circle of reference. I mean that this work definitely takes music out of the concert hall, meaning thereby that it deals with a phase of life not hitherto tackled by musicians and freighted before the act with reference to already existing musical reference.
Three years ago Antheil was talking vaguely of ‘tuning up’ whole cities, of ‘silences twenty minutes long in the form’, etc. One thought of it as mere or ‘pure’ speculation, the usual jejune aspiration of genius, and ‘one’ (one, at least, of those who heard the vague talk) dismissed it from his mind.
Now, after the three years, I do not in the least regret any then seeming hyperbole, or any comparison of Antheil and Stravinsky that I then made in the former’s favour.
With the performance of the Ballet Mecanique one can conceive the possibility of organising the sounds of a factory, let us say of boiler-plate or any other clangorous noisiness, the actual sounds of the labour, the various tones of the grindings; according to the needs of the work, and yet, with such pauses and durées, that at the end of the eight hours, the men go out not with frayed nerves, but elated—fatigued, yes, but elated.
I mean that we have here the chance, a mode, a music that no mere loudness can obliterate, but that serves us, as the primitive chanteys for rowing, for hauling on cables; ‘Blow the man down’ and such like; have served savages or simpler ages, for labours, ashore and afloat. And this is definitely a new musical act; a new grip on life by the art, a new period, a bigger break with the habits of acceptance than any made by Bach or by Beethoven, an age coming into its own, an art coming into its own, ‘and no mean labour’.
The ‘Sacre’ stands, but its cubes, solid as they are, are in proportion to the Ballet Mecanique as the proportions of architecture are to those of town-planning.
Technically, the fact is, that Mr. Antheil has used
