Harpsichord News

According to Janus

The ancient Romans worshipped many gods. Janus, who provided the name for our first month of the year, had two faces, which allowed him to look in both directions: back to the past and forward to the future. Thus, a Janusian column seems appropriate for the first month of a new year.

Looking Back: Topics of the
2016 Harpsichord News
Columns

January: Buried Treasures: The Harpsichord Pages in Retrospect (2006–2015); Something New: Mysteries with Musical References

March: William Bolcom’s Compositions for Solo Harpsichord

April: More Duphly; Two Additional Mystery Novels; Semibrevity Website

May: Historical Keyboard Society of North America Conference at Oberlin College: Duphly, Skowroneck, Leonhardt, and Kreisler—A Twisted Tale

June: Tempi in Early Music from Beverly Jerold Scheibert; Two Clavichords at the Oberlin HKSNA

July: In Memoriam: Drawings by Jane Johnson (A Retrospective Feature Article)

August: Broadening a Harpsichordist’s Horizon: The Fifth East Texas Pipe Organ Festival Continues Tradition

September: Striking Gold: Some Thoughts on Performing Bach’s Goldberg Variations

October: Well-Tempered: Lou Harrison and the Harpsichord

November: Some Thoughts on Programming

December: Christmas Musings: Joseph Wechsberg’s The Best Things in Life; Recordings of the complete harpsichord works of Marchand and Clérambault on compact disc and 21st-century solos on another from the British Harpsichord Society; plus a Christmas Vignette (excerpted from Palmer: Letters from Salzburg).

Two Vignettes from 2016 East

Texas Pipe Organ Festival
(November 6–11)

The most recent pipe organ fest in November followed its traditional, successful schedule, albeit with a bit more time allowed for dining and socializing. After the brilliant Sunday evening opening organ recital by Richard Elliot on Kilgore’s prized Roy Perry-designed Aeolian-Skinner organ (Opus 1173, First Presbyterian Church), Christopher Marks (new to the artist roster) began the first full day of the festival on Monday with a recital on the same instrument. His well-designed program devoted to music by Seth Bingham (1882–1972) showed the conservative American church musician to be a composer consistent in craftsmanship, and one indebted to the French school of organ music as well. Nostalgia welled up when, for the first time since high school, I heard again two pieces from Bingham’s organ suite Harmonies of Florence (1929): Savonarola, and one that was in my repertoire in those youthful years, Twilight at Fiesole. These pieces brought back memories of another outstanding advocate for French music, Oberlin professor of organ Fenner Douglass, with whom I had the great privilege of studying during my senior year. Douglass played French organ music ranging from Titelouze to the most recent works of Messiaen, but an American whom he admired and whose music he performed was none other than . . . Seth Bingham. 

Vignette Two: In Janus-Speak,
Ave atque Vale (Hail and 

Farewell)

I was not particularly looking forward to the fourth organ concert of our annual “day in Shreveport” even though the program was to take place on the grandest of the festival organs (Aeolian-Skinner opus 1308) in the most accommodating acoustic: St. Mark’s Episcopal Cathedral. Replacing the indisposed Marilyn Keiser as recitalist was the winner of the 2016 Longwood Gardens Competition, Joshua Stafford. His stylishly eclectic program comprised Leo Sowerby’s Comes Autumn Time, Seth Bingham’s Roulade (heard for the second time at this Festival), Lemare’s transcription of Dvorák’s Carnival Overture, a quiet Lied (Douze Pièces) by Gaston Litaize, and, following intermission, Liszt’s lengthy Fantasie and Fugue on the Chorale “Ad nos” from Meyerbeer’s Le Prophète. From the opening notes until the final strains of his patriotic encore, it was apparent that this young man is a stellar musician with a seemingly effortless technique that could encompass anything. But more than that, he demonstrated music-making of the highest order, delivered without affectation, obviously played with delight and musical intensity. At the conclusion of this amazing recital, before the final chord had died away in the reverberant cathedral, the audience, as one, rose to its feet, shouting “Bravo.” My own word choice was “Bravissimo!” Welcome to the company of outstanding artists, Joshua Stafford. I can scarcely wait to hear more from your talented fingers, feet, heart, and soul.

The closing event of the festival on Thursday evening was a recital by Frederick Swann at Kilgore’s First Presbyterian Church. Announced as the veteran artist’s final organ concert (he will continue to play church services), this repeat of the program he had given as a rededication concert for Aeolian-Skinner Opus 1173 following its 1966 revision by Roy Perry, capped Swann’s career of some 3,000 recitals with graceful, intense playing, always offered to the benefit of the music. In a class act that will be remembered for a very long time, the acclaimed organist did not play a traditional “encore” to acknowledge the continuing ovation of the large crowd; instead he instructed us to open our hymn books and sing, supported by his inspired accompaniment, “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of Creation.” These two unforgettable musical events receive my vote for best in show, ETPOF VI. 

The Future: Hello 2017

Billing itself as “the world’s best-selling classical music magazine,” BBC Music is a very good journal. Each monthly copy has affixed to its cover a compact disc, custom-produced to form part of the month’s offerings. For the December 2016 issue the featured composer is Johann Sebastian Bach. Articles discuss “the secret of his genius in ten masterpieces,” attempt to make sense of the extensive Bach family tree, and generally aid the reader/listener in various musical discoveries. This issue also contains 110 reviews of classical music discs by knowledgeable critics. The accompanying CD is of JSB’s final masterpiece, The Art of Fugue, in an orchestration devised by harpsichordist Mahan Esfahani for a substantial baroque instrumental contingent made up of two violins, viola, cello, viola da gamba, violone, two flutes, recorder, oboe, oboe d’amore, oboe da caccia, bassoon, cornetto, and two harpsichords (the players are members of the Academy of Ancient Music). This baroque chamber orchestra version is an attempt to suggest the type of coffee-house performance that Bach might have put together. With some moments of solo harpsichord, but many more with the instrumental band, it is indeed a colorful and unusual performance.

