No open-access location is known for this record yet.
No open-access location is known for this record yet.
Toward the end of 1929, at the time of Paul Robeson's first two Carnegie Hall recitals of 5 and 10 November, the singer kept something akin to a diary; entries spanned a brief period of five days and were jotted down in a compact black notebook. Back in the United States—Robeson was then residing in England—and with his debut at the august venue behind him, the diary entries tackle weighty matters, revealing by turns a hesitancy and confidence in their expression and a fervent imagination. It was a time, wrote his son, that was “exhilarating but unsettling.”1 The 8 November entry, shortly after a not entirely successful first recital in the Hall, is a confession from the color bar in American theater: “Very strange feeling for me to be sitting in balcony—I am almost afraid to purchase orchestra seats for fear of insult—when in England my being in a theatre is almost an event … I feel so oppressed and weighed down.” The next day's entry reveals a more upbeat Robeson: “Had swell idea this morning … why not series of evenings combining dramatic and musical[,] negro & classic.” The 10 November entry, penned after the second Carnegie recital, finds the singer in jubilant mood upon a successful outing: “The best recital of my career” enthused Robeson. In the final two entries, for 11 and 12 November, Robeson reflects on points of vocal technique, training, the professional artist, and the nature of art itself, in a series of aphorisms that evince the singer grappling with these issues as he positioned himself as a concert singer. His argument in brief is as follows: If art is “the re-creation of beauty,” Robeson surmised, then he was “as much artist [when an untrained singer] as now.” Technique, on the other hand, is a requirement of the economics of professionalism: the professional singer needs not only to repeat his artistic performances often and to the same standard, but in repetition re-create new work. “Can I be [an] artist with just negro songs?” he pondered, as critics had been doing for several years. And though technique might help the singer “to grow and wider expand,” technique in itself would not necessarily make him a “greater artist.” As if to demonstrate this point, Robeson summoned his own brief recording history: “Water Boy—best record—when I was untrained.”2
Loading…
Imported from OpenAlex (CC0) — nothing here is generated.