The Vivaldi Concerto: Raw and Refined
FLIPPING THROUGH AN ENORMOUS bin of classical music CDs several weeks ago, I came across an album that I just couldn’t pass up: a collection of concertos written by the composer ANTONIO VIVALDI (1678-1741) and recorded about fifteen years ago by the Spanish guitarist Sir Angel Romero with the orchestra of the Academy of St Martin in the Fields.
The growth of Vivaldi’s reputation in the centuries following his death is, if you don’t know, a rather interesting story because a great deal of his music remained “lost” until the 1920s. It was the musicologist Alberto Gentili, a veritable Indiana Jones in his field, who at that time hunted down the composer’s original manuscripts by the hundreds. Gentili was so successful in his quest that today, audiences can again enjoy nearly five hundred of Vivaldi’s concertos—not to mention his many contributions to other genres such as opera.
BEFORE WE HEAR even one note of music, the composer’s vast output should lead us to suspect that he wrote in a classical style. After all, the hallmark of a classical artistry in any medium is the artist’s steady repetition of work to the point of familiarity that allows craftsmanship to develop and creative ideas to strike. And indeed, the warmth and grace of Vivaldi’s music confirms our supposition.
In this historic 1979 footage from Symphony Hall in Boston, Angel Romero joins Arthur Fiedler and the Boston Pops for the final movement of the Concerto in D, RV 93:
Although Vivaldi regularly published his music throughout Europe, this does not seem to have spurred the competitive one-upmanship which can so readily generate maximalism. Here’s why: Vivaldi actually wrote the concertos not for the adoring masses but as part of his duties in managing the music program at a large orphanage in Venice called Pio Ospedale della Pietà, at which he worked for many years while serving as a Catholic priest. “Vivaldi’s official duties at the Pietà were the spur,” concludes Richard Taruskin in his Oxford History of Western Music, “that caused him to produce concertos in such fantastic abundance.”
While at the orphanage, Vivaldi is likely to have encountered a number of external CONSTRAINTS which influenced the classical development of his style. For example, the composer would regularly direct public concerts to raise funds for the orphans, a responsibility which perhaps provided a measure of periodicity to guide his output. With no time to dawdle or to second-guess his work, Vivaldi developed his style with the mastery that is gained through repeated experience. Furthermore, one local virtuoso or another would often join the orphans on stage, and what better genre with which to highlight the two levels of talent than a concerto for soloist and orchestra? In other words, the concerto served a functional purpose as well. As Charles de Brosses reported from Venice in 1739:
He is an old man, who has a prodigious fury for composition. I heard him undertake to compose a concerto, with all the parts, with greater dispatch than a copyist can copy it.
Sir Angel Romero is not only a world-famous guitarist and conductor but a painter as well.
WHAT STRIKES ME about my newly-purchased CD, however, is that none of the concertos which Mr. Romero plays so well was originally intended to be performed on the classical guitar. Some of them Vivaldi composed for the lute or the mandolin, in which case the substitution of Romero’s more common stringed instrument hardly seems a surprise. Yet the composer intended others on the CD to be played by solo violin or flute.
When Romero performs them on his guitar, the concertos nonetheless all sound superb. There is something sturdy and material about Vivaldi’s style that bears such translation. A similar property is often observed in the style of his German contemporary, Johann Sebastian Bach. If you can recall the Swingle Singers, who brought Bach into the jazz age, then you have an even better idea of what I mean. (In fact, my father gave me a vintage LP of the Singers several years ago!) Both composers developed and refined a style in which a “raw” contrapuntal structure provides a fundamental support for the music no matter what the interpretation might be.
My next article will take a closer look at some classic works of literature in which I have observed a similar phenomenon. Until then, I look forward to your comments.
Another very interesting post! I enjoyed listening to the Romero and Swingle Singers videos.
Before doing my research for this article, I hadn’t known that Vivaldi spent much of his career working at an orphanage. Making art for a charitable cause seems like an excellent way to replace the self-conscious pressures of maximalism with the unassuming repetition that’s needed to attract true creativity.
Can anyone think of other artists who have flourished in this way?
Robert Wyland, painter of the life-sized whale murals, comes to mind (www.wyland.com). With more and more of his popular murals appearing in cities around the globe, the environmentally-conscious Wyland has refined his style while raising money for a charitable foundation that funds ocean-friendly educational initiatives.
I really like your idea of making art for a charitable cause. In fact, students at Brandeis organized projects like that last year. One could even say that designing fliers for such a project or corresponding event is an art with external constraints. Fliers need to be a certain size and contain particular information, but how they are designed is up to the artist — here is that balance between creativity and maximalism that you seem to profess.
In response to your question, I do not know of any artists offhand who use charity as a means of inspiration, but I looked it up and found at least one artist who has turned her love of art into helping children with AIDS/HIV in Ethiopia. Of course anyone can take a hobby and twist it to help a cause, but not everyone does and I applaud those who do. It sadly not always human instinct to help others, but it is always beneficial when people do help. Piece by piece we can repair the world…even through art.
