With the aid of our trusty friend, the Metronome, we can keep to a certain tempo without committing the sibling sins of rushing or dragging, and through steady practice learn to play at a smooth, even pace. Of course, andante for one performer may not be as leisurely as for another, and much of music is subjective. So I have different versions of--for example--Tchaikovsky's Third Symphony which differs by as much as seven minutes in duration.
Weary of this madcap anarchy, along comes Beethoven, who was the first to actually instruct us seekers exactly what tempo he required of us. His compositions have notations at the top telling us to set the Metronome at 120 beats per minute, for example, and by God you'd better do it or he'll rise from the grave and scream "Nein!" while you're trying to master the Tremolo at the beginning of Appassionata. Although come to think of it, an enraged German specter screaming at you while you practice may be quite beneficial for your Tremolo.
And what does one make of the heretical Gustav Mahler who not only made tempo notations in polylingual form--mixing Italian, French and German-- but also in paragraphs. For example, the second Movement of his Symphony No. 9 is marked Im Tempo eines gemächlichen Ländlers, etwas täppisch und sehr derb: "a slowish folk-dance–like movement, with some awkwardness and much vulgarity in the execution." Mahler would also sometimes combine German tempo markings with traditional Italian markings, as in the first movement of his Symphony No. 6, marked Allegro energico, ma non troppo. Heftig, aber markig "Energetically quick, but not too much. Violent, but vigorous."
Tempo is usually suggested in Italian, since in the Seventeenth century the Italians pretty much had a lock on musical convention. By then, the Medicis had poisoned or exiled anyone who tried to challenge their idea of what looked or sounded good. You didn't screw around with the Medicis, especially Catherine. Catherine de Medici would poison you for failing to compliment her new bodice. Interestingly, during the Renaissance music was assumed best played at the rate of the human heartbeat, which at a Medici's gathering could possibly be zero beats per minute if you ticked them off. Even assuming you survived all seven courses of a Medici banquet without succumbing to painful death, this doesn't help the musician much, since the resting heartrate of a trained athlete vs. a morbidly obese and inebriated Neapolitan Libertine could vary quite a bit. To add further confusion to the musical historian's already befuddled pate, terms have changed meaning over time. Largo, for instance, which today means "broadly" used to mean "fast." Probably that heartbeat thing again. We're more conscientious these days concerning cardiovascular health.
Here is a list of sundry tempo terminologies:
- Larghissimo — very, very slow
- Grave — slow and solemn
- Lento — slowly
- Largo — broadly
- Larghetto — rather broadly
- Adagio — slow and stately (literally, "at ease")
- Adagietto — rather slow
- Andante Moderato — a bit slower than andante
- Andante — at a walking pace
- Andantino – slightly faster than andante
- Moderato — moderately
- Allegretto — moderately fast (but less so than allegro)
- Allegro moderato — moderately quick
- Allegro — fast, quickly and bright
- Vivace — lively and fast (quicker than allegro)
- Vivacissimo — very fast and lively
- Allegrissimo — very fast
- Presto — very fast
- Prestissimo — extremely fast
Additional Terms:
- A piacere — the performer may use his own discretion with regard to tempo and rhythm; literally "at pleasure"[3]
- L'istesso tempo or Lo stesso tempo — at the same speed
- Tempo comodo — at a comfortable (normal) speed
- Tempo di... — the speed of a ... (such as Tempo di valse (speed of a waltz), Tempo di marcia (speed of a march))
- Tempo giusto — at a consistent speed, at the 'right' speed, in strict tempo
- Tempo semplice — simple, regular speed, plainly
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