Between A Grock And A Hard Piece - Luciano Berio's Sequenza V For Trombone Solo (1966)

Between 1958 and 2002, Luciano Berio composed a series of fourteen virtuoso solo pieces. Called "sequenzas", they were often written with specific performers in mind. In the case of number five, Berio sought the advice of two trombonists, Stuart Dempster and Vinko Globokar, both of whom were involved in what became the final version of the piece.(1) A third performer, the Swiss clown Grock (Karl Adrien Wettach - 1880-1959), also played an important part. Berio grew up near Grock's villa, and, as a child, was scared of the great clown. Only later in life did he come to appreciate Grock, and to value the "blend of humour and profundity"(2) in his work. Grock's act would often feature music, including performances on the violin and piano. He was also adept at yodelling and multiphonic singing (producing two or more pitches simultaneously), an effect explored at the length in the sequenza, where a performer is often asked to play one note while singing another. The trombonists Abbie Conant and William Osborne have gathered together clips of Grock's performances on their website, creating a valuable resource for interested performers and listeners. Among those clips is a version of the routine which would provide much of the inspiration for Sequenza V. Berio explains: "halfway through a wonderfully interpreted scene he'd stop and stare at the audience with an expression of confusion - No, it is impossible to describe it. He'd ask warum? why? It was a really beautiful moment. That's why I wrote a sequenza about this warum?, only not warum? in German, but why? in English."(3)

A quick look at the score shows that Berio devised special notation for the vocal sounds, produced both into and away from the instrument. There are also bracketed vowels, [u], [a] and [i], which must be either "vocalized in a perceptible way" or produced through the trombone. Musically, it quickly becomes clear how "warum" became "why": by using these vowel sounds, Berio can produce ghostly "whys" fairly easily. He also directs the performer to use a metal plunger (or wah-wah) mute, which has its own "on/off" line at the bottom of the score. This is another means by which the composer produces "whys", as well as a more veiled, less brassy tone, further blurring the line between what is played and what is sung. The sung/played/plungered "whys" are particularly prominent in the first part of the work, although there are ghostly echoes in the less frenetic second section. Berio plays with our expectations, giving us a mixture of [u]s, [ua]s and [uai]s, as well as, at one point, a full, spoken "WHY?", marking the divide between the two sections (marked A and B). For a brief moment, Grock takes centre stage.

I first heard Sequenza V in the early 90s, when I picked up Christian Lindberg's 1984 CD, The Virtuoso Trombone. The Berio is the final track; before that comes an appropriately diverse selection of serious and lighter fare (Hindemith and Martin, alongside Arthur Pryor's variations on The Blue Bells Of Scotland and Lindberg's frankly ridiculous double-tongued version of The Flight Of The Bumble-Bee). This impressive performance of the sequenza is one of the fastest on record: he gets through the whole thing in just 5'18". As a result, the quickfire exchanges of the first part are thrillingly dynamic, almost suggesting a second player. The slower-moving B section is also immaculate, particularly when it comes to managing the tricky balance between the sung and the played.

In 1998, Deutsche Grammophon released a boxset of the (then) complete sequenzas, including the Sequenza V of Ensemble Intercontemporain trombonist, Benny Sluchin. It's another scrupulously accurate version, with the added benefit of excellent recorded sound, which really helps when it comes to hearing the full effect of the multiphonics.(4) Despite being a fair bit slower overall, Sluchin generally takes a similar approach to Lindberg, moving fairly swiftly in the first part, and smoothing out the second, despite the odd more violent interruption.(5)

