Telemann’s Musique de Table: Part Three
And so to the third part (or “Production”) of Telemann’s 1733 publication, Musique de Table. Like the first two parts, this section follows the same pattern of six genres:
Ouverture (or suite)
Quartet
Concerto
Trio
Sonata
Conclusion
And here again, every instrumental combination is unique (apart from the suites matching their respective Conclusions, of course). The six works in Part Three are:
1. Ouverture (Suite) in B flat, TWV55:B1 2 oboes, strings and continuo
2. Quartet in E minor, TWV43:e2 flute, violin, cello and continuo
3. Concerto in E flat, TWV54:Es1 2 horns, strings and continuo
4. Trio in D, TWV42:D5 2 flutes and continuo
5. Sonata in G minor, TWV41:g6 oboe and continuo
6. Conclusion in B flat, TWV50:10 2 oboes, strings and continuo
The key scheme here is a little more diverse than the earlier parts. B flat is the “home” key, being the key of the suite, and the other flat keys of E flat and G minor are closely related. But there are two sharp keys in this scheme, E minor and D, so the transition from work to work will be perhaps a little more abrupt as we go through them.
1. Ouverture (Suite) in B flat, TWV55:B1 2 oboes, strings and continuo
a. Ouverture
b. Bergerie
c. Allegresse
d. Postillons
e. Flaterie
f. Badinage
g. Menuet
The Baroque suite was, regardless of a composer’s origin, regarded universally as a French form (just as, in later decades, the symphony was regarded as an Austro-German form and largely ignored in France). The Francophile Telemann regularly gave his titles and tempo directions in French, and this suite is a perfect example of that. It’s also clear, with the benefit of hindsight, that Handel was particularly attracted to this suite, too.
The French Ouverture follows the regular plan with its slow introduction being particularly ceremonial in tone. The little “flicks” of rhythm – short-long, short-long – add to this sensation. Handel used this rhythm – in the same key – in the opening of his last organ concerto (HWV311, 1749) and I always think of that concerto when I hear the opening of Telemann’s suite. But on this occasion I think any similarity is coincidental and very minor.
The fugue-type entries at the start of the fast section are fourfold, moving in close succession from first violin, to second violin, to viola, to continuo (with oboes variously doubling). The bouncy rhythm of this opening theme drives the music on with great energy and verve. There are major solo parts, which we’ve now come to expect in these suites, for the two oboes and two solo violins; the violin solos are particularly virtuosic. Most unusually – at least as it appears in the Seiffert edition – Telemann marks specific passages where the solo cello accompanies these four soloists while the rest of the continuo section is silent. Normally such things these days have to be worked out by the players (and the conductor if there is one).
As with other French overtures, including those in the previous two Productions, there’s a slow section following the main fast section, based on ideas from the introduction. After this both the fast section and the slow ending are marked to be repeated although this is often not observed in modern performances (such as the Freiburg performance linked here).
The fast section of Telemann’s overture clearly made an impression on Handel, who definitely took it as inspiration for the fast section of the overture to his Occasional Oratorio (1746).
The movements which follow are unusual in their titles to say the least. The first is called Bergerie and has the tempo marking, also in French, of Un peu vivement (a little lively). Bergerie is French for a sheepfold (berger means shepherd) and in a musical context can be taken to mean a piece which evokes a simple, laid back, pastoral mood.
Telemann’s piece certainly ticks that box, being a gentle, almost folksy contrast to the busy formal overture which preceded it. Pastoral pieces of this nature often included passages suggesting a drone bass, such as one would hear in the country when shepherds played instruments such as the musette, a simple form of bagpipe. Telemann does that here, too, with four bars of repeated notes in the bass acting as a drone.
The movement is in a very clear rondo form – A B A C A – and, as in other pieces in the Musique de Table, a quartet of soloists emerges from the texture, here in the B and C sections. The two oboes are joined by two violins which are not specifically marked “solo” in the Sieffert edition but which are usually interpreted as such by performers.
