08 November 2024
Highlights from the Royal Philharmonic Society Archive
To mark The National Lottery’s 30th birthday celebrations this year we have put together a blog post about the archive of the Royal Philharmonic Society (RPS), acquired by the British Library in 2002 thanks in part to a grant from the Heritage Lottery Fund, alongside generous donations from other individuals and trusts. This post highlights some of the treasures found in the RPS archive and the research that the archive has sparked since its acquisition by the Library.
The RPS and its archive
The Royal Philharmonic Society (RPS) was founded in 1813 as the Philharmonic Society of London by a group of 30 professional musicians with the purpose ‘to promote the performance, in the most perfect manner possible, of the best and most approved instrumental music’. It continues today as a busy charitable organisation devoted to ‘creating opportunities for musicians to excel, championing the vital role that music plays in all our lives’. The Society began by establishing an annual concert season which included music by the greatest composers of the time, with new commissions from composers like Beethoven, Cherubini, Mendelssohn, Dvořák, and Saint-Saëns, some of whom were also invited to conduct their own works. The Society also has a long history of inviting distinguished performers to perform at its concerts, among them figures like Clara Schumann and Pablo Casals. You can find out more about the RPS’s impressive history and current activities on the RPS website and through the selected literature in the ‘References’ section below.
Over the years, the performing and administrative activities of the RPS resulted in the formation of a considerable archive (now British Library RPS MS 1-417). This contains over 270 manuscript scores, including many composer’s autograph manuscripts of works performed by the RPS, alongside dozens of volumes of letters and important administrative documents up to 1968. The latter include a series of 20 minute books in which the proceedings of meetings of the Directors of the RPS were recorded. These minute books are full of valuable information about the running of the Society, its financial affairs, the planning of each concert season, the commissioning of new works, matters raised by its members, and much more.
One such minute book records the commissioning of a new symphony from Beethoven in November 1822 and the Directors’ decision to offer Beethoven £50 for this. Notes of the meeting show that they hoped to receive it by March 1823, in time for performance during the 1823 concert season. This became Beethoven’s famous Symphony no.9 and the manuscript in the RPS archive is known as the ‘London manuscript’.
‘Resolved that an offer of £50 be made to Beethoven for a M.S. Sym[phon]y. He having permission to dispose of it at the expiration of Eighteen Months after the receipt of it. It being a proviso that it shall arrive during the Month of March next.’
The manuscript that Beethoven sent to the Philharmonic Society in 1824 of his Symphony no.9 was a copy prepared by three music copyists under his supervision. The manuscript includes numerous minor corrections and annotations in Beethoven’s hand, alongside markings arising from the first London performance.
In 2021 the Library held the exhibition Beethoven: Idealist. Innovator. Icon, which included a number of collection items from the RPS Archive, including the London manuscript of the Ninth symphony. This was displayed alongside Beethoven’s autograph manuscript (on loan from the Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin) for the first time in the UK.
The RPS Archive also includes 47 volumes of letters from numerous British and European composers and musicians who corresponded with the RPS. Among them, one from Tchaikovsky following his visit to Britain in 1893. The composer had conducted his Fourth Symphony at a Philharmonic Society concert in May that year and wrote to the secretary, Francesco Berger, of his eagerness to return to conduct a new symphony he was working on (that was his Sixth, but Tchaikovsky died later in the year before another visit could be organised).
The archive includes much more too, from concert programmes, posters and official notices through to a number of objects. Among them are a tuning fork and numerous ivory counters with Directors’ and other members’ names on them.
Such a wide-ranging archive has provided plenty of scope for research of different kinds over the years, and indeed it has been a frequently-consulted addition to the British Library’s collection both onsite and online (the entire RPS archive was digitised in 2013 for the Gale database, Nineteenth Century Collections Online). As well as material relating to famous composers and performers, the archive also offers insights and glimpses of other individuals. People like Joseph Harris, copyist of the instrumental parts for the first London performance of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, who we hear from in letters describing his work (he said that the Ninth was “the longest & most difficult thing I ever copied… yet the most beautiful Composition”).
The 19th century was a period in which the ‘business’ of music making and the act of concert going became increasingly established in ways we can still recognise today. The wealth of detail in the RPS Archive has allowed researchers to map this change through the seemingly prosaic but essential processes documented in minute books, financial ledgers and other administrative documentation. Being able to preserve the archive here at the British Library is especially beneficial because of the connections with other collections held here, be it those of individuals who worked with or for the Society, or of other concert organisations. Together, such collections help to provide a rich and vivid picture of music making and concert life from the 19th century onwards.
Chris Scobie, Lead Curator Music Manuscripts and Archives
Loukia Drosopoulou, Curator Music
References
The Royal Philharmonic Society: The History and Future of Music. https://royalphilharmonicsociety.org.uk/assets/files/RPS_A5_History_booklet_08_revised.pdf
Leanne Langley, ‘A Place for Music: John Nash, Regent Street and the Philharmonic Society of London’, Electronic British Library Journal, 2013. https://doi.org/10.23636/1057
Cyril Ehrlich, First philharmonic: a history of the Royal Philharmonic Society (Oxford: Clarendon Press), 1995.
01 November 2024
A Personal Peal at St. Paul’s
Most directors of cathedral music would probably consider their energies amply enough absorbed by the demands of choir and organ and liturgy, but a few years into his tenure at St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, Dr. John Stainer (1840–1901) found duty beckoning him away from the choir-stalls and organ-loft to the belfry in the north-west tower. Here, in the mid-1870s, over 160 years after the cathedral’s completion, there still hung no full peal of bells for change-ringing, only the solitary service-bell. (The three clock bells chiming faithfully over in the south-west tower were entirely separate: what was lacking were bells to celebrate Sundays, feast-days and great occasions.) It was a situation incompatible with civic and national pride, and a problem which now fell to Dr. Stainer, at least in part, to remedy. With the other members of the newly-formed Bell Committee, he set about creating cathedral music of an altogether different kind.
