GIOVANNI BATTISTA SPADI

Diminuzioni on the “Anchor che co’l partire” by Cipriano de Rore (1609) Little is known about Giovanni Battista Spadi, who came from Faenza, a small community near Bologna. In Venice in 1609, he published a treatise on the art of embellishment in voices and instruments. This piece is from that publication. It goes back to a madrigal by Cipriano de Rore, one of the most important composers of the 16th century. In the original, the madrigal was written for four singing voices. In Spadi’s Diminuzioni on “Anchor che co’l partire”, the flute plays a richly embellished soprano, while the cembalo assumes the three other voices of the original.

BIAGIO MARINI

Sonata “Sopra la Monica” à 3 (for two violins and basso continuo) (1629)

Biagio Marini, a very distinguished violinist of the middle of the 17th 55 century, wrote this piece as a set of variations on the “Aria de la Monica”, a melody that was extremely popular in the 16th and 17th centuries. The text of the song tells the story of a young girl who is to be made a nun a “monica” – against her will.

DARIO CASTELLO

Sonata IV and Sonata X à 3 (for two violins, contrabass violone and basso continuo) from the Sonate Concertate, op. 2 (1629). Little is known about Dario Castello, either, except that he led the wind instrument consort at the Cathedral of San Marco in Venice in the first twenty years of the 17th century. At this time, the important composer Claudio Monteverdi also lived in the lagoon city, which was one of the capitals of the musical world at the time. The two sonatas were published there in the collection Sonate Concertate in 1629. Their style was extremely progressive, and they were still being reprinted in 1658. Dario Castello’s sonatas are among the most important proofs of the independent virtuoso style in 17th-century Italy, which avails itself of all of the string instrument’s technical possibilities.

TARQUINIO MERULA

Ciaconna à 3 (for two violins and basso continuo)

Tarquinio Merula’s ciaconna functions with unusually virtuoso variations for the two violins, over the foundation of a rhythmic, melodically gripping melody named “Basso di Ciaconna” and played on the basso continuo. The originally Latin American dance was highly esteemed in 17th-century Italy. Innumerable compositions of such and similar dance music are documented.

ANTONIO VIVALDI

Concerto for lute, two violins, and basso continuo in D major, RV 93

Allegro

Largo Allegro

Concerto for lautino, two violins and basso continuo in D major, op. 10, Nr. 3,

RV 90 “II Gardellino”

Concerto for recorder, two violins and basso continuo in G minor,

RV 104 “La notte” (“The Night”)

Largo

Fantasmi (ghosts, illusions): Presto — Largo — Andante

Presto

Il sonno (Sleep): Largo

Allegro

Antonio Vivaldi was buried in a pauper’s grave in Vienna on July 28, 1741. To keep expenses as low as possible, the bells pealed only perfunctorily at the burial. An official notice read, “The abbé Don Antonio Vivaldi, known as ‘prete rosso’, an outstanding violinist and a composer of the highest degree of fame in the area of the instrumental concert, who is said to have once earned 50,000 Ducats, and was meanwhile pauperised by extraordinary squandering, has died in Vienna.” But one thing is certain: Vivaldi spent much more musical spirit, ability and effort during his life than he did money. The “red priest” composed about five hundred concerti – instrumental works that made the composer who lived in Venice famous throughout Europe during his lifetime. But Vivaldi’s death brought a swift end to his fame: the Venetian and his compositional work were forgotten for a long time.

The rediscovery of the concerti of Antonio Vivaldi (1678-1741) is one of the most fascinating chapters in music history. A large part of his work was considered lost since the confusion of the Napoleanic wars. However, in 1926, fourteen volumes of previously unknown Vivaldi works, were discovered hidden in a Piedmontese Salesian cloister. This came about through clever detective work, combined with lucky co-incidences. But it appeared that the cloister possessed only a part of what was earlier a much larger stock. Another trail led in October 1930 to Genoa and a descendant of Count Durazzo (1717-1794), one of the former owners of the legacy of the important Baroque composer. And indeed, here the remaining, missing volumes of scores were found. This sensational find, which included several hundred concerti, also marked the beginning of a’ great Vivaldi renaissance that has continued to this day.

But what would be an appropriate musical realisation of these finds? How should Vivaldi’s concerts sound? What tempi, what dynamic interpretation are suitable for them? The inadequacy of the Romantic interpretative tradition of the 19th century to provide satisfactory solutions has become extremely clear since the performances of Old Music with original instruments. In Germany, England and the Benelux countries, great efforts have now long been made to approximate the “historical performance practice”. But not in Italy, where the first Italian ensemble specialised in the interpretation of, Baroque music – Il Giardino Armonico – was not founded until 1985, in Milan. The ensemble’s imaginative name recalls the often illustrious titles of works in the 17th century, such as Armonico Tributo by Georg Muffat (1682), Giardinetto d’amore by Johann Hermann Schein (1623) and the musical Lustgarten (Pleasure Garden) by Hans Leo Haler (1601). The imaginative power of the name is matched by the unconventionality of the ensemble’s playing – especially its interpretations of Vivaldi.

Virtuosity and dramatic truth

Here, thanks be to God, my opera is praised to the skies and there is nothing in it which does not please greatly…
Antonio Vivaldi to Guido Bentivoglio Verona, 3 May 1737

In Vicenza in May 1713 the opera Ottone in Villa was produced for the first time. It was the work of a thirty-five-year-old Venetian composer who had already gained a reputation with his collections of sonatas and concertos, and who held the post of maestro di violino at the Ospedale della.Pietà in Venice. From then on, Antonio Vivaldi’s life would be closely bound up with the theatre, both as composer and impresario, not only of his own operas but also for stage works either partly or entirely composed by other musicians. In a letter of 1737, he would describe himself as a “freelance entrepreneur”. Few of Vivaldi’s operas were staged without his direct supervision, for he took great pains over their production and treated them as his own personal property in order to ensure their success, and also to ensure that the performances were faithful to the score. The interest in his compositions is shown by the many arias which appeared, either in their original form or arranged for voice and continuo, in various collections throughout Europe.

