Early 18thc Concerto

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abstract approach, cursed rather than blessed in proportion toits parading of statistics. It is true, none the less, that since WorldWar II the streams have tended to merge, and a writer such asArthur Hutchings* will show great flexibility in switching, forexample, between one type of analysis along solo-tutti lines andanother based on ritomello-episode alteration. But a shifting of focusdoes not necessarily produce a satisfactory final all-round view. Toomuch musicography concerned with Baroque music is impression-istic and gets itself bogged dow n in incide ntal detail, often describedin inappropriate terms. One vital aspect, to which both thematictreatment and modes of scoring are intimately related, has so farbeen largely shunne d. Th is is the large-scale plan ning of a mo vem ent

(analogous to a paragraph in written language) as the aggregate ofseveral distinct periods or sentences, each of which possesses a setof tonal, instrumental and thematic characteristics and—mostim po rtan t of all— attains a justness of prop ortion between ante -cedents (statements) and consequents (answers) at all levels wherethey occur.

What I shall attempt to do in the rest of my article is first toestablish an appropriate terminology for the discussion of period

construction and linkage, thence to proceed to a chronologicalsurvey of non-fugal, unit ary (i.e. no t bina ry or ternary ) allegro (orsimilar) movements in Italian concertos composed between about1680 and 1720. Much, indeed most, of what I shall say will bearrelevance to a contemporary movement that is fugal, binary, inslow tempo or by a non-Italian composer; but I have deliberatelyrestricted myself to the area of music where development of the sortI shall be considering is at once most clearly perceived and in gen eral

historical terms probably most significant during the years inquestion.

First let us consider the mechanics of how a period is built up.Typically, a period comprises two princip al sections—an antec eden t(or head-motive, as I shall sometimes term it), which through itsterminating cadence affirms or negates the previously-establishedtonality, and a consequent, whose final cadence may either reinforceor contradict the tonal implications of the previous one. The simplest

periods are symmetrical, their total number of bars normally beinga power of two. In the late Baroque such symmetricality, thoughobviously the model from which asymmetrical structures are derived,is usually avoided outside da nc e m ovem ents, an d is m ore likelyto appear in an opening or closing period of the movement thanan intermediate one. The opening period of the third movementfrom the first concerto in Corelli's Op. VI ('Goncerti grossi' , pub-lished posthumously in 1714) may serve as our first example (p. 10).Although this movement is nominally 'abstract ' (i.e. not derivedfrom the dance), the almost naively symmetrical construction of its

• The Baroque Concerto' (London, 1961).



Largo

Violins I & II amanmo)

CeDo

16

7 4 3

opening lends it a dance-like lilt.More characteristically, however, asymmetrical patterns are

set up by purposive extension of the consequent—through sequence,internal repetition and other lengthening devices. The process isneatly summed up by the German word Fortspinnung. To offset thedislocating effect of this 'spinning-out', though at the same timecausing the asymmetricality to become more extreme, a clear-cutcadential motive (which I shall call tail-motive) often emerges at theend of the consequ-mt. The periodic cadence itself is usually verydistinctive. During the time in question the idiomatic forms—treated by composers as scarcely differentiated common property—show some developm ent. Th e previous exam ple exhibits the typ icallymid-Baroque 4.3 construction over the do m inan t no te (with ch arac -teristic prolongation of the suspended no te), w hereas the exam plebelow employs the \ construc tion in even note-values idiom aticto the late Baroque. In all cases, however, the periodic cadence

involves harmonic retardation (i.e. a slowing-down of the rate ofessential chord-change), and may either be preceded or followed byreinforcement in the shape of auxiliary cadences.

T he exa mp le below, which is the o pen ing pe riod of the first move-ment of the seventh concerto from Albinoni's Op. V ('Goncertia c inq ue ', published in 1707), exemplifies the features jus t m en tion ed :

Allegro

Violin*(unit.)