John Stainer: ‘A genial, good-natured, likeable man’
John Stainer, c. 1878. Reproduced in Lock and Whitfield, ‘Men of mark: a gallery of contemporary portraits of men distinguished in the Senate, the Church, in science, literature and art, the army, navy, law, medicine’ (London: Sampson Low, 1876-1883). British Library RB.23.b.7030.
Stainer, a native of London who had sung as a boy treble at St. Paul’s, had been appointed organist and Director of Music in 1872, aged 32. He is generally acknowledged to have made considerable improvements to the Cathedral’s musical standards while remaining, as one description has it, ‘by all accounts […] a genial, good-natured, likeable man whose industrious personality engendered respect in others.’ [1] He was also a composer in his own right: ‘God so loved the world’, from his oratorio ‘The Crucifixion’, is still sung regularly in Holy Week.
Campanology must presumably have been relatively unfamiliar territory for him, but his ‘industrious personality’ he nevertheless threw into the work of the Bell Committee. Three years were to suffice for the necessary fund-raising and the commissioning of a brand-new peal of twelve bells. Tuned to the key of B flat and weighing thirteen tons in all – at the time the world’s heaviest peal of twelve, and still second only to the bells of Liverpool Anglican Cathedral – they were cast at the (still-extant) foundry of John Taylor & Co. in Loughborough, carried gingerly to London, hoisted into the north-west belfry through a gap apparently left specifically for that purpose by the ever-prescient Sir Christopher Wren, and rung for the first time on All Saints’ Day, November 1st, 1878. [2]
Enter H. R. Haweis, foe of ‘din and discord’
Such a prominent change to London’s soundscape was bound to attract much attention and comment. One figure who could be counted upon to offer an opinion was the Rev. Hugh Reginald Haweis (1838–1901), the charismatic, go-ahead vicar of St James’s, Marylebone. A veteran of the Italian War of Independence and an early advocate of the Sunday opening of museums and galleries, he had made a name for himself by arguing controversially that spiritualism was compatible with Christianity, and, even more controversially, by actually attending séances. Amidst all this he still found time for music, and in particular for a keen interest in bells. His expertise, though amateur, was well-respected – he had been the author of the article ‘Bell’ in the ninth edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, published earlier that year [3] – and indeed, when it came to bells, he was a hard man to please: ‘I question whether there is a musically true chime of bells in the whole of England, and if it exists, I doubt whether any one knows or cares for its musical superiority.’ [4] He was convinced of the tonal supremacy of Belgian bells, writing repeatedly of the ‘relief’ afforded him by visits to ‘the old cathedrals of Belgium, with their musical chimes and their splendid carillons’. [5] ‘Willingly do I escape from the din and discord of English belfries to Belgium, loving and beloved of bells,’ he declared.[6]
H. R. Haweis, c. 1888. Reproduced in J. Waléry, ‘Our celebrities: a portrait gallery’ (London, publisher unknown, 1888). British Library 1764.e.5.
So he could certainly be expected to take an interest in the tintinnabulary developments at St. Paul’s, and to wish to see and hear the new peal at closer quarters. Just over a week before the inauguration, John Stainer wrote to him with a personal invitation. ‘Our formal opening will take place at 5.30 on Nov[ember] 1st but if you will mount the tower with me at 11 on that day you shall have the bells struck for your own special benefit.’ [7] Stainer also sketched out a musical stave indicating the pitches of the new bells, along with their respective weights.
Letter from John Stainer to H. R. Haweis, 22nd October 1878. British Library MS Mus. 1928. Reproduced with permission. You may not use the material for commercial purposes.
Haweis pronounces his verdict
As it turned out, Haweis did not have to wait that long to carry out his inspection, nor Stainer to find out his verdict. On 29th October, a letter from Haweis appeared in the Times: ‘Fresh from a tour in Belgium, with the sound of the Mechlin [Mechelen] and Ghent bells still ringing in my ears, I ascended, with note-book, candle, and muffled hammer, the side tower of St. Paul’s Cathedral, in which twelve new bells have just been placed by the munificence of the City companies […]’. (A pause to point out that ‘For eight years I have pleaded the cause of bells and carillons in England.’) Having first excoriated the flatness of Big Ben at the Palace of Westminster (‘hoarse, cracked, and gong-like […] the scourge of the neighbourhood’), the new peal at St. Paul’s he merely damned with faint praise. ‘It is as good as most in England,’ he wrote. ‘Ten years ago it would have been passed by architects and bell committees with applause – will probably be so passed now – and the newspapers may speak of the “superb new peal” and its “mellow silver tones”, the cost, and so forth – and indeed it is quite as good as I expected and as expensive as needs be.’ [8]
But after six hours in the belfry he had discovered a more fundamental flaw: the bells were out of tune. ‘I am quite clear that the radical imperfection of the octave and a half as it now hangs will appear whenever the first attempt is made to ring a tune on the first seven and last five of St. Paul’s bells.’ [9] He also believed that they had been hung in such a way as to damage the tower when ringing.
Whether Haweis returned on the morning of the 1st November to take up Stainer’s invitation, or what passed between the two men if he did, is not known. But that evening the Cathedral was ‘crowded to the doors’ for the inauguration, with thousands more gathered in the churchyard and down Ludgate Hill to hear the first peal rung by the Ancient Society of College Youths, the City of London’s foremost bell-ringing society. (The Society is well-named in that, tracing its foundation to 1637, before the Great Fire, it is older than the cathedral itself, as well as most of the City’s churches.) [10]
The west front of St. Paul’s seen in N. D’Anvers, ‘Some Account of the Great Buildings of London’ (London: Marcus Ward, 1879). Autotype photograph by Frederick York (1879). The change-ringing bells hang in the north-west tower on the left.
