For practical reasons, this paper concerns not the complete corpus of Norman liturgical books, but simply those which contain music for mass (or information about it). The sources upon which my survey is based are listed in Table 1 on pages 14–16. They are grouped according to place of origin, in four sets: sources from (i) Normandy, (ii) areas of north France adjacent to Normandy, (iii) Britain, (iv) Sicily, South Italy and the Holy Land. When more than one source survives from a particular church, each is distinguished by a readily comprehensible qualifier in square brackets. The contents of the chosen sources are examined from six main points of view: post-Pentecost alleluia series, then the complete alleluia, sequence and ordinary of mass repertories, and finally variant readings in proper of mass chants and in sequences. The crosses in the columns opposite each source in Table 1 indicate that the source has been used in one of the six types of investigation. Thus the troper from St Evroult (Paris, Bibl. Nat., lat. 10508) contains material for a study of alleluia, sequence and ordinary of mass repertories, and the text and melody variants in sequences; but for the St Evroult post-Pentecost alleluia series one must consult the sacramentary Rouen, Bibl. Mun., 273, which has chant text incipits in its margin. No St Evroult book survives with chant melodies for all the proper of mass, so St Evroult must remain unrepresented in the study of melodic variants in the proper of mass. It goes without saying that some books can be assigned more confidently than others to particular churches. Table 1 is therefore followed by brief notes explaining the more tentative or less widely known among the assignations I have made. The churches of Normandy mentioned in this paper are shown in Map 1 on page 18.

The Tudor anthem in its earliest stages of development has generally been considered in the light of the English Reformation, of which it is both a product and a characteristic form. Many of its most distinctive features result directly from the new theological attitudes of the Protestant reformers: the use of Biblical texts, in English rather than Latin; a less strictly prescribed function than that of the ritual music of the Sarum liturgy; and an emphasis both upon sobriety of musical language and clarity of text-declamation. There can be little doubt that the development of features such as these can be attributed more to the changing attitudes of theologians than of composers; but it is equally possible to view the early history of the anthem within the wider context of the evolution of English musical style, an evolution in which the Reformation, however important, acted only as a catalyst. To achieve a deeper understanding of the anthem as a musical phenomenon, it is necessary to set aside those useful but sometimes unrealistic distinctions generally adopted by historians between secular and sacred, Catholic and Protestant, Henrician, Edwardian and Marian: for composers of the period, the sense of connection and continuity was almost certainly as strong as that of distinction and change.

Alessandro striggio was the major composer working in Florence between 1560 and 1590. His musical production, as a whole, has not attracted a just degree of attention up to now, but several scholars have described, and, more recently, critically evaluated his role in the main Medici festivities of the period. Striggio's madrigal books, seven in all, together with selections of his work printed in anthologies of the time, represent an important source of music used in a great variety of festive occasions; and although scholars have dipped into this material, it has not yet been examined systematically. What now survives of Striggio's work in this field consists of over thirty compositions, about one-fifth of his total output. As a percentage, this is higher than that of most other contemporary madrigalists. The surviving quantity probably accounts for less than half of Striggio's festive production, if we remember the almost complete loss of sources for the main celebrations.

Beethoven's sharp criticism of Mozart's Don Giovanni was an expression of uncompromising moral and artistic standards. One wonders, however, to what extent it also reflected an aristocratic Viennese bias against a plot disreputable per se, which in addition had been handled by a librettist and a composer neither of whom had really achieved an approved social status in the capital of the Habsburg Empire.

The Trial of Queen Caroline for adultery in 1820 provoked comment in a deluge of songs, satires and caricatures. My aim here is to draw attention to some of the songs produced, and to locate them in relation to the nineteenth-century broadside tradition. This will require some general remarks on the broadside trade in London, which remained the chief centre for this type of literature, and where almost all the songs to be dealt with were printed. The years under discussion in the first part of the paper are, approximately, those between 1810 and 1860. (The precise dating of most broadsides remains difficult.) Inevitably, these limits are fairly arbitrary: the broadside trade, which stretches back to the sixteenth century, does not finally the out until the closing years of the nineteenth century. Nevertheless, the middle of the century seems to mark the point at which the broadside loses any claim to be considered the principal vehicle for the dissemination of popular songs – yielding on the one hand to the mass-produced songbook, and on the other to the emergent music-hall. And while one cannot discern at any single point in the history of broadside production a very sharp change in taste or style, by the second decade of the century a considerable body of material has appeared which is specifically nineteenth-century in character. Whatever earlier limit is chosen, the persistence of the old alongside the new, characteristic of so much in popular culture, means that any study of popular musical taste in the earlier nineteenth century will, to a large extent, be dealing with material originating in the previous century or even earlier.

