Concert Royal No. 1

When François Couperin wrote the Concerts royaux in 1714-15, he was doing so at the request of the French sovereign, Louis XIV, for whom Couperin was court composer. Many Sundays at court involved music and other entertainment, and Louis asked his resident harpsichordist to pen some chamber works. Published in 1722, the four “Royal Concerts” include many of the familiar dances which were already firmly established in the Baroque instrumental suite: Allemande, Courante, Sarabande, and Gavotte to name a few. The order and number of dances in Couperin’s world was rather less fixed than, for example, in J. S. Bach’s, who was also composing keyboard suites during these same years. Bach may have been more interested in adapting the Italian models to his own tastes—which delighted in counterpoint—whereas for Couperin style, variety, and graceful ornamentation were the order of the day.
The first concert in G major needs almost no general explanation. The six movement types are all eminently familiar to most listeners, the only wrinkle being the appearance of a movement after the Gigue, which usually occupies the final position in such suites. As for the individual dances, many excellent studies have been written on the topic of Baroque dance patterns, history, and interpretation, and we can’t help but be cursory in this context. Despite the fact that three instruments are playing, Couperin actually has written a duet texture in all but the final movement, comprised of melody (for oboe) and bass accompaniment (played by cello and keyboard’s left hand). Above the bass, of course, the keyboardist will “realize” or improvise suitable chords to enhance the tonal action and fill out the texture. It bears pointing out that extravagant harmony is rare in this style. What matters is character (determined by melodic shape, tempo, and controlled use of dissonance), grace (achieved through ornamentation), and what I call “danceability”—the relationship between the music and the actual choreography of the separate dances.
The opening Prelude is rhetorical music par excellence, marked by frequent points of articulation and a steady walking bass line. Couperin’s task in the Prelude is to draw the listener in. We have heard so much Baroque music that the harmonic material seems to recede into the background and we are left free to focus only on melody, interpretation, and subtlety. The Allemande sets up a contrast between the accompaniment’s steady rhythm and the persistent dotted figures of the melody. A few points of imitation are interspersed, but Couperin does not follow up on their contrapuntal promise. The third movement, a Sarabande in the minor mode, features longer rhythmic values and trills as means of emphasizing the dance’s traditionally accented second beat. Still, Couperin does not overdo the emphasis and manages to maintain a gentle flow throughout.
The fourth movement, a Gavotte, begins with that dance’s defining feature: a two-beat pickup gesture. The rhythm is constant and punctuated only at a few points, suggesting the character of a perpetuum mobile. The following Gigue, curiously placed in the penultimate position in the suite, includes light syncopation—as is typical—and a tightly unified texture and rhythm. In the concluding Minuet Couperin finally writes a three part texture, with the oboe and cello set together in close harmony and frequent points of imitation. The harpsichord now has its own material, and we have a true trio composition (two melody instruments + accompaniment). Like the Sarabande, it is in a minor key. Its form approaches something like rounded binary—not conventional until about 1750—and, combined with the trio texture and minor key, it seems more ambitious than the companion pieces in the suite.

(c) Jason Stell