Were You There?

SKU: BR.OB-16104-27

ISBN 9790004339459. 10 x 12.5 inches.

The publishers Henle and Breitkopf & Hartel are continuing their collaboration, now with Brahms, by publishing the performance material of the double concerto. Brahms's last work with orchestra was published in the new Brahms Complete Edition in 2002, whereby the editor was able to base himself on newly accessible sources. Of particular interest are the additional performance instructions for the solo violin and solo cello, which were gathered from the first edition of the solo parts. These indications were supplied by the soloists of the first performance, Joseph Joachim and Robert Hausmann. No doubt authorized by Brahms, they communicate valuable insights into the performance practice of the time. The new material also contains a part in which the solo violin and cello are notated one above the other. The trio edition for violin, violoncello and piano (EB 6040), which was made by Brahms himself, has proven itself for chamber performances; it continues to be available.The full score is a conductor's dream: big, bold, and beautifully laid out on glare-free bluff paper. (Strings).

SKU: BR.OB-16104-30

ISBN 9790004339466. 10 x 12.5 inches.

The publishers Henle and Breitkopf & Hartel are continuing their collaboration, now with Brahms, by publishing the performance material of the double concerto. Brahms's last work with orchestra was published in the new Brahms Complete Edition in 2002, whereby the editor was able to base himself on newly accessible sources. Of particular interest are the additional performance instructions for the solo violin and solo cello, which were gathered from the first edition of the solo parts. These indications were supplied by the soloists of the first performance, Joseph Joachim and Robert Hausmann. No doubt authorized by Brahms, they communicate valuable insights into the performance practice of the time. The new material also contains a part in which the solo violin and cello are notated one above the other. The trio edition for violin, violoncello and piano (EB 6040), which was made by Brahms himself, has proven itself for chamber performances; it continues to be available.The full score is a conductor's dream: big, bold, and beautifully laid out on glare-free bluff paper. (Strings).

SKU: BR.OB-16104-16

ISBN 9790004339428. 10 x 12.5 inches.

The publishers Henle and Breitkopf & Hartel are continuing their collaboration, now with Brahms, by publishing the performance material of the double concerto. Brahms's last work with orchestra was published in the new Brahms Complete Edition in 2002, whereby the editor was able to base himself on newly accessible sources. Of particular interest are the additional performance instructions for the solo violin and solo cello, which were gathered from the first edition of the solo parts. These indications were supplied by the soloists of the first performance, Joseph Joachim and Robert Hausmann. No doubt authorized by Brahms, they communicate valuable insights into the performance practice of the time. The new material also contains a part in which the solo violin and cello are notated one above the other. The trio edition for violin, violoncello and piano (EB 6040), which was made by Brahms himself, has proven itself for chamber performances; it continues to be available.The full score is a conductor's dream: big, bold, and beautifully laid out on glare-free bluff paper. (Strings).

SKU: BR.OB-16104-23

ISBN 9790004339442. 10 x 12.5 inches.

The publishers Henle and Breitkopf & Hartel are continuing their collaboration, now with Brahms, by publishing the performance material of the double concerto. Brahms's last work with orchestra was published in the new Brahms Complete Edition in 2002, whereby the editor was able to base himself on newly accessible sources. Of particular interest are the additional performance instructions for the solo violin and solo cello, which were gathered from the first edition of the solo parts. These indications were supplied by the soloists of the first performance, Joseph Joachim and Robert Hausmann. No doubt authorized by Brahms, they communicate valuable insights into the performance practice of the time. The new material also contains a part in which the solo violin and cello are notated one above the other. The trio edition for violin, violoncello and piano (EB 6040), which was made by Brahms himself, has proven itself for chamber performances; it continues to be available.The full score is a conductor's dream: big, bold, and beautifully laid out on glare-free bluff paper. (Strings).

SKU: CY.CC2515

Debussy composed this breathtaking unaccompanied work in 1913, and it became the first solo work for the Bohm flute and the first solo work by a major composer since C.P.E. Bach almost 150 years earlier!

The music allows wide latitude for interpretation and can really show off the musical imagination of the performer.

The great French flautist Marcel Moyse is credited with adding phrasing and barlines to his friend Debussy's new work.

In classical mythology, Syrinx was a nymph and a follower of Artemis, known for her chastity. Pursued by the amorous Greekgod Pan, she ran to a river's edge and asked for assistance from the river nymphs. In answer, she was transformed into hollow water reeds that made a haunting sound when the god's frustrated breath blew across them. Pan cut the reeds to fashion the first set of pan pipes, which were thereafter known as syrinx.

This work of 2 1/2 minutes for advanced performers can add a new dimension to your recital, as it is often performed offstage.

The sample performance was recorded by Ralph Sauer in May 2012.

SKU: BR.EB-8340

ISBN 9790004176481. 6.5 x 9.5 inches.

Created during many years of teaching practice: All canons are notated in keys suitable for recorder. The interpretation must follow the verbal text; the lyrics were therefore placed in block form below the notes.

SKU: BR.EB-8341

ISBN 9790004176498. 12 x 9 inches.

Created during many years of teaching practice: All canons are notated in keys suitable for recorder. The interpretation must follow the verbal text; the lyrics were therefore placed in block form below the notes.

SKU: CY.CC2924

Debussy composed this breathtaking unaccompanied work in 1913, and it became the first solo work for the Böhm flute and the first solo work by a major composer since C.P.E. Bach almost 150 years earlier.

The music allows wide latitude for interpretation and can really show off the musical imagination of the performer.

The great French flautist Marcel Moyse is credited with adding phrasing and barlines to his friend Debussy's new work.

In classical mythology, Syrinx was a nymph and a follower of Artemis, known for her chastity. Pursued by the amorous Greek
god Pan, she ran to a river's edge and asked for assistance from the river nymphs. In answer, she was transformed into hollow water reeds that made a haunting sound when the god's frustrated breath blew across them. Pan cut the reeds to fashion the first set of pan pipes, which were thereafter known as Syrinx.

This work of 2 1/2 minutes for advanced performers can add a new dimension to your recital, as it is often performed offstage.

The sample performance was recorded by Ralph Sauer in May 2012.

SKU: HL.49033374

ISBN 9790001139397. 8.25x11.75x0.226 inches. German.

Choral societies and church choirs often sing at funerals of their members or on occasions such as Remembrance Day and are therefore looking for good and easy tunes which can be quickly rehearsed. This varied and tasteful collection of 36 old and new songs offers a suitable repertoire for all kinds of funeral services in editions for three- or four-part mixed choir, women's or men's choir.

SKU: CF.MXE219

ISBN 9781491157794. UPC: 680160916399. 9 x 12 inches.

