his composition, in his ‘Free Music’. He wanted sometimes to be able to go from one note to another, of whatever pitch, by way of a glide as well as by way of a hop—the more conventional way. But his glide was to be very precisely specified, not just a loose kind of a slur or sliding from one note to another, and it was going to have a very definite shape. So he wanted to be able to use precisely controlled glides as well as precisely controlled leaps. One more thing: he didn’t see why music should be bound by what people could perform with their hands, particularly. What I’m thinking of is this: in his ‘Free Music’ compositions and in some of his conventional compositions, too, he tended to give each voice—each part—a separate rhythmic life of its own. None of this business of everybody coming together on the first beat of the measure, or on the third beat, or anything as simple as that. I don’t

america 1939–1961

179

mean that the voices were random, and just coming together in a haphazard way—he’d imagined all this—but the voices were quite independent of each other rhythmically, so much so that there was no way that human beings could perform them. So, when he started to think of ‘Free Music’ at the age of eleven or twelve, watching the waves in the Albert Park lake [in Melbourne] and thinking, he said, ‘Why can’t music be as continuous and free and varied as those waves are?’ This idea grew on him, and all through his life as a pianist—as an international pianist—as a composer, he was searching for ways in which this music in his mind could be realised. Q: So the music, the compositions, came before the instrument by which to play it? He’d composed the music and then he had to find a vehicle by which he could actually have it materialized? Cross: All through his life he was looking for a vehicle by which he could hear some part of this music, at least. And when we came together he must have thought that perhaps in my science background, and in my interest in music also, there would be something that would lead toward the realisation of this goal of his. Q: Of three machines—I believe—how long did it take him to develop one of these? From what you’ve shown us today I would imagine that it would be hours and hours and hours of experimentation to produce exactly the sound he wanted. Cross: Weeks and weeks, years and years, actually, because we didn’t work at it full-time. I could give perhaps every other day to Grainger at his home in White Plains. I would go round there and we would work on the ‘Free Music’ machines, and then I would go away and do other things like teaching, consulting work, and that sort of thing, and come back . . . a day or two later and work with Grainger again. It took weeks, and it took years—years of experimenting and trying things out, and gradually coming closer to the kind of thing that he needed to hear. Q: Is it possible to describe, for listeners, basically, what the principles of these instruments are? Cross: We have here two instruments . . . One of them is called the ‘Reed-box Tone-tool’. And that’s the one in which there’s a long wooden box—about a yard long, about six inches wide and ten inches high—in which there are harmonium reeds set almost exactly like a giant mouthorgan, a harmonica. But the harmonium reeds we retuned so that there are three of them to the half-tone. In other words, we had six steps to the whole tone where the ordinary piano, or whatever, has only two steps. And the idea was that by working these reeds, controlling these

180

portrait of percy grainger

reeds, by a kind of player-piano roll, that we would get a simulated glide. The ear would be fooled if the reeds were close enough together and turned on and off soon enough—in some kind of sequence—that the ear would think that this was a glide. So this ‘Reed-box Tone-tool’ was a step towards experiments with a glide—a simulated glide—but it worked well enough, so that Percy produced on the ‘Reed-box Tonetool’, which is here in the Museum, what he said were the first precisely specified gliding chords in the history of music. And we have here the ‘Reed-box Tone-tool’ on which those chords were played. The punched paper roll—it happens to be about a yard wide—on which the chords were cut . . . could be played on the machine. . . . Q: You were telling me before that Percy Grainger, when he developed—manufactured—this instrument, did so not with a view to using it for performance, but simply as a means of justifying, or gratifying, his own desire to actually produce this music that he’d for so long had in his head. Cross: Yes, yes. This wasn’t a case of ‘Let’s make a machine, and then see what kind of music we can make on it’. This was the other way round. Percy had already composed the music. We have some of his ‘Free Music’ compositions here, in graph form, because he found that graph notation was the only kind of notation that could cope with his musical ideas. Ordinary, conventional music notation couldn’t begin to cope with them. . . . His problem was to find some way in which he could hear them in the room, actually realise them and then say either, ‘Yes, it works the way I thought it would; my composing is good’, or, ‘No, it doesn’t work as I thought it would; I’ll have to make some changes’. And that’s just the same problem he had with any composition that he made. From radio interview with Mike Lynch, 3LO (Melbourne), 18 March 1976.

ROBERT LEWIS TAYLOR (1912–1998) After attending university in Illinois Taylor worked there briefly as a journalist before taking a position in 1934–35 as South Pacific correspondent for American Boy. On returning to America he worked for some years in Missouri and then, in 1939, accepted a position as profile writer for The New Yorker, where he remained until 1963. It

america 1939–1961

181

was from various of his articles about Grainger in that magazine that Taylor compiled his portrait of The Running Pianist, published in 1950. Taylor’s later books covered both fiction and non-fiction, including a study of Winston Churchill in 1952 and The Travels of Jamie McPheeters, for which he was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 1959.

The life of Percy Grainger, the Australian-born pianist and composer, is a refreshing demonstration of ars gratia artis, a phrase popularized by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer with the help of an elderly lion. Now an American citizen, he continues, at sixty-seven, to give concerts here and to compose with unflagging success, but he lives modestly. Whenever possible, he hikes to his concert appearances, wearing run-down khaki clothing and carrying a rucksack. He is occasionally arrested for vagrancy, and he is often bitten by dogs, which seem to pick on him. There are times, he says, when he feels like taking up a stick and dusting off a dog or two, but he is tender-hearted and he usually decides to submit rather than cause the dogs any inconvenience. The fact is, Grainger likes dogs and would prefer to put his relationship with them on a more workable basis, but their acquaintance has never ripened past the dental stage. On long hops between engagements, he travels by train, riding in the coaches. He has not ridden in a Pullman for twenty-two years. In trains, as on foot, he wears fatigue dress and carries his rations—usually a brick of rattrap cheese and a loaf of Swedish hardtack—in the rucksack. The cheese is highly nutritious and lasts him two or three weeks. Grainger is in a state of continuous alarm over his health, which is first-rate, and he sometimes varies his travel diet with vegetables. ‘If I feel an attack of scurvy coming on,’ he says, ‘I may climb down and buy a cheap tomato from a peddler.’ Travelling by train, Grainger carries his evening suit, which he loathes, in a beaten-up grip, together with the usual accessories. If proceeding afoot, he mails the grip on ahead. He never opens it on a train, for fear somebody might spot the fancy suit and consider him eccentric. His friends suspect that his fellow-passengers occasionally do think him eccentric, despite his most cautious treatment of the grip. He does a lot of his composing on trains and sings, hums, or whistles to clarify things in his mind. Much of his best work has involved rewriting or arranging English folk songs, such as the popular ‘Country Gardens,’ which sometimes sound quaint to modern Americans, whose taste in classical music runs largely to Freddie Martin’s versions of Tschaikowsky, Grieg,

182

portrait of percy grainger

and Chopin, with lyrics leaning heavily on love, arms, moonlight, one golden hour, the necessity for getting out of town, and miscellaneous anguish. A man sharing a seat with Grainger may turn and say, ‘Got the time, Jack?’ and hear the preoccupied musician reply, ‘Oh, bold William Phelps snatched a pig from the market, he tum tittie tum tittie teedle dum dee.’ As Grainger gets into a composition, whether at home or in a coach, he makes numerous false entries and pitches the flawed pages on the floor. As a rule, conductors eye him with enormous suspicion. Not long ago, he travelled, by coach, to Wausau, Wisconsin, to give a recital, and did an uncommonly large amount of work en route. When he arrived, he was more than ordinarily dishevelled and almost dazed with exhaustion. A constable at the station assumed, not unnaturally, that he had crawled out of the blind baggage and led him off to the lockup. There he was quizzed by the chief of police, who had planned to attend the concert and was annoyed at the delay. ‘What’s your name?’ asked the chief. When the prisoner answered ‘Percy Grainger,’ the chief, drawing on the local idiom, said, ‘Oh, yeah? Well, mine’s William Tell.’ Grainger, who is a man utterly without guile, received this news gratefully, under the impression that the officer was a descendant of the original. Eventually, the concert sponsors turned up and put matters right. Grainger changed his clothes in jail, ate some Swedish hardtack and cheese, then, unperturbed, accompanied his sponsors and the apologetic chief to a triumphant session at the music hall. There are two sound reasons for Grainger’s unregal behaviour. One, and perhaps the more important, is that he detests the gaudy trappings of civilization, preferring to do what seems to come most naturally at the moment. The other, only slightly less important, is that he carried a fairly staggering financial load for three decades. Until recently, Grainger was supporting, in toto, nine dependents and was contributing to the upkeep of fourteen others. The majority of these twenty-three costly appendages were relatives, one or two of them as far distant as fifth cousin twice removed. A number of his kin stopped all formal efforts at making a living as soon as he became famous. Grainger, who is unquestionably music’s most openhanded figure to date, holds no grudge about his role as family cornucopia. ‘Oh, I don’t blame them for an instant,’ he says. ‘I would doubtless have done the same thing.’ Several years ago, in an effort to resolve the financial muddle he found himself in, he persuaded his relatives to accept settlements. It was, he has indicated, one of his most trying periods, since many of the beneficiaries were

america 1939–1961

183

frankly hostile to the new arrangement, stating, orally and in writing, that they felt more secure on a monthly remittance. With wonderful tact and patience, Grainger persisted, and was finally able to press a handsome sum on each of them. At the same time, he settled considerable cash on several possible composers he had been supporting. Ever since 1915, when he began to make big money, Grainger has been keen on searching out and subsidizing new talent. Before taxes became obtrusive, almost any statement of musical intentions could coax money from him. A man preparing to arrange ‘Sweet Adeline’ for three nose whistles and a musical saw could probably depend on around five thousand dollars (the standard Grainger gratuity) if he made the touch, and a young composer announcing a forthcoming exploration of Eskimo folk tunes could doubtless retire and spend the rest of his life in feudal ease. A man in New Mexico wrote saying that he had always admired Grainger’s music and hoped to compose some like it but that the times out his way, what with crop failures and dust storms, were exceptionally tough. Since Grainger had never met the correspondent, he mailed the man a check for only two thousand dollars, but he indicated, in a note of apology, that there might be more where that came from. Grainger has never been one of the fabulous money earners in music, but he has made, and still makes, a good deal. Most musicians feel that he could have established himself in the top bracket if he had wished to. Generally, he will accept only five hundred dollars for a concert, even in a city where the attendance is sure to be high. He says he limits his take out of consideration for the manager, who he feels does most of the work and should have most of the money. Also, he is always convinced that no more than a handful of people will turn up at his next concert and that, further, it will be a complete artistic flop. Grainger’s deprecatory view of his piano playing has, from the start of his career, been one of the great mysteries of modern music. As he plays, he often chuckles audibly, amused by what he considers an incredibly maladroit performance. Other professional musicians (who, as a class, are restrained about intramural compliments) have an entirely different notion of Grainger’s worth, and have had for a long time. . . . Grainger is, without question, one of the concert stage’s most rewarding sights. One of his most arresting features is a wild thicket of wiry gray hair, which he never bothers to comb. In his youth and early manhood, his hair was regarded as the most spectacular in the history of music, being a bright orange and much longer and bushier than it is

184

portrait of percy grainger

now. For many years, his hair-do was similar to that of the average Fiji Islander’s; on an unwindy day, it stood up nearly a foot above his head. As the orange began to fade into gray, he trimmed it down slightly. Grainger is short—five feet four—with an exceedingly spare and sinewy frame, and his features are sharp and boyish. His evening suit, which he bought in 1909, eddies and flaps about his slight figure, and he often takes a hitch or two at his trousers as he walks to and from the piano. His platform manner is uninhibited in the extreme. He is likely to stop in the middle of a piece and tell an anecdote about the composer. Once, in the middle of the Delius concerto, he broke off to say, in a sympathetic tone, ‘You know, Delius is a blind paralytic who can’t play his own music and can hear it only on records or on the radio.’ Then he resumed his thumping. Robert Lewis Taylor, The Running Pianist (New York: Doubleday, 1950), pp. 1–4, 7.

