August 21, 2011 · 3:03 pm

Article: Women Violinists of the Victorian Era, 1899

Here is a long article entitled “Women Violinists of the Victorian Era” from the February or March 1899 edition of The Lady’s Realm, a British magazine. The author is unknown. Original here.

***

Before the days of Paganini, and even as far back as the middle of the last century, a girl-violinist appeared now and then upon the concert platforms of Europe. Yet it may be asserted, without misgiving, that all celebrated lady-violinists are of the Victorian Era.

The first women who attained enduring fame as violinists were the sisters Milanollo, the outlines of whose artistic careers have often enough been sketched, though unfortunately not always with accuracy. But the ever-gracious Teresa Milanollo (now Madame Parmentier) has kindly placed at my disposal the fullest details concerning her public life, and has courteously permitted the readers of THE LADY’S REALM to be told more than is usually known of her personal history.

Born at Savigliano (Piedmont), August 28th, 1827, Madame Parmentier is now in her seventy-first year. But the disposition of Teresa Milanollo is still young and fresh, her interest in things musical, and zeal for philanthropic service, as keen as ever.

The vocation of this great artist manifested itself in very early days. At four years of age she was taken to a funeral ceremony in honour of King Charles Félix of Sardinia, and upon leaving the church her father put to her the question: “Did you pray to God, little one?” “No, papa,” was the reply, “I did nothing but listen to the violin.” After this she was persistent in her demands for a violin of her own. Her father instructed her in the elements of solfeggi, and then made for her a little violin in white wood, and put her, for a year, under the tuition of Ferrero at Savigliano. Later on she had lessons at Turin from Caldera and from Morra, but not of Gebhard, as has been often stated.

She was only in her ninth year when she made her début and appeared at several concerts in the vicinity of her native town. In the year 1836 she was taken to France, to play at the Musard Concerts at Marseilles. There she had an immediate success, and went on to Paris, where she had some lessons from Lafont and played once or twice at the Opéra Comique. The same year she went with Lafont for a tour in Belgium and Holland, and in 1837 played at Amsterdam and the Hague. In this year too – the year of the Queen’s accession – she came to London, and was heard at Covent Garden.

In London she took some lessons with Mori and Tolbecque, and was engaged by the harpist Bochsa to make a three months’ tour in Wales.

It was upon her return to France, in 1838, that her little sister Maria, then six years old, was first presented to the public. Soon after this, Teresa put herself under the musical direction of Hebeneck, who made her play his Grand Polonaise in C, at one of the celebrated Conservatoire concerts, April 18th, 1841. In the opinion of all the critics of that time, and notably of Berlioz, her success was immense, and it was this appearance that definitely crowned her reputation.

The same year, the sisters Milanollo played before Louis-Philippe at Neuilly, and from this period, they were inseparable until the death of Maria. The younger sister never received any lessons except those given her by Teresa. About this time the sisters met de Beriot, who communicated to Teresa the masterly bowing of the school of Viotti and de Baillot, and the faultless intonation which so many, even illustrious, performers lack. To de Beriot Madame Parmentier accords the distinction of having “completed her artistic education.”

From this time (1842) forward until 1848, when the melancholy event of Maria’s death from rapid consumption occurred, the sisters were continuously journeying through Europe. In every capital, and in most towns of importance, they appeared at series of concerts; their reputation increasing each year. In Vienna, particularly, the honours of public favour were heaped upon them. They appeared with Liszt at the Castle at Brühl before the King of Prussia, and in Berlin the furore they created had, according to the cirtic Kellstab, been equalled only three times in the century. The three performers whose successes he ranked with theirs were Catalini (the prima donna), Paganini, and Liszt. While in Berlin the sisters twice played before the Court, accompanied by the composer Meyerbeer.

In 1845 they paid their second and last visit to London, where they gave several concerts, and played before Her Majesty at Court.

It is a strange thing that at a time when the music-lovers of the Continent were all wildly enthusiastic for the sisters Milanollo, and their popularity abroad supreme, the English public gave them a comparatively lukewarm reception. But in 1845 England had scarcely earned the reputation of a music-, or rather virtuosi-loving nation. The days of Sarasate- and Paderewski fever had not yet dawned in Britain, and the really musical among us could be counted only by hundreds, instead of, as now, by many thousands.

The terrible sorrow into which Teresa fell, upon the loss in 1848 of her much-cherished sister and pupil, was stupefying in its intensity. But her father, who had recently bought a country estate at Malzéville, near Nancy, urged upon her the wisdom of reappearing in public.  She played, therefore, at a concert in aid of the Association des Artistes Musiciens, gave two quartet concerts in Paris, and subsequently toured in Germany, Switzerland, and Austria.

Her last professional concert was given on April 6th, 1857, at Nancy, and on the 15th of the same month she married General (then Captain) Théodore Parmentier. At the time of their marriage, General Parmentier was aide-de-camp to General Niel, with whom he took part in the siege of Sebastopol. Since her marriage, Teresa Milanollo’s appearances in public have been comparatively few, and all have been at the call of charity.

Many are the charming stories told of the ceaseless benevolence of Teresa Milanollo. During the lifetime of Maria, the sisters had already put themselves into direct personal relations with the poor of Lyons; but it was after Teresa had roused herself from her mourning that she invented the system of “Concerts aux Pauvres,” which she carried out in nearly all the chief towns of France. At these concerts she reserved part of her receipts for the benefit of the poor. Then in each town she appeared again before an audience composed exclusively of the children of the public schools and their parents. To these she played in a manner which strangely silenced and moved her hearers, and at the conclusion of her performances, money, food, and clothes, the products of her self-charged receipts from the previous concerts, were distributed.

From 1857 to 1878 she, a soldier’s wife, followed the fortunes of her husband, and one of her later appearances was at a concert at Constantine, Algiers. Since 1878 the gallant General who is “Grand Officier de la Légion d’Honneur,” and his gifted and famous wife, have resided quietly in Paris; but, generous and accessible as ever, Madame Parmentier is still to be met by a fortunate few in select musical and social circles of the French capital.