Preface In 1990, during an intense rehearsal of a Mozart Quartet transcription for flute and strings by Franz Anton Hoffmeister, at the Marblehead Summer Music Festival, a disgruntled violist friend complained about HoffmeisterAs awkward string writing, suddenly daring me to create my own arrangement. I balked. But the following winterA3despite scruples about treading on hallowed groundA3I grew curious and began to experiment. Soon I was hooked on the challenge of learning to speak MozartAs language with conviction. This fascination, encouraged by pianist Richard Goode and other Mozarteans, would eventually generate a total of thirty-nine recreations of Mozart piano sonatas as works for flute and strings. With zero tolerance for alteration of melodic or harmonic materialA3MozartAs friend Hoffmeister had regrettably attempted such A!improvementsA(r)A3I always tried to envision what Mozart himself would have desired. Many of the sonatas can be heard as if they were MozartAs A!blueprintsA(r) of imagined chamber works. Hence my task was to A!flesh outA(r) the keyboard versions as Mozart might have done, had a commission or performance opportunity arisen. I spent hours pondering how Mozart might have set these sonatas in four- or five-part form, providing the needed textural or contrapuntal enhancements. With immersion in the composerAs dialect, various apt solutions presented themselves. The search for the A!rightA(r) one then became a most absorbing study. On the eve of releasing my BognerAs CafA recording of Mozart-Stallman New Quintets (2006), I discovered to my delight that a prominent scholar had long before endorsed such an effort. Eric Blom (1888A+-1959), author of Mozart (1935), had taken note of the four-hand piano works as A!a kind of keyboard chamber music.A(r) Regarding Sonata, K. 497, Mr. Blom had observed that Mozart is often dealing with, not the expected four voices (one to a hand), but five. Blom states: A!The F major Sonata (K. 497) removes us to another worldA3the world of the great chamber music, especially of the string quintets. Indeed an arrangement of some sort for a combination of instruments would make a magnificent concert work of this almost uncomfortably great piece of domestic music.A(r) That Mozart was in 1786 writing for piano duo from a quintet perspective makes sense, as we find him returning to the quintet form with keen interest in his last years, writing four String Quintets, the Clarinet Quintet, rearranging a wind serenade for String Quintet, and leaving several other quintets incomplete. My arrangement presented here is made for flute and strings but is also intended for string quintet. Quintet in F Major for Flute and Strings, K. 497, was completed in 1999 and performed with the Martin Quartet in the Czech Republic prior to recording it in 2004. Mozart had finished the original Sonata in F Major for Piano, Four-Hands, K. 497, on August 1, 1786. It shows the unmistakable influence of Figaro, completed and premiered exactly three months prior. As signaled by the imposing introductory Adagio, the conception is on a grand symphonic scale, all three movements being richly developed with contrapuntal episodes and an abundance of marvelously contrasting textures and themes throughout. Called A!the crowning work of its kindA(r) by Alfred Einstein, the Sonata is laden with examples of MozartAs mercurial originality. Here we have a perfect synthesis of concertante brilliance, operatic intensity and intimate dialogue. The work opens in unison with a probing, minor-tinged Adagio, whose question comes to a pause on the dominant, before being answered with jaunty certainty by the opening theme of the Allegro di moltoA3an F-major tune as sunny and confident as an aria from Figaro itself. This movementAs declamatory A!opera chorusA(r) persistently intones its rhythmic motto over a swirling scale figure. The amorous second theme (initially presented in the first viola) also seems to be plucked from Figaro. The Andante opens with a heavenly melody, which takes as its springboard the Romanza theme from the Horn Concerto in E Major, K. 495, written only five weeks before. The A!love duetA(r) between flute and first viola seems to anticipate the impassioned A!duettingA(r) between violin and viola in the Andante of the String Quintet in C Major, K. 515, written about nine months later. The ingenious stretto canon of the AndanteAs middle section requires the precision of a Swiss clock (which its chiming thirds recall). Affecting bucolic codettas close each of the main sections of the movement. In the final Allegro, a rondo in 6/8a time, the puckish, yet aristocratic character of the opening theme contrasts with the bumptious, popular tune used for the second theme (heard first in the violin and then the flute, over pizzicato cello). Lilting hymn-like episodes in three, four- and finally five-part counterpoint are repeatedly interrupted by startling scale figures that rise up in furioso episodes throughout the movement. As in the A!Swiss clockA(r) section of the Andante, Mozart uses a stretto imitation treatment with this tempest theme, thereby heightening both intensity and sense of instability. I am most grateful to the adventuresome Martin Quartet for their warm support and collaboration over the years with several of my arrangements, and to my friend Edwin Swanborn for the original typesetting of this score. Gratitude is also due Weekend Edition, Performance Today and innumerable classical stations across the United States for their enthusiastic and repeated airings of my A!newA(r) Mozart Quintet endeavorsA3and most of all, to violist Katherine Murdock for that dare in 1990. A3Compiled from the writings of Robert Stallman by Hannah Woods Stallman, February 2, 2020.
Preface In 1990, during an intense rehearsal of a Mozart Quartet transcription for flute and strings by Franz Anton Hoffmeister, at the Marblehead Summer Music Festival, a disgruntled violist friend complained about Hoffmeisteris awkward string writing, suddenly daring me to create my own arrangement. I balked. But the following winterodespite scruples about treading on hallowed groundoI grew curious and began to experiment. Soon I was hooked on the challenge of learning to speak Mozartis language with conviction. This fascination, encouraged by pianist Richard Goode and other Mozarteans, would eventually generate a total of thirty-nine recreations of Mozart piano sonatas as works for flute and strings. With zero tolerance for alteration of melodic or harmonic materialoMozartis friend Hoffmeister had regrettably attempted such iimprovementsioI always tried to envision what Mozart himself would have desired. Many of the sonatas can be heard as if they were Mozartis iblueprintsi of imagined chamber works. Hence my task was to iflesh outi the keyboard versions as Mozart might have done, had a commission or performance opportunity arisen. I spent hours pondering how Mozart might have set these sonatas in four- or five-part form, providing the needed textural or contrapuntal enhancements. With immersion in the composeris dialect, various apt solutions presented themselves. The search for the irighti one then became a most absorbing study. On the eve of releasing my Bogneris CafE recording of Mozart-Stallman New Quintets (2006), I discovered to my delight that a prominent scholar had long before endorsed such an effort. Eric Blom (1888n1959), author of Mozart (1935), had taken note of the four-hand piano works as ia kind of keyboard chamber music.i Regarding Sonata, K. 497, Mr. Blom had observed that Mozart is often dealing with, not the expected four voices (one to a hand), but five. Blom states: iThe F major Sonata (K. 497) removes us to another worldothe world of the great chamber music, especially of the string quintets. Indeed an arrangement of some sort for a combination of instruments would make a magnificent concert work of this almost uncomfortably great piece of domestic music.i That Mozart was in 1786 writing for piano duo from a quintet perspective makes sense, as we find him returning to the quintet form with keen interest in his last years, writing four String Quintets, the Clarinet Quintet, rearranging a wind serenade for String Quintet, and leaving several other quintets incomplete. My arrangement presented here is made for flute and strings but is also intended for string quintet. Quintet in F Major for Flute and Strings, K. 497, was completed in 1999 and performed with the Martin Quartet in the Czech Republic prior to recording it in 2004. Mozart had finished the original Sonata in F Major for Piano, Four-Hands, K. 497, on August 1, 1786. It shows the unmistakable influence of Figaro, completed and premiered exactly three months prior. As signaled by the imposing introductory Adagio, the conception is on a grand symphonic scale, all three movements being richly developed with contrapuntal episodes and an abundance of marvelously contrasting textures and themes throughout. Called ithe crowning work of its kindi by Alfred Einstein, the Sonata is laden with examples of Mozartis mercurial originality. Here we have a perfect synthesis of concertante brilliance, operatic intensity and intimate dialogue. The work opens in unison with a probing, minor-tinged Adagio, whose question comes to a pause on the dominant, before being answered with jaunty certainty by the opening theme of the Allegro di moltooan F-major tune as sunny and confident as an aria from Figaro itself. This movementis declamatory iopera chorusi persistently intones its rhythmic motto over a swirling scale figure. The amorous second theme (initially presented in the first viola) also seems to be plucked from Figaro. The Andante opens with a heavenly melody, which takes as its springboard the Romanza theme from the Horn Concerto in E Major, K. 495, written only five weeks before. The ilove dueti between flute and first viola seems to anticipate the impassioned iduettingi between violin and viola in the Andante of the String Quintet in C Major, K. 515, written about nine months later. The ingenious stretto canon of the Andanteis middle section requires the precision of a Swiss clock (which its chiming thirds recall). Affecting bucolic codettas close each of the main sections of the movement. In the final Allegro, a rondo in 6/8+time, the puckish, yet aristocratic character of the opening theme contrasts with the bumptious, popular tune used for the second theme (heard first in the violin and then the flute, over pizzicato cello). Lilting hymn-like episodes in three, four- and finally five-part counterpoint are repeatedly interrupted by startling scale figures that rise up in furioso episodes throughout the movement. As in the iSwiss clocki section of the Andante, Mozart uses a stretto imitation treatment with this tempest theme, thereby heightening both intensity and sense of instability. I am most grateful to the adventuresome Martin Quartet for their warm support and collaboration over the years with several of my arrangements, and to my friend Edwin Swanborn for the original typesetting of this score. Gratitude is also due Weekend Edition, Performance Today and innumerable classical stations across the United States for their enthusiastic and repeated airings of my inewi Mozart Quintet endeavorsoand most of all, to violist Katherine Murdock for that dare in 1990. oCompiled from the writings of Robert Stallman by Hannah Woods Stallman, February 2, 2020.
