3. Italian Collections of Scots Tunes
When examining some of the very earliest collections of Scots Tunes, one is immediately struck by the absence of written-out graces and ornaments. Very few provide basslines, and even fewer include figures or realisations. This may come as something of a surprise to modern readers, who are accustomed to hearing these tunes harmonised, and articulated with all manner of taps, cuts, and rolls practiced by musicians steeped in the sound-world of Scottish Traditional music. And yet, the collections of Henry Playford,1 John Young,2 Alexander Stuart,3 and William Thomson4 feature scarcely any written ornaments at all. One notices similarly sparse notation in the collections of Scottish antiquarians later in the eighteenth century. James Johnson’s claim that his publication The Scots Musical Museum retained “the original simplicity of our Ancient National Airs…unencumbered with useless Accompaniments and graces”5 results in similarly “thin” notation.6 By contrast, the Scots Tune collections of Francesco Barsanti,7 Domenico Corri,8 Pietro Urbani9 and others all feature meticulously detailed ornamentation in almost every bar.
These ornaments have lent themselves to myriad interpretations by performers and researchers, and continue to present a challenge to any interpreter: what, if anything, can these ornaments tell us about the performance practices of musicians in eighteenth-century lowland Scotland? A tempting conclusion to draw from this disparity is that the Italian sources reveal aspects of Scottish performance practice that native Scottish sources take for granted. In other words, written ornamentation in Scottish sources is so sparse, not because Scottish musicians didn’t ornament their tunes, but rather because the proper placement and execution of such ornaments was universally understood within Scotland. Conversely, the “thick” notation of Italian sources results from the fact that Italian musicians were unfamiliar with the oral tradition of Scots Tunes, and therefore felt the need to notate the performances they heard in more detail.
While this conclusion may be true in some cases, it is, in reality, an oversimplification of the diverse approaches taken by musicians (of either nationality) to the notation and arrangement of Scots Tunes. Italian collectors were, like their Scottish counterparts, influenced by any number of social and aesthetic factors. While some spent many years of their lives in Scotland, others hardly visited at all, relying entirely on textual sources, or the performances of Scots living in London. While some were motivated by purely antiquarian or nationalistic interests, others had more commercial, market-driven intentions. By examining each of these collections in turn, and contextualising each through biographical studies and reception histories, it is hoped that a composite picture may be constructed of ornamentation practices in Scots Tunes in the eighteenth century. Further, by analysing possible motivations and aesthetic values held by Italian collectors, it is hoped that a link may be established between notation, performance practice, and aesthetics with respect to this repertoire.
To that end, I examine publications of Scots Tunes with specific reference to the following:
- Biographical and other contextual information – establishing the relationship between the composer, Scotland, and the oral tradition to which Scots Tunes belong
- Preface, frontispiece, and other non-musical notation – establishing the composer’s motivations and intentions with respect to the publication
- Reception history (both within the composer’s lifetime and in the present day) – contextualising both the preface and the notational practices in the publication
- Ornamentation notated in the collection – investigating implications for performance practice, and what this tells us about how Scots Tunes were historically valued and understood.
The publications examined below have been selected by cross-referencing lists compiled by Holman, Baxter, Ford and Swinden. After compiling a list of Scots Tunes collection by Italian composers, I have chosen to focus only on the four largest and most notable of these publications: namely, those of Francesco Barsanti, Francesco Geminiani, Dominco Corri and Pietro Urbani. Previous studies of this kind, such as those presented by Swinden and Ford, have excluded some or all of these collections, either because their scope did not extend to publications by non-Scottish composers, or because many of these collections are not explicitly written for the transverse flute. While this second criterion might also seem to apply here, Ford’s research has shown that flutists in this period regularly appropriated music written for violin, voice or any other treble instrument, so long as the musical material remained within the technical capabilities of the instrument.10 Thus, the examination of these publications remains relevant for flute players.
3.1 Francesco Barsanti (1690 – 1775)
3.1.1 Biographical context
Precious little can be said with any certainty about Barsanti’s early life. Most of our information about his earliest years in Italy comes from John Hawkins’ A General History of the Science and Practice of Music, the accuracy of which has been called into question through the work of Jasmin Cameron and Michael Talbot, among others.11 Born in Lucca in 1690, Barsanti first enrolled at the renowned University of Padua, studying either law12 or sciences13 (scholars disagree as to which), before turning his attention to music. According to Hawkins, he received “tuition [from] some of the ablest masters in Italy,” obtaining “a considerable degree of proficiency in the science of practical composition” before relocating to London in 1714 alongside his fellow Lucchese, composer and violinist Francesco Geminiani.14 This chronology has been disturbed, however, by modern scholarship which suggests Barsanti did not arrive in Britain for good until 1723 at the earliest.15 While it remains possible that Barsanti travelled with Geminiani in 1714, this cannot have been a prolonged visit, as a letter dated 5 July 1720 in Barsanti’s hand confirms his presence in Italy until at least that year.16
Barsanti’s arrival in Edinburgh in 1735 can be stated with more surety. He appears in the minutes of the Edinburgh Musical Society in June of that year,17 and there is continuous evidence of his activities in Scotland for almost a decade afterwards. During this time, Barsanti married a Scottish woman with whom he had at least one child. His daughter, Jane (affectionately called Jenny), was highly praised in multiple sources as a fine Shakespearean actress and singer, and is said to have supported her father in his old age through her own performances at Covent Garden. Jane was well-acquainted with the daughters of both Hawkins and Charles Burney, and most of our knowledge of Barsanti’s marriage and later years come from these sources. Little is known about Barsanti’s Scottish wife, Jean, but Laetitia-Matilda Hawkins describes a “comic” lady, who:
spoke the broadest Scotch, and was of such a circumference as, on her own report, to have obtained in Dublin, the cognomen of “the big woman.”18
While this rather unflattering depiction may not give us much information about who Jean was or where she was from, the fact that she “spoke the broadest Scotch” would imply a certain connection to Scottish culture that may not have been shared by the continent-educated elites of Edinburgh high society.
One common thread that unites Barsanti’s work, from the earliest publications in London, to the Ten Concerti (Op. 3) and beyond, is a certain penchant for antiquarianism. As Hawkins notes, his Sei Antifone “endeavour to imitate the style of Palestrina, and the old composers of motets.”19 Likewise, his avoidance of the operatic genre and frequent use of invertible counterpoint betray a fondness for earlier, more conservative musical styles. Barsanti was not alone in his enthusiasm for these styles, and appears to have subscribed to a “cult of ancient music” that was a prominent feature of British musical taste at this time.20 Talbot contends that Barsanti’s A Collection of Old Scots Tunes was a “[fulfillment of] his antiquarian interest by other means” as many of the harmonic features of Scots Tunes were also to be found in the examples of sixteenth-century polyphony he prized so highly.21
Classifying Barsanti’s Collection as antiquarian in this way would seem to disturb some of the conventional narratives surrounding the development of this repertoire. McAulay, for instance, describes antiquarian interest in Scottish Music as a distinctively late-eighteenth-century trend, beginning with the publication of William Tytler’s A Dissertation on the Scottish Musick [sic] in 1779.22 It may be that Barsanti’s antiquarianism is distinct from the latter kind described by McAulay, as it seems to have been more general in nature, rather than specifically aimed at preserving an intangible national asset.
3.1.2 Preface
At first glance, the preface of Barsanti’s A Collection of Old Scots Tunes may seem entirely unremarkable. It is verbose and self-effacing, featuring all the flattery and niceties one would expect to find in the preface of a publication from this period. On closer inspection, however, it appears to give crucial insights into Barsanti’s motivations as a collector, and his compositional approach as an arranger of Scots Tunes. The first salient point of this preface is the emphasis Barsanti places on the antiquity of the tunes he is arranging. In a single paragraph, he refers to the fact that they are “ancient” and “of our Ancestors” three times. Even the title is notable – no other Italian collection from this period refers to these melodies as “Old Scots Tunes” in the way that Barsanti does.
Barsanti clearly has a deep respect and fondness for the “Elegance and Variety” which may be found in these tunes. He states that he has gone to great lengths to harmonise each tune “with strictest regard to the Tune itself, and without any Alteration of the Tune to accommodate it to the Bass.” If Barsanti truly had such “strict […] regard” for these tunes, is it possible that this strictness extends also to the way in which the tunes were ornamented? After all, Barsanti makes no apology for, nor mention of, these graces in his preface. This attitude of “strictest regard […] without any Alteration” would seem to suggest a kind of essentialism, as though Barsanti had consulted some sort of urtext. In the absence of any earlier publication explicitly featuring the same kind of ornamentation as Barsanti’s, it seems possible that this urtext may have been a live performance as John Glen suggests,23 or indeed an oral tradition, in which Barsanti (or his wife) was an active participant.
The preface raises further questions about Barsanti’s relationship with Scots Tunes, in stating: “As I flatter myself that this Attempt to revive the Taste of our Ancestors will not be disagreeable…” Here, the use of the phrase “our Ancestors” is particularly puzzling. Although Barsanti lived and settled in Scotland, he was still regarded by his acquaintances as an Italian through and through. One source remarks that he maintained a thick accent, even after many years of living in Britain.24 It’s possible that, as Talbot suggests, Barsanti is coyly referring to the David Rizzio myth here; claiming Scots Tunes as the joint property of the Scots and the Italians, through the genius of a legendary sixteenth-century Italian lutenist.25 Alternatively, it’s possible that the phrase “our Ancestors” merely refers to ancestors generally, reflecting the eclectic nature of Barsanti’s antiquarian tastes. The phrase “equal to the Compositions of the most celebrated Masters of those Times,” however, would seem to suggest that Barsanti believes these tunes originate from a fixed and knowable point in time. This would support the theory that Barsanti was invoking the memory of David Rizzio.
