Michael's Blog 2023
17 December 2023
After almost fifty years of involvement with harpsichords and early pianos I am rarely surprised. But the sound of this instrument, recently restored by Chris Nobbs, has delighted and surprised me. It is a privately owned grand piano by Merlin, made in London in 1786, as the inscription above the keys informs us. But we could have guessed the maker by its elegant, classical appearance and that distinctive pedal.
The surprise is that it sounds every bit as good as it looks. My expectations were low. Merlin ignores Backers' piano mechanism, that Stodart and Broadwood adopted and developed so successfully, but persists with his rather fiddly down-striking action, originally designed for his combination harpsichord-pianoforte instruments patented in 1774. Adjustment screws are provided for the escapement, but it is potentially very troublesome. And as expected, Merlin's strings are more conservative than Broadwood's, that is to say thinner and less taught, tending towards the harpsichord in tension.
The good news is that it sounds very good indeed, as recorded recently by Timothy Roberts. A clean, sonorous tone immediately surprises the listener in Stephen Storace's music with which the CD begins. Part of its tonal success must be attributed to Merlin's decision to have four strings per note - one of them being a sub-octave [or 16 foot pitch]. It adds gravitas, but subtle enough to be unobtrusive. The clarity of the damping is also a plus.
Correction! 2 January 2024. The fourth string is in fact at unison pitch, NOT 16 foot.
The CD is available from orchardstreetmusic.uk [as it says] or more reliably search: orchardstreetmusic - EtsyUK
27 November 2023
Hearing the hymn Come down O love divine sung to Ralph Vaughan Williams' tune Down Ampney reminds me of a visit amost thirty years ago to examine a Clementi square piano, near the Cotswold village of that name where the composer once lived. Ampney is a peaceful rural settlement, accessed by a narrow lane, about six miles from Cirencester. The man who called me to ask for help was a Mr. Bollingbroke, and he lived in a country cottage, next to wide open fields of grass where his cat used to roam.
His piano was in a sad state. He had been playing it often, with pleasure, until the day his cat came home with a mouse – which it held in its jaws, bringing it into the house for the master's for approval – as cats do. The injured mouse was placed on the sitting room carpet, whereupon it made a rush to get away. And so the lucky creature scampered up the leg of the piano, dived under the dust cover and took refuge under the soundboard, where of course, neither the cat nor any human could get at it. Safe but hungry, the mouse could find no food, except the buckskin hammer covers. This was one of those rosewood veneered square pianos, dating from 1822 as I recall, with quite thick cream-yellow covers, untouched since it left the workshop. Sadly, when I lifted the lid many of them were chewed down to the bare wood. Not very nutritious, but what else is a mouse to do?
So, when I went home I took with me the complete keyboard and action. Oil-tanned elkskin is the nearest replacement material [from Friedrich Herzog in Germany] but it is not prepared for historic pianos, so it is necessary to compress and dessicate it, but the faded colour of 200 year-old Clementi hammers cannot be exactly matched. The moral? It you have a cat, keep the piano lid closed!
14 November 2023
This interesting 'square piano' appears to have its origins in Vienna, around 1825. I have seen several similar instruments, but usually much less ambitious. With a six-octave keyboard I can imagine that it was treated as a serious instrument by the original owner, and sold as such.
All the examples I have seen previously were classified as Nähtischclaviere, or ladies instruments, often having only three or four octaves. One example that came thorough my workshop twenty-five years ago was combined with a sewing box, which you may think suggests a whimsical idea, unlikely ever to be used as a credible musical instrument. But it had just the same arrangement of soundboard and strings, and an escapement mechanism very much like other Viennese pianos of the period.
However, you will look in vain for the dampers. There are none, in the conventional sense. Beyond the tuning pins you will see a diagonal wooden bar above the strings. This is what Hubert Henkel and other German experts refer to as a 'general damper'. That is, it suppresses the vibration of all the strings at once. A harp stop, or 'Harfenzug' I prefer to call it. My suggestion (somewhat conjectural as I haven't inspected the instrument in person) is that this piano should be played Pantalon style, applying the harp stop by a knee lever, to suppress discordant sounds as necessary. Or maybe, if the default position is 'ON' the instrument would be played with the harp-like sound as standard? A puzzle -- how ever you conjecture, but not a normal piano.
6 November 2023
One of Bach's preludes from the forty-eight was heard yesterday as I walked past Lower Mill. I don't know this music well enough to say which it was, and sad to say, I cannot be sure who was playing. But it was a pleasure to overhear this music on my Sunday walk, along a quiet back lane in Prestbury.
Some people would walk by – but I can't. I stand and listen. Sometimes I wonder if I am hearing the radio, but when the player stops, and repeats a phrase I know that it is real. The old mill was a productive building throughout the nineteenth century, converting corn from local farms to flour, ultimately put out of business by the immense, steam-powered flour mill in Tewkesbury. But Prestbury's ancient mill still stands. It was converted to a spacious dwelling house many years ago and the mill-race was diverted so that the crashing waterfall is no longer heard.
So, the music was heard. And, indeed, I had overheard this piano before, playing Chopin. Of course, I stopped to listen then as I did yesterday.
Some strange circumstances added to my pleasure in hearing Bach. I recall a surprising parallel experience, reported in the Journals of John Marsh — but if you know those journals you could be forgiven for missing it. John was eleven when he was outside playing with friends on a summer evening. The year was 1763, as we deduce from the narrative sequence that follows. But, as he reports, he was drawn away from his companions by the sound of music coming through the open parlour window of a neighbour's house. He advanced to the steps and stood with fixed attention, hearing Mary Wood, a girl of about twelve years old, playing on her spinet. What a transformative experience that was! He must have talked about it at home, because the result was that his elderly aunt, Anne Pratten, sent for her old spinet from Twickenham, and arranged for John's younger sister Mary to have lessons with the local organist, Richard Wafer. She made excellent progress. John was sent off to boarding school, but when he came home at Easter the first thing he wanted to ask about was Mary's music. He then describes in detail how delighted he was to hear his sister play, and how she soon surpassed everything that Miss Wood had achieved.
The rest is history, as they say. Mary Marsh went on to become a very accomplished musician, and John, when he was at last allowed to have lessons, played beside her on the violin. And it all began with that transformative moment when the sound of a spinet, played by Miss Wood, came to John on the summer air, and he responded by abandoning his boyish games to listen. You may still encounter John Marsh's compositions, on the radio, or in cathedral services.
What gives me an additional smile is another coincidence, for I am told that the player whose music I heard at Lower Mill is (or was) Miss Marsh – but her name is Caroline, not Mary.
28 October 2023
An interesting lot, at Key's Auctions in Norfolk last week, was this copy of Playing the HARPSICHORD, SPINNET or PIANOFORTE made easy – published about 1770 by Longman, Lukey & Co.
What many readers will find amusing (apart from its claim to make the task 'easy') is that it is actually an old publication brought up to date for fashionable people by providing a new engraving — with pitifully poor perspective — of a lady seated at what purports to be a square piano. The gentleman standing (as Prof Leppert would have you observe!) has set down his violin on a chair. In earlier versions of this frontispiece the lady was shown at a harpsichord, in which arrangement the perspective and attitude of the players made much more sense.
11 October 2023
When you pass through the gates at Parham Park in Sussex you sense that you are entering a remarkable Arcadian landscape, where deer roam in seemingly limitless acres of grassland in the beautiful South Downs. Woodlands and rolling hills enclose the scene. Beyond the entrance lodge a long drive winds downhill for more than half a mile before you see the Elizabethan mansion house and its long range of stables and estate offices. Here, I met estate manager David Wise who conducted me to the Long Gallery, where they have pictures and tapestries to admire. Here there is also an interesting spinet, in an alcove next to one of the windows - the centre one you see in the photo, whose blinds are usually closed to prevent bright sunlight fading the historic items on view.
