THIS PAGE LAST MODIFIED Tuesday 17 January 2017 16:57
Dr GRAEME SKINNER (University of Sydney)
THIS PAGE IS ALWAYS UNDER CONSTRUCTION
To cite this:
Graeme Skinner (University of
Sydney), "Alfred Cox", Australharmony (an online resource toward the history of music and musicians in colonial and early Federation Australia):
http://sydney.edu.au/paradisec/australharmony/cox-alfred.php; accessed 29 April 2017
Amateur flute player, pupil of Spencer Wallace senior, memoirist
Born Clarendon, NSW, 1825
Departed NSW, 1854 (for New Zealand)
Died St Albans, NZ, 23 May 1911
http://nla.gov.au/nla.party-950438 (NLA persistent identifier)
Cox's parents, c.1830, by Charles Rodius, SL-NSW
[Advertisement], The Sydney Morning Herald (5 December 1844), 1
"DEPASTURING LICENSES", Lyttleton Times (25 November 1854), 6
"DEATHS", Press (24 May 1911), 1
"MR ALFRED COX", Press (24 May 1911), 10
"PERSONAL MATTERS", Evening Post (24 May 1911), 5
"DEATHS", The Sydney Morning Herald (1 June 1911), 8
Cox 1884, chapter 4, 24-25; chapter 5, 29-31
 When I was quite a small boy I used to fancy that my father cared for music, for he seemed proud of my flute-playing, but after his bumping my head against a verandah post for persisting in whistling after he had repeatedly told me not to make a row, I began  to be of opinion that he must indeed have been utterly indifferent to the higher kinds of music. Touching my flute-playing, I well remember that when one day I was practising my very hardest, out of school hours, my master came up behind me and said, "Ah, boy, if you were only half as much in earnest over your other lessons as you seem to be over that flute-playing, we should have little fault to find with you." Fifteen years after this encouraging speech was made to me, I ventured to say to my wife, "I think I could sing if I seriously made the attempt." She remarked, "I think you could, if you had a voice." I once heard a married brother say, "Depend upon it, there is no one in this wide world so ready to speak disagreeable (un)truths as one's wife" ...
 CHAPTER V. Music - William Vincent Wallace.
I HAVE already spoken of my having been taught to play the flute when I was a youngster. My music-master was Samuel Wallace, an old bandmaster in the 17th Regiment. He was a charming player, warbling exquisitely on the flute, and playing upon many other instruments nearly as well. He was the father of William Vincent Wallace, the well-known composer, who was a first-class performer on the violin and pianoforte.
The first concert that I ever attended was one given by Wallace the son, in 1837 or 1838. He alone performed at this concert, first on the violin and then on the piano. It is hardly necessary to say that I had never before heard such music. I sat by the side of my dear old grandmother, who, always ready to indulge me, had taken me with her to listen to Wallace's warblings. I was fairly entranced, confessing that I had at last heard something that I could never forget, and I then and there resolved that I would try and become a player myself.
This man, William V. Wallace, who had thus tickled my ears and filled my young soul with indescribable sensations, became, not many years after this, a very great man indeed in the musical world, establishing a reputation that has outlived him. All who know his music, will not be slow to admit that the lovers of melody are under great obligation to this composer. I have not a word to say here of the preference shown by many in these days of musical culture and development to the new school of music becoming fashionable; but I am not myself so far gone in this direction as to have outgrown my love for simple and flowing melody. The best proof of the claims of Wallace to be regarded as a tuneful composer is that his music still lives, is as popular as ever, and holds its own in these days with new works of a host of new writers.
I would like to say a few words as to variety in music. To my mind, that is one of its chief charms. It is calculated to soothe and  excite. My own experience prompts me to confess that there are times and seasons when my nerves are thrilled, my heart touched, and my thoughts are raised by sounds sweet and simple; and there are times, also, when my mind or soul, as well as my heart, craves and longs for something fuller and greater, higher and holier. It seems to me strange that anyone should have ever thought it a suitable thing to say that only one class of music should be tolerated and taught. There is a beauty and perfection in natural music, as certainly as there is in music the outcome of cultivation. Not all the world are yet musically educated, and even if they were, there is still a wonderful variety in the many schools of music. Italy represents one; Germany another; France a third; and, let us in all diffidence add, England another. I am not quite sure that in these days, when there is such a craze for culture, so called, and such a passion for something new and startling, that music may not suffer by the many attempts to perfect it. Plain speech, plain writing, simple and natural manners are still in high repute in the world; why not, then, strive to preserve, in all its purity, simple and natural music? Let us have variety in music, as we have it, unquestionably, in all other things. Diversity is a law of Nature. It has been written of the voice, "There are many kinds of voices in the world, and none of these is without signification." May it not as truly be said of music, "there are many kinds of music in the world, and none of these is without power to move us." I should as soon think of maintaining that one class of music only is worthy of being cultivated as that all my friends should be of one age, of one type, or of one nationality. I have had many friends in my time. They have been of all ages and various nationalities, and of different idiosyncracies, and I have loved them none the less in discovering them to have been not cast in the same mould. Were a man to invite me into his orchard and to tell me to help myself to one kind of fruit only, where there was a great abundance and variety, I should not know what to think of him; and were he to show me into his garden blazing with a variety and a profusion of beautiful flowers, and to tell me to fix my gaze upon one sort exclusively, I should wonder at his folly. When men are in a mood to make ornamental plantations, they keep before themselves the necessity of variety, even contrast. And when poets rave about loveliness in women, there are as many to be found praising blue eyes and fair hair as there are  those who are ready - on paper - to lay down their lives for a flashing eye and a dark skin. Music in all its varieties is one of heaven's best blessings - without it this world to some of us would be a dreary place to linger in. With music at command, we have always within reach a something to excite or to soothe us. I think and speak of music, of melody and harmony, as of twin sisters. I am enamoured of both, but wedded to neither.
Scolefield 1940, 1, 179-80
"Alfred Cox", Wikipedia
Ian Jack, "Homes of the Cox Family in New South Wales and Tasmania: a generational shift"
© Graeme Skinner 2014 - 2017