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STEPHEN COTTRELL. The Saxophone. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2012. Xxii + 390pp., Illus. ISBN 978-0-300-10041-9 (hardback). Price £25.00 What is organology, what should it be and what can it be? These are questions that beg active engagement as subscriptions to organological societies decline, musical instrument collections are asked to validate their existence in universities and museums, and specialist lecturer posts that underpinned prominent musicology programmes are left vacant. The field’s interaction with a broader community is crucial to its survival. Organology’s success in fostering such relationships might be gauged through the response of its constituency to developments in the umbrella field of musicology. The organization of a panel session on ‘critical organology’ by musicologists at the 2013 American Musicological Society meeting kicked off a turf war that has recently played out in the rarefied world of organology webmail lists. While much cyber ink has been spilt over issues of pride and possession, it has also encouraged the organological community to address questions of identity and purpose. A vital discipline should ask itself these questions regularly, and excellent scholarship in the field should inspire us to revisit existing answers and forge new ones. Stephen Cottrell’s contribution to the Yale Musical Instrument Series does just that. It is a superb 200th birthday gift to the inventor of the saxophone and to all who are interested in the intersections between instruments and musicology, sociology and ethnography. A powerful demonstration of the relevance of musical instrument studies to broader areas of inquiry, it is also an important gift to the field of organology. This broad, contextual sweep is a hallmark of the Yale series and like its companion volumes, The Saxophone will appeal to organologists and non-specialists alike. Particularly in light of its comparatively short history, there are few instruments that inhabit a more diverse range of musical genres and socio-cultural milieus than the saxophone. As an ethnomusicologist and former professional saxophone player, Cottrell is particularly well equipped to present the many facets of the saxophone’s history and use and to assess how it became a global phenomenon despite its conflicting and often controversial identities. Cottrell’s command of context and ‘thick description’, as espoused by Cyril Ehrlich in his own pioneering work in organology and musicology, resonates with the fertile tradition of interdisciplinary music scholarship at Goldsmiths University of London, where Cottrell studied and was Head of Department.
The preface introduces a central and recurring theme of this book. In asking why the saxophone has been accorded so little attention within academic circles and the musical academy, Cottrell calls into play the complicated and deeply interwoven strands underpinning the instrument’s unsettled identity. While its association with ragtime, vaudeville and jazz has cast the saxophone as ‘mad, bad and dangerous to blow’ (p.312) and has hindered its progress as a ‘serious’ instrument both among performers and scholars, it is ultimately this relationship that has ensured the saxophone’s far reaching appeal and its potent symbolic significance. Cottrell’s examination of the development of the saxophone and of these simultaneously comingled and opposed identities forms the basis of a comprehensive and authoritative history that legitimizes the saxophone as a subject of intellectual inquiry. This narrative unfolds both diachronically and synchronically. The book is organized into chapters on ‘the life and times of Adolphe Sax’, ‘the saxophone family’, ‘the saxophone in the nineteenth century’, ‘early twentieth-century light and popular music’, ‘the saxophone in jazz’, ‘the classical saxophone’, ‘modernism and postmodernism’, and ‘the saxophone as symbol and icon’. Also included are an appendix comprising an annotated facsimile of Sax’s 1846 saxophone patent, twenty-two musical examples, six tables and 120 illustrations. End notes, a comprehensive index and a diverse eightpage bibliography complete the volume. The range of illustrations – from often entertaining images of early vaudeville groups to carefully composed performer portraits and politically charged sheet music covers – is fascinating and thoughtfully chosen, but as with its companion volumes in the Yale series, regrettably only reproduced in black and white. Cottrell begins his history with Sax himself. The more colourful details of the beleaguered inventor’s life – subterfuge, flashes of avarice, a plethora of lawsuits, bankruptcies and attacks from jealous colleagues – have been well-rehearsed in earlier biographical accounts and are again considered here. The couching of these episodes against the vicissitudes of France during the period between the Revolution and the fall of the Second Empire raises them above the status of anecdote and illuminates the political, social and financial factors influencing Sax’s relationships with rival instrument makers, employees and clients such as the French military. Of particular interest is Cottrell’s consideration of the circumstances surrounding Sax’s delay in applying for a patent for the saxophone. Although
