Keller on Variations

8/9/2019 Keller on Variations

1/4

On VariationsAuthor(s): Hans KellerSource: The Musical Times, Vol. 105, No. 1452 (Feb., 1964), pp. 109-111Published by: Musical Times Publications Ltd.Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/951223.

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2/4

n

ariations

by

Hans

Keller

Variation is

the basic

principle

of

musical

composi-

tion-or

perhaps, nowadays,

one

should

say

'of

thematic

composition',

for where there is

no

theme

or

motive,

there is no variation.

It

might

be

objected,

of

course,

that

repetition

is

still

more

basic,

and so indeed

it

is;

but it

seems more

realistic to

say

that

repetition

is itself the most basic

form of

variation: where

something

is

meaningfully

repeated,

it

adds

something

to

that which

it

repeats,

whence

it

is no

longer

a

mere

repetition.

However

literal,

a

repetition

always

varies

its

model,

if

only

through

its context.

There

so remains

but

one

kind

of pure repetition, and that is bad repetition.

Between

repetition

and the more

developed

kind

of variation

there is a field where

themes tend to

have the

best of both worlds

the field of the so-

called

ostinato,

which is the

'obstinately'

repeated

theme as

it

appears

in

the chaconne

and

passacaglia,

with

more or

less

complex

counterpoints

and

variations on

top

or at the bottom of

it.

The

text-

book

differentiation

between

chaconne

and

passa-

caglia

is that in the

former,

the

theme remains

a

ground

bass. There is historical substance

to this

definition; nevertheless,

I would not take

it

too

far.

Not all

composers

read

text-books,

and

those who

do,

don't

always

like them. To take one

of

many

instances, the chaconne ('Chacony') from Britten's

second

String

Quartet emphatically

refuses

to

conform.

The

principle

of simultaneous

repetition

and

variation,

in

any

case,

remains

the

same

in

both

these

ostinato

forms

which tend

to

build

up

by way

of cumulative

tension,

with

the

stressedly

bare

theme,

often

altogether

unharmonized,

at

the

beginning.

This

is

what

happens, say,

in

Bach's

C

minor

'Passacaglia',

whose theme

is character-

istically

economical: it

does not

only

constitute a

model for

repetition,

but

itself consists of

repetitions

of a

single

rhythmic

motive-an

upbeat

and a main

beat.

The

afore-mentioned Britten

'Chacony',

too,

starts unharmonized, as does the 'Passacaglia' from

Peter

Grimes.

Bach's

famous violin

'Chaconne',

on

the

other

hand,

immediately

introduces a harmon-

ized

theme;

in

fact,

the

harmony

is

even more

thematic than

the tune itself. And

Brahms,

in

the

(not

so

called)

passacaglia

finale of the

(so-called)

'Haydn Variations',

develops

a

ground

bass

from

the

theme, which,

at

this final

stage

in

the

composi-

tion,

he

cannot

introduce as a

single

line;

at the

same

time,

he has to

throw the

unexpected

'ground'

into

relief,

so

he

emphasizes

it

by

way

of an

obtru-

sive

two-bar

imitation in

the

violas.

Here,

as

later

in

his Fourth

Symphony,

the

cumulative form of the

passacaglia

is

used,

quite

naturally,

as

eventual

climax. The ground bass at the end of the 'Haydn

Variations'

is a

little

more

difficult to

grasp

than

that of

the Bach

'Passacaglia'

and,

accordingly,

it

is

repeated

over

and over

again

with the

greatest

strictness and indeed

'obstinacy':

Brahms makes

absolutely

sure

that

you

always

hear

it,

all

the more

so

since the

superstructure

comes to reach consider-

able

complexity.

The

reason

why

Brahms's

ground

is more difficult

than

Bach's

(even though

Bach

remains,

of

course,

the more

complex composer)

is that while the

Bach

theme is a

regular

8-bar

structure,

Brahms's

ground,

deriving

as it does from the Corale

St Antonii

(which,

at the

time of

writing,

is not

supposed

to be

by

Haydn, though

Brahms's own

title is 'Variations on

a Theme of Haydn'), is an intriguing 5-bar theme.

Why

should a 5-bar structure

be more difficult

than

a 4- or 8-bar one?

For the same reason that

5/4

time is more difficult than common time. But

Brahms

makes

life as

easy

as

possible

in

difficult

circumstances: whereas

Bach writes four

plus

four

bars,

Brahms confines himself to five

and does

not

write five

plus

five,

as

he

easily

could

have done

on

the basis

of

the St

Anthony

Chorale.