A regular ‘ding-dong’ in the Times?
In subsequent days Stainer and other members of the Bell Committee wrote to the Times in defence of their work. Stainer took Haweis to task on the question of tuning. It was not a question of pitch but of timbre, he argued; all bells sound several secondary tones as well as the principal one, and Haweis must, moreover, have been striking the bells in the wrong place. ‘The only place where a bell should be struck is on the sound bow itself […] Would Mr. Haweis test a [Stradivarius] violin by bowing it below the bridge? […] When properly tested on the sound-bow, there will be found a remarkable purity of tone throughout the St. Paul’s peal […] They are in excellent tune, and capitally hung.’ [11]
Haweis returned to the letters page on November 14th, the tenor of his argument unaltered. The bells were sharp, he was sure of it, and in any case, if the ear has an impression of sharpness, it scarcely matters whether timbre or pitch is the technical cause: ‘It is no more apology for sharp bells to say that they seem sharp when they sound sharp, but are really “excellently in tune,” as Dr. Stainer says St. Paul’s bells are, than to tell me that my boot is a comfortable fit although it seems to pinch […]’ [12]
A lasting legacy for Londoners
Other committee members continued the debate in subsequent editions, but Haweis, never to be persuaded, was to maintain his lamentation of the deficiencies of both St. Paul’s and Westminster belfries, notably at a Royal Institution lecture the following February. [13] Stainer, for his part, seems to have been content to let the bells speak for themselves. At any rate, he had given enough satisfaction to Dean and Chapter to be entrusted with the installation in the south-west tower, three years later, of ‘Great Paul’, at sixteen tons the United Kingdom’s largest working bell, and the second-largest ever cast in this country. [14] He was knighted for his services in 1888, but in the same year had to resign his position owing to failing eyesight.
Stainer and Haweis died within three months of each other in 1901. The bells, of which Stainer had predicted ‘Londoners will some day be proud’, rang on, Sunday in and Sunday out, gradually embroidering themselves into the life of the City. [15] ‘And neighbouring towers and spirelets joined the ringing / With answering echoes from heavy commercial walls, / Till all were drowned as the sailing clouds went singing / On the roaring flood of a twelve-voiced peal from Paul’s,’ John Betjeman was to write in 1955, by then recalling the Sunday morning soundscape of the pre-Blitz City. [16] Many of the bells he was remembering had been first silenced by wartime conditions, then destroyed in the bombing of their churches — but, almost miraculously, those of St. Paul’s had survived, and to this day ring out for half an hour before three services on Sundays.
But Haweis’s ultimate wish, one to which Stainer had expressed sympathy, is yet to be fulfilled: the installation of a carillon in the south-west tower of St. Paul’s: ‘I still hope,’ he had written, ‘to see Dr. Stainer […] seated there at a noble carillon clavecin of 40 Belgian bells, whose melodious tongues will then utter aloud the open secrets of the great Tone-Poets, while the crowd below […] shall be rapt in wonder […].’ [17] A project, perhaps, for some future Director of Music.
Dominic Newman, Manuscripts Cataloguer
MS Mus. 1928, a newly-catalogued collection of various musicians’ letters, is now available for consultation in the Rare Books & Music Reading Room.
References
[1] Dibble, J. (2004, September 23). ‘Stainer, Sir John (1840–1901), musicologist and composer.’ Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. Retrieved 25 Oct. 2023, from https://www.oxforddnb.com/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-9780198614128-e-36234.
[2] St Paul’s Cathedral, ‘The bells’, web article. Retrieved 26 Oct. 2023 from https://www.stpauls.co.uk/bells.
[3] Baigent, E. (2004, September 23). ‘Haweis, Hugh Reginald (1838–1901), author and Church of England clergyman’. Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. Retrieved 25 Oct. 2023, from https://www.oxforddnb.com/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-9780198614128-e-33763.
[4] Haweis, H. R., Music and Morals (London: Longmans, 1872), p. 389.
[5] Ibid., p. 377.
[6] Ibid., p. 387.
[7] Letter from John Stainer to Hugh Reginald Haweis, 22 Oct. 1878. British Library MS Mus. 1928.
[8] Haweis, H. R., “The New Bells Of St. Paul’s.” The Times, 29 Oct. 1878, p. 8. The Times Digital Archive, link.gale.com/apps/doc/CS135052125/TTDA?u=blibrary&sid=bookmark-TTDA&xid=6035918d. Accessed 13 Oct. 2023.
[9] The Times, 29 Oct. 1878, ibid.
[10] “The Bells Of St. Paul’s.” The Times, 2 Nov. 1878, p. 8. The Times Digital Archive, link.gale.com/apps/doc/CS135314274/TTDA?u=blibrary&sid=bookmark-TTDA&xid=74c6b84b. Accessed 26 Oct. 2023.
[11] The Times, Nov. 7th, 1878.
[12] Haweis, H. R. “St. Paul's Bells.” The Times, 14 Nov. 1878, p. 11. The Times Digital Archive, link.gale.com/apps/doc/CS185777006/TTDA?u=blibrary&sid=bookmark-TTDA&xid=48be56ae. Accessed 13 Oct. 2023.
[13] The Times, 10 Feb. 1879.
[14] “The Bells Of St. Paul’s.” The Times, 2 Nov. 1878, ibid.
[15] Stainer incidentally has another musical legacy in London: Stainer Street, near his birth-place in Southwark. This street is unusual in being enclosed along its entire length by a long brick tunnel-like arch holding up the platforms of London Bridge station. The arch is effectively a barrel-vault and creates, appropriately enough, a church-like acoustic. Into this space, which is now part of the station concourse, an old church organ was installed in 2022; at the time of writing it is available for anyone to play free of charge.
[16] John Betjeman, ‘Monody on the Death of Aldersgate Street Station’, in Collected Poems (London: John Murray, 1985), p. 270.
