The Johnson City comet. (Johnson City, Tenn.) 1916-1917, 1916-03-02

e The first attempt at harmony was
V in the medieval church, when bass
note was added to the melody, and
this one note was held throughout
the hymn or ritual. 1t was then but
step to tN changing of this note
, TO conform to a systematic chord
and the adding of other parts. Here
was the birth of harmony. From this
it grew to the point of fugue, coun-
. terpOint and counter melody, until
now it is almost safe to say that the
perfect harmony is made up of a Sc
ries of different melodies. played or
sung at the same time, in the same
key.
And this brings us to the why of
our subject: Why Melody versus, or
against, Harmony? Are they not to-
gether, and is not harmony itself
many melodies? True, but the diff
ference comes of appreciation, of d
deeper study of the art, and is the
basis for work such as ours. Any
one can understand and appreciate a
melody; the lowest type of man uses
it and enjoys it, but never rises to
harmony. Then comes a touch Of
harmony in the rustic, singing Sour
wood Mountain" with both voice and
feet harmOnizing the melody with
two chords on his banjo. Then the
simple old folk-songs, all based on
the three fundamental major chords,
with 4 possible use of their related
minors. Then the perfect harmony
of every note of hymns; then the
florid counterpart of classic songs;
/ nh G,,p
symphonies; then the wild tender
ness. the sweet discords-the all of
harmony and Of melody, in the OPP
era. And this is our work; to bring
ourselves to the study of the best;
| for the best in music is the best in
man. Not to stop with melody, but
to harmonic it, and to know why.
Our paper is appropriate, on Ne
wins program. In that genius
Pain, the Musician, the soul refiner, !
Attunes the strings with a master
hand;
And whether the music be major or
minor,
1t is always sweet and grand"
And from his work may be culled |
an illustration; an opera in three
stanzas. Its words foretell the mu-
sic; its music expresses the words;
the melody appeals alike to mediocre
and to cultured; the harmony could
not be other than it is:
"THE HOURS I SPENT WITH THEE
DEAR HEART
A simple recitative, with delcately
descending chromatic chords, calling
up the shadowy memories of other
days. The speaker is one whose soul
is filled with love- but whose only
solace is the past. He is seated at a
table, idly lingering a thread of
beads
ARE AS A STRING OF PEARLS
TO ME-"
Silently he moves the beads along
the thread, one by one, as the music,
like an echo, repeats the memory '
81 COUNT THEM OVER, EVERY
ONE APART"
There is a rising cadence in the
music, a transition to the thrilling ,
sub-dominant, bringing him nearer 1,
his lost love. Why count them? For
whom?-z
''MY ROSARY! MY ROSARY. t
Oh, the burning, the longing, for an \
love! Yearning again for
the departed days! The. music '
pauses. Again the memory-strain-
EACH HOUR A PEARL, EACH /
PEARL A PRAYER, q
TO STILL A HEART IN ANGUISH
RUNG"
The music is a little louder; the
chromatic cadence lightens up the !
tragic picture-the same picture, the g
same melody. He smiles almost grue- .
somely at the half-uncanny metaphor; =
then quickly lapses into sombre ST. 9
lence at the thought of divine hours =
past, and the cherished joy that even +
prayers could never bring. Slowly +
he slips the beads along the thread.
To the changing harmony of the =
music, his face sets little stronger Il
4 COUNT EACH BEAD--UNTp THE !
END"
Each word is bead; each bead is
moved by firm chord of the music,
growing slower and slower to the
last. To where? The end. Is this >
the end? He raises his hand to see I
# perchance there is another bead. !
The music stops, waiting. His eyes
are transfxed on the end of the ro- Z
sary; the music strikes up a wild
minor chord 4
AND THERE A CROSS is HUNG!" \
Bitter. tears flow from his soul of
agony as his head drops upon the 2
able, with the rosary clutched in his .
land. Halt prayer, half wall, his 2
Voice rises, as the music,
low louder, moves the memory-pic- !
ure closer
o, MEMORIES THAT BLESS AND :
BURN:
o, BARREN GAIN AND BITTER
LOSS!"
All, the blessed sweetness of the
oearl-hours past and gone! Oh, the
lgony that they can never be again! X
}, let me die now! without that
ove there is no life! From his hand :
he rosary falls to the table The 4
music pauses, then swells in heavy, b
strong, masculine chords, in another
ythm of determination, rs he raises
he rosary to his lips
i KISS EACH BEAD, AND STRIVE
AT LAST TO LEARN