ABSTRACT

There is no harder lot than that of an American composer. Before he starts on his vocational career, he has to prove his qualifications as an American of unimpeachably indigenous stock and as a composer of sufficient craftsmanship. Too many Americans are alarmingly European when they venture into creative work in music: all but too often the necessary schooling clips the wings of their imagination. For, as long as there is no national school of American pedagogy there can be no national school of American music. Like the sandy earth-shine on the new moon’s crescent, outlining darkly the true circle, American music throws back the shadowy lights of European schooling. It is a reflection of a reflection.