A delight to read. Louis C. Fraina, the central figure in the founding of U.S. Communism, was a comrade of wide and varied interests. Here, he looks at the baleful influence of capital’s dead hand on the magic of music. Only 18(!) when this was written, Fraina was already a veteran activist leading the work of the Socialist Labor Party in New York. Now I need to find a recording of Schubert’s “Heroique, Op. 40, No. 1.”

‘Music and Its Appreciation’ by Louis C. Fraina from the Daily People. Vol. 7 No. 86. September 24, 1911.

As in all things capitalist, there is a deadening influence at work in music. The universality and sublimity of music are cramped and almost destroyed by conventional affectations and stupidity. The ghastly trinity of Conventionality and Falsehood and Superficiality reigns supreme, and Music is forced to render homage at its shrine; and its leering, brutal stolidity is omnipresent, marring nearly all things musical.

I know that this estimate will be resented. Just so. We are accustomed to place implicit faith in the time-honored judgments of others, to worship olden names and revere “hallowed” productions, yes, even revolutionists, the majority of whom confine their radical thought to the sociologic formula, and in the fields of art and music wander as listless and conventional as the most abject of conservatives. And taking our judgments thus, we through a species of auto-suggestion hypnotize ourselves into the belief that the music we appreciate is great and grand music; which is a monstrous delusion. Where “New Thought”–which is neither “New” nor “Thought”–would have us think away a tangible condition, musical folks perform an even greater miracle, and think a non-existent condition into what, to them, is palpitating reality.

If one would appreciate the depth of musical indifference in “musical” people, study concert audiences. Emptiness, nothingness,–except for the pretty, tinkling nothing of the orchestra or the singers. The auditor is not lost in the labyrinth of musical emotion, 20 to speak; he is conscious of himself, of his neighbors, of the orchestra,–of all things save the vision that should be visualized by the music, and which vision all real music does visualize. And then, the applause and the chattering attest the superficial impression produced. Applause is loathsome; applause and music are mutually repellant. When–O miracle of miracles!–certain music makes a deep impression in one, the applause breaks in with brutal insistence and shatters his reverie and his emotional silence. Are such persons, and I know quite a few, then to blame for gnashing their teeth in rage? For in the presence of MUSIC, we should be silent, reverent, and by this reverent silence show our appreciation. Applause is vulgar and inartistic; and if you must applaud, reserve it for virtuoso-poseurs, or for bad music that, producing no impression, leaves you free to applaud.

The thought recurs–who is most to blame, audience or musician? They are the obverse and reverse of the same. medal.

In music, as in all matters, let us be free and independent enough to judge for ourselves, even at the risk of being wrong or unjust. Appreciate music because it APPEALS to you, and not because some “authority” or current opinion considers it worthy of appreciation. And, above all, scorn “labels”; Italian opera, Wagnerian opera, Strauss opera, all music, is compounded of bad and good, vulgarities and sublimities, profounds of meaning and melodious nothing, lachrymose sentimentality and passionate emotion. “Schools” are links in the monstrous chain strangling originality and individuality.

The majority of music-lovers do not appreciate MUSIC. They revere conventional opinions. Von Bulow once tested a musically-cultivated German audience, by transposing a Beethoven symphony and a symphony by a composer unknown to fame. The real Beethoven symphony was received with unappreciative silence, while the “Unknown’s” Beethoven symphony was hailed with rapturous and reverent applause.

Most music is emptiness melodiously expressed. In this, music is comparable to most of Swinburne’s poetry, which, melodiously pretty tho it be, scintillating with verbal witchery and flexible versification, yet leaves the reader void of any profound impression. Despite the profusion of poetic melody and metaphors–metaphors which Swinburne uses again and again, and often meaningless, as musicians repeat a melodic theme–the resultant effect is emptiness: the poem has said nothing, absolutely nothing. And thus it is with most music. Puffy-melody, mastery of technique, musical witcheries, all the effects that constitute the externals of music, as it were, and not its soul.

However, as in Swinburne there are few poetic gems of eternal beauty and significance, so in music we know and then detect the gleam of inspiration and emotional beauty.

But then what is the “condition sine” qua non” of good music? I have no desire to dogmatize, merely suggest certain general principles, Melody is not the aim of music; it is a means to an end. Music must either suggest or produce an emotion, or visualize a vision; and the truth of this generalization is in nowise destroyed by the fact that there is certain music, as the Toreador Song in “Carmen,” which is so pure and delicious in its melody that, while it suggests or visualizes nothing, one is aesthetically content with the melody and desires nothing else. And while much of Wagner’s music is not melodious, conventionally speaking, its “discordant melody” is infinitely superior in that it visualizes a vision or produces the impression desired.

As melody should be but a means to an end, so with technique. Musical dilletantes there are in plenty who rave over the technique of a composer, or the technique of a virtuoso. This is abhorrent, at least to me. Style that IS style effaces itself in the mightiness of the effect achieved; and so with musical technique. A music-loving acquaintance and I were discussing music. I declared that “Faust” had appealed much more strongly to me than “Tannhauser,” in fact, I considered Gounod’s opera superior to that of Wagner. With infinite scorn came the answer: “Then you are sentimental,” and a flow of talk concerning technique and deeper meaning. I answered, “Not exactly; only I judge music by the depth of the impression produced, and care not a rap for the technique.” And then this acquaintance made the astounding assertion that whenever she heard Beethoven’s “Ninth Symphony,” she was rapt in her admiration of its wonderful technique and masterly thematic variations. I was nonplussed. The sublimity of the “Ninth Symphony,” its entrancing suggestion of things real and super-real its grandeur of tone and profundity of feeling, were callously substituted by “mastery of technical execution.” Ugh!–as if one were to admire the structural versification of “Ode to a Nightingale,” and not its beauty; or as if Poe’s “explanation” of the “methodical” manner with which he composed “The Raven” were preferred to the mystical emotion and poignant, yearning sorrow of the magnificent poem itself. Or, to vary the comparison, as if one were to admire a beautiful woman, a human Venus of Milo, by an X-Ray observation of her physiologic structural formation.