Every Baroque composer worth their salt could write pieces like this, but I do wonder if Handel had Telemann’s Bergerie in mind when he wrote “Beneath the vine” in Act 2 of Solomon (1748).
After a movement of bucolic pastoralism the tempo picks up considerably for the next movement, titled Allegresse. The term is variously translated as “exuberance”, “happiness” or even just “joy” and is clearly linked with the Italian Allegro (literally, “happy”). In French it’s spelled allégresse (with an acute over the first e) but Telemann uses it without the acute.
Added to the title is the tempo marking Vite (lively) so it’s clear the sort of mood the composer is aiming for here. The result is a brisk, dance-like movement (it strongly suggests a gavotte) in da capo (A B A) form in 2/4 time that bops along infectiously. The B section isolates the oboes and two solo violins again, in the relative minor key of G minor.
The little figure with the trill in the third and fourth bars clearly caught Handel’s attention when he wrote Ariodante very soon after Telemann’s collection was published. It permeates the texture of the duet, chorus and gavotte (starting “Si rinasce nel mio cor”) near the end of Act 1, a scene full of its own allégresse.
Telemann’s suite continues with a movement which Handel not only liked but substantially imitated. Called Postillons this slightly crazy piece evokes the sound of the post horn, which signalled the arrival of the mail coach in Telemann’s time. Its A section (again we have rondo form) clearly imitates the octave leaps of the post horn call, but these octaves cross bar lines and momentarily disrupt the pulse. The intervening sections focus on the by now familiar solo quartet of oboes and violins. You can just see the smile on the irreverent Telemann’s face as he created this gem. It’s really a lot of fun.
When creating his monumental oratorio Belshazzar (1745), Handel remembered this delightful piece when he had to write music describing the frantic summoning of wise men, sages and soothsayers to Belshazzar’s court in an attempt to read the writing left on the wall by a mysterious hand. It’s really funny, portraying the drunken Belshazzar as an oaf and those who serve him as powerless lackeys. (Once summoned, of course, the wise men are unable to decipher the writing.) Handel even gave his little sinfonia the tempo marking of Allegro postillons and used Telemann’s rhythmically displaced octaves to great effect. I’ll provide links here to both Telemann’s original and Handel’s re-use of Telemann’s ideas.
I’ve already made mention of Telemann’s love of the French style and in the next movement of this suite he perhaps evokes it more than anywhere else in the suite. Titled Flaterie (a word more regularly spelled Flatterie in French), this means “flattery”. To evoke 18th century elegance, and courtly manners, we have a complete contrast to the boisterous horn calls of the Postillons. Telemann uses the sarabande – a slow dance in triple time with an accent on the second beat of the bar – to write music in which you can almost see couples bowing to each other. The second beat of the bar is often emphasised with a trill and the whole is cast in a binary movement with repeats.
The second half engages in some unexpected turns of harmony and – with the four oboe and violin soloists – creates some beautifully rich textures.
The title of the next movement of the suite, Badinage, has found its way into modern English where it’s used to mean witty banter or playful repartee. The origin is French, from badiner (= to joke) and badinage has been used by many composers, and not just in the Baroque, to describe a piece which is fun, light-hearted, even silly. Another form of the word is badinerie, a term familiar to many music lovers from the final movement of Bach’s B minor suite for flute and strings (BWV1067). It really means the same as scherzo, the term preferred by later generations.
As should be evident by now, Telemann was willing to write silly music when the mood took him, and this movement fits the bill beautifully. It’s in a da capo (A B A) form where each section is in two halves with repeats. The B section isolates the four soloists, as usual, but the supporting quavers on repeated notes in the Freiburg recording are played on bassoon, which somehow adds to the comic effect. (My apologies to all bassoonists, who I know are thoroughly sick of people saying their instrument sounds funny.)
Also in a da capo form with both A and B sections in two halves with repeats is the final movement of the suite, titled Menuet. The use of 3/8 time rather than 3/4 suggests that this minuet is on the brisk side, played one-in-a-bar. The oboes star in the B section, supported subtly by solo violin arpeggios, and in all Telemann provides this brilliant suite with a satisfying and elegant conclusion after a few truly wild excursions along the way.
