Evening Star Newspaper, January 25, 1931, Page 73

{ > THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, JANUARY 25, 1931, - 3 - Stokowski Forecasts a Music Revolution Orchestra Conductors Must Soon Be Engineers, Says the Famed Leader of the Phila- delphia Symphony, Who Has Labored Months Designing a New Control to Per- fect Radio Broadcasting and Get the True Sound of Every Instrument. BY GILBERT SW AN. EOPOLD STOKOWSKI, famous con- ductor of the Philadelphia Symphony Orchestra, has turned inventor. For months, associated with scientists and engineers, he has been experimenting with a radio broadcasting control instrument. He aims to perfect the broadcasting of sym- phonic music over the radio. This, he explains, is only a toddling step in a new direction. He is filled with dreams of things awaiting to be done; new feats of scientific magic which will create a music such as has never been known since the world began. To these ends Stokowski labors day after day in a sort of Utopian fevery mingling his art as a great conductor with arches that promise to open the door to a strange new world of sound. K And right here two points must be stressed: First: This is not the mere conception of an artistic and elastic impagination. Dr. Sto- kowski is not playing with dream dust in some attic laboratory. For more than a year he has been associated with O. B. Hanson, engineering head of the National Broadcasting Co.’s great laboratory. Also he has been working with the General Electric’s scientific staff. Second: This does not mean the end of the orchestra, as now organized and operated. [ CHESTRA and the symphonic compo- ; sitions have for years had their audi- toriums, their stadiums and their Carnegie Halls,” Stokowski explains. “In properly con- structed places every nuance of the composer’s idea and the conductor’s interpretation could be brought out. “But the radio came along. Here was no mere auditiorium, but all space to draw upon. Here was an entirely new medium, with mil- lions listening in every corner of the earth. I had heard symphonies broadcast over the air I was not satisfied with the resuits. “Just take my own case—I was called upon give a series of concerts over the N. B. C. circuit. Up to this time my companions had been for the most part musicians. Now I found myself surrounded by engineers and scientists. I became fascinated with the new subject the concert I played. I realized that a vast difference between playing for Hall audience and for the micro- I began to listen to the broadcast tions. Something was wrong—whole ns of the music would seem to be slurred massed in a foggy haze. Certain instruments appear to be lost in the shuffie of sounds. when we played- it was not as we played an auditorium. “We had to soften our tones to meet with the requirements of a broadcasting room. The fullness one can achieve in a huge hall had to be missing. It started me thinking. “SO we started work on an instrument to perfect, if possible, the tonal quality of the radio product. So that there can be no misunderstanding—we are still experimenting, although a great deal has already been achieved by way of a start. “The thing that impressed me first of all was the sort of handicap with which a conductor had to cope. The conductor conducted his musicians, but the control engineer directed the machinery. It seemed to me, right then and there, that there should be a closer relationship between the conductor and the machinery. After all, it is the business of the musical director to get the best possible result from his medium. “In my first investigations I found that nothing had yet been worked out. Radio was, after all, still in its infancy. But it was too important a factor in future history to be dis- missed lightly. I intend—or hope—to have some small part in this future. Anyway, it's too late now, because I'm a victim of fasci- nation. “At any rate, what I've been trying to ac- complish with the engineers is simply a method of orchestral broadcasting which will allow the director to direct the control. “But that still will not allow the full volume of tone which the radio must sometimes have. . And this volume is greater than that possible in a mere auditorium. The next step seems to be the elimination of the present control. After all, your Carnegie Halls are inclosed in four walls. They have their limitations. But once it becomes possible to have a direct broadcast minus the control, then your possibilities are limitless. “Then you are able to expand your volume. Yes—this will mean a new music. Future com- posers who may be unborn now or in knee breeches will rise to write this new music.” The symphony conductor of the future before the microphone will control not only the playing of his orchestra but also the broadcasting itself. ¢¢ A ND how about the musical instruments?