Telemann’s Musique de Table: Part Two
As we look at the second Part (or “Production”) of Telemann’s Musique de Table, I’ll use terms which I defined in detail in the previous post. I’ll assume that terms like Ouverture (sic), binary, rondeau, and da capo are understood. If you need a refresher, just look back to the post on Part One.
Part Two contains the following six works:
1. Ouverture (Suite) in D, TWV55:D1 oboe, trumpet, strings and continuo
2. Quartet in D minor, TWV43:d1 2 flutes, recorder/bassoon/cello and continuo
3. Concerto in F, TWV53:F1 3 violins, strings and continuo
4. Trio in E minor, TWV42:e2 flute, oboe and continuo
5. Sonata in A, TWV41:A4 violin and continuo
6. Conclusion in D, TWV50:9 oboe, trumpet, strings and continuo
All the works here, where the home key is D major, are in sharp keys except the concerto, which is in the flat key of F major. None of the works repeats an instrumental combination from Part One, a fact which emphasises Telemann’s ceaseless quest for variety of colour in his scoring.
1. Ouverture (Suite) in D, TWV55:D1 oboe, trumpet, strings and continuo
a. Ouverture
b. Air: Tempo giusto
c. Air: Vivace
d. Air: Presto
e. Air: Allegro
Having gone on at length in the previous post about Baroque suites usually being made up of either dances or descriptive pieces, Telemann here pulls the rug out from under me by writing an orchestral suite which does neither. A French Ouverture followed by four movements all titled Air is an extremely unusual structure in my experience but on closer inspection we can see that the dance forms aren’t all that far away. But even though they all utilise da capo form, none of these airs is in a neat binary structure with repeats. It seems that in writing an Air, Telemann was giving himself the freedom to expand his ideas in a less-prescriptive form, and indeed, the four movements here give the impression of a string of opera arias for instruments rather than formal dances.
The other feature that might strike us as unusual in this suite it the instrumentation. We’re used to thinking of oboes and trumpets in pairs (or threes in a lot of Baroque music), but here Telemann clearly calls for just one of each. Furthermore, it’s clear from the writing that he sees (or rather, hears) them as being very similar in volume, able to work together as a pair despite the pitch limitations of the natural trumpet used at the time. This is much more difficult to make work on modern instruments; on period instruments we can see that, as always, Telemann knew what he was doing.
And the use of oboe and trumpet like this is not unique. The better-known of Vivaldi’s two settings of the Gloria (RV589) uses this same instrumentation in its original version. (A second oboe and second trumpet were added in an old edition, which admittedly helped popularise the work in the mid-20th century, but thankfully this corrupt version has now been largely relegated to history.) Vivaldi’s lesser-known setting (RV588) uses one trumpet and two oboes.
The ever-present French overture, however, is still there to open the proceedings. D major was the preferred (but not exclusive) key for natural trumpets, so the instrument is in its element here. In addition, sharp keys (and especially D major) work well on stringed instruments, being aligned to the tuning of the strings and therefore conducive to resonance and an “openness” of sound.
This all conspires to give the opening slow introduction, with characteristic dotted rhythms, an air of grandeur and ceremony. It's processional music in the best sense of the word. The mood could not be more different to that of the E minor Ouverture which opened Part One of the Musique de Table.
The fast main section is given the French tempo marking Vite, the equivalent of the more common Italian Vivace (meaning lively). Its imitative opening is carried along with octave leaps in the main theme and fascinating rhythmic details such a syncopated countersubject and triplets against regular quavers. It becomes very busy very quickly but with a perfect sense of balance, Telemann never lets it get too busy.
As with the E minor Ouverture, which separated the two flutes and two solo violins from the main string body, here Telemann creates another solo quartet. This time the oboe and trumpet undertake a lively dialogue with two solo violins. The writing for the two wind instruments makes it clear that Telemann hears them as equals, working as a well-matched duo.
In the course of this main section there are extended solos for the oboe alone and then for the first solo violin. All of this phasing in and out of solo and tutti textures makes for an ever-varying canvas of sound, something absolutely typical of Telemann who was always careful to maintain interest and variety in his music.
There is a short slow section to conclude, reflecting the music heard at the outset, after which – as was traditional – the whole fast section and concluding slow section are repeated. As with the earlier Ouverture, the Freiburg recording doesn’t observe this larger repeat.
We then encounter the four movements titled Air.