2. Quartet in E minor, TWV43:e2 flute, violin, cello and continuo
a. Adagio
b. Allegro
c. Dolce
d. Allegro
Moving from the home key of B flat in the suite we find ourselves now in the – contextually – remote key of E minor for the quartet. And here again, like the concerto in Part One, we have a solo part for the cello. And also like that concerto, the cello shares the spotlight with flute and violin. Here though the context is far more intimate, being a sonata with continuo rather than a concerto accompanied by strings.
As we’ve seen in other chamber works in the Musique de Table, Telemann is quite adept at creating the atmosphere of a conversation among instruments. In the first movement of this quartet, for example, the three main instruments toss around the melodic ideas in a way which very much suggests a conversational interaction. The continuo line, apart from one or two brief moments where it doubles the cello for a few notes, stays completely out of the conversation, providing context and support but not ideas.
The brisk second movement starts with imitation – violin, then flute, then cello – before new ideas are tossed around. Near the end of the movement all the parts – including the continuo – state the original idea in unison, quite a shock after all the fiercely independent statements from all parts.
The third movement, marked Dolce (sweetly) is in the slightly unexpected key of C major. Movement of keys by thirds was a more common feature of 19th century music (think Schubert, for example) than of early 18th century music, and it takes the ear a moment to reorient itself to C major after the E minor that precedes it. But there’s no doubting the sweetness of this beautiful movement which is full of offbeat quavers and slurred pairs of semiquavers which create a sensation of sighing, again a very French detail, very popular at the time. (I'm reminded of the sighing echoes in the slow movement of Bach's fourth Brandenburg concerto.)
The third movement ends on its dominant key, G major, which in turn is the relative major of the quartet’s home key of E minor, and the home key is immediately re-established at the start of the fast and furious fourth movement. We’re here reminded of some of the textures of the suite in the first Production (also in E minor), and the use of this key in a fast 3/4 context immediately reminds me of Sesto’s fiery aria at the end of Act 2 of Handel's Giulio Cesare (“L’aure che spira”), although Handel took no ideas from Telemann, that I’m aware of, for that. It predates the Musique de Table by nearly a decade.
3. Concerto in E flat, TWV54:Es1 2 horns, strings and continuo
a. Maestoso
b. Allegro
c. Grave
d. Vivace
Returning to flat keys – in this case E flat major – we encounter in this concerto the first and only time horns are used in the Musique de Table. Horns in the Baroque, like trumpets, were limited in the notes they could produce. The addition of valves and more complex tubing was the product of later times; horns and trumpets in the 18th century (and earlier) were largely limited to the harmonic series whereby a complete scale was only available in the upper reaches of the instrument.
Clever composers, though, could use these supposed limitations to great advantage. Think of the dazzling trumpet parts in Bach’s church music, for example. And anyone listening to Vivaldi’s concerto for two trumpets (RV537) could be forgiven for not realising that the brilliant trumpet parts are limited to only eleven different pitches in the entire piece.
Horns had similar issues but the best composers wrote brilliantly for them. The glorious horn parts in Part Four of Bach’s Christmas Oratorio come immediately to mind, not to mention those in the first Brandenburg concerto. Handel wrote brilliantly for horns too; just think of the F major sections of the Water Music, or the challenging horn solo in the “hunting” aria in Giulio Cesare (“Va tacito e nascosto”).
But having stated that this concerto calls for horns, we need to ask if this is true, because a mystery hangs over this piece. In the source materials Telemann labels the solo parts as being for trombe selvatiche (this is the plural; the singular is tromba selvatica). This Italian term literally means “forest trumpets” and modern scholars are divided as to what Telemann actually meant by this.
For a start, it’s entirely possible to play this work on trumpets at the written pitch, but if Telemann wanted regular trumpets why didn’t he just say so? He used the normal term for the trumpet (tromba) in the suite in Part Two. Were “forest” trumpets somehow different to regular ones?
