IN PURSUIT OF THE "MASTERPIECE"
THE 3 PILLARS OF REPERTOIRE EVOLUTION
The indisputable reality in the life of a classical pianist is that there are so many veritable masterpieces written for their instrument, whether they are solo works, concertos, or smaller chamber pieces where you have a prominent role, that it's impossible to even come close to knowing all of them throughout one's career. The same can be said about the violin (solo and chamber repertoire) and the human voice (art songs, operas, and choral works). No matter how much repertoire you devour, there will always be that one magnificent piece that you never even knew existed or paid attention to.
What a nice problem to have, isn't it? At least from the standpoint of the rest of us, who are lucky if we have only a few works of such caliber. There are even instruments where you would struggle to find any solo composition that people who don't play that instrument would want to listen to. This may sound disrespectful, but unfortunately, it doesn’t make it any less true.
By this hierarchy, the trumpet falls somewhere in the lower middle tier of instruments. It's not terrible, but it's definitely not great either. I won't bore you with the usual history lesson since I'm sure you already know the reasons for this. We couldn't even play most of the notes throughout the XVII and XVIII centuries, and then wasted most of the XIX century in the "experimentation phase," often with dubious timbral results, before finally settling on to what the instrument even is, and then waiting for another full century for the pedagogy to catch up until finally, we got a generation of trumpet players who can handle the instrument with the same level of physical ease that most other musicians have enjoyed with their instruments for centuries.
Of course, it's better to arrive late than never, but we are left to cope not only with the missed opportunities (all those Brahms Trumpet Sonatas and Beethoven Brass Quintets that were never written…), but more importantly we're dealing with the well-established and cemented perception within the classical music world of the trumpet as a rather one sided instrument without much technical and timbral flexibility and therefore not particularly interesting as a solo instrument.
What a nice problem to have, isn't it? At least from the standpoint of the rest of us, who are lucky if we have only a few works of such caliber. There are even instruments where you would struggle to find any solo composition that people who don't play that instrument would want to listen to. This may sound disrespectful, but unfortunately, it doesn’t make it any less true.
By this hierarchy, the trumpet falls somewhere in the lower middle tier of instruments. It's not terrible, but it's definitely not great either. I won't bore you with the usual history lesson since I'm sure you already know the reasons for this. We couldn't even play most of the notes throughout the XVII and XVIII centuries, and then wasted most of the XIX century in the "experimentation phase," often with dubious timbral results, before finally settling on to what the instrument even is, and then waiting for another full century for the pedagogy to catch up until finally, we got a generation of trumpet players who can handle the instrument with the same level of physical ease that most other musicians have enjoyed with their instruments for centuries.
Of course, it's better to arrive late than never, but we are left to cope not only with the missed opportunities (all those Brahms Trumpet Sonatas and Beethoven Brass Quintets that were never written…), but more importantly we're dealing with the well-established and cemented perception within the classical music world of the trumpet as a rather one sided instrument without much technical and timbral flexibility and therefore not particularly interesting as a solo instrument.
So, what are we going to do about it now?
Herein I intent to try and present some answers or, at least, to stimulate discussion and inspire people to look for their own preferred solutions. I’m writing from the trumpet player’s perspective, and I’ll be using many examples from our own repertoire throughout the article; however, this is a highly universal subject and I hope it can be of use to any classical musician. As we all already know, there are basically three things you can do in order to evolve and develop the repertoire for an instrument: you can collaborate with composers and commission new pieces (or compose them yourself); you can do the research into what’s already there (and either stumble onto an unknown piece worth uncovering, or rethink and improve the performance practice of a well known repertoire piece thus helping it reach new heights of musical meaning); and finally, you can always arrange an existing work originally written for something else. |
Most of this article will focus on the third approach and the aesthetical and practical challenges when arranging for trumpet; but I'd still like to use this opportunity to quickly summarize some of my thoughts and concerns about the first two as well, as there are multiple interesting parallels between them.
1. NEW COMPOSITIONS
This one is fairly self-explanatory. It is the primary duty of every classical musician to collaborate with composers, aid in the creation of new pieces, perform them, and leave something for the posterity. There is no other art form where people forget this as often as classical musicians do. If people didn’t want to play “weird contemporary music” 200 years ago, none of your favorite pieces would exist. Originally I was going to make this a second chapter, after “researching existing works”, but I changed my mind. This is the first chapter because it simply has to be.
Now, in order to put oneself in a position where you can be involved in the creation of a really meaningful and remarkable composition in which your instrument plays a significant soloist role, there are two crucial factors to take into account. The first one is rather obvious and universal for musicians of literally every musical genre: you have to get with the times and become accustomed with the current style and the new music scene in general.
There is no way around it, and I understand that this might seem intimidating to many students and young musicians reading this, but don’t worry: You no longer have to grow out your hair and move to a dingy basement apartment in some hip neighborhood of New York or Paris. In fact, you don't even have to leave the comfort of your own home. Simply start by going on YouTube for 20 minutes a day and giving proper contemporary music a chance. And yes, by “proper” I do mean the kind which right now sounds like gibberish to you. Don't hesitate to ask the "new music freak" in your life for recommendations and insights into their favorite pieces. Embrace the fact that it's a sort of a new language, and be patient with yourself as you work towards becoming "fluent" in it. I’m sorry for the harsh reality, but if people stick their head in the sand and refuse to engage with the last 100 years of music history, it will only produce some harmless, “easy-listening” goo. That is a path of least resistance, and it certainly won't lead to any kind of "masterpiece." Again, this issue is barely existent in other art forms. Just ask any serious architect about their opinion on the historicist style and those nouveau-riche individuals in the suburbs constructing mansions adorned with medieval towers and Roman columns. Or, try finding a novel by a living writer who still writes in the Shakespearean language.
Phew…
Now that this is out of the way, and for those who are still reading, let’s briefly address the practical aspects of getting into the “scene”. A lot of it seems to be dependent on your age: for students and young professionals there are plenty of entry opportunities, especially in the form of specialized master’s programs currently emerging across Europe. Dedicating one year of your life to figuring this thing out will be well worth it, even if you don't intend to specialize in contemporary music. But even those who are over 40 shouldn't despair, just a visit to one good festival and/or summer course can open many doors and introduce you to dozens of composers you can potentially collaborate with (I’m currently going through a similar beginner’s phase in a completely different musical genre, and yes, it is not easy on the ego to admit that you know much less about the subject then all those kids around you; but keep in mind that all personal growth is cumulative, and that what you’ll learn will have a lasting impact on your performances of other music styles as well, including the ones you’ve already mastered)
That was the first factor, or rather a prerequisite that needs to be fulfilled before arriving at the real challenge, which is the second factor (and the true purpose of this whole chapter): making yourself inspiring enough for a composer to create something extraordinary for you. Most of the great solo works of the 20th century, especially those written for previously neglected instruments, owe their existence to that one player, a larger-than-life character whose combination of individual sound, charisma and a personal vocabulary of extended playing techniques have allowed the composers to finally see the true potential of all that this instrument can be. For the oboe that would be Heinz Holliger, for trombone Vinko Globokar, then we’d have Stefano Scodanibbio on the double bass, and the list goes on. I say the 20th century, but things weren’t different before either: if it wasn’t for Anton Weidinger, we’d have zero trumpet concertos of the classical period. Now we have two, and we play them all the time.
So how do you become that person?
One mistake that I often see musicians specializing in contemporary music make, is to get so focused on the machine-like precision of execution that it becomes a goal in itself instead of just a means to an end. I understand the pride one can feel when spending hours deciphering a 5-tuplet within a 9-tuplet that goes over the bar line and then finally being able to play it correctly; but we mustn’t forget that there is still an audience who came expecting to be “moved” in some way, and to feel something. No matter how complicated the music looks, there are still lines leading somewhere, there are points of emphasis, there is plenty of opportunity for expression in your performance, and it’s just as important as it was in romanticism. You won’t be expressing the same thing as in romantic music, or using the same tools (unless it is written within some sort of ironic, post-modernist context), but if you’re just “delivering” your text in a self-absorbed manner, people will be bored. That would be rule number one for me: Elicit an emotional response from a listener. A composer listening to your performance of other music needs to be able to feel this first, before it goes any further. Otherwise they will probably still write something, but they will treat it more like an etude and are much less likely to develop a complex structure or infuse substantial musical depth into it. The more you give, the more you’ll receive in return.
Another important aspect is being fully aware of, and able to clearly explain the strengths and weaknesses of your instrument, combined with the ability to think like a composer. If you’re faced with an awkwardly written part, try to imagine what idea was the composer following and what is important to them about that part, and then offer solutions that may sound more convincing on your instrument. This sort of input can greatly improve the end result.
Developing a vocabulary of extended playing techniques is paramount. The instrument is constantly and inevitably progressing and you (the person commissioning new works) are at the forefront of that progress. Also this is the first thing most composers will want you to demonstrate, as soon as you begin working together. Again, clearly communicating the strengths and weaknesses of each extended technique is very helpful; and being able to play at least a short improvisation showcasing each of them in a fitting context can do wonders.
Composers often draw inspiration from the free jazz/free improvisation genre, where performers frequently push the boundaries of extended techniques beyond what is commonly seen in notated contemporary music. As someone active in both genres, I can attest that some of the sounds we produce result from experimentation and chance, and may not be reproducible by another player, on another instrument, or even on another day.
So, if we’re collaborating with composers who are inspired by the unknown colors and sounds on the instrument, it is our job to be competent and have a broad palette to offer, so that we can also eventually be permitted to determine when someone is going too far and asking for a sound that will most likely not happen in a performance.
In general, fostering your own creativity and composing for yourself (either instantaneously, in the form of a free improvisation or more conventionally, by writing things down on paper) will greatly boost your chances of having someone else write something interesting for you. Perform and experiment as much as possible, get yourself out there, work on your delivery and stage presence, and sooner or later, they will come.
Now, in order to put oneself in a position where you can be involved in the creation of a really meaningful and remarkable composition in which your instrument plays a significant soloist role, there are two crucial factors to take into account. The first one is rather obvious and universal for musicians of literally every musical genre: you have to get with the times and become accustomed with the current style and the new music scene in general.