Barsanti’s reference to “Gentlemen of Taste” hints at the intended audience for this publication, as does the work’s dedication to “The Right Honourable The Lady Erskine.”26 While unfortunately no subscriber list survives from Barsanti’s Collection, a note printed beneath the preface may give some insight into the intended audience for this publication. Barsanti here addresses the subscribers of his soon-to-be published Op. 3, saying “The Ten Concertos will in a few Months be delivered to the Subscribers, the Encouragers of that Work.” The inclusion of this note suggests that the same subscribers, or at least a subset thereof, would have purchased the Collection. An analysis of the subscribers to “the Ten Concertos” reveals an extremely large base of supporters of high social rank. Nearly 100 are identifiable as Scots, of whom 28 are freemasons, and at least 40 are members of the then-flourishing Edinburgh Musical Society. Titles range from “laird” (literally “lord”, but in fact the Scottish equivalent of “esquire”) all the way up to barons and dukes.27 This would suggest that such publications had wide-ranging appeal, intersecting all strata of Scottish society, with a particular appeal to the Scottish gentry and nobility. It follows, then, that whatever conclusions one draws from this publication about the performance practice of Scots Tunes must be drawn with reference to this social context.
3.1.3 Reception History
Of all the Scots Tune collections published by Italian musicians in the eighteenth century, Barsanti’s was perhaps the most successful. Copies of Barsanti’s Scots Tunes were owned by the Edinburgh Musical Society, some of which were regularly performed,28 winning high praise from his contemporaries. Hawkins wrote admiringly that:
with greater truth than the same is asserted of David Rizzo [sic], [he] may be said to have meliorated the music of that country, by collecting and making basses to a great number of the most popular Scots Tunes.29
Given that Rizzio’s authorship of Scots Tunes was fictitious, this would seem to be a relatively low bar to clear. Nonetheless, Barsanti cleared it, and his efforts appear to have been appreciated. Hawkins’ use of the word “collecting” here raises tantalising questions about Barsanti’s relationship with the oral tradition of Scots Tunes. It’s unclear how exactly Barsanti came into contact with these tunes, whether through oral transmission (vocal or instrumental) or through written sources. While there are many concordances between this collection and earlier ones – almost two thirds of Barsanti’s tunes can be found in Thomson’s Orpheus Caledonius30 - not all of the tunes can be accounted for in this way. Johnnie Faa is a notable exception, and does not appear in any other eighteenth-century source.31 32 While the word “collect” for modern readers conjures images of Barsanti as a proto-ethnomusicologist in the manner of Cecil Sharp, this is unlikely to be the spirit in which it was used by Hawkins. Indeed, the very idea that Scots Tunes originated from an oral tradition belonging to an illiterate class of farm workers would not be articulated until James Beattie’s On Poetry and Music, as they affect The Mind in 1762.33 Nonetheless, Barsanti’s extended sojourn in Scotland and marriage to Jean imply that he certainly would have come into contact with this oral tradition in some form.
Almost every modern scholar who has written about this collection has assessed the way in which Barsanti handles Scots Tunes stylistically. There seems to be widespread agreement that Barsanti’s harmonisations are more successful than those of his countrymen, and certainly more convincing that those of Geminiani.34Johnson even goes so far as to call them “probably the most sensitive [arrangements] ever made by a foreigner” due to the fact that they are “full of unexpected yet impeccably correct harmonic twists.”35 These “impeccably correct…twists” respect the modal nature of these tunes, accommodating the fact that many of them do not end on their supposed tonic and maintaining, in Barsanti’s words, “strictest regard [for] the tune itself.”36,37 This would seem to accord with eighteenth century assessments of the collection.
3.1.4 Ornamentation
Despite this consensus, very few modern studies agree in their assessment of Barsanti’s approach to ornamentation. Ford, like Johnson, maintains that Barsanti’s settings feature “Italianate ornamentation and complex bass lines,” with “many trills and appoggiaturas added to the melodies.”38 While the complexity of the bass lines can hardly be disputed – Baxter even singles this out as a feature unique to the collection39 – Ford’s characterisation of Barsanti’s ornamentation is contestable. Greenwood agrees that these embellishments appear to be Italianate at first glance, but claims that “on closer inspection…they likely served a different function.”40 Multiple authors have suggested that Barsanti was, in fact, using the standardised symbols of Italianate ornamentation to notate uniquely Scottish performance practices, more closely resembling those of folk musicians today. Talbot takes this the furthest, claiming that:
these are not really abbellimenti in a normal eighteenth-century sense: they are a brave attempt to approximate, via orthodox musical notation, the inflections of the Scottish manner of cantillation, with its characteristic portamento and microtonal oscillations.41
Perhaps the most striking feature of the ornamentation in this collection is the sheer variety of ways in which it is notated. In addition to grace-note appoggiature and gruppetti of varying lengths, Barsanti indicates tr (trills), turns, diagonal strokes (both above and between noteheads), and a stylised cross, which bears some resemblance to the “turned shake” described by Geminiani.42 This last symbol seems to have been a special case within Barsanti’s notational language, as it appears to be totally absent from the composer’s other published works. A search of RISM reveals only one other extant work engraved by the same publisher, which makes no use of this symbol.43Its use is complicated further by the fact that it appears alongside written-out trills terminated by a turn, which would apparently be executed in the same way (see Figure 1).
The variety and inconsistency of notational symbols used raises many questions about their performance. In several cases, different symbols are used in places that appear to be analogous, where one would expect to find the same symbol used. In Dumbarton’s Drums,44 for instance, one would expect to find similar notation used in bars 2, 4, 8, 10, 12, and 16 – in the treble part, the same crotchet rhythm is played, with an ascending leap between beats 1 and 2, followed by an ornament between repeated notes on beats 2 and 3. In vocal sources of this tune, these bars are even more congruous, as each line of text ends with the same nonsense syllable “-O!”45 (see figure 2). However, Barsanti notates this differently in each bar, successively using a grace note slurred to the third crotchet, a trill, and later a grace note slurred from the second crotchet. While it’s possible that this variety was intended by Barsanti, the resulting effect of these ornaments (if played absolutely literally) is not totally convincing. Why, for instance, would the longest and most stressed of these graces appear in bar 3 – that is, on a consonant note, resolving to a ninth? Alternatively, if this note is to be played before the beat, (which would make more sense harmonically) why is it not written in the same manner as the grace note in bar 8?
The inconsistent notation of these ornaments could be explained by Talbot’s claim that Barsanti was notating musical phenomena not easily expressed by conventional notation.46 This may also be why John Glen had the impression that Barsanti had “taken down a traditional set that he heard sung or played,”47 – the inconsistent notation suggests that Barsanti had heard these tunes performed in a way that he was unaccustomed to notating. Indeed, a cut, or even a roll, as performed by Traditional Scottish musicians today, might provide a solution to the inconsistent ornamentation in Dumbarton Drums. If Barsanti had heard the two-crotchet figure separated by something resembling a cut, as used by Traditional musicians today, then this may have been approximated in the way described above. In this case, the upper note is played so quickly that it would be very difficult to decide whether to write it as a grace note tied to the first or second crotchet, or indeed as a trill, if the cut is part of a larger roll or cutting. The speed at which an ornament like this is executed would negate the harmonic question raised earlier, as the resulting effect would be articulatory, rather than harmonic in nature.
The strange x symbol (and its absence from Barsanti’s other compositions) might likewise be explained by a roll, or some other kind of articulatory ornamentation. After all, the main difference between a roll and Geminiani’s “turned shake” is a matter of speed. If executed quickly enough, with straight fingers, and with a barely-perceptible lifting of the fingers off the tone holes, Geminiani’s “turned shake” could easily end up sounding like a roll. This would also explain why some turned shakes in Barsanti’s Collection are written out in full, as this notation leaves less room for interpretation.
The trill symbols that occur on almost every beat of Clout the Caldron might likewise be explained by a kind of articulatory ornamentation. This tune is unique in the Collection due to the sheer number of written ornaments which, if performed absolutely literally, have an awkward, cumbersome effect, not at all in keeping with the rest of the arrangements. Performing these as simple taps or cuts, however, would mean that the trill symbols become mere articulations, and the overall effect is one imitating bagpipe performance practice.
Potential Sources and Influences
Returning to Talbot’s claim that Barsanti’s ornamentation approximates “the inflections of the Scottish manner of cantillation,”48 it seems entirely possible that Barsanti’s source for these tunes was vocal. At least two thirds of the tunes can also be found in Thomson’s Orpheus Caledonius,49 which is clearly intended for singing. Likewise, texts have been found for all of the remaining tunes, with the exception of The Sutours of Selkirk.50 However, although concordances may exist between these tunes and texts, Barsanti’s rhythm and articulation markings sometimes seem to contradict these. The rhythmic variation in Logan Water, for instance, diverges significantly form Thomson’s setting, to the extent that any attempt to set the same text to Barsanti’s notation of the tune would result in unusual scansion.
Likewise, much of the ornamentation discussed above would seem to fit more naturally under the fingers of a woodwind player, particularly if interpreted as an approximation of traditional cuts, taps and rolls. While these ornaments could be interpreted as vocal effects, the extreme frequency with which they occur, particularly in a tune like Clout the Caldron, would likely stretch the limitations of any singer.
Remarkably, every single tune in Barsanti’s collection is marked “slow,” which might support the case for these tunes originally being sung rather than played. A faster tempo marking would suggest that these tunes were intended for dancing, and therefore were more likely performed on instruments. It’s also possible, however, that the “slow” tempo marking was simply necessary in order to accommodate the complexity of Barsanti’s basslines. John Purser recounts a peculiar performance tradition that might resolve the tension between these two interpretations. Puirt à beul (literally meaning “tunes from the mouth”) is a practice related to cannaireachd, that arose from:
the ingenuity of [Scottish] people when under the brutal suppression of their culture following the '45 rising. The bagpipes were not actually banned, but a man was hanged for being in possession of a set in York in 1746, so they were essentially silenced. But their role as the providers of music for dancing was already imitated for the human voice which, with a virtuosity that is breathtaking, can patter its way through reels and strathspeys to keep some sense of joy alive at a dark time.51
Is it possible that Barsanti’s source for these tunes (or at least some of them) was puirt à beul? Or some kind of vocal practice related to cannaireachd? This would certainly explain the discrepancy in articulation between vocal sources and Barsanti’s publication, and would leave room for both Talbot and Glenn’s assertions to be true.
