May 17 notes

Jean Philippe Rameau is best remembered today as a composer of opera, a field in which he made a significant contribution. But despite this reputation, his was a far more rounded and complete musical talent. In fact, it was only at the age of 50 that he had produced his first opera, and before that had been appreciated primarily as a theorist - he was the first to propose the now standard ‘modern’ understanding of the harmonic system of chords and their inversions - and as a composer and performer of brilliantly-conceived harpsichord music. When one hears Rameau’s music it is often hard to accept contemporary reports of his character. His manners, apparently, were awkward: in company, he was often taciturn or even brusque. And yet his music, his most lasting legacy, is so full of energy, cunning and witty phrases that it seems difficult to credit that they could be the creation of one so at odds with the etiquette of contemporary society.

Les Indes Galantes was first produced in 1735. Strictly speaking, it is an opéra-ballet, a peculiarly French sub-species of opera in which the each of the four acts - or entrées - has its own self-contained plot in which dancing features prominently. The whole is held together by a common theme usually expounded in an allegorical prologue. In this case, four young warriors from Europe - a Frenchman, Italian, a Spaniard and a Pole - agree to forsake Love’s pleasures and disperse to remote lands referred to as the ‘Indies’: Turkey, Peru, Persia and North America. The disconnected nature of the plot in fact serves to its advantage. As one contemporary commentator observed, the opéra-ballet was like ‘les jolis Watteau, des miniatures piquantes’. Certainly, the format was ideally suited to Rameau’s talents, and in Les Indes Galantes he produced some of his finest music. The movements performed tonight are taken largely from Prologue; ‘les Sauvages’ are the north American Indians.

In placing Rameau next to Geminiani, we juxtapose a Frenchman who never ventured outside his native country, geographically or artistically, and an Italian who deliberately sought to export his musical talent. A native of Lucca - a town which in later generations was to produce such luminaries as Boccherini and Puccini - Geminiani studied with Corelli in Rome. After a period in Naples, he left Italy for good. His initial focus was London where he arrived in 1714 and where he enjoyed considerable success. As a pupil of Corelli, he was able to exploit the English enthusiasm for that composer’s music, both as a performer and as a composer of music which clearly reflected the manners of his teacher. Patronage, too, came his way. Interestingly, his first set of sonatas is dedicated to Baron Kielmansegg, who was the prime mover in the royal pleasure trip of 1717 for which Handel wrote his Water Music. And he was sufficiently popular to be able to run a subscription concert series in the 1720s. On the back of this, Geminiani published several sets of concertos including that from the 1732 Op 3 set which we hear tonight. This work was considered by a number of his contemporaries as being his finest; certainly it reveals an individual melodic and harmonic touch.

Geminiani was of course only one of many Italian musicians who pursued their careers outside their homeland. Equally significant to the pervasive influence of Italy in matters of musical taste were the numerous foreigners who studied there. Handel, of course, is perhaps the most well known today. But amongst his compatriots, Johann David Heinichen was possibly the most revered of the Italian-trained musicians. Heinichen spent the majority of his career as Kapellmeister in Dresden and wrote an enormous quantity of music, much of which was lost in World War II; but we are fortunate that at least some of his work has survived. The Pastorale clearly owes a debt to Corelli’s famous example, and like Corelli’s was written with a Nativity scene in mind. The elegance of Heinichen’s melodies are enchanting; not without reason did the Enlgish historian Charles Burney refer to him as ‘the German Rameau’.

Along with the Music for the Royal Fireworks, Handel’s Water Music Suite must rank amongst one of the most popular suites of orchestral music ever written. The occasion of the first performance was a river trip made by George I on July 17th, 1717. The event was as much about politics as it was about pleasure. The King and his entourage were taken by barge from Whitehall to Chelsea and back with the express purpose of being seen by his subjects; and by extension, reducing the political prestige of his son, the Prince of Wales. Although Handel enjoyed good relations with the younger members of the Royal Family, the composer’s involvement was probably more complex than simply currying favour with the monarch. By a curious twist of the royal succession after the death of Queen Anne, the Elector of Hannover - for whom Handel had been Kappelmeister until his prolonged absence in London had forced his dismissal - became none other than George I of England. Handel’s first biographer alleged that the Water Music was a peace offering; but in reality, it is just as likely that it was politically adept show of loyalty to the crown.

Whatever the reason, Handel’s music reveals him at his most rumbustuous. The strength and vigour of his music is instantly memorable. But to the first audience, the real surprise would have been the inclusion of horns in the orchestra. Remarkably, the Water Music is the first composed in England to use horns. In this case, employing the system of interchangeable crooks then used by brass players, the hornists played in the keys of F and D, sometimes in dialogue with other instruments, occasionally adding fanfare-like figures, but perhaps most adventurously by adding colour to the orchestral ensemble. Even today, hearing this music is exhilarating. Handel’s judicious use of the horns - he includes them only in a few selected movements - ensures that their sound when heard is all the more arresting. There are several differing versions of a number of movements. And so we take the opportunity to conclude this season by playing two movements from the D major suite in their alternative F major versions.


