Curios, News, & Chronicles

By Marten Noorduin

Music and humor are often a fruitful combination, as anyone who is familiar with the likes of Victor Borge  will attest, and there are plenty of pieces by major composers that contain jokes, such as Shostakovich’s satirical opera The Nose, or that are in a sense jokes themselves, such as Mozart’s Musical Joke, or PDQ Bach’s entire output. However, composers and professional comedians are not the only ones to populate the tradition of musical humor, which has also manifested itself in musical periodicals, particularly those written in English. As such, it is interesting to raise the question whether these jokes have another function besides attempting to make the reader laugh, and whether they still have value for anyone other than those interested in vintage humor. The following is a brief attempt to understand the functions of musical jokes breaking them down into three partly overlapping categories.

The first category constitutes those jokes that are very short, include a clear punch line at the end, and are as such easily remembered. Furthermore, the reliance on homophones in the first example below would seem to suggest that some of these might have been expected to be read out loud to reach their full effect. Their relative brevity, as well as their thematic disconnect from the surrounding material, could be a sign that some of these were primarily used to fill up otherwise unused space on the page.

(Anon., ‘[Miscellaneous section]’, Boston Musical Gazette, Vol. 1, No. 5 (27 June 1838): 40.)

(Anon., ‘Naïveté’, Saroni’s Musical Times, Vol. 1, No. 25 (16 March, 1850): 289.)

(Anon., ‘A Joke for the End of the Season’, The Musical Times, Vol. 3, No. 52 (September 1, 1848): 46.)

The second category includes those that are somewhat longer and presented in a more complicated fashion, but which are still clearly intended as humorous anecdotes or jokes, and have clear albeit fewer memorable punch lines. These often appear in groups of two or three with a common theme, and therefore take up much more of the page than those in the previous category.

(Anon., ‘Anecdotes’, Saroni’s Musical Times, Vol. 1, No. 43 (20 July, 1850): 505.)

(Anon., ‘A Critique upon Singing’, The Musical Journal, Vol. 1, No. 5 (February 4, 1840): 79.)

(Anon., ‘Musical Jokes’, Saroni’s Musical Times, Vol. 3, No. 3 (April 12, 1851): 28.)

(Anon., ‘Foreign Musical Report’, The Harmonicon, Vol. 8, No. 5 (May 1830): 219.)

(Anon, ‘Miscellaneous’, Boston Eoliad, Vol. 1, no. 2 (17 February 1841): 14.)

(Anon., ‘Miscellaneous’, The Musical World, Vol. 1, no. 11 (27 May 1836): 178.)

A third, somewhat less populated but important category contains longer stories or articles that use humor to make a particular point. These kinds of jokes are perhaps most valuable for researchers, as the humor is largely subservient to a different goal, and used as a rhetorical device in order to make a point about the contemporary musical culture.

The first example is from a New York periodical, which appears to ridicule an unnamed English publication that had published a rather dramatic description of the musical life in New York, supposedly written by a musician who had visited the city. The original English publication introduces the letter with bombastic language, which is the cause of significant mockery on the part of the New York author. Nevertheless, the author does not seem to disagree completely with the description of the state of music in the city.

(Anon., ‘A Curiosity’, The Message Bird, Vol. I, No. 2 (15 August, 1849): 26.)

Another example of a longer joke can be found in the German-language Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung, one of the most important periodicals of its time. This piece has something of a noteworthy genealogy, as it is titled Kreisleriana, after E.T.A Hoffman’s first novel about the hypochondriac genius Kapellmeister Johannes Kreisler, which would later go on to inspire Robert Schumann’s op. 16. Kreisler soon became a very popular character, and appeared in several other works by Hoffman, including the only relatively recently translated The Life and Opinions of the Tomcat Murr together with a fragmentary Biography of Kapellmeister Johannes Kreisler on Random Sheets of Waste Paper.

The joke itself offers an interesting window into the opinions of its writer, who not only claimed that the achievements of classical opera were being squandered, but who also diagnoses the underlying conditions that are in his or her opinion the cause of this. Although it is clearly meant to be funny, the piece does provide us with valuable information of what some musicians thought of some of the musical developments of their time.

New Kreisleriana

(A short contribution for the promotion of good taste.)