This unique spinet has received very little attention since it was placed here in 1951. It was sold at Sotheby's auction rooms in May that year, and then restored by Leslie Ward for Arnold Dolmetsch in nearby Haslemere. What a surprise, then, to find that over 70 years later it was all functioning, and tolerably well in tune. There were no broken strings. Thanks to the precautions they take - keeping a linen cover over the instrument, and rarely if ever lifting the lid - I found very little debris on the soundboard. No one remembers any tuner coming to attend the spinet, so its excellent preservation and the survival of the tuning is a great credit to both the maker and to the Dolmetsch workshop. That's good to know, as I have so frequently lamented the way in which Dolmetsch made changes to ancient instruments, which are often difficult or impossible reverse. Under the soundboard of the pseudo-Ruckers harpsichord at Ham House, for example, John Barnes found numerous extra ribs inserted by Dolmetsch, stiffening the board, and changing its tonal character, but he was able to remove them. However, the Dolmetsch conversion of a unique Portuguese fortepiano to a harpsichord (with incongruous pedals) is beyond recovery.
In this spinet by Wilbrook I observe that the jacks are replacements [with double dampers and wire staples behind – probably from a historic harpsichord], and the tuning pins are self-evidently modern, inserted in newly bushed holes, but I am delighted to say that the influence of Wilbrook's master, Herman Tabel, is plainly detectable in several internal features that were not altered. It was also an unexpected pleasure to find that the plectra were of quill, so full marks to Leslie Ward for that. Wilbrook's design provides unusually long scaling in the bass, and a good tone from the treble also.
A copy of John Wilbrook's last will and testament is preserved at the National Archives, showing that he died in 1739, only a year after Jacob Kirckman gained possession of Tabel's workshop, so clearly this interesting spinet dates from the 1730s or earlier. Its pierced brass lid hinges and the red walnut lid are very similar to the work of Thomas Hitchcock in his earliest spinets, suggesting circa 1720.
28 September 2023
The first historic keyboard that I ever examined in detail was a spinet by Thomas Hitchcock at Packwood House [National Trust]. It dates from the 1720s or early 1730s, and has some intriguing signatures on the back of the nameboard, clearly written when this spinet was fairly new. My interpretation was that these were children of the family, who were meant to learn music using this instrument, probably before 1750. But there was an additional signature from a much later period, Henry Tull, with the date 1926. So it may have been he who fitted the now rusty modern strings, and modified the jacks to take leather plectra.
This wasn't the only time I encountered the work of Henry Tull, so I was curious, assuming that he may have lived and worked in London in the same era as Alec Hodsdon, in Lavenham, whose instruments appear from time to time. For this reason I was immediately interested when in conversation recently with Alastair Lawrence [John Broadwood & Sons] I learned that a descendant of Henry Tull, a grandson I think, now living in Devon, has a file of biographical information. 'Harry Tull' as he was known [though 'Henry' on his baptismal record, and on his instruments] made numerous clavichords, and other 'early keyboards', when such instruments were 'quaint', and even tried his hand at piano-making. It would be interesting to see the latter though I do not know the whereabouts of any.
The good news this week is that Peter Bavington has followed this up. Having visited the Rev. Tull, now retired, he collected plenty of biographical material and intends to write a article for publication. More news when I have it.
9 September 2023
The greatest surprise on seeing the Frederick Beck piano mentioned on 3 September is its remarkably original condition, almost untouched since 1778 (so far as I could see). And better still, and most unusual, the preservation of the lid without cracks or losses, in a flat, unbuckled plane. Many of the original strings (as I take them to be) are still inside. They're mostly broken or dislodged, so I cannot report any reliable data.
However, such pleasing originality provides an opportunity for determining several distinguishing features of Beck's work. One feature that others have also noticed is that the dampers, as on Pohlman's pianos, extend only to c3, the top five notes given extra brightness by this means. Beck's keys are much shorter than any contemporary London makers, the heads of naturals being only 36mm long. His hammers, by contrast, are very much longer than those of Zumpe or Beyer, or Pohlman. And most obviously, the cable or 'Barber's Pole' inlaid lines set within a rectangle composed of simpler yellow and black lines, makes for a distinctive appearance. This decorative scheme is also present in the square piano at Fenton House, Hampstead, falsely inscribed 'Johnannes Broadwood Londini fecit 1774' which David Hunt restored, causing him to suggest that this piano was originally made by Frederick Beck, but there are other features that make this unsafe, notably the unique type of pedal mechanism which is replicated in only one other extant piano, that being definitely the work of Christopher Ganer, 1775. So we need to look at the whole package of features when seeking to identify the maker, and in this case [the pseudo-Broadwood piano] the dimensions of the keys and hammers need to be taken into account. Beck's keyboards were made by someone using a notably small marking-out template, resulting in a surprisingly narrow octave span.
Few people notice that early period square pianos from London do not have a prop stick for the lid. This is not because it has been lost, but because Zumpe & Buntebart, Adam Beyer, and John Pohlman each provided a cord, attached to the underside of the lid and anchored to the inside right near the tuning pins. So it is interesting to see that this Beck piano, made in 1777-1778, exhibits a surprising departure from the norm, having what appears to be an original prop stick next to the handstop levers at the left.
These and many other factors are such helpful outcomes of the original condition – so rarely encountered in recent times. Note: someone appreciated this instrument and secured it for under £2000.
3 September 2023
When square pianos appear at auction in Cirencester I am prone to think (immediately) 'is this going to be another legacy of the life and work of Alan Legge?' Maybe it will be an instrument I've seen before? I am old enough to remember a time when Alan Legge had a retail shop in the town, in Dollar Street, if I'm not mistaken, which always had two or three smart-looking square pianos on display in playing order, sometimes a spinet as well, and a few long-case clocks quietly ticking away the hours. I have previously mentioned on this Blog how in his later years he was overcome by Parkinson's Disease, with his hands moving involuntarily. An upsetting sight – except that it didn't seem to me that his brain was impaired, and certainly when he played on a little clavichord that he had made himself he was for a few minutes free of his impediment, so that neither of us thought of it for a moment.
But he decided, rightly I think, that he had to close his shop, and cease trading. His son Christopher continued in the antiques trade as a restorer for some years, in Cirencester, and we met from time to time in Chorley's auction rooms at Prinknash Abbey. He was employed as an occasional porter, and a very knowledgable one. Departed from the scene, and remembered by few, yet Alan Legge's legacy continues, largely undetected, in the residue of historic instruments privately owned in the Cotswolds, mostly English square pianos.
So when the Frederick Beck piano [above] made an unheralded appearance in the catalogue for the Cotswold Auction Company I anticipated examining it in person, half expecting to see tell-tale signs of Alan Legge's restoration – close-covered-copper windings of the bass notes [usually on steel cores], and wedge-shaped damper pads cut from modern piano felt, for example. But, much to my surprise, the little Beck piano in Cirencester shows no signs of any twentieth-century interventions.
I am delighted to report that the elaborate scheme of inlaid decoration on the outside is very similar to the 'First Fleet Piano', restored by Lucy Coad, and mentioned on my recently constructed page on Beck. As mentioned there, some doubt was expressed concerning the date, as the script is possibly ambiguous: was it 1780, or 1786 as first thought? The concensus now is that it is the former, and therefore it was about eight years old when it arrived in Australia. That is important because within that timeframe the design of Beck's dampers underwent a significant change, and since none of the original dampers survived, it was important to know which type to copy for replacements – all of the Autralian piano's dampers being clumsy modern replacements.
Another outcome is that we can now be sure that Beck's elaborate inlays were not confined to superior quality pianos with cabriole legs [as in the Australian example, and that beautiful specimen known from the photo retained by Dr. Stabler]. Such inlay may also appear on pianos that were sold with only the very basic trestle stand, as seen under the piano in Cirencester. There will be more to report on this, so updates will be added later.
22 August 2023
Brian Robins' monumental project, transcribing the whole of John Marsh's Journals, must have taken a huge number of hours, and (I can imagine) many moments of doubt or despair. But fortunately he persisted, and these invaluable records are now available for us all to read. What impresses me all the more, is the prodigious number of footnotes, enabling readers to get immediate information on so many obscure people [quite an effort in itself].
