by Stephen Fry
Now, if I were to tell you that 1736 was but a dim and distant memory, would you believe me? Well, obviously you would, because it was hundreds of years ago. What I mean is, let's move on from there, six years, to 1742. Things have changed. Music has changed. The world has changed. My underpants have changed.
Vivaldi, of the 400 Concertos and the Two Women, has died. So, probably, died happy, one might presume. But, as they say in show business, as one door closes, another swings back in your face. Or, if you prefer, opens. And in this case, it opened. The music world has gained the composer who is a good contender for the 'Best name not just in music but in all history'. He goes by the name of: Car! Pitters von jDittersdorf I mean, I don't know why his parents didn't save on valuable ink and call him: Qarl Snigger Now-' Please Actually, doesn't save them much ink, does it, but still, you get my drift. Carl was Viennese, a one-time fiddler who had toured all Italy captivating audiences, and who would go on to five to the grand old age of sixty. As such, he is what is now termed a lesser contemporary of Haydn and Mozart. Sad thing to declare at the Pearly Gates, I imagine. Name: Carl Ditters von Dittersdorf (cue hails of laughter). Occupation: Er, lesser contemporary of Haydn and Mozart. Favourite colour: Well, I'm not really sure, I mean, there's so many to choose from.
Other wins, as it were, in the musical world at the time? Well, baby Haydn is now young choirboy Haydn and he has just started at St Stephen's Cathedral in Vienna. He's a bit of a rising star, clearly, and he could do well if he can only shake off the cutsie reputation. What else? Well, there's the music from the Last Night of the Proms - that was written about now. 'Rule Britannia', the flag-wavers' favourite (although, whatever you think of it, it's at least a bit livelier than 'God Save the Queen').
ARNE STORMING!
homas Arne was only thirty years old when he produced the one tune that has become one half of what he is remembered for today. This Eton-educated would-be lawyer had been forced to practise on a muffled harpsichord, in order that his dad didn't discover him pursuing his music.
Eventually, though, he came out of the composers' closet - jeep-ers, it must have been crowded in there - and, with his father's blessing, became a successful composer. It was in 1740 that he produced his stage play with music, Alfred, from which comes the now evergreen 'Rule Britannia'. The other half of his claim to fame is that he's part of a sort of musician's slang, alongside Edward Elgar, used in order to suggest that someone doesn't know their stuff. As in… 'He doesn't know bis Arne from his Elgar'.
Thomas Arne premiered 'Rule B.' in front of the Prince of Wales at Cliveden. Which leads me on to a useful question: who does rule the waves, as it were, in 1742? 'IN DUBLIN'S FAIR CITY, HANDEL MEETS THE COMMITTEE…'
L
et's zoom out and go global, then zoom back in again. Global first. Frederick the Great-'3 of Prussia has got his cue for his liltcen minutes of fame, or, to be more precise, forty-six years of fame. And before we zoom back in, what else has happened? Well, the Pope lias got all hot under the collar about Freemasonry. Doesn't like it. Doesn't like it one bit. In fact, he's issued a papal bull about it along the lines of 'What's with all this closed shop practices, silly costumes and odd ceremonies!' Well, you can see why he feels threatened.
Zooming back in, slowly, there's the Swiss astronomer, Anders (xlcius, who, just this year, has invented the 'centigrade' thermometer, just some six years after Gabriel Fahrenheit had died.^ Closer to home, Britain has gained censorship on the stage, with all new work having to go before the Lord Chamberlain. This doesn't stop David Garrick from having a much-acclaimed London debut as Richard III, though. Dick Turpin, the man who demanded outrageous amounts of money while people were in the middle of their journeys, has been and gone, although, today, numerous cafes alongside the Al do their best to keep his memory alive.
Musically, though, Handel is about to offer up an oratorio form of the words, 'You ain't seen nothing, yet' while on a trip to Dublin. He'd been invited to the Irish capital by the Duke of Devonshire, for a charity gig, and had accepted readily. He'd recently lost around ten grand in an Italian opera company that had gone pits-up, so he was very keen to do well as a 'continental star' in Ireland.