The first of these has the tempo marking Tempo giusto. This literally means “correct tempo” and is generally taken to indicate that the music should find a natural tempo that works, sounding neither rushed nor too slow.
The giusto speed for this movement seems to me to require a sort of swagger. It’s confident music, again with constantly changing textures.
After the full ensemble introduces the main theme the solo spotlight falls initially on three players: oboe, trumpet and first solo violin. Later the second solo violin and – most unusually for Baroque music – a solo viola also join for the solo episodes. The solo violin parts become increasingly frenetic as this section proceeds, indulging in triplet semiquavers at one point under the solo oboe.
This movement has a da capo structure, with a minor-key B section that’s based on the material already heard but which doesn’t really settle harmonically. The Freiburg recording plays an abbreviated reprise of the A section to round off the movement.
The second of the four Air movements, marked Vivace, is at first glance an elegant minuet (in 3/8) but before long it develops into much more. The whole movement is cast in a rondo structure of A B A C A, what the French would have called a menuet en rondeau.
But there’s often cleverness, sometimes outright humour, in Telemann’s music and this is an excellent example. The B and C sections feature the expected four solo instruments (oboe, trumpet and two violins) but as the music progresses the note values become smaller and therefore faster. Triplet semiquavers at first, but in the C section the violins have cascades of demisemiquavers to contend with.
There’s also a very cheeky sounding dialogue between oboe and trumpet, and all up this little movement is a gem, full of quirky surprises but never abandoning good taste.
The third Air movement is marked Presto. In rhythm it resembles the bourrée but lacks the upbeat that dance normally has. What’s undeniable is the sheer sense of exuberance, of fun in this music. Telemann’s infectious rhythms could even be described as “boppy” in parts, but don’t let that distract from the technical demands on the players or the cleverness of the musical structure.
This is one of the most symphonic movements in the whole Musique de Table. Superficially it suggests a rondo, but the recurring opening music is rather varied when it returns each time. It’s much closer to a ritornello form, except the opening music always returns in the same key. Thus it transcends the worlds of instrumental music and opera. The solo episodes feature the oboe, trumpet, two violins and, occasionally, a solo viola in complex interplay which sounds deceptively simple but is in fact ingeniously written. This is music that’s far too good to be background music for someone’s dinner!
Telemann marks a major da capo, observed complete in the Goebel recording but abridged in the Freiburg.
And so to the final movement of the suite, a fourth Air, this time with the tempo marking of Allegro.
Telemann opts to end the suite with a gigue – a traditional choice – which in this case is in 12/8 time. It’s in a simple da capo ternary form – A B A – but here the A sections are rather shorter than the extensive central B section which focuses on all the solo players.
It’s catchy, even toe-tapping, music, the sort of music Telemann was so good at writing, and it’s a lovely way to end this very unusually-constructed suite.
2. Quartet in D minor, TWV43:d1 2 flutes, recorder/bassoon/cello and continuo
a. Andante
b. Vivace
c. Largo
d. Allegro
The Quartet in the second Production of Musique de Table presents – to our modern way of thinking – some very unusual things with regard to its instrumentation. For a start, it’s scored for two flutes and recorder over a continuo bassline. It’s easy to forget (especially for those of us who grew up with the recorder as a badly played kid's instrument) that the recorder has a long and illustrious history in western music and in the Baroque composers used it for its own unique sound qualities, which are quite different to those of the flute.
There’s often some confusion when looking at music of the period as to whether a composer intended a flute or a recorder, but the problem is ours in understanding what appears on the page. A flute was usually described as being “transverse”, that is, held laterally or horizontally by the player. Terms like flauto traverso or (as in the Seiffert edition of this quartet) flauto traversiere indicate the flute. Sometimes this was just shortened to traverso, trav. or even tr.
The last of these – tr. – caused great confusion in Handel’s Music for the Royal Fireworks where, for one performance, Handel added flutes in La Paix, marking the part as simply tr. in his score. Later generations erroneously read this as indicating the addition of trumpets, and I recall old recordings of the piece in which the poor trumpet players tried to play screamingly high and exposed music that was never designed for them.
What’s confusing to us today is that when Baroque composers wrote for the recorder they usually simply labelled the part as flauto. In some places this was clarified by flauto dolce (sweet flute), but as a general rule, flauto in the Baroque should be taken to read recorder unless there’s strong evidence to the contrary. (For example, Bach’s second and fourth Brandenburg Concertos call for recorders, whereas the fifth calls for flute.) Seiffert’s edition of this quartet uses flauto dolce for the recorder part.