Other

things

being equal,

shorter themes

are,

of

course,

easier

to

understand than

longer

ones.

The Brahms

variations

are the

first

orchestral

work

in

variation

form alone.

Many

other

variation

works were to follow. Now

why,

we

may

ask,

this

enthusiasm, on the part of post-classical composers,

for

large-scale

variation

form-a

genre

which

the

classics,

for all

their much-renowned

universality,

never seem

to

have discovered

?

The

simple answer,

which

admittedly

needs a

great

deal

of

explanation,

is

that

classically speaking,

the

genre

did

not

exist:

neither

Bach,

nor

indeed

Haydn,

Mozart,

or

Beet-

hoven would have

recognized

the

Brahms,

the

Franck

'Symphonic

Variations',

the

'Enigma',

or

Schoenberg's Op

31

as variations.

As

pre-classical

polyphony

(several

simultaneous

melodies)

was

replaced

by

classical

homophony

(tune)

and

accompaniment),

the

typical

pre-classical

varia-

tion

forms,

passacaglia

and

chaconne,

grew

into

the

'themes and variations' as we know them or like to

think of

them:

strictly

sectional

variations

in

which

the

theme,

the

melody

itself

may

well

undergo

some

drastic

transformations,

but which

adhere,

all

the

more

faithfully,

to the

harmonic

scheme of

the

theme,

both

totally

(key) and,

above

all,

locally

(progressions,

modulations,

rhythmic

structure).

Now,

there

is a

limit

to

the extent to which

you

can

pile

up

variations with

the aim

of

achieving

a

single,

continuous

structure,

if

you

cannot

allow

yourself

to abandon

this

principle

of

fairly

strict

harmonic

repetition:

the

possibilities

of

variety

remain

pretty

narrowly

circumscribed,

ie

confined to

one dimen-

sion,

the

change

of

tune. Lest

anybody

should

impatiently call out 'Goldberg Variations ' at this

point,

I

must

remind him

that

this

gigantic

set of

variations was never

intended as

one

continuous

109

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3/4

piece (even

though,

under master

hands,

it

comes

very

close

to

one),

but as

a

collection of

variations

from

which suitable

ones

might

be chosen

according

to

the

performer's

mood

(the

earliest

precedent

for

a whole class of

contemporary

'indeterminate'

pieces,

in

fact).

With the advent

of

homophony

came

sonata

form, and with the advent of sonata form came

development which,

essentially,

is

large-scale

modulation.

At this

stage,

'variation' and

'sonata'

form

became

opposite

approaches:

sonata

form

developed

contrasting

themes,

whereas

variations-

pace

certain double variations

by

Haydn

and

Beethoven-tended

to

re-state

single

themes in

different

guises.

As

sonata form

grew,

its central

achievement,

which

was

large-scale integration by

way

of

develop-

ment,

assumed ever

greater significance;

sooner or

later

it

was

bound to

penetrate

other

forms,

includ-

ing,

eventually,

the

'opposite'

form of

variations,

which

it

could thus

turn into a

symphonic

form of

wide, self-containing proportions. We find the first

inkling

of

this

departure

in the finale

of

Beethoven's

Eroica

Symphony,

a

work that

is,

quite

generally,

a

presage

of

symphonic things

to

come.

In

Brahms's

Orchestral Variations

(as

we

might

call

them

if

the

wrong

attribution

of

their

theme to

Haydn

worries

us

too

much),

old and

new

variation

forms

meet,

for the

first

time,

in

what we

might

describe

as head-on

collusion: a

new

symphonic

form is

in the

making.

The

variations

are

still

all

in

the

same

key,

or rather the same

tonality

(B

flat

major

or

minor),

and

the

rhythmic

structure of the

theme is retained to an

astonishing

degree,

but the

local

harmonic texture

is varied

to

an

extent

that

enables

the tune to

surge

ever

further

ahead

until,

paradoxically,

it

'develops'

without

modulation:

since the

basic

framework of the

theme is

incessantly

recalled,

if

only

to remind us

how far

we are

ventur-

ing

away

from

it,

smaller-scale

changes

of

harmony,

together

with

drastic

changes

of

melody,

are

enough

to

produce

the

impression

of

development-of

increasing

harmonic tension and

instability.

The

foundation-stones

for

truly

symphonic

variations

are laid:

a wide

ternary

arch,

proceeding,

like

sonata

form,

from

stability

over

instability

back to

stability,

is

clearly

established.

