Throughout his scholarly and performance work, violinist David Milsom has been preoccupied with incorporating historically informed performance ideas and practices into ‘mainstream’ playing in an organic, flexible, present-day-sensitive and innovative way. Romantic Violin Performance Practices is a necessary addition to the author's previous book,Footnote ¹ in part due to the welcome increase in scholarship on the subject combined with a refreshing rise of a new generation of scholar-performers.

It is safe to say that the decades-old conflict between historically informed and mainstream performance practices is not a representative scenario anymore, as ‘historical’ ensembles are now more open to experimenting rather than enforcing dogma, while an increasing number of ‘modern’ ensembles incorporate historically informed practices into their interpretations. As Milsom observes early on, to a Romantic-era musician, knowledge and inspiration were not mutually exclusive but, in fact, inseparable. As a result, this handbook was formulated ‘with an air of caution and inclusivity, in the name of progress, to facilitate further stylistic choices to the player’ (p. 77).

The author, a self-described musical pragmatist, eschews on principle the all-too-common posture held by many scholars and early music performers who crusade for the unquestionable ‘superiority’ of the past. Instead, Milsom explores and evaluates our assumptions of developmental progress, leaving conclusions up to the performer. As he explains, his interest in historical performance originates in seeking artistically satisfying alternatives to a more unified and oftentimes uninspired modernist approach, rather than a blind, reductive and ultimately futile devotion to ‘composer intentions’. In writing this text, Milsom shares the results of his experiments of shaping his performance as an informed reflection of the appropriate style and tradition of the period.

For the purposes of his study, Milsom chooses the year of Paganini's death (1840) as a starting point. Since romantic performance traits were still in practice well into the twentieth century (as evidenced by the many historical recordings, concert reviews and violin treatises analysed and referenced), he extends it to approximately the 1920s. The author mainly focuses on the canonical solo, duo and chamber repertoire of the Germanic school of Spohr and Joachim (as well as their influential methods and writings) and complements the text with valuable online material that includes new recordings by the author, information on important historical recordings and extended appendices.

Part I (‘Issues and Problems’) explores the often-contentious chasm between theory and scholarship versus practice and performance. Part II (‘Ideals’) treats the violin in relation to the human voice, not simply in terms of singing style, but also regarding speech and declamation. Part III (‘Resources’) includes chapters on organology (the available ‘gear’ and traditional setup of a typical nineteenth-century violinist), relevant treatises, historical editions and recordings. Part IV (‘Processes and Practices’) examines the worth and limitations of how these ‘romanticist’ ideals can be put into practice, based on both the results of the historical emulation research project of the ‘Leeds School’Footnote ² and the figure of Joseph Joachim. Part V (‘Suggestions and Exercises’) offers practical directions and ideas for playing in a ‘romantic’ style.

In Chapter 1, Milsom presents an overview of what can be defined as historically informed (and, at times, opinionated!) performance practice, as well as the issues, limitations and prejudices inherent to the beliefs and postures from important voices in the scholarly and performing communities. This discussion includes arguments that range from the perceived futility of aspiring to true historical authenticity in performance (and its resulting need for invention, interpretation, speculation and approximation), the dangers of ‘misrepresentative historical selectivity’, the degree of deviation from a conventional playing style that some performers adopt or avoid in the name of historical authenticity and the influence and impact of prevailing tastes enforced by the commercial recording market. Noting that the modernist spirit and prevalence of a more streamlined and homogenized approach to performance contrasts with (and can be seen as reactive to) nineteenth-century values, what Milsom advocates for is a ‘rehabilitation of romanticism’. This is even more evident when we delve into the underserved study of recordings of the last century; as the author laments, ‘whilst early recordings sound remarkably like live performance, today's live performances sound remarkably like recordings’ (p. 56).

On principle, the violin should always aspire to imitate the human voice. Part II explores how technical and expressive devices widely yet thoughtfully and judiciously used in the Romantic era (vibrato, portamento, articulation) can make the voice of the violin rival a bel canto vocal line. Perhaps it is no coincidence that several key figures in the development of nineteenth century violin pedagogy and interpretation, such as Spohr, de Bériot and Viardot, were linked by blood or marriage to preeminent sopranos of the time. While the relationship between violin playing and vocal singing is well documented (Milsom brings up Giuseppe Tartini's maxim ‘to play well one must sing well’), the author goes further by revealing the instrument's possibilities as an articulator, as illustrated in many treatises’ approach to declamation and speech. Contrary to what some mainstream approaches may lead us to believe, singing and expression are not limited to the violinist's left hand! The author concludes with the observation that ‘it is not so much that modernist performance is “less expressive” or “lesser” in musicianship, but that it uses fewer expressive tools … in obvious contrast to an all-inclusive [yet tasteful] approach to expressivity characteristic of the nineteenth century’ (p. 122).