But Telemann adds another intriguing twist. It was not uncommon for a composer to authorise the substitution of another instrument to play a particular part; indeed this was probably done a lot even without the composer’s authorisation. But here the recorder part is marked for recorder, bassoon or cello. If either bassoon or cello are used to replace the recorder, the part sounds two octaves lower, a shift which obviously alters the balance of the parts harmonically.
Interestingly, the two recordings I’ve been mentioning in this survey provide us with the opportunity to hear two the three instrumentation options. The Freiburg recording uses bassoon, whereas the Goebel uses recorder. I’ll provide links for both recordings as, fortunately, parts of the Goebel recording are also on YouTube.
As for the piece itself, it’s cast in the usual four-movement structure we’ve already encountered many times in this collection: slow-fast-slow-fast. And, unlike the quartet in Part One, this one doesn’t contain contrasting subsections within the movements.
Each movement explores a different way of combining and highlighting the three wind parts. It’s like Telemann has set himself a challenge to see how interesting and varied he can make the aural textures of each movement. To my mind he succeeds brilliantly.
The first movement treats all three upper parts as total equals. There’s close imitation among them, and the lines intertwine sensuously in music that might be slow but never drags.
The second movement, on the other hand, separates the recorder/bassoon as a soloist against the two flutes. In fact it’s a miniature concerto in which the flutes and continuo are the “orchestra” while the recorder/bassoon is the star of the show. The technical demands of this “solo” part are considerable, requiring real virtuosity and flair.
The languid third movement restores some degree of equality among the three wind parts although the recorder/bassoon still has more prominence than the flutes.
The fiery (at first, anyway) finale sees all three upper parts one totally equal terms, as they were in the first movement, with close imitation and interconnected lines throughout. There’s a gentler middle section in the tonic major key which could suggest a relaxation in the tempo; the Freiburg performers slow down substantially for this whereas Goebel’s musicians do not.
The brief reprise of the opening – Telemann himself abbreviates the da capo this time – brings this fascinating and easily overlooked little gem of a quartet to a close.
Freiburg recording (with bassoon):
Goebel recording (with recorder):
3. Concerto in F, TWV53:F1 3 violins, strings and continuo
a. Allegro
b. Largo
c. Vivace
In the Baroque period there were two main templates in use for the movements of chamber music and concertos. The first we have already encountered several times in the Musique de Table, namely the four movement structure which is organised slow-fast-slow-fast. Telemann used this regularly and in my experience seemed to prefer it.
This older four movement structure (very different to the later four movement structure of the symphony and chamber music) seems to have died out by the time Telemann himself died.
The other layout, the three movement pattern of fast-slow-fast, was also used in the Baroque, mainly for concertos, and while Telemann used it, it seems to have been less important in his output. (I say “seems” because I can only go on the works of his that I know. I have no way of surveying the many hundreds of other instrumental works I haven’t encountered!)
From our perspective we know the three movement structure well. Bach and Vivaldi preferred it for their concertos, and from the Classical period onwards (that is, the later 18th century) the concerto was virtually by definition a three movement work, fast-slow-fast. And at this point, mid-way through the second Production of Musique de Table, we encounter it in this collection for the first and only time.
The complete TWV catalogue online contains 17 known concertos for three instruments and strings in the TWV53 list, and there are many concertos elsewhere in the catalogue with more than three soloists. This particular concerto, featuring three solo violins, is the only concerto in the list for three identical instruments.
It’s also a piece that Handel thought highly of as the first and last movements gave him ideas that he reworked in two of his oratorios in the 1740s.
The other interesting feature about this work is the fact that the accompanying string orchestra calls for only one violin part, not the usual two. This indicates that, given the chamber-scale of orchestras in the Baroque, and the fact that each part was probably only played by one or two musicians, taking three of the violinists out of the orchestra to be the soloists may have left very few to play the orchestral part. So instead of the usual four parts in the orchestra (violin 1, violin 2, viola and cello/bass), there are only three (violin, viola and cello/bass) under the three violin soloists.
The first movement is a bubbly, bouncy display piece for the three soloists, who are treated as absolute equals. Each violin has a big solo statement in turn at the start before the texture becomes busier with intricate interplay. This a through-composed movement with the opening ritornello appearing in different keys at pivotal moments.