Reviews Sax was demonstrating his invention in Paris in 1842, he deferred his application for a patent until 1846. A lesser-known biographical detail flagged up by Cottrell and likely to resonate with this readership is Sax’s activity as a collector of instruments. Of the forced sale of Sax’s collection in the face of bankruptcy, Cottrell poignantly remarks, ‘The loss of instruments with which this energetic man had surrounded himself must have had a profound emotional affect’ (p.35). A strong sense of narrative discipline rightly keeps Cottrell from digressing on this tantalizing facet of Sax’s life, which merits further exploration elsewhere. Perhaps the conclusion of this biographical chapter might have been allowed slightly more leniency. Sax’s overall activity as an instrument maker is so bound up with the circumstances of his life and career that a mention of saxhorns, which were central to the British brass band movement, would have been warranted in the section discussing Sax’s legacy, particularly in England. Before meeting the members of the ‘saxophone family’ in the chapter bearing this name, the reader is introduced to the wind landscape of the time and presented with Sax’s rationale for developing the saxophone, which he appended to his 1846 patent. The stage thus set, it is then populated with full descriptions of Sax’s early instruments before later developments and more eccentric members and relations of the family, such as slide saxophones and rothophones, are considered. Particular emphasis is given to early twentieth-century developments in America, reflecting the saxophone craze that occurred there during the teens and roaring twenties. Throughout, technical descriptions of instruments and key systems are clear, concise and free of jargon. Saxophone monomaniacs may find little new information about the technical aspects of the instrument, but they will learn much about the circumstances and influences underpinning these developments. Cottrell’s discussion of the fascination with parabolic bores among Sax and his contemporaries is particularly illuminating. The remaining chapters focus on the saxophone in a variety of historical, musical and social contexts. For readers who associate it primarily with jazz, the chapters on ‘The saxophone in the nineteenth century’ and ‘Early twentieth-century light and popular music’ will be revelatory. In these and subsequent pages, Cottrell considers a surprising range of settings in which the instrument was employed. These include the staid environs of the turn of the century American parlour, where the saxophone enjoyed
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domestic respectability akin to the piano, the circus bally and the vaudeville stage. Here, rival performers engaged in an arms race of saxophone sizes and novelty costumes. The saxophone has even travelled to outer space (although pub quiz aficionados should note that the saxophone was not the first musical instrument to go into orbit as stated on p.308 – this laurel is accorded to the harmonica, played on board Gemini VI on an earlier flight in 1965). The saxophone also conjured up visions of other worlds closer to home. Both its sound and sinuous shape have long been employed by performers to evoke otherness and exoticism. This can be seen in the image of the nineteenth-century virtuoso Charles-Jean-Baptise Soualle, who performed in flowing orientalist costume and referred to his saxophone as a ‘turcophone’ (p.113). Soualle’s artistry did much to prove the technical and musical capabilities of the saxophone, but his presentation undermined the legitimacy of the instrument in serious musical circles and freighted it with social and cultural baggage. Cottrell unfolds similar contradictions in his discussions of the saxophone in vaudeville, light music and jazz. Regardless of where it was heard, the novelty of the saxophone’s sound, for which it was both celebrated and derided, was central to its reception. During a period where instrumental tone colour was an increasingly important element of composition, the saxophone attracted positive attention in the orchestration treatises of Kastner and Berlioz, but ultimately failed to find a significant place in the ‘serious’ music of its supporters. Barriers to its acceptance ranged from the prosaic – composers fearful that they stood little chance of being heard if they wrote for an instrument not readily at the disposal of most orchestras – to more deeply rooted traditions of orchestral conservatism that were starting to crystalize in the mid nineteenth century. For this reason, Cottrell posits that the more liberal world of opera, which lived for the moment and catered to audience expectations of novelty, was better able to accommodate the saxophone. Indeed, Rossini did far more to support the instrument artistically and politically than Berlioz, whose advocacy in print was contradicted by a scarcity of saxophones in his scoring. Such was the affinity between Rossini and the instrument that, at his funeral in 1868, the funeral march from Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony was performed by a quartet of saxophones (p.306). Sound is at the heart of the saxophone’s affinity with jazz. In practical terms, the saxophone’s volume made it an efficient and effective instrument
