History of music

A brief history of tempo

in

We all wrestle with the concept of tempo from time to time. Does a given piece of music need to be fast or slow? Are we capturing the speed and character the composer had in mind when they wrote it? Where did the markings we see on our music come from and how should be interpret them?

What is tempo?

Fundamentally, tempo is the speed at which music is played. Every piece of music has an internal pulse holding it together – think of it like your own heartbeat. Sometimes a slow pulse is best (your resting heart rate while you’re sitting still, relaxing); at other times a quick pulse creates a sense of drive and excitement (just as your heart rate rises when you become more active).

So how do we know which speed of pulse is appropriate for any piece of music? Some composers are very explicit in their instructions, but often you need a little knowledge of musical history or be willing to do some detective work. Notation has changed a lot over the centuries, so an appropriate speed for the music of one period will be completely unsuited to repertoire from a different era.

Let’s take a look at how tempo has been notated through history and consider what this means for our own playing.

The Renaissance 

Introducing the Tactus

Without time signatures and barlines, the earliest forms of music used a different  type of pulse to that indicated by a modern conductor. The rhythmic focus in Renaissance music was called the tactus - a unit of time indicated by the raising and lowering of the hand (to help the musicians keep good ensemble) and music began with a mensuration sign. This indicated how the tactus would be split, be it into two or three subdivisions. This tactus may have generally been close to the resting heart rate (a speed of which all humans have an awareness) perhaps 60 - 70 beats per minute, but historic sources aren’t consistent on this subject. Each tactus indicated the main beat (often a semibreve) which would be divided into either two or three minims, depending on the mensuration sign.

This is why much renaissance music is written in minim beats. To our modern eyes it often looks slower than other music, but to Renaissance eyes the type of notation helped indicate the tempo. As music became more complex the number of note values expanded to include smaller notes (our crotchets and quavers) to allow for faster music, but the tactus fundamentally remained the same. If you’re interested in learning more about the tactus and how it was used this video explains it very well:

So where does this leave us when we have to select a tempo for Renaissance music? The historic sources we can refer to are conflicting, so it often comes down to common sense and our own musicality. Here are some tips to help you:

Context

Look at the music and observe the types of note values it contains. Is it mostly semibreves and minims? If so, a semibreve pulse may be appropriate. On the other hand, if the music breaks down into smaller note values (crotchets and quavers) perhaps a minim pulse would be better. 

Some music editors (particularly in older editions) try to be ‘helpful’ by halving the note values, turning minims into crotchets and so forth. For musicians who aren’t used to feeling a minim pulse this may be helpful, but the downside is the entire piece looks faster. Where once you had quavers you now have semiquavers. To inexperienced musicians that can look scarily fast, causing then to choose a pulse which is too slow to compensate. I know many musicians find counting in minim beats tricky, but it’s a skill you should persevere with learning because it opens up a vast array of music to you. Of course, if you ever choose to play from facsimiles of Renaissance publications reading minim (or even semibreve) beats is a must.

Below we have the same Byrd Fantasia in two different editions, The first uses Byrd’s own note values, while the second halves the note values to try and make it easier to read. Of course, this process also makes the music look quicker!

Vocal music

Do consider the text in the music you’re playing. Is it a cheery madrigal which demands a lively approach? Or perhaps it’s a melancholic love song where a slower tactus might be more appropriate? If you don’t speak the language used in the lyrics, set aside some time to Google the composer and title of the piece and find out what it’s all about. 

Dance music

Here we have more clues to work with - the type of dance. A Pavan is a stately dance (although not necessarily very slow), while the Galliard is livelier, requiring the dancers to hop and leap in the air. I’m planning a future blog post looking at the different dance styles, but in the meantime the internet can once again be your friend. Most dances have a page on Wikipedia where you can learn more about the style and typical dance steps. This knowledge should inform your choice of tempo.

Switching between duple and triple time

Renaissance music often shifts between two and three time, but how do you know what to do with the tactus when this happens? 

Look at many modern editions of Renaissance repertoire and you’ll often see a marking suggesting the length of the triple time bars should be equal to half a bar of the preceding time signature. This often creates a satisfying mathematical connection between the sections. If you refer back to treatises from the period you’ll find some recommend exactly this approach, while others advise making the whole bar length equal in both duple and triple time. One would hope there might be a clear notational way of showing which is correct in any given piece, but you’d be disappointed! This is one area where there was no notational consistency so my advice would be to try both and see which feels right to you. Sometimes the pragmatic approach is best…

Gabrieli Canzon Primi Toni, with an editorial suggestion regarding tempo relations at bar 44.