To suggest something for the future, I would like to reference a BBC Music “last page”—one of its “Music That Changed Me” series. In the September 2005 issue, the featured musician was the brilliant, energetic British harpsichordist (and conductor) Richard Egarr. I have been an admirer of his nimble-fingered, exciting playing for quite some time, and a part of what nourishes this spirited musical drive surely could be traced, in part, to the choices he makes for his own listening. Egarr cites six recordings, and I note with interest that only two of them comprise music for a solo keyboard. Both of these discs are historical testaments from unique and path-breaking musical artists. I suspect that many of Egarr’s own savvy musical instincts come from his “listening outside the [keyboard] box,” something I have long advocated, and that I recommend to our readers as a sure path to continuing aural adventures during this new year. My own choices nearly always include vocal works, for listening to good singers or choral ensembles helps incredibly in learning to make our own phrases breathe naturally (a benefit that is also attained by playing, or listening to, wind instruments).

So, for the record (as it were), here are Egarr’s six choices: Music of the Gothic Era (David Munrow); Early Violin Music (Musica Antiqua Köln); Mahler, Symphony I (Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra, Leonard Bernstein); Moritz Rosenthal (historical recording of piano music issued by American Columbia’s Biddulph label); Tchaikovsky, Marche Slav (London Symphony Orchestra, Leopold Stokowski); and, as the second keyboard item: Bach’s Goldberg Variations (Glenn Gould, piano), which he cites as a performance style that he has had to overcome in his own study of the monumental work.

Finally, dear readers, a few hints of some developing columns that may appear during the first half of 2017: from a group of colleagues who perform contemporary harpsichord music, some listings of their favorite works; an in-depth examination of a Bach prelude and fugue from the WTC; a guest article about some legendary French harpsichordists; an article on harpsichord pedagogy. Any suggestions for other topics of interest?

Harpsichord Plus: 

The Accompanied Music 

of Jacques Duphly

As a genre, accompanied harpsichord music seems to have come into being early in the 18th century. Indeed, the harpsichord accompanied by lute is commented on late in the 17th century when the lutenist Porion accompanied the keyboardist Hardel. In Rome the harpsichord accompanied by violin was noted in 1727 at Cardinal Colonna’s, and only two years later, in 1729, there was a similar event in Paris, for which the keyboardist was none other than François Couperin’s daughter.

The first examples to appear in print seem to have been the Pièces de Claveçin en Sonates, op. 3, of Jean-Joseph Cassanéa de Mondonville (1734). (Earlier works sometimes cited as examples of this genre—works by Dieupart [1701] and Elizabeth Jacquet de la Guerre [1707]—actually appear to be different editions of the same pieces, not meant to be played as duos.) Mondonville’s sonatas were followed by Michel Corrette’s Sonates pour le Claveçin avec un Accompagnement de Violon, op. 25 (1742); Mondonville’s Pièces de Claveçin avec Voix ou Violon, op. 5 (1748); and by the one popular group of compositions still found in the active performing repertoire of the 21st century, Jean-Philippe Rameau’s five sets of Pièces de Claveçin en Concert, published in 1741. That these Rameau pieces belong to this same line of publications cannot be doubted, for the composer wrote in his preface: “The success of recently published sonatas, which have come out as harpsichord pieces with a violin part, has given me the idea of following much the same plan in the new harpsichord pieces, which I am venturing to bring out today . . .”

A little further on Rameau continued: “These pieces lose nothing by being played on the harpsichord alone; indeed, one would never suspect them capable of any other adornment . . .”

This primacy of the harpsichord, which really was meant to be accompanied by the other instrument, is borne out by the words of Charles Avison, who, in 1756, insisted that the violins should “always be subservient to the harpsichord,” and by C.-J. Mathon de la Coeur, the editor of Almanach Musical, who wrote in 1777,

We cannot resist pointing out here that the harpsichord is the only creature in this world that has been able to claim sufficient respect from other instruments to keep them in their place and cause itself to be accompanied in the full sense of the term. Voices, even the most beautiful ones, lack this privileged position; they are covered mercilessly . . . but as soon as it is a question of accompanying a harpsichord, you see submissive and timid instrumentalists softening their sounds like courtiers in the presence of their master, before whom they dare not utter a word without having read permission in his eyes. 

Methinks times have changed since M. de la Coeur published these comments!

Why, then, one might ask, would another instrumentalist agree to perform with a harpsichordist in such a subservient manner? And further, what was the purpose of having an accompanying instrumentalist there at all? As to the first question, one could assume that not all pieces on a program would be of the accompanied type; some sonatas for the solo instrument with (or without) a figured basso continuo could return a preeminent position to the non-keyboard instrument. As for the second question, Avison answers this in the preface to his op. 7 (1760): “They are there to help the expression.”

The second half of the 18th century was a transitional time when the fortepiano was making ever deeper inroads into the public awareness, when the abrupt dynamic contrasts of a C. P. E. Bach or the Mannheim composers were popular, and every possible device or gimmick was being invented and employed to aid the harpsichord in producing more dynamic variety: pedal-activated machine stops, the soft leather “plectra” of the peau de buffle register, organ-like foot-pedal-operated louvers that were installed above the soundboard, and instrumental accompaniment.

The six accompanied pieces of Jacques Duphly have been played less frequently than his other harpsichord works because they were omitted from Heugel’s 1967 Le Pupitre volume of his “complete” harpsichord pieces. A modern edition of the three G-major pieces with violin had been published in Paris in 1961, but the additional three in F major were not generally available to contemporary players until the Swiss publisher Minkoff offered its facsimile edition of Duphly’s Third Book of Harpsichord Pieces in 1987. My attention was drawn to these six enhanced works when reviewing the four compact discs that comprise Yannick Le Gaillard’s complete recording of Duphly’s output, in which he included all six of the “added violin” pieces in collaboration with violinist Ryo Terakado (ADDA 581097/100, 1988). 