Thanks for the reply. Your observation regarding how external constraints surround the making of fliers and posters seems to be right on the money!
Making art for a cause is undoubtedly a noble undertaking, but you will see in my response to Marcia that I’m somewhat more cold-hearted when it comes to identifying the reasons why such behavior can improve one’s artistry. Then again, when I think of the good that Avatar or Harry Potter has inspired (like this, for instance), it suggests that all good art can motivate us to improve the wider world.
Both Vivaldi and Wyland repeated their process often and created masterpieces, but didn’t Vivaldi have to compose for the orphanage in order to put food on his table, whereas Wyland chooses to paint to support causes because he can afford to do so? I’m trying to think of others, but most artists seem to do charitable events only once in a while.
I appreciate your response, Marcia. You’ve raised a good point.
Vivaldi was a priest who worked in an orphanage, so it would be a comfort to think that at some level he was acting from the goodness of his heart. But on the face of it, you’re right: composing was a part of his job. In contrast, artists such as Wyland and Charles Dickens (who I discuss here) set their own constraints, both making art for a cause thanks to their own personal initiative—while also putting food on the table, I’m sure.
Whether or not Vivaldi was “in it for the money,” the purpose of his position at the orphanage provided a clear functional constraint. Specifically, the composer’s compensation depended not so much on the lasting popularity of his work as on the fact that he regularly composed music that would make the orphans’ fundraising concerts a success. I agree, then, that Vivaldi may not necessarily have been as charitable a fellow as Wyland is, but his style was nonetheless guided by a functional constraint relating to charity rather than (more commonly) entertainment or religion.
I like the Vivaldi article and music. I wonder if the gentle rhythm heard here may be the basis of many of the variations in the concertos he wrote for children.
Hi, Margaret. It’s true that in many classical styles, certain artistic elements seem to run through much of an artist’s work. These kinds of similarities don’t make us complain, “I’ve already heard this sort of thing!” Instead we might happily observe, “Why, this sounds like another Vivaldi!”
Thanks for commenting,
It amazes me that Vivaldi was both a servant of God and a great composer of music. His gift of being able to compose concertos at rapid speed, as Charles de Brosses reported from Venice in 1739, could have taken this man to fame and wealth in high society circles. Instead Vivaldi remained as a priest with his sole mission in life, to raise funds for the children of the orphanage, and to allow different local virtuoso’s to gain exposure and recognition too. This was indeed coming from a very charitable soul. Yes, because of the constraints of his work for composing concertos for virtuosos and to raising funds for the orphanage, and the repetition of the style of his concertos, to meet the demands of vigorous fundraising events for the orphanage, did indeed help him to develop his craftsmanship and make his work renowned for generations to come. In spite of his talent though, he still remained faithful to his calling and to helping the children of the orphanage. A Catholic priest takes a vow of poverty, but on the other hand, he was composing concertos for the sole purpose to raise money, even though he did not profit from the monetary gains himself, but gave his earnings to the orphanage. I would like to believe that he shared his remarkable gifts freely to help other children and local artists of the time, without any consideration or thought to leaving the priesthood and capitalizing on his immense talent for his own gain. This is a very interesting article of how three talented men from different time periods, Vivaldi, the musicologist Alberto Gentili and Sir Angel Romero, became a common thread that lead to us and generations to come, to be able to listen and to enjoy the beautiful concertos of the 17th and early 18th centuries, composed by the gifted composer Vivaldi. I enjoyed this article very much. Well done!
Thanks for your insightful comments, Bette. I agree with everything you say, so I am sorry to tell you that Vivaldi’s life didn’t come to quite so happy an end. After many years’ work at the orphanage, it seems that the composer did eventually consider “leaving the priesthood and capitalizing on his immense talent for his own gain.” After being censured for unpriestly conduct in in 1737, he moved from Venice to Vienna, where he died penniless after his attempt to establish a new professional career was unsuccessful. A sad, maximalist conclusion to an outstanding career.
Thank you for your reply to my comment. I should have researched on my own, before commenting on Vivaldi’s dedicated spirit to the orphanage. I was caught up with this composer and could keenly visualize him composing concertos with the sole purpose of aiding the orphanage. A true servant of God, but alas, his fame and greed did get the best of him. A very sad, but unfortunately a more realistic ending to this man’s life. I had been in awe how this humble man of little means, could create such concertos and not try to profit from them. It now makes sense as to how his compositons remained lost for so many years. They were probably of little value at the time of his demise. A very sad ending to his life, but as you stated a very good example of how maximalism can destroy the original quality of one’s work and spirit. Thank you for telling me the ending of his life’s story, as disappointing as it was to hear, it is good to know the true facts.