Unhappily, when it comes to 'Mr. Wafer', the church organist at Gosport [circa 1761-70] who gave Mary Marsh her first lessons on 'an old Spinnet', our industrious editor has drawn a blank. He says simply: 'Little is known of Wafer', though he somehow discovered that Wafer moved to London circa1774 when he was appointed organist at Berwick Street Chapel, living then with his sister in Wells Street. Jenny Nex and Lance Whitehead threw up a little more from the fire insurnace records. He was Richard Wafer, lodging with his sister (Mary Berrow) in 1777 at 9 Great Pulteney Street, in the house occupied by Philip Schmidt, a piano maker, just a few doors along the street from John Broadwood.
John Marsh persistently cites his music teacher as 'little Wafer', which I interpret as implying he was diminiutive in height (like Franz Schubert?), but he had sufficient regard to go out of his way to visit Wafer whenever he went to London, and delighted to play violin duos with him (Mrs. Berrow no doubt providing the accompaniment). So, Richard Wafer must have been a very good teacher, starting Mary Marsh on such a good foundation as a keyboard player, and singer, but also lending John a violin when his father finally allowed him to take music lessons (aged 14). Wafer also taught their young brother Wiliam on violin. However, even Wafer had his less capable students. Mary Wood, whose spinet John first heard with such delight in the summer of 1763, through the open parlour window, was only ever a mechanical player, prone to lose the tempo of her pieces whenever a diffcult passage occurred.
The most telling moment in the Journal came in May 1768 when Captain Henry Marsh, having promised to buy a harpsichord for his daughter, instead came back from London with a piano by Zumpe. John Marsh writes: 'Mr Wafer seemed rather disappointed and not to like the exchange at all ... complaining of the extreme easiness of the touch'. I don't think he ever changed his opinion on this. I have a transcript of the will of Richard Wafer, written in December 1789. In this the only instrument specifically mentioned was his harpsichord, which he directs should be independently valued and offered to Mrs. Hulse of Portman Square. Unfortunately, by the time Wafer's will was proved in 1795 harpsichords had dropped in prestige to the point where sellers were glad to accept any offer. However, it is not sure that Mrs Hulse ever had need to consider this matter because Wafer previously directs in his will that all of his instruments and music books were to be offered first to Sir Joseph Andrews of Shaw [House] near Newbury. Incidentally, Mrs. Berrow (née Wafer), a very accomplished musician in her own right, is not mentioned in her brother's will, which suggests that she died before 1789. [Ancestry.com did not enable me to find her.]
Those who have read William Dale's book Tschudi, the Harpsichord Maker with close attention will recall that Dale owned a rather splendid harpsichord of five-and-a-half octaves by Shudi & Broadwood, dated 1770, which he reveals 'was rescued from a stable near Newbury in 1881'. This surely suggests that a century earlier it had been owned by Sir Joseph Andrews. Maybe it was the one previously treasured by Richard Wafer? However that may be, what I take from this convoluted saga is that musician and teacher Richard Wafer was of the same opinion as Thomas Green regarding the new-fangled pianofortes of Zumpe et al [see Blog for 7 August].
Footnote: William Dale's harpsichord of 1770 by Shudi & Broadwood was later bought by Major Benton Fletcher and now resides at Fenton House, Hampstead, National Trust, where it is maintained in good playing order.
7 August 2023
When Gillian Sheldrick discovered the Account Books of Thomas Green, and edited them for publication by the Hertfordshire Record Society, those of us who read the resulting book were delighted to have such a unique and valuable insight into musical activities in the eighteenth century. Detailed, and unfailingly legible, in Green's neat copper-plate handwriting, these accounts give us exact information on the instruments that he tuned in Hertfordshire, the names of the pupils he taught, and the precise day when he visited a small selection of local schools.
What is specially interesting to me is what he doesn't say.
To the delight of Charles Mould (whom Gillian asked for advice) Green very often names the makers of harpsichords owned by local families, and when he liked an instrument Green often makes approving comments. When he visited Revd. Neale, for example, he remarks that the harpsichord of '2 Unisons and Octave' by Kirckman was 'Good'. There were 23 other Kirckman harpsichords in his tuning visits. Burkat Shudi is also often mentioned. One of his, at the house of Mrs. Carter, is noteworthy as being marked 'No. 100' and dated 1740, making it one of the earliest examples reported at any time. Altogether, seventeen different harpsichord makers are cited, mostly of course from London. Green is similarly informative about many of the 'Spinnets' he encountered.
But when it comes to square pianos (as I assume they mostly were) Green disdained to identify any of the makers though it is clear from surviving examples that the information was always clearly inscribed above the keys. He tuned the first 'Forte Piano' for Lady Monson, on 27 June 1770, and another for Mrs Garnier on 17 August. Many more were tuned in the following years – at least 38 of them. Yet none is identified! Green continued teaching until 1786, but his records suggest that he never gave tuition to anyone wanting to play the newly fashionable pianoforte. Was he ultra conservative? It certainly looks like it. When he first encountered Lady Monson's piano he was fifty years old, a well established organist and harpsichord player, and a violinist too when the need arose. But pianos? Apparently he disliked them.
This demonstrates convincingly, I think, that not all musicians were enthusiastic about the new instruments. In 1783 and 1784 he bought books of sonatas by J. C. Bach for his pupil 'Miss Hadsley', but his approval of the music apparently did not extend to the instrument cited on the title page!
Gillian Sheldrick's book: The Accounts of Thomas Green [1992] is worth studying! ISBN 0 9510728-7-0
20 July 2023
Edgar Hunt's initiative in starting The Harpsichord Magazine in 1973 resulted in a great variety articles, many of which stimulated some lively discourse. In the very first issue Charles Mould alerted readers to the three Broadwood account books, acquired by the Bodleian Library, which have proved useful primary source documents ever since. The least-regarded of the three, a book started by Barbara Shudi, the wife of John Broadwood, is described by Mould as 'a delightful hotch-potch of domestic accounts, and business diary'. It begins with some grocery items, often with bizarre spellings, but there appears a list of thirteen lady's names on page 71, apparently sharing some fabric, with various sums of money, presumably their contribution to the cost. Third on the list is 'Mrs. Beck', as Mould remarks this is 'probably the wife of the piano maker Frederick Beck'.
What is interesting here is that it suggests that there was a close social interaction between the Shudi family, including harpsichord maker John Broadwood, long before he began making pianos himself, and one of the earliest square piano makers. Since it is in Barabara's hand this can be dated between 1770 and 1772, or perhaps early 1773. Hitherto, Beck has not been featured often on this website, but you can view my intended profile of him by clicking here.
4 July 2023
It is now almost thirty years since I presented a paper on 'The Twelve Apostles?', in Edinburgh, at a joint symposium of the Galpin Society and AMIS. In this I examined critically the pervasive myths surrounding the foundation of the piano industry in London, in the 1760s. By analysing the texts published by various authors I showed that these supposed 'authorities' had simply copied from one another, and that the doubtful story of a group migration of German-born craftsmen from Saxony to England has no contemporary support. It first appeared in a book by Edward Rimbault in 1860. And if that were not enough to discredit the myths, I also produced documentary evidence to demonstrate that Rimbault simply invented parts of this narrative, notably his fable that Zumpe, the originator of the trade in London, having amassed a large fortune, retired to his native Germany about 1784 - demonstrably untrue! Charles Mould, who was present at that conference in Edinburgh, was keen to see a selection of the papers published as a collection, which he undertook to edit and see through the press – but it didn't happen. After six years he notified me that his project was abandoned and that my paper would be published by the Early Keyboard Journal, in Chapel Hill, NC in 2000.