Question: How can one most effectively ruin the audience’s listening experience of the so-called classic operas, while simultaneously making it fond of the creations by the newer French and Italian masters?

Answer 1: One rehearses the former poorly, and takes care that the pedantic connoisseurs get so up in arms by the many mistakes that stand out clearly, so that in the end they do not want to hear these works any more.

Answer 2: One rushes through the named operas, starting at the overtures, in forced tempos—with Adagio and Andante played as if in a strong gallop—as quickly as possible, and tries in this way to avoid every clear understanding of the composer’s intention, his voice leading, and instrumentation.

Answer 3: One carefully heeds the proper staging of said operas, and avoids the purchase of new and brilliant decorations. Also, one cannot allow the text to be adapted in contemporary or witty ways. If one absolutely has to make a change, ensure that this is done by the least capable hands.

Answer 4: One ensures that no literary rooster crows, when occasionally one of these operas is actually performed at a high standard.

Answer 5: Most importantly, and as is already common practice in many places with great success, in the case of French and Italian masterworks one does exactly the opposite.

Let’s put this into practice!

(D.S., ‘Neue Kreisleriana. (Ein Scherflein zur Beförderung des guten Geschmacks)’, Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung, Vol. 34, No. 38 (19 September 1832): 631.)

But perhaps the most curious example of all is a musical obelisk printed in a French journal in memory of the supposedly departed foreign artists ‘Violonsberg, Guitarros, Pianovitch, and Tromboni-pistonkoff’, and combines what a somewhat mocking tone with an interesting visual design.

Musical Obelisk

To the perishable memory of the German, Italian, Russian and Prussian artists Violonsberg, Guitarros, Pianovitch, and Tromboni-pistonkoff, the collectors have raised this monolith, which will not go down to posterity. While waiting for that sweet moment, REST IN PEACE.

Oh you amateurs, be aware of mornings, afternoons, and musical evenings, which every winter come to your ears and bewilder you. Read ‘AUJOUR’DHUI’, and tonight you will sleep the sleep of innocence.

(Anon., ‘Musical Obelisk’, Saroni’s Musical Times, Vol. 2, No. 13 (21 December 1850): 124.)

So in summary, although some of these are clearly identified as jokes or anecdotes by the publications in which they appear, this is not always the case, and several of the shorter examples above appear amidst more serious material. In general, humor in musical periodicals in this period seem to have two functions: the shorter and medium-length jokes and anecdotes appear to be straightforward attempts to make the reader laugh, and perhaps also fill space on the page. The much longer pieces, on the other hand, are used to make some sort of larger point about the musical culture of the time, and are as such valuable sources for research on musical practice and culture.

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By Marten Noorduin

(Image: Beethoven in 1818. Pencil drawing by August von Kloeber. Beethoven-Haus Bonn)

Between late 1817 and early 1819, Beethoven wrote one of his most substantial works for piano: the Sonata op. 106 in B-flat major, now often known as the ‘Hammerklavier’ Sonata. Although it has now secured its place in the repertoire, it only acquired this position several decades after it was written, unlike some of Beethoven’s other works which were popular straight away, such as the Septet op. 20. This can be at least partially explained by the fact that throughout its lengthy playing time the performer of op. 106 is confronted with almost insurmountable technical challenges, often exacerbated by the rather fast tempo that Beethoven indicates. This is particularly clear at the beginning of the first movement. Here is Artur Schnabel’s admirable but by no means flawless attempt to tackle these difficulties, recorded in the 1930s:

Other pianists have delivered much more controlled performances, but have often done so by playing all four movements at a slower speed than indicated. A good example of such a pianist is Alfred Brendel, whose performance of the first movement in particular has a much less hurried feeling than Schnabel’s:

Of course, twentieth-century pianists were hardly the first to struggle with this sonata, as the piece was considered unusually difficult to understand in the first decades after publication. This can be seen in an article published on 5 January 1835 in the French periodical Le Pianiste, which discusses all of the opus numbers individually up to and including the sonata op. 101. The remaining sonatas (except op. 111, which the reviewer does not even mention) are described as almost impenetrable, a judgment that is applied to op. 106 in particular.

