Review

Stewart Carter
The Trombone in the Renaissance: A History in Pictures and Documents:

Hillsdale, NY, United States
Publisher: Pendragon Press
Date of Publication: 2012

Primary Genre: Study Material - book

After mentioning to low brass acquaintances that I am reviewing a new book on trombone history, I am repeatedly asked, “Do we really need another book on trombone history?” This question, narrow as it seems, may have a certain merit. The timing of Stewart Carter’s new book is what makes matters difficult. Given the recent release of scholarly trombone history books by Trevor Herbert (The Trombone, 2006) and David Guion (A History of the Trombone, 2010), how much remains to be said? Also, with the waning popularity of print publications and the increasing popularity of e-books and other inexpensive electronic print media, is the trombonist prepared to plunk down $75.00 for another trombone history book? Well, that depends, of course, on a number of things. I offer below both criticism and praise for the book, and leave it to the reader to decide. Numbers in parentheses refer to specific page numbers of the book unless otherwise noted.

The Criticism:
My first criticism is that it appears that this book was not adequately edited. There are many typographical errors and other editing problems, including discrepancies in spelling names and sources (126, 127 and 181, 322), missing parentheses in various places (xii, 139, 239), inconsistent Internet citations (145, 336), and even an inexplicable change to blue font color (203). However, the most distracting problem in this category is the repeated use of question marks hooked to the beginning of words, a problem that occurs, by my count, more than 80 times throughout the book. I had four different musicologists look at examples, and they all felt that the question marks must have been either unintended artifacts from a computer format change, or editorial markings meant to be taken out before publication. Below are just a few of the many examples: “…the hooks often shaped like ?lion’s heads” (4), “…a case consisting of ?three leather-covered ?wooden tubes” (245), “…consisting of ?three transverse flutes, ?virginal, treble shawm, ?bass viola da gamba, ?viola or lira da braccio, ?three trombones, and perhaps some other instruments” (265).

The second criticism is more significant. There are several accuracy problems with the book’s sources and quotations. For example, in one discussion of a biblical reference to trumpets, not only is there a capitalization problem and a period in the wrong place (both routine editing problems), but the quoted passage is not actually from the King James Version at all, as the author cites, but the Douay-Rheims Bible (160). This would seem to be a significant error, particularly since the author spends considerable time discussing specific biblical translations throughout his book. In another example, the author misquotes musicologist Frank D’Accone, failing to indicate that D’Accone was actually quoting an Italian record within the sentence (44). At another point the author indicates documentation with a footnote, but the note is nowhere to be found, leaving the quotation with no specific documentation (373). These sorts of lapses are noteworthy in a scholarly book of this nature, although they could easily be corrected by a careful editor.

The third criticism involves attention to detail with the artwork. For a book with the subtitle, “A History in Pictures and Documents,” a number of the reproductions are surprisingly poor. The most common problem is that reproduction values are too dark, obscuring important details of the images (see especially Fig. 59 and 114, but also Fig. 10, 96, 117, and others). It is difficult to view details such as the location and shape of the stays on an instrument and the nature of the trombone player’s grip when the reader can scarcely make out the most basic outlines of the image. Many of these images are widely available in higher quality.

The commentary and contextualizing of the artwork is often sparse compared to that of the documents. Would it not be useful to know, for example, that the Giorgio Vasari whose drawing and letter are featured in the book is, in fact, the famous Renaissance painter and historian, often considered the father of art history (164-65)? There is not a word about him as a historical figure. Such information may seem too basic for this book’s commentary, but compare it, for example, with the author’s entry on Giovanni Gabrieli’s Sonata pian’ e forte, where the author supplies the common knowledge that “Gabrieli served as organist at St. Mark’s in Venice from 1585 until his death in 1612…” (189). To return to Giorgio Vasari, might it also be helpful to point out that this artist painted an additional trombone image, a vivid depiction of a trombonist performing with a wind band (a painting now held in Boston’s Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum), and perhaps even compare the depictions? In this case, a comparison could lead to the insight that an awkward artistic rendering does not necessarily mean that the instrument is only a prop. Instead of containing such details, the author’s entry for Vasari’s image consists of one brief sentence about how the instrument shown may be a theatrical prop.