Teresa Milanollo is not alone distinguished as the first really famous lady-violinist, she is also remembered for being the most pathetic and soul-moving performer of modern times. All her effects were obtained by legitimate means. Maria’s distinction rested on other grounds. Without pretending to the grand style and electric emotion of Teresa, she had remarkable vigour and boldness of execution, and her staccato was so perfect that she received, in Germany, the nickname of Madamoiselle Staccato, in opposition to her sister, who was dubbed Mademoiselle Adagio.

To Brussels, the cradle, then and now, of so much musical talent, belongs the honour of having given to the world, in the early ‘fifties, some excellent lady-performers on the violin. Among them was a Mademoiselle Fréry, a favourite pupil of Charles de Beriot. Dr. T. L. Philson, who was present in the great concert-hall of the Grande Harmonic when Mademoiselle Fréry competed for the first violin-prize of the Brussels Conservatoire, states that she was not only a fine player, whose performance on that, as on subsequent occasions, was greeted with storms of applause, but a very beautiful girl. He recalls her, with black, flashing eyes and dark hair, sitting behind the stage with her mother, fingering her violin in an agony of nervousness, though apparently calm, until it should be her turn to appear before the judges. When the moment came, to the surprise of every one, her courage failed her. She refused to go forward. Nor could her bashfulness be overcome until de Beriot himself, leaving the conductor’s desk, went to her and led her in her little white frock and pink sash, blushing and trembling, before the audience. The chief merits of this player were her “full, luscious tone,” and refined expression. Like many another talented beauty she was married early (to a pianist, with whom she went to the United States), and disappeared from European musical circles.

Not long after her successes, Brussels – in 1853-4 – hailed with the enthusiasm the début, at the Opera House, of the Demoiselles Ferny, who were pupils of Artot. These two sisters speedily became popular favourites; and the similitude of their name – Ferny – with Fréry, undoubtedly completed the extinction of the earlier star, who deserved to shine a little longer in the recollection of music-lovers.

After Teresa Milanollo, the next name to stamp itself indelibly upon the public consciousness is that of “Norman-Neruda.” Other women-violinists, notwithstanding great talents and sensational successes, scarcely attained to the true immortality of fame. But the position of Neruda, in the hierarchy of musicians, is one that cannot easily be overthrown.

Wilhelmina Neruda, born in 1840 at Brünn in Moravia, began to play the violin almost as soon as she could walk, and appeared in public at Vienna in 1846. Her master was Jansa. At nine years old she played a concerto of de Beriot’s at the London Philharmonic Concert, and was enthusiastically received. In 1865 she married Ludwig Norman, a Swedish musician, and five years afterwards played again at the Philharmonic, and was induced by Vieuxtemps to remain in London until the winter, when she accepted the post of leader of the quartet at the Popular Concerts. From that time it has been the good fortune of Londoners to hear her every winter at St. James’s Hall.

Of her perfect education, refined and intelligent phrasing, and depth of feeling, it is unnecessary to speak. The violin she uses is the “Strad” that belonged to Ernst; it was presented to her by the Duke of Saxe-Coburg and a few other distinguished amateurs.

Upon the death of Ludwig Norman, Madame Neruda married Sir Charles Hallé, with whom she made a most successful tour in Australia. In 1895, as none of us have forgotten, Sir Charles Hallé died, and, upon the suggestion of the Princess of Wales (of whom “Neruda” has long been a personal as well as a musical favourite), a subscription was raised for his widow. In 1896 Lady Hallé was presented by many admirers with the title-deeds of an estate and villa in Italy, and a purse of £500.

For so long now Lady Hallé has been a favourite of the British Public, for so long she has resided in our midst, that it is difficult to think of her as other than an Englishwoman. Yet neither her birth nor her parentage gives us the right to claim her as our own. But there is something in the repose and “at-homeness” of Lady Hallé’s bearing, both in public and private, and much in her devotion and loyalty to the British audiences who have delighted to applaud her through nearly half a century, that warrants the pride we all feel in our lion’s share of possession of her personality and talents. More than any other of the great violinists of the Victorian Era, she belongs to us. England may be proud of being the country of this great artist’s adoption. Her Majesty’s recognition of her husband, and the English title which, through him, “Norman-Neruda” bears, only serve to emphasize our claim to count her one of us.

Gabrielle Wietrowetz was born at Graz in Styria, in 1866. She is the daughter of an orchestral musician, who taught her all he could until she was placed in the Styrian Musical Society’s School under Caspar. Aided by the Styrian Government, Fräulein Wietrowetz entered the far-famed Hochschule in Berlin, where she worked under Joachim. Twice she won the Mendelssohn prize, and, at eighteen years of age, appeared at the Berlin Philharmonic Concert, when she played Max Bruch’s second concerto.

After playing in Bremen and other German towns, she came to London, and, among other engagements, has been heard several times as leader of the “Pop” Quartet. The breadth of her tone and beauty of her phrasing are remarkable; her interpretation of the music of Brahms being particularly striking. A woman of great strength and determination, she puts it all into her playing, adding much charm and tenderness.

Teresina Tua was born in 1867, and first appeared as a prodigy in Nice when seven years old. After a successful concert, she attracted the notice of a wealthy Russian, Madame Rosen, through whose interest she became pupil of Massart at the Paris Conservatoire. Queen Isabella of Spain, and Madame MacMahon (wife of the Field-Marshal) were also among those whose early notice contributed to the fostering of “La Tua’s” remarkable gifts. She appeared for the first time in England in 1883, when she created much sensation at the Crystal Palace Concerts, and played with success at the Philharmonic. She has visited America, and appeared in most of the chief cities of Europe. Upon her marriage with the Comte de Franchi Verney della Valetta, she retired for a time from public life, but re-appeared in Italy in 1891. In the January of last year she was heard once more in England, and gave a well-attended recital at St. James’s Hall. It is generally agreed that her style is now more matured; some earlier eccentricities having quite disappeared. Her tone is small, but the refinement of her expression and phrasing are delightful. She is, in every sense of the word, a charming player.

