How does that remind me? Well, you see in 1733, Bach was having a minor war himself. Not quite on die same scale, it's true, but still, a war no less. JSB's war is with die church authorities - again! -this time the ones at St Thomas's in Leipzig, and, of course, the problem is over money. Or, according to Bach, die lack of it. His job of t amor means he plays the organ, writes new music - every week, mind! - for two churches and all dieir services. He rehearses, directs,IIHI trains people at a. further two churches, and also, in his - wait for this - spare time, he has to teach Latin and music at die local school. Added to this is die fact that the living quarters that go witii die job.?? a tad squalid, and the salary mere peanuts. So, you can imagine,? \s a virtual running battle. And what does it do to his 'muse', as it were? Does the music dry up? Is he writer's-blocked, and unable to pen a note? Well, no, actually. Quite die opposite, oddly enough. The I,cipzig years will turn out to be one of his most prolific times.
Great pieces were to come from this period. The Art of Fugue, albeit unfinished, was a huge undertaking, using almost every feature of the current music thinking at the time. It is one HUGE piece of showing off, really. In it, Bach wrote himself one single tune. He then set about showing you how many times and in how many different ways he could change and vary and re-present this tune. It's a bit like a jazz musician being given a small tune and then improvising on it for hours, just to show how clever he is. Then there's The Musical Offering, the Goldberg Variations and, of course, started in tins very year, 1733, the mere trifle that is…The Mass in? Minor.
CRITICAL MASS
T
he? Minor Mass - or to give it its German title Die Messe in H Moll - is considered by many to be the greatest achievement of a great composer. It's massive. A full Latin Mass in twenty-four sections, with monumental versions of the Gloria, the Crucifixus and the Credo. What's even more interesting is that it's a Catholic Mass, which is odd for Bach, the foremost Protestant composer of his day. It seems he was probably touting for business, and would send the Kyrie and Gloria to the Catholic King of Saxony, to see if he could get the job of court composer. Again, and I know I've said this before, but go and see a live performance. It's a BIG piece, and even die best recording on CD can't do it justice. By 1736, die muse Euterpe is still putting all his eggs in just two baskets, namely? and H. With both now at their absolute peak, though, just how does it feel? I mean, how does it smell, to be in 1736? What does 1736 taste like? Well, let me see if I can't take your index finger and rub it across the grain of the year.
Well, baroque is well and truly, incompletely and utterly king. If you're a baroque star, it doesn't get any better than this, so enjoy it while you can. The Classical period is only just around the corner. Opera, though, is past its first peak. It is still being written - in fact it's being written like mad. And as they only finished the Covent Garden Opera House in 1732 - four years ago - then someone obviously believes in it enough to throw pots of money at it. But in the form that the crowds of the time knew it, opera had had its first day. Oratorio was gaining on it, and would give it a good run for its money in the pop stakes, before it was finished.
To be fair, despite it being at its most popular, the writing is nevertheless on the wall for the fiddly, florid-sounding music that is baroque. But not yet. Not quite yet. For now, Bach and Handel continue to dominate. Others do get a look in, though.
BAROQUE STARS
ean-Philippe Rameau, for example, the man from Dijon. He was incredibly popular in his day, which was around now, to be fair. He knocked out some thirty or so operas and ballets, and generally helped to move things on a bit, particularly opera-wise. He'd had a big hit only last year - 1735 - with Les Indes Galantes, the hit ballet of the season. It wasn't just a crowd pleaser, either. It was pushing back the boundaries of what was then considered the done thing. He it was who was very big on putting musical descriptions into his works. Up to now, music was largely just… well, music - either for its own sake, or for the glory of God. Rameau decided that there should be the odd description of worldly things in there, too. So, in something like Les Indes Galantes, there are musical earthquakes, storms, volcanic eruptions, clay-pigeon shooting©, all depicted by Rameau in his music. Then there was Pergolesi. Again, forgive me this moment while I wax on about his name. Beautiful name, I've always thought -Giovanni Battista Pergolesi. From Jesi. Mmm. Lovely. Anyway, as I say, he was from Jesi, in Italy. He led a tragically short fife, dying at the age of twenty-six - but he filled those years with some fifteen operas and twelve cantatas. One of his operas, La Servo- Padrona - 'The Servant as Mistress' - was so important in its day, particularly around the time of its Paris performances, that it was said to have influenced the path of French music significantly. He also found time to come up with a bunch of pieces of sacred music, one of which has stayed in the repertoire for one simple reason - it's gorgeous. It's a setting of the Stabat Mater, the words from Passion Week which describe the mother of Jesus standing at the foot of the cross.
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'.