He'd gone there with the intention of just doing a few concerts, making some good money, and leaving. In the end, though, his reception was so favourable that he stayed nine months, in a rented house in Abbey Street, and doubled the planned number of concerts from fi If I could digress at this point, it would be to say: the naming committee. Who are they? I mean the people who come up with the descriptions to go with world leaders. Frederick… THE GREAT. Ivan… THE TERRIBIE. I mean, who says Ivan was terrible? Surely that's a matter of opinion? Granted, there are some that are more or less indisputable. like Attila… THE HUN. Robert… THE BR UCE. St James… THE DISMEMBERED. (Poorguy, I imagine he pretty much had to earn that name. Ewwl) But… THE TERRIBLE. Who says so? Vve never seen an ad in the paper recruiting for members on the world leaders' naming committee! I've never seen a laminated sign pinned to a tree, like planning permission, inviting comments of proposed future names. SO WHO SATS? And why not Ivan… THE LOUSY. Or Peter… THE OBJECTIONABLE. Frederick… the WELL HE WAS OK BUT NOTHING SPECIAL! And, while Fm on the subject, poor old Ethelred. Just because he came down to answer the door in his jim-jams. Very unfair. Anyway, I digress, sorry. But at least I told you I would, fi fi Gabriel Fahrenheit died aged fifty, but nothing could dissuade him from his belief that he was actually 122. six to twelve. During his stay, Handel grew increasingly respectful of the local musicians. This changed his preconceived idea that they would not be able to pull off the new oratorio that he'd been working on. So he put an ad in the Dublin Journal on 27 March that year. For the relief of the prisoners in the several gaols, and for the support of Mercers Hospital in Stephens St, and of the Charitable Infirmary on the Inn's Quay, on Monday the 12th of April, will be performed at the Musick Hall in Fishamble St, Mr Handel's new Grand Oratorio, calEJ the MESSIAH, in which Gentlemen of the Choirs of both Cathedrals will assist, with some Concertoes on the Organ, by Mr Handel. Seven hundred people attended the premiere, in a hall made for 600. Paper reviews were effusive. 'In the opinion of the best judges, the work far surpasses anything of that nature which has been performed in this or any other kingdom.'
And so was born one of the great legends of music. Some say he wrote it in twenty-five days, some say less - eighteen, even. All that is certain is that he had a huge hit on his hands in Dublin that year. He went on to try and clone the success of the Messiah with a string of others: Semele, Judas Maccabaeus, Joshua, Solomon, Ernest meets the Tickle-Monsters®… sorry, mixed up my notes.
TIME OUT 1749
Y
ou'll have to go with me on this one. If you were to buy a copy of Time Out in 1749, what do you think you'd be able to read when you opened it? Well, chances are, you wouldn't. Be able to read, I mean. But just presuming you were literate, what then? Well, there might be a double-page interview with Henry Fielding, who has a new book to plug, Tom Jones, and rather saucy it is too. There might be a review of the travelling theatre company that has brought over the latest offering from the Italian comic playwright, Goldoni, called The Liar. Great tide, don't you think? There might even be a piece on the recent retrospective of the painter, Canaletto, who is currendy enjoying a near ten-year-long stay in England; or possibly a Groundforce-style garden makeover, with the hot prospect on the flora and fauna front, Capability Brown. Er, no doubt, with pictures by Gainsborough.
Somewhere on the letters page there's probably a 'What will they think of next?' piece, talking about Pereire's new thing, sign language for the deaf. In the news columns, there's a small 'Where are they now?' feature on Bonnie Prince Charlie, and littie paragraphs on Philip, the No 5 shirt for Spain, who has been sent off and replaced by Ferdinand in the No 6 shirt. There might even be a Hello-style 'The Holy Roman Emperor, Francis I, invites us to spend some peaceful time with him at Aix-la-Chapelle'.
M
usically, though, Time Out ofT749 should be reporting that we really are on the brink. To paraphrase Bob Dylan, ye times, they are y-changin'. Or whatever. Just as in architecture, where the finicky, twiddly bits of the rococo and baroque stuff have had their day, well, so, in music, the finicky, twiddly bits of the baroque with all its counterpoint stuff- that's out any minute, too. In architecture, by way of replacement, they got neo-classicism, inspired by things like Stuart and Revett's Classical Antiquities of Athens, and all that sort of stuff. In music, they got… well, more or less the same. Only, as it hadn't actually happened before - or at least, not on paper - they simply called it classical. Or at least, they would call it classical. It hasn't happened yet. But it soon will.