		Pittville Pump Room 2004-05 Season May 17 programme notes

		Jean Philippe Rameau is best remembered today as a composer of opera, a field in which he made a significant contribution. But despite this reputation, his was a far more rounded and complete musical talent. In fact, it was only at the age of 50 that he had produced his first opera, and before that had been appreciated primarily as a theorist - he was the first to propose the now standard ‘modern’ understanding of the harmonic system of chords and their inversions - and as a composer and performer of brilliantly-conceived harpsichord music. When one hears Rameau’s music it is often hard to accept contemporary reports of his character. His manners, apparently, were awkward: in company, he was often taciturn or even brusque. And yet his music, his most lasting legacy, is so full of energy, cunning and witty phrases that it seems difficult to credit that they could be the creation of one so at odds with the etiquette of contemporary society. Les Indes Galantes was first produced in 1735. Strictly speaking, it is an opéra-ballet, a peculiarly French sub-species of opera in which the each of the four acts - or entrées - has its own self-contained plot in which dancing features prominently. The whole is held together by a common theme usually expounded in an allegorical prologue. In this case, four young warriors from Europe - a Frenchman, Italian, a Spaniard and a Pole - agree to forsake Love’s pleasures and disperse to remote lands referred to as the ‘Indies’: Turkey, Peru, Persia and North America. The disconnected nature of the plot in fact serves to its advantage. As one contemporary commentator observed, the opéra-ballet was like ‘les jolis Watteau, des miniatures piquantes’. Certainly, the format was ideally suited to Rameau’s talents, and in Les Indes Galantes he produced some of his finest music. The movements performed tonight are taken largely from Prologue; ‘les Sauvages’ are the north American Indians. In placing Rameau next to Geminiani, we juxtapose a Frenchman who never ventured outside his native country, geographically or artistically, and an Italian who deliberately sought to export his musical talent. A native of Lucca - a town which in later generations was to produce such luminaries as Boccherini and Puccini - Geminiani studied with Corelli in Rome. After a period in Naples, he left Italy for good. His initial focus was London where he arrived in 1714 and where he enjoyed considerable success. As a pupil of Corelli, he was able to exploit the English enthusiasm for that composer’s music, both as a performer and as a composer of music which clearly reflected the manners of his teacher. Patronage, too, came his way. Interestingly, his first set of sonatas is dedicated to Baron Kielmansegg, who was the prime mover in the royal pleasure trip of 1717 for which Handel wrote his Water Music. And he was sufficiently popular to be able to run a subscription concert series in the 1720s. On the back of this, Geminiani published several sets of concertos including that from the 1732 Op 3 set which we hear tonight. This work was considered by a number of his contemporaries as being his finest; certainly it reveals an individual melodic and harmonic touch. Geminiani was of course only one of many Italian musicians who pursued their careers outside their homeland. Equally significant to the pervasive influence of Italy in matters of musical taste were the numerous foreigners who studied there. Handel, of course, is perhaps the most well known today. But amongst his compatriots, Johann David Heinichen was possibly the most revered of the Italian-trained musicians. Heinichen spent the majority of his career as Kapellmeister in Dresden and wrote an enormous quantity of music, much of which was lost in World War II; but we are fortunate that at least some of his work has survived. The Pastorale clearly owes a debt to Corelli’s famous example, and like Corelli’s was written with a Nativity scene in mind. The elegance of Heinichen’s melodies are enchanting; not without reason did the Enlgish historian Charles Burney refer to him as ‘the German Rameau’. Along with the Music for the Royal Fireworks, Handel’s Water Music Suite must rank amongst one of the most popular suites of orchestral music ever written. The occasion of the first performance was a river trip made by George I on July 17th, 1717. The event was as much about politics as it was about pleasure. The King and his entourage were taken by barge from Whitehall to Chelsea and back with the express purpose of being seen by his subjects; and by extension, reducing the political prestige of his son, the Prince of Wales. Although Handel enjoyed good relations with the younger members of the Royal Family, the composer’s involvement was probably more complex than simply currying favour with the monarch. By a curious twist of the royal succession after the death of Queen Anne, the Elector of Hannover - for whom Handel had been Kappelmeister until his prolonged absence in London had forced his dismissal - became none other than George I of England. Handel’s first biographer alleged that the Water Music was a peace offering; but in reality, it is just as likely that it was politically adept show of loyalty to the crown. Whatever the reason, Handel’s music reveals him at his most rumbustuous. The strength and vigour of his music is instantly memorable. But to the first audience, the real surprise would have been the inclusion of horns in the orchestra. Remarkably, the Water Music is the first composed in England to use horns. In this case, employing the system of interchangeable crooks then used by brass players, the hornists played in the keys of F and D, sometimes in dialogue with other instruments, occasionally adding fanfare-like figures, but perhaps most adventurously by adding colour to the orchestral ensemble. Even today, hearing this music is exhilarating. Handel’s judicious use of the horns - he includes them only in a few selected movements - ensures that their sound when heard is all the more arresting. There are several differing versions of a number of movements. And so we take the opportunity to conclude this season by playing two movements from the D major suite in their alternative F major versions. © Warwick Cole 2004