So, thirty years on it is very disheartening to see the essence of this discredited 'Twelve Apostles' mythology perpetuated, and enshrined in the 'go-to' reference source - Martha Clinkscale's database. Tom Winter, in the USA, has undertaken a gargantuan task in updating and transferring this project to the 'Clinkscale Online' source. The data on pianos is updated in this transfer, but if you consult the 'Makers' Biographies' on that website you will see that Clinkscale's superficial and erroneous statements persist. She was - I regret to say - ever prone to speculate; see for example her suggestion that London-based piano-maker Frederick Beck was the same person who opened a contemporary piano business on Rue St. Denis in Paris. (There's no evidence at all to support this!) Or, that [Frederick] Schoene, the maker who succeeded to Zumpe's business in London also operated a piano-making shop in Oslo. Again, no evidence is offered.
Clinkscale's biographical reports on all of these men begin 'born in Germany' — or with Zumpe 'born in Saxony'. So let's take one of them – 'Johannes Pohlman'.
POHLMANN , Johannes: 'One of the legendary 'Twelve Apostles', says Clinkscale in my 1993 copy of her book. Born in Germany [no date or place given]. Really? Where is the evidence for this? I remember in the 1980s my son Warwick diligently searched through archives in London, but he found no record that Pohlman the pianomaker applied for British citizenship – though there is such a record for Peter Pohlman, a watch and clock maker. Business wasn't good. After acquiring citizenship in the 1760s Peter Pohlman was declared bankrupt, and died only two years later. There's no doubt that Peter did migrate from Germany, but there is no demonstrable connection between him and piano maker 'Johannes'. Johannes? The man always signed himself 'John Pohlman'. [N.B. John Broadwood also signed his instruments 'Johannes'. Does that make him German?] Pohlmann? No. His surname is always given with one 'n'. [So too his wife and children.]
So here is an interesting discovery I am ready to share. John Pohlman must have been born around 1730. This can be determined from a statement on his marriage 'allegation' in 1769. Now, the National Archives, in Kew, have a copy of the last will and testament of Bernard Henry Pohlman, written in 1728, in which he makes bequests to his two daughters [Margaret and Frances] and a son [not named for some strange reason]. The will was 'proved' in 1735, so this presumably was the year of Bernard Pohlman's death. So, a review: here we have a Pohlman, with one n, living and working in London in the period when our piano maker was born. But there is more: Bernard Henry Pohlman gives his trade or profession as 'Frame Maker', so he was a woodworker. AND, let us note, he lived and worked in the parish of Saint Giles-in-the-Fields, precisely where John Pohlman the piano maker lived and died. More information: Bernard Pohlman was very prosperous, for a tradesman, for he owned the lease of five dwelling houses, and specifies their locations. Three of them were located in Bow Street — so not trivial.
Now, I haven't the time or the patience to travel to London again to sit and study the archival documents, so I cannot confirm whether Bernard Pohlman had a son named John. But what we can infer already is that assigning John Pohlman a German origin, based as it is solely on the conjectural addition of an extra letter to his surname, and a worthless story in Rimbault, is a presumption not based on any documentary source so far reported. If we are going to speculate (not that I approve) why not propose that John Pohlman, the piano maker, was the son of Bernard Pohlman, the frame maker? [Note, added 10 July. Margaret Debenham reading the above, took an interest in this matter and reports that she has found the baptism of a son of Bernard and Frances Pohlman -- the boy's name is the same as his father. This is presumably the child whose name was not given in the will.]
Perhaps it is necessary to make this clear: my purpose is NOT to claim John Pohlman as a Briton, but only to show that highly speculative biographies are still being perpetuated on the Clinkscale website. We do not know where Pohlman was born.
And, incidentally, contrary to Clinkscale's statement, Zumpe, the piano pioneer, was NOT born in Saxony.
19 June 2023
In my book Broadwood Square Pianos (pp.149-154) there is a complete transcript of the Will of Burkat Shudi, harpsichord maker. One of the first items he mentions is a 'Picture of me' which he leaves to his wife, Elizabeth (née Meyer). Unfortunately, its present wherabouts remain a mystery. For a likeness of Shudi we rely wholly on the group portrait by Marcus Tucher, painted about 1742, now in the National Portrait Gallery (which I hear has reopened today, after extensive refurbishment!).
On this website I have lamented that no portrait of John Zumpe is known. No such painting is mentioned in his Will, which in fact gives very few details of his possessions. But I suspect that someone as successful as he undoubtedly was, and so famous throughout Europe, would very likely have sat for such a portrait, and my suspicion remains that it was kept by his wife, Elizabeth, until 1809, and afterwards passed with other items, not specially mentioned in her Will, to one of her nephews and nieces who benefitted from John Zumpe's prosperity. Where would it be now?
Yesterday I found confirmation that Zumpe's rival, John Pohlman of Great Russell Street, left a portrait of himself which after his wife's death in 1811, was owned by his daughter Anna Louisa Pohlman. She specifically leaves the two portaits of her 'beloved parents' to her niece, Eliza Iselin of Camberwell. Will we ever find them? Great art we do not expect, but it would be so interesting to have a likeness of him, no matter what the quality.
Incidentally, it is most reassuring to see, from the contents off her will, that John Pohlman's daughter had more than a thousand pounds of Government Stocks to dispose of, numerous books, some quality furniture, silverware, and several landscape paintings in oils. When we recall the dark days of 1794, and the family's embarrasing default on the rent of their home; the humiliation of seeing all their possessions put up for auction; and the collapse of the Pohlman business; this is a pleasing outcome. How Anna Louisa, a spinster, acquired her wealth is unknown, but her Will does indicate that she lived for some years in County Wexford, Ireland, at a place called Courland. I suspect she was teaching. But that would not normally account for her aparent prosperity. Her brother, as I have reported previously, remained in London, working at the National Audit Office, and on the side, published three books on subjects that strongly suggest his talent for mathematical subjects.
10 June 2023
It was in the summer of 1995 (as I recall) – during a one-day conference at Milton Keynes – that Prof. Donald Burrows first revealed that Handel had played the pianoforte. I was truly astonished. After so long accepting Charles Burney's testimony, that the first piano in England was the one he had played at Wilbury in 1748, here at last was incontrovertible evidence that in May 1740, in London, Handel had entertained dinner guests with his performance on an unidentified Piano-forte. But what music did he play? Would he have chosen pieces from his published keyboard lessons? Why should we limit him to that?
When young Burney sat down to entertain guests at Fulke Greville's house, he chose the 'Dead March' from Handel's Saul. Slow, solemn music with a sudden repetition 'Forte' that could never have been very effective on a harpsichord – but surprised and delighted everyone on this new type of keyboard instrument. Burney chose also to play a solemn march by his master Thomas Arne, and other pieces chosen from opera airs. Though he doesn't identify any of these it's clear that his selections did not feature conventional keyboard works. Handel, an infinitely more resourceful musician than Burney, surely was able to exploit the dramatic possibilites of a pianoforte, with extemporary music.
It's disappointing that the Piano-forte as played by Handel doesn't get another mention in the Harris papers until 29 May 1756. This time it is explicitly stated to be 'Mr. Jennens' piano forte', and the location was his house in Great Ormond Street. This does not mean that the great man had not played it in the meantime, nor should we think that the 1740 encounter was the first time that he played this piano – in fact quite the contrary, if you think about it. In May 1740 Thomas Harris doesn't explain to his brother in Salisbury what a 'Piano-forte' is. Presumably he knows. He's seen it before. Furthermore, it is incontrovertible that Jennens' piano arrived in London in 1732. A reasonable deduction would be that Handel played it on many occasions, both before 1740 and in the unreported period between 1740 and 1756.
16 May 2023
Mention of John Pohlman, the piano maker made famous by Charles Burney's patronage, reminds me of his name appearing in the memoirs of William Gardiner. Gardiner was born in Leicester in 1770 and showed much enthusiasm for music from an early age. His father was unusually indulgent in that he didn't discourage his son, or veto his musical studies (like Handel's father) but nevertheless conformed to the stereotype of those times by his preference for the flute (that being the most approved instrument for a gentleman) or, when young William expressed his dislike for 'huffing and puffing', Mr. Gardiner's next choice was the 'cello, again a conventional choice for musical males. The boy's own preference was the violin, but as he wrote many years afterwards, 'The effect produced by a beginner on the violin is the most miserable exhibition that can be conceived'. Consequently, for three months he had to struggle with a viola under his chin, in an attempt to mitigate the most offending screeches of a beginner on the smaller instrument.