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in dance bands, where it began to eclipse the violin. Agility and endurance were added benefits. In terms of timbre, the saxophone’s vocal qualities, pitch flexibility and ability to ‘moan’ were ideally suited to the aesthetics of jazz, which prized individual and idiosyncratic expression. Here, Cottrell quotes the swing era soloist Coleman Hawkins: “the only thing nobody can steal from you is your sound: sound alone is important” (p.185). Throughout the chapter devoted to jazz, the changing voice of the saxophone is considered through detailed studies of key artists including Sidney Bechet, Lester Young, Charlie Parker, John Coltrane and Ornette Coleman. These are interwoven with a carefully focused history of the genre that avoids the jargon and esotericism sometimes encountered in jazz scholarship so that the jazz neophyte can understand the saxophone’s role in the development and performance history of its most iconic repertoire. This chapter is illustrated with tables of harmonic progressions and transcriptions of improvisations from key recordings. Because of the primacy of the aural tradition in jazz, recordings are a particularly valuable resource for both players and scholars. Armed with a pen, a diligent reader could compile a discography of seminal recordings by noting down those that Cottrell references throughout this chapter. A list of these would, indeed, have made a useful appendix to this volume. Well-targeted biography and historical context also provide the framework for the chapter that focuses on the classical saxophone. Elsie Boyer Hall, Marcel Mule, Sigurd Rascher and Cecil Leeson are among the pivotal players discussed. All stand out for their vital role in establishing a repertoire for the saxophone through the commissioning of works. It is to Hall’s indefatigable persistence that we owe the existence of Claude Debussy’s Rapsodie for alto saxophone and which prompted the harassed composer to write of this American patron, “Does it not appear indecent to you, a woman in love with a saxophone . . . This must surely be an old mole who dresses like an umbrella” (p.244). Sartorial matters aside, Cottrell notes that the saxophone quartet has found favour with twentieth-century composers who enjoy the freedom from the ‘anxiety of influence’ that confronts them when writing for the string quartet, while offering many of the same challenges (p.259). Since the 1970s, the saxophone has become increasingly prominent in a wide range of settings and repertoire, as explored in the chapter ‘Modernism and postmodernism’. Its somewhat ambiguous, chimera-like identity has enabled it to
ride successfully the wave of globalization and to flourish in diverse musical contexts. Sampling the ambience projected by the performer portraits in this chapter gives some idea of this breadth, from the British saxophonist John Harle in his meticulous chalk-stripe suit to the Indian player Kadri Gopalnath attired in an intricately embroidered kurta pajāma. Harle’s career focuses on promoting the classical saxophone to a wider audience, while Gopalnath has worked to incorporate the saxophone into traditional Carnatic music, taking advantage of the vocal nature of the saxophone’s timbre and its ability to produce portamento and rapid melismas. The instrument continues to flourish in jazz, where performers have harnessed its flexibility to accommodate the stylistic fragmentation of the genre in recent decades. Perhaps the most ubiquitous expression of the saxophone’s popularity in recent years has been in the area of rock and pop music, amplified by the rise of the music video, which provided an ideal vehicle for performers such as the multi-million album seller Kenneth Gorelick, better known as Kenny G. The modern and postmodern periods have also ushered in experiments with the instrument that have met with varying success. Cottrell considers developments such as the Varitone attachment, which electronically enhances and alters the sound of the saxophone in a manner similar to the effects available on guitar amplifiers; the EWI, a wind instrument synthesizer; and the Metasaxophone, a specially adapted instrument that can be used to control MIDI devices. The final chapter, drawing on the rich narrative of saxophone design, reception, repertoire and performance practice that Cottrell has detailed throughout the book, culminates in a potent discussion of ‘The saxophone as symbol and icon’. The chapter takes the reader from the stage of the Revudeville Girls show at the Windmill Theatre in London in the 1930s to the campaign trail of US President Bill Clinton. It considers the representation of the saxophone in a wide range of roles including advertising and film. The implications and nuances of the saxophone’s identity in relation to modernity and America, morality, race, class and gender are all considered. Fertile ground for study is found in the parallels between the struggle for legitimacy faced both by the new instrument and the New World in which their brash novelty is simultaneously deeply appealing and threatening. The saxophone, like the banjo, naturally becomes a vehicle for the politics of race as played out through the reception of jazz. Such were the tensions and dualities inherent in the identities of the saxophone that the Nazi party
