"Too pompous and slow" is Amelita Galli-Curci's scornful dictum regarding grand opera. The soprano gives vent to this Parthian shot as she strides out for the last time before New York's "Golden Horseshoe". Coming from a singer who is herself neither pompous nor, one likes to think, slow, the criticism strikes the operatic world peculiarly abeam.

In her valedictory statement, La Galli-Curci favors the individual concert over the opera presentation as being more in tune with a mechanical age. By this, she seems to suggest that the radio and the "talkie" have been the factors in upsetting bel canto. Opera, she asserts, is too heavy-footed in comparison with them. The world has lost interest in it.

This last conclusion seems unwarranted. There are more opera companies at present than at any previous period. Classical music is still the food of the sophisticated. But it is undeniable that the words "pompous" and "slow" carry the string of truth with them. The reason for this lies not in the radio, and certainly not in the "talkie". It may be fund in the amazing excess poundage of the operators themselves. With a Bayreuth baritone dangerously near the three hundred pound mark in possession of the lead role and with an unlimited heavyweight diva to repel his amorous dalliance, the best Wagnerian opera must appear either pompous and slow or considerably absurd. At present, the majority of opera singers take it for granted that their art places no restriction on their appetites. Eighteen Day Diets are to them a vague rite connected with the folk lore of the nation. Until this condition is altered, opera will continue to be a leisurely playground for pachyderms, and a stronghold for those who do not heed the cigarette advertisements.