On the English musical landscape of the second half of the 18th century, the name Elizabeth Turner stands out as a rare example of a female musician flourishing on British soil. She was successful singer on London’s stages between about 1740 and 1756, as well as a composer and harpsichordist. Few of her biographical details have come down to us: her date of birth is unknown, and her year of death (1756) is inferred from reports in English newspapers of the time. The number and dates of printed references to her singing (the earliest is from March 1744) suggests a premature passing that interrupted an acclaimed vocal career.

Rivalled only by her fellow singer-composer and contemporary Elisabetta de Gambarini (1731–1765, a Londoner of Italian descent), Elizabeth Turner alternated her activity on the stage with composition, publishing two volumes. The first, Twelve Songs, With Symphonies and a Thorough Bass for the Harpsichord (London, 1750), is a collection of English folk songs; the second, A Collection of Songs With Symphonies and a Thorough Bass. With Six Lessons for the Harpsichord (London, 1756), places 19 songs on texts by British poets alongside 6 lessons for harpsichord. The ‘Lessons’ genre was one very much in vogue in mid-18th-century England, as evidenced by Purcell’s A Choice Collection of Lessons for the Harpsichord or Spinnet (1696), the aforementioned Gambarini’s Six Sets of Lessons for the Harpsichord (1748), and Thomas Arne’s VIII Sonatas or Lessons for the Harpsichord (1756).

Turner’s Six Harpsichord Lessons here receive their first complete recording. Each is divided into several movements, in the manner of a sonata. The style is often similar to that of the companion songs in her volume, whose melodies refer distinctly to the models of the tradition (from Purcell down to Boyce, via Thomas Arne and Maurice Greene). This is music intended for refined and cultured amateur performers, whose performances were moments of social conviviality where playing constituted pure pleasure. Yet in a society, such as England’s, that relegated the role of women in music to the horizon of amusement, entertainment and domestic pastime, the figure of Elizabeth Turner emerges with disruptive and revolutionary force. Her sort of revolution is not one that demands a paradigm shift, it does not aspire to break the mould, it does not have a vocation for destruction: it is a gentle revolution, made up of elegance and grace, and precisely in its gentleness it calls out to be heard, an invitation we cannot decline.