Preface In 1990, during an intense rehearsal of a Mozart Quartet transcription for flute and strings by Franz Anton Hoffmeister, at the Marblehead Summer Music Festival, a disgruntled violist friend complained about Hoffmeister's awkward string writing, suddenly daring me to create my own arrangement. I balked. But the following winter--despite scruples about treading on hallowed ground--I grew curious and began to experiment. Soon I was hooked on the challenge of learning to speak Mozart's language with conviction. This fascination, encouraged by pianist Richard Goode and other Mozarteans, would eventually generate a total of thirty-nine recreations of Mozart piano sonatas as works for flute and strings. With zero tolerance for alteration of melodic or harmonic material--Mozart's friend Hoffmeister had regrettably attempted such improvements--I always tried to envision what Mozart himself would have desired. Many of the sonatas can be heard as if they were Mozart's blueprints of imagined chamber works. Hence my task was to flesh out the keyboard versions as Mozart might have done, had a commission or performance opportunity arisen. I spent hours pondering how Mozart might have set these sonatas in four- or five-part form, providing the needed textural or contrapuntal enhancements. With immersion in the composer's dialect, various apt solutions presented themselves. The search for the right one then became a most absorbing study. On the eve of releasing my Bogner's Cafe recording of Mozart-Stallman New Quintets (2006), I discovered to my delight that a prominent scholar had long before endorsed such an effort. Eric Blom (1888-1959), author of Mozart (1935), had taken note of the four-hand piano works as a kind of keyboard chamber music. Regarding Sonata, K. 497, Mr. Blom had observed that Mozart is often dealing with, not the expected four voices (one to a hand), but five. Blom states: The F major Sonata (K. 497) removes us to another world--the world of the great chamber music, especially of the string quintets. Indeed an arrangement of some sort for a combination of instruments would make a magnificent concert work of this almost uncomfortably great piece of domestic music. That Mozart was in 1786 writing for piano duo from a quintet perspective makes sense, as we find him returning to the quintet form with keen interest in his last years, writing four String Quintets, the Clarinet Quintet, rearranging a wind serenade for String Quintet, and leaving several other quintets incomplete. My arrangement presented here is made for flute and strings but is also intended for string quintet. Quintet in F Major for Flute and Strings, K. 497, was completed in 1999 and performed with the Martinu Quartet in the Czech Republic prior to recording it in 2004. Mozart had finished the original Sonata in F Major for Piano, Four-Hands, K. 497, on August 1, 1786. It shows the unmistakable influence of Figaro, completed and premiered exactly three months prior. As signaled by the imposing introductory Adagio, the conception is on a grand symphonic scale, all three movements being richly developed with contrapuntal episodes and an abundance of marvelously contrasting textures and themes throughout. Called the crowning work of its kind by Alfred Einstein, the Sonata is laden with examples of Mozart's mercurial originality. Here we have a perfect synthesis of concertante brilliance, operatic intensity and intimate dialogue. The work opens in unison with a probing, minor-tinged Adagio, whose question comes to a pause on the dominant, before being answered with jaunty certainty by the opening theme of the Allegro di molto--an F-major tune as sunny and confident as an aria from Figaro itself. This movement's declamatory opera chorus persistently intones its rhythmic motto over a swirling scale figure. The amorous second theme (initially presented in the first viola) also seems to be plucked from Figaro. The Andante opens with a heavenly melody, which takes as its springboard the Romanza theme from the Horn Concerto in E<= Major, K. 495, written only five weeks before. The love duet between flute and first viola seems to anticipate the impassioned duetting between violin and viola in the Andante of the String Quintet in C Major, K. 515, written about nine months later. The ingenious stretto canon of the Andante's middle section requires the precision of a Swiss clock (which its chiming thirds recall). Affecting bucolic codettas close each of the main sections of the movement. In the final Allegro, a rondo in 6/8 time, the puckish, yet aristocratic character of the opening theme contrasts with the bumptious, popular tune used for the second theme (heard first in the violin and then the flute, over pizzicato cello). Lilting hymn-like episodes in three, four- and finally five-part counterpoint are repeatedly interrupted by startling scale figures that rise up in furioso episodes throughout the movement. As in the Swiss clock section of the Andante, Mozart uses a stretto imitation treatment with this tempest theme, thereby heightening both intensity and sense of instability. I am most grateful to the adventuresome Martinu Quartet for their warm support and collaboration over the years with several of my arrangements, and to my friend Edwin Swanborn for the original typesetting of this score. Gratitude is also due Weekend Edition, Performance Today and innumerable classical stations across the United States for their enthusiastic and repeated airings of my new Mozart Quintet endeavors--and most of all, to violist Katherine Murdock for that dare in 1990. --Compiled from the writings of Robert Stallman by Hannah Woods Stallman, February 2, 2020.
PrefaceIn 1990, during an intense rehearsal of a Mozart Quartet transcription for flute and strings by Franz Anton Hoffmeister, at the Marblehead Summer Music Festival, a disgruntled violist friend complained about Hoffmeister’s awkward string writing, suddenly daring me to create my own arrangement. I balked. But the following winter—despite scruples about treading on hallowed ground—I grew curious and began to experiment. Soon I was hooked on the challenge of learning to speak Mozart’s language with conviction. This fascination, encouraged by pianist Richard Goode and other Mozarteans, would eventually generate a total of thirty-nine recreations of Mozart piano sonatas as works for flute and strings.With zero tolerance for alteration of melodic or harmonic material—Mozart’s friend Hoffmeister had regrettably attempted such “improvements”—I always tried to envision what Mozart himself would have desired. Many of the sonatas can be heard as if they were Mozart’s “blueprints” of imagined chamber works. Hence my task was to “flesh out” the keyboard versions as Mozart might have done, had a commission or performance opportunity arisen. I spent hours pondering how Mozart might have set these sonatas in four- or five-part form, providing the needed textural or contrapuntal enhancements. With immersion in the composer’s dialect, various apt solutions presented themselves. The search for the “right” one then became a most absorbing study.On the eve of releasing my Bogner’s Café recording of Mozart-Stallman New Quintets (2006), I discovered to my delight that a prominent scholar had long before endorsed such an effort. Eric Blom (1888–1959), author of Mozart (1935), had taken note of the four-hand piano works as “a kind of keyboard chamber music.” Regarding Sonata, K. 497, Mr. Blom had observed that Mozart is often dealing with, not the expected four voices (one to a hand), but five. Blom states: “The F major Sonata (K. 497) removes us to another world—the world of the great chamber music, especially of the string quintets. Indeed an arrangement of some sort for a combination of instruments would make a magnificent concert work of this almost uncomfortably great piece of domestic music.” That Mozart was in 1786 writing for piano duo from a quintet perspective makes sense, as we find him returning to the quintet form with keen interest in his last years, writing four String Quintets, the Clarinet Quintet, rearranging a wind serenade for String Quintet, and leaving several other quintets incomplete. My arrangement presented here is made for flute and strings but is also intended for string quintet.Quintet in F Major for Flute and Strings, K. 497, was completed in 1999 and performed with the Martinů Quartet in the Czech Republic prior to recording it in 2004. Mozart had finished the original Sonata in F Major for Piano, Four-Hands, K. 497, on August 1, 1786. It shows the unmistakable influence of Figaro, completed and premiered exactly three months prior. As signaled by the imposing introductory Adagio, the conception is on a grand symphonic scale, all three movements being richly developed with contrapuntal episodes and an abundance of marvelously contrasting textures and themes throughout. Called “the crowning work of its kind” by Alfred Einstein, the Sonata is laden with examples of Mozart’s mercurial originality. Here we have a perfect synthesis of concertante brilliance, operatic intensity and intimate dialogue.The work opens in unison with a probing, minor-tinged Adagio, whose question comes to a pause on the dominant, before being answered with jaunty certainty by the opening theme of the Allegro di molto—an F-major tune as sunny and confident as an aria from Figaro itself. This movement’s declamatory “opera chorus” persistently intones its rhythmic motto over a swirling scale figure. The amorous second theme (initially presented in the first viola) also seems to be plucked from Figaro.The Andante opens with a heavenly melody, which takes as its springboard the Romanza theme from the Horn Concerto in E≤ Major, K. 495, written only five weeks before. The “love duet” between flute and first viola seems to anticipate the impassioned “duetting” between violin and viola in the Andante of the String Quintet in C Major, K. 515, written about nine months later. The ingenious stretto canon of the Andante’s middle section requires the precision of a Swiss clock (which its chiming thirds recall). Affecting bucolic codettas close each of the main sections of the movement.In the final Allegro, a rondo in 6/8 time, the puckish, yet aristocratic character of the opening theme contrasts with the bumptious, popular tune used for the second theme (heard first in the violin and then the flute, over pizzicato cello). Lilting hymn-like episodes in three, four- and finally five-part counterpoint are repeatedly interrupted by startling scale figures that rise up in furioso episodes throughout the movement. As in the “Swiss clock” section of the Andante, Mozart uses a stretto imitation treatment with this tempest theme, thereby heightening both intensity and sense of instability.I am most grateful to the adventuresome Martinů Quartet for their warm support and collaboration over the years with several of my arrangements, and to my friend Edwin Swanborn for the original typesetting of this score. Gratitude is also due Weekend Edition, Performance Today and innumerable classical stations across the United States for their enthusiastic and repeated airings of my “new” Mozart Quintet endeavors—and most of all, to violist Katherine Murdock for that dare in 1990.—Compiled from the writings of Robert Stallmanby Hannah Woods Stallman,February 2, 2020.

