In this previously unpublished talk from 2004, delivered two years after his
retirement from public performance, Julian Bream traces his own career in
relation to the evolution of the modern guitar, recounting his early encounters
with nineteenth-century guitars, the introduction of nylon strings to replace
gut, innovations in guitar construction, and a transformative meeting with
Andrés Segovia. But at the heart of the talk is his approach to sound. Bream
discusses the essential elements of his tone production, including his
right-hand position with its characteristic “three-quarter Tárrega bend” of the
wrist, and his strong preference for the rest stroke. He goes on to explain how
guitars in the style of Hauser’s late period actively encourage such a style of
playing, from the strutting pattern of the top to the tuning relationship
between the top and back plates. In conclusion, he voices skepticism toward
certain technologies and concern that they may already be constraining
individual artistry and creativity.
This paper proposes an underpinning terminology for scholarly discussions of
contemporary arrangement practices in the field of classical guitar performance.
The introduction provides some historical foundations for the topic, aiming to
present the roots of different approaches and methods in the work of important
guitar arrangers. The paper continues by contextualizing arrangement processes
within linguistics and language philosophy, discussing the topic of translation,
and giving an overview of relevant terminologies. The centre of the paper is the
theoretical investigation of arrangement and the identification of translating
acts related to musical space, instrumental choreography, texture, timbre, or a
combination of those, demonstrated in various examples by contemporary guitar
arrangers.
The diary of Caroline Maud Berkeley née Tomlinson, compiled in thirteen sketch
books from 1888 to 1901, offers the most extensive social record of
guitar-playing to be found in any private document of the nineteenth century.
This article, compiled with exclusive access to the original manuscripts, offers
the first comprehensive digital record of more than twenty scenes of guitars in
use, together with the accompanying diary text, which has never before been
published in an authentic form. The diarist’s sharp eye for facial expressions
and gestures, her radiant sense of color, and her keen sense of humor allow her
to reveal, in a manner both incisive and engaging, the importance of
guitar-playing in her life at the seaside resort of Sandown, on the Isle of
Wight, just off the south coast of England. The guitar offered her a portable
means to accompany her own amateur singing and the chance to share an interest
with several young women who lived very close to her, for to Maud Tomlinson the
guitar meant song, friendship and independence above all things. In text and
image, the diary traces her activities from the struggles of her first lessons
through to the assured public performances with a guitar trio that gave her
quite as many opportunities to escape the parental home as her tennis racket and
the bicycle she bought during the cycling craze of the 1890s. Above, all, the
diary offers a uniquely vivid record of a revival of the guitar at precisely the
time when the instrument is often supposed to have been on the verge of oblivion
in Britain.
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.
In the story of music-making, blind musicians have played an intrinsic role,
helping to drive the development not only of musical styles but also of
instruments, instruction, and aesthetics. Many musical practices were cultivated
first within blind communities and adopted only later by sighted musicians,
often with a gradual erasure of their original context. The history of the
Spanish guitar offers a compelling case study of this progression, demonstrating
how the contribution of blind musicians could be both wide-reaching and yet,
over time, forgotten. The history of this contribution is challenging to
recover, for in Spain as elsewhere, blind musicians left almost no direct
historical evidence of their activities; and yet, once reconstructed, it offers
a vital new perspective, one that challenges standard approaches to guitar
historiography, with its traditional emphasis on repertoire and celebrated
individuals.
Rather than belonging to the margins of guitar history, the work of blind
Spanish guitarists has direct implications for its central narrative. It is
essential for understanding the emergence of the Spanish classical guitar in the
19th century and for situating pivotal figures—such as Francisco Tárrega,
Antonio de Torres, and even Andrés Segovia and Agustín Barrios—within a broader
cultural context in which blind musicians played a vital role. Furthermore, this
perspective may offer valuable insights into the study of Spanish musical
pedagogy and aesthetics, particularly the concept of duende—as well as into the
organological development of the guitar.
This PDF is a compilation of all articles from Soundboard Scholar no. 7,
provided for convenience. Please visit
https://digitalcommons.du.edu/sbs/vol7/iss1/ for individual PDFs, which should
be used for citation.
This PDF was updated on March 4, 2022 to include Robert Ferguson's obituary of
Thomas Heck.
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.
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.
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.