There is no way around it, and I understand that this might seem intimidating to many students and young musicians reading this, but don’t worry: You no longer have to grow out your hair and move to a dingy basement apartment in some hip neighborhood of New York or Paris. In fact, you don't even have to leave the comfort of your own home. Simply start by going on YouTube for 20 minutes a day and giving proper contemporary music a chance. And yes, by “proper” I do mean the kind which right now sounds like gibberish to you. Don't hesitate to ask the "new music freak" in your life for recommendations and insights into their favorite pieces. Embrace the fact that it's a sort of a new language, and be patient with yourself as you work towards becoming "fluent" in it. I’m sorry for the harsh reality, but if people stick their head in the sand and refuse to engage with the last 100 years of music history, it will only produce some harmless, “easy-listening” goo. That is a path of least resistance, and it certainly won't lead to any kind of "masterpiece." Again, this issue is barely existent in other art forms. Just ask any serious architect about their opinion on the historicist style and those nouveau-riche individuals in the suburbs constructing mansions adorned with medieval towers and Roman columns. Or, try finding a novel by a living writer who still writes in the Shakespearean language.
Phew…
Now that this is out of the way, and for those who are still reading, let’s briefly address the practical aspects of getting into the “scene”. A lot of it seems to be dependent on your age: for students and young professionals there are plenty of entry opportunities, especially in the form of specialized master’s programs currently emerging across Europe. Dedicating one year of your life to figuring this thing out will be well worth it, even if you don't intend to specialize in contemporary music. But even those who are over 40 shouldn't despair, just a visit to one good festival and/or summer course can open many doors and introduce you to dozens of composers you can potentially collaborate with (I’m currently going through a similar beginner’s phase in a completely different musical genre, and yes, it is not easy on the ego to admit that you know much less about the subject then all those kids around you; but keep in mind that all personal growth is cumulative, and that what you’ll learn will have a lasting impact on your performances of other music styles as well, including the ones you’ve already mastered)
That was the first factor, or rather a prerequisite that needs to be fulfilled before arriving at the real challenge, which is the second factor (and the true purpose of this whole chapter): making yourself inspiring enough for a composer to create something extraordinary for you. Most of the great solo works of the 20th century, especially those written for previously neglected instruments, owe their existence to that one player, a larger-than-life character whose combination of individual sound, charisma and a personal vocabulary of extended playing techniques have allowed the composers to finally see the true potential of all that this instrument can be. For the oboe that would be Heinz Holliger, for trombone Vinko Globokar, then we’d have Stefano Scodanibbio on the double bass, and the list goes on. I say the 20th century, but things weren’t different before either: if it wasn’t for Anton Weidinger, we’d have zero trumpet concertos of the classical period. Now we have two, and we play them all the time.
So how do you become that person?
One mistake that I often see musicians specializing in contemporary music make, is to get so focused on the machine-like precision of execution that it becomes a goal in itself instead of just a means to an end. I understand the pride one can feel when spending hours deciphering a 5-tuplet within a 9-tuplet that goes over the bar line and then finally being able to play it correctly; but we mustn’t forget that there is still an audience who came expecting to be “moved” in some way, and to feel something. No matter how complicated the music looks, there are still lines leading somewhere, there are points of emphasis, there is plenty of opportunity for expression in your performance, and it’s just as important as it was in romanticism. You won’t be expressing the same thing as in romantic music, or using the same tools (unless it is written within some sort of ironic, post-modernist context), but if you’re just “delivering” your text in a self-absorbed manner, people will be bored. That would be rule number one for me: Elicit an emotional response from a listener. A composer listening to your performance of other music needs to be able to feel this first, before it goes any further. Otherwise they will probably still write something, but they will treat it more like an etude and are much less likely to develop a complex structure or infuse substantial musical depth into it. The more you give, the more you’ll receive in return.
Another important aspect is being fully aware of, and able to clearly explain the strengths and weaknesses of your instrument, combined with the ability to think like a composer. If you’re faced with an awkwardly written part, try to imagine what idea was the composer following and what is important to them about that part, and then offer solutions that may sound more convincing on your instrument. This sort of input can greatly improve the end result.
Developing a vocabulary of extended playing techniques is paramount. The instrument is constantly and inevitably progressing and you (the person commissioning new works) are at the forefront of that progress. Also this is the first thing most composers will want you to demonstrate, as soon as you begin working together. Again, clearly communicating the strengths and weaknesses of each extended technique is very helpful; and being able to play at least a short improvisation showcasing each of them in a fitting context can do wonders.
Composers often draw inspiration from the free jazz/free improvisation genre, where performers frequently push the boundaries of extended techniques beyond what is commonly seen in notated contemporary music. As someone active in both genres, I can attest that some of the sounds we produce result from experimentation and chance, and may not be reproducible by another player, on another instrument, or even on another day.
So, if we’re collaborating with composers who are inspired by the unknown colors and sounds on the instrument, it is our job to be competent and have a broad palette to offer, so that we can also eventually be permitted to determine when someone is going too far and asking for a sound that will most likely not happen in a performance.
In general, fostering your own creativity and composing for yourself (either instantaneously, in the form of a free improvisation or more conventionally, by writing things down on paper) will greatly boost your chances of having someone else write something interesting for you. Perform and experiment as much as possible, get yourself out there, work on your delivery and stage presence, and sooner or later, they will come.
2. IMPROVING THE EXISTING REPERTOIRE THROUGH RESEARCH AND PERFORMANCE PRACTICE
As we explore the established trumpet repertoire, looking for “masterpieces”, we will surely find ourselves on very slippery terrain. So, before proceeding further, I feel like this is an appropriate time to stop and go back to the opening paragraphs of this article and attempt to define what it is that we (apparently) don’t have and pianists, violinists, and singers do.
What is the meaning of this “M-word” we’ve been throwing around all day? I could of course take the safe route and look up what some famous art theorists and philosophers had to say about it; which would at the same time make me seem erudite and give me a shield against anyone who disagrees with me. Instead, I will try to gather my own thoughts and criteria, however flawed and chaotic they may be, and attempt to list some possible characteristics of a musical masterpiece (when we talk about instrumental solo-compositions)
1. The melodic lines always make sense, while successfully evading cliches (same goes for the rhythm)
2. It highlights the timbral qualities of the particular range of the instrument, or even the particular key (on the non-tempered instruments)
3. If subjected to structural or harmonic analysis it will reveal hidden connections and other information which can be emphasized to improve the performance
4. (if it’s an accompanied piece, or a duo sonata) There's a complex interplay with the other instrument(s). There's always something new to rehearse, a new voice to bring out.
5. The above characteristics will be true for the entire duration, or at least the majority of the piece (even the clumsy, mediocre compositions will sometimes have short masterful sections in them, but if those are few and far between they will be easily forgotten)
6. It will be universally recognized as a great work by musicians who don’t play that instrument or have any connection to it, as well as by general audiences with experience in active listening (by which I don’t only mean scholars but also regular concert goers and public radio audiences)
7. The impact of the piece may or may not be immediate, but it invariably grows upon repeated listening and performing. The more familiar you become with the work, the more qualities you discover over time. This holds true regardless of whether the music is simple or complex (as in: early XVII century baroque vs. the contemporary music)
8. The emotional response upon hearing and understanding the piece will be more complex and varied than just the basic emotions, such as sadness or joy. In exceptionally rare occasions, achieved only by a very few pinnacles of solo literature (late Beethoven piano sonatas come to mind) the listener's response may reach the sense of a profound spiritual and philosophical enlightenment
Is there a quintessential piece for solo trumpet that checks all the boxes? Probably not.
Berio’s Sequenza X comes very close, Bach’s 2nd Brandenburg would certainly be in the conversation (if only it were an actual solo piece). Hindemith Sonata and Zimmerman’s “Nobody knows” have those profound non-musical aspects which could make them into worthy candidates. Haydn and Hummel Concertos have plenty “under the hood” despite their general lightness and almost comical character at times. Haydn's comedic genius has been carefully investigated by Alfred Brendel in his 1989 essay "Must Classical Music be Entirely Serious?" and the trumpet concerto offers an excellent showcase of those features. I’m going back and forth on whether Jolivet’s 2 concertos belong in this top tier of “almost masterpieces”, but currently I’m leaning more towards a “yes”. There are short glimpses of greatness in some of the baroque trumpet literature as well, although rarely for the entire movement, the melodic limitations were simply too serious to overcome. Still, some passages from the Richter, L. Mozart or Telemann trumpet concertos are sublime, and while we’re at it, why not mention Handel’s “Eternal source” and some other successful combinations of solo trumpet and voice, which mixes beautifully with the natural harmonics of the baroque trumpet. In general, all of the original baroque repertoire does tend to shine a lot brighter if played on the authentic (or at least semi-authentic) period instrument, so if you have the opportunity to use it, please do. Pack away your piccolo until we get to the third chapter of this article (where we’ll talk about arrangements).
I wasn’t able to mention any trumpet works from the period of romanticism in the above context, simply because by that time the bar had been raised too high. In a world that already includes Brahms' two Clarinet Sonatas, I couldn’t possibly call Karl Pilss’ Sonata a masterpiece and keep a straight face; with all the acknowledgement he does deserve for taking the trumpet to some places it's never been before (at least in the first two movements). However, I do believe that there is still some untapped potential in the Pilss Sonata, waiting to be explored by taking some performance risks beyond the conventional approach. I've found the first movement to greatly benefit from bolder tempo fluctuations and vibrant shifts in color between the two opposing themes (appassionato and tranquillo). There is a noticeable aura of the “Richard Strauss opera” in the first movement of Pilss, just as there is clear “Brucknerian'' serenity in the second. There isn’t really much of anything in the third movement, which is all the more reason to help it as much as we can, for instance through abrupt color changes and dynamic interplay with the piano (the trumpet alone can’t save this movement, but the piano can, so it is a good idea to take a passenger seat here).
Obviously, I am not going to go into detail about every romantic repertoire piece, but there is one important point that I’d still like to get across.
The Boehme concerto was one of my favorite pieces during my teenage years, but over time, I grew to despise it due to hearing it played in the same conventional manner hundreds of times, always plowing through it in a straight line, like an orchestral excerpt or an etude. Just recently I’ve had to play it again, which is when I rediscovered how much joy you can have with this work, and how much nuance and fragility was hidden in plain sight, already right there in the opening theme. I have had a similar experience with the two Concert pieces by Brandt. These three works are now among the most performed and recorded solo pieces for trumpet, but they were as good as forgotten until Max Sommerhalder unearthed them from some Russian library and gave them a premiere recording in the 1970s . In his recordings, Sommerhalder took extensive liberties, even going as far as to re-compose certain sections. He believed such interventions were in the spirit of Boehme and Brandt and customary practice during their time, and that it would elevate the works and conceal some of their harmonic shortcomings.
Even though I agree the interventions were taken a little too far, my personal feeling is that the trumpet world may have overcorrected in the aftermath and straightened these pieces out way too much, and that after 40 years, it’s about time we get a bit of Max Sommerhalder back into our performance practice. The non-trumpeters in the audience would certainly appreciate it.
