Performer rights and responsibilities in historical performance

John Irving Creating Haydn’s Sonatas At The Keyboard... DOI: 10.2298/MUZ1416031I UDK: 78.082.2:786.2 78.071.1 Хајдн Ј. Creating Haydn’s Sonatas at the Keyboard – Performer Rights and Responsibilities in Historical Performance John Irving1 Trinity Laban Conservatoire of Music and Dance (London) Abstract In April 2014, fortepianist and Mozart specialist John Irving recorded a CD of solo keyboard sonatas by Joseph Haydn, using a modern copy of a Viennese fortepiano of Haydn’s era. This is an account of the project written from the performer’s perspective, examining some relevant issues of historical performance practice, organology, and detailed reflections upon the performer’s preparations (of various musical and technical kinds) for the recording. Keywords Haydn, fortepiano, performance practice Haydn’s output of solo sonatas is significantly greater in extent than Mozart’s (indeed, Haydn completed more solo sonatas than both Mozart and Beethoven combined, even allowing for the Kurfürsten sonatas, WoO47, 50, 51 within Beethoven’s output). There already exist complete recordings of Haydn’s sonata output on period keyboards by Ronald Brautigam (on BIS-CD-1731/33 – 15CDs) and Tom Beghin (on Naxos 8.501203 – 12CDs + DVD), and it has never been my intention to compete with such massive undertakings as those. Rather, the aim was to record a selection of four Haydn sonatas, displaying contrasting facets of his compositional style at different periods of his career. The four works are: Sonata in A flat major, Hob.XVI:46 (c. 1768); Sonata in B minor, Hob.XVI:32 (1776); Sonata in G major, Hob.XVI:40 (1784); Sonata in E flat major, Hob.XVI:49 (1789–1790). The A flat Sonata, Hob.XVI:46 follows a three-movement pattern, fundamentally fast-slow-fast, in which all three movements hold to contrasting sonata form designs (the expressive middle movement being cast in the exceptionally rare key of D flat major). The B minor, Hob.XVI:32 employs sonata form in both outer movements, 1 [email protected] 31 Музикологија 16 – 2014 Musicology and in the middle is a Minuet-Trio pair (in B major/minor). In the G major Hob.XVI:40, the first of a set of three in just two movements dedicated to Princess Marie Esterházy, Haydn opens with a set of double variations (G major/minor), complemented by a Presto finale in an extended episodic sequence nested within an overall Ternary scheme. Only the first movement of the E flat Sonata, Hob.XVI:49 is in sonata form, the second being another expanded Ternary scheme (involving an extraordinarily expressive middle episode in B flat minor and its immediate relatives), and the finale an episodic Rondo; unusually, all three movements are in 3/4-time. All told, then, these four works offer quite a broad range of architectural plans. Instrument My intention had originally been to record these works on my own Viennese-action 5-octave fortepiano, a copy of an instrument by Anton Walter (c.1795) made by Paul McNulty in 1987–1988 on which I have frequently performed these sonatas. Ultimately I chose a different instrument (see below), and although the eventual choice was serendipitous, it was made after a good deal of reflection on alternative possibilities. In a letter of 4 July 1790 from Haydn to his aristocratic patron, and the recipient of the E flat Sonata, Hob.XVI:49, Maria Anna von Genzinger, Haydn recommended a Schantz piano for this work, praising the lightness of its action, and comparing it favourably to the slightly heavier touch of a Walter. This is principally because Haydn’s view was that Genzinger would find the passagework in this sonata somewhat easier to play on a lighter-action keyboard, and should not be taken as indicative of a negative view of Walter’s instruments, which Haydn actually held in high regard – indeed, he owned just such an instrument by Walter, which survives in the Haydn-Haus, Eisenstadt (built from the same tree as Mozart’s – unsigned – Walter piano, in fact). Haydn was in a good position to judge the differences of touch between the two types: he also owned a piano by Wenzel Schantz, bought in 1788. As recent research has revealed, Haydn’s preference was not necessarily for a Schantz Grand piano; it may well have been a square.2 Taking a broader view, Haydn’s keyboard works, stretching across much of the second half of the eighteenth century, must have been intended for a variety of different instruments, not just fortepiano 2 The instrumental possibilities and the question of which type of Schantz are explored in detail by Tom Beghin in the extended sleevenote to his complete recording of Haydn’s keyboard works, The Virtual Haydn: Complete Works for Solo Keyboard NAXOS 8.501203, p. 61–70. 