SUSANA WALTON (b. 1926) During the late 1940s and early 1950s Grainger pursued his racially based theory that the best composers had blue eyes. Gradually he collected close-up photographs of the eyes of such composers as Vaughan Williams, William Walton, Arthur Bliss, John Ireland, as well as of his ‘Frankfurt Group’ friends. Here, the wife of William Walton (1902–1983) describes Grainger’s visit to photograph Walton’s eyes.

Another eccentric composer was the Australian Percy Grainger, who came to lunch at Lowndes Cottage to photograph William’s blue eyes, for a museum of eyes he was setting up. He had a notion that composers worth their salt all had blue eyes. It was a sunny day, and William sat on a wicker chair on the roof garden. Grainger stood a few paces away. We thought he was deciding on the best angle from which to photograph, when, with one leap, he landed on William’s lap. Luckily William had a stout heart, or he would have suffered a stroke. Grainger then took a close-up of the famous blue eyes. He was very agile. With a few more leaps and jumps, he was downstairs and out on the pavement. Susana Walton, William Walton: Behind the Façade (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), p. 193.

america 1939–1961

185

RICHARD BOWEN (b. 1928) During March 1953 the British singer Richard Bowen visited the Graingers in White Plains. Grainger acknowledged ‘heartfelt admiration’ at Bowen’s ‘glorious voice and superb artistry’. In 1957, Bowen assisted in the arrangements for Grainger’s television appearance with the BBC in Birmingham. This recollection dating from July 1955 forms part of a birthday tribute to Grainger. In later life Bowen lived in Sweden.

The very mention of the name Percy Grainger—certainly a musical ‘household word’—immediately brings to the minds of music lovers the world over a string of pieces, once heard never forgotten, that have a distinctive character all their own. We all know and love such works as Handel in the Strand, Shepherd’s Hey, Mock Morris, Molly on the Shore, and, of course, Irish Tune from County Derry, otherwise known to many as The Londonderry Air or Danny Boy. Not all Grainger’s works are original, for many are arrangements— and wonderfully effective ones. All, however, have one thing in common: each one has been endowed by the composer with a musical grace and charm all his own, and so they are ‘original’ in the true sense of the word. But, when they first appeared, they were regarded as the works of a musical rebel, but one who is loved and very highly esteemed by all who know him. . . . my own visits to White Plains some two years ago I shall long remember with great pleasure. In their home the Graingers have a collection of home-made musical instruments (electrical and otherwise) including a harmonium of an octave’s compass—tuned, be it noted, by the maker himself, in sixteenths of tones! Percy Grainger is an expert in the field of musical science, too, and has many inventions to his credit. Downstairs is his apparatus for the duplication of parts for his works—written in the first instance in the composer’s own hand. In the operation of duplication, Ella is always his ready assistant.

Music on Rollers Another device of Grainger is nearly always carried to his concerts. He is not a profound believer in playing always from memory, so he has patented a roller device whereby he ‘turns over’ with his left foot the

186

portrait of percy grainger

music that is before him—he transfers a few more inches of scroll on to the upper of two rollers he has pasted the music on the roll of ordinary brown paper—about 24 inches wide. He has various scrolls—anything from concertos to complete recitals on each. Grainger concerts are always a joy to attend, and usually include a classical concerto (with Grainger himself as soloist) in the first part, and works of his (which he himself plays or conducts) in the second. In present-day North America his concert appearances—in which his wife often plays the bells—are a distinctive feature of the musical life of many a town and city. Normally Grainger rather side-tracks the big cities, and will go to play and conduct at some comparatively small and out-ofthe-way place for the sole reason (and what better) than that he enjoys it. At all these concerts the ‘Musical Rollers’ make their unobtrusive appearance as well.

Ready for Encore I well remember going to a concert consisting entirely of Grainger’s music in White Plains, when he himself played the piano, conducted, and also played the guitar in his lovely arrangement of the English Folk Song Willow, Willow. At the end of the concert there was a mumbled request for Country Gardens: Percy was certainly not too tired for that again, and so leapt on to the platform and played it with great vitality and vigour. Vitality and vigour are the key-words of Grainger: he is always immensely interested in everything he does. Now happily recovered from a serious illness, he is continually told that he does not change a scrap, and he still has the familiar mop of hair, once a fiery red, now white. To see and talk to him one would not think of him as being 73 years old. Richard Bowen, ‘The Musical Rebel’, Music and Musicians, vol. 3, no. 11 (July 1955), p. 9.

RICHARD HINDLE FOWLER (1910–1996) Despite many plans, Grainger did not visit his Museum in Melbourne between 1938 and his last journey to Australia in 1955– 56. During those years the Fowler family battled to keep the collections and building in some order.

america 1939–1961

187

The detailed history of the Grainger Museum from its opening to the close of the ‘Fowler’ curatorship period would have to be unravelled from a mass of letters, Bills of Lading, Import Licences, Statutory Declarations, and the fruits of many hours of office and manual work. Countless parcels arrived over the years; many called for dexterous handling of Customs queries. Crates ranging from small box size to sizes incapable of entry through the Museum doorway arrived in endless succession. These were unpacked, sorted out and stowed. Many items were set out for display. The set-backs to smooth progress which ensued ranged from the trivial to the utterly paralysing. The first to mention would be the nearness of hostilities and Grainger’s great fear of destruction of the Museum. He asked me to remove a quantity of material he considered the most important to an inland centre where it would be safe from the risk of air raids. I arranged storage of this material at Merbein with the generous assistance of Mr. A. V. Lyon of the Commonwealth Research Station. It was subsequently consigned back with no loss or damage. . . . Prior to the arrival of the Graingers early in 1956 the bulk of the furniture and other large items (including the first ‘free music’ machine) had arrived and were all unpacked. When they arrived, a period of intensive activity, lasting I believe about five months, began. My wife and I devoted all spare week-end time to the common effort as it was clear that Percy Grainger was now gravely handicapped by his failing health. When returning to the U.S.A. on the S.S. Orsova he wrote in these terms— . . . of course I feel very guilty when I review the shortcomings of my work at the museum—my lack of planning and my unpreparedness from day to day. I realize what an extra burden this put upon you and how unsatisfactory it must have been to work with. I hope you will forgive the selfishness that all this, on my part, is rooted in. But you see, I felt immensely secure in your wellwishingness and tolerance and therefore indulged in all sorts of ruthlessness born of my certainty that you wanted exactly what I did—to see the old museum as well started as possible . . .

More material continued to arrive as Grainger continued his tours throughout the world. One consignment was a large set of Josef Holbrooke music, records and player rolls, and the growing perfection of microgroove recording meant that a new and valuable class of accession to the museum had started. Grainger sent recordings of his own

188

portrait of percy grainger

music and that of other composers he admired. Grainger recordings at that time included Lincolnshire Posy, Children’s March and Hillsong II. Grainger planned to return to Australia late in 1960 to be present at the projected world première performance of his ‘Jungle Book Cycle’ in Sydney under Sir Bernard Heinze. But it was becoming increasingly clear from letters that failing health was going to prevent this, and such was unhappily the case, for his death was reported in February 1961. From unpublished paper, ‘The Grainger Museum—The First Phase’, 1966, held in the Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

JOHN AMIS (b. 1922) Amis is well known as a long-standing team member of the British quiz show ‘My Music’. Many of his stories about British musical life, and his own role in it, appear in A Miscellany: My Life, My Music, published in 1985. During Grainger’s last visit to Britain, in 1959, Amis took the opportunity to interview Grainger for the BBC. He recalls:

I saw that Percy Grainger was going to be in England and Cecil Sharp House put me in touch with the composer, who agreed to do an interview with me for the BBC Transcription Service (the producer was Laurie Constable). I remember the composer in some kind of dark blazer, grey flannels, brown shoes, nothing smart or even very prepossessing. It was my first encounter—I was knocked sideways by the god-like head, on a small man’s body. His wife Ella came too and she sat near the wide table across which we conversed. A strange thing happened: at that period London suffered from power cuts and, sure enough, the lights went out shortly after we had started to record, leaving just enough daylight from one small high window for me to see Percy’s eyes. Now, normally, I would have made an apology but for some reason I said nothing but continued to look into those blue pools. And he said nothing and continued to look into my eyes. After three or four minutes (so the control boys told me later) the lights came on again and we continued the interview without any reference to the interruption. But now in some curious way I felt that I had known PG for ages, even that we were friends. The impression seemed mutual.

america 1939–1961

189

Mind you, I had told him before the interview how much I adored ‘Lincolnshire Posy’, had brought along a full score for him to autograph and had explained that we were using the first 16 bars of ‘Lisbon’ as the signature tune for a whole series of music magazine programmes (the series is still going and we’re still using ‘Lisbon’). And, with hindsight, I guess it was lucky that my eyes were also blue! Percy’s speaking voice was clear though throaty, free from any kind of accent, not particularly sonorous, veering somewhat towards monotone. When amused, humour would enter the speaking voice in a delightful way, as in the interview when he spoke ironically of it being better to collect Mr Dean’s song even if it killed him, or in the gently bantering initial explanation of why he had never used sonata form. John Amis, ‘Interview with Percy Grainger’, Studies in Music, vol. 10 (1978), p. 4.