Vinko Globokar's 1967 premiere recording (Wergo) is something different. A full 2'10" longer than Lindberg's, it is also much more overtly theatrical. Employing a rawer, brassier tone, he seizes on every opportunity to shock - in this version, the louder outbursts really erupt. In the second section, after the "WHY?", Globokar really digs in. Berio's sung and spoken slides become slow smears, giving the music a pained quality that feels a long way from the generally more streamlined traversal of Lindberg and Sluchin. It's an essential listen for anyone interested in the piece, but sadly, it doesn't seem to be easily available online (it's this one). Fortunately, his Deutsche Grammophon remake is on YouTube. It's similar in style, if not quite as arresting as the original. Stuart Dempster's 2006 recording is part of a set of the complete sequenzas on the Mode label (including no. XIV for cello, from 2002). It's superbly played: Dempster matches Lindberg's nimble virtuosity, and is brilliantly recorded. At 5'01", he's faster still, resulting in a B section that has some of the pinballing drive and drama we usually only hear in the first part. Highly recommended.(6)

Recording the sequenza in the safety of a studio is one thing; playing it for a live audience is quite another. The score contains extensive notes for prospective performers, detailing the many extended techniques involved, and offering staging suggestions from both Berio and Dempster. The composer suggests the performer should be in "white tie," with a "spot from above etc." In the A section, they should "strike the poses of a variety showman about to sing an old favourite." Berio also highlights the score instructions to raise and lower the instrument (both quickly and slowly), which may well be a nod to Grock's musical routines, in which he often prepared to play, before aborting. The B section should be performed seated, "as though rehearsing in an empty hall." Dempster gives detailed suggestions on lighting, as well as how to play the opening notes ("like gunshots") and how to bow at the end ("stiff and aloof"). In his excellent article on the piece, trombonist Barrie Webb compares the visual aspects of Dempster's and Globokar's performances, noting that Dempster "dressed in tails, would enter in quite agitated fashion." Globokar, on the other hand, "always presented in normal dress and with an absence of showmanship" (intriguing given my response to his CD recording). Webb cautions against an approach that "says more about the performer than the piece," adding that "too much gratuitous clowning - entertaining as it may be - creates an (unintended) empathy with the audience which could seriously detract from the impact of the music." Globokar backs him up: "Berio did not think about any kind of clothes or any kind of theatralisation, only standing, sitting and the gesture up and down. When I saw the first time somebody who did it in a clownesque way, I found it superfluous, not necessary, because the piece is so strong musically."(7)

Despite these concerns, in the almost 60 years since the first performance, many trombonists have been unable to resist the temptation to go "full clown", particularly when it comes to dress. Indeed, you will struggle to find a YouTube version that doesn't go down this road. Here's Christian Lindberg, with another impressive account. Costume and make-up aside, this is pretty much in line with the Berio/Dempster conception of the piece, with Lindberg seen "rehearsing in an empty hall." Aside from a few close-ups at the beginning, the performance is simply filmed, sticking to a handful of basic shots. Gerard Costes, by contrast, gives us something of a multimedia extravaganza, centred on Grock. It begins with a montage of Grock clips, while the performance itself takes place in a room full of TV screens showing yet more Grock. It's well worth a watch, but, for me, it's all too busy - the rapid cuts between cameras and superimposed pictures of Grock tend to distract from what is actually a very fine performance. See what you think.

The recording by Gabriele Marchetti presents the piece as an interruption to a standard orchestral concert. Marchetti enters to much nervous laughter, which continues throughout the somewhat manic performance.(8) At the end, the orchestra go straight into another piece, giving the audience little chance to reflect on what just happened. Deb Scott's audience are similarly shocked by her appearance, and, like Marchetti, she plays up to it, tripping up the stairs, and letting the trombone slide fall off, before pretending to use it to bow the bell, like a cello. Scott's excellent performance (impressive circular breathing) is the first I've heard by a female trombonist, raising the interesting question of how the sung lines could and should be modified for female performers. That said, if I'm not mistaken, Scott manages to sing the majority of it at the written pitch.

