Douce Dame Jolie: Verse, Chorus, Virelai

Album: Machaut: Mirror of Narcissus
Track: "Douce Dame Jolie" (Track #12)
Composer: Guillaume de Machaut
Instruments: 1 voice
Musical Form: Virelai
Year: ~1330-1350

Seldom do we hear a song from the middle ages in our everyday lives... even of the musicians I've spoken to, few listen to medieval music. Our rationale for this may vary -- some will say that early music was primitive and therefore couldn't possibly be as "good" (or perhaps "complex") as the modern counterparts. Others will say that they simply cannot relate to the sentiments of the ancients; perhaps the music was too often religious or gentle for the modern ear. Quite frankly, I don't buy either explanation. Even in modern music, a gifted musician can make a great song in the simplest of forms (for example, punk or folk music). Furthermore, the basic human emotions and drives have changed little over the course of a millenium. We still feel the same love, loss, gratitude, and wonder that medieval composers express in their compositions. No, we haven't changed much, it's primarily our perception of ourselves that has changed. Perhaps it's this very perception that causes us to distance ourselves from our musical past.

Whatever the reason, it's worth examining the similarities between music composed in the medieval and modern eras. Perhaps the most striking similarities can be found in early secular music, where the poetic and musical forms bear a strong resemblance to modern pop music. To illustrate this point, let's compare two compositions: "Douce Dame Jolie" by Guillaume de Machaut and "Beat It" by Michael Jackson (may he RIP). The former is a virelai, a type of monophonic secular composition that was developed in the medieval period. The latter, of course, is a pop/rock song released in 1983.

First, let's consider the more familiar of the two songs. The first verse and chorus of "Beat It" are as follows:

They told him don't you ever come around here

Don't wanna see your face, you better disappear

The fire's in their eyes and their words are really clear

So beat it, just beat it

Just beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it

No one wants to be defeated

Showin' how funky and strong is your fight

It doesn't matter who's wrong or right

Just beat it, beat it

In the verse we see a poetic structure of aaab, meaning that the first three lines rhyme with one another and the final line ends in a different sound. The chorus, by