Evening Star Newspaper, March 16, 1930, Page 104

10 THE SUMDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, MARCH 16, 1930. Loves ot the Composer L “First there was Irmen . . . I married her . . . - o D — l':!’ , : i How His Three Romances Waltzes and Operettas, and Why He Thinks That Lack of the Right Kind of " Heart Affairs Keeps American Song Writers From Doing Great Work. She was a violinist and I was inspired by her.” BY GILBERT SW AN. Sketches by George Clark. HE flash of dark eyes across a softly lighted room . . . ! The piquant flavor of the roman- tic . . . the insinuating fascina~ tion of a lovely actress, or the elec- tric stimulation of an exotic Hungarian dancer . . . the deeper emotional stirrings of love . . . 1 Out of such ingredients Oscar Straus built compositions .which have gone hauntingly through several generations, seeming never to lose their flavor and appeal. And this quality is there because— “My work was always inspired by a wom- an,” says the man who wrote “The Chocolate Soldier,” “The Waltz Dream” and other oper- ettas which placed him, with Franz Lehar, at the head of the Viennese school of music. Now a man in his 50s, growing a bit bent, and showing a certain weariness born of great activity and full life, Straus, who has come to America to write for the talking pictures, looks mellowly back upon the episodes that made for inspiration. “Pirst there was Irmen—I married her, She was my first wife,” he began. IleN was a violinist. Straus was quite young when they met. She wanted him to be a serious musician; to compose important work. “And so I was inspired by her. I had not yet attempted anything in the lighter and gayer veins,” he went on. “You know how tremend- ously serious is youth.. Oh, I wrote and wrote and wrote—all serious music.” It was during this period that he composed his first operetta, “The Merry Nibelungs.” But life began to drift him toward a differ- ent world. Straus had been an orchestra conductor. His concerts took him to Berlin. A certain Baron Volzogen had been operat- &g a sort of “literary cabaret,” a place highly popular with writers, artists, musicians and theatrical folk. It was, says Straus, a delight- fully atmospheric rendezvous, with conversa- tion bubbling like the champagne on the tables. ‘This was before 1900. Suddenly one of those storms of marital temperament crashed upon him. The details of the estrangement that sent his marriage on the rocks are not to be learned from the com- poser. But it was not lightly accepted by the young musician. Still in his early 20s, it seemed disaster. From a serious career which he had been carefully patterning after that of Beethoven, Straus plunged into a lighter and gayer life “to forget.” It was for all the world like the book of one of the Viennese operetgas, Lehar's “Merry ‘Widow,” with its famous sdng wherein the lead- ing character announces that he’s “going to Maxim’s.” At any rate, a complete change began to come over the composer. JUST then, into this new atmosphere of tin- " kling glasses and infectious compamionship, suddenly came the fascinating Boyena Brodski. 8he was a Bohemian opera singer. And again—inspiration! But this time, it was entirely romantic. The young man did not allow the alluring Boyena 10 occupy the deep place in his affections that had been held by his wife. This was a gay <80 Straus found himself writing lilting and senchanting waltz themes. Pirst came “The Last Waltz” and then “The Waltz Dream,” mmot them filled with music dipped’in a ¥ melancholy and fashioned for light-toed dancers. The brittle little romance soon came to an end, however, and now Straus decided that he would _marry a home girl, rear a family and enjoy a solid home life. He met and married’ Clara ®inger, his present wife. While a good mu- sician, she has never appeared professionally. Now came more mature inspiration. “For it was under her influence that I wrote my best-known music—that of ‘The Chocolate Soldier,’ ” Straus relates. He woke up to find himself one of the emi- nent composers of his day, well assured that what he had created would outlive hiln. He was deluged with demands upon his time and efforts. Two sons had been born, the war had broken over Europe and for some time he did little creative work. He interested himself in the education of his growing boys. One is a talented musician; the other a painter. “WB!N I left to come to America one of my boys was composing a jazz opera—" With which, Straus shrugs his shoulders. For he appears to be quite out of sympathy with the syncopations he has heard. Only George Gershwin’s jazz compositions have in- terested him. And Jerome Kern seems to him the only living American operetta composer of Into this atmosphere of tinkling glasses and in- fectious companionship suddenly came the fas- cinating Boyene Brod- ski, any importance. As for the rest—again he shrugs his shoulders. “It is, as I had said, that I believe in in- spiration! Your syncopation 1§ so plainly turned out by the yard . . . without thought or meaning. It 1s a product for the trade, ground out like sausages! “And sausages are all right in their place, but music should be more than that—much more! “You need more romance in this country, my young friend. . . . Yes, I know you are supposed to be a romantic people. And you have many, many romantic things. You just don’t seem to take time to absorb them. That's why your jagz 1s transient. “Here—]1 gome to New York, and not to ap- Straus has done much of his composing in the coffee houses of Paris, Vienna and Berlin. pear immodest, what is the opera I find being revived? f “. . « My own ‘Chocolate Soldier’ And the audiences seem to enthuse as much as ever. Does it not seem to you that your Victor Herbert can be revived year after year—and always find a huge public? “SO it is—tomorrow they forget the jazs tunes of today, and a thousand more are born. But the Viennese waltzes do no die. There is not a number in ‘The Merry Widow’ which does not stir something in those who hear it. Why? It has romance, and the ro- mance communicates itself to those who feel the need of it, or the love of it. “‘The Blue Danube’ will go flowing down through time. Why? Because it is the ro- mance of an entire foiklore. It does not dis- turb you—it carries you with it. It builds dreams for you—It is sad and it isgay. . . . It is, my young friend, a reflection of what is in every heart. “That is what you are missing—except when you strike some of the darky melodies.” Once the inspiration is upon him, Straus does a great deal of his composing in the coffee houses of Paris, Vienna and Berlin. “If I can find no such place in Hollywood, I don’t know what I shall do,” he observes with a comic mock despair that has an evident basis of fact. “I have favorite spots which I haunt in Europe—Ilittle places where I sit and sip-coffee by the hour and watch the people come and go. I like to take the libretto with me and read it over and over, getting ideas from it. I take books with me and read—oh, yes, they are gene erally romances.” UT what about the librettos Hollywood is likely to give him? And how does he view his Hollywood experiment? . Again his very demonstrative shrug. “Only once have I tried music writing in America,” he commented. “Several years ago they sent for me to write music for the thea- ters. I said I would not write unless there were good librettos. Well, they showed me seve eral. But they were all bad. I could do nothing with them. I went back to Europe.” Whatever the ballyhoo that may go up from the film people who have brought him over to Continued on Sixteenth Page The flash of dark across a softly lighted room —uwomen, love, tragedy—of such ingredients Straus . his haunting music.