Speaking of the opening few bars, despite the arpeggio which outlines the home key moving in a different pattern, it seems clear that this passage gave Handel his starting point when it came to writing the Prelude to Act 3 of Solomon (1748), a movement colloquially known as “The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba”.
The second movement is extraordinary. After the exuberance of the first movement, the second casts us into the shadows with music in the relative minor key that is searching, dense in texture and exquisitely beautiful. It opens and closes with a passage starting in imitation among the three soloists, supported by a “ticking” accompaniment in the orchestra part. The majority of the movement, though, largely dispenses with the orchestra and gives free rein to the solo violins, suspended as they are in mid-air with little or no bassline beneath them. There’s a hint of Vivaldi at his best here, perhaps, and the music ends on the dominant before it plunges into the bustling finale.
This final movement, in a brisk 3/8, launches with a pattern of repeated notes introduced quasi fugally, almost like the main section of a French overture. Clearly that’s what Handel thought when he studied this movement, because despite the major key this clearly was the springboard for the fast section of the minor-key overture to Judas Maccabaeus (1746).
Telemann’s movement, though, goes into territory all its own, with rapid fire demisemiquaver passages for all three soloists and increasingly complex intertwining of the parts. I don’t know of any other composer in the 1730s who was writing music quite like this.
4. Trio in E minor, TWV42:e2 flute, oboe and continuo
a. Affettuoso
b. Allegro
c. Dolce
d. Vivace
We return to the familiar four-movement layout for the next work in Part Two, an elegant trio for flute, oboe and continuo. After the boisterous exuberance of the preceding concerto, Telemann here offers us a delicate, introspective work which is full of charm from beginning to end.
Perhaps, though, a word here about continuo might be helpful. Continuo was the great invention of the Baroque, coming into use in European music around 1600. It came about as a result of a shift in musical style from what we now call the Renaissance (which in music runs roughly to the end of the 16th century) to the Baroque (which covers, in loose terms, the period 1600-1750).
The Renaissance – think Palestrina, Victoria, Lassus – created complex music (mostly vocal) in which all the parts were of equal importance. In the Baroque, with the invention of opera in the 1590s, music by necessity had to become simpler in order for the text to be clear. A texture of two parts – a vocal line singing the text and a bassline to support it – became a new template, and this bassline is where the continuo is, pardon the pun, based.
A continuo line is written as a single line of notes, but as I’ve mentioned earlier in these posts, it was not intended to be simply played as written by a bass instrument, such as the cello. In addition to it being played as written it was expected that chordal instruments would fill out or “realise” the part with chords representing the implied harmony.
We tend to think these days of a continuo part being played by cello (the single line instrument) and harpsichord (the chordal instrument) but the practice of the time was far more flexible. In the operas of Monteverdi, for example, the chordal instruments could include harpsichord (sometimes more than one), organ, regal (a reed organ), harp, lutes (plural) and guitar, often in large combinations. In these circumstances the single line instrument often simply wasn’t needed, especially when accompanying a solo voice, so the practice was much more lavish, and very differently focused, than we might think today.
Local practice varied enormously, and different practices prevailed depending on whether a performance took place in a theatre, a church, a palace, or a private home.
Performers these days have immense freedom in deciding what instruments play the continuo part in a Baroque work. Sometimes a composer will specify but this is the exception rather than the rule. Performers may use a bassoon, for example, instead of a cello if the upper parts feature wind instruments. Or not. A cello with winds is also absolutely fine.
If you’ve been looking at the scores of these works you’ll notice that the continuo parts have numbers under the notes. This is called a figured bass. These figures tell the chordal continuo players which harmonies are appropriate for those particular notes, much in the way guitar chord symbols are used today. I won’t go into the details here of how this works, but suffice to say that a thorough working knowledge of figured bass is essential nowadays for continuo players wishing to enter into the spirit of music of the period.
And so to this E minor trio.
The first movement is a miracle, but one that is so easy to overlook because it wears its miraculousness lightly. It describes in music a conversation in which the two protagonists – the flute and the oboe – begin with different points of view. The oboe states a plaintive line (bar 1), the flute answers with a different, more angular line (bar 3). The music modulates to a new key, whereupon, almost in disbelief, they state each other’s music, again in dialogue (bar 17). Only then, with a completely different melodic device that neither his previously stated (bar 34), do they find some common ground. After this both instruments explore both initial points of view, and by the end they’re in total agreement.