The music of “Faust” is mostly empty orchestration, true enough; and as a whole it may be inferior to “Tannhauser,” although the latter also consists mostly of orchestral inanities. But there is nothing in Wagner’s opera to compare with the Waltz in “Faust,” for depth of meaning and profundity of emotion produced. It is sublime. When first played in the ballet scene, it is laden with the joy of life and love, with the yearning for the pleasures of the flesh; it stirs into being delicious feelings and desires, and creates an emotional metamorphosis: it is the musical apotheosis of the passionate, fleshly love and life of youth. And when, in the last act, with Marguerite in prison, the orchestra again plays the Waltz in an ethereal, pain-laden pianissimo, an echo of the past, how it stirs the soul with sorrow, with infinite longing for pleasures vanished; how beautifully it symbolizes youth and love and innocence no more–the flame of passion turned to ashes of despair! One phase of life and its meaning–it is all contained in the haunting melody of the Waltz in “Faust.”

The emotions or visions evoked by music may vary; because good music being, like genius, universally comprehensive, often has the peculiarity of being all things to all men. And some folks I know, who, while emotionally enthralled by music that IS music, cannot analyze or comprehend the feelings evoked; and while much is thus lost, it yet is not too greatly to be regretted, as long as emotion, deep and sincere, is produced.

It may prove interesting to describe the visions or meaning I discern in certain musical selections.

Schubert’s “Heroique, Op. 40, No. 1,” is to me the incarnation of the Grecian spirit, with its poetic grandeur and vibrant virility; it is Aeschylean in its grand simplicity. As I listen to the “Heroique” strains, scenes of Grecian dancers and lovers and athletes and warriors and artists flit cinematographically through my mind, dissolving into A grand vision of physical virility allied to poetry and emotion, and living for the joy of life.

Empty, albeit melodious, noise describes a Fantasy from “Cavalleria Rusticana” I recently heard rendered, except for the intermezzo and a sort of fluty interlude. The noise subsides, and a melodious strain arises, thin yet piercing, answered by an identical strain, stronger and obviously masculine–and the phantom vision evoked is that of a lover in some ancient sylvan haunt calling to its mate,–scenes that Theocritus has made poetically immortal. And the intermezzo, with its melody of yearning tenderness and despair, suggested cloistered gloom shrouding a nun moaning for joys shattered or unattained. While the Meditation of “Thais,” akin to and yet different from the inter- mezzo, suggests an houri forlorn wandering disconsolately through the labyrinthine corridors of a palace supernal; and, often, that powerful vision of Coleridge–

“A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon lover.”

The Barcarole from “Tales of Hoffman” incarnates love yearning for fruition, love unappeased, love with its mingled smiles and tears, its pain and happiness.

Massenet’s “Scenes Napolitanes” is a fiasco, for it does not suggest the famed natural beauty of Naples, nor the sensually gay, “dolce far niente” character of the Neapolitan; it is mere noise, comparable to the Overture from “William Tell,” which errs in striving to be exact, whereas the reproduction of “atmosphere,” if one may be pardoned the use of a hackneyed term, is the method whereby music suggests. A selection I heard some two years ago, I believe it was “Summer Roses,” while not “classic,” is yet a creditable performance in that it suggests summer and roses and the joys of our-of-doors.

The “Scene de Ballet” of de Beriot, suggests a salon, nay, more, it reproduces the spirit of the age of the “Grand Monarque,” with its tinkling artificiality, its insincerity, and pretty pomposity; while the “Anvil Chorus” has vividly reproduced the spirit of the Troubadours, with their poetic manliness, rugged independence, and surging life.

Music can be imbued with a revolutionary significance. Tshaikowsky’s “Slave” is an instance. Its introduction has caught the subdued spirit and pain of slavery; and it vividly suggests the slave’s forced gaiety, empty joys, fatuous content, mutterings and murmurs of discontent, revolt, momentary triumph, ultimate defeat and disaster, the clanking of chains; and through it all, the “Slave” subtly suggests potential freedom.

And the “Marseillaise,” that inspired production of an inspired revolutionist, has reproduced, mayhap for all time, the Spirit of Revolution. In comparison with it, the pretty, melodious music of “L’Internationale” fades into insignificance. And this is a pity, for the words of “L’Internationale” are splendidly adapted to a Socialist anthem. May the genius arise who will combine into a Socialist song of the Revolution the musical strength of the “Marseillaise” and the stirring sentiments of “L’Internationale”! Or will that song be the spontaneous production of a momentarily inspired social revolutionist in the stirring days of battle yet to come!

New York Labor News Company was the publishing house of the Socialist Labor Party and their paper The People. The People was the official paper of the Socialist Labor Party of America (SLP), established in New York City in 1891 as a weekly. The New York SLP, and The People, were dominated Daniel De Leon and his supporters, the dominant ideological leader of the SLP from the 1890s until the time of his death. The People became a daily in 1900. It’s first editor was the French socialist Lucien Sanial who was quickly replaced by De Leon who held the position until his death in 1914. Morris Hillquit and Henry Slobodin, future leaders of the Socialist Party of America were writers before their split from the SLP in 1899. For a while there were two SLPs and two Peoples, requiring a legal case to determine ownership. Eventual the anti-De Leonist produced what would become the New York Call and became the Social Democratic, later Socialist, Party. The De Leonist The People continued publishing until 2008.