SKU: MB.30092M

ISBN 9780786693900. 8.75 x 11.75 inches.

Theres no getting away from it, the 5-string banjo is about as American as apple pie. This poses something of a conundrum for those who love the instrument, but dont wish to be confined to bluegrass music. My own motives for straying musically were born out of necessity, but now the enjoyment and exploration of new musical styles are what guides me. This book and accompanying online video are intended to help anyone who also wants to take their banjo playing to new exciting places. Includes access to online video.

SKU: CF.WF228

ISBN 9781491153529. 9 x 12 inches.

Compiled and edited by Amy Porter, Treasures for Flute and Piano is acollection of Philippe Gaubert’s shorter works for flute and piano. Gaubertwas a multi-talented musician, a marvelous flutist as well as a composer,teacher, and master conductor. Over his lifetime, he became one of the mostimportant musical figures in France between the World Wars in the first halfof the 20th century. Trained in theory and harmony at the Paris Conservatory,Gaubert was also deeply influenced by other composers at the time, includingDebussy, Fauré, and Dukas. Editor Amy Porter is a distinguished Professorat The University of Michigan School of Music, Theatre & Dance, and hasbeen praised by critics for her exceptional musical talent and her passion forscholarship. This edition represents eleven of the sixteen works from AmyPorter and Dr. Penelope Fischer’s video study guide, “The Gaubert Cycle: TheComplete Works for Flute and Piano by Philippe Gaubert”.
Philippe Gaubert (1879–1941) was a very important teacher and flutist in our classical flute playing lineage. In this edition we have gathered his beautiful, shorter compositions for flute and piano all in one place, to be cherished as “Gaubert’s Treasures.”Philippe Gaubert personified the modern French school of flute playing as introduced by his teacher Paul Taffanel (1844–1908) at the Paris Conservatory. Gaubert was a multitalented musician, a marvelous flutist as well as a gifted composer, teacher and master conductor. Over his lifetime he became one of the most important musical figures in France between the World Wars in the first half of the twentieth century. Gaubert’s musical andpedagogical gifts to us are passed along through generations of students and continue to touch the hearts of many who listen to his fine, and refined, music.Philippe Gaubert studied composition at the Paris Conservatory with Raoul Pugno, Xavier Leroux, and then for a brief time with Charles Lenepvu. It was after this study that he won the famous Prix de Rome second prize in composition. Even with his schooling of theory and harmony in Paris, he was deeply influenced by other composers of the time, namely Debussy, Fauré and Dukas. Between the years of 1905–1914 Gaubert’s early workswere arrangements and short pieces written for the year-end final exam pieces at the Conservatory.Between 1914–1918 Gaubert served in the French Army during World War I, most notably in the battle of Verdun in 1916. This was considered one of the largest battles against the Germans in WWI. He was wounded but his creativity level was not dampened. He was rewarded for his service and awarded medals for his bravery. It was during this time that he found the energy to compose his Deux Esquisses or 2 Scenes, and sketched out his first flute sonata.Gaubert composed his remaining five flute and piano works after 1922 in Paris, and clearly his poetic soul was transformed from the earlier years. He took in new forms and styles of compositions such as a Suite, a Ballade and a Sonatine. He also completed his Second and Third Sonatas for Flute and Piano, all of them dramatic works in terms of compositional techniques and grandeur of tone.Gaubert composed music easily throughout his lifetime, especially during summer breaks when the orchestra and Paris Opera seasons were on hiatus and he was not conducting. He loved literature and poetry which inspired over thirty vocal works from 1903 through 1938.He also wrote twenty-six instrumental chamber works for other instruments: oboe, cornet, clarinet, trombone, violin, viola, cello, harp and combinations of these instruments with piano. Some of these were commissioned jury pieces, but many were for his musician friends.Six full-length stage works, both ballets and operas for the stage, several tone poems and symphonies were written throughout his lifetime.This edition represents eleven out of the sixteen works from our video study guide “The Gaubert Cycle: The Complete Works for Flute and Piano by Philippe Gaubert” with guest pianist Tim Carey. Omitted in this edition are Sonatas Nos. 1–3, Ballade, and Sonatine.

SKU: CF.CM9735

ISBN 9781491161159. UPC: 680160919741. Key: A minor. Latin, English. Christopher Smart and ZRS.

