The two pieces had one thing firmly in common. They both sounded dated. Of course the Barber, first produced in the early 50s, was firmly out of step even at the time - a lush mixture of Strauss and Berg, with even some Puccinian flourishes at the emotional climaxes. But the Weinberg, much more aggressive and modernist in tone, had suffered just as much: I found myself thinking, "Ah yes. This kind of musical language", and without much pleasure.
The BBC producer John Walters once said that he ceased to be working class the first time he tasted an avocado. Thus the transforming power of novelty. But what did Walters think the second time he tasted one? Or the third? There's an old story of an 18th century gent showing a friend round his newly landscaped grounds. "The theme of my garden, sir," he says, "is one of surprise". His friend, a wag, replies, "But what, sir, is the theme the second time one walks around it?"
For the new is only new once. When it is no longer new, we are left with a thing's inherent qualities, be they avocado or opera. I didn't enjoy the Weinberg much. Once I might have been knocked backwards by its novel savagery. But now the music-loving public has heard a fair bit of this stuff. Shostakovitch did it better (and even Shostakovitch wrote some dross). The Barber, for all the muddiness of its plotting, I enjoyed a lot more. For my taste, it is over written and over-orchestrated, but Barber has a compassion for his characters (which I am afraid I find hard to detect in Britten) and an ability to write memorable music which suits their predicament. I can still hum some of the tunes 36 hours later.
Bernard Keeffe, my old conducting teacher, used to say that what makes music last is the quality of the invention. Whilst this is undoubtedly true, I prefer a more utilitarian explanation. Music lasts if people will keep on paying to hear it. Newness and originality are not on their own enough. On this score, dated or not, Barber's music will survive; but Weinberg should enjoy his day in the sun.
