HN006 SARTORIAL MOZART – NAPLES AND BEYOND

It is well known that Mozart took an interest in his appearance, his hair and his clothes. This started at an early age, encouraged by his father Leopold, who like his son, was aware that to make it ‘in the world’, one had to not just have the talent and product of that talent, but also look the part as well.

In 1770 when Amadeus and Leopold were touring Italy, (Amadeus being just a few months into his fifteenth year), Leopold wrote his wife on the 19th May, ‘We left our fine cloth suits in Rome and have had to wear our beautifully braided summer suits. Wolfg.’s is made of pink moiré, but the colour is so unusual that in Italy it’s called colore di fuoco, or flame-coloured: with silver lace and lined with a light sky-blue material. My suit is a kind of cinnamon colour, piquéd Florentine cloth, with silver lace and lined in apple green. Both suits are very beautiful, …’

In Italy, home of fashion, the sartorial purchases didn’t end at Naples that year. By the 22nd December Leopold wrote again, ‘Can you imagine Wolfg. in a scarlet suit with gold braid and sky-blue satin lining? The tailor is starting work on it today. He’ll be wearing this suit on the first 3 days, when he sits at the keyboard. The one that was made for him in Salzburg. is too short by a standing hand, and certainly too tight and small.’ Ask yourself; were the clothes from the following year already too small for Amadeus or was the delight of wearing a scarlet suit with gold braid too irresistible?

This of course wasn’t the only occasion that a red suit caught the Maestro’s eye. Much later when no longer with his father who remained in Salzburg, Amadeus wrote, ‘As for the beautiful red coat that tickles my fancy so dreadfully, I’d be grateful if you could let me know where I can get it and how much it costs, as I’ve forgotten – I was so taken with its beauty that I didn’t notice the price. – I really have to have a coat like that, as it’s worth it just for the buttons that I’ve been hankering after for some time;..’ He went on in the same letter of 28 September 1782 (now 26 years of age) to complain, “I’d like to have everything that is good and beautiful! – But why is it that those who are not in a position to do so want to spend all their money on such things, whereas those who are in a position to do so do not do so?’ But before we judge him, or accuse him of envy, remember this was the era before the French Revolution. It was an age of enlightenment, fashion and wit. Clothes made the man.

And now to his hair! In September 1777 Amadeus was in Munich. Count Seeau was the Director of Opera at the Electoral Court. Mozart wrote his father, ‘We were already up again at 7 on the 25th, but my hair was in such a mess that it wasn’t until 1/2 past 10 that I arrived at Count Seeau’s…’ Three and half hours after starting his hair it was done! Talk about a bad-hair day.

Marriage and domesticity may have changed Mozart’s sartorial ambition, but ‘After the Honeymoon the Laundry’, and we find him writing his wife Constanze on the 8th October 1791, ’N.B.: You presumably sent the 2 pairs of yellow winter breeches that go with the boots to the laundry as Joseph and I have looked for them in vain.’ This was just two months before his untimely death.

HN005 Neapolitan Song: The French Connection

No, this is not about organised crime.

Its about the establishment of a canon of Neapolitan song in the early years of the 19th Century. Scholars have debated the origins and sources of Neapolitan song for many decades, but one thing on which all agree, is that without the transcription and composition of Neapolitan song undertaken by a Frenchman, Guillaume Cottrau, and published by him from 1824 to 1829, we would not have Neapolitan songs as we know them.

Cottrau was born in Paris, but came to Naples as a child, and became to all intents and purposes, a Neapolitan by inclination and adoption without losing his French roots. When his family returned to Paris, Cottrau himself had put down firm roots in Naples and had married into a Neapolitan family as well.

Cottrau collected and transcribed the music that he found in the streets, highways, and countryside. He also published these songs, under the title of Passatempi musicale for the fast growing bourgeois salons where a piano was the instrument de rigeur, and in so doing added, transformed, re-wrote and even composed his own Neapolitan songs. How far he went in changing the words, music and character we may never know. What we do know though, is that without his work, many songs would have been lost forever, and so we must be grateful for what he saved. Through his French connection, his publishing house Girard, spread Neapolitan song throughout Europe and beyond, and today it is a recognisable music the world over.

HN004 Leonardo da Vinci, his musicianship and the Mona Lisa

We know that Leonardo da Vinci was raised and trained in Florence, within the beating heart of the Renaissance. We also think of him as the painter of the Mona Lisa and as an outstanding researcher into the wonders of nature. He was active for many years at the court of the Dukes of Milan where he painted his famous Last Supper.