The arias in this recording are taken from a number of operas, from L’ Orlando finto pazzo (1714) to Griselda (1735), and cover the greater part of Vivaldi’s activity as an opera composer, especially for theatres in Rome, Mantua, Pavia, Verona and, of course, Venice.. The composer’s native Venice had been the first city in the world to build an opera house open to the paying public. Some of the arias are scored for strings and continuo alone, others require obbligato instruments. An example of the litter is “Di due rai languir costante” (3), where two flageolets (a sort of small recorder) play semiquaver, figurations which weave with the vocal line to express the torments – not so far removed from the pleasures — of love. The Arcadian atmosphere is further stressed by the sound of muted violins and pizzicato violas and cellos. Unfortunately, we do not know which opera this aria was composed for, since it appears only in a collection of separate pieces which Vivaldi compiled around 1720, probably for his own use The same collection also contains “Zeffiretti, che sussurrate” 0, a three-part aria which, with slight changes, was used in the opera Ercole sul Termodonte in 1723. The version recorded here requires two solo violins (playing on stage) and two obbligato harpsichords in addition to the normal string orchestra. These extra instruments serve to convey the voice of nature, amplifying the emotions; of the character who is singing and, by means of echo effects which repeat only the final part of the words, expressing the deeper meaning of what is being sung. In the siciliana section nature falls silent, giving way o a very human sensuality.

Nature is not always a benign presence, particularly for a man of the early eighteenth century who lived in such close contact with nature in all its aspects. Hence the “storm” arias, which for the Venetian Antonio Vivaldi always meant storms at sea. In actual fact, these are never intended as true representations of nature, but serve as metaphors to express, the passions and sufferings of human characters. This is certainly the case with “Anch’il mar par che sommerga” (12) , a bravura aria written for the castrato Giovanni Manzoli. By means of an almost uninterrupted series of coloratura passages and repeated trills it evokes in the mind of the listener that sense of wonder that was so central to the aesthetics of the Baroque period. “Dopo un’orrida procella” (2) was also written for a castrato voice and requires, in addition to the usual strings, a pair of horns. From the very first bar their clamorous sound vividly re-creates the terror of the storm; they calm down when the text moves on to more peaceful images. The vocal line is rich in coloratura passages, but its most striking feature is the wide leaps, which in some cases cover an interval of a twelfth.

Images taken from life at sea also appear in arias of a more straightforward character, such as “Sventurata navicella” (8) which Vivaldi extracted (with some slight changes in both text and music) from his Orlando finto pazzo of 1714. The reuse of previously composed arias in operas for which they were not originally intended should cause no surprise. It was a common practice at the time, since the individual arias were designed to convey a certain number of basic emotions which would recur in all operas. In thè 1714 autograph there is a note referring to this aria which reads: “If this does not please, I do not want to compose-any more music”. Indeed, if “Sventurata navicella” might seem disarmingly ‘simple at first hearing, it actually features a number of small shifts in the melodic line — corresponding to certain key .words in the text — which make it utterly original.

“Siam navi all’onde algenti” (10), written for the castrato Marianino Nicolini, is an example of Vivaldi’s encounter with the poetry of Pietro Metastasio, the greatest eighteenth-century writer of opera libretti. The opening recitative takes us into the Venetian composer’s creative workshop. Indeed, Vivaldi’s own interpretation of Metastasio’s text is very personal, completely overturning that sense of a contemplation of human affairs present in the original. With his setting of a few new lines, Vivaldi creates a sense of turbulence which breaks out directly in the aria. It is now the “folly of love” that determines the constant state of agitation which Aminta’s aria expresses so well by means of musical figurations which exploit every hint in the literary text and exalt its dramatic meaning.

Changes of this type are by no means uncommon in Vivaldi’s operas.. We do not know whether such alterations, which involved substituting or changing arias and recitatives, were made directly by the composer himself, or by the librettists he was working with at the time. We can be certain, however, that nothing of the sort occurred with La fida ninfa. Vivaldi was invited to Verona to set a libretto which had already been in print for some time. It was the work of the Veronese nobleman and philologist Scipione Maffei, who also acted as impresario for the opening of the new Teatro Filarmonico designed by Francesco Bibiena. Morasto’s aria “Dite, oimè” (7) displays a Vivaldi who, through a vocal line and a simple bass continuo, manages to depict in music that streak of melancholy lyricism which would later appear in the paintings of Francesco Guardi.

A very different emotion inspires “Alma oppressa” (6), an aria which carries vocal virtuosity to an extreme level. It is .a virtuosity completely at the service of dramatic expression. By means of chromaticism and an almost unbroken line of semiquavers, Vivaldi perfectly brings to life the tragic, nature of Licori’s character. The same tragic power, though achieved by other means, is to be found in “Anderò, volerò, griderò” (4). It is preceded by a dramatic recitative in which Origille discovers the bodies of her beloved Grifone and of Tigrinda rendered lifeless by the enchantress Ersilla. Following this introduction, the thrilling Presto, with its striking. orchestral accompaniment, is one of the finest examples of the “spoken” style of aria which occurs throughout Vivaldi’s operas, particularly in music written for the voice of Anna Girò.

“Di trombe guerriere” (13) was written for the soprano Margherita Gualandi, who worked frequently with Vivaldi in Mantua, Venice and Milan. It is a typical martial aria scored for . trumpets, timpani and oboes in addition to a full body of strings. Vivaldi’s reputation nowadays rests firmly on his concertos The Four Seasons, which were published in Amsterdam in 1725 as part of his Opus 8. At the time, these concertos were a decisive factor in spreading the Venetian composer’s fame, so it is not surprising to find him quoting themes from the Seasons, particularly: if we bear in mind how common it was at the time to re-use previously composed music.

The opening chorus of Dorilla in Tempe, “Dell’aura al sussurrar” (1), is based on the beginning of the Spring concerto. It could hardly be- a more appropriate choice, since this “melodramma eroico pastorale” opens with a hymn to Spring sung by nymphs and shepherds happily dancing in flowery meadows. The repeated notes of the first movement of the Winter concerto re-appear in “Gelido in ogni vena” (11): This is an aria “d’ombra”, which has a power of expression and dramatic impact unique in Vivaldi’s operatic output, and indeed occupies a special place in the whole musical literature of the first half of the eighteenth century. Farnace stands before a tomb which he believes to be that of his only son. His anguish is conveyed by the glassy. timbre .of the strings which suddenly, at the word “terror”, break out into a forte with the intensity of a scream of pain. The descending chromaticism and distorted harmonies add further pathos to an aria whose slow progress expresses the burden of real tragedy.

