It was probably during one of my lessons with José Vázquez, my first viola da gamba teacher, that I first encountered this piece. A demonstration of bowing technique somehow turned into an impromptu performance of the first movement of this sonata. I was so inspired, both by the music and his playing, that after the lesson I went straight away to the local music shop to get myself a copy of this sonata. I still have that very same copy, deeply pencilled with years of notes and fingerings. On the bottom corner of the first page, a nondescript ‘146’, a souvenir from when Austria used the schilling as its currency: a reminder of how long I’ve known this piece of music.

Unlike most pieces of music that come to us, either in the form of a collection in manuscript or publication, this sonata is derived from a music journal: the only one of its kind during the time. Telemann’s Der getreue Musikmeister (1728) consisted of chamber music written for different instrument combinations of strings, winds and keyboard instruments. Amongst the 70 pieces that made it into this music journal, Telemann included this stand-alone sonata for unaccompanied viola da gamba in 5 movements.

Over the years, I’ve studied this piece with different teachers, presented it for auditions and performed it at concerts. One might say that I’ve ‘grown up’ as a musician with this piece, as it ‘accompanies’ me throughout the different stages of my life. I remember performing this sonata at my first-ever solo recital in the early 2000s at the now-defunct Substation, an arts venue in Singapore that recently succumbed to Covid. As a violin student at Welsh College, a performance of this sonata won me a prize at the school’s early music competition. After I left Wales, I brought this sonata with me on the audition circuit and gained places at the Amsterdam and Sydney Conservatoriums. All these experiences led to opportunities that have helped shape me into the performer I am today.

Every musical phrase in this sonata reminds me of an experience that is etched in my memory. It felt fitting that I would record this piece to commemorate the very beginning of these memories. Just like so many of us, I heard about the passing of José on Facebook. It came as quite a shock as he was quite prolific on social media, often posting details of his new acquisitions for his Orpheon Foundation, a collection of historical musical instruments. It was later revealed that José had caught Covid and passed 48 hours after diagnosis.

Shaun Ng

First published on Facebook on 7 March 2021

‘Call me José’, he would say, but this Asian teenage boy could never call his teacher by their first name. Instead, it was ‘Mr Vazquez’, my very first viola da gamba teacher. When I first telephoned him to get lessons, I explained that I wanted to learn the viol but did not yet own an instrument. He simply laughed and said, ‘Just come! Here is my address…’. A couple of days later, at his apartment, I felt like a fool when I realised he literally owned a museum of instruments. After introductions, we went right into the music. We played some Castello (me on the violin) with his students.

This was the start of my viola da gamba journey. José lent me one of his viols to bring home, one of his then new John Rose tenors viols made by a local Viennese maker. We would spend many, many evenings at his home, playing (on historical bass viols), learning (I got so much technique down in such a short time), watching (teaching his advanced students and coaching viol consorts), chatting (about all things connected to baroque music and how I will bring solo viol music back to Malaysia!), listening (some lovely viola da gamba LPs) and drinking (it was mostly tea).

As many of you know, he was an extremely generous person and teacher, but one might also call him (at least these days) an ‘old school’ teacher: one who didn’t mince their words. In those days, however, we were used to much worse, my South-East Asian background simply interpreted his manner as good teaching, and it certainly was. They say you get the most out of your first teacher, and I certainly did. I would definitely not be the player I am today if it were not for him. 


After I moved to Wales to do a degree in Early Music (you couldn’t do one in Vienna in those days), I would meet José in France, where he started teaching summer courses in the French countryside. As well as playing consort music, I remember working on Bach’s gamba sonatas, Simpson’s Divisions and Couperin’s Pièces de violes. After a long day of lessons and consorts, he would ask me what I wanted to hear during the tutor’s concert. He knew the literature so well that he could perform almost anything with hardly any rehearsal. I requested a different Bach, Marais or Forqueray suite every night, which he played with amazing musicianship and accuracy.

It was from José that I learnt about Catharina Meints, another great viol virtuoso (the only viol player he seemed to admire). Catharina Meints and I eventually met in Hawaii at the Pan-Pacific Gamba Gathering (yes, we had a viol conference in Hawaii!), and continue to meet and learn from every few years when I have the courage to travel all the way to USA to be at Oberlin Conservatory’s Baroque Performance Institute, where I’ve made so many wonderful musician friends over the years.

Thank you, Mr Vazquez, for all the music, wisdom, inspiration and artistry. You were truly one of the best.