The Violin: Technique and Style
The seventeenth century was a period in which profound changes in style bridged the musical aesthetics of the Renaissance and the Baroque. As a result, seventeenth-century styles include elements of both periods. The complex nature of seventeenth-century music offers a wealth of musical expression to violinists who attempt to understand it. Since an in-depth analysis of the numerous musical styles that developed during the seventeenth century is beyond the scope of this paper, my intention is to identify the major stylistic trends which motivated the musicians of the era, and to explain how these trends affected both the violin and the violinist.
Any discussion of style will eventually address issues of technique. Inasmuch as the seventeenth century was a volatile period of stylistic change, techniques had to adapt rapidly in order to communicate those changes more effectively. I shall explain the stylistic connection to those changes in technique.
Throughout this chapter I shall refer to the violin and violinists, but it should be understood that my intention is to include (in the Renaissance sense) all sizes of violin and viola, just as the terms “recorder” or “viola da gamba” can imply all sizes of those instruments.
STYLE AND CONTEXT
Many violinists, when first attempting to play in a historical style, are both confused and intimidated by the immensity of the subject. To start with a definition, one might say that style is that quality that imparts meaning to a performance—a meaning that can be appreciated through the context of the culture that gave it birth. In still simpler terms, style is the meaningful shapes we give to music. Notated pitches and rhythms, played without inflection, provide musical direction through harmonic and melodic rhythm, but that direction alone never fully expresses all that either the music or the performer has to offer. The shapes that we give those notes, through the manipulation of sound, articulation, dynamics, time, and the improvisational addition of notes, can impart a special meaning to what we play. The vast number of possible combinations of shapes can allow for any piece of music to be performed in a tremendous range of styles, even within one cultural context (compare, for example, Jimi Hendrix's rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner” to anything you'll ever hear at the ballpark).
One could learn a particular style by assembling, piece by piece, all of the many shapes used in that style. And, indeed, many performers begin to learn to play stylistically by this method. But that process by itself is ultimately unsatisfying. It would be the same as learning to recite poetry, with meaningful infections and dramatic pauses, but in a language you did not understand. It is far more useful and satisfying to have an understanding of the general background and framework of a particular musical style and how that framework changed over time. The task, then, is to establish the stylistic context of a repertory so that the special details of a particular place and time have meaning. Once the stylistic context of a piece of music is established, the specific stylistic details included in a performance of that music can be arrived at through intuition, as well as deduction.
At the most subtle level, the stylistic context of any repertory is closely linked to all of the social forces that shape human (and therefore musical) history, and a truly complete picture of a style can be assembled only through an interdisciplinary study that brings together as much information about a period as possible. It is hoped that your native curiosity will carry you on a lifelong pursuit of knowledge that will enhance your perception (and performance) of many styles.
The most important principle underlying all stylistic development is so simple that it is usually overlooked. That principle is that stylistic context is fully perceived only when it is examined with a forward-looking perspective with regard to time. In other words, you will understand a style better if you know where it came from. Even though that seems obvious, it is difficult (and ultimately impossible) to accomplish. It is irresistible to bring our modern sensibilities back to whatever we play, and, in a sense, that bit of ourselves that we bring back is what makes it our music, our artistic expression, instead of a perfect historical recreation. Still, every attempt must be made to establish, for ourselves and the listener, the stylistic context of whatever we play, in order to invest a composition with some of the expressive shapes preferred by those who created it in the first place.
Seventeenth-century music, in particular, is performed too often (especially by violinists) from the more familiar perspective of the eighteenth century looking backward. The result is a performance that either sounds like crude or embryonic eighteenth-century music or is merely incoherent. Within its correct stylistic context, a performance of seventeenth-century music can come to life. It can be heard as a culmination, or commentary on, that which precedes it. The same “historically informed” approach that unlocked our doors of perception into eighteenth-century music must be applied to any style to achieve the same results.