Where Farnace gives way to despair in “Gelido in ogni vena”, Giustino, in “Ho nel petto un cor sì forte” (9), declares his confidence in his own courage almost as a gesture of defiance against destiny. Vivaldi composes an aria which unfolds calmly, as though to symbolise Giustino’s strength of mind. He adds, however, a special tone colour: that of the psaltery, an instrument whose strings are struck with small wooden mallets. Together with the pizzicato violins, this fragile sound seems very remote from the mood expressed by the. words,. and this significant contrast leads us to wonder about the hero’s true state of mind. Once again, the combination words and music indissolubly blended together allows us to glimpse some deeper truth.

Claudio Osele
Translation DECCA 1999 Andrew Huth

In the cultural life of Naples (the city had become the capital of an independent monarchy in April 1734, when Charles Ill had captured it from the Austrian Habsburgs), music occupied a position of some importance. Even if Charles himself was less interested in music than his wife Maria Amalia of Saxony, it is significant, none the less, that he launched his programme of urban renewal with a grandiose new opera house, the Teatro San Carlo, which was opened on 4 November 1737 with an opera by Domenico Natale Sarri. As “maestro di cappella” at the royal court, Sarri was now at the very pinnacle of his musical career. He had come to Naples at the age of six and studied at one of the city’s four great conservatories. The preeminence of these teaching institutions, all of which had originally been founded as orphanages in the 16th century, had drawn many talented music students to the city and laid the foundation-stone for Naples’ outstanding musical standards.

In the city’s theatres the curtain went up on brilliant opera performances, while its churches reechoed with polyphonic psalms and passions and with impressive settings of the mass. But it was above all in the city’s countless aristocratic salons and academies that music played its most dominant role. It was here that the patrons of the arts would meet, here that music-loving Maecenases and members of the higher clergy, men of letters and musicians would foregather. Private concerts at the homes of the nobility were occasionally open to the general public, admission was generally free, and among the refreshments that were not infrequently served were coffee, confectionery, liquors and ices. Particularly popular — in addition to shorter cantatas and operatic scenes — was instrumental chamber music. Aristocratic amateurs would often seize the opportunity to demonstrate their dilettante skills on various instruments by taking part in these performances.

Johann Friedrich von Uffenbach was an amateur musician and a member of an old Frankfurt family of prosperous tradespeople. He attended several domestic concerts of this kind during his visit to Italy in 1715, one of which he described as follows in his diary: “While listening, everyone is so attentive and so rapt that you could hear a pin drop, so still does everyone remain. Although the hot-headed Italians kept rolling their eyes and although all the members clapped in admiration when each piece was over, it was only after they had first folded their coats several times and placed them between their hands, so that no sound should be heard, which would have been a sign of disrespect and which is permitted only in theatres.”

This politely muffled applause may perhaps have been intended for a piece by Alessandro Scarlatti, who, during his lifetime, was the central figure in Naples’ musical life. The father of the equally famous Domenico Scarlatti, he wrote no fewer than 77 surviving operas, 22 oratorios and some 800 cantatas in addition to some very fine instrumental music, including the present Sonata in A minor for recorder, two violins and basso continuo. Alessandro Scarlatti’s direct rival in Naples was Francesco Mancini, whose native talent had been nurtured at the Conservatorio di S. Maria della Pietà dei Turchini. Mancini was temporarily appointed “maestro di cappella” in 1707 in the wake of a shift in the balance of power brought about by the War of the Spanish Succession, but it was only on Scarlatti’s death In 1725 that he was finally able to take over this high office from his predecessor. Mancini’s Sonata in D minor for recorder, two violins and basso continuo is scored for forces identical to those used by Alessandro Scarlatti, thereby allowing listeners of the present recording to draw an interesting comparison between the two works and decide which of their two composers was the more accomplished in the field of chamber music.

As “maestro di cappella” and teacher at several conservatories, Francesco Durante was another of the leading musical figures active in Naples in the first half of the 18th century. Whereas Alessandro Scarlatti and Mancini enjoyed their greatest successes as opera composers, Durante concentrated almost exclusively on sacred and instrumental music. His Concerto in G minor is a typical example of a style described as the “stile misto”, that is a combination of traditional elements of Italian instrumental music with new melodic and harmonic subtleties associated with the 18th century.

It was these composers and musicians (and their no less famous pupils at the conservatories) who contributed to Naples’ fame as the musical capital of Italy. Even as late as 1770, when the English writer on music Charles Bumey set out for Italy to collect material for his General History of Music, his visit to the city was bound up with the liveliest expectations: “I entered this city, impressed with the highest ideas of the perfect state in which I should find practical music. It was at Naples only that I expected to have my ears gratified with every musical luxury and refinement which Italy could afford. My visits to other places were in the way of business, for the performance of a task I had assigned myself; but I came hither animated by the hope of pleasure. And what lover of music could be in the place which had produced the two Scarlattis … and innumerable others of the first eminence among composers and performers, both vocal and instrumental, without the most sanguine expectations.”

Wolfgang Sandberger
Translation: Stewart Spencer

Theatrical Music and Music for the Theatre

“They [the German composers of instrumental music in the 17th century] thought more highly of difficult pieces than of easy ones, and sought to excite admiration rather than to please. They were more intent upon recreating the songs of birds, for example, those of the cuckoo, the nightingale, the hen, the quail, etc., than upon imitating the human voice.”

