Large Repertories

This is one of those posts that does not fit comfortably into any particular category, so I should start with a definition. By a large repertory I mean a large collection of works by a single composer in a specific genre. The locus classicus might be the five hundred and fifty-five single movement sonatas for harpsichord by Domenico Scarlatti. Another prominent example is the one hundred and four symphonies by Joseph Haydn. A lesser-known collection would be the three hundred and seventy-one symphonies by the Finnish composer and conductor Leif Segerstam.

Of course we would want to include the three hundred some cantatas by J. S. Bach. And there are some smaller collections that are also well worth looking at such as the two hundred and thirty some pieces for harpsichord by François Couperin gathered into twenty-seven suites or Ordres. Another spectacular collection is that of the two hundred and fifty-two madrigals of Claudio Monteverdi, collected in nine books. Mind you, over the course of the composition, Monteverdi made radical changes in the very nature of the genre and from Book 7 on there is a wide variety of versions of the form using different kinds of  poetic texts, different vocal combinations and especially different instrumental combinations to the extent that some of the longer examples are like miniature operas--a long way from our basic conception of the madrigal.

What fascinates me about these large repertoires is the astonishing creativity involved. Imagine sitting down year after year and composing over and over again short sonatas for harpsichord, overwhelmingly in binary form and each time coming up with something new and fresh. Or doing the same with the symphonic form, though there you have instrumental variety as well as contrasting movements to work with.

What is required for these repertories to flourish is not only the creative genius of the composer, but also the availability of musicians to play the works and a venue and sponsorship to support performances. Of course Scarlatti could count on the patronage of Philip V, the King of Spain and Haydn that of the wealthy Esterhazy family. Bach was employed by the city fathers of Leipzig and Monteverdi by the Gonzagas and the Serene Republic of Venice. So what you really need is decades long support of some wealthy patrons, something we don't really have these days.

How could I possibly introduce these repertories in the context of a blog? Not very easily, I'm afraid. The topic is not only too big for a blog, it is also too big for a series of hefty books. Because of the extensive nature of these repertories, many of them have not even been examined in a thorough way in monographs. And when they have, as in the massive three-volume book on the Italian Madrigal by Alfred Einstein, they are often many decades old. So, basically, it can't be done! So what can I do? Well, I can certainly give little tastes of them, call it a "repertory sampler" which might encourage you to explore this music. I think it is really worth your time because here we tend to have pure creativity unaffected by commercial or ideological considerations--and wouldn't that be a relief!

So I'm going to pick up on a post I put up not long ago and delve into the Monteverdi madrigals to start with. I'm going to pick one madrigal from Book 3, one from Book 5 and one from Book 7 that I hope will enable me to illustrate the shift from Renaissance style to Baroque style in one composer in just a few years.

Today's Listening

 

Rondeau and Dunford Together

 I don't know about you, I but I was hoping these two would get together.

François Couperin, 15eme, 16eme et 17eme Ordres

A friend of mine once remarked to me that music has been in decline since 1733. I have never forgotten that. That was, of course, the year that François Couperin died. One could certainly quibble with that. What about J. S. Bach, for example? Not much decline there. Or, if you like your music a little jollier, then there is always Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven. Still, he did have a point. Instead of arguing about it though, let's simply listen to three Ordres (what Couperin called his suites for harpsichord). Here is the unparalleled Scott Ross with three of the later Ordres.

Wilfrid Mellers' Couperin

I didn't have high hopes for this book as it was originally published in 1950 (this is a 2008 reprint by an English bookshop), but so far it is quite interesting. Perhaps wrongly, I think of monographs from the 50s as tending to be dry and analytical, but Mellers surprised me by starting with four chapters on the origins of the Couperin family, the social and ethical culture of the time, the aesthetic context and the place of music in the court and the theater.

One thing that reveals the age of the writing is the great chunks of untranslated French prose! Oh yes, go back seventy years and a writer of a scholarly book could just expect everyone to read the occasional passage in French. Another book of this vintage I have been reading lately is Frederick Copleston's History of Philosophy. He expects you to read, if not lengthy passages, then certainly individual terms, in Greek. And not Greek transliterated into Roman letters. No. Greek: εὐδαιμονία for example. The only issue with the Mellers book so far is that my copy is missing pages 51-2. Weird.

Those four chapters on the historical/cultural background reveal a more contemporary attitude than I would have expected. Of course it is not really up to date: he doesn't obsess about intersectionality, race and gender.

One of the stumbling blocks, at least for English speakers, in the music of Couperin, is his titles, nearly every one of them an impenetrable French obscurity. Mellers has an appendix with notes on virtually every one of Couperin's titles.

I'm still in chapter four, a discussion of the development of French ballet and opera, neither of which Couperin contributed to, but both of which influenced him, so a full review will have to wait. But so far, a hearty recommendation for this somewhat elderly book on François Couperin.

This provides the opportunity to put up another envoi of Couperin's keyboard music. The best performer to my mind is Grigory Sokolov, on piano, though only a couple of ordres are available on YouTube. Here is the Treizième Ordre followed by the Dix-huitième Ordre, both recorded at a concert in Schwetzingen, May 22nd 2001 (the clip is mislabeled):

You have to admire a pianist who will walk on stage and play nothing but Couperin for the whole of the first half of the concert!

Engaging Couperin

I'm still listening my way through the complete harpsichord music of François Couperin but I'm starting to realize that my favorite Couperin is that played by Grigory Sokolov. Here is a sample, L'Engageante from the Treizième Ordre:

Is it really his fault that he makes everyone else sound rather ham-handed?