The Enduring Magic of the Harp Top 10 Harp Favourites

by Hermione Lai  August 30th, 2026

The harp is one of the oldest known string instruments, dating back to ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia. Although we find many different types and models, the basic shape features a triangular frame with strings running between the neck and the soundboard.

The standard orchestral harp features 47 strings, and it uses seven pedals at the base to alter string pitches and change keys. The instrument is played by plucking the strings with the fingers, usually while seated.

The harp has strong political and symbolic value, especially in Ireland, where it has long served as a national emblem. In Christian tradition, heaven is depicted as populated by angels playing harps. As its corporate logo, the Irish brewer Guinness has used the harp since 1759.

Harps can produce a broad range of intoxicating sounds, from warm plucked notes to shimmering glissandos and arpeggios. The repertoire for the harp is vast, and here is a top 10 list of some of the most beautiful harp music ever written.

Harp

Félix Godefroid

Félix Godefroid (1818-1897) might not be a household name, but several generations of players and listeners have enjoyed his harp compositions and didactic works. In fact, when he made his debut in Paris in 1847, he was quickly dubbed the “Paganini of the harp.”

Félix Godefroid, by Marie-Alexandre Alophe

Godefroid hailed from Namur in Belgium and studied at the Paris Conservatoire and later with Elias Parish-Alvars. He was a travelling harp virtuoso, visiting the Middle East, Spain, England, and Holland. He even wrote an opera titled La harpe d’or, which included a harp fantasy that he himself played from the wings.

His studies for the harp focus on left-hand technique, and many of his 300 pieces have maintained a firm place in 19th-century harp literature.  

The Parisian instrument makers Pleyel and Érard were bitter rivals, and they continually modified and improved their harps’ designs. To showcase their respective technical and musical innovations, both companies commissioned the leading French composers to write music for their new and improved instruments.

Chromatic harp

In 1904, Pleyel asked Claude Debussy to write his Danse sacrée et danse profane (Sacred and profane dances) for harp and orchestra. In turn, Érard commissioned Maurice Ravel (1875-1937) to compose a piece that would showcase the expressive range of the new double-action pedal harp.

Ravel responded with his Introduction and Allegro for harp, flute, clarinet and string quartet. This unique composition contrasts the smooth sound of the woodwinds, the percussive sound of the harp, and the warmth of the strings. The work is often described as a miniature harp concerto, with the instrument introducing important themes, providing shimmering accompaniments, and playing a major solo cadenza.

Claude Debussy: Danse sacrée et danse profane  

Debussy’s Danse sacrée et danse profane was commissioned by the firm of Pleyel in 1904. The instrument maker wanted it for use in competitions associated with a newly inaugurated class in the chromatic harp at the Brussels Conservatory.

Claude Debussy, by Atelier Nadar

Pleyel’s chromatic harp featured two rows of strings that cross each other without touching. One side has 7 strings per octave, while the other has 5. Think of it in terms of the piano, with 7 white and 5 black keys per octave.

This particular harp was designed to eliminate the need for pedals by providing 78 separate strings for every note on the chromatic scale. Debussy’s composition contains two movements: a slower sacred dance with slow-moving modal sonorities, contrasted with a lilting waltz.   

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: Concerto for Flute and Harp, KV 299  

The harp was Marie Antoinette’s favourite instrument, and it was also the most popular instrument of the day. As such, the harp had started to replace the harpsichord in the salons of the upper bourgeoisie. It was the instrument of fashion.

Marie Antoinette played the harp every day, and she had several beautifully decorated instruments at her disposal. She composed her own tunes and melodies and encouraged composers to write music for it.

Mozart in Paris

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart arrived in Paris in 1778, and since Marie Antoinette was indisposed, he took on several private students. In April 1778, he was engaged to give composition lessons to Marie-Louise-Philippine Bonnières, the youngest daughter of the Duke of Guînes. His young charge was a capable harpist, and the duke an excellent flautist. As such, the duke commissioned Mozart to compose a concerto for him to perform with his daughter.  