Accordingly,

what

used to be

the simple, final recurrence of the theme, the coda

variation

in

fact,

assumes

the

proportions

of

a

grand,

varied

recapitulation-the

above-mentioned

passa-

caglia

finale,

which

culminates in a

final,

heroic

statement

of

the theme.

It

is a

two-sided

triumph.

'We

are

back '

is

not

the

only

cry

of

joy;

underneath,

there is more extended and

lasting

satisfaction: 'We

got

away

far

enough

to

be able

to

come back like

this.'

But the

real

revolution,

hitherto

unrecognized

as

such,

came

with

Franck's

'Symphonic

Variations',

whose

very

title shows

that

the

composer

himself,

at

any

rate,

was

fully

aware

of

the nature of his

achievement-the

interpenetration

of

symphonic

and variation technique. The assimilation of

sonata

procedures

extends,

beyond

the use of

development,

to

the

integration

of two

contrasting

110

themes,

and the

widely-arched

form

necessitates,

not

only

a finale at

the

end,

but also an

introduction

at the

beginning-the very

features which

were

to

characterize

Schoenberg's

own

orchestral

'Variations'.

At

this

point,

however,

let us

pause

to

remember

that Beethoven's

genius

had

taken

great

care to

confuse history: he was really the man who had

done it all

before,

achieving

as

he

did this kind of

single-movement structure,

albeit

with

the

help

of

a

diversifying

chorus,

in his

'Choral

Fantasy'.

But

so

far

in

advance

of even

the immediate

future

was he

with this

music

that far

from

leading

to

further

developments

in a

totally

uncharted

field,

it

re-

mained misunderstood and

so

neglected.

The

very

fact, however,

that neither

he nor

anybody

else

would

have

dreamt

of

calling

the

Fantasy

'Sym-

phonic

Variations'

clinches our

point:

at that

stage,

the form had

not

come

anywhere

near

a

compre-

hensible,

recognizable

existence. If

you

wanted

to

steal forms

from

the

future,

you

had to

call

them,

rather apologetically, 'Fantasies'.

The

Elgarian masterpiece

consolidates;

it

does

not

really

break

new

ground.

In

point

of

fact,

as the

Schoenberg

'Variations'

were to

show,

there was not

much new

ground

to

break:

atonality

apart, they

themselves do

not,

formally,

go

far

beyond

what

Beethoven, Brahms,

and

Franck had

explored

in the

first

place.

Nevertheless,

by

all

kinds

of subtle

developmental devices,

Elgar

establishes

extreme

and,

at

times,

unprecedented

contrasts

between the

characters

of

his

variations,

almost

turning

some of

them into

new

themes

in

the

process,

with

the

under-

lying 'Elgar'

theme as

unifying

element.

'Dedicated

to

my

friends

pictured

within'-the

inscription

has

always been quoted to describe the basic inspiration

behind the

work,

but the

composing imagination

works the other

way

round:

the

creative need

to

produce symphonic

variations

by way

of

contrasting

musical characters

produced

the

incidental

inspira-

tion,

the

extra-musical

idea

of

contrasting

human

characters.

The

Schoenberg

'Variations'

themselves,

by

now

a

recognized

classic of our

time,

are

the

composer's

first orchestral

essay

in

12-note

technique.

They

work without

key,

then,

and

the

question

arises:

how do we here stand so far as the continued

history

of

developmental

variation

technique

is

concerned,

if

development

means

modulation ?

Where

there

is

no

key,

there is no

modulation,

so what

does

Schoenberg

do

?

He takes his cue

from

Brahms

who,

as we have

seen,

gets

in

a

great

deal of

development

without

modulation.

The theme and its

texture

are sub-

jected

to the most

far-reaching

metamorphoses,

nor

indeed

is its

rhythmic

structure left intact. In

addition,

the motive B-A-C-H

(Bb-A-C-B

in

Ger-

man)

is

used in the

introduction and

the

finale

in

order

to

contribute to

the

symphonic

development.

Schoenberg

described his

entire

composing

method

as 'developing variation', implying that he always

repeated

less

than

expected,

while

yet

remaining

more thematic than

was obvious

on the

surface.



4/4

So

successful

was

he,

in

fact,

in

replacing

modula-

tions

by

drastic

changes

of texture and

structure,

that

his orchestral

'Variations'

came to contain

more

development

than

does

many

an official

sonata form.

We

have

come

full

circle,

or

rather,

full

spiral.