Over the past 12 years of grinding on the trumpet repertoire with my students, I did come up with some specific musical solutions and micro-interventions which have proven to work rather nicely in elevating the overall impact of the music; I’ve already written a relatively comprehensive essay with my thoughts on the performance practice of the Hummel Concerto, and I’m thinking I should make another combined one about the common romantic repertoire (I have some short and very specific tips in mind, about each of Boehme, Brandt, Enesco, Arutiunian, Pares, and anything else that might come up in the meantime). Also, do check out my Haydn cadenza project, if you haven't already.
You'll notice that I didn't mention the other major way of expanding the existing repertoire, which involves researching and uncovering lost and forgotten scores, much like what Max Sommerhalder and many others have done (it would be a crime not to mention my dear prof. Edward H. Tarr in this context, and the herculean effort he’s put into digging up hundreds of lost trumpet pieces from dungeons and attics all across Europe). The reason I won’t write about it is that there probably isn't much left to say in 2023. While I do hope that there are still undiscovered treasures waiting to be found and that people are still actively searching for them, realistically, I would be pleasantly surprised if we were to witness a groundbreaking discovery in our lifetimes. Therefore, while “research” remains the keyword for this entire chapter, in my mind, it pertains less to exploring the unknown repertoire and more to delving into performance practice, reevaluating and questioning established norms, and experimenting to find new ways to present established repertoire pieces in a different and potentially more fitting light. Most forgotten compositions often turn out to be forgotten for good reasons, but I’d be more than happy to be proven wrong on this matter.
What is the meaning of this “M-word” we’ve been throwing around all day? I could of course take the safe route and look up what some famous art theorists and philosophers had to say about it; which would at the same time make me seem erudite and give me a shield against anyone who disagrees with me. Instead, I will try to gather my own thoughts and criteria, however flawed and chaotic they may be, and attempt to list some possible characteristics of a musical masterpiece (when we talk about instrumental solo-compositions)
1. The melodic lines always make sense, while successfully evading cliches (same goes for the rhythm)
2. It highlights the timbral qualities of the particular range of the instrument, or even the particular key (on the non-tempered instruments)
3. If subjected to structural or harmonic analysis it will reveal hidden connections and other information which can be emphasized to improve the performance
4. (if it’s an accompanied piece, or a duo sonata) There's a complex interplay with the other instrument(s). There's always something new to rehearse, a new voice to bring out.
5. The above characteristics will be true for the entire duration, or at least the majority of the piece (even the clumsy, mediocre compositions will sometimes have short masterful sections in them, but if those are few and far between they will be easily forgotten)
6. It will be universally recognized as a great work by musicians who don’t play that instrument or have any connection to it, as well as by general audiences with experience in active listening (by which I don’t only mean scholars but also regular concert goers and public radio audiences)
7. The impact of the piece may or may not be immediate, but it invariably grows upon repeated listening and performing. The more familiar you become with the work, the more qualities you discover over time. This holds true regardless of whether the music is simple or complex (as in: early XVII century baroque vs. the contemporary music)
8. The emotional response upon hearing and understanding the piece will be more complex and varied than just the basic emotions, such as sadness or joy. In exceptionally rare occasions, achieved only by a very few pinnacles of solo literature (late Beethoven piano sonatas come to mind) the listener's response may reach the sense of a profound spiritual and philosophical enlightenment
Is there a quintessential piece for solo trumpet that checks all the boxes? Probably not.
Berio’s Sequenza X comes very close, Bach’s 2nd Brandenburg would certainly be in the conversation (if only it were an actual solo piece). Hindemith Sonata and Zimmerman’s “Nobody knows” have those profound non-musical aspects which could make them into worthy candidates. Haydn and Hummel Concertos have plenty “under the hood” despite their general lightness and almost comical character at times. Haydn's comedic genius has been carefully investigated by Alfred Brendel in his 1989 essay "Must Classical Music be Entirely Serious?" and the trumpet concerto offers an excellent showcase of those features. I’m going back and forth on whether Jolivet’s 2 concertos belong in this top tier of “almost masterpieces”, but currently I’m leaning more towards a “yes”. There are short glimpses of greatness in some of the baroque trumpet literature as well, although rarely for the entire movement, the melodic limitations were simply too serious to overcome. Still, some passages from the Richter, L. Mozart or Telemann trumpet concertos are sublime, and while we’re at it, why not mention Handel’s “Eternal source” and some other successful combinations of solo trumpet and voice, which mixes beautifully with the natural harmonics of the baroque trumpet. In general, all of the original baroque repertoire does tend to shine a lot brighter if played on the authentic (or at least semi-authentic) period instrument, so if you have the opportunity to use it, please do. Pack away your piccolo until we get to the third chapter of this article (where we’ll talk about arrangements).
I wasn’t able to mention any trumpet works from the period of romanticism in the above context, simply because by that time the bar had been raised too high. In a world that already includes Brahms' two Clarinet Sonatas, I couldn’t possibly call Karl Pilss’ Sonata a masterpiece and keep a straight face; with all the acknowledgement he does deserve for taking the trumpet to some places it's never been before (at least in the first two movements). However, I do believe that there is still some untapped potential in the Pilss Sonata, waiting to be explored by taking some performance risks beyond the conventional approach. I've found the first movement to greatly benefit from bolder tempo fluctuations and vibrant shifts in color between the two opposing themes (appassionato and tranquillo). There is a noticeable aura of the “Richard Strauss opera” in the first movement of Pilss, just as there is clear “Brucknerian'' serenity in the second. There isn’t really much of anything in the third movement, which is all the more reason to help it as much as we can, for instance through abrupt color changes and dynamic interplay with the piano (the trumpet alone can’t save this movement, but the piano can, so it is a good idea to take a passenger seat here).
Obviously, I am not going to go into detail about every romantic repertoire piece, but there is one important point that I’d still like to get across.
The Boehme concerto was one of my favorite pieces during my teenage years, but over time, I grew to despise it due to hearing it played in the same conventional manner hundreds of times, always plowing through it in a straight line, like an orchestral excerpt or an etude. Just recently I’ve had to play it again, which is when I rediscovered how much joy you can have with this work, and how much nuance and fragility was hidden in plain sight, already right there in the opening theme. I have had a similar experience with the two Concert pieces by Brandt. These three works are now among the most performed and recorded solo pieces for trumpet, but they were as good as forgotten until Max Sommerhalder unearthed them from some Russian library and gave them a premiere recording in the 1970s . In his recordings, Sommerhalder took extensive liberties, even going as far as to re-compose certain sections. He believed such interventions were in the spirit of Boehme and Brandt and customary practice during their time, and that it would elevate the works and conceal some of their harmonic shortcomings.
Even though I agree the interventions were taken a little too far, my personal feeling is that the trumpet world may have overcorrected in the aftermath and straightened these pieces out way too much, and that after 40 years, it’s about time we get a bit of Max Sommerhalder back into our performance practice. The non-trumpeters in the audience would certainly appreciate it.
Over the past 12 years of grinding on the trumpet repertoire with my students, I did come up with some specific musical solutions and micro-interventions which have proven to work rather nicely in elevating the overall impact of the music; I’ve already written a relatively comprehensive essay with my thoughts on the performance practice of the Hummel Concerto, and I’m thinking I should make another combined one about the common romantic repertoire (I have some short and very specific tips in mind, about each of Boehme, Brandt, Enesco, Arutiunian, Pares, and anything else that might come up in the meantime). Also, do check out my Haydn cadenza project, if you haven't already.
You'll notice that I didn't mention the other major way of expanding the existing repertoire, which involves researching and uncovering lost and forgotten scores, much like what Max Sommerhalder and many others have done (it would be a crime not to mention my dear prof. Edward H. Tarr in this context, and the herculean effort he’s put into digging up hundreds of lost trumpet pieces from dungeons and attics all across Europe). The reason I won’t write about it is that there probably isn't much left to say in 2023. While I do hope that there are still undiscovered treasures waiting to be found and that people are still actively searching for them, realistically, I would be pleasantly surprised if we were to witness a groundbreaking discovery in our lifetimes. Therefore, while “research” remains the keyword for this entire chapter, in my mind, it pertains less to exploring the unknown repertoire and more to delving into performance practice, reevaluating and questioning established norms, and experimenting to find new ways to present established repertoire pieces in a different and potentially more fitting light. Most forgotten compositions often turn out to be forgotten for good reasons, but I’d be more than happy to be proven wrong on this matter.
3. TRANSCRIPTIONS, ARRANGEMENTS AND RECOMPOSITIONS
…because what else can you do, right? There may simply not be enough challenging literature available for your instrument, and it may need decades of hard work combined with a fair bit of luck and political skill in order to find yourself in a privileged position to have some of the great living composers dedicate their time and talent into writing a piece for you. So, why not bypass all that, and simply take your pick from the treasure vault of the entire music history available to us (at least as far as the copyright laws allow us to)?
Transcriptions have historically had a bad reputation, and rightfully so, as many of them fail the “test of purpose”. There are two important questions to answer: the “how?” and the “why?”
The "how?" requires little explanation, and we’ll talk below about all the trumpet-related specifics, but before that, you always need to ask yourself “Why do I want to play this on my instrument?”. Who or what will benefit from the arrangement?
You? I should hope so.
Your instrument? Probably. As long as you do the “how?” part adequately.
But will there be any benefit for the composition itself? Will the timbre of your instrument unveil new facets or allow the piece to shine in an equally captivating, if not more interesting, manner than the original instrument?
Or, to put it differently: are you doing it as a service to yourself, to your instrument and/or to the music?
The rise in transcriptions and re-compositions of “popular tunes” for various solo instruments is linked with the rise of the “virtuosi”, the performers touring across Europe during the 18th and 19th century, presenting their incredible skills and showmanship as much to the amazement of broad audiences as to the contempt of serious music experts. It was a time when all sorts of human eccentricity and peculiarity were increasingly being put on display for the mass entertainment; from circus performers, tightrope walkers, even human zoos; and the “virtuosi” were seen by critics as just another manifestation of the same phenomenon, and not serving the true virtues of musical art.
I’m playing with this trope in my latest recital program which revolves around the music of Giuseppe Verdi, a composer who was so popular in his lifetime, and whose pieces were used and transcribed so much that it may have played a role in the establishment of the intellectual property laws as we know them today (as we can learn from the letter correspondence between Verdi and his friend and publisher Giovanni Ricordi).