It stands to reason that, if ‘modern’ instruments are best suited to perform in a ‘modern’ style, then ‘period’ instruments are better equipped to perform ‘period’ music. While this is obviously not a requirement, it is true that both aesthetic choices and certain limitations of the era (use of gut strings, general absence of chinrests and shoulder rests, a different approach to holding the violin and bow) could affect musical outcomes, such as vibrato width, quality of shifting and portamento, fingering choices and specific sonorities. This is explored in Part III. While performers of the early twentieth century had a certain ambivalence – if not outright resistance – to the transition from pure gut to wound and steel strings, a combination of practical necessity during the war years and an acknowledgement of the capriciousness of gut strings led to an evolution of materials toward more stable and better sounding synthetic strings. Nevertheless, the author encourages experimentation; while a gut-strung instrument may not project as much as one with metal or synthetic-wound strings, ‘there is often a greater complexity to the sound and, arguably (if only on an emotive level), a better sense of organic “connection” between the natural properties of wood, horsehair, and gut’ (p. 138).

Treatises constitute one of the most obvious resources for understanding historical performing practice in the nineteenth century.Footnote ³ This being so, Milsom nevertheless cautions against taking them as a uniform indicator of how performers actually played; treatises were, after all, directed at teachers, not necessarily master artists. They also reveal a conventional learning paradigm, since they all follow a basic sequence of teaching the rudiments of music, posture and basic technique, followed by more detailed and ‘advanced’ elements of left-hand and bowing techniques, and concluding in issues of style, musicianship and artistic delivery. This reflects Spohr's teaching philosophy of initially learning a ‘correct style’ before reaching its culmination when a musician masters the ‘fine style’. It is still recognizable today as an ‘additive’ process where the beginner is taught to play correctly before ‘putting in expression’.

In regard to scores, Milsom re-evaluates nineteenth-century editions (nowadays mostly discarded in favour of Urtext editions, perhaps the most direct way to understanding the composer's intentions) for what they can tell us about the playing style of the time. For example, a ‘romantic’ violin score may include a relatively large number of open strings and harmonic fingerings, thus evidencing a more infrequent use of vibrato and embracing the tonal disparities inherent in combining vibrated notes, non-vibrato harmonics and open strings.Footnote ⁴ The author advocates for a conscientious and necessary study of nineteenth and early twentieth century editions, claiming that editorial agency (such as the addition of bowings, dynamics, fingerings and other information) is not to be seen as obscuring instances of ‘historical subversion’, but rather a means of elucidating historical performing practices.Footnote ⁵ He cites the CHASE Project as a valuable starting point for study and reference.Footnote ⁶

But perhaps this handbook's greatest contribution to its cause resides in its efforts to extoll the importance of studying and analysing early historical recordings. Milsom correctly states that,

In a way, and despite the limiting number and variety of examples, as well as the primitive technology of the time, early recordings represent the clearest realization of the learning process and ideals attempted by the author. As a result, it is frankly surprising that their scholarly study is such a recent endeavour. A comparison study of recordings by some of the great violinist-composer-pedagogues (Joachim, Sarasate, Ysaye, Auer, et al) and string quartet ensembles of the past can corroborate, to a degree, many of our assumptions based on writings, treatises, concert reviews and performance accounts. For instance, the greater interpretative freedoms tend to take place when playing their own works, such as the case of Joachim performing his own Romance in C.Footnote ⁷ As it stands, his performing flexibility has deeper cultural implications than may appear on the surface; while most ‘modern mainstream’ performances follow note values as written, in popular music, such a loose approach rich in performer-derived irregularities is par for the course. This supports the theory that, whilst classical music performance has become more notation-oriented, popular music has retained a high degree of flexibility. Milsom raises an unexpectedly valid point, in that an ‘increasing adoption of “recordings-informed performance” by classical musicians moves their performance decision-making much more towards that naturally employed by pop musicians’ (pp. 186–7), thus proving that what constitutes the ‘true’ musical work (versus a ‘cover’ version) is an ever-evolving question.

