Musical Crimes: Forgery, Deceit, and Socio-Hermeneutics


Forgeries are the touchstone of musical criticism, stylistic analysis and aesthetic appreciation. Yet, are forgeries necessarily bad? This dissertation will investigate what a forgery can teach us about music and its relation to ourselves, in two connected sections.

The first will establish the distinctions between forgery in music and those in the other arts. The key themes and ideas will be explored: inventive versus imitative forgery, the cognitive stock and appearance theories, and what a musical forgery even is. Limitations of the current literature will be highlighted.

From this, the second section will propose a new approach to the musical forgery - one that takes account of the listener. It will use forgery as a gateway to exploring how we appreciate music, and how we are affected by a forgery. Hermeneutic and social theories will be incorporated to further investigate our relation to forgery, to musicology, and to music.


I would like to acknowledge the tireless support of Dr. Benjamin Walton, Jesus College, University of Cambridge, in his supervision of this dissertation. I would also like to thank Dr. W. Dean Sutcliffe, University of Auckland, for his information on the Haydn Keyboard Sonatas.

`We lie loudest when we lie to ourselves'

Eric Hoffer, The Passionate State of the Mind, and Other Aphorisms1

`Every work of art is an uncommitted crime'

Theodor Adorno, Minima Moralia2


The Australian pianist and scholar Paul Badura-Skoda sits in the front row of the lecture hall, looking slightly disorientated. `My husband still thinks they're genuine', whispers his wife, Eva, a musicologist. She has just delivered her talk, `The Haydn Sonatas: A Clever Forgery'.3

In 1993, Badura-Skoda believed he had found the lost manuscripts of Joseph Haydn's Keyboard Sonatas Nos. 21 to 28. These sonatas were hailed as the musical find of the century. The January issue of BBC Music Magazine published a statement by H. C. Robbins Landon, the acclaimed Haydn scholar, certifying the sonatas as authentic.4 Less than a month later, the same magazine issued a retraction. Upon closer examination the handwriting appeared to date from the twentieth-century. The engraving had probably been done with a steel-nibbed pen, something that only came into use in the nineteenth-century. The staves were peculiar, and so on. Landon's Haydn sonatas became, in his own words, `a rather sinister forgery'.5

The whole drama was tantalising from the outset. The opening bars of each sonata already existed in a thematic catalogue. A little old lady who `couldn't be disturbed' had `discovered' the completed versions of the sonatas in her home. She in turn passed them to a relatively unknown flautist, Winfried Michel.6 Michel became the only link between the source of the documents and the Haydn scholar, Robbins Landon.

Without doubt, Landon and Badura-Skoda had claimed the sonatas to be authentic long before any process of verification had been possible. But this is, of course, understandable. Music is a typically canonic discipline - changes or alterations to the core repertory happen rarely, and often take decades. It is not surprising that there is an excitement and intellectual fever brought about by a new discovery.

Yet the most delightful aspect of the whole debacle was still to come. Once suspicion was aroused, no other musician or scholar was willing to say for sure whether, based purely on an examination of the score, the Sonatas were by Haydn.7 Musicology prides itself on being able to distinguish great composers from their more `mediocre' contemporaries, for example, with Mozart and Salieri.8 With the newly discovered Haydn works, no one would, or could, take a stand and provide proof as to the composer.9 Once proved to be forgeries, the Sonatas vanished from the public domain.

The Musical Forgery

History, and Its Difficulties

Forgeries are the illegitimate children of music and a commodity driven society, banished by musicology to the provinces. To give some examples: Mozart's `Adelaide' Violin Concerto turned out to be by Marius Casadesus, as did Handel's Viola Concerto and Bach's Cello Concerto. Valentin Strobel's Concerto was shown to be by Fétis. The works for lute by Sautscheck and Ioannes Leopolita were later proved to be by Roman Turovsky-Savchuk; the works for baroque guitar by Antonio da Costa were actually by Paulo Galvao. `Kanzona' for lute by Francesco Da Milano was really by Vladimir Vavilov, as was Sychra's `Elegy' for guitar. Not to mention all the works by Fritz Kreisler attributed to other composers.10 Forgeries, from the strictest cases to plagiarism and misattribution, have plagued the arts for over 2000 years.11 The pejorative nature of the term `forgery' that we understand today is, however, a modern, post-nineteenth-century concern that grew out of the increasing status of the individual artist and composer. During the Renaissance, many painters took on apprentices who studied painting techniques by copying the works and styles of the master. As payment for the training, the master would then sell these works. Today, these works are made or broken by whether they were produced by the master or the apprentice respectively; yet, during the Renaissance they were not considered `forgeries' in the negative sense, but `tributes' to the master.

Over the course of the following centuries, the well-documented rise of the middle classes, alongside the emancipation of the individual artist, coupled with the increasing importance of authorship-over-content and historicist movements, led to demands for greater quantities of fine art. This demand repositioned art, with music included, as a cultural commodity, which began attaching previously unheard-of monetary value to artworks by particular, identifiable artists.12 In Sotheby's Auction House in London earlier this year, the top price paid was £8.75m for Chaim Soutine's 1921 painting `L'Homme au Foulard Rouge'. Thirty lots made over £1m, with five records for individual artists being broken.13 Art is a billion dollar industry, entirely legal and at the same time largely unregulated. As a result, experts can only guess at the number of forgeries that are bought and sold. Indeed, a former director of New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art claimed that up to 40 percent of the market might be forgeries.14 It is a business that relies on trust. The possibility of monetary gain (or, perhaps more commonly, status) from art naturally resulted in the pejorative meaning of the term `forgery' in use today: forgery is no longer a tribute, but deception for personal benefit.

Forgeries are also historically chameleonic, and this presents difficulties. A forgery undergoes several ontological transformations during its lifetime. It begins like any other work of art, entirely unsuspected. It then enters a transition phase, during which suspicion is aroused and its nature is largely unknown. Finally, it either returns to its original state, having been shown not to be a forgery, or, it must be reborn as a new work of art, forever branded as a forgery.

This dissertation will take the term `forgery' from the modern standpoint, which is not necessarily the manner in which the forgeries were originally created. This is for two reasons. First, a frame of reference must be taken from somewhere, and, as this dissertation is concerned with our (modern) relationships to musical forgeries, a modern standpoint is natural. Second, forgeries themselves present chronological complexities: with a `genuine' work there is `the work', its reception history, and our relationship to it. With a forgery, there is also `the work', and its reception history, and furthermore, a later forgery with its own reception history, the relationship between the forgery and the original, and our relationship to all three.