For those to whom Duphly is not a household name, the composer was born in Rouen in 1715 and had the exquisite good taste to die in Paris in 1789 immediately before the aristocratic world in which he functioned was totally upended by the French Revolution. One gets a succinct picture of this minor master of the keyboard from two contemporaries. Pierre-Louis Daquin wrote in 1752: “. . . Duflitz [sic] passes in Paris for a very good harpsichordist. He has much lightness of touch and a certain softness which, sustained by ornaments, marvelously render the character of the pieces.” Marpurg, writing in 1754, has passed on to us this portrait of a rather particular character who obviously preferred light action for his keyboards: “Duphly, a pupil of Dagincour, plays the harpsichord only, in order, as he says, not to spoil his hand with the organ. He lives in Paris, where he instructs the leading families.”

Duphly had published his first two books of harpsichord music in 1744 and 1748. These volumes did not include any accompanied pieces, but his third book (1758) begins with three works in the new style. (It must have been taken for granted at this time that one could play either with or without the accompanying instrument, for nothing that mentions the added partner is noted on the title page, or elsewhere.) The accompanied pieces simply appeared with a third staff added above the usual two for the harpsichord; the word Violon is engraved above this additional staff.

The first three accompanied pieces, in F major, present varied tonal pictures. Number one is an Ouverture that begins with a Grave in the customary dotted rhythm, continues with a livelier contrapuntal section, and ends with a two-measure stately cadence. Two character pieces follow: La De May is a gracious rondo named for Reine DeMay, a midwife who played some role in a shady enterprise involving Casanova and the Parisian banker Pouplinière. There is, however, nothing particularly shady about this delicate, rather sunny piece. The third piece, La Madin, is an Italianate gigue, named in honor of the Abbé Henri Madin, choirmaster of the Chapelle Royal and governor of the musical pages. It may be a reference to these youngsters that informs the playful character of this quick-paced work.

That these pieces are worth restoring to the repertoire is not in doubt. Indeed, all of Duphly’s pieces are worthwhile for reasons admirably articulated by Gustav Leonhardt, one of the first modern harpsichordists to champion these French works. In notes to a disc of solo works by the pre-revolutionary composer, Leonhardt wrote, “. . . Duphly’s pieces concealed within their notes the secret of sonority. Such a style of composition demands as much expert knowledge as writing difficult or bizarre works. The perfect always seems easy in the eyes of the non-initiated.”

Duphly’s third volume continues with the very best of his solo harpsichord compositions—the F-minor rondeau La Forqueray, a monumental F-major-minor-major Chaconne, the turbulent and virtuose Medée, winsome and moving D-major Les Grâces, the rocket-themed D-minor La De Belombre, and two graceful Menuets. Then comes the G-major accompanied set—three character pieces, all in quick tempi, titled La De Casaubon, La Du Tailly, and La De Valmallette, the latter two both known Parisian vocalists. The volume concludes with five more solo harpsichord pieces in various keys.

In revisiting the Le Gaillard recordings I found them to be somewhat superficial and too unyielding for my current tastes. Searching the web to see if there were some more recent recordings I came across two that were of interest: a disc of accompanied works by Duphly and the very young Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, whose earliest-known keyboard sonatas (K. 6–9) belong to the accompanied harpsichord genre, recorded at the Musée des Beaux Arts, Chartres, by harpsichordist Violaine Cochard and violinist Stéphanie-Marie Degand (Agogique AGO009, 2010). Online reviewer Johan van Veen wrote of this recent offering, “Considering that the Duphly pieces are not often recorded and that Mozart’s sonatas are too often—if at all—played on rather inappropriate instruments, this disc deserves an enthusiastic reception.”

A recording entirely devoted to works by Duphly receives my highest recommendation: harpsichordist Medea Bindewald, whose playing demonstrates the most satisfying musicality, with just the right amount of agogic give and take, is joined by violinist Nicolette Moonen on the German label Coviello Classics (CD COV91404). Recorded during August 2013 in Swithland, UK, here is a first-rate program selected from three of the four Duphly volumes, played from the original engraved texts (the same scores that I recommend, all four volumes of which are available in the series of Performers’ Facsimiles published by Broude Brothers). Ms. Bindewald lists Robert Hill (Freiburg) and Ketil Haugsand (Cologne) among her teachers, so it is not completely surprising that she plays a magnificent instrument built by another Hill brother, the American harpsichord maker Keith Hill. I was charmed and delighted throughout the ample hour-and-a-quarter of this well-chosen recital. Only occasionally did I wish that the violin were slightly less prominent in its balance with the harpsichord. After all, the bow was meant to accompany the keyboard! (Thank you, Mr. Avison and M. Mathon de la Coeur!)

When I first spoke about Duphly to a Southeastern Historical Keyboard Society gathering at Salem College in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, on April 6, 1991, I began by expressing appreciation to the author who had already published most of the information offered here. Once again, I need to share my gratitude to this pioneering scholar of French early keyboard music, Professor Emeritus David Fuller, from the State University of New York at Buffalo, whose research and writings have formed the basis not only of my own presentations, but, as I have noticed in researching the topic, nearly everyone else’s. As the authority who published “Accompanied Keyboard Music” in the journal Musical Quarterly (60:2, April 1974, pp. 222–245), as well as the subsequent articles on Duphly and the Accompanied Sonata in the New Grove Dictionary of Music, Fuller has been both leader and guide for Duphly studies. I came to know David better when I was asked to write his biography for the American Grove, and also when we “shared” a harpsichord major student, Lewis Baratz, who, after completing his undergraduate study with Professor Fuller, graced the master of music program in harpsichord at Southern Methodist University, before going on to earn his doctorate in musicology.