Although Camille Saint-Saëns (1835-1921) never held a teaching position at the Paris Conservatoire, he served on various juries and selection committees. He made sure that his student Gabriel Fauré was appointed director, and that Alphonse Hasselmans was appointed professor of harp in 1884.

Saint-Saëns, circa 1880

In all, Saint-Saëns composed three works for the harp, with the Fantaisie for Solo Harp, Op. 95, dating from 1893. It is one of the best-known pieces for the instrument, and its two movements are still used as a Paris Conservatoire examination piece.

The Fantaisie explores the whole potential of the harp in terms of expression and colour. Because it combined lyrical writing and technical brilliance, it has remained a cornerstone of the repertoire.   

Josef Hasselmans became the first director of the Strasbourg Conservatoire in 1854, and Richard Wagner called him a “very good-natured, amiable fellow.” He is also remembered for two major schools of double-action harp playing.

His son Alphonse Hasselmans (1845-1912) first studied with his father in Strasbourg, and eight successful solo concerts in Paris in 1877 brought him appointments as solo harpist with the Paris orchestras of the Conservatoire, Opéra, and Opéra-Comique.

Alphonse Hasselmans

Hasselmans wrote 54 pieces for the harp, and many of his compositions were inspired by his performance and dedicated to him. His solo harp etude La Source dates from 1898 and is dedicated to his student Hélène Gayat. Often nicknamed “The Brook,” the rippling textures and cantabile line make it one of the most beloved works in the harp repertoire.  

Paul Hindemith (1895–1963) was one of the most versatile musicians of his time, and he could play all instruments of the orchestra, except for the harp. However, his Sonata for Harp is a pioneering example of contemporary harp music.

It is part of a series of 26 sonatas for various wind and string instruments, as well as for piano and organ. Hindemith finished this work in 1939, just weeks after the outbreak of World War II, and just before he departed for the United States.

Paul Hindemith

It is a three-movement work, and the final movement in a slow tempo is inscribed with an ode of mourning by Ludwig Christoph Heinrich Hölty. The poem relates a dying harpist’s last wish that, after his death, the harp be placed behind the church altar as a memorial, to sound of its own accord much like the Aeolian harps of antiquity.    

Eli Parish (1808-1849) hailed from a small port in Devonshire, yet he became one of the most illustrious musical figures of the 19th century. Franz Liszt excitedly wrote, “From beneath his forehead speak his dreamy eyes, expressive of the glowing imagination which lives in his composition.”

Parish Alvars

Not to be outdone, Berlioz stated, “This man is a magician. In his hands the harp becomes a siren, with lovely neck inclined and wild hair flowing, stirred by his passionate embrace to utter the music of another world.”

Elias Parish-Alvars, a name he freely invented, bought his first double-action harp from Pierre Erard in May 1842, and this more robustly constructed and mechanically superior instrument opened up new musical horizons. He developed innovative techniques integrating pedal and manual skills in unprecedented ways. After all, two harps are always better than one.  

Marcel Tournier (1879-1951) was a student of Alphonse Hasselmans at the Paris Conservatory. He would eventually succeed his teacher as professor of harp in 1912, holding that position until 1948.

Tournier composed several solos for harp, and several chamber works that feature the harp prominently. His solo harp suite Images No. 4 is known for its pictorial character, featuring movements with evocative titles such as “La volière magique,” “Cloches sous la neige,” and “La danse du moujik.”

Marcel Tournier

This work is one of his best-known contributions, as it paints contrasting musical scenes with a blend of virtuosity and colour.

Nicolas-Charles Bochsa: Six Preludes

Robert Nicolas-Charles Bochsa, the harpist

Nicolas-Charles Bochsa (1789-1856) was one of the most prolific composers for the harp.