But at last, his persistence paid off. His mother intervened – and bought him a piano-forte. On this William practiced with great enthusiasm, though he had to teach himself as there was no one in Leicester at that time who was thought suitable. In his 'Recollections', published in 1838, he remembered his first piano-forte as 'of German make, not much bigger than two writing desks put together'. This would be about 1780. 'When I had mastered a lesson or two, my mother was very proud of my performance, and if any company came to the house, I was sure to be exhibited.'
Twenty pages later, after various digressions, Gardiner mentions the piano again, with more detailed information. This was because the phenomenal child prodigy William Crotch came to Leicester 'about 1782'. He visited the Gardiners' house, and played on the piano, astonishing everyone by playing Handel's concertos at sight. Gardiner remembered him as a small, delicate child, aged about five, and that he sat on his mother's knee to play the keys. Quite by chance, we learn that this piano was rated a good instrument, 'made by John Pholman, I suppose in Germany, before any were made in England'. Such things a child conceives, and they remain with him forever. William Gardiner was in fact 68 years old when his memoirs were published, and here he was reporting what he conceived as a boy – and it is all the more valuable for that. When considered carefully, his narrative confirms something I have remarked on before – that Pohlman was unusual among the better known makers of his time in NOT including an address on his nameboard.
But why did Gardiner believe that his piano was made in Germany? The front of William Gardiner's piano probably looked quite similar to the one below.
There being no address, and young Wiliam being no Latin scholar, the words Londini fecit meant nothing to him, so he believed then, and ever after, that the piano his mother bought for him was made in Germany.
Incidentally, the inscription showing above, confirmed by several others from the post-1778 period, would indicate that even after his move from Frith Street to Great Russell Street, Pohlman did not at first endorse his pianos by specifying his address. You might think that having relocated, to a more upmarket address, he would have been wise to use the inscription to help potential customers find him. But no. The new address only appears from about 1784 onwards.
William Gardiner's memoirs can be easily purchased as a photo reprint, published as Music and Friends, from a copy in the New York Public Library. His recollections are specially useful as he was one of the first in England to develop an admiration for Beethoven, and often reports playing such advanced music with his musical friends.
9 May 2023
When I first heard of Martha Clinkscale's plans – to publish a book of Piano Makers and their surviving products – I was more than a little disturbed. Initially her timeframe was 1700 - 1820, but even this seemed to me ridiculously ambitious. 'Does she understand how many instruments survive?' It may be easy living in California to think that the scope of such a project would be manageable. 'For example, does she realise how many Broadwood square pianos there are, and how repetitive such a catalogue would be?'
Her model was of course the precedent set by Donald Boalch, beginning in the 1950s, in which he aimed to list all the known makers of harpsichords and clavichords prior to 1840, adding so many of their surviving instruments as he could discover. His colleague at the Bodleian Library, Charles Mould, took up the project with the blessing of the innovator when nearing his end, and so it was the augmented Second Edition that inspired Martha Clinkscale. She reasoned that with the advent of personal computers, one could design a database with sufficient fields and fill in all the information from personal correspondents and museum catalogues worldwide, and then with Charles Mould's good influence, get it published by Oxford University Press.
When I was shown the proof sheets by Jeremy Montagu while I worked on the Bate Collection's keyboard instruments in the early 1990s, my misgivings were profound. There were so many instruments where fields such as keyboard compass or keyboard materials were filled in with entirely speculative matter (frequently erroneous), and others where it was very obvious that Dr. Clinkscale had a very poor understanding of piano mechanisms, and the admittedly confusing denominations under which museum curators and their advisors had, for example, listed the damper system of Stein – one and the same mechanism, but many different names. And of course the same was true of the hammer mechanisms. It was apparent to me that Boalch's system was not readily adapted to pianoforte makers and their products. But when I met Martha Clinkscale on one of her visits to England I was unable to make any impression. Her ship was about to launch and nothing could delay it!
Well, it did launch soon afterwards, appearing in 1993, but such was the publishers' embarrasment that a very speedy revision followed – a 'Second Edition' with much speculative material deleted, appeared in 1995. Sales must have been very good because a further volume, dealing with pianos and their makers up to 1860 appeared only a few years later, with just as many doubtful entries.
The good news (let's have some) is that through the efforts of Tom Winter the Clinkscale Database has been put online where anyone can access it, and citations of surviving pianos can be updated frequently. Using this I was able to get a tentative answer to what I think is a worthwhile enquiry. My focus was on Frederick Beck, and the volume of his trade as compared with other London-based piano makers who similarly followed so speedily into the new trade after the initial success of John Zumpe, 'the Inventor of the small Piano Forte'. How successful was Beck when compared with contemporaries such as Pohlman or Ganer?
Clinkscale Online offers one way of exploring this question. Enter the name 'Beck' in the search box. Mark the place of origin as 'London' (advisable) – to eliminate makers elsewhere with similar names. And when the results appear click on 'Date' to put them in chronological order. I do this, rather than enter the timeframe within the initial search because there are so many pianos without a date, or where the date has been regrettably falsified. I proposed to examine the period 1770 to 1790 – Pohlman was inactive after that date. And instantly I have a glittering catch! Of course, like any fisherman I find many stray items in my trawl net, but I throw the unwanted fish back in the ocean.
My results:
- Frederick Beck; 28
- John Pohlman; 29
- Christopher Ganer; 36
- James Longman; 40
- John Broadwood; 41
- Adam Beyer; 49
Missing from this list is the prinicipal man himself, John Zumpe. His is a special case because he ceased sending out pianos under his own name [or Zumpe & Buntebart] before the period closes. So I have noted 64 extant pianos signed by Zumpe in the qualifying period, but then add 6 more, sold by his successors Schoene & Company: total 70.
An interesting feature that is immediately obvious is that Zumpe's brand remained prominent as a market leader even when there were so many other sources of supply. The prestige of the brand 'Zumpe' endured until the end of the 1780s, despite his retirement in 1783.
John Broadwood's tally may seem surprisingly low, but that is largely because he was not active as a piano maker in the early part of my timeframe. Throughout the 1770s he concentrated his efforts on harpsichords. He began making and selling pianos in 1780, so far as we can determine. But, of course, if we extend the timeframe to take in the 1790s we soon see that Broadwood's sales accelerate very rapidly, especially after his marriage to Mary Kitson, and he far outstrips his rivals by 1799.
15 April 2023
Vegetable-tanned calf is not ultimately a very durable material – as antiquarian book lovers know only too well. Any leather-bound volume more than a hundred years old is prone to weakness on the spine, and for those more than two-hundred years old, detached boards are a very common sight. Yet it is exactly this material (vegetable-tanned calf skiver) that was used very extensively in Broadwood's workshop when making square pianos.
In the action shown here the hammer, the under-lever, the damper slave lever and the toggle attached to it are each reliant on flexible leather hinges made of calf skin which is pared to less than 0.8mm thickness, and as the pale brown colour of the skin tells you, this is a naturally pigmented oak tanned material, as liable to failure over time as the front cover of your favourite 18th-century book.
Broadwood's square pianos made after 1808 have four potential points of failure with every note! I was reminded of this over the last few days when, in a moment of weakness, I consented to finish a restoration begun by other hands several years ago. The piano looks well made, and remains structurally sound. The rim is not twisted or out-of-plane. The hitchpin block is still firmly fastened to the structure, just where the makers glued it in place many years ago. But, as I have already hinted, many of the hammers were detached, their leather hinges having failed the test of time. Nothing uncommon there! So the previous restorer fitted every hammer with a replacement hinge. That's wise, but quite a time consuming task in itself.
But when refitting them to the hammer rail, and checking the alignment (to ensure they hit both strings), our erstwhile restorer found to his dismay that one of the under levers broke off at the hinge. The note could no longer play. What a disappointment! All that work, and then having to remove the action again and take everything apart! For anyone who is unfamiliar with this I should say that getting access to all those under levers is decidedly problematic. And if one of them breaks, you need to check all the others too. So he gave up in despair. Understandable!