Johann Joachim QUANTZ
Versuch einer Anweisung die Flöte traversiere zu spielen (Berlin 1752) (On Playing the Flute, trans. by Edward Reilly)

This rather negative opinion voiced by Quantz at the threshold of the Classical era underlines two fundamental aspects of 17th-century musical aesthetics: the effect as a means of stunning and “touching” the listener, and the partial neglect of the ideal that had been cultivated since the Renaissance, the ideal of the human voice as that which is most worthy of imitation in instrumental music. The quest for artistic devices to heighten the dramatic effect, both in the composition as well as in the execution, has its roots in the vocal music of Monteverdi, Carlo Gesualdo da Venosa (in whose music the “affective effect” is pursued almost obsessively) and of the other great “modem” composers at the turn of the 17th century.

In the realm of instrumental music, this quest soon found its expression in the works of Biagio Marini, Dario Castello, Giovan Battista Fontana, Carlo Farina and others, who sought to create a purely instrumental idiom on the one hand, and to codify the expressive conquests of the new vocal music into an instrumental vocabulary on the other. It was above all through Marini and Farina that the Italian school of violin playing spread through the German and Austrian lands. This occurred at a time in which the search for new expressive resources for the violin was well underway through the use of such artistic devices as double stops, overtones, retunings of strings, the imitation of bird songs, etc. We already find such devices albeit without any genuine inner cohesion, in Farina’s Capriccio stravagante of 1627, the archetype of Biber’s Battalia of 1673. In Biber’s piece, however, the striving for effects is contained within a dramatic concept. Highly original musical devices are used to divide the piece into little musical scenes which are linked together through a narrative plot.

The Battalia does not end with the lieto fine or happy end customary for the Baroque, but with a lament and the death of the wounded musketeers (which we have depicted by introducing a lirone in the basso continuo, the instrument associated with the “affectus doloris”). In a sense, this enhances the descriptive intent which places death and not victory as the inevitable outcome of war. For this reason, as well as to amplify the dramatic scene depicted in the Battelle, we decided to begin our recording with a cavalry fanfare as a symbol of military pride and swagger. We have also added a passacaglia (for lute solo), a form traditionally associated with sorrow and death in the 17th century.

The Sonata representative is formally organized through the alternation of imitative sections and short, abstract passages culminating in the “Musketeer Mars” (closely related to the march in the Battelle), which assumes a clearly ironic significance in this context. Preceding the sonata is a very short “Tune for the Woodlark” from a little English collection of 1717 that contains various “tunes” to be taught to birds with the aid of a flageolet or recorder. In this case, it is man who teaches the “artifice” of human music to birds!

A brief improvisation for lute and viola da gamba is followed by the Partita for two viole d’amore and basso continuo. With respect to its extreme virtuosity as well as to its musical concentration (it has absolutely nothing of the playful character of the two preceding pieces), this piece is one of the most important works for viola d’amore. The basso continuo was enriched with a tenor chalumeau (a predecessor of the clarinet) which doubles the bass line at the octave – a practice later found in two of Vivaldi’s works – in the Prelude, the Allemande and the Arietta variata.

The Tempest was written at about the same time as the Battelle and first performed in London in 1674. It is a semi-opera with pieces by various composers in addition to spoken dialogues.

Locke wrote only the instrumental pieces: the “First” and “Second Musick” (to be played in front of the closed curtain), the extraordinary “Curtain Tune” (the first musical piece, at least in England, with agogic and expressive indications such as “violent” used to depict the forces of nature raging in a storm), the four “Act Tunes” and a double canon at the end, in which Locke demonstrates his compositional skills. To open the section dedicated to Locke on this recording, we have chosen another double canon written twenty years before The Tempest. It not only reflects the transition from the lush, sensual sounds of Biber’s Partita to the considerably more refined aesthetics typical of English music, but also shows us – by coming full circle, as it were – how a work of such skillfulness and dramatic power could be derived from the rigorously imitative Renaissance form of the double canon. The dances of the Tempest Suite present clearly affective allusions in two cases. In the “Rustick Air” pedals in the bass and a few harsh harmonies underscore the rustic, country character; and in the “Martial Jigge” we have highlighted the war-like aspect of the piece through the use of flautini and oboes. The responsorial character of the “Minoit” with its consistent alternation between duple and triple accents gave us the idea of confronting the orchestral “tutti” with a flautino and a lute.

In general, “artistic devices” and “affect” in Locke’s music result chiefly from a strictly compositional endeavor (harmony, rhythm, etc.). Consequently, a descriptive piece such as the “Curtain Tune”, for example, betrays a certain degree of abstraction far removed from the naturalistic effects which a composer and virtuoso such as Biber could ever have found in the sensual resources of his instrument and in a Mediterranean-influenced culture.

Giovanni Antonini
Translation: Roger Clement

Speaking to the modern listener
II Giardino Armonico on Biber and Locke

How did you come to choose an English composition and why Matthew Locke. in particular?

Luca Pianca: One of the essential elements as far as choosing our repertoire is concerned is that the music must be compatible with the characteristics of the group. It’s not a problem for us to play music which has a programmatic, dramatic and theatrical nature. In actual fact, the Battelle and The Tempest are part of this repertoire with a representative, dramatic nature.

The Tempest and Battalia can be considered program music. What are the characteristics of both pieces?

Enrico Onofri: The “Curtain Tune” in Locke’s Tempest is certainly an instrumental piece which uses typical rhetorical imitation elements inserted into a formal context which is not strictly programmatic; whilst, in Biber’s Battalia, the rhetorical elements are much more codified and are used in a much clearer way, as would subsequently then be done in Italy by composers such as Vivaldi and others.

Giovanni Antonini: Yes, but Biber’s Battalia is dramatic; it’s a story, whereas Locke’s Tempest, as Enrico has just said, is restricted to reproducing the aspects of the tempest in the overture, whilst the other pieces are, on the other hand, dance movements.

What are the technical means used in the recording to achieve the original sounds of the battle and the tempest?

Luca Pianca: We tried to be as faithful as possible to this program of the battle. In the Battalia, there is a march which imitates the marching of soldiers led by a fife accompanied by drums. So we recorded this piece by moving the musicians on a mobile trolley from one side of the recording studio to the other so as to get the effect of a military march that was coming towards us and then moving off into the distance. In the Sonata representative for solo violin, we tried to make the environment sound as it would be for each animal in Nature. I think these ideas fit very well with the Baroque spirit, which is always trying to surprise and contrast one element with another. I would say that our key to interpretation is essentially based on this naturalistic reproduction of the various aspects.