[17] The Times, 14 Nov. 1878, ibid.
20 August 2024
Royal Musical Association Papers, 1874-1971
To mark the 150th anniversary of the Royal Musical Association (RMA) and its upcoming Annual Conference at Senate House (University of London) and the British Library, we have put together a blog written by Leanne Langley, former RMA Vice-president, about the RMA archive held at the British Library.
55 manuscript volumes make up the British Library’s (BL) Royal Musical Association Papers, 1874-1971, catalogued as Add. MSS 71010-71064. Gathered with the benefit of some serendipity, these were presented to the Library by the RMA in 1983, 1989 and 1992. They complement a small number of RMA-related papers from the 1930s and 40s already held by the BL (Add. MSS 56236 and 59670).
Large as it is, this archive doesn’t cover the Association’s entire 150-year history: a substantial tranche of more recent Council minutes (March 1950 onwards) and other matter remains in the RMA’s possession and is set for assessment and accession in due course. But the current Papers do cover a very large part of the RMA’s distinguished history, offering an unrivalled look into the nation’s oldest learned society for music. Founded in London in 1874 as the Musical Association, ‘for the investigation and discussion of subjects connected with the art and science of music’, the organization flourished independently of British higher education until the late 1940s. Its ‘Royal’ prefix, presented by George VI in 1944, conveyed high symbolic status at a crucial moment, while all along, genuine prestige accumulated through the Association’s fostering of solid research.
From 170 members in 1874-75 to a current membership of more than 1400, the Association has maintained its venerable position and unique character among music scholarly organizations. It publishes two journals and a monograph series, sponsors study days and two annual conferences, supports new work by young and mature investigators including musicologists, music analysts, ethnomusicologists, composers and practitioners (in and beyond academia), and promotes intellectual exchanges with colleagues in all corners of the globe. Strong historical links with the British Museum/British Library, moreover, make the Papers’ location especially apt.
As a former RMA Council member, Journal reviews editor and vice-president, I was looking forward to our sesquicentenary in 2024 when, in 2015, the Council asked me to consider writing a history of the Association. Since the RMA Papers had never before been examined as a whole, it made sense to embark on a study of this rich resource for that purpose. But could I sustain a systematic search through 55 hefty volumes? Meetings, membership and finance records, scrawly handwriting and repetitive correspondence doesn’t sound like the stuff of riveting history; key information would have to be excavated and the context amplified before any narrative could amount to more than a dutiful summary.
Lo and behold, discovering more about the real (historical) people on every folio and seeing why they ran things as they did – who their friends and colleagues were, what they were up against, what they were aiming to achieve both as a group and in their own researches: all these intersecting lines prompted more questions. I soon looked forward to the many long days it would take, over several months, to absorb details in the Papers and to find logical connections explaining the RMA’s trajectory, and its people as distinctive scholars. I persisted with the challenge.
Without exaggeration I can say that the exercise has been eye-opening, not only for what the Papers contain, but for the outward paths they point, the actions and reactions they document. The RMA was small, but never intellectually isolated from scholars in other fields or from music in public life; its membership was once diverse in ways that have recently begun to disappear; and its dedication to music research was always intended to benefit wider society and improve public discourse. These findings open new ways to appreciate the RMA’s achievement. Illuminating how ‘musicology’ only gradually, belatedly, became professionalized in the UK and how its local character differed from that in Europe and the USA, the Papers also affirm that British musicology influenced, and in turn was marked by, those separate and eclectic traditions.
The Papers themselves are divided into two main parts: Minutes and Official Papers (Add. MSS 71010-71035, vols. 1-26); and Correspondence (Add. MSS 71036-71064, vols. 27-55).
The first part is subdivided by content type: eight Minute books, 1874-1950, and a ‘Standing Instruction book’ of 1901-33; seven volumes of Membership records and attendance registers, c. 1874-1970; six volumes of financial papers, c. 1927-84; and three mixed volumes of printed announcements, the Articles and Memorandum of Association, sessional arrangements and project reports, 1898-1971. The Papers’ second part, even more extensive, consists of thousands of letters arranged alphabetically by writer, Anon. to Zwingli. Although strictly ranging across 1898-1971, this material is concentrated in the 1950s and 60s, owing largely to the care of the RMA Secretary at that time, Nigel Fortune, whose skilled management contributed markedly to a lift in the standing of British musicology.
Among many intriguing items, the following examples give an idea of topical scope:
- early news clippings reacting to the Association’s founding
- menus and programme cards for ‘Annual Dinners’ (the earliest from 1898)
- drafts of Annual Reports with financial and member information
- attendance registers for specific paper meetings
- committee reports and letters (from 1938) recommending fruitful new areas of research that might be taken up by younger scholars
- copies of the Home Office letter to E.H. Fellowes, 24 August 1944, conveying the King’s grant of permission to use ‘Royal’ in the Association’s name
- design and launch plans, at the V&A, for the RMA’s Musica Britannica (MB) edition in 1951, coinciding with the Festival of Britain (prefaced by complaints from Encyclopaedia Britannica over supposed illegal use of the name ‘Britannica’)
- a telegram from the King’s private secretary, congratulating the RMA on the publication of their first three volumes in the MB series
- extensive correspondence with printers, book agents and reprint companies, shedding light on the business of scholarly journal publishing (the Association acted as its own publisher for 111 years and benefited from the international reprint bonanza of the 1960s)
- documentation of Joseph Kerman’s plans for a facsimile edition of Beethoven’s ‘Kafka’ Sketchbook in association with the RMA and the British Museum in 1970.