And I cannot think of, or play, Duphly’s music without remembering a beloved mixed-breed pet—part Dachshund, part Lhasa Apso—who loved to listen to the harpsichord, usually unaccompanied. Adopted from the local SPCA animal shelter, where his name was listed as “Blue,” he shared our Dallas lives for the larger part of two decades, during which time he seemed at ease with the more distinctive name I had chosen for him. ν

Comments or questions are always welcome. Please send them to [email protected] or Dr. Larry Palmer, 10125 Cromwell Drive, Dallas, TX 75229.

More Duphly

November’s column on Jacques Duphly and his accompanied harpsichord pieces motivated two readers to send me their welcome compact disc recordings of solo harpsichord works by the 18th-century French composer. 

San Francisco-based harpsichordist Katherine Roberts Perl (www.kathyrobertsperl.com) serves up 68 minutes of Duphly favorites played on John Phillips’ superb replica of a 1707 Nicholas Dumont double harpsichord. Her chosen repertoire comprises five dance movements and the titled works La de Belombre, La Damanzy, Les Grâces, La Vanlo, La de la Tour, Médée, and La Forqueray, concluding with the composer’s most extended piece, his Chaconne in F (Dorian Recordings DOR-93169, recorded in 1996, released in 1998).

Yves-G. Préfontaine’s two-disc traversal of Duphly’s Pièces de Clavecin (ATMA Classique ACD2 2716) was recorded in November 2014 and issued in 2015. The Canadian artist utilizes a very lovely Hemsch-based two-manual instrument by Montréal builder Yves Beaupré. The extensive program, organized by keys, includes 27 works culled from all four books of Duphly’s harpsichord music.

Préfontaine also performs the lengthy F major/minor Chaconne, as does harpsichordist Medea Bindewald (on her Coviello Classics disc, cited in the November article). In comparing play-lists, I was fascinated to note the wide variance in tempi for this composition: Binewald plays it in 7 and a half minutes; Perl 8 minutes, 16 seconds; and Préfontaine 9 and a half minutes—wide enough variance that it sent me to the keyboard for my own read-through (since each of the recordings had seemed faster than I would play the piece).

I do not mean this to be critical of these fleet performances: references to Chaconne tempi in several widely-quoted sources (L’Affilard, 1705, and Pajot, 1732, for instance) suggest quick beats when these 18th-century remarks are translated into modern metronome markings. I was comforted to come across a 2007 reference to the findings of Dutch musicologist Jan van Biezen, who suggests that perhaps we read these arcane writings wrongly and points out that if we were to adjust the suggested speed to include both the back and forth movements of a mechanical device we might come closer to the more stately tempi that the music itself seems to suggest: approximately one beat equaling 78 or 79 MM (www.janvanbiezen.nl/articles.html—accessed “Tempo of French Baroque Dances,” February 28, 2016).

I have noticed for several decades that I now prefer slower tempi than I did in my younger years. Indeed students became quite used to my “I’d take that a bit slower” remark, especially when dealing with baroque music. It is a normal progression (or regression, if you wish): as we age, we move somewhat more slowly. I prefer to allow the music itself an unpressured time to unfold; the Chaconne seems to require both elegance and grace. Surely life must have moved more slowly in an age that did not have mechanized travel or instant communication. (I hope it is not too suggestive of a bad pun to conclude these thoughts with a phrase that composer Duphly might have understood: “chacun à son goût” [“each to one’s own taste”]?) 

Two more mystery novels

The harpsichord is mentioned thirteen times (the clavichord only once) in author Imogen Robertson’s novel Anatomy of Murder, set in the London of 1781. This second book featuring unlikely forensic sleuths Mrs. Harriet Westerman and Gabriel Crowther is a well-written page-turner dealing with the British aftermath of the American Revolution, skullduggery that besets the (fictional) His Majesty’s Theatre production of a new Italian opera starring a phenomenal soprano of unexpected parentage and a favorite continental castrato singer, plus the daily joys and sorrows of both titled and lower-class inhabitants of the fast-expanding and radically changing urban metropolis. (Pamela Dorman/Viking Books, 2012. ISBN 978-0-670-02317-2). 

A visit to Half Price Books, Dallas’s mega-emporium of previously owned reading material, resulted in the acquisition of another work from the pen of Donna Leone, the American expatriate author who resides in Venice. While musical references in Willful Behavior, the eleventh of her Commissario Guido Brunetti series (2002) are less frequent than those in the works I cited in my January 2016 column, there were four that stood out in this volume: an analogy to a Haydn Symphony, a similarity to a Scarlatti oratorio, the mention of Vivaldi’s baptismal church in Venice, and a plot twist reference to Puccini’s opera Tosca. Ms. Leone continues to be both lover and patron of classical music and her books serve as welcome guides to her adopted city for any musical armchair traveler. 

Semibrevity

Guest blogger Mandy Macdonald writes about Nelly Chaplin who performed on her 1775 Jacobus and Abraham Kirkman two-manual harpsichord early in the 20th century (illustrated with a picture of a similar 1755 Kirkman now in the collection of historic instruments at Musical Instrument Museums, Edinburgh). Free access is available at www.semibrevity.com, where you should also scroll down to read the amazing story of T. W. Taphouse, British collector of early instruments, who purchased his first Shudi and Broadwood 1773 harpsichord at age 19, in 1857!

The Semibrevity website continues to broaden our knowledge of these largely unfamiliar early proponents of early music on early instruments in its well-researched and beautifully illustrated postings.

Comments are always welcome. Address them to Dr. Larry Palmer [email protected] or 10125 Cromwell Drive, Dallas, Texas 75229.

An Appreciation

Readers of a report on the third Southeastern Historical Keyboard Society conclave, published in The Diapason for February 1983, were treated to four clever caricatures of harpsichordists featured at the Florida event: Edward Parmentier, Ton Koopman, Robert Conant, and Glen Wilson. These drawings by Jane Johnson introduced her work to this journal, for which she became, de facto, a treasured “house” illustrator during the succeeding decades.