Giovanni Antonini: Even the sound effects are prescribed by Biber himself in quite a precise manner; the pizzicati of the double bass and the cellos, which today we would call “Bartók pizzicati,” where the string must snap back against the fingerboard of the instrument and create a sound, are expressly called for by Biber.

What is your idea behind the compilation of this CD?

Giovanni Antonini: What we sought to do was not simply to position various pieces without any arrangement of continuity, particularly with Biber, but to create a dramatic approach among the various pieces. Zelenka’s cavalry fanfare provides the almost atavistic sound model for what is later the sound performed on bowed instruments, just as the Sonata representative is preceded by a snatch of birdsong by an English composer. Here, I wanted, in some sense, to exemplify what man could teach the birds and what, on the other hand, men could learn from the animals.

Luca Rance: One could even go further and say that the Battelle opens with this fanfare, which is somewhat representative of the pride of war. This war takes place during the Battalia. Biber himself ends it with a lament for the wounded soldiers. Following on this lament we have added a passacaglia, which is a genre often understood as an abstract meditation on the theme of death. The overall framework of the composition is, therefore, extended by introducing these two reflections before and after war. I think this can be considered a modern attempt to speak to today’s listeners. At any rate, the central ideal of II Giardino Armonico is not to reconstruct a past way, but to present one capable of speaking directly to the modern listener.

The Piedmontese Salesian Order of San Carlo requested that the National Library in Turin carry out an appraisal of its monastery’s music collection. The result: 14 previously unknown works of Vivaldi, either as copied scores but also in the composer’s hand, were identified among the 97 volumes examined. This was but the beginning of what was to become one of this centuries most exciting musicological searches. For, as it turned out, the monastery possessed only one-half of what had been a larger holding. Where were the missing scores? The trail pointed to Genoa, where a descendant of one of the monastery’s earlier owners, Count Durazzo (1717-1794) had lived. The tenth of October 1930 marked the conclusion of this episode. That was when the Turin National Library could disclose its newest acquisitions. The library was able to present an outpouring of several hundred concertos among the priceless works secured, including the five ensemble concertos of this release.

But that was not to be all in the way of unusual developments. Alfredo Casella, perennial advocate of Italian New Music, organized a Vivaldi Week in 1939 to, as he put it, “document all aspects of the towering musical figure dubbed prete rosso.” (Vivaldi was given this name due to his red hair and original calling to the priesthood.) These audacious plans were struck down by the advent of the Second World War. It was for this reason that a genuine Vivaldi Renaissance did not regain momentum until 1950. At this time the first volumes of Vivaldi’s complete works were being published. This edition was overseen by no-one less than the composer Gian Francesco Malipiero who himself devoted his efforts to the vast body of concertos.

The 22 ensemble concertos attributed to Vivaldi make up but a small portion of the immense collection of concertos. Most recent studies have placed the date of composition around 1720 for performance in the Ospedale della Pietà, the very girl’s orphanage where Vivaldi made his start as “maestro di violino”. It is also tenable that these concertos were composed for virtuoso members of the court orchestra at Mantua. Vivaldi had been the chamber orchestra’s Kapellmeister there from 1718 to 1720. The 22 concertos do play a decisive role in the evolution of the “concerto da camera”. They serve as rare and highly interesting examples of a formal progenitor to classical chamber music, with all instruments sharing in the solo parts. As a consequence all instruments share in the solo “concertino” as well as “ripieno” parts. Four movements had generally been the norm in works such as Vivaldi’s C minor Oboe Sonata, RV. 53, in the order slow-fast-slow-fast. The five concertos depart from this formal arrangement and are three-movement works, following a fast-slow-fast plan. The alto recorder in F, called the “flauto” at that time, is used prominently by Vivaldi. Oboe, violin, and bassoon join the recorder to round off the ensemble with the continuo and harpsichord providing harmonic support. Only the D major Trio, RV. 92 is scored without continuo. As a rule, Vivaldi devised every conceivable combination of instruments at his disposal. It can very well be surmised that the extremely wide range of sound possibilities captured his imagination. The varying importance of each instrument can also be discerned from concerto to concerto. In some cases Vivaldi strikes a balance with no single solo instrument predominating. This leads to a very fluid chamber music sound which can be heard in the exemplary G minor Concerto, RV. 107. Dialogs are carried on else where – one example being the A minor Concerto, RV. 108, where paired solo violins play for the most part in thirds alongside the solo recorder. In still other concertos one or two instruments come to the fore, as can be heard in the case of the recorder and violin in the D major Concerto, RV. 92. The melodic line is entrusted to the recorder alone in the largo movement of the F major Concerto, RV. 99, while the harpsichord is even made to fall silent. The oboe, violin and bassoon slip into the role of the harpsichord and subordinate themselves to strict “accompagnato”. A further step in this direction can be seen in the G minor Concerto, RV 105, where the slow movement only involves the recorder and bassoon.

Vivaldi takes a completely new course in the basic features and formal structure of the individual movements. His tried and true experiences with concertino and ripieno exchanges in the solo and ensemble concertos give way to ensemble playing of far more freedom and astonishing diversity – freeing a path for chamber music both of clear delineation and abundant contrast.

Ingeborg Allihn
Translation: Matthew Harris

Our recordings of the Chamber Concertos by Antonio Vivaldi (RV. 87-108) do not include the Concerto in D major, RV. 89, RV. 102, because we consider them spurious works not attributable to the hand of the “prete rosso” (“redheaded priest”). Leaving musical and stylistic observations aside – the concertos in question cannot match the other concerti da camera in quality and are set inconsistently – these works are not preserved in an autograph score bearing Vivaldi’s name. All the other concertos exist either in autograph or, when this is not the case, can safely be attributed to Vivaldi (Tempesta di Mare, RV. 98, the Concerto in G major, RV. 101, also published in the Le Cene Edition, ca. 1728, and the Concerto in F major, RV. 99).