While some of these clips play fast and loose with the score instructions, there's a lot to enjoy, and any filmed performance is a useful reminder of the huge challenges (and rewards) involved. When the piece is done well, "instrument and voice, instrument and breathing, indeed, instrument and the whole body [are] inseparably blended together," as composer Henri Pousseur puts it in his liner notes for Globokar's first recording of the piece. In recent days, I've returned to Pousseur's interesting essay a few times, partly because, while getting lost in multiple recorded versions, it's helped to focus my listening, and to remind me of this music's special qualities. I'm particularly drawn to his intriguing suggestion that Sequenza V is: "unquestionably closer to electronic music than to those indispensable trombones of the underworld in Monteverdi's Orfeo." He goes on to describe it as "a completely continuous and wholly uninterrupted tone modulation."(9) This chimes with me: music this multi-faceted invites a variety of interpretations, but I most often hear it as a study in extraordinary tone colour. It really does resemble early electronic music, although the heroics of Berio's fabulous one-man band, and the kindly shadow of Grock, add an extra dimension to this strange and beautiful piece.

(1) The story of the two trombonists' involvement is quite complicated. See page 47 of this fascinating dissertation for more.
(2) From a film clip of Berio, quoted in Barrie Webb - "Performing Berio's Sequenza V" in Contemporary Music Review, Vol. 26, No. 2, April 2007.
(3) This clip isn't quite as Berio describes, but it's still good to have.
(4) In the B section, Berio often has the sung and played pitches slowly pass one another, producing distinctive beating, fluttering tones - especially prominent in this recording.
(5) There is a YouTube video of the Sluchin performance synchronised with the score here. If you haven't seen it, do have a look - it's a work of art.
(6) I have one further audio-only recording to recommend. It's by Byron Fulcher, and comes as part of a BBC "Discovering Music" programme. Having skilled performers on hand gives host Stephen Johnson the opportunity to explore three sequenzas using audio examples - particularly useful for studying the ways they are organised harmonically and melodically. Trombonist Fulcher gives demonstrations of some of the extended techniques involved, before a very fine full performance of the piece.
(7) All quotes here from Webb, 2007.

(8) Like clowns, trombonists have a long history of operating in a space between the serious and the humorous. The instrument is often tasked with light relief (raspberries and disruptive glissandi) as well as more weighty, dignified material. 
(9) Creating this stream of sound requires considerable ingenuity from Berio, and (again) very considerable skill on the part of the performer. Berio covers the gaps by having the player breathe audibly through the instrument, or by making them rattle the metal mute in the bell of the trombone.

The Penguin Scores (1949-1956)

Between June 1949 and April 1956, Penguin Books published a series of beautiful music scores (see here for some nice photos). It took me around ten years to complete a collection - the challenge being to track them down in bookshops, rather than resorting to the internet. My biggest haul came at Edinburgh Books, somewhere behind the castle. It was also there that I picked up The Penguin Story,  released to celebrate the company's 21st birthday (June 1956). The Penguin Story contains a catalogue of the books released up to that point, including the 30 scores (there were no more published after that date).

Penguin's move into music publishing was part of a plan to extend the company's interests beyond their original remit of fiction and reprints, and to establish Penguin as the 'popular educator'.  In The Penguin Story, William Emrys Williams is haughtily evangelical about Penguin's mission to educate the common man:
'The dominant motive in the firm's endeavour is to provide good reading for people who have acquired a sound taste for books. For those who lack an habitual appetite for reading, Penguins have nothing to offer; they do not deal in those products which aim to excite and contaminate the mind with sensation and which could be more aptly listed in a register of poisons than in a library catalogue'. (1) The scores themselves were intended for 'the growing band of knowledgeable concert-goers and wireless listeners'. (2)

The scores were designed by Jan Tschichold (1902-74), a big figure in the Penguin story. Tschichold arrived in March 1947, and soon began a comprehensive overhaul of the company's design and typography. He was clearly a real stickler, and, in his determination to improve the sometimes sloppy work of his new colleagues, he ruffled a few feathers. Penguin founder Sir Allen Lane recalled that: 'nothing compared to storm when Jan Tschichold arrived. Mild-mannered man with an inflexible character. Screams heard from Edinburgh to Ipswich and from Aylesbury to Bungay'. (3) There is an excellent article by Richard Doubleday on Tschichold's years at Penguin. It details all of the design changes made at the time, and also examines and explains the introduction of Tschichold's 'Penguin Composition Rules', intended to unify design across the various Penguin series.