3.1.5 Conclusions
The large number of textual inconsistencies and ambiguities in A Collection of Old Scots Tunes suggest that Barsanti was notating ornamentation practices not easily described by standard notation. The fact that the composer makes extensive use of unique symbols also suggests a style which is distinct from the rest of Barsanti’s output, rather than a collection of Scots Tunes in “Italianate” guise, as some have suggested. The Placement of these ornaments would suggest they have a colouristic or articulatory, rather than a harmonic, function. These ornaments could have been informed by vocal performance practices, but could more easily have originated from cannaireachd or instrumental practice. Barsanti’s notated ornamentation does not suggest a strong link to bagpipe practices – no grace notes are approached by leap, there are no large groups of cuttings, nor any grace notes notated on the same pitch as the following main note. However, the extremely repetitive ‘tr’ markings in Clout the Caldron might suggest some kind of connection to this tradition.
From the extant biographical information and reception history of this work, we can surmise that Barsanti’ approach to this music was motivated by his antiquarian interests. Barsanti’s penchant for all things antique, as well as his invocation of “our Ancestors” suggests that the ornaments he notated were likewise perceived as being “ancient” or obsolete at the time of publication. This becomes particularly relevant when comparing them to later collections informed by different motivations, particularly when those collections (or rather, their collectors) were accused by their contemporaries of employing “modern Ornament.”52
Identifying evidence of performance practices resembling those employed by Scottish Traditional musicians in Barsanti’s Collection detaches these performance practices from the associations they have today, and from the nebulous set of connotations that currently revolve around the word “folk”. It would seem that these practices were valued by Barsanti (and apparently also by his wealthy patrons and subscribers) for their perceived antiquity, and indeed for their “elegance and variety.”53 Moreover, subscribers’ lists and records of the Edinburgh Music Society would suggest that these tunes were performed by, and for the pleasure of, members of Scottish high society, further troubling the idea that these performance practices were solely the preserve of uneducated agricultural workers.
3.2 Francesco Geminiani (1687 – 1762)
3.2.1 Biographical context
The biographical facts of Geminiani’s life are far more firmly established than those of Barsanti. Several sources corroborate Hawkins’ claim that the composer relocated to London in 1714, although his whereabouts during the five preceding years remain a mystery.54 The last record of Geminiani’s presence in Italy is from the Cappella Palatina in Naples in 1709. Once settled in London, Geminiani’s reputation as a student of the revered Corelli meant that he was regularly in demand as composer, teacher and performer. Charles Burney wrote that, while Geminiani “was seldom heard in public…his compositions, scholars, and the presents he received from the great, whenever he could be prevailed upon to play at their houses, were his chief support.”55 Throughout his time in London, Geminiani was regularly involved in the activities of a bourgeoning freemason community. In 1725 he was a founding member of the Phil-Musicae et Architecturae Societas, otherwise known as the Queen’s Head masonic lodge. In recognition of his involvement, Geminiani was even awarded the position of Perpetual Dictator in the same year.56 While relatively little is known about the rites and membership of this secret society, there is evidence to suggest that it was through the freemason community that Geminiani became acquainted with the young Scottish composer and cellist James Oswald (1710-1769).57
In the last decades of his life, after having established a long and illustrious career in Britain, Geminiani turned his attention to the publication of no fewer than six (possibly seven) treatises on everything from violin technique to basso continuo realisation and an attempt at defining the elusive concept of ‘Good Taste.’ The first two of these: Rules for Playing in a True Taste (ca. 1748) and A Treatise of Good Taste in the Art of Musick [sic] (1749), both make extensive use of Scots Tunes in demonstrating their didactic principles. The publication date of the first of these treatises remains unclear. The title page of the first edition clearly labels the treatise as Geminiani’s “Opera VIII,” which would situate the treatise between the publication of his Concerti Grossi Op. 7 in 1746 and his A Treatise of Good Taste Op. 8 in 1749. However, several sources have been dated (perhaps incorrectly) as falling outside this window. One digitised print held by the Bibiothèque du Conservatoire (F-Pc) in Paris has been listed as dating from 1745,58 while RISM lists the work as dating from as early 1739.59 Peter Holman states that the treatise dates from “ca. 1746, ” while Peter Wells’ critical edition in the Francesco Geminiani Opera Omnia series dates the work to 1748, citing only the fact that Geminiani refers to the publication in his Treatise of 1749 as being “the last Work that I made public.”60 Dating Geminiani’s A Treatise of Good Taste in the Art of Musick [sic] is a far more straightforward matter. Unlike the Rules for Playing, the title page of the first edition of the Treatise states the publication date explicitly as 1749, and scholars have no reason to dispute this claim. While quibbling over the publication date of these treatises may seem trivial in this context, establishing the chronology of Geminiani’s publications in relation to the arrival of particular Scottish musicians in London is crucial to understanding Geminiani’s familiarity (or lack thereof) with the oral tradition of Scottish music.
It has commonly been claimed that Geminiani had negligible direct contact with this tradition, due to the fact that he never visited Scotland. However, a note in the minutes of the Edinburgh Musical Society suggests that Geminiani did visit Edinburgh in 1760.61 Recent scholarship has even uncovered a musical canon that may be the result of this trip, having supposedly been written for members of the EMS to perform.62 While the canon unfortunately sheds no further light on Geminiani’s relationship to the oral tradition of Scots Tunes, it does further corroborate the claim that the composer visited Scotland. Despite this fact appearing in the work of Baxter, Holman, Talbot and others,63 the popular claim that he never visited Scotland at all continues to appear in liner notes,64 and his visit to Scotland rarely appears in biographies of the composer.65 Crucially, however, it appears Geminiani did not travel to Edinburgh until at least eleven years after the publication of his A Treatise of Good Taste, refuting the claim that his notation of Scots Tunes could have been informed by live performance in Scotland itself. Any experience Geminiani did have with the oral tradition of Scots Tunes, then, must certainly have been filtered through the performances of James Oswald, Robert Bremner and other prominent Scottish musicians in London.
3.2.2 Preface(s)
The preface to Geminiani’s Rules for Playing differs in several respects from that of his Treatise of Good Taste. While the Rules are far more didactic in tone, focusing mainly on aspects of performance practice and giving specific instructions to instrumentalists, the Treatise is more personal, waxing lyrical for several paragraphs on the virtues of the musical material presented. While the former views English, Scots and Irish Tunes as a kind of arbitrary raw material to be used and adapted in the service of the composer’s illustration of ‘Good Taste’, the latter appears to show a profound respect and admiration for these tunes on their own terms.
There seems to have been a shift in the way that Geminiani regarded Scottish music in particular – the composer himself even claims that “the present Work [the 1749 Treatise] is wholly unlike, both in Style and Manner.” As Gelbart points out, Geminiani, being a London-based composer, had far less financial incentive to publish Scots Tunes than his Edinburgh-based counterparts.66 The fact that he opts to exclusively use Scots Tunes in his second (far more substantial) treatise speaks to the composer’s genuine enthusiasm for the repertoire, rather than a concession to the whims of the London public. This enthusiasm is patently evident in the preface, with its effusive praise for the “native gallantry of the SCOTTISH nation.”67 By contrast, Geminiani’s earlier Rules for Playing in a True Taste, despite also including Scots Tunes, only briefly discusses this Scottish source material. The composer explains his rationale for using “English, Scotch and Irish Airs,” on the basis that “whoever has an Idea of an Air will execute any Composition thereon with greater Ease and Pleasure.” In other words, Geminiani uses these tunes because he expects that they will be familiar to the audience for whom he is writing. He goes on to explain that he “might, indeed, have given a general Rule for playing any Composition in a good Taste” – implying a certain indifference to his source material, which is used chiefly for the sake of convenience.
This shift might be explained by the composer’s relationship with James Oswald. If the Rules for Playing do, in fact, date from 1739 rather than 1748, then Oswald’s 1741 arrival in London is placed squarely between the two publications. It’s therefore possible that Geminiani’s enthusiasm for the genre of Scots Tunes was sparked primarily by his acquaintance with Oswald, suggesting that the Italian’s understanding of Scots Tunes and their performance practice was heavily influenced by him. Alternatively, if one accepts the later publication date, the establishment of Oswald’s own publishing business in 1747 and his subsequent Caledonian Pocket Companion68 may have been the catalyst for the shift in Geminiani’s approach. Whatever the chronology, it seems the relationship with Oswald cannot be ignored when considering Geminiani’s Scots Tunes settings.
Of all the publications of Scots Tunes by Italian composers, Geminiani’s Treatise is the only one to refer to the Rizzio myth explicitly. In the two preceding decades, it had become common for composers to ascribe authorship of Scots Tunes to one David Rizzio (with spellings ranging from Riccio to Rizo and everything in between) – a legendary sixteenth-century Italian musician, said to be in the employ of Mary, Queen of Scots.69 Thomson’s 1726 Orpheus Caledonius is the earliest surviving publication to make the claim, although it’s not clear whether the attribution was Thomson’s idea, or a trope that was already in circulation. While Thomson later removed these attributions to Rizzio in the 1733 edition, the claim was repeated in the collections of John Watts, John Walsh, and Allan Ramsay among others.70 Rizzio’s name continued to be used in connection with Scots Tunes throughout the century – sometimes apparently in earnest, at other times more self-consciously. A review by Michael Kelly comparing Pietro Urbani to his legendary sixteenth-century countryman indicates that the Rizzio myth continued even as late as 1826.71 Upon first reading, it’s not entirely clear to what extent Geminiani takes this claim seriously, or indeed if Geminiani is aware of its lineage. To put it another way: is Geminiani in on the joke?
