Deems Taylor — Key Ideas to Explore

e in composition, instrumentation, and other subjects, designed to prepare one for the career of composer. His sole researches along these lines were self-made. As a composer he is self-instructed, and it is the opinion of reliable critics that he made an extremely good job of it. His studies in musical history were sufficiently profound to equip him to give a series of lectures on this subject in 1919 in Denver, Colo.

It was at this time that he formed a close friendship with Percy Rector Stephens, the New York vocal instructor and then conductor of the Schumann Club. Stephens had confidence in the Taylor talent and lost no opportunity to promote the young man’s progress. The purpose of the Schumann Club, it will be recalled, was to deliver programs for women’s vocal ensemble that would follow as closely as possible the canons dictating the structure of artist recital programs. To achieve this laudable enterprise it was necessary to adapt the music and render translated texts of an entire library for the club. Mr. Taylor undertook the task with enthusiasm and the product of his labors was among his first essays in musical-literary effort to court serious critical attention.

The prize contest for composers, of which we have so many now-a-days and which are so frequently condemned for their failures to produce a National school of outstanding creative genius, seems, nevertheless to find its associations in the biographies of the current class of American composers. It was through this means, by winning the first place in the National Federation of Music Clubs competition in 1913, with his orchestral composition _The Siren Song_, that Taylor attracted his first recognition as a serious writer in the larger forms. Within three years he had added to his output, in addition to numerous songs with piano accompaniment, _Two Studies in Rhythm_ for piano (Op. 5, Nos. 1 and 2); _The Chambered Nautilus_ (Op. 7), a cantata for mixed chorus and orchestra based on the poem of Oliver Wendell Holmes; _The Highwayman_ (Op. 8), a cantata for women’s voices and orchestra, to the poem of Alfred Noyes; and a song cycle, _The City of Joy_, to the poem by Charles Hanson Towne. In _The Highwayman_, written especially for the MacDowell Festival in Peterboro, N. H., in 1914, Taylor gave his first evidence of that trait that was subsequently accepted as one of his native characteristics, namely his ability to sense public taste. No student of his record can escape consideration of this conspicuous talent in his craft. _The Highwayman_ soon found its place among the most popular works in this form in our current music literature and the name and fame of Deems Taylor grew accordingly. He had raised himself immeasurably from the file of dilettante composers, and discriminating critics began to look to him for works of lasting importance.

In this respect they were not to be disappointed. Early in 1917 there came from his pen an orchestral work, which, through sheer interest and merit forced itself into the repertoires of all of our leading symphony organizations: _Through the Looking Glass_. The first performance in New York proved an event of signal interest in the news of the day and critics agreed that Taylor had fully lived up to the promise which his earlier efforts had offered. Within a few months orchestras in Paris and London had adopted the work, and thus he won his first recognition among the few American writers who have had performances abroad. The personal letters which Taylor received from several of the greatest contemporary musicians both here and abroad, on the strength of this music, may not be published; they show, however, that he was now accepted by them as one of them. His standing was secure.

Interrupting the output of works in the larger forms the record shows numerous songs, many of which were taken up with avidity by our leading concert singers and which will be discussed later from a different angle.

_The Portrait of a Lady_, a rhapsody for strings, wind and the piano, was the next of his more ambitious essays to win popular approval.

As a practical man Taylor realized that if he were to continue his growth in serious music, he must find the means of livelihood in avenues which offered a more immediate return in the currency of the realm. He turned to the theatre and probably not without a feeling that here he would find also the fundamentals upon which he might some day build a work in the music drama form. It was an inviting undertaking, offering both income and working materials for future development. In 1922 he wrote the incidental music for Austin Strong’s pantomime _A Man About Town_, which graduated from the Comedy Club to the Ritz Theatre. He had “broken into” the theatrical game and now according to the custom of the Rialto, he was to be pursued instead of being himself the pursuer in the quest for commissions.