“The Fantasy and Variations on the themes from (insert a Verdi opera of your choice)” is practically a musical form by itself, just like a “Sonata” or “Prelude”; and I tried to create an hommage to that era, at same time experimenting with how far I can push the limits of this form (and, some might say, the limits of good taste). The program included the Adagio in D-major, a solo trumpet piece written by Verdi himself (an original); a Verdi-fantasy (Forza del Destino) written for trumpet (technically, for cornet) by J.B. Arban (a recomposition); a trumpet transcription of an oboe Verdi-fantasy (Un ballo in maschera) by A. Pasculli (a transcription of the recomposition), and finally my own Verdi-fantasy (I vespri siciliani), where I cut and pasted different materials using a Pasculli’s fantasy as a base and interweaving it with elements from Arban and some original material (thus: a recomposition of the transcription of the recomposition).
In general, I attempted to take on some of the early and most typical examples of “arrangements existing solely as a vehicle for the virtuoso performer to show off what they can do”, in other words, arrangements that would struggle to pass the “purpose-test”; and tried to give them purpose by creating a narrative of subversion and self-reflection, acknowledging (even celebrating) the pitfalls of this whole dubious endeavor. If it wasn’t for that element, the project likely wouldn’t stand any chance on the test. Take my Vespri Siciliani fantasy for instance: it is incredibly fun to play and I also believe it could remain in the trumpet repertoire (as I think I did a relatively good job in putting it all together). But did it really need to exist, with the original three-hour operatic masterpiece already there, readily available to everyone through countless recordings and live performances (if fortunate enough to live near a decent opera house)? Does any of it really need to exist?
Let’s take a look at the existing body of the established trumpet arrangements and see what we’ve got. It's evident that popular tunes, virtuoso pieces, and romantic melodies have been the primary focus of these arrangements. What sticks out to me is that the biggest “sinners” were the same players who also produced the most successful transcriptions; proving the old saying “nothing ventured, nothing gained”. Timofei Dokshizer’s version of the Shostakovich Concerto “for piano and trumpet, but without the piano” was luckily quickly forgotten, but his arrangement of 3 Fantastic dances (also originally a piano piece by Shostakovich) is a little stroke of genius. It has brought so many new colors and aspects, and I’m going to just go ahead and claim it is better than the original version. Some other of his equally daring arranging experiments seem to have paid off and are now an integral part of our repertoire, such as the Gliere Concerto or even the famous, or notorious (depending on who you ask) Rhapsody in Blue. On the other end of the spectrum, we owe Maurice André for the extensive repertoire of piccolo trumpet arrangements, primarily derived from 18th-century oboe literature and some less demanding pieces for violin. (The Tartini Trumpet Concerto has had a life of its own for such a long time that people have practically forgotten that it isn't an original composition.).
Many other players have recorded arrangements of various other baroque works, such as Bach, whose musical ideas are resilient enough to withstand even the weirdest instrumental combinations. In general, when it comes to baroque music on a piccolo trumpet, the timbre is usually not the typical reason for failing the “purpose test” (but you can definitely mess things up by using wildly inappropriate, romantic articulations and phrasing). On the other hand I have yet to hear any baroque piece that genuinely sounds good on a Bb-trumpet or a Flugelhorn. C-trumpet could present a somewhat acceptable compromise if the range of the piccolo just isn't enough.
Works of the purely virtuosic nature without much structural substance, such as the Monti Czardas, Sarasate Gypsy Airs etc. don’t seem to mind the different timbre, and will work just fine on any instrument as long as it is capable of cleanly executing the technical passages. As it happens, these kinds of arrangements, alongside simple romantic melodies, are the most prevalent in the trumpet player’s repertoire, and are to be considered a safe bet.
And yet, let’s remember why we’re here in the first place, and go back to our "quest for the masterpiece":
Can we find a piece that fulfills all (or most) of the 8 requirements I listed in the previous chapter; which can be fittingly arranged for trumpet, all the while not losing anything of its artistic value (or even gaining additional value)?
Here I would like to mention two trumpeters who have consciously and consistently made efforts in arranging, performing, and recording solo works of substantial musical depth, especially from the classical and romantic periods. Not shying away from taking risks, and not always “ticking all the boxes”, but providing us with a considerable new repertoire that we can use as a guidance and an example of what the future of our instrument may look like.
Unsurprisingly, one of them is Sergei Nakariakov, who has literally unlocked a whole new range of operation for us through his introduction of a 4-valve Flugelhorn as a legitimate choice of a solo instrument. It's a little bit like playing the violin your whole life and then suddenly realizing you're also able to play the cello, without even doing anything about it. A lazy metaphor, I know, but it's hard to think of any other while looking at all those bona-fide masterpieces for solo cello, suddenly in our hands: Haydn, Dvorak, Saint-Saens Concertos, the Rococo Variations...
"Nice," you'll say, "but isn't it the old 'virtuoso-situation' all over again?" Do those pieces benefit in any way from the color of the flugelhorn? One might make the argument that the vocal quality of the brass instrument helps the melodies "penetrate" better in some cases. The very deep pedal passages in the Saint-Saens Concerto definitely have their limitations, but remember that even the cello itself doesn't really sound at 100% at that register. Still, any good cellist will make it work with the help of expression and bowing intensity. The cello truly begins to shine in the middle and upper register, and the 4-valve Flugelhorn can be right there alongside it. This is, of course, only true if the performer brings their absolute A-game in terms of clean attacks and lip flexibility; and currently, there may not be that many trumpeters around who would be up to the task. However, at that point, this is no longer the problem of the arrangement; it's now up to us to go home and practice. Sergei Nakariakov has shown us the way and he's proven that it's possible. Other transcriptions of his that I've found have worked fairly well are Schumann's 3 fantasy pieces for clarinet (flugelhorn); Hummel's Grand concerto for bassoon (trumpet) and most of the miniatures and melodies, although admittedly there's a lot less that can go wrong there.
Another trumpet player whose incredible body of work I’ve only discovered this year (to my shame) is Jonathan Freeman-Atwood. He has been steadily bringing out a series of thoroughly researched and dramaturgically developed programs for trumpet and piano, at 90% consisting of his own transcriptions and recompositions of carefully picked music from the renaissance to the XX century; showing an immense knowledge of the overall music history, and setting the bar high for the rest of us interested in repertoire research.
Where we can see him taking a step further is also a great variety of original instrumentation he arranged from. There are solo pieces for strings or wind instruments, piano sonatas, but also vocal and even orchestral music. Among the transcriptions I find particularly successful and worthy of inclusion into the regular repertoire are Respighi's "Gli Uccelli" (originally for a chamber orchestra) from "the Neoclassical trumpet" program, as well the entire album with the premiere recordings of Faure's lost and recovered "Vocalises". It is evident that Jonathan Freeman-Attwood has a small but strong team of researchers, scholars, and professional arrangers supporting his projects. They may have helped him transcend the form of a mere transcription and take an even more ambitious endeavor of a full-on recomposition, beginning in 2020 with the "Trumpet Sonata after Richard Strauss," created in collaboration with the composer Thomas Oehler; and continuing with the hour-long set of "Four Trumpet Sonatas after Mozart" in collaboration with the musicologist Timothy Jones, who specializes in the completion of Mozart's musical sketches and fragments recovered after his death. Each of these recompositions is built in a different way, using various existing themes professionally sewn together into a given musical form by composers and theorists. We can't know whether Mozart or Strauss would have approved of the resulting form, but nonetheless, we have avoided many other problems concerning the fit of the instrument, as the solo part is written specifically for it.
This inspires some thoughts about the various levels at which a trumpet arrangement intervenes, or needs to intervene with the original material in order to be successful (or at least playable). I’ve come up with the following categorization:
Grade 0 - No changes: The range of the source instrument fits perfectly, and we can simply play the music as it stands. This will rarely happen, except for very simple melodies.
Grade 1 - Minor changes: The range and features of the source instrument are a fairly good fit, but certain small interventions are necessary, such as changing the octave of a short section, letting the piano take over the melody for a bar or two, or switching out some notes in particularly awkward technical passages. This level of intervention is usually sufficient in the case of oboe, saxophone, French horn, or some vocal literature.
Grade 2 - Notable changes: The range of the source instrument is either considerably offset in relation to the trumpet range, making a case for the entire work to be transposed, or simply too wide, necessitating frequent octave changes which tend to disturb the flow of the music (a 4-valve instrument may help extend the range in some cases). The characteristic features of the source instrument are generally incompatible with those of the trumpet, and some alternative solutions are needed to mimic the instrument-specific effects such as arpeggios, portamento, or a sprechgesang. Additionally, more substantial changes are usually needed in the piano score, exchanging some elements with the solo part and taking over entire sections that would otherwise be unplayable. This is the last and most challenging stage of transcription and typically occurs with original literature for string instruments, piano, or the more agile woodwind instruments (flute and clarinet).
Grade 3 - Cutouts and Mashups: The work couldn't be transcribed in its original form, so minor or major form changes occur. The most minor change in form might simply mean: not playing all movements of a given work, or incorporating a jump in the score. Some more complex changes would include various “Suites” with movements from a certain opera or an orchestral piece, or something akin to what I did with my combination of the two different “Vespri Siciliani” fantasies. This category could also be called “light recomposition,” as opposed to:
Grade 4 - Full-on Recomposition: The form has changed completely, and only fragments from the original literature are used and freely combined following the aesthetic guidelines taken from the analysis of the original composer’s body of work. This is the same technique used in completing fragmented unfinished works, such as Mozart's Requiem or Mahler’s 10th Symphony, but in this case, the fragments are taken from the composer's other works. Jonathan Freeman-Attwood’s Mozart and Strauss Sonatas are the only examples of this practice in the solo trumpet literature so far.
At the beginning of this chapter I did promise we’ll get into the specifics of the “how?”. So, after analyzing the strengths and the shortcomings of the existing arrangements mentioned above as well as some of my own arranging attempts; I believe it is time to put together a small “manual”, focusing primarily on the “Grade 1 and 2” transcriptions, rather than recompositions (in which you are the co-composer and can take any freedoms you want).
We keep saying that something is or isn't a good "fit" for the trumpet, and the most frequent "fit" issues will inevitably revolve around the range. We should always be aware of the tessitura of our instrument; meaning not the full range that we can somehow squeeze out, but the range in which we sound good. If the arrangement is to be successful we need to find a way to spend most of the time within our tessitura (I’d say at least 90% of all notes played). We can expand our range through exercises but expanding the tessitura is a much trickier matter, and can only be achieved by a change in equipment. Mouthpiece change will only offset the tessitura, but will not expand it: shallower mouthpiece will move it upwards, deeper mouthpiece will move it down, and in some cases this might actually be enough of a solution. One of the ways to achieve an expansion is with the 4th valve, in combination with a mouthpiece adjustment; Sergei Nakariakov is even using an extra large bell on his 4-valve flugelhorn, in order to make even the lowest register still sound centered; so in that case we can see a considerable downward expansion.