Violin Position and Bow Mechanics
For violin technique from any period, form follows function. As professional dance musicians, violinists of the early seventeenth century principally needed a technique that would provide the explosive articulations and relaxed sounds that would inspire their listeners to dance. The technique that is best suited to that function is one in which the violin is held low, cradled on the upper arm and drawn in toward the armpit (see Figure 10.1). This low placement allows the bow arm to work without having to hold it up, as well. In this position, a down-bow is merely a sudden and absolute release of the weight of the arm. In fact, the weight of the arm can be thrown into the violin in very free, even reckless movements that produce, in addition to the necessary articulations and sounds, the sense of abandon that is appropriate for dance music. This position for holding the violin was important enough that seventeenth-century players used it for violins and violas of any size. Only when the instrument was too large for the left hand to reach was it played on the shoulder, and then it was held at a downward angle that kept the bow arm in an orientation similar to the low-held position.
Figure 10.1. From Arbeau's Orchésographie.
This is a radical change for violinists trained in modern techniques (i.e., virtually everyone), yet one that is essential in order to experience seventeenth-century music fully. The bow arm is the single most important element of violin technique for the expression of style, since it produces the sound shapes that make a style meaningful. It is a change made even more difficult by the fact that modern violinists, through the process of learning to play with modern technique, generally have lost a sense of the weight of the bow arm. (But most violinists can probably remember how much their bow arm ached from the effort of continually holding it up when they first began!) As one begins to play while holding the violin in the lower position, it is difficult to break the habit of holding up the arm, even if one no longer needs to do so. In these initial efforts, a down-bow is usually the result of a controlled push rather than a sudden and absolute release of the weight of the arm. It is also common for beginners inadvertently to raise their right elbow in an effort to keep the bow arm up. Eventually, though, it is possible to relinquish all unnecessary control of the right arm and experience the freedom of the lower position.
A small change in the bow grip, effected by taking more of the stick in the hand, is also important for keeping the arm in a proper orientation to the instrument. It is best to keep the contact point of the index finger just inside the middle knuckle, while leaving the third and fourth fingers in their customary position. This grip will reestablish the smooth lines of hand, wrist, and forearm that were beneficial to higher-held positions. The grip also has the positive effect of eliminating some of the flexibility of the right hand (flexibility that is crucial to control in higher-held positions, since the larger muscles of the arm are busy supporting the arm), and it moves most of the responsibility for the bow stroke to the forearm, where, in the lower position, it belongs.
Learning this early violin technique can be made easier by playing as much dance music as possible. It is a technique that was inspired by—and is perfectly suited to—dance music, and when playing dance music one is inevitably drawn toward playing with the degree of physical freedom that does not allow for overcontrol of the bow arm. Playing for dancers is even better: not only will you inspire them to dance, they will inspire you with the energy of their movements.
Just as dancing cannot be done while sitting, professional dancemasters (as they were called) never played while seated. Indeed, early violin technique is impossible to negotiate unless one stands, because in any other position the bow arm will run into the right leg. Aside from this completely practical reason for standing, in the seventeenth century it was viewed as inappropriate to sit in the presence of your employers. Even bass violinists stood, placing their instrument on a stool, or hanging it from their neck with a strap attached to a ring embedded in the back of the instrument. Figure 10.2, an etching from the early seventeenth century, shows a violin band whose bass violinist plays with the instrument suspended in just such a manner.
Figure 10.2. Early seventeenth-century violin band.
Besides the fact that sitting makes the low-held technique impossible to use, standing allows you to play with the degree of physical freedom that is a joy to you as well as your audience. Period illustrations of violinists show them in poses we associate with rock and jazz musicians today, and it is no coincidence that violinists in the seventeenth century had a similar role to rock and jazz musicians in their popular culture. Once you become more comfortable with the low-held position for the violin and can play with a loose bow arm, your body will be able to make dancelike physical movements without distorting your playing. The bow arm and the violin will trace circles that intersect at the contact point of the bow on the string.
There are also exercises that you can do in order to loosen the bow arm and shorten the period of reorientation. One of these involves placing the bow on the a' and d' strings, near the frog, and then letting the arm fall, in an absolutely relaxed manner. When this is done properly, the arm will drop completely to your side in one smooth movement, you will feel the elbow snap, and the bow will point straight to the floor. The resulting sound will be loud and rather harsh, but the bow will not totally overpower the string. I always urge my students to make bad sounds when they are first learning early violin technique, in order to encourage them to give up control of the bow arm as quickly as possible. The control necessary for obtaining a good sound can be applied once the freedom of the bow arm is well established, and that control involves simply allowing the arm to fall, but at a slower rate. This sounds much more complicated than it is. Those who have mastered violin playing in this position almost universally think of it as a much easier, less physically complicated way of playing.