(Anon., ‘Notices: Luigi Van Beethoven, considéré comme pianist …’, Le Pianiste, Journal Spécial Pour le Piano, les Théâtres lyriques et les Concerts, 2e année, no. 5 (5 Janvier 1835), 33-34.)

Op. 106, 109, 110. In these three works, —106 in particular,—the musical sense is almost as clear as in a philosophical treatise of Kent, or a chapter of M. Cousin. There is no doubt that Beethoven—who was more deaf than ever at this time—did not understand himself what he wrote; but his infirmity, so fatal to a musician, had perhaps rendered his intuitive sense more delicate, and enabled him to see nebulae which we cannot distinguish. In general, his last works are imbued with a sort of mysticism that is impenetrable to the common people.

The next year, however, Franz Liszt played op. 106 in Paris, and Hector Berlioz reviewed it in some detail La Revue et Gazette musicale de Paris. According to the review, Liszt (consistently spelled Listz in this periodical!) had broken through the perceived impenetrability, resulting in what appears to be the first positive review of a performance of this sonata.

(H. Berlioz ‘Listz’, La Revue et Gazette musicale de Paris, 3e année, no 24 (12 juin 1836): 198-200.)

Liszt has explained the work in such a way that if the composer himself had returned from the grave, joy and pride would have swept over him. Not a note was left out, not one added (I followed the performance with the sheet music), not one alteration was made in the tempo that was not indicated in the text (….) It was the ideal performance of a work with the reputation of being unperformable. Liszt, in bringing back a work that was previously not understood has shown that he is a pianist of the future. Honor to him!

H. Berlioz

Whether or not Liszt actually followed the metronome mark in the score is difficult to say, but Berlioz’s article seems to suggest that Liszt’s performance was probably not far off.  Three years later, Moscheles played this sonata in England, and although the reviewer of his performance seems to have been less familiar with the work, Moscheles’s performance still left a good impression:

(Anon., ‘Musical Intelligence. Metropolitan’, The Musical World, New Series, Vol. IV, No. 64 — Vol. XI, No. 158 (March 21, 1839): 182-83.)

Although the reviewer is certainly not as dismissive of op. 106 as the author of the article in Le Pianiste mentioned above, the enthusiasm that characterized Berlioz’s writing on Liszt’s performance is not present, the reviewer’s praise for Moscheles’s technical abilities notwithstanding. Instead, the reviewer points out that there ‘is much to be developed by a full and perfect acquaintance with this work’, indicating that the piece was not as well understood. Perhaps indicative of this are the alterations that Moscheles made to the sonata in the Cramer edition, which he edited, apparently unbeknownst to this reviewer. One of the more noticeable and presumably impactful ones was changing the metronome mark for the first movement from =138 to ♩=138, since the former seemed unreasonably fast to him. Most recent scholarship, however, and many performers too have come down on the side of =138 as the intended speed.

The unusually slow metronome mark in Moscheles´s edition of op. 106 did attract skepticism, especially from pianists. In 1857, one correspondent, a certain R.A.M, wrote the following passionate letter to the editor of the Musical World, pointing out a particular problem with taking a speed of ♩=138 in performance:

(R. A. M., ‘The Metronome. To the Editor of the Musical World’, The Musical World, Vol. 35 — No. 34 (August 22, 1857): 532.)

Miss Goddard, who both the editor and R.A.M refer to, was a young pianist who had recently given several performances of op. 106 in England, and with great success. Provided that the editor did not misrepresent her interpretation, she seemed to have played the piece at a speed of around of =100. Despite this alteration—or perhaps because of it!—her performances appear to have constituted the emancipation of this work in the United Kingdom, as several reviews of the time show:

(Anon., ‘Miss Arabella Goddard (From the Morning Herald), The Musical World, Vol. XXXI, No. 17 (April 23, 1853): 253.)

(Anon., ‘Miss Arabella Goddard (From the Atheneum), The Musical World, Vol. XXXI, No. 17 (April 23, 1853): 254.)