Origins of the Tarantella The tarantella is a popular southern Italian dance with origins in the 11th century. (There is even some mention of the tarantella in ancient Greek mythology.) Of the possible sources of the dance, the most popular comes from the villages of Tanto and Tarentum (little spider), Italy. During harvest, workers in the field were sometimes bitten by the tarantula spider. To combat the poison, the afflicted workers went into a frenetic, almost musical exorcism to sweat the venom out of their pores. In the millennium since, the very energetic nature of the dance has remained, although the curative focus of the dance has given way to more enjoyable endeavors, even stately courtship. Origins of the Text Christopher Smart (1722-1771), also known as Kit Smart or Jack Smart, was born in Kent, England and suffered from what is now believed to be acute asthma and other health issues as a child. As such, he did not work in the fields, but spent much time reading and writing, a passion that he nurtured for a lifetime. Well known in London literary circles, his career as a writer floundered due to mounting debts and his falling out of favor with the literary establishment: Sadly, he was forced to confinement at St. Luke's Hospital for Lunatics, though this was based on his mounting debt, and not on insanity. (Confinement, or debtor's prison, was common during this period if one's debts could not be paid.) During his confinement, he worked on two of his most famous works, Jubilate Agno and A Song of David. (Part of Jubilate Agno [Rejoice in the Lamb] was set to music by English composer, Benjamin Britten.) Smart's writing style (which, at times, bordered on the absurd), along with his many obsessions, lead to frequent misperceptions of his work and his lucidity. In this present work, portions of Smart's Jubilate Agno were used in mm. 24-31, 103-110 and 149-156. The remaining text was gathered by the composer, including the rapid, almost patter-like, delivery of words from A-Z in the alphabet. (Christopher Smart had a preoccupation with the alphabet.) These words both rhyme and accentuate the frenetic nature of the spider dance: theraphosa [teh-rah-fo-sa] a genus of tarantula spiders bellicose [beh-lee-ko-sah] hostile; aggressive odiosa [o-dee-o-sa] hateful; vexation tenebrosa [teh-neh-bro-sa] creeping; dark nemorosa [neh-mo-ro-sa] wooded; shady lapidosa [lah-pee-do-sa] stony area; gritty The convergence, then, of the medieval tarantella (spider dance), the writings of a brilliant poet who bordered on the absurd, and the infusion of strong, descriptive and otherwise random, rhyming words, synthesizes to make dramatic lyrics for this work. About the Composer Z. Randall Stroope is an American composer and conductor. He has served as Professor of Music at three universities (an Endowed Professor at two), conducted 47 all-state choirs, and directed over 40 times at Carnegie Hall, among other American venues. Randall guest conducts full-time, and composes from his home studios on Merritt Island, Florida and in Sandia Park, New Mexico. Performance Notes Text: In Latin, the r is flipped; use s instead of z on endings such as phosa, cosa, and so on; the Latin o is a cross between oh and aw; in the transliteration above, I chose to simply use an o for consistency. The director will blend the oh and aw in the rehearsals to his/her own preference. Lastly, tarantula is pronounced tah-rah-n-too-lah (avoid teh-ran-choo-luh) within the confines of this text. Stomp: This can be done by the entire chorus, or just the first row. It is as much visual as it is auditory. The string quartet is preferred over piano when that option affords itself. I created a piano score that is a viable option and included it in the piano/vocal score if a performance uses chorus/piano.
The tarantella is a popular southern Italian dance with origins in the 11th century. (There is even some mention of the tarantella in ancient Greek mythology.) Of the possible sources of the dance, the most popular comes from the villages of Tanto and Tarentum (“little spider”), Italy. During harvest, workers in the field were sometimes bitten by the tarantula spider. To combat the “poison,” the afflicted workers went into a frenetic, almost musical exorcism to sweat the venom out of their pores. In the millennium since, the very energetic nature of the dance has remained, although the curative focus of the dance has given way to more enjoyable endeavors, even stately courtship.Christopher Smart (1722-1771), also known as “Kit Smart” or “Jack Smart,” was born in Kent, England and suffered from what is now believed to be acute asthma and other health issues as a child. As such, he did not work in the fields, but spent much time reading and writing, a passion that he nurtured for a lifetime. Well known in London literary circles, his career as a writer floundered due to mounting debts and his falling out of favor with the literary establishment: Sadly, he was forced to confinement at St. Luke’s Hospital for Lunatics, though this was based on his mounting debt, and not on insanity. (Confinement, or debtor’s prison, was common during this period if one’s debts could not be paid.) During his confinement, he worked on two of his most famous works, Jubilate Agno and A Song of David. (Part of Jubilate Agno [“Rejoice in the Lamb”] was set to music by English composer, Benjamin Britten.) Smart’s writing style (which, at times, bordered on the absurd), along with his many obsessions, lead to frequent misperceptions of his work and his lucidity. In this present work, portions of Smart’s Jubilate Agno were used in mm. 24-31, 103-110 and 149-156. The remaining text was gathered by the composer, including the rapid, almost patter-like, delivery of words from A-Z in the alphabet. (Christopher Smart had a preoccupation with the alphabet.) These words both rhyme and accentuate the frenetic nature of the spider dance:The convergence, then, of the medieval tarantella (spider dance), the writings of a brilliant poet who bordered on the absurd, and the infusion of strong, descriptive and otherwise random, rhyming words, synthesizes to make dramatic lyrics for this work.Z. Randall Stroope is an American composer and conductor. He has served as Professor of Music at three universities (an Endowed Professor at two), conducted 47 all-state choirs, and directed over 40 times at Carnegie Hall, among other American venues. Randall guest conducts full-time, and composes from his home studios on Merritt Island, Florida and in Sandia Park, New Mexico. In Latin, the “r” is flipped; use “s” instead of “z” on endings such as “phosa,” “cosa,” and so on; the Latin “o” is a cross between “oh” and “aw”; in the transliteration above, I chose to simply use an “o” for consistency. The director will blend the “oh” and “aw” in the rehearsals to his/her own preference. Lastly, “tarantula” is pronounced “tah-rah-n-too-lah” (avoid “teh-ran-choo-luh”) within the confines of this text.Stomp: This can be done by the entire chorus, or just the first row. It is as much visual as it is auditory. The string quartet is preferred over piano when that option affords itself. I created a piano score that is a viable option and included it in the piano/vocal score if a performance uses chorus/piano.
The tarantella is a popular southern Italian dance with origins in the 11th century. (There is even some mention of the tarantella in ancient Greek mythology.) Of the possible sources of the dance, the most popular comes from the villages of Tanto and Tarentum (“little spider”), Italy. During harvest, workers in the field were sometimes bitten by the tarantula spider. To combat the “poison,” the afflicted workers went into a frenetic, almost musical exorcism to sweat the venom out of their pores. In the millennium since, the very energetic nature of the dance has remained, although the curative focus of the dance has given way to more enjoyable endeavors, even stately courtship.Christopher Smart (1722-1771), also known as “Kit Smart” or “Jack Smart,” was born in Kent, England and suffered from what is now believed to be acute asthma and other health issues as a child. As such, he did not work in the fields, but spent much time reading and writing, a passion that he nurtured for a lifetime. Well known in London literary circles, his career as a writer floundered due to mounting debts and his falling out of favor with the literary establishment: Sadly, he was forced to confinement at St. Luke’s Hospital for Lunatics, though this was based on his mounting debt, and not on insanity. (Confinement, or debtor’s prison, was common during this period if one’s debts could not be paid.) During his confinement, he worked on two of his most famous works, Jubilate Agno and A Song of David. (Part of Jubilate Agno [“Rejoice in the Lamb”] was set to music by English composer, Benjamin Britten.) Smart’s writing style (which, at times, bordered on the absurd), along with his many obsessions, lead to frequent misperceptions of his work and his lucidity. In this present work, portions of Smart’s Jubilate Agno were used in mm. 24-31, 103-110 and 149-156. The remaining text was gathered by the composer, including the rapid, almost patter-like, delivery of words from A-Z in the alphabet. (Christopher Smart had a preoccupation with the alphabet.) These words both rhyme and accentuate the frenetic nature of the spider dance:The convergence, then, of the medieval tarantella (spider dance), the writings of a brilliant poet who bordered on the absurd, and the infusion of strong, descriptive and otherwise random, rhyming words, synthesizes to make dramatic lyrics for this work.Z. Randall Stroope is an American composer and conductor. He has served as Professor of Music at three universities (an Endowed Professor at two), conducted 47 all-state choirs, and directed over 40 times at Carnegie Hall, among other American venues. Randall guest conducts full-time, and composes from his home studios on Merritt Island, Florida and in Sandia Park, New Mexico.In Latin, the “r” is flipped; use “s” instead of “z” on endings such as “phosa,” “cosa,” and so on; the Latin “o” is a cross between “oh” and “aw”; in the transliteration above, I chose to simply use an “o” for consistency. The director will blend the “oh” and “aw” in the rehearsals to his/her own preference. Lastly, “tarantula” is pronounced “tah-rah-n-too-lah” (avoid “teh-ran-choo-luh”) within the confines of this text.Stomp: This can be done by the entire chorus, or just the first row. It is as much visual as it is auditory. The string quartet is preferred over piano when that option affords itself. I created a piano score that is a viable option and included it in the piano/vocal score if a performance uses chorus/piano.

SKU: CF.PL1056

ISBN 9781491153390. UPC: 680160910892. Transcribed by Franz Liszt.