At

the

outset,

we said

that

repetition

was

really

variation; at the end, we say: so is development.

A

Piano Contest

'National

Piano

Playing Competition-National

Final', said the tickets, suggesting the kind of great

public

spectacle

which,

in

Moscow,

would have

meant

queues

along

the streets and

day-long

tele-

vision

coverage.

But this turned out to be

a

contest

only

for

under-18s,

attracting

a

sparse

audience

(doubtless

largely

of

competitors'

relatives and

friends)

to the

Wigmore

Hall

on the

afternoon

of

Dec

16.

It was

organized

by

the

Society

for the

Piano.

Inquiry

elicited the

frank admission

that

the

society's

existence

is notional: it

is a

creation

of

the

British

piano-manufacturing

trade.

There

are

apparently

no

members,

but there is

an

imposing

list of

vice-presidents

(including

Bliss,

Britten,

and

Walton)

and

a

distinguished

advisory

council

(including

Louis Kentner

and Gerald

Moore).

Sir

Malcolm Sargent is president of this singular body.

Its

work,

apart

from the

organization

of

this contest

at

two-yearly

intervals,

is

unknown

to

me-but,

said the

programme,

'one

of

the

proudest

achieve-

ments of the

Society

for the Piano

was the

early

encouragement

it was

able to

give

to John

Ogdon'.

Surely

the

presentation

of a

British

piano

to

Ogdon

took

place

only

after

he had won the

rather

greater

encouragement

of the

Tchaikovsky prize

at

Moscow?

Anyway,

here

were

eleven

young

pianists

assembled to

compete,

with

a

Broadwood boudoir

grand

for

first

prize

and

a

Chappell

upright plus

?100 for second.

A

well-known

musician in

the hall

thought

the

order

of the

prizes

could more

justly

have been reversed.

A

young professional,

he re-

marked,

needs a full-sized

concert

grand

to

practise

on;

a boudoir

is neither

an

effective

substitute

for

this

nor a

useful

everyday

piano

for

cramped

living.

There were

money

awards

for

third and

fourth

prizes.

The

judges

were

Ruth

Railton,

Phyllis

Sellick,

Martin

Cooper,

Sidney

Harrison,

Hans

Keller,

Louis

Kentner,

and

(chairman)

Gerald

Moore.

A

Danemann

concert

grand

stood

on

the

platform-

but

hardly

proved

the

equal

of the

habitual

Steinway.

Nine

competitors,

aged

15-17, played

a

choice

of

stipulated

items

by

Beethoven

and

Chopin.

Two

competitors, aged

13,

had been

allotted

items

technically

less

demanding,

and

played

a

Haydn

sonata

movement

and

Debussy's Arabesque

No 1.

Four

competitors

were then recalled

and

asked to

play prepared pieces of their own choice. Then,

before

the results

were

announced,

Hans Keller

made

a

personal

statement:

he

was,

he

said,

'consti-

tutionally

a traitor' to

competitions

on the

ground

So

successful

was

he,

in

fact,

in

replacing

modula-

tions

by

drastic

changes

of texture and

structure,

that

his orchestral

'Variations'

came to contain

more

development

than

does

many

an official

sonata form.

We

have

come

full

circle,

or

rather,

full

spiral.

At

the

outset,

we said

that

repetition

was

really

variation; at the end, we say: so is development.

A

Piano Contest

'National

Piano

Playing Competition-National

Final', said the tickets, suggesting the kind of great

public

spectacle

which,

in

Moscow,

would have

meant

queues

along

the streets and

day-long

tele-

vision

coverage.

But this turned out to be

a

contest

only

for

under-18s,

attracting

a

sparse

audience

(doubtless

largely

of

competitors'

relatives and

friends)

to the

Wigmore

Hall

on the

afternoon

of

Dec

16.

It was

organized

by

the

Society

for the

Piano.

Inquiry

elicited the

frank admission

that

the

society's

existence

is notional: it

is a

creation

of

the

British

piano-manufacturing

trade.

There

are

apparently

no

members,

but there is

an

imposing

list of

vice-presidents

(including

Bliss,

Britten,

and

Walton)

and

a

distinguished

advisory

council

(including

Louis Kentner

and Gerald

Moore).

Sir

Malcolm Sargent is president of this singular body.

Its

work,

apart

from the

organization

of

this contest

at

two-yearly

intervals,

is

unknown

to

me-but,

said the

programme,

'one

of

the

proudest

achieve-

ments of the

Society

for the Piano

was the

early

encouragement

it was

able to

give

to John

Ogdon'.