P. Ryom, who cannot find evidence to support the authenticity of the three concertos in his Verzeichnis der Werke Antonio Vivaldis shares our view, as does Reinhard Goebel, who in his notes to Musica Antigua Koeln’s recording of the Chamber Concertos by Antonio Vivaldi (Deutsche Grammophon) attributes the Concertos, RV. 98 and RV. 102 to a cotemporary of Vivaldi composing in a similar vain.

We have consequently interspersed the chamber concertos with the Follia Trio Sonata, RV. 63 (CD 2), the Sonata for Recorder, Bassoon and Basso Continuo, RV. 86 (CD 3) and the Sonata for Oboe and Basso Continuo, RV. 53 (CD 4) – all chamber works of high virtuosity in a concertante manner – so as to maintain a balanced program on each disc and thus provide the utmost in listening pleasure.

(1992) Giovanni Antonini
Translation: Matthew Harris

In 1802, Johann Nikolaus Forkel wrote in his biography of Bach that the composer used “Vivaldi’s violin concerto (op. 3, 1711) that had recently been published as a study piece and arranged the entire work for piano”. Today, we know that 10 of Vivaldi’s 220 violin concertos served as models for Bach’s piano and organ transcriptions. The Venetian dramatist Carlo Goldoni, who occasionally collaborated with Vivaldi, tells us in his autobiography published in 1761 that the composer’s achievements were significant for the musical life of his home town. Nevertheless, Vivaldi’s music — his extensive oeuvre of chamber music, symphonic works, operas and sacred pieces — was forgotten and remained so until the beginning of this century. Change came about as scholars began researching the extant musical sources. Among musicians, interest in his compositions grew slowly at first. Since then, however, they have become increasingly enthusiastic, a development that allows us to speak of a virtual “Vivaldi Renaissance” today.

These events are all the more remarkable since the Italian composer’s works were widely disseminated throughout Europe during his own lifetime. Nowadays, Vivaldi’s works are prized possessions of the libraries in Dresden and Prague, as well as in the lower Franconian valley, Eisenstadt, and London. The first publication of Vivaldi’s music was printed by the Venetian Giuseppe Sala in 1705 and, in keeping with the practice, contained 12 trio sonatas. In 1711, Estienne Roger, the renowned Amsterdam printer, took over the publication of Vivaldi’s works. He was soon followed by the Londoner John Walsh, well-known as a patron of Handel. With respect to the printing practice, it was common at that time to produce pirate editions. Not surprisingly, opuses 11 and 12 were published by Roger in 1729. Thus, Vivaldi apparently “decided not to have any more concertos printed”, according to E. Holdsworth. On February 13, 1733, the latter informed his employer Charles Jennes in London of the reason for this decision: “He (Vivaldi) said, that would hamper the sale of his compositions in manuscript.” Nothing changed afterwards. This explains why the majority of Vivaldi’s works were never published.

Indeed, they were never published, but the works were still handed down. Vivaldi was a much sought-after teacher. Many people were willing to make the hard journey across the Alps in order to perfect their skills in Venice. Included among Vivaldi’s students were Johann Georg Pisendel, who became a famous concertmaster at the Saxon court, and the conductor of the court orchestra at Gotha Gottfried Heinrich Stoelzel. Naturally, they returned with works by the revered teacher in their baggage. Owing to this, the Saxon State Library in Dresden has a considerable amount of Vivaldi’s music.

The pieces on this recording number among the group of unpublished works. As a result, the dates of their composition are obscure. The only date which can be determined is the year the D-major Concerto RV 93 was composed. The autograph score preserved in Turin was written on comparably unusual paper. It contains an entry on the first page “Per Sua Eccelenza Signor Conte Wrttbij” (for His Excellency Count Wrttbij). The Vivaldi scholar Michael Talbot believes that it was intended for the Bohemian music connoisseur, royal governor and head of the court judiciary Count Johann Joseph von Wrtby. He and Vivaldi met in Prague at the performance of the composer’s opera Farnace in 1730/31. Although Vivaldi maintained lifelong ties to the famous Ospedale della Pietà (by modern standards, a conservatory for girls only) where he began teaching in 1704, he often interrupted his duties as violin teacher and, later, as “Maestro de Concerti” in order to travel.

The other concertos were evidently conceived with the special conditions at the Ospedale della Pietà in mind. Public concerts that were renowned far beyond the borders of the city took place there on Sundays and holidays. “It has the most glorious music of the hospitals… They (namely, the pupils of the school) sing like angels, play violins, flutes, the organ, oboes, cellos, and bassoons. In short, no instrument is too imposing to frighten them.” Charles de Brosses, the author of this report, precisely recounts the instruments which Vivaldi used in these concertos for chamber orchestra. Their characteristic “language” and their special means of expression obviously inspired Vivaldi’s creative genius. In contrast to the orchestral concertos, structures designed for chamber music engender distinct individual “characters”, finely chiseled lines, an emphasis on unmistakable timbres, and, as is apparent from the basso continuo part, intimate “conversations” between equal partners. Vivaldi throws open a window to the future with these concertos for chamber orchestra.

Ingeborg Allihn
Translation: Joanna Carter

All these features are to be found in the concerti on this disc. They are really “chamber concerti without orchestra”. This group – compositions for between three and six instruments plus continuo – is represented by a total of 22 works in Vivaldi’s oeuvre. In the concerti recorded here, a “mixed scoring” predominates: in other words, the woodwind instruments oboe, recorder and bassoon are joined by one or two strings – violins as a rule – and of course the continuo. All the concerti have three movements, with the exception of the C major work RV 87, where two stately adagio bars are placed before the Allegro as a kind of recollection of the solemn four-movement “sonata da chiesa” of the Corelli tradition.