Introduction It is true that Schubert himself is somewhat to blame for the very unsatisfactory manner in which his admirable piano pieces are treated. He was too immoderately productive, wrote incessantly, mixing insignificant with important things, grand things with mediocre work, paid no heed to criticism, and always soared on his wings. Like a bird in the air, he lived in music and sang in angelic fashion. --Franz Liszt, letter to Dr. S. Lebert (1868) Of those compositions that greatly interest me, there are only Chopin's and yours. --Franz Liszt, letter to Robert Schumann (1838) She [Clara Schumann] was astounded at hearing me. Her compositions are really very remarkable, especially for a woman. There is a hundred times more creativity and real feeling in them than in all the past and present fantasias by Thalberg. --Franz Liszt, letter to Marie d'Agoult (1838) Chretien Urhan (1790-1845) was a Belgian-born violinist, organist and composer who flourished in the musical life of Paris in the early nineteenth century. According to various accounts, he was deeply religious, harshly ascetic and wildly eccentric, though revered by many important and influential members of the Parisian musical community. Regrettably, history has forgotten Urhan's many musical achievements, the most important of which was arguably his pioneering work in promoting the music of Franz Schubert. He devoted much of his energies to championing Schubert's music, which at the time was unknown outside of Vienna. Undoubtedly, Urhan was responsible for stimulating this enthusiasm in Franz Liszt; Liszt regularly heard Urhan's organ playing in the St.-Vincent-de-Paul church in Paris, and the two became personal acquaintances. At eighteen years of age, Liszt was on the verge of establishing himself as the foremost pianist in Europe, and this awakening to Schubert's music would prove to be a profound experience. Liszt's first travels outside of his native provincial Hungary were to Vienna in 1821-1823, where his father enrolled him in studies with Carl Czerny (piano) and Antonio Salieri (music theory). Both men had important involvements with Schubert; Czerny (like Urhan) as performer and advocate of Schubert's music and Salieri as his theory and composition teacher from 1813-1817. Curiously, Liszt and Schubert never met personally, despite their geographical proximity in Vienna during these years. Inevitably, legends later arose that the two had been personal acquaintances, although Liszt would dismiss these as fallacious: I never knew Schubert personally, he was once quoted as saying. Liszt's initial exposure to Schubert's music was the Lieder, what Urhan prized most of all. He accompanied the tenor Benedict Randhartinger in numerous performances of Schubert's Lieder and then, perhaps realizing that he could benefit the composer more on his own terms, transcribed a number of the Lieder for piano solo. Many of these transcriptions he would perform himself on concert tour during the so-called Glanzzeit, or time of splendor from 1839-1847. This publicity did much to promote reception of Schubert's music throughout Europe. Once Liszt retired from the concert stage and settled in Weimar as a conductor in the 1840s, he continued to perform Schubert's orchestral music, his Symphony No. 9 being a particular favorite, and is credited with giving the world premiere performance of Schubert's opera Alfonso und Estrella in 1854. At this time, he contemplated writing a biography of the composer, which regrettably remained uncompleted. Liszt's devotion to Schubert would never waver. Liszt's relationship with Robert and Clara Schumann was far different and far more complicated; by contrast, they were all personal acquaintances. What began as a relationship of mutual respect and admiration soon deteriorated into one of jealousy and hostility, particularly on the Schumann's part. Liszt's initial contact with Robert's music happened long before they had met personally, when Liszt published an analysis of Schumann's piano music for the Gazette musicale in 1837, a gesture that earned Robert's deep appreciation. In the following year Clara met Liszt during a concert tour in Vienna and presented him with more of Schumann's piano music. Clara and her father Friedrich Wieck, who accompanied Clara on her concert tours, were quite taken by Liszt: We have heard Liszt. He can be compared to no other player...he arouses fright and astonishment. His appearance at the piano is indescribable. He is an original...he is absorbed by the piano. Liszt, too, was impressed with Clara--at first the energy, intelligence and accuracy of her piano playing and later her compositions--to the extent that he dedicated to her the 1838 version of his Etudes d'execution transcendante d'apres Paganini. Liszt had a closer personal relationship with Clara than with Robert until the two men finally met in 1840. Schumann was astounded by Liszt's piano playing. He wrote to Clara that Liszt had played like a god and had inspired indescribable furor of applause. His review of Liszt even included a heroic personification with Napoleon. In Leipzig, Schumann was deeply impressed with Liszt's interpretations of his Noveletten, Op. 21 and Fantasy in C Major, Op. 17 (dedicated to Liszt), enthusiastically observing that, I feel as if I had known you twenty years. Yet a variety of events followed that diminished Liszt's glory in the eyes of the Schumanns. They became critical of the cult-like atmosphere that arose around his recitals, or Lisztomania as it came to be called; conceivably, this could be attributed to professional jealousy. Clara, in particular, came to loathe Liszt, noting in a letter to Joseph Joachim, I despise Liszt from the depths of my soul. She recorded a stunning diary entry a day after Liszt's death, in which she noted, He was an eminent keyboard virtuoso, but a dangerous example for the young...As a composer he was terrible. By contrast, Liszt did not share in these negative sentiments; no evidence suggests that he had any ill-regard for the Schumanns. In Weimar, he did much to promote Schumann's music, conducting performances of his Scenes from Faust and Manfred, during a time in which few orchestras expressed interest, and premiered his opera Genoveva. He later arranged a benefit concert for Clara following Robert's death, featuring Clara as soloist in Robert's Piano Concerto, an event that must have been exhilarating to witness. Regardless, her opinion of him would never change, despite his repeated gestures of courtesy and respect. Liszt's relationship with Schubert was a spiritual one, with music being the one and only link between the two men. That with the Schumanns was personal, with music influenced by a hero worship that would aggravate the relationship over time. Nonetheless, Liszt would remain devoted to and enthusiastic for the music and achievements of these composers. He would be a vital force in disseminating their music to a wider audience, as he would be with many other composers throughout his career. His primary means for accomplishing this was the piano transcription. Liszt and the Transcription Transcription versus Paraphrase Transcription and paraphrase were popular terms in nineteenth-century music, although certainly not unique to this period. Musicians understood that there were clear distinctions between these two terms, but as is often the case these distinctions could be blurred. Transcription, literally writing over, entails reworking or adapting a piece of music for a performance medium different from that of its original; arrangement is a possible synonym. Adapting is a key part of this process, for the success of a transcription relies on the transcriber's ability to adapt the piece to the different medium. As a result, the pre-existing material is generally kept intact, recognizable and intelligible; it is strict, literal, objective. Contextual meaning is maintained in the process, as are elements of style and form. Paraphrase, by contrast, implies restating something in a different manner, as in a rewording of a document for reasons of clarity. In nineteenth-century music, paraphrasing indicated elaborating a piece for purposes of expressive virtuosity, often as a vehicle for showmanship. Variation is an important element, for the source material may be varied as much as the paraphraser's imagination will allow; its purpose is metamorphosis. Transcription is adapting and arranging; paraphrasing is transforming and reworking. Transcription preserves the style of the original; paraphrase absorbs the original into a different style. Transcription highlights the original composer; paraphrase highlights the paraphraser. Approximately half of Liszt's compositional output falls under the category of transcription and paraphrase; it is noteworthy that he never used the term arrangement. Much of his early compositional activities were transcriptions and paraphrases of works of other composers, such as the symphonies of Beethoven and Berlioz, vocal music by Schubert, and operas by Donizetti and Bellini. It is conceivable that he focused so intently on work of this nature early in his career as a means to perfect his compositional technique, although transcription and paraphrase continued well after the technique had been mastered; this might explain why he drastically revised and rewrote many of his original compositions from the 1830s (such as the Transcendental Etudes and Paganini Etudes) in the 1850s. Charles Rosen, a sympathetic interpreter of Liszt's piano works, observes, The new revisions of the Transcendental Etudes are not revisions but concert paraphrases of the old, and their art lies in the technique of transformation. The Paganini etudes are piano transcriptions of violin etudes, and the Transcendental Etudes are piano transcriptions of piano etudes. The principles are the same. He concludes by noting, Paraphrase has shaded off into composition...Composition and paraphrase were not identical for him, but they were so closely interwoven that separation is impossible. The significance of transcription and paraphrase for Liszt the composer cannot be overstated, and the mutual influence of each needs to be better understood. Undoubtedly, Liszt the composer as we know him today would be far different had he not devoted so much of his career to transcribing and paraphrasing the music of others. He was perhaps one of the first composers to contend that transcription and paraphrase could be genuine art forms on equal par with original pieces; he even claimed to be the first to use these two terms to describe these classes of arrangements. Despite the success that Liszt achieved with this type of work, others viewed it with circumspection and criticism. Robert Schumann, although deeply impressed with Liszt's keyboard virtuosity, was harsh in his criticisms of the transcriptions. Schumann interpreted them as indicators that Liszt's virtuosity had hindered his compositional development and suggested that Liszt transcribed the music of others to compensate for his own compositional deficiencies. Nonetheless, Liszt's piano transcriptions, what he sometimes called partitions de piano (or piano scores), were instrumental in promoting composers whose music was unknown at the time or inaccessible in areas outside of major European capitals, areas that Liszt willingly toured during his Glanzzeit. To this end, the transcriptions had to be literal arrangements for the piano; a Beethoven symphony could not be introduced to an unknowing audience if its music had been subjected to imaginative elaborations and variations. The same would be true of the 1833 transcription of Berlioz's Symphonie fantastique (composed only three years earlier), the astonishingly novel content of which would necessitate a literal and intelligible rendering. Opera, usually more popular and accessible for the general public, was a different matter, and in this realm Liszt could paraphrase the original and manipulate it as his imagination would allow without jeopardizing its reception; hence, the paraphrases on the operas of Bellini, Donizetti, Mozart, Meyerbeer and Verdi. Reminiscence was another term coined by Liszt for the opera paraphrases, as if the composer were reminiscing at the keyboard following a memorable evening at the opera. Illustration (reserved on two occasions for Meyerbeer) and fantasy were additional terms. The operas of Wagner were exceptions. His music was less suited to paraphrase due to its general lack of familiarity at the time. Transcription of Wagner's music was thus obligatory, as it was of Beethoven's and Berlioz's music; perhaps the composer himself insisted on this approach. Liszt's Lieder Transcriptions Liszt's initial encounters with Schubert's music, as mentioned previously, were with the Lieder. His first transcription of a Schubert Lied was Die Rose in 1833, followed by Lob der Tranen in 1837. Thirty-nine additional transcriptions appeared at a rapid pace over the following three years, and in 1846, the Schubert Lieder transcriptions would conclude, by which point he had completed fifty-eight, the most of any composer. Critical response to these transcriptions was highly favorable--aside from the view held by Schumann--particularly when Liszt himself played these pieces in concert. Some were published immediately by Anton Diabelli, famous for the theme that inspired Beethoven's variations. Others were published by the Viennese publisher Tobias Haslinger (one of Beethoven's and Schubert's publishers in the 1820s), who sold his reserves so quickly that he would repeatedly plead for more. However, Liszt's enthusiasm for work of this nature soon became exhausted, as he noted in a letter of 1839 to the publisher Breitkopf und Hartel: That good Haslinger overwhelms me with Schubert. I have just sent him twenty-four new songs (Schwanengesang and Winterreise), and for the moment I am rather tired of this work. Haslinger was justified in his demands, for the Schubert transcriptions were received with great enthusiasm. One Gottfried Wilhelm Fink, then editor of the Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung, observed of these transcriptions: Nothing in recent memory has caused such sensation and enjoyment in both pianists and audiences as these arrangements...The demand for them has in no way been satisfied; and it will not be until these arrangements are seen on pianos everywhere. They have indeed made quite a splash. Eduard Hanslick, never a sympathetic critic of Liszt's music, acknowledged thirty years after the fact that, Liszt's transcriptions of Schubert Lieder were epoch-making. There was hardly a concert in which Liszt did not have to play one or two of them--even when they were not listed on the program. These transcriptions quickly became some of his most sough-after pieces, despite their extreme technical