Harpsichord News

Larry Palmer is a contributing editor of The Diapason.

During my entire career as a musician I have been drawn to friendships with graphic artists. (This began a long time ago at the Ohio State Fair in Columbus, where I hung around the Arts Barn and came to know the Fine Arts Director, painter Charlotte [now Astar] Daniels.) Thus it was not unusual for me to take note of an interesting-looking, white-haired woman sketching away at the various events during the Tallahassee conclave. I asked to see her work, requested copies of the drawings, submitted them with my article--and so began a twenty-year continuing association with Jane Johnson and her immediately recognizable art. [Illustrations 1-4: Parmentier, Koopman, Conant, Wilson]

The fifth SEHKS conclave was held at Sweet Briar College, Virginia. Julane Rodgers wrote the review of this event (published in September 1985). Jane provided two illustrations: the ensemble for a Brandenburg Concerto performance and organist Fenner Douglass accompanying soprano Penelope Jensen. [Illustrations 5-6: Brandenburg ensemble, Douglass and Jensen]

Jane's willingness to provide several drawings for my book Harpsichord in America: a 20th-Century Revival (1989) saved two illusive subjects from being un-imaged. Both Frances Pelton-Jones and Claude Jean Chiasson were documented by faded newspaper prints and sepia magazine photographs, but portraits of suitable quality for reproduction could not be found. The experience of requesting Jane to create specific drawings led to a number of subsequent requests. The first one for The Diapason resulted in an evocative image to accompany "Murder and the Harpsichord" (July 1991, repeated for "Murder, Part Two" in August 1992). Here the artist's eye for detail included an historically-correct pistol, copied from an engraving in Diderot's 18th-century Encyclopedia. [Illustration 7: Murder and the Harpsichord]

Harpsichord maker William Dowd was honored with a 70th birthday tribute in The Diapason for February 1992. In addition to fourteen short essays by friends, co-workers, and players of his instruments, the issue included the harpsichord solo William Dowd: His Bleu by Glenn Spring and Jane's drawing William Dowd Posing as Earl "Fatha" Hines. Another Dowd portrait was published with his written response to and clarification of the celebratory offerings (February 1993). [Illustrations 8-9: Dowd as "Fatha" Hines and William Dowd]

The Diapason drawings have continued right up until the present: a wonderfully-bewigged Henry Purcell graced "Purcell Postscripts" (April 1996); an irreverent J. S. Bach accompanied the E-mail "Letter from J S B" (July 2000); and a memorial sketch of Igor Kipnis illustrated "Remembering Igor" (April 2002). [Illustrations 10-12: Purcell, Bach, Kipnis]

Drawing the late harpsichordist's portrait elicited some memories from the artist: " . . . 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 also taught piano in the Conservatory's Robyn Children's Department from 1941 to 1945.]

"I showed Kipnis an old American Conservatory catalog with his grandfather's picture. (In 1934, at the age of eleven while studying in the Children's Department, I remember looking across the lobby and seeing a gentleman with a big black mustache and a head of thick black hair, actually a toupee. I said to someone ‘Who is that?' The reply: ‘That is Mr. Heniot Levy,' who it turns out was Kipnis' grandfather on his mother's side. Mr. Heniot Levy was an outstanding teacher and pianist on the faculty of the school. Years later in 1945, the year I left, he became head of the piano department. My piano teacher Ethel Lyon was a friend of Mr. Heniot Levy's daughter.)

"Kipnis referred to his grandfather as ‘Mr. Levy.' At first I didn't recognize the name, for we all called him Mr. Heniot Levy. I assumed it was a hyphenated name--but I finally realized to whom he was referring."

In 1945 Jane's husband David moved the family from Chicago to Oak Ridge, Tennessee, where he worked as an engineer until 1982. That year Jane and David retired to Cumberland County, where Dave now builds clavichords and other keyboard instruments. Jane continues her interests in art, family (comprising their four children, six grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren) and performing at the organ, harpsichord, and clavichord, especially at Magnano, Italy during several editions of the International Clavichord Symposium (1995 and 1999). [Illustration 13: Jane Johnson's favorite view of San Secondo, the 12th-century Romanesque Church at Magnano, showing the less familiar apse side]

A request to the artist for some of her favorite works resulted in the submission of several drawings not previously published in this magazine. Two certain to be of interest to harpsichordists are her 1984 picture of a College of William and Mary musicale (Williamsburg, Virginia), led by harpsichordist James Darling, and a whimsical 1985 Handel, Bach, Scarlatti tercentenary birthday party, drawn for the program of a Huntsville, Alabama recital given by students of Peggy Baird (reprinted with her permission). [Illustrations 14-15]

Personally I have been delighted to have "Fast Fingers," Jane's 1992 response to my request for a caricature of "ye harpsichord editor." It is now the logo of my personal note pads, as well as a frequent program cover. [Illustration 16: Larry Palmer]

If this retrospective has left an urge to see more, Harpsichord Playing: Then & Now, another 1992 "drawing by Jane Johnson" may 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 out Jane's composer entry (for her solo work Appalachian Excursion). Multi-faceted woman that she is, Jane has contributed to the early music community in a variety of ways. Our world continues to be enriched by her talents.

Books about the phenomenon known as the 20th-century harpsichord revival continue to appear. Among recent publications, none is so engrossing as Violet: The Life and Loves of Violet Gordon Woodhouse, written by her great-niece Jessica Douglas-Home (The Harvil Press, 84 Thornhill Road, London N1 1RD; £20). The geneological connection is especially important in this instance, for the author has had full access to unpublished letters and family diaries, enabling her to give full exposure both to the public persona and the unconventional private life of the English harpsichordist and clavichord player.

Mrs. Gordon Gordon Woodhouse (Violet and her husband officially changed their name to become an unhyphenated double one) was placed by author Osbert Sitwell in that company of "human genius who form so rare a race." Critic and composer Kaikhosru Sorabji wrote that Violet's technique and musicianship "are not surpassed by any English-speaking musician whose medium of expression is a keyboard instrument." Various editions of Grove's Dictionary assign her the honor of being the first to record the harpsichord (in July 1920) and the first to play a radio broadcast on the instrument (March 1924).

Drawn to the harpsichord through the influence of Arnold Dolmetsch, she attracted to her musical salon such figures as the artists Picasso and Rodin; the impressario Diaghilev; authors Law-rence of Arabia, Wilfred Owen, Ezra Pound, Bernard Shaw, and the three Sitwells--Osbert, Sacheverall, and Edith; and eminent composers Bartok, Delius (who, in 1919, composed his Dance for her), Vaughan Williams, and Ethel Smyth (one of Violet's passionate admirers).

Passion constituted a large part of Violet's intriguing story!  Although she married Gordon Woodhouse, they agreed that the marriage would remain unconsummated, and Violet's friend Adelina Ganz even accompanied the bridal pair on their honeymoon. Four years into the marriage, Violet's lover Bill Barrington joined the household. Subsequently the ménage à trois became a ménage à cinq when Denis Tollemache and Maxwell Labouchère, in love with Violet, also took up lodgings chez Woodhouse.

