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THE MUSIC TRADE REVIEW
rarely is it considered ''worth while" to
play or sing for the gratification of one or
more members of a family or the family.
Music not only gratifies the sense of
hearing", but is the most powerful stimulus
to the imagination.
It paints pictures
which no artist can reproduce, it writes
poems of sweeter rhythm and meter than
have ever been written.
"Play that little piece again," said a
tired man to his daughter, as he lay with
closed eyes on the couch, resting after a
hard day's work and worry.
" I should think you would be tired
hearing it," she replied, a little petulantly,
but she played it over, this time with more
care and feeling than before.
" I t always rests me," said the weary
man. " It brings before me a picture of
willows by a brook, a peaceful landscape
where cattle graze. At the second part,
the scene changes somewhat, but the
willows are there, always waving gently in
the summer wind. It is beautiful."
Never again did that daughter think it
not worth while to play for her father.
*
HPHE outlay and income upon and from
*
the Metropolitan opera season, Mr.
Grau roughly estimates at $650,000 and
looks for gross receipts amounting to
something between $1,000,000 and $1,200,-
000.
As it is expected that there will be
about 110 performances in all, this gives
an average outlay of between $5,000 and
$6,000 per performance. These n o per-
formances include, beside the 68 regular
operatic and the 17 " popular-price" oper-
atic performances, 17 Sunday concerts and
8 special " Nibelungen" performances.
The writer does not pretend to give the
salaries paid to the stars, but guesses that
they must range from $800 to $1,800 for
every performance. The orchestra pay-
roll—to 68 musicians in the orchestra pro-
per and 15 in the stage brass band—
amounts to aboixt $500 per night.
Chorus
singers get $15 per week for six perform-
ances, and there are n o of them. Then
there are "supes," at from 50 cents to 75
cents per night.
Altogether it makes a
complicated and interesting budget.
T IKE all other Spanish-speaking peoples,
*-^ the Porto Ricans are fond of music.
Every cafe has its orchestra, for a cafe
could hardly do business without one.
Every main street during the latter part of
the day has its little itinerant band of guitar
and violin players, and the warm nights
are made pleasant to the strollers along
the streets by the sound of stringed instru-
ments which floats from behind the latticed,
vine-clad screen of private residences.
Nearly all of the airs are pitched in a
minor key, which, even when intended to
be joyous, contains a plaint to the Anglo-
Saxon fond of our more robust music. To
one who has traveled in Spanish lands the
music of Porto Rico at first seems very
familiar, but the ear is not long in dis-
covering something novel in the accom-
paniment to the melody.
It sounds at first like the rhythmical
shuffle of feet upon sanded floor, and one
might suppose some expert clog dancer
was nimbly stepping to the music made
by the violins and guitars. The motion
is almost too quick, too complicated, for
this, however, and it is the deftness of fin-
gers, and not feet, which produces it.
It comes from the only musical instru-
ment native to the West Indies, the
"guira," which word is
pronounced
"huir-r-a," with a soft roll and twist to the
tongue only possible to the native. The
"guira" is a gourd varying in size in differ-
LEO SCHULZ.
ent instruments. On the inverse curve of
the gourd are cut slits like those in the top
of a violin.
On the other side of the
gourd opposite the holes is a series of deep
scratches. The player balances the gourd
in his left hand, holding it lightly that
none of the resonance may be lost.
With the right hand he rapidly rubs this
roughened side of the gourd with a two-
tined steel fork. In the hands of a novice
this produces nothing but a harsh, disa-
greeable noise. In the hands of a native
"guira" player a wonderful rhythmic
sound comes from this dried vegetable
shell—a sound, which, in its place in the
orchestra, becomes music, and most cer-
tainly gives splendid time and considerable
volume to the performance.
The guira is found in all the West
Indies, but seems especially popular in
Porto Rico. The players generally make
their own instruments and apparently be-
come attached to them, for as poor as these
strolling players are they will hardly part
with their guiras, even when offered ten
times their real value. They are distinctly
a Porto Rican curio.
I EO SCHULZ the celebrated 'cellist
*-^ who recently concluded to make his
home in this city; to devote his time to solo
work, has already become a great favorite
with music lovers.
Mr. Schulz's career
has been an eventful one. Born in Posen,
Prussia, in 1865, he made his public appear-
ance as 'cello soloist at the age of nine. In
consequence of his unusual talent, he was
accepted at the Royal Academy in Berlin
when 12 years old, where under the able
instruction of Professors Joachim, Miiller,
and Hausmann, his prog-
ress was extraordinary.
When only fifteen years
old he had acquired such
proficiency as to be invited
to play before the royal
family. From 1880 until
1886 he toured through
Germany, Austria, and
Russia. Shortly afterward
he was chosen as solo
'cellist of the Gewandhaus
Orchestra in Leipsic, where
he constantly received the
highest
encomiums of
press and public.
Mr.
Schulz was also a member
of the Berlin Philharmonic
Orchestra, where his suc-
cess was unprecedented.
He also played with the
famousjoachim Quartette,
whose reputation is inter-
national. When Mr. Ni-
kisch came to America as
conductor of the Boston
Symphony Orchestra, he
prevailed upon Mr. Schulz
to join his orchestra. Up
to a quite recent date he
has been a member of
that great organization
and has appeared as soloist
with great success in Bos-
ton, Washington, St. Louis,
Brooklyn,
and
other
American cities.
A S to the number of hours that should be
**• spent in daily practice, Leschetizsky,
the famous Vienna teacher, and the in-
structor of Paderewski, says it depends
very much upon the pupil's power of con-
centrating his mind upon what his fingers
are doing—five hours he would call a max-
imum, and less is better. " Don't practice
so many hours," he is always saying, "but
use your brain more while you are practic-
ing. Learn to listen to what you are play-
ing—to listen! How few there are who
know how to listen!" And then, to illus-
trate his meaning, he will strike two notes
in succession, say G and D, and show
what changes and shadings of meaning
may be effected by varying the time and
tone quality. A little strengthening here,
a holding back there, the quickening of a
pulse, the change of an accent—these
make all the difference between soul and
clay, between art and artifice, but it takes
a listening brain to feel them. Perhaps—
and indeed it is so regarded—this habit is
one of the most precious of the many