Critics' Choice

The most powerful musical jury in the U.S. met last week to pick the best U.S. symphonic composition performed in Manhattan during the year.

Thirteen members of the New York Music Critics' Circle, whose favor can lead to national fame, met in a beery, benevolent back room of Manhattan's Blue Ribbon restaurant. But their task had something of the atmosphere of a coroner's inquest. Several of the members were in favor of calling the whole thing off. All were aware that the year had probably produced not a single U.S. symphonic composition capable of rousing any spontaneous or permanent affection from the U.S. listening public. The five final entries had been played on two NBC Sunday afternoon nationwide hookups without causing any excitement whatever.

When the critics made up their minds, they had ruled out Roy Harris' "agricultural" Fifth Symphony (TIME, March 8), Aaron Copland's melodramatic Lincoln Portrait, William Schuman's timely but tiresome Prayer-1943, Morton Gould's featherweight Spirituals for String, Choir and Orchestra. The award went to Manhattan-born Paul Creston, 36, for his neat, rather brittle, and relatively old-fashioned First Symphony.

To many, the theory that the great age of symphonic composition is past may seem a foregone conclusion. But few musical theorists would put any time limit on music of distinctive character and value. What won Creston his award was the deft workmanship of his composition. Bristling with intricate rhythms and neatly joined phrases, it seemed to know where it was going, even if it did not go very far.

A Great Reader. Paul Creston's real name is Joseph Guttoveggio. He was born on Manhattan's lower East Side. When he was eight, his father thought Joseph had the makings of a concert pianist, bought him an old piano for $10. Joseph never became a top-flight pianist, but for ten years he practiced like mad, spent his spare time composing little piano pieces.

The keynote of Joseph Guttoveggio's career has been a plodding thoroughness. When, as a child, he became catcher of the 17th Street baseball team, he got McGraw's book on baseball from the library and boned up for weeks on curves and knuckle balls. His formal education ended with his second year in high school, but he began haunting the New York Public Library. A book on hypnotism made him a successful practitioner on friends and neighbors. He ploughed through such subjects as cryptography, graphology, occultism, oriental philosophy, esthetics, acoustics. A book on dietetics converted him temporarily into a fanatical vegetarian. He has learned all he knows about composition out of books.

Today stocky Paul Creston lives in a crowded three-room apartment in Queens, surrounded by a concert grand piano, a wife, two noisily playful children and a massive library. There he composes, teaches a number of piano pupils, practices the works he plays as organist of Manhattan's St. Malachy's Church. An individualist, Creston is not a member of the American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers, believes in doing business with U.S. conductors and symphony orchestras himself. That business, during the past six months, brought him just $700 in performance royalties.

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