There is much talk these days, mostly for political reasons, about the purity and impurity of the human race, the usual implication being that purity of race should be preserved, even by means of prohibitive laws. Those who champion this or that issue of the question have probably studied the subject thoroughly (at least, they should have done so) spending many years examining the available published material or gathering data by personal investigation. Not having done that, perhaps I cannot support either side, may even lack the right to do so. But I have spent many years studying a phenomenon of human life considered more or less important by some dreamers commonly called students of folk music. This manifestation is the spontaneous music of the lower classes, peasants especially. In the present period of controversy over racial problems, it may be timely to examine the question: Is racial impurity favourable to folk (i.e., peasant music) or not? (I apply the word racial here to the music itself, and not to the individuals creating, preserving or performing the music.)

No living man has done more for British music than did Henry Wood. His most valuable qualities as a conductor were his complete reliability and unaffectedness on the rostrum, his thoroughness at rehearsals, and his willingness and ability to handle music of the most diverse periods and styles. In these fields he is a model for all who follow him.

It is not surprising that Hungary's greatest composer should write a violin concerto whose qualities are unique. A good concerto has, among other obligations, that of displaying the art of the solo performer to the best advantage. This means that, besides lyrical and expressive passages, there must be liberal portions devoted to pyrotechnics. Yet in many otherwise great concerti such sections seem dragged in to show off technical skill alone, and to have no real significance in the musical structure as a whole. Hungary, however, can boast a long-standing and proud tradition of exciting violin playing in which expressive qualities boil over into a flashing prestidigitation which enhances them. The tradition is exemplified in both gipsy and Magyar folk music. Béla Bartók grew up with this music, and he has devoted many years of exploration and study to it throughout the course of his life. His violin concerto is not based on specific folk themes, but it is certainly steeped in the best traditions of Hungarian folk violin playing.

It may be objected that the title contains a contradiction in terms. For how is it that a movement can be at once a fantasy whose essence is that of a free design drawn according to the whim of the composer, and a sonata which is essentially a formal construction on lines laid down by authority and held by tradition? The fantasy submits to no authority other than that of each individual composer, an authority therefore of mere personal preference having so little status beyond the confines of a single work as to lack the accepted attributes of authority. Tradition the fantasy has, going back to the fantasia or in this country to the Tudor fancy; it is a tradition of free-thinking, regulated by no rigid formalities of construction, the result of individual thought-processes which have to impose themselves on the listener through an inherent rightness and cogency. Yet this is also the very essence of symphonic writing, this ability to think cogently and so compel the listener first to compliance and thence to understanding. And since the fantasy possesses this as its main characteristic it at once comes in contact with symphony and sonata.

The care and feeding of symphony orchestras is often overlooked in scientific treatises on the fauna of our larger cities. In view of the growing interest in outdoor music displayed by great masses of listeners all over the world, it may not be amiss to recount here how, in Philadelphia, the very popular proliferation known as the Robin Hood Dell Concerts grew to health and strength out of the older organism of the Philadelphia Orchestra.

The news that Boosey & Hawkes, Ltd. had acquired the lease of Govent Garden doubtless caused some surprise in musical circles; and those who asked (a little contemptuously, perhaps) what experience the firm possessed of running opera, were quite justified in so doing. The answer to that question is—to speak quite frankly—“All too little.” But since the firm has no intention of attempting to run the Opera House by its own unaided efforts and, on the contrary, is anxious to secure the collaboration of those with the requisite experience of operatic policy, management and production, the anxiety rightly felt on this account will I hope, be somewhat alleviated. It is well understood that the foundation of a permanent English Opera of the highest standard is a matter of paramount concern to every genuine music-lover in this country; and the project will be approached with the seriousness and determination which it demands.

Most composers who have written for the films will agree that there is not so much money to be had from composing for ‘documentaries’ but quite a lot of interest and amusement. If they have been working on the current output, they might recall the cantata with lantern-slide accompaniment which so-and-so composed on the Beveridge report; or perhaps the ovation which the orchestra gave another composer at a recording session for a particularly adroit piece of scoring to fit a sequence on mechanical sewage disposal. But in their more sober moments these composers will admit that there are interesting opportunities for music in documentary films and that there is a real measure of artistic satisfaction in working on such a film if it is well planned and imaginatively executed.

In his broadcast message at the opening of ‘Forces Music Club’ in the autumn of 1942, Sir Henry Wood spoke of the present revival in orchestral music in this country as the climax of his long career. Representing the Forces on this occasion I remarked that had anyone suggested to me in 1939 that the war would bring about this great awakening in music, and that the Services would play a vital, though happily unconscious part, I should have been most sceptical. The reason for that revival need not concern us here. The problems it has raised in this vast organization called the Army have provided a handful of young musicians now in khaki with a Herculean task without precedent in the history of Western music.