In addition to this tangled web of male companionship there was a continuing saga of Violet's female friends Christabel Marshal, Radclyffe Hall (who dedicated a book of Lesbian erotic poetry to Violet), Ethel Smyth, and of Dame Ethel's friends Virginia Woolf and the Princesse de Polignac. Scandal was never far-distant from the Gordon Woodhouses, but the most titilating event of all was the murder of Gordon's two maiden aunts by their longime butler, an event that saved the Woodhouse family fortune for Gordon and allowed him to maintain Violet in the extravagent life to which she had become accustomed.

It was this pampered existence which kept her, for much of her life, away from a professional career and the recording studios. Aristocratic women of means did not play concerts for money! But when she did give concerts, Mrs. Woodhouse appeared not only as a soloist, but also with such leading musicians as Sarasate, Casals, and Lionel Tertis. Receiving glowing reviews which were the envy of many other players, she was the only possible rival to the great Landowska, and to many listeners Woodhouse was the finest harpsichordist of her generation. Jessica Douglas-Home's book presents a fascinating picture of English aristocratic and musical life from late in the Victorian era through the second World War. Well-written and beautifully produced, the book features line drawings at the beginning of each chapter, a bound-in purple bookmark-ribbon, and a generous portfolio of photographs. The author claims April 23, 1871 as Violet's birthdate (not 1872, as in Grove's), and she repeats the claim that Mrs. Woodhouse was the first artist to make harpsichord records.

But she probably wasn't. In Claude Mercier-Ythier's coffee-table extravaganza Les Clavecins (Expodif Éditions, Paris) he cites a 1914 cylinder recording on which French organist and harpsichordist Paul Brunold (1875-1948) played pieces by Couperin and Rameau on the 1732 Antoine Vater harpsichord--obviously an earlier entry for the "first to record" sweepstakes.  Mercier-Ythier's 1996 book (which I found remaindered in an Alsacian flea-market sale) carries a hefty price (750 French francs, or about $150), but it is a volume filled with elegant color plates and photographs of harpsichords and harpsichordists, historic and modern. The French text includes chapters on harpsichord history, the various national schools of harpsichord making, the harpsichord revival and modern instruments, decoration, and the recent trend toward more-or-less exact copies of historic instruments.

While coverage of French matters seems to be reasonably gounded in fact, other 20th-century items are treated with a somewhat cavalier attitude toward accuracy. In just five pages (121-126) I caught the following errors:  Landowska was born in 1879 (not 1877); her housekeeper Elsa Schunicke's name gained an extra syllable (and she was promoted to secretary); Dolmetsch did not work at Chickering's in Boston "from 1902 until 1909" (he was employed there from 1905 until 1911); Hubbard and Dowd started their harpsichord-making together in 1949 (not 1965), and Mercier-Ythier does not seem very certain about which one wrote the book Three Centuries of Harpsichord Making. Falla's puppet opera for the Princesse de Polignac (El Retablo de Maese Pedro) dates from 1923, not 1919; Poulenc composed his Concert Champêtre in 1927-28, not 1929; but why worry, it's only "modern stuff," right? Buy this one for the pictures and refer to my Harpsichord in America: A 20th-Century Revival for details!

I've not yet run across Brunold's "first" harpsichord recording, but for many years I have been a devotee of Violet Gordon Woodhouse's artistry, having searched out her too-few 78-rpm recordings. Now the complete recorded legacy is available on one compact disc: Violet Gordon Woodhouse (Great Virtuosi of the Harpsichord, Volume Three: Pearl GEMM CD 9242). To complete the picture of Mrs. Woodhouse gained from reading the new biography, listen to her supple playing of just about everything on this generous disc, but especially to her remarkable performance of Bach's "Italian" Concerto, made in 1927 (Woodhouse's first electric recordings). Here is music-making that confirms the high opinions of her contemporaries!

The other volumes of this series are also recommended.  Great Virtuosi of the Harpsichord, Volume One: Pearl GEMM CD 9124) contains 75 minutes of playing by Marguerite Delcour (1924), Anna Linde, Simone Plé; Landowska-students Alice Ehlers and Eta Harich-Schneider (disarmingly called "Harry-Schneider" in Mercier's book); Marguerite Roesgen-Champion, Julia Menz, Yella Pessl, Régina Patorni-Casadesus; and the best keyboard player from the Dolmetsch clan, son Rudolph, recorded between 1929 and 1933.

Great Virtuosi of the Harpsichord, Volume Two, features the first recordings by Ralph Kirkpatrick, made for Musicraft between 1926 and 1929.  Bach (Partita 5, Italian Concerto, Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue), Purcell, the Virginalists, Couperin, Rameau, and two Scarlatti Sonatas are all performed on the artist's 1909 Dolmetsch harpsichord, an instrument which had originally belonged to the composer Busoni. The record producer, Teri Noel Towe, comments, "Some listeners confuse Ralph Kirkpatrick's tenacious and unswerving commitment to the composer's intentions with dullness and mistake his exquisite attention to detail and technical accuracy for dryness.  There is a special beauty and unique warmth to Kirkpatrick's sometimes austere but always direct, 'no nonsense' performances; his interpretations are always superbly conceived, often transcendent, and occasionally hypnotic."

Another recent release is A Recital of 20th-Century Harpsichord Music (Music and Arts CD-977), Kirkpatrick's unique recital at the University of California, Berkeley, given on 26 January 1961.  This unedited concert program features coughing, applause, and the world premiere performance of Henry Cowell's Set of Four, with its typical tone clusters and the specific octave trills for the left hand, so proudly pointed out later by Mr. Kirkpatrick in his introduction to the printed score.  I wish I could be more enthusiastic about this disc, but, unfortunately, I find the performances particularly lacking in suppleness and charm, especially in the decidely "non-grazioso" fast bangup of Delius' Dance, and the startling number of misreadings and wrong rhythms in the first movement of Persichetti's [First] Sonata for Harpsichord (at that time the only one there was). Kirkpatrick played only this one movement at his recital, and his reading sent me searching for my copy of the composer's manuscript to see if it really differed so markedly from the later printed version.  It didn't!

Other works chosen for this program included Lou Harrison's Six Sonatas, Ernst Lévy's Fantasie Symphonique, and works by Peter Mieg, Halsey Stevens, Douglas Allanbrook, and David Kraehenbuehl, whose Toccate per Cembalo, together with Mel Powell's exciting Recitative and Toccata Percossa, are the best-played selections.

What possessed the producers to include Igor Kipnis' fine review of Frances Bedford's Harpsichord and Clavichord Music of the 20th Century as a major part of the accompanying booklet defies logic!  There is no information about the music on the disc, but rather a general background of 20th-century composition for harpsichord and some very Kipnis-specific examples of how Bedford's catalog is useful.  With a full program of music unfamiliar to most players and (probably) all listeners, it surely would have been helpful to provide information about the specific composers and works found on this particular compact disc. All-in-all this release has historic and archival value, but it will not do much to garner general appreciation for 20th-century harpsichord music.

