Deems Taylor

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Deems Taylor is a mild-mannered person, of medium height, inclined toward baldness, wears glasses, has what novelists describe as well-chiselled features illumined by an expression of intentness, emphasized by a firmly set lower jaw. As a man he sizes up extremely well in a group of five, reading from left to right, showing the Americans who had this past Spring been awarded Doctor’s degrees by a great American University. His companions in this distinguished cluster were the Chairman of the General Electric Company’s Board, the President of the American Museum of Natural History, the Secretary of State in President Coolidge’s cabinet, and the professor of literature at Yale University.

In the eyes of his intimates the address of seriousness which he presents to casual observers is but a mask. For they know him best as a man of unfailing good humor, a philosopher who delights in the whimsicalities of life and knows both how to fashion and enjoy a joke.

Mention has been made of Deems Taylor’s versatility. It is not merely that he can do many things but it is because he does them all superlatively well that this characteristic deserves stressing. At various times he has functioned with outstanding success as a newspaper-man, as critic, as linguist, as translator of prose and poetry, as an artist capable of handling the brush and pen with signal facility, as editor, as public speaker; and as a composer.

In the field of journalism, both in his technical musical criticisms and in his articles on practical musical subjects he writes with clarity of style, with matured authority and with disarming frankness and sincerity. Here again his engaging spirit of good humor finds expression to lighten the burden of his message.

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It is interesting to trace the steps by which Taylor advanced himself to a position described by Dr. George Alexander, president of the Council of New York University, as “one of the foremost of the living composers.”

Deems Taylor is one of those rarest of residents of New York who was actually born in that city. His arrival was dated just three days before Christmas in the year 1885. He made his elementary studies at the Ethical Culture School and graduated to New York University, where his many-sided talents brought him a conspicuous participation in under-graduate activities. The records do not show it, but one takes it for granted that he penned the sketches which adorned the year book of his class. Probably he also wrote the sonnet which a distracted editor called for to fill half a page needed to complete a folio. At fraternity smokers he could always be relied upon to entertain; his inimitable burlesque on grand opera, using as his “props” a varied assortment of straw and felt hats, was certain to put the crowd in good humor.

The record does show, however, that in association with a class-mate, William LeBaron, who in later years was responsible for the libretto of Apple Blossoms, the farce, The Very Idea, and numerous other plays, Taylor wrote the music for four comic operas during his collegiate term. One of them, The Echo, was considered good enough by Charles Dillingham, the theatrical producer, to merit a Broadway presentation, in which Bessie McCoy was starred.

The innate desire for an adequate means of musical expression must have reached its peak in the young man’s consciousness some five years after his graduation from college, for it was at that period that he undertook the serious study of harmony and counterpoint. In the meantime he was struggling with the more serious problems of life, trying to reconcile the meagre salary paid to budding journalists with the ever-rising cost of living. One knows that this storm and stress period did exist in his life; his own confessions, however, furnish but inadequate data upon which to draw comparisons with similar experiences in the biographies of other celebrated composers. His journalistic lineage carries him through the editorship of a house organ, a brief engagement as conductor of a humorous column in the now defunct “New York Press,” the inevitable period of unemployment (attendant to all newspaper careers); assistant editorship of the “New York Tribune’s” Sunday magazine; correspondent in France for the “Tribune,” in 1916 and 1917; associate editor of “Collier’s Weekly” from 1917 until 1919; and music critic of the New York “World” from 1921 to 1925. In August, 1927, he became editor of “Musical America.”

Whether from natural inclination or from pressure of circumstances, the early studies he had made in harmony and counterpoint under Oscar Coon were not logically followed by directed guidance 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.

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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.