His reputation as a harpist rested on his compositions for this instrument, as he expanded its technical and expressive range.

Bochsa was appointed harpist to the emperor in 1813, and he was even commissioned to compose a requiem for Louis XVI. He was a busy and shifty man who was appointed professor of harp and general secretary of the RAM in London.

He left behind plenty of bankruptcies and broken hearts in his wake and eventually died in Sydney, Australia, in 1856. And while his compositions for harp are not profound, he constantly discovered new effects and exploited the full possibilities of Erard’s new double-action harp. He also wrote a harp method that was long regarded as a classic.

The harp repertoire is truly vast, and it certainly deserves more attention. Would you please let me know what other works deserve to be featured?

Forgotten Pianists: Sergio Fiorentino

 by Anson Yeung  April 10th, 2021

Sergio Fiorentino
© bach-cantatas.com

“The only other pianist” – Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli

“Recently I listened to a pianist on the radio who impressed me very much: Sergio Fiorentino, do you know him?” – Vladimir Horowitz

It takes a musical genius to be such highly commended by great pianists like Michelangeli and Horowitz – he is Sergio Fiorentino (1927-1998). Fiorentino is highly esteemed among pianophiles for his technical mastery and musical understanding, but his name has remained rather obscure outside the circle.

His career was indeed an unusual one. Born in Naples, he studied at the San Pietro Majella Conservatory under Luigi Finizio and Paolo Denza and graduated with a diploma in 1946. The 1940s and early 1950s had seen a flourishing career, but an airplane accident in 1954 brought his concert engagements to a halt. Severely injured in the accident, Fiorentino took up a teaching post at the Naples Conservatory of Music and had to re-learn some of the techniques to overcome the disabilities. He returned to a performing life after several years, actively concertising in the UK and Italy and producing recordings. Enigmatically, he later resumed his teaching activities and faded away from the concert stage until 1993, when he came back with the same uncompromising technique. In the last few years of his life, he again launched an international career and recorded extensive discography under Appian Publications & Recordings.

© bach-cantatas.com

Some of his earlier recordings were issued under the pseudonym Paul Procopolis. He was unfortunately involved in the scandals revolving around Concert Artists label, alongside the infamous Joyce Hatto fraud. Fiorentino’s posthumously published recording of Chopin Mazurkas was found to contain tracks from three other albums.

Fiorentino wasn’t the kind of pianist who followed the score strictly. Instead, he remained loyal to the composers by internalising the music, extracting its meaning and displaying deep understanding with interesting ideas. His recording of Chopin Etudes is an exemplary combination of poetry, ferocious technique and creativity. For example, listen to his Chopin Etude Op. 10 No. 2 in A minor and observe how he brought out the hidden line. Liberties were taken without sounding self-indulgent (e.g. 39:00, 55:37).   

Here’s a clip of Fiorentino improvising before a studio recording session. One would be captivated by the warmth of his sound right away. He was a true romantic at heart – his playing had absolute freedom, sensitivity in touch and enticing tone production. Everything came so naturally without any histrionics.  

Fiorentino’s technical prowess gave his playing a sense of ease even in the midst of difficult passagework. Technique was not used merely for show off but at the service of music per se. Note the beautiful legato and inner voices in his performance of Bach’s Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring, which asked for fine control of the keyboard and dexterity. This justifies the saying that a great pianist would sound well even on subpar pianos by transcending the “physical” limitations.  

Excelling in transcriptions as well, Fiorentino captured the essence of the original compositions and incorporated some refined pianistic writing. Take his beautiful transcription of Fauré’s Aprés un rêve as an example – its intricate emotions are simply spellbinding!  

Having shunned the limelight in his lifetime, he never achieved the fame that he deserved. On a par with legendary pianists like Richter, Cortot and Gilels, Fiorentino possessed the qualities expected of a great pianist – remarkable artistry, devotion and genuine love for music. His sudden, untimely death in 1998 was undoubtedly a tremendous loss to the classical music world. Fortunately, we were blessed by the substantial amount of studio recordings and audience-made tapes by his admirers (most notably Ernst Lumpe). Fiorentino shall remain in our memory, and his artistic legacy will continue to prevail.