Penguin commissioned eight artists to provide the colourful backgrounds for the scores series. This page gives credit where it's due, and also gives details of how some designs were re-used for the Penguin Poets series (I'm sometimes tempted to start a collection, but they published a hundred of these). Exactly half of the background designs were by Elizabeth Friedlander, a German-born designer who came to England in 1939, and worked frequently for Penguin in the 40s and 50s. Friedlander was also the designer of an elegant font: 'Elizabeth'.

For the Penguin scores, Tschichold employed an update of a font originally designed by William Caslon (1692-1766), a giant of 18th century English publishing (4). Caslon fonts were also popular in the U.S.: the first mass-produced copies of the American Declaration Of Independence were printed in Caslon, while the New Yorker magazine still uses a version today. If you want to know much, much more, there is an admirably thorough article on Caslon through the ages here. 

(1) William Emrys Williams, The Penguin Story. Penguin Books, 1956, p.22
(2) Ibid. p. 21
(3) From a Guardian article
(4) Richard Doubleday identifies the font as Caslon Old Face, although others seem to think it may be Garamond.

Goodbye Classical CD (July 2017)

(I wrote this in 2017, about a much missed shop. I've reposted it because a couple of people asked about the name of the blog...)

By the time I get round to writing this, Classical CD will have gone for good. The shop opened in 1987, on Heathcoat Street, in the Hockley area of Nottingham. Since then, it has moved several times, ending up in this more prominent spot on Goose Gate. It isn’t the first classical record shop to disappear in 2017 - Prelude in Norwich, The Outback in Hereford, McAlister Matheson in Edinburgh and London’s Harold Moores all closed their doors in the first six months of this year. These four will no doubt have faced the same pressures that finally did for Classical CD: sky-high city rents, steadily shrinking profit margins, and - of course - the internet. In truth, considering the huge growth in online shopping and streaming, coupled with the fact that many people simply don’t pay for recorded music at all, these shops did pretty well to make it to 2017.

Classical CD did a lot right. Prices were always in line with mail order companies and the internet, at least for new releases. The owners also maintained strong links with the live music scene in the area. Beyond simply stocking all the brochures (always useful), they ran stalls and signings at the Royal Concert Hall, and sold tickets for events at some other venues. More recently, they shared the shop space with a bookshop run by a local charity, Music For Everyone, presumably helping to bring in new customers.

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Richard & Tom, Classical CD

Most importantly for me, they provided a place where a sometimes shy, awkward teenager could develop a love of classical music alongside like-minded anoraks. Both back then, and as a slightly more self-confident adult, I always knew I could spend ten minutes or two hours browsing, chatting and listening, with no obligation to buy - they knew I’d be back. If the conversation tended to return to the same old topics (typically Handel, Mahler, Shostakovich and misguided council arts policy), it was always stimulating, and often led me to something new.

Last Saturday, it hit home just how much I will miss the place. Ordinarily, I would have dropped in to see who had won that morning’s Radio 3 Building A Library, or to pick up a copy of a CD I’d read about in the week. That lovely ritual of finding out about a piece or performance, buying the disc, and then listening to it the same evening brings back lots of happy memories, the names and sounds of the pieces and players mingled in with thoughts of whatever else was going on at that time of my life.

I’m not going to pretend that I haven’t bought loads of CDs over the internet or that I don’t get a lot out of discussing music online, although the civilised disagreements in the shop suited me better than the sometimes bruising debates online. Plenty of people I know listen to pretty much all of their music via streaming services, but it’s not for me. I’m wedded to the outdated idea of selecting a disc, then sitting down to enjoy it. I like browsing my racks of CDs, making connections and planning programmes myself, rather than having it done for me by Spotify’s algorithms. I want to read all of the information in the CD booklet, and I want people to get paid at least a bit - those 0.00something pences can’t add up to very much.