Surely

the

presentation

of a

British

piano

to

Ogdon

took

place

only

after

he had won the

rather

greater

encouragement

of the

Tchaikovsky prize

at

Moscow?

Anyway,

here

were

eleven

young

pianists

assembled to

compete,

with

a

Broadwood boudoir

grand

for

first

prize

and

a

Chappell

upright plus

?100 for second.

A

well-known

musician in

the hall

thought

the

order

of the

prizes

could more

justly

have been reversed.

A

young professional,

he re-

marked,

needs a full-sized

concert

grand

to

practise

on;

a boudoir

is neither

an

effective

substitute

for

this

nor a

useful

everyday

piano

for

cramped

living.

There were

money

awards

for

third and

fourth

prizes.

The

judges

were

Ruth

Railton,

Phyllis

Sellick,

Martin

Cooper,

Sidney

Harrison,

Hans

Keller,

Louis

Kentner,

and

(chairman)

Gerald

Moore.

A

Danemann

concert

grand

stood

on

the

platform-

but

hardly

proved

the

equal

of the

habitual

Steinway.

Nine

competitors,

aged

15-17, played

a

choice

of

stipulated

items

by

Beethoven

and

Chopin.

Two

competitors, aged

13,

had been

allotted

items

technically

less

demanding,

and

played

a

Haydn

sonata

movement

and

Debussy's Arabesque

No 1.

Four

competitors

were then recalled

and

asked to

play prepared pieces of their own choice. Then,

before

the results

were

announced,

Hans Keller

made

a

personal

statement:

he

was,

he

said,

'consti-

tutionally

a traitor' to

competitions

on the

ground

To

compose

is to

vary,

and

'variations' are

only

a

special

kind of

varying,

too

complex

to be

called

repetitions,

too theme-conscious

to be

simply

called

development.

But all

music

repeats,

and

all

music

develops.

Variations themselves

show

the

composing process

under

a

magnifying glass.

The

original

version of this

essay

appeared

in the

programme-

book of a 1962 Promenade Concert devoted to works

in

variation

form.

by

Arthur

Jacobs

that

they

are

inimical to the

artistic

spirit

and

that,

whoever may be declared to win, others may do just

as

well

in their actual

careers.

The awards

themselves

led

me

to add

my

own

doubt

to Mr

Keller's.

The

first

prize

was

awarded

to

Nichola

Gebolys,

aged

13;

the second

and

third

to

Frank Wibaut

and

Stephanie

Bamford,

both

17;

the fourth

to Rosalind

Bevan,

16.

The

high promise

of all of

them

is not

in

doubt,

nor the

exceptional

gifts

of

the

winner.

But

I

do

not

see

how it

can be

said

that

a

good

13-year-old

can

be

said to

have

shown more

achievement

than

a

good

16-

or 17-

year-old

playing

a more difficult

selection

of

pieces.

It

may

be

hypothetically

claimed

that

the

13-year-

old

will be better

than

the

others

when

she

has

reached their

age;

but

the converse

hypothesis

could

be

invoked,

involving

the

jury

in the

impossible

task

of

imagining

how the performers at present 16 or 17

would

have

played

at 13.

It seems

to me

that there

should

have

been

two

classes

in this

competition,

corresponding

to

the

different

grades

of

pieces

permitted.

I

do

not

pre-

sume

to

criticize the

jury's

order

of

preference

within

the older

age-group.

I

never

cease

to

marvel

at

the

way

in which

(though

we

professional

critics

habitually disagree

even

on whether

a

leading

virtuoso

understands

Beethoven

or

not)

adjudicators

at

various

competitions

bring

forth

their

firm

verdicts, awarding

trophies

on the confident

alloca-

tion

of

97

points against

96.

Perhaps

this

is

why

critics

are

so

seldom

chosen

as

adjudicators.

The

winner of the

1962

Royal

Amateur

Orchestral

Society's

Young

Composer's

Award

was Patric Standford

for his

Symphonic

Vivace Movement.

The

judges

were Freda

Swain,

Franz

Reizenstein,

Frank

Wright, Christopher

Wiltshire

(last

season's

winner)

and

Arthur

Davison.

The 1963

Royal

Amateur

Orchestral

Society's

Silver

Medal

Award

was

won

by

Marie

Hayward,

a

24-year-old soprano

studying

at the

Royal Academy

of Music

under

Roy

Henderson.