Fortunately that is not the case with Into the Millennium (Gasparo GSCD-331), a brilliant offering of attractive modern works, beautifully played by harpsichordist Elaine Funaro.  It was good to hear again the riveting Raga by Penka Kouneva, Dan Locklair's The Breakers Pound (especially its idiomatic and moving Prelude), and Tom Robin Harris' Jubilate Deo, a Ligeti-inspired two-and-one-half minute minimalist romp which truly is "joyful in the Lord."  (For those who follow the score of this work, Funaro chose not to play the composer's published new ending to this piece, preferring the original one!)  Other pieces on this appealing program from the Aliénor Harpsichord Composition Competitions include Edwin McLean's Sonata [I], Nicole Clément's Covalences Multiples, Stephen Yates' Suite, and two non-Aliénor works by Isaac Nagao and Peter B. Klausmeyer.  Two harpsichords (by William Dowd and Joop Klinkhamer) were lovingly recorded in a resonant acoustic (Duke University Chapel). Exemplary notes and a striking cover photo of  a flower-decorated Reinhard von Nagel harpsichord. Brava!

And the video? Landowska, a Documentary by Barbara Attie, Janet Goldwater, and Diane Pontius (AGP Productions, 16 Levering Circle, Bala Cynwyd, PA 19004; 610/664-7316). The great Wanda's life is detailed in a montage of period photographs, films of 20th-century historical events, and interviews with those who knew her well (companion--secretary--student Denise Restout, Polish baritone Doda Conrad, record producer John Pfeiffer), those who heard her play (author William F. Buckley, Jr., French harpsichordist Magdeline Mangin), authors who have written about her (Alice Cash, Larry Palmer), and several other leading figures from the contemporary harpsichord scene (the Metropolitan Museum of Art's Laurence Libin, harpsichord-maker Willard Martin, and star performer Skip Sempé).

Especially vivid are the Restout sequences filmed at the home she shared with the harpsichordist, now the Landowska Center in Lakeville, CT; and the unique anecdotes from Conrad, who first met Landowska in 1912, and Pfeiffer, who recorded her final discs for RCA Victor.  Both of these men have since died.  Conrad's description of Landowska and Restout taking up lodging in a New York hotel best known as a brothel and his reference to Landowska's husband Henri Lew's propensity for visiting such institutions gives a certain added piquancy to the biography.

But, as always, it is Landowska herself who is the star of this feature!  Liberal segments from her only filmed appearance (for NBC Television's Wisdom Series, 1953) document for a new group of listeners and viewers the virtuosity of her music-making, as well as her public persona, a savvy mix of humility and self-awareness.  Responding to Jack Pfeiffer's questions, she recounts highlights of her early career (such as her memorable visit  to Tolstoy to play for him outside Moscow during a Russian winter), her delight in the natural beauty of her Connecticut home and its surroundings, and her love for the music of the past, her love of performing, and her love for her audience.

For all Landowska afficionados, this film is a reminder of her continuing place in our cultural history and in our hearts.  For those who have not yet had the opportunity to experience Landowska's artistry, it should be required viewing. Her role in the 20th-century revival of the harpsichord and early music is so central that every one of her successors owes a debt of gratitude to this pioneering figure.  Besides, her dramatic life-story, played out amidst the upheavals of 20th-century history, is more engrossing than fiction could ever be!

This latest installment of the very occasional series “Harpsichord Repertoire in the 20th Century” is dedicated to The Diapason as a special tribute for its 100th birthday. Harpsichord editor since 1969, Larry Palmer has written for the magazine under every editor, except for founder S. E. Gruenstein.

Fifteen years ago, on November 5, 1994 to be exact, I first encountered the work that, thus far, appears to win the sweepstakes as the first 20th-century solo harpsichord piece. It was featured in Igor Kipnis’s Spivey Hall recital, the culminating event of the Southeastern Historical Keyboard Society’s conclave at Clayton State College in Morrow, Georgia.
Igor and I shared an abiding curiosity about these earliest works for our instrument. My first encounter with the earliest known harpsichord composition by a post-baroque or post-classic-era composer, Francis Thomé’s Rigodon, opus 97, came from Kipnis’s recording of the piece; rather than asking him for a “copy,” I instituted a search for it, and was rewarded with a yellowed original, from the stock of the venerable music store, Noten Fuchs, in Frankfurt. But Thomé’s charming pastiche dates from the final decade of the 19th century! In my 1989 book Harpsichord in America, pride of place for the FIRST 20th-century composition was given to the Sonatina ad usum infantis by Ferruccio Busoni (1915/1916). So, hearing a work that predated Busoni’s was an exciting discovery.
Musical history intrigues me; searching for unusual repertory delights me; thus it was a bit humbling, to say the least, to realize that I had not noticed the 1909 date for the English Suite, right there in bold print in Frances Bedford’s Catalog of 20th-Century Harpsichord and Clavichord Music (embarrassing, even, considering that I had written the Foreword to Fran’s invaluable tome, and had failed to cite Castelnuovo’s work).
Kipnis wrote an extensive (and deservedly complimentary) review of Bedford’s volume for the Early Keyboard Studies Newsletter of the Westfield Center (Volume VIII/3, July 1994). He chose to cite this English Suite as a working model for some ways in which to utilize the catalog. His research concerning the early history of Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s composition appears in endnote five. I am quite certain that not every reader of The Diapason has perused this material, so here are Igor’s discoveries:

“As an example of how valuable Frances Bedford’s catalog can be, a personal experience: leafing through the volume for examples that I might not know . . . I came across the name of Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco, a composer born in Italy (1895–1968). I became curious about the 1909 composition date attached to his English Suite for harpsichord. Seemingly, it had been revised in 1940, shortly after his arrival in the United States. Because of Bedford’s information—first, that the piece was to be found in the [Ralph] Kirkpatrick archives of the Yale University Music Library and, secondly, that it had been published by Mills [Music]—I was able to consult the manuscript (there is no evidence that Kirkpatrick ever played it), contact the composer’s two sons, and obtain from the Castelnuovo-Tedesco archive other copies of the manuscript plus the out-of-print Mills publication of 1962, now reading ‘for piano or harpsichord.’
“The reconstructed story, based on facts contained in the composer’s unpublished biography, several pages of which were most helpfully translated for me by Dr. Pietro Castenuovo-Tedesco, is that the fourteen-year-old composer, then in Florence, had been assigned to study and imitate various baroque suites by his teacher, Gino Modona. None of that output was published at that time, but [C-T] continued to play one of his pieces in particular, a three-movement ‘English suite’ based on Thomas Arne that he had intended for harpsichord (or piano). After settling in the United States, Castelnuovo-Tedesco transcribed the seven-to-eight-minute piece onto music paper, and he may have sent it to Kirkpatrick. (Bedford writes ‘revised,’ but, in fact, the composer set the music down from memory in 1940. A few range modifications in his own hand may be found in the manuscript, possibly a result of his having talked with Kirkpatrick.) The neo-classic English Suite, therefore, stands as the earliest solo harpsichord piece of our century, as well as a remarkably mature work for a fourteen-year-old student. It . . . will figure on my 1994–95 recital programs.”