Others have suggested that the ‘David Rizzio’ of Geminiani’s preface is, in fact, a reference to the nom de plume of James Oswald.72 The attribution of numerous Scots Tunes in Oswald’s Second Collection of Curious Scots Tunes to the legendary 16th-century musician has been interpreted by some as an attempt by Oswald to erase his own authorship, and thus furnish these tunes with a longer, more illustrious, and altogether more marketable origin story.73 Likewise, Allan Ramsay’s 1741 Epistle to James Oswald establishes the link between the composer and David Rizzio:
When wilt thou teach our soft Aeidian fair
To languish at a false Sicilian Air;
Or when some tender tune compose again,
And cheat the town wi’ David Rizo’s [sic] name?74
However, Geminiani’s invocation of Rizzio alongside ‘Gio. Baptista Lulli’ suggests that he takes the claim of Rizzio’s authorship seriously, particularly as he states:
that Rizzio was foremost in point of Time, that till then Melody was intirely [sic] rude and barbarous, and that he found Means at once to civilize and inspire it with all the native Gallantry of the SCOTTISH Nation.75
It seems odd that Geminiani would claim that Rizzio was “foremost in point of Time” if he was coyly referring to Oswald – this would, perhaps, be taking the joke too far. Another interpretation might be that Geminiani refers to these two composers as a way of establishing his claim to the use of this repertoire. As Roger Fiske suggests, by ascribing the authorship of Scots Tunes to David Rizzio, and by emphasising the Italian heritage of “Lulli” (note the Italianised spelling), Geminiani is claiming the repertoires of both France and Scotland for Italy.76 By tracing the lineage of these repertoires back to his own musical tradition, Geminiani may be attempting to establish his credentials as an authoritative arbiter of “Good Taste.”
One other turn of phrase is particularly striking in the preface to the 1749 Treatise – namely, Geminiani’s claim that he has “undertaken to improve the Melody of Rizzio into Harmony.”77 The word “improve” here seems to be particularly loaded, and its use has been much discussed within the context of eighteenth-century Scottish music more broadly. Alexander Greenwood proposes a view of Scots Tunes collections as cultural manifestations of the Scottish Enlightenment concept of “improvement,” which he defines with reference to Adam Smith’s 1762 Lectures on Jurisprudence.78 Smith defines a socio-economic schema of improvement consisting of “four distinct states which mankind must pass thro [sic]: first, the Age of Hunters; secondly, the Age of Shepherds; thirdly, the Age of Agriculture; and fourthly, the Age of Commerce.”79 While Greenwood mainly uses native Scottish collections (Ramsay, Thomson, and Stewart, among others) to illustrate his claim, it is curious to note how easily the language in Geminiani’s preface maps onto this four-stage model of improvement proposed by Smith.
Geminiani delineates three stages which music, as it were, “must pass thro,” namely: an early stage in which “Melody [is] intirely rude and barbarous;” an intermediate, during which it is “civilize[d] and inspire[d] with…native Gallantry;” and a final stage, in which melody is “improved….into Harmony,” allowing it to “communicate the highest Degree of Pleasure.” These three stages could easily parallel the latter three stages proposed by Smith, locating the origin of Scots Tunes in Smith’s “Age of Shepherds,” and casting Geminiani as a kind of luminary figure, bringing the genre into the light of the “Age of Commerce” through his own impeccably “Good Taste.” In this way, it seems that Geminiani views himself as the last stage in a process of “improvement” conflated with Enlightenment notions of progress, modernity, rationality and order. It is within this context that Geminiani’s approach to the ornamentation of Scots Tunes should be considered.
3.2.3 Reception History
Geminiani’s approach to the harmonisation and ornamentation of Scots Tunes was subject to considerable criticism from his contemporaries. While none of this criticism is directed at Geminiani by name, one letter from Benjamin Franklin to Lord Kames in 1765 admonishes composers who “stifle” Scots Tunes with “modern Ornament,” and even condemns the very act of harmonising these Tunes at all:
The Connoisseurs in modern Music will say I have no Taste, but I cannot help adding, that I believe our Ancestors in hearing a good Song, distinctly articulated, sung to one of those [Scots] Tunes…felt more real Pleasure than is communicated by the generality of modern Operas…Most Tunes of late Composition, not having the natural Harmony united with their Melody, have recourse to the artificial Harmony of a Bass and other accompanying Parts. This Support, in my Opinion, the old Tunes do not need, and are rather confus’d than aided by it.80
Although Franklin’s letter is dated some three years after Geminiani’s death, it seems likely that Franklin’s conception of “modern ornament” would have accorded with the kind of ornamentation described by Geminiani.81 Franklin doubles down on his criticism later in the same letter, conceding that while he has “more than once seen Tears of Pleasure in the Eyes of his [Oswald’s] Auditors,” Oswald’s “Playing [of] those Tunes would please more, if he gave them less modern Ornament.”82 Although Franklin’s criticism is primarily directed at Oswald, the same accusations could easily be extended to Geminiani, particularly given the relationship between the two musicians, and the similarity of approach taken by both to the ornamentation of Scots Tunes.
In fairness to Oswald, it should be noted he was operating within a social milieu that undervalued, and at time actively supressed, Scottish culture. At the time of the establishment of the Temple of Apollo, Westminster had only recently passed legislation requiring Scots to abandon their native tongue in certain settings, and many members of the Scottish upper and middle classes were actively seeking elocution lessons to this end.83 As Purser argues, to perform and publish Scots Tunes (albeit in fashionable Italianate guise) was already considered an act of defiance in a recently united Britain. To do so without assuming modern (Italian) sensibilities of Good Taste might have been considered too gauche.
Despite the kind of criticism levelled by Franklin, Geminiani’s settings remained popular in both Edinburgh and London, and there is evidence that they were performed at least once in Scotland. The Edinburgh Musical Society owned a copy of Geminiani’s 1749 Treatise, and a note in 1753 records a performance by Cristina Passerini and her husband Giuseppe, where several Scots Tunes were performed "set in Parts by Signor Geminiani." The fact that these tunes were “set in Parts” plural, suggests that they came from the 1749 treatise.84
In modern times, these settings have continued to generate criticism, with most of the secondary literature dismissing Geminiani’s approach to Scots Tunes on much the same grounds as Franklin. Holman is particularly scathing, concluding that the arrangements are “rather unadventurous” and “would doubtless have struck his [Geminiani’s] contemporaries as Italianate.”85 Talbot likewise surmises that Geminiani’s motivations in publishing these settings were largely commercial, viewing Scots Tunes as “a means towards various other goals: to please the public with something fashionable; to illustrate aesthetic, technical or notational points…or to show off the arranger’s skill.”86
These criticisms are regularly echoed by performers today. On more than one occasion, I have observed the mention of Geminiani’s arrangements in a Scottish-themed concert being met with rolled eyes and a general sigh of disappointment. “They just don’t work, somehow,” is a phrase I have heard repeated by almost every historical flautist I’ve discussed this repertoire with, usually followed by the suggestion “how about we do the Barsanti instead?” When pressed, however, I’ve often found that this dissatisfaction arises from the way in which the tunes are harmonised, rather than the way they are ornamented. A comparative analysis of Scots Tunes harmonisations falls outside the scope of this study, but has been discussed exhaustively in other places.87
3.2.4 Ornamentation
Immediately following the preface to Geminiani’s 1749 Treatise comes a general explanation of the ornaments and other practices that (in Geminiani’s view) constitute “Good Taste.” Every grace is described in clinical detail, with the composer often prescribing both the length and the dynamic shape of each. These descriptions correspond directly to a table of ornaments, indicating the way in which these ornaments are notated. The notation of these ornaments is equally prescriptive, and some of the notational symbols are completely unique to Geminiani. The extreme precision with which these graces are described has been enormously helpful to Early Music practitioners specialising in the performance of Geminiani and his Italian contemporaries. This means, however, that alternative interpretations of these notational symbols are almost impossible to make, all but ruling out the possibility that Geminiani’s ornamentation might in some way describe Scottish Traditional performance practices.
Several features of the above schema would seem to preclude any perceived allusion to Scottish Traditional performance and/or articulatory ornamentation practices. For one thing, these examples exclusively feature grace notes that approach or quit their respective main notes by step, rather than by leap. The conflation of any of these graces with a cut or a roll, therefore, would be unlikely, as cuts typically involve sudden (and extremely brief) leaps of a third, fourth or even wider. Likewise, this omission excludes the idea that Geminiani might have been notating a performance from a bagpipe player, as may have been the case with Barsanti.
Geminiani gives particularly specific instructions regarding the dynamic variation of notes within ornamental groupings. By the use of a wedge sign (not unlike a tiny coloured-in crescendo marking), Geminiani indicates a “swelling” or “diminishing” of the sound. It is interesting to note that some of these seem to imply a main note being performed louder than the grace note, which, if this were the case, would at least be one similarity between Geminiani’s graces and Larsen’s “pitched articulation.” The notation is not entirely clear, perhaps because of the difficulty of placing such a tiny marking above an already tiny note. The accompanying text seems to clarify, however, that these swells are simply to be made within the grace note, rather than necessarily implying a dynamic relationship between the grace note and the main note.88
When examined in context, there appears to be nothing remarkable about the placement of Geminiani’s graces. All seem to function harmonically, as non-chord tones resolving to consonant tones, or between two chord-tones in the case of seventh chords. They largely occur in predictable parts of the bar with respect to beat hierarchy, except in occasional circumstances where a trill forms part of a repeated motif, and thus becomes a melodic feature in itself.89 What’s more, there appears to be total consistency between the way in which these graces are used in Geminiani’s arrangements of Scots Tunes, and the way they are used in the non-Scottish material that appears in these treatises.
All this would suggest, therefore, that Geminiani is merely “using Scots Tunes as a peg on which to hang his ideas about ornamentation,” rather than attempting to notate something resembling articulatory ornamentation or “pitched articulation.”