People will start to pare music down, to strip away Bach's counterpoints and fugues, and so on, to rely less and less on the more academic and mamematical side of music, only to push things on in other ways. But, as I say, it hasn't happened yet. It's only 1749 and baroque has gone to extra time. It's got a good… let's see, twelve months left on the clock. It's playing itself out with Domenico Scarlatti in Spain, Rameau in France and Handel more or less all over the place. In fact, to be honest, when Bach stops, so will baroque. Seems fair really. But, till the hooter goes, Handel just keeps on turn- ing out the hits.
Indeed, the Queen now arriving at Platform 1 is the 1749 from Sheba, calling at Cairo and Addis Ababa. Actually, that reminds me of a scene from the bible of classical music, Fry's Classical Lives, subtitled An Eye-witness's Diary of the Classical Period as it Happened. Allow me to quote a substantial but important passage. As I was leaving the courtyard, I couldn't help but notice a tall, dark-haired gentleman, rushing to catch the Classical coach
'I say wait on,' he cried, but to no avail. The coachman was by now muffled against the potentially treacherous weather and, in any case, had gathered up such a head of speed on the courtyard's rain-soaked cobbles that he fair shot past him like a bullet, spraying his cloak as he went.
'Dash,' scowled the stranger, then, realising I was in earshot, Tm sorry'
I nodded my head, all the better not to retrieve my hands from their now cosy southerly home in my pockets. He stepped towards me.
'Excuse me, fine sir,' he said, 'which coach was that I have missed?'
I frowned slightly betraying my imminent bad news.
"That was the 1750 - Classical Period. Er, change at Slough.' 'Dash,' he said again. And again, 'Sorry.' He paused. 'And the next one?' I looked at my pocket watch.
'The next? Not until 1820… or thereabouts. That s the Romantic Period.' At this, the tall stranger looked crestfallen. 'Seventy years? Seventy years till the next one?'
As sure as I was of my facts, I proffered some last hope. Xet me just check,' I said, fruitlessly 'Yes, the 1820, Romantic There is something leaving at 1800, but that's if you've paid in advance Yox haven't paid in advance, have you?' His gaze fell to his galoshea 'Er, no. No, I haven't.'
'Then your best bet is the 1820. Come, let me buy you a hot whisky and bitters. Y»u can let your troubles float off in the vapours!' It was all the comfort I could offer.
'Thank you/ said the would-be traveller, and we both transferred inside. Lovely moment, isn't it? A real-life, eye-witness account of one man's missing the start of the Classical period. Touching, if a little surreal. Could someone bring me a blanket for my legs?
…DON'T FIX IT o. It's classical, Jim, but not as we know it. Well, not really. Not yet, anyway. And why not? Well, mainly because not enough people knew it was classical yet, just in the same way they didn't lcnow it was baroque until it came up and bit them in the head. The '1750, start of the Classical period' nonsense is exactly that. Nonsense. It's a very convenient and very general label put on things to show that, from roughly around this time, the first pieces of what we now recognize as classical music began to be written.
But still, we are now 'officially' classical. The period from which all classical music gets its name. And why? Why did this one period from around 1750 to 1820 or so give its name to ALL this type of music, from year dot to the present day? Baroque, romantic, even modern music… why do we call it all 'classical' music? The answer?