This morning, I’m toasting Richard and Tom with a big cup of tea, and sampling my final purchases: The Palladian Ensemble playing Matteis, Volodos in Liszt, and a third version of Brumel’s fabulous Earthquake Mass I didn’t know I needed. Thanks for all the music, and see you at a concert somewhere soon.

(Music For Everyone kept the shop on, and it is now a very good second-hand bookshop that sells some second-hand CDs. Silver linings.)

Jazz Corner - A Latin Jazz Playlist For A Warmish Weekend

Some Latin jazz favourites. Africa Challenge ('Malian salsa with a Senegalese touch') is the odd tune out, but I think it fits quite nicely.

1. Gato Barbieri – La Podrida (Barbieri) (from the album ‘Chapter 3: Viva Emiliano Zapata’) Barbieri (ts); Victor Paz, Bob McCoy, Alan Rubin (t/flghn); Ray Alonge, Jimmy Buffington (frhn); Buddy Morrow (tbn); Alan Raph (btbn); Howard Johnson (tba/flghn/b clt/bar s); Seldon Powell (picc/flt/a flt/as/bar s); Eddie Martinez (p/el p); George Davis, Paul Metzke (g); Ron Carter (b); Grady Tate (d); Ray Armando, Luis Mangual, Ray Mantilla, Portinho (perc), Chico O' Farrill (cond). 6/74. Impulse!

2. Eddie Palmieri – Mi Cumbia (Palmieri) (from the album ‘The Sun Of Latin Music’) Palmieri (p/perc); Virgil Jones, Vitin Paz (t); Mario Rivera, Ronnie Cuber (flt/bar s); Peter Gordon (frhn); José Rodríguez (tbn); Barry Rogers (tbn/tba); Tony Price (tba); Alfredo de la Fé (vln); Tommy Lopez, Nicky Marrero, Eladio Perez (perc); Eddie Rivera (b); Lalo Rodríguez (v); Jimmy Sabater, Willie Torres (bv). 73. Charly

3. Jesús Alemañy's Cubanismo - Tumbao De Coqueta (Alemañy / Duran) (from the album ‘Cubanismo’) Alemañy, Luis Alemañy, Luis Alemañy Jr. (t); Carlos Alvarez (tbn); Yosvany Terry Cabrera (as); Leonardo Castellini 'Nardy' (ts); Orlando Valle 'Maracas' (flt); Alfredo Rodriguez (p); Carlos Puerto Jr. (b); Emilio del Monte (timbale); Miguel Aurelio Diaz 'Anga' (conga); Carlos Godines (bongo/claves); Tata Güines (guiro). 2/96. Hannibal

4. Toumani Diabaté’s Symmetric Orchestra – Africa Challenge (Diabaté) (from the album ‘Boulevard De L’Independance’) Diabaté (kora); Fanty Mady Kouyaté, Alhassane Kanouté (g); Fodé Lassane Diabaté (balafon); Adama Tounkara, Bassékou Kouyaté, Ganda Tounkara (ngoni); Sekou Kanté, Etienne Mbappé (b); Mamadou Fofana (kyb); Alex Wilson (p); Fodé Kouyaté, Brice Wassy (d); Yaya Faye, Souleymane Faye, Mamadou Tounkara, Mohamed Coulibaly (sabar); Mahamadou Kouyaté, Bandiougou Kouyaté (ntama); Dramane Coulibaly (djembé); Lamine Toukara (dundun/bell); Roberto Pla (timbales/mc); Olalekan Babalola (congas/triangle); Moussa Diabaté (v); Pee Wee Ellis, Mike Smith (ts/bar s); Matt Holland, Chris Storr, Byron Wallen, Sid Gould (t); Trevor Mires, Matt Colman, Fayyaz Virji (tbn); Simon Hale (str cond); Gavyn Wright, Perry Montague-Mason, Patrick Kiernan, Julian Leaper, Bruce White (vln); Dave Daniels (vc). 7/06. Nonesuch