Reviews both tried to lay a nationalistic claim to the genius of its inventor by spelling Sax’s first name as Adolf, while later producing a poster advertising a concert of so called entarte Musik (degenerate music) that prominently featured the saxophone in an antiSemitic and racist recasting of the cover art for the sheet music of Jonny spielt auf by Ernst Krenek (p.325). The name of the saxophone’s inventor and its use as a vernacular handle for the instrument have invited no shortage of suggestively titled albums such as the Sax Club series by Gil Ventura. Cottrell’s wide ranging discussion of the saxophone and gender travels well beyond this to consider the campaign of Alphonse Sax (brother of Adolphe) to promote wind instrument playing to women, the early popularity of female saxophone ensembles, the morphology of the instrument, and the timbral significance of ‘that moanin’ saxophone sound’ (p.335). Cottrell’s ability to immerse the reader in such a wide range of issues without seeming cursory or tokenistic is a great strength of this final chapter and the book as a whole. It deserves to become a set text in critical organology. In closing, it is tempting to add further to the layers of saxophone symbolism and appropriation. A reader could draw a parallel between the instrument’s conflicted reception in serious circles and the position of organology relative to musicology: both struggle at times to be accorded due respect by the academy. Cottrell’s book goes a long way towards redressing this balance both for the instrument and the discipline. E. BRADLEY STRAUCHEN-SCHERER ANDREW DIPPER (ed). ‘Librem segreti de bvttegha’, A book of workshop secrets: the violin and its fabrication in Italy circa 1725-1790. Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA: Dipper Press, 2013. 110pp., Illus., ISBN 978-0-9657095-3-8 (hardback). $150.00 USD Written evidence concerning the working techniques of the north Italian violin makers of the classical period (late seventeenth-early eighteenth century) is notoriously scanty. Apart from the evidence offered by the models and tools surviving from the workshop of Antonio Stradivari (and recently rehoused in a new Museum of the Violin in Cremona), we have to wait until Antonio Bagatella’s Regole (Padua, 1786) for the beginning of a written tradition discussing conventions of design, acoustics and practical workmanship related to violin making. It is a matter for regret for all violin scholars, however, that by this time the main tradition had somehow faded. Although violin making survived in Cremona through the work of
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families such as the Bergonzi and Storioni, the main making centres had moved over the Alps. Andrew Dipper’s initiative of re-publishing the Librum segreti de buttegha with an English translation is therefore very welcome, because it discloses to a much wider audience a text that deserves at least more thorough study in order to assess critically its potential interest for the history of violin making, and its value both to scholars and makers. Dipper’s edition consists of the ‘original’ version of the text (pp.97-107), its translation into English with technical drawings and commentaries aimed at the interpretation of its contents (pp.3594), and a general introduction to the work including some discussion of the manuscript. The complex history of this text requires a brief summary before the Dipper edition can be discussed. It was in fact individuated by Euro Peluzzi (1881-1955) and published in the fourth chapter of his Tecnica costruttiva degli antichi liutai italiani (published posthumously: Firenze, Leo S. Olschki, 1978, pp.104-124. Peluzzi’s page numbers will be given in italic in this review, to avoid confusion with those of the reviewed book) of which it forms a substantial part. Peluzzi is well known for his adventurous attempts to demonstrate the existence of a theoretical mathematical concept, the application of which led to the birth of the violin ’suddenly as a complete and perfect work’ (p.12), and for bluntly attributing the invention of this concept to the Brescian mathematician Nicolò Fontana alias Tartaglia. David Boyden characterized this hypothesis just as bluntly, as ‘one of the most preposterous absurdities ever committed to print’ (The history of violin playing, New York : Oxford University Press, 1975, p.18). It appears that much of Peluzzi’s theory was based on this manuscript, which he says he found in the private library of Federico Patetta, a prominent historian of Italian law, that was bequeathed to the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana in 1945. No trace of the manuscript seems to survive, so Peluzzi’s partial transcription, together with a photograph of the cover and one page randomly selected, is the only source for this text. Considering that the Vatican Library has been recently entirely reorganized and its catalogue fully digitized, it is rather unlikely that the manuscript ‘has apparently been mislaid’ (p.13). Rather, it appears more probable that it was weeded out together with a number of other old papers concerning crafts that belonged to Patetta’s library, according to Peluzzi (p.104), but do not appear in the Vatican Library. Peluzzi’s work is highly problematic as a source:
