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This chapter examines the revival of interest in early English choral music that took place in the first quarter of the twentieth century. It pays particular attention to the religious agendas driving this revival, and to the role of the Tudor Church Music edition, published in the 1920s by Oxford University Press, in promoting this music as a ‘national heritage’ of which all Englishmen could be proud.

This chapter presents several representative case studies of the groups or individuals involved in the dissemination of new, “unofficial” music within the Soviet Union during the mid-1960s as well as their venues, performers, and audiences, including a survey of Grigoriy Frid's Moscow Youth Musical Club and a history of Andrey Volkonsky's early music ensemble Madrigal. A brief, preliminary portrait of life within the Union of Composers and the government oversight of “unofficial” music in the second half of the 1960s (including a consideration of “bans”) provides the official framework and foil for the various “unofficial,” vnye venues and organizations that constitute this chapter's main subject matter. Grigoriy Frid Moscow Youth Musical Club Andrey Volkonsky Madrigal bans early music audiences venues performers vnye

Musicality is an inherited biological predisposition that is unique to the human species. This chapter argues that music learning (whether structured or informal) happens very early, and long before we used to believe, and that it takes place as a result of children's innate propensity for learning. Indeed, children's spontaneous music making, from the first mother-infant musical interactions to playground rhymes and jeers, is the springboard of music learning. However, the contexts in which early musical experiences occur are critical, and adult interventions require balancing challenge and skill to achieve musical focus and self-growth in young children, as David Elliott suggests teachers should do at all ages. This chapter examines children's musical understanding, memory, and spontaneity, early childhood music education and its relation to Elliott's praxial philosophy, musical experiences based on context, “flow” in early childhood music experiences, multiculturalism in early childhood music education, music making and music listening in early childhood, and musical creativity in children.

This chapter presents Reich's keynote address at the 1989 annual meeting of Chamber Music America. He talks about his own ensemble and why non-Western music, early music, and jazz are good playing experiences for musicians.

In order to highlight the variety of the individual fusion styles, this chapter undertakes a deeper musical analysis. A central focus is set on Fairport Convention which, despite numerous line-up changes, still developed a recognizable folk-rock fusion style. The analysis particularly addresses the period with Sandy Denny (1967-1969), which ended with the recording of Liege & Lief. Steeleye Span, in contrast, developed a more rock-oriented approach, despite the stronger focus on traditional material, while Pentangle's acoustic jazz fusions were distinguished by a more transparent sound. The chapter also analyses the British guitar or “Folk Baroque” styles of Martin Carthy, Davy Graham, and Bert Jansch, and addresses the early music experiments of Shirley and Dolly Collins, and John Renbourn. Touching briefly on concept albums and progressive rock, the chapter is completed by a broader discussion of traditional elements in modern songwriting.

A music performance can try both to reconstruct early practice and to give pleasure or dramatic effect. The results can be surprisingly vital, but the tension between the goals may explain part of why the early music movement has, as Joseph Kerman says, “always flourished in an atmosphere of multiple controversy”. This book presents insiders’ views of many of the controversies—what they are about, and why they might matter. Without such views, we cannot really understand why these artists play as they do. Some of the controversies arise within the realm of musicology, but others reflect the tension between scholarship and art. The crux of this book can be expressed in a question: How can you use historical information to enliven modern performance? Answers to that question fall on a spectrum from ignoring the evidence to following it to the letter. Those two responses, and others less extreme, underlie the most obvious of the controversies—what Kerman called “disputes over turf”.

Alan Curtis and Rinaldo Alessandrini are gifted keyboardists who have founded vocal groups to explore the madrigals of Claudio Monteverdi and other Italian composers. The gist of their efforts is to have the music sung not by the early-music specialists—often British, who have dominated the field—but by native Italian speakers. No one else, the two believe, can equal Italian singers in this music. That may suggest nationalism, and in the 1990s many of us find ourselves recoiling from nationalism, or to be more precise, from the ideal of ethnic purity. Yet most of us do like local color. Which, then, of the two faces of nationalism show in the Monteverdi debates: the bad essentialism, or the good cultural integrity? This chapter presents the views of Curtis, Alessandrini, and Anthony Rooley on Monteverdi, Italian music, and early music.

According to The New York Times, William Christie is chiefly responsible for reviving interest in French Baroque music. After studying the harpsichord with Ralph Kirkpatrick at Yale University, Christie moved to Paris in 1971, where he immersed himself in the available documentation on French Baroque music, culture, and performance practices. From this he extracted not only a wealth of details but also the essence of a living style. He has managed to share that style with a pool of young musicians, many of them his students at the Paris Conservatoire, where he was the first American ever to be given a professorship. This chapter presents an interview with Christie on the French Baroque music, why the French Baroque is the most difficult style for modern performers to master, the importance of stressing certain syllables for comprehension of the text, historical information, French instrumental music, the distinction between the Italian and French style of Baroque singing, vibrato, early music, and ensemble.

The title of this chapter alludes to the sense in which Early Music started out as a largely unwelcome visitor by the professional establishment;but over the years it has increasingly become an integral, even much-loved part of the classical music field. At issue is the ‘mainstreaming’ of Early Music. The chapter considers the extent to which Early Music has ceded ground to the classical music mainstream. A balance sheet of the early music movement is presented. This works through seven key areas where transformation has taken place: legitimacy; repertoire; training; recordings; authenticity; leadership; and integration. The chapter draws on survey evidence from the most comprehensive study of early music performers and instrument-makers (2003) so far carried out. After weighing up all the evidence the chapter concludes that there has been movement on both sides (i.e. symmetrical syncretism), but Early Music’s journey of research and experimentation is far from over.