Music to help us through difficult times

Multiple studies show that music can do wonders for our mental health. So which pieces do we turn to when times are tough?

David soothes King Saul’s troubled mind with his lyre © Getty

Published: November 3, 2025 at 6:00 pm

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Music cannot work a magic spell. It can, however, do wonderful things. In recent issues of BBC Music Magazine, we have explored the benefits to mental health of listening and playing music, not least when it comes to alleviating depression, though in fact this is a subject that has been addressed literally centuries ago – Greek philosophers Plato and Aristotle both discuss it, and the Old Testament (1 Samuel 16: 14-23) tells of how David’s skills on the lyre would ease King Saul’s troubled mind.

• Music and mental health: what scientists have revealed about the connections between them

So, taking the science and anecdotal evidence as read, let’s turn to the here and now. What pieces do people turn to during difficult times, when spirits are low? For some, the way out of the abyss may lie in something light and upbeat, for some it might be something soothingly placid, while others turn to something empathetically sorrowful. Here, four BBC Music writers, plus the magazine’s own editorial staff, share their choices of works to alleviate the gloomiest of times.

Read on to discover the music that helps us through difficult times...

Vaughan Williams: Symphony No. 5 – Romanza

Sir Antonio Pappano conducts the Romanza from Vaughan Williams's Symphony No. 5 with the London Symphony Orchestra in 2024

It may sound counterintuitive, but when going through difficult times I have always found that listening to slow, meditative, even melancholy music helps me to work through that negative emotion rather than attempting to mask it with lighter, brighter fare. If ever I’m in need of a good, cleansing cry, listening to John Williams’s score for ET will absolutely do the trick – just a few bars are enough to bring tears to my eyes.    

But for something deeper – even spiritual – I turn to Vaughan Williams’s Fifth Symphony and the third movement Romanza, which not only conveys a poignant feeling of nostalgia, but an uplifting sense of beauty. It’s that modal tension between major and minor – or, in other words, between sadness and joy – that allows me to experience unhappiness and loss, couched in an elegant structure. The essence of catharsis.   

For the ultimate recording, I turn to Bernard Haitink conducting the London Philharmonic Orchestra (EMI Classics, 1995). Haitink doesn’t allow himself to wallow in emotion, his tempos perfectly poised – so that VW’s homage to a world gone forever never descends into schmaltz. 

Charlotte Smith

Mahler: Rückert-Lieder  – ‘Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen’

Claudio Abbado conducts the Lucerne Festival Orchestra in – ‘Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen’ featuring mezzo Magdalena Kožena

A death foretold enables grief to secure a head start. How to navigate it? Nothing quite equals music in teaching us how to reconcile with impending loss. The Requiem aeternam from Duruflé’s Requiem, Fauré’s seraphic setting of the In Paradisum and the obligato-oboe-enriched opening aria of Bach’s Cantata BWV170, ‘Vergnügte Ruh’, all invited spiritual solace; but in the event, secularism won out as Mahler, enshrined in the symbiotic sublimity of mezzo Janet Baker and conductor John Barbirolli, plus the poetry of Rückert at its most simply distilled, became an inescapable, endless, go-to.    ‘Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen’ (I am lost to the world) from the Rückert-Lieder is a heartfelt leave-taking swaddled in tenderness and reassurance. Orchestrally enlarged, beseeching cor anglais and anchoring harp already tremble on the edge of eternity before Baker floats the vocal line with a radiant serenity that intensifies with every passing bar. The final lines, as Rückert rests at last ‘in my heaven, in my love, in my song’, are achingly poignant – the perfect musical incarnation (without the ambiguity) of Philip Larkin’s conclusion to his poem ‘An Arundel Tomb’: ‘what will survive of us is love’. Forty years on, goodnight mum! 

