There’s nothing like a good bit of civil disorder to fix the celebrity 
                – or notoriety – of a piece of music. The French seem particularly 
                fond of a good riot in the name of Art. These days, one finds 
                oneself rather wishing that 
any Classical music event could 
                cause that kind of reaction. Take just three of many such happenings 
                from the early decades of the last Century; 
The Rite of Spring 
                – premiered 29 May 1913 at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées, 
                now universally accepted as one of the most important pieces of 
                music of the 20
th Century. Walton’s 
Façade – 
                first public performance 12 June 1923 at the Aeolian Hall prompting 
                the famous review “Drivel they paid to hear” now accepted as one 
                of the composer’s most popular works and Antheil’s 
Ballet Méchanique 
                premiered at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées again in June 
                1926. This latter work has never had the chance to be judged or 
                reassessed until now because in the original form recorded here 
                it lay unperformed for sixty-two years. So regardless of any technical 
                merits, this disc is a hugely important document of one of those 
                fabled pieces of music that inhabits the history books but not 
                the concert halls or recording studios. Great credit to Nimbus 
                then for yet another valuable excavation from the vaults of the 
                MusicMasters back catalogue to restore this 1990 recording. 
                  
                At last you can make up your own mind about what the fuss was 
                all about and whether this work deserves to takes its place in 
                the standard repertoire in the way that both 
The Rite and 
                
Façade have albeit occupying very different ends of the 
                musical spectrum. The added value of this CD is that it recreates 
                the programme of the concert at the Carnegie Hall on 10 April 
                1927. The 
Ballet Méchanique captured all the headlines 
                but the programme – which with the exception of the 
A Jazz 
                Symphony – were not premieres – was meant as a sample of Antheil’s 
                work to date and mark his triumphal return to America after some 
                times spent in Europe as the daring devilish darling of the avant-garde. 
                The really excellent and extended liner by conductor Maurice Peress 
                outlines the origins and development of all the works. The excellence 
                extends to the recording which for all the works is quite close 
                and relatively dry but excitingly powerful and detailed. These 
                qualities are particularly valuable in a work of such heavy and 
                thick textures as the 
Ballet Méchanique but all of the 
                music benefits from such a revealing approach. And revelatory 
                is the only term which one could apply to the performances from 
                all the artists involved. Headline plaudits of course will go 
                to Maurice Peress and his New Palais Royale Orchestra and Percussion 
                Ensemble for their skill at making something coherent out of the 
                potential chaos of the big works. Enough to say that all the playing 
                by all the ensembles and soloists on this disc is first class 
                and more importantly all fully enter into the rough and tumble 
                spirit of the iconoclastic Antheil. The disc opens with 
A Jazz 
                Symphony. Interestingly, this was written in 1925 for the 
                follow-up concert by Paul Whiteman and his Orchestra to the “First 
                Experiment in Modern Music” concert that spawned 
Rhapsody in 
                Blue. For some unknown reason the Antheil symphony, although 
                written in time, was shelved until the 1927 Carnegie Hall Concert. 
                By then it was entrusted to W.C. Handy and his ‘All Negro’ orchestra 
                with the composer as soloist. Handy felt it was beyond him and 
                handed the baton to Alfie Ross, the associate conductor of the 
                Harlem Symphony. Twenty-five, yes twenty-five, rehearsals later 
                the piece received an ovation – a fact often forgotten in all 
                the hooplah regarding the 
Ballet Méchanique. Jazz aficionados 
                will always pour scorn on the likes of Gershwin’s 
Rhapsody 
                as not ‘true jazz’. That may be so, but the sincerity in the 
                attempt to bridge the gap between the improvised and the concert 
                hall is never in doubt. Gershwin took Jazz seriously. With Antheil 
                I’m not so sure. For all its brilliance this ‘symphony’ – which 
                it isn’t if we are being pedantic – seems like an extended parody. 
                It takes the gestures and effects of 1920s jazz and bundles them 
                together in a brilliant but superficial mélange. Even the piano’s 
                opening gesture after the manic rhumba of the orchestra seems 
                to spoof the earlier work. Without a doubt it’s all good fun and 
                entertaining – and brilliantly played here from raspberrying trombones 
                to leary saxophones. The main problem I have with the piece as 
                a work is that it sounds like a frenzied parody. I’m not sure 
                Antheil 
likes jazz. It strikes me that there are a whole 
                raft of jazz-influenced works from the 1920s that don’t try so 
                hard to be 
bad. Because, from the ameliorating distance 
                of eighty or so years, what once was bad now seems faintly naughty 
                at best. Never mind, it is a delight to have the original work 
                restored to the recorded repertoire and in as confident a performance 
                as this. I have to say I do rather like the passage at around 
                7:25 when a blowsy trumpet solo is accompanied by a very 
Rite-like 
                nervous oom-pah accompaniment – now that 
is subversive. 
                