In Part IV, the author shares the findings of a series of ‘reconstructive performance’ research projects. Since the performing practices of canonic classical and romantic works surely must have changed since the times in which they were written, it is the duty of the conscientious musician to ‘recover’ these lost performing traditions. For this project, Milsom fashioned himself as a ‘posthumous disciple’ of the German school of Spohr and Joachim. As stated in the opening discussion, ‘the idea that history can be “constructed” is in itself questionable, and the relativist perspective of many scholars and performers might quite reasonably ask in any case whose history this is’ (p. 204). Nevertheless, by having the written evidence fleshing out the recorded evidence (thus, bringing theory and practice together), a more ‘reconstructive’ performance could be formulated based on ‘emulation’. Despite the limitations discussed in the text, such projects should still be encouraged as valuable contributions to our current state of knowledge and practice.

Milsom chooses Joachim as a model for emulation based on the wealth of direct evidence of his performance traits and ideals. In addition, Joachim was revered in his time for modifying his playing style to best serve the historical period of the work. This constitutes further proof that romantic performance could be a disciplined and analytical means of artistry, with Joachim emerging as a pioneering arbiter of cultural tradition through his dual canonization of important works and their composers’ intentions. The results of Milsom's emulating of Joachim's ‘disciplined freedom’ can be appreciated at the complementary online site.Footnote ⁸ While it is certainly a loss that Joachim did not leave concerto and sonata recordings behind, one can still somewhat imagine what he must have sounded like in such repertoire through emulation and reconstruction projects, as well as by analysing the recording legacies of his closest disciples.Footnote ⁹

In his recording experiments, Milsom's pragmatic goal was to recreate Joachim's 1903 recordings as a preliminary step to learning about his style, spirit and definable performance characteristics. For instance, the author's rendition of the Romance in C was not meant to be an exact imitation of Joachim's recorded performance, but rather a hypothetical one given by one of his students or the master himself, on a different occasion. For a movement of unaccompanied Bach, itself a part of a long-term recording project of the complete sonatas and partitas ‘through different stylistic and methodological “prisms”’,Footnote ¹⁰ he takes a freer approach (especially regarding tempo flexibility), but still within the confines of Joachim's practice. Finally, he freely applies ‘knowledge transfer’ by performing the first movement of Brahms’ Op. 78 Sonata using the edition prepared by his pupil Ossip Schnirlin. This process aims to prove that ‘stylistic assimilation’ cannot be accomplished from treatises alone, but rather more broadly from a methodical and eventually instinctive absorption of ideals and values.

Milsom does acknowledge the eccentricity and perhaps questionable nature of emulating another violinist (especially in an age of prevailing ‘sameness’ in mainstream performances), as well as having to basically reverse-engineer his technical foundation to replace it with an outdated one. But emulation, more than a simplistic act of homage, is a vital first stage to becoming a more creative musician, one equipped with more ideas in the search for artistically satisfying results that incorporate historical ideals. He also recalls his early attempts to convincingly perform music in the Romantic style, admitting that this aesthetic ‘impersonation’ process can only sound convincing through a combination of deep immersion in historical materials with an unbiased and imaginative musicianship. As he correctly observes, ‘academic “informing” cannot rescue a performance that lacks basic technical security or artistic insight’ (p. 270). Otherwise, we would only be reinforcing the outdated stereotype that historically informed musicians (much like crossover artists) are essentially unfulfilled mainstream performers.

The concluding Part V is the most practical and ‘handbook-like’ of the text, as the author aims to help the interested violinist in developing basic starting principles for acquiring a nineteenth-century approach to playing. While he does use the treatises of Spohr, David and Joachim-Moser in his teaching, it is still mostly compatible with modern setup and teaching parameters. Some of the stylistic exercises Milsom suggests include playing a melodic section senza vibrato, performing in the style of Spohr by faithfully following his editions, applying the gained knowledge to an appropriate work and, of course, emulating recordings and transferring the fruits of said emulation to a similar piece. It must be reinforced that emulation should be literal (in terms of tempo, rhythm, fingerings, portamento, vibrato, etc.) as a foundational step only, and should become freer as one grows more comfortable with the style, ideally reflecting the essence and spirit of the recordings studied.

In summation, Romantic Violin Performance Practices is neither a textbook about historical performance nor a manifesto for the superiority of ‘historical’ playing (as there is nothing wrong with aspiring to perform a work as the composer intended). It is, however, a practical and persuasive educational guide that hopes to assimilate scholarship and practice tenets, to further enthuse today's curious violinist with a pathway to ‘resourced experimentation’. While the inclusion of more exercises and an expanded practical section would have certainly been welcome,Footnote ¹¹ this handbook ultimately sends an important message to educators: that historical performance should not be segregated or deemed an elective ‘add-on’ but rather built into the curriculum. As Milsom thought-provokingly concludes, ‘maybe “historical performance” should disappear, and all performance of pre-existing compositions – however recent or ancient – should be, in a true sense, “informed”’ (p. 275).