32 John Irving Creating Haydn’s Sonatas At The Keyboard... (the mechanical development of which was in considerable flux at that time) but harpsichord and clavichord too. A slightly earlier letter from Haydn to Genzinger (27 June 1790) is especially revealing in this respect. Haydn notes that he had considered writing the Sonata specifically for the harpsichord but that by this date he was no longer accustomed to that instrument’s particular qualities of touch and had decided instead on the fortepiano – to which, by implication, he had completely adapted. While that choice may be of direct relevance to the player approaching Hob.XVI:49, we must bear in mind (at least in relation to earlier keyboard sonatas) that Haydn had previously approached the issue of touch specifically from the perspective of the harpsichord, and this knowledge can guide us in matters of articulation when preparing to perform or record them on the fortepiano too. The fact that Haydn’s fundamental keyboard touch through most of his composing career stemmed from the harpsichord is something I have consciously borne in mind in my approach to this recording project, specifically in relation to the release of the keys (slightly early at times, in order to effect an accentual emphasis on the following note; at other times, deliberately overlapping successive notes in order to simulate the illusion of slurring that one can achieve on a harpsichord). Sometimes this harpsichord-inspired approach was retained in performance, sometimes it acted as a ‘blueprint’ for the technical practice stages, reverting to a more formal fortepiano touch subsequently. A broad panorama of instrumental possibilities is tellingly explored in Tom Beghin’s complete Haydn recording, previously referred to, which offers a choice of different keyboards, including a Walter copy by Chris Maene. Choice of instrument goes hand in hand with spatial setting. When Haydn was composing his sonatas, the genre was not yet a ‘public’ one to be presented in recitals in a civic concert hall, but a private, or semi-private affair, sometimes intended in a pedagogical context, sometimes for presentation in the cultured environment of the salon, such as those hosted by Countess Thun in Vienna, and regularly attended by Mozart.3 And the domestic setting for sonatas is important for performers to bear in mind, especially in scaling the gestures in performance. While there are important dynamic contrasts indicated from time to time in the scores of Haydn’s sonatas, none of these was intended to be declaimed to the back row of a large public concert hall. Rather, the scale is altogether more intimate, concentrating on the momentto-moment rhetoric: for instance, emphasising slurred pairs of notes – always with a slight decrescendo from first to second; or 3 For Viennese and Parisian salons and musical performances within them see Braunbehrens 1991: 142–172 and Irving 1997: 11–15. 33 Музикологија 16 – 2014 Musicology maximising the contrast between ‘plain’ notes and those marked with a staccato dot or wedge; or subtly extending the length of a dotted note-value here and there; or profiling the colour contrast between different registers of the keyboard that are so prominent a feature of Viennese fortepianos at this time; playing with an awareness of topical associations (including references to dance-types and dancemetres); always playing in an articulated fashion, remembering that music, for all eighteenth-century theorists was regarded as a kind of heightened speech (therefore taking notice of the expressive potential of consonants in singing, tonguing in wind-playing and contrasting bow-strokes and speeds in string-playing and importing these into the keyboard touch); and above all, reserving a deliberate legato for moments of special effect, rather than treating it as a norm, as was to be recommended later by Clementi in his Introduction to the Art of Playing the on the Pianoforte (1801), under the heading Style, Graces, and marks of Expression &c.: “NB. When the composer leaves the LEGATO, and STACCATO to the performer’s taste; the best rule is, to adhere chiefly to the LEGATO; reserving the STACCATO to give SPIRIT occasionally to certain passages, and to set off the HIGHER BEAUTIES of the LEGATO.” Viennese-action pianos (whether by Stein, Schantz or Walter) allow all such performance subtleties (fundamental to Haydn’s musical language in the sonatas) to be conveyed clearly. They were ideally built to present music as a species of erudite conversation, reflecting different tones of voice, and contrasting inflections (statements and responses), wherein lay the primary interest. Maximum volume (the ‘concert hall’ approach) was something intended as an unusual and occasional extreme on such instruments, deployed for expressive effect, and usually in the context of a contrast rather than a default setting. So using such an instrument for my project was always fundamental, given my HIP approach4. In summer 2013, I had the good fortune to encounter a recentlycompleted (2011) reproduction Stein fortepiano made by Johannes Secker, which I played in a chamber music festival in the North of England; this concert (of Quintets by Mozart and Beethoven for Piano and Winds) was in fact the inaugural public performance on Johannes’ ‘Stein’. Immediately on acquainting myself with the piano in private and ensemble rehearsals beforehand, I realised it was a very special instrument, one with which I developed an uncanny affinity in terms of touch and sound production. Light in action, clear in sound, responsive to my fingers (with a very rapid single escapement mechanism) and articulate across all of its registers, the ‘Stein’ seemed ideal for the soundworld I was intending to capture in my Haydn project. 4 HIP – Historically-Informed Performance. 