“Magnificat in D, BWV 243: 3. Quia Respexit Humilitatem; 4. Omnes Generationes” by Johann Sebastian Bach [1733] performed by Maria Stader with Karl Richter and the Munich Bach Orchestra & Choir [1979]

Lest you forget that music could be so sublime… here is the soprano aria and exhilarating chorus that follows it from Bach’s Magnificat. This older recording was paired with the same musicians performing Bach’s other most famous choral work, Cantata #140 “Wachet Auf.” The album has been re-released multiple times since the 1979 original, although it appears to be out of print at present. [Amazon]

“Minuet 1 & 2” from Music for Royal Fireworks by George Frideric Handel [1749] performed by Karl Münchinger and the Stuttgart Chamber Orchestra [1982]

I’ve tried to ignore the royal wedding happening tomorrow because I think the obsession over a wedding that would mean something only if it were occurring 300 years ago is a bit overdone. Still, to appease those of you who will be rising in just a few hours to watch the pomp and pageantry, I give you music by Handel that was written and performed for King George II in 1749—or just a few years after Sir Robert Walpole first proved the need for a “prime minister” in the King’s cabinet.

(Image: George II - via)

Israel in Egypt, Part 1 (Lamentation of the Israelites for the Death of Joseph): “Their Bodies Are Buried in Peace” by George Frideric Handel [1739], performed by Andrew Parrott with Taverner Consort & Players [1990]

I don’t mean to bring down the spirit of this blog, but my grandfather’s death and upcoming funeral provided me with a meaningful opportunity to explore sad, funereal music. Yesterday I posted a Walt Whitman poem set to music in 1918.

Today’s song comes from a little-heard movement of an oratorio by Handel. Israel in Egypt remains one of the few popular oratorios, but it is usually only heard in its two-part revised form. In its original form, the work was composed of three parts. The first was an adaptation of Handel’s 1738 composition Funeral Anthem for Queen Caroline, for which the text was derived entirely from the Old Testament.

I’m not personally big on religious dogma, but it is impossible not to feel something when you hear music like this. I know my grandfather is at peace now.

Their bodies are buried in peace; but their name liveth evermore (Ecclesiasticus 44:14).

Lastly, this lamentation reminds me of another little-heard piece of classical languishment that I fell in love with six months ago: “Solveig’s Cradle Song” from the end of Edvard Grieg’s Peer Gynt.

“Concerto in G Minor for 2 Cellos, RV 531 - 3. Allegro” by Antonio Vivaldi [ca. 1727?] performed by Yo-Yo Ma and Jonathon Mason with Ton Koopman and the Amsterdam Baroque Orchestra [2003]

When Vivaldi came up as today’s song, I was reminded of a back-and-forth discussion about sexism and Charles Ives which came across by dashboard a couple weeks ago. Is some music naturally more effeminate? Can women reach the same artistic level as male musicians? I think the following will show that one of those questions has been settled for centuries. At the same time the answer might irritate the modern feminist (male or female) for its quaintness.

Already a skilled violinist, at age 24 Antonio Vivaldi took a job as master of violin at a convent/orphanage in his hometown of Venice, Italy, where he began working with a seemingly unlikely group of musicians. The Pio Ospedale della Pietà took in orphans of both genders, but struggled to find traditional futures for most unwanted young girls. Many of the girls were trained in music by local musicians or older women there and over the centuries the orphanage’s choir and orchestra slowly gained a reputation. Thirteen years after taking his first job there, Vivaldi became music director and arguably led the women’s orchestra to its artistic peak. Among the many pieces he wrote for the orchestra was this unique double cello concerto (the date is completely unknown). The segment posted above is the energetic third (final) movement.

Philosopher, writer, composer Jean-Jacques Rousseau visited Ospedale della Pietà within a few years of Vivaldi’s death and had this to say about his experiences there:

“I have not an idea of anything so voluptuous and affecting as this music; the richness of the art, the exquisite taste of the vocal part, the excellence of the voices, the justness of the execution, everything in these delightful concerts concurs to produce an impression which certainly is not the mode, but from which I am of opinion no heart is secure. Carrio and I never failed being present at these vespers of the ‘Mendicanti’, and we were not alone. The church was always full of the lovers of the art, and even the actors of the opera came there to form their tastes after these excellent models.

What vexed me was the iron grate, which suffered nothing to escape but sounds, and concealed from me the angels of which they were worthy. I talked of nothing else. One day I spoke of it at Le Blond’s; “If you are so desirous,” said he, “to see those little girls, it will be an easy matter to satisfy your wishes. I am one of the administrators of the house, I will give you a collation [light meal] with them.” I did not let him rest until he had fulfilled his promise.