The Baroque

By the time we reach the Baroque period composers began adopting time signatures and bar lines consistently (there is inevitably an overlap with both being used around 1600), so the notation looks more familiar to our twenty first century eyes.

Use of language

Another new development was the use of language to indicate the tempo. Italian is the most common choice, but composers of other nationalities sometimes used their own language. It’s worth remembering that the Italian musical terms we’re familiar with today didn’t necessarily have the same meaning in the 17th and 18th centuries. For instance, in Romantic music Vivace is often interpreted as very fast, but for Baroque music it tends to imply a lively tempo - somewhere between quick and slow. 

The concept of a unifying pulse hadn’t entirely disappeared and the term Tempo ordinario (often used by Handel) may well relate to a human’s normal walking pace. Other words used to describe tempo are intended to direct us to a speed relative to this consistent tactus, be it faster or slower.

Italian is not the only way…

Italian may have been the most common language for tempo indications, but it wasn’t universal. Many French composers used their own language and some of their terms are more expressive than their Italian counterparts - for instance Doucement (sweetly) and Gracieusement (graciously - as in the example by Hotteterre below).

Henry Purcell used Italian words in many of his works, but sometimes he used straightforward English words like Brisk and Slow, leaving the musician to figure out just how fast or slow that should be. In many of his Fantasias you’ll also find the word Drag written in places where he wishes to slow the tempo.

The influence of a time signature

Another way Baroque composers indicated the speed of a piece was through their choice of time signature. Explore the recorder sonatas of Telemann, for instance, and you’ll see that slow music is more likely to have a time signature where the lower number is a 2 - indicating a slow minim pulse. In contrast, music with a time signature where the lower number is 8 is generally played quickly. He uses both in his Recorder Sonata in C in exactly this way.

Telemann Sonata in C, 3rd movement

Telemann Sonata in C, 4th movement

Dance music

Dance forms were just as popular as during the Renaissance, although the dance types inevitably evolved over time. Here again, a little knowledge about the dance types should inform your understanding of the appropriate tempo, but bear in mind the composer may not have actually expected anyone to actually dance to the music if it appears as part of a sonata or concerto.

I saw a practical example of this many years ago at a competitive music festival where one of the set pieces was a Sonata in A minor by Schickhardt. The second movement is marked Allemanda and most of the competitors chose to play it at a swift tempo. This gave the music a breathless feel and many of the youngsters struggled with the semiquaver passagework. To illustrate a more appropriate tempo the adjudicator, Evelyn Nallen, got everyone on their feet and had us all dancing an Allemande together. The dance steps fall on the quavers beats so when we related this back to the Sonata, the music suddenly felt much more poised and playable. I think everyone there that day learnt an important lesson! 

Schickhardt Sonata in A minor, 2nd movement

Harmonic tempo

In Baroque music one of the most important musical elements is the bassline. So much of the period’s music is led by the harmony, so if you only look at your own part you risk missing out on some crucial musical clues.  

Take this Telemann Recorder Sonata, for instance, whose Cantabile marking suggests a singing style more than a tempo. Many players, when reading just the solo line, will select a very slow tempo, feeling a quaver beat, to make the faster notes easier. Now check the bassline and what do you notice? The majority of the harmonic movement falls in crotchet beats. Feeling a quaver beat means each bass note is very slow and it becomes almost impossible to retain a sense of pulse and movement in the continuo line. Instead, choosing a slow crotchet pulse (perhaps 54 beats per minute) allows the bassline to flow more easily, while the faster moving recorder part can still sing without being manically busy. 

Telemann Sonata in C, 1st movement

This is just one example, but you’d be wise to consider all the musical elements before selecting your tempo. Harmonic tempo is a tool composers use in different ways to influence our understanding of the music. As we learnt when we explored the subject of hemiolas, these were often used as a means of speeding up the rate of harmonic change to flag up the ends of phrases. If you missed it, you’ll find that blog post here.

The Classical and Romantic

Beyond the Baroque, the recorder lost popularity and was largely ignored as a musical instrument until the early years of the 20th century. However, it’s worth taking a look at music of this period as it directly influences tempo markings in today’s repertoire.

Beethoven Symphony No.9

Perhaps the biggest development was the invention of the metronome by Johann Maelzel in 1815. This allowed composers complete clarity in their speed markings. One of the earliest adopters as Ludwig van Beethoven, whose first use of a metronome speed came in 1815 in his Cantata Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage, Op.112. Beethoven’s fast tempi have inspired much debate over the years as to whether a disagreement between him and Maelzel resulted in the metronome’s inventor providing him with a faulty one. However, we also know from Beethoven’s own correspondence that he regularly had his metronome calibrated so it’s like he really did intend his fast speeds. 

