Baroque lutenists,

it has been written (by Sachs?) that an early literary example of ear worms
could perhaps be found in the "Confessions" by J.J. Rousseau. There he
tells a nice story of a song "Les Bains de Tomery" by Batistin. The story
is below. I suppose I found the piece:

Jean Babtiste Stuck alias "Batistin": Les Bains de Tomery. The opening
recitative of the cantata.

I made an 11-course baroque lute arr of it. You can find the tabulature and
the model in my page
  http://www.cs.helsinki.fi/u/wikla/mus/11_courseLute/

And a played version in
  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=71-E0Fb19TM
and also
  http://vimeo.com/18532305

The piece actually is quite strange, but not bad: starts in F-major and
ends very strongly in C-major.

The story by Rousseau is below.

Arto
---------------------------------------------

Confessions, IV eme livre 1730-1731:

[...] I arose, shook off the remains of drowsiness, and finding I was
hungry, retook the way to the city, resolving, with inexpressible gayety,
to spend the two pieces of six francs I had yet remaining in a good
breakfast. I found myself so cheerful that I went all the way singing; I
even remember I sang a cantata of Batistin's called the Baths of Thomery,
which I knew by heart. May a blessing light on the good Batistin and his
good cantata, which procured me a better breakfast than I had expected, and
a still better dinner which I did not expect at all! In the midst of my
singing, I heard some one behind me, and turning round perceived an
Antonine, who followed after and seemed to listen with pleasure to my song.
At length accosting me, he asked, If I understood music. I answered, "A
little," but in a manner to have it understood I knew a great deal, and as
he continued questioning of me, related a part of my story. He asked me, If
I had ever copied music? I replied, "Often," which was true: I had learned
most by copying. "Well," continued he, "come with me, I can employ you for
a few days, during which time you shall want for nothing; provided you
consent not to quit my room." I acquiesced very willingly, and followed
him.
This Antonine was called M. Rotichon; he loved music, understood it, and
sang in some little concerts with his friends; thus far all was innocent
and right, but apparently this taste had become a furor, part of which he
was obliged to conceal. He conducted me into a chamber, where I found a
great quantity of music: he gave me some to copy, particularly the cantata
he had heard me singing, and which he was shortly to sing himself. [...] 



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