Oipm

(middle parti omitted)

J t Y

I

I J ^6 6 I |6 6

I O



ri i irr6 6 6 ( 6 6

j i H j ' n r . j I 6 6 ( 6 6 « I | 6

[j i i i

Its an tece dent occupies the first 3 \ bars, its consequ ent the re m aining9 bars. The elaborate tail-motive begins 4 bars from the end, and

serves to re-establish D minor tonality conclusively.Both antecedent and consequent—though particularly the

former—may be subdivided once or more than once into smaller-scale antecedent-consequent pairs. Perceptually, these miniatureantitheses are more obvious, especially when highlighted by concertato,

forte-piano alternation or m utually con trasted cadences. B ut struct-urally, they are of minor importance.

Moving further away from our original model, we may come

across irregular periods deficient in one or other of the constituentsmentioned above. Sometimes, we find a period which opens withFortspinnung thus dispensing with a head-motive altogether. In suchcases the preceding period (or even a preceding movement)functions in toto as an antecedent, and thus exerts an im po rtantconditioning influence on the 'incomplete' period. Conversely, aperiod may be prematurely terminated by the irruption of a newperiod. This normally happens in such a way that Fortspinnung of the

con sequent fails to achieve cad ential resolution. I n this case, how ever,the disjunction caused by the onset of the new period may meanthat its predecessor is all but erased from the listener's consciousness.Lastly, it should be emphasized that musical periods, like theirliterary equivalents, vary enormously in duration and complexityof make-up. Between the simple CoreUian example already quotedand some sprawling Vivaldian examples which exhibit a bewilderingassortment of contrasted thematic cells and temporary modulatory

tendencies lies a world of aesthetic and technical difference.We turn next to the linkage of successive periods, and with it

inevitably to the tonal plan of the movement. As is well known, the

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choice of keys to be visited dining the course of a movement isusually limited in the late Baroque to a set of five n addition to thehome key. Each of these derives the character (major or minor) ofits tonic triad—and hence of its other available triads according tothe diatonic formula—from the appropriate diatonic chord w ithinthe home key. Thus E minor (but not E major) is available as asatellite key to C major, besides being available to G and D majorand B and A minor. Of course, chromatically-inflected harmonymay take the music slightly further afield; and in certain types ofslow movement there may be quite extensive travelling back andforth through the circle of fifths. Also, the parallel minor keyoccasionally intrudes as a 'pathetic' substitute for the normal major

key. But these are exceptions, which in no way invalidate the generalprinciple.

Since modulation is a sine qua non of a movement of any consider-able length, the periodic structure has to be accommodated to it insome way. The simplest solution would be to base successive periodson different keys, so that a period beginning and ending in C majormight be followed by a similar one in E minor, and so on. Thiswould automatically produce a tonal hiatus between one period

and the next. Late Baroque style is in general very partial to hiatusesof this sort, and tolerates considerable disjunction at points ofconnexion—hence its fondness for overtly sectional forms such asthe rondeau. Nevertheless, some forms of tonal hiatus—e.g. frommediant (minor) to tonic (major)—are normally found more gratefulthan others, including the reverse of the modulation just described.And the hiatus is, after all, too unsubtle a device to be used over-freely. Thus we find composers having recourse to another device—

that of making individual periods modulate, so that their terminalcadence affirms the key in which the following period begins. Inthis way, no hiatuses need occur. Such periods can be described as'open' in contrast to their 'closed' counterparts, which begin andend in the same key.

Whichever technique is adopted, Baroque usage around 1700prescribes a sequence of keys to be visited which, for all its permissiblelatitude, is far more rigid in conception than any conventional

schemes (including that of Classical sonata form) before or since.We may speculate on the likely reasons for this: my own guess isthat it is a case of natural selection, empirically sanctioned, beingreinforced by a strong dose of academic rationalization and incul-cation. In major keys the sequence is usually the following:

I - V - v i - I . (Variants: I - V - i i i - I and I - V - v i - i i i - I.)

(Roman numerals—large for major, small for minor tonalities—

refer to the appropriate degree of the diatonic scale in the home keywhich becomes the tonic of the related key, I or i being the homekey itself naturally.)