DANIEL N. LEESON (b. 1932) Daniel N. Leeson was serving in the U.S. Army when he first met Percy Grainger. By a quirk of fate he then worked as a computer specialist for IBM at its White Plains office, next door to Grainger’s property. As a clarinettist Leeson has played with the San Jose Symphony Orchestra and with the San Francisco Opera.

Percy, Pancakes, and Presley I met Percy and Ella Grainger in 1958 when I was 26 and Percy was over 70. It was in the summer of that year that I attended a workshop conducted by Frederick Fennell at the Eastman School of Music and there played for the first time a most remarkable wind-band work: A Lincolnshire Posy. How amazing that work was to me then, and remains to this day! It was my intense admiration for the ‘Posy’ that prompted me to write a note to the composer asking him if he would autograph my copy of the score, volunteering to send it to him at his White Plains, New York, address (obtained simply enough by looking in Who’s Who). To my astonishment, Percy replied immediately with a handwritten note which thanked me for my interest in his music, told me of his other compositions for wind-band, advised me that he would like to join with me someday in a concert where we would do his Children’s

190

portrait of percy grainger

March with him on piano, agreeing to autograph my score of the ‘Posy’, and inviting me to visit with him and his wife Ella in White Plains on the following Sunday. With a hastily scrawled note, I agreed to do so if he and Ella would be my guests for lunch. Knowing nothing about Grainger the man, I spent considerable time selecting the several best restaurants in White Plains and making reservations for lunch in every one of them. I had expectations of meeting a blasé, world-weary sophisticate, a man who had eaten in the world’s best restaurants, so I wanted the best that White Plains had to offer. The problem facing me was that I did not know what Percy and Ella might like to eat, so multiple reservations were made to cover every possible contingency. Thus armed, my fiancée—later to be my wife— and I arrived at 7 Cromwell Place. Out the front door and down six wooden and six stone steps bounded a vigorous but aged man in green corduroy pants, bright red vest with a canary yellow shirt, and a knitted tie knotted in such a way that the knot must have been six inches across at the Adam’s apple. A mass of fluffy white hair framed a handsome, rugged, but well-defined face and profile. He thrust out his hand and boomed: ‘You must be Leeson! Come in. Come in. And who is this lovely girl with you? Hello! I’m Percy Grainger!!’ Overwhelmed by the force of his personality, we allowed ourselves to be led into his home and there we met Ella, then over 60 but still quite a beauty. When the question of lunch came up I gave him the repertoire of restaurants each of which was holding reservations for four in my name. ‘No indeed’, he said. ‘If you don’t mind, our favorite little spot is the Mayflower Coffee and Donut House where they have pancakes. I’m a vegetarian, you know.’ (I didn’t.) ‘Besides, they have a juke box there and we can listen to the new records while we’re eating.’ And within 10 minutes, we were all sitting on the counter stools, dangling our feet and eating buttermilk pancakes drenched with maple syrup. The new records were mostly those of the then relatively new Elvis Presley. Percy wanted to hear one. I do not remember which one he chose but he was absolutely fascinated with the recording saying, ‘Listen to that sound! It’s really wonderful!!’ Even at more than 70 years of age, new, strange, and different sounds were of interest to him. (I once saw him open and close a closet door in his house 15 or 20 times because a new and different kind of squeak had developed in the hinge and he found the sound interesting.) And Elvis Presley, whom, up to that point, I had studiously ignored as being of no musical importance whatsoever,

america 1939–1961

191

had to be listened to anew with a critical ear to hear what it was that captured Percy’s musical imagination so strongly. . . .

The Last Goldman Band Concert The Goldman band had a long history of playing Percy’s music, often under the composer’s own direction. On July 24, 1960, Percy wrote to my wife and me that an August 5 concert of his music would be given by the Goldman Band, he would be there, and would we like to come as guests of both him and Ella. The music to be played was the march Lads of Wamphray, the tender and beautiful dedication to Percy’s mother Colonial Song, the clog dance Handel in the Strand, my favorite arrangement of all of Percy’s folk songs Irish Tune from County Derry, the charming remarkably underplayed Immovable Do, and, finally, Molly on the Shore. In going to hear this concert with both Percy and Ella, I did not realize that this was to be the last time that he would ever hear the Goldman Band play his music, and, furthermore, that this was one of the last concerts that he would ever attend. After the music was played, Richard Franko Goldman, the conductor of the band, invited Percy to the podium (Percy was not then strong enough to conduct the concert himself ) where he took several bows to a very enthusiastic audience. Then, he and Ella took the train home to White Plains and I was never to see him again. At Christmas time of that year we received a brief card from Ella which said ‘Percy has been very ill. He just came back from the hospital. Our dear Doctor tries to get him up and about again. But he has not been out for many weeks. We often think of you two. We will be seeing each other some time in the new year, I hope. Our warm greetings and best wishes, Ella’. Daniel N. Leeson, ‘Some Reminiscences about a Friendship with Percy and Ella Grainger’, Journal of Band Research, vol. 16, no. 2 (Fall 1980), n.p.

KAARE K. NYGAARD (1903–1989) Grainger had always enjoyed relatively good health and exhibited a remarkable physical strength. During the mid-late 1940s, however, he became increasingly aware of the inroads of age upon his physical and mental capacities, and suffered depression at his growing

192

portrait of percy grainger limitations. In the early 1950s, when more serious medical problems emerged, he turned to the Norwegian-born doctor Kaare K. Nygaard, who worked in White Plains. Nygaard would supervise Grainger’s health care until his patient’s death in 1961.

. . . on occasions it was our great pleasure to hear Percy giving a benefit concert in a church organization or in New York City. As I recalled, he never mentioned any medical problems to me before 1951. It took another couple of years before he actually saw me at my office for an examination, the first time on June 19, 1953, in relation to some slight urinary distress. He seemed to be in excellent general condition excepting the finding of an enlarged prostate gland. It impressed me by its physical characteristics probably to represent a cancer of the prostate. My advice to Percy was straight. Please see one of my previous friends at the Mayo Clinic where I had spent near to six years of my postgraduate education. Percy readily accepted. He was giving some concerts during the next few weeks in the Middle West. I obtained an appointment for him at Mayo Clinic on 28 July, 1953. On July 23 I had a letter from Percy saying he would like to change his mind. At his request, I wrote Dr. Med. C. Holten in Denmark the following day indicating that Percy would travel to Dr. Holten right away and giving Dr. Holten the results of my preliminary examination as well as the tentative grave aspects of the diagnosis. Dr. Holten wrote me a kind letter August 10, 1953 reporting upon the investigations and consultations with Professor Aalkjer, who advised a removal of the prostate gland by an abdominal approach. This was done (by Dr. Aalkjer?, Dr. Holten? or both). From the report it appears that the findings were those of an extensive cancer of the prostate gland (August 20, 1953). Percy slowly recovered and came back to White Plains, where I saw him on October 17, 1953 with some urinary distress resulting from a narrowing of the urinary passages as a result of the operation, as well as from the cancerous nature of the tumor. From the very first time I examined Percy he had evidence of spread of the cancer to the bone system but in a minimal degree. Dr. Holten had advised not to explain the cancerous nature to Percy and not to start with the routine female sex hormone treatment that was and is the customary treatment in these situations. During the rest of 1953 there were repeated attacks of fever and urinary difficulties requiring hospital admission. Percy finally agreed to go

america 1939–1961

193

to the Mayo Clinic in January 1954 where Dr. Edward Cook carried out a reaming of the prostate through a routine procedure through the penis, a so-called transurethral prostatectomy. During the following years a few repeat procedures of this non-curative procedure were carried out to overcome subjective distress. On the basis of the report from Dr. Holten it seemed clear that the cancer was incurable from the very beginning, which, of course, did not prevent me or the Mayo people from pushing as hard as we could for holding the position as well as we could by early instituting female sex hormone treatment. Percy objected to my advice of removal of the testicles. It was at that time I told him of the real nature of his condition. In October 1957 the distress and pains were getting to be so severe that Percy asked for and I carried out a so-called bilateral orchiectomy at White Plains Hospital on October 30, 1957. I clearly recall Percy’s statement to me about that time: ‘You can do anything to me you feel will have to be done—but remember, you mustn’t change my music.’ In the following years I felt obliged to ask him if anything had changed. ‘As to the music absolutely no. As to my well being— greatly improved!’ This I felt was a true statement as far as I could observe. In 1960 there seemed to be an increasing weakness physically as well as mentally. His usually clear-cut statements related to all topics and not only to music would at times seem to start a bit of wandering. Wrong words might slip in. Associations would appear unexpectedly and uncoordinatedly. It was soon clear that Percy slowly was developing metastases also to the brain. It seemed that the iron curtain had started to very slowly descend upon this brilliant mind although to one who did not know him intimately he might only [have] appeared as a frail gentleman, pale and weakened and tired out. He died quietly in White Plains Hospital on February 20, 1961. From unpublished letter to John Bird, 9 September 1975, in the possession of John Bird.

AUTOPSY Percy Grainger was admitted to hospital for the final time on 14 February 1961. He lapsed into a coma three days later, and died on 20 February 1961. Dr J. Lester carried out an autopsy on the morning of his death.

This body is that of a slender, emaciated and well-developed white male 168 cm. long appearing somewhat younger than the stated age of 78

194

portrait of percy grainger

years. Minimal rigor is noted and there is no demonstrable dependent livor. The scalp hair is abundant and grey. The pupils are round, regular and equal. The sclerae are clear. No discharge is noted from any orifice. The teeth are in fair condition. No masses are felt in the neck. Bilateral gynecomastia is noted. The chest is thin; the costal angle narrow. The scaphoid abdomen presents a linear suprapubic scar and two linear scars at the base of the scrotum from which the testes have been removed. No peripheral edema is noted. No bony deformities are noted externally. The panniculus is only a few mm. thick. The abdominal musculature is well-developed, dry and dark red. . . . This famous musician lived almost 8 years after a carcinoma of the prostate was first discovered following suprapubic prostatectomy in Denmark, dying at the age of 78 years. He was reasonably well and quite active during this period though during the past 5 years osseous metastases have necessitated X-ray therapy on several occasions, with prompt relief of symptoms each time. Only during the several weeks prior to his death did his general condition begin to deteriorate. His final admission was of only 6 days duration and he became comatose on the third day. No residual tumor can be demonstrated in the prostatic bed and metastatic deposits are chiefly in the skeleton though tumor cells can also be found in the lymphatic channels in the lungs. Widespread replacement of bone marrow by tumor accounts for the extra-medullary hematopoiesis found in the spleen and also the liver. Large hemorrhagic masses of tumor protrude into the cranial cavity from the dura where many of the venous channels are also filled by tumor. Some and possibly all of the dural involvement is secondary to metastatic tumor in the skull. A large recent hemorrhage in the left cerebral hemisphere has destroyed the basal ganglia and internal capsule. It seems unlikely that thrombosis of the dural sinuses accounts for this hemorrhage even though they were extensively involved including the torcula or confluence of sinuses but no arterial lesion is demonstrated. From unpublished nine-page autopsy report No. 2052, White Plains Hospital, 20 February 1961.

america 1939–1961

195

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

40 Grainger and members of the concert band of Gustavus Adolphus College, St Peter, Minnesota, 1941

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

41 Maurice Loriaux with Grainger, 1941

196

portrait of percy grainger

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

42 Cyril Scott composing into a dictaphone

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

43 The eyes of Ralph Vaughan Williams, 1954

america 1939–1961

197

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook.