34 John Irving Creating Haydn’s Sonatas At The Keyboard... The Secker instrument is based on a Johann Andreas Stein grand piano from the 1780s.5 It has five octaves, FF-f3 (61 notes); is double strung throughout; the damper rack is operated by a knee lever; a pull-push moderator (activating a row of tongue-shaped cloth that interposes between the leather-covered hammers and the strings, giving a muted sound-effect); the whole instrument is 2.135m long x 0.965m wide. The hammer shanks are set directly on the key levers (as in all Viennese or Prellmechanik instruments, facing the player), giving an incredibly direct sensation of feedback to the player’s fingers; on such instruments there is a strong sense of physical connection between the finger depressing the key and the production of a sound, which, because the hammers are covered only with one or two thin strips of leather, results in an immediate pitchonset (unlike a modern grand, with felt-covered hammers) and rapid sound-decay, assuring clarity and transparency of texture (essential to Haydn’s keyboard writing and unattainable on a modern grand with its extended sound decay). Going Beyond Haydn’s Texts For a historically informed performer, the notated scores of Haydn’s sonatas offer a starting-point for creative engagement, rather than an end-point to be faithfully reproduced. Provisionality, rather than standardization is the starting-point. In numerous respects in a project such as this, I am leaving Texts behind, treating them not as normative constraints, but as flexible possibilities for expression. This is not to ignore or devalue Haydn’s texts. But from an HIP perspective, it is important to consider carefully the ontological status of his sonatas and to connect performance and text in an appropriate way. Central in this endeavour is an appreciation of what musical texts (including Haydn’s sonatas) were to become after his death, a trend explored in Goehr 1992), a subsequently much-debated construction of musical ontology after about 1800. Goehr’s argument rightly locates pieces of music in a complex network of causation, one strand of which is their enmeshing in the developing social conditions of musical production and consumption, and most fundamentally, their representation in a public concert setting – a visual, as well as aural spectacle. What is conveyed in this setting depends, to a greater or lesser extent, on the setting itself, and also on the instruments (touched on above). For instance, in a relatively large hall, the scaling of the dynamics is determined not by textual indications, but by a need to ‘fill the 5 A photographic record of the stages in building this fine instrument may be seen on Johannes Secker’s website: http://www.johannes-secker.co.uk/. For more on Stein’s fortepianos, see Latcham 1998. 35 Музикологија 16 – 2014 Musicology space’ adequately in order to satisfy the serried ranks of listeners who occupy that space in a physical, collective sense as consumers of the music. Broad sweeps of phrases, sections, tonal progressions, strongly marked by cadential articulations, are performance strategies that work well in such a setting. When Haydn’s sonatas are performed in this way, we are already going ‘beyond the text’ (tailoring his gestures to these large spaces and for many pairs of ears, rather than just a few), entailing a significant departure from intimacy towards grand display. The moment we do that to his notation, we lose a fundamental thread of his expressive language: conversation. In such a civic space, you are not having a conversation: instead of speaking Haydn you are declaiming it in a way he never envisaged for these works. Bearing in mind the contrasting musical ontologies that flow from an awareness of domestic and civic performance situations and expectations (crudely put, pre- and post-1800) is fundamental to an appreciation of his sonatas, and is surely crucial to responsible performance preparations. Types of Performer Engagement It is likewise the responsibility of a player to attempt an understanding of the language of Haydn’s sonatas, especially their rhetorical approach to gestures of melody, rhythm, articulation, register and texture; and also the underlying harmonic foundation. These might be termed analytical preparations, for which a variety of methods might be employed.6 With a coordinated grasp of these aspects, the player can begin to engage creatively with Haydn’s notated scores, remembering that these merely begin a journey that is to be continued in performance.7 Engaging with the text as a performer can, of course, mean a variety of things. Most often, in my own involvement with these pieces, I have found that it concerns the management of a transition from the symbolic to the sonic: not simply a leap from the notated pitch and rhythm indications on the page towards realization in sound (all performers do this), but a quite specific triangulation of 6 There is certainly no shortage of theoretical models for attempting an understanding of the complex processes underlying the organization of classical music. It is really up to the individual player to decide among the various methodologies, assessing what each of them offer of value. Those that feature some element of directional logic (voice-leading approaches, for instance) may prove helpful to some players in terms of identifying broad architectural hierarchies of structure to be represented in performance, for instance. Others may prefer approaches that attempt to uncover thematic unities, which may in turn influence the shaping of smaller-scale gestures. 7 And here is may be remarked that in performances the journey is, provisionally, at least, completed – but for just one occasion. By contrast, in a recording the same rendering will remain each time the recording is played – an important difference. 