The Bow Position's Primary Effect on Style
Beyond dance music, the simplicity of this early technique is perfectly suited to the entire repertory of the early seventeenth century. The natural, relaxed way the body approaches the instrument is mirrored in the straightforward character that is basic to all the forms enjoyed by seventeenth-century violinists. The simplicity of bowing in this position produces sounds that are resonant and uncomplicated, sounds that blend well in consort or enhance solo playing.
There is an additional stylistic advantage to the low-held position—apart from the benefits it imparts to sound and down-bow articulation—in the manner in which it alters the effect of the up-bow: without the weight of the arm to lift, the up-bow sounds more similar to the down-bow. Because of the physical nature of the up-bow, drawing the weak side of the hand and arm in toward the body, the up-bow will still feel like a gathering of energy to be released on the stroke of the down-bow (either suddenly, or gradually to produce more even strokes). It is important to be aware of the difference in sensations associated with the up-bow and down-bow strokes in order to perceive a cycle of motion, cause and effect, yin and yang, in the bow arm, to meet the phrasing requirements of the music.
In general, though, the relaxed sounds that result from not holding up the bow arm, combined with the natural similarity of bow strokes, allow one to perform the long phrases of seventeenth-century music in an appropriately flowing manner. By using a wide range of bow speeds and pressures, in conjunction with the quick-speaking, powerful articulations natural to the low-held position, dancemasters had a wide variety of expressive shapes at their disposal. It was necessary for them to have such an arsenal of expressive devices in order for them to give their music the same flexible expressivity that singers gave to vocal music—an important stylistic goal of the period for instrumentalists. With all of that expressive detail, even dance music can become eloquent, as well as exciting. Three recordings by the violin band that I direct, The King's Noyse (see “Recommended Listening”), provide examples that demonstrate many of the effects possible with a bow while the violin is in the low-held position (in both solo and ensemble music), as well as stylistic issues such as consort sound and blend, tuning and temperament, and the interpretation of different compositional styles.
Bowing Systems
For the first half of the seventeenth century, the most sought-after and influential violinists were Italians, or at least adherents to the Italian school of violin playing. The evidence that we have for bowing choices from Italian violinists—primarily Gasparo Zannetti's Il scolaro—indicates a relatively free use of the bow, compared to modern playing. The modern bowing conventions of beginning and ending with down-bows and unifying bowings within an ensemble were nonexistent. Once again, the effect of the low-held position on bowing obviated the need to organize the bowing so that strong beats received down-bows; an up-bow was practically the same. Instead, bowing could be organized so as to give certain strong notes within a phrase one of the special treatments possible for the bow in the low-held position. And the primary principle of equal-voiced polyphony demands that each part be true to the integrity of its own melody, so superimposing an arbitrary unification of bowings within an ensemble is too artificial an approach for the performance of consort repertories. Of course, straightforward dance music might produce both regular down-bows on strong beats and unified bowings within the ensemble, but then it is the music itself that produces the effect, not the performers who are superimposing an arbitrary system.
Experience has taught me that most of the consort repertory is best performed simply as it is written, beginning with up-bow or down-bow so that the first important note within a phrase receives a down-bow by means of the natural progression of bow strokes. After that first important down-bow, a vast majority of repertory continues with important notes falling naturally on down-bows without correcting the bow. This approach might involve bowing backward (in the modern sense) for an extended period of time, but it will feel unnatural only because it is unfamiliar, rather than because it is unnatural for the bow arm. Sometimes it is necessary to correct the bow, but only to serve the needs of the phrase—to have a down-bow available when it is required. In general, when learning this use of the bow you should always challenge your feeling to need to correct the bow. Ask yourself whether the music really requires a down-bow, or whether you feel the need for a down-bow from habit.
There is one major exception to this approach to bowing seventeenth-century repertories, and that is the so-called French rule of down bow, developed by Jean-Baptiste Lully during the last half of the seventeenth century and used by players of many nationalities for the performance of French-style orchestral music. After the Restoration of the monarchy in England with the crowning of Charles II, for example, court violinists were required to learn and perform orchestral music according to this French approach to bowing. Much of the music from English composers of the late seventeenth century—Henry Purcell, for one—should be performed with French bowings.