The most recurrent problem we’ll face is that the range is too wide, and the default solution we usually go for is changing the octave. This is a good time to analyze the piece and understand how important the register changes are to the music. If we have to change the octave in practically every line, as is usually the case in a lot of the flute or violin repertoire; it may be a good indicator that we should probably give up on the arrangement; as many of those pieces live and breathe from the change in colors that the different registers provide, and compressing it all within one or two octaves will destroy the essence of the music. Only when we are completely sure that this is not the case, and that the octave changes are only sporadic, can we move on with the arrangement. The situation we’ll often encounter is that there is an obvious passage or a line moving through the range of the source instrument, making it awkward to change octaves in the middle of it.
Transcriptions have historically had a bad reputation, and rightfully so, as many of them fail the “test of purpose”. There are two important questions to answer: the “how?” and the “why?”
The "how?" requires little explanation, and we’ll talk below about all the trumpet-related specifics, but before that, you always need to ask yourself “Why do I want to play this on my instrument?”. Who or what will benefit from the arrangement?
You? I should hope so.
Your instrument? Probably. As long as you do the “how?” part adequately.
But will there be any benefit for the composition itself? Will the timbre of your instrument unveil new facets or allow the piece to shine in an equally captivating, if not more interesting, manner than the original instrument?
Or, to put it differently: are you doing it as a service to yourself, to your instrument and/or to the music?
The rise in transcriptions and re-compositions of “popular tunes” for various solo instruments is linked with the rise of the “virtuosi”, the performers touring across Europe during the 18th and 19th century, presenting their incredible skills and showmanship as much to the amazement of broad audiences as to the contempt of serious music experts. It was a time when all sorts of human eccentricity and peculiarity were increasingly being put on display for the mass entertainment; from circus performers, tightrope walkers, even human zoos; and the “virtuosi” were seen by critics as just another manifestation of the same phenomenon, and not serving the true virtues of musical art.
I’m playing with this trope in my latest recital program which revolves around the music of Giuseppe Verdi, a composer who was so popular in his lifetime, and whose pieces were used and transcribed so much that it may have played a role in the establishment of the intellectual property laws as we know them today (as we can learn from the letter correspondence between Verdi and his friend and publisher Giovanni Ricordi).
“The Fantasy and Variations on the themes from (insert a Verdi opera of your choice)” is practically a musical form by itself, just like a “Sonata” or “Prelude”; and I tried to create an hommage to that era, at same time experimenting with how far I can push the limits of this form (and, some might say, the limits of good taste). The program included the Adagio in D-major, a solo trumpet piece written by Verdi himself (an original); a Verdi-fantasy (Forza del Destino) written for trumpet (technically, for cornet) by J.B. Arban (a recomposition); a trumpet transcription of an oboe Verdi-fantasy (Un ballo in maschera) by A. Pasculli (a transcription of the recomposition), and finally my own Verdi-fantasy (I vespri siciliani), where I cut and pasted different materials using a Pasculli’s fantasy as a base and interweaving it with elements from Arban and some original material (thus: a recomposition of the transcription of the recomposition).
In general, I attempted to take on some of the early and most typical examples of “arrangements existing solely as a vehicle for the virtuoso performer to show off what they can do”, in other words, arrangements that would struggle to pass the “purpose-test”; and tried to give them purpose by creating a narrative of subversion and self-reflection, acknowledging (even celebrating) the pitfalls of this whole dubious endeavor. If it wasn’t for that element, the project likely wouldn’t stand any chance on the test. Take my Vespri Siciliani fantasy for instance: it is incredibly fun to play and I also believe it could remain in the trumpet repertoire (as I think I did a relatively good job in putting it all together). But did it really need to exist, with the original three-hour operatic masterpiece already there, readily available to everyone through countless recordings and live performances (if fortunate enough to live near a decent opera house)? Does any of it really need to exist?
Let’s take a look at the existing body of the established trumpet arrangements and see what we’ve got. It's evident that popular tunes, virtuoso pieces, and romantic melodies have been the primary focus of these arrangements. What sticks out to me is that the biggest “sinners” were the same players who also produced the most successful transcriptions; proving the old saying “nothing ventured, nothing gained”. Timofei Dokshizer’s version of the Shostakovich Concerto “for piano and trumpet, but without the piano” was luckily quickly forgotten, but his arrangement of 3 Fantastic dances (also originally a piano piece by Shostakovich) is a little stroke of genius. It has brought so many new colors and aspects, and I’m going to just go ahead and claim it is better than the original version. Some other of his equally daring arranging experiments seem to have paid off and are now an integral part of our repertoire, such as the Gliere Concerto or even the famous, or notorious (depending on who you ask) Rhapsody in Blue. On the other end of the spectrum, we owe Maurice André for the extensive repertoire of piccolo trumpet arrangements, primarily derived from 18th-century oboe literature and some less demanding pieces for violin. (The Tartini Trumpet Concerto has had a life of its own for such a long time that people have practically forgotten that it isn't an original composition.).
Many other players have recorded arrangements of various other baroque works, such as Bach, whose musical ideas are resilient enough to withstand even the weirdest instrumental combinations. In general, when it comes to baroque music on a piccolo trumpet, the timbre is usually not the typical reason for failing the “purpose test” (but you can definitely mess things up by using wildly inappropriate, romantic articulations and phrasing). On the other hand I have yet to hear any baroque piece that genuinely sounds good on a Bb-trumpet or a Flugelhorn. C-trumpet could present a somewhat acceptable compromise if the range of the piccolo just isn't enough.
Works of the purely virtuosic nature without much structural substance, such as the Monti Czardas, Sarasate Gypsy Airs etc. don’t seem to mind the different timbre, and will work just fine on any instrument as long as it is capable of cleanly executing the technical passages. As it happens, these kinds of arrangements, alongside simple romantic melodies, are the most prevalent in the trumpet player’s repertoire, and are to be considered a safe bet.
And yet, let’s remember why we’re here in the first place, and go back to our "quest for the masterpiece":
Can we find a piece that fulfills all (or most) of the 8 requirements I listed in the previous chapter; which can be fittingly arranged for trumpet, all the while not losing anything of its artistic value (or even gaining additional value)?
Here I would like to mention two trumpeters who have consciously and consistently made efforts in arranging, performing, and recording solo works of substantial musical depth, especially from the classical and romantic periods. Not shying away from taking risks, and not always “ticking all the boxes”, but providing us with a considerable new repertoire that we can use as a guidance and an example of what the future of our instrument may look like.
Unsurprisingly, one of them is Sergei Nakariakov, who has literally unlocked a whole new range of operation for us through his introduction of a 4-valve Flugelhorn as a legitimate choice of a solo instrument. It's a little bit like playing the violin your whole life and then suddenly realizing you're also able to play the cello, without even doing anything about it. A lazy metaphor, I know, but it's hard to think of any other while looking at all those bona-fide masterpieces for solo cello, suddenly in our hands: Haydn, Dvorak, Saint-Saens Concertos, the Rococo Variations...
"Nice," you'll say, "but isn't it the old 'virtuoso-situation' all over again?" Do those pieces benefit in any way from the color of the flugelhorn? One might make the argument that the vocal quality of the brass instrument helps the melodies "penetrate" better in some cases. The very deep pedal passages in the Saint-Saens Concerto definitely have their limitations, but remember that even the cello itself doesn't really sound at 100% at that register. Still, any good cellist will make it work with the help of expression and bowing intensity. The cello truly begins to shine in the middle and upper register, and the 4-valve Flugelhorn can be right there alongside it. This is, of course, only true if the performer brings their absolute A-game in terms of clean attacks and lip flexibility; and currently, there may not be that many trumpeters around who would be up to the task. However, at that point, this is no longer the problem of the arrangement; it's now up to us to go home and practice. Sergei Nakariakov has shown us the way and he's proven that it's possible. Other transcriptions of his that I've found have worked fairly well are Schumann's 3 fantasy pieces for clarinet (flugelhorn); Hummel's Grand concerto for bassoon (trumpet) and most of the miniatures and melodies, although admittedly there's a lot less that can go wrong there.
Another trumpet player whose incredible body of work I’ve only discovered this year (to my shame) is Jonathan Freeman-Atwood. He has been steadily bringing out a series of thoroughly researched and dramaturgically developed programs for trumpet and piano, at 90% consisting of his own transcriptions and recompositions of carefully picked music from the renaissance to the XX century; showing an immense knowledge of the overall music history, and setting the bar high for the rest of us interested in repertoire research.
Where we can see him taking a step further is also a great variety of original instrumentation he arranged from. There are solo pieces for strings or wind instruments, piano sonatas, but also vocal and even orchestral music. Among the transcriptions I find particularly successful and worthy of inclusion into the regular repertoire are Respighi's "Gli Uccelli" (originally for a chamber orchestra) from "the Neoclassical trumpet" program, as well the entire album with the premiere recordings of Faure's lost and recovered "Vocalises". It is evident that Jonathan Freeman-Attwood has a small but strong team of researchers, scholars, and professional arrangers supporting his projects. They may have helped him transcend the form of a mere transcription and take an even more ambitious endeavor of a full-on recomposition, beginning in 2020 with the "Trumpet Sonata after Richard Strauss," created in collaboration with the composer Thomas Oehler; and continuing with the hour-long set of "Four Trumpet Sonatas after Mozart" in collaboration with the musicologist Timothy Jones, who specializes in the completion of Mozart's musical sketches and fragments recovered after his death. Each of these recompositions is built in a different way, using various existing themes professionally sewn together into a given musical form by composers and theorists. We can't know whether Mozart or Strauss would have approved of the resulting form, but nonetheless, we have avoided many other problems concerning the fit of the instrument, as the solo part is written specifically for it.
This inspires some thoughts about the various levels at which a trumpet arrangement intervenes, or needs to intervene with the original material in order to be successful (or at least playable). I’ve come up with the following categorization:
Grade 0 - No changes: The range of the source instrument fits perfectly, and we can simply play the music as it stands. This will rarely happen, except for very simple melodies.
Grade 1 - Minor changes: The range and features of the source instrument are a fairly good fit, but certain small interventions are necessary, such as changing the octave of a short section, letting the piano take over the melody for a bar or two, or switching out some notes in particularly awkward technical passages. This level of intervention is usually sufficient in the case of oboe, saxophone, French horn, or some vocal literature.