Miss

Hayward

has been

invited

to

appear

as

a soloist at

the

Society's

concert

at the

RCM

in

June.

To

mark the

centenary

of the birth of

Richard

Strauss, Boosey

& Hawkes and

Fiirstner

are to issue a

complete

edition of his

songs,

edited

by

Franz Trenner and

Walter

Seifert. This

edition

will

contain,

in three

volumes, songs

for voice and

piano,

songs

for voice and

orchestra,

songs

orchestrated

by

the

composer,

and

unpublished songs

where

manuscripts

are

available.

The

publishers

and editors

appeal

to owners of

song

manu-

scripts

to

send

photo

copies

as

soon as

possible

to

The

Managing

Director,

Boosey

&

Hawkes,

295

Regent

Street,

London

Wl.

All

owners

will

be

reimbursed.

11

To

compose

is to

vary,

and

'variations' are

only

a

special

kind of

varying,

too

complex

to be

called

repetitions,

too theme-conscious

to be

simply

called

development.

But all

music

repeats,

and

all

music

develops.

Variations themselves

show

the

composing process

under

a

magnifying glass.

The

original

version of this

essay

appeared

in the

programme-

book of a 1962 Promenade Concert devoted to works

in

variation

form.

by

Arthur

Jacobs

that

they

are

inimical to the

artistic

spirit

and

that,

whoever may be declared to win, others may do just

as

well

in their actual

careers.

The awards

themselves

led

me

to add

my

own

doubt

to Mr

Keller's.

The

first

prize

was

awarded

to

Nichola

Gebolys,

aged

13;

the second

and

third

to

Frank Wibaut

and

Stephanie

Bamford,

both

17;

the fourth

to Rosalind

Bevan,

16.

The

high promise

of all of

them

is not

in

doubt,

nor the

exceptional

gifts

of

the

winner.

But

I

do

not

see

how it

can be

said

that

a

good

13-year-old

can

be

said to

have

shown more

achievement

than

a

good

16-

or 17-

year-old

playing

a more difficult

selection

of

pieces.

It

may

be

hypothetically

claimed

that

the

13-year-

old

will be better

than

the

others

when

she

has

reached their

age;

but

the converse

hypothesis

could

be

invoked,

involving

the

jury

in the

impossible

task

of

imagining

how the performers at present 16 or 17

would

have

played

at 13.

It seems

to me

that there

should

have

been

two

classes

in this

competition,

corresponding

to

the

different

grades

of

pieces

permitted.

I

do

not

pre-

sume

to

criticize the

jury's

order

of

preference

within

the older

age-group.

I

never

cease

to

marvel

at

the

way

in which

(though

we

professional

critics

habitually disagree

even

on whether

a

leading

virtuoso

understands

Beethoven

or

not)

adjudicators

at

various

competitions

bring

forth

their

firm

verdicts, awarding

trophies

on the confident

alloca-

tion

of

97

points against

96.

Perhaps

this

is

why

critics

are

so

seldom

chosen

as

adjudicators.

The

winner of the

1962

Royal

Amateur

Orchestral

Society's

Young

Composer's

Award

was Patric Standford

for his

Symphonic

Vivace Movement.

The

judges

were Freda

Swain,

Franz

Reizenstein,

Frank

Wright, Christopher

Wiltshire

(last

season's

winner)

and

Arthur

Davison.

The 1963

Royal

Amateur

Orchestral

Society's

Silver

Medal

Award

was

won

by

Marie

Hayward,

a

24-year-old soprano

studying

at the

Royal Academy

of Music

under

Roy

Henderson.

Miss

Hayward

has been

invited

to

appear

as

a soloist at

the

Society's

concert

at the

RCM

in

June.

To

mark the

centenary

of the birth of

Richard

Strauss, Boosey

& Hawkes and

Fiirstner

are to issue a

complete

edition of his

songs,

edited

by

Franz Trenner and

Walter

Seifert. This

edition

will

contain,

in three

volumes, songs

for voice and

piano,

songs

for voice and

orchestra,

songs

orchestrated

by

the

composer,

and

unpublished songs

where

manuscripts

are

available.

The

publishers

and editors

appeal

to owners of

song

manu-

scripts

to

send

photo

copies

as

soon as

possible

to

The

Managing

Director,

Boosey

&

Hawkes,

295

Regent

Street,

London

Wl.

All

owners

will

be

reimbursed.

11


Keller on Variations

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Transcript of Keller on Variations