It is of course unlikely that we can get a much clearer picture of how Liszt or Goddard played the sonata beyond these descriptions, considering the absence of recording technology and the scarceness of the evidence. Even the degree to which they followed the metronome mark of the first movement is difficult to assess, although it appears that both Goddard and Moscheles simply played the movement slower than indicated. Whether Liszt adhered to the speed is hard to say with certainty, but a recent performance by Stephan Möller shows that the indicated speed is at least within the realm of possibilities, even on a modern piano:

For a detailed discussion of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata op. 106, see András Schiff’s lecture from 2004 in the Wigmore Hall in London.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rR5f8yAnGik

Search tip: Concert reviews are available in RIPM in many languages, and the database contains a wealth of information on the repertoires, venues, reception, and even performers themselves. As the above shows, searching for particular repertoires can bring to light the struggles of past musicians and the critical trajectories of certain repertoires, but entering the names of performers into the database can often provide interesting biographical information on prominent musicians of the time, many of whom have now been largely forgotten. Consider the following letter to the editor of the Musical World, dated 22 August 1857, on the popular Austrian bass singer Joseph Staudigl (1807-1861).

From November 10, 1833 to October 20, 1835, the Librarie J. Delacour in Meudon and Vaugirard published the French pedagogical music journal, Le Pianiste. In its first year of publication, the journal dealt only with subjects related to the piano. Thereafter, it began covering the musical world at large, with concert reviews, anecdotes, and information about musical archives. The pianist and pedagogue, Charles Chaulieu was the only contributor who signed articles and, although there is no official mention that he was the journal’s editor, it is generally considered that Chaulieu fulfilled that role.

One of the interesting features of the journal is a lovely series of portraits of well- and lesser-known pianists and pianist–composers.  These illustrations appeared on the cover of its issues. The portraits were often accompanied by studies, with biographical notes, offering insights into the individual’s compositions, talent, style, personality, qualities as a performer, and pedagogical exercises. In all there are twenty-four portraits, eight of which are reproduced below.  Each is followed with a quote from the journal, translated into English, that helps define the manner in which  the individual was viewed by his contemporaries.  We thought you might enjoy seeing them. 

J. N. Hummel (of Vienna) [Lith. by J. Delacour in Vaugirard] (1, 2, December 1833)

“He is the founder of the modern school. He is today the greatest of composer pianists, which is not to be confused with the pianist composers.”

F. Kalkbrenner [Lith. by Benard, rue de l’Abbaye 4] (1, 3, January 1834)

“Look at Kalkbrenner, when he touches the piano… neither his body nor his face reflect the immense difficulties his fingers master. As a performer, Kalkbrenner stands as a model.”

J. B. Cramer [Lith. by Benard] (1, 4, February 1834)

“We can confidently give all of Cramer’s works to students; their fingers and ears will surely be well trained. This is a privilege not shared by many of today’s composers.”

D. Steibelt [Lith. by Benard] (1, 6, April 1834)

“[Steibelt] was truly a salon pianist: loved, adored by the women of society, he knew how to cater to their pleasures.”

Henri Herz [Lith. by Benard] (1,7, May 1834)

“Germany sends you this malicious mockery, from the Gazette of Leipzig, namely: It is only the women without esprit and without talent that enjoy the music of H. Herz.”

J. L. Dussek [Lith. by Benard] (1, 10, August 1834)

“Today we select Dussek for our leaflet: the famous Dussek, so refined without softness, so educated without pedantry, and whose playing was, so to speak, as beautiful to watch as it was delightful to hear.”

G. F. Handel, born in 1682, died in 1759 (1, 12, October 1834)

“The Italians who possessed him for years, called Handel il Sassone [the Saxon], and the English, with whom he remained for forty-seven years and for whom he composed all of his oratorios with English words, considered him a compatriot.”

J. Haydn [Impr. of J. Delacour in Vaugirard] (2, 16, 1835)

“With a physiognomy a bit gruff and a kind of terseness when speaking which would seem to indicate a coarse man, Haydn was cheerful, open minded and pleasant by nature. This vivacity was easily suppressed when he was in the company of strangers or of people of a superior rank.”

Search Tip: The full text of Le Pianiste  is available in the RIPM Online Archive. To explore the other portraits, select  Le Pianiste in journal title field and “illustrations “ in the record type field of the RIPM Retrospective Index.  Thereafter simply “click” through the results. You might also wish to use Browse Mode to explore this fascinating French perspective on pianists and pianist-composers in the 1830s.