In entering the saloon, which contained these beauties I so much sighed to see, I felt a trembling of love which I had never before experienced. M. le Blond presented to me one after the other, these celebrated female singers, of whom the names and voices were all with which I was acquainted. Come, Sophia, — she was horrid. Come, Cattina, — she had but one eye. Come, Bettina, — the small-pox had entirely disfigured her. Scarcely one of them was without some striking defect.

Le Blond laughed at my surprise; however, two or three of them appeared tolerable; these never sung but in the choruses; I was almost in despair. During the collation we endeavored to excite them, and they soon became enlivened; ugliness does not exclude the graces, and I found they possessed them. I said to myself, they cannot sing in this manner without intelligence and sensibility, they must have both; in fine, my manner of seeing them changed to such a degree that I left the house almost in love with each of these ugly faces. I had scarcely courage enough to return to vespers. But after having seen the girls, the danger was lessened. I still found their singing delightful; and their voices so much embellished their persons that, in spite of my eyes, I obstinately continued to think them beautiful.”

~ From Book VII of The Confessions of Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1770, pub. 1782) (via)

Lastly, while I focussed on the view of women, I think we can all be proud of how far we’ve come in our treatment of people with all sorts of disabilities - especially with the context that the Americans with Disabilities Act just turned 20.

“Symphony No. 49 in F Minor - II. Allegro di molto” by Franz Joseph Haydn [1768] performed by Adrian Shepherd and Cantilena [1986]

Music History has looked a bit recently at the development of the symphony in the second half of the 18th century. First we heard the first movement of Haydn’s Symphony No. 30, built on the famous “alleluja” melody. A few days later, we looked at the pinnacle of the classical symphony, the dramatic, contrapuntal final movement of Mozart’s 41st symphony. Read those for more background if you wish.

Tonight’s song, the second movement of Haydn’s Symphony No. 49, was arguably the most animated, electrifying movement in the form until the Mozart piece mentioned above, which was composed 20-some years later. Although the origin of the epithet “la passione” is debated, the second movement defined passion. Adrian Shepherd and his orchestra Cantilena give one of the better performances on modern instruments.

“Symphony #41 In C, K 551, ‘Jupiter’ - 4. Finale: Molto Allegro” by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart [1788] performed by John Eliot Gardiner and the English Baroque Soloists [1989]

So much has already been said about the finale to Mozart’s last symphony, that I could never come close to making an original claim. Some would object to such a bold statement, but I tend to agree with those who regard Mozart’s 41st symphony as the culmination of Western concert music to 1788. The final movement alone, heard here, proves the point.

For the fourth and final movement of Symphony No. 41 Mozart put his full range of musical knowledge to work, tying a centuries-old melody to the style of a bygone era in a contemporary form that had only recently emerged. To spell it out in a bit more detail… the first four notes you hear belong to a melody used at least 250 years earlier in a mass by Josquin Desprez (and probably before that).

Based on that simple four-note melody, Mozart developed complex counterpoint throughout the movement. He had studied the works of Handel and J.S. Bach in the early 1780s; as if to prove he could match the old masters, the composer wrote the climax and coda of the piece as a five-part (!) fugue.

Lastly, Mozart composed the piece in a very contemporary form, sonata form within a symphony. Joseph Haydn and his younger brother Michael, both friends of Mozart in the mid 1780s, had championed the form after the High Baroque style of Bach and Handel fell from favor. Just as he had done with many other musical frameworks (see especially opera and concerto), Mozart exceeded even the greatest masters.

This performance by John Eliot Gardiner conducting The English Baroque Soloists was played on period instruments and by a smaller orchestra more on the scale of the 18th century. 

“Symphony No. 30 in C Major ‘Allelujah’: 1. Allegro” by Franz Joseph Haydn [1765] performed by Adrian Shepherd and Cantilena [1987]

Random Music History Song of the Day

Great composers can take music from almost any genre or style and make something new from it, make it their own. This did not just start with hip-hop DJs sampling earlier soul records; the idea goes back certainly as far as medieval church music and no doubt long before that. It is still surprising, however, when one hears the work of a master.

The opening motive of the first movement of Haydn’s Symphony No. 30 (heard twice) is the traditional “Allelujah” plainchant melody, a centuries-old liturgical piece of music heard most often around Easter. Building on the three primary tones from the motive Haydn developed a festival atmosphere for the piece. The style and length were common for symphonies in this era (partly because Haydn was one of the few people working in the form). 

Remember that 1765 was still early in the history of the symphonic form. At the time Hadyn was slowly gaining recognition across Europe. Under his guidance the symphony transitioned from merely an interlude of greater works to the emotive and powerful four-movement variety we know from late-period Mozart, Beethoven, and Haydn’s own later examples.

A final aside: Haydn spent some thirty years, including 1865, at the court of the Esterházy noble family. Much of his work was composed at Eszterháza (map), a family estate in western Hungary. Recall that the last song posted here featured Zoltán Kodály and Eugene Ormandy, both native Hungarians.

