“Name three composers of Western Classical music who were born in Bohemia” is a standard question on music appreciation exams. The following individuals come to mind immediately: Bedřich Smetana (1824–84, think Die Moldau); Antonin Dvořák (1841–1904, famous for his Symphony no. 9, “From the New World”); and Gustav Mahler (1860–1911), who needs no introduction to lovers of Austrian music. But what—if anything—was going on in Czech (i.e., Bohemian and Moravian) lands in musical terms during the seventeenth century and first half of the eighteenth century?

In this well-researched book that draws upon a plethora of primary and secondary sources, British musicologist Robert G. Rawson attempts to dispel three historical-musicological “myths” associated with baroque-period Bohemia (Introduction, 2): first, that Czech language literature and arts experienced a “dark period” between 1618 and the late eighteenth century; second, that during that period the German language replaced a “practically dead” Czech language; and third, that a specifically Czech (musical) identity was invented much later, in the nineteenth century.

That none of these claims appears to be true is evident from nine book chapters geared primarily toward musicologists (who typically read German, but not Czech). Chapter 1, “National Narratives and Identities,” provides the historical backdrop, with Rawson using a German, rather than Austrian lens. In Chapter 2, “Cultural and Musical Idioms of Town and Country,” he explains how Czech compositions by village musicians were disseminated at home and abroad, i.e., in towns, cathedrals, and at palaces. Rawson goes on to investigate two musical styles—the “stylo [Germanico] bohemico” and the rustic style—before identifying typical Czech characteristics in secular and sacred music. While the use or evocation of bagpipes is indeed special, I would argue that other compositional techniques, such as unison-octave textures and call-and-response (alternatim praxis, were common outside of Czech lands as well.

In Chapter 3, “Devotional Practices and the Culture of Conversion,” Rawson discusses Counter-Reformation culture after the Thirty Years' War. The impact of Bohemian and Moravian musicians—who had trained in village schools and at parish churches—on the cosmopolitan musical life of Prague, is at the core of Chapter 4 (“‘Thither from the Country’—Village Life and Education”). Here Rawson also highlights the roles of religious orders, most importantly the Jesuits, and touches upon pious native songs and monastic school dramas.

In Chapter 5 the author turns to “Christmas Pastorellas,” Czech village productions of the Nativity story that embraced Italian opera characteristics. The instrumental type was preferred in Austrian Crownlands, complete with crib-rocking ceremonies. The latter featured paraphrase songs such as “Joseph, lieber Joseph mein,” a fourteenth-century Austrian version of the Latin song “Resonet in laudibus.” Peasant music found its way into the mature or “mixed” pastorella in the early eighteenth century and frequently used Czech language; this implies that the target audience now also included the lower classes. They would undoubtedly have enjoyed the use of the “shepherd's horn” and seeing performers taking “whistles [and] all manner of bagpipes with them on their journey to Bethlehem” (127).

In Chapter 6, “‘Melancholy Ditties about Dirt and Disorder,’” Rawson reminds us about music that was popular during the Carnival season, including Heinrich Ignaz Franz von Biber's Battalia, composed for Salzburg in 1673. The author also addresses “themes of drunkenness” that pervaded Carnival texts and songs. I laughed out loud about the Prague monk Jiří Košestický, who cheekily turned the Litany into a Carnival song by substituting names of saints with those of merrymaking drinkers. A subgroup of Slavonic-speaking Moravians who were “distinct in music, language and dress” (155) is investigated next. Their so-called “Hanák” compositions were not only very popular in the eighteenth century, but also often paired with Polish dances. Szymon Paczkowski's 2015 online article “Bach and Poland in the Eighteenth Century” (Understanding Bach 10: 123–37) is recommended to readers who wish to know more about what constituted “the Other,” i.e., foreign elements in music of the late baroque period.

The focal point of Chapter 7, “Musical Devotions and the (Re-)Engineering of Patron Saints,” is Czech sacred music. Rawson states: “The cult of saints found a good deal of overlap between the superstitious Habsburgs and the superstitious Czech” (172). Wenceslas and John of Nepomuk were, of course, the most popular saints. It is in this chapter that Jan Dismas Zelenka (1679–1745), the most important Bohemian contemporary of J. S. Bach and G. F. Handel, finally makes an appearance.

In “Between Venice and Prague—the Vivaldi Connection” (Chapter 8) Rawson explores the influence of Italian music on Czech lands. His starting point is Count Wenzel [Václav] von Morzin (1674–1737) and his “Virtuosissima” ensemble, the dedicatees of Vivaldi's Opus 8, which comprised twelve solo concertos, including the famous Four Seasons set. In the last section, Chapter 9, the author shines light on the “Identity on the Stage.” I found Rawson's eloquent discussion of operatic works by unknown Bohemian and Moravian composers particularly valuable, specifically the bilingual contributions (i.e., in Czech and German) of František Antonin Miča (1696–1744).

Curiously, there is no closing chapter that provides readers with a summary of how Czech musical culture and style developed and changed over time, but the author makes up for it with a handy Czech pronunciation guide, nearly nine hundred footnotes (!), many musical examples, and a huge multilingual bibliography.