With an output of over thirty sonatas or sonata-structured works, Viennese
composer Ferdinand Rebay (1880–1953) may be considered among the most
significant composers of guitar sonatas; as yet, however, little has been
written to place Rebay’s sonatas in historical context. Departing from a review
of a guitar concert held in Vienna in 1925, which clearly indicates a shift in
the perception of the instrument’s role and capabilities among mainstream
audiences, I begin this investigation exploring the guitar club environment in
German-speaking territories around the turn of the century, with a focus on the
activities of the IGV (Internationale Gitarristenverband; International
Association of Guitarists). Equally important was the implementation of the
guitar curriculum at the Wiener Musikakademie in 1923 by Jakob Ortner
(1879–1959), because it opened a window for chamber music collaboration and
attracted the interest of non-guitarist composers such as Rebay. I highlight the
role of Rebay’s niece, guitarist Gerta Hammerschmid (1906–1985), as an advocate
for her uncle’s music—speculating, however, that her controlling attitude may
have limited Rebay’s music from reaching beyond its Viennese sphere. After
examining the constructed values of the post-Beethoven sonata and its domestic
ramifications in the nineteenth century, I delve into Rebay’s extensive
collection of sonatas, especially those for chamber music ensembles, and discuss
its reception among Viennese musicians and critics alike. A final section
outlines some of the main characteristics of Rebay’s sonatas by providing a
structural overview of a significant subset—namely, the six sonatas for woodwind
instruments and guitar—and demonstrating their connections to the Romantic
amateur chamber sonata.
The six-course guitar is still a little-known instrument. One need only look at
books on the history of music to verify that claim: there is hardly any mention
of it, nor are its composers or repertoire often cited. In fact, researchers
have given far more attention to other plucked-string instruments than to the
six-course guitar—whether for reasons of tradition or ideology—leading to a
major gap in the literature. The repertoire of the Spanish Golden Age, to take
one example, has been thoroughly explored, in the domains of both vocal and
instrumental music (as in the vihuela). Similarly, there is quite a lot of
research on the five-course Baroque guitar (as exemplified by Gaspar Sanz and
Francisco Guerau): witness the several commercial and critical editions
available. And there are plenty of studies of composers such as Fernando Sor and
Dionisio Aguado—who are, moreover, already known to people outside our
specialized field of the history of the guitar.
Perhaps the lack of documents, printed scores, or manuscripts associated with
the six-course guitar has hindered research into the instrument. Some documents
held in public libraries are available online; others, such as those in the
private archive of Navascués, can be accessed only with great difficulty. It is
therefore not surprising that today we are familiar with names such as Luis de
Narváez or Gaspar Sanz, while composers such as Juan de Arizpacochaga, Isidro
Laporta, or José Avellana are completely unknown.
The purpose of this text, therefore, is to present the six-course guitar, its
particularities, and its function in a society that could be characterized as
bourgeois.
This article conceptualizes classical guitar left-hand technique through a
physiomechanical framework that places coordinated movement—particularly
shifting—at the center of technical practice. Challenging traditional positional
doctrines that privilege static hand forms and digital independence, the author
argues that such approaches often disregard the functional anatomy of the limb,
resulting in inefficiency, unnecessary tension, and potential injury.
Advancing the principle that form must follow function, the study proposes
shifting as the fundamental technical category governing all left-hand
procedures. A systematic typology—interpositional, intrapositional, and compound
shifting—serves as the basis for analyzing arm-wrist-hand coordination across
diverse technical contexts, including extensions and contractions, barrés,
slurs, vibrato, and complex chordal and scalar textures. Particular emphasis is
placed on alignment, rotational freedom, and the timing of preparatory movements
as conditions for both ergonomic efficiency and musical continuity. A final
section explores the application of this framework to passages demanding
exceptional virtuosity, demonstrating how physiomechanically informed
coordination can resolve extreme technical challenges while preserving fluidity
of motion. By reframing technical security as the product of organized movement
rather than fixed positional strategies, the study offers a dynamic model of
left-hand technique that aims to help players discover their full potential as
virtuoso performers.
This article challenges the widespread perception of Heitor Villa-Lobos as an
isolated peak in Brazilian musical culture with no natural successors. The
author focuses on the composers who followed Villa-Lobos – Francisco Mignone,
Oscar Lorenzo Fernandez, and Camargo Guarnieri – arguing that their works
deserve far more attention in international concert life, not least their
contributions to the guitar repertoire.