5. Luis Bonilla – Escucha! (Bonilla) (from the album ‘Escucha!’) Bonilla (tbn); Tony Lujan, Jim Seeley (t); Donny McCaslin (saxes); Ronnie Cuber (bar s); Vincent Chancey (frhn); Hector Martignon, Kimson Plaut (kybs); Jairo Moreno, Leo Traversa (b); Steve Johns, Mark Walker (d); Valtinho Anastacio, Clayton Cameron, William Cepeda, Vanderlei Pereira (perc). 5/00. Candid

6. Tito Puente & His Latin Ensemble feat. Phil Woods - Consternation (Shearing) (from the album ‘Salsa Meets Jazz’) Puente (vib); Woods (as); Sonny Bravo (p); Joe De Jesus (tbn); Jose Madera (congas); Mario Rivera (ts/flt); Johnny Rodriguez (bongos); Bobby Rodriguez (b); Piro Rodriguez, Bill Ortiz (t/flghn). 1/88. Concord Picante

7. Bobby Sanabria Big Band – Nuyorican Son (Washburne) (from the album ‘Afro-Cuban Dream: Live & In Clave!!!’) Sanabria (perc); Wilson 'Chembo' Corniel (congas); Roberto Quintero (bonga & cencerro/shekere); Hiram 'El Pavo' Remón (maracas/guiro/shekere); John Di Martino (p); Boris Kozlov (b); Karolina Strassmayer, Gene Jefferson (as); John Stubblefield, Peter Brainin, Jay Collins (ts); Ricardo Pons (bar s); Michael Mossman, John Walsh, Tim Ouimette, Tanya Darby (t); Chris Washburne, Barry Olsen, Joe Fiedler (tbn); Dan Levine (btbn). 5/00. Arabesque

8. Stefon Harris / David Sánchez / Christian Scott– E’Cha (Lopez-Nussa) (from the album ’90 Miles’) Harris (vib); Sánchez (ts); Scott (t); Harold López-Nussa (p); Yandy Martinez González (b); Ruy Adrián López-Nussa; Edgar Martinez Ochoa (perc). 6/11. Concord Picante

9. McCoy Tyner – We Are Our Fathers’ Sons (Sharpe) (from the album ‘McCoy Tyner & The Latin All-Stars’) Tyner (p);Claudio Roditi (t); Gary Bartz (saxes); Steve Turre (tbn); Dave Valentin (flt); Avery Sharpe (b); Ignacio Berroa (d); Johnny Almendra (timbales); Giovanni Hidalgo (perc). 3/99. Telarc

10. Ray Barretto – Palladium Nights (Conly) (from the album ‘Time Was – Time Is’) Barretto (perc); Joe Magnarelli (t); Myron Walden (as); Robert Rodriguez (p); Sean Conly (b); Vince Cherico (d); Bobby Sanabria (perc). 9/05. O+ Music

Konzertstück PS

Post on Schumann's Konzertstück For Four Horns & Orchestra 

Schumann wrote one further four horn piece in 1849. A couple of years earlier, he had taken a post as director of the Dresden Liedertafel, a male voice choir. By the time he composed this, for voices and horns, he had left the choir, complaining to a friend that it “offered too little in the way of actual musical inspiration.” 

2 / 3 / 4 / 5

The unusual scoring of the Fünf Gesänge aus H. Laubes Jagdbrevier has a distinguished precedent. Maybe Schumann had this piece in mind when he wrote his Op. 137:

The text for Schubert's Nachtgesang im Walde can be found here - as ever, the horn is the go-to instrument for anything to do with woodlands or hunting (”Waldhorn” = “wood” or “forest” horn).

Staying with Schubert and the horn, here’s one final clip: the lovely Auf dem Strom, beautifully performed by Mark Padmore, Paul Lewis and Richard Watkins (text).