44 A ‘Free Music’ experiment, 1950

To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

198

portrait of percy grainger

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

45 Sketch of ‘Kangaroo-Pouch’ machine, 1952

america 1939–1961

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

46 Richard Hindle Fowler and Burnett Cross, 1976

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

47 Kaare K. Nygaard, 1985

199

200

portrait of percy grainger

Disclaimer: Some images in the printed version of this book are not available for inclusion in the eBook. To view the image on this page please refer to the printed version of this book.

48 Monument at Grainger’s grave, West Terrace Cemetery, Adelaide

VII Grainger on Grainger

PERCY ALDRIDGE GRAINGER (1882–1961) From the time of his mother’s death, in 1922, Grainger’s view of life became increasingly retrospective. Over his remaining nearly forty years he reviewed his life firstly romantically, then wistfully, and finally with a contrary bitterness often in blatant defiance of the facts. His unpublished autobiographical writings are vast, totalling over 250,000 words. During the 1920s and 1930s he was obsessed with a most detailed review of every facet of life with his mother, and also wrote of the early courtship with his wife, Ella, in ‘The Love-life of Helen and Paris’ (1927–28). The first two recollections below are drawn from these earlier writings. The long essays ‘Ere-Iforget’ and ‘Anecdotes’ from the 1940s and 1950s are more wideranging recollections. In 1951 Grainger determined to draw his memories into a definitive autobiography, ‘My Wretched Tone-life’, but only appears to have sketched its tortured three-page introduction, also given below. Many of Grainger’s recollections were written in his personal ‘Nordic’ or ‘Blue-eyed’ English. Fortunately for the uninitiated, he usually added Graeco-Latin synonyms in parentheses.

Money spent on ideals, friends, etc., 1920–end 1923. As a youth I was greatly struck with Cecil Rhodes’ saying: ‘A man should be able to afford his ideals.’ I believe in artists paying out of their own purse for the things they hold needful to artistic welfare. Also I have always believed that the command of the Jewish religion, ‘10% to charity’, is too low a rate of help-for-others. Better is the South-Sea-Island custom cited by R. L. Stevenson in ‘A footnote to history’—‘the obligations of a Samoan towards his kin & friends cease only when he can turn to them & say: “I have nothing more to give”.’ No, I do not go as far as that. Believing that an idealist should see to it that he will be able to afford his ideals in the future, as well as in the present, I feel that he should always save part of his earnings (say 25%!). But beyond that I feel he should spend all the rest on art or science, on needy friends, on the ideals of gifted friends or fellow-artists, & on charity. I have felt this many many years. But the wish to provide for mother’s health & security came before all else. Then my father’s ill health cost me a good deal at various times, & the world war, in various ways, cut into my earnings, so that it is only since 1919 that the realisation of my ideals has come in sight. Before my

204

portrait of percy grainger

darling’s death I had begun to realize my ideal of spending part of my earnings on art & on friends & since her death still more so. I feel her heart would be with me in these matters, for she would think it generous of me, & she loved me to be generous. Personally, I do not think such things ‘generous’ at all, but simply one’s absolute duty as an artist & as a Communist. I do not set much store by ‘personality’—by those things wherein one man differs from another. I love the common ground of art, the common ground of humanity. I love all those things that unite men together, the craft of art that binds artists to art, the thought of our common future, the thought that culture (the storing up & study of records of life & thought & skill) is the surest form of deathlessness. Be not surprised that my gifts to art are to artistic friends rather than to artistic strangers. There is more artistic admiration than personal liking at the bottom of my artistic friendships. Others helped (like Aunty Clara & Sigurd Fornander), were very close to my beloved mother or touched me by their loftiness or purity of soul. Soulfulness, feelingfulness, kindliness, skill; all these things make equal calls upon an artist, so it seems to me, for the on-march of artistic culture is along the path of purity, sympathy, inquisitiveness, universality. From unpublished ‘Sketches for my book “The Life of My Mother & Her Son”’ (1922–38), held in the Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

***** One evening I found her [Ella Ström] in the music-room (most likely Sat., Dec. 4 [1926], the day after Honolulu), & we talked beside the sham-fire. Hocking beside her on my haunches I saw her look at my upper legs. ‘What muscular legs you have’, she said; ‘I had the impression that you were quite slight, when I saw you skipping about; but I see now that you are much more thickly built than I thought.’ How happy that made me. I like my leg-strength to be known & I like a woman who looks at a man’s body as a man looks at a woman’s. Thru her evening dress I saw with glee her armpit-hairs—richer & wilder, they seemed to me to be, than they would be likely to be on an Anglosaxon of like fairness. (When I spoke to her of this on the train, some days later, her face-look ((expression)) instantly lit with gladness, mind-fulfilment ((satisfaction)); no shyness, nayfulness ((negativeness)), shockableness in her anent such things—no ‘womanly modesty’, thank God!) There, too, molded thru her dress, I sighted the budlike shapes of small, typically Nordic breast-tips. . . .

grainger on grainger

205

Another day she grumbled at the way folk nowadays stared at her legs, or made fun of them. ‘When I was a little girl in Sweden I was always hearing how beautiful my legs were—for in those days people admired big, muscular legs. But now that people admire only spindly legs, my legs are out of fashion—except in France, where I still hear nice things about them. But I can accomplish more with my big legs—for instance, in the mountains—than these fashionable ladies with their thin sticks.’ ‘Ah! (I thought) I would like to take you up on that. I would like to walk you till you drop—over deserts, over hills. I would like to tire you out, wear you down, till you faint.’ When I asked her once what thing pleased her most, she answered (like a shot out of a gun): ‘Admiration’. Only richly-blended natures can talk as simply as that. If I have not written much of the lustfulness her lov[e]liness aroused in me it is because I take that for granted. It stands to reason that I, whose lusts are stirred everlastingly by almost every thing in life, should be hotly fired by such a bewitching, teasing dream of beauty as she. Let it not be doubted! But I am moved more to write of the feelings that were new to me, that I had never felt before, or never to the same degree—for instance, the pride of forming a two-some ((couple)) with her. What bliss, to stand side by side with her, to walk side by side with her, thinking: ‘I have found my jewel, I have picked my crown. Do not all folk envy us as we stand or walk; 2 perfect Nordics, 2 fellow artists, 2 fellow outlaws, 2 sex-lawless ones, equally strong, equally gay, equally wild, equally finely bred; something about us apart & aloof from the careful world of public-opinion-fearing, money-hungry, respectabilitymongering, middle-class, lower-race bastards that ring us round? All my life I have dreamt, thought & talked of the ideal woman—she who is so nearly a man, yet so utterly a woman; here she is, take stock of her! All my life I have dwelt on the joyousness of free-love, the life-bettering boons of sex-lawlessness—behold now how it looks & laughs! This is she I pick from all the world—my playmate, my soldier-sister, my fellow-sailor, my little sunflower-daughter.’ Pride, more than any other feeling, I felt in her—and pride makes up such a very big part of my nature (‘Of course, you are a proud nature, with that nose’, she said.) Pride of race, above all else. My feelings for my race—for the Nordic race—are deeper & stronger than my feelings for myself. I lose myself in my race as god-loving men lose themselves in the thought of god. My art is only my top-layer ((surface)); but my race is at the very heart of me. No old-time Hebrew felt more fiercely for his race than I do for mine. And Helen [Ella] is the very vestal virgin of that race, the hal-

206

portrait of percy grainger

lowed priestess of that breed-above-breeds; inside the bounds of her soft skin are gathered together all these hidden holy heritages, these nowhere-else-found spiritual finernesses, hearty hardierhoods, higher heroisms, richer thought-worlds; they are hers to bequeath, hers to pass on to mankind for ever. From unpublished essay ‘The Love-life of Helen and Paris’ (1927–28), held in the Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

***** Let no-one read this book who dislikes hearing a man call himself an over-soul ((genius)); for that’s what I’m going to do all the time. What do I mean by over-soul? I mean a man who feels himself more answerable for the sorrows & witlessnesses of the world than most men. A sweetly gifted, yet lesser, over-soul like Mendelssohn does not seem to have been overly churned-up by the griefs & unjustnesses of life, while more gifted men—such as Bach, the writer of ‘The Saga of Grettir the Strong’, Thorsten Jonsson, Hogarth—are held in a cramp of rack-pain ((agony)) at the sorrows they see happening ‘under the sun’. In my own case, every time I see a paper napkin I mourn for the woods that are being thoughtlessly wasted; every time I see a bit of wrought-ore ((metal)) I tremble for the men—the miners—who are losing their lives needlessly in the mines, just because the world has gone mad about wroughtore. If all people felt as I do they would never use a piece of wrought-ore without first wondering whether its useful-ness weighs up against the might-be-ness ((possibility)) of a man’s death. Fancy an age in which men take their children to watch men & women do life-risking acts on the trapeze & in the lion-cage—an age in which prize-fighting & wrestling are law-hallowed ((sanctioned)) while nakedness & lewdness (such guilt-less mirth) are not! We live in an art-rich age because of all the heart-breaking things that are happening all around us—young men needlessly killed in the wars, people dying before their time because of their silly eating-wonts & living-wonts, millions of tame-beasts ((animals)) murdered every day, countless love-stirs & art-stirs bootlessly squelched because of the mood of vie-ment ((competition)) & sin-search we live in. In such an age the only thing an art-man ((artist)) can do is to let out one everlasting grumble-shout ((protest)). And the sourer the grumble, the louder the shout, the greater the art-man. That is why I feel myself to be an oversoul ((genius)), because ever since I was about 7 years old I have felt the cruel-hoods ((cruelty)) & mean-nesses of the world like a knife going

