This column was first published in the January 2026 issue of EMAg, the Magazine of Early Music America
Here we are, 2026, and time to celebrate the 250th anniversary of the American Declaration of Independence. When in the course of human events it becomes possible for oneself to look back 50 years, maybe it makes sense to think about 1976. In that year, a half-century ago (agh!), I was the director of a music festival at the Castle Hill estate in Ipswich, Mass., a beautiful spot overlooking the ocean, with a concert barn, a grand mansion, and various splendid and acoustically friendly outdoor spaces.
We had been doing music there for several years already, and were generally moving in the direction, not so much of “early music,” but of re-creations of past entertainments. If Louis XIV liked it, why wouldn’t we?
So for the 1976 Bicentennial season I tried to come up with suitable retrospective and prospective programs for the five big weekend concerts of the season. They were roughly themed to meaningful dates: 1676, 1776, 1876, 1976.
First came ’76: “Castle Hill Composers” was music by people associated in one way or another with the place: John Alden Carpenter, who had lived nearby and whose widow was a festival supporter (songs on texts of Tagore); Theodore Chanler (related to many locals; The Pot of Fat, an opera with chamber orchestra); and a new piece by Frank Wigglesworth (The Willowdale Handcar, also for voices and chamber orchestra) and with an exhibition of original drawings from a Cape Cod local, Edward Gorey.
Next: “America and Europe, 1876.” This title is slightly exaggerated, since it’s almost all Europe. But we had a beautiful American 1876 rosewood Steinway grand on loan, and we used it: Gottschalk’s four-hands version of the William Tell overture, Brahms’ Neue Liebeslieder, and the Brahms C-minor Piano Quintet.
Third: “Music Written by Mozart in 1776.” Divertimento K. 254, the Serenata notturna for two orchestras, a couple of arias, and the C-Major Piano Concerto (K. 246) with a fortepiano built by Philip Belt and played by Luise Vosgerchian. The fine orchestra was led by Jean (as she was then) Lamon.
We moved outdoors for the fourth event: The Lord of the Manor, a ballad opera by General “Gentleman Johnny” Burgoyne, music by William Jackson of Exeter, “as Performed by the American Company, Philadelphia, c. 1780.” This was our big show. It was full of dance, provided by the faculty of our annual historical dance courses, and came with a lot of research and editing by Anne Dhu McLucas. Our Baroque orchestra was smallish: strings were 22111, with 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 horns, trumpet, bassoon, timpani, and continuo; maybe not so big for a plein air show, but it was a lot to assemble in 1976, and we made a lot of rather beautiful noise in the walled outdoor casino.
And last, just for fun, but not exactly 1676: The Island Princess, first performed in 1698 and many times revived in London until it was swamped by the Beggar’s Opera half a century later. With music by Jeremiah Clark and Daniel Purcell, The Island Princess had lots of dancing and singing, and also required a huge amount of scholarship, first by my friend Curtis Price (then at Washington University in St. Louis) and, afterwards, by some of our overworked, research-savvy staff. (We added the Four Seasons as interludes.) Essentially the same orchestra as The Lord of the Manor, adding Marion Verbruggen on recorder and cornetto.
Whew! What fun it was to imagine and put together programs that were, in a real sense, far too ambitious. They challenged us to do things that we weren’t sure were possible.
Thinking about America250, as some people are calling it, I wonder what I would program if we were doing a similar season in 2026? Five big concerts, themed somehow with the American experiment, exploring things as-yet untried, and seeking to bring an audience along for a trip for which they had to trust us.
Things now are maybe not so simple. The world has changed dramatically in 50 years — heck, it’s changed dramatically in the past five years. Historical performance is expected (or we demand it of ourselves). We must engage with cultural history more than ever — and we pick which slice of that history suits our ensemble and community. And today a festival needs both a theme (which requires broad knowledge and expertise) and also a sensitivity to the audience’s (and funders’) needs and preferences (cue the Four Seasons).
I can’t wait to see what early music will be programmed, and in what context, to commemorate America’s 250th. Perhaps a 2026 audience is more empowered and less passive than in 1976. Surely that’s a good thing. It reflects well on the last half-century, and more, of the musicality and critical thinking that’s central to historically informed performance.
Thomas Forrest Kelly is Morton B. Knafel Professor of Music at Harvard, and previously directed early-music programs at Wellesley, the Five Colleges, and Oberlin. He is past president and a longtime board member of Early Music America and the author, most recently, of Melisma: Wordless Song in Medieval Chant (Oxford Univ. Press).