[The Musical Times. Vol. XXXV (June 1, 1894):584]

In May 1893, the École Française d’Athènes unearthed, at the Athenian Treasury in Delphi, two of the oldest surviving musical compositions, the hymns to Apollo. The discovery sparked great interest and contributed in the late nineteenth century to a growing awareness  of ancient Greek music and a desire on the part of some composers to seek inspiration therein.  This awareness is reflected, for example, in Felix Mendelssohn’s Antigone  and Camille Saint-Saëns’s Antigone and Hélène.

In this month’s Curios, News, and Chronicles we focus on how the  discovery of the first of two Delphic hymns  was reported in the musical press and Gabriel Fauré’s arrangement of it.

After the German classical scholar Otto Crusius, the philologist Henri Weil, and French archeologist Theodore Reinach restored, analyzed, and transcribed the hymn, the first public performance of this melody took place on March 26, 1894 in the presence of King George I and Queen Olga of Greece at a soirée organized by the French School.  Based on a comment in The Musical News, it did not generate a great deal of enthusiasm.

[Musical News, Vol.VI, No. 162 (Saturday, April 7, 1894):327]

Later the work was performed in several European cities, after which the same journal underscored its importance, the ‘stir’ it was creating and published photographs of the ashlar blocks containing the inscribed hymn.

[Musical News. Vol. VI, No. 173 (June 23, 1894):579]

[Musical News. Vol. VI, No. 173 (June 23, 1894):582]

The Musical Times went as far as to refer to the hymn as “the most important musical ‘find’ of the nineteenth century,” and published a transcription of it in modern musical notation in an extra supplement to one of its issues.

[The Musical Times. Vol. XXXV (June 1, 1894):386]

[Transcription of the Hymn to Apollo, The Musical Times. Vol. XXXV (June 1, 1894):386-7]

On April 12, 1894 Reinach presented the discovery at the École des Beaux-Arts to the members of the Association pour l’Encouragement des Études Grecques en France. After the presentation there was a performance of an arrangement of the work by Gabriel Fauré with the composer himself at the harmonium.

The hymn continued to be discussed years after it was discovered. For example, Music: A Monthly Magazine, published in 1897 a translated version of an article by the Czech Ludvik Kuba, professor at the Academy of Fine Arts, in Prague. In the article, Kuba discussed the significance of the hymn’s discovery and the difficulties of deciphering ancient Greek music, given the very few surviving examples of music from this period.

[Music: A Monthly Magazine. Volume XI, Number 4 (February 1897):398]

In the video below, you can listen to Fauré’s arrangement of the Hymn for voice and piano, performed by the French soprano, Renée Doria. From today’s perspective does it still merit the title the most important musical find of the nineteenth century?

[From left to right: the French archeologist Théodore Reinach, 1913 / the composer Gabriel Fauré, photographed by Paul Nadar, 1905 ]

RIPM Search Tip: To read what the French musical press wrote about the discovery of the Hymne à Apollon, search for it in the RIPM index and e-Library.

In July 1854, after what seemed to be a successful performance of Félicien David’s ode-symphony, Le Désert, in San Francisco, an anonymous musical review appeared in the Californian magazine The Pioneer. The excessively flowery language of the review caught the attention of one of its contributors, who was none other than American humorist George H. Derby (better known by his noms de plume “John Phoenix” and “John P. Squibob”), and inspired him to write a satire which he entitled “The Plains: Ode Symphonie, par Jabez Tarbox.” Although this would be his only attempt at “music criticism”, it would achieve great popularity, as shortly after it was published, journals began citing and referring to it. For example, three years later, it was cited  in The Musical World.

[The Musical World, Vol. 35 No. 47 (November 21, 1857): 743]

In this month’s Curious, News, and Chronicles, we will briefly explore how this interesting satirical text circulated throughout the musical press, especially among articles concerning the nature and purpose of program notes. But first, for those who have not had the distinct pleasure of reading it, here it is in its entirety.

