These expressive techniques are well documented in documentary sources (both theatrical and musical) of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, revealing a Classical-Romantic ‘continuum’ of expressive practices (that slowly evolved over several centuries). These practices were applied judiciously at the will of the highly-skilled musician. At one end of the continuum we might consider the advice of Carl Philipp Emmanuel Bach (1714–1788) who, in 1753, listed the constituents of successful musical delivery as “the loudness and softness of the notes, their accentuation, Schnellen [a finger technique on the clavichord], portamento [audible sliding effects], staccato [shortening of notes], vibrato [audible trembling effects], arpeggiation [playing notes one after the other that are aligned in the notation], sustaining [smooth or legato], holding back [getting slower], and pushing forward [getting faster]. Such practices were scarcely to be found in composer’s scores but were expected to be added by the performer. Bach warns that “Whoever either does not use these things at all or who uses them at the wrong time has a bad performance style.” At the beginning of the nineteenth century, Johann Anton André—famous for his publication of Mozart’s music—bothered to indicate in his songs frequent changes of tempo (giving metronome figures) and various signs indicating rhythmic nuance to underscore the everchanging meaning of the text. At the other end of the continuum we might can consider the words of the German cellist Hugo Becker (1863–1941) who explained in 1929: “Animato [getting faster] is the marking for that feeling that makes us talk faster when relating events that affect us very strongly […] Meno or più tranquillo [less or more tranquil], on the other hand, should check the flow of the narrative; it can be used either as a calming effect, or to underline the meaning of a particular place, in order to bring out something musically significant.” Such evidence points to the use of narrative practices to tell stories in spellbinding ways.

The Classical-Romantic continuum was all but expunged during the first half of the twentieth century with the rise of modernism, a time of unprecedented change across the arts and other disciplines, in which the expressive artistry that had characterised late nineteenth-century performance was steadfastly rejected. By 1950, this resulted in styles of classical music performance that were much more closely bound to the composer’s notation, leaving little or no room for improvised musical creativity from the performer. Now, the palate of expression available to artists was severely restricted to the extent that performers became “a disappearing transmitter of canonic works and [composers’] identities” to borrow the words of Anna Scott. The development of sound recording at the turn of the twentieth century accelerated this change allowing musicians and audiences around the globe quick and easy access to a multitude of performances and to hear these repeatedly. This, together with the effects of globalization, led to a homogeneity in classical music performance. We have entrenched ideas of how Schubert’s or Beethoven’s Symphonies should sound: they should sound the way they sound on our favourite recordings!

But we can reimagine what has been forgotten. For early sound recordings (made at the turn of the twentieth century) preserve the artistry of many revered musicians, some of whom were trained in the middle of the nineteenth century or a little before. These recordings allow us to experience how musicians within a half century of the passing of Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert expressed musical stories. We hear their performance practices “unearthed from a time capsule” to quote David Kjar. They provide rich opportunities for us to learn from bygone artists by emulating (imitating) and embodying their interpretations to make them our own: not for the sake of creating museum performances, but to inspire fresh and novel approaches, paving the way for reimagining music of the past creatively and with appropriately improvisatory spirit.

Tonight’s program is comprised of vocal works by Schubert and André with contrasting texts painting in sound: flowing streams, stirring passions, and shepherd’s dreams. For example, in Schubert’s brooding song “Aufenthalt” (Resting Place) from his song cycle Schwanengesang, Anna Fraser and Neal Peres Da Costa emulate a stirring rendition replete with noticeable changes of tempo and rhythm, and other expressive devices by the Russian singer Lev Sibiyakov (1869–1942) recorded in St Petersburg in 1912. And three beautiful songs “Liebe” (Love), “Sehnsucht” (Longing) and “Serenade” from the third book of Lieder und Gesänge (1818) by André, takes us into a fascinating world of expressive possibilities. André’s extensive markings provide a treasure trove of information, a veritable masterclass in methods of storytelling in musical delivery with frequent changes of tempo, a plethora of accent, crescendo and diminuendo signs that underscore the words and their meaning. While, Schubert’s famous Der Hirt auf dem Felsen (The Shepherd on the Rock), not in its original format with soprano, clarinet and piano, but in an arrangement for soprano, clarinet and orchestra (with many amazing additions) by the famous German pianist, conductor and composer Carl Reinecke (1824–1910) demonstrates the compositional and performative flexibility and freedoms celebrated in the ninetheenth century.

The use of gut-strung stringed instruments, period wind instruments, timpani and a Viennese piano add historical colours that help in our story telling efforts. Our singer, too, is experimenting with the raising and lowering of her larynx position and soft palette to attain myriad hues ranging from clear and light to dark and heavy as was the expectation in bel canto before the twentieth century. We hope you enjoy our story telling.

© Neal Peres Da Costa