36 John Irving Creating Haydn’s Sonatas At The Keyboard... (i) Haydn’s notation; (ii) my reading of it against a ‘historically informed’ background, including such issues as eighteenth-century notational conventions and performance practice documents of various kinds; and (iii) Viennese pianos of a design Haydn knew intimately and for whose mechanics he was writing. Frequently I find that my management of these three reference points suggests Haydn was a composer for whom register, colour, texture, and sound for its own sake are fundamental ingredients of musical discourse. While some of these facets of Haydn’s musical language are familiar from his symphonies (for example, the spectacularly high horn writing in Symphony no.60, where sound eclipses structure), Haydn’s keyboard sonatas have typically been discussed within a structuralist paradigm in which analytical methods and judgements are closely aligned to an appreciation of motivic organisation: for example, focusing on the supposed monothematic connections across a sonata exposition, as in the first movement of Hob.XVI:46, bars 1 and 24, or the finale of Hob.XVI:32, bars 1 and 37. Sometimes, this kind of analytic thinking can lead creatively ‘beyond the text’ too. As an illustration, I will focus briefly on a particular passage from the Presto finale of the Hob.XVI:46 (bars 72–86). It is founded on a descending suspension chain right at the top of the texture (oscillating semiquavers in the right hand over a quaver bassline in broken octaves whose profile is strongly influenced by cadential movement). At first sight, this seems quite an obvious texture to manage. Closer inspection reveals that the precise dissonances and resolutions over the bass are not straightforwardly sequential. Beginning at bar 72 with a deflected 9-8 suspension (a ‘strong’ dissonance), the next four steps in the pattern are rather milder (first-inversion 7th chords, resolving onto root position triads). From bar 78 the dissonance becomes a slightly harsher diminished 7th (extended downwards for three bars), before the pattern ends in local perfect cadence resolutions, mainly over a dominant pedal, E flat, signalling the recapitulation (bar 86). The historically informed player will take into account the relative levels of harmonic dissonance in managing the shape of this passage in performance, rather than conceptualising it merely as an extended suspension chain. Completing the triangulation is that fact that Haydn begins his succession of dissonances from a very high pitch on the Viennese piano, while separating the quaver bass in a register far distant from it. This texture counts for a lot on a Viennese piano, for the construction of the soundboard across the span of five octaves from bass to treble, as well as the finely-graded variations in relative size of the hammers and the thickness of their leather coverings, mean that the contrast of colour between right hand and left, and also on a more 37 Музикологија 16 – 2014 Musicology subtle level between lower and upper notes of the left-hand broken octaves, is very pronounced: indeed, it is an essential dimension of the sound, counting for at least as much in the overall effect of this passage as the specific dissonance-consonance relations, and one not immediately obvious just from its notation on the page. This feature was brought home to me especially forcefully in a recital I gave (including this sonata) in February 2014 at the Holburne Museum, Bath (UK) on a c. 1790 Johann Schantz fortepiano – one of only a very small number still known to survive in playing condition. My ability to manage what was I hope a convincing journey through this harmonic sequence was greatly enhanced by the astonishing variety of colour across the different registers of the Schantz, whose sound quality combined a silvery onset to the pitch, textural clarity and a deep ruggedness that beautifully complemented the character of this movement. In performance, the triangulation of notation, historical awareness of discord, and instrument technology combine here and elsewhere in Haydn’s sonatas to create more than the sum of the parts. Dynamics While Hob.XVI:40 and 49, both written after Haydn had become familiar with the possibilities of the touch-sensitive fortepiano, have frequent dynamic indications, Hob.XVI:46 and 32 are entirely lacking in dynamics, save for a single forte at bar 75 in the first movement of Hob.XVI:46. Managing the landscape in the absence of notated dynamic contrasts poses a creative challenge to the player. At opposite extremes are entirely serendipitous and unaccountable subjectivity, and a bland and un-nuanced monotone delivery. Neither is acceptable. Eighteenth-century writings leave us in no doubt that, like conversation, music was alive with contrasting tones of voice, adding colour to the performance. Geminiani, writing in 1751, noted that piano and forte dynamics were species of ornament ‘designed to produce the same Effects that an Orator does by raising and falling his Voice.’8 Leopold Mozart (1756) noted that the performer had to know ‘how to change from piano to forte without directions and of one’s own accord, each at the right time’.9 Both Leopold Mozart and his contemporary, Quantz recommend designing contrasting dynamic strengths on the local level in keeping with the relative strong and weak stresses within the bar. Within this basic framework the player was required to note musical aspects such as the character or texture of the music, rhythmic syncopation, chromaticism in melody or 8 Geminiani 1751: Ex XVIII, nos 9 & 10. 