The French system of bowing is an elaborate method that organizes the bowing so as to place a down-bow at the beginning of every measure. It is a utilitarian approach to bowing, rather than a musical one, that solves the problem of having many violinists play in unison without time-consuming discussions about bowing. There is, however, a distinctive musical effect that results from playing many consecutive down-bows, as often happens within this system. Repeatedly taking the bow off the string causes the sounds to be punctuated by silences, thereby producing a light, poised effect. The primary source of information about French bowings comes to us from the preface of Georg Muffat's Florilegium Secundum, a summary of which can be found in David Boyden's monumental History of Violin Playing. Muffat's examples of the bowings used in Lully's orchestra leave many questions about the use of the bow unanswered, but further clarifying information can be found in the writings of Michel Pignolet de Montéclair and Pierre Dupont. A summarization of Montéclair's and Dupont's work was assembled by Herbert Myers and can be found in the preface to George Houle's edition of Pierre Beauchamp's Le ballet des fâcheux (Bloomington, 1991).
Violin Position and Left-Hand Mechanics
When the violin is held in the low early seventeenth-century position, the left hand is required to hold the instrument as well as to finger the notes. The palm of the left hand should lie against the neck, and the heel of the hand will meet the body of the instrument. This is exactly what you were instructed not to do as a modern violinist, because when the violin is positioned on the shoulder, holding it in this manner creates angles that are detrimental to fluid playing. The low-held position dictates the opposite for the same reason: grasping the neck in the palm corrects the angles. There should be a smooth line from the back of the hand, through the wrist, and down the forearm to the elbow. In order to maximize the height of the fingers above the strings, it is best to have the neck nestled as low as possible in the crook between the thumb and first finger.
A short period of reorientation will be required in order to play in tune. Compared to the customary position of the left hand (with the instrument held on the shoulder), the first finger will lie sharp (and you will feel that it must be pulled back), while the third finger will lie flat (and when playing in tune, it will seem to require a stretch). There is a hidden benefit to changing the orientation of the fingers to the fingerboard and breaking the habits of left-hand finger position: your ear will have to become more involved in your playing. Many violinists stop hearing themselves once the physical habits of bowing and fingering become established, but the only way a violinist can ever play in an intonation system of unequal temperament, or play in an affective, stylistic manner, is to have the ear intimately involved in the process.
At first, the left hand will feel constrained by the requirements of its new role. In addition, beginners usually fear that the instrument will drop at any moment, and as a result they hold the instrument more tightly than necessary, thereby further restricting the flexibility of their fingers. In reality, the friction of the skin against the wood of the neck alone is sufficient to hold the instrument in place, and drawing the instrument in toward the body is probably the position in which it is least likely that the violin will drop. With a bit of practice, these feelings of insecurity soon disappear.
Once the left hand feels relaxed and comfortable in its new position, there is one more subtle function that should be learned. The left hand can also control the angle at which the instrument meets the bow. When playing on the upper three strings, the violin is best held flat, relatively parallel to the ground. When playing on the bottom string, it is better to change the angle of the instrument, by rotating the neck slightly, rather than to raise the arm. A very small twist of the violin in the left hand, accomplished by rolling the neck between the thumb and first finger, can raise the bottom string to a position comparable to that of the middle and upper strings when the violin was held flat. This keeps the mechanics of the bow arm consistent over the entire range of the instrument.
Shifting
The most common reaction to the low-held technique I have received from violinists has been to question its usefulness, based on the inability of the left hand to shift by the modern method. On that basis alone they often deduce that shoulder techniques are more advanced and therefore more serviceable for seventeenth-century repertory, and they are therefore hesitant to learn about the low-held position. My response to that reaction is to remind the student that there are many ways to shift, and none is superior to any other as long as it meets the requirements of the music. The truth of the matter is that the only thing that is important for the left hand is that the fingers be at the right place at the right time, and the advantages that the low-held technique impart to the bow arm for playing stylistically far outweigh any perceived inconveniences to the left hand. It makes sense that once a person invests the time and energy to learn something as difficult as shifting with accuracy, the dread of going through that process all over again can make any alternate system seem nearly impossible, and therefore undesirable.
