Classical and contemporary music for square piano and harpsichord

In the making of this album, our purpose was to bring to light a long-forgotten and yet highly significant instrument that was the ‘square’ piano – specifically the English square piano. We wanted to demonstrate a little of its nature, to outline its relevance in social history, to let you hear its voice. To do this, we are fortunate to have available a relevant instrument – a Robertson c. 1835 partially restored square piano crafted in Liverpool. In the recording, music from its era (late eighteenth to early nineteenth century), is interspersed with newly created pieces that are sympathetic to its variable sounds and registers, that is, its limitations and virtues.

When first it developed, the public’s adoption of piano fortes (especially the more compact square piano) rapidly displaced the harpsichords and spinets of the eighteenth century, though the two keyboard types – the plucked and the knocked – existed happily together for some time.

‘Square’ pianos were rectangular, transportable, and fitted readily into the smallest home. They were ideal for home music-making. Their unique qualities included distinct registers – a warm, rich bass, ethereal treble, tenor middle; variable dynamic capability but only within a pp – mf range; optional extras like a ‘moderator’ for sound colour changes, and a sustaining pedal. Within one note, depending on touch, a different colour could emerge. But they were not for the virtuoso, the concert hall or the show-off. Square pianos invited people to participate in music, to sing with, to play together in harmony and intimacy. Composers noted these different qualities and adjusted their styles accordingly, resulting in a burgeoning middle-income market for music scores to complement the instrument. Australia, isolated as it was and bereft of external entertainment, imported square pianos by the hundreds, (even surpassing that of Europe), so significant were the pianos as the central hub of the home and society generally.

Today, square pianos are not reproduced the way harpsichords and forte pianos (the grand ones) are. They are occasionally restored. What you hear is necessarily two hundred or so years old, give or take a few adjustments. There will be audible clicks and groans, coughs and mechanical noises, but through all that – the voice of a beloved and beautiful thing.

We begin with Johann Christian Bach, his Sonata for four hands in A major. ‘John’ Christian Bach resided in London for the majority of his working life. As an early adopter, he was the first to publicly showcase the new piano forte – by Johann Christoph Zumpe, which was later the model for one that is thought to have arrived with the first fleet to Australia in 1788 (G. Lancaster*). This tiny square piano later morphed into a more robust, broad-shouldered type, as is our Robertson.

The Sonata is in two movements. From the first note, it becomes apparent that JC loved the piano forte. His tender melody sits in the thin treble with ease, before being given weight by the Secondo reply in the tenor. Despite the difference in volume and colour between the two registers, the melody always sings.  Set in binary form, the performer can make additions and embellishments in the return if so desired. The second movement, in the style of a minuet, seems facile in comparison with the first movement, until the ideal tempo is reached when it becomes upright, elegant and almost regal.

JC Bach intrinsically understood and appreciated the early English piano forte, his lyrical style and lucid accompaniments falling naturally into place on the keyboard.  In exploring this and other of his pieces it became apparent that factors such as tempi, touch and balance were informed by the instrument, that it should guide the performer, and not the other way round.

A prolific composer, well-known to the public, admired by Mozart and Haydn, Czech composer Joseph Baptist Vanhal is today all but forgotten by the general public and concert go-er. Vanhal’s extensive output included church music, symphonies, and importantly for keyboard players, a large amount of piano music. Vanhal in the latter part of his life realised that the expanding middle classes who were acquiring their own piano fortes, were in need of piano music to suit. His Sonata II in A major, for four hands seems designed for this purpose.

The Sonata is in two movements – a set of variations and a rondo. The theme to the variations, tastefully embellished (and with the strange label ‘alla Francese, perhaps relating to its occasional strong second beat and bunches of 3 quavers) is followed by a variation ‘alla Italianana’, then six other variations all of which directly reference the theme, no matter how elaborate the ornamentation. Both parts take full advantage of what the piano forte can offer. Keeping the left hands texturally sparce (thus giving scope to the right hands), he gives both parts interesting turns, ornaments and runs, often in a to-ing and fro-ing fashion between the players, inviting co-operation and a sympathetic understanding of each other. Dynamic markings abound (dolce, cresc, F and P, calando all in the one short variation) as well as strategic use of silences, all of which combine to induce moments of drama and resolution, tenderness and strength.