Throughout my entire career as a musician I have been drawn to friendships with graphic artists. These associations began a long time ago during my last two high school years when, playing oboe with the All Ohio Boys’ Band at the State Fair in Columbus, during rare times that were free from performing duties I hung around the Arts Barn and thus came to know the fair’s fine arts director, painter Charlotte [Astar] Daniels. So it was not unusual for me to take note of an interesting-looking, white-haired woman sketching away at various concerts during the Tallahassee conclave. I asked to see her work, requested copies of some drawings, submitted them with my article—and thus began a long-lasting continuing association with Jane Johnson and her immediately recognizable art. (Illustrations 1–4: Harpsichordists Parmentier, Koopman, Conant, Wilson.)

SEHKS Conclave Five was held at Sweet Briar College in Virginia. Julane Rodgers wrote our review of this event (published in September 1985) for which Jane provided two illustrations: highly lauded harpsichordist Lisa Crawford and her fellow soloists performing Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto V and organist Fenner Douglass accompanying soprano Penelope Jensen. (Illustrations 5–6: Brandenburg Ensemble, Douglass and Jensen.) 

Jane’s willingness to contribute several illustrations for my 1989 book Harpsichord in America: a 20th-Century Revival saved two elusive subjects from being un-imaged. Both Frances Pelton-Jones and Claude Jean Chiasson were to be seen in faded newspaper prints and sepia magazine photographs, but portraits of suitable clarity for reproduction could not be found. This first experience of asking Jane to create specific drawings led to a number of subsequent requests. The first one for The Diapason resulted in the evocative image that accompanied “Murder and the Harpsichord” (July 1991), which appeared again when “Murder, Part Two” was published in the August 1992 issue. The artist’s keen eye for period detail resulted not only in a historically accurate harpsichord, but also provided our readers with the image of a historically-correct pistol based on an engraving from Diderot’s 18th-century Encyclopedia. (Illustration 7: Murder and the Harpsichord. ) 

The eminent harpsichord maker William Dowd was honored with a 70th birthday tribute in The Diapason for February 1992. In addition to fourteen short essays by Bill’s friends, co-workers, and players of his instruments, this issue included the first publication of a harpsichord solo, William Dowd: His Bleu by composer Glenn Spring and Jane’s drawing William Dowd Posing as Earl “Fatha” Hines, itself a clever reference to one of the harpsichord builder’s several unexpected musical likes. Another of Jane’s Dowd caricatures graced the honoree’s written response to and clarification of the various celebratory offerings, issued exactly one year later in February 1993. (Illustrations 8–9: Dowd as “Fatha” Hines and William Dowd.)

The Diapason drawings continued with a beautifully bewigged Henry Purcell for “Purcell Postscripts” (April 1996); an irreverent J. S. Bach to accompany the master composer’s “Letter from J S B” (July 2000); and a memorial sketch of Igor Kipnis illustrating “Remembering Igor” (April 2002). (Illustrations 10–12: Purcell, Bach, Kipnis.)

Drawing the twentieth-century harpsichordist’s portrait evoked some memories from Jane: “ . . . I first met Igor Kipnis when he played a concert in Oak Ridge, Tennessee (we had a reception for him at our house after the concert). I arranged to have his instrument stored for a few days at the home of a friend (a fine violinist and violist) who had studied at the American Conservatory as I did.” (Jane, born in Illinois, went on to teach piano in that Chicago conservatory’s Robyn Children’s Department from 1941 to 1945, after which she and her engineer husband David moved south, remaining there in a productive retirement as he indulged his hobby of historical instrument building and restoration.)

“Fast Fingers” was Jane’s 1992 response to my request for a caricature of “ye harpsichord editor.” It soon became a logo for my personal note pads, as well as a frequent cover illustration for recital programs. (Illustration 13: Fast Fingers: Larry Palmer.)

All of the illustrations thus far were included in a tribute to Jane Johnson, the prior Diapason retrospective, offered on pages 18–19 in August 2002. The artist was very pleased with the recognition and display of her contributions; we continued to correspond and I continued to request the occasional illustration, projects always graciously accepted by Jane. For the April 2004 journal article on harpsichord music by Rudy Davenport, Jane halved one that had originally included harpsichordist Peter Marshall, both featured at a joint Texas meeting of SEHKS and its sister organization MHKS (the Midwestern Historical Keyboard Society). 

Mozart, depicted in profile at a harpsichord, was the subject in October 2006 as illustration for my article on an alternative ending for the composer’s incomplete Fantasia in D Minor, K. 397. (Illustrations 14: Rudy Davenport and 15: Mozart at the Harpsichord.) 

For the 25th anniversary conclave of SEHKS I was midway through my four-year term as president of the organization. Founder George Lucktenberg and all of the subsequent SEHKS presidents were alive, and I had the brilliant idea of commissioning Jane to create a composite sketch of all of us. Gracious, as always, she took on this daunting task, producing twelve signed and numbered copies, which we distributed in numerical order to founder (number one), past executives, and incumbent (number twelve). This group portrait was published most recently by The Diapason as part of our tribute to the now-deceased Dr. Lucktenberg, in the issue for February 2015.

Other “re-prints” of Jane’s oeuvre include the sketch of William Dowd (as himself), in the January 2009 appreciation of his life and work, and, yet again, her ever-welcome gun-toting harpsichordist reappeared in August 2014 to anchor the heading for “Joys of Rereading,” a listing of still more mysteries that mention one of our favorite revived instruments. 

If this current retrospective has fomented a desire to view even more of Johnson’s drawings, Harpsichord Playing: Then & Now, another of her 1992 works, is to be found on page 120 of Frances Bedford’s Harpsichord and Clavichord Music of the 20th Century. While holding this book in hand, be sure to check Jane Johnson’s own composer entry (for her solo keyboard work Appalachian Excursion).