Water Music: ”Suite #2 In D, HWV 349 - Alla Hornpipe” by George Frideric Handel [1717] performed by John Eliot Gardiner and the English Baroque Soloists [1993]

Random Music History Song of the Day

George Louis, Elector of the Holy Roman Empire from Hanover, hired 25-year-old George Frideric Handel as his Kappelmeister in 1710. Two years later Handel visited London, the city in which his operas were most popular. In spite of his obligations in Hanover, the composer remained in England. In 1714 George Louis succeeded Queen Anne as King of England. It is unclear whether the few years of separation strained the relationship between the two.

Either way the two got on fine after a concert for the King in the heart of the summer of 1717. On July 17, Handel led a large orchestra (on one boat) performing his music for the King (on a second boat) on a cruise up and down the Thames. It is likely but not certain that the three suites we now call Handel’s Water Music were at least part of the music played that day.

The second movement of the second suite, the “alla hornpipe,” has come down to modern listeners as arguably the defining sound of Baroque pomp - more so even than the opening Toccata from Monteverdi’s L’Orfeo or the third movement of Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 2. I guarantee that even my followers who know very little about Baroque music will recognize all three pieces. The nice thing about the “Alla hornpipe” posted above is that John Eliot Gardiner and the English Baroque Soloists use original instrumentation and play on period instruments. This is something like how King George would have heard the piece 293 years ago while floating down the Thames.

“Piano Concerto in C Major, K. 503: II. Andante” by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart [1786] performed by Vladimir Ashkenazy and the Philharmonia Orchestra [1982]

Random Music History Song of the Day

Many casual listeners to classical music believe the symphony was the supreme form of the classical art when in fact for much of the history of Western concert music, the symphony was a brief, rather mundane effort, barely more than an overture. Throughout the Baroque era, other forms of mostly-instrumental music dominated: the mass, the fugue, the dance suite, and to some extent the two types of concerto - concerto grosso (e.g. some of J.S. Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos) and solo concerto (e.g. Vivaldi’s four concerto suite, The Four Seasons). Only in the Classical era did the symphony become a leading form (and still, one of a few equally artistic forms, read on…).

This is where the genius of Mozart shows most evidently. Mozart is often praised for raising the symphony to the level of pure art (although Haydn deserves credit as well). Mozart also wrote operas that have never been topped in terms of matching beautiful, dramatic music with realistic, emotive characters. And most importantly for this post, Mozart’s keyboard virtuosity let him write the most complex, moving set of solo concertos to date (mostly for piano, but also notable concertos for clarinet, flute and harp, and horn). Find me another composer, from any genre, who changed so much!

The song above is the second movement from Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 25 in C major. Like most concertos of the Classical era, the first movement of kicked things off with energy of some kind - lively, stormy, or intense - and was where the soloist got to display his talents. As heard above, the second movement usually showed a composers gift for subtlety and instrumental lyricism while the third and final movement often found a balance between drama and nuance.

After Mozart’s original performances of Piano Concerto No. 25 in Vienna, the piece was not performed again in that city until 1934. Only in the last 50 years or so has the work been recognized as one of Mozart’s best concertos. Modern piano virtuoso Vladimir Ashkenazi recorded nearly all of Mozart’s most important piano concertos, with results ranging from good to phenomenal.

I would like to and could write more about the specific origins of Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 25, but to save space on your dashboard and to save my own time, I will direct you to a detailed description from the program of a recent performance of the concerto at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C.

“Pastorale 1” from Pastorellen vor die Weynacht-Zeit by Johann Valentin Rathgeber [c1750] performed by Per Fridtjov Bonsaksen [1997]

Random Music History Song of the Day

As far as I can tell from the liner notes (the internet has nothing!), composer Valentin Rathgeber either wrote or published a series of short Christmas pastorales near the end of his life (1750). Rathgeber, a near contemporary of Johann Sebastian Bach, was a popular choirmaster and relatively prolific composer from Southern Germany. His works, composed mainly while he worked at Banz Abbey in northern Bavaria, were not groundbreaking, but as you can tell from this short piece, they were perfectly adequate to their purposes in small town churches around the region.

The first pastorale from the Christmas set, posted above, is here arranged for “solo” organ. Much of Rathgeber’s music was written for a traditional four- voice choir with string accompaniment, a typical Baroque set up. Choral era are usually known by the first line or two of text, but since these ten pastorales have no names attached to them, I am inclined to believe they were in fact written as instrumental works. On the other hand, the way the melodic lines (the voices) enter and interact is entirely choral.

More general information on Rathgeber can be found here (in German, which is the one language I can manage - barely). If anyone knows more about Rathgeber or particularly about these pastorales, I would love to learn more!