The second movement ‘Rondo alla Tadesca’ draws upon the folk traditions of his country. A joyful skipping tune recurs artfully between short and varied interludes which suggest childish games, hide-and-seeks, pseudo-threatening rumbles, and other playful exercises. In this as in the Variations, Vanhal uses the full capacity available to him from the piano forte.

While not emotionally taxing, both movements of the Sonata have a lightness, innocence and simple beauty which is very appealing.

In 1799, when Beethoven was 29 years old, he wrote an aria using the first stanza of Goethe’s poem Ich denke dein (I think of thee) with these words:‘Ich denke dein, wenn mir der Sonne Schimmer
Vom Meere strahlt;
Ich denke dein, wenn sich des Mondes Flimmer
In Quellen malt.’

followed by four variations as a piano duet. The piece was intended for two sisters, the Countesses Therese and Josephine Brunsvik who he was teaching at the time. Two other variations were added four years later to complete the set at six. The warm embrace of the aria, together with the choice of text (‘I think of you when from the restless ocean, The sunlight beams, And when the moon reflects with liquid motion From rippling streams’ ) invites the speculation that Beethoven may have had deeper feelings for one of them, perhaps unrequited – for the later fifth variation, is Beethoven at his darkest and most sombre. By the sixth, he has thrown off his misery as the girls engage in musical playfulness.

In this song with six variations, the connection between the two players is intimate. It is domestic music in its most loving form.

Diana Weston

*Personal communication, November, 2023

Moonrise over Lake Argyle is Intended for harpsichord and fortepiano.

Lake Argyle is situated in Western Australia in the region of Kununurra. It was created artificially and is three times the size of Sydney Harbour. The native title holders of the area around Kununurra are the Mirriwoong Gajenrrong People and their language is Mirriwoong.

The sections of the piece have subtitles :

Setting Sun: The waters of the Lake are becoming calm at sunset and the birds are settling for the night. The sound of twittering birds is represented by the harpsichord, that of the waters by the piano forte.

Moonrise: The harpsichord has a peaceful melody over accompaniment from the piano forte. The accompaniment suggests the gentle lapping of the water.

Darting Fish. Fish can be seen darting about in the water like quicksilver, represented by a rapid and angulated ‘fish’ motif.

Serene Moon: As the moon rises a sense of calm envelops the Lake and its surrounds, and a mysterious melody reflects the ancient land with its ochre-coloured hills and rocks. Finally ‘Moonrise’ returns in its original key. This time the harpsichord wanders through the accompaniment with an abstract melody until the final bars, when one very small fish makes a surprise re-appearance.

Ann Carr-Boyd

Night Music, for two harpsichords, was composed at the request of Diana Weston and Michael Tsalka on the theme of Night. As the tango is often music with dark shadows, the idea of night and tango seemed to fit together well. Night Music isn’t programmatic but there are touches of night bird calls and those rustling sounds animals make at night, especially in the buff stop figures and trills. The middle section is a minimalist tango waltz designed to levitate the piece before returning to earth.

Composing for two harpsichords can result in more notes than is required, so, as a great admirer of Wilhelm Friedemann Bach’s superb work, Sonata for two harpsichords in F major, this work served as a textural guide for me in relation to density. Night Music is written for two single manual harpsichords.

Diana Blom, 2019

The Stairway to the Moon is a natural phenomenon caused by the rising of a full moon reflecting off the exposed mudflats in Roebuck Bay at extremely low tide, to create a beautiful optical illusion of a stairway reaching to the moon. The rare spectacle brings many tourists to various vantage points including Town Beach and the Mangrove Hotel to wait for the moon to rise. As the excitement and anticipation mounts spectators at the Hotel are entertained by an old piano belting out a jazz theme which contains an undercurrent of bass repetitive notes.

This percussive refrain also evokes the didgeridoo and the clap-stick – a homage to the those who first witnessed this strange and captivating event in the Dreamtime. This is a special and ancient place on the west Pilbara and Kimberley coast of Western Australia. The mangroves and mudflats of Roebuck is in Yawuru country. The Stairway forms part of the Lurujarri Trail.
As the moon rises and exposes the stairs the piano chords become silvery and step up in rises. The moon interlude then becomes a captivating mixture of the modern spectators’ excitement and wonder as the stairway builds, and of the old Moon Man of the Dreamtime as danced by the Bardi people who understand the strong tides and their precious saltwater environment.

Ann Carr-Boyd, 2019