Many more subtle details, for example involving decision-making and future research directions, are also present, whether buried in minutes, post-paper discussions, letters or articles. Some are associated with celebrated scholars, critics and librarians, from John Stainer, William Barclay Squire and E.H. Fellowes to Sylvia Townsend Warner, Edward J. Dent and Frank Howes; from Francis Galpin, C.B. Oldman and Anthony Lewis to Thurston Dart, A. Hyatt King and Denis Arnold. But many other good ideas came from members less well known, some of them far-flung.
As a spur to one’s historical imagination, raising issues not previously appreciated, there is nothing so effective as full immersion ‘in the archive’. It can provide a spark to further work and new understanding. For helping me grasp a richer view of the Royal Musical Association’s long history, I am glad I said ‘yes’ to these Papers.
Leanne Langley
22 July 2024
Samuel Coleridge-Taylor and the practicalities of performance
I recently had the pleasure of visiting the British Library’s Beyond the Bassline exhibition. Admiring the autograph manuscript of Samuel Coleridge-Taylor’s Hiawatha’s Wedding Feast led me to wonder: might not more of Coleridge-Taylor’s wonderful music be heard today if some of the obstacles to performance were removed?
Be it through libraries, publishers, or online services like IMSLP, we are used to being able to access high-quality ‘performance-ready’ sheet music editions. It comes as something of a surprise, therefore, to learn that a significant amount of Coleridge-Taylor’s output is unavailable via these means. To understand why, a brief history of performance sets may be useful.
Performance sets in the early 20th century
In 1898, when Hiawatha’s Wedding Feast was composed, any large-scale work such as this was expensive to publish. In the days before computers and photocopiers, any sheet music part requiring multiple copies for performance would need to be hand-engraved onto copper plates, which could then be used for printing as many copies as were required. Vocal scores, containing all vocal parts and a piano reduction of the orchestral score, were printed in their thousands using this method, ensuring each choir member could have their own copy. String parts, too, with multiple desks to a part, were also often (but not always) engraved and printed in this way. For material requiring only one copy for performance, however – usually all wind, brass and percussion parts, as well as the conductor’s full score – it was uneconomical to engrave and print in this manner, and these were normally copied by hand by a professional copyist from the publishing house. Depending on the popularity of the work, only one or two copies of each of these parts would ever be produced.[1] Any choral society wishing to perform the work would purchase the printed vocal scores from which to rehearse, and hire the manuscript orchestral material from the publisher when ready to perform.
Composers’ autograph scores used in performances
For those of us accustomed to revering a manuscript as an almost sacred object, it is amazing to learn that the composer’s autograph was often included in these performance sets for the conductor to use. The RCM’s manuscript of Coleridge-Taylor’s Kubla Khan, op. 61, for example, includes a label from the publishers reminding borrowers not to mark, or even cut out sections(!) from this unique object. This was rarely enough to entirely discourage conductors from annotating the scores, and many such scores contain obvious markings from prior performances.
This system of producing performance sets worked well enough, and met the needs of publishers and performers. Long term, however, this approach could lead to lost parts (which could be re-copied) or, much worse, lost scores (which could not!). Famously, Coleridge-Taylor’s only opera, Thelma, op. 72, was believed to be lost until it was rediscovered in 2003.
Eventually, as technology changed to make the printing of scores and parts easier and cheaper (along with the emergence of a more conservation-minded approach to composers’ autograph manuscripts), these performance sets left the ownership of publishers and made their way into libraries.[2] While this represented an important step for the long-term preservation of these works, their reference-only status in their new homes effectively put an end to their availability for performance – a symbolic change in status from ‘music for performance’ to ‘music for study’. In many cases, only the scores survived, the parts being deemed a ‘duplication’ of the scores’ contents, unworthy of study from a historical standpoint (not being in the composer’s hand), and therefore an unnecessary use of precious space.
Performing Coleridge-Taylor’s music today
Today, therefore, it is remarkably difficult for an orchestra or choral society to lay their hands on performance material for some of Coleridge-Taylor’s most popular works – and this despite much of his music being out of copyright and, in theory, freely available for all to enjoy. Works such as Choral Ballads, op. 54, or Ulysses, op. 49, may perhaps never be performed again as originally conceived, the scores and parts having completely vanished.[3] Yet for most of his works, the survival of an autograph or copyist score offers hope that they can be revived. The absence of orchestral parts is problematic, but not insurmountable.
The upsurge in interest in Coleridge-Taylor's music in recent years has given rise to some heroic efforts at revival and some inspiring stories of success. Following the discovery of Thelma, this opera was performed for the first time in 2012; a published score is also available to purchase. More recently, Legend, op. 14, for violin and orchestra, was given a new lease of life in 2022 by Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra. The following year, working from autograph and copyist scores of The Atonement, op. 53, Bryan Ijames staged a production of this monumental work for Easter 2023.
It would be remiss to fail to mention the English Heritage Music Series, whose formidable efforts in the production of performance material from library manuscripts have rescued many works by Coleridge-Taylor and his contemporaries from obscurity. All their performance editions are freely published, royalty-free, for download on their website; and their all-Coleridge-Taylor programme of rescued works will be live-streamed on 3 August 2024.
Each of these projects represents a phenomenal effort on the part of their respective leaders. The editing of performance material from a manuscript orchestral score – especially when the handwriting is as difficult to decipher as Coleridge-Taylor’s! – is a large and daunting task. Yet each is a valuable contribution to the continuing effort to promote the music of this fascinating composer and serve as an encouragement to those inspired to do the same. Many more of Coleridge-Taylor’s works are yet to be revived, and those with the drive to do so will be richly rewarded by bringing to life these treasures from the past.
Jonathan Frank, Assistant Librarian, Royal College of Music
[1] Hiawatha’s Wedding Feast is a rare exception, being so popular that it was deemed worthwhile to engrave the wind and brass parts.
[2] See Jeremy Dibble, ‘The RCM Novello Library’, The Musical Times 124 (1983), 99-101.
[3] In many cases, excerpts from these works survive in arrangements for smaller ensembles, such as voice and piano.
24 June 2024
Min’yō: a cultural heritage of sweat, toil, and joy
The aftermath of World War II was a period of dramatic upheaval for Japan. What had been an empire nation was now struggling to rebuild amidst the ruins of two atomic bombs, under American occupation no less. An influx of Western culture alongside rapid industrialisation was the beginning of an irreversible transformation for Japanese society. For many, there was a pervasive sense of cultural loss, leading to large-scale efforts by the government to quickly preserve and maintain traditions on an institutional scale. On a musical level, ethnomusicologists, scholars, and musicians collected Japanese folk tales, texts, and songs with a new sense of urgency.
Among the collectors was Yoshiaki Machida, also known as Kashō Machida, a shamisen player and ethnomusicologist. Between 1944 and 1980, Machida edited a nine-volume anthology of transcriptions and song notations from different regions in partnership with Japan’s national broadcaster, NHK, which released a set of corresponding recordings. The anthology contains min’yō, which translates literally as ‘folk song’ in Japanese and encompasses a wide variety of traditional Japanese song with distinctive, region-dependent characteristics.
We have one out of the nine volumes in our collection, titled ‘Nihon min’yō taikan : Kyūshū hen hokubu’ which translates to: ‘A survey of Japanese folksong : Kyushu district’. Published in 1977 (Showa 52), the book contains regional folk songs from the island of Kyūshū in southern Japan, relating to an assortment of activities – mining, farming, and fishing, and even tea making; there are also lullabies, and songs relating to religious festivals. Housed in a card box covered in textured washi paper, the book features a painted illustration of traditional whalers on the front cover.
The book opens with a foreword written by Tomokazu Sakamoto, company president of NHK at the time. In it, Sakamoto thanks Machida for his editorial work on the book while paying tribute to his advanced age of 90 years old. Here is a translation of a passage from the foreword:
'We reflect on the past, when folk music continued to thrive in the working life of the population, alongside their daily lives. After the war, many jobs gradually began to mechanise and become more streamlined. Min’yō songs, the cultural heritage of our predecessors’ sweat, toil, and joy, gradually began to disappear. Therefore, it is our duty to preserve them as quickly as we can. Even though we call it ‘preservation’ using one word, this does not stop at merely keeping a record of the songs. If we do not understand the path of transmission of these songs, within their real context, it will be almost impossible to fulfil our goal.'
Although a lot of the folk music-related items we hold in our collection relate to British traditions, we also hold a rich variety of music books from around the world, which wouldn’t otherwise be accessible in the UK. Thanks to a generous donation, ‘Nihon min’yō taikan’ is one such item.
Gail Tasker, Music Cataloguer
Excerpt translated by Lucy Tasker
Further reading:
Groemer, Gerald. 'The Rise of 'Japanese Music.'' The World of Music, vol. 46, no. 2, 2004, pp. 9–33. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/41699564. Accessed 18 June 2024.
06 March 2024
Harriet Cohen and Astra Desmond: introducing two newly catalogued archives
Within Music Collections, we have an ongoing 18-month project to catalogue several archives of 20th-century women musicians. The project is part of the Library’s ‘Unlocking Hidden Collections’ initiative, which aims to make available selected Library collections that for various reasons, including cataloguing backlogs and metadata issues, remain undiscoverable and ‘hidden’ to users. The initiative places particular emphasis on materials relating to demographics which are underrepresented within the Library’s special collections.
The subjects of the two archives discussed below – pianist Harriet Cohen and contralto Astra Desmond – were near-contemporaries and had interlinked musical networks. Both were keen internationalists involved in various strands of British cultural diplomacy over several decades. Both were also esteemed for their intellect and partook in scholarly projects – for instance, they each contributed chapters to a 1943 book about Dvořák, on his piano music and vocal music respectively.[1] Their archives are quite different in scope and type, but both provide unusual and striking insights into the mechanisms of musical life in Britain across the first half of the 20th century.
MS Mus. 1917: Harriet Cohen Papers (Part II)
Harriet Cohen (1895-1967) was a concert pianist active from the late 1910s to the 1950s. She is best remembered today for her recordings and transcriptions of Bach; her promotion of new music, especially by British, Spanish, and Soviet composers; her 40-year love affair with Arnold Bax; and her fundraising and activism on behalf of Jewish and Zionist causes. Cohen was a prolific writer and lecturer on music, producing two books titled Music’s handmaid and A bundle of time alongside countless articles and opinion pieces for books and magazines.[2]
Cohen’s archive has a convoluted history. She died suddenly in November 1967, at the age of 71, and in her will bequeathed four trunks of letters and papers to the British Museum. The trunks contained some 1,900 letters between Cohen and Bax, along with letters from other ‘close men friends’ (as she called them) and prominent musical figures, and material formerly owned by Bax. It’s clear that Cohen considered these letters and papers to be of significant music-historical importance, and – once her stipulated 30-year embargo on the materials elapsed – that she wished for them to be viewed by musicologists. This first Cohen collection has been fully catalogued for many years now at MS Mus. 1626-1677. Cohen’s will also included donations of material elsewhere: her substantial art collection was given to the Royal Academy of Music, while individual music manuscripts in her possession (by Bax and others) were distributed to various universities and libraries. It is fair to say, therefore, that she carefully curated her own archival legacy and managed its destinations.
Not mentioned specifically in the will, however, were Cohen’s own personal and professional papers, which had clearly been useful while writing her memoir, and which it appears were in the process of being sorted at the time of her death. These papers went first to Cohen’s literary executor, and were eventually donated to the British Library by his widow in 2008, 40 years after the first Cohen bequest. This later archive has recently been arranged and catalogued as MS Mus. 1917: Harriet Cohen Papers (Part II).
One series of files contains a loosely chronological paper trail of her concert activity, with invitations, fee negotiations, contracts, travel itineraries, expenses receipts, draft running orders, and sometimes concert programmes. Another series contains her writings, lectures, and broadcasts on all sorts of topics: matters of musical interpretation and practical pianism; recollections of her work with composers such as Bax, Elgar, and Sibelius; lectures and debates on political and social issues. There’s a lot of correspondence – professional, personal, and political – with evidence of very patchy attempts by Cohen or an associate to order the hundreds of letters chronologically, alphabetically, or (slightly chaotically) by profession of correspondent; the final cataloguing order embraces these half-sequences, in order to preserve prior curatorial processes.
Cohen’s papers present an unusually full account of a performer’s efforts to advocate for herself and her career. While in-demand as a soloist, recitalist, and recording artist in the interwar years and during the second world war, Cohen’s engagements and opportunities decreased significantly after 1945, especially in the aftermath of life-changing illnesses and injuries. Letters show that Cohen would frequently ask conductors, programmers, and producers directly for engagements, or ask musical friends to pull strings on her behalf; copies of these outbound letters are found together with generally negative replies – some kind and explanatory, some short and blunt. Cohen believed she was discriminated against as a woman (especially as she grew older), and as a Jewish person who openly advocated for Jewish causes, which is very probably true in both cases. At the same time, Cohen was a complex and sometimes difficult character. Her proprietorial tendency comes across in letters to young Bax enthusiasts, where she refuses them permission to play works which she considered ‘hers’, and in remonstrations to conductors and organisations in cases where other soloists had been invited to perform ‘my Vaughan Williams’ or ‘my Elgar’ – with the possessive pronoun often underlined. Cohen’s mastery of the strongly worded letter was not limited to musical contexts: the archive includes an elaborate explanatory missive following a court summons for a driving infraction, and a letter to the Wine and Food Society threatening resignation as a member unless it addressed the prevalent sexist treatment of lone female diners in restaurants.
We may speculate that Cohen would not have wanted all of this preserved for posterity – especially when encountering occasional papers marked ‘Rubbish’ and ‘Discard’. Considering the Library’s two Cohen collections side by side inevitably leads to reflections upon the original bequest’s carefully curated presentation of an artist’s life and work – which ultimately revolved around her relationships with the creative men in her life[3] – and the much fuller, unfiltered and messy snapshot of the same life and work found in Part II. In the latter, the breadth and depth of Cohen’s own contributions to, and struggles within, the musical and political life of the 20th century shine through (alongside her Fortnum and Mason bills, cruise ship quiz certificates, and cat photos).
MS Mus. 1952: Astra Desmond Papers
The papers of contralto Astra Desmond (1893-1973) arrived at the Library in 2022, along with a set of test pressings donated to the Sound Archive. Between the late 1910s and early 1950s, Desmond maintained a busy schedule as a recitalist and soloist for oratorio and concert performances (with occasional appearances on the operatic stage too). She was perhaps best known in her time for the Angel role in Elgar’s Dream of Gerontius – which she performed widely with the composer at the podium – and she appeared in the first performances of Vaughan Williams’s Five Tudor Portraits and Serenade to Music. Desmond made frequent broadcasts for the BBC when the corporation was brand new, and as its music programmes developed she contributed a wide variety of recitals, talks, and reviews.
The collection reflects the full range of Desmond’s professional activity. There’s an extensive chronological run of concert programmes, which documents Desmond’s evolving recital repertoire and relationships with conductors, pianists, organisations, and venues. Files containing lists of repertoire and plans for recitals demonstrate both her thoughtful artistic programming and her consideration of audience demographics. There are papers relating to her roles as vocal professor at the Royal Academy of Music (1947-1963) and her adjudication notes for major vocal competitions.
Among the most important and unusual material in the Desmond collection relates to her work as a translator. Desmond had a good command of 12 European languages, and strongly preferred to sing art song in its original language while also recognising the importance of English ‘singing translations’ for the dissemination and appreciation of foreign-language songs in the UK. She learned Swedish and Norwegian in order to promote little-known songs by Grieg, Sibelius, and Kilpinen in the UK, and went on to write important early studies of the songs of Grieg and Sibelius; she published ‘singing translations’ of Grieg, Brahms, and Dvořák songs, and, when singing in original languages, printed her translations in concert programmes wherever possible. Newspaper reviews of her performances by critics around Europe applaud her linguistic prowess and excellent pronunciation. Topics of song, language and translation were hotly debated among British critics throughout Desmond’s performing years, and this material offers an invaluable insight into this aspect of song performance history.[4] What’s more, as the difficult, complex and imaginative work of translators still so often falls by the wayside in discussions of creativity (musical and otherwise), it is unusual and exciting to have a substantial archival resource of this kind.
The correspondence series in the Desmond collection is quite small, but includes a couple of alphabetically-arranged files of letters from important musicians – including one short letter from Harriet Cohen, addressed to ‘Gwen’ (Desmond’s real name was Gwendoline Neame).[5] In turn, there is one short note from Desmond to Cohen preserved in the Cohen collection, relating to the Society of Women Musicians, of which Desmond was president in the mid 1950s, and for which both gave concerts and/or talks. Beyond this, paper traces of their many, illustrious mutual friends and colleagues point to the wider social networks behind so much of British musical life in the early and mid 20th century.
References
[1] Gerald Abraham, ed., Antonin Dvorak: His Achievement (London: Drummond, 1943).
[2] Music’s handmaid (London: Faber, 1936); A bundle of time: The memoirs of Harriet Cohen (London: Faber, 1969).
[3] Helen Fry’s biography of Cohen is titled Music and Men: The Life and Loves of Harriet Cohen (Stroud: The History Press, 2008). A reader may instinctively critique such a title in line with wider problematic tropes of understanding the lives of creative women through their relationships with creative men, of which there are no shortage of examples; however, this should be contextualised with the knowledge that Cohen’s own self-perception was to a great extent bound up in similar tropes, which she embraced – for instance, she would often speak proudly of her ‘life’s work’ being bound up with Bax’s compositions.
[4] For context on the politics of singing language and translation during the interwar period, see Laura Tunbridge, Singing in the Age of Anxiety: Lieder Performances in New York and London between the World Wars (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2018), especially Chapter 2, ‘Singing translations’.
[5] At some point, Desmond also modified this spelling to ‘Gwendolyn’. It is unclear from the papers exactly when she took on the professional name of Astra Desmond, but it was in use by the time of her official recital debut at Steinway Hall on 9 February 1916.
Frankie Perry, Music Manuscripts and Archives Cataloguer
29 January 2024
Celebrating Women Musicians, past and present
To mark International Women’s Day 2024 we are holding a study day on women musicians on Friday 8 March in the British Library Pigott Theatre.
The study day will feature a series of presentations and discussions by expert musicologists, performers, composers, and British Library curators, on various aspects of the lives and music of women musicians, ranging from the 18th century until today. This will include case studies on specific composers and performers; more general talks on their achievements, challenges and barriers they faced in their careers; as well as aspects of acquiring, curating, and researching women musicians’ archives at the British Library.
Programme details and information on how to book a free ticket can be found at: https://thebritishlibraryculturalevents.seetickets.com/event/celebrating-women-musicians-past-and-present/british-library/2915297
26 January 2024
Restoring access to the British Library’s Music Collections (January 2024)
Following the recent cyber-attack on the British Library, the Library has now implemented an interim service which will enable existing Registered Readers to access most of our printed music, music manuscripts, and paper-based archival collections relating to music. This service will be expanded further in the coming weeks so please see the British Library's temporary website for the most up to date information.
We understand how frustrating this recent period has been for everyone wishing to access our printed music, and music manuscripts and archives, and we would like to thank you for your patience. We are continuing to work to restore our services, and you can read more about these activities on our Knowledge Matters blog.
The Using the Library page on our temporary website provides general information on current Library services, and advice for those without an existing Reader Pass. Please read on for information about the availability of specific music collections.
Printed music
You can now search for printed music using a searchable online version of our main catalogue of books and other printed material. Online and advance ordering is unavailable, so Registered Readers will need to collect a paper order form from staff in the Rare Books & Music Reading Room and fill in the required details. Please write the shelfmark exactly as it appears in the online catalogue.
Printed music with shelfmarks that start with the following letters should be available: a-i, A-H, Hirsch, I, N, P, R.M.5-R.M.17., RPS, Tyson. Unfortunately we cannot guarantee availability, as an item may, for instance, be in use by another Reader. If you wish to gain greater assurance on the availability of a particular item before you visit us, please contact our Reference Services Team by emailing https://bl.libanswers.com/form?queue_id=2304
For other material, including printed music shelfmarks beginning K.,M., Mad. Soc., R.M.18.-R.M.27., VOC and INS we would also advise checking before you visit as some material is not yet available. The lending collection of modern printed scores held at our Boston Spa site is also currently unavailable.
Music manuscripts and music-related archival documents
Although the Library’s online catalogue of archives and manuscripts is not currently available, the Reference Services Team can assist with queries about these collections, checking paper catalogues and other sources. Please speak to the team in the Rare Books & Music Reading Room or email https://bl.libanswers.com/form?queue_id=2304
In addition, the following digitised copies of older catalogues give details of music manuscripts acquired before about 1900: Hughes-Hughes, Augustus, Catalogue of Manuscript Music in the British Museum, 3 vols (London: British Museum, 1906-1909).
- Vol I: Sacred vocal music
- Vol II: Secular vocal music
- Vol III: Instrumental music, treatises etc.
Most music manuscripts and archives can now be made available to existing Registered Readers, including restricted category material, although some material may need approval to see first. This includes manuscripts with the following prefixes:
- Soc. (Madrigal Society Loan Collection)
- Music Loan
- M. manuscripts
- RPS MS (RPS printed music is available, but not RPS manuscripts)
- Zweig MS
As well as some music manuscripts from the following collections: Add MS, Egerton, Royal Appendix, Royal, King’s, MS Mus. The Reference Services Team can advise on whether a particular item is likely to be available. Please speak to the team in the Rare Books & Music Reading Room or email https://bl.libanswers.com/form?queue_id=2304
To place a request to see a music manuscript or archival document relating to music, Registered Readers need to collect a paper order form from staff in the Rare Books & Music Reading Room and fill in the required details, including the shelfmark (manuscript number).
For restricted items, both printed and manuscript, readers are encouraged to contact Reference Services via LibAnswers who can advise about applying for access to this material category. Please note that applications can take up to 3 working days to process.
Microfilms
The Reference Services Team in the Rare Books & Music Reading Room has a full list of microfilms of printed and manuscript music.
Digital resources
You can search for most of our digitised printed music on Google Books.
Early Music Online contains images of 16th-century anthologies of printed music in the British Library.
We regret that our digitised music manuscripts and electronic research resources are not currently available.
We thank you, once again, for your patience as we continue to work to restore our services. Please do check this blog and the temporary British Library website for further updates.
Sandra Tuppen, Head of Music Collections
January 2024 (last updated 5 June 2024)
Music blog recent posts
- Highlights from the Royal Philharmonic Society Archive
- A Personal Peal at St. Paul’s
- Royal Musical Association Papers, 1874-1971
- Samuel Coleridge-Taylor and the practicalities of performance
- Min’yō: a cultural heritage of sweat, toil, and joy
- Harriet Cohen and Astra Desmond: introducing two newly catalogued archives
- Celebrating Women Musicians, past and present
- Restoring access to the British Library’s Music Collections (January 2024)
- Music for British Coronations
- Remembering Tim Neighbour
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