Paul Riley

JS Bach: Violin Partita No.2 – Chaconne  

Viktoria Mullova performs the Chaconne from Bach’s Violin Partita No. 2

I don’t remember the first time I heard the Bach Chaconne, but I do remember how it made me feel. The monumental fifth movement from the Violin Partita No. 2 – its duration surpassing the previous four movements combined – demands complete surrender from its listener. 

Its tortured opening chords hurl you into a world of exquisite pain, and through its meticulous structure – a series of variations of varying harmonic and melodic complexity – it becomes one long cry of anguish. The Chaconne, particularly in Jascha Heifetz’s 1971 recording, feels like it encompasses every pain in the world. Some believe that Bach composed it in mourning his wife, but whether that’s true or not, for me it has always signalled a sense of shared universal tragedy; it tears you open so you can start to heal.    

• In the midst of the piece’s outcry, D minor becomes D major, and, in that moment, you can breathe. That temporary respite offers a hope that even in heartbreak, everything might be okay. The Chaconne has always prompted in me a process of release; its passages encompass the confusion and desperation of grief yet somehow offer a sublime solace and freedom in embracing it. Violinist Joshua Bell described it, beautifully, as ‘one of the greatest achievements by any man in history… a spiritually powerful piece, emotionally powerful, structurally perfect’.

Miranda Bardsley

L Boulanger: Psalm 130, ‘Du fond de l’abîme’

The Radio Philharmonic Orchestra and 'Het Groot Omroepkoor' perform Lili Boulanger’s Psalm 130, 'Du fond de l'abîme' conducted by James Gaffigan

‘Never give up hope!’ says today’s received wisdom. But what if hope is the thing that keeps you stuck: by clinging desperately to the impossible, you rule out living the possible? That’s what struck me forcefully when listening to Lili Boulanger’s magnificent but disturbing choral-orchestral setting of Psalm 130, ‘Du fond de l’abîme’ – ‘From out of the depths’. 

Stunningly gifted, lauded on all sides, Boulanger wrote it as she faced painful death at the age of just 24. There are moments of hope, but the French word ‘espère’ goes on a journey in which all radiance, all comfort is slowly wrung out of it. If the music weren’t so exquisitely beautiful, it would be unbearable.    

What it did for Boulanger herself I can only guess, but for me, one wintry afternoon 15 years ago, it made me realise that my deeply troubled and troubling mother could never be the mother I’d always hoped she could be, and that for my sake – and perhaps also for hers – that hope had to die. As mezzo Ann Murray took up the desolate solo at the heart of ‘Du fond de l’abîme’, I thought I’d never stop sobbing. But it was a release, and if I’m now better able to face the world as it is, I owe that at least partly to Lili Boulanger.

Stephen Johnson

More music that helps us through difficult times...

Recomposed by Max Richter: Vivaldi – The Four Seasons

Max Richter and Daniel Hope perform ‘Spring’ from Richater/Vivaldi’s Four Seasons Recomposed

I did not know – nor care – what had happened to the sleeve. It was surplus to requirements: the record on the turntable had not been changed for some weeks. The process of choosing, and listening, to a physical album had become a treasured evening ritual, but at this point in my life, back in 2012, newness was unbearable. The risk of disappointment or displeasure was too great – in fact, any emotional response needed to be carefully managed. Music had to be upbeat (but not jolly, saccharine or too energising) and easy to listen to (but not easy listening), simultaneously raising a depressive mood and neutralising a higher one. The same went for books, films, food, conversations: selection had become an exhausting and dangerous chore.    

Now, the familiar yellow centre spun on the record player, in the same way it had for many nights. Strings blurred with electric crackles; a well-worn violin melody etched its way into life. Max Richter’s reimagining of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons somehow fitted my nonsensical cultural brief, comforting in its familiarity yet with enough invention to maintain interest. It’s not a work that will induce tears, terror or toil, and that, in this context, was its strength. It remains in my collection – reunited with its case.

