Incomplete And Utter History Of Classical Music

TIME OUT 1749

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ou'll have to go with me on this one. If you were to buy a copy of Time Out in 1749, what do you think you'd be able to read when you opened it? Well, chances are, you wouldn't. Be able to read, I mean. But just presuming you were literate, what then? Well, there might be a double-page interview with Henry Fielding, who has a new book to plug, Tom Jones, and rather saucy it is too. There might be a review of the travelling theatre company that has brought over the latest offering from the Italian comic playwright, Goldoni, called The Liar. Great tide, don't you think? There might even be a piece on the recent retrospective of the painter, Canaletto, who is currendy enjoying a near ten-year-long stay in England; or possibly a Groundforce-style garden makeover, with the hot prospect on the flora and fauna front, Capability Brown. Er, no doubt, with pictures by Gainsborough.

Somewhere on the letters page there's probably a 'What will they think of next?' piece, talking about Pereire's new thing, sign language for the deaf. In the news columns, there's a small 'Where are they now?' feature on Bonnie Prince Charlie, and littie paragraphs on Philip, the No 5 shirt for Spain, who has been sent off and replaced by Ferdinand in the No 6 shirt. There might even be a Hello-style 'The Holy Roman Emperor, Francis I, invites us to spend some peaceful time with him at Aix-la-Chapelle'.

Musically, though, Time Out ofT749 should be reporting that we really are on the brink. To paraphrase Bob Dylan, ye times, they are y-changin'. Or whatever. Just as in architecture, where the finicky, twiddly bits of the rococo and baroque stuff have had their day, well, so, in music, the finicky, twiddly bits of the baroque with all its counterpoint stuff- that's out any minute, too. In architecture, by way of replacement, they got neo-classicism, inspired by things like Stuart and Revett's Classical Antiquities of Athens, and all that sort of stuff. In music, they got… well, more or less the same. Only, as it hadn't actually happened before - or at least, not on paper - they simply called it classical. Or at least, they would call it classical. It hasn't happened yet. But it soon will.

People will start to pare music down, to strip away Bach's counterpoints and fugues, and so on, to rely less and less on the more academic and mamematical side of music, only to push things on in other ways. But, as I say, it hasn't happened yet. It's only 1749 and baroque has gone to extra time. It's got a good… let's see, twelve months left on the clock. It's playing itself out with Domenico Scarlatti in Spain, Rameau in France and Handel more or less all over the place. In fact, to be honest, when Bach stops, so will baroque. Seems fair really. But, till the hooter goes, Handel just keeps on turn- ing out the hits.

Indeed, the Queen now arriving at Platform 1 is the 1749 from Sheba, calling at Cairo and Addis Ababa. Actually, that reminds me of a scene from the bible of classical music, Fry's Classical Lives, subtitled An Eye-witness's Diary of the Classical Period as it Happened. Allow me to quote a substantial but important passage. As I was leaving the courtyard, I couldn't help but notice a tall, dark-haired gentleman, rushing to catch the Classical coach

'I say wait on,' he cried, but to no avail. The coachman was by now muffled against the potentially treacherous weather and, in any case, had gathered up such a head of speed on the courtyard's rain-soaked cobbles that he fair shot past him like a bullet, spraying his cloak as he went.

'Dash,' scowled the stranger, then, realising I was in earshot, Tm sorry'

I nodded my head, all the better not to retrieve my hands from their now cosy southerly home in my pockets. He stepped towards me.

'Excuse me, fine sir,' he said, 'which coach was that I have missed?'

I frowned slightly betraying my imminent bad news.

"That was the 1750 - Classical Period. Er, change at Slough.' 'Dash,' he said again. And again, 'Sorry.' He paused. 'And the next one?' I looked at my pocket watch.

'The next? Not until 1820… or thereabouts. That s the Romantic Period.' At this, the tall stranger looked crestfallen. 'Seventy years? Seventy years till the next one?'

As sure as I was of my facts, I proffered some last hope. Xet me just check,' I said, fruitlessly 'Yes, the 1820, Romantic There is something leaving at 1800, but that's if you've paid in advance Yo\x haven't paid in advance, have you?' His gaze fell to his galoshea 'Er, no. No, I haven't.'

'Then your best bet is the 1820. Come, let me buy you a hot whisky and bitters. Y»u can let your troubles float off in the vapours!' It was all the comfort I could offer.

'Thank you/ said the would-be traveller, and we both transferred inside. Lovely moment, isn't it? A real-life, eye-witness account of one man's missing the start of the Classical period. Touching, if a little surreal. Could someone bring me a blanket for my legs?

…DON'T FIX IT o. It's classical, Jim, but not as we know it. Well, not really. Not yet, anyway. And why not? Well, mainly because not enough people knew it was classical yet, just in the same way they didn't lcnow it was baroque until it came up and bit them in the head. The '1750, start of the Classical period' nonsense is exactly that. Nonsense. It's a very convenient and very general label put on things to show that, from roughly around this time, the first pieces of what we now recognize as classical music began to be written.

But still, we are now 'officially' classical. The period from which all classical music gets its name. And why? Why did this one period from around 1750 to 1820 or so give its name to ALL this type of music, from year dot to the present day? Baroque, romantic, even modern music… why do we call it all 'classical' music? The answer?

Haven't a clue. You'll have to read another book if you want to know the answer to that one/

Of course, it's early days, yet. And just like at the end of an exam, when the bell goes, very few people immediately just put their pens down. So, very few people just stopped writing baroque, just like that. Well, OK, Bach did, but that was more down to a personal request from the Grim Reaper than a change to classical. Most others carried ? May I suggest Why We Call All Classical Music Classical, Including Baroque, Romantic and Even Some Modern, by Stephen Fry, price Ј40, discounts for orders over 30. If I get enough orders, I way even write the book. on a bit, writing baroque, until the teacher physically wrested the pen from their hands. Metaphorically speaking, of course. A couple, however, were beginning to show many of the hallmarks of the classical period, particularly CPE Bach. Also, many of the younger lot, the new guys just graduating straight into the classical era, found it natural, of course, to write nothing else. And there was one Bavarian who was quick to see the point of this new 'classical thing' - what the marketing men today would call 'an early adopter'. And what's more, not only was he about to write his best work EVER, but, more to the point, he also had a mildly amusing middle name. FAN-TASTIC! Step forward… Qhristoph Willibald von G^luck

Yes, I know. As Frankie Howerd would have said, 'Ooh-er, no, dear, don't titter. No… titter ye not!' Anyway, before we come to him, let me quickly set the scene for you. Imagine it's 1?©2. Yes, I know - doesn't tempus fugit, especially when you want to cover thirty-two years in the next ten pages. Still. Can't have everything, as it were.