About Those Numbers....
Brian
Dunbar
This past year I have been attending SCGS concerts with someone not
entirely familiar with the fine points of classical music. While we wait
for the concert to begin, I look over the program and explain what will be
heard, what might be interesting about a composer, maybe how a particular
work either fits well in a given genre or doesn't.
As a result of those conversations, I have decided to offer a series of
articles designed to give the novice listener a little more information to
enjoy concerts just a bit more. Though they may be geared towards
classical guitar in particular, I hope that some may be useful for other
concerts in general. In this issue I will explore what those numbers mean
in the program that help identify a given piece of music.
The most common of these identifiers is the "Opus" (Latin for "Work")
number. While this may seem like an easy term to explain, the use of Opus
has changed over the years. Most commonly, a composer assigned his
compositions an Opus number in the order in which it was begun. His first
work would be Opus 1, his second Opus 2, etc. Sometimes, several works
might be included within one Opus, such as the six early string quartets
of Beethoven, Opus 18. Each of these six are further identified as "Number
1" and so on, giving us compositions such as "String Quartet in A, Opus
18, No. 5."
But, originally, it was the publishers that assigned an opus number
simply as a means of organizing their catalogs. This was no problem as
long as the composer stayed with one publisher all or most of his life,
but big problems occurred with the music of Haydn. Haydn worked with
several publishers during his lifetime, and some of them had arrangements
with publishers in other countries to sell Haydn's music. As a result,
several publishers had completely different compositions all bearing the
subtitle of, say, Op.122. In addition, the same piano piece might be
identified in three different countries with three different opus numbers.
An additional problem with Haydn is that his music was so popular during
his lifetime that plagiarism became rampant just to cash in on his name.
Years later it seemed impossible to gather a definitive listing of his
works, when they were composed, or even which ones were really his in the
first place. Enter a man named Hoboken.
Hoboken set his energies toward untangling the Haydn mess and came up
with a somewhat authoritative catalogue. As a result, you may see "Hol.
25" after one of Haydn's works, rather than an Opus number. This refers
to one particular piece of music that Hoboken cataloged which may have had
several other titles or identifiers in the past. That way, everyone can
agree on exactly which piece of music is being referenced or
performed.
But, there was a lot of music written before the large European
publishing houses, music that was used once or twice and then shelved, or
otherwise not properly handled. Perhaps the best example is the music of
J. S. Bach. Bach wrote mainly in the service of church and court, often
performed the music once or twice, then filed it away or otherwise let it
go. He probably never dreamed that anyone would hear his music after he
died, much less for centuries to come. As a result, his works are still
being discovered, among the most recent being a collection of organ works
found in a library at Yale University about 10 years ago!
In 1950, a man named Schmieder published a monumental tome known as the
Bach-Werke-Verzeichnis (Bach Work Catalogue), known as BWV. He organized
Bach's works by catagory: first the vocal works, then those of the organ,
etc. When new discoveries are made, such as the above-mentioned organ
manuscripts, they are dovetailed into their proper place. It is
Schmieder's catalogue that gives us the numbers we use to identify the
works of Bach today. On a side note, Bach's "Well Tempered Clavier" was
prepared for publication in his lifetime and was given the subtitle Opus
1. This would hardly fit today's usage of that term in that it was one of
the last things that Bach wrote!
Bach's contemporary, Scarlatti, presents a different problem.
Scarlatti wrote over 550 Excercises, or Sonatas, for the harpsichord.
Again, they were never published and survive only in his hand. An
accomplished musician and musicologist named Longo embarked on a project
to organize and publish a modern edition of these pieces, and along the
way he noticed many wrong notes in the manuscripts, especially in chords.
No problem-- he just corrected them. And, as a result, we sometimes see
these sonatas identified by a "Longo" or "L." number.
That was fine and dandy, but years later, along came a man named
Kirkpatrick, who also had a likening for Scarlatti. He, too, studied the
manuscripts and came to the conclusion that those wrong notes Longo found
may sound wrong at a slow tempo, but up to speed they give the music a
certain flare and fire missing from Longo's edition! Kirkpatrick put out
his own edition, complete with notes on ornamentation and performance
practices. As a result, we have at least two ways to identify Scarlatti's
music. Not only are the editions different, but so are the numbering
systems: Longo's L. 83 is Kirkpatricks K.431. This is because Longo
numbered the sonatas in his edition arbitrarily, while Kirkpatrick tried
(somewhat unsuccessfully) to list them chronologically.
You may also find other identifiers along the way: WWoO (Works Without
Opus, used with Beethoven), Attr. (attributed to), and another "K" used in
Mozart's music (refers not to the above Kirkpatrick, but to a man named
Kochel). Some of the old Lute works might be listed with the manuscript
or other source in which they were found.
The use of Opus numbers seems to be slowly fading away as traditional
form titles are being abandoned. Many composers are giving
their
compositions actual "names," such as Sonata Giocosa (Joaquin Rodrigo) as
opposed to just Sonata, or Danza caracteristica by Leo Brouwer.
Occasionally, the year of publication might be included.
So what should all of this mean to you as you sit down at your next
classical concert, guitar or otherwise? Actually, not a hill of beans, I
hope. Just listen to what the composer and performer are trying to
convey, and if they touch you somewhere inside, express it at the
appropriate moment. But, at least now you might have a better idea as to
what those darn numbers in the program mean.
--Brian Dunbar is a former Treasurer of SCGS and former editor
of its newsletter.