The use of the term “forest” obliquely suggests horns (still then strongly associated with hunting) but then the assumption must be made that the music should be played an octave lower than written.
Added into the mix in all this must be recent research into other trumpet and horn variants from the Baroque, such as the tromba da tirarsi (= slide trumpet) called for in a number of Bach’s works, and experiments with small horns which seem to reflect what Bach (and other composers) might have had in mind in specific instances. Even the most (in)famous Baroque solo trumpet part – the stratospherically high virtuoso trumpet part in the second Brandenburg concerto – might not be for trumpet at all. Some sources have labelled it tromba o vero corno (trumpet or [rather] horn).
In practice, most performers opt for horns down the octave in this concerto of Telemann's. Quite apart from anything else the music seems better suited to the horn (a decision made on both the Freiburg and Goebel recordings), although I for one would have no problem hearing this work on trumpets. For the record, I’ve tracked down at least five other Telemann concertos for two horns, all of which seem to use the more usual name of corno da caccia (= hunting horn) for the instrument. This work in the Musique de Table seems to be his only use of the tromba selvatica.
So to the piece itself:
Telemann retains his beloved four movement structure for this concerto, starting with a striking slow movement marked Maestoso (= majestic). The long notes in the horns seem to accompanying stately arpeggios in the strings but before long the two soloists are in dialogue two solo violins from the orchestra.
The first movement proves to be an excellent warm up for the demands of the second as here Telemann requires seriously virtuosic playing from the soloists. The consistent accompaniment of two solo violins under the horns – as opposed to being in dialogue with them – is a fascinating detail which suggests that Telemann saw no potential for balance problems with the instruments of his day (whatever they were!).
In a binary structure with repeats, this Allegro is a rollicking affair, with a catchy little syncopation in the main melody which propels the music forward.
Grave in later generations was used as an indication of an extremely slow tempo (think late Beethoven). In the Baroque it didn’t mean being slow to quite the same extreme but it certainly indicated a serious mood. In using Grave for the third movement of this concerto, Telemann was suggesting something quite unusual in a concerto of his time. This music conveys real seriousness, and the tempo marking flags it immediately.
Added to this is the fact that in brass concertos of the period (think of the Vivaldi concerto for two trumpets mentioned above, or Bach’s first and second Brandenburg concertos), the solo brass instruments were usually tacet (= silent) in slow movements. This was for a combination of three reasons. Firstly, slow movements usually moved into different keys, which severely limited the notes a brass instrument could contribute without changing sections of the instrument’s tubing. Secondly, slow movements were often quieter, so the louder tone of brass instruments could be regarded as inappropriate. And thirdly, the fast movements were usually very tiring on brass players, in terms of their lips (embouchure) and their breathing. Slow movements gave the them the chance to rest.
Telemann makes no such concessions whatsoever in this concerto; the horns are not only required in the C minor Grave slow movement, but what they play is very exposed, for the first horn in particular. High notes need to be plucked out of mid-air and the harmony is very dark. The change of mood from what came before is striking.
As is the contrast with what follows. The rollicking gigue-like finale is in 12/8 and gives the solo horns a real workout. In the familiar binary form with repeats, this finale has the sort of drive and energy we’ve come to expect from Telemann, especially in his finales.
4. Trio in D, TWV42:D5 2 flutes and continuo
a. Andante
b. Allegro
c. Grave – Largo – Grave
d. Vivace
The trios in each Production of Musique de Table have all been for two treble instruments plus the ubiquitous continuo. In Part One it was two violins and in Part Two it was flute and oboe. Here, in the bright key of D major, we have a trio featuring two flutes. A brief survey of these three trios shows that, while in many cases instrumentation in Baroque solo music might have been interchangeable (substituting, flutes for violins, say), in Telemann’s case it seems to me that he was very much writing for specific instrumental timbres and possibilities. This trio, for example, might be physically playable on two violins, but I doubt the effect would be anywhere near as graceful or convincing as it is with the flutes specified in the score.