demands. Leading pianists of the day, such as Clara Wieck and Sigismond Thalberg, incorporated them into their concert programs immediately upon publication. Moreover, the transcriptions would serve as inspirations for other composers, such as Stephen Heller, Cesar Franck and later Leopold Godowsky, all of whom produced their own transcriptions of Schubert's Lieder. Liszt would transcribe the Lieder of other composers as well, including those by Mendelssohn, Chopin, Anton Rubinstein and even himself. Robert Schumann, of course, would not be ignored. The first transcription of a Schumann Lied was the celebrated Widmung from Myrten in 1848, the only Schumann transcription that Liszt completed during the composer's lifetime. (Regrettably, there is no evidence of Schumann's regard of this transcription, or even if he was aware of it.) From the years 1848-1881, Liszt transcribed twelve of Robert Schumann's Lieder (including one orchestral Lied) and three of Clara (one from each of her three published Lieder cycles); he would transcribe no other works of these two composers. The Schumann Lieder transcriptions, contrary to those of Schubert, are literal arrangements, posing, in general, far fewer demands on the pianist's technique. They are comparatively less imaginative in their treatment of the original material. Additionally, they seem to have been less valued in their day than the Schubert transcriptions, and it is noteworthy that none of the Schumann transcriptions bear dedications, as most of the Schubert transcriptions do. The greatest challenge posed by Lieder transcriptions, regardless of the composer or the nature of the transcription, was to combine the vocal and piano parts of the original such that the character of each would be preserved, a challenge unique to this form of transcription. Each part had to be intact and aurally recognizable, the vocal line in particular. Complications could be manifold in a Lied that featured dissimilar parts, such as Schubert's Auf dem Wasser zu singen, whose piano accompaniment depicts the rocking of the boat on the shimmering waves while the vocal line reflects on the passing of time. Similar complications would be encountered in Gretchen am Spinnrade, in which the ubiquitous sixteenth-note pattern in the piano's right hand epitomizes the ever-turning spinning wheel over which the soprano voice expresses feelings of longing and heartache. The resulting transcriptions for solo piano would place exceptional demands on the pianist. The complications would be far less imposing in instances in which voice and piano were less differentiated, as in many of Schumann's Lieder that Liszt transcribed. The piano parts in these Lieder are true accompaniments for the voice, providing harmonic foundation and rhythmic support by doubling the vocal line throughout. The transcriptions, thus, are strict and literal, with far fewer demands on both pianist and transcriber. In all of Liszt's Lieder transcriptions, regardless of the way in which the two parts are combined, the melody (i.e. the vocal line) is invariably the focal point; the melody should sing on the piano, as if it were the voice. The piano part, although integral to contributing to the character of the music, is designed to function as accompaniment. A singing melody was a crucial objective in nineteenth-century piano performance, which in part might explain the zeal in transcribing and paraphrasing vocal music for the piano. Friedrich Wieck, father and teacher of Clara Schumann, stressed this point repeatedly in his 1853 treatise Clavier und Gesang (Piano and Song): When I speak in general of singing, I refer to that species of singing which is a form of beauty, and which is a foundation for the most refined and most perfect interpretation of music; and, above all things, I consider the culture of beautiful tones the basis for the finest possible touch on the piano. In many respects, the piano and singing should explain and supplement each other. They should mutually assist in expressing the sublime and the noble, in forms of unclouded beauty. Much of Liszt's piano music should be interpreted with this concept in mind, the Lieder transcriptions and opera paraphrases, in particular. To this end, Liszt provided numerous written instructions to the performer to emphasize the vocal line in performance, with Italian directives such as un poco marcato il canto, accentuato assai il canto and ben pronunziato il canto. Repeated indications of cantando,singend and espressivo il canto stress the significance of the singing tone. As an additional means of achieving this and providing the performer with access to the poetry, Liszt insisted, at what must have been a publishing novelty at the time, on printing the words of the Lied in the music itself. Haslinger, seemingly oblivious to Liszt's intent, initially printed the poems of the early Schubert transcriptions separately inside the front covers. Liszt argued that the transcriptions must be reprinted with the words underlying the notes, exactly as Schubert had done, a request that was honored by printing the words above the right-hand staff. Liszt also incorporated a visual scheme for distinguishing voice and accompaniment, influenced perhaps by Chopin, by notating the accompaniment in cue size. His transcription of Robert Schumann's Fruhlings Ankunft features the vocal line in normal size, the piano accompaniment in reduced size, an unmistakable guide in a busy texture as to which part should be emphasized: Example 1. Schumann-Liszt Fruhlings Ankunft, mm. 1-2. The same practice may be found in the transcription of Schumann's An die Turen will ich schleichen. In this piece, the performer must read three staves, in which the baritone line in the central staff is to be shared between the two hands based on the stem direction of the notes: Example 2. Schumann-Liszt An die Turen will ich schleichen, mm. 1-5. This notational practice is extremely beneficial in this instance, given the challenge of reading three staves and the manner in which the vocal line is performed by the two hands. Curiously, Liszt did not use this practice in other transcriptions. Approaches in Lieder Transcription Liszt adopted a variety of approaches in his Lieder transcriptions, based on the nature of the source material, the ways in which the vocal and piano parts could be combined and the ways in which the vocal part could sing. One approach, common with strophic Lieder, in which the vocal line would be identical in each verse, was to vary the register of the vocal part. The transcription of Lob der Tranen, for example, incorporates three of the four verses of the original Lied, with the register of the vocal line ascending one octave with each verse (from low to high), as if three different voices were participating. By the conclusion, the music encompasses the entire range of Liszt's keyboard to produce a stunning climactic effect, and the variety of register of the vocal line provides a welcome textural variety in the absence of the words. The three verses of the transcription of Auf dem Wasser zu singen follow the same approach, in which the vocal line ascends from the tenor, to the alto and to the soprano registers with each verse. Fruhlingsglaube adopts the opposite approach, in which the vocal line descends from soprano in verse 1 to tenor in verse 2, with the second part of verse 2 again resuming the soprano register; this is also the case in Das Wandern from Mullerlieder. Gretchen am Spinnrade posed a unique problem. Since the poem's narrator is female, and the poem represents an expression of her longing for her lover Faust, variation of the vocal line's register, strictly speaking, would have been impractical. For this reason, the vocal line remains in its original register throughout, relentlessly colliding with the sixteenth-note pattern of the accompaniment. One exception may be found in the fifth and final verse in mm. 93-112, at which point the vocal line is notated in a higher register and doubled in octaves. This sudden textural change, one that is readily audible, was a strategic means to underscore Gretchen's mounting anxiety (My bosom urges itself toward him. Ah, might I grasp and hold him! And kiss him as I would wish, at his kisses I should die!). The transcription, thus, becomes a vehicle for maximizing the emotional content of the poem, an exceptional undertaking with the general intent of a transcription. Registral variation of the vocal part also plays a crucial role in the transcription of Erlkonig. Goethe's poem depicts the death of a child who is apprehended by a supernatural Erlking, and Schubert, recognizing the dramatic nature of the poem, carefully depicted the characters (father, son and Erlking) through unique vocal writing and accompaniment patterns: the Lied is a dramatic entity. Liszt, in turn, followed Schubert's characterization in this literal transcription, yet took it an additional step by placing the register of the father's vocal line in the baritone range, that of the son in the soprano range and that of the Erlking in the highest register, options that would not have been available in the version for voice and piano. Additionally, Liszt labeled each appearance of each character in the score, a means for guiding the performer in interpreting the dramatic qualities of the Lied. As a result, the drama and energy of the poem are enhanced in this transcription; as with Gretchen am Spinnrade, the transcriber has maximized the content of the original. Elaboration may be found in certain Lieder transcriptions that expand the performance to a level of virtuosity not found in the original; in such cases, the transcription approximates the paraphrase. Schubert's Du bist die Ruh, a paradigm of musical simplicity, features an uncomplicated piano accompaniment that is virtually identical in each verse. In Liszt's transcription, the material is subjected to a highly virtuosic treatment that far exceeds the original, including a demanding passage for the left hand alone in the opening measures and unique textural writing in each verse. The piece is a transcription in virtuosity; its art, as Rosen noted, lies in the technique of transformation. Elaboration may entail an expansion of the musical form, as in the extensive introduction to Die Forelle and a virtuosic middle section (mm. 63-85), both of which are not in the original. Also unique to this transcription are two cadenzas that Liszt composed in response to the poetic content. The first, in m. 93 on the words und eh ich es gedacht (and before I could guess it), features a twisted chromatic passage that prolongs and thereby heightens the listener's suspense as to the fate of the trout (which is ultimately caught). The second, in m. 108 on the words Betrogne an (and my blood boiled as I saw the betrayed one), features a rush of diminished-seventh arpeggios in both hands, epitomizing the poet's rage at the fisherman for catching the trout. Less frequent are instances in which the length of the original Lied was shortened in the transcription, a tendency that may be found with certain strophic Lieder (e.g., Der Leiermann, Wasserflut and Das Wandern). Another transcription that demonstrates Liszt's readiness to modify the original in the interests of the poetic content is Standchen, the seventh transcription from Schubert's Schwanengesang. Adapted from Act II of Shakespeare's Cymbeline, the poem represents the repeated beckoning of a man to his lover. Liszt transformed the Lied into a miniature drama by transcribing the vocal line of the first verse in the soprano register, that of the second verse in the baritone register, in effect, creating a dialogue between the two lovers. In mm. 71-102, the dialogue becomes a canon, with one voice trailing the other like an echo (as labeled in the score) at the distance of a beat. As in other instances, the transcription resembles the paraphrase, and it is perhaps for this reason that Liszt provided an ossia version that is more in the nature of a literal transcription. The ossia version, six measures shorter than Schubert's original, is less demanding technically than the original transcription, thus representing an ossia of transcription and an ossia of piano technique. The Schumann Lieder transcriptions, in general, display a less imaginative treatment of the source material. Elaborations are less frequently encountered, and virtuosity is more restricted, as if the passage of time had somewhat tamed the composer's approach to transcriptions; alternatively, Liszt was eager to distance himself from the fierce virtuosity of his early years. In most instances, these transcriptions are literal arrangements of the source material, with the vocal line in its original form combined with the accompaniment, which often doubles the vocal line in the original Lied. Widmung, the first of the Schumann transcriptions, is one exception in the way it recalls the virtuosity of the Schubert transcriptions of the 1830s. Particularly striking is the closing section (mm. 58-73), in which material of the opening verse (right hand) is combined with the triplet quarter notes (left hand) from the second section of the Lied (mm. 32-43), as if the transcriber were attempting to reconcile the different material of these two sections. Fruhlingsnacht resembles a paraphrase by presenting each of the two verses in differing registers (alto for verse 1, mm. 3-19, and soprano for verse 2, mm. 20-31) and by concluding with a virtuosic section that considerably extends the length of the original Lied. The original tonalities of the Lieder were generally retained in the transcriptions, showing that the tonality was an important part of the transcription process. The infrequent instances of transposition were done for specific reasons. In 1861, Liszt transcribed two of Schumann's Lieder, one from Op. 36 (An den Sonnenschein), another from Op. 27 (Dem roten Roslein), and merged these two pieces in the collection 2 Lieder; they share only the common tonality of A major. His choice for combining these two Lieder remains unknown, but he clearly recognized that some tonal variety would be needed, for which reason Dem roten Roslein was transposed to C>= major. The collection features An den Sonnenschein in A major (with a transition to the new tonality), followed by Dem roten Roslein in C>= major (without a change of key signature), and concluding with a reprise of An den Sonnenschein in A major. A three-part form was thus established with tonal variety provided by keys in third relations (A-C>=-A); in effect, two of Schumann's Lieder were transcribed into an archetypal song without words. In other instances, Liszt treated tonality and tonal organization as important structural ingredients, particularly in the transcriptions of Schubert's Lieder cycles, i.e. Schwanengesang, Winterreise a...