_Liliom_ required music; Deems Taylor was the logical man to supply it. A score was needed for the farce-comedy, _Dulcy_; who better than Taylor could do it? In quick succession he added to the list incidental music for the Winthrop Ames production, _Will Shakespeare_, music for the Theatre Guild’s _The Adding Machine_, a musical setting for Alan Seager’s _I Have a Rendezvous with Death_, in George Tyler’s production of _Humoresque_; the incidental music for _Rita Coventry_; incidental music for Gilbert Miller’s production of _Cazanova_; incidental music for _Beggar on Horseback_, produced by Winthrop Ames in January, 1924, in which was introduced the pantomime _A Kiss in Xanadu_; and the score for the motion picture _Janice Meredith_.

The distinguished use to which Taylor later put the technic he had acquired in these excursions into the theatre, saves them from classification as “pot-boilers.” And, what is more to the point, the music itself which he had written for these various productions, was of a quality which calls for no apologetic comment. Again he had shown his versatility and again he had added to the stature of his name as a creative artist.

During the period of prolific productivity in the theatre Taylor’s addresses to the audiences of the formal concert halls were less frequent. Three outstanding works, however, found expression amid the whirl of activity attendant upon daily reviews of musical performances for his paper “The World,” with his work often interrupted by conferences with producers, scenario writers, playwrights, actors, managers and others, to say nothing of the supervision of rehearsals. These contributions were the song for baritone, _Captain Stratton’s Fancy_, a setting of the John Masefield poem; the symphonic poem, _Jurgen_ (Op. 17); and the suite for Jazz Orchestra, _Circus Day_ (Op. 18), for which the resourceful Ferdie Grofé was called upon to supply the orchestral arrangement.

_Jurgen_ offers additional support to the contention made in the opening paragraphs of this record. It is another example of the service rendered by Deems Taylor to the cause of the American composer, for it represents one of the pioneer instances in which a conductor of an American symphony orchestra has sought out an American composer and commissioned him to write music for specific performance. Our composers had accustomed themselves to regard our symphony orchestras and their conductors as stumbling blocks in the road of progress. Taylor, in company with George Gershwin and Henry K. Hadley, and with the far-seeing Walter Damrosch as the instigator, was helping, then and there, to change a securely established custom. The orchestra was to go after the composer; and this shattering of precedent is of far greater consequence than may seem apparent to casual observance of the facts.

For the same reason the attitude of the Metropolitan Opera Company toward the American composer and toward homemade opera, is a subject which offers unlimited opportunities for conjecture. Proof of an open-minded policy, a sincere desire to bring forth the best that was to be had, is afforded by the action (during the Winter of 1925) of the Board of Directors in commissioning Deems Taylor, on the strength of his achievements in other musical forms, to compose an opera which would be promised a production. No restrictions were placed upon him: The choice of a libretto was left entirely in his hands.

Note again the part which Deems Taylor was playing in the breaking down of traditional methods to set the function of the native composer in a new light.

When this call came to him, he determined to sacrifice every other of his manifold activities to a successful prosecution of the mission. Reluctantly he gave up the duties of music critic—a position in which he was fast winning sympathetic and widespread approval, even as the successor of the late James Gibbons Huneker.

He turned with enthusiasm and high hopes to the task of finding a libretto, a search which promised no easy fulfillment, for little had been done in this land to stimulate the production of operatic books that would satisfy the complex requirements of the lyric stage.

Acting upon his own frequently expressed conviction that a genuinely poetic and dramatic libretto is an indispensable adjunct to the score of a grand opera, Mr. Taylor turned for assistance to Edna St. Vincent Millay, whose volumes _Renascence_, _Second April_, _A Few Figs From Thistles_, and _The Harp Weaver_ have established her as one of the few great lyric poets of this generation. Miss Millay’s response to the appeal was an idea based upon a mediaeval legend; it was the story of _The King’s Henchman_, and it made a strong appeal to Taylor’s inherent sense of public taste. He could discover in it those elements which meant operatic success. He bade Miss Millay to go on with its development and meantime he busied himself with the laying out of his patterns.

Two years later, on the evening of February 17th, 1927, the world première of _The King’s Henchman_ took place at the Metropolitan Opera House. This was no ordinary première, even as brilliant as such events usually are. For months in advance the sagacious press department of the big theatre, aided enthusiastically by a sympathetic press, had aroused public interest in the production. The “Evening Post” declared that “Never in the history of the Metropolitan Opera House had a native offering been attended by such advance interest and such good omens of success as _The King’s Henchman_.”

At the opera house, in the corridors, on the stage, back in the executive offices, everywhere there existed a spirit of expectancy and optimistic hope.

Tickets for the opening night were at a premium; on the final day they were unpurchasable at any price. Again Deems Taylor was making news.

The evening itself measured up fully to the anticipation it had created. It went into the records as one of the most dazzling of operatic premières; the audience actually liked the performance as an opera; it seemed to enjoy itself hugely and there was accordingly wild enthusiasm when the composer and librettist were called to the front.

What was the effect of all this adulation, this frenzied praise upon the man who was responsible for the success of the evening? Again we turn to his intimates for the answer. We find him reading, deeply solicitous, those words of criticism which measured with scientific analysis, in a more discriminating vein, the points of weakness in the score. He was neither professionally “high hat” nor “up-stage.” It was his first grand opera and he knew that he had yet to learn. He felt that he could learn most from those who were prepared to show him how to step higher. He absorbed these comments with none of the petulance of the prima donna who finds in unfavorable criticism only the traces of jealousy and lack of appreciation.

But most convincing of all in the testimony relating to the outcome of the eventful evening’s proceedings, was the decision of the Metropolitan Board of Directors, announced a few days after the première, to commission Taylor to write a second opera to be produced within two years from the date of his operatic debut.

Some idea of the public interest aroused through this promise of a second opera from Deems Taylor’s pen was reflected in the large amount of space devoted to the project by the daily papers. For several months after the announcement there was interested speculation both in musical circles and in the newspapers over the choice of his libretto. It was not until late in the Fall that Mr. Taylor, in a column interview, gave out the news that had been awaited with such lively anticipation; his manner of acquainting the world with his selection was thoroughly characteristic.

The opera was to be based on an American novel, the identity of which at that time, remained a mystery. But Mr. Taylor’s practical collaborator—his librettist—was to be none other than himself!

“I have found,” the composer related to a reporter for the Associated Press, “the most charming and compatible, the most accomplished and erudite of collaborators. We get along splendidly together. It is true that I fuss and say crude things to this collaborator, sometimes, but it is all taken in good grace.”

This same interview revealed another phase of the Taylor character, too significant to be overlooked in any discussion that pretends to reveal the man.

He declared that his new opera would be a product of the great city; that he had no tolerance for the widely exploited quiet of the country generally believed to be indispensable to those engaged in creative endeavor.

“I tried the country,” he confided to his interviewer, “and it is too noisy. There are katydids, tree-toads, crickets, week-end guests and mosquitoes; all terrible noise-makers. Besides, New York is the only place I can be alone. In New York visitors stay ten minutes. In the country they stay ten days.”

As to the nature of the new opera the composer described it as tragic-comic; half phantasy and half realism. “It has overtones of romance and nuances of practical life,” he said. “The emotions are typically American.”

When the new owners of the weekly periodical, “Musical America,” in search of an outstanding figure in the field of musical literature, one who would merit a sympathetic response from the musical public, selected Taylor for the post of editor-in-chief, they did no more than to reflect the high esteem that he had won for himself. The manner in which he took over the responsibility, as revealed in his declaration of intentions, in the issue of August 27th, 1927, was thoroughly characteristic of the man. Here he disclosed rare editorial acumen in a frank statement, analyzing minutely the qualities which the average American music-lover would seek in a journal, and promising that his program as director of the enterprise would adequately satisfy those needs.

And so it becomes apparent that Deems Taylor the man is quite as important as Deems Taylor the composer. No record of his achievements in the latter capacity is complete without mention of the sterling qualities that he built within his own character. The chronicler of his history finds no evidence on this point more startling nor convincing than the happy, friendly relationship which exists between him and his publisher. Here indeed is a miracle, as witness the biographies of scores of the great composers of all times and observe the bickerings and transactions of distrust which have marked their dealings with the men who gave out their music to the world.

