However, as
a rule, he writes politely. If the second concerto is a trifle too soft
and elegiac and sweet, a little too much like a mournful banqueting on
jam and honey, it is still most deftly and ingratiatingly made. On the
whole, even though his music touches us only superficially it rarely
fails to awaken some gratitude for its elegance. But there is an
essential that his music wants. It wants the imprint of a decided and
important individuality. In all the elaborate score of "The Island of
the Dead," in the very one of M. Rachmaninoff's works that is generally
deemed his best, there are few accents that are either very large or
very poignant or very noble. The music lacks distinction, lacks
vitality. The style is strangely soft and unrefreshing. Emotion is
communicated, no doubt. But it is emotion of a second or even third
order. Nor is the music of M. Rachmaninoff ever quite completely
new-minted. Has it a melodic line quite properly its own? One doubts it.
Many of the melodies of M. Rachmaninoff have a Mendelssohnian cast, for
all their Russian sheen. Others are of the sort of sweet, spiritless
silken tune generally characteristic of the Russian salon school. Nor
can one discover in this music a distinctly original sense of either
rhythm of harmony or tone-color.
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