Old Scores and New Readings: Discussions on Music & Certain Musicians

In Short

This book is an assembly of sharp, often pugnacious essays spanning the history of Western classical music from the Elizabethan era to the late nineteenth century. The author evaluates composers ranging from William Byrde and Henry Purcell to Wagner, Brahms, and Tschaikowsky. By challenging academic orthodoxies and criticizing the "correctness" of contemporary performances, the work serves as a personal manifesto on the nature of musical beauty. It has endured because its author refuses to offer polite consensus, choosing instead to write with a vivid, visceral passion that remains startlingly modern.

The Story

The narrative arc of these essays begins in the distant, austere past of English church music. The author posits that the history of the art is not a steady progression of improvements, but a series of peaks and valleys. He starts with William Byrde, whose Mass in D minor he champions as a masterpiece of "splendid" music, unfairly overshadowed by later, lesser figures. From there, he navigates toward the seventeenth century, celebrating Henry Purcell as a descriptive genius whose music carries the "wholesome cleanliness of the open air."

As the discussion moves into the German tradition, the tone shifts toward the titanic figures of Bach and Handel. The author contrasts Bach’s John and Matthew Passions, arguing that the John Passion’s raw, tempestuous depiction of the mob reveals a more urgent, visceral humanity than the later, more resigned Matthew. He then pivots to Handel, rejecting the "cowardly" obsession with sin that he associates with Bach’s darker moments, instead celebrating Handel’s Messiah as a robust, exuberant hymn to sheer joy.

The middle of the collection transitions into the operatic world. Here, the author acts as a polemicist, attacking the "traditional Costamongery" that has obscured Mozart’s Don Giovanni. He laments that performers have turned a sophisticated pantomime into a cluttered, melodramatic mess. This frustration with performance culture extends to the works of Weber and Wagner. He positions Weber as the "younger brother" of the Romantic movement, whose brilliant use of scenery paved the way for Wagner’s more complex, human-centered music-dramas. He explores the Ring cycle and Lohengrin with intense scrutiny, ultimately viewing Wagner’s Dusk of the Gods as a funeral chant for the ages, where "ripeness is all" that life offers.

The final movement of the book grapples with the contemporary tension between the late nineteenth-century masters. The author is deeply skeptical of Brahms, whom he views as a master of "consummate workmanship" that is too often "dead as a door-mat," lacking the vital inner life he finds in Tschaikowsky’s Pathetic symphony. He concludes by attacking the rise of cold, mechanical precision in conductors like Lamoureux. He insists that music is not a set of notes to be reproduced with a foot-rule and metronome, but a living experience that requires a degree of human "wrongness" to achieve its full, resonant power.

How It Unfolds

The English foundations The author reclaims the English school, elevating Byrde and Purcell above their reputation as mere precursors to later mediocrity. He establishes a standard for what constitutes "great" music: a unique, personal vitality that transcends academic categorization.

The theological contrast He dissects the Passions of Bach to highlight the difference between tragic resignation and dramatic intensity. This leads to a vibrant defense of Handel, whom he treats as a refreshing, secular antidote to the morose tendencies of his contemporaries.

The operatic critique Moving to the stage, he decries the corruption of Mozart’s masterpieces by prima donnas and directors. He argues for a return to the "sincerity" of the original intent, rejecting the modern tendency to "modernize" classic works into Wagnerian dramas.

The Wagnerian legacy The author provides an extensive analysis of the Ring cycle, praising its scenic power while warning against the trap of over-intellectualizing the mythic content. He finds in Lohengrin a singular beauty that he hopes will survive even if future audiences lose faith in the other giants.

The modern struggle The final beats weigh the technical perfection of Brahms against the emotional, if flawed, genius of Tschaikowsky. He closes with a broadside against the "logical logic-choppers" who prioritize scientific accuracy in performance over the messy, breathing truth of musical art.

The People

The figures in these pages are not merely historical names, but active participants in an ongoing struggle for artistic integrity. William Byrde represents the forgotten pinnacle of early art, a man whose greatness is obscured by three centuries of neglect. Henry Purcell stands as a model of the natural observer, one who translates the beauty of fields and sunlight into sound. Johann Sebastian Bach is portrayed as a titan who wrestled with the limits of human agony, while Handel provides the author’s preferred counterpoint—a figure of robust, confident health.

Mozart emerges as the tragic hero of the book, a master whose intent is constantly under assault by the "pantomime" of tradition. Wagner is treated with a complex reverence; he is the heir to the Romantic movement who successfully navigated the dangerous waters of scenery and legend to create a new form of human drama. Finally, Brahms acts as the foil to the author’s sensibilities—a master technician whose work is occasionally "dead," standing in stark contrast to the human, weeping, and "human-noted" symphonies of Tschaikowsky, who is presented as a flawed but deeply felt modern successor.

In Its Own Voice

"When the New Zealander twenty centuries hence reckons up the European masters of music, he will place Byrde not very far down on the list of the greatest; and he will esteem Byrde's Mass one of the very finest ever written."

The author defends his long-held belief in the stature of William Byrde against the indifference of casual critics.

"Of the sense of sin--the most cowardly illusion ever invented by a degenerate people--there is no sign; where Bach would have been abased in the dust, Handel is bright, shining, confident, cocksure that all is right with the world."

In evaluating the Messiah, the author draws a sharp, provocative line between the theological weight of Bach and the sunlit joy of Handel.

"Perhaps some day the foot-rule, the metronome, and the tuning-fork will take the place of the human ear and artistic judgment; but until that day arrives I prefer the wrongness of Mottl's orchestra to the strict correctness which Lamoureux used to give us."

The author concludes his critique of modern conducting by arguing that "correctness" is the enemy of artistic spirit.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an argument against the ossification of art. The author is obsessed with the question of why some music lives while other music dies. He posits that music survives only if it speaks to the listener with a "human note," capturing a genuine emotion or a fresh, natural beauty rather than merely fulfilling a set of technical or scholastic requirements. He attacks the "academics" and "theorists" who would turn beauty into a rulebook. Ultimately, it is a plea for the listener to trust their own ears and heart over the consensus of the "musical Continent" or the dictates of tradition.

Why Read It Today

If you are tired of the sanitized, sanitized-for-your-protection criticism that dominates much of today's musical writing, this book will feel like a bucket of cold water. Its author is unapologetically subjective; he loves what he loves with a fiery intensity and despises what he finds "dead" with equal vigor. You will read about Wagner or Brahms not as museum pieces, but as living, breathing (and sometimes frustrating) entities.

The book is rewarding for any reader who enjoys a strong, distinct voice. However, the reader should be prepared for the author’s period biases—his dismissiveness toward certain theological ideas and his occasional, casual chauvinism regarding the "unmusical" English or the "German" taste. He assumes a reader who is already deeply familiar with the scores, and he is not interested in holding a beginner's hand. Yet, for all its occasional irascibility, the book remains a masterclass in how to engage with art directly. It leaves you with the distinct impression that music is not a subject to be studied, but a life to be lived, and that the only unforgivable sin in art is to be boring.