Jane had an extensive knowledge of Iberian baroque instruments and the literature composed for them. She travelled multiple times to the Clavichord Symposia in Magnano (Italy) where she contributed both scholarly papers and recitals. I, too, was the grateful recipient of information about Portuguese organs, with her citations and suggestions generously forwarded to me as I prepared in 2000 for a concert trip to play and hear the Oldovini instruments in the Alentejo. I still refer to her handwritten notes about things I simply “had to visit and experience”—papers and citations that were additionally valued (and disseminated) during that segment of the biennial organ literature course offered for decades in the Meadows School of the Arts at Southern Methodist University.

Part of the allure of Tennessee for Mrs. Johnson was the opportunity to study with Judy Glass at Southern College in Collegedale. There, in 1991 Jane gave an all-Iberian concert on the very appropriate meantone organ built by John Brombaugh.

Multi-faceted woman that she was, Jane Louise (Somers) Johnson contributed to the early music community in a widely varied number of ways. She passed away peacefully on May 11, but both art and musical legacies endure. Predeceased by her husband David, she leaves four children, six grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren. A memorial service is scheduled for Friday, July 8, 2016 at 11 a.m. in St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church, Oak Ridge, Tennessee.

This revised and expanded version of a feature article published in The Diapason for August 2002 comprises information from Jane Johnson’s correspondence and deeply appreciated e-mail communications from her son Roger Ward Johnson.

Bytes to be proud of: A reader comments on tempi in early music

In mid-April I received a most welcome communication from musicologist and keyboardist Beverly Jerold Scheibert, whose extensive research adds considerable information supporting my comments about excessive velocity in the performance of some of Duphly’s more virtuosic harpsichord pieces. With her permission I am sharing her comments and, more importantly to our readers, the citations for her published work so those who are interested may explore more thoroughly the depth of this ongoing topic.

She wrote: 

Your article in the April issue of The Diapason is right on! A terrific disconnect exists between the early sources and what most performers do today. Take instruments, for example. How many performers realize that our (contemporary) reproductions are a dramatic improvement over the original ones, thereby enabling much, much faster tempos? The limitations of early instruments are documented in my article “18th-Century Stringed Keyboard Instruments from a Performance Perspective” published in Ad Parnassum: A Journal of 18th- and 19th-Century Instrumental Music, vol. 9, issue 17 (April 2011), pp. 75–100; and in my book The Complexities of Early Instrumentation: Winds and Brass (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 2015).

Continuing, she noted: 

You mention L’Affilard and Pajot as being cited today in support of rapid tempos. My article in the Dutch Journal of Music Theory, 15/3 (November 2010), pp. 169–189, examines this question, finding that errors in those texts led to false conclusions. Other early sources that have been misinterpreted are discussed in “Numbers and Tempo: 1630–1800,” found in Performance Practice Review: http://scholarship.claremont.edu/ppr/vol17/iss1/4. There are also the famous Beethoven tempo marks, in which skullduggery plays a leading part, as shown in the article “Maelzel’s Role in Beethoven’s Symphonic Metronome Marks,” The Beethoven Journal, 24/1 (Summer 2009), pp. 14–27. Lastly, there is the matter of engaging the listener meaningfully, so that the composer’s details are not lost in a whirl of notes.

It has been a great pleasure to peruse such well-grounded research presented with style and grace and filled with cogent period quotations. One sample that induced tears of laughter was encountered on page 98 of the Ad Parnassum article, cited above: 

Consider the composer Anton Reicha’s engaging account of his duties at one of Beethoven’s recitals, which probably took place in Bonn before 1792:

One evening when Beethoven was playing a Mozart piano concerto at the Court, he asked me to turn the pages for him. But I was mostly occupied in wrenching out the strings of the piano which snapped, while the hammers stuck among the broken strings. Beethoven insisted on finishing the concerto, so back and forth I leaped, jerking out a string, disentangling a hammer, turning a page, and I worked harder than did Beethoven.” (Source footnoted: Prod’Homme, Jacques Gabriel: ‘From the Unpublished Autobiography of Antoine Reicha’ in The Musical Quarterly, XXII/3 [1936], p. 351).

The complete abstract of this Jerold article reads: 

Documentation about the practical usage of the clavichord, harpsichord, and piano in the eighteenth century indicates that the first two had considerably more volume than today’s reproductions, and that the mechanical limitations of all three instruments could not have permitted today’s advanced technique. In German-speaking countries, the expressive clavichord was favored for solo usage until late in the century, when the improving piano began to assume this role. In contrast, the harpsichord’s loud, penetrating tone was valued for leading and holding together ensembles of musicians who had never experienced metronome training. Its stiff keyboard action, however, could deform the fingers (except in France, where the quilling was lighter). Frequent repairs and strident tone quality, too, led to the harpsichord’s demise. The marked differences between the Viennese and English piano actions brought both advantages and disadvantages for each.

Revelatory indeed! So clavichords were not mere “whisper-chords” and harpsichords were able to dominate ensembles! And stiff actions may have required strengths similar to those needed for playing large tracker organs? Who else has researched these matters so thoroughly?

A second abstract (for “The French Time Devices Revisited” published in the Dutch Journal of Music Theory) observes:

Much disparity exists among the metronome marks derived from the tempo numbers for early eighteenth-century French time-measuring devices. While some are reasonable, others are implausibly rapid. A newly discovered source, which offers both the Paris dancing master Raoul Auger Feuillet’s tempo numbers for various dance forms and a detailed drawing of the pendulum device for which they were intended, solves the mystery of the conflicting numbers. A comparison of his numbers for pendulum lengths for various dance forms with those for the same dance forms from the two sources with consistently extreme tempos (Michel L’Affilard and Louis-Léon Pajot, comte d’Onzembray) indicates an almost exact correlation when all are measured according to pendulum length instead of the presumed sixtieths of a second. Other deductions of overly rapid tempos result from assuming an incorrect beat unit.