The Literature

The last half-century has seen a great volume of literature on the subject of art forgeries. The term 'forgery' has, however, continually eluded definition and categorisation. Whilst there are common grounds between authors on the subject, there is also a great deal of disparity. Indeed, some forty years after Lessing's famous article, `What is Wrong with a Forgery',15 Kirk Pillow, Joseph Margolis and Denis Dutton are still debating the very definition and scope of the term `forgery'.16 The concern for all these authors is ontology: it proves extremely hazardous to specify exactly what a forgery is. Even when common grounds are found, it is still a challenge to explain why we find works labelled as `a forgery' unpleasant to begin with.17 This dissertation does not aim to explicitly continue the wider debate on the ontology of forgeries, but instead to focus the debate on music. This is not to isolate music without reference to the wider discussions, but to attempt to rectify a flaw in the current literature. Generally, all writings to date either explicitly or implicitly aim for a grand, unified theory of forgery, applicable to all art forms from all periods. They all, especially the earlier writers, try to find something intrinsic within the concept of forgery per se that transcends the ontology of the particular art form it forges.18 All a subsequent scholar has to do to prove a theory false is take a counter example from a particular, rather than general, art form. An aesthetic claim that may hold true for a forgery of painting may be completely incorrect within the context of dance, for example.

Therefore, a move is needed within the discussion of forgeries: a grand theory is naïve at best, and impossible at worst. For any progress to be made it is vital to acknowledge and celebrate the differences between the arts, rather than attempt to smooth them over by forcing them into a unified aesthetic classification. This is not, however, to divorce music from its relationships with other forms of art. There are certain places of contact between all forgeries, regardless of the form of artwork they are forging. Therefore, this dissertation will initially examine these similarities, before departing into a consideration of music.

What is a Forgery?

There is one question underlying all discussion of forgeries: why do people prefer a genuine work to a copy, even if they cannot tell the difference between the two? There must be something inherent within the label of `forgery' that allows us to justify preferring the original.19

The answer to this question generally takes either of two forms: answers that focus upon our methods of aesthetic evaluation; or, answers that focus upon our cultural or moral conditioning. The former argues that if we cannot perceive an aesthetic difference between the two works, then we have no grounds for discriminating against the forgery. The latter would counter that it is our moral and social conditioning, not aesthetics, that makes forgeries so unpalatable - we are being deceived about the biography of the work, which is a set of properties we are unable to divorce from our overall appreciation of the work in question. These two approaches form the core of the formalist Appearance Theory and the contextualist Cognitive Stock Theory respectively.20

In 1976, Goodman published Languages of Art, in which he argues a position that adopts elements from both the contextualist and formalist approaches to forgery.21 From the contextualist perspective he takes on the case for originality as a fundamental component of aesthetic perception - simply knowing that a piece of music or painting is by a great artist is enough to distinguish it from an exact copy, even if we are not able to perceive the visual difference at present.22 On the other hand, he sides with the formalists by arguing that even if we cannot distinguish between the original and the forgery, the knowledge that we may be able to do so at a later date is enough to condition our aesthetic response today. Arthur Danto, however, challenged Goodman's claims with his `Gallery of Indiscernibles'.23 Danto asks us to imagine a series of identical plain canvas squares painted in red: one is a `clever part of a Moscow landscape called Red Square', one is the work of a minimalist artist, and one is just a paint sample being used by the decorators. There is clearly no way to discern one from the other; yet, we still have a different aesthetic response to each. The same situation can be fashioned in music. Imagine a minor sixth: it is at once the opening to Wagner's Tristan und Isolde, two notes chosen arbitrarily by a student of composition, and the sound the air-conditioning happens to be making. Our response to each artwork is, then, conditioned by the external knowledge we bring to the artwork. It is because of this that forgeries are so unpalatable: the label of `forgery', of deceit, is not a property we can separate from an artwork.24

Goodman and others acknowledged a characteristic that define all forgeries. What makes something a forgery and another a copy, or something a plagiarism and another a pastiche, is the intention by the forger to deceive the audience and withhold the truth surrounding the work's biography. This separates out simple factual inaccuracy, mistaken identity or a known copy. People will happily buy a copy of a famous painting from the museum shop because they know that what they are buying is not claiming to be the original. As Denis Dutton describes, `Fraudulent intention, either by the artist or by a subsequent owner, is necessary for a work to be a forgery; this distinguishes forgeries from honest copies and merely mistaken attributions. But while unintentional forgery is impossible (I cannot simply out of mistake sign a painting I have just finished with "Rembrandt"), it is possible to unintentionally plagiarise.[...] I might remember and carry over into my work elements I have experienced in works by other people'25

Goodman also acknowledged the differences between what he termed `autographic' and `allographic' art forms.26 Autographic arts are those that place `the genuine' in the physical artwork. The physical object counts as the `work': a forgery is thus an indistinguishable copy of this object. By contrast, allographic arts, such as music, are defined not by a physical entity, but by the expression of an idea, or the `sameness of spelling' of that idea. If I copy a Haydn keyboard sonata note for note, but with different handwriting and on a modern sheet of paper, and then passed it off as my own, it would count as a forgery, even though the physical object bore no resemblance to the original. The change in medium is immaterial, it would be an exact replication of the idea - I had presented the right notes in the right order. The autographic/allographic distinction led Goodman to claim that music was not forgeable, as exact duplication of the score did not constitute forgery. His claim has been re-examined in recent years: Jerrold Levinson pointed out that even if one does not forge the order of notes - the `spelling' of a piece - a forger can still fake the biographical parameters of the work, which would therefore constitute a forgery.27

There is another way to approach the autographic/allographic distinction: imitative and inventive types of forgery. An imitative forgery copies or imitates an existing work, usually attempting at exact replication. When Goodman claimed that forgery was impossible in music, he was thinking solely of imitative forgery: an exact duplication of a Haydn score is still by Haydn, it is just being represented in a different medium. An inventive forgery is a new artwork that is claimed to be by someone other than its actual author or composer. This is more common in music, and is the possibility that Goodman did not account for.28 The missing Haydn sonatas are the perfect example: here, no existing work is being reproduced, but rather, a new work is created that is then claimed to be by Haydn. This again relies on the audience: the audience will only accept the new work as being by Haydn on one of two conditions. Either, they must know nothing about Haydn and his style, and so have nothing to compare the new work to. Or, the audience would need to know enough of Haydn's musical language to be able to detect the similarities between the forgery and the style it invents within, as is the case with Robbins Landon.