Robert Schumann - Konzertstück For Four Horns And Orchestra (1849)

A valveless brass instrument will sound the pitches of the harmonic series (see here for a horn example). Players produce these notes by varying the tension of the lips and the speed of the air travelling through the instrument. Skilful performers on the ‘natural’, valveless horn developed ways of filling in the gaps, through a combination of ‘stopping’ (altering the position of the hand in the bell) and bending notes by simply using the lips. The valved horn arrived on the scene around 1814, and improvements were made over the following decades (interesting article on these developments here). Over time, this did away with the need for the stopping and bending of notes, and began to give composers access to the full chromatic scale in decent, consistent sound*.  Some composers embraced the new technology, while others remained attached to the older instrument. Brahms was a notable champion of the natural horn - for instance, he always insisted that his marvellous trio for violin, horn and piano (1865) should only be played on the valveless instrument.

Brahms - Trio for violin, horn and piano op. 40 - Isabelle Faust (violin, Stradivarius ‘Sleeping Beauty’ - 1704); Teunis van der Zwart (natural horn, Lorenz - 1845); Alexander Melnikov (Bösendorfer piano - 1875)

In a performance as fine as this, it is perhaps possible to hear what Brahms felt was in danger of being lost. For starters, this natural horn (or ’Waldhorn,’ as Brahms would have known it) makes a gorgeous, rich sound. More subtly, the variation in tone across the range of the instrument is fascinating; I have a feeling of getting to know the unique character of the old horn as the music progresses. Van der Zwart is a marvel, shifting fluently between the full open notes and the more pinched, stopped notes, without doing any damage to Brahms’ long phrases. A record to set alongside the finest modern instrument performances.

Sixteen years before Brahms wrote his horn trio, Schumann was in the middle of a purple patch. Over the course of 1849, his work expanded in a variety of directions at once, resulting in 40-odd pieces of music (these few pages from John Daverio’s excellent book give a good idea of the range of work he produced - scroll to page 390). His major contributions to the horn repertoire arrived in this year, beginning with the Op. 70 Adagio and Allegro for valve horn and piano. Schumann’s enthusiasm for the new instrument is clear; while some of his 1849 output was designed for amateur musicians, his Op. 70 is an almost gleefully tricky study of the valve horn’s possibilities:

Schumann - Adagio and Allegro for Horn and Piano, Op. 70 - David Cooper (horn); Cary Chow (piano)

A few months later, Schumann produced this astonishing piece for four valve horns and orchestra:

Schumann - Konzertstück for 4 Horns and Orchestra, Op. 86 - Nigel Black, Laurence Davies, Laurence Rogers, Peter Blake (horns); Philharmonia / Christian Thielemann

Movement 2 here / Movement 3 here.

On first hearing, the most striking thing about the Konzertstück is the glorious sound of Schumann’s powerful superinstrument; that opening salvo is the first of many great moments of unfiltered four horn colour. Throughout the first movement, he plays with this familiar, heroic aspect of the horn’s character, alternating perilous (natural horn?) fanfares with smoother, softer (valve horn?) phrases. The second movement Romanze begins with a horn duet, all half-lights and gently reaching lines. Schumann has the second horn closely follow the first in canon, before establishing a pizzicato pulse, over which all four horns open up and sing more freely. This beautiful passage returns later in the finale, which is otherwise a good-natured romp.

Cruelly, the best performances of the Konzertstück seem to be those which drive the quartet quite hard. The exceptionally difficult first and third movements should move fairly swiftly, if they’re not to come across as too polite or smoothed out. There needs to be a sense of risk - a feeling that someone might crack a note in the first movement fanfares, or maybe struggle to keep up in the to and fro of the finale (even though we know that wouldn’t survive the edit). The Thielemann performance above is very fine, distinguished by some especially strong first horn playing, and a really lovely group sound in the slow movement (in a biggish church acoustic - All Hallows, Gospel Oak).

As it’s such a terror to pull off (particularly for the first horn), the Konzertstück is a relative rarity in the concert hall. I heard it years ago in Nottingham from the choir stalls (not recommended), and then again at the 2007 Proms, as part of a day of brass-themed concerts. Thankfully, this Proms performance was included on the cover CD of BBC Music Magazine a few years later. It might take you a few minutes to track down a second-hand copy online, but it would be well worth your trouble.