These twentieth-century Brazilian composers are situated within a broader
historical narrative that traces the impact of European colonial models, the
delayed and contested formation of musical nationalism in Brazil, and the
shifting aesthetic and political conditions of the twentieth century. Analytical
discussions of representative guitar works reveal contrasting approaches to
nationalism, instrumental craft, and expressive intent. The article concludes
with a selective survey of Brazilian guitar music composed since the
mid-twentieth century, providing a categorized list of repertoire deserving of
wider attention.
Playing the guitar develops physical skills but also ways of listening and
thinking about music. For example, guitarists often conceptualize chords as
two-dimensional shapes—an approach that is foreign to pianists. What does it
mean, then, to think like a guitarist? This article approaches “guitar thinking”
through music theory and cognitive science. Psychological experiments help to
reveal auditory, visual, and tactile aspects of guitar playing and to show how
guitarists respond to the instrument’s affordances (i.e., its possibilities for
action). Additionally, recent research in music theory models fretboard space
and examines patterns of body-instrument interaction. To demonstrate this mode
of analysis, the article discusses Leo Brouwer’s Estudios sencillos, nos. 1 and
7. Ultimately, this investigation suggests that the guitar is not only a tool
for producing musical sound; it also produces musical knowledge.
Anglo-American guitarist Henry Worrall appeared on the American scene just as
the guitar reached a plateau of popularity. As vital as the guitar itself, the
prevailing social, philosophical, and aesthetic tenets of Worrall's era also
wove a unifying thread through his life, career, and oeuvre. His immersion in
both the graphic and musical arts; his straddling of vernacular and high
culture; his connection to nature and especially agriculture; his nationalist
and regionalist sympathies; and his fondness for folk, popular, and heroic
musical themes all drew from and evinced a Romantic worldview. Here, Ferguson
discusses Worrall's professional life.
This article is one of a series of five by Peter Danner on the history of the
guitar in the United States from the late eighteenth to the early twentieth
century. Written between 1977 and 1994, these articles first appeared in early
issues of the GFA’s magazine Soundboard. They are reprinted here in tribute to
Danner’s pioneering contribution to guitar research and to bring them to the
attention of a new generation of scholars. The author has generously provided a
newly written introduction to the series.
In this guest editorial, the author provides evidence of the unreliable nature
of the majority of Tárrega’s first editions, and the substandard quality of most
modern editions. The author argues that in light of the recent availability of
formerly inaccessible primary sources, the time is right for a scholarly edition
of Tárrega’s complete works with state-of-art editorial methods.
For over sixty years, guitarists of my generation have been familiar with the
so-called Segovia Scales--the systematic scale fingerings advocated by the
Andalusian maestro. They have been an influential--some might say a
definitive--bestseller since their first USA publication in 1953. Countless
guitar students have incorporated them into their daily practice routines. For
the publisher, Columbia Music Co., they seem to be the goose that laid the
golden egg. Are they everything that Segovia wanted them to be? Two books of
recent date on guitar technique attest to their enduring value and relevance.
Thomas Offermann wrote in 2015: "The fingerings of the scales used here mostly
correspond to those of Andrés Segovia." revised edition of the 1953 publication
came out in 1967. It was republished in 2011 and has remained in print. The
original preface by Segovia was partly removed and replaced by a "Historical
Note" by Thea E. Smith, the granddaughter of the publisher, Sophocles Papas. She
attested that they were "one of the best-selling guitar publications of all
time.
This article discusses a hitherto unknown letter, written by Sor in Saint
Petersburg in April 1827. It provides new insight into the publishing and
personal relationship between Sor and his Paris publisher, Antoine Meissonnier,
to whom the letter was addressed. We learn about three airs with variations Sor
was busy composing at the time; he was particularly pleased with the variations
Meissonnier later published as op. 30. The letter also mentions some unknown Sor
works, including a book of drafts at Málaga, and it reveals that Meissonnier had
published, without Sor’s knowledge, music that he had received from sources
other than the composer himself. Furthermore, Sor blames Meissonnier for having
published in his name two minuets that were not actually composed by him, and
for releasing as a solo piece the guitar part of a duo for flute and guitar.
Finally, the letter reveals Sor’s negative attitude toward the engraving by M.
N. Bates of his portrait—the only sure pictorial record of Sor we have. The
article also sheds new light on the relationship between Sor and the young
ballerina Félicité Hullin and the rupture between the two in 1827.