Taylor has written more than fifty compositions, a full catalog of which is appended to this article. Without exception, each of these works, large or small, is of importance, and individual. Each bears analysis, but does not demand analysis for its enjoyment. While the individuality of his work is not essentially an idiom, and never a formula, there is always an atmosphere and a color that command attention. The music is thoughtful, yet spontaneous, reflective though objective; and so well constructed and designed that the structure does not impose itself on the listener.

Taylor’s severest critics have accused him of lacking a true melodic gift. The most superficial study of his music should disprove this charge. The _Looking Glass_ Suite and _The King’s Henchman_ abound in melodies interesting in themselves and ingeniously and logically developed. His best work has the quality of inevitability which is the supreme test of greatness in art, an inevitability which is never mere obviousness.

Comparisons are ever futile, and it is rarely profitable to compare one composer with another. Suffice it to say that we may claim Taylor as a native born composer, who needs no apology, no qualifying adjectives, no patriotic propaganda, no press agenting, and no circus methods for gaining recognition. He has gained recognition not because of or despite the fact that he is an American, but merely because he has written beautiful music, worthy to rank with the great works of the world.

On several occasions Taylor has given advice to young composers, either through interviews or articles written by himself. The doctrine he expounds is tersely summarised in an article in “The Musical Digest,” as follows:—

1. Get to be a professional. 2. Make everything you do count. 3. Try not to avoid criticism, and not to mind it. 4. Try not to make the same mistake twice.

This is not easily given advice to be disregarded by the giver; it is his own creed, reflected in every work in his list. He has written no “pot-boilers,” made no concessions to the caprice of a fickle public, followed no easy paths to a facile popularity.

In an interview in “The Musical Observer” he once stated: “I think this country will produce some very bad composers and a few very great ones. Bad ones, because it is so easy to be popular here. You can please so many people by attaining a certain level—a level which requires very small gifts. A few great ones because anyone who has the nerve to be a good composer in this country and is so recognized, must be big enough to appeal to everybody, as the popular composer is bad enough to appeal to everybody.”

Taylor’s songs and choral works are by-words on recital programs and his shorter works are household words in concert hall and studio. Those that have had the greatest vogue are _Mayday Carol_ and _Captain Stratton’s Fancy_.

_Mayday Carol_ is a setting of an Essex folk-song in which the arranger has kept the warmth and simplicity of the original, and yet given it a sophisticated background. The harmonization is rich, and the counter melodies dextrously woven.

_Captain Stratton’s Fancy_ is a setting of the poem by John Masefield, and the combination has proved a song that has been the delight of hundreds of baritones. The spirit of the rum-loving pirate, “the old bold mate of Henry Morgan,” is rollickingly emphasized by the music.

_Banks o’ Doon_ to a poem of Robert Burns, shows Taylor’s lyric talent at its best. He has achieved the distinction of composing a melody which has all the attributes of a folk-song. There is simplicity, restraint, and yet a poignancy which brings out all the tender warmth of the exquisite poem.

For piano, Taylor has written only two pieces, _Two Studies in Rhythm_, Opus 5. These are a _Prelude_ in 7-8 time, and a _Poem_ in 5-8 time. The rhythms are never manufactured, or artificial; they are metric units written as conceived, spontaneous and natural. As in the 5-4 movement of the Tchaikovsky _Pathetique_, one forgets the unusual time divisions, because of the fluency of the rhythmic sequence.

As a writer of choral music, Taylor has earned an enviable distinction. Chief among his works for chorus are _The Chambered Nautilus_, a cantata for mixed chorus and orchestra, Opus 7; _The Highwayman_, a cantata for women’s voices and orchestra, Opus 8; and the sixty arrangements for women’s voices of _Traditional Airs_, which he made for the Schumann Club of New York. In reviewing these transcriptions, Sidney Grew, the English lecturer and critic, wrote as follows in “The Musical Standard” (London):