                  
                The filling to this concert’s sandwich is provided by the 1923 
                
Second Sonata for Violin, Piano and Drum and the 1924 
String 
                Quartet No.1. The inclusion of the drum in the sonata is rather 
                entertaining – at the first performance of the work this part 
                was played by the poet Ezra Pound – a close friend of Antheil 
                – whose mistress Olga Rudge played the violin part. Having, in 
                my one and only professional appearance as a percussionist managed 
                to miss the triangle during the performance of the most famous 
                Dvorak 
Slavonic Dance I can say this is no easy matter 
                but my guess is Pound was a better poet than percussionist hence 
                the simplicity of the part allotted. Again the performers here 
                attack the work with gleeful ferocity in all its eight minute 
                brevity and it is very hard not to feel that shock and outrage 
                were the two responses Antheil most eagerly sought. Of course 
                Jazz in the 1920s meant something a lot closer to Ragtime and 
                syncopation than the added note harmony and super-complex rhythms 
                that were to come within twenty or thirty years. For all its noise 
                and clamour this is not complex music – just rowdy and attention-seeking. 
                Without greater familiarity it is hard to sense any underlying 
                structure, again the moment seems more important than the more 
                long-term scheme – I might well be wrong – I just can’t hear it. 
                
                  
                The 
String Quartet No.1 is another single movement work. 
                I rather like the description quoted in the liner to Mary Louise 
                Curtis Bok who founded the Curtis Institute in Philadelphia from 
                Antheil himself. He wrote; “... it sounds exactly like a third 
                rate string orchestra in Budapest trying to harmonize kind of 
                mongrel Hungarian themes ...” And that’s the composer! This is 
                the most abstracted work here, the least sensationalist. Again 
                played with real flair and skill. I can’t say I liked it much 
                as a piece but conversely I cannot imagine it receiving a more 
                committed performance. As before the recording allows all the 
                detail to register with excellent clarity and even in the most 
                demanding passages the Mendelssohn Quartet play with tonal beauty 
                and easy technique. 
                  
                But all this acts as a prelude to the main event, the work that 
                all the fuss was about; the 
Ballet Méchanique heard here 
                in its original scoring including pianola, multiple xylophonists, 
                sirens, airplane propellers and eleven pitched electric bells. 
                Has it been worth the wait, is it such a radical piece after all? 
                Well yes and no – come on now the fence is much too comfortable 
                a place to be sitting to leave it just yet. The really radical 
                element is the use of the non-musical ‘instruments’ pre-echoing 
                as it does the experiments with musique concrète in the 1950s. 
                Indeed, you could go further and speculate that the structural 
                use of silence presages John Cage. I love the idea that at the 
                first performance the ‘propellers’ – which as Peress in the note 
                drily notes were no more than big fans - blew into the audience 
                causing extra mayhem – to which the public responded by making 
                their own paper planes out of the programmes. Quite what the propellers 
                were meant to add texturally to the proceedings I don’t know – 
                even though they are allotted three specific pitches; small wooden, 
                large wooden and metal. I wonder whether the effect is more gestural 
                or theatrical. On this recording both the bells and the propellers 
                are samples that are mixed into the resultant performance. Clearly 
                this represents very accurately the exact instruction given in 
                the score. But so ‘polite’ and ‘correct’ are the appearance of 
                these by definition disruptive elements that I wonder if it is 
                