* he was asked. s “Yes—there will be new instruments invented —instruments that no one has yet conceived or imagined,” commented® Stokowski. “They will be created to fit the new medium. Controt o) a musical broadcast is now made by a technician who sits outside a glass partition. Thus other interpretations than that of the conductor enter into & program today. Philadelphia’s LeopoldVStoI‘:owski, conductor of a famous symphony orchestra a great musician now also becoming something of a mechanic. : HHS ¥ no reason why they should interfere with uman players—for I don’t think anything ever kill the taste for harmonic and artistic expression as it now exists. But the ggsEge belongs. “The newcomer will be solely for the air, by which I mean the perfected radio. “Last Summer I spent some time with Theremin and we talked at length about his instrument, which draws music from the ether, I found that within the year he has made vast improvements on his original instrument. Already c-—x;ositions for the original Theremin machines have been written and played—there has been a tremendous growth of the inventor’s original idea. Eventually they’ll learn how to use electricity for orchestral purposes. “And then we’ll have sounds we never heard before—yes, sounds no man has heard. “IT sounds fantastic, but the first Theremin concerts provided sounds that seemed sirange to the untrained ear. That’s all a matter of habit. Millions of us are yet unable to accept the music of the Chinese or Oriental players as anything we can understand.” Meanwhile, join me for just a moment on a brief expedition into the strange new sound world in which the great symphony conductor is a pioneer. It’s late afternoon. And a Sunday, with a cold rain driving the Broadway crowds into the movie houses and the shelter of the theater marquees. On the roof of the Amsterdam Theater, just a few steps off Broadway, the National Broadcasting Co. has built a little theater where an audience can watch the per- formers at their work. . Here, just a couple of seasons back, was & gay night resort. This was the original Zieg- feld roof, where chorines cavorted after theater hours and noted performers appeared. Its pop- ularity waned and M. Ziegfeld “took it on the chin,” as they say on Broadway. Now, however, there are but five persons in the house, for Conductor Stokowski has chosen to rule out guests while his new broadcasting device is getting a try-out. The members of his famous Philadelphia Or- chestra bear slight resemblance to the formally- dressed delegation which plays at Carnegie Hall. They are stripped down to their shirt- sleeves and several display brightly colored sus- penders. Stokowski, himself, has removed his coat, wearing a loose-necked shirt with a flow- ing collar. He stands at a table. On his table are three control dials. And one of them has the appear- ance of a sun dial. A large arrow which moves easily at the touch of a finger is directly before him. He has merely to spin this arrow in one direction or the other to attend to his own con- trol of tonality. “After all,” he explains, “there are really two conductors at a broadcast concert.” “They are the engineer and the leader.” SO he has brought the control engineer into his orchestra. The mechanical apparatus resembles a tiny portable piano. To a visitor the mechanic would seem, at a glance, to be part of the musical ensemble. What is hape pening is this: Stokowski is directing both the orchestra and the engineer. A series of prearranged signals have been agreed upon. Just as a foot ball player takes the ball and charges the line after hearing the quarterback’s signals, now the conductor gives his instructions by holding one or two or three fingers in the air, or by sweeping his wrist in a certain manner. The engineer, almost at his side, watches for each gesture. Upon the first presentation of his control arrangement, Stokowski had tried to be both director and mechanical wizard. Dissatisfied with the results, he then decided to have the engineer with him, “For,” as he explains, “the musician is, after all, the musician and must worry about his in- terpretation and the engineer is the medium of a mechanical world which distributes his efforts. Eventually the conductor will not need the con= trol man. But this is too new. We must ap- proach the eventual step by step. You see, I have spent much time in studying the radio and the metheds by which its sounds are distributed. There are definite limitations of volume and tone control—but we must overcome one handie cap at a time. “I AM ftrying to be a bit of the mechanic as well as the musical director. “For a year I worked with Mr. Hanson in the broadcasting station. And since that time we have done much research at Schenectady and other laboratories. “This is what we have been experimenting upon—a closer association between the con- ductor and the machinery which sends out his product. And we hope to have it perfected, ready to offer to audiences before Spring.”