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We may represent the first scheme diagramatically as follows,assuming that no hiatuses occur:

(HI)

VI

IHere the left-to-right progression of the line traces the course of themovement. An imaginary horizontal base-line represents the tonicke y; successive levels above it repre sen t the ton al area s of the relativeminor key (vi), the dominant key(V) and the mediant key (iii).Were the subdominant key (IV) to be visited, the line would delvetwo full degrees below the base-line, crossing the level reserved forthe supertonic key (ii) en route. (It is incidentally an interesting an dhighly significant fact that the subdominant key (as distinct froma mere 'subdominant' inflexion within the home key) is generallynot visited in movements from compositions of this time, andparticularly not in shorter movements. This is probably because,although entry into the subdominant key from the home key is noproblem, returning is difficult to manage without upsetting thedelicate tonal mechanism irrevocably. Against countless successfulexcursions of this na tu re by J . S. Bach— which have long since

achieved normative status in the classroom—we have to set pro-po rtionately far less nu m ero us (and th en far less successful) 'tu rn sto the flat side' by his contemporaries and immediate predecessors.Returning to the diagram, we note that curved lines represent openperiods, straight and horizontal lines closed periods. Vertical lines,which do not appear in the present diagram, stand for hiatuses:the key—and so the level—changes instantaneously.

For minor keys the conventional scheme is much the same—

only the media nt key (relative major) w ill often precede the d om ina ntkey instead of vice versa. The subdominant key occurs significantlymore often, though not yet generally.

We see from the diagram that the centrepiece of the formalscheme is a pai r of open periods, each visiting a different related key.In passing, it should be said that keys are normally visited but oncein the course of a movement, unless a constant dipping-in-and-out(as in fugal technique) is practised. This prevents anti-climax and a

sense of diji-vu. There are exceptions, but it requires a composerpossessed of an unusually well-developed sense of musical archi-tecture to make a success of them. This granted, and assuming

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that no other foreign keys are visited in like fashion, we come upimmediately against the problem of how to achieve greater lengthw hile retaining our key scheme. Th e simplest solution— one frequentlyadopted, often to excess, during the first quarter of the eighteenthcentury—is to enclose the central complex of open periods withina v ariable n um be r of flanking closed periods in the hom e key. It w asnormal from the outset to end the movement with a closed period,so consolidating the overall tonality, but the idea of beginning themovement with a closed period came near to being an innovation.And with this precedent extra closed periods could very easily beadded at either end like outbuildings to a main edifice.

The most radical, and ultimately, the most successful solution

was to balance the addition of closed periods in the tonic by theaddition of closed periods in the various keys visited—a step thathad momentous consequences for the thematic treatment andinstrumentation, as we shall see. The rational outcome of thisprocess was the consolidation of the principle of alternating closedand open periods systematically. Assuming that, as in the firstdiagram, we still visit only the dominant and submediant keys, thefollowing outline is produced:

VI

I

Here we have the plan which, when we include its associatedthem atic an d in strum ental characteristics, we instantly recognizeas ritomello form and connect with Vivaldi. It remains only totrace the various stages through which homophonic concertoallegros passed from being short, thematically and texturally illorganized movements to being long, highly organized ones. Musicdevelops unevenly, because to every problem there is more than onesolution, and unless a happy coincidence spontaneously appears

(or is engineered), advance on one front may mean retreat orretrenchment on another. We are especially familiar with thephenomenon oireculer pour mieux sauter rom he Florentine Camerataand the Mannheim School, but it arises less dramatically all thetime. The truth is that all composers venture into blind alleys(however profitably), a nd we shall see this repe atedly w hen exam iningthe music of Gorelli, Torelli, Albinoni and their fellows.

Since we are speaking of concertos, it is as well at this stage to

establish as precisely as possible what it is we are discussing. Thefirst po int to be m ad e is tha t the seventeenth a nd e ighteenth centuries,whose philosophy, if nothing else, was consistent in being idealist

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(i.e. deriving material reality from abstract or 'spiritual' essences),often followed the same process when it came to naming musicalcompositions. One started off with an abstract conception of'consorting' or 'competing' and extended it to a session of concertedmusic-making. The next stage would be to apply the term to someconcrete entity—perhaps a set of matching instruments of varyingsizes (akin to a 'consort' of viols—the term s being related by e tymologyor at any rate false etymology), or perhaps a body of assortedinstruments assembled for music-making. This body might be largeand earn for itself the description concerto grosso

1', or small an d be

called concertino. The process of concretization being carried onestage further, the assembled players might be termed concerto or,

if there were enough of them, concerto grosso. Next, a set of compo-sitions played by these instrumentalists might be named concerto,

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the diminutive or synthetic augmentative forms being used whereappropriate. Finally, the individual piece might receive the title.