But shifting while holding the instrument low on the arm is simpler than when the instrument is held on the shoulder: one merely replaces fingers to assume a new position. For example, shifting from first to second position (one of the most common shifts, since the range of seventeenth-century repertory often ascends to c''' in the highest violin part, in patterns for which fourth-finger extensions are inadequate) is accomplished by replacing the third finger with the second, while the thumb remains back in first position. This slight forward movement of the fingers is much easier to perform accurately than when the entire hand and arm move forward, as well. You have only to learn a new coordination for the fingers, so that they fall in the right place. It is possible to shift comfortably in this manner as high as third or fourth position, although if you must remain there for an extended period of time, it will be more comfortable to bring the thumb up, as well. The shift down, then, is accomplished in two motions: first the thumb moves back, to be followed by downward finger replacement.
Practice shifting by repeatedly replacing fingers for any one pitch while being careful to maintain a consistent intonation. First, work on moving only one position at a time. Slur, in long bow strokes on each string (but primarily the top string), a pattern of second finger, open string, first finger, open string, and so forth. Then slur a pattern of third finger, open string, second finger, open string, and so forth until you have completed a pattern of adjacent-finger replacement through to the fourth finger. Then practice a similar replacement exercise by interchanging fingers that are two positions apart: third and first, and fourth and second. Of course, this should be practiced only once the left hand is thoroughly comfortable and relaxed in first position: otherwise you will only add to the tension of the left hand.
The Transition to the Shoulder
When did violinists begin to play with the sort of technique that “Baroque” violinists use today? The transition to a shoulder-held position occurred slowly during the last half of the seventeenth century, but mostly toward the end of the century. Violin tutors from the early eighteenth century still instruct violinists to hold the instrument in the low position, but by then it was probably a conservative idea.
A more important question to ask is, why did the violin move up to the shoulder? The reason the violin traveled to a higher position on the shoulder was that this, in turn, raised the bow arm. The resultant sounds, created by bowing while carrying the weight of the arm, were then endowed with certain complexities that are appropriate for that repertory. Once you become comfortable with playing in the low-held position and can bow without holding up the weight of the arm, when you move the violin up to the shoulder the weight of the arm can be perceived and hence assimilated intelligently into the bow stroke. With more of your body incorporated into your playing, your body will actually help you to make interpretive decisions about style. This is the most important reason for learning the low-held technique, even if you primarily intend to play later repertories on the shoulder: you will have a unique and useful perspective that will improve your playing.
Once the instrument was in the shoulder position, the new orientation for the left hand allowed violinists to explore different melodic gymnastics that would have been difficult, or even impossible, with the instrument in the low-held position. Sometimes these melodic configurations can be an indication of whether a particular piece was intended for the low- or shoulder-held position, but not always, and it is unwise to let a few inconveniences of the left hand dictate the violin's position when the expressive needs of the bow arm should be the overriding concern. Furthermore, since both playing positions existed side by side at the end of the century, each composer (and often each piece) must be approached individually. The player should choose the position that allows the bow to express the music in the most natural and effective way.
SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY STYLE
Consort Music
At the beginning of the seventeenth century, most violinists were professional dance musicians who performed alone, or in ensembles often referred to as “violin bands.” By this time the violinist's role as a dance musician embodied a tradition of almost a hundred years’ duration. Violinists and violin bands were expected to improvise as soloists or even in groups, make rough arrangements of popular music for whatever number of players were involved, or, at the wealthiest courts and noble houses, play music written by such composers as John Dowland, Anthony Holborne, William Brade, and Michael Praetorius.