The appointment of an oboe teacher, one Lodovico Erdmann, at the Conservatorio dell’Ospedale della Pietà in 1706 was followed by the gradual introduction of other instruments: the clarinet came in 1716, the transverse flute in 1728 and the horn in 1747. One is struck by the relative unpopularity of brass instruments – perhaps they were felt to be unseemly for girls to play. For the music school of the Ospedale only taught girls – orphans, illegitimate or abandoned children, or children whose parents were unable to look after them. Antonio Vivaldi joined the teaching staff of the Ospedale della Pietà in 1704: the composer, who had taken sacred orders the year before, is entered in the institution’s salary lists as “Maestro di Violino di Choro”. We know from a variety of sources that he also acted as “Maestro de’ Concerti”. One of Vivaldi’s duties at the Ospedale was the purchase of new instruments, and it goes without saying that he paid attention to quality. For he either led the orchestra as first violin or conducted it, both in public and in internal concerts, as well as contributing his own compositions to the programme. In other words, the keen experimenter Vivaldi had his “musical laboratory” on his own doorstep, as it were. After 1717, it is true, he was more loosely connected to the Ospedale than hitherto, and his various travels took him away from Venice for prolonged periods: but he remained Maestro there till his death in 1741.

The twelve Suonate da camera a tre op. 1 were printed in Venice in 1705, and are Vivaldi’s earliest surviving works. In accordance with the rules of the trade, Vivaldi presented his “journeyman’s piece” here, declaring his indebtedness to Arcangelo Corelli, whose works he may have come to know through Corelli’s pupil Albinoni, and to the tradition of his predecessors. For Vivaldi was well aware that the layout and design of the movements of his trio sonatas were taken from the chamber music practice customary at the time, even if he does break impetuously with convention now and again. As Corelli had done in his “12 Sonate a Violino e Violone o Cimbalo” of 1700 (his op. 5), Vivaldi likewise brings his op. 1 cycle to a close with a set of variations on the well-known theme La follia, which was much in vogue at the time. Here he had the chance to give his artist’s imagination free rein and to prove that he had a perfect command of the rules of composition. Unlike La follia RV 63, the last of Vivaldi’s op. 1 set, the dates of the five concerti which have survived in manuscript form are not known. And precise dating is made extremely hard by the fact that the composer’s personal style was already fully developed at a very early stage — certainly by the time the op. 2 violin sonatas made their appearance in 1709. Detailed research has yet to be undertaken. But these chamber concerti possess the same features that characterize all the composer’s concerti. Thus we find here as elsewhere expansive melodies with large interval jumps and chromatic idioms taken from folk music; we find the rhythmically concise openings where Vivaldi is fond of following two notes in the stressed part of the bar with a single note in the unstressed part; and we encounter the remarkably progressive harmonics, which are achieved by means of a level of dramatic tension that was unusual before Vivaldi. Vivaldi was frequently accused by contemporaries of placing too much emphasis on the melody and neglecting harmony, the “working through” of the parts. But is it really a disadvantage to satisfy the emotions more than the intellect?

Ingeborg Allihn
Translation: Clive Williams

“… towards the end, Vivaldi played an admirable accompagnement solo, to which he then added a fantasy that gave me a fair shock, it being impossible that anything of this kind has been played thus before now …” – thus the account of one music-loving Herr von Uffenbach that he jotted down in his diary of his travels after an evening at the opera in Venice on 4th February 1715. At this time, the Italian composer and violin virtuoso Antonio Vivaldi was already starting to become famous in Europe. His concerti in particular for one, two or more soloists – Vivaldi wrote a total of over 500 – established his reputation as an innovative composer of considerable imagination. Vivaldi introduced new elements to the concerto genre inaugurated by Corelli and other Italian corn-posers, and he was also responsible for inventing such new playing techniques and combinations of sounds as were so admired by Herrn von Uffenbach.

The six Flute concertos op. 10, which were published in Amsterdam ca. 1728/29, are a particularly fine example of Vivaldi’s talent for innovation. There was hardly any instrument extant in Vivaldi’s day for which he did not write a concerto. Since the beginning of the 18th century, the timbres of the individual instruments had become a source of increasing interest for composers; the specific potential of different instruments was tested, new sounds were discovered. Circa 1710, the “traversa” or “flauto traverso”, the forerunner of the transverse flute, started to displace the recorder (“flauto”), which had dominated thitherto. The “traversa” went on to become one of the most fashionable instruments by the mid-18th century. Vivaldi’s concertos anticipate this development, with the total of 18 that he wrote for the flute family including three concertos for “flautino” or “sopranino” recorder, which was tuned an octave higher than the alto instrument. The Vivaldi expert Karl Heller believes that the composer was motivated to write the six concertos of the op. 10 set by his publisher Roger: “According to modern research, only one of the six works (the G major No. 4) was actually composed as a flute concerto. The other five are the result of arranging works originally scored for different ensembles: the F major concerto No. 5 was originally a recorder concerto, the remaining four works are arrangements of concerti da camera for several solo instruments without orchestra”. This is a procedure with which we are familiar from Johann Sebastian Bach, who made arrangements of his own concertos along these lines, as well as of concertos by other composers – Vivaldi himself among them!

It doubtless seemed an attractive proposition to Vivaldi to present the various possibilities offered by a single family of instruments using concerto form as a vehicle. But it was a complicated process, transferring a string part originally written for a solo instrument to a woodwind soloist with orchestral accompaniment, and this can be seen here and there in the concertos. The first violin, for instance, sometimes steps forth from the tutti strings group and joins in the solo flute part, as in the last movement of the concerto La Notte, where the flute and the solo violin engage in virtuoso dialogue with each other. In fact, this concerto is something of an odd-manout in the op. 10 set. Here Vivaldi leaves the three-movement concerto form (fast – slow – fast) that he had developed to such a perfection in the other five works and adds programmatic titles: the second Presto bears the subtitle Fantasmi (Dreams), while the last Largo is called Il Sonno (Sleep). In both cases, Vivaldi shows himself to be skilled and imaginative at depicting the psyche in music: he paints exciting dream visions and gives the peace and relaxation of sleep plastic form. Moreover, La Notte is the only work of the set in a minor key: in the fast outer movements, at any rate, the other five concertos are all in major keys.

An 18th century compser could expect a work to enjoy especial popularity if he gave it a name indicating some kind of programmatic content: this is evident from his op. 8 concertos, published in 1725, of which nos. 1-4 are known to music-lovers everywhere as the Four Seasons, and likewise from the first three works of op. 10. Like many of his contemporaries, Vivaldi was fond of such natural phenomena as the changing seasons or a storm at sea (La Tempesta di Mare, RV 253) for this purpose, and he also made use of the delightful variety of birdcalls, e.g. the cuckoo in RV 335 and the goldfinch ll Gardellino that is personified on our recording with the “flauto sopranino”.

