Thirty-five years ago, before Stravinsky and the Viennese Atonalists had cut their modernistic teeth, a shy, bearded Yankee named Charles Ives was busy writing his own kind of modernist music. Nobody paid much attention to Composer Ives's strange, complicated scores. But little by little the few music-lovers who did hear them began to realize that Ives was neither a trickster nor a crackpot, but a writer of real, live music. Today Ives is regarded even by conservative critics as one of the most individual and authentically American of all U. S. composers. But...
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