Author Beverly Scheibert first came to the attention of the wider world of harpsichordists with the publication of her excellent study Jean-Henry D’Anglebert and the Seventeenth-Century Clavecin School, issued by Indiana University Press in 1986. Even in this early book she dealt with possible misconceptions about French dance tempi in its third chapter (“Style and Tempo”). I first met Beverly Jerold (the name she most often uses for her current writing) during a Boston Early Music Festival event, and we have occasionally crossed paths (but happily not verbal swords) since then. She has been most kind in sending me various articles that I might have missed otherwise. Now, with this current correspondence, she has once again demonstrated generosity of spirit, and I am pleased that she included enough detailed information to buttress the comments in my small paragraph, and even more grateful that she has given us permission to share these quotations, sources, and abstracts.

Postludium: Two contemporary clavichords

In March, during the Oberlin meeting of the Historical Keyboard Society of North America, two clavichords of exceptional tonal beauty and considerable volume (at least in comparison to many other clavichords, including those in my own collection) were heard in half-hour programs. For her program of two Württemberg Sonatas by Carl Philip Emmanuel Bach, Carol Lei Breckenridge played an instrument built by Paul Irvin (Portland, Oregon: www.pyirvin.com), and in the second program devoted to music of Samuel Scheidt, Judith Conrad used a clavichord by Douglas Maple (Lemont, Pennsylvania: www.douglasmaple.com). Both highly skilled players were well served by these experienced builders who had created instruments of credible volume and exciting resonance. Each instrument had a keyboard that welcomed comfortable and assured playing; and, to my knowledge, no broken strings or recalcitrant keys caused undue hardships. Rather, these exciting instruments allowed both artists to play with taste, palpable feeling, and a communicated sense of suitably musical tempi. Bravi to all involved!

Three-score and ten:

Celebrating Richard Kingston

Born June 6, 1947, Richard Kingston reaches his Biblical milestone of 70 years this month. Now he is widely celebrated as one of America’s most distinguished harpsichord makers, but when Richard and I both arrived in Dallas in 1970, the world was younger, and the harpsichord still quite exotic and unfamiliar to many musically inclined listeners. The circumstances of our meeting seem quite humorous in retrospect: Southern Methodist University’s music department secretary left a note in my campus mail box: “Some nut wants to talk to you about a harpsichord.” And yes, the “nut” turned out to be Richard. To celebrate Richard’s multi-faceted life and his many contributions to the visibility and viability of the historic harpsichord during our nearly 50 years of collaboration and friendship, I have solicited some comments from several of our mutual colleagues.

• Jan Worden Lackey was my first Master of Music in harpsichord performance student at Southern Methodist University. Of those bygone years, she writes:

There was much new in the music world in Dallas in the 1970s and much of it revolved around the harpsichord. A young professor had come to SMU to lead its new degree program. Soon after his arrival a young man who, at that time had completed only one instrument, opened a professional harpsichord-building shop. The faculty member was Larry Palmer; the builder, Richard Kingston. We three, together with some others, founded and served on the board of directors of the Dallas Harpsichord Society.

The city was ready for historic keyboards and early music. There was a lot of publicity for our events. The Dallas Morning News printed concert notices, reviews, and feature articles, as did other local publications, for there was considerable interest in these concerts, lectures, instruction possibilities, and instruments.

It soon became apparent that Richard Kingston was an excellent and talented builder of harpsichords who both knew the instrument’s history, and possessed the requisite technical skills and ears to produce beautiful-sounding instruments. As a frequent visitor to his shop I found him friendly, an interesting conversationalist, and one who was ever delighted to show his latest work.

A lasting memory is of an evening spent playing one of Richard’s early instruments: I had been asked to be the solo harpsichordist for the opening of an exhibition at the Dallas Museum of Fine Art. Richard moved and tuned one of his magnificent French double harpsichords for the occasion. Memorable was the enjoyment of being surrounded by beautiful art, music, and the instrument—all together producing something that, individually, would not have made such an impact.

After Richard closed his shop and moved away from Dallas I had no contact with him. A few years ago my husband and I were invited to dinner at the home of a Santa Fe colleague. Included at our table were Dr. Palmer and Richard, who was still the same delightful and interesting person, happily sharing conversation and stories.

After a decade of successful harpsichord building in Dallas, Richard followed some sage advice from George Lucktenberg, founder of the Southeastern Historical Keyboard Society, who suggested that North Carolina had much to offer a harpsichord maker: namely its tradition of fine furniture making. Thus it was that Kingston’s 100th instrument, begun in Dallas, was completed in Marshall, North Carolina. Continuing his investigations into what should comprise a composite “eclectic northern European double harpsichord,” Richard developed a prototype during his first two years in the Carolinas. Important new clients, new craftspeople, and the soundboard painter Pam Gladding became his colleagues. At the apex of his sales, he produced 19 instruments in 1987, 14 in 1989—the final “big years,” as he noted in his shop history notes.

A beloved friend and colleague encountered at many meetings of the Southeastern Historical Keyboard Society (SEHKS) was the late musical and graphic artist Jane Johnson, whose clever drawing celebrating the birth of Richard’s first son combines two of his major achievements of the 1980s: starting a family and continuing to produce instruments of technical brilliance and physical beauty. Jane’s witty announcement card is typical of her warm heart and steady hand.

During Richard’s first decade in the eastern United States I had very little contact with him. However, that changed considerably during the 1990s with our increasing number of collaborations during SMU’s summer harpsichord workshops at Fort Burgwin, the university’s idyllic property near Ranchos de Taos, New Mexico. Richard taught classes in maintenance and tuning and “well-tuned” his elegant instruments. The rustic annual gatherings were succeeded by meetings in Denver and Santa Fe during the first decade of the 21st century. 

• Another of my outstanding harpsichord students from the early years at SMU, Barbara Baird joined us as a workshop faculty member for many of the summer offerings. She writes of her Kingston memories: 

I first met Richard in 1974 when I moved to Fort Worth to teach harpsichord at Texas Christian University. Through the years he and I found ourselves working together in Taos and Denver at SMU summer harpsichord events. I have long admired Richard’s gifts as a builder, his easy-going manner with students and harpsichord enthusiasts, and his willingness to make harpsichords travel. He would load a half dozen instruments worth tens of thousands of dollars into the back of his van and drive across the Southwest to make these harpsichord programs possible. Fearless? Foolish? No: Delightful!