The continuo part stays right out of it, providing only a discreet support to the conversation like a supportive friend listening in. The only one of the three melodic units the continuo ever plays is the third one, the one we first heard in bar 34. It doesn’t take sides but rather works to support agreement. It’s just lovely.
The second movement is very busy, and all three parts are now intimately involved in the drive and seriousness of the music. Like the first movement this is through composed – no repeats – but the ideas are shared equally among the parts, including he continuo line.
As a complete contrast after two movements in the minor key, the third takes us into the major. E major clearly had special significance for Baroque composers (and later ones, too, actually, including Mozart and Haydn), being reserved for moments of deep spiritual reflection or rapture. “I know that my redeemer liveth” in Messiah, the Introduction to Part Three of Haydn’s Die Schöpfung, and “In diesen heil’gen Hallen” from Die Zauberflöte are just three examples.
Telemann’s third movement is marked Dolce (sweetly) and this accords perfectly with the delicate, imitative writing in this special key. Here we have a binary movement with repeats, the first in this trio, although being longer, the second repeat is sometimes not observed by performers. It is observed in the Freiburg recording linked here, however, with the performers adding, as was the practice at the time, tasteful ornamentation on the repeats.
The fourth and final movement returns us to the home key of E minor in another binary movement with repeats. A Vivace (lively) 3/8, this comes across as a rather complex minuet, with Telemann’s characteristic rhythmic intricacies creating and maintaining interest throughout. Here the concept of a conversation is again paramount, but there doesn’t seem to be much disagreement this time. Both flute and oboe are in furious agreement, while the continuo provides its usual emotional support bassline.
5. Sonata in A, TWV41:A4 violin and continuo
a. Andante
b. Vivace
c. Cantabile
d. Allegro – Adagio – Allegro – Adagio
As with the B minor flute sonata we encountered in Part One, the penultimate work in Part Two is a sonata, this time for violin. The texture, as before, is the lightest of the second Production, being only two lines: the violin part and the continuo part. Telemann wrote a huge number of solo sonatas of this nature, and not only for violin, but the one he chose include in Musique de Table is a gem.
Telemann had a good general education but was largely self-taught in musical matters. He taught himself to play keyboards, violin, recorder and even the zither, and over time developed a deep understanding of the ways in which all the instruments of his time worked. This despite the objections of his mother (after the death of his father) to any thought of taking up a musical career. Music of course won out.
In this sonata we see that Telemann knew, from a player’s perspective, how the violin worked. He doesn’t just write music to be played on the violin; he writes music for the violin. The bright key of A major is perfect for the violin, enabling the resonance of the E, A and D strings in particular to ring out clearly (open strings were used much more frequently in the Baroque; the obsession with avoiding open strings that young violinists were taught when I started the instrument was not an issue in the 17th and 18th centuries).
The elegant first movement provides many opportunities for using the open A string and as a whole provides a poised introduction to the rather more virtuosic second movement. Here Telemann’s understanding of violin technique is very clear in the first half of this binary movement, with passages requiring string crossing, from the stopped A string to the open E string and back. He does a similar thing with the A and D strings in the second half. Added to the double stoppings and general liveliness, this second movement is a delight.
The third movement, as expected, is a complete contrast. Marked Cantabile (in a singing style) we have here a delicate, meditative aria for the violin in F sharp minor. There’s an improvisatory quality about this music which is almost timeless (even though it’s clearly in binary form, without repeats), something we tend to associate with Bach in his darker moments. Here Telemann shows he can take us into beautiful dark places as well.
The 12/8 gigue-inspired finale is again a complete contrast, returning us to the bright A major of the first two movements. A binary form movement – with repeats this time – Telemann adds an unusual touch (doesn’t he always?) by adding a slow couple of bars (marked Adagio) at the end of each half. This provides a brief moment for an improvised cadenza if desired and is yet another way of keeping the listener interested by changing the tempo and briefly arresting the infectious forward drive of the music.
6. Conclusion in D, TWV50:9 oboe, trumpet, strings and continuo
And so to the final music in Part Two of Musique de Table, the Conclusion, scored for the same forces and in the same key as the opening suite. I’ve discussed earlier the possible practical use for these concluding pieces so won’t repeat myself here. Suffice to say this single movement rounds off the second Production in rousing fashion, reintroducing the flamboyant solo writing for oboe and trumpet that we heard in the opening suite. There are also the now-familiar interjections from the two solo violins.
Again, as with the Conclusion of Part One, the main fast section is heard twice, with a rich slow passage (marked Adagio) acting as the B section in between.
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