Grade 2 - Notable changes: The range of the source instrument is either considerably offset in relation to the trumpet range, making a case for the entire work to be transposed, or simply too wide, necessitating frequent octave changes which tend to disturb the flow of the music (a 4-valve instrument may help extend the range in some cases). The characteristic features of the source instrument are generally incompatible with those of the trumpet, and some alternative solutions are needed to mimic the instrument-specific effects such as arpeggios, portamento, or a sprechgesang. Additionally, more substantial changes are usually needed in the piano score, exchanging some elements with the solo part and taking over entire sections that would otherwise be unplayable. This is the last and most challenging stage of transcription and typically occurs with original literature for string instruments, piano, or the more agile woodwind instruments (flute and clarinet).
Grade 3 - Cutouts and Mashups: The work couldn't be transcribed in its original form, so minor or major form changes occur. The most minor change in form might simply mean: not playing all movements of a given work, or incorporating a jump in the score. Some more complex changes would include various “Suites” with movements from a certain opera or an orchestral piece, or something akin to what I did with my combination of the two different “Vespri Siciliani” fantasies. This category could also be called “light recomposition,” as opposed to:
Grade 4 - Full-on Recomposition: The form has changed completely, and only fragments from the original literature are used and freely combined following the aesthetic guidelines taken from the analysis of the original composer’s body of work. This is the same technique used in completing fragmented unfinished works, such as Mozart's Requiem or Mahler’s 10th Symphony, but in this case, the fragments are taken from the composer's other works. Jonathan Freeman-Attwood’s Mozart and Strauss Sonatas are the only examples of this practice in the solo trumpet literature so far.
At the beginning of this chapter I did promise we’ll get into the specifics of the “how?”. So, after analyzing the strengths and the shortcomings of the existing arrangements mentioned above as well as some of my own arranging attempts; I believe it is time to put together a small “manual”, focusing primarily on the “Grade 1 and 2” transcriptions, rather than recompositions (in which you are the co-composer and can take any freedoms you want).
We keep saying that something is or isn't a good "fit" for the trumpet, and the most frequent "fit" issues will inevitably revolve around the range. We should always be aware of the tessitura of our instrument; meaning not the full range that we can somehow squeeze out, but the range in which we sound good. If the arrangement is to be successful we need to find a way to spend most of the time within our tessitura (I’d say at least 90% of all notes played). We can expand our range through exercises but expanding the tessitura is a much trickier matter, and can only be achieved by a change in equipment. Mouthpiece change will only offset the tessitura, but will not expand it: shallower mouthpiece will move it upwards, deeper mouthpiece will move it down, and in some cases this might actually be enough of a solution. One of the ways to achieve an expansion is with the 4th valve, in combination with a mouthpiece adjustment; Sergei Nakariakov is even using an extra large bell on his 4-valve flugelhorn, in order to make even the lowest register still sound centered; so in that case we can see a considerable downward expansion.
The most recurrent problem we’ll face is that the range is too wide, and the default solution we usually go for is changing the octave. This is a good time to analyze the piece and understand how important the register changes are to the music. If we have to change the octave in practically every line, as is usually the case in a lot of the flute or violin repertoire; it may be a good indicator that we should probably give up on the arrangement; as many of those pieces live and breathe from the change in colors that the different registers provide, and compressing it all within one or two octaves will destroy the essence of the music. Only when we are completely sure that this is not the case, and that the octave changes are only sporadic, can we move on with the arrangement. The situation we’ll often encounter is that there is an obvious passage or a line moving through the range of the source instrument, making it awkward to change octaves in the middle of it.
Here’s an example from one of the most well-known Nakariakov arrangements, Saint-Saens: Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso, where it is quite clear that we’re jumping down an octave in order to avoid landing on the triple F♯ (a smart decision, because even if the player had a stable high register and could hit the notes confidently, it is still far outside the tessitura of the Bb-trumpet and would just sound squeaky and weird). We have the same situation at the descent, having to jump up an octave in the middle of a chromatic run, which again is pretty obvious and awkward. |
In this particular case, I’ve found a very easy solution: here we are actually lucky enough to find ourselves in a sort of a cadenza situation where there's neither a musical meter in place nor any accompaniment underneath, so we can simply omit an entire beat (the 2nd beat of the m. 194) and land straight on the F♯ without interrupting the flow of the music; same with the descending passage, we can in fact get rid of the m. 197 entirely, without any consequence. But what if we don’t have such luck, and the timing is of the essence, as will usually be the case?
This is a second example, the ending of Glazunov's Saxophone Concerto which is a "grade-1" transcription that I often perform as it fits almost perfectly on trumpet or (even better) the flugelhorn. As this is the original score in Eb (the Bb instrument reads it one fifth lower), here I’m faced with a choice: play what it says and end the passage on the low F, which is possible but will sound clanky and muffled; or make an octave jump somewhere in the middle of the passage, which is just ridiculous. Therefore I opted for the third option which is to augment the note values of the scale, so that the passage could land on the stable middle F, sacrificing some mindless virtuosity for the sake of clarity.
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Rhythmic augmentation can be a very useful option for any technical passages that are just outside of the instrument’s reach; and we should exercise the same forms of restraint with the super-fast passages as with the high register: just because we are able to play it somehow, doesn’t mean it will sound good or be comprehensible on our instrument (this is even more true the lower the instrument: for instance, I’m having a lot of trouble with the super-fast virtuoso music for tuba or double-bass. They look like they're hitting all the notes, but you just don’t understand most of it), for this reason extra caution is called for even in the low trumpet register.
The decision on how large of a section to change the octave to should be based on timbre qualities and approached on a case-by-case basis. Sometimes a darker color can be a nice change, and you can stay in the low register for a while even after the tricky note has passed. This segues into another one of the major issues: endurance. Most of the source instruments won’t need as many breaks as we do, so the compositions may often go for very long without any pause; so if there was a passage in the first half of the piece that could have been played in any octave; maybe opting for the lower octave there will save us the energy to stay alive in the long passages later on. Nevertheless, if there is no way around it, we have to opt for the other frequently used solution, which is letting the piano take over the solo part. This is hopefully pretty clear, and I won’t go into details about that now, for the risk of opening another gigantic pandora’s box, which would be “arranging for piano”
Since trumpet is a non-tempered instrument, there will always be keys that fit better than the others; so when playing music with a clear tonal center in a particular key, we may find ourselves having a hard time with the notes that keep repeating the most (tonic, dominant and subdominant). They may have some intonation issues, or are just plainly difficult to center on the instrument. Some of these keys could be Ab-major and Db-major (sounding Gb/F♯ and Cb/B), at least for me and my Bb-trumpet; but it may slightly vary from player to player. Even if the piece doesn’t have a clear tonal center, like most of the early 20th century music, with some experience one can learn to notice that the key one is playing in feels somewhat “off”. It is worth experimenting in switching between Bb and C trumpets to find a key that enables us to have the most convincing sound quality; and sometimes we can greatly benefit in transposing the entire composition. I’ve found that the piano part can “safely” withstand transpositions within the scope of one fourth up or down (at an absolute maximum); any further than that and the chords will most likely need to be reset into a different position, which again requires some knowledge of piano arranging.
Transposition into a near key can also solve the previously mentioned tessitura and endurance issues.
The decision on how large of a section to change the octave to should be based on timbre qualities and approached on a case-by-case basis. Sometimes a darker color can be a nice change, and you can stay in the low register for a while even after the tricky note has passed. This segues into another one of the major issues: endurance. Most of the source instruments won’t need as many breaks as we do, so the compositions may often go for very long without any pause; so if there was a passage in the first half of the piece that could have been played in any octave; maybe opting for the lower octave there will save us the energy to stay alive in the long passages later on. Nevertheless, if there is no way around it, we have to opt for the other frequently used solution, which is letting the piano take over the solo part. This is hopefully pretty clear, and I won’t go into details about that now, for the risk of opening another gigantic pandora’s box, which would be “arranging for piano”
Since trumpet is a non-tempered instrument, there will always be keys that fit better than the others; so when playing music with a clear tonal center in a particular key, we may find ourselves having a hard time with the notes that keep repeating the most (tonic, dominant and subdominant). They may have some intonation issues, or are just plainly difficult to center on the instrument. Some of these keys could be Ab-major and Db-major (sounding Gb/F♯ and Cb/B), at least for me and my Bb-trumpet; but it may slightly vary from player to player. Even if the piece doesn’t have a clear tonal center, like most of the early 20th century music, with some experience one can learn to notice that the key one is playing in feels somewhat “off”. It is worth experimenting in switching between Bb and C trumpets to find a key that enables us to have the most convincing sound quality; and sometimes we can greatly benefit in transposing the entire composition. I’ve found that the piano part can “safely” withstand transpositions within the scope of one fourth up or down (at an absolute maximum); any further than that and the chords will most likely need to be reset into a different position, which again requires some knowledge of piano arranging.
Transposition into a near key can also solve the previously mentioned tessitura and endurance issues.
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I’ve found this little video on YouTube that can serve as a clear example to illustrate the situation where a transposition a few steps down would infinitely improve the arrangement. It is a very short violin Nocturne by Lily Boulanger, masterfully played here by Chris Colletti, who achieves some magical colors and this is in no way meant as a criticism of his performance (quite the contrary).
As the Nocturne is only 42 measures long, we can afford to devote a short chapter to the full analysis of the arrangement, just as an exercise. We can see it begins perfectly, right in the middle of the register where the soft attack is as comfortable as possible, but very soon it begins to climb into the upper, more strenuous areas of the trumpet tessitura. |
In m. 14 the trumpet takes a short rest, and the piano takes over the next motif, which is a great move, as it immediately acts as the answer to the motif the trumpet just played (this is exactly what I mean when I talk about the “arrangement improving the piece”). So far, so good. However, now we have an even higher ascent, followed by a crescendo plateauing on a melody centered around the high C, which is already outside of the ideal tessitura, and therefore less flexible if we expect a warm, soft color of the melody; and it must take an extraordinary versatile embouchure (which Chris Coletti proves to possess), to avoid sounding aggressive with this kind of material in that register. Obviously, all that is quite tiring, so we now have the piano taking over again in m. 28 and 29; but this time it is clearly forced by the endurance issues and has less musical merit; as the solo instrument is missing out on the presented opportunity to lead the decrescendo in the m. 29 and introduce the new color in m. 30. The phrase then ends on the “dal-niente” high C, which requires as much freshness as possible to pull off, the freshness we just lost during that long ascent. The straight metal mute is a nice touch, and somehow even helps place us into the early 20th century France sonically (another improvement over the original); but then there's the last soft high F which is simply too risky, so he's forced to take it down an octave, which dismantles the previous buildup, while at the same time committing a harmonic sin of parallel voice leading.