What I have discovered since allowing the piano into my workshop is that many of the parchment hinges in the action hoppers are also decayed. Someone has tried to repair some of them – with predictably poor results. It is a very fiddly job. Well, by my reckoning a five-and-a-half octave piano from Broadwood has 256 hinges of calf skiver, and 68 parchment hinges, all prone to decay after 200 plus years.
When I reflect on this I am all the more gratified to see one of the original patent pianos made when John Broadwood himself was supervising the workmen, because in those days, in the 1780s, the hammer hinges were usually made from alum cured goat skin – which easily lasts for 200 years.
5 April 2023
Returning to the subject of our Blog for 13 March – Kirckman harpsichords, and the quandary that we face in trying to make sense of the data collected by Donald Boalch, and latterly, Charles Mould. You may remember that I was hoping to compile a tally of surviving harpsichords, sorted into five-year intervals. (I find decades too blunt a tool for the purpose.) The pattern that emerges, and the comparison with other London makers, operating in the same era as Kirckman is quite illuminating. But we must be able to rely on the data. And that's my problem.
Take this example: BMO 993. It was catalogued by Charles Mould in Boalch III [1995] as a harpsichord made in 1768. He remarks there on the doubts about the date, suggesting that the '5' in the date has been falsified.
There need be no query regarding the authenticity of the inscription. This really was written by Kirckman's scribe. It matches others. But the objections are many. First, on a very basic level, the word order conflicts with the date. Prior to 1760 Kirckman wrote Jacobus Kirckman fecit Londini. [Shudi followed the same convention.] So, the falsification of the third digit appears to be a plausible explanation. But it doesn't end there. In fact, this name batten is a much-altered relic from another instrument. One clue in the photo above is the diagonal tulipwood banding on the adjacent board. Another is visible when a wider view is taken – some spurious line inlays, to either side, completely unlike Kirckman's work in their location, and not exactly matching inlays on the instrument itself. So, even if we were able to date this name batten with certainty, that would not provide a date for the harpsichord itself.
Many other features, such as the machine stop, the cut-out for the music desk, and the choice of external veneers, all point to a date of manufacture about 1780, as the Online version (BMO) is now suggesting.
Unhappily when drawing my chart to illustrate the distribution of extant harpsichords v. time I had worked from the printed version of Boalch III and consequently assigned it to the suggested date - 1768. How many others escaped my rigorous scrutiny?
(My thanks to the current owner, in the USA, who readily agrees with this analysis.)
20 March 2023
If you search for Stuben Musik in YouTube you will be presented with a great number of folkmusic groups from Austria or Bavaria (and sometimes 'South Tyrol'). They play a great variety of modern instruments, in small ensembles – clarinet, harp, violins, double bass, for example. Many have also a zither, whose melody line is picked out with a thumb plectrum. You will also see that most groups have a Hackbrett, or hammer dulcimer. It is a living tradition, with women and girls dressed in the traditional Dirndl and the men wearing Lederhosen and felt hats.
Take particular notice of the hammer dulcimer. Most of the players are female [but not all] and the music played comprises usually simple songs in Ländler rhythm or Polkas. The dulcimer doubles the vocal line. The limitations of such instruments are soon evident. Two hammers, one in either hand, strike three unisons for any given note. But obviously there is very little scope for supplying harmony (this has to come from other members of the ensemble), and once struck the strings continue to vibrate audibly for some time. There is no means of producing a genuine legato. To give some semblance of a sustained note the player trills, or otherwise ornaments the melodic line.
Historically such instruments were styled Psalterium, and in Italy or Spain they are called Salterio. Edinburgh University Collection has a historic Salterio, which is displayed with informative text on their website (well worth a visit). You see that this example has four unisons for each note, but there are, as expected, only 24 notes.
You can see also that this is not a trivial, low cost toy. See how the border of the soundboard is outlined with a carved and gilded moulding. The 'chessmen' bridges were also gilded. It was probably owned and played by a 'lady' – and I mean by this word a female within a prosperous family (middle and upper income groups). So, it transcends social strata, from Stuben Musik of a country inn to the polite company of Parisian salons.
I mention this because there were obvious advantages to be obtained by adding a piano-style keyboard to operate the hammers. With two hands (rather than two hand-held strikers) the player can sound many notes at once, filling in the harmony, and providing a bass line. Two keyboard instruments of this kind were sold in Wassenach last Saturday, part of the late Prof. Ewerhart's Collection. The more modest example, apparently of Italian manufacture with a 51 note keyboard (short octave in bass) was restored by Georg Ott, and catalogued (correctly) as a Pantalon.
The other offering, Lot 48, showing here, was catalogued as 'an anonymous South German Tafelklavier' [square piano] with a supplementary text 'that it possesses no single-tone dampers'. Which is to say that it plays dulcimer fashion with lingering aftersound unless, or until, one operates the knee lever which lowers the Harfenbrett (that some German observers call a 'general damper'). Though it had the useful chromatic notes in the bass that the other lacked, and was clearly of much better design and workmanship it achieved only a third of the money at 2400 euros hammer price. Certainly this relic was under-appreciated!
Such instruments provide, or could provide, useful insights into preformance styles of the eighteenth century. Some of the techniques used by our Hackbrett players of the Stuben Musik must relate to the keyboard Pantalon. Also, many of the limitations of such instruments are common to both varieties. Staccato and legato have limited meaning. Phrasing, as understood by modern pianists, and carried over to so-called authentic instrument musicians on their Viennese-style fortepianos, must be doubtful. Also, the want of varieties of tone, Veränderungen in historic German parlance, separates genuine historic performances from the style that usually passes in the modern concert room.
A number of informative sound samples continue to be avaliable on YouTube after the sale. Let us hope this continues. In particular, the video of Els Biesemans on the little Pantalon ought to be preserved. She chose Mozart K545 which, much to my surprise, worked very well. (There must be very few players who could bring it off so well!) The recording is a great credit to her musical skill, and to the sound recordist, and indeed to the tuner (who gets no visible credit!). But whether great 'Art Music' such as this is the most appropriate repertoire for an eighteenth-century Pantalon I very much doubt.
13 March 2023
Kirckman harpsichords made in London in the eighteenth century, are among the most plentiful antiques of their kind. Counting those that are listed in Boalch-Mould Online, I find a total of 173 instruments (not including spinets). This far exceeds the tally for 'Ruckers', many of which are now known to be fraudulent and admitted to be so, for example in the recently published catalogue of the Brussels Conservatoire Collection. The problem is of course an inevitable result of the high reputation of the Ruckers' instruments, exalted to a level comparable with Stradivari violins. Parisian harpsichord makers are known to have created numerous fakes, inscribed with the name of Ruckers. Many of the pseudo-Ruckers harpsichords were created in the eighteenth century, while by comparison many falsely inscribed Kirckmans date from the twentieth century. There is quite a different narrative.
When harpsichords fell into disuse in the Victorian era many fine instruments were abandoned, cast away in stables or outbuildings where they decayed and were often plundered – the keys and the nameboard frequently removed. But such was the quality of the original work that, given a fair chance, many a decaying corpus survived, with the result that following the 'harpsichord revival' of the early twentieth century they were 'discovered' and brought back to life by enthusiasts. New jacks, new strings, new plectra could be easily made. But something more insidious occurred also. If the namebatten was missing, and indeed it often was, the enthusiastic new owner provided a new one, with no malevolent intentions. If the instrument looked like Kirckman's work, that's the name that was chosen for the new inscription. No harm done? Well, I'm not so sure. Open the door for speculative additions and who knows where it will end!
Sometimes there's a give-away. The wording is wrong. 'Kirkman, London' just won't do. Or the style of the lettering simply doesn't match the quality of the scribes used by Jacob Kirckman. But this cannot be judged by the people who reported instruments to Donald Boalch, often from memory, with kindly intentions. 'Seen in an antiques shop, about twenty years ago', does not inspire much confidence.