Haven't a clue. You'll have to read another book if you want to know the answer to that one/
Of course, it's early days, yet. And just like at the end of an exam, when the bell goes, very few people immediately just put their pens down. So, very few people just stopped writing baroque, just like that. Well, OK, Bach did, but that was more down to a personal request from the Grim Reaper than a change to classical. Most others carried ? May I suggest Why We Call All Classical Music Classical, Including Baroque, Romantic and Even Some Modern, by Stephen Fry, price Ј40, discounts for orders over 30. If I get enough orders, I way even write the book. on a bit, writing baroque, until the teacher physically wrested the pen from their hands. Metaphorically speaking, of course. A couple, however, were beginning to show many of the hallmarks of the classical period, particularly CPE Bach. Also, many of the younger lot, the new guys just graduating straight into the classical era, found it natural, of course, to write nothing else. And there was one Bavarian who was quick to see the point of this new 'classical thing' - what the marketing men today would call 'an early adopter'. And what's more, not only was he about to write his best work EVER, but, more to the point, he also had a mildly amusing middle name. FAN-TASTIC! Step forward… Qhristoph Willibald von G^luck
Yes, I know. As Frankie Howerd would have said, 'Ooh-er, no, dear, don't titter. No… titter ye not!' Anyway, before we come to him, let me quickly set the scene for you. Imagine it's 1?©2. Yes, I know - doesn't tempus fugit, especially when you want to cover thirty-two years in the next ten pages. Still. Can't have everything, as it were.
DANDY
s o, what's happened since our last little chat? Well, let's see.
Johnson's Dictionary has been out seven years now, taking its place on all good bibliophiles' shelves, alongside, perhaps, Laurence Sterne's Tristram Shandy, Voltaire's Candide and, just this year, Rousseau's Social Contract.
Not so much of a bedtime read, that last one. The same house that had a burgeoning bookshelf also might have had one of Thomas Chippendale's cabinets - very 'This Year' - or even a painting by George Stubbs. George Stubbs was more or less like Damien Hirst in his time, except that he left his subjects whole and favoured oil over formaldehyde. Josiah Wedgwood had, only a couple of years ago, started a pottery in Etruria, Staffordshire, and, more recendy, Beau Nash had… well, been busy being Beau Nash - dandy and bon-viveur. Great tide, isn't it, Dandy? I can just imagine him down the job Centre. In fact, I think there's mention of such an incident in Fry's (llassical Lives. Gosh, that book is useful. I had been a guest of the government before, and found their weekly gatherings at the 'Maison de Travail* to be not unpleasant. On this occasion, I found myself next in the queue to the great bon-viveur, raconteur and general dandy Mr Beau Nash Indeed, at one point it appeared that he had been 'viveur-ing' rather too???-ly' the previous night, and his right cheek made a more than passing acquaintance with my shoulder. When it came to his turn to demonstrate his government artistry, I woke him from his slumbers and prompted him to play his part. He requested mat I accompany him to his desk, as he had a touch of gout mat might make his walking a little less stable than normal. This I was glad to do, and, as a result, I was by his side for the entire encounter, which passed in something like this manner. TMame?' 'Nash, Beau.' 'Occupation?' 'Dandy' 'Sorry?' 'Dandy,' I say 'Dandy?'
'Yes sir, dandy I am a dandy I… I… I dand. And frequendy Now pray tell me, my good man… I am present primarily to solicit travails and labours wherein I might, by their subsequent execution, seek to procure, for my own part, a modest pecuniary - some might say nummular - advantage. What say you?'
The representative of good King George raised his head. 'Come again?' he said, somewhat nonplussed.
Nash stared at him, sniffed once and said, 'Gizza job!' What a beautiful extract. Ho
w lucky we are to have such a fine account of the times. Thank goodness for my forefathers, that's all I can say.
BEANO
I
? return to 1762, what of sport? Well, sport, it would appear, is thriving. St Andrews has been founded, as has the Jockey Club, and, thank goodness, someone's even laid down the rules of whist. In other areas, a couple of important factories have gone up, too, notably the world's first porcelain factory and the world's first chocolate factory. One, clearly, far more important than the other. On a more 'world' stage, George II has died and George III is here. Things are beginning to rumble in America, with everyone talking independence, and, just to keep the tally going, we are currently six years in to a seven years' war. And I think that's more or less it. Oh, no… someone has invented the harmonica. The thoughdess bastard.
Musically speaking, though, there has been a shift taking place. The centre of the music universe is moving. It was Italy, having previously been Holland and Flanders, but now it was shifting again to Vienna, principally because of the Hapsburgs, the all-powerful family currently enjoying a spell as Holy Roman Emperors. Handel is now gone, just three years ago, and with him, the last great champion of the baroque art. Classical music, as we know it, is getting a firm foothold, mainly because the baroque composers have all but died off. It's in among all this that the man with the mildly amusing middle name, Gluck, decides to write a new opera.