9 Knocker 1948: 217. 38 John Irving Creating Haydn’s Sonatas At The Keyboard... harmony and, above all, the underlying harmonic structure of each phrase. Music grounded in dance rhythms (for instance, the finale of Hob.XVI:46 and the Minuet and Trio from Hob.XVI:32) may well imply a marked contrast of weight between the stressed downbeat and the remainder of the bar, or step-pattern (remembering always that the minuet is a six-step dance across two successive bars). By contrast, contrapuntal textures, such as are found at the beginning of the second section in the finale of Hob.XVI:32 (bars 70–88, and 95–104), tend to follow the shape and inflection of individual lines, rather than regular downbeat stresses. Sequential patterns in the music suggest natural crescendos or diminuendos, not necessarily continuous, but successively graded. For example, in the finale of Hob.XVI:46, bars 46–53 we are presented with four successive statements of the same pattern: quite how the player manages the precise dynamic shaping of each two-bar pattern is to a large extent subjective, though it will hopefully be influenced by an awareness of the relative consonance and dissonance values of particular semiquavers against the bass, and also the nature of the harmonic resolution in minim values. The fact that this is an ascending sequence may naturally imply a crescendo overall – not literally graded upwards in volume from note to note across all eight bars, but a more ‘terraced’ effect, each two-bar unit beginning a notch higher in volume than the last. Similarly, a terraced diminuendo may be suggested by the descending sequential pattern of bars 57–63. Register also plays a part: the harmonic resolutions in this passage are disposed across two voices in the high treble register, and the player might make a feature of the relatively weaker possibilities for sonority in that tessitura in advance planning of the dynamic level (especially given the very rapid sound-decay on the Viennese instrument). Finally, in this section of the finale, it is worth paying attention to the ambiguous phrasing. The two passages mentioned are separated by what seems at first to be an unusually abrupt three-bar phrase (bars 54–56). Actually, bar 53 is simultaneously the resolution ending the sequence of bars 46–53 and the beginning of a new sequence, rapidly ascending in singlebar units to bar 57 where the second of the passages just discussed commences (starting in F minor). Following the descending sequence (bars 57–63) is another abrupt four-bar pattern (bars 64–67) in which, by contrast the semiquaver figure remains static, circling around just the same few notes, while the harmonic pattern moves at the level of the bar through increasingly chromatic harmonies peaking on an augmented-6th chord. Given the alternation of relatively long, regularly structured sequences (first ascending, then descending) separated by rather shorter, abrupt linking passages upsetting the harmonic stability, I was strongly tempted to profile this local ‘conversation’ 39 Музикологија 16 – 2014 Musicology by highlighting the contrast dynamically between a progressively measured crescendo (bars 46–53) and diminuendo (bars 57–63), and a very rapid fade (bars 53–56) and rise (bars 64–67) in dynamic level in the intervening shorter links. I took a similar approach in planning the identical section of Hob. XVI:32’s finale (bars 70–105). Two passages in contrapuntal texture are separated by an abrupt outburst repeating a single insistent figure through an irregular five bars (89–93). In each of the contrapuntal passages either side of this outburst I decided on a gradual crescendo (reflecting the progressive ascent in register, and in the case of the first passage, the chromatic bass steps at bars 81–86). I began the second from a pianissimo dynamic, inspired by the rarity and sonority of the key of F sharp minor. In order to maximise the sense of intrusion into this contrapuntal world, the insistent and repetitive bars 89–93 were characterised by a rapid crescendo to fortissimo (followed by a bar’s silence, then the pianissimo entry on repeated F sharps in the left hand). So although there is a level of subjectivity in the application of dynamics in these two sonatas, my subjective choices were guided by the clues Haydn left in his notation (principally texture, register and harmony), when read against contemporary performance practice literature. Knowing Haydn’s Sonatas through my fingers – embodiment Reflecting on the process of preparing for this project, I returned to a consideration of how it is that I know these sonatas. I touched earlier on the essential pre-requisite of analytical engagement with Haydn’s scores. Here I explore a different route to knowledge: embodiment. Drawing on psychology, artificial intelligence, linguistics and cognitive sciences, philosophical accounts of how we perceive our world have recently advanced important claims that our minds are in large part conditioned by our bodies. Thus, the way we achieve cognition, how we conceive of the world around us, how we form and deal with concepts, and how we reason and judge, are all shaped by aspects of our bodies.10 As humans, we enjoy a sensori-motor system. Our motor system strongly influences the way in which our minds grasp ideas. Underlying this, obviously, are our sense-organs of sight, hearing, taste, smell and touch. It is the last of these that is perhaps of most relevance here, since through handling objects, 10 In philosophy, the writings of Andrew Clark are fundamental in this respect. Clark 1997 is fundamental to the field. Further, see Lakoff and Johnson 1999, and Gallagher 2005. Lakoff’s view that all cognition results from knowledge formed through bodily experiences, which the mind then decodes through conceptual metaphors, is perhaps an extreme view, though one that usefully contextualizes the broader field. 