Improvised consort music was probably the most common repertory for the violin band and is one of the more difficult (but rewarding!) styles to recreate. Group improvisation in the seventeenth century was accomplished in the same way that it is today: each musician, individually, plays a part that agrees with a unifying melody or chord progression. Also like musicians today, the more experience an ensemble has in doing this kind of playing, the more the players are able to discover roles that do not overlap, and what to play when, in order to add to the compositional creativity of the piece. For a more comprehensive discussion of the mechanics of group improvisation, consult my article in the November/December 1994 issue of Strings magazine.1
As for composed repertories, at the beginning of the seventeenth century music continued to be written and performed in the style of the Renaissance: all lines were of equal melodic importance in the polyphonic texture. Summarizing the style of instrumental music of the great composers from the early seventeenth century one could say it is shaped much like language. In Renaissance vocal music each of the interweaving melodies is fashioned so that poetic phrases are expressed in complete musical phrases. To continue a linguistic analogy these musical sentences are then linked together to form paragraphs, and the paragraphs are joined so that the composition tells one story from beginning to end. Sometimes words that have special significance to the text are given melodic gestures that describe those words (a compositional device known as “word painting”), but never in a way that distracts from the larger phrase. Instrumental music, with the possible exception of some dance music, was also composed in equal-voiced polyphony. Vocal forms were adapted for instrumental purposes, and vocal works were performed instrumentally
For example, one collection of instrumental music written by John Dowland and published in 1604, Lachrimæ or Seaven Teares, contains seven dances, called pavans, that are really variations on a song, also by Dowland, entitled “Flow my Tears.” This collection, incidentally, was specifically designated for either the violin family or viols. Each pavan contains three sections, and each section vividly describes the meaning of the text. Since these pavans are best performed as though each of the five players is singing the text of the song, care must be taken to play in a manner that communicates the structure of the sentences of the text, as well as the eloquence of the individual words. Early seventeenth-century violinists were well trained, from the experience they gained in their traditional role as dance musicians, to provide a tremendous variety of effects with the bow, and they were able to bring that eloquent detail to consort music without obscuring the phrasing. Even if no text is available to guide the performance of a piece of early seventeenth-century consort music, it is best performed in this manner, as though it were texted.
Not all seventeenth-century consort music is specifically indicated to be performed on violin or by violin band. Rather, violin bands drew from a wide variety of musical sources and adapted the music for their purposes. One way the suitability of a polyphonic piece for performance by violin band can be determined is by the ranges of the parts. The most common configuration of a violin band included only one bass instrument, with violins and violas forming the remainder. Thus, in order for a composition to be playable by a violin band, all the parts other than the bass must stay on or above c (an octave below middle C). An astonishing amount of repertory conforms to this scoring and is available to violin bands for performance (or adaptation for performance). This is an easy, quick test for deciding which music might have been primarily intended for performance on a consort of viola da gambas, instead of violin band: the large range of the viola da gamba allows it to cover music that would require at least two bass violins.
With the continuing influence of treble–bass compositional forms, by the end of the seventeenth century, consort music began to take on the “orchestral” character that we are familiar with today: a compositional structure consisting of treble, bass, and a filler consisting of second violin and viola parts that have little melodic identity and whose function is merely to fill out the harmonies. But this is the exception, rather than the rule, and the safest (and most fulfilling) practice is to approach all seventeenth-century consort music as though each part is of equal melodic importance. The consort music of Heinrich Ignaz Franz von Biber, for example, is rich in the complexities of equal part-writing in spite of having been written during the last quarter of the century.
Consort Sound, Tuning, and Temperament
Sound is also an important component of style. The instruments used for the performance of early seventeenth-century violin consort music ideally would have been constructed to blend as one sound, to enhance the effect of the equal-voiced polyphony. Furthermore, violins and violas were made in a variety of sizes so that parts in many ranges could be played with a more equal sound: for example, in order to provide a balanced sound throughout a five-part consort, one would play first-soprano parts on a small violin, second-soprano parts on a large violin, alto parts on a small viola, tenor parts on a large viola, and bass parts on a bass violin. Scoring the instruments so that all of the parts are equally balanced in sound also makes it easier for the players to shape their melodies so that they sound more similar. One must keep an open mind in assigning instruments to parts, since sometimes they do not correspond to the usual ranges. In some extreme cases, an equal scoring will require only violas.
The intonation system used by violin bands was another intrinsic part of their sound. Consorts of instruments of unfixed pitch—such as violins, singers, and wind bands—had the ability to play pure intervals wherever they wanted. Fixed-pitch instruments without that ability, such as fretted instruments, harps, and keyboards, settled on meantone temperaments (most commonly, quarter-comma; see “Tuning and Temperament” in this volume), which favor only the major thirds. In a violin band performance, the flavor of meantone temperament is heard melodically (through the use of large and small half steps), while the goal of intervallic purity can be extended to more intervals. Furthermore, a different tuning for the bass violin made this goal easier to accomplish. For most of the seventeenth century, the low string on the bass violin was tuned to 
, one whole step lower than we are accustomed to tuning the cello today. With this tuning, bass violinists were able to tune their two bottom strings in perfect thirds (seventeenths, actually) to two violin strings (the bottom string to the violin d', and the F string to the violin a'), thereby eliminating the problem that results from stacking perfect fifths down to low C. For more information on tuning and temperament, see Herbert Myers's chapter in this volume.