Irma Sethe, one of the most remarkable of living violinists, was born at Brussels in 1876. When only five years old she showed exceptional talent, and her mother persuaded the celebrated violinist, Jokisch, to give the little one lessons on the violin. After three months’ study she was able to play a sonata of Mozart’s, and at ten years of age she played a concerto by de Beriot, and a rondo capriccioso by Saint-Saëns, at a charity concert, when she was received with much applause.

The following year she made a still greater success at Aix-la-Chapelle, with the result that many engagements poured in upon her. But her mother wisely refused to allow her to begin her public career so early. She continued under the tuition of Jokisch until her fourteenth year, but spent her holidays in Germany, where she had lessons from Wilhelmj, who gave her a violin. She studied subsequently under Ysaye, who, surprised at her talent, advised her to enter the Brussels Conservatoire. After studying there eight months, she won the first prize. She was then only fifteen. In 1896 she appeared in London, and, during the Jubilee season, gave an orchestral concert at the Queen’s Hall.

Her playing is remarkable for great breadth of town, for refinement, combined with almost masculine power and intellect, and for an absolutely perfect intonation. In the opinion of many musicians, she is the finest lady-violinist who has yet appeared.

It is fortunate for the music-loving public that Irma Sethe’s marriage, which took place in Brussels last August, has not withdrawn her from the concert-room. With her husband, Dr. Saenger (littérateur and Professor of Philosophy at Berlin) Madame Sethe-Saenger has made her home in a charming modern flat in the Prussian capital. And as much as she delights in her Art, there is ever a wrench when she tears herself away from the calm and luxury of home, to fulfil the numerous engagements which are made for her by her agent Cavour in different parts of the Continent and British Isles. Her recent autumn visit to this country, when she played in the more important of our provincial towns, re-visited Scotland, and made her first appearance in Ireland, proved to her numerous admirers that hand and soul have not lost their cunning, nor wifehood staled the marvellous artistic power of Irma Sethe-Saenger.

Of English lady-violinists of the present reign, the earliest perhaps to commend herself to critical favour was Miss Browning (now Mrs. Osborne Ince) whose name is almost forgotten, though she is still living in our midst, and in touch with London musical life. This player had a breadth of tone which, in days of too exclusive devotion to technique, is refreshing to recall.

It was in 1874, in her very youthful days, that Miss Emily Shinner went to Berlin to study the violin. At that time – it is hardly credible in our more enlightened days – female violinists were not admitted to the Hochschule, so Miss Shinner had to content herself with taking private lessons from Herr Jacobsen. But one morning she was suddenly made aware of the fact that a lady-student who, in ignorance of the rules, had travelled all the way from Silesia, was, through the kindness of Professor Jachim, about to be examined for admission to the Hochschule. The English student lost no time in presenting herself as a second candidate. The result of the examination of both ladies was their acceptance of probationers, and they became thus the first two lady-students for the violin admitted to the famous Berlin Academy. At the end of six months, Joachim heard Miss Shinner play, and decided to take her as a pupil, whereby she gained the further distinction of being the first girl-violinist to study for the profession under the great master of our day.

About fifteen years ago, Miss Shinner was called upon, at short notice, to take Madame Neruda’s place as leader of the “Pop” Quartet. It appears to have been Miss Shinner’s destiny to break new ground, for she was the first lady to receive the honour of appearing in Neruda’s accustomed seat at the Popular Concerts. The middle movement of the quartet was encored; but so inexperienced was the young leader that it was only upon the hint of Mr. Ries that she accepted the encore and began it again. Since that time, Miss Shinner has always been more or less before the English public, and has devoted herself particularly to chamber music and quartet playing. Only two years ago she played Bach’s double concerto in conjunction with Joachim at the Crystal Palace. Her marriage, with Captain A. F. Liddell, took place in 1889.

Miss Ethel Barns is known both as a performer and as the composer of some charming violin solos. If there be anything in graphology, one ought to read some exceptional characteristics – an infinite power of taking pains, a precision, a force – in her musical hand-writing, characteristics which are all invaluable to a violin-player.

Another English violinist, just now coming to the front, is Miss Jessie Grimson. She was trained by her father, Mr. S. Dean Grimson, until 1889, when she won a scholarship at the Royal College.

Among a crowd of stars, whose persistent shining reveals them at last to sight, one appears sometimes with sudden meteor-flash. Miss Leonora Jackson is one of these.

Madame Soldat is a French player of exceptional ability, and the leader of the Viennese Ladies’ Quartet.

Among other lady-violinists who have become known to English audiences during the Victorian Era are Bertha Brousil, who now devotes herself to teaching; Terese Liebe, once resident in London, but at present living abroad; Marrie Motto; Nettie Carpenter; Anna Lang; Frida Scotta, who has appeared in most of the continent capitals, including Moscow in 1896; Marianne Eissler; Beatrice Langley; Louise Nanney; Camilla Urso; Edith Robinson.

We, of this time, have outlived the dark ages when the violin was looked upon as an exclusively manly instrument. It is one of the surest marks of progress in the Victorian Era that those days are passed. The fame of a Paganini, of an Ernst, of a Joachim, of a Sarasate, is a fame which women have proved themselves full worthy to share.

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August 18, 2011 · 10:02 pm

Four Chamber Music Works by Women

More than any other season, summer screams chamber music. Right now a lot of us are preparing for festivals, teaching at camp, digging up new chamber repertoire, and wondering wait a minute, why don’t I play more of this during the school-year? You guys know me; I’m always always poking about for information about female violinists. But today, in honor of summertime and chamber music, I switched it up a bit and decided to look for some pieces that A) were written by women (not necessarily violinists) and B) feature the violin in a prominent capacity. So here, for your listening (and hopefully playing) pleasure, are four-plus lovely overlooked pieces by women. It may be difficult to find the scores for a couple of them, but when I’ve been unable to find a score, I suggest a substitution…

I. Piano Trio No 1 in g-minor, Op. 11, by Cécile Chaminade, 1881

Cécile Louise Stéphanie Chaminade was born in 1857 in Paris. She showed an early talent for music and was composing by the age of eight. Unfortunately, her father wasn’t so keen on the idea of his daughter studying music, and it took the intervention of no less than Georges Bizet to convince Monsieur Chaminade of his daughter’s talent. Even so, he discouraged her from studying at the Paris Conservatoire, so instead, she studied privately with Félix Le Couppey, Martin Marsick, and Benjamin Godard. She gave her first concert as a pianist at the age of eighteen and never looked back, making her name as a composer of songs, chamber music, and piano pieces. She traveled all over the world performing her compositions, and in 1901 she became one of the first instrumentalists to record for the gramophone. Her fame was such that dozens upon dozens of Chaminade fan clubs were founded in the United States. By 1944, the year she died, she had written nearly 400 pieces. Unfortunately, her demonstrative romantic style fell out of favor in the twentieth century, and only a few of her works are still widely played today.

Many critics and historians dismiss her work as nothing more than sentimental salon music (in 1994 Richard Langham Smith actually wrote an article about her entitled “Sister of Perpetual Indulgence”). However, when evaluating Chaminade’s work, it’s necessary to remember who exactly she was writing for. Her core audience consisted of members of the middle-class domestic music market, mainly pianists who had not received professional training, who most often expressed their musicality in intimate private gatherings. Many of them were actually women who were so busy with the overwhelming task of running a Victorian household that they were unable to commit to the hours of practice that more technically difficult pieces would require. Chaminade was well aware of this, and she tailored her music accordingly. Happily there are still many people who understand that music does not to be relentlessly intricate, intellectual, or even innovative to be incredibly enjoyable.

Here is Chaminade’s Piano Trio No 1.

And here is the score.

*****

II. Piano Quintet No. 1, Op. 30, by Louise Farrenc. Circa 1839.

Louise Farrenc (1804-1875) was another female trailblazer. Unlike Chaminade, she had the advantage of being born into a bohemian family who was open to the idea of women developing their artistic gifts. She studied piano under Ignaz Moscheles (the Mendelssohn children’s teacher) and Johann Nepomuk Hummel (widely considered to be one of the greatest pianists of his day), and, unusually for a woman, composition with Anton Reicha. In 1821, at the age of seventeen, she married a flautist ten years her senior. (He later became a well-known music publisher.) Marriage didn’t interfere with her career; on the contrary, she toured throughout the 1830s, and in 1842 she was named the first woman Professor of Piano at the Paris Conservatoire. Despite this extraordinary honor, she was paid less than her male colleagues, much to her disgust. After the premiere of her nonet (at which violinist Joseph Joachim played), she demanded that her pay be raised to be equal to that of her male colleagues’, and eventually she succeeded. Throughout the course of her professional life she wrote for both large and small ensembles, and her work was praised by none other than Robert Schumann. Her output is of extremely high quality, and puzzled lovers of her music enjoy busying themselves guesssing why it never became popular (theories include the fact that opera, rather than instrumental music, was the dominant form of expression at the time; the French defeat in the Franco-Prussian War in 1871 led to denigration of French composers; and of course that sad old chestnut, she was a woman).

Here is a recording of Jeanne Louise Demont Farrenc’s lovely Piano Quintet No. 1.

And here is the score.

*****

III. Piano Trio in d-minor, op. 15, by Luise Adolpha Le Beau

Luise Adolpha Le Beau (1850-1927) was one of those astonishing prodigies who could sing before she could speak. Thankfully she was born into a family who supported her study of music, although her provincial neighbors in Karlsruhe, Germany, disapproved. (Her father in particular was extremely encouraging; he tutored her in subjects that weren’t offered to women in schools, and he moved the family around so that she might have the best education possible. Luise herself once mentioned that the professional disappointments she faced as a women weighed more heavily on her father than on her.) In 1873 she went to get feedback on her work from famed conductor Hans von Bülow. He urged her to expand her artistic horizons and move to a larger city. She eventually found her way to Munich, where she both studied and taught. In 1882 her Four Pieces for Cello with Piano Accompaniment won a prize at an international competition. Le Beau wrote in her autobiography, “It appeared rather comical that ‘Herr’ had been printed everywhere on the enclosed certificates; it was now crossed out and replaced with ‘Fräulein.’ The judges themselves were certainly not a little amazed when the name of a lady appeared out of the sealed envelope!” She later made professional connections with Brahms, Liszt, and critic Eduard Hanslick, all of whom admired her work.

In her later years, Le Beau oftentimes ran into professional obstacles, thanks in no small part to authority figures like administrators and critics who had dim views of women composers. According to Judith E. Olson, in the book Women Making Music: The Western Art Tradition, 1150-1950, Le Beau once wrote:

Just do not limit, then, the training of girls. Rather, teach them the same things that are taught to boys. Grow accustomed to a system that has this same fundamental condition for every education, and then see what [girls] can do after acquiring technical skills and intellectual independence, rather than entrench yourselves against female capabilities by limiting the education of women!

Here is Le Beau’s trio.

Her trio is not available on IMSLP, but here’s another chamber work that I haven’t heard but I wager is just as good, her Piano Quartet, op. 28.

*****

IV. Piano Quintet in b-minor, op. 40, by Dora Pejačević. 1915-18.

Dora Pejačević was born in 1885 in Budapest to an aristocratic politician father and a pianist mother. She began composing at the age of twelve, and although she studied privately in Dresden and Munich, she remained largely self-taught. She wrote nearly sixty compositions, including music for both large and small ensembles, including a piano quartet, a violin sonata, a piano concerto, and a symphony. Traces of Brahms, Schumann, and Fauré echo through her work.

Pejačević died tragically in 1923 after giving birth to her son. She did not want to be interred in her aristocratic family’s mausoleum; instead, she preferred to be buried like an average citizen.

Here is her piano quintet in b-minor (personally, my favorite piece of the four).

Sadly I wasn’t able to find the score for this one, but, there is another chamber work of hers available on IMSLP that might be worth a check-out…her Piano Quartet, op. 25.

So, moral of the story: as we go into the 2011-2012 season, let’s make a point to indulge ourselves in the beauty, fun, and intimacy of chamber music. And remember as you scout out new repertoire that there’s no reason to stop learning about talented musical women of the past who, for whatever reason, have been unfairly overlooked…

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July 22, 2011 · 3:07 pm

New Youtube Channel

Sorry for my extended absence the last few weeks. Life has gotten away from me a bit…

In my absence from the blog, I made a Youtube channel devoted to female violinists. The username SongOfTheLark was taken (drat), so I made do with VictorianVirtuosas. I’m about to make a series of playlists that hopefully organizes the videos that are already on Youtube. And eventually I’ll probably upload some videos of my own; happily, I have an ever-growing collection of old recordings made by female violinists…

My first playlist is Maud Powell; click here to look at it. To the best of my knowledge, this includes all of the audio of Maud Powell’s performances on Youtube. Enjoy. I’ll be back with more playlists later.

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June 29, 2011 · 12:28 pm

Leaving Stonehenge

Bon Iver on the Colbert Report

Come on skinny love just last the year
Pour a little salt, we were never here
My my my, my my my, my my
Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer

Musically speaking, I live under a rock. I’m so busy with violin stuff – classical violin stuff, to be exact – that I tend to be ignorant about other styles of music. I’m not proud of the fact, and I know I’m missing out on a lot, but to be honest, I don’t even know how to start listening to non-classical stuff. My situation is a bit unique, I think. Unlike most people, I didn’t listen to a single pop, rock, or folk album for my entire childhood; it was all classical or classically influenced instrumental. (I actually laughed while reading Alex Ross’s Listen to This, where he recounts a musical childhood eerily similar to mine.) I have no frame of reference for anything else. I just don’t speak the non-classical language, at all. And it’s intimidating to wander into a new country when you don’t speak the language. It’s easier just to stay on your side of the border, right?

I tell my love to wreck it all
Cut out all the ropes and let me fall
My my my, my my my, my my
Right in this moment this order’s tall

I’ve heard about Bon Iver for a few years now. If I didn’t, I’d have to live under not just a rock, but a frigging Stonehenge. They’re probably the most famous thing to have come out of my hometown. In fact, Eau Claire has actually become an integral part of the allure of the band. Justin Vernon, the lead singer, wrote the first Bon Iver album, For Emma, Forever Ago, holed up in a tiny cabin in northern Wisconsin. He still lives here when he’s not touring the world, and if his place is where I think it is (and I think it is), I’ve been past it countless times. He actually once brought a New York Times critic down Putnam Drive, where I ride my bike.

And I told you to be patient
And I told you to be fine
And I told you to be balanced
And I told you to be kind

I’m a huge fan of The Colbert Report, and about a week ago Stephen interviewed Justin Vernon on the show. I identified straightaway with Vernon. He has the same shy quiet mannerisms a lot of people from this part of the country have…not to mention the same fashion sense. (Some people think that he’s a poseur and trying to up his indie rocker cred by dressing the way he does, but I can assure you, he’s not; to paraphrase Lady Gaga, people in rural Wisconsin are just born that way.) Seeing one of Eau Claire’s own on national – international – television was…weird. And weirdly gratifying. No, we aren’t from the center of the universe. Yes, we exist. And yes, we have something to say. I hadn’t actually heard any of Bon Iver’s stuff before, so I listened to their performance of Calgary. I thought it was interesting, although nothing special. But the web extra Skinny Love really struck me. After steeping myself a bit in the sound of the band, I came back to Calgary and loved it. I’m gradually, and happily, working my way through their discography.

And in the morning I’ll be with you
But it will be a different kind
And I’ll be holding all the tickets
And you’ll be owning all the fines

I’m always fighting being from Eau Claire, being a country bumpkin. To be blunt, I’m embarrassed of where I’m from; I’m embarrassed of my relatively limited scope of reference; I’m self-conscious of my less-than-stellar education, and I’m only too aware what a different person I’d be if I’d been able to get a good one in New York or Philadelphia or heck, even Minneapolis. Classical music culture in particular fetishizes urbanity and big cities; that’s where all the talent drains, and I suppose it’s only natural. But this phenomenon can have the unintended consequence of making culture-lovers who aren’t in those urban centers feel insecure in their own experiences. Heck, how can you not feel a little naive when The Scotsman writes this about your “Wisconsin lumber town” home: “The Wikipedia list of Eau Claire’s local notables previously ranged from a girlfriend of Charles Manson to the inventor of the fraud-proof ballot paper, so Bon Iver quickly qualified.” Ouch. Seeing someone like Justin Vernon, who embraces and celebrates where he came from, who isn’t afraid of being called a hick, who isn’t frantically trying to scrub all scent of Eau Claire off himself and his body and his art…well, that’s food for thought. That’s good. He’s found that geography doesn’t necessarily impact your ability to connect to other people. He and his success make me wonder if being from a small town might actually give me a valuable perspective as a musician and as a writer. And yes, I’m well aware that indie-rock and classical music aren’t exactly the same genre. But still.

Come on skinny love what happened here
We suckled on the hope in lite brassieres
My my my, my my my, my my
Sullen load is full, so slow on the split

Reading Bon Iver reviews is interesting. People either think it’s the most gorgeous beautiful lyrical stuff ever written, or ridiculous whiney indie wangst. There’s not many people on the middle ground. I think I’m one of the few. Bon Iver doesn’t replace my Brahms or Beethoven. But Brahms or Beethoven doesn’t replace Bon Iver, either. Brahms and Beethoven didn’t have anything approaching my life experience, at all, and it’s disorienting and wonderful to know of an artist who has. And he’s alive, to boot! Happily there’s room for everybody on my mp3 player. Why has it taken me so long to figure this out? Has my insecurity really seeped into my listening? Really? … Pathetic as it sounds, I think it did.

And now all your love is wasted
Then who the hell was I?
And I’m breaking at the britches
And at the end of all your lines

I’m heartened that most of the younger classical players I know are just as familiar with the popular world as the “classical” world. I’m relieved that the type of classical-only childhood I had is an increasingly rare one. I’m proud I’m finally opening up a bit more, and willing to listen to and appreciate new sounds. I’m glad that I’ve realized there may be certain advantages to having grown up in a small town. (Maybe.) And I’m thrilled that it turns out I don’t need to speak the language to understand.

Who will love you?
Who will fight?
Who will fall far behind?

*presses repeat*

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June 27, 2011 · 3:54 pm

Interview: Daisy Kennedy

Here’s a link to a fantastic interview with Australian violinist Daisy Kennedy (1893-1981). I don’t feel comfortable copy/pasting it here, so I’d recommend moseying over there and reading (and listening!) to it ASAP. It gives an intriguing glimpse into the European violin scene around the turn of the century. Enjoy.

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June 16, 2011 · 5:03 pm

Article: A Talk With Madame Beatrice Langley

This article appeared in The Windsor Magazine sometime in early 1898. It is by Charles Cathcart.

***

A bitter, north-easterly gale, accompanied by blinding sleet and snow, was sweeping over Primrose Hill as my dripping hansom pulled up with a jerk at Madame Beatrice Langley’s comfortable house near Regent’s Park; but before I had been many minutes seated near the blazing fire, sipping tea and listening to the sparkling conversation of my genial hostess, all recollection of the refrigerating process I had just experienced had faded from my mind and my spirits had risen considerably. Indeed, so completely did Madame Langley’s witty comments upon all sorts and conditions of men and matters engross my attention, that fully half an hour must have passed before we came to actual business.

“It was in Dublin,” my hostess then said, in answer to my opening question, “that I first played in public. My mother, at that time a well-known amateur singer, had promised to sing at the Antient Concert Rooms for the benefit of some charity. The song, I remember, was Braga’s famous serenade, and I played the obbligato.”

“Was that long ago?”

“Yes, for I was quite a child, barely nine years old; but I had, of course, been learning the violin for several years; indeed, I cannot remember the time when I did not possess a fiddle of some sort. In 1886 I became a pupil of Mr. Joseph Ludwig, but after I had studied with him for seven years I went to Professor Wilhelmj, then just returned to England.”

“Did you remain with him long?”

“Two years. But before going to him I had made my début.”

“Where did that take place?”

“At one of the Crystal Palace Saturday afternoon concerts. Then engagements began to come in, and the most important concerts at which I played were the London Symphony Concerts, the Queen’s Hall Orchestral Concerts, and Madame Albani’s London Concerts.”

“But didn’t you go on tour with Madame Albani?”

“Yes, but that was later. I toured twice with Madame Albani; indeed, it was Madame Albani who gave my ‘send off,’ as they say in America. The first time I met her was one evening at dinner, before I had made my début, and after dinner I was asked to play. I played several solos, and next day Madame Albani asked me to go with her on tour.”

“Was that tour made in England?”

“Yes. We went all through England, and everywhere the public seemed to like my playing. I enjoyed the tour immensely. Last year, as you may know, I was the violinist in Madame Albani’s concerts in Canada, and we had a perfectly delightful tour right across the continent, from Halifax to Vancouver and Victoria, and we also gave a few concerts in the United States. In all we gave thirty-three concerts. Madame Albani had also engaged Mr. Braxton-Smith and Mr. Lempriére Pringle, and in Canada we were joined by Miss Beverley Robinson, daughter of the late Lieut.-Governor of Ontario. From beginning to end the tour was a kind of triumphal march, for, of course, Madame Albani is immensely popular in Canada, as, for that matter, she is popular everywhere.”

“I am told that you were married just before you sailed for Canada.”

“Only three days before!” Madame Langley answered, with a look of amusement.

She is the wife of Mr. Basil Tozer, a prolific writer of newspaper articles and the author of several books on sport.

“I wonder how your husband liked your going on tour for the honeymoon,” I continued; “he went with you, I suppose?”

“He did, and he rather enjoyed the absurdity of the situation. Afterwards, in Canada, strangers were constantly blundering by saying the wrong things to him. One day, for instance, in Montreal – or in Toronto, I forget which – an inquisitive stranger, with whom he was talking casually, inquired whether it was true that I had a husband ‘knocking around’ with me. Upon his answering that such was actually the case, and that he, my husband, knew the gentleman intimately, the stranger became quite confidential, and presently remarked in an undertone, ‘Say, I guess you might introduce me to that husband right away,’ and, of course, my husband did so. Then – when we were in Winnipeg, I think – I remember reading in a newspaper that ‘yesterday Madame Albani and her husband were seen sleighing, accompanied by a small boy, probably their son.’ That ‘son’ was my husband!”

“Does your husband look so young, then?”

“About ten years younger than he is, though he has travelled in every part of the world except Australia – by the way, we ought to be in Australia now.”

“With Madame Albani?”

“Yes. Just before Christmas Madame Albani asked me to accompany her as violinist on her tour in Australia and South Africa, but, much as I should have loved the voyage and the tour, I could not see my way to leaving England for six whole months, especially as I had already accepted several engagements in England for this year.”

“And how did America impress you?”

“Very favourably indeed,” Madame Langley replied promptly; “and I think the Canadians themselves perfectly delightful. As for the audiences, well, you can’t help liking the public when they seem to like you, and the larger the city, the more enthusiastic to audience – at least, such as my experience in Canada, and several artists who have toured there say they agree with me. The biggest ‘house’ we had was in Winnipeg, where the Drill Hall is said to have scating accommodation for 5,000 persons. On the night of the concert it was packed.  Some of the people came scores of miles in sleighs, others two hundred and two hundred and fifty miles by train, to be present at the concert. I shall never forget the sight of that Drill Hall, or the applause of that audience, as long as I live. It was perfectly splendid. Then, too, everybody was so hospitable. During the week or [?] days we spent in Winnipeg we were feted almost to extinction, and in such towns as Halifax, Montreal, Toronto, Kingston, Vancouver and Victoria – everywhere, in short, where we stopped for a week or more – people hitherto perfect strangers to us seemed to vie with one another in entertaining the company. I must say that in this respect the Governors of the various provinces set the example – an excellent example, too, we thought it.”

“So you prefer Canadians to your own countrymen and countrywomen?”

“Oh, no, I don’t mean that.”

“But you prefer Canadian audiences?”

“No, I don’t mean that, either. What I like about Canada, and about the States, too, is that an artist appearing there for the first time in reality runs entirely upon his or her own merits. For instance, an artist with a big name comes over from Europe, having been duly ‘billed’ in immense letters and boomed by the Press. At first the public flock to hear him, ready enough to approve and applaud; but if the artist with the big name fails to please, his song, or his playing, or his performance, or whatever his entertainment may be, falls quite flat, and very soon the towns hundreds of miles away, which he means to visit, hear that he is ‘a frost’ – for nearly all news goes by wire in America – so that when he arrives there, in spite of all his advance booming, he finds only empty houses awaiting him. For your American citizen is nothing if not practical, and, like our English tub-thumper, when he asks for his dollar’s worth he ‘means to get it’ – not that he always does. Now take the case of a really clever and well-taught, but unknown, artist. He appears upon an American platform for the first time. He is received in silent. The audience hardly look at him. If they speak of him at all they merely criticise his appearance. He sings, or he plays. Gradually the audience become attentive. Then he seems slowly to hypnotise them. Their interest expands; their admiration increases. Finally he stops; the spell is broken; he leaves the platform amid a storm of applause, only to be recalled again and again, and the next time he makes his appearance he is greeted with quite an ovation before he has sung a note or touched his instrument, as the case may be. Then glowing reports about him are flashed from city to city, so that from the first his success is assured all along the line. These remarks apply to women as well as to men artist,s and the artist may have been raised in Germany and christened with a name of fifteen syllables, or he may be called Tom Jones, and have first seen light in Whitechapel, it makes not one whit of difference, provided he please his public.”

“Did you study abroad at all, Madame Langley?”

“No, I studied entirely in London,” she answered with a bright smile. “That is something to be proud of in these days of foreign competition!”

“And you were not even born in Germany.”

“No, I was born in Devonshire, in a secluded townlet called Chudleigh.”

We continued our conversation, and I soon gathered that my hostess entertained the highest opinion of Madame Albani, not only, of course, as an artist, but as an individual. Incidentally, too, she let fall a remark that I have heard made before, a remark to the effect that Madame Albani seems never to say an unkind word about anybody, but that she is, on the contrary, ever on the look-out for talent, and ready to help any young artist in whom she discovers the germs of genuine merit. Now, oddly enough, from what I am told about Madame Langley herself, and from what I saw of her during my brief visit, I should say that the selfsame remark might truly be applied to another lady.

Upon the subject of musical agents and musical managers Madame Beatrice Langley waxed eloquent. With but one exception, she personally has been fairly treated, though she prides herself upon never in her life having asked for an engagement either for a concert or for “at homes,” at which latter she plays largely.

Madame Langley is an enthusiastic Wagnerian, and seldom misses an opportunity of being present at a Wagner concert. Also she is interested in politics, and, besides being a lover of art, she is an omnivorous reader, and appears to be thoroughly posted in topics of the day and well abreast of current literature.

“Would you care to see my fiddle?” my fair hostess asked presently, as she refilled my cup. I replied that I should like, not merely to see it, but to hear it, whereupon she favoured me with Bach’s famous “Aria,” played most exquisitely on her favourite violin, a Maggini, which her father, Colonel Langley, late of the Royal Artillery, gave her as a wedding present. This was the violin which she took to Canada. As Maggini died in the year 1630, the fiddle must be at least 267 years old; nevertheless, it is in perfect condition.

Madame Beatrice Langley is, I believe, the only woman violinist in London who has ever played in public the difficult A minor variations of Paganini. Her tone is quite wonderful, and, listening to her playing, one could almost imagine her Maggini was a ‘cello. During her absence from the room for a few minutes, I glanced through her albums of Press notices, truly a marvellous collection of unanimously favourable criticisms, and presently I came across one in particular that I well remembered having read before. It was taken from the Times of January 2nd, 1897, where, under the heading “Music of the Year,” Madame Beatrice Langley’s name is coupled with that of Sarasate. According to the Times, Sarasate, Ysaye, and Madame Beatrice Langley were “among the most successful violinists who appeared during the year.” Among the Canadian newspaper cuttings I noticed one that tempted me to ask Madame Langley rather a personal question as she re-entered the room.

“Are you a Romanist?” I ventured to inquire.

“Why, yes,” she answered, “I am Catholic. I suppose that paragraph about my playing in the Catholic Cathedral of St. Boniface, in Winnipeg, made you ask that question. I played several times in church on Sundays while in Canada, and the Maggini sounded magnificent – at least, so I was told. Most of the churches in Canada are very good for sound, you see, and the atmosphere is so crisp and dry that it suits the fiddle to perfection. Do I ever teach the violin? Yes; and I find teaching very interesting, especially when pupils show particular talent and are industrious.”

“One more question, Madame Langley, and I have done. I must put this question to you because it is one that everybody asks everybody else: Do you ride a bicycle?”

“I do,” came the laughing reply; “at least, in the country. My husband will not let me ride in town.”

I remarked that “Mr. Beatrice Langley” must be wise in his generation, and soon afterwards I took my leave.

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June 15, 2011 · 4:34 pm

Article: As I Found Miss Bang At Lake George

This is an article from The Violinist from October 1920, “By a Pupil”, about violin teacher Maia Bang. I haven’t been able to find out much about her online. Can you help me and contact me with any information about her?

***

When a visitor reaches Lake George in summer he is greeted by green hills, a blue lake, and a peaceful village. He soon learns that there are gathered here violinists from various parts of the globe. The raison d’etre of this interesting group is the advent to Lake George, for the summer, of Professor Auer and assistant teachers.

One of the best known of these teachers is Maia Bang, who came to this country about three years ago, at the same time as Professor Auer. Her “Elementary Violin Method,” the first two volumes of which are already in the hands of many prominent teachers, is fast gaining her friends in this country.

Miss Bang likes America, but is a staunch and loyal patriot of her native land, Norway. It is indeed pleasant to hear one who loves them so, describe the mountains and fjords of Scandinavia.

Miss Bang combines art and science in her teaching. She never lacks enthusiasm, and while critical of details is always encouraging to pupils, and never lacks appreciation of all efforts. She demands the correct things, but supports all attempts. She is democratic, looking with happy approval on the movement for putting violin instruction in the public schools. She gives hope and help to each of her pupils as his individual talent merits or requires.

Miss Bang admits of no limitations in her teaching. She says, “We can make all things. There is no ‘perhaps.'” If one follows the directions given, the goal is sure, provided, of course, that there is no serious handicap in the adaptability of the pupil. There being no phase of violin art which she has not analyzed, all one has to do is to apply the analysis. This is brought out effectively in her Violin Method mentioned above, the last part of which is now in the making. These volumes are in accordance with the principles of Auer, who, it is well known, possesses the last word with regard to methods and requirements of the modern virtuoso.

The pleasure and inspiration in writing such a method was brought out when one afternoon in a quiet and friendly conversation she remarked that her mind was teeming with ideas, and that as she writes the ideas do not come at the beckon of her will, but easily without any effort, as it were from above.

Miss Bang is a generous friend, a strong yet gentle character, an unusually interesting person to talk with on account of her originality and genuineness. She possesses a happy disposition, with a fine appreciation of the humorous. She is reverent to all things sacred, including other people’s personalities. She loves sports of all kinds. She is clever with children, and very inventive in methods to interest and to control their work.

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June 14, 2011 · 3:05 pm

Article: Good Bowing, by Mozelle Bennett

Here’s an article by violinist Mozelle Bennett from the March 1922 issue of The Violinist.

***

For the solo violinist who hopes to step “over the top,” I would offer a few suggestions. Although he already knows, he probably does not realize just how much a few little points, which have been discovered by the great masters mean to the young artist.

During my study in Eugene Ysaye’s Master Class he often repeated – “Good bowing counts seventy-five percent in violin playing.” Learn to use the point of your bow and change the bow without twisting it at the point. Practice scales making a crescendo at the point.

Practice playing on the opening strings – G – D – A – E – with one stroke of the bow, using most of the bow on the G string, making a crescendo at the point, then back again on the E – A – D – G, using most of the bow on the E string, and keeping the bow so close to the next string that it finally is impossible to detect when the bow changes strings.

Then practice the G major and G minor scales in the first position with the same bowing, holding down the fingers very firmly on the first string until the first note on the next string has been played.

All of the scales should be practiced, carefully following these suggestions, and a perfect legato will be the result.

Good Bowing, I have discovered in my concert work, is one of the greatest secrets of success.

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June 13, 2011 · 2:48 pm

Article: Nicoline Zedeler and the Observance of the String Level

Here’s an article from The Violinist from October 1920 by violinist Nicoline Zedeler…

***

That the technic of the bow arm is of infinitely more importance than that of the left hand is gradually being understood, but in spite of the increasing number of articles and treatises on the subject there are certain phases of right arm technic which still receive scant attention. One of the most important of these is the observance of the string level, and it is Theodore Spiering who has so persistently and so successfully called attention in his teaching to this feature of right arm technic.

Even though the violin student learns to hold his bow correctly and is taught the control of the arm in its sub-divisions of upper arm, lower arm and hand, which implies all that goes with muscular effort and relaxation, he nevertheless would often find himself handicapped by sudden awkward hand and arm positions did his knowledge of bow technic not include the observance of the string level. For only when each stroke, each movement of the arm and hand has passed the stage of analytical effort and has become automatic, the violinist’s technic has at last become reliable and free from conflicting muscular action. It is a well-established fact that when the arm is too high or two low the tone immediately reflects qualities which to a well-trained ear at once discloses the cause. The muscles of the arm struggling to bridge over the distance between the level of the arm and the level of the string are so much occupied with this conflict that they cannot apply themselves to the real task of inciting the string. The thin tone, as one result of this conflict, is also noticed when players who are not conversant with string crossings endeavor to play many notes on one bow.

This brings us to the very important subject of articulation. In rapid string crossings articulation very often is indistinct, for the reason that the crossings are not perfectly performed. The played must consistently bear in mind the string level on whic hhe is playing and he must train himself to quickly distinguish each musical pattern as it appears in the composition. If, for instance, rapid figures consisting of broken chords or other harmonic sequences are not read as patterns, the difficulty of their performance is at once enhanced, and needlessly so. In order to make my statement clearer let me say that I would always try to repeat by means of the same fingering the original pattern. In other words, the same fingering should suggest itself to the mind in each repetition of the pattern. This idea of a uniform fingering is carried out in scales, but it is the application of such logic to the more complex problems which often is neglected.

The two pictures accompanying this article represent the bow in normal position (illustration 1) and the wrist in its string crossing movement toward a higher string level (illustration 2). This anticipatory movement of the arm and hand is necessary when the higher level is to be retained. When one or two notes are to be played on a higher level and an immediate return to the level on which the playing has been done is effected, there is no necessity for the arm to change its level, only when a higher level is to be adhered to for the time being, does the anticipatory movement illustrated take place. Not only does this insure a greater facility of string crossing, but what is almost of more importance, it insures greater articulation in this way, that the movement of the hand in regaining its normal position brings with it a much more definite grip of the string than when this anticipatory movement is not carried out.

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June 13, 2011 · 12:36 pm

I’ve created a tumblr

I’ve created a tumblr; it’s at songofthelark.tumblr.com (creative address, I know). There you’ll find images of the great violinists of the past – video or audio of amazing Victorian and Edwardian musicians – video or audio of amazing contemporary musicians – various vintage-ish stuff – and probably occasionally a picture or two of Benedict Cumberbatch with a violin (I’m only human). Also, I’m looking forward to seeing if mentioning “Benedict Cumberbatch” ups this blog’s view-count.

I’m planning on adding at least one new image a day. So if you’re into that sort of thing…check it out.

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