November 1991 found Kingston at Clayton State University (Morrow, Georgia), where their six-day Spivey International Harpsichord Festival included a harpsichord builders’ competition. Twelve American makers each brought an example of their craft. After careful examination, the five-person jury unanimously awarded the Spivey Prize to Richard Kingston. Indeed, the jury chair, the German master craftsman Martin Skowroneck, told his cohorts that Richard’s instrument was so similar to something he himself might have made that Kingston and he must be soul mates! Since I was present to play the opening solo recital and chair a symposium of the builders, I was especially proud of my younger colleague’s great honor, and nearly overcome with emotion, when, for his acceptance of the award, he requested my presence beside him on stage. We had both come a very long way in 21 years!

The Georgia reunion led directly to the acquisition of my own Kingston harpsichord in 1994. A stellar example of Richard’s Franco-Flemish doubles, its keyboards utilize an octave span of 6¼ inches rather than the usual 6½—a small, but vital difference when attempting to negotiate some of the wide stretches found in many of the contemporary pieces that I have championed throughout my career.

A very special example of Kingston’s craft is his “Millennium” Harpsichord, Opus 300, built to celebrate things both old and new for the new century! The instrument received an extensive dedication recital debut on November 3, 2002, in the Washington, D.C., home of Charles and Susan Mize. Basically the well-loved Franco-Flemish Kingston double, this harpsichord is visually striking in its black-matte finish, supported on three stainless-steel pylons. An optional computer screen is also available as an augmentation of the usual music desk, thus allowing digitally scanned scores to be read by scrolling through them by utilizing a foot pedal.

Honored to be the first of a cadre of harpsichordists to “open” the musical feast, I chose a program that began with John Bull’s Coranto Kingston and ended with a commissioned work from composer Glenn Spring, Suite 3-D. This work for two to play at one harpsichord celebrates the hometowns of the composer (Denver) and the players (Dallas for me and D.C. [at that time] for Dr. Mize, who joined me for this first performance).

In the audience was one of Richard’s major mentors, the celebrated Boston harpsichord maker William Dowd. Following consecutive programs by Virginia Pleasants and Brigitte Haudebourg, Dowd’s shop foreman Don Angle brought down the house with his extraordinary keyboard skills in signature pieces by Scott Joplin, John Phillip Sousa, and, of course, the remarkable Angle himself.

When the Mizes moved to New Mexico a few years later, Opus 300 travelled with them. By then it had acquired a stunning lid painting in colorful abstract style by artist June Zinn Hobby. According to the harpsichord’s owners, my compact disc Hommages (recorded in 2007) is the only commercially available recording of this uniquely beautiful instrument.

• A brilliant harpsichordist and recording artist, Elaine Funaro lives in Durham, North Carolina, where her husband Randall Love teaches piano at Duke University. She describes her friendship with Kingston as follows:

Upon graduating from Oberlin College in 1974 I did what many harpsichordists did at the time: I went to Boston. There I started working for the harpsichord historian and decorator Sheridan Germann. For the most part we painted the soundboards of instruments from the shop of William Dowd, at the time the most famous American builder. Sheridan would travel around the country and to Paris [where Dowd had opened a second shop] to decorate soundboards. I recall her returning from a trip to Texas full of praise for the work of a new, young builder, Richard Kingston. That was the first time I heard his name.

Throughout the next decade his instruments, robust and musical, appeared at conferences and concerts. I did not need another instrument since I already had a Dowd, but our paths crossed more often when my husband and I returned from studies in Holland to settle in North Carolina. In 2009 Richard visited me and said that he had the parts for one last instrument and that he would like that instrument to be mine. As I was quite involved in performing contemporary music [as the Director of the Aliénor Competitions] we both wanted to create an instrument that reflected a completely modern aesthetic. Thus Richard’s Opus 333 was conceived. Currently Richard drops by quite often to regulate both the Dowd and his own instruments. We are very fortunate to have him so close by.

From the many archival papers that Kingston has entrusted to me for safekeeping and historical research, I share the following heartfelt words from this month’s honoree himself:

I have had a fascinating life and rewarding career. Often, upon reflection, it seems all that was ever required of me was to get dressed and show up each day. Considering the folk that took time with me, mentored me, gave me direction, I could not be any way other than successful in undertaking a career in harpsichord making.

I was on fire for the subject from the beginning, and that has never ceased. I did not plan it as a lifelong endeavor; I simply went from one harpsichord to the next, each intended to be the best work I could do, each as exciting to me as the very first.

The thrill of getting to the moment when I could begin voicing each instrument, to be reassured by those first sounds, was the same for me from the first to the last!

The sun is happy when it shines, a pen is happy when it writes, and I am happy when I am working on a harpsichord. I would do it all again.

As the fortunate owner of Richard’s harpsichord, the magnificent “Big Blue,” I share his happiness every time I play this triple-transposing instrument with its incredible resonance, even in the uppermost range of a treble that extends to top G.

One of the most memorable of the 101 Limited Editions Dallas house concerts presented during 33 years was the third one in season 28. On Sunday, February 19, 2012, Richard Kingston joined pianist Linton Powell and me as the narrator for a live performance of Said the Piano to the Harpsichord, which he had encountered as a favorite 45-rpm music disc during early childhood. The skit tells a dramatic story, illustrated with musical examples, during which sarcastic rivalry between the two keyboard instruments ends in collaboration, as demonstrated by composer Douglas Moore’s brief but charming Variations on The Old Gray Mare: the very recording that first introduced young Richard to the sounds of the harpsichord, thus beginning his lifelong love affair with the instrument.

It has been a fantastic journey, dear Maestro. Welcome to the “Three-Score-and-Ten” Club! Now, shall we both aim for “Four-Score” status?