The opening Andante sees the two flutes very closely intertwined in a graceful dance around each other. There’s close imitation and parallel movement creating a warm trio of sounds, especially as the continuo part is also occasionally involved in the “conversation” beyond providing simple support.
The ensuing Allegro, on the other hand, is far more virtuosic. Triplet quavers within 3/8 set the tone, but the rhythmic subdivisions change regularly, keeping everyone on their toes. A pervasive pattern of triplet quavers on repeated notes give the music a nervous quality, resulting in even the listener feeling almost breathless by the end.
The third movement is extremely unusual. All but four bars of it consists of a beautifully melancholy Largo in 6/8 which sees the two flutes again closely tied to each other. But this is introduced by two bars marked Grave which set the B minor tonality in an arresting way. Then at the end there are two more Grave bars which end on the dominant of F sharp major, setting up the D major finale.
This finale, Vivace in 3/8, conveys the feeling of a minuet-like movement at first, although it becomes quickly apparent that Telemann has created a more complex, contrapuntal movement to end this trio. The two flutes enter like the voices in a fugue and spend almost the entire movement moving completely independently of each other. Those few bars where they don’t are all the more dramatic for that. It’s a brilliant little piece, full of exquisite detail and delightful interplay.
5. Sonata in G minor, TWV41:g6 oboe and continuo
a. Largo
b. Presto - tempo giusto - Presto
c. Andante
d. Allegro
It comes as no surprise, given Telemann’s penchant for neatness and logic, to find that the three main treble instruments of his time (and of this collection) should each have a solo sonata in Musique de Table. In Part One it was the flute, and the violin had its sonata in Part Two. Part Three now completes the set with a ravishing oboe sonata.
The gentle opening Largo is a siciliana. This was usually in 6/8 or 12/8 (the latter in this case) with a lilting dotted rhythm. In the minor key this can (and does in this case) create a yearning, wistful mood, perfectly suited to the plaintive voice of the baroque oboe.
A feature of this first movement is the occasional silences which momentarily leave the music in mid-air, only to have it resolve, sometimes unexpectedly, in the ensuing bars. Our attention is never allowed to wander.
This moves straight into an unusual second movement. It starts out conventionally enough with a virtuosic Presto but when this is done it devolves immediately what we eventually realise is a middle section in a completely different key (major instead of minor), tempo (tempo giusto instead of Presto) and mood (gently pastoral instead of virtuosic).
The Presto is then repeated, da capo, to round off this unusual but captivating movement.
The brief third movement, marked Andante and in the relative major key, evokes the world of the Handelian chamber sonata perfectly. (In fact I wouldn’t be surprised to find that Handel used this movement in a sonata as yet unknown to me, so reminiscent is it of his own style.) I suspect Telemann kept this movement brief because of the unusual length of the preceding movement, and perhaps in recognition of the demands to come.
The finale, back in the home key of G minor, is one of Telemann’s trademark driven finales in 3/4, complete with syncopations and a dramatic drive forward throughout. It’s in binary for with each half repeated, and beings to an end a truly marvellous sonata.
6. Conclusion in B flat, TWV50:10 2 oboes, strings and continuo
And so we come to the end of Musique de Table, to the sixth piece in Part Three and the eighteenth of the entire collection. This Conclusion is scored for the same forces, and in the same key, as the suite which opened this Part and it’s a fiery, dazzling finale to this stupendous collection of music.
Unlike the earlier two Conclusion movements, this one has no central section or da capo. Given the frenetic, one might almost say mad, energy of the piece as it stands I’m sure Telemann felt this was quite enough. I’m sure performers ever since have also been grateful! This is furiously difficult music but so lively and satisfying for an audience.
The two oboes, as expected, are joined by two solo violins, but the overwhelming impression left by this music is its contrapuntal complexity. It’s not a strict fugue but there’s so much polyphony and interplay going on. It’s a truly marvellous thing and a wonderful piece on which to end this journey through one of the great monuments of western music.
Thank you for sharing the journey with me.
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