But, how many of us are aware that, according to his early biographer, Giorgio Vasari, Leonardo da Vinci was initially summoned to Milan due to his reputation as a musician? I quote from A.B. Hinds translation, of Vasari’s lives, ‘On the death of Giovan. Galeazzo, Duke of Milan, and the accession of Ludovico Sforza in the same year, 1493, Lionardo was invited to Milan to play the lyre, in which that prince greatly delighted. Lionardo took his own instrument, made by himself in silver, and shaped like a horse’s head, a curious and novel idea to render the harmonies more loud and sonorous, so that he surpassed all the musicians who had assembled there.’

The relation between Leonardo and music doesn’t stop here though. He wrote many notes in his research and pondering on the nature of sound, and about music and the production of sounds. But as a final interesting fact, and again from Vasari, whilst painting the Mona Lisa, ‘he engaged people to play and sing, and jesters to keep her merry, and remove that melancholy which painting usually gives to portraits.’

HN003 Franz Kafka’s ‘Unmusicality’

The German language author Franz Kafka wrote very little about music. In fact, he even claimed in a diary entry on the 13 December 1911 that, ‘The essence of my unmusicalness consists in my inability to enjoy music connectedly, it only now and then has an effect on me, and how seldom it is a musical one…’ Nevertheless, we know never to read a book by its cover. Later in 1912, whilst in Weimar, he noted, ‘Carmen garden concert. Completely under its spell.’ So when someone claims to be unmusical, its not a statement of fact. Like all human beings, we are susceptible to music. Indeed Kafka was an acute observer of feelings and his rare diary entries of opera performances display in no uncertain terms that he did respond strongly to music, dance and singing.

HN002 Composing songs in dreams

There is a less known tradition of composers receiving melodies and songs when dreaming.

We can take two examples provided in Lewis M. Holmes’ fascinating book, The Mystery of Music;
The first is from ancient China, where the reforming Emperor XUANDONG, who took a keen interest in music both as a state regulated activity and a composer himself, is alleged to have drawn inspiration from dreams. YO SHI a later commentator reported that ‘the Emperor composed a song called “Return to the Purple Clouds” after having dreamt of ten immortals descending in chariots, holding musical instruments, and singing. Dreaming of a dragon lady supposedly led him to compose the song titled “Skimming the Waves.” According to Chinese legend, it was a fantastic visit to the moon that inspired his. composition Nishan yuyi qu’

The second example is from Al-Andalūs and the musician, singer and composer Ziryāb, who lived between 790 and 850 CE. Ziryāb would sleep but have two attendant slaves on the alert each night, named Ghizlān and Hunayada. Ziryāb would sleep and if he dreamt of a new song or melody, he would awake and teach these musically trained slaves the music and words to memorise which they would then dutifully play for him the next morning. Then he would revise the compositions.

To demonstrate that dreaming of music is still relevant in modern times, we can turn to a contemporary, Paul McCartney. In McCartney’s own words as reported by Hugh MacIntyre on the 22 February 2024, in Forbes Magazine, “I went to sleep one night and dreamed a tune. Somewhere in my dream I heard this tune. When I woke up, I go I love that tune–it’s great. I love that one,” McCartney stated in the interview. He added that once he was awake and realized he had something special in mind, he “kind of fell out of bed and the piano was right there to the left of my bed and I just sort of thought well I’ll try and work out how this song goes.” The song McCartney is referring to, is the classic and unforgettable, ‘Yesterday’. How many more musical compositions are there out there dreamt by their composers? How often do we dream new melodies?

HN0001 – Cantate versus Cantatore

In the wonderful book written about Naples by Marius Kociejowski, in which he interviews contemporary Neapolitans in a quest to delve deeply into their city and culture, he discusses with a contemporary street performer, the difference between a cantate and a cantatore. Kociejowski writes, “‘There is a difference between the cantante and the cantatore,’ Marcello continued. ‘The cantante is simply a singer whereas the cantatore improvises or. rather, creates the lyrics and music, telling stories that come from real life.” The English language lacks a word for such a difference.

How does the performance of opera relate to this difference? Coloratura would be one place to start. Embellishment of the arias and songs. Live theatre as we know, allows the performers to reference contemporary events by altering the words but not the story. The street is not so far from the theatre as one might suppose, nor is opera so far removed from daily life and the hopes and fears of ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances. Bringing an opera to life through performance makes a classical singer de facto into a cantatore. When an audience is profoundly moved it is the performer that creates that response.