If you’re intending to play a piece which has a metronome mark I would treat that as something to aim for, but don’t be disheartened if the indicated speed is beyond you at first. If you have to opt for a more cautious speed initially and work up to it that’s absolutely fine. A musical performance which gets close to the composer’s metronome speed is always preferable to a scrappy, panic stricken interpretation which adheres slavishly to the marked tempo! 

One trap I often see students falling into is when they look at the tempo markings which appear on many metronomes. For instance, yours might suggest that a marking of Allegro should be played somewhere between 120 and 168 beats per minute. Do remember the correct speed can vary enormously and the best pulse will depend on the type of rhythms and the notation. In my experience I’ve almost always found the markings on my metronome to be distinctly unhelpful and bearing no relation to the music I’m attempting to play, so I generally ignore them and follow my musical instincts instead! 

Expressive use of language

Of course a metronome mark is only one part of the equation when it comes to showing a composer’s musical intentions. Speed is one thing, but as Romantic music became ever more expressive it was often necessary to give further information. Composers often augment their tempo words with additional terms to add a greater sense of expression. One of my favourites is Brahm’s instruction in his second Clarinet Sonata which marks the first movement as Allegro amabile - lively and friendly!

Brahms Clarinet Sonata Op.120 No.2

Some composers take these additional markings to extremes. In his 9th Symphony Gustav Mahler marks the second movement as Im Tempo eines gemächlichen Ländlers, etwas täppisch und sehr derb. If your German is as minimal as mine and you’re wondering what on earth that means, he intended it to be played as a slowish folkdance (like a Ländler), with some awkwardness and much vulgarity! 

Tempo today

That brings us to music from the 20th and 21st centuries where, one could argue, we have the best of all worlds. With metronome marks and the ability to translate any language easily with modern technology, composers can typeset their music with ultimate clarity. 

Paired with all the other possible expression marks (dynamics, phrasing, articulation etc) it’s easy to wonder how much autonomy we actually have as performers when composers specify so much detail. Should we ever deviate from those markings in the process of creating our own performance? Don’t forget we still have control over many aspects of our music making, including how flexible we are with the tempo - those little nuances of rubato which are unique to each of us. And some composers are still remarkably flexible about their creations. One composer I’ve worked with many times is very practical with her music and is often open to tweaks which might lead to a more fluid performance. 

A composer’s prerogative to change their mind

Of course, composers can sometimes change their minds about what they’ve written. One example of this can be found in Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No.2. As well as being a composer, Rachmaninov was a superb performer and conductor and recorded this piece twice with Leopold Stokowski and the Philadelphia Orchestra in 1924 and 1929. In his own performances you’ll find subtle changes to the tempi, notably accelerandi, which aren’t notated in the score. He also chose to shape the second musical theme in a way which isn’t shown in the score.

You could argue these are spontaneous and unimportant changes, especially as there was no way for recordings to be edited at the time. However, Rachmaninov also worked on the piece with Willem Mengelberg and the Concertgebouw Orchestra over a decade earlier and the conductor’s impeccably annotated scores concur with these changes.

These recordings are a fascinating glimpse into the mind of Rachmaninov the composer and performer and at least show us that no piece of music can be a rigid and unchanging entity. If only we had the chance to time travel in the same way and find out how composer/performers of earlier periods interpreted their own music!

So where does this leave us when we have to make our own decisions about the music we play? Ultimately I think we have to be practical and pragmatic. Yes, we should observe any instructions left by the composer, and if there are none we must be willing to find out what was expected via historical sources and online resources. Sometimes though decisions have to be made which allow us to create a musical performance. 

There will be times when our own technical limitations stop us following a composer’s intentions to the letter. Does that mean we shouldn’t attempt to play that piece of music? I would argue absolutely not! The majority of musicians in the world are hobbyists, playing for their own enjoyment. Holding back from even trying a piece of music potentially deprives us of the opportunity to explore new music. Sometimes you need to have a go, even if that means playing the music slower or faster than the composer intended, knowing you’ll gain something from the experience, regardless of whether we’re ultimately capable of honing the notes to performance standard. Yes, do research the piece so you know what you should be doing, and then throw caution to the wind and enjoy the moment as a true amateur - someone who plays for the sheer love of music!

