Just to second most of the recommendations and also add another book -
Lettres d'un Voyageur, edited by Charles Suttoni, a collection of Liszt's early letters, during his time as a touring virtuoso. Fascinating stuff, often not what you would imagine. Try this, for example, from a letter to Georges Sand from 1837:
'Social art is no more and has yet to return. What, then, do we usually see these days? Sculptors? No, just statue makers. Painters? No, just picture makers. Composers? No, just music makers.
Artisans everywhere, and not an
artist to be seen. and this state of affairs also imposes cruel suffering no one who was born with the pride and fierce independence of a true son of art. All about him he sees a mob of those who manufacture art paying heed to the public' caprice, striving assiduously to gratify the fantasies of rich simpletons, and obeying the slightest whim of fashion. So eager are they to bow their heads and abase themselves that it seems difficult to believe that they could stoop so low! He must accept these people as brothers and watch the crowd, confusing him with them, offer him the same coarse appreciation, the same childish, dazed admiration. And don't let anyone tell you that this is the suffering of injured vanity and self-esteem. No, no, you know it well, you who are so highly placed that no rival can touch you. The bitter tears that fall at times from our eyelids are those of one who, adoring the True god, sees His temple invaded by idols and the gullible populace kneeling before the gods of mud and stone for which they have abandoned the Madonna's altar and the worship of the Living God.'
Or this one to the editor of the
Gazette Musicale in 1839, on 'Musical Conditions in Italy'
'Understandably, the study of these compositions hardly ever produces first-rate actors and singers. Beautiful voices are relatively common in Italy compared to other countries. People are born in this privileged land with a natural aptitude for the arts. They have the fiery look, the lively gesture, and the enthusiastic nature that make an artist. Yet the number of distinguished singers, male and female, is very small. The carelessness of the composers inspires carelessness in their interpreters. Roles that have not been thought out seriously by the former are surely not studied seriously by the latter. Everyone here has adopted a standard procedure, a conventional manner for rendering all feelings and situations. The public, which is quite familiar with the stereotypes, has also developed the habit of invariably applauding the effects. Typically, they are: violent and sudden contrasts of pianissimo and fortissimo, whether motivated or not; quasi-convulsive accents in the singing; and terrible cries at the end of a piece when the character’s situation has become pathetic and the action turns to combat, vengeance, or despair. The Grand Cry is indispensable to anyone who aspires to become a
cantante di cartello. An actress would not know how to fall to the floor or into an armchair without her Grand Cry. The Grand Cry is a useful replacement for the chromatic scale, the leap of a tenth, and the improvised cadenza, all of which have been declared overly fussy and in poor taste today. Scales, difficulties, and bravura are no longer in fashion. Many people credit Bellini’s music with bringing about the change, taking it to be progress, a welcome revolution in the arts. I must confess that it is difficult for me to share that view. The “progress” from Rossini to Donizetti has not been clearly demonstrated to me; and as for the revolution that substituted mawkish sentimentality for agility and cheap effects for lavish profusion, I doubt that it will ever be very gratifying – except, of course, to those lazy Ladies and Gentlemen, the singers.