In examining the relationship between Tchaikovsky and Balakirev, I shall investigate in some detail the influence upon the Moscow composer of the leader of the St Petersburg group or ‘mighty handful’ (which included, besides Balakirev himself, Cui, Borodin, Mussorgsky and Rimsky-Korsakov). Balakirev's group had been established before the St Petersburg Conservatoire of Music was founded by Anton Rubinstein in 1862; this, coupled with the fact that there were no textbooks on the theory of music in the Russian language, meant that Balakirev and his protégés had had no formal musical education, but had learned the technique of composition solely by studying the actual works of other composers, past and present. Tchaikovsky, on the other hand, had been a student at the Conservatoire from the time of its foundation till 1865, his graduation exercise taking the form of a setting of Schiller's ‘Ode to Joy’ which was performed at the end of that year and was torn to pieces by Cui in a typically vituperative article. By the time this article had appeared early in 1866 Tchaikovsky had already moved to Moscow to take up a teaching post at the new Conservatoire there. According to Rimsky-Korsakov, Balakirev's group knew Tchaikovsky only as having composed a Symphony in G minor (his First) of which the two middle movements had been performed at a concert of the Russian Musical Society in St Petersburg in February 1867. As a product of the despised Conservatoire, they viewed Tchaikovsky askance.

Throughout his life, Mahler was profoundly influenced by Beethoven's music. Many of his symphonies are modelled on those of his predecessor, and as a conductor much of his reputation outside the opera house arose from his interpretations of Beethoven. Mahler considered performance of the Ninth Symphony to be particularly challenging and, like others before him, he prepared his own versions of the score in an attempt to overcome some of the interpretative difficulties. It is the purpose of this article to examine these revisions with particular reference to Mahler's own working scores.

When Universal Edition originally published the vocal score of Acts 1 and 2 of Berg's Lulu in 1936 it was generally assumed that the publication of the score of Act 3 would follow in a few months. There was at that time no reason to think otherwise; it was known that Erwin Stein, who had prepared the vocal score of the first two acts for publication, had already completed work on the final act, and the published score of Acts 1 and 2 itself carried a reassuring prefatory note saying that Berg had completed Lulu shortly before his death and that, although large selections of the work remained to be scored, the vocal score of Act 3 would be published in the near future. In the event it has taken almost forty-five years for the score of the final act to appear. Although, thanks mainly to the pioneering work of George Perle, much was known about Act 3 before it finally reached the stage in February 1979, analytical studies of the opera have inevitably concentrated on the music of Acts 1 and 2. Only now, with the publication of the vocal score of Act 3, are we able to examine in any detail the way in which the musical elements exposed in these earlier acts are further developed in Act 3 and to assess the function of these elements in the context of the work as a whole.

Since the launching of the first commercial computer by the American firm of Remington Rand in 1951 the world has witnessed a technological revolution of a significance which may be compared with the invention of the wheel. In recent years the escalation of manufacturing activity in this sphere has fuelled a fierce controversy over the sociological implications of a world increasingly dominated by the powers of automation. Attitudes towards computing and the arts have also tended to polarize around two points of view, one in favour of exploring the creative benefits of such a marrying of disciplines, the other firmly opposed to any further encroachment of scientific principles into the cultural spheres of human expression. The fears which give rise to the latter attitude have been fermented to a considerable extent by a natural suspicion of the unknown, and it is the purpose of this paper to identify and examine at least some of the areas of music to which the processes of computation have been applied, with particular regard to the benefits or otherwise which have accrued from such ventures.

The Sanskrit word tāla, and its common vernacular forms tāl (Hindi) and tālam (Tamil), denote, in musical terminology, both rhythmic organization in general, and specific patterns of organization. Among various non-musical meanings the most significant, perhaps, is ‘slapping the hands together or against one's arm’ (Monier-Williams), since in Indian art-music, patterns of claps and silent gestures with the hands are traditionally used for beating time. The earliest Indian musicological texts show that this practice was already elaborately developed by the early first millennium a.d. In modern practice, tāla implies a steady pulse-beat: no fluctuation of this pulse is permitted, apart from a tendency to accelerate in the north Indian tradition, and music in free tempo (such as ālāp) is not considered to exhibit tāla. Tālā further implies a pulse organized into measures, each measure containing the same number of pulse-beats; the first beat of each measure, called sam, is accented, and is regarded as the culmination of the preceding measure as well as the beginning of a new measure. The measure is therefore conceived, in Indian terminology, as a cycle (āvārd or āvartanam).