40 John Irving Creating Haydn’s Sonatas At The Keyboard... we develop a kind of knowledge that over-rides that formed through descriptive language, an understanding of propositional concepts, logical relations of cause and effect. For example, an action such as using a screwdriver is something that we know most directly through handling one. While we may understand that certain muscles and joint rotations are involved (clockwise, or anti-clockwise, as may be relevant to the case), and while we may also understand physical questions of force and moment, relating the twisting action at the screwhead to the effect at the point of the screw, we would not typically recite all the necessary steps each and every time we do or imagine the action – we just perform the action, ‘knowing’ it in and through the activity. (For instance, how much pressure we need to apply in any particular usage of a screwdriver is something that our bodies, handling the equipment at the time, feed back to our brains and against which we react accordingly. It could be monitored and measured experimentally in robotics, of course, in order to construct a machine of optimal efficiency. But this is knowledge of a different kind from that which is embodied for us through our sensori-motor system.) Embodied cognition has a place in understanding how performers relate to the works they study and perform. In particular, for me in the doing of this Haydn project, embodied cognition begins to concretise the way in which I ‘know’ Haydn’s sonatas as if through my fingers. Of course, I aspire to understand Haydn’s music in a more traditional propositional way too, basing my thoughts on an analytical grasp of his notated scores. Not only do I understand that, within his tonal language, the succession of a dominant and a tonic chord in certain situations (normally coordinated with certain melodic, rhythmic and gestural elements) forms a cadence – a type of punctuation within the music; but also I understand that the possibility of linking together these particular chords in such a context is dependent on (or conversely, signals) a tonal system of musical organisation. On one level, I understand the Menuet finale of the E flat Sonata, Hob.XVI:49 melodically in terms of the particular note-names; their position and implied relation within an E flat major scale; the anacrusic nature of the opening gesture; and the complex interrelation of melodic, harmonic, rhythmic, textural and phrase contexts within a tonal system (in other words, aspects of the analytical knowledge touched on earlier). But there is another way of knowing. Haydn’s finale to Hob.XVI:49 affords a deeper perspective on what embodied knowledge has meant to me in the course of this project. My interpretation of it focuses on the quality of movement from the crotchet upbeat towards the downbeat at the start of the next 41 Музикологија 16 – 2014 Musicology bar, not just at the opening, but also at the start of each section of the Menuet, which is strikingly symmetrical throughout, in terms of its phrase organization, and indeed within sections, for instance, the triplet quaver upbeat gesture at the end of bar 2, and the differently configured upbeat at the end of bar 4 (a dotted figure with ornament). And so on. In fact, the idea of highlighting the quality of upbeat movement was suggested by a tension between the ‘notation’ and the ‘music’ (as is so often the case, these two things are different). When I refer to an upbeat ‘at the end’ of a particular bar, what I am referring to is actually a component described in relation to regular barring: it is the ‘last beat’, coming ‘at the end’ of a bar because that is how we notate this kind of music, in regular groupings, each separated off from the next by a vertical line, making the forward flow convenient visually to read. But ‘the end’ of bar 2, for instance, is actually a beginning in terms of an impetus towards the next strong downbeat at ‘the start’ of bar 3. In performance, the knowledge I have is in relation to this last description, and if in any sense I am recapturing Haydn’s ‘intention’, then I am doing so through the mediating template of a notational system, which I have had to decode, and in this case unravel, in order to find a means to express my understanding of its gestural basis. I consider this embodied knowledge to have three separate but related aspects: Conceptual embodiment In a practice-as-research context, this kind of knowledge belongs within what has been described (Nelson 2013: 41–47) as ‘know that’.11 On this level, I inspect Haydn’s notation (including the Menuet designation) and ‘know that’ for me as a performer, it encodes a particular quality of