[New York Musical Review and Choral Advocate, Vol. 5 no. 19 (14 September 1854): 325-26]

Frequent debates in the late nineteenth-century musical press concerned the purpose and style of program notes. How informative and descriptive should they be? Should these texts be educational, providing historical information and scientific (musicological) analysis? Or should they be interpretative, offering the listener a corresponding narrative, a mental journey to aid the listener’s appreciation of a work? Should the notes have any relation at all to the work they describe? It was in such debates that Derby’s text often reappeared. In the example below, the editor of Music: A Monthly Magazine (Chicago, 1891-1902), William Smythe Babcock Matthews, cites Phillip Hale’s complaints against the overly descriptive programs of the Boston Symphony, written at the time by the music critic and editor, William F. Apthorp.

[Music: A Monthly Magazine, Vol. XV no. 1 (November 1898): 75]

Further in the same article, he refers again to Hale’s argument in which Derby’s original text appears.

[Music: A Monthly Magazine, Vol. XV no. 1 (November 1898): 75, 77]

Fifty-two years later, an article in Musical America returned Derby’s ever increasingly cited text.

[Musical America, Vol. IV No. 11 (28 July 1906): 10]

After more than a hundred years, the sentiment expressed by Derby remains pertinent. A rare photograph taken of him appears below.

George Horatio Derby (1823-1861)

RIPM Search Tip: For more on lampoons, burlesques and/or humorous articles, including those by Derby, search his nom de plum “John Phoenix” or the word “satire” in the Retrospective Index and the RIPM e-Library.

Both Paisiello and Rossini wrote operas based on Beaumarchais’ comedy The Barber of Seville. [From left to right: Paisiello, by Marie Louise Élisabeth Vigée-Lebrun, 1791 / Gioachino Rossini, by Vincenzo Camuccini, c. 1815].

Two hundred years ago today, Giaochino Rossini’s opera Il Barbiere di Siviglia  was premiered in Rome on February 20, 1816. The performance was reportedly a “stormy one” full of mishaps such as instrument strings breaking, a cast member falling on his nose, and an errant cat walking across the stage (see below).  On top of this, hisses erupted from audience members who were friends of Giovanni Paisiello, voicing their displeasure that the upstart Rossini dared write an opera based on the same source as Maestro Paisiello. Luckily for Rossini, the next evening’s performance was a success.

[The Musical Examiner, no. 72 (March 16, 1844): 478]

Almost a hundred years later, the so-called  “failure” was explained as follows:

[Musical America, XVIII no. 25 (October 25, 1913): 4]

The opera’s success was such that by 19 September 1821 it was performed in a French version by Castil-Blaze. He was payed for his efforts; Rossini was not. This led to a public outcry and the sculptor Dantan Jeune to depict, in a caricature-statuette,  Castil-Blaze riding on Rossini’s back.

[Dantan Jeune, 1833. “XXX” is the manner in which Castil-Blaze, also a music critic, signed some of his articles.]

The U.S. premiere of Il Barbiere di Siviglia took place at The Park Theatre in New York City on November 29, 1825, nine years after the opera’s premiere. It was the first Italian opera performed in a foreign language in New York City, thereby making theatrical history. The celebrated tenor Manuel García who created the role of Almaviva in  Rome, repeated it in New York, while his young daughter Maria, sang Rosina, and his wife Joaquina, the role of Berta.  The following article announced the event:

[The Harmonicon IV, no. 37 (January 1826): 16]   [Manuel García, attributed to Francisco Goya, c. 1810-1815]

Rossini’s opera was so popular, that it regularly spawned the creation of numerous transcriptions wherever it was performed, permitting music lovers to surround themselves at home with Rossini’s well-known melodies. Here are two examples from the contemporary press in London that pass in review two British transcriptions.

[The Quarterly Musical Magazine & Review III, No. 9 (1821):112-113]

[The Harmonicon I, no. 10 (October 1823): 147]

The popularity of The Barber of Seville has of course, continued to grow. Some may even recall the famous Warner Brothers Looney Tunes’ parody of the opera seen in the cartoon short, Rabbit of Seville (1950). For those who don’t, you’re in for a treat…

Finally, here is a 1925 recording of the celebrated baritone Riccardo Stracciari singing an excerpt from “Largo al Factorum,” from The Barber of Seville. We think it’s a “knockout”.

RIPM Search Tip: For more on this opera, including articles in languages other than English, search the Retrospective Index and the RIPM e-Library for Il Barbiere di Siviglia with language expanders turned on.