grainger on grainger

207

through me. When I was about 7 (I know the age, because my father left my mother & me when I was about 7) I saw an etching in ‘The Illustrated London News’, or some such weekly-paper, of some as-goodas-naked Matabele warriors charging a square of British fight-for-paymen ((soldiers)), with the British mowing the Matabeles down with Maxim guns. I said to my father: ‘Isn’t it a shame to kill lovely, brave naked men like that?’ (for at that time I was making drawings of Greek shape-art-pieces ((statues)) & I deemed nakedness a great goodness & clothes a proof-of-folly). My father laughed & said: ‘You’ll feel differently about these things as you grow older.’ But I knew I never would & I said to myself that I would never forgive my father for what he had said (for not minding the hero-mooded Matabeles being mowed down without their having a chance, I mean). And I never have. And that is why my tone-works ((compositions)) are full of hangings, drownings, murders, jailings, death-for-love’s-sake, knights mouldering in ditches, the sad fates of young men killed before their time, and grumble-shouts ((protests)) against town-skill-th ((civilisation)). (Hangings: Dedication, The Reiver’s Neck-Verse, Danny Deever. Drownings: The Bride’s Tragedy, The Sea Wife. Murders: Father and Daughter, The Rival Brothers. Jailings: The Running of Shindand. Death-for-love’s sake: Died for Love, Near Woodstock Town. The sad fates of young men killed before their time: The Power of Rome & the Christian Heart, The Widow’s Party, Soldier Soldier. Knights mouldering in ditches: The three Ravens, The twa corbies. Grumble-shouts ((protests)) against town-skill-th ((civilisation)): Kipling ‘Jungle-book’ Cycle, Hill-songs I & II.) Almost the only part of my tonery ((music)) that isn’t doom-mooded is that part dealing with the mankind-less world of the hills, the sea, the sand-wastes ((deserts)). And if it is true that art in our time is merely a grumble-shout ((protest)) about the hinder-able ((preventable)) doom-plays ((tragedies)) of an only half-pity-swayed world, what will art do in the fair years to come, when all the wrongs are righted & most of the sorrows are blunted (for example: If men can learn to live to be 150 years old & more, grief at their dying will be much softened by the thought that they have lived to such a ripe age)? Art can come to an end & stop smearing life with a tale of woe. But with life as it is—an endless again-&-again-ness ((repetition)) of hinder-able doom-plays—I deem myself an over-soul because I answer so sharply to life’s rack-pains ((agonies)). To some it will seem as if my stand-take-ment ((attitude)) as a foe of war, cruel-hood ((cruelty)) & wastefulness is weakened (indeed, utterly

208

portrait of percy grainger

set at nought) by my having be-sung & be-praised fight-keen-th ((bellicosity)), cruel-hood-worship ((sadism)) & wreck-fain-th ((destructiveness)) in such tone-works ((compositions)) as THE WARRIORS, THE LADS OF WAMPHRAY, THE BALLAD OF THE ‘BOLIVAR’. And such works are true self-lay-bare-ments ((self-revealments)). For I am as cruel as I am kind, as merciless as I am sorrow-sharing. The wildlyhappiest time-specks ((moments)) in my life have been whipping the naked bodies of women, or being whipped myself—I don’t care which, as long as pain is given or taken. I am an un-cure-able ((incurable)) whip-worshipper. But I will deal with that side of my life in another book. An over-soul ((genius)) covers a lot of ground, & all we can ask of him is that he is evenly strong at both ends. With all this, I hope that I am not leaving a mind-dent ((impression)) that the bulk of my tonery ((music)) arises out of mankind-some ((human)) feelings & mind-stirs. For that is not so. My tone-art is at its best when it has nought or little to do with mankind-some stirs, longings & sorrows, & doubly best when it has nothing to do with folk-song. My tone-art is at its best when it tallies the streaming, surging, soothing forces of the un-man-th ((non-human)) nature (as in ENGLISH DANCE, HILL-SONGS I & II, SEA-SONGS, BUSH-MUSIC) or the wholly un-one-body-some ((impersonal)) trends of mankind-as-awhole (as in MARCHING SONG OF DEMOCRACY). And even these more all-th-y-mooded ((universe-mooded)) tone-works are merely a kind of rehearsal for my Free Tonery ((music)), which will be my only ripe in-pay-ment ((contribution)) to tone-art ((music)). Of this Free Tonery, more later. P. A. G., July 16–22, 1951, White Plains. Typescript Introduction to ‘My Wretched Tone-life’, held in the Grainger Museum, Melbourne.

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY Balough, Teresa. A Complete Catalogue of the Works of Percy Grainger (Perth: Department of Music, University of Western Australia, 1975). ———, ed. A Musical Genius from Australia (Perth: Department of Music, University of Western Australia, 1982). Bird, John. Percy Grainger, 3rd ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999). Blacking, John: ‘A Commonsense View of All Music’: Reflections on Percy Grainger’s Contribution to Ethnomusicology and Music Education (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987). Callaway, Frank, ed. Percy Grainger Centennial Volume, Studies in Music, vol. 16 (1982). Clifford, Phil, ed. Grainger’s Collection of Music by Other Composers (Melbourne: University of Melbourne, 1983). Dorum, Eileen. Percy Grainger: The Man behind the Music (Melbourne: IC & EE Dorum, 1986). Dreyfus, Kay. Music by Percy Aldridge Grainger (Melbourne: University of Melbourne, 1978). ———. Percy Grainger’s Kipling Settings (Perth: Department of Music, University of Western Australia, 1980). ———, ed. The Farthest North of Humanness: Letters of Percy Grainger, 1901–14 (Melbourne: Macmillan, 1985). ———. Music by Percy Grainger: First Supplementary List and Index (Melbourne: University of Melbourne, 1995). Foreman, Lewis, ed. The Percy Grainger Companion (London: Thames, 1981). Gillies, Malcolm and David Pear, eds. The All-Round Man: Selected Letters of Percy Grainger, 1914–1961 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994). Gillies, Malcolm and Bruce Clunies Ross, eds. Grainger on Music (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999). Gillies, Malcolm and Mark Carroll, eds. Percy Grainger Issue, Australasian Music Research, vol. 5 (2000). Lewis, Thomas P., ed. A Source Guide to the Music of Percy Grainger (White Plains: Pro/Am Music Resources, 1991). Mellers, Wilfrid. Percy Grainger (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992). O’Brien, Jane. The Grainger English Folk Song Collection (Perth: Department of Music, University of Western Australia, 1985). Simon, Robert. Percy Grainger: The Pictorial Biography (Troy, N.Y.: Whitston Publishing, 1983). Slattery, Thomas C. Percy Grainger: The Inveterate Innovator (Evanston, Ill.: Instrumentalist, 1974).

INDEX Page numbers in bold indicate main entries

Adelaide (South Australia), xvii, xviii, xxv, xxvi, xxviii, xxx, 3, 9, 15, 16, 17 Marshall’s Music-rooms (Marshall and Sons), 15, 17 St Peter’s College, 6 University of, xxvi Wesley College, 6 West Terrace Cemetery, 200 Aeolian Company, 83–85 Age, The (Melbourne), 53–54 Albéniz, Isaac, 64, 92, 172 ‘Triana’ (Iberia), 79 Aldeburgh Festival, 139 Aldrich, Richard, 78–79, 82 Aldridge, Charles Edwin, 144 Aldridge, Clara, xxviii, 5 Aldridge, Evie, 144–5 Aldridge, Gordon, 144–5 Alexandra, Queen (England), xx America (see United States) American Bach Society, 132 American Bandmasters’ Association, 94 American Boy, 180 Amis, John, 188–9 A Miscellany: My Life, My Music, 188 Andersen, Hans Christian, xvii, 43 Aorangi (ship), 112 Atkinson, Fred, 48 Atkinson, Robert, xxv Aukrust, Olav, 150, 152–3 ‘Kjeldune’, 152 Austin, Frederic, 39 Australia, xxv, 1, 141 Australian Broadcasting Commission, xxvii, 141, 146 Bach, J.S., xvii, xviii, xxxii, 62, 91, 119, 122, 123, 129, 131, 172, 206 Gavotte in D minor, 16 Partita No. 1, 118 Preludes and fugues, 16, 64, 78, 120 Ballets Russes, 61

Baltimore: Peabody Conservatory, 92 Bantock, Granville, xxii Barnard, Charlotte, 17 Barrow (England), 48 Barstow (California), 113, 159 Bartlesville (Oklahoma), 167 Bartók, Béla, 41, 119, 174 Second Piano Concerto, 119 Barton, Caulfield, 9–10 Bath (England), xix Battenberg, Prince of, 60 Bax, Arnold, xxii, 55, 65 Baylor University (Texas), xxix Becker, Hugo, 23, 29 Bedyngham, Johannes, 138 Beecham, Thomas, xxi, xxii, 52 Beethoven, Ludwig van, xvii, xviii, 50, 62, 129, 133, 145, 172, 173 Eroica Symphony (No. 3), 129 32 Variations (WoO 80), 62 Piano Sonata in G major, Opus 14, No. 2, 16 Violin Sonatas, 10 Behymer, L.E., 102 Bellwood, Bessie, 27 Bériot, Charles-Auguste de, 10 Berlin (Germany), xix, xxii, 40 Berlin, Irving, 65 Syncopated Walk, 65 When I Lost You, 65 Berman, Lazar, 148 Bernstein, Martin, 132–4 Bevan, Emma Crooks, 113–5, 159 Birmingham (England), 185 Black, Amy (see Chalk, Amy) Black, Archie, 13, 15 Blanche, Jacques-Émile, xix Boosey and Hawkes (London), 56 Borren, Charles Van Den, 138 Boston, xxiii, 46, 81 Bowen, Richard, 185–6

212

index

Bradford, Vera, 118, 119, 122–4 Brahms, 62, 64, 79, 91, 129, 172, 173 Handel Variations, 78, 149 late piano pieces, 31 waltz, 54 Brentnall, Thomas, 63–64 Bridge, Frank, 55 Brigg (Lincolnshire), xx, 97 Festival, 46–47 workhouse, 47 Britain, xviii-xx, xxvi-xxx, xxxiv, 21, 35 British Broadcasting Corporation, xxvii, 146, 188 Grainger’s first radio broadcast with, xxvii Grainger’s only television broadcast, xxix, 185 Singers, 140 Britten, Benjamin, xxx, 139 Broadwood, Lucy, xx Brower, Harriette, 85–86 The Art of the Pianist, 85 Piano Mastery books, 85 Bruges (Belgium), 54 Brumby, Colin, xxxi, Buchanan, Charles L., 90 Budapest (Hungary), 119, 121 Bull, Ole, 119 Bull, Storm, 118–21, 160 Burkitt, Adelaide, xviii, 15, 157 Busch, Carl, 94 A Chant from the Great Plains, 94 Busoni, Ferruccio, xix, 40–41, 75, 117, 131, 147 Bach-Busoni transcription, Prelude and Fugue in D, 78, 79, 152 Bach-Busoni organ chorale, 152 California, xxiv Cambridge University, 48 Cameron, Basil, 90 Canada, 115, 136 Ontario, 115 Vancouver, 154 Winnipeg, 115 Carpenter, John Alden, Piano Concertino, xxiii, 118, 122 Caruso, Enrico, 75 Chalk, Amy, 13–15 Chamberlain, Houston Stewart, xxv Chaminade, Cécile, 131 Chicago, xxiii, 82 Chicago Musical College, xxiv, 73, 95, 109, 115, 116, 119, 120, 122