Practical experience with violin bands has taught me that the best results are obtained when everyone tunes as closely as possible to perfect intervals, and then, during a performance, uses a fingered note when the open strings are not appropriate for the chord. With the harmonic limitations of most early seventeenth-century consort music, usually a' and e" are the only open-string notes that are troublesome for tuning. When a' is the third of the F-chord, it is lower than when it is in either the D- or A-chords. The same is true for the e'; as the third of the C-chord, it is lower than in either the A- or E-chords. A fourth finger can easily be used to avoid any problems caused by the tuning of the open strings, but by tuning the bass violin F string to the violin a', the F-chord and the C-chord are raised slightly, allowing the violinists and violists to play both thirds with open strings.
Extremely chromatic works often tax the violin band's ability to play in tune and require a flexible orientation of the left hand to the fingerboard. Under those circumstances, the ear will often guide a player's fingers to unaccustomed placements. The best way to play convincingly and eloquently in any style is to have your ears and heart lead your technique, and then to make that technique as flexibly expressive as possible. This is a radical departure from current practice and necessitates a particularly difficult reorientation for modern violinists who were taught a more pragmatic, systematic approach to technique.
Still another component of sound on the violin has to do with fingering choices. It is apparent from the evidence of seventeenth-century violin tablatures (a type of music notation that shows exactly where to place your fingers) that violinists preferred the sound of an open string to that of a fourth finger. Even measured trills to open-string pitches (as in cadences to d', a', or e") were done by a rapid alternation between the open string and a third finger a half step lower, rather than by playing it all on one string with the third and fourth fingers. From this and other evidence concerning aspects of technique, it is obvious that seventeenth-century violinists valued sound over convenience.
Solo Music: Improvised Forms
At the beginning of the seventeenth century, violinists often played alone, for the entertainment of themselves and their audiences. This solo music was mostly improvised, in many forms that included unaccompanied preludes, divisions over ground basses, and Italian-style diminutions of vocal music (with or without the accompaniment of the original polyphony). Some composers—and a few violinists who were also accomplished composers, such as William Brade—wrote complicated divisions and ornamentations that were less spontaneously conceived, but for the most part, division playing was considered an improvised art. English violinists in particular enjoyed these improvised forms, using them (with only some stylistic changes) well into the eighteenth century. For example, one seventeenth-century book of English improvisations for violin, John Playford's The Division Violin, was published in eighteen editions, well into the eighteenth century.2
The most important stylistic component common to all of these improvised solo forms is their melodic, vocal quality. This means that rather long phrases should be maintained, no matter how rapid the divisions become. As mentioned earlier, one of the primary advantages of the low-held technique used by violinists of the period is the equal sound of the bow strokes. It is no coincidence that both the low-held technique and this improvisational form of division playing have their roots in the sixteenth century, since they are such natural partners. By the last half of the seventeenth century, however, the same gradual changes affecting other styles of composition also crept into the world of division violin playing, and as a result, shoulder-held techniques became a more common way to play. For a more thorough analysis of the relationship between division style and the two playing positions, consult my article in the July/August 1990 issue of Strings magazine.3 In that article I compare two divisions on the tune “John come kiss me now,” respectively by violinists David Mell and Thomas Baltzer, which exist side by side in The Division Violin and demonstrate the two quite different stylistic worlds (and their corresponding techniques) that coexisted in the last half of the century. I further discuss how the different positions of the bow arm, in the low- and high-held positions, can be used to convey their respective styles with the same degree of physical naturalness.
To truly develop an understanding of seventeenth-century style and the cultural experience of the seventeenth-century violinist, it is necessary to learn how to improvise. Just as the techniques of the dancemaster allow a player the maximum amount of physical freedom, improvisation offers an equal degree of creative freedom. That sense of freedom can then carry over, in effect, into the interpretation of composed repertories. Ideally, when a listener hears a performance of a seventeenth-century composition, it should sound as though the performer is improvising. Ornamentation can certainly help to convey that sense of improvisation, but nothing really approaches the feeling of inspiration that comes from being totally involved in the creative process during a performance.
