The disintegration of the old traditions of form in music and in poetry has had the effect, among other things, of showing up very clearly the defects and dullnesses of the minor composers and the minor poets. The important artists have, of course, evolved new forms possessing as much validity, as much right to their existence, as much cohesion and unity within themselves, as the old. The lesser men have not had the capacity to make their own forms. Bereft of the support and guidance of the old conventions they are lost, and the ideas they have are expressed chaotically instead of in order. Furthermore, the mere working out of the old formal rules, if it was done skillfully and intelligently, did something, in the work of the lesser men, to make up for any inherent dullness or weakness in the root ideas. A Toccata by Galuppiu, shall we say, may not be particularly profound in its emotional or intellectual import—though there always is, as a matter of fact, a curious little flavor about Galuppi which lingers very pleasantly on the palate—but there is, in its polished and patterned form a certain elegance, a style, a traditional swagger. It is, perhaps, an unreal, an extrinsic elegance, which the composer did not create. But an elegance it is, and it gives the hearer pleasure. (...)
...it is perhaps unfair to compare the Ravel and the De Falla with these [a piece each by Handel and Beethoven -RZ]. But with C.P.E. Bach, that man of sound learning and respectable genius, they may be compared on equal terms. The fact that emerges from this comparison is that C.P.E. Bach said what he had to say very much more fully and completely and satisfyingly in his brisk contrapuntal allegro and penetratingly beautiful adagio than Ravel and De Falla have succeeded in doing in the free and elaborate orchestral contrivances of the “Valse” and the “Gardens of Spain.” Carl Philip Emanuel's work has the extrinsic elegance of traditional form coupled with the intrinsic elegance of form that is born of the right, the inevitable expression of an idea. Ravel and De Falla have neither the one nor the other. “The Gardens of Spain” is rambling, thin, and weak; the “Valse” is diffuse and heavy. There is no emotional logic in either; they have no inevitable shape. The result is that they bore one, as one listens to them, most unconscionably.
What is the moral of all this? I hardly know. The pedagogues might deduce a moral obligation on the part of our contemporaries to write like Carl Philip Emanuel. But that, of course, won't do. No, the only conclusion I can draw is the not very cheering one which follows. Those who, working outside the old formal tradition, try to evolve new forms and who fail in the attempt, must expect to be more boring than the older musicians of no greater caliber, who had the extrinsic elegance of traditional form to supplement their lack of ideas.