3.2.5 Conclusions
Geminiani’s Rules for playing and Treatise of Good Taste are primarily pedagogical works, designed to instruct the reader in the cultivation and application of “Good Taste” through performance. While Geminiani’s meticulous approach to the notation of ornaments serves as a fascinating guide to anyone interested in eighteenth-century ornamentation more generally, these publications are of limited use to those interested in the development of Scottish traditional performance practices. There is little to no chance that these transcriptions are informed by such practices, given that Geminiani had not yet travelled to Scotland. His primary sources were either textual (from Orpheus Caledonius, for example) or perhaps the performance of James Oswald, whose ornamentation practices were roundly criticised as being too “modern.” If Italian collections of Scots Tunes do hold any insights into soundworld of eighteenth-century Scottish traditional music, such insights are not to be found here.
Rather, it seems Geminiani valued this repertoire insofar as it served to demonstrate Enlightenment notions of musical progress and “improvement.” Geminiani’s foreshadowing of Adam Smith’s “stages of improvement” in his preface signals that this is so, as does his almost scientific approach to the notation of ornaments. Although Scots Tunes are regarded favourably, and valued for their being “civilized and inspired with…native gallantry,” there is a sense that these tunes are ultimately nothing more than a canvas for Geminiani’s ideas about “Good Taste.”
3.3 Pietro Urbani (1749 – 1816)
3.3.1 Biographical Context
In several modern sources, Pietro Urbani is ranked among the greatest Italian musicians to have visited Scotland during the eighteenth century. This constellation of singers usually includes the likes of Domenico Corri, La Miniatrice,90 and Ferdinando Tenducci. Johnson also includes the violinist Nicolò Pasquali in his litany of influential Italians.91 Despite his influence, however, very little is known about Urbani’s early life. We know from his obituary that he was born in Milan, and that he studied there alongside “the celebrated Rotzini,” who Baxter identifies as the castrato and composer Venanzio Rauzzini.92 It is claimed that Rauzzini studied under the tutelage of a member of the Sistine Chapel choir, together with Domenico Corri.93 It is likely, therefore, that Urbani was familiar with this tradition of singing, and may have had a similar technique and approach.
From the time of Urbani’s move to London in 1781 onwards, biographical evidence becomes rather more plentiful. After brief stints in Dublin and Glasgow, in 1784 Urbani finally moved to Edinburgh, where he would remain for at least the next twenty years. Throughout his time in Edinburgh, Urbani regularly appears in the minute books and programs of the Edinburgh Musical Society. After a year of casual employment on the basis of “a guinea a night,” Urbani was eventually made a permanent fixture in the society’s employ, receiving a salary of fifty guineas annually.94 The repertoire Urbani was engaged to perform was often highly varied, spanning operatic arias to “Scots Songs” and even Urbani’s own compositions. Often, these programs were not fixed, and may even have been decided on the night by the musicians themselves, with phrases like “An overture by X” or “A Scots Song sung by X” appearing in the printed booklets.95 A particular crowd favourite seems to have been Urbani’s performance of “Comfort ye” from Handel’s Messiah.96
Urbani was a prolific arranger and publisher of Scots Songs. Between 1792 and 1804, Urbani published no fewer than six volumes, mostly for high voice accompanied by chamber ensemble and keyboard. The ensemble usually consisted of strings and either one, or sometimes a pair of flutes, which directly imitate the singer’s ornamentation in the opening and closing symphonies. This use of flutes and strings to accompany singers in this way was quite common in English vocal music intended for the public concerts,97 so we can assume that these arrangements were made for the purpose of Urbani’s performances at the EMS, rather than being a reduction for domestic use. While none of Urbani’s volumes are written for a solo flute, one is arranged as a set of duets for a pair of flutes or violins.98 Urbani also published The Singer’s Guide,99 a treatise of vocal lessons and exercises. The treatise differs substantially from those of Corri and Geminiani, however, in that Urbani does not instruct the reader in matters of taste, and ornamentation is barely discussed. As Urbani says himself in the preface:
The intention of this Book is not to present to the Public a series of precepts as many able Professors has Published; But to give an amusing, Concise and Perfect Instructor of Singing, by which the Scholar may with a few explanations from the Master, understand with ease the principles of Music without being fatigued with unnecessary examples.100
The Singer’s Guide therefore offers little insight into Urbani’s singing style, and even less by way of ornamentation practices in eighteenth-century Scotland. In order to investigate these issues more fully, we must turn instead to Urbani’s arrangements of Scots Tunes themselves. Nonetheless, the fact that Urbani was in a position to publish such a treatise, and the fact that it was distributed to such a lengthy list of subscribers, attests to Urbani’s renown as a singer, and to the high esteem in which he was held by the Scottish public.
3.3.2 Preface(s)
The title of Urbani’s earliest publication, A Selection of Scots Songs, Harmonized, Improved, with Simple and Adapted Graces, already raises several questions. The use of the word “improved” seems to echo Geminiani’s conception of Scots Tunes as a vehicle for the expression of his own “Good Taste.” Likewise, the phrase “Simple and Adapted Graces” is ambiguous: are these two different species of graces, or descriptors of the same practice? “Adapted” from what? Or from whom? The phrase does not appear in the titles of any contemporary collections of Scots Tunes, so the meaning remains unclear. The preface which follows, however, goes some way towards clarifying these concerns.
In the preface to this volume, Urbani claims to have captured a performance style that is unique to Scotland. He explains that “he applied himself, for several years, in attending to the manner of the best Scotch Singers…he flatters himself he has acquired the true national taste.”101 This is the first instance in which any collection of Scots Tunes by any Italian composer makes explicit reference to a distinctly Scottish “national taste.” The idea that a well-trained Italian singer felt it necessary to spend time “attending to the manner of the best Scotch singers” implies that this “national taste” diverges significantly from that of Italy – a fact that would have far-reaching implications for the interpretation of Urbani’s notated ornaments.
Further, Urbani boasts that performances given in this manner were well-received throughout Scotland, wherein “he received such marks of universal applause.” Likewise, he goes on to mention “the favourable reception his public and private recitals of [Scots songs] have always met with.” There is something slightly defensive about the tone of Urbani’s preface. It is as though the composer feels the need to establish his right to be singing this music at all. That Urbani should seek to do so, with reference to his understanding of Scotland’s “national taste” marks a significant shift in the way this repertoire is perceived. Whereas Geminiani is prescriptive, detailing the ornamentation practices that ought to be imposed on Scots Tunes for the sake of Good Taste, Urbani’s approach seems to be descriptive, attempting to capture aspects of existing performance practice associated with Scottish national identity. Urbani’s use of the word “improved” therefore remains odd, as the difference between these two approaches could not be more stark. It’s possible that Urbani was simply referring to the fact that these songs are published with accompaniment, rather than as a single melodic line.
Also curious is Urbani’s praise for “the elegant simplicity of the Original Scotch Melodies,” particularly given that some of Urbani’s ornamentation is extremely ornate, and anything but “simple.” It may be that Urbani was referring to the implied harmonic content of these melodies rather than his ornamentation, or perhaps Urbani viewed his “simple and adapted graces” as being, at the very least, “simpler” than some of his contemporaries.102 What’s interesting in any case, is that Urbani felt the need, twice (both in the title of the publication and in the preface), to mention the “simplicity” of the melodies he was presenting. This might be a response to the critiques of James Johnson and his fellow antiquarians, who saw Scots Tunes as the musical manifestation of an idealised arcadian past, and a site for the construction of Scottish national identity.103 McAulay summarises this period in the history of Scots Tunes collecting:
As we progress through this era, we can quite clearly note changes in focus, from the antiquarian drive to collect and conserve – often with the suggestion that a stripped-down, unornamented melody and minimal (if any) accompaniment reflected a song’s primitive origins – to the concept of a scholarly edition, with a proficiently-arranged accompaniment and soundly-researched background notes. These categories are not mutually exclusive, of course, and different collections reflect the compiler’s differing blends of priorities.104
Claire Nelson charts the origins of these priorities, tracing them back to Rousseauian ideals of music, as expressed in the philosopher’s Discours sur les origines de l’inégalité of 1754. Rousseau’s conception of music as dependent on language led to the suggestion that music, in its ideal form, ought to prioritise clarity of expression and scansion, melody over harmony, and simplicity over complexity.105 The influence Rousseau’s ideas had on the Scottish literati was profound, and can be seen particularly in the work of John Gregory (1724-73) and James Beattie (1735-1803). As Nelson explains:
The Scots philosophers were convinced that not only did their native music fulfil each of Rousseau’s criteria, but that modern developments, such as the increasingly large ensembles for which Scots songs were being arranged, were detracting from the natural beauty of the airs.106
Urbani’s preface may be seen, therefore, as a response to such criticisms. By stating his credentials as a legitimate performer and arranger of Scots Tunes; by making frequent reference to the virtue of this music’s “simplicity;” and by appealing to a sense of Scottish national identity, Urbani is making himself invulnerable to criticism from Johnson, Beattie and others, despite the fact that his arrangements remain “encumbered by useless graces.”
3.3.3 Reception History
Urbani’s claim that he “received…marks of universal applause” from members of the Edinburgh Music Society seems to be grounded in truth. The EMS purchased at least three copies of Urbani’s Scots Songs collection, indicating that his interpretations of these tunes were highly valued. His regular appearance in program booklets of the EMS likewise speaks to a longstanding relationship – one that could not have been sustained without some degree of approval from the public.
However, contrary to what Urbani would have us believe, his performances and publications were not always met with unreserved approval. Michael Kelly, for one, praises Urbani’s singing of Scots Tunes, “some of which he sang very pleasingly,” but disapproves of his use of a “falsetto voice.”107 Baxter juxtaposes Urbani’s Collection with Johnson’s The Scots Musical Museum, noting that they both date from the final decade of the eighteenth century. In the title page of his Museum, Johnson chastises those who would perform this repertoire with excessively complex ornamentation:
in this publication the original simplicity of our Ancient National Airs is retained unencumbered with useless Accompaniments and graces depriving the hearers of the sweet simplicity of their native melodies.108
Baxter interprets this as an allusion to the highly ornamented and harmonically rich settings published by Urbani, casting Johnson and Urbani’s respective publications as “two (perhaps mutually exclusive) extremes.”109 This opposition is supported by evidence from the Advertisements to Urbani’s other publications, as well as articles from the Caledonian Mercury, that show Urbani was clearly aware of the criticisms of his work, even if these criticisms are not explicitly attributed to Johnson. He goes to some lengths to defend his musical decisions:
It may be objected that the simple beauty of the Caledonian Melodies needs not the complex aid of harmony; and that the mere grace and tenderness which they borrow from Nature, are lost in the laboured Accompaniments of Art, - But, whilst the air is preserved in its genuine simplicity…it must heighten the relish of the melodies to every person of accomplished taste, when the Science of music is employed…110
Nowhere in Urbani’s defence does he mention the ornaments or graces that Johnson is supposed to have found so objectionable. Rather, their disagreement seems to be principally about how Scots Tunes should best be harmonised. While the disparity in ornamentation practices between Johnson and Urbani can hardly be ignored, it would seem that Urbani felt no need to justify himself on this matter. Despite what would appear to be florid additions to these tunes, Urbani claims that “the air is preserved in its genuine simplicity.”111 The acceptability of Urbani’s ornamentation seems to have been taken for granted, and perhaps even (from Urbani’s perspective) a necessary component of the tunes themselves. This apparent contradiction might suggest a discrepancy between the tastes of Johnson (and his fellow antiquarians), and the “Ladies and Gentlemen” of the Edinburgh Musical Society, “to whose judgement [Urbani] entirely refer[red].”112
In modern times, Urbani’s arrangements of Scots Tunes have received mixed reviews. David Johnson dismisses them out of hand as being “entirely commercial,” and wastes no more time on the matter. John Purser doesn’t mention him at all, although this is consistent with his omission of Italian composers in Scotland more generally. Others are more complimentary – David Fraser Harris, for one, observes that "[Urbani’s] taste in arranging Scotch music, and even in composing imitations of it, was highly considered at Edinburgh... " Similarly, for Farmer, it is "...a highly meritorious piece of work... "113 Farmer does not believe, however, that Urbani’s notated graces necessarily have anything to do with a tradition of performance practice that already existed in Scotland. Rather, he sees the purpose of such publications as a didactic demonstration of Urbani’s personal style, allowing subscribers to be "hypnotized by an unconscious conceit, imagining, when they sang a ballad that they had heard rendered by one of these stars, that they were actually giving a similar interpretation.”114 Farmer’s interpretation seems to suppose that Urbani is prescribing a style of his own, rather than describing one that already exists.
Elizabeth Ford is one of the first modern scholars to consider Urbani’s graces in a different light, suggesting that they might indeed have been transcribed from a performance of Scottish traditional music. Holman is likewise more kind to Urbani’s arrangements, but ultimately concludes that, along with other eighteenth-century Italian collections, Urbani’s arrangements represented:
the first wave of the great tide of exoticism and musical tourism that engulfed European music in the nineteenth century, inspiring such things as Schubert's settings of Ossian, Mendelssohn's Hebrides Overture, and Scottish Symphony, and Bruch's Scottish Fantasia.115
3.3.4 Ornamentation
Beginning with Urbani’s treatment of Scots Tunes for the flute, one notices (for the first time in any Italian source) ornamentation practices which distinctly resemble those of bagpipe music. In multiple places throughout his A Favorite Selection of Scots Tunes properly arranged as Duettos for Two German Flutes or Two Violins, Urbani marks grace notes that suggest a kind of articulatory ornamentation. In The Bush Aboon Tranquair,116 for instance, we find repeated use of what looks like a turn between notes of the same pitch. The consistency with which this ornament appears between notes of the same pitch suggests a need to separate the second from the first by use of the fingers, rather than the tongue. If executed quickly, the turn notated by Urbani could easily be mistaken for a roll, which would be entirely consistent with both highland bagpipe practice and Scottish Traditional performance practices. Further, the use of such an ornament on a note value as short as a dotted semiquaver implies that the entire group of notes was, indeed, executed rather quickly. Ford concludes the presence of these ornaments implies that Urbani notated these tunes from listening to a piper.117
In The Maid of Selma, we find several unusual graces notated in the first few bars. In bar 1, two F-sharps are separated by a semiquaver appoggiatura, also notated on an F-sharp. This ornament, if interpreted literally, would seem to be highly unusual, and perhaps without precedent in any other eighteenth-century flute music. Suppose, however, that the pitch of the grace note was irrelevant, or perhaps even microtonal (see examples of cuts in chapter 2), as is often the case in examples of articulatory ornamentation in Scottish Traditional Music. This might explain why it is notated on the same pitch as the surrounding notes. Indeed, if one were to hear a cut or a crann performed on the flute for the first time, this may well be one of the easiest ways to ornament it. In any case, this ornament would seem to be articulatory by definition – it clearly has no harmonic content. The same feature occurs again, three bars from the end, this time at the end of a turn, suggesting that the ornament was indeed deliberate and common, and not simply a printing error.
The Maid of Selma also includes several graces quitted by downward leap, which would likewise suggest a connection with bagpipe practice, or at the very least, a cut. These cuttings, though clearly derived from some kind of articulatory ornamentation, are not quite as extreme in their notation as some contemporary collections of bagpipe music adapted for the flute. One such collection, by Donald McDonald, regularly features cuttings spanning a fourth or fifth or even more. The preface to this publication suggests that the treble line could be played by a flute player, so the comparison is particularly relevant.118
Ford interprets all these graces as indicative of Urbani transcribing these tunes from a bagpipe player directly.119 However, given the special position that the bagpipes had come to occupy in Scottish musical life in the years directly preceding Urbani’s publication,120 it’s possible that these references to bagpipe technique were more self-conscious, and perhaps even a way that Urbani could signal his acquisition of the “true national taste.” Alternatively, if bagpipe techniques had played a role in the formation of this distinctively Scottish performance practice to which Urbani refers in his preface, then it’s possible that these graces had simply been absorbed by Urbani and become part of his own idiomatic style.
Analysis of ornamentation in Urbani’s vocal sources doesn’t lead to a strong conclusion one way or the other. While examples may be found of repeated-note ornaments and even occasionally ornaments approached by leap, they are not so frequent as to signal a profound influence. “Leaping graces” in this music may also be indicative of a portamento figure, rather than a kind of strike or cut.121 Nonetheless, the extremely florid graces appearing in Urbani’s Scots Tunes settings might still be congruent with the practice of articulatory ornamentation. Urbani’s graces occur as frequently on unaccented beats as on accented beats, and some gruppetti are so long that they must have been performed extremely quickly to avoid disturbing the scansion - such ornaments would inevitably have an articulatory effect in performance. Indeed, in several places, Urbani notates what looks like an appoggiatura, a main note, and then a full turn, all in the space of a dotted semiquaver. In attempting to sing such ornaments, I inevitably find myself needing to crush the turn in such a way that it is indistinguishable from a roll.
What, then, to make of Johnson’s supposed criticism? Given Johnson’s familiarity with bagpipe practice (and therefore also with the practice of articulatory ornamentation), it seems odd that he should have criticised Urbani’s graces. What’s more, the Scots Musical Museum is itself hardly devoid of ornaments and graces, many of which bear some resemblance to those of Urbani. While Urbani’s are typically more florid, Johnson’s collection still exhibits many examples of multiple-note graces (or perhaps cuttings?), turns, trills, and appogiature.
It might be worth reconsidering Baxter’s juxtaposition of these two collections. Perhaps Johnson’s criticism of Urbani was limited to the way in which the Italian harmonised Scots Tunes, and perhaps his comment about “useless…graces” was, in fact, aimed elsewhere. This would certainly explain why Urbani felt no need to defend his ornamentation in the Caledonian Mercury. Alternatively, it may be that Johnson’s view of Urbani’s graces are clouded by notions of Scots Song as exemplifying a kind of pastoral simplicity or purity; an idealised image of an arcadian Scotland. As Trevor-Roper explains, this conception of Scottish traditional music began to take hold around the turn of the century, and was often conflated with the antiquarian fervour of Johnson and his contemporaries.122
3.3.4 Conclusions
Pietro Urbani’s A Selection of Scots Songs, Harmonized, Improved, with Simple and Adapted Graces marks the beginning of a six-volume collection of Scots Tunes. These volumes together represent one of the largest single contributions to the genre by anyone, and perhaps even the largest contribution by a foreigner. In the prefaces to his publications, Urbani makes explicit reference to the existence of a uniquely Scottish performance style, and is notably the first Italian source to do so. Contemporary records disagree as to whether this style was successfully captured by Urbani in his publications, but it’s clear in any case that Urbani’s efforts were appreciated by the subscribers of the Edinburgh Musical Society. If there were quarrels to be had about Urbani’s arrangements, these were likely limited to questions of harmonisation rather than ornamentation.
In Urbani’s collections, it appears that Scots Tunes are valorised for their perceived “Scottishness” and for their “simplicity,” at least by Urbani’s audience, if not also by Urbani himself. Analysis of the ornamentation in Urbani’s publications suggests that this “Scottishness” may have been signalled through reference to bagpipe performance practices and articulatory ornamentation, both of which appear regularly in his writing for the flute and, to some extent, the voice.
Urbani’s collections mark a shift in the way that Scots Tunes are conceptualised. In this period, Scots Tunes came to be associated with Rousseauian ideals of pastoral simplicity, and with a sense of Scottish nationalism. These connotations would eventually become defining features in the emergent category of Scottish “folk” music, a category that continues to shape perceptions of the genre to this day.
3.4 Domenico Corri (1746 – 1825)
3.4.1 Biographical Context
A significant body of evidence documenting the life of Domenico Corri has survived to the present day, including reviews, minutes, receipts and even a short autobiography in English by the composer himself. In a section entitled The Life of Domenico Corri, contained as part of the preface to The Singer’s Preceptor, Corri details the events of his early years in Rome, and his study in Naples under the tutelage of the renowned composer and singing teacher Nicola Porpora (1686 – 1768).123 Upon returning to Rome after Porpora’s death, Corri then took up residence at the Palazzo Mutti, alongside none other than the “Young Pretender” Charles Edward Stuart,124 who had retired to France, and then Rome in the years following his defeat at Culloden. Corri’s own account tells us that the pair spent many an evening playing music together, “the Prince playing the Violoncello, and I [Corri] the harpsichord, also composing together little pieces of music: yet these tete á tetes were of a sombre cast…” Secondary accounts describe the same events in more detail, mentioning the repertoire and other instruments played:
With these [family portraits] looking down on him [Charles] from the crimson damask walls, he would sit in one or other of the nobly proportioned rooms of the Palazzo San Clemente and, either alone or with a friendly Italian musician, Domenico Corri, would play the harpsichord or the French horn or, when the mood took him, the pipes...125
As Baxter notes, however, many of these secondary sources are highly poetical in their tone, and may be somewhat embellished. The claim that these evenings took place in the “Palazzo San Clemente,” for instance, is highly spurious given that Bonnie Prince Charlie did not acquire the palace until 1777. One source, written in particularly florid prose, describes how every evening the pair spent together would conclude with a performance of Lochaber no more, leaving “the King in tears.”126 If there is some truth to these accounts, however, then they provide fascinating context to Corri’s publications of Scots Tunes, as they demonstrate that the composer would have been intimately familiar with the tradition from which they stem, and with Scottish bagpipe performance practice.
In 1771, Domenico Corri and his wife, popularly referred to as La Miniatrice (her Christian name is unkown) were invited to Scotland by the Edinburgh Music Society, after receiving a positive recommendation from Charles Burney.127 Domenico regularly conducted concerts at St. Cecilia’s Hall to great critical acclaim, and the couple remained in Edinburgh for about 18 years before relocating to London in about 1790. La Miniatrice was widely regarded as a formidable singer in her own right, and appears regularly in the programs of the Edinburgh Musical Society throughout this period. In addition to her musical talents, Signora Corri was also regularly in demand a painter, specialising in the production of miniatures for bracelets, lockets, snuff boxes and the like.128 She also regularly taught classes in drawing to ladies of Edinburgh high society, and these artistic accomplishments lead to her moniker “La Miniatrice.”
In about 1779, Corri began a publishing business in Edinburgh, in conjunction with his brother Natale. A year later, they were joined by one James Sutherland.129 Through this publishing house, Corri produced numerous settings of Scots Tunes, all scored either for voice with pianoforte, or for keyboard alone.130 His seminal works, A Select Collection of the Most Admired Songs, Duetts, [sic] etc.131 of 1779 and his treatise The Singer's Preceptor132 of 1810 both contain numerous examples of Scots Tunes. There is an entire volume in the former dedicated to “English, Scotch, Italian and French songs, duets, &c., &c.” The prominence of Scottish songs within this collection further attests to Corri’s familiarity and respect for the genre. His A Select Collection of Forty Scotch Songs,133 one of his later works, is perhaps the most substantial collection of Scots Tunes, reprising all of the tunes featured in his treatise. The tune settings feature relatively simple chordal accompaniments, and short “symphonies” for unspecified treble instruments which bookend each tune.
While Corri’s collection is not explicitly written for the flute, the interchangeability of instrumentation discussed by Ford establishes the possibility that this music may have been played by flutists. Indeed, the little music of Corri’s that is scored for flute is plainly unidiomatic for the instrument, being merely adapted verbatim from violin music.134 If flutists were truly attempting to play Corri’s two Sett(s) [sic] of Six Sonatas,135 could they not also have played from this collection, which is entirely idiomatic, and which fits perfectly within the range of both one-keyed and four-keyed flutes? Analysing the ornamentation and performance practices evident in this collection remains, therefore, a useful exercise for flutists.
3.4.2 Reception History
Domenico Corri and La Miniatrice appeared on stage together regularly,136 and their performances are chronicled in numerous glowing reviews, spanning both their time in Rome and later in Edinburgh. George Thomson gives one such review of a concert given by Tenducci and Signora Corri, assumedly accompanied by her husband Domenico:
At the St. Cecilia concerts I heard Scottish songs sung in a style of excellence far surpassing any idea which I had previously had of their beauty, and that, too, from Italians… It was in consequence of my hearing him and Signora Corni sing a number of our songs so charmingly that I conceived the idea of collecting all our best melodies and songs.137
Were it not for the phrase “and that, too, from Italians,” one might conclude that Signora Corri was simply an excellent singer. Thomson’s apparent surprise that Italians could produce such superlative renditions of Scottish songs implies that Signora Corri had a particular approach to this repertoire that was especially pleasing to Scots. It seems likely, therefore, that Signora Corri in some way embodied the “true national taste” referred to by Urbani. One can only imagine that this same taste might have been shared by her husband, who was known, on occasion, to publicly sing duets with his wife.138 Domenico Corri’s style in performance drew praise not only from Scots, but from further afield. Charles Burney, for one, refers to Corri as an “ingenious composer, [who] sings in a very good taste.”139
Corri’s settings of Scots Tunes likewise seem to have been well-received. The Edinburgh Musical Society held copies of his A Select Collection, and the subscriber lists to Corri’s publications included many notable musicians and pubishers, including Robert Bremner, Ferdinando Tenducci, Christian Fischer "musician to the Queen", Giuseppe Puppo (the leader of the Edinburgh Musical Society), Schetky (the German cellist of the Society), and two organists – a Mr. Orpin, of Leeds, and a Mr. Tayle, of Bath.140 Baxter notes that the subscribers seem to come from a diverse array of economic and class backgrounds, suggesting that these tunes were part of a musical culture unrestrained by class boundaries.141
Corri’s settings of Scots Tunes have received little attention in modern times, although a modern edition of The Singer’s Preceptor has been published, with accompanying commentary.142 The secondary literature mainly focuses on the preface, dialogue and directions to singers, rather than to the notation of Scots Tunes, and Corri’s name mainly appears in discussions of early nineteenth-century uses of portamento, rather than in relation to Scottish Traditional performance practice. One modern scholar who does consider Corri’s Scots Tunes from the perspective of performance practice is Emily Baines, who in 2017 published her findings relating to barrel organ made by Henry Holland some time after 1786.143 The Holland organ rolls provide a snapshot of educated taste in Britain around the turn of the nineteenth century. The inclusion of a Scots Tune setting by Corri is indicative of the fact that these tunes were valued by people of all class backgrounds, though perhaps for differing reasons – Baines notes that this organ was likely produced for an audience of “wealthy enthusiasts or students” rather than professional musicians or lower-class amateurs.144 Further, the existence of such an artefact is a unique opportunity to compare issues of performance practice arising from The Singer’s Preceptor with something approximating a recording of a performance from the same time.
3.4.3 Preface(s) and 3.4.4 Ornamentation
Corri provides multiple tables of ornaments throughout both The Singer’s Preceptor and his numerous volumes of collections. Many of these are repetitive, with only slight variations arising between those printed in different publications. Perhaps the most intriguing section, which appears in several of these tables, is the paragraph discussing “leaping graces.” When approaching these settings from the point of view of Scottish traditional music, these “leaping graces” might immediately strike one as suggesting a kind of articulatory ornamentation. In the context of this study, such an interpretation seems only natural – after all, Corri played the pipes, and spent most of his working life in Scotland, during a period of intense national interest in the pipes. However, in much of the secondary literature, these graces are usually interpreted as indicating a kind of portamento.145 Of course, these two categorisations are not mutually exclusive: a portamento which is executed “rapidly” and “[almost] imperceptibly”146 would, by its very nature, have something of an articulatory effect. Likewise, it would be almost impossible to sing such a rapid leaping ornament (while maintaining a full sound) without some degree of portamento occurring.
Clive Brown notes that Corri’s “leaped graces” represent something of a special case in the development of portamento in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and observes that this particular figuration has declined in popularity over time.147 Brown construes Corri’s “leaping graces” as the earliest manifestation of the species of portamento described by Vaccai as portamento “by posticipation” – that is, with the first syllable of the following word falling at the beginning of portamento, rather than afterward. He goes on to cite García’s admonishment of singers who “either from negligence or want of taste, slur the voice endlessly, either before or after notes,” with reference to musical examples that closely resemble Corri’s “leaping graces,” albeit taken to the extreme.
There are several peculiar features of this species of portamento, apart from the mere fact of its placement in relation to the following syllable. For one thing, the notated pitch of Corri’s “leaping graces” (and, indeed, of García’s) is often unrelated to the pitch either preceding or following the grace note itself – it is sometimes between the two main tones, or even lower than the preceding tone. Brown attributes this to the fact of the grace occurring on the beat of the following note, and therefore needing to occur on a consonance with the following harmony. This interpretation would perhaps refute the claim that these ornaments function primarily in an articulatory, rather than harmonic, way. However, Corri explicitly states that these graces are to be performed extremely rapidly: “the more imperceptible they are, the more happy the execution.” If the leaping grace is made almost “imperceptible,” then why would it matter whether the grace was on a chord or non-chord tone? Another notable feature of these graces is the fact that every example given is ascending, rather than descending. This fact alone doesn’t shed much light on the question of articulatory ornamentation, but does rule out the idea that they might be a literal imitation of bagpipe cuttings, which are generally approached from above.
Perhaps the most curious aspect of Corri’s instructions on “leaping graces” is the fact that he does not use the phrase “portamento” by name at all. While both Vaccai and Garcia use this phrase explicitly, Corri’s appears to avoid it, despite the fact that he uses the term liberally elsewhere. In the “Dialogue between Master and Scholar” which opens The Singer’s Preceptor, Corri devotes an entire section exclusively to portamento, which he defines as:
…the perfection of vocal music; it consists in the swell and dying of the voice, the sliding and blending [of] one note into another with delicacy and expression – and expression comprehends every charm which music can produce; the Portamento di voce may justly be compared to the highest degree of refinement in elegant pronunciation in speaking. Endeavour to attain this high qualification of the Portamento, and I must again repeat, deliver your words with energy and emphasis, articulate them distinctly, let the countenance be adapted to the subject, and fear not your success.148
This raises the question, then – why does Corri not mention portamento at all in the section on leaping graces? He clearly has no aversion to the term, and the ornamentation table of A Select Collection would be the perfect place to use it, if this is indeed the phenomenon Corri is describing. Corri’s definition of portamento seems to describe a practice that is continuously in use – “the perfection of vocal music…the highest degree of refinement in elegant pronunciation” would appear to refer to a quality of good singing more generally, rather than a specific kind of ornament. Conversely, the “leaped grace” is an effect used more sparingly to give “particular emphasis or expression.”149
Corri uses multiple colourful phrases to describe the execution of different ornaments: to “take softly;” to “take strong[ly];” to “sink into the note;”150 to “melt into the note;” to “force into the note;” and to “drop…into the note.”151 Of all these descriptors, the words “melt” and “sink” seem to be most evocative of the usual kind of portamento we are used to hearing from singers today. However, Corri uses neither of these terms when describing his “leaped graces,” instead preferring to emphasise the fact that they should “leap into the note rapidly.” This, again, seems to point to the idea that Corri’s leaped graces are an exceptional case.
The fact that Corri separates the “leaping graces” and the Turn Grace from the rest of the ornaments he discusses is also curious. It could be that by marking these graces as “being of a different nature from any of the above” he could be hinting at a distinction similar to that between harmonic and articulatory function. The “different nature” is unlikely to refer to portamento here – in any case, Brown interprets all the ornaments present (both “anticipatory” and “leaping”) as indicating a kind of portamento. Corri’s explanation, that these graces “give to certain notes a particular emphasis or expression,” might also suggest an articulatory function. Likewise, Corri’s instruction that these graces “ought to be so rapid, that, while the effect is felt, the ear shall yet be unable to determine the character of the sounds” is remarkably congruent with most Trad players’ description of taps, cuts, rolls and other articulations. Brown points to the surviving recordings of the castrato Alessandro Moreschi (1858 – 1922) as exemplars of these “leaping graces,” but based on the text of A Select Collection alone, one might just as easily point to Eddie Reader or Karin Polwart as modern-day successors to the tradition described by Corri.
The rolls from the Holland barrel organ discussed by Emily Baines bring another perspective to this issue, as one contains a rendering of the Scots Tune “The Berks of Endermay [sic],” attributed to Domenico Corri. For the purposes of comparison, Baines provides a transcription of the Holland organ roll juxtaposed against Corri’s notation of the same tune from A Select Collection, which reveal several surprising difference. Most strikingly, the tune appears to be far more decorated in the organ roll than in Corri’s notated version. Particularly notable is the fact that most of the added graces are extremely rapid, and occur largely at the beginning of notes. This, combined with the fact that such graces appear as frequently on off-beats as on on-beats, points to a kind of articulatory ornamentation typical of Scottish Traditional performance practice. There is also considerable rhythmic variation, with the addition of triplets filling in thirds, not dissimilar to the kinds of rhythmic variation described by Swinden.
It is interesting to note that, while the Holland organ roll accords with many of the ornamentation practices described by Corri, the former includes almost none of the leaping graces described in the latter. This discrepancy welcomes multiple interpretations. It may be that automata were produced for (and marketed to) a very different audience to that of A Selet Collection and The Singer’s Preceptor, such that what was considered essential and tasteful to one audience was considered irrelevant to the other. It is likely that differences in language and geography might have corresponded with different tastes when it came to the performance of Scottish traditional music. A simpler explanation might simply be that the graces in question were performed so rapidly, and were so articulatory in nature, that they were hardly considered worth the trouble of punching into an organ roll. Likewise, if Corri’s graces are, in fact, indicative of portamento, then these would also have been excluded, as such an effect could not be reproduced on an organ roll.
Baines concludes that, while there are significant differences between Corri’s notated sources and the ornamentation found in the Holland organ rolls, there are also notable concordances. She notes that many of the ornaments seem to serve an articulatory function, being those “which happen at the beginning of notes…applied in order to add colour and variety to the articulation,”152 and that there is considerable overlap between these practices and those of “folk singing styles,” identifying this as a possible future area of study:
The use of grace-notes which are often the same as the note preceding that on which they are placed is a feature of many folk singing styles, and this can be linked to the observation…that the frequent small graces added to instrumental melodies is reminiscent of a folk style.153
Baines thus seems to fall more on the side of Reader than Moreschi, interpreting Corri’s graces as representing the kind of articulatory ornamentation idiomatic of Scottish Traditional performance practice.
3.4.5 Conclusions
Perhaps a synthesis of these two interpretations might yield something closer to the truth. It’s likely that Corri’s “leaping graces” refer to a kind of portamento, but to one that is performed so rapidly, and with such a light emphasis, that the effect of the portamento is a kind of articulatory ornament, not dissimilar to bagpipe articulation. This is not to suggest, therefore, that Corri was necessarily inspired by bagpipe performance practice, or that his “leaping graces” are a direct imitation of it – after all, portamento in singing is a technique that can hardly be attributed to one source or even one national taste. However, the peculiarities of Corri’s “leaping graces” bare a resemblance to Scottish Traditional ornamentation that cannot be ignored. The fact that they are often notated as grace notes which are unrelated to either the preparatory or terminating note is curious, as is the fact that they only ever appear in ascending form. Corri’s discussion of portamento elsewhere, and his omission of the word “melt” likewise raise questions about the kind of phenomenon he is describing.
The fact that these graces also appear in Corri’s arrangements of non-Scottish songs suggests that they were not a self-conscious attempt to imitate a distinctively Scottish national style (cf. Urbani), but rather an ingrained element of Corri’s own singing style. Nonetheless, the similarities between Corri’s “leaping graces” and Scottish Traditional practices may explain why Corri’s performance style was so popular among native Scots at the turn of the nineteenth century. The valorisation of these techniques for their perceived “Scottishness,” whether by Corri or by his public, represents an important step in the emergence of what we now understand to be Scottish musical identity, and presents us with yet another way of appreciating, engaging with, and performing Scots Tunes.
3.5 Conclusions
In this chapter, I have analysed four of the most significant collections of Scots Tunes published by Italian composers throughout the eighteenth century. While the first two of these date from the middle decades of the century, the latter two date from the turn of the nineteenth century, thus providing a broad overview of the way in which these collections developed from the years 1742 until 1810.
When analysing each of these sources, I have sought to gain insight into the ways in which Scots Tunes were performed during this period, with a specific focus on ornamentation practices. Further, by analysing the possible motivations and aesthetic values held by each Italian collector and their respective audiences, I have attempted to contextualise these findings, establishing historical links between notation, performance practice, and aesthetic judgements.
I have gone about this by investigating four key aspects of each collection:
- Biographical and other contextual information
- Preface, frontispiece, and other non-musical notation
- Reception history
- Ornamentation notated in each collection
Francesco Barsanti’s motivation for the collection of Scots Tunes appears to have been an extension of his interest in “ancient” music more generally. His approach to ornamentation was likely an attempt to recapture the tastes of previous generations. It is curious to note, therefore, that his notational practice implies (or at least allows for) the use of articulatory ornamentation, as practiced by Scottish Traditional musicians today.
Francesco Geminiani, by contrast, is something of an outlier in this survey. His collections of Scots Tunes serve as a vehicle for the expression of his ideas about modern ornamentation and “Good Taste,” which, in turn, are informed my Enlightenment notions of “improvement.” As such, these publications hold relatively few implications for the study of Scottish Traditional performance practices.
The social milieu in which Pietro Urbani and Domenico Corri operated differed significantly from that of Barsanti and Geminiani. By the end of the eighteenth century, attitudes towards Scots Tunes had changed, partly spurred on by the influence of Rousseau’s writings on music and the natural world. Scots Tunes had taken on a new significance, valued for their representation of an idealised, arcadian pastoralism, closely tied to notions of Scottish national identity.
Within this setting, Urbani proposed, for the first time, the existence of a uniquely Scottish approach to performance practice, which he claimed to embody. His arrangements of Scots Songs include many references to bagpipe techniques, as well as florid ornamentation that may be viewed as articulatory. Within the same decade, Domenico Corri likewise began publishing arrangements of Scots Tunes, which exhibited many of the same ornamentation features as Urbani’s arrangements. One such ornament – the “leaping grace” – has been discussed here in some detail, leading to the conclusion that it, too, may represent a kind of articulatory ornament, not dissimilar to certain bagpipe techniques.
Identifying evidence of articulatory ornamentation and other Scottish Traditional performance practices in these collections detaches these practices from the associations they have today, and from the nebulous set of connotations attached to the modern category of “folk music”. It would seem that these practices were valued by eighteenth-century Italian composers and their respective audiences for varying reasons: for their simplicity; for their perceived antiquity; and as a site for the construction of national identity. In the next chapter, I will examine how these attitudes changed and developed over the course of the nineteenth century, and how they continue to influence our reception and performance of this repertoire today.
Fig. 3.1.2: "Preface," to Francesco Barsanti, A Collection of Old Scots Tunes, (Edinburgh: Alexander Baillie, 1742).
Fig. 3.3.4 (4): Dondald McDonald, A Collection of the Ancient Martial Music of Caledonia, called Piobaireachd, (Edinburgh: for the author, 1820), p. 1.
Fig. 3.3.4 (1): "The Bush aboon Tranquair,"
Urbani, A Favourite Selection
Fig. 3.3.4 (2): "Maid of Selma"
Urbani, A Favourite Selection
Fig. 3.1.4 (3): Comparison of "Logan Water" in Barsanti, A Collection vs. Thomson Orpheus Caledonius
Fig. 3.4.3 (2): "Directions to the Singer," in Domenico Corri, A Select Collection of Forty...Scotch Songs, 4th edn., p. 41.