And now, imagine this same piece being played a fourth lower, and on a Bb-trumpet. We’d lose nothing of the comfortable start, with the melody now beginning on the middle E, and centering around the G. We can keep the piano takeover in m.14 because it makes sense; but as the ascent now only leads to the very comfortable A in the second octave (where we can let it ring in the full sound while still controlling the softness of the timbre), we won’t be losing much endurance here therefore there will be no need for a break in m. 28, and we’ll be back to the A for the dal niente, greatly increasing our chances of success; while still keeping fresh for the final note, which is now only a high D and shouldn’t be a problem for any player in a reasonable shape.
EDIT: Unfortunately, as the "Clugiae Brass Consort" YouTube channel seems to have been taken down, the read-along video is no longer available. So, if you still want to know what I was rambling about just now, here's another video of Chris Coletti's performance and here's an IMSLP page where you can find the music . Sorry for the inconvenience.
Another arrangement I’d like to briefly touch on is Timofey Dokshizer’s arrangement of Gliere’s Concerto for voice and orchestra. Originally in F-minor, the trumpet arrangement has been moved a whole tone lower into Eb-minor (so that the Bb trumpet part can be in F-minor), and to be honest I’ve always had a bit of trouble understanding why. I agree that if we kept the original key, we’d run into the same sort of tessitura and endurance issues we had in the Boulanger’s Nocturne; but I find that of all the available options of adjacent keys you could have transposed this into, F-minor is pretty much the most awkward for the Bb-trumpet. The entire first movement is plagued with ill-fitting notes whose natural pitch tendency goes against their function in the scale. I understand that there may have been a trade-off because the second movement switches into the major key, so the F-major may have been chosen for being the least technically demanding key, and facilitate some of the fast passages. The problem I have with this decision is the following: if we employ our previously used judgment of composition quality, these two movements would score very differently. In my view, the major-key Allegro is a relatively mediocre movement which suffers from pacing issues and rarely manages to achieve anything extraordinary (there are numerous melodic lines that start great but then lose the steam and just inelegantly dissolve into nothing), and then on the other hand we have the minor-key Andante which is one of the most beautiful pieces of music we’ve ever had in our repertoire. So, if it was up to me, I would strive to maximize the impact of the Andante by scoring it in the most fitting key possible, and I wouldn’t worry too much about the technical passages of the Allegro (I mean, it’s written for the voice, so how technically demanding can it really be? May I remind you that we’ve been talking about Saint-Saens’ Rondo Capriccioso just a few paragraphs back; so I think we can survive a few eight-note runs, even if they aren’t in the F-major). In my opinion, the trumpet version of the Andante is right there on the verge of fulfilling every "masterpiece requirement", even the one about improving the value of the original version (there is always that slightly unsettling element in the slurs of the textless vocalized music: as you’re not pronouncing any syllables, you have to find ways to balance between the portamento and diaphragm accents. The trumpet can let the air flow freely without worrying about this, so the slurs may end up sounding more convincing; on the other hand the trumpet will retain a lot of the warmth and immediacy of the human voice). Exactly for this reason, it is worth finding a key which allows us the most freedom of airflow; and after trying out every possible option, I found that the sounding D minor would be the ideal realm where we can both bring out the maximum quality and sonority of the trumpet, and add some additional darkness to the overall color of the music, which I find to be welcome in this context. If you’re a trumpet player, just take yourself mentally through these three versions of the opening motif for the Bb trumpet, and see which one makes you feel the most (un)comfortable (remember that these are the first notes you get to present yourself with after you walk onto the stage):
And now, imagine this same piece being played a fourth lower, and on a Bb-trumpet. We’d lose nothing of the comfortable start, with the melody now beginning on the middle E, and centering around the G. We can keep the piano takeover in m.14 because it makes sense; but as the ascent now only leads to the very comfortable A in the second octave (where we can let it ring in the full sound while still controlling the softness of the timbre), we won’t be losing much endurance here therefore there will be no need for a break in m. 28, and we’ll be back to the A for the dal niente, greatly increasing our chances of success; while still keeping fresh for the final note, which is now only a high D and shouldn’t be a problem for any player in a reasonable shape.
EDIT: Unfortunately, as the "Clugiae Brass Consort" YouTube channel seems to have been taken down, the read-along video is no longer available. So, if you still want to know what I was rambling about just now, here's another video of Chris Coletti's performance and here's an IMSLP page where you can find the music . Sorry for the inconvenience.
Another arrangement I’d like to briefly touch on is Timofey Dokshizer’s arrangement of Gliere’s Concerto for voice and orchestra. Originally in F-minor, the trumpet arrangement has been moved a whole tone lower into Eb-minor (so that the Bb trumpet part can be in F-minor), and to be honest I’ve always had a bit of trouble understanding why. I agree that if we kept the original key, we’d run into the same sort of tessitura and endurance issues we had in the Boulanger’s Nocturne; but I find that of all the available options of adjacent keys you could have transposed this into, F-minor is pretty much the most awkward for the Bb-trumpet. The entire first movement is plagued with ill-fitting notes whose natural pitch tendency goes against their function in the scale. I understand that there may have been a trade-off because the second movement switches into the major key, so the F-major may have been chosen for being the least technically demanding key, and facilitate some of the fast passages. The problem I have with this decision is the following: if we employ our previously used judgment of composition quality, these two movements would score very differently. In my view, the major-key Allegro is a relatively mediocre movement which suffers from pacing issues and rarely manages to achieve anything extraordinary (there are numerous melodic lines that start great but then lose the steam and just inelegantly dissolve into nothing), and then on the other hand we have the minor-key Andante which is one of the most beautiful pieces of music we’ve ever had in our repertoire. So, if it was up to me, I would strive to maximize the impact of the Andante by scoring it in the most fitting key possible, and I wouldn’t worry too much about the technical passages of the Allegro (I mean, it’s written for the voice, so how technically demanding can it really be? May I remind you that we’ve been talking about Saint-Saens’ Rondo Capriccioso just a few paragraphs back; so I think we can survive a few eight-note runs, even if they aren’t in the F-major). In my opinion, the trumpet version of the Andante is right there on the verge of fulfilling every "masterpiece requirement", even the one about improving the value of the original version (there is always that slightly unsettling element in the slurs of the textless vocalized music: as you’re not pronouncing any syllables, you have to find ways to balance between the portamento and diaphragm accents. The trumpet can let the air flow freely without worrying about this, so the slurs may end up sounding more convincing; on the other hand the trumpet will retain a lot of the warmth and immediacy of the human voice). Exactly for this reason, it is worth finding a key which allows us the most freedom of airflow; and after trying out every possible option, I found that the sounding D minor would be the ideal realm where we can both bring out the maximum quality and sonority of the trumpet, and add some additional darkness to the overall color of the music, which I find to be welcome in this context. If you’re a trumpet player, just take yourself mentally through these three versions of the opening motif for the Bb trumpet, and see which one makes you feel the most (un)comfortable (remember that these are the first notes you get to present yourself with after you walk onto the stage):
Wouldn't you agree that (transposed) F minor is the least comfortable of the three, with the multiple slurs over the harmonic, that octave jump into the Ab, as well as the descending minor trichord where the notes are naturally leaning to be high? I would even be more comfortable with Gliere's original key, with all the endurance issues that come with it. However, the E minor just flows so naturally and gets the very best out of every interval; playing it in our E minor (the sounding D minor) would allow you to concentrate on the truly important aspects and take much bolder musical risks since you can rely and trust the instrument much more. Also, I can already picture myself receiving flowers and gifts from every piano accompanist in the world, after letting them have just one flat, instead of the original six.
So, we’ve established that the trumpet can easily excel in substituting the voice in the textless “vocalises.” Now, let's take a look at some of the challenges that present themselves when arranging other forms of vocal music, such as art songs and operatic arias. The situation will be significantly different from what we had with instrumental music, and we practically won’t face any range issues as long as we stick with the female voice literature (and even the male literature usually sounds just fine if we simply take it up one octave, especially the tenor arias). However, the big and, sometimes, insurmountable challenge with the arrangements of arias and art songs lies in another element, the one which we've barely even mentioned until now: articulation.
The melodic structure and duration of notes will be heavily under the command of text, and they may not seem to make as much sense when translated over to the trumpet. We will rarely have usable articulation marks written out for us; instead, we may get more information by looking at the words being sung. Therefore it is of utmost importance to re-examine every slur and every note beginning. The mistake I often catch myself making when I play straight from the vocal scores is having edgeless, undefined note beginnings (not quite portato, not quite legato, the tongue is kind of doing something, but it doesn’t really know what it’s doing). Writing your own trumpet part and redefining every note’s articulation can be a huge help (even though I rarely actually do it).
There are different treatments of vocals in the different styles of art songs, and some styles are much easier to transcribe to the trumpet than others. Whether syllabic or melismatic writing, as long as the melody is in the foreground we have something to work with. But our greatest enemy is the “recitative” writing with multiple syllables being sung on a single note. This sort of treatment seems to be more prevalent in Russian and French songs from the onset of the 20th century and much less so in the German Lied tradition; but I’m far from being an expert and this is just a very amateur observation based on some specific scores I arranged (or: was trying to arrange but gave up). If there are extensive note repetitions throughout the song, it is probably best to walk away; but if it only occurs occasionally and without interruption of the melody then there’s more than one way to make it work. Just as we were re-examining the articulation in the previous paragraph, now the task is to re-examine the rhythm and make a decision which repetitions to keep and which ones to tie into a single note. We can take some guidelines from the rhythm in the piano part, as well as from the prevalent rhythmical structures around that section.
Here are eight measures from Hanns Eisler’s song “the Landscape of Exile”, which was a part of my program Songbook For Our Times vol. 1. This is an interesting example with several different kinds of interventions I’ve had to employ within one short section.
And here are the same eight bars as I play them on the trumpet:
We can immediately see that the "siciliano" rhythmical pattern was important enough for Eisler that he was ready to sacrifice the second syllable of the word "Öltürme" which normally should have been the same length or even longer than the third syllable (at least that is how you'd pronounce that word). This isn't exactly our problem anymore, but it is a guideline telling us to keep the "siciliano" whenever possible. Therefore, the only intervention in the first two measures was the added slur, for better flow. Then, for the next two measures the piano takes over the melody in the original version, leaving the solo part with a rather unconvincing material in the low register which doesn't really work when the text is taken out; therefore I decided to reclaim the melody back from the piano (don’t worry, I let it take over some nice solos in other parts). The pp dynamic in the original piano part was most likely added for balance reasons, to help the low-register voice; so I left it out and instead opted to make a slight dynamic buildup into the mp, before coming back to p in the fifth measure. Then for the next three measures I had to heavily recompose the rhythm of the solo part in order to keep it interesting without the text; so this is the rhythm I ultimately landed on after considering and trying out every possible option. You will see that I did end up leaving out one "siciliano" at the end of the sixth measure, since it was becoming too repetitive as the consequence of reclaiming the previous two bars from the piano (the solo part has now already played a siciliano for four measures in a row), instead I opted to calm things down with a simple quarter note so that the subsequent rhythm of the last measure can have a bigger impact, as this is where the solo part ends. For the same reason, I played the last two "siciliani" without the slur, almost "poco marcato". You can hear the original song here, and this is my version for trumpet, with the 8 example measures beginning at 0:43.
