{"id":6546,"date":"2021-11-22T08:00:10","date_gmt":"2021-11-22T07:00:10","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.henle.de\/blog\/en\/?p=6546"},"modified":"2021-11-19T07:39:51","modified_gmt":"2021-11-19T06:39:51","slug":"an-urtext-edition-of-elgars-violin-chansons-what-does-an-editor-do-when-there-is-nothing-to-edit","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blog.henle.de\/en\/2021\/11\/22\/an-urtext-edition-of-elgars-violin-chansons-what-does-an-editor-do-when-there-is-nothing-to-edit\/","title":{"rendered":"An Urtext edition of Elgar\u2019s Violin Chansons: What does an editor do when there is nothing to edit?"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a>The question posed in the title of my blog post today is deliberately paradoxical and provocative. Something must indeed have been edited, for otherwise this wonderful new Urtext edition<\/a> wouldn\u2019t be in the G. Henle Verlag\u2019s catalogue. But here we are actually dealing with a special philological case that is at first glance unproblematic, yes, I might almost even say: seemingly relieving \u2013 but on closer inspection turning out to be rather discomfiting.<\/p>\n

Edward Elgar\u2019s two violin pieces Chanson de nuit<\/em> and Chanson de matin<\/em> are certainly amongst the \u201cperennials\u201d of the violin repertoire. If you aren\u2019t sure whether you\u2019re familiar with them, you should just once listen here.<\/p>\n