This may sound as though I’m speaking in riddles. Truly, I’m not!
I alluded in my earlier posting today to the question of “When less is more”, in the context of the apparently minimal amount of Stationers’ Hall music surviving at Edinburgh University Library, and how I was forced to look at the little that was there, in quite a close focus.
But I still have copies of those lists of music that was SOLD by the National Library of Scotland. So, on the one hand, we have very little of the music surviving in what was then “Edinburgh College”. On the other hand, we have a list of music that we know was discarded by the Advocates Library in 1830.
I’ve started to transcribe these lists – only a few pages, but interesting nonetheless. But, how do I rationalise to other people just why they’re interesting? And this is why:-
If I can establish which of these discarded pieces actually SURVIVED in different libraries, then I get a snapshot view – fragmented and blurred, admittedly – of which libraries retained more, or less, and I can see if certain categories were more likely to survive at that time, shortly before the legal deposit system was radically reduced. Yes, it means another spreadsheet. But I still think there may be something interesting to unearth. Watch this space!
And yes, I do still need to establish whether there is music surviving but not yet catalogued online. I know about some of the libraries, but not absolutely clearly for all of them. That’s why I’m making my visits around the country!
So you’re a composer in Regency Britain, say 1813, and you want to claim copyright in your music. What do you do? Well, if you have a publisher, they might submit it to Stationers’ Hall, where it would be registered. They might not, though. (Some publishers thought they’d have the best of both worlds – they’d print a copyright statement to the effect that it had been entered at Stationers’ Hall, but they wouldn’t actually bother doing so.) In any event, it’s a bit hit or miss.
If you’re self-publishing, then you might consider it in your own interest to register your copyright in the work. After all, by now it’s at least accepted that composers’ work did count as intellectual property and deserved protection. That wasn’t necessarily the case in the mid-18th century!
Copies of music registered at Stationers’ Hall would then be sent to all the legal deposit libraries – the British Museum (which became the British Library), Sion College in London, the Universities of Oxford, Cambridge, Edinburgh, Glasgow, St Andrews, Aberdeen and Trinity College Dublin, the Advocates’ Library (which became the National Library of Scotland), and Kings’ Inns, also in Dublin. Whether the music gets to all these places is also a bit hit or miss! It’s not always sent, not always kept methodically upon arrival, and some libraries don’t want all this music anyway.
Tracing It Today
The Claimed from Stationers Hall project sets out to find out more about what happened to all the Stationers’ Hall music. This is Week 2 of the network’s existence, so you’ve come in right at the start. If you’re interested in early music publishing, library history, or the social, cultural side of the music borrowed from these libraries, then this network is right up your street. Please follow this blog, and the Twitter @ClaimedStatHall, and do let us know if you’re working on anything in any way related to this repertoire!
St Andrews and now Aberdeen
Karen has spent some time exploring the rich archival resources at the University of St Andrews, where the Stationers’ Hall music was sifted through, much was catalogued, and then it was eagerly borrowed by a number of people via the professors’ library memberships. We can trace what was received, find it in a fascinating handwritten catalogue, and even observe who borrowed what.
But what of the other libraries? This week, the magnifying glass focused on the parallel collection in Aberdeen. Work has been done on the documentation of what was received by the library in the 18th century by former librarian and research scholar Richard Turbet, and we can now see what was received in these early years, even if it doesn’t all survive today. (Turbet, ‘Music Deposited by Stationers’ Hall at the Library of the University and King’s College of Aberdeen, 1753-96′, RMA Research Chronicle 30 (1997) pp.139-162)
Roughly half of the surviving copyright music is now in the online catalogue there: at the time of writing, 2062 of an approximate 4400 items in the entire bound Stationers Hall Music collection. How was it used by the community in contemporary Aberdeen, though? The next question is to establish where there are comparable loan records to those in St Andrews. We do know, through Richard Turbet’s work, that there were concerns as to what had happened to the Stationers’ Hall music, in the Aberdeen Censor of 1826. Intriguing!
Catalogues and Conundrums
The union catalogue of UK University and national libraries makes it easy to trace most things so long as they have been catalogued online. However, differences in cataloguing mean that it’s not always as easy as you’d think. Take Gesualdo Lanza’s Elements of Singing in the Italian and English Styles.
Different cataloguing approaches make it a little difficult to untangle, but if you search Lanza, Elements of Singing, you retrieve 16 entries, one of which is just a print portrait. It was published in 1813 – different catalogues have it self-published, published by Button and Whittaker, or indeed printed and sold by Chappell. Around 1819-20, an abridged version appeared, again by Chappell (though the catalogue records don’t all state this the same way), and apparently again in 1826.