Claire Jackson

Rubbra: Symphony No. 5

BBC National Orchestra of Wales conducted by Richard Hickox performs Rubbra’s Symphony No. 5

In the later years of her life, deliberately though now unhappily single, my mother leaned on me heavily – for solace, for company, for daily communication. I found myself wrestling with a lot of different feelings, including guilt and sadness on her behalf, but also exasperation at her daily demands on my time and energy. I also found my emotional resources constantly depleted in the quest to reassure her that she’d be OK – that I was here. 

During this period, I sought out music of peace and contemplation to recharge my fast-draining emotional batteries. And I found that the symphonies of Edmund Rubbra provided just the calm and pause for nourishment that I needed. A deeply spiritual man, Rubbra wrote music of inner stillness, balance and contemplation, rather than drama or showmanship. Unlike many of his mid-20th-century contemporaries, he avoided angular dissonance and preferred flowing, modal harmonies that feel rooted in ancient chant and Renaissance polyphony.    

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Even his symphonies, though complex, rarely feel turbulent. Instead, they create a sense of spaciousness. And among them, the work that most often took me to a quiet, unhurried place was No. 5. Its final movement has an uplifting, meditative calm that can always renew me.

Steve Wright

More music that helps us through difficult times...

Rachmaninov: Piano Concerto No. 2

Anna Fedorova performs Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No. 2 with Nordwestdeutsche Philharmonie conducted by Martin Panteleev

Whenever I feel down, I play Rachmaninov. Not just because his music offers a healthy dose of doom-and-gloom and allows for a good emotional wallow, but because his Second Piano Concerto holds a special place in my memory. 

Let me take you back: I’d just joined an orchestra for the first time as a nervous and clueless young teenager with barely any experience of playing with other people. I had no idea what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t those opening piano chords, tolling like great bells, and then suddenly being swept along by the stirring, surging minor-key melody. More than that: I was playing that melody! And it wasn’t complicated – even a fledgling viola player like me could manage the basically stepwise writing. I went home totally overwhelmed by the experience. Who knew music could be like that?    

• Classical music can calm our anxiety. Here’s the science behind it

The spark and thrill of discovering Rachmaninov for the first time has always stuck with me. It’s become a symbol of possibility: don’t give up now, because something totally unexpected that will change your life for the better could be just round the corner. Or at the very least, you might encounter a brilliant piece of music that can transport you to another place for half an hour.

Rebecca Franks

Tchaikovsky Symphony No. 6, ‘Pathétique’ – Allegro molto vivace

Orchestre Philharmonique de Radio France conducted by Myung-Whun Chung performs the Allegro molto vivace from Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 6

To be honest, when my spirits are at their lowest, I want to be surrounded by silence – playing music is likely to prove more of an irritant than a balm. There is, however, one exception: the third-movement march from Tchaikovsky’s ‘Pathétique’ Symphony, a reliable friend whose company I’ve enjoyed since my parents played it in the car when I was a youngster (LSO, Leopold Stokowski, coffee-coloured cassette case). 

Right from the outset, it was all about the frisky main tune, based on a pair of perky perfect-fourth intervals and first played in full by the clarinet – which, as I’d sussed from the cat in Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf, is the orchestra’s most genial, happy-go-lucky member. I often found myself humming that tune to cheer myself up in gloomier moments – not least, as a boarder at the world’s most wretched choir school – and doing so still works its magic today.    

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Of course, I appreciate now that in the context of the whole symphony, and particularly the collapse into abject misery that follows, the third movement’s projection of optimism can be viewed as hollow or even desperate. However, my nine-year-old self didn’t see it that way, and – as a standalone piece, at least – it still defiantly says to my adult self ‘Cheer up, JP. There are better times ahead.’