Chicago Symphony Orchestra, 96 Chopin, 62, 64, 79, 92, 172, 173, 181 Ballades, 62 Barcarolle, 62 Mazurkas, 62 Nocturne in C sharp minor, 118 Polonaise in A flat, 148 Piano Sonata in B minor, xxv, 31, 126 Study in A flat (posthumous), 78 Churchill, Winston, 181 Cincinnati (Ohio), 54, 55 Cleveland (Ohio), 131 Colorado, University of (Boulder), 119 Columbia (recording company), xxiii, xxv, xxvi Columbia University (New York), xxx, 82, 177 Cook, Edward (see also, Mayo Clinic), 193 Cortot, Alfred, 149 Cossmann, Bernhard, 29 Couperin, François, 172 Cowell, Henry, xxvii Cowen, Frederick, 8 Crooks, Clifford (see also, Bevan, Emma Crooks), 113, 159 Crooks, Mary Alice, 113, 159 Cross, Burnett, xxviii, 165, 177–80, 199 Crossley, Ada, xix, xx, xxi, 35, 39, 40, 53, 68 Cuba, xxiv Culp, Julia, 75 Curtain, Mary, 10, 11 Curtain, Ruth, 10–12 Curtis, Natalie, xxv Daily Telegraph, The (London), 52, 86 D’Albert, Eugen, 117 Damrosch, Walter, 75 Darmstadt (Germany), 26 Dartmouth College, (Hanover, New Hampshire), xxx Davidson, Henry F., 76 ‘Deagan’ percussion instruments, 55, 80 Debussy, Claude, xix, xxi, xxii, 24, 39, 57, 59, 62, 64, 92, 153, 172 Clair de lune, 123 Jardins sous la Pluie (Estampes), 54 Pagodes (Estampes), 117, 120 Toccata (Pour le piano), 41, 53, 54 Deeside (England), 129 Delius, Frederick (see also Grez-sur-Loing), xx, xxii, xxv, xxvi, xxix, xxxiv, 51–53, 92, 109, 126, 129, 160, 172, 184 Appalachia Variations, xx, 52 Brigg Fair, 46, 52, 97 Piano Concerto, 52

index Song of the High Hills, 125 Delius, Jelka, 52 Denmark, xx, xxi, xxii, xxv, xxvii, 47, 109 Aalborg, xx Aarhus, xxix (see also Holten, Cai) Copenhagen, xx, xxi, xxvi, 111, 141 Danish Court, xx Jutland, xxiv, 111 Regstrup, 44 Dett, Nathaniel, xxv Dickens, Charles, xvii Dieppe (France), xix Dobbs, Ralph, 119 Dolmetsch, Arnold, xxvi, 109, 138, 153, 161 Dowland, John, 152 Dowson, Ernest, 26 Due, Mary Barratt, 42, 44, 59, 150 Dunstable, John, 138 Duo-Art Company, xxiii, 83–5 Durham (England), 14, 129 Eastbourne (England), 151 Eastman Wind Ensemble, 93, 131 Elgar, Edward, xxi Elwes, Gervase, 38, 39, 46, 47, 48, 58 Elwes, Winefride, 46–48, 97 Engel, Carl, xxviii English music, 52 Ernst, Heinrich Wilhelm, Èlégie, 10 Étude, The, 149 Evanston Festival, xxiv, 96 North Shore Music Festival, 96 Northwestern University, 96 Evening Post (New York), 79 Evening Sun (New York), 76 Fauré, Gabriel, 54 Nocturnes, 54 Piano Quartet No. 2, 174 Feilding, Everard, 46, 97 Fenby, Eric, 124–7, 160 Delius as I Knew Him, 124 Fennell, Frederick, 93, 131–2, 189 films, Battle of the Sexes, 39 The Bride of Frankenstein, 39 The Robe, 39, 67 Finck, Henry Theophilus, 76, 79–81, 102 Fischer, Carlo xviii, 29–30, 33, 94, 135 Fletcher, Alice, 94 folk-song (see also Grainger, Percy, folk-song, use of ), 52, 65

213

Folk-Song Society (England), xx Journal, xxi Forsyth, Cecil, 175 Fort Hamilton (New York), 77 Foster, Stephen, 80, 131 Fowler, Dorothy, 155 Fowler, James Mackinnon, xxviii False Foundations of British History, xxviii Fowler, Richard Hindle, 155–7, 186–8, 199 France and its music, xviii, xxiv, 21, 52, 82, 124 Franck, César, 131, 153 Frankenstein, Clemens von, xviii Frankfurt am Main, xviii, xxiv, 1, 15, 17, 21, 25, 26, 28, 29, 31, 37, 42, 64, 88, 175 ‘Frankfurt Group’, xxvi, 21, 23, 109 Freud, Sigmund, 45 Friedman, Ignaz, 94, 147 Gabrilowitsch, Ossip, 94 Garborg, Hulda, 62–63 Gardiner, H. Balfour, xviii, xxii, xxii, xxvii, xxix, 21, 25, 38, 39, 40, 41, 58, 59, 158 Balfour Gardiner concert series (London), xxii General-Anzeiger (Frankfurt), 30–31 Genoa (Italy), xviii George, Stefan, 23 Gera (ship), 15 German, Edward, 130 Germany, xxi, xxix, xxxiv, xxxi, 16, 21, 59, 79 Gershwin, George, 174 Piano Concerto, 174 Gloucestershire (England), 53 Godowsky, Leopold, 94 Goldberg, Albert, 94–96 Goldman Band, 92, 93, 191 Goldman, Edwin Franko, 92, 94 Goldman, Richard Franko, 92–94, 191 Goltermann, Georg: Sonatina, 10 Romance, 10 Rêve, 10 Goodman, Isador, 148 Goodson, Katherine, 75 Goossens, Eugene, 54–55 Gordon, W.C., 13 Gould, Morton, 174 Interplay (American Concertette), 174 Gouldthorpe, George, 48 Governor’s Island (New York), 77, 92 U.S. Army School of Bandmasters, 77

214

index

Grainger, Ella Viola, xxv, 45, 55, 69, 109, 112– 3, 118, 127, 140–4, 159, 162, 168–71, 189, 204–5 The Pavement Artist and Other Poems, 169 Grainger, George Percy (Percy Aldridge), 162, 203–8 all-roundedness (anti-specialisation), xxxii America, departure for, xxiii American citizenship, taking of, xxiii, xxiv, xxxi appearance (see also ‘athleticism’), xxi, 76, 85, 87, 147, 167, 181, 183, 186, 188, 204 army, Grainger’s service in, xxiii, xxiv, 73, 77, 86, 92, 104, 189 athleticism, xxxiv-v, 26, 47, 56, 57, 87, 95, 121, 125, 151, 168, 184 autopsy report, 193–4 ballet, interest in, 61 birth, xvii, 1 blue eyes, Grainger’s theories concerning see Grainger, racial and nationalist views ‘Blue-eyed English’ see Grainger, languages and literature, ‘Nordic’ English burial, xxx, 200 character as a child, 4, 14 composers, support of fellow, xxxii composing, xxxi, 21, 50 compositional style, 23, 24, 25, 49, 91 concerts and tours, xxi, xxv, xxvii, xxviii, xxx, 8, 15, 21, 100, 145, 167 conducting, 150 cowardice, accusations of, xxiii, 73, 86 death, xxx, 165, 188, 193–4 democracy, xvii, xxxii-iii, 123 diet, 98, 126, 151, 168, 181, 190 drawing and painting, xvii education, at home, xvii, 1, 156 at school xvii, 1 in Frankfurt, xviii ‘elastic scoring’, xxiv, xxvi, 56 ethnomusicological interests, xxii, xxxii, 131 Polynesian music, xxi Faeroe Islands music, xxi Rarotongan music, 131 South-East Asian music, xxii South-Sea Islander music, 80 experimental compositions (see also Random Round and ‘elastic scoring’), xxxii, xxiii, xxiv film, interest in, xxxii folk-song, use of, 41, 46, 50, 136

grave, 200 illnesses, xxix, 192–4 instrumentation of compositions, 39, 88, 93, 97, 174, 185, 186 jazz, xxxii Jews, views on, see Grainger, race and national identity languages and literature (spoken and interest in), Icelandic, 63, 131 Maori, 63, 131 ‘Nordic’ English, xxv, xxvii, 109, 175–6, 203 Norwegian dialects, 62, 151 Old Norse, 11 Saxon, 11 letter-writing, xxxiii libretti, unusual, 89, 112 marriage to Ella Ström, xxv, xxvi, 112, 113, 118 marriage, views on, 98 music-rollers, 185–6 musical commentator, xxxi-ii musical works: A Lot of Rot (see Youthful Rapture) Arrival Platform Humlet, 55, 88, 125 The Ballad of the ‘Bolivar’, 208 Bridal Song, see To a Nordic Princess The Bride’s Tragedy, xxiv, 207 Brigg Fair, xx, xxi, 46, 47, 52, 58 Bush Music Sketch, 208 Children’s March, xxiv, 93, 94, 188, 189–90 Colonial Song, 65, 76, 79, 80, 93, 96, 127, 140, 191 Country Gardens, xxiv, xxxii, 73, 80, 124, 181, 186 Creepin’ Jane, 97 Danish Folk-Music Suite, xxvi, xxviii, 111, 174 Danny Deever, 207 Dedication, 207 Died for Love, 207 ‘The Duke of Marlborough’ Fanfare, xxvii English Dance, xxii, 97, 98, 208 English Gothic Music, xxvi, 135, 136, 137, 138 ‘Alleluia psallat’, 137 ‘Angelus ad Virginem’, 137 ‘Beata viscera’, 137 ‘O rosa bella’, 138 ‘Puellare gremium’, 138 Father and Daughter, xxi, 91, 139, 207