The collective title concerti is, so to speak, a back-formation fromthe singular version when applied to each constituent piece. Never-theless, it stands at a higher level of abstraction—or at any rategeneralization—and so can possess connotations not necessarily

applicable to each and every individual piece, or possibly supple-mentary to the individual titles. It is a modern barbarism to speakof Handel 's 'Concerto grosso, Op. VI, no. 7, ' because in doing sowe are wilfully transplanting a collective title into an individualcontext where it is not only unnecessarily wordy but may, strictlyspeaking, be inapplicable. The conventions of the time, moreover,saw nothing absurd or confusing in having semantically unrelatedcollective and individual titles—the first tending to be abstract and

pretentious, the second concrete and workaday. That is why weoften find pieces which are collectively billed as sinfonielt or even

concerti1* labelled individually sonata— never the reverse [sonate:

sinfonia), since sonata is a straight definition, wheras sinfonia andconcerto still carry the prestige-laden au ra of the abstrac t aro un d the m— not to speak of wholly abstra ct opus titles like 'L'E stro arm on ico'or 'La Cetra. '

Both concerto and sinfonia started replacing sonata as individualtitles for heavily-scored pieces at the end of the seventeenth century.T he claim, m ade by some w rite rs, tha t concertos were originallyrecognized as being 'of the chu rch ' or 'of the c ou rt' w hereas sinfoniaswere 'of the opera house' seems dubious to me. The use of the termsinfonia in a specialized sense for the overture to a theatrical workor section thereof was a thing apart. How else can one explain thedifference between A. Scarlatti's operatic sinfonias and his set of

" The reference would be to the total number of instruments, irrespective of kindand manner of duplication.

u Qf. Torelli's 'Concertino per camera,' Op. IV.1 1 Examples to be mentioned later.u Cf. Jacchini's 'Concerti per camera,' O p. III ." Qf. Hutching , op. at., chaps. I & II.

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12 'Sinfonie di concerto grosso' (sinfonias for large ensemble)written in 1715? The latter, like many contemporary concertos,are in large part patterned after conventional sonata models, withfour or five movements apiece. By the time operatic sinfonias werebecoming detached from their traditional context, having absorbedin the meantime many progressive features we associate with theconcerto, not only had the term concerto achieved a near-m onopolisticposition in works for large-scale media, but had become identifiedw ith these new traits, and w as exporting them to smaller-scale m edia .Not long was to elapse before the adoption of Vivaldian form for aninstrumental piece for any medium could cause it to be acceptablydescribed as a co nc erto . W e should no t forget, in add ition, th at

the widespread utilization of concertato and contrasts of scoringmade the term concerto particularly appropriate to orchestral pieces,to which these effects were in the main restricted.

Whatever Corelli 's compositions for a trio-sonata combinationaugmented ad libitum (except for th e viola in fugal m ovem ents) byan ensemble composed of kUaw-accademici and possibly co-optedamateurs were originally entitled—and sonata grossa seems a logicalpossibility—the publication of twelve such pieces as 'Concerti

grossi,' O p . V I, in 1714 set a fashion in both style and no m enc latur e.Most music in pre-publication state was repertory music, specificallyadapted for local conditions, and was not always capable of'trav elling' even if w illing potentia l performers and copyists w ereat hand. Publication, however, put a premium on both consistencyand adaptab ility of the ma rketed 'p rod uc t ' . The am ateur performerin Amsterdam or London wanted music that neither over- norunder-taxed the available performers (hence consistency), wasperformable quasi-indifferently in private houses, churches andtheatres, and which allowed for variable numbers and constitutionof players. So the distinction between da chiesa and da camera varietiesof concerto in Corelli's Op. VI is no longer really an allusion toperforming practice but rather to stylistic differentiation per se.However, the 'sinfonias' (sic) of Corelli tha t Georg M uffat in afamous passage