My recollection of Igor’s performance is that it did not immediately impel me to play the piece. But being the conscientious academic that I try to be, I resolved to obtain a copy for use in a 20th-century harpsichord course. Finding the work proved to be ridiculously easy, since, for once, I remembered to check our own local library holdings. And there it was, on the shelf of the Hamon Arts Library at Southern Methodist University in Dallas! Pristine pages, apparently never placed on a music desk! I made a copy for reference, and returned the original score to the library.1
Occasionally I would pull down my copy of the English Suite from the shelf; gradually, with each re-reading of the score, I became somewhat more interested in playing the piece in public. There are, as Kipnis noted, several notes that exceed the range of the harpsichord. (A similar problem occurs in the Busoni Sonatina. That seems especially unwonted given that Busoni owned a Dolmetsch-Chickering double harpsichord, quite evident in photographs taken in his personal library in Berlin, and thus one might expect him to have been aware of the instrument’s ambitus.) Nevertheless, with only minor adjustments, Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s work proved to be playable on the harpsichord.
Now that I have performed the piece repeatedly in recitals, I have not shied away from revising those passages that seem too pianistic to be performed as written (especially several spots in the lyrical second movement during which the young composer could have benefited from “tying his right leg to the bench” as another composer once promised he would do when I criticized his reliance on the damper pedal, although ostensibly he was writing for a harpsichord!).
Examining the ten-page score as published by Mills Music, movement one, Preludio, quasi un improvvisazione [Example 1], shows a distinct similarity to the arpeggiated first movement of Arne’s Sonata III in G Major. Probably it should be performed in a manner suggested by the 18th-century Englishman in prefatory words engraved above the first staff of his publication: “In this, and other Preludes, which are meant as Extempore Touches before the Lesson begins, neither the Composer nor the Performer are oblig’d to a Strictness of Time.” Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s broken chords and scales lead to a thrice-presented perky motive, presented the last time as a duet. Five measures, combining running passages and a hint of the lively motive lead to seven block chords that serve as a bridge to the second movement. When performed on the harpsichord, perhaps these chords are best played arpeggiando (an indication not found in the 20th-century work, but specified in Arne’s, where the number of unadorned chords is the same).
Completely of its own time, the following Andante movement [Example 2], a passionate aria comprising 62 measures, is the most extended of the three. Indeed its purple chromatics [Example 3] presage the bluesy, Gershwinesque harmonies of Frederick Delius’s 1919 Dance for Harpsichord (another work needing judicious rescoring if one is to make musical sense of its left-hand octaves and oom-pah-pah accompanimental figurations).
Movement three, Giga [Example 4], is a compact, vigorous fugue, to be played “in a mechanical way.” Several further Italian adjectives indicate the composer’s concepts for a proper performance: “burlesque, bassoon like,” or “drily, in the manner of a marionette.”
Biographies of those first associated with the new-old harpsichord often contain illuminating anecdotes. A description of Castelnuovo’s living conditions at the time he was creating his first published work Cielo di Settembre (September Sky) (composed in the same year as the English Suite) is found in this 1964 letter to his cataloger Nick Rossi:

. . . really, up to that time, I had written music which was, more or less, ‘derivative’. I also remember, almost physically, how I felt . . . all alone in that huge old Florentine palace where we lived, with the big rooms and the high ceilings. . . it was so cold! (there was no central heating) and my hands were frost-bitten: I had to wear wool half-gloves, to be able to play . . .; and sometimes my fingers ached so much that I cried . . .2

September Sky, for piano, was praised several years later by the composer Alfredo Casella (who was, incidentally, for several years the harpsichordist with Henri Casadesus’ early music ensemble, the Société des Instruments Anciens). Perhaps such site- and mood-evoking words written during Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s latter years will help to rekindle some current interest in his earliest essay from those pioneering days of the harpsichord’s revival. From such efforts the modern harpsichord repertory has blossomed exponentially. Each of the thousands of new compositions for our instrument doubtless has its unique story, but I suspect that few of these are as unusual as this tale of a student work transcribed from memory by a mature, politically displaced Italian neo-classic composer.

The Diapason’s Harpsichord Editor since 1969, Larry Palmer is author of the pioneering book, Harpsichord in America: A Twentieth-Century Revival, published by Indiana University Press in 1989 (paperback second edition, 1993). Of six international advisors for the Berlin commemoration, two were Americans: Teri Noel Towe (New York) and Palmer (Dallas). Poster and postcard images for the exhibition featured an anonymous caricature belonging to Palmer, the gift of Momo Aldrich, first secretary to the iconic Landowska.

The Power of the Press:
“A Living Legend”
Nicholas Slonimsky (1894–1995), writing about harpsichordist Wanda Landowska for the French journal Disques in 1932, introduced his subject with a three-stanza poem. It begins:

Her fingers on the cembalo
Type out the polyphonic lore
Of Bach’s Inventions—and restore
The true original edition
Unobfuscated by tradition.1
Twelve years later, on the opposite side of the Atlantic, habitually cranky New York music critic Virgil Thomson (1896–1989), reviewed the Polish harpsichordist’s Town Hall concert of 20 November 1944 under the adulatory headline “Definitive Renderings”:

Wanda Landowska’s harpsichord recital of last evening . . . was as stimulating as a needle shower. . . . She played everything better than anybody else ever does. One might almost say, were not such a comparison foolish, that she plays the harpsichord better than anybody else ever plays anything . . .
. . . [Her] playing of the harpsichord . . . reminded one all over again that there is nothing else in the world like it. There does not exist in the world today, nor has there existed in my lifetime, another soloist of this or any other instrument whose work is so dependable, so authoritative, and so thoroughly satisfactory. From all the points of view—historical knowledge, style, taste, understanding, and spontaneous musicality—her renderings of harpsichord repertory are, for our epoch, definitive. Criticism is unavailing against them, has been so, indeed, for thirty years.2
It seems that the divine Wanda had accomplished her objective, half a century in the making, of restoring the harpsichord to a recognized place in the cultural consciousness of music lovers, both in Europe and in the western hemisphere. Her personal style, based on an innate rhythmic certainty, a turn-of-the-century impressionistic use of tonal color, and, not incidentally, her careful perusal of historical source materials had made her name virtually synonymous with the word harpsichord, at least in the collective consciousness of the public.