index ‘Free Music’, xxviii, xxx, xxxiii, 109, 165, 172, 177–80, 197, 208 ‘Estey-reed-Tone-tool’ (also known as ‘Reed-box Tone-tool’), xxix, 179 ‘Kangaroo-pouch’ machine, xxix, 198 Free Music No.1, xxvii, 208 Gay but Wistful, 88 The Gipsy’s Wedding Day, 48 The Gumsucker’s March, 93 Handel in the Strand, xxii, 41, 185, 191 Hill-Songs Nos. 1and 2, xix, xxviii, 125, 127, 188, 207, 208 I’m Seventeen Come Sunday, 139 The Immovable Do (The Ciphering C), xxvii, 191 In a Nutshell, xxiii, xxviii, 73, 88 Irish Tune from County Derry (Londonderry Air), xix, xxi, xxii, xxiv, 39, 63, 80, 93, 96, 185, 191 Jutish Medley, 111 Kipling ‘Jungle Book’ Cycle, xviii, xxviii, 188, 207 The Lads of Wamphray, 191, 208 Lincolnshire Posy, xxvii, xxxiii, 93, 188, 189 Lisbon (Dublin Bay), 189 Londonderry Air see Irish Tune Lord Melbourne, 163 Lord Peter’s Stable-Boy, 125 Love Verses from the ‘Song of Solomon’, xix, 140 Marching Song of Democracy, xix, xxiii, 88, 91, 112, 124, 140 Marching Tune, 48 The Men of the Sea, 25 The Merry Wedding, 91 Mock Morris, xxi, 58, 60, 63, 65, 79, 80 Molly on the Shore, xx, 41, 58, 80, 93, 96, 185, 191 Near Woodstock Town, 207 One More Day, My John, 80, 96 The Power of Rome and the Christian Heart, xxviii, 207 Random Round, xxiii A Reiver’s Neck-Verse, 207 The Rival Brothers, 207 Room-Music Tit-Bits, 125 The Running of Shindand, 207 Sea-Song, xxxiii, 208 The Sea-Wife, 207 Shepherd’s Hey, xxii, xxiii, 35, 41, 75, 80, 82, 93, 185 Six Dukes Went A-fishing, 48

215 Soldier Soldier, 207 Spoon River, xxvi The Three Ravens, 207 To a Nordic Princess, xxvi, 118 Train Music (Charging Irishry), xxxiii Tribute to Foster, xxvi, 76, 140 The Twa Corbies, 207 Up-Country Song, see Colonial Song Walking Tune, 80 The Warriors: Music to an Imaginary Ballet, xxiii, xxxiii, 73, 116, 119, 145, 208 What Shall We Do With a Drunken Sailor, 58, 125 The Widow’s Party, 207 Willow Willow, 58, 186 Worcester Medieval Harmony, 135, 138 Ye Banks and Braes, 130 Youthful Rapture, xix, 37, 131 Youthful Suite, xviii, xxviii name change, xxi nervous breakdown, xxii output, xxxiv pacifism, see war, views on parents, xvii, 1, 3–9, 207 mother, relationship with (see also, Grainger, Rose, relationship with her son), 5, 12, 50, 73, 99, 156 pianism, xxxi, xxxiii, 51, 61, 62, 117, 123, 147, 149, 154, 171–2 performances, public, xvii, xviii, xix, 1, 154 performing instructions, xxii, xxxiv, 27, 89, 125 political views, 204 popular music, views on, xxxii race and national identity, xxxi, 1, 65, 132, 205 racial and nationalist views, 49, 121, 184 sexual interests, xix, 45, 121 flagellation, xxxiv, 28–29, 145, 208 teaching, xviii, xxvi, 60, 61, 95, 117, 123, 132–4 vegetarianism, xxv violin playing, 8 war, views on, 207 will, xxx writings and lectures, 141 ‘About Delius’, 52 ‘The Aldridge-Grainger-Ström Saga’, xxvi, 140, 141 ‘Anecdotes’, xxviii, 203 ‘Bird’s’s-Eye View of the Together-Life of Rose Grainger and Percy Grainger’, xxviii

216

index

Grainger, writings and lectures (continued) ‘Collecting with the Phonograph’, xxi ‘A Commonsense View of All Music’, 141 ‘English-speaking Music and the War Effort’, xxviii ‘Ere-I-Forget’, 203 ‘A General Study of the Manifold Nature of Music’, xxvi Guide to Virtuosity, xxv ‘How to Increase Musical Culture in Your Community’, 115 ‘The Love-life of Helen and Paris’, 203 ‘Many-voiced Music for Pianists’, 117 ‘Music: A Commonsense View of all Types’, xxvii ‘My Wretched Tone-Life’, 203 Photos of Rose Grainger and of 3 short accounts of her life by herself, in her own hand-writing, 73 ‘Sketches for my book “The Life of My Mother & Her Son”’, 204 ‘The Specialist and the All-Round Man’, xxviii Grainger, John, xvii, 3–5, 7, 8, 13–14, 16 boxing, 10 death, xxiii drinking habits, 9 musical involvement, 9, 10 school life, 14 syphilis, infection with, xvii, 3 Grainger Library, The (White Plains, New York), xxiv Grainger Museum, The (Melbourne), xxvi, xxvii, xxix, xxx, 109, 155–7, 164, 165, 175–7, 186–8 Grainger, Rose (Rosa), xvii, xviii, xxiv, 3, 5–6, 23, 60, 70, 96–99 death, xxiv, 73, 100–103, 107 family and background, 5 marriage and relationship with her husband, John, 6, 29, 39 piano playing, 4, 9, 10 plans for her son, 4 relationship with son, 5, 6, 7, 8, 37, 39– 40, 45, 57, 86, 96 syphilis, infection with and effects of, xviii, 5, 98, 99 Gray, Cecil, 175 Grettir the Strong (‘Grettis Saga’), xvii, 63, 206 Grez-sur-Loing (France), (see also Delius), 52, 124 Grieg, Edvard, xx, xxi, xxv, 39, 41, 43, 50– 51, 52, 54, 60, 69, 76, 79, 81, 92, 129, 150, 153, 154, 172, 181

death, xx musical works: Ballade, Opus 24, 152, 154 Norwegian Folk Songs, Opus 66, 79, 152 Norwegian Peasant Dances (Slaatter), Opus 72, 79, 152 Piano Concerto, xx, xxiii, xxviii, xxix, 48, 51, 61, 62, 83 Violin Sonata, Opus 8, 10 Grieg, Nina, 69 Grüner-Nielsen, H., 111 Gustavus Adolphus College (St Peter, Minnesota), 195 Hallé Orchestra, xx Hamburg, xxii Handel, George Frideric, xvii, xviii, 23, 129 Minuet in G major (from Samson), 17 Water Music, 120 Harrison, Margot, xxii Harrogate (England), xxvi Hartley, Walter S., 173–5 Harvard University, 78, 79 Haslemere Festival, xxvi, xxvii, 153 Hastings (England), 151 Haydn, Joseph, 28, 129 Heermann, Hugo, 23 Heifetz, Jascha, 155 Heinze, Bernard, 145, 188 Herbert, Victor, 94 Heseltine, Philip, see Warlock, Peter Hiles, Ann, 48 Hill, Alfred, 155 Hindemith, Paul, xxv His Master’s Voice, recording company, xxii Hitler, Adolf, 165 Hobart (Tasmania), xxv Hoch Conservatory (Frankfurt am Main), xviii, 1, 17, 21, 23, 27, 30 Hofmann, Josef, 82, 94, 118 Hogarth, William, 206 Holbrooke, Josef, 187 Holland, xviii, xxi, xxiv, 21 Holmes, John Haynes, 102 Holst, Gustav, xxii Holten, Cai, 192, 193 Holten, Karen, v, xx, xxii, xxix, 59 Homer, xvii Horowitz, Vladimir, 148 Horsmonden (England), 71 Hough, Lotta Mills, xxiv, 97 Hughes, Anselm, xxvi, 109, 135, 136–8 Huneker, James, 76

index Idaho, 113 Indiana University (Bloomington), 171 International Grainger Society, The , 168 Ireland, 65 Ives, Charles, xxxv Jews (see also ‘Grainger’, ‘racial and nationalist views’), 45 Jonsson, Thorsten, 206 Junge, Henry, 102 Kansas City Symphony Orchestra, 94 Karpeles, Maud, 136 Kellerman, Karen, see Holten, Karen Kent (England), xxiii Kinsey, Carl, 95 Kipling, Rudyard, 24, 25, 27 Kirton in Lindsey (England), 48 Klimsch, Karl, xviii, 21, 27, 33 Klimsch, Pauline, see Schumacher, Pauline ‘Butzie’ Knorr, Iwan, xviii, 21, 23, 24, 27–28 Kosei Wind Orchestra (Tokyo), 131 Kreisler, Fritz, 75, 155 Kreisler, Mrs Fritz, 100 Kristensen, Evald Tang, xxiv, xxv, 109, 111– 2, 158 Kwast, James, xviii, 21, 23, 30 Kwast, Mimi, xviii, 42 Langley-Mukle Quartet, 54 L’Avenir (ship), xxvi, 140–4 Laver, William A., 156–7 Laws, Gordon, 145–6 Lebert and Stark school of pianism, 147 Lechter, Melchior, 24 Leeds (England), xx Leeson, Daniel, 189–91 Legge, Robin, 52, 86–89 Lester, J. (see also Grainger, autopsy), 193–4 Levitzki, Mischa, 146 Lhévinne, Josef, 94, 148 Liljefors, Ruben, 62 Lincolnshire, (England), 46–47 Liszt, Franz, xxi, 80, 172 Hungarian Rhapsody No. 12, 31 Rakoczy March, 53–54 Liverpool (England), xxi, 54, 127 London, xix, xxi, xxxi, 21, 35, 44, 50, 53, 54, 59, 63, 129 Aeolian Hall, xxii, 64, 65 Buckingham Palace, xx

217

Cecil Sharp House, 188 Chelsea, xx, 67 King’s Road, 54 Covent Garden, 61 Guildhall School of Music, 38 Queen’s Hall, xxii, 39, 54, 58 Queen’s House, Cheyne Walk, 38, 39 Royal Albert Hall, xxii Slade School of Art, 38 Sloane Square, xxi, 56, 59 South Kensington, xx London String Quartette, 100 Longford (Tasmania), 56 Loriaux, Maurice, 167–8, 195 Los Angeles, xxvi, 102 Hollywood Bowl, xxvi, xxviii, 112, 113, 118 Lowe, Maurice, 154–5 Lowrey, Lileth, (Mrs Frank Lowrey), xix, 38 Lupino, Ida, 167 Lyons, A.V., 187 McCristal, Alan, 148 McCubbin, Frederick, xvii, 12 Macdowell, Edward, 79, 80 Eroica Piano Sonata, 122 McDowell, Louise, 107, 115–18 Maine, 80 Manitoba Music Teachers’ Association, 115 Mannes, Clara, 82 Mannes, David, 82 Marlborough School (England), 38 Marshall-Hall, G.W.L., 64–65 Martin, Freddie, 181 Masefield, John, 27 Mason, Daniel Gregory, 82–83 Country Pictures, 82 The Whippoorwill, 82 Massenet, Jules, Thaïs Meditation, 129 Matabeles, 207 Mayo Clinic, 192 ‘Medidney’, see Todhunter, Mabel Melba, Dame Nellie (Helen Mitchell), xxii, xxiii, 40, 81, 105, 145 Melbourne and its neighbourhood (Victoria), xvii, xxv, 3, 6, 18, 145, 155, 156 Albert Park Lake, 179 Brighton, 1, 16 ‘Oakdene’, 10, 11 Centennial Exhibition of 1888, 5, 8 Exhibition Building, xviii, xix Ferntree Gully, 5 Glenferrie, 14