1' reported hearing at Rome at the beginning of the

1680's were almost certainly different in character from the pieceswe know as Op. VI. The tutti-solo contrast probably remained as

it was, since it is often merely a realization in chiaroscuro fashion of afunctional type of antiphonal or dynamic contrast that is alreadypresent in trio-sonatas in the form of piano-forte alternation, exchangeof parts in successive statements, or transposition through theoctave. (This is why conversions of trio sonatas—or, we might add,even Corelli's own solo so nata s — into concerti grossi prov ed so

u AJ in J. S. Bach's 'Italian Con certo' for harpsichord solo of 1735.

14 Th e multilingual preface to his 'Auserlesene m it Ernst und Lust gem engte

Instrumentalmusii' (1701). (The German text speaks of Conarten, the Italian text ofsuonate.)

17 By Gem iniani.

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practicable.) There is, however, a different type of antiphony to befound in places, which recalls the Bolognese trumpet sonata (oneexample of which by Corelli himself was published in a Walshanthology-by-instalments in 1704). An ope ning such as the following,from Corelli's twelfth concerto, would be meaningless if translatedback into trio-sonata terms:

Allecro

Violin I(amarwto)

Violin IIV10U

CcOo ft

+ V I di rip.

i 7 i ir r

Here note, incidentally, that tutti-solo divisions follow antecedent-consequent divisions (at any one of several possible levels) strictly,thus reinforcing their perceptibility and in turn deriving rationalityfrom them; also that solo followed by tutti is about as current as thereverse sequence.

But the striking point about these concertos is the assimilation

of the advanced cross-string violinistic technique of the solo sonata,the frequent renunciation of polyphony in favour of homophony(dominance of the first violin), the adoption of a cycle-of movementsmore related to that of the solo sonata than the trio sonata, and theretention of the approximate relative frequency of homophonicunitary, fugal and binary movements encountered in Corelli 's Op. Vset of solo sonatas (1700). Homophonic unitary movements areindeed wholly absent from Op. I-IV, comprising all Corelli 's

published trio sonatas. More than that, the few movements of thistype—still vastly outnumbered by fugal and binary movements—aremore extensive, more internally varied, and more systematicallyorganised than their counterparts in Op. V. To that extent theyrepresent a concession by the established form to the novel medium.

Let us take a typical example of such a movement from Corelli 'sO p . VI and plot its course (see p. 18). Certain features stand outimmediately:

(1) T he drive to the dom inant in the very first period.(2) The use of open periods for 'sharpward' modulation; the use of



II I

vi

i t

hiatus to effect 'flatward' modulation. (The II I - 1 hiatus belovedof the late Baroque finds its locus classicus in Corelli.)(3) T he quasi-symmetricality (reminiscent of the da capo aria) of thestructure. The central modulations to vi and ill are flanked on eitherside by a I - V — I bloc.(4) The paucity of thematic integration. The head-motive (rep-resented as a of the opening period is restated immediately after thecadence in iii, da capo fashion. Thematic cross-reference is otherwise

eschewed.(Arabic numerals stand for the number of bars in each period.)

Corelli is very fond of the type of period beginning with Fortspinnungand thus syntactically dependent on what has gone before. In thisway he knits his movement together tighdy. Through a combinationof stylistic 'purity ' (i.e. consistent self-restriction) an d effectively-managed continuity Corelli suceeds in avoiding the necessity of

relating disjunct sections by thematic recall or development. Onefamous movement from the set (the opening is quoted on p. 17)does attempt slightly more in this direction, it is true; but one istempted to ask whether Corelli himself had belatedly submitted toprogressive external influences in this regard.

In die absence of the special factors mentioned the Corellianconception of a non-fugal allegro enjoys a precarious viability, andit is no accident that Corelli 's closest imitators in England and

Germany, though they produce binary and fugal movements thatare acceptably Corellian in mould, usually introduce an admixtureof Vivaldian (or Torellian) elements into their non-fugal unitarymovements . 1 '

[ To be concluded]

u Qf the many examples in Handel's 'Concerti groui', Op. VI, of 1739.

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Early 18thc Concerto

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