board with an electrical attachment. An effort to illustrate Siegfried's Rhine Journey with appropriate accompanying action in a washtub would make an analogous effect.
Leo Ornstein, whose favourite figure in composition is anacoluthon, should play his music on a piano balanced on a pushcart, the whole moved to the middle of Manhattan Bridge. His audience should pass in motor-cars, the chauffeurs tooting their sirens, in street-cars, the motormen madly clanging their bells, and in aeroplanes, with their engines throbbing vehemently.' The result would be Jovian. I have enjoyed The Wild Men's Dance and Impressions of the Thames even in the concert hall but, if I heard them under these circumstances, I should probably break a blood-vessel.
Where should the music of Richard Strauss be performed? Hardly any two of his compositions in the same place, I should say. Ein Heldenleben would sound best in front of the banal colonnade and monument of Vittorio Emanuele at Rome; the Sinfonia Domestica in Wanamaker's; Don Quixote in a farmyard; Tod und Verklarung in Roosevelt Hospital; and Don Juan in a brothel or, at least, a Temple of Love. In lieu of program notes, copies of the Contes drolatiques, the Sonnets of Pietro Aretino, and Le Journal d'une femme de