In his autobiography, Johann Joachim Quantz, himself a flautist of considerable skill, referred to the Vivaldi concertos as “an entirely new kind of musical work”, and praised their “splendid ritornelli” in particular, saying that they had provided him with “a good model” for his own compositions thereafter. And it’s certainly true that Vivaldi’s exceptional creativity and his boundless imagination gave the concerto genre and its quality of expression an unprecedented sophistication. The fast movements are based on the alternation of orchestral sections (ritornello or tutti) and solo passages.

The ritornello consists of a number of melodically and rhythmically concise segments, which recur unchanged in the course of the movement, but are modified with considerable imagination as regards selection and the order in which they are played. The solos on the other hand, which provide the link between one ritornello and the next, are devoted entirely to the display of instrumental virtuosity. The soloist had the opportunity here to show off his skills in one new figuration after another, often building up to a climax. The slower middle movement, which is mostly marked Largo or Cantabile, is given over to the expressive solo cantilena. Here the melodic line is richly embellished, particularly in the repeats: a technique that was taken for granted in 18th century performing practice, and without which Vivaldi’s works, and indeed the solo passages in the fast movements too, would forfeit an essential part of their character.

Ingeborg Allihn
Translation: Clive Williams

The rediscovery of Vivaldi’s concerti is one of the most exciting chapters in musical history. After the turmoil of the Napoleonic wars it was assumed that most of his works had been lost. Only sophisticated detective work — allied with luck — brought to light in a Salesian monastery in Piedmont in the autumn of 1926 fourteen volumes of hitherto unknown works by Vivaldi. But evidently the monastery only possessed part of what had previously been a much larger collection. In October 1930 a further clue pointed to Genoa, to a descendant of Count Durazzo (1717 – 1794), one of those who had at one time owned Vivaldi’s estate. And here-were found the missing note books. This sensational discovery, which included several hundred concerti, also marked the beginning of a great Vivaldi renaissance.

But how are these discoveries to be properly performed? How should Vivaldi’s concerti sound? What are the appropriate tempi and dynamics? Since early music has been performed on original instruments, it has become quite obvious that the 19th century romantic tradition of interpretation is unsatisfactory. In Germany, England and the Benelux countries people have for many years been concerned with historical performance practice. It has been different in Italy. The first Italian ensemble to specialize in the performance of baroque music, IL GIARDINO ARMONICO of Milan, was only founded in 1985. The highly imaginative name of the ensemble recalls the many famous titles of 17th century works such as Armonico Tributo (1682) by Georg Muffat, Giardinelto d’Amore (1623) by Johann Hermann Schein and even Der musikalische Lustgarten (the Musical Pleasure Garden, 1601) by Hans Leo HaBler. The playing of the ensemble is just as unconventional as their name is imaginative — particularly their performance of Vivaldi.

IL GIARDINO ARMONICO lays stress on the ‘entirely new style’ which was ascribed in the 18th century to Vivaldi’s concerti. At that time there prevailed among music lovers a particular preference for the bizarre and deliberately peculiar. Vivaldi’s musical “Extravagances” — when compared to what was customary at the time — consist predominantly of far-fetched modulations and a preference for .subtle and unconventional turns. With sensitively graduated dynamics, striking instrumental articulation, contrasting emotions and rubato, IL GIARDINO ARMONICO pursue precisely this exciting aspect of the concerti. “Vivaldissimo” wrote one critic in 1991, the Vivaldi Year. He was probably not the only one for whom IL GIARDINO ARMONICO’s performance was a musical (re)discovery of Vivaldi.

Wolfgang Sandberger

UNDER THE SPELL OF THE RED PRIEST

A group of young musicians is currently showing the world what incredible power and sensual excitement there is in Vivaldi’s music. In the space of only a few years, II Giardino Armonico has developed into Italy’s foremost export in the field of Baroque music. Ruven Afanador (photographs) and Wolf-Christian Fink (text) met the ensemble in Milan and joined them for a glittering fancy-dress ball.

PRELUDIO A rainy day in Milan. A little group of simpatico young people with violin and cello cases stands huddled outside the front entrance of the city’s top photographer, Superstudio. Il Giardino Armonico still has no idea what is in store for today.

INTRODUZIONE ‘Handel’s Largo — that sort of thing?’, the woman on the Superstudio reception desk asks, when they try to explain the kind of music they play. ‘Sort of …’ She seems satisfied with the answer. Paradoxically, Il Giardino Armonico is far better known outside Italy than it is in a country that has produced 0 Sole Mio and that is famous for its love of music. The group — whose name means literally ‘The Harmonious Garden’ — was established in 1985 and has been run since then by its founder members, Luca Pianca (lute) and Giovanni Antonini. Antonini now conducts the ensemble — whenever he is not playing the solo recorder. From its relatively modest beginnings, the group has blossomed like a garden in spring and more than fulfilled its promise. It now comprises fourteen players, with an average age of around thirty, and aims to give sixty concerts a year, in addition to its many recordings. Its instruments — violins, violas, cellos, lute and, of course, harpsichord and positive organ (a small movable organ) — are all period instruments or exact replicas of the sort of instruments that were used in Vivaldi’s day, right down to their gut strings. ‘Historical performing practice’ is the term normally used in musical circles to describe an approach that has now caught on to such an extent that the sound of early instruments has become the norm in all music written before Beethoven’s day. There are now many ensembles that devote their time to exhuming forgotten composers from the 17th and 18th centuries. The members of II Giardino Armonico have performed pioneering work in their own country, so that compositions by Vivaldi, Corelli, Manfredini and Locatelli can again be heard as they were once heard in the palazzi of Venice and Rome.

ATTACCA Word has now reached the seriously soaking-wet members of II Giardino Armonico that no photographs will be taken today for the ensemble’s family photograph album. They don’t need to unpack their tails. Instead, they all have to head off to the hair stylist’s, before donning their masks and their most outlandish gear. Amazement turns to enthusiasm: hats fly through the air, wigs are passed round and sequins rustle.

The great masquerade can begin.