movement (across the notated barline); this is what it is inviting me to capture through my actions at the keyboard. A precise description of this quality of movement is difficult to convey in words; in relation to eighteenthcentury conceptions of the relative stresses of weak and strong beats, the upbeat is relatively weak in relation to the stronger downbeat that immediately follows. Purely on the conceptual level, my ‘know that’ (for me, at least) is a singular entity, not something whose internal contents are analysed further. Unpicking that is attempted in ‘know how’, below. However imperfect the actual description of the conceptual ‘know that’, this embodied knowledge affords me with a way of analysing the whole movement (in parallel with a more obvious awareness of its various thematic, tonal, phrase-and-cadence, and other schemes organised in a pattern of episodic repetition and 11 ‘Know that’ is related to Nelson’s other categories, ‘know how’ and ‘know what’; all are influential on my approach here. 42 John Irving Creating Haydn’s Sonatas At The Keyboard... contrast). At ‘the end of’ bar 8 and at ‘the end of’ bar 10, for instance, I ‘know that’ these triplet upbeats gain at least a part of their identity in relation to each other: bar 10 perhaps functioning as an echo, or as an intensification of, bar 8.12 In turn, that gives me a conceptual framework within which to practise and perform it. ‘Know that’ is therefore foundational knowledge. Physical embodiment is the next stage, equating roughly to Nelson’s ‘know how’. At this level I begin to further refine the ‘know that’ kind of embodied knowledge I have of this movement through my physical interaction with the keyboard. Returning to the triplet quaver upbeats at ‘the end of’ bars 8 and 10, I might attempt to convey the particular quality of movement across the barline in several ways. For instance, I might begin with a rather quiet and light B flat in the left hand, effecting a slight crescendo through the two remaining notes, reaching the upper A flat at ‘the start of’ bar 9 in quite a pointed way (though no actual accent is marked). Or I might linger on the initial B flat a little and lift the F at the end of the triplet group off a little earlier, giving the effect of greater emphasis on the upper A flat that follows, borrowing a technique from harpsichord playing. Or I might actually play the initial B flat a little louder than the rest of the group, even attempting a counter-intuitive decrescendo through this upbeat. All these are subjective illustrations of subjective responses to the embodied ‘know that’. They each effect the profiling of the gesture differently, but all function as an expression of the embodied knowledge. They apply different techniques of managing the depressing and releasing of the keys (‘know how’) in order to realise the foundational ‘know that’. ‘Know how’ invokes my physical control of the finger movements on the keys. Those movements involve complex coordination of gestures: the precise speed at which I depress the key determines the speed with which the small leathercovered hammer on a Viennese-action piano flies upwards to strike the string, and thus the volume of sound produced (also the nature of the onset of the sound). Equally, because the Viennese mechanism is so refined, the point at which I release the key crucially affects the way in which the forward’ flow’ of sound appears to be articulated. In this particular phrase, lasting from ‘the end of’ bar 8 until the G at ‘the start of’ bar 10 in the left hand, the point at which I release, for instance, each of the three repeated A flats in bar 9 will define the articulation (by analogy: the way this phrase is ‘pronounced’, 12 The totality of their identities is far more complex, enmeshing not only the local gestural quality in relation to ensuing downbeats, but all the various melodic and harmonic factors within the tonal system, to say nothing of their broader contextual relation to the reoccurrence at ‘the end of’ bars 94 and 96 (slightly adapted registrally and texturally), and indeed other similar triplet upbeat shapes encountered in this movement. 43 Музикологија 16 – 2014 Musicology remembering always that, in the eighteenth century, music was likened to the art of speech). I would certainly not play each of them with the same weight and length: probably the second A flat would be significantly lighter than the first, though more or less a full quaver length, whereas the last would a little louder than the second, and probably shortened slightly, giving an appearance of a slight emphasis on the following crotchet G (bar 10). Characterising this articulation is something done through very precise finger control, developed by careful practice over time, and, once the physical movement has been embodied in the finger memory, it is retrieved in performance not as an extremely complex succession of individual finger movements, but as the enacting of a single action (rather like getting onto a bike and riding it, apparently without conscious thought). This complexity of finger control (the real-time ‘know how’ expression of conceptual ‘know that’ embodied knowledge) does not only affect horizontal flow (for instance, the note-after-note unfolding of a melody) but likewise a vertical one (the balance of chords and textures, as for instance in the episode beginning with the upbeat at ‘the end of’ bar 25 and lasting until ‘the start of’ bar 52). Nelson describes his ‘know what’ category as ‘what can be gleaned through an informed reflexivity about the processes of making and its modes of knowing.’ (Nelson 2013: 44). It is, in other words, a critically reflective process. In part, the writing of this article is a part of that ongoing process. But most fundamentally for me as a performer, that process of reflection in ‘know what’ is documented at the keyboard in the frequent reiteration of technical finger-movements in lengthy practice sessions hopefully serving as a reliable foundation for musical performance subsequently. It invokes learning, in this Menuet finale, ways in which the quality of gestural movement across the barline might be subtly varied in order to create an unfolding narrative of upbeats, and painting, as it were, a picture for the listener of how the management of upbeat gestures might produce a rendition of Haydn’s notation that seems aesthetically pleasing in the several minutes it takes to perform it. (In the context of this recording project, that extends to a rendition that avoids becoming irritating upon repeated playings of the particular CD track.) The ‘know what’ level is a continual interrogation of one’s muscular actions – namely, the gaining of a reliable degree of control over the immediate response of the fingers to the sound one hears at the keyboard, adapting subtly the volume level, speed of key depression and release, balance of chords and textures, according to the needs of the moment as heard there and then. Listening is of course crucial in this stage of critical reflection, whether in practice or performance. Over time, the listening too becomes embodied, 44 John Irving Creating Haydn’s Sonatas At The Keyboard... moving away from an analytic kind of listening – a kind that focuses on the dissection of each and every sound, relating it to each and every finger movement – towards a singular impression of the ideal sound one imagines for a particular phrase or movement, at which point the ‘know what’ is an amalgamation of all of those previously local responses into a coherent soundscape representing the movement as a whole. Beyond a certain level of familiarization, it is as if one becomes detached from the experience, a part of one’s attention being devoted to real-time ‘risk assessment’ of the ongoing operations of one’s finger muscles, in order to sustain a smooth course through the music in performance. Paradoxically, a part of one’s experience as a performer at this level is ‘dis-embodied’, as if one were a puppeteer discreetly adjusting the strings here and there in order to control the puppet’s motions (the ‘puppet’, of course, being oneself). Such an idealized balance between the subjectivity of embodiment (the physical involvement in the performance action) and objective ‘disembodiment’ (managing that action dispassionately) is not one easily achieved, though Haydn’s sonatas offer a richly rewarding field in which to try! LIST OF REFERENCES Braunbehrens, V. (1991) Mozart in Vienna, transl. by T. Bell (Oxford: Oxford University Press. Clark, A. (1997) Being There: Putting Brain, Body and World Together Again, Cambridge MA: The MIT Press. Clementi, M. (1801) Introduction to the Art of Playing the on the Pianoforte, London: Shaun. Gallagher, S. (2005) How the Body Shapes the Mind, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Geminiani, F. (1751) The Art of Playing on the Violin, London. Goehr, L. (1992) The Imaginary Museum of Musical Works: An Essay in the Philosophy of Music, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Irving, J. (1997) Mozart’s Piano Sonatas: Contexts, Sources, Style, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Knocker, E. (transl.) (1948) A Treatise on the Fundamental Principles of Violin Playing – Leopold Mozart London: Oxford University Press. Lakoff, G. and Johnson, M. (1999) Philosophy In The Flesh: the Embodied Mind and its Challenge to Western Thought, New York: Basic Books. Latcham, M. (1998) “The Pianos of Johann Andreas Stein”, The Galpin Society Journal 51:114–153. Nelson, R. (2013) Practice as Research in the Arts: Principles, Protocols, Pedagogies, Resistances, Palgrave Macmillan: Basingstoke. Recordings Haydn Complete Music for Solo Keyboard Ronald Brautigam (fortepiano) BIS-CD-1731/33 The Virtual Haydn: Complete Works for Solo Keyboard Tom Beghin (keyboards) NAXOS 8.501203 45 Музикологија 16 – 2014 Musicology Online sources http://www.johannes-secker.co.uk Џон Ирвинг КРЕИРАЊЕ ХАЈДНОВИХ СОНАТА ЗА ИНСТРУМЕНТЕ СА ДИРКАМА: ПРАВА И ОДГОВОРНОСТИ ИЗВОЂАЧА ПРИСТАЛИЦА ИСТОРИЈСКИ ЗАСНОВАНОГ ПРИСТУПА (Резиме) Историјски засновано извођење данас је постало широко распрострањено. Број наступа и снимака осмишљених на тај начин расте заједно са широком лепезом изворне документације, као и органолошке литературе из којих се црпе подаци. У овом раду, чији је аутор извођач и истраживач, детаљно се испитује приступ интерпретатора историјске оријентације специфичном комерцијалном дискографском пројекту: снимању одабраних Хајднових дела за соло инструмент са диркама. Акценат је на критичком посматрању циљева, техничке и музичке припреме таквог подухвата, коришћених инструмената и низа перспектива путем којих се извођење повезује са методологијом праксе као истраживања и контрастном онтологијом Хајднових соната. Submitted: April 14, 2014 Accepted for publication: June 20, 2014 Original scientific paper 46