This song is a sixth movement of the 10-part Suite of Eisler’s songs; and I had to do a great deal of articulation- and rhythm-testing and adjusting throughout the entire suite. It was one of the central and dramaturgically most important parts of the whole project so it meant a lot to me to keep it in the program despite being much riskier to arrange than the rest, which consisted of two other sets by Webern and Ullmann. Those two were genuine grade 0 arrangements (meaning such a seamless fit on the trumpet that I barely had to make any adjustments).
This song is a sixth movement of the 10-part Suite of Eisler’s songs; and I had to do a great deal of articulation- and rhythm-testing and adjusting throughout the entire suite. It was one of the central and dramaturgically most important parts of the whole project so it meant a lot to me to keep it in the program despite being much riskier to arrange than the rest, which consisted of two other sets by Webern and Ullmann. Those two were genuine grade 0 arrangements (meaning such a seamless fit on the trumpet that I barely had to make any adjustments).
The note repetitions in Eisler’s Songs are just a vehicle for accommodating the sometimes highly polysyllabic German words into the melody; therefore the rhythmical recomposition approach has shown good results. On the other hand, some of the songs in my French program present a bigger challenge, as they are littered with semi-spoken moments which would sound utterly pointless on a trumpet. BTW, there is a plunger-mute effect which we use in contemporary music to mimic human speech; but having even a modicum of taste is enough to stop us from ever seriously trying something like that in an art song. The way I look at it is that those are the moments where a particularly important line of text commands all the attention in order to come across better, therefore the melody is going to the background. However, as we have taken out the means of text conveyance, there isn’t anything meaningful left for us to do, consequently the best option would be to simply do nothing and take a break. In most of the cases the composer will have transferred the melodic responsibilities to the piano anyway, so a short piano solo there will sound completely normal to the uninitiated listener. Incidentally, this does present the ultimate test of whether your arrangement of a vocal composition is successful: it should no longer be recognizable as such; the elements that make it characteristically “vocal” need to be replaced with appropriate instrumental characteristics. A thing to always keep in mind is that we are essentially robbing the piece of what may be it's most important element (the text), so we have to replace it with whatever new elements we can, to prevent it from coming across as barren and "violated". Now there’s only a matter of extent: knowing how much is too much, and at what point is it better to give up. Here’s another example of mine, and a showcase of how I’ve dealt with these issues in Francis Poulenc’s song Montparnasse, a typical French style melody from Songbook vol. 3, heavily loaded with both melodic and non-melodic note repetitions.
This karaoke version is the only video on YouTube where you can follow the score, so I’ll post it here. Maybe you can even give it a quick spin, if your instrument is lying nearby. Below is the Bb-trumpet transcription. Some semi-spoken sections have been taken out or replaced with the melody from the piano part, and all slurs and ties have been carefully tested. To compliment the syncopation in the piano accompaniment, I decided to employ a sort of an articulatory leitmotif, always slurring the offbeat to the downbeat except when there's a longer melodic arch to follow. I believe it helps the piece regain some coherence and complexity it may have lost when the text was taken away. Finally, that glissando at the end is such a treat. Always a pleasant surprise to discover a possibility to use an extended technique in the context of an older, melodic composition.
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You'll notice that the Bb-trumpet version suffers from very similar issues I've already criticized in the Dokshizer's transcription of Gliere's Andante. This one would also benefit from being transposed a half-step lower. However, the project is still in development (I never actually played this piece, except at home with the karaoke) so for now we'll keep it where it is, for the sake of practicality and being able to rehearse from the original scores. As I said, I don't usually write down my trumpet parts, I've typed these up specifically for the sake of being used as examples in the article.
Those were all the specific tips I could think about for now when it comes to the treatment of the trumpet material. But after all is said and done it is very important to always retain our sense of judgment. There are plenty of intangible factors; I often look at an arrangement and something about it simply feels awkward, even if everything is ok with the range and other surface-level elements. It is a gut feeling that we should trust. Sometimes I like the piece so much that it’s like going out on a date and wanting so hard for it to “work out” and be “the right thing” that you’re ignoring some obvious red flags. As I mentioned several times, always be ready to walk away if the feeling just isn’t right; there is so much great music in the world, keep researching and you’ll find a better fit.
However, just as in dating, sometimes we also have the case of the infamous “it’s not you, it’s me”. Every so often, the only reason why an arrangement for trumpet and piano doesn’t sound “right” is actually the piano and not the trumpet. If I could allow myself one criticism of Jonathan Freeman-Attwood’s impressive arranging oeuvre is that there are several baroque transcriptions on the piccolo trumpet that would shine so much better and make so much more sense if accompanied by even a tiny orchestra. Just a harpsichord, few strings and any bass instrument could do wonders for it, at least in my opinion. Rameau's “Suite from Nais” would be a good example of this, as well as most of the “Trumpet masque” album. We’ve talked plenty about recognizing the technical and sonic limits of your instrument; but it’s important not to forget about the limits of an accompanying instrument as well.
The piano is undoubtedly the most versatile duo partner we can imagine, but there are other accompaniment options worth exploring. I've had successful experiments with guitar, harp, accordion, and even a string quartet. Of course, the organ is also an option, although some trumpet players have gone overboard with their repertoire choices (there are currently three different recordings of Boehme Concerto on YouTube with an organ accompaniment; and an appropriate amount would be: zero). Just a reminder that this discussion was primarily centered around the trumpet in the soloistic role, accompanied by another instrument. However, a whole other article could be dedicated to the trumpet as a part of a small chamber ensemble, revealing the plethora of potential color combinations waiting to be uncovered
In conclusion, and to complete the full circle from the opening paragraph: the kind of in-depth work that a violinist or pianist can put in when studying the masterpieces of their solo and chamber literature will undoubtedly have a lasting impact on their musicianship, taste, and intellect. They have the privilege of inhabiting and dealing with musical layers that are far beyond the reach of us trumpet players. This realization can make you feel envious, something like a person who's born in poverty and unable to escape it, working a minimum wage job at an exclusive resort for the wealthy and witnessing all the luxuries they can never possess. Just think of the vast solo, chamber and symphonic literature and the musical tasks of violinists, principal clarinetists, and principal flutists, in comparison to what is asked of us. There must be an underlying frustration buried somewhere deep within all brass players as we sit there, counting our pauses while others around us make the magic happen.
Unlocking this part of one’s mind by having a prominent voice in a musical work of significant artistic depth is one of the most rewarding things a person can experience as a classical musician, and being consistently deprived of such experience not only affects our ego but also hampers our emotional and intellectual growth. That is why we keep looking for the masterpieces, and hopefully, this article has provided some practical guidance on how to venture out and seize some of these treasures for ourselves. If I may offer one last piece of advice, it would be to listen—listen as much and as often as possible. Explore the great works of art and try to comprehend what makes them truly exceptional. The more you do so, the clearer it will become what you can do in order to come as close as possible to that experience, be it through contemporary music, established repertoire, or arrangements.
Those were all the specific tips I could think about for now when it comes to the treatment of the trumpet material. But after all is said and done it is very important to always retain our sense of judgment. There are plenty of intangible factors; I often look at an arrangement and something about it simply feels awkward, even if everything is ok with the range and other surface-level elements. It is a gut feeling that we should trust. Sometimes I like the piece so much that it’s like going out on a date and wanting so hard for it to “work out” and be “the right thing” that you’re ignoring some obvious red flags. As I mentioned several times, always be ready to walk away if the feeling just isn’t right; there is so much great music in the world, keep researching and you’ll find a better fit.
However, just as in dating, sometimes we also have the case of the infamous “it’s not you, it’s me”. Every so often, the only reason why an arrangement for trumpet and piano doesn’t sound “right” is actually the piano and not the trumpet. If I could allow myself one criticism of Jonathan Freeman-Attwood’s impressive arranging oeuvre is that there are several baroque transcriptions on the piccolo trumpet that would shine so much better and make so much more sense if accompanied by even a tiny orchestra. Just a harpsichord, few strings and any bass instrument could do wonders for it, at least in my opinion. Rameau's “Suite from Nais” would be a good example of this, as well as most of the “Trumpet masque” album. We’ve talked plenty about recognizing the technical and sonic limits of your instrument; but it’s important not to forget about the limits of an accompanying instrument as well.
The piano is undoubtedly the most versatile duo partner we can imagine, but there are other accompaniment options worth exploring. I've had successful experiments with guitar, harp, accordion, and even a string quartet. Of course, the organ is also an option, although some trumpet players have gone overboard with their repertoire choices (there are currently three different recordings of Boehme Concerto on YouTube with an organ accompaniment; and an appropriate amount would be: zero). Just a reminder that this discussion was primarily centered around the trumpet in the soloistic role, accompanied by another instrument. However, a whole other article could be dedicated to the trumpet as a part of a small chamber ensemble, revealing the plethora of potential color combinations waiting to be uncovered
In conclusion, and to complete the full circle from the opening paragraph: the kind of in-depth work that a violinist or pianist can put in when studying the masterpieces of their solo and chamber literature will undoubtedly have a lasting impact on their musicianship, taste, and intellect. They have the privilege of inhabiting and dealing with musical layers that are far beyond the reach of us trumpet players. This realization can make you feel envious, something like a person who's born in poverty and unable to escape it, working a minimum wage job at an exclusive resort for the wealthy and witnessing all the luxuries they can never possess. Just think of the vast solo, chamber and symphonic literature and the musical tasks of violinists, principal clarinetists, and principal flutists, in comparison to what is asked of us. There must be an underlying frustration buried somewhere deep within all brass players as we sit there, counting our pauses while others around us make the magic happen.
Unlocking this part of one’s mind by having a prominent voice in a musical work of significant artistic depth is one of the most rewarding things a person can experience as a classical musician, and being consistently deprived of such experience not only affects our ego but also hampers our emotional and intellectual growth. That is why we keep looking for the masterpieces, and hopefully, this article has provided some practical guidance on how to venture out and seize some of these treasures for ourselves. If I may offer one last piece of advice, it would be to listen—listen as much and as often as possible. Explore the great works of art and try to comprehend what makes them truly exceptional. The more you do so, the clearer it will become what you can do in order to come as close as possible to that experience, be it through contemporary music, established repertoire, or arrangements.