218

index

Melbourne and its neighbourhood (Victoria) (continued) Hawthorn, xvii Heidelberg, 5 Narbethong, 5 Princes Bridge, xvii Princess Theatre Orchestra, 10 Sacre Coeur Convent, Glen Iris, 11 St Kilda, 13 St Mary’s Roman Catholic Church, Dandenong Road, 12 Science and Technology Museum, 156 South Yarra, xvii, 13 Town Hall, xviii, 53 University of, xxvi, 64 Mendelssohn, Felix, 91, 206 Violin Concerto, 10 Menter, Sophie, 117 Merbein (Victoria), 187 Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 181 Miami, University of, 131 Milwaukee (Wisconsin), xxvii Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra, 29 Mitchell, Helen, see Melba, Dame Nellie Morris, R.O., 139 Morse, Frederick, 102, 113, 118 Morse, Tonie, 102, 113, 118 Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, 10, 129, 172–3 Violin Sonatas, 10 Music Supervisors’ National Conference (United States), 132 Nashdom Abbey (England), 135, 136, 138 National Music Camp (Interlochen, Michigan), xxvi, xxvii, xxviii, 109, 165, 171 New York, xxxi, 5, 43, 46, 73, 75, 76, 78, 80, 82, 88 Aeolian Hall, xxiii, 76, 78 Belmont Hotel, The, 101 Campbell’s funerals, 102 Carnegie Hall, xxv, xxvi Harcourt Brace, 177 Institute of Musical Art (later Juilliard), xxii National Conservatory, 79 Philharmonic Orchestra, xxiii, xxv, 132 University, xxvi, 109, 132–5 New York Times, The, 78 New Yorker, The, 180 New Zealand, xxi, xxvii, 53, 63, 155 Nitschke, R., 17 Norfolk (Connecticut), xxiii North Lincolnshire Musical Competition, 46

Norway, xxi, xxiv, xxv, xxvii, xxix, 59, 162 Bergen, xx, 51 Jotumheim mountains, 151 Levanger, 63 Lillehammer, 28 Oslo, xxi, 59, 150 Royal family, xxi, xxix Steinkjar, 62, 63 Telemark, 150 Troldhaugen, 69 Trondheim, 62, 63 Novaës, Guiomar, 94 Nygaard, Kaare K., 28–29, 191–3, 199 O’Hara, Henry, 8 Olsen, Edith, 150–3 Olsen, Sparre, 150–4, 162 Six Old Lom Folktunes, Opus 2, 150 O’Neill, Norman, xviii, xxii, 21, 25 Oslo Symphony Orchestra, 150 Pabst, Louis, xvii, xviii, 1, 15, 16, 17 Paderewski, Ignacy, 75, 94, 105, 154 Paris, xxv 1900 Exhibition, xviii Parker, D.C. (‘Charlie’), 90–92, 127–31, 161 Percy Aldridge Grainger: A Study, 90 Parker, Kitty, 56–59, 70 Down Longford Way, 56 Patti, Adelina, xix Payne, Dorothy, 173 Pears, Peter, 139–40 Petersen, Dagny, 44, 59–62 Pevensey Bay (England), xxv, xxvii, 129, 150, 151, 159 Pfitzner, Hans, xviii, 42 phonograph, xx, 111 pianola, 106 piano rolls (see also Duo-Art Company), xxiii Pittsburgh (Pennsylvania), 81 Polynesia, xxv Port Germein (South Australia), 144 Port Lincoln (South Australia), 9 Port Victoria (South Australia), 144 Presley, Elvis, 190 Promenade Concerts (London), xxii Pybus, W.R., 17 Quilter, Roger, xviii, xxii, xxix, 21, 25, 26, 38, 39, 51, 58, 132, 159 Rachmaninov, Sergey, 147, 148, 149, 172 Raff, Joachim, xvii

index Cavatina, 10 Rathbone, William, xix Ravel, Maurice, 39, 57, 62, 64, 92, 153, 172, 174 Jeux d’Eau, 57, 78 Redbourne (England), 48 Red Cross (United States), xxiii, xxvii, 73, 76, 77 Reese, Gustave, 134–5, 136 Music in the Middle Ages, 134 Music in the Renaissance, 134 Rezits, Joseph M., 171–3 Rhodes, Cecil, 203 Richter, Hans, xx, 23 Richter, Jean Paul Friedrich, 24 Ripley, William Z., 43 Robinson, Dean, 48 Rochester (New York), 54 Eastman School of Music, 131, 173–4, 189 Rodin, Auguste, xxi Röntgen, Julius, 69 Roosevelt, President Franklin D., xxvii Ross, Hugh, 117 Rubinstein, Anton, 15, 148 Staccato Etude, 118 Russell, Hamilton, xxv Russia, xxii Sammons, Mamie, 97 Sandby, Alfhild, 42–45, 69 Sandby, Herman, xviii, xix, xx, 21, 38, 41, 50, 67, 69, 171 San Francisco, xxix Opera, 189 San Jose Symphony Orchestra, 189 San Quentin (Prison), xxvii Santa Fe (New Mexico), 167 Sargent, John Singer, 58, xix Sawyer, Antonia, 75–78, 99–103, 104 Saxby(England), 46, 48 Saxons, 11 Scarlatti, Domenico, xvii, xviii, 172 Pastorale in E minor, 16 Scawby Brook (England), 48 Schirmer, G. (publisher), 135, 138 Schirmer, Rudolph, 75 Schnabel, Artur, 75, 149 Schoenberg, Arnold, 41, 91, Six Little Pieces, Opus 19, 174 Schott (publisher), xxii, 27, 35, 41, 138 Schreker, Franz, xxv Schroeder-Hanfstaengel, Frau, 23 Schubert, Franz, xvii, 10, 12, 79 Impromptu in A flat major, 16

219

Unfinished Symphony, 129 Schumacher, Pauline ‘Butzie’, 27–28 Schumann, Robert, xvii, 24, Carnaval, 61, 62 Etudes Symphoniques, 31 Piano Concerto, xx Piano Sonata in F sharp minor, 118 Scott, Cyril, xviii, 21–27, 32, 37–38, 39, 49, 52, 55, 58, 64, 90, 152, 175–7, 196 Lotus Land, 23, 148 Magnificat, 26 Symphony, 26 Two Pierrot Pieces, 37 Scriabin, Alexander, 80, 92 Seidl, Anton, 76 Sharp, Cecil, xxiv, 46, 136 Shaw, George Bernard, xix Shostakovich, Dmitri, 140 Soames, Martin, 118 Sonneck, Oscar, 135 South Africa, xix Cape of Good Hope, 141 Durban, 68 South Australian Register, The, 15–17 Spivakowsky, Jascha, 148 Springfield (Missouri), xxvii, 165, 168 S.S. Glenelg (ship), 7 Stanford, Charles Villiers, xx, xxi, 48–49 Irish Dances, 48 ‘A March Jig’, 48 Stang, Rolf, 168 State University of New York (Fredonia campus), 174 Steinway, Frederic, 102 Steinway Pianos, 75, 123 Stevenson, Robert Louis, 203 Stock, Frederick, 96 Stockhausen, Karlheinz, xxx Stokowski, Leopold, xxviii, xxix Strauss, Richard, xxi, 79, 92 Stravinsky, Igor, 80, 92 Strettel, Alma, 58 Ström, Ella Viola, see Grainger, Ella Viola Sullivan, Arthur, 130 The Lost Chord, 130 Sumner, Marshall, 119 Svendsen, Johan, 43, 129 Sweden, xxvi, xxviii, xxix, 185, 205 Sydney, (New South Wales) xxv, 54 State (Sydney) Conservatorium of Music, 155 Tahiti (ship), xxv Taylor, Joseph, xx, 46, 47, 48, 97

220

index

Taylor, Robert Lewis, 180–4 The Running Pianist, xxxiv, 181 The Travels of Jamie McPheeters, 181 Tchaikovsky, Piotr, 21, 61, 181 First Piano Concerto No. 1, xix, 39, 41, 85, 105, 148 Tennyson, Alfred: The Lotos Eaters, 149 Tertis, Lionel, 55–56 Thesiger, Ernest, xix, 38–40, 67 Throne, The (London), 49–50 Times Literary Supplement, The (London),169 Tjader, Margaret (Marguerite), 103 Todd, John Douglas, 146–50 Todhunter, Mabel, 6–9, 18 Toronto Conservatory of Music, 115 Twickenham (England), Kneller Hall, xxix United States, 35, 73, 109, 136, 165 Uzielli, Lazzaro, 27 Vaughan Williams, Ralph, xxii, 88, 139, 196 Verdi, Giuseppe, 131 Wagner, Richard, 5, 39, 50, 52, 79, 91, 92, 129, 134, 153, 172 Tristan und Isolde, 131 Walton, Susana, 184 Walton, William, 184 Warlock, Peter (Philip Heseltine), 65–66

Wausau (Wisconsin), 182 Washington, D.C.,, 76 Hotel Lafayette, 77 White House, xxiii, xxvii Library of Congress, xxvii Wells, H.G., 53 Western Australia, 3 White Plains (New York), xxiv, xxvii, 28, 75, 76, 77, 96, 100, 102, 165, 179, 185, 186, 189, 191 Hospital, 193, 194 Whitman, Walt, xviii, xxxiv, xix, 26, 27, 88, 123 Leaves of Grass, 88 Wilson, President Woodrow, xxiii Wood, Charles, 88 Wood, Derwent, 67 Wood, Henry, xx, 23, 41, 63 Woodend, Victoria, 5 Woodgate, Leslie, 140 Worcester (Massachusetts), xxiii Worcester Cathedral (England), 137 World War I, xxiii, 35, 86 war effort, Grainger’s contribution to (see also, Red Cross), xxiii, xxiv, xxvii, 76 World War II, 165, 187 Blitzkrieg, 165 Zeisler, Fannie, 94 Ziegfield, Florenz, 95