So there are at least two if not three basic versions, and you’d expect them each to appear in all the copyright libraries? Think again! Differently styled catalogue records reveal copies of the 1813 publication in Glasgow, St Andrews, Aberdeen, the British Library and Oxford Bodleian, and a copy in York, which was not a copyright library. The other legal deposit libraries don’t have it, unless it’s still not catalogued online. (That’s another interesting question. Some pre-1801 material is definitely not yet catalogued – grant-funding for retro-conversion theoretically took care of (most of) the post 1801 material, just over a decade ago.) In total, the two or three versions of 1813, 1820 and perhaps 1826 yield 16 entries in Copac, which equates to slightly more than 16 copies.
This Was Week 2 of the Project
Besides looking at work already done on the Aberdeen collection, this week has also entailed documentation of some of the conferences and other networks that touch upon the subject of Regency music or library history – see our Useful Linkspage, and do please contact us if there are others we’ve missed! And of course, we’ve been networking. We’ve tweeted and we’ve emailed, and we’re loving the responses we’ve received. Keep in touch!
I’ve recently spent a few days assessing a departmental music collection in St Andrews. I had my ‘librarian hat’ on, primarily, but even that hat has a musicological lining, so I couldn’t help thinking research-minded thoughts from time to time. In particular, one train of thought was provoked by the discovery of a pile of early 20th century popular songs with eye-catching cover art, betraying cultural trends and prevailing preoccupations such as patriotism around war-time; nostalgia; family ties; romantic relationships; or the portrayal of children. Not ‘serious music’, this, but the pictures and the content, not to mention musical styles such as ragtime, all tell us about popular musical preferences.
Is it worth keeping, then? It might be. Not for the classical musicians to attempt to analyse as they would a Haydn string quartet, but to inform us about cultural history. So, if early twentieth century popular music can inform us in this way, then it follows that the Georgian and early Victorian songs and other material appearing in legal deposit music collections will have their own stories to tell … and any statistics about library usage tells us just which volumes were popular with the borrowers. I’ve made a start on this with the St Andrews historical copyright music collection, having collated the music borrowing records from 1801-1849 and started gathering statistics.
My other research-minded thoughts were more directly focused on the St Andrews historical collection. We know that a twentieth-century professor dis-bound some volumes and redistributed their contents to other collections. (How much he did, I have yet to discover. Not a huge amount, maybe, but it’s interesting all the same, isn’t it?) And I’ve a suspicion that I unearthed a handful of disembodied legal deposit music pieces during my departmental collection assessment. The librarian in me knows that they should go “home” to their special collection friends and relatives. But the researcher itches to check out whether they really are taken from earlier bound collections, and whether they number amongst the items listed in the archival receipt books of materials claimed from Stationers’ Hall.
So, the Claimed from Stationers Hall project may be focused on early nineteenth century library collections, but there’s a long tail extending into at least the mid-twentieth. It was hinted at in Elizabeth Frame’s article for the Edinburgh Bibliographical Society Transactions, but today’s scholars need to understand in perhaps greater detail just what the esteemed professor got up to!
I’m reading a book about research impact at the moment. (We have a copy in the library, but I’ve also got it on Kindle, so I have no excuse not to plough right through it!) I must admit, there are moments when I metaphorically kick myself under the table, because some of the advice is basically common sense. But, if it’s common sense, why didn’t I think of it? So it’s a good idea to get reminded of the obvious things whilst simultaneously getting plenty of fresh ideas, and just generally making sure that impact is built into this research network right from the very start.
So, here are the first questions, quoted directly from my new guru (Mark S. Reed, author of the Research Impact Handbook, pp.72-73):-
“What aspects of [our] research might be interesting or useful to someone?…”
“Could [our] research help address these needs [ie, issues, policy areas … trends]?”
Can our research help remove barriers that are currently inhibiting these areas?
If we know who might benefit from our research, can we identify “what aspects of [our] research they are likely to be most interested in?” Could we make it even more relevant?
So, what changes could our research effect?
And do we know who would benefit and who we should guard against disadvantaging?
Please don’t leave these questions hanging in the air! I’m looking for answers, and I’m keen to engage with other researchers interested in similar issues in this curious world where musicology, book history and library history meet with legal deposit on the one hand, and individual music-makers on the other. Do share your views!