True Believers:
Expatriated European and Native American Disciples
Landowska’s acolytes dominated those American venues where harpsichords were played: Alice Ehlers (1887–1981), Professor Landowska’s first student in 1913 Berlin, immigrated to the United States and taught for 26 years at the University of Southern California in Los Angeles. Among Ehlers’s fascinating oral history recorded vignettes she noted that Landowska did not talk much in those early lessons, but she relied heavily on playing for her students. Later, in Ehlers’s own teaching, at least one anecdote retold by her student Malcolm Hamilton (1932–2003) showed that Ehlers was less than impressed at his derivative details copied from Landowska’s style. When Hamilton added an unwritten trill to the subject of a Bach fugue Ehlers stopped him to ask why. “I heard a recording by Wanda Landowska,” he began. Madame Ehlers interrupted brusquely, “Wanda Landowska was a genius. You and I, Malcolm, we are not geniuses—‘spaacially you!”3
Two more Landowska students holding American academic posts were Marie Zorn (b. 1907?), who promoted the Landowskian style in her harpsichord teaching at Indiana University from 1958 until 1976, and Putnam Aldrich (1904–1975), who married Wanda’s own personal secretary Madeleine Momot in 1931 (with a somewhat-reconciled Landowska as witness for the bride). Eventually “Put” settled his young family in northern California, where he established a prestigious doctoral program in early music at Stanford University.
In concert halls, Madame’s final brilliant students, Rafael Puyana (born 1931), a South American of blazing virtuosity, and Texas-born Paul Wolfe (born 1929), both built solo careers in the decade following their teacher’s death.
In 1961 Puyana played a concert at the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, New York, during my first year there as a doctoral student. Rafael, the scion of a wealthy family, toured the country with a Pleyel harpsichord (the instrument of choice for Landowska’s students) and a personal driver. His Eastman recital was a dashing and colorful evocation of a Landowska program, including kaleidoscopic changes of registration; a repertoire firmly grounded in the major Bach works; but with at least one non-Landowska addition: his own harpsichord transcription of a Canción for piano by the Catalan composer Frederico Mompou.
Paul Wolfe, not from a moneyed family, set out to make his name through recordings. I came to know him when Nick Fritsch of Lyrichord Records decided to reissue a number of their 1950s vinyl issues on compact discs and asked me to write an introductory article explaining harpsichord pedals. Wolfe’s instruments—a 1907 Pleyel of wooden construct and a large concert instrument completed in 1958 by the young northeastern builders Frank Rutkowski and Richard Robinette—as well as programs that featured 17th-century works by Frescobaldi and the English virginalists, Spanish music, and all eight of the 1720 Handel Suites—presented both facile young fingers and an expanding repertory of early keyboard music to the American harpsichord scene.

A Contrarian’s View of Landowska
During the autumnal years of Landowska’s career, critics of her playing style were not legion. But one composer-critic who did not idolize the High Priestess of the Harpsichord was neo-classicist composer Robert Evett (1922–1975). In a 1952 piece for The New Republic, Evett wrote:

Mme. Landowska has seduced the brighter part of the American public into believing that she offers it an authentic reading of Bach and his predecessors. What this lady actually uses is a modern Pleyel harpsichord, an instrument that she employs as a sort of dispose-all. . . .
After fifteen years of incredulous listening, I am finally convinced that this woman kicks all the pedals in sight when she senses danger ahead. When she sits down to play a Bach fugue, I go through all the torments that a passenger experiences when he is being driven over a treacherous mountain road by an erratic driver, and when she finally finishes the thing it is almost a pleasure to relax into nausea.4
A Different Aesthetic:
Ralph Kirkpatrick
Ralph Kirkpatrick (1911–1984), funded by a post-graduate John Knowles Paine Traveling Fellowship from Harvard University, set off for Europe in the fall of 1931 to hone his harpsichord playing skills. As described in his memoirs,5 the pre-eminent American harpsichordist of his generation had a difficult relationship with the priestess of St-Leu, eventually running off to Berlin for coaching and consolation with another Landowska student, the more congenial Eta Harich-Schneider (1897–1986). Kirkpatrick’s public playing, beginning with concerts and recordings during the 1930s, sounded distinctly unlike Landowska’s in its conscious avoidance of excessive registration changes and its near-metronomic regularity. Teri Noel Towe’s description of Kirkpatrick’s style, printed as a “disclaimer” in the compact disc reissue of these early solo recordings for Musicraft Records, puts it this way:

Some listeners confuse Ralph Kirkpatrick’s tenacious and unswerving commitment to the composer’s intentions with dullness and mistake his exquisite attention to detail and technical accuracy for dryness. These detractors would do well to listen again. There is a special beauty and unique warmth to Kirkpatrick’s sometimes austere but always direct, ‘no nonsense’ performances; his interpretations are always superbly conceived, often transcendent, and occasionally hypnotic. . . .6
For a balanced evaluation of Kirkpatrick the harpsichordist, one needs to sample some later examples from his extensive discography. A 1959 Deutsche Grammophon Archiv recording of Bach played on a Neupert instrument presents quite another aural document of a decidedly non-austere artist. And by 1973 when I experienced Kirkpatrick’s deeply-moving playing of Bach’s Goldberg Variations at the Rothko Chapel in Houston (Texas), I reported in The Diapason that “Kirkpatrick played magnificently with a prodigious technical command of the work as well as with spacious feeling for the overall architecture . . .”7
At the very end of a more than five-decade career, and now totally blind, the aged master could allow his innate musical sensitivity to triumph. Despite his end-of-career tongue-in-cheek comments about preferring the piano, the Yale professor was the most highly regarded and recorded native harpsichordist in the United States during the period of Landowska’s American residency.
Other noted American players of Kirkpatrick’s generation included Yella Pessl (1906–1991) and Sylvia Marlowe (1908–1981). Marlowe’s first instrument was a true Landowska Pleyel, by this time painted white, the better to be seen on the revolving stage of New York City’s Rainbow Room, where Sylvia played jazz arrangements of classical favorites under the catchy rubric Lavender and New Lace. Deeply influenced by Landowska’s playing, encountered while the New Yorker was studying with Nadia Boulanger in Paris, Marlowe’s 1959 solo Bach recording for Decca demonstrates how much Madame’s long musical shadow dominated the American harpsichord scene.
Eventually Ms. Marlowe chose to play harpsichords built by the American maker John Challis, moving subsequently to those of Challis’s apprentice William Dowd (with lid-paintings by her own husband, the artist Leonid [Berman]). Non-night-club recital repertoire included 18th-century classics, soon augmented extensively by commissions to prominent living composers. Thus, important works by Ned Rorem and Elliott Carter, to cite only two, came into being through Marlowe’s sponsorship. Together with the impressive catalog of similar commissions from the Swiss harpsichordist Antoinette Vischer (1909–1973), Marlowe’s initiatives helped to provide the harpsichord with an extensive, new twentieth-century musical voice.
Influenced by Kirkpatrick during student days at Yale, Fernando Valenti (1926–1990) switched from piano to harpsichord, and also played important new works by Vincent Persichetti (that composer’s First Harpsichord Sonata composed in 1952) and Mel Powell (Recitative and Toccata Percossa). However, Valenti made his name primarily as the most exciting player of Domenico Scarlatti’s sonatas and specifically as the first harpsichordist to record such a large number of them—359 individual works performed on his Challis harpsichord in a series of albums for Westminster Records. In 1951 he was appointed the first harpsichord professor at New York’s Juilliard School. Several didactic books, published late in Valenti’s career, are as colorful and insightful as his playing. Who could resist a chuckle at words such as these?

Many years ago I promised myself that I would never put in print anything that even vaguely resembled a ‘method’ for harpsichord playing and this is it.8
One of the best-known harpsichordists to study privately with Valenti was Berlin-born Igor Kipnis (1930–2002), son of the prominent bass opera singer Alexander Kipnis. The family moved to the United States in 1938, where both Kipnises became familiar names in the classical music arena. Igor was particularly noted for his comprehensive and innovative repertory, recorded extensively. His playing was thoroughly representative of a more objective style of harpsichord performance.

Winds (or Strings and Quills) of Change?
One of the great services rendered by Kirkpatrick was his fervent advocacy for the historically inclined instruments of Frank Hubbard and William Dowd. As the years went by, these musical machines emulated ever more closely those from earlier centuries, albeit with some decidedly 20th-century materials, such as the plastics used for jacks and plectra. But with keyboards built to various baroque dimensions; sensitive, light actions; and registers deployed in a way that an 18th-century composer might have expected; together with the absence, for the most part, of the sixteen-foot register and pedals, these light and agile instruments gave the new generation of players sensitive tools for performing the music of the past. Emulating Hubbard and Dowd, a number of builders, in Boston and other American venues, and throughout the world, joined the “surge to the past,” and thereby changed both the dynamic and the expected sounds of harpsichord revival instruments.
Among Kirkpatrick’s allies in promoting these new “old” instruments were two Fullers—his student Albert (1926–2007) and the not-related David (born 1927), and harpsichordist/conductors Miles Morgan and William Christie. As the 1960s gave way to the 1970s, nearly every emerging teacher and player in the country seemed to be joining the pedal-less crowd. In 1966 I met Dr. Joseph Stephens and played the Hubbard and Dowd harpsichord in his Baltimore (Maryland) home. Shortly thereafter I ordered my own first Dowd double. It was delivered at the beginning of January 1969. As has happened for so many players in our small musical world, that sensitive instrument taught me as much as had the memorable hours spent studying with two of the finest teachers imaginable: Isolde Ahlgrimm (at the Salzburg Mozarteum), and Gustav Leonhardt (during two memorable July participations in his master classes at the annual Haarlem Summer Organ Academies).

Influential European
Artist-Teachers
Both of these superb artists made significant contributions to harpsichord playing in the United States: Ahlgrimm (1914–1995) through her teaching in Salzburg, Vienna, and during semester-long guest professorships at Oberlin and Southern Methodist University, as well as several American concert tours organized by managers, but aided and attended by her grateful students. Until recently, Ahlgrimm’s place in the story of the 20th-century harpsichord revival has been little celebrated. With the publication of Peter Watchorn’s major study Isolde Ahlgrimm, Vienna and the Early Music Revival,9 that deficiency in our history has been rectified!
Leonhardt (born 1928), surely the most recorded of post-Landowska harpsichordists, has influenced virtually every harpsichordist from the second half of the 20th-century forward. His students seem to be everywhere. Even the most cursory of enumerations would include many of the leading teachers in the U.S: Oberlin’s first full-time professor of harpsichord Lisa Crawford; Michigan’s Edward Parmentier; Boston’s John Gibbons; University of New York at Stony Brook’s Arthur Haas; Florida State’s Karyl Louwenaar; Illinois’ Charlotte Mattax; and, particularly during the 1970s and ’80s, my own large group of harpsichord major students at Southern Methodist University. In the spirit of the early music excitement of those decades, SMU conferred his first doctorate on Leonhardt in 1984, citing the Dutch harpsichordist’s advocacy of “performance on period instruments,” as well as his “commitment to both stylistic authority and artistic sensitivity in recreating music of the past.”
To this day, more than 25 years after the conferral of that honorary degree, Leonhardt still refers to me in communications as his “Doktor-Vater.” Whereas Ahlgrimm referred to herself as a biological phenomenon since she “got more children the older she became,” Leonhardt’s humorous salutation presents me with a similar phenomenon: the “son” as father to the “father.” At any rate, I am pleased to have Dr. Leonhardt as my most distinguished graduate!
Ah yes, students—the new generators of harpsichord playing in America. Too many to list, but perhaps one graced with multiple “A’s” may serve as representative—Andrew Appel, American, who completed his doctoral studies with Juilliard harpsichord professor Albert Fuller in 1983, and now carries on that line from his teacher, who had been a pupil of Ralph Kirkpatrick, who was . . . and here we could circle back to the beginning of this essay. May Andrew Appel represent the achievements of so many of our fine young players: the late Scott Ross, the with-it Skip Sempé, the sensitive Michael Sponseller, the delightful teaching colleague Barbara Baird—Americans, all!
Ultimately all of us are indebted to those European “explorers” who have provided our inspiration and training: French/English Arnold Dolmetsch, Austrian Isolde Ahlgrimm, Dutch Gustav Leonhardt: all contributors to the variety and richness of the harpsichord’s presence in our contemporary musical life. And our Polish mother, Wanda Landowska: that vibrant musician who has brought us together for this celebration of her musical legacy.

Some Information about Added Aural Examples
This paper was presented at the Berlin Musical Instrument Museum on November 14, 2009, during a symposium in conjunction with the exhibition Die Dame mit dem Cembalo [The Lady with the Harpsichord], in commemoration of the 50th anniversary of Wanda Landowska’s death. The topic was suggested by the museum’s curator Martin Elste, who organized the event. To remain within an imposed time limit, I chose to include only seven short recorded examples, each one a performance of the same final 25 measures from the third (Presto) movement of J. S. Bach’s Italian Concerto (BWV 971)—with an individual duration of between 30 and 40 seconds.
The first example demonstrated one of the most unforgettable of all my musical experiences: Landowska’s unexpected slight agogic hesitation between top and bottom notes of the climactic downward octave leap in measure 199, the last return of that wonderfully energetic opening theme. Taken from her 1936 recording for EMI [reissued in Great Recordings of the Century, CDH 7610082], it served as an aural measuring rod with which to compare the following recordings, made “after” Landowska.
Example Two presented the young Ralph Kirkpatrick playing his early 20th-century Dolmetsch-Chickering harpsichord, captured in a 1939 recording for Musicraft, digitized on Pearl [Great Virtuosi of the Harpsichord, volume II, GEMM CD 9245]. Example Three: Kirkpatrick again, 20 years later, recorded in a thrillingly theatrical performance played on a powerhouse Neupert instrument for Archiv [198 032] (LP).
Example Four: Sylvia Marlowe, like Landowska, played on an instrument by Pleyel, recorded in 1959 for Decca [DL 710012] (LP).
Example Five: Leading Bach authority Isolde Ahlgrimm, recorded 1975, playing her 1972 David Rubio harpsichord, recorded by Philips [6580 142] (LP).
Example Six: Gustav Leonhardt utilized the sound of an actual 18th-century historic instrument for his 1976 recording on a 1728 Hamburg harpsichord by Christian Zell. Seon [Pro Arte PAL-1025] (LP).
Example Seven: Andrew Appel played a 1966 harpsichord by Rutkowski and Robinette in his 1987 recording for Bridge Records [BCD 9005), concluding the musical examples in just under four minutes! Fortunately for the word-weary, the next, and final, presentation of the two-day seminar was given by British record collector extraordinaire Peter Adamson, comprising a fascinating sound and image survey of early harpsichord recordings.