It is possible to learn to improvise your own divisions and diminutions by first becoming comfortable with technique and style (by performing a lot of repertory and practicing the exercises contained in seventeenth-century diminution treatises, all with the proper technique), and then putting away all music and beginning the slow process of rediscovering the pitches on the fingerboard. Start with ground basses (repeated harmonic patterns), simple ones at first, and then more complicated ones as you develop the ability to negotiate them with confidence and creativity. At first play just the chord tones (over the entire range of the fingerboard), and after those arpeggios become absolutely comfortable, add notes that fill in melodically, but proceeding slowly and methodically cannot be overemphasized. Keep your improvisations simple. This will allow you to learn to improvise coherently. It is also important to give to whatever you play a strong sense of melodic direction, even if you are playing only chord tones. After mastering grounds, you will have the ability to improvise variations of melodies that will surpass the effects of simple ornamentation, and those new melodies will form the basis for free unaccompanied prologues. These few sentences about learning to improvise sum up a process that will take many years to accomplish. But your efforts will pay huge dividends, not only to your playing, but to your appreciation of all music.
Solo Music: The Sonata
With the influence of monody, the new style of Italian vocal music that emerged at the beginning of the century, instrumental music began to explore new forms and find new avenues of expression. The two most important changes that this new style of vocal music brought to instrumental music were, first, a bass–treble compositional texture, and second, freer melodic writing that, in vocal music, allowed composers to set texts to melodies that served the meaning of the words more directly. Just as the melodic character of a piece of monody might change dramatically many times, in order to convey its texts in the most affecting way, instrumental music also began to incorporate melodies that, through dramatic contrast, described more complicated concepts. All solo and ensemble instrumental music was influenced, to some degree, by Italian monody, but the instrumental form that most closely approached the vocal model was the sonata.
If one examines an early seventeenth-century sonata in isolation (as violinists often do), without the benefit of any other knowledge of seventeenth-century music, the early sonata can appear quirky or even senseless (or perhaps, in a generous assessment, playful), especially in comparison to later sonatas. Without any attempt to establish the correct technical or stylistic perspective, violinists tend to perform these sonatas in ways that maximize the qualities of quirkiness that they perceive. But an understanding of early Italian monody teaches us that all those dramatic chromaticisms, changes of character and meter, and so forth are mere details that are subservient to larger structures of the composition. With text, those dramatic musical devices amplify the meanings of the words, and sentence structure holds the piece together in larger, coherent units. In an instrumental composition, without the benefit of words, an extra effort must be made to link separate sections together into a coherent whole. In this way, the performance of an early seventeenth-century sonata can be one dramatic journey, instead of a numbing laundry list of effects that at best demonstrate the left-hand skills of the performer.
The earliest sonatas, without question, are best performed with the low-held technique. Violinists today can benefit, just as seventeenth-century violinists did, from the range of articulations and sounds that are available when the instrument is held in that position. But for pieces written during the last quarter of the century, when the harmonic language was changing in ways which made the elevated arm an asset, a judgment must be made (as I mentioned earlier, in discussing late division repertory) as to which position expresses the music in the manner most natural for the body. In my estimation, for example, the sonatas of Johann Heinrich Schmelzer retain enough of the early seventeenth-century sense of melody and division-style melodic figuration that they are best performed in the low-held position, in spite of the demands that makes on the left hand. The sonatas of Biber, one generation later, contain a harmonic and melodic language that is most effectively played in the shoulder-held position.
It will be difficult not to make the decision on playing position on the basis of which is the most accommodating for the left hand. But giving, in general, primary importance to the expressive needs of the music will improve your ability to be an affective performer more than any amount of attention that you give to the technical difficulties. In the end, it will be your increased sensitivity to the expressive differences in music that will demand that you learn new techniques, search out new knowledge, and insist that you approach each piece as unique within a larger stylistic framework.
NOTES
1. Douglass, “Play It”: 32ff.
2. Playford, Division Violin.
3. Douglass, “Renaissance Violin”: 24–27; see also Douglass, “The Violin”: 162–163.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Douglass, “Play It”; Douglass, “Renaissance”; Douglass, “Te Violin”; Playford, Division Violin.