SKU: CF.YAS13F

ISBN 9780825848339. UPC: 798408048334. 8.5 X 11 inches. Key: G major.

IApart from some of his Sonatinas, Opus 36, Clementi's life and music are hardly known to the piano teachers and students of today. For example, in addition to the above mentioned Sonatinas, Clementi wrote sixty sonatas for the piano, many of them unjustly neglected, although his friend Beethoven regarded some of them very highly. Clementi also wrote symphonies (some of which he arranged as piano sonatas), a substantial number of waltzes and other dances for the piano as well as sonatas and sonatinas for piano four-hands.In addition to composing, Clementi was a much sought after piano teacher, and included among his students John Field (Father of the 'Nocturne'), and Meyerbeer.In his later years, Clementi became a very successful music publisher, publishing among other works the first English edition of Beethoven's Violin Concerto, in the great composer's own arrangement for the piano, as well as some of his string quartets. Clementi was also one of the first English piano manufacturers to make pianos with a metal frame and string them with wire.The Sonatina in C, Opus 36, No. 1 was one of six such works Clementi wrote in 1797. He must have been partial to these little pieces (for which he also provided the fingerings), since they were reissued (without the fingering) by the composer shortly after 1801. About 1820, he issued ''the sixth edition, with considerable improvements by the author;· with fingerings added and several minor changes, among which were that many of them were written an octave higher.IIIt has often been said, generally by those unhampered by the facts, that composers of the past (and, dare we add, the present?), usually handled their financial affairs with their public and publishers with a poor sense of business acumen or common sense. As a result they frequently found themselves in financial straits.Contrary to popular opinion, this was the exception rather than the rule. With the exception of Mozart and perhaps a few other composers, the majority of composers then, as now, were quite successful in their dealings with the public and their publishers, as the following examples will show.It was not unusual for 18th- and 19th-century composers to arrange some of their more popular compositions for different combinations of instruments in order to increase their availability to a larger music-playing public. Telemann, in the introduction to his seventy-two cantatas for solo voice and one melody instrument (flute, oboe or violin, with the usual continua) Der Harmonische Gottesdienst, tor example, suggests that if a singer is not available to perform a cantata the voice part could be played by another instrument. And in the introduction to his Six Concertos and Six Suites for flute, violin and continua, he named four different instrumental combinations that could perform these pieces, and actually wrote out the notes for the different possibilities. Bach arranged his violin concertos for keyboard, and Beethoven not only arranged his Piano Sonata in E Major, Opus 14, No. 1 for string quartet, he also transposed it to the key of F. Brahm's well-known Quintet in F Minor for piano and strings was his own arrangement of his earlier sonata for two pianos, also in F Minor.IIIWe come now to Clementi. It is well known that some of his sixty piano sonatas were his own arrangements of some of his lost symphonies, and that some of his rondos for piano four-hands were originally the last movements of his solo sonatas or piano trios.In order to make the first movement of his delightful Sonatina in C, Opus 36, No. 1 accessible to young string players, I have followed the example established by the composer himself by arranging and transposing one of his piano compositions from one medium (the piano) to another. (string instruments). In order to simplify the work for young string players, in the process of adapting it to the new medium it was necessary to transpose it from the original key of C to G, thereby doing away with some of the difficulties they would have encountered in the original key. The first violin and cello parts are similar to the right- and left-hand parts of the original piano version. The few changes I have made in these parts have been for the convenience of the string players, but in no way do they change the nature of the music.Since the original implied a harmonic framework in many places, I have added a second violin and viola part in such a way that they not only have interesting music to play, but also fill in some of the implied harmony without in any way detracting from the composition's musical value. Occasionally, it has been necessary to raise or lower a few passages an octave or to modify others slightly to make them more accessible for young players.It is hoped that the musical value of the composition has not been too compromised, and that students and teachers will come to enjoy this little piece in its new setting as much as pianists have in the original one. This arrangement may also be performed by a solo string quartet. When performed by a string orchestra, the double bass part may be omitted.- Douglas TownsendString editing by Amy Rosen.

About Carl Fischer Young String Orchestra Series

Thi s series of Grade 2/Grade 2.5 pieces is designed for second and third year ensembles. The pieces in this series are characterized by:
--Occasionally extending to third position
--Keys carefully considered for appropriate difficulty
--Addition of separate 2nd violin and viola parts
--Viola T.C. part included
--Increase in independence of parts over beginning levels