The Bassanos - a dynasty of recorder makers, players and composers

in

We take it for granted that we can learn more about performers, composers and instrument makers today - almost anything we could wish to know can be found via the internet. Go back 150 years and even then the most famous performers often became well known beyond their home countries, thanks to newspapers and the advent of recording techniques. But once you look back further things become hazier. International travel was less common and musicians’ fame tended to be more localised, with a few notable exceptions.

In the early 16th century an Italian family of musicians made their mark in England and much of what we know about them is because they were employed by one of our most notorious monarchs - King Henry VIII. It’s difficult to imagine the impact the Bassano family must have had on musical life in the English court, but their influence continued for nearly two centuries. No fewer than seventeen members of the Bassano family worked in the English court as musicians during the 16th and 17th centuries and even today their descendants continue working in the performing arts.

Let’s start by looking back to where it all began, in Italy….

In 1502 Jeronimo Piva and his son Jacob were employed by the council of Bassano, a town around forty miles from Venice, to maintain the town’s organs, with the perk that they didn’t have to pay tax on this income. Jeronimo was already making instruments and has been credited with the invention of the pifaro, probably a type of curtal - the bassoon’s ancestor. His instruments were highly thought of and the Bassano maker’s mark was one which indicated an instrument of high quality. It’s believed that Jeronimo was the first in his family to follow this route, but it remains a mystery as to where he learnt his skills.

The Bassano family, © Victoria and Albert Museum, London

Building the family name and the move to England

Jeronimo had six sons who were musicians and instrument makers. Four of the brothers visited England in 1531 and an entry in Henry VIII’s Privy Purse Expenses records a payment to the Bassano brothers who had played in his sackbut consort.

After a return to Italy five of the brothers finally emigrated to England and in 1540 Henry VIII granted places to “Alvixus, John, Anthony, Jasper and Baptista de Basani, brothers in the science or art of music”. It wasn’t unusual for musicians to incorporate the place they lived into their name and the Bassano name certainly became a useful trademark for them over the centuries.

It’s possible that Henry VIII’s sixth and final wife, Catherine Parr, may have had an indirect influence in bringing the family to the court. Her brother William, Lord Parr, was passionate about music and had enough influence in court to bring the Bassanos to England. When his sister married the King in 1543 she became their patron. Following the King’s death Catherine subsequently lived with her second husband near the Bassanos in Charterhouse Square.

One of the ways Henry tempted the Bassanos to return to a England was by offering appealing accommodation. They lived in the former monks’ quarters in the now dissolved Charterhouse monastery, rent free. This would have been an attractive place to live, with its own clean water supply, sewage system, laundry and brewery. Charterhouse was located just to the north west of the City so the brothers wouldn’t have had to endure the cramped and unsanitary conditions which existed within the City walls. Each brother was allocated a cell as their personal living space and Alvise converted another of the buildings for his working space to make instruments.

The location of Charterhouse in relation to the City.

The Bassanos remained at Charterhouse until 1552, when Sir Edward North took ownership of the old priory and wished to convert it to a suitably imposing mansion. After harassment from North they finally moved to new living quarters in Mark Lane, near the Tower of London. amid London’s Italian community.

Instrument makers to the King

One of the Bassanos’ main roles in England was as instrument makers. Their creations were much prized and they sold widely beyond England.

‘Instruments so beautiful and good that they are suited for dignitaries and other potentates.’ - Johann Jakob Fugger, artistic advisor and superintendent of music at the Bavarian Court.

An inventory of music at the Bavarian court from 1571 lists no fewer than 45 wind instruments with the Bassano mark, including 10 cornetti, 12 crumhorns and 9 recorders. Their instruments are also documented elsewhere in Europe, including Brussels, Paris, Leipzig, Nuremberg, Rome, Vienna and Salamanca. One of their instruments was even recovered from the wreck of the Mary Rose, which sank in 1545. Charterhouse Square was home to the French and Spanish ambassadors and other members of the Tudor elite at this time so they no doubt had a ready market for instruments of such quality beyond the royal court.

Examples of the marks which appear on the Bassano’s instruments

Research by recorder maker Friedrich von Huene in 1974 revealed that the Bassanos’ mark, similar to the shape of a rabbit’s foot, survives today on a huge number of instruments - specifically, 48 cornetti, 6 crumhorns, 8 curtals, 7 flutes, 45 recorders and 7 shawms

When Henry VIII died in 1547 an inventory was made of his musical instruments, which included cornetti, crumhorns, dulceuses, fifes, flutes, recorders, shawms and a tabor pipe, at least some of which would have been made by the Bassanos. The inventory mentions a collection of some 76 recorders. The only ones to be specifically named are four basses and a great bass, but it would be logical to assume they were made in consorts. Pitch wasn’t standardised at the time so having matched consorts would allow Henry to invite others to join him to play. Perhaps he kept a consort of instruments at each of his Royal palaces to avoid the need to transport them around?