Showing left is a much preferable result. A new name-batten was needed for this splendid harpsichord, but the wise restorer has refrained from providing a maker's name. It is in fact by Shudi, but, as I reported last year, this was only confirmed when it became possible to examine the underside of the soundboard. The mahogany veneer and 'boxwood' line inlays of the battens are so good that no one need ever be disturbed by the replacement's modern origins. The same problem occurred with the only surviving harpsichord by Herman Tabel. Here also the name-batten looks credible, but is not original. It was, unhappily, given a gratifyingly visible inscription: HERMANUS TABEL FECIT LONDINI J7Z1. The quaint style of the date owing more to the owner's taste for 'Merry old England' than for aunthenticity. (The keys were replated too, and the original balance points disregarded, but that's another story.)
So what are we to do with 173 records of surviving Kirckman harpsichords? For my purposes, trying to reconstruct a tally by date of all surviving examples, it is necessary to reject a great many. Better to be too severe than too lax. Instruments that haven't been verified by a reliable observer must all be rejected – the false with the valid; the bad with the good. Sadly, this reduces the size of the tally by half, but the resulting distribution produces some valuable results, if interpreted wisely.
There's more too, yet to be gleaned from the Boalch-Mould database. My results were to have constituted a chapter of my book, unhappily rejected by Cambridge University Press last year. Nevertheless, I feel that more might be done, so my hope is that someone will recognise in the Boalch-Mould database the resources for a Ph.D thesis. Some very elementary statistical analysis reveals a great deal about the musical scene in the baroque and classical eras, and about the economic and social conditions of the time. Maybe someone has already made a start on this, if so I'd really like to hear about it.
1 March 2023
Generally speaking, I am unwilling to give up my time to viewing instruments in auction sales, but this was something exceptional. And, in the event, I got more than I ever expected!
Fellows Auction Rooms are located in Birmingham's historic Jewellery Quarter, where almost every shop window displays diamonds and precious metals, sparkling under white lights. To get there, from New Street Station you have to cross over James Brindley's famous canal that long ago carried Wedgwood's china and Matthew Boulton's metalwares to London and beyond, the whole canal system now happily restored and made attractive for visitors.
The piano was amazing. I expected to see a sumptuously decorated piano, like the one by Garcka, and something similar to the piano by Longman & Broderip that I saw in Leamington [Blog, September 2022]. The origin of this glorious decoration must be traced to G.F.Dean and his wife Lizzie who worked in London circa 1900-1910. There is no doubt in my mind that the same artist designed and executed the medallions, cameos and garlands on each of these pianos. Here you will see that, unusually, the decorative scheme extends to the inside of the lockboard, and to the legs. If you get down on your hands and knees to examine the doubtful knee levers you discover, as expected, that these are modern constructions, and that the ironwork for three pedals is mostly still there. But, grovelling around on the floor, as I was, you also discover that the horizontal stretcher for the stand is embellished with tiny scarlet flowers and green sprays, like the pimpernells seen among the stubble after harvest. So daintily executed! The back or spine is also lavishly painted. It is a masterpiece. Exquisite!
In my photo above you see there is a satinwood Carlton House desk, which is likewise painted with flowers and ribbons. It has clearly come from the same vendor, as the auctioneer confirmed when I asked. Examine this piece and you will see that it is not in the same league. The painting when viewed closely is slap-dash like Canaletto's figures, not at all like accuracy of Deans' work. Also nearby, but not in my photo, there are two 18th-century fold-over card tables, on square tapered legs, from the same source. Again, the painting, though superficially similar is not near the same standard. So, the piano is a beautiful and worthwhile specimen. I doubt whether a better example could ever be found.
But the bad news is inside. It is impossible to remove the nameboard, owing to the case distortion caused by the fault I mentioned on 24 February. The soundboard is, as I thought, a modern replacement, with ludicrously clumsy moulding around the edge, probably purchased at the local DIY store. The tuning pins are modern 6mm diameter, with block capitals marking the notes. To remedy these problems is certainly possible but not without costs. But first, the case must be secured at the right.
So now for the surprises! The compass, as you may have observed, is five-and-a-half octaves, FF to c4. This is rare for a piano from this workshop, but not unknown. The inscription, not given in the auction catalogue, reads:
Schoene & Vinsen / Successors to Johannes Zumpe Makers 1809 / 45 Paddington Street Mary-le-Bone / London.
How can this be? I have double-checked my notes made years ago:Thomas Vinsen died before 1799 as did Christian Schoene. Yet the date '1809' inscribed on the piano looks absolutely unaltered. There is no sign of scraping and re-inscription. So Schoene and Vinsen were both long gone, and their workshop at Princes Street, Cavendish Square no longer operating. The Paddington Street address is only known on instruments made by George Frederick Schoene. It might be possible to gather more information with a visit to the Metropolitan Archives in London where they keep the Rate Books. But this isn't a priority. For now, all that we can say is that the date of this piano is an anomaly – a mystery yet to be clarified.
24 February 2023
Just when I thought we had given a full account of the decorated pianos from G.F.Dean, another appears, this time in Birmingham. Fellows' Auction Rooms have this charmingly decorative piano from Schoene & Vinsen in their upcoming sale.
As usual there is a very well executed vignette in the centre of the lid, in the style of Angelica Kaufmann, and cameo medallions on the sides, accompanied by floral garlands. Compare this with the Garcka square piano showing on this Blog on 21 January.
Unhappily, there are obvious signs of structural problems that are seen often in these instruments – the case has parted from the baseboard at the front right corner. One can see the extent of it by comparing the top edge of the front right case wall with the line of the top of the spine beyond. This is not something that can be ignored if the piano is ever to play again. It needs to be secured and the gap closed.
But it is so handsome I hope someone will undertake this with the needful skill. The knee levers, apparently two in number, are something to investigate. Schoene's pianos are usually expected to have three pedals, articulating from the low stretcher between the legs.
12 February 2023 [additions 21 February]
Not so familiar as his father and uncle, George Frederick Schoene continued the family's piano-making business for several years, and this instrument, dated 1803, is [or was] a fine specimen of the craftsmanship of the men who were employed by them. Privately owned in Spain, and unknown until recently, this piano shows the ways in which Schoene's workmen circumvented the patents of John Geib and William Southwell. Others with less honesty, including John Broadwood I am sorry to say, copied many patented features without authority.
This piano has Schoene's escapement action, with screw adjustment, which I have previously reported in a piano by Schoene & Vinsen of 1798, sold by Alan Legg in Cirencester. When I used to attend to tuning it was located in historic Coxwell Street in the town, and sat beside a Clementi piano of five-and-a-half octaves, dating from the first decade of the 19th century. The Schoene piano, though it was larger in the sense of a deeper case and a wider front, had only 61 notes [FF-f3]. So the larger of the pianos had the smaller compass. The astonishing feature of this newly discovered 1803 piano is that it has six and a half octaves, CC to f4. And rather than copy Southwell's patent, the maker has continued the practice of shaping his bridge in a very wide cantilever, so that the effective scaling is within the usual limits. You see how much it overhangs in the picture below.
Unhappy news is that this 1803 piano, with a pioneering keyboard compass, has been revamped by the addition of mahogany panels along the sides and front, making it look very much larger than it originally was. It also now sits on four turned legs that give it a suitable appearance for 1815 or later. Without seeing this piano in person, these features are very difficult to understand.
For those who might be tempted to consult the Clinkscale Online database for further information, I feel I ought to say that the biographical data provided there is unrevised nonsense, containing speculative and erroneous misinformation written by Dr Clinkscale some years ago. Her proposal purports to show that the Schoene family were also making and selling pianos in Oslo, having migrated from Saxony. To set the record straight, the brothers Frederick and Christian Schoene came from Fürth bei Nürnberg at the suggestion of John Zumpe, after he met them and their father during a visit to Franconia in the 1770s. They settled in London circa 1780, which overturns the speculation that they came from Saxony among the mythical 'Twelve Apostles'. I have repeatedly demonstrated that there was no such group fleeing the Seven Years War, and that no-one has been able to show that any London-based square piano maker had formerly worked for Gottfried Silbermann. But I see that this myth is still being reported as fact.
