Ballet mecanique

Not lacking in either talent or self-confidence, a teenage George Antheil (1900-1959) foresaw great things for himself and his music. Unfortunately the premiere of one work in particular, Ballet mécanique (1924), failed so miserably in New York City that Antheil was never again really taken seriously in the U.S.—though the French loved it. The Ballet project actually started out as an experimental silent film by Cubist artist Fernand Leger, in collaboration with Man Ray, Ezra Pound, and others. Antheil was commissioned to compose an accompanying soundtrack, which he worked at primarily in 1923 and 1924. He was living in the heart of Bohemian Paris among the brash new voices in art and literature; his apartment was situated above Sylvia Beach’s bookstore, and she connected him with Hemingway, Satie, Joyce, and many others. Antheil imagined himself—despite the talent all around him—as being the musical spokesman of the clique. The Ballet Mécanique would, he thought, establish his leading position. However the resultant score was nearly twice as long as the film itself, and the two creations were not merged until years later. Undeterred, Antheil revised the score for concert performance.

The Ballet is notoriously difficult to realize on stage—at least in its original scoring, which called for 16 player pianos, numerous percussion instruments, bells, sirens, and three airplane propellers! A reduced scoring appeared a few years later when even the composer himself realized the logistics of the original version would make it almost impossible to realize. Antheil’s aesthetic is severe and unrelenting, indicative of the futurists’ vision for new music: “All percussive. Like machines. All efficiency. No love. Written without sympathy. Written cold as an army operates. Revolutionary as nothing has been revolutionary.” It created a scandal at its Paris premiere in 1926, with spontaneous fighting taking place outside the theater. All this pleased Antheil to no end. He even tried to plant rioters at the U.S. premiere the following April, but the concert was a fiasco. Critics unanimously castigated the work, mechanical instruments failed in performance, and no riots broke out. Antheil’s reputation never fully recovered. Despite everything he would later compose and achieve, his name remains synonymous with this one daring, defiant Dadaist showpiece—the effort of a 24-year-old self-proclaimed wrecker of conventionality.

(c) Jason Stell