Handel Fireworks PROGRAMME NOTES by Christopher Verrette The first and last works on this programme make a link between the music of the mature George Frideric Handel and the music he may have experienced in his early twenties, while in Rome, where one of the dominant musical personalities was Arcangelo Corelli, then at the apex of his illustrious career. Corelli was the leading violinist and director there who, while not having an actual “standing” orchestra, thrived within a malleable, and essentially freelance, musical environment. Young Handel, in fact, worked directly with Corelli in performances of two of his early oratorios at palaces of the powerful families that were the principal employers of musicians in Rome. Corelli’s published work only gives us a partial picture of the varied performance scene of which he was such an important part. For example, the title page to his only published orchestral music, the Opus 6 Concerti Grossi, which he painstakingly edited shortly before his death, only mentions stringed instruments. But documents such as payment records of the major families show that he often directed huge orchestras that included winds and brass. Exactly what was played on these occasions is not always clear, but it likely included earlier versions of pieces we now know as Opus 6, perhaps organized into shorter, three-movement sinfonias. Judiciously adding winds to certain movements of these concertos can, thus, give us a taste of what these extravagant events may have sounded like, and offer our wind-playing colleagues a rare opportunity to play this iconic music. The fourth concerto especially lends itself to the addition of trumpets due to its key of D major and its generally “outdoor” affect. The unusual final burst of energy that interrupts the gigue-like Allegro also adds to the festive quality of this piece. The music of Johann David Heinichen has largely been overshadowed by his monumental theoretical work on the art of continuo accompaniment. Like Handel before him, he travelled to Rome from his native Germany to learn about Italian opera, although he only wrote one, which was never performed. For twelve years from 1717, he held the coveted position of Kapellmeister at the court of Dresden, where he supplied sacred and instrumental music to its excellent musical establishment. His employer, Elector Frederick Augustus I of Saxony, who was also King of Poland (attained through a sudden conversion to Catholicism), took musicians everywhere he went, whether on regal business to Warsaw, or for recreation just up the road at his hunting lodge at Moritzburg. The Serenata di Moritzburg celebrates this venue’s function: hunting was one of the Elector’s favourite activities, and the Serenata is scored with horns in the traditional hunting key of F major. The horns are featured virtually as concerto soloists, though they are silent in the courtly Sarabande. There is an actual hunt movement (La Chasse) and a Réjouissance that, interestingly, begins with the same repeated-note figure as the movement of the same title from Handel’s Fireworks Music. Heinichen's imaginative orchestration is evident in the Aimable, intimately scored for muted oboes and plucked strings, which may be an allusion to the Elector's legendary amorousness. Georg Philipp Telemann is noted for his tremendous output, and for his assimilation of almost all the prevalent European styles and genres. He was self-taught, arriving at his own style by close study of the best models, such as Lully’s French overtures and Vivaldi’s concertos. The influence of the latter can certainly be seen in this Concerto for trumpet and violin, partly through its three- movement structure — Telemann usually preferred four-movements for his concertos. It is, in fact, largely a solo violin concerto: in the first movement, the trumpet plays mostly with the orchestra (richly scored with three violin and two viola parts), and the middle movement has only violin solos. It is only in the last movement that the soloists actually exchange similar solo material, but there is still a cadenza for the violin. The difficulty of the solo violin part suggests that Telemann was writing for his friend at Dresden, Johann Georg Pisendel, or another especially accomplished player, and that Telemann may have even encountered Vivaldi’s “Grosso Mogul” concerto, which bears some similarities. Johann Sebastian Bach, too, studied Vivaldi’s concertos, making transcriptions for solo keyboard instruments in order to master the style. Parts of the “Grosso Mogul” Concerto first came to public attention through Bach's transcription for solo organ. Although the outer movements could be identified as coming from a published concerto, op. 7, no. 11, for some time it was believed that the recitativo-like middle movement and lengthy cadenza near the end had been added by Bach, until an earlier manuscript version surfaced complete with this slow movement and cadenza. This manuscript is, in fact, the only source that bears the title “Grosso Mogul.” The violin writing in this concerto, and particularly its cadenza, can come as quite a surprise to those raised on the more modest Vivaldi concertos that have been in use as teaching pieces for decades, or even the Four Seasons, which have no cadenzas. In fact, modern-day performers of this work have been chastised for “their” poor taste in cadenzas by critics who did not realize they had been written by Vivaldi. It is likely these were intended for performances by Vivaldi himself during operas: in fact, a contemporary account of Vivaldi’s playing describes just such an event, in which “he placed his fingers but a hair’s breadth from the bridge so there was hardly room for the bow … on all four strings, at incredible speed.” This admittedly hyperbolic description is at least somewhat more believable after encountering this concerto. The “Mogul” of the title may refer to a specific character in an opera, or more generally to the then-rulers of India, who brought us, among other things, the Taj Mahal. It could also be a specific reference to the Grand Mogul diamond, which was originally immense, until it was ineptly cut by a Venetian in the middle of the seventeenth century, and has since disappeared. It is unknown whether the title comes from Vivaldi himself. In 1749, Handel was commissioned to write music for a grand celebration of the Treaty of Aix-la- Chapelle that ended the War of the Austrian Succession. The outdoor event was to take place on an elaborate Palladian platform built especially for the occasion at Green Park, London, and there were to be fireworks. Originally conceived for a large number of wind instruments and percussion only, Handel later added strings (against the wishes of the King), essentially the reverse of what we have done with the Corelli that opened the programme. A public rehearsal took place in Vauxhall Gardens a few days before the event. It was reported that 12,000 people attended, and there was a three-hour traffic jam on London Bridge, an eighteenth-century forerunner of today’s stadium concerts. The fireworks themselves were not a success, and caught the Palladium on fire. Handel was able to re-use the music, however, for an event that turned out to be the beginning of an important facet of his late career: a concert to raise funds to complete the construction of the chapel at the Foundling Hospital. Handel would later provide an organ to the chapel and give annual fundraising performances of Messiah there. Thus, this work that began as a celebration of peace, scored for “martial instruments,” ultimately became a work of charity. The actual peace (La Paix) comes in a siciliano-style movement which, along with some gentler dances, provides a foil to the exuberant bombast of the Overture and Réjouissance. ©C. Verrette September 2014 John Byrom to his wife, April 27, 1749 Green Park 7 o’clock, Thursday night before Squib Castle Walking about here to see sights I have retired to a stump of a tree to write a line to thee lest anything should happen to prevent me by and by … they are all mad with thanksgivings, Venetian jubilees, Italian fireworks, and German pageantry. I have before my eyes such a concourse of people as to be sure I never have or shall see again, except we should have a Peace without a vowel. The building erected on this occasion is indeed extremely neat and pretty and grand to look at, and a world of fireworks placed in an order that promises a most amazing scene when it is to be in full display. His Majesty and other great folks have been walking to see the machinery before the Queen’s library; it is all railed about there, where the lords, ladies, commons, &c. are sat under scaffolding, and seem to be under confinement in comparison of us mobility, who enjoy the free air and walks here. It has been a very hot day, but there is a dark overcast of cloudiness which may possibly turn to rain, which occasions some of better habits to think of retiring; and while I am now writing it spits a little and grows into a menacing appearance of rain, which, if it pass not over, will disappoint expectations. My intention, if it be fair, is to gain a post under one of the trees in St. James’s Park, where the fireworks are in front, and where the tail of a rocket, if it should fall, cannot but be hindered by the branches from doing any mischief to them who are sheltered under them, so I shall now draw away to be ready for near shelter from either watery or fiery rain.