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.