As another example, regarding Peter Candid’s painting (218, 220), why not reproduce the original painting, which is widely available, instead of a later engraving of the picture? After mentioning that “[t]he image was copied by several different graphic artists,” why not include examples in a content footnote, or at least include a source? Perhaps it would also be appropriate to supply the name of the artist/engraver whose image is actually featured in the book (presumably Jan Sadeler). Also, as with Vasari, would it not be useful to cite additional trombone images by the artist—in this case two clear depictions in his Assumption of 1593 and Euterpe of 1611? A comparison of the images might even lead to insight regarding the upper slide stay that, according to Carter, “appears to be located too far from the mouthpiece” (218). This sort of incompleteness in the artwork commentary contrasts sharply with the excellent level of background detail provided for most of the documents.

Finally, the author makes questionable statements about some of the artwork. For example, when discussing a Portuguese painting similar to two others in age, place of origin, and composition, he speculates that “perhaps all were executed by the same painter” (351). However, the painting styles of the three pictures, particularly the specific image Carter is discussing when he makes this statement, are markedly different. Regarding the idea of a common artist for all three, one art professor colleague who looked at the reproductions remarked, “Based on the distinctly different painting styles, that would be a real stretch.” Another art professor remarked, “No way. On so many stylistic levels, no way. That’s not an attribution I would ever make.” It is much more likely, as one of the art specialists pointed out, that multiple artists copied each other, a common historical practice.

The Praise
Errors and omissions aside, this book is without question the most extensive and thorough volume available on the history of the trombone in the Renaissance era. I do not think it would be controversial to state that Stewart Carter’s book is now the best single source of information on the trombone’s first 150 years. Herbert’s and Guion’s books, by comparison, which address a much broader time period (the full history of the instrument), do not treat the trombone’s earliest years in nearly as much depth. To look at one fairly specialized topic, for example, compare the authors’ use of two of the earliest references to the alto trombone. In 1594, Alessandro Orologio wrote a letter to Moritz, Duke of Hesse-Kassel, recommending the purchase of several instruments. Among the instruments he recommended were “two Tromboni piccolo and one grosso,” as well as “two even smaller [piu piccolo] that serve as sopranos.” Either the “trombone piccolo” or the two trombones that were even smaller are likely to be alto trombones. Stewart Carter quotes and discusses this alto reference in his book (315-17), but neither David Guion nor Trevor Herbert mentions it in their recent volumes. Another early reference to alto trombone, found in a 1597 Spanish inventory, refers to different sizes of “sacabuches,” including a sacabuche tiple pequeño. As Carter observes in his discussion of the inventory, this last instrument is probably an alto trombone (343-44). By comparison, no reference to this source is found in either of the recent histories by Guion and Herbert. This is typical of the depth and level of detail in Carter’s book relative to that of other books. 

The author draws heavily on Frank D’Accone’s award-winning book, The Civic Muse, which provides a great deal of detail about specific trombone players and their daily activities in Renaissance Italy. The work of musicologist Keith Polk also features prominently, particularly in reference to trombone activities in Germany and the Low Countries. A large number of the additional sources and English translations featured are either difficult to find or, in the case of several translations, cannot be found at all elsewhere. In many cases, Carter also provides full original documents in their original language in an appendix. These sources and translations clearly represent a significant contribution to trombone history scholarship.

There are more than 100 art works reproduced in Stewart Carter’s book. Although the majority of the images are available for free online, many in higher quality, Carter’s collection of trombone pictures represents by far the most extensive collection in book form. A number of the art works show an instrument that looks like a hybrid of a trumpet and a trombone, with a lower U-bow of tubing that does not extend beyond the bell, the instrument being held as if the lower bow of tubing is a slide of some sort. Usually there is also no upper bow of tubing that extends beyond the player’s head. Carter speculates that these images depict an early version of the trombone that contains, in his words, “a short U-slide, perhaps capable of lowering the pitch of the instrument by as much as a major third.” The idea of such an instrument, he says, “seems at least as logical as the single-slide trumpet as an intermediate step in the development of the U-slide trombone” (1). Although it should be pointed out that, like the single-slide trumpet, there are presumably no surviving physical examples of such an instrument, this is a compelling way to explain some ambiguous iconography and an ambiguous period of the trombone’s early development.

Conclusion
A genuine, thorough review does not gloss over problems, and there are clearly aspects of this book that are less than perfect. However, there is much to recommend the book, including several new contributions to the field and a high general level of scholarship. I would speculate that further refinements and edits of this book will result in a truly excellent volume. Whether trombonists are ready for another history book remains, as always, a matter of individual opinion.

-Will Kimball
Brigham Young University