Finally, a clarification is needed. It is straightforward when talking about forgeries to combine the forger with the forgery at the ontological level. Both scholars and audiences at least subconsciously recognise the link between the two, but often do not critically examine the relationship. As Francis Sparshott argues, a forgery, or indeed a genuine piece of music, makes no claims of originality or authorship.29 Any truth claims are made by the forger or owner: it is they who are doing the deceiving and misleading, not the music itself.

The Complexities of a Musical Forgery

Having seen the essential characteristics and definitions of a forgery, let us explore how they relate to music, and the complications that music brings with it. First, music adds complexities to Goodman's autographic/allographic distinction. Take improvisation - is this a type of forgery? Or can it be forged? Whilst there may be a defining idea behind a piece set by the composer, the idea may not be fully expressed as an `exact spelling'. In jazz, there will usually be space for the performers to improvise on the ideas or spelling. In such a situation it is hard to define whom the `author' of the work or performance is. If the performer were to claim that the piece was by him and not by the original composer, it is problematic to untangle the ontological mess to establish authorship.30 Similarly, it is hard to decide how far improvisation goes before the work would no longer count as allographic (being true to the correct spelling) and become autographic (a unique performance event). Furthermore, if the performer were to claim the work as his, he would surely be correct: his performance is distinct from all others, and he is not attempting to duplicate or forge the original.

Music also complicates the fine-art world's preference for originality. Many composers frequently produced a multitude of versions of a particular work. For example, Schumann's Fourth Symphony was originally composed in 1841, and subsequently re-orchestrated in 1851.31 In painting, corrections or revisions do not produce a new artwork as they do in music; they replace the existing one. Consider composers' self-borrowings: Mary Ann Smart provided ample example of cases in nineteenth-century opera when it was conventional to reuse your existing material in later works.32 Studies of Bellini's operas have shown that nearly half his uvre is derived or lifted from existing works by the composer - Bellini is in effect forging himself. The difficulty for audiences, as Smart notes, was that this practice undermined their belief in the artistic genius: the artist who receives some divine inspiration and composes in a flourish of creativity. Instead, it showed how `mundane' the creative process behind their great masterpieces often was. This revelation is the same with a musical forgery: if a forger can compose music as great as, and indistinguishable from, the original, then we have to entertain one of two possibilities. Either the forger also received divine inspiration, or that the original music is not the product of divine inspiration after all. Either way, the forger becomes compositionally indistinguishable from the master.

Next, the performance aspect of music that this dissertation has touched upon demands further exploration. No art form other than music has a highly prescriptive allographic notation coupled with interpretative performance: painting is fixed in its material form and ontology, and dance is conversely based in its physical performance, yet neither combines both.33 It is straightforward to consider a forgery of either a score or a performance, but both together is more challenging. A forgery of a musical score is not dissimilar to a forgery of literature: as discussed, it is simply an issue of 'sameness of spelling' and an intention to deceive. Yet, when we consider the performance element of music the picture becomes more clouded. Is there a responsibility on the performers themselves in the performance of a forged work?34 On the one hand, the music itself may be of extremely high quality, yet never played because it has the label of forgery, as is the case with the Haydn Keyboard Sonatas. On the other hand, the audience may well feel outraged if they later discover a piece they heard in concert was not by the composer they imagined. Alternatively, if they are told before the concert that the piece is not, in fact, by Haydn, but by an unknown Austrian flautist, they are almost certainly going to have a prejudice against the work before they even hear it.

Performance can also be considered from the perspective of duplicable and repeatable art forms. If, as Roman Ingarden argues, we take painting as a performance of the artist's idea, then this performance is duplicable: an exact copy of the painting is a duplication of the performance.35 At this level, music is identical: if the score is, in the Ingardenian sense, the performance of the composer's idea, then a duplication of the score is a duplication of the performance. However, this is as far as the similarity goes. In painting, the next stage in the artwork's existence is its direct appreciation by the audience; in music though, the music is given a live performance or recording, which is then in turn appreciated by the listener.36 This then gives the musical score a one-to-many mapping of interpretative possibilities - the audience not only has to appreciate the music as a score, but also the particular performance they are listening to. In painting or sculpture, there is only one definitive performance of the artwork, the artwork itself; in music, there are many. Therefore, we are faced with the possibility of not simply forging the artwork in one way or another, but also of forging a performance. This may seem a ludicrous concept, yet with modern technology and recordings it is possible. When retired concert pianist Joyce Hatto died of cancer in June 2006, her husband soon released a disc of her greatest recordings. The Guardian praised the discs `that in quantity, musical range and consistent quality has been equalled by few pianists in history'.37 Yet, it soon transpired that her husband had taken recordings of other pianists and passed them of as his wife's, as none of hers survived. What is fascinating is comparing the critical response to the original recordings, by the pianists who actually played, and Hatto's forgery. The originals were described as nothing special or extraordinary, yet, due to Hatto's name (and, probably, her tragic death), they became highly acclaimed. The work was identical in both cases.38

Why a Forgery Matters

A musical forgery raises a great number of aesthetic questions and poses many dilemmas. In this section, the difficulties that a forgery poses within several aesthetic domains will be shown, and, in some cases, possible answers explored. Yet, aesthetics alone often cannot fully answer many of the questions posed, principally because forgery is as much a social phenomenon as it is an artistic or aesthetic one. Therefore, alongside aesthetic considerations, this section will draw upon several prominent social theories to shed more light on the complex situations that musical forgeries place us in.

Before delving into aesthetic and social considerations, it is necessary to define the premises and boundaries of this exploration. First, our involvement with music is a deeply personal experience; it is not a one-way transmission from artist through artwork to audience. The audience, ourselves, must put as much into the musical experience as we gain from it: in order to comprehend music fully we cannot be passively engaged, we must be active. Second, this section will work on the basic premise that forgeries are more than a dismissible side effect of our musical culture. Forgery will be used as a tool for exploring our relationship with musical composition and performance, which, in turn, will lead to a greater understanding of this relationship. This section does not aim to provide a thorough exploration of all the aesthetic possibilities of musical forgeries; instead, it will select a handful of the most promising, perhaps as an indication of ways the discussion could be taken further - namely, suspicion, creativity, hermeneutics, knowledge, imagination, and interpretation. The considerations themselves do not aim to be comprehensive aesthetic workings, but instead to locate the branches of aesthetics that are affected most by forgeries.

Our Suspicions

There is a central aspect of a musical forgery that has very little written about it: that is, when is a forgery a forgery? A forgery has its own life, its own reception history, its own critical response, its own Wirkungsgeschichte.

L. B. Cebik argues that it is only at the moment of suspicion that the label of `forgery' means anything.39 When a piece of music is believed to be genuine no-one thinks twice about doubting its author; when it has been proved to be a forgery, it has either been accepted in its own right, or, more commonly, simply discarded. It is only at the moment of suspicion that the forgery really takes hold in the imagination. Suspicion itself, before the music may or may not be proved a forgery, can determine our possibility for aesthetic response. Indeed, as Cebik notes, suspicion does not alter our aesthetic responses and judgements, it replaces them. Francis Sparshott agrees: `It is only at and around the moment of exposure that the forgery disturbs: in growing suspicion, in the shock of disclosure, in readjustment to the new relationship'.40 The danger Sparshott predicts is the possibility for `cynical disillusionment that precludes future deceit, only by believing and trusting nothing'.41 A suspected forgery steals our confidence: not simply our confidence in the music, but, more significantly, in ourselves. In the words of Cebik, `We no longer know how to respond to the work, either cognitively or emotively. Where once we took the work and ourselves for granted, we must now question both. Definition dissolves into vagary. Quest and question replace our former confidence'.42 This lack of confidence precludes aesthetic response: we are reluctant to involve ourselves in aesthetic considerations; instead, we prefer to respond to the work with questions, questions that form a `veritable barrier' between the work and ourselves.43

Furthermore, our lack of confidence undermines and questions our normal frameworks for aesthetic response. Where we would normally be able to draw on our previous knowledge of the composer, the genre, the period, or the response of peers, critics, or musicologists, we are now cast out to sea: critics, musicians, and audiences all have to become their own interpreters. As Cebik puts most succinctly, `[music] goes the way of religion when every man is his own priest: self-confidence, except as veneer or shrill protestation, disappears. The suspicion of forgery can wreak havoc among those dependant on art'.44

Proving a Musical Forgery

This leads to a key consideration for forgeries: the amount, and types, of proof that we require to overcome our suspicions and believe that a piece of music is either a forgery or not. The amount of proof required is the amount it would take for us to give up our previously held beliefs about the piece and adopt new ones.45 This depends on how deeply we held our previous belief. To the amateur it may not be such a difficulty to accept that a particular piece is not by Haydn; to Robbins Landon, someone who has invested a huge amount in the piece is, it would naturally take a lot more persuading.

The amount of proof required is different and unique for everyone, as every individual has their own investment in any given artwork; furthermore, there is unlikely to ever be a definitive, conclusive method of proving originality in any art form, let alone music. Methods, however, do exist. In fine art, a business worth billions of dollars, a great deal of time and money has been spent on creating scientific methods for detecting forgeries.46 These can often prove incontrovertibly a great many of the biographical parameters associated with a painting. These same techniques can be applied to music, but only to the original scores as physical objects, not to the content signified by the score. As with paintings, being able to accurately say when and where a piece was written does not prove a particular author, it only rules out possibilities. With music, and not with painting, a work can exist in our canon even though we do not have the original manuscript. It is common, as with Bach's `Cello Suites', for the original manuscript to be lost and for us to be left only with later copies. In these situations, we are forced to make a judgement of authenticity based purely on the notes and markings on a page, and it is here that we run into difficulties.

Forging the Creative, the Inspired, the Original, and the Genius

Let us now consider the first of the aesthetic domains that musical forgeries challenge: creativity, inspiration, originality, and the genius. As a starting point, we shall take the definition of creativity to be the capacity of a composer to generate ideas or music that are both new and positively valuable.47 There are many postulations on the origins of creativity, and why a particular composer may be considered `original'. The most common, especially for the musical Romantics, is that of a composer receiving divine inspiration.48 God himself is able to speak though the artist into his music, creating works of profound aesthetic value. We, the audience, therefore believe we are hearing not the work of a mere mortal, but an expression of the almighty, a composing force that transcends the composer himself. As such, we elevate the composer and his music to a status above all others, to that of genius. If we believe that creativity and originality are descendant from the divine, then we are forced into a dichotomy over the imitative forgeries of such creativity. Mozart is often perceived as being `the voice of God', that his music speaks not his own voice, but that of the almighty.49 Now, if I was able to compose music in the style of Mozart, that audiences, critics, and musicologists accepted to be by Mozart, and then at a later date it transpired to be a forgery, we a forced into one of two resulting conclusions. One, I too had received divine inspiration for my composition, and therefore, my music would deserve the same elevated status as Mozart's. Two, we are forced to accept that neither Mozart nor myself received divine inspiration, an equally unwelcome conclusion since this undermines our belief in Mozart as a `genius'. Forgery suggests, therefore, that inspiration cannot be the sole consideration for our understanding of the creative genius, greatly undermining the Romantic's beliefs about the creative artist.

Hence, we must consider the socio-cultural context of the forger into our understanding of creativity. At a most basic level, an artist is inexorably linked to the techniques of his period. For Haydn, his work can be considered original because it pushes the technical boundaries of his period: orchestration, vocal ability and range may all be stretched, and it is the masterly, positively valuable, manner with which he does so that we recognise as greatness. For a modern day forger, however, these technical matters no longer represent a difficulty. Orchestras can play Haydn, singers can sing Haydn, and audiences can appreciate Haydn; the modern forger does not need to overcome the same technical barriers, and it is this dichotomy between `then' and `now' that justifies us favouring Haydn. When we move beyond the technical realm and into the musical, we can really see how this relates to forgery. Margaret Bowden argues that creativity occurs within a `conceptual space': a particular artistic or stylistic tradition or school in which the composer operates.50 Creativity can take one of two forms. One is `exploratory creativity': creativity that explores the edges and boundaries of the conceptual space, testing what can be done within the existing style, then finding new areas and directions in which to take music. Two, argues Boden, is `transformational creativity': creativity, which, once having explored the current conceptual space, sets out to transform and redefine it. In both cases, there is a direct correlation between the composer's existing conceptual space, and his perceived `creativity'. Haydn, it could be argued, engaged in both forms of creativity and originality, and, therefore, we can recognise the achievement in his music. A forgery of Haydn is not recognised as an achievement of originality, or at least not in the same way that Haydn's is, because the conceptual space that the forger occupies is markedly different from Haydn's. We no longer need to explore or transform the same space the Haydn did, precisely because Haydn has already done so. A forgery of Haydn does not, therefore, need to engage in the same creativity; hence, we have grounds to be unimpressed by it, even if it was sonically accepted as `sounding like Haydn'. The forgery is misrepresented creative achievement.

The Hermeneutics of a Forgery

A consideration of the historicist hermeneutics of Hans-Georg Gadamer can take this discussion in new directions. Since Gadamer claims all understanding takes place though the medium of language, the diverse art forms of music, literature, poetry, and painting all operate at the same syntactical level.51 His meditations on the hermeneutics of language apply equally to music, and, most relevantly, to musical forgeries. Gadamer asserts that engaging with an artwork is analogous to a conversation: the artwork does not simply dictate its meaning to us at one instance of time, but rather, we also engage with the artwork, asking questions of it, coming closer to a more profound understanding of its possible meanings.52 Central to Gadamer's hermeneutics is the concept of our `horizon'. Although we may try, when we listen to a piece of music we cannot abandon our own horizon and transpose ourselves into that of the composer or audience from the past. Our contemporary values and beliefs that Gadamer terms our 'prejudgements' are necessary conditions for understanding. If, as is normally the case, we become aware of the limits of our context-bound prejudgements when listening to music, we will attempt to fuse our own horizon with that of the believed composer. If I listen to a piece of Haydn, I will naturally attempt not only to hear Haydn on my terms - post-romantic and post-tonal, but also on his - pre-romantic and within a tonal tradition. The socio-cultural context of a composition is an integral part of our aesthetic understanding of it. Now, chronologically, no two forgeries of Haydn are identical. There may be one composed during Haydn's lifetime, another a hundred years later, and another yesterday. It would be naïve to believe that we value them all the same. For Gadamer, the meaning of a text becomes less accessible as it recedes into the past. The issues that forgeries pose to creativity are not restricted to contemporary forgeries, but, in differing degrees to any forgery. What is defining is the relative chronological distance between the genuine, the forgery, and us. As the forgery recedes into the past it becomes more acceptable, as we no longer attempt to consider it on our own contemporary terms, but instead as being closer to that of the original's. Therefore, as time progresses, we gradually recognise more of the creativity in the forgery. Consider our ability to fuse horizons with particular styles and epochs: it is a statistical certainty that we will be more equipped to deal with Haydn's `horizon' than we would of any contemporary composer, simply because we have had 200 years more practice. If a lesser composer were to write a piece 10 years after Haydn's death, claiming it to be by Haydn, we would be much more likely to accept it than we would a forgery made today, simply because the horizon of the forger is closer to the original than to our own.

Forging Knowledge, Taking Power

Music is widely accepted as a source of knowledge; music can teach us about a composer, a historical period, emotional states, and ourselves. The latter of these are of particular value to an audience - many people want to leave a piece of music feeling that not only do they understand the music better, but also themselves.

Eileen John highlights three prerequisites for art to be considered a source of knowledge, all of which are applicable to music.53 First, learning from music requires a degree of awareness of what the new knowledge may be. This is closely related to Gadamer's concept of the prejudgements that we bring to an artwork; we have certain expectations about what the music is going to tell us, and how we are going to appropriate that knowledge. Second, the music must be able to provide some justification for itself as a source of knowledge, and for the knowledge it imparts. There must be a reason to trust the artwork, and allow it to change, alter, or replace our existing beliefs. Third, the learning process should enhance the music in return: in learning something about the composer or ourselves, we will in turn better understand and appreciate the music. Although the term `learning' does not necessarily imply that we agree with the knowledge the music is trying to impart, for example, we may not agree with the situation or actions of an opera character, there is still cognitive stimulation. Surely the very reason we have musicology at all is because we believe that music makes a demand to be comprehended and understood, in the same way that we believe noise does not.

Let us consider the place of forgery within John's prerequisites for knowledge. Her first condition, that the listener must have some expectation about what they are going to learn, is valid. When we go to a concert and see that the first item is Mozart's Overture to The Magic Flute, our minds prepare us, even if only at the subconscious level, with the correct tools to `understand' the music. We know we are going to hear something tonal, so, from hearing other tonal works, we know how tonal music of the eighteenth-century syntactically operates and expresses. We recognise that it is an overture to an opera, so we call upon our knowledge of the operatic canon and the role of the overture for Mozart, and so on. When we hear the music, our prejudgements are either confirmed or expanded, but rarely utterly broken. This, in turn, builds trust in our prejudgements, and thus they become stronger the next time we hear tonal music, an opera, or a Mozart overture. What a forgery does to this is profound: we are forced to question all our prejudgements for learning. What we thought were safe conceptual tools for understanding Mozart go out the window: we are forced to radically rethink the relationship between Mozart and tonality, between the music and the knowledge we believe it is attempting to impart.

John's second condition is then questioned: not only do we doubt the knowledge the `forgery' is offering, but we no longer respect the right the forgery has to make that claim.54 We are unable to trust the artwork, because, as shown earlier, we enter into an escalation of suspicion. We are no longer willing to allow the music to inform our views on Haydn, as the music is not in fact by Haydn. Therefore, even if the music is in the style of Haydn, the views it was trying to express are no longer justifiable as Haydn's own.

In reference to John's third point, the forgery of Haydn does not enhance our experience of the music - the genuine or the forgery. Dealing with the forgery, we do not gain a greater understanding of the music if the two preceding conditions for learning have not been satisfied: whilst we may learn something from the forgery, we are not sure what it may be, as the knowledge itself is decontextualised. If the knowledge were believed to be a `factual' expression of the composer, than we can instantly dismiss this knowledge as false, just as we do with the claim of authorship. If the knowledge were `experimental' - relating to our imagination - then the link between our reality and the imaginary world is no longer sustainable. Moreover, if the knowledge were a form of `moral message', then the awareness that the music is a forgery instantly makes us doubt that the work has any moral value whatsoever, let alone anything useful. Additionally, the forgery has an effect on our future engagement with the genuine. We have lost the innocent trust in our prejudgements; we continually question ourselves, and it becomes increasingly more difficult for us to allow other works by the genuine composer to alter, change or replace our existing beliefs. We isolate our previously held beliefs in an attempt to prevent further false knowledge contaminating the well of the existing.

These considerations of knowledge lead us into the issue of power. We can accept that music can have power over us; we can remember instances of being transfixed and under the influence of a particular performance. Power and knowledge are intertwined both in the arts and in many other social domains. In art, power is surely derived from the artwork's control over the presentation of the `truth'; in music, the temporal unfolding of events creates a discourse that we, the audience, are unable to control. The power music has over us is, in a very real sense, the ability of the composer to determine what knowledge should be imparted to us, and when. Foucault has argued that power has essentially two roles: either, as an oppressive force, or, a liberating one.55 Art, music, or more specifically genuine music, falls into the latter - the power of music is in liberating itself and us, it is capable of teaching and forming new understandings. A forgery, however, turns music into the former, of an oppressive force. The act of forgery on the part of the forger is an abuse of the power of music: it is no longer used to impart `truths', but to demonstrate deception.

Forging the Imagination

One of the greatest abilities of art, and, in particular, music, is its ability to allow us to imagine. As a non-representational art form, music calls on the imagination more than any other discipline; not just the pictorial imagination, but the emotional as well.56 In a lied we are not simply called upon to imagine birds, brooks, or forests, but the emotional states of the characters, their hopes, anguishes, and loves. Artistic imagination is significant because it is the free play and furthest development of our cognitive and semiotic faculties.57 To take Sparshott's definition, `Imagination, as conceived in the Aristotelian psychology of action, must be the ability to envisage alternative worlds, worlds conceived as differing from present actuality in certain interesting particulars but otherwise assumed to be like the world we know. To use one's imagination is to envisage a world that is interestingly different from our own but also interestingly accessible from it'.58 The imaginary reality we enter when we listen to music has to be directly descendant from our own reality.

In the first instance, the rules of our reality become the rules of our imagination, unless we are given reason to adopt new ones. There is also an additional `reality', which, to use Gadamer's terminology, could be labelled the reality of the composer's horizon. When we listen to music we combine several realities: we exist in our own current reality, then attempt to merge this with our perception of the composer's reality, and finally, from this combination we are able to construct the world inhabited by the music. It is within this constructed reality, based on the composer's and our realities that we let our imaginations loose and, in turn gain cognitive enjoyment from the music.

The difficulties that a forgery, or the suspicion of forgery, posses to this musical reality are clear: forgery has the unparalleled ability to collapse our imaginary world from within. We are forced to question the framework within which we imagine events within the musical world; where we thought it was safe to imagine a relationship between two characters, between two musical phrases, or the significance of a particular harmonic progression, we are left sure of nothing. At a more complex level, the destruction of our framework for imaginary perception is not isolated to or contained by the forgery that perpetrates it: we also question the rules of our own musical reality that we took for granted in the first place. The breakdown of trust in our musical reality leads, as mentioned earlier, to a state of perpetual cynicism. Of all our cognitive capacities, the imagination, the power of make-believe, is surely one that relies most on implicit trust and blind belief. We cannot explain or `prove' our imaginary worlds; our imagination is a personal domain. The more forgeries we encounter, the less willing we become to construct the necessary musical sound worlds in which to imagine, or, at least, we are less willing to trust them.

Interpreting a Forgery

Without entering into the many debates surrounding the validity and scope of our role as interpreters of the music we perform, it can be taken beyond doubt that all musical performance will have to involve a greater or lesser degree of `interpretation'. Interpretation often, arguably always, requires more information and meaning than we can deduce from the notes on the page.59 Therefore, it is common to debate the role of intentionalism as a way of forming musical interpretations. Intentionalist interpretations can take two general forms: as a form of biographical criticism - an attempt to map the composer's life onto his music; or, a semiotic interpretation - taking music as an expression of, or by, its composer. Dealing with the approach of biographical criticism, there are a number of flaws, irrespective of whether the music is a forgery or not. There is very little reason to believe that a composer's life should map onto, or directly relate to, his music. Often, a composer will deliberately compose music that does not relate to his own personal circumstances, or he attempts to transcend them. Even if the music and the biography of the composer do seem to correlate, we can never know if this is intentional or mere interpretative circumstance. If, however, one does base an interpretation on the composer's biography, then a forgery wholly undermines this approach. Any interpretative decision will have its factual component and justification - the biographical relevance of the composer - proven false, which, can only lead to the failing of the interpretation itself.

The second internationalist possibility, to gain understanding of a work from our perception of the composer's intentions, suffers the same fate as the biographical. Whilst it is, as a method, a much more plausible approach, for we can often know a useful amount about a composer's intentions (we can assume that if Beethoven wrote a sonata from violin and keyboard, he intended to compose for violin and keyboard - it was not an accident), forgery has the same effect. The composer we believed we were trying to interpret turns out not to be the composer at all. The music is not an expression of the believed composer, but instead a deceitful expression of another.

By logical extension, forgery undermines all arguments of intentionality: `actual intentionalism', the view that the correct interpretation of an artwork identifies the intention of the artist expressed in the music; pluralist approaches, that, whilst denying the existence of one definitive interpretation, still rely on extra-musical parameters, and are thus forgeable; even `work meaning' arguments that attempt to locate meaning within the work itself are not immune to the reliance on biographical information, and are thus susceptible to forgery.60 Forgery forces us to question how, and from where, we form our musical interpretations, to accept that we have to rely on information not contained within the score to form an interpretation: even if it is not directly related to a particular composer, it will be related to a period, school or style. In interpreting a Haydn string quartet, we might well decide that certain moments are harmonically more expressive than others, and decide to bring them out.61 In so doing, we are relating the score to the epoch, so we are not able to claim our interpretation comes wholly from within the score.

`Interpretation' could perhaps better be termed `interpretation of expression'. The basic premise of most expression theories is as follows: 1) the artist or composer is in emotional state E; 2) he produces a composition A that possesses a certain property B; because A possesses B it therefore signifies E.62 The fundamental question is, do 1 and 2 necessarily relate? Is it possible to separate the artist from the emotional content of a work? One answer is that we recognise that a piece of music is expressive by our knowledge of the artist - we understand that a particular chord or melody is intended to be expressive as we understand the significance of the event within the context of the artist. A forgery does undermines this belief - a forgery can still be expressive, even though we discover that the artist who we believed was in emotional state E was not the artist at all. The question is then not does music express, but are we convinced that the expression we perceive is the `correct' one? We wonder whether, without the correct artistic context, we are feeling the correct emotions. Therefore, art is not a direct expression of an artist; rather, when listening to music we construct an imaginary, quasi-anonymous, artist or composer who is expressing through the music. It is not the expression of the artist, but what we believe an artist could be expressing, a relationship forgery forces us to face.


Forgeries have existed in music for centuries. Yet, even today they are something of an enigma; they continually elude definition and categorisation. There are two key hinderances to such a definition or understanding. The first is an ontological barrier: there simply is no such thing as a forgery of Art; there is only a forgery of an art. Every art form has its own unique associated forgeries, that operate in different ways to those in other arts. Music especially, adds a wealth of complications and distinctions not found in paintings: its dual ontology, performance, improvisation, allographic status, and its hard to answer questions of originality make forgery a thorny issue.

Yet musical forgeries are also an awaking call for musicians and audiences. They force us, like no other artistic phenomenon, to question the very cognitive and emotional frameworks we take for granted. Our perceptions of musical creativity, greatness, interpretation and expression are all thrown into question, and often dismantled. How much do we really know about a particular composer's style, if it can be easily forged? Or, is it not forgery, but the actual act of being deceived, that offends us? The hardest part is not discovering that one of our favourite works, for Robbins Landon the Haydn Keyboard Sonatas, is a forgery, but forgiving it. It is only by forgiving that we can find any possible aesthetic enjoyment.

Does forgery bring music and reality closer together, or drive them further apart? The answer is both. A forgery brutally demonstrates to us that not only does art represent a society in the positive sense, but also in the negative. Similarly, our treasured detachment and pleasure in the escapist qualities of music are undermined: the safe assumptions of authorship and context we employ to appreciate music are destroyed, and we are left with an art that inhabits the real world. Therefore, a forgery could become the very thing it rebels against: the abstraction of the composer. Forgery brings to the very fore our beliefs about the composer of a work, and, our concern for the establishment of the correct author replaces our enjoyment of the forgery itself. Echoing calls for the `death of the author', a forgery forces a wedge between its inherent aesthetic values independent of its author, and its actual or believed author.63 A forgery dares us to abandon our concerns for authenticity and social or historical accuracy, and instead, accept a composition at face value, as an immediate and present sensation.

For musicology, a forgery, or even the possibility of a forgery must make us question a great deal. A great amount of conformational analysis is thrown into question: how can analysis demonstrate an incontrovertible link between a society or style and its musical exponents, when a subsequent forgery can prove it false? The implications of forgery are that a great deal of our musical scholarship amounts to little more than self-parody. When one of the worlds leading musicologists, Robbins Landon, cannot distinguish between genuine Haydn and a forgery, we should not be asking why he cannot, but why it matters at all, if the forgery is as enjoyable as the genuine. Let us enjoy the forgeries as music.


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1Eric Hoffer, The Passionate State of the Mind, and Other Aphorisms (Harper and Row: New York, 1955).

2Theodor Adorno, Minima Moralia, trans. E.F.N. Jephcott (Verso: London, 1981).

3Quoted in Michael Beckerman, `All Right, Maybe Haydn Didn't Write Them. So What?', New York Times, May 15th 1994.

4BBC Music Magazine, January 1994.

5Beckerman, 'All Right'.

6Beckerman, `All Right'.

7Beckerman, `All Right'.

8See Theodore Albrecht ed., `Mozart' in Salieri: Rival of Mozart (Lowell Press: Missouri, 1989), 84-99.

9Beckerman, `All Right'.

10For Mozart, Handel, and Bach, see Georges de Saint-Foix, `A propos d'un Concerto attribué a Mozart', Revue de Musicologie, Vol. 19, Nos. 66/67 (May - August, 1938), 101-102, and `Marius Casadesus (in Obituary)', The Musical Times, Vol. 122, No. 1666 (December, 1981), 843. For others, see Clyo Jackson, `Pseudonymity: A Modern Case', The Journal of Religion, Vol. 20, No. 4 (October, 1940), 390-391. There is also suspicion surrounding a great many other works, for example Haydn's 2nd Horn Concerto and others, see Georg Feder, 'Joseph Haydn: Work List' in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians ed. Stanley Sadie and John Tyrrell (Oxford University Press: London, 2001).

11For example, the Romans made copies of Greek sculptures to sell as originals.

12For a discussion of this process of commodification, see Simon Jarvis, `Adorno, Marx, Materialism', or Lydia Goehr, `Dissonant Works and a Listening Public' in Cambridge Companion to Adorno ed. Tom Huhn (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 2004).

13See `Sotheby's £94.9m Art Sale Breaks European Record', The Guardian, February 6th 2007.

14Paul Baker, `Policing Fakes', presented at the Art Crime: Protecting Art, Protecting Artists and Protecting Consumers Conference convened by the Australian Institute of Criminology, held in Sydney, 2-3 December 1999.

15Alfred Lessing, `What is Wrong with a Forgery?', Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. 23, No.4 (Summer, 1965), 461-495.

16For a summary, see Joseph Margolis, `A Closer Look at Danto's Account of Art and Perception', British Journal of Aesthetics, Vol. 30, No. 3 (July, 2000), 326-350, or Denis Dutton, `Authenticity in Art' in The Oxford Handbook of Aesthetics, ed. Jerrold Levinson (Oxford University Press: New York, 2003).

17Lessing, `What is Wrong'; Denis Dutton, `Artistic Crimes: The Problem of Forgery in the Arts', British Journal of Aesthetics, Vol. 19, No. 4 (1979), 302-314; Ross Bowden, `What is Wrong with an Art Forgery: An Anthropological Perspective', The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. 57, No. 3 (1999), 333-343.

18Or, at best, they assume a relevance of `forgery' only to painting, at the expense of other arts. See, for example, Lessing `What is Wrong', or Nelson Goodman, Languages of Art: An Approach to a Theory of Symbols (Hackett Publishing Company: Indianapolis, 1976). Of course, writers have acknowledged the difficulties in this `umbrella' approach, including Goodman in his own work.

19This is different from claiming that there is something inherent within the artwork itself; forgery is a label applied to a neutral artwork. See Francis Sparshott, `Why Artworks Have No Right to Have Rights', Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. 42, No. 1 (Autumn, 1983), 5-15.

20For the Appearance Theory see Jack Meiland, `Originals, Copies, and Aesthetic Value' in Aesthetics and the Philosophy of Art: The Analytic Tradition ed. Stein Haugom Olsen and Peter Lamarque (Blackwell Publishing: Oxford, 2004), 375-383, and Richard Wollheim, `Art, Interpretation, and Perception' in Kant oder Hegel uber Formen der Begrundung in der Philosophie, Dieter Henrich ed. (Klett-Cotta: Stuttgart, 1983), 549-559. For the Cognitive Stock argument, see Leonard Meyer, `Forgery and the Anthropology of Art,' in Music, the Arts, and Ideas (University of Chicago Press: Chicago, 1967), and Andrew Harrison, `Works of Art and Other Cultural Objects', Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society (1967-8), 105-128. For a summary, see Nan Stalnaker, `Fakes and Forgeries' in The Routledge Companion to Aesthetics ed. Berys Gaut and Dominic Mclver Lopes (Routledge: New York, 2002), 517.

21Goodman, Languages of Art.

22Goodman, Languages of Art, 99 - 112.

23Arthur Danto, The Transfiguration of the Commonplace (Harvard University Press: Boston, 1981).

24Of course, we can but try. See the proponents of the Appearance Theory, and Lessing, `What is Wrong'.

25Denis Dutton, `Forgery and Plagiarism' in Encyclopedia of Applied Ethics ed. by Ruth Chadwick (San Diego Academic Press: San Diego, 1998).

26Goodman, Languages of Art, 113.

27Jerrold Levinson, `Autographic and Allographic Artworks Revisited', Philosophical Studies, Vol. 38, No. 4 (November, 1980), 367-383.

28There is, however, some contradiction that is not always acknowledged between different authors on the scope and definition of `forgery'. Compare Goodman and Danto, for example.

29Sparshott, `Why Artworks'.

30See Dominic McIver Lopes, `The Ontology of Interactive Art', Journal of Aesthetic Education, Vol. 35, No. 4 (Winter, 2001), 65-81, and James Lindenschmidt, `Chasing the Vivid Event: The Ontology and Aesthetics of Improvised Music', PhD Thesis (University of Southern Maine, 2002).

31John Daverio, Crossing Paths: Schubert, Schumann and Brahms (Oxford University Press: Oxford, 2002).

32Mary Ann Smart, `In Praise of Convention: Formula and Experiment in Bellini's Self-Borrowings', Journal of the American Musicological Society, Vol. 53, No. 1 (2000), 25-68.

33Julie Van Camp, `The Ontology of Dance' in Encyclopedia of Aesthetics ed. Michael Kelley (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 399-402.

34Comparatively, should museums display forgeries in their galleries?

35Roman Ingarden, The Ontology of the Work of Art trans. by Raymond Meyer with John Goldthwait (Ohio University Press: Athens, Ohio, 1989).

36One could argue that the manner in which the painting is presented to the viewer, in a gallery for example, is in itself a form of performance.

37Jeremy Nicholas, 'Joyce Hatto', The Guardian, July 10th 2006.

38See Ben Hoyle, `Piano `Genius' is Branded a Fake', The Times, February 17th 2007.

39L. B. Cebik, `On the Suspicion of an Art Forgery', The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. 47, No. 2 (Spring, 1989), 147-156.

40Francis Sparshott, `The Disappointed Art Lover' in The Forger's Art ed. Denis Dutton (University of Califormia Press: Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1983), quoted in Cebik, `On the Suspicion'.

41Sparshott, `The Disappointed', quoted in Cebik, `On the Suspicion'.

42Cebik, `On the Suspicion', 148.

43Cebik, `On the Suspicion', 148.

44Cebik, `On the Suspicion', 151.

45Cebik, `On the Suspicion', 148.

46For example, see B. Keisch, R. Feller, A. Levine, A, P. Edwards, `Dating and Authenticating Works of Art by Measurement of Natural Alpha Emitters', Science, Vol. 155 (March 1967), 1238-1241.

47Of course, valuable can have a wide range of meanings: aesthetically valuable to a particular audience, technically valuable to the development of an instrument, compositionally valuable as a new form or structure, and so on.

48See Frederick Burwick, `Genius, Madness, and Inspiration' in Poetic Madness and the Romantic Imagination (The Pennsylvania State University Press: Pennsylvania, 1996), 21-43.

49See Peter Kivy, `The Genius and The Child' in The Possessor and the Possessed: Handel, Mozart, Beethoven, and the Idea of Musical Genius (Yale University Press: Yale, 2001), 57-78.

50Margaret Bowden, `Creativity' in The Routledge Companion, 477-489.

51Ian Mackenzie, `Gadamer's Hermeneutics and the Use of Forgery', Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. 44, No. 1 (1986), 41-48.

52Gadamer does not believe, as others before him did, that it was possible to fully understand a text. Instead, a meeting point is reached between the text and the reader. See John Connolly, `Gadamer and The Author's Authority: A Language Game Approach', The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. 44, No. 3 (Spring, 1986), 271-277, 271.

53Eileen John, `Art and Knowledge' in The Routledge Companion, 417-431

54Also, see Francis Sparshott, `Why Artworks'.

55Michael Foucault, Ethics, Subjectivity, and Truth, ed. P. Rainbow, trans. R. Hurley (Penguin: London, 1997), 261, quoted in Robert Wicks, `Foucault', 209.

56The term `non-representational' is used in the Schopenhauerian sense; see Lawrence Ferrara, `Schopenhauer on Music as the Embodiment of Will' in Schopenhauer, Philosophy and the Arts (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1996).

57Francis Sparshott, `Imagination: The Very Idea', The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. 48, No. 1 (Winter, 1990), 1-8, 3.

58Sparshott, `Imagination', 7.

59Robert Stecker, `Interpretation' in The Routledge Companion, 321-335.

60See Stecker, `Interpretation'.

61For example, Ethan Haimo, `Remote Keys and Multi-Movement Unity: Haydn in the 1790s', The Musical Quarterly, Vol. 74, No. 2 (1990), 242-268, or L. Poundie Burstein, `Surprising Returns: The VII Sharp in Beethoven's Op. 18 No. 3, and Its Antecedents in Haydn', Music Analysis, Vol. 17, No. 3 (October, 1998), 295-312.

62Derek Matravers, `Art, Expression, and Emotion' in The Routledge Companion, 445-457, 446. There are a number of common challenges raised against expression theories, including problems of works produced over many years, or later revisions.

63Michel Foucault `What is an Author?' trans. Donald F. Bouchard and Sherry Simon in Language, Counter-Memory, Practice (Cornell University Press: New York, 1977).