This chapter pursues an archaeology of emotions, situations and materials, pinpointing when songs were sung and how, in the plays. It determines the instruments used, and the meanings attached to them, that single out for comment vocal forms (the madrigal and the ayre), composers and genres and the part played by musical references in theatrical production. It addresses the relationship between the music and songs of Shakespeare's plays and early modern music and musical practice. The use of song as interjected distraction or entertainment is rare in Shakespeare. The physical sound of instruments in Shakespeare's theatre had two functions: one to accompany entrances and exits, the second to add symbolic significance. Shakespeare cites vocal and instrumental genres of contemporary music and dance; he employs performed music from both art and popular cultures as mimetic and non-mimetic kinds. Music for Shakespeare was an essential part of his dramatic and thematic material.

Separation between compositing and performing has not always existed. Before the rise of Romanticism, improvisation and composition were normal activities for any musician. In a time when new pieces were in constant demand, being a composer was nothing special, just part of the process of producing music. But even if a musician did not always write their improvisations down, they had to know how to make up music on the spot. Without that ability, they could not play the music of the time. What hangs like a veil between the musicians of today and those of pre-Romantic times are the changes in ideals and mentality, the paradigm shifts that are symbolized by the Industrial Revolution that took place between about 1760 and 1840, and more specifically the French Revolution that began in 1789. This chapter discusses canonism and classicism in early music, musical rhetoric, and authenticity as a statement of intent.

Conventional wisdom holds that during the Renaissance period, instrumental music was a sideshow. Vocal music, such as that discussed by Peter Phillips and Paul Hillier, had such prestige that only after 1600 did instrumental repertory come into its own. But according to the harpist-keyboardist Andrew Lawrence-King, conventional wisdom is wrong. It became the conventional view anyway, he argues, partly because of the modern preoccupation with written scores. In Renaissance instrumental music, much of what was important was not written down but was improvised. This raises, he points out, a paradox at the heart of the early music movement: to be faithful to the spirit of the past often means being unfaithful to the written notes that survive from the past. This chapter presents an interview with Lawrence-King on improvisation in Renaissance instrumental music and perfect instruments.

Hildegard (1098-1179), the founder and abbess of a Benedictine nunnery in Bingen, Germany, first came to the attention of modern America in a book about headaches. Oliver Sacks’s 1970 book Migraines included an essay arguing that Hildegard’s mystical visions were “indisputably migrainous”, although with characteristic open-mindedness he has also written that this “does not detract in the least from their psychological or spiritual significance”. Today Hildegard of Bingen is known chiefly for her music. What brought about the change was a pair of 1982 CDs, Gothic Voices’s A Feather on the Breath of God, and Sequentia’s Ordo Virtutum. Both still stand among the best-selling recordings yet made of early music. This chapter presents an interview with Barbara Thornton, who discusses the music of Hildegard, Gregorian chant, color in music, imagery in Hildegard’s music, and feminine elements of Hildegard’s music.

A. J. Hipkins started out as a piano tuner who taught himself equal temperament tuning and became the leading British authority on string and keyboard instruments as well as an advocate for musical instruments and traditions from around the world. His horizons expanded as he met Chopin and championed the expressive style of his music versus the virtuoso but mechanical fashions of his time. His research recounted but criticized the development of the piano as a history of mechanical progress; at the same time he prized early music and the expressive qualities of historic instruments. Members of the Arts and Crafts movement including Lawrence Alma-Tadema welcomed Hipkins into their social circle; Hipkins commented on the role of musical instruments in Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s paintings. Hipkins was a musical instrument adviser to the Colonial and Indian Exhibition of 1886. Drawing in part on its displays, Hipkins produced an illustrated picture volume of early modern and extra-European instruments that made the case for valuing worldwide musical traditions. He also helped Charles Day with the writing and publication of his book on Carnatic music. Hipkins’ rejection of evolutionary schemas and relativization of Western harmony were notable elements of his advocacy of non-Western music.

More than anything else in music, the art of singing can turn reasonable people into red-faced absolutists. That by itself guarantees that the most controversial area of Baroque performance today is singing. It probably explains why outsiders often have problems with early music singing. And after the opulent beauty of the singing of Renata Tebaldi, they often object to such elements as limited vibrato—although it is a mistake to assume that Baroque singers never use any vibrato. However, the early music community itself argues over Baroque singing. Reconstructing historical singing styles has proved more challenging than reconstructing instrumental styles. In the field of singing, far more than in the world of the harpsichord or the gamba, modern mainstream style weighs heavily upon us. This chapter presents an interview with Julianne Baird on Baroque singing, her admiration for Maria Callas and Mirella Freni, opera singing, the rising power of the composer and reverence for the score, vocal writing, articulation in Baroque singing, portamento, the use of non-vibrato by opera singers, and vibrato and rubato in Italian Baroque singing.

The musicians interviewed in this book can be divided into three broad types. Artists of the first type uphold what might be called the central early music tradition: they adhere firmly to the ideal of trying to play music as it was played in its own time. The interviews show that historical evidence does not inspire everyone in the same way. The second type of artists rejects, at least partially, the core ideal of historical authenticity. Such artists are not complacent but rather know their history, and have rethought their styles. But unlike the first type, they flout history openly when they prefer something else. We might assume that these artists have been emboldened by the skeptics’ battering at the historicist ideal. On the whole though, it seems that both types one and two reach their positions not through the intellect but through temperament or artistic need. The third type is often a subset of the first type, which uses history radically to undermine a more basic assumption, one that the first two groups share with the mainstream.