really what Antheil was after. From Peress’ description 
                of the technical hurdles the composer faced it is clear that he 
                was testing the technical boundaries of music. Originally he wanted 
                sixteen pianos connected to a single set of pianola rolls with 
                the pianola playing a part impossible for any human virtuoso to 
                achieve. This is exactly what Conlon Nancarrow was to write for 
                later. Today, the computer synchronisation of multiple parts would 
                be a breeze. Antheil was tilting at windmills. The key to the 
                ‘riot’ I’m sure is that Antheil’s concert manager - one Donald 
                Friede – was a Broadway producer amongst other things. Without 
                a doubt he would have subscribed to the “no publicity is bad publicity” 
                adage – hence giving the press in the days before the concert 
                headlines such as “
Ballet Méchanique to din ears of New 
                York – Makes Boiler Factory Seem as Quiet as Rural Churchyard”. 
                I think that’s called sowing the wind ...! Certainly the abiding 
                impression of the work is one of din. Yet in the midst of all 
                the noise you can hear Antheil making a real effort at producing 
                music – yes, music – that is original and striking and quite without 
                precedent. At the time the music of Charles Ives was quite unknown 
                and it is Antheil who throws into a big melting pot various music 
                gestures and ideas (albeit only partially digested or even conceived) 
                that other composers would pursue later. The mechanistic quality 
                is strangely alienating and disturbing. I would point readers 
                towards two excerpts on YouTube of the original Fernand Leger 
                film entitled 
Ballet Méchanique for which the original 
                music was conceived. Set against the strangely abstract disorientating 
                images the music provides a compelling heart-beat for the film-maker’s 
                vision. Again as Peress writes it creates a fusion of many of 
                the artistic obsessions of the age; rag-time, futurism, the machine 
                age to name but three. The performance, as far as I can judge 
                is extraordinary – the multiple xylophonists – six – play with 
                a unanimity that verges on the disconcertingly robotic. Likewise 
                the phalanx of six pianists flanking the world’s “only professional 
                concert pianolist” Rex Lawson. The greatest tribute one can pay 
                to the ‘live’ pianists is it’s all but impossible to hear where 
                the pianola ends and they begin – a kind of musical AI. Without 
                a doubt this is music where a gauntlet has been thrown down. Returning 
                to my riots – how curious that of the three one has become a timeless 
                towering masterpiece, one an affectionate parody of a bygone age 
                and one – the most superficially radical of the lot – is the one 
                that wears its age with least grace. How often a work of art that 
                most closely reflects the age of its creation becomes bound to 
                that age and thereby dates. The composer Virgil Thomson was an 
                oft-times acid-tongued critic (he wrote of Sibelius’s 
Symphony 
                No.2 in 1940 that it was; “vulgar, self-indulgent and provincial 
                beyond all description”.) however in 1925 he wrote the following 
                appraisal of Antheil; “... for all his facility and ambition there 
                was no power of growth ... the 
Ballet Méchanique written 
                before he was twenty-five, remains his most original piece”. Possibly 
                harsh but probably true. 
                  
                A must-hear disc for anyone with any kind of passing interest 
                in the development of 20
th Century music – decide for 
                yourself if it represents prophetic music or a blind alley. For 
                myself, I’m glad to be able to hear all of this music for myself 
                in such fine performances. More discs from MusicMasters please 
                Nimbus. 
                  
                
Nick Barnard 
                
See also reviews by Bob 
                  Briggs and Rob 
                  Barnett