Stolen melodies
Emmanuel Chabrier in 1882.
I wonder whether you
recall that court case involving the song My Sweet Lord supposedly by
George Harrison. The song came out in 1971 and bore striking similarities to
He’s So Fine recorded nine years earlier by a female group from New York
called The Chiffons.
By the time the Harrison
song was released, The Chiffons were under the Bright Tunes Music Corporation
which swiftly filed a lawsuit against George Harrison. The case was finally
heard in court in February 1976 when Harrison’s lawyers tried to prove that the
songs were different. The judge decided otherwise. Harrison was found guilty
of “subconscious plagiarism” and fined $587,000.
In contrast, the Church of
the Middle Ages regularly re-used melodies because it was the standard way of
creating new works. One process, known as “troping” was to extend an existing
musical setting of sacred verses by simply adding more material. There was no
conception of music being a commodity, having monetary value or even having an
owner.
The first British
copyright laws date from 1709, though they were probably interpreted somewhat
liberally. Nevertheless, the German composer and theorist Johann Mattheson
claimed in 1739 that “borrowing was acceptable and necessary”. However, he
added that “one must so construct and develop imitations that they are prettier
and better than the pieces from which they are derived.” Clearly, Mattheson had
no scruples about using someone else’s music. His father was a successful
tax-collector, which may have had something to do with it.
Bach, Handel, and most
other professional composers of the day routinely recycled their own music and
the music of others. Bach’s Anna Magdalena Notebook of 1725
contained short pieces written for his wife, but many of them were borrowed.
The Minuet in G for example, was actually written by Christian Petzold.
Over two hundred later it was borrowed again for a song called A Lover’s
Concerto and sung by another female group from New York called The Toys.
Both Haydn and Mozart
borrowed music freely. Not until 1909 was it realised that Mozart’s Symphony
No. 37 was actually a re-working of Michael Haydn’s Symphony No 25. The idea of
the composer as a singular genius forging an original path was virtually unknown
to seventeenth and eighteenth century sensibilities. It’s been estimated that
Beethoven reworked existing music in more than a third of his compositions.
The 1911 musical Kismet
used music written by Alexander Borodin who had died twenty-four years earlier.
You may recall the songs Baubles, Bangles and Beads and the more
well-known Stranger in Paradise, both of which were revived in the
1950s. There are dozens of other examples. The song Hot Diggity was
recorded in 1956 by one Pierino Ronald Como better known as Perry, except
perhaps to his mother. The song went to the top of the charts and while the
words were nonsense, the melody was wonderful. As you may have guessed, it was
stolen.
Emmanuel
Chabrier (1841-1894): España.
BBC symphony Orchestra
cond. Leonard Slatkin
(Duration 06:25; Video Resolution: 360p)
Chabrier went on a tour of
Spain in 1882 and wrote España a year later. The work isn’t all flamenco
and castanets as you might expect, nor is it descriptive music in the usual
sense. I think Chabrier was more interested in creating something more
impressionistic, reflecting the exuberance and colour of Spanish life. He was
after all, close friends of the Impressionist painters Claude Monet and Édouard
Manet.
The orchestration is
sizzling and brilliant and the work exudes tremendous gaiety with an
unmistakable Spanish flavour. The trouble is, every time I hear the main tune,
I can’t get the idiotic words of Hot Diggity out of my head.
The words of another Perry
Como hit, Catch a Falling Star weren’t a great deal more sensible. They
suggested that you should “catch a falling star and put it in your pocket”,
which I would have thought would be the last place you’d want to place a red-hot
meteorite. This time though, the music had been stolen from Brahms.
Johannes
Brahms (1833-1897): Academic Festival Overture.
Nederlands
Studenten Orkest 2012, cond. Lucas Vis (Duration 11:41; Video Resolution:
1080p HD)
In a twist of delicious
irony, Brahms had also stolen the tune. He composed the Academic Festival
Overture during the summer of 1880 as a token of gratitude to the University
of Breslau, which had awarded him an honorary doctorate degree. The
dull-sounding title belies the fact that this is a very jolly piece indeed,
composed largely of student drinking songs. The work is scored for large
orchestra and Brahms conducted the premiere for a delighted audience in 1881.
It’s full of memorable tunes, ending with a thunderous rendering of the popular
academic song Gaudeamus Igitur. The words of this song poke fun at
academia and they probably appealed to the composer’s dry sense of humour.
And in case you’re
wondering, George Harrison did pay the fine. Being one of the Beatles, he could
probably afford such a modest sum.