Letter to the harpsichord editor

Dear Mr. Palmer,

I don't often comment on articles in The Diapason, that is,
in a positive manner, but I don't know when I have enjoyed any writing as much
as yours on Momo Aldrich ["Momo!" in the August 1997 issue]. I assume
it was because I knew both Mr. And Mrs. Aldrich in the mid-50s. I worked in a music store in Palo Alto and met Mr. Aldrich when he watched me hang a picture of Landowska seated at a Pleyel. Mr. Aldrich asked me if I knew who the
"Lady" was; I said it was Wanda Landowska. He was surprised that I
knew.

At this point in time I knew Mr. Aldrich was on the faculty
at Stanford, but not much more. Shortly after that a friend also on the faculty
at Stanford saw me talking to Mr. Aldrich and later told me who he was, and
that he had studied with Landowska in France. Still later I read an article
about Landowska and it talked about Momo, but it took an organ recital at the
Stanford Chapel for me to meet Mrs. Aldrich, who he introduced to me as Momo.
Then the wheels started to turn.

I rebuilt several harpsichords in the next few years and after I completed the first one, and I might add that I was very proud of it, I asked Mr. Aldrich if he would play it and tell me what was right and what was
wrong.  This he did and he found
very little that was right. He made a list for me to follow and he came a
couple times a week to check on my work. Finally it suited him and he brought
in a student who wanted to buy a harpsichord. She liked it and it was sold.
Later he asked me to call on a friend in Palo Alto with a Neupert harpsichord.
It had all sorts of problems.  Mr.
Aldrich made a few suggestions, but it was Mrs. A. who came up with answers.
She told me that Landowska regularly rubbed a bar of soap on the sides of any
jack that seemed sluggish to her. And that she also trimmed plectra that she
thought were digging too much with a pair of fingernail clippers. I ended up
using both on the Neupert.

I have always felt that I learned much from both of the
Aldrichs, both in working on the harpsichord and in learning to hear it
"sing" as Landowska called it.

Some years later I was working for a company building
automated commercial broadcasting equipment. We were dubbing classical music
from records to tape and inserting tones and so on for it to control the
equipment. We had hired a recording engineer who had done much work in the
eastern part of the States and one day he happened to mention recording
Landowska. I asked him about it as she recorded at home.
style="mso-spacerun: yes">  He said that in one session they
detected an "extraneous" note that didn't sound like anything even a
Pleyel might have made. When they played it back for Landowska, she listened
carefully, and finally shrugged her shoulders and said, "I broke
wind," and walked off.

Anyway, again thanks for bringing back a lot of deeply
seated and very fond memories of two people who left many impressions on me
that still guide my thoughts in my work today . . .

Richard Warburton

Skykomish, WA

English early music losses

Carl Dolmetsch (23 August 1911-11 July 1997)

Carl Frederick Dolmetsch was the second son of early music
pioneer Arnold Dolmetsch.  His
mother, Mabel, a leading writer about early dance, was Arnold's third wife.
After his father's death in 1940 Carl succeeded him as director of the
Haslemere Festival. Carl Dolmetsch was best known as a player of the recorder.
Wartime production of plastics in the Dolmetsch workshop led to his creation,
after World War II, of the Dolmetsch plastic recorder, an instrument used by
millions of school children. Carl Dolmetsch also expanded the modern repertoire
for recorder by commissioning more than fifty new works from composers such as
Lennox Berkeley, Edmund Rubbra, and Jean Françaix.

Ruth Dyson (28 March 1917-16 August 1997)

Professor of Harpsichord and Piano at the Royal College of
Music from 1964, Dyson, of Dorking, had a long association with fellow townsman
Vaughan Williams (who was a patient of her doctor father). As Leith Hill Music
Festival Librarian in the 1930s Dyson had the duty of erasing pencil marks from
orchestral parts, and she particularly treasured the telephone call from
Vaughan Williams in which he queried, "Now, my dear, you haven't
forgotten, have you, that we're meeting on Monday at 10 to rub out the whole of
Creation?"

Dyson recorded the clavichord works of Herbert Howells, the
principal keyboard duets before Mozart, and particularly loved the music of the
English Virginalists and English Baroque composers Purcell, Arne, Chilcot, and
Blow.  Her long association with
the Dolmetsch family is documented on the compact disc, The Dolmetsch Years,
Programme Six (Allegro PCD 1018), although not all of her selections played on
the clavichord are correctly identified. (She plays C. P. E. Bach's Variations
on Les Folies, Howells' Dyson's Delight 
and Hughes' Ballet, and, as track 9, C. P. E. Bach's Fantasia in C
minor  from the 18 Probestücke
of 1753, not Lambert's Fireside [Howells].)

Ruth Dyson died of a heart attack following a particularly
happy week of teaching at the Dolmetsch Summer School.

George Malcolm (28 February 1917-10 October 1997)

Well-known as a harpsichordist of brilliant technique, whose
repertoire included the English Virginalists and the major 18th-century
composers, Malcolm was also Master of Music (1947-59) at Westminster Cathedral,
where his work with the choir of men and boys was highly regarded.
style="mso-spacerun: yes">  He was named CBE in 1965 and, in 1966,
an honorary Fellow of Balliol College, Oxford, from which he held degrees in
classics and music.

International Competitions in Bruges

The 12th Harpsichord and 6th Fortepiano Competitions (with a
first prize of 150,000/100,000 Belgian Francs) will be held this summer in
Bruges, Belgium from July 24 through August 1.  The competition, open to players born after December 31,
1965, will be judged by Francoise Lengellé, Wolfgang Brunner, Jesper
Christensen, Johan Huys, Gustav Leonhardt, Davitt Moroney, and Ludger
Rémy.  Information and
application forms (due by April 15), Festival van Vlaanderen-Brugge, C.
Mansionstraat 30, B-8000 Brugge/Belgium. 
Telephone 00.32.50/33 22 83; fax 34 52 04.

