The chief merit of Benjamin Britten's ‘Peter Grimes’ seems to me that it sets an example once again of what this odd, complex and very exciting form of art called opera really means. It is an odd form because the blend of realism and illusion, inherent in every theatrical production, is adulterated by the irrealistic ingredient of music; it is complex because it is a synthesis of heterogeneous kinds of arts; but it is a very exciting experience to observe music becoming an all-important element in life, even if only on the stage. It would be erroneous to believe that one can make an opera by just setting music to a play. Opera is not a drama plus music. The additional medium entirely changes the conditions and laws of the drama. It penetrates every detail of the scene and imbues with a new element the words, the acting, the decors and the entire dramatic context. Music is apt to increase both the strength and subtlety of dramatic expression by superimposing its own dynamic and flexibility on the logic of the words and the set picture of the scene. This should be borne in mind even during the conception of the libretto which must leave space for the infiltration of music.

The Editorial Notes in the March Tempo concerning concert programmes in London and the provinces, suggested to me that it might be apposite to follow my earlier article on musical culture today (in the first number of the ‘revised’ Tempo) with a few retrospective remarks on what we have achieved, and failed to achieve, over the past two years in our particular provincial venture; for the venture I referred to in my earlier article was an attempt to do provincially what is now so adequately done in London, and the kind of response we've met with should be of interest in relation to the general prospects for a saner conception of musical culture.

In most parts of the world a foreigner's comments, even when invited, are apt to stir up resentment. This is not so in Britain where, as a friend recently remarked, the people pay foreigners for being rude, and, citing the case of George Bernard Shaw, make national heroes of them. Not that one could possibly aspire to the heroic heights of Shavian rudeness, nor, indeed, could present circumstances occasion it; for even the most hardened foreign observer cannot but be impressed by the extent and vitality of British Public music making.

Chamber music is a medium much favoured by Soviet composers, who have added a number of interesting works to this repertoire in recent years. Notable have been Reinhold Gliere's fourth quartet written in a classic fourmovement form, and the ninth quartet by Nikolai Myaskovsky, who, like Rachmaninov in his third symphony, places a scherzo in the middle of a slow movement.

Interest in music must be greater in Palestine than in any other country in the world, for where else do you find a community of little more than half a million (some 70–75 per cent, of Palestine's one and a half million inhabitants belong to oriental communities) having at their service a fully equipped symphony orchestra and opera company (with an orchestra of its own), and a broadcasting station with yet another symphony orchestra at its command? Orchestral and chamber music may be heard in the towns almost any day of the week, and the rural communities are not only regularly visited by artists from the three major towns—Jerusalem, Tel-Aviv, and Haifa—but have also a forty-piece orchestra of their own, meeting for a couple of concerts and for rehearsals once every month, with the members coming from all parts of the country.

Italian musicians, both young and old, have been notably active during the war period. Until the Spring of 1943–the eve of disaster—there were many outstanding performances of theatrical and symphonic compositions.

As a result of the blackout and the increase in aerial warfare, the theatres presented their performances during the day, but the concert halls continued their activities as usual—albeit the performances were often interrupted by the sound of the air-raid siren.