David Pyatt, Michael Thompson, Martin Owen and Cormac Ó hAodáin are superb throughout, as is Charles Mackerras, alert as always, pushing and pulling in all the right places. Everything is that bit more vivid here - in the moment, the horns encourage each other to greater feats of virtuosity and volume, and orchestra and audience are right behind them. Very highly recommended.

* The invention of the valve created a few problems for experienced natural hornists. Players faced not only getting to grips with the valves themselves, but also the added difficulty of learning to transpose music at sight - where the valveless horn player would change key by fitting the correct length piece of tubing (or ‘crook’), the valved instruments were pitched in a single key, requiring players to make the necessary adjustments in their heads.

From Gabrieli To Grandi (with Charles Daniels)

The first time I heard the music of Giovanni Gabrieli, it sounded something like this:

One of these massed U.S. brass section tapes sat in my overworked Walkman for months, providing the soundtrack to my journey to and from school. A few years later, as a trombonist in a city full of trombonists, I had the opportunity to play some of this music. Our more sober performances were closer in style to those by the Philip Jones Brass Ensemble or the London Symphony Brass: without tubas, horns or the often present organist, E. Power Biggs. A few years later, I picked up A Venetian Coronation 1595, the debut record by the Gabrieli Consort & Players, directed by Paul McCreesh. This revelatory disc was my introduction to the sonatas and canzonas played on (wooden) cornetts and (trombone forerunner) sackbuts (sample that special sound here). It was also my first encounter with the vocal music of Gabrieli and his uncle Andrea.

For Venetian Coronation, McCreesh put together a speculative reconstruction of a Doge’s coronation, interspersing the Gabrielis’ music with bells, fanfares and the appropriate plainchant, in an attempt to transport the listener to St. Mark’s, Venice (it was actually recorded in Brinkburn Priory, Northumberland). This disc had a profound effect on my developing musical tastes, partly because it prompted an exploration of the many riches of the pre-Baroque repertoire. Perhaps even more importantly, it was the first time I had truly enjoyed listening to classical solo voices. In those days, I preferred orchestral and choral blockbusters - the big, vibrato-laden voices of Romantic opera still seemed to belong to a distant musical world. The opening of the first Kyrie on Venetian Coronation was another matter, though. Here, I first heard the ‘cleaner,’ firmer voice of Charles Daniels, blending beautifully with the less brassy, more vocal period trombones. Poring over the liner notes of my then modest collection of early music CDs, I started to see the same names cropping up repeatedly, and made a point of searching for discs featuring my favourites.

McCreesh’s next reconstruction imagined a Venetian Vespers service, "as it might have been celebrated on Friday 24th March 1643." By 1643, Claudio Monteverdi was in charge of music at St. Mark’s* (he died the same year). The set includes a handful of pieces by him, including an ingenious Laetatus Sum, but most of the music is by his younger colleagues, including Alessandro Grandi, who was made Monteverdi’s deputy in 1620. By this time, Venetian church music had changed. Composers had dispensed with the large choirs of cornetts and sackbuts, writing more often for solo voices with smaller accompanying groups of instruments. Several of the singers I had got to know on Coronation returned for Vespers, including Charles Daniels, whose performance of Grandi’s marvellous O Intemerata remains a great favourite.

Alessandro GRANDI (?1586-1630) - O Intemerata (from ‘Motetti A Voce Sola’) - Charles Daniels (tenor); Paula Chateauneuf (chitarrone); Timothy Roberts (organ)

This virtuosic Marian motet packs an awful lot into its four and a bit minutes; Grandi’s music moves easily between moments of great tenderness and surprisingly unchecked abandon. Looking back, I know I rarely used to consider the meaning of the text when I was younger. I was more taken by the beautiful sound of the words, as well as the performance itself, in which Daniels pushes his voice towards its limits - the ecstatic final repeats of "et virgo gloriosa" still astonish.

* In 1595, Baldassare Donato was maestro di cappella.