Ultimately the Bassanos became some of the most important European instrument makers in the 16th and 17th centuries - quite an achievement from Jeronimo’s early steps in Venice. In England the golden era for the family’s instrument making appears to rest with the first generation, as only Arthur and Anthony II from the 2nd and 3rd generations respectively are known to have made instruments. 

The court recorder consort

One of the jobs Henry VIII granted the Bassano brothers in 1540 was the foundation of a court recorder consort. This was an ensemble of six players, five of whom were members of the Bassano family. It existed continuously from then until around 1630, after which the players were absorbed into the general group of wind players.

Although the recorder consort would have formed much of their work, the Bassanos almost certainly played all of the instruments they made too - cornett, crumnhorn, flute, lute, recorders, shawm, viol and sackbut. They may have been primarily employed as recorder players but they were likely to have been called upon to deputise for others from time to time as well. 

During his reign, Henry VIII greatly expanded the range of court music, with consorts of cornetti, sackbuts, viols and violins, as well as the recorders. He was a keen recorder player himself and it’s known that between 1542 and 1545 a case of walnut recorders was signed out for the King’s personal use. 

No doubt Henry already had people at court who could play the recorder, but he leapt at the chance to form a consort who specialised on the instrument and the Bassanos were unique in being described as ‘musicians’, as opposed to other less senior employees who were classed as minstrels, flutes or viols. 

The consort continued to flourish beyond the reign of Henry VIII. No fewer than seven recorder players received liveries for the funeral of Queen Elizabeth I in 1603, five of them from later generations of the Bassano family. There’s little written evidence of exactly what the consort’s duties were, but no doubt there were many calls upon them. They may have been required to provide music for the monarch’s entertainment, as well as a presence at major events such as royal weddings or the arrival of foreign dignitaries.

Life as a court musician

Pay for musicians in the Royal court was very varied. The London Waits were paid just £11 a year, but in comparison the Bassanos were handsomely rewarded because of their special skills as both players and instrument makers. Alvise is recorded as having been paid £50 a year, although wages were often paid late. By 1635 King Charles I was six months in arrears paying his musicians!

During Henry VIII’s reign musicians also received clothes or material (known as a livery) from the Great Wardrobe. The King’s Great Wardrobe, near Blackfriars in the City of London, housed the royal stores and ceremonial robes. The building was destroyed in the great fire of 1666, but a nearby church, St Andrew’s by the Wardrobe, is a reminder to this day of its existence.

By the reign of Elizebeth I practices had changed and musicians instead received money in lieu of livery, with an allowance of sixteen pounds, two shillings and sixpence paid per annum. Extra allowances were offered to cover the cost of the clothes needed for monarchs’ coronations and funerals. In 1547, for the funeral of Henry VIII, Alvise, John, Anthony, Jasper and Baptista received a suitable regal combination of seven yards of damask crimson, two yards of velvet crimson and five years of satin crimson cloth. One can only imagine how splendid they must have looked in such riches! 

One final task for some members of the Bassano family was that of composing. No doubt many of them wrote music but today fewer than twenty pieces survive from the 16th century, composed by Augustine and Jeronimo.

Later generations of the Bassanos

The Bassano family continued along dual paths, with some family members continuing to work in Venice. The English branch of the family certainly flourished and seven members of the first generation also served in the court recorder consort. Other descendants continued to serve in the sackbut, flute and viol consorts until 1665.

Beyond 1665 the Bassanos may no longer have worked as court musicians, but their musical activities and interests continued to the present day. Christopher and Richard Bassano (great gandsons of Anthony II) both sang as Vicars Choral at Lichfield Cathedral in the 18th century and Christopher’s Six Select Anthems were published in 1770. Louisa Bassano sang in the first performance of Mendelssohn’s oratorio Elijah in 1846. Then early in the 20th century George Henry Bassano, great-great nephew of Richard owned a factory in Derby manufacturing wind up gramophones which he called Bassanophones.

Moving on to the modern day, the artistic connections continue. One branch of the family by marriage (the Laniers) emigrated to Virginia in the 1650s and their family tree includes both Tennessee Williams and Quincy Jones! Here in England, Peter Bassano, a descendant of Anthony (one of the first generation of brothers who moved here in 1540) is a musician too. He was a trombonist with the Philharmonia Orchestra for 27 years and more recently has worked as a conductor with both modern and historical performance groups.