After working directly under Zumpe's supervision 
for a few years, the Schoene brothers took over, achieving new standards with improved designs, from 1783 until 1794. During the 1790s the business continued as Schoene & Vinsen, when, with all the principals deceased it was George Frederick Schoene [as shown above] who continued until 1805/6, in new workshops at 45 Paddngton Street. The youngest piano from this workshop to survive, of which I have knowledge, was shown to me by Dr Paul Larson at Easton Historical Society in Pennsylvania [Photo on right]. It is dated 1805, but it is not nearly so innovative as this 1803 piano. In fact it has a rather outdated 61-note keyboard, FF to f3, and the expected two-lever mechanism without escapement. When new it had three pedals, so unlike the newly discovered instrument from Spain, it was very old-fashioned for its time. A very contrasting pair!
29 January 2023
Returning to the subject of painted or decorated instruments — there are some curious insights to be found in the inventory of musical intsruments confiscated in Paris around 1791. This Inventaire was compiled by Antonio Bruni, a professional violinist. He listed 69 violins, 18 violas, 19 flutes, 20 guitars, and 18 harps, and numerous other items, including keyboard instruments.
Only one square piano had been painted externally, and that was the Adam Beyer piano-organisé of 1788, painted white for Princess de Kinski, so that it matched her Taskin harpsichord. Otherwise, all 63 pianos, purloined from the condemned, or those who had fled the country in haste, were reported as mahogany, walnut or 'plain wood'. From this I conclude that pianos were rarely painted.
Of the 60 confiscated harpsichords, almost all were painted. There were 13 green, 11 black, 7 grey, 4 red, 4 yellow, and one white – all having gold bands, or being decorated with gilt arabesques. Six others were painted gold or gilded overall. Only 4 harpsichords were not painted, of which two were noted as being imported English instruments, and one was made by Jean Henri Silbermann of Strasbourg, dated 1769.
Evidently, the painted Erard piano of 1789 (shown below) was a rarity even then. If this inventory is typical of the time, among wealthy householders in Paris, there was a very marked difference between the treatment of harpsichords and pianos as pieces of furniture, namely that the harpsichords were nearly always painted, the pianos rarely or never. Of course, there are many square pianos to be seen today that have elaborate painted scenes externally. They are not to be credited. Elaborate painted landscapes or pastoral scenes applied to historic pianos are usually spurious.
21 January 2023
Readers may remember this charming piano – made by George Garcka in Rathbone Place, near Tottenham Court Road, about 1790. It doesn't play any better, or sound any better, than Garcka's usual pianos, which are usually standard products in the expected 'English' style – after Zumpe. But this one was superior as a decorative item because it has satinwood borders – satinwood and mahogany being delightfully complementary in this combination.
But later, when musically it was very 'old fashioned' and virtually unsaleable, it was blessed with delicious and very tasteful garlands and scallops in a beautifully planned and well-executed manner, with a central panel in the classical style of Angelica Kaufmann, the Swiss-born artist who had a house in Golden Square. Joshua Reynolds greatly admired her work. But of course, it wasn't done by her, but in imitation of her style, and presumably sold by George Frederick Dean, around 1900. As a correspondent remarks: such painting at that date is usually so kitsch that it gives itself away. But this work, done for Dean, is so clever and so believable that many people would be convinced by it, even today. I would love to say that I have identified the painter, but there are so few clues. My suspicion, for which I have very little evidence, is that the anonymous artist was Dean's wife, Lizzie. But I could be wrong.
This five-octave piano by Erard from 1789 is in a different category.
[It is privately owned in Germany.] As it bears a serial number it is now possible to trace its origins in the Erard company records. It was first bought by Madame La Pierre, about whom I can report nothing more, but it appears that Erard took it back very soon afterwards and only at that time was its mahogany outer surface painted over, in the manner you see, and then sold a second time to a Mr. Bazin de la Bintinay. Internally, nothing was changed. This, at least, seems to be the scenario.
So here is a curious parallel history. Pianos made in London and Paris, perhaps at the very same time, with the same specification, and probably used to play the very same type of music in the same kind of social setting: both were redecorated in a classical style, the Erard featuring scenes painted in grisaille, after Piat Joseph Sauvage. But the time lapse between manufacture and redecoration is startlingly different, in Erard's piano apparently a year, or even less, but on Garcka's piano about a century!
The owner of the green/blue Erard has researched this topic and found several other surviving Parisian pianos with similar treatment, but they are a rarity. It is a topic worthy of further elucidation. More on this later.
12 January 2023
What is Music? A question worth asking but not often considered.
Thirty years ago, when assisting Jeremy Montagu with his catalogue of the museum holdings at St Fagan's, near Cardiff, I was startled to find him listing a wooden rattle, or bird-scare, in the inventory of musical instruments. It was an crude artifact, made by a countryman as I suppose, intended to be used by a boy, in the fields, to keep crows off the newly-sown corn. But as Jeremy said, it is an item made to produce sounds; how shall we distinguish it from orchestral tympany? [Or words to that effect.] This informed my consideration when writing about the origins of the piano.
If you try to create a definition of 'pianoforte' there is a problem. Hornbostel & Sachs devised a system in the twentieth century to classify musical instruments, distinguishing (for example) many kinds of keyed chordophones [stringed keyboard instruments] on the basis of how they were sounded. But their system takes no account of the very evident differences between a Pantalon and a pianoforte, and it has many other loopholes, though no one has yet devised a better system.
As a teenager I long ago discovered how easy it was to waste what little money I had on books that promised to inform readers about 'chamber music' [a case that stays in my memory on account of my great disappointment]. The author seemed to know nothing except musical scores, printed ones at that, expatiating at length on musical themes, and modulations. I learned nothing that I can now remember (except that I should be more careful in buying books). Printed blobs on staves do not constitute 'music'. It is only a code.
In the twentieth century we became accustomed having 'music' available at the touch of a button on electrical devices. So can that be 'music'? Or is there something missing? I think so.
I would want to propose that music is not a code, nor can it be summarized as an art that employs a succession of perturbations in the air — Music is surely a social phenomenon. It requires people. There are three elements: a person [or persons] producing the sounds of volition (which we might well require to have order and gradation); a person [or persons] perceiving the sounds; and of course the communicated sounds themselves, ordered, understood and received with pleasure. Having no training in philosophy I struggle with this. But I persist in believing that the definitions of music that I find in dictionaries are very inadequate.
3 January 2022
Anticipating that very few people will come across my paper on 'The First Piano in England' if published in the usual academic journals, I have decided to place a version of it on this website. So you will see it flagged on my home page and assigned a place with what I think are items of enduring value in the column on the left. That part of it which deals with the Italian fortepianos known to have been been in England before 1750, constitutes 'Part One'. Part Two when I have tidied it up, will deal with the earlier import from Florence of a fortepiano presumably made by the instrument's inventor Bartolomeo Cristofori. Like so many other important instruments it has disappeared without trace – not even a stray reference in family correspondence [so far]. But more interesting than the instrument itself is the player – a Countess in her later days, whose maternal influence on at least three of her offspring has left a legacy of musical history that few can rival. This lady, whose portrait has also disappeared – was a pretty 18 year old with no great prospects when she married an English Milord and made her way to England, a country she had probably never seen. Her father, being a Catholic, and supporter of the deposed King James II, kept a low profile for much of the time, but ran a hostelry where British travellers who shared his opinions found an agreeable lodging on the Via Ghibellina in Florence. All of her formative years were spent there. And at the end of her life, at Christmas in 1763, still relatively young, she was apparently meeting with Italian-speaking friends when she died of a stroke at the Venetian Embassy in London. Her last resting place is the chapel at Rycote, in Oxfordshire, where her father also lies, after he quietly returned to Britain to join her. Anna-Maria Collins, one of the many forgotten women whose musical personality has passed out of remembrance, even among her descendants.
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