Clavichord Symposium in Magnano

The third biennial International Clavichord Symposium (24-28
September) co-chaired by Bernard Brauchli and Christopher Hogwood, was held in
its unique setting of Magnano in northern Italy. Special interest centered on
the pedal clavichord built by John Barnes and Joel Speerstra and expertly
demonstrated by Mr. Speerstra. Another unusual instrument was the
style="mso-spacerun: yes">  copy of a rare octave clavichord after
Praetorius, presented in a program of 15th- and 16th-century music. Many fine
copies of more familiar clavichords, particularly of the 18th century, were
displayed and demonstrated in a series of recitals, illustrated papers, and
discussion sessions.

The reawakening of interest in the clavichord is most
heartening and more than ably promoted by this influential international
conference.

--(Virginia Pleasants, London)

Features and news items for these columns are always
welcome. Address them to Dr. Larry Palmer, Division of Music, Meadows School of
the Arts, Southern Methodist University, Dallas, TX 75275. E-mail:
[email protected]

Larry Palmer is a contributing editor of The Diapason.

A work by Dutilleux

It is extremely rare that I come upon a harpsichord-inclusive piece of music that has not been listed in Frances Bedford's Harpsichord and Clavichord Music of the Twentieth Century, but such was the case when I read the Chicago Symphony Orchestra program for concerts played during the last weekend in January. On the program was Symphony Number Two (Le double) by Henri Dutilleux (born 1916)--scored for two orchestras: a chamber group of oboe, clarinet, bassoon, trumpet, trombone, celesta, timpani, string quartet and HARPSICHORD, plus another complete orchestral force with harp and a large battery of percussion instruments.

Dutilleux' Second Symphony, commissioned by the conductor Charles Munch to celebrate the Boston Symphony's 75th anniversary, resembles a baroque concerto grosso, and is a work lasting approximately 30 minutes. Michael Gielen conducted and Mary Sauer (principal pianist of the Chicago Symphony) was harpsichordist for this set of performances. [With thanks to faithful reader and longtime friend Roy Kehl for sending the Symphony program.]

Violet

The early 20th-century harpsichordist Violet Gordon Woodhouse (1871-1948) is the subject of a dramatic presentation with music, Violet, by her biographer Jessica Douglas-Home. It was performed on December 16 in London's Bush Hall (a 1904 ballroom) by harpsichordist Maggie Cole with actors Maggie Henderson and Robert McBain.

The exotic Violet is surely an apt subject for a drama: drawn to the harpsichord through Arnold Dolmetsch she became a player of exquisite sensitivity, the first to make commercial recordings at the harpsichord. Her intense musicality had its counterpart in her unconventional personal life: married to Gordon Woodhouse, the couple shared a home with three other men in a long-lasting ménage à cinq. Women, too, were passionate in their devotion to Violet, among them the composer Ethel Smyth and the writer Radclyffe Hall. Devotées of her playing included the three literary Sitwells, George Bernard Shaw, T. E. Lawrence, and Serge Diaghilev.

Virginia Pleasants reports from London

The London musical scene has been enriched by the openings of the Handel House Museum (November 8, 2001) and the York Gate Collections at the Royal Academy of Music (February 27, 2002).

To honor one of music's most famous composers the Handel House Trust acquired his longtime residence at 25 Brook Street in central London, the site not only for the composition of several of the composer's most famous works (including Messiah), but also of rehearsals for their performances. Music is again to be heard in regular concerts on two harpsichords: a single-manual William Smith replica of an instrument in the Bate Collection, Oxford, and a two-manual Ruckers-style instrument by Bruce Kennedy. Both commissioned instruments are professionally maintained and are available to students for practice and concerts. A future addition will be a chamber organ, like the harpsichords a replica of an instrument Handel played in these rooms.

Lectures on Handelian subjects, both independently and in conjunction with concerts at nearby St. George's Church, are offered by the Museum. At last London boasts a major tribute to one of its most famous composers! [Contact information: The Handel House Museum, 25 Brook Street, London W1K 4HB; Website: http://www.handelhouse.org;

Email: [email protected]].

The Royal Academy of Music has officially opened its York Gate Collections of Musical Instruments at a site adjacent to the Academy (1 York Gate). There, nine pianos from the collection of Kenneth and Mary Mobbs are on loan. The collection shows the development of the grand piano in England during the first half of the 19th century; it provides a welcome corollary to the Academy's famed collection of string instruments.

Early Music: Chopin (!)

The Oxford University Press journal Early Music (Volume XXIX/3, August 2001) includes Laurence Libin's article "Robert Adam's Instruments for Catherine the Great" and several contributions on the topic "Chopin As Early Music," among them Jim Samson's "Chopin, Past and Present;" Jean-Jacques Eigeldinger's "Chopin and Pleyel;" and Jonathan Bellman's "Frédéric Chopin, Antoine de Kontski and the carezzando Touch."

These articles are highly recommended. I hope our readers will share them with their pianist friends, who, in general, often ignore the gentle sensitivity of Chopin's music and, if one believes contemporary reports, of his own playing.

Some years ago I read with great interest a small volume by Edith J. Hipkins: How Chopin Played (From Contemporary Impressions collected from the Diaries and Notebooks of the late A. J. Hipkins, F.S.A [1826-1903]), published in London (J. M. Dent and Sons Ltd, 1937). In this book the daughter of the harpsichord-playing pioneer relayed her father's observations of the great composer, impressions from very early in Hipkins' career as an employee of the Broadwood piano firm, where Chopin visited in April 1848. Hipkins reported that "Chopin's fortissimo was the full pure tone without noise, a harsh inelastic note being to him painful. His nuances were modifications of that tone, decreasing to the faintest yet always distinct pianissimo." [page 5]

Concerning Chopin's touch, Hipkins wrote "He changed fingers upon a key as often as an organ-player." (A footnote to this statement relates that "At the age of sixteen Chopin was appointed organist to the Lyceum at Warsaw.") [page 5]

Hipkins: "To return to pianos, [Chopin] especially liked Broadwood's Boudoir cottage pianos of that date, two-stringed, but very sweet instruments. . .  He played Bach's '48' all his life long. 'I don't practise my own compositions,' he said to Von Lentz. 'When I am about to give a concert, I close my doors for a time and play Bach.'" [page 7]

[A copy of this book having gone "astray" in our university library, I am doubly indebted to Mrs. Rodger Mirrey of London, who sent me a photocopy of the entire 39-page text.]

Still more from Early Music

The issue for February (Volume XXX/1) includes several items of interest to the harpsichordist: "Keyboard Instrument Building in London and the Sun Insurance Records, 1775-87" (Lance Whitehead and Jenny Nex); "The Dublin Virginal Manuscript: New Perspectives on Virginalist Ornamentation" (Desmond Hunter); "Repeat Signs and Binary Form in François Couperin's Pièces de claveçin" (Paul Cienniwa); plus correspondence about Domenico Scarlatti's 'tremulo' (Carl Sloane and Howard Schott) for erudition. And Howard Schott's lovely obituary of Igor Kipnis, for nostalgia.

[Send items for these columns to Dr. Larry Palmer, Division of Music, Southern Methodist University, Dallas, TX 75275; email [email protected]]