The musical genes in this notable family are evidently strong and let’s hope they continue to be part of British musical life for many years a to come!

Pitch Perfect - the journey to musical consensus

in

Pitch can be a nebulous concept, even in music, where you might imagine it would need the strongest of foundations. Today we take it for granted that the A an oboist plays for an orchestra to tune up is a definitive, fixed pitch, but it wasn’t always so. And where does that leave us as recorder players, when we habitually play music from many centuries? Today I’m going to talk about the concept of pitch and how it relates to your musical work in a practical way.

A brief history of pitch

Let’s begin with the basics – how pitch is measured. With an oscilloscope it’s easy to see that sound (musical or otherwise) is made up of different shaped waves. The shape of the sound waves from a recorder are fairly smooth and simple, thanks to our instrument’s pure tone. In comparison, an instrument like the clarinet produces a much more jagged shape when played into an oscilloscope. The speed of these waves is measured in Hertz (Hz), with the number referring to the number of times the waves occur per second. As pitch rises, the number of vibrations per second increases. For instance, the lowest note played by a contrabassoon (a B flat three octaves and one note below middle C) sounds at just 29Hz, while the A given by an orchestral oboist is 440Hz. When it comes to defining the pitch of any instrument it’s the frequency of the A above middle C (the one the oboist gives) which is used – for instance A440 has been the standard pitch for many decades.

Standardisation of pitch

While we’re used to the idea of a universal pitch today, this is a relatively recent concept. Centuries ago, when musicians didn’t travel very far, the ‘standard’ pitch in any village or town tended to be that played by the church organ. Such instruments cannot be easily retuned, so any other musician just had to conform to whatever pitch it was tuned to!

Six months after the death of King Henry VIII an inventory was made of his possessions, revealing that he owned no fewer than 76 recorders. He was reputedly an able musician but even Henry VIII couldn’t play more than one recorder at a time. But having a set of instruments made at the same pitch meant he could play with musicians who lived elsewhere. There was no guarantee the instruments of a musician living even just a few miles from the Royal palace would be at the same pitch, so having a set of matching recorders would solve this problem.

As musicians travelled more, the need for a standardised pitch became more urgent, although it took several centuries before pitch became consistent around the globe. I always compare this process to the introduction of railway time. In the 18th century each town would set its time according to the local sundial - this meant that time varied according to the location within the country. With the advent of long distance travel it became necessary to standardise time, so railway timetables could be devised and run accurately. Musical pitch had to ultimately follow a similar process so musicians from different places could play together at the same pitch.

Geographical variations

In 1711 the tuning fork was invented by trumpeter John Shore. Many historic tuning forks still remain today and these pieces of metal give us a fascinating glimpse into geographical variations of pitch.

In 1880 Alexander Ellis wrote an essay about the history of musical pitch for the Society of Arts in London. In it he talks about dozens of tuning forks from all over the world, from one made by Shore in 1715 pitched at A419.9  to another owned by Steinway and Sons in New York from 1879 which reached the dizzying heights of A457.2. Added to this there were different trends in pitch within individual countries - for instance the fashion in Rome was for a lower pitch, while musicians in Venice preferred a higher pitch. If you’re interested in the historic tuning forks still in existence today I can recommend this article.

Pitch inflation

One thing is clear from this data – the overall trajectory for pitch was an upwards one. In the Baroque period pitch was often limited by string instruments because gut strings on violins, violas and cellos could only be tensioned so far before they snapped. More modern technologies (metal strings on violins and metal frames on pianos for instance) allowed greater tension and therefore higher pitches. Of course, singers were rarely in favour of this trend as the rise in pitch made their high notes harder to sing!

The problem of pitch inflation wasn’t a new one though. It’s now known that pitch was somewhat higher in the Renaissance (as high as A466). In his publication, Syntagma musicum Michael Praetorius reported at the start of the 17th century that pitch levels had become so high that singers were experiencing severe throat strain and lutenists and viol players were complaining of snapped strings.

By the time we reach the Baroque period, pitch had dropped again, tending to be in the region of A420, rising to the 430s and higher during the 19th century.

