Telemann’s Musique de Table: Part One
After my rather lengthy Introduction [please read the previous post before going on with this one] I want here to take you on a guided tour of the first “Production”, or Part, of Telemann’s enormous Musique de Table.
Each of the three Parts in the collection contains six separate works, and in each case the first of these is an orchestral Ouverture, or suite, while the last of the six is a virtuosic Conclusion for the same forces, and in the same key, as the opening suite.
In between are four works for different forces in different keys. Part One is as follows:
1. Ouverture (Suite) in E minor, TWV55:e1 2 flutes, strings and continuo
2. Quartet in G, TWV43:G2 flute, oboe, violin and continuo
3. Concerto in A, TWV53:A2 flute, violin, cello, strings and continuo
4. Trio in E flat, TWV42:Es1 2 violins and continuo
5. Sonata in B minor, TWV41:h4 flute and continuo
6. Conclusion in E minor, TWV50:5 2 flutes, strings and continuo
As mentioned in my previous post, all the keys for each work in each Part are somehow connected to the “home” key of the opening suite, except one. In this case, E minor is a “sharp” key, and G major, A major and B minor are likewise “sharp” keys. The odd one out here is E flat major, the key of the trio. Telemann probably never imagined this would be noticeable to audiences because he almost certainly never intended the whole collection to be played in order; each work stands alone perfectly well. But when heard on a modern recording of the complete Musique de Table, the odd-keyed work always stands out for a moment.
1. Ouverture (Suite) in E minor, TWV55:e1 2 flutes, strings and continuo
a. Ouverture
b. Réjouissance
c. Rondeau
d. Loure
e. Passepied
f. Air
g. Gigue
The Baroque dance suite was a staple form of the period, both in solo instrumental music and in music for larger forces. Think of Bach’s four orchestral suites, for example, or the large numbers of solo instrumental suites he wrote, for keyboard (the “English” and “French” suites, for example), the solo cello suites, or the three partitas for solo violin. And he wasn’t alone. Think of Handel’s harpsichord suites or the Music for the Royal Fireworks, or similar works by countless other composers of the period. Telemann wrote 125 orchestral suites, quite apart from those for smaller forces.
Such a suite (our term) was usually called an Ouverture, and the term was used to describe both the opening overture movement as well as the suite as a whole. Note the French spelling. The word is derived from ouvert (= to open) and specifically refers to the opening movement which followed the structure of what we now called the French overture. Overtures of this sort were almost de rigeur for the start of operas and oratorios, especially in the first half of the 18th century.
At its simplest, the French overture started with a slow introduction characterised by a “dotted” rhythm: long, short, long, short, long (so called because the musical notation of the longer note usually involved the addition of a dot). The slow introduction is usually repeated before moving on to the next section.
After the slow introduction came the main section in a faster tempo. This usually involved one instrumental part starting alone with the others joining in in imitation. Musicians call this sort of writing “fugal”; it starts like a fugue but almost never continues in strict fugue style. I think it’s better to call such texture “imitative”.
Most of Handel’s French overtures (and he wrote dozens and dozens of them) follow this simple structure. However Telemann (and many other composers) generally follow the fast section with another slow, dotted section which is based on the slow music heard at the start. The fast section and the subsequent slow section are then repeated in their entirety, although in live performances some performers may choose not to observe this longer repeat.
I’m not even going to start discussing temperament here, something I am not qualified to talk about, but E minor seems to be a key reserved for haunting moments by Baroque composers. It’s the key of the opening chorus of Bach’s St Matthew Passion, and it's the key Handel chose for the Overture to Messiah. Here in Telemann’s suite, the Ouverture likewise has a dark quality, aided by the almost haunting tone colour of the Baroque flutes. (I’m reminded of Bach’s use of flutes in the Crucifixus of the B minor Mass, a movement also in E minor.)
It's not until the fast section of the Overture movement that the flutes break away from the strings in soloistic display, occasionally in dialogue with the strings. When they’re not doing this they play the same music as the violins. It’s in the fast section that two solo violins also break away from the tutti strings, thus providing the basis for more “layers” of sound and virtuosic interplay.
In the Goebel recording, the big repeat of the fast section and concluding slow section is observed. In the Freiburg recording (linked here) it is not.
After the formal Ouverture the typical Baroque suite is comprised of a sequence of movements based on dance forms. Sometimes – and Telemann does this a lot – the movements are programmatic – descriptive – rather than dance-inspired. His suite based on Cervantes’ Don Quixote (TWV55:G10) is a well-known example, where the movements describe elements of the story, each movement having a title to explain the composer’s intentions. Here, despite a few nods in the direction of description, most of the suites comprise dance movements.
There are six short movements following the French overture. The first is titled Réjouissance (Rejoicing). This movement is laid out in a very clear da capo structure which is common in suites like this and which we’ll encounter again as we explore this collection. Simply put, da capo structure involves one section (A), followed by a contrasting middle section (B), after which the first section (A) is repeated “from the top” (da capo in Italian). In dance movements, each section is usually structured in two halves (“binary” form), each of which is repeated, although the repeats are usually not observed on the da capo playing of the first section.
A first half (repeated)
second half (repeated)
B first half (repeated)
second half (repeated)
A first half (not repeated)
second half (not repeated)
Note that some performers, especially in the minuet movements of symphonies of the later 18th century (which are cast in exactly the same structure), choose to observe the repeats on the da capo as well.
The A section of this Réjouissance movement sees the flutes in unison with the violins (although the Freiburg recording has one or both of them play an octave higher).
In the central B section the texture is reduced to the two flutes who engage in dialogue with the two solo violins, supported, as always, by the continuo line. Already we can see Telemann working to keep textures varied and interesting, even within a suite where there’s a constant key centre and consistent instrumental resources.
The next movement is titled Rondeau. This French title was common in the baroque, but in later times it was more commonly used in its Italian form, Rondo. In instrumental music (as opposed to opera, where it had a completely different meaning) the term refers to a multi-section structure where one melody (usually called A) returns after contrasting episodes (called, B, C, and so on). One of the clearest examples of this is the last movement of Bach’s E major violin concerto (BWV1042).
Here though it’s just as clear, in an A B A C A structure. The A section is short, while the intervening B and C sections are longer, highlighting the flutes and, in the case of B, the two solo violins as well.
Telemann writes this music using the rhythmic template of the gavotte so it squarely falls into a recognisable dance form. The gavotte was typically in duple time (two beats to the bar) with a half bar upbeat, and this Rondeau fits that rhythm exactly.
The fourth movement of this suite is titled Loure. This was a dance of French origin which by Telemann’s time had become a rather stately, stylised version of its earlier virtuosic self. Some writers have characterised it as a slow version of the Gigue (or jig). In its simplest terms, the Loure is in a compound duple time (like 6/4, as it is here) with an upbeat and a skipping sort of rhythm.
Like the Réjouissance movement, this Loure is in the A B A da capo structure, with each section in two halves with repeats. And also as in that earlier movement, the central B section features the flutes in dialogue with two solo violins. Underneath this try to listen out for the rather driven bassline in the cello.
In contrast to the laid back skips of the Loure, the Passepied which follows is much more lively. The term implies the movement, or “passing” of the feet, and in earlier times had a very different rhythmic form to that it had in Telemann’s time. 3/8 was the usual time signature for a passepied by the early 18th century, implying one beat per bar and usually starting with an upbeat. This particular example starts with predictable phrase lengths but soon undermines this with intriguing cross rhythms, a fitting contrast to the movement which preceded it.
And here again we have the A B A da capo structure with the usual repeats, and again the flutes and solo violins feature in the B section. But this time Telemann varies the B section by shifting, for the first time in this suite, to the major key.
The penultimate movement of this suite is simply titled Air. An “air” can be freer, more song-like in form, especially if we understand the title to be a French translation of the Italian Aria. And this is the case here, where the da capo structure with repeats is abandoned in favour of a through-composed movement.
This movement would not be out of place in one of Telemann’s concertos. It’s clearly in ritornello form, where, like the A melody in a rondeau, a principal theme recurs between contrasting episodes. The difference here is that, unlike a rondeau, the ritornello usually appears in different keys and can be treated far more flexibly. This movement isolates, again, the flutes and two solo violins as soloists, while the solo cello is liberated in the solo episodes from being a mere bassline to playing more of a solo role alongside the other four instruments.
Baroque suites traditionally ended with a movement in which the rhythms are somehow grouped in threes. The two usual forms were a minuet (in 3/4 time) or a gigue (in 6/8 or 6/4 time). Here Telemann chooses the latter, a fitting contrast to the four-in-a-bar feel of the preceding Air. This is not a da capo movement, but rather a simple binary movement (two halves, each repeated) in which the halves are rather longer than one might find in a da capo movement.
Telemann also chooses here to write this Gigue in 6/4 time, the same time signature as the more stately Loure, meaning that, on paper at least, we get the impression of a connection between the two, a sort of subconscious link by which astute composers create unity in what might in lesser hands be a mere string of unconnected pieces.
2. Quartet in G, TWV43:G2 flute, oboe, violin and continuo
a. Largo – Allegro – Largo
b. Vivace – Moderato – Vivace
c. Grave
d. Vivace
The second work of the six in Part One of Musique de Table takes us into the world of chamber music, although truth to tell, the distinction we now make between orchestral and chamber music was far less clear in the 18th century.
In this context, “quartet” refers to the number of parts rather than strictly meaning the number of players. The continuo part would be normally played by two instruments: a single line instrument like a cello, which would play the part as written, and a chord-playing instrument like a harpsichord, organ or theorbo (a large lute), which would improvise chords over the bassline to fill out the texture.
Telemann regularly wrote works with unusual combinations of instruments, setting himself challenges in terms of balance and interplay. The concerto for flute, oboe d’amore, viola d’amore and strings (TWV53:E1) is one of his best-known and most beautiful works, and he gets the integration of those three solo instruments just right.
In this quartet he sets himself the challenge of co-ordinating three treble instruments – flute, oboe and violin – with very different timbres.
As you’ll see from the movement list above, Telemann also plays with the expectations of his listeners in the way the quartet is structured overall. The four movement sonata structure of slow – fast – slow – fast was very common in the later Baroque and Telemann used it often, in chamber music and in his concertos. However – perhaps taking the lead from Corelli? – Telemann adds subsections within those movements. The first movement, normally slow, contains a fast episode, while the second movement, normally fast, contains a slower episode. The third movement, such as it is, hardly exists – it’s just a six-bar interlude – while the jig-like finale (binary with repeats) is perhaps the most “normal” movement of the four.
In terms of the writing, all three treble instruments are treated as absolutely equal, with an equal share in the exposition of the themes. Each has moments of leading the other two in constantly changing combinations. It’s a delightful piece; here are the four movements from the Freiburg recording:
3. Concerto in A, TWV53:A2 flute, violin, cello, strings and continuo
a. Largo
b. Allegro
c. Grazioso
d. Allegro
Speaking of unusual combinations, this concerto sees a strikingly unusual feature in its instrumental forces. Concertos involving treble instruments were not at all unusual, but concertos for bass instruments were much rarer. In the Baroque – the era of the continuo – the cello was more often than not required (as in the preceding quartet) to be the foundation of the accompaniment, not part of the solo line-up.
Some composers in the Baroque did give the cello pride of place from time to time. Luigi Boccherini – himself a cello virtuoso – wrote some eleven cello concertos, not to mention sonatas and chamber works which featured the instrument in an unprecedented way. And Antonio Vivaldi wrote 27 cello concertos among the hundreds of concertos that he created.
This particular concerto presents the challenge of giving a bass (well, baritone) instrument like the cello equal prominence to two treble instruments. For its part, the cello sometimes plays with the orchestral bassline but clearly also has a solo part of equal importance to the flute and the violin.
The opening movement, a languid Largo, has a very laid back feel about it, although the score makes it obvious that Telemann is almost obsessed with rhythmic complexities in this music. Semiquavers over pulsing quavers, triplet semiquavers, demisemiquavers, they’re all there. There’s barely a crotchet to be seen, and many of those we do see have trills on them. What’s more, the contours of the melodies are very logical and satisfying. Passages rise over several bars, then fall in the ensuing bars, and all this within the concept of a triple concerto which gives all three soloists equal prominence.
The bustling Allegro second movement is very catchy, with its offbeat rhythm within the first bar and bubbling semiquavers ever rising in a series of suspensions and scales. This sort of writing – bubbling rhythms with a slow harmonic pace, repeated rhythms and an energetic drive – was very modern for the 1730s, characterised in the operas of younger composers like Johann Adolph Hasse. Older composers, like Telemann and Handel, made it quite clear that they were aware of these changes in fashion and emulated it from time to time. (The best example in Handel is the famous “Dopo notte” aria in Ariodante).
The solo episodes in the second movement could almost be taken from a virtuosic trio, with the flute and violin in close dialogue and the cello providing a bassline with occasional virtuosic outbursts of its own.
The connection with opera (an artform which plays an important role in Telemann’s career) is made in this movement, too, by the use of da capo form, the structure in which almost every Baroque opera aria was cast. As with the suite (see above) the da capo structure here is A B A. The B section (also as we find regularly in opera) is in a contrasting key, in this case F sharp minor, the relative minor key of the home key of A. The contrast with the main A section is heightened by the B section dispensing with the orchestral bass instruments (until the very end), while the solo cello and the upper strings provide a delicate pizzicato accompaniment to the flute and violin. The A section is then repeated in its entirety, da capo (“from the top”). (The Freiburg recording, linked below, doesn’t play the entire A section but only the opening part, which sounds completely logical and works well, and could very well be what Telemann intended. The Goebel recording plays it all.)
The utterly gorgeous third movement has the tempo marking Grazioso (spelled Gratioso in some sources = graceful, elegant) and is one of countless examples in Telemann of his assimilation of the French style. The Musique de Table pre-dates Telemann’s eight month stay in Paris later in the decade, after which this influence was even greater, but even here we sense a keen understanding of the music of his French contemporaries, most especially Jean-Philippe Rameau. The Freiburg recording of this movement emphasises this by performing the pairs of semiquavers as notes inégale, slightly uneven or “swung”, as was the practice in France at the time. (The Goebel recording expresses the French feeling differently, in a faster tempo without notes inégale but with a flexibility of phrasing which is quite delicious.)
The final movement of this triple concerto is just a delight, again in the “modern” style with an infectious drive and playful interplay. It’s also in da capo form, with the central B section this time being in the tonic minor key, A minor, and starting with a very tricky solo for the cello. The rest of the B section focuses on the other two soloists before the bright and breezy A section is repeated. (And as with the second movement, the Freiburg recording plays an abbreviated reprise whereas the Goebel recording plays it all.)
I mentioned in the introductory post that Handel not only subscribed to the initial publication of the Musique de Table but that he made use of it. By “making use” I mean that Telemann’s huge opus, full of unusual and even quirky ideas, gave Handel many ideas which he made use of in his own works. This is not the place to go on at length about what we now call Handel’s “borrowings”. Suffice to say when he saw or heard something he liked he used it, borrowing from both his own earlier works and from the works of others. He was far from being the only Baroque composer who did this, and it was certainly known by his contemporaries. William Boyce said, “He takes other men’s pebbles and polishes them into diamonds”. Judging by the number of times he used ideas which clearly had their origin in the Musique de Table, Handel though very highly of Telemann’s “pebbles”.
Others have made exhaustive studies of Handel’s borrowings from Telemann; I will just mention a few of these that I’ve noticed over the years, and one is quite evident in the final movement of this concerto. It contains ideas that Handel reworked and adapted in the first movement of his C major concerto grosso, the Concerto in Alexander’s Feast, HWV318 (1736).
4. Trio in E flat, TWV42:Es1 2 violins and continuo
a. Affettuoso
b. Vivace
c. Grave
d. Allegro
E flat major is the “remote” key in the first Production of the Musique de Table, being the only flat key in a collection of otherwise sharp-keyed works. The instrumentation for this trio is also the most conventional in the first Production. Trio sonatas with two violins were very common in the Baroque.
That said, what we’ve already seen of Telemann’s endless ingenuity would understandably lead us to expect a work of beauty and wit, and the man as always doesn’t disappoint.
The first movement, marked Affettuoso (with affection, tenderly), immediately exudes an atmosphere of congenial warmth. Given the smaller forces and simpler texture – just three melodic lines – Telemann indulges the ear with two beautifully entwined violin parts of equal importance, while the continuo line provides a subtle yet fulsome support. Sudden silences, followed by unpredictable quirks of harmony add to the delight of this music. Here Telemann seems to speak much more the language of German music rather than French.
The sprightly 3/8 Vivace which follows is full of little echoes (Telemann marks the loud and soft bars) and rhythmic tricks, including some syncopated bars which keep all the performers on their toes. This movement follows the binary structure we know well by now, two halves, both repeated (although the Freiburg recording doesn’t observe the second repeat).
The short Grave third movement is no less elegant than the first. It’s in the relative minor key, C minor, and comprises a searching little conversation between the two violins, complete with little phrases that are not exactly echoed but rather commented upon by each in turn. It’s so intriguingly written, and ample evidence that Telemann never wrote empty, merely functional, music that was designed to fill a formal structure. Every movement is interesting.
Returning to E flat for the fourth and final movement we have another binary movement which keeps both violinists on their toes with lots of leaps across the instrument from low notes to high and back again. As in the rest of the trio, both violinists are of absolutely equal importance. The second violin is regularly the higher voice and the pace is unrelenting, bringing this delightful miniature to a close.
5. Sonata in B minor, TWV41:h4 flute and continuo
a. Cantabile
b. Allegro
c. Dolce
d. Allegro
We now have a work requiring only two lines of music, a sonata for flute and continuo. B minor seems to have been an attractive key for flute parts in the Baroque. Bach’s second orchestral suite, with its haunting solo flute part, immediately comes to mind. And here in Telemann’s delicate yet fascinating sonata, we see no less evidence of his ingenuity, even if it is on a small scale. And this is a work Handel clearly loved!
The first movement, marked Cantabile (in a singing style) is at once delicate yet, because of the syncopations in the continuo introduction, somewhat driven. That aspect of it clearly appealed to Handel, who appropriated the opening motif to start his D minor organ concerto, HWV304 (1746). He transformed Telemann’s delicate singing phrase into a powerful orchestral unison; both seem absolutely right in their respective contexts.
On the page the 4/4 Allegro second movement looks to be through-composed but it’s actually a binary movement without the repeats. The lack of repeats isn’t surprising as the flute part is demanding in both fingering and breathing, but it’s clear that the second half – where a repeat sign “should” be – starts at bar 19 with the D major statement of the initial B minor theme.
D major, the relative major key, is the key of the delicate third movement, marked Dolce (sweetly). To the best of my knowledge Handel didn’t touch this movement and it’s clear why. Telemann seems to be channelling Handel himself in this beautiful interlude and Handel couldn’t have bettered it. (There’s no melodic connection but I sense emotional and harmonic ones with the glorious aria and chorus, “Be wise, at length” in Handel’s Occasional Oratorio.)
Handel did, however, make substantial use of the last movement of Telemann’s sonata. The opening few bars are reused as the starting point for the finale of the same organ concerto, HWV304, although as always Handel takes Telemann’s ideas in different directions after a few bars. He was clearly captivated by the unusual rhythm of Telemann’s 9/8 melody, with the short-long, short-long, short-long rhythm of the second and fourth bars.
Telemann’s movement is in binary form (with repeats this time) and is another virtuoso showpiece for the flute. Actually the continuo part is a bit of a workout for the cellist as well, but it provides an excellent and satisfying conclusion to this beautiful sonata.
6. Conclusion in E minor, TWV50:5 2 flutes, strings and continuo
And so we come to the final piece in the first Production, the Conclusion. This is a single movement in the same key as the opening suite, and scored for the same instruments. As I said in the previous post, it’s entirely possible to append this movement to the end of the suite when that work is performed alone – or not – as the performers desire. I just think it’s a shame that this stunning movement might never be heard simply because there’s not an obvious context for it.
The piece is fast and furious, a dazzling workout for all the performers (with the possible exception of the violas, the only part not to get cascades of semiquavers at some point!). The flutes are most definitely the soloists here, but the complexity of the texture is such that one can’t help but be swept along by the drive and energy of this piece.
There are a few bars – in particular those in which the violins have a dialogue of rushing semiquavers – in which I’m reminded of the powerful fourth movement of Handel’s D minor concerto grosso, Op 6/10 (HWV328). I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a connection in Handel’s mind but maybe I'm just reading too much into it.
And here again we have a da capo structure. The fast section we – fortunately – get to hear twice as the A section, while the short but harmonically rich central Largo acts as the contrasting B section in the middle. And the whole piece is over in less than five minutes!
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