Finding a ‘standard’ pitch

It wasn’t until the 19th century that a concerted effort was made to bring some consistency in pitch. In 1859 the French government passed a law setting pitch at A435 and this became a popular standard beyond France too. It was confirmed as a standard throughout Italy, Austria, Hungary, Russia, Prussia, Saxony, Sweden and Württemberg during a conference in Vienna in 1885. However, it was not until the Treaty of Versailles in 1919, that it was adopted even more widely. It’s curious that a treaty intended to formally mark the end of World War I should cover the subject of musical pitch, but, sure enough, Section 2, Article 282 lists the agreement from Vienna in 1885 as one of the items binding Germany and the Allied Powers.

Of course this wasn’t the end of the matter… By 1926 A440 has been informally adopted by the music industry and the subject was once again discussed at a conference under the auspices of the International Standards Association (held at the BBC’s Broadcasting House) in 1939. Finally, in 1955, A440 was confirmed by the International Organisation for Standardisation as an official standard (known to this day as ISO 16), with further confirmation in 1973 and 2017.

Pitch standards today

You thought you’d heard the last of pitch inflation, hadn’t you? Well, think again!

Today many symphony orchestras play at a slightly higher pitch – A 442. This fractionally higher pitch adds a little more brightness to the sound, although I suspect many audience members would find it difficult to hear the exact difference in pitch if asked to compare notes. Ultimately of course, the overall pitch of an orchestra still depends on the A given by the oboist.

Where does this leave us as recorder players?

For orchestral musicians the concept of playing at significantly different pitches is an alien one – A440 (or 442) is a one size fits all pitch. But as recorder players we regularly explore repertoire from a vast array of musical periods. Does this mean we need recorders at different pitches? Yes…. and no!

Pitch standards for early music

With the advent of the Early Music revival in the 1960s there was a greater emphasis on playing music in a historically informed way; getting as close as possible to what composers might have expected to hear in their lifetime. With massed produced instruments there needed to be an agreed pitch so a number of different pitches became the norm:

  • A415 – so called ‘Baroque pitch’. This is the pitch at which most professional Baroque ensembles play today. This particular pitch is a convenient one as it’s a whole semitone below A440, about which I’ll talk more in a moment.

  • A392 – French pitch. There was a fashion in France for a pitch which was lower still in the 18th century, so sometimes performers of this music will adopt this pitch – about a tone lower than A440.

  • A430 – Classical pitch – used in historically informed performances to play repertoire from the period associated with Mozart and Beethoven – albeit not a common habitat for recorder players.

  • A466 – Renaissance pitch - sometimes offered by makers of consorts of Renaissance recorders to reflect the higher pitch used during that period.

Of course, most recorder players stick with A440. After all, if you have an international standard it makes sense to use it as that allows you to play was lots of different people. More recorders (like orchestral instruments) are being made to a standard of A442 today. Fortunately this isn’t too big a problem as the difference of 2Hz is small. Those with A442 instruments can easily pull out their recorder’s headjoint a little to play in tune with those at A440.

A415 - a pitch of convenience

I mentioned earlier that A415 was a pitch chosen largely because it’s a semitone lower than concert pitch. This is handy because it allows for the use of instruments capable of playing at more than one pitch. Harpsichords are often made with a built in transposing mechanism, where a block is pulled out at one end of the keys. This allows the entire keyboard mechanism to be slid up or down so the plectra connect one string higher or lower. This conveniently shifts the pitch up or down a semitone, although this only works when the instrument is tuned to equal temperament, where all the semitones are equal in size. This isn’t the case for other historical tuning temperaments, but that’s a subject to be explored another day! Recorders can also be made to play at more than one pitch, by the use of a corps de rechange. More about this useful device shortly…

Why try Baroque pitch?

If you’ve never explored recorders at Baroque pitch (A415) you may be wondering what the practical difference is. The simple answer, as we’ve already learnt, is a semitone. I’ve heard it argued that you could achieve the same effect by just transposing the music a semitone lower – assuming this didn’t result in notes which then extend below the bottom note of your instrument. On a theoretical basis this is correct, but in practice you wouldn’t achieve the same tonal effect.

To play the Handel Sonata shown below a semitone lower would give you a key signature of four sharps – a much less comfortable proposition than Handel’s F major. So many sharps (plus additional ones as the music modulates into other keys) result in lots of cross or forked fingerings on the recorder. Because of the way the instrument works these are intrinsically less stable in tone – for instance, compare low G and G sharp on your treble recorder. Tuning also becomes more of a challenge and the result will sound rather different. Aside from any tonal differences, there’s also the simple fact that the finger patterns for such extreme keys are simply harder to play, especially at speed. A recorder made to play at A415 is a much better solution!

Here are the first few bars of Handel’s Sonata in F and a recording of me playing them on my A440 treble.

The music sounds perfectly lovely, but now take a listen to the same snippet played at A415. What do you notice?

Can you hear how much creamier and sonorous things become at A415? The timbre of the sound is affected as well as the pitch and it’s amazing the difference just a semitone can make.

With larger instruments the difference is even more apparent. It’s common practice to ‘borrow’ Baroque flute music and play it on the treble recorder a minor third higher, but it’s even more delectable played at Baroque pitch on a voice flute (a tenor in D), as you can hear here.

It's not just classically trained musicians who understand this fact. Jimi Hendrix made use of this contrast in some of his music, choosing to play certain songs with his instruments tuned a semitone lower. As well as making the higher notes easier to reach for singers, guitars have a deeper, heavier sound when tuned this way because their strings are under less tension. Have a listen to Little Wing – one of the songs he chose to play at a lower pitch.

Taking the plunge into Baroque pitch

Once upon a time if you wanted to try playing at A415 that meant buying an expensive new recorder – usually a treble to begin with. In the grand scheme of things relatively few recorders are made at Baroque pitch so historically they were only made in wood. Likewise, only serious students tend to want to make this leap so almost all low pitch instruments fall into the upper end of the price range.

Another option is to buy a recorder with a corps de rechange. This is an instrument with two middle joints – one shorter for playing at A440, and a second longer one for A415. If you regularly find yourself swapping between pitches (maybe you play in both low pitch and concert pitch ensembles) this can be a budget friendly route. I bought such a recorder many years ago when I invested in my voice flute (the one you heard earlier in the Telemann Fantasia), with an additional centre joint to give me the option of an A440 tenor recorder. This was a useful compromise and allowed me to get two recorders for only slightly more than the price of one.

Baroque pitch on a budget

Happily the recorder market has moved on, and cheaper options exist for those who think they’d like to play at A415. Zen-on now offer a plastic A415 treble recorder, based upon their excellent A440 Bressan model. At the current price of £125 it’s a pricey plastic recorder (although comparable to the cost of a plastic tenor or bass) but it would make a good stepping stone to a wooden instrument. I’ve recently tried one of these instruments and very much enjoyed the experience. It has a lovely, warm tone, which is even throughout its range and the tuning is excellent. Overall it’s a great budget choice and would make an excellent practice instrument for when your wooden recorders need a rest.

Another option are the resin recorders made by French recorder maker Vincent Bernolin. These are designed as copies of original instruments by Thomas Stanesby and feature the refined voicing you’d expect from a handmade wooden recorder. They currently cost €395 for a descant and €495 for a treble, available at both A415 and 440. I haven’t been able to try one yet but Sarah Jeffery was impressed with the quality and tone when she reviewed them on her Team Recorder YouTube channel. You can watch her review here:

When I first considered buying an A415 recorder the wooden instruments available all tended to be high end, expensive models. That’s still mostly true today, but Mollenhauer have expanded their Denner Line series of recorders to include an A415 treble recorder in pearwood, which is currently sold for around £375. Pear is a softwood, so may not have the ultimate quality or longevity of hardwoods such as boxwood, palisander or grenadilla. But if you prefer the sound and response of a wooden instrument it’s definitely worth considering if you’re on a budget. A boxwood model is also available for around £200 more.

Not ready to make the leap yet?

Playing at Baroque pitch won’t be for everyone. It may be that all your recorder playing friends only have A440 instruments and you feel you won’t get good use out of such an investment. Of course, there’s nothing to stop you playing solo repertoire at A415 on your own, but I appreciate one of the joys of recorder playing is being able to make music with others.

Even if you feel this isn’t for you I would encourage you to at least try an A415 instrument if you have the opportunity. Maybe you attend a recorder course where a retailer comes along with instruments to try? Or perhaps you live within reach of the Early Music Shop, or a similar shop? If you have the opportunity, do go along and have a tootle on a low pitch instrument – I guarantee you’ll experience that ‘wow’ moment as you realise what a difference that semitone makes!

If nothing else, I hope this exploration of pitch has opened your eyes to possibilities beyond concert pitch and perhaps given you a few interesting facts you can amaze your friends with. If you already have a Baroque pitch recorder why not leave a comment below and share what led you to take the leap – it may help others who are sitting on the fence.

To finish I’ll leave you with a pair of recordings so you can appreciate the different soundworlds of modern and Baroque pitch. I’ve chosen Handel’s wonderful Sonata in C, played by Michala Petri (A440) and Erik Bosgraaf (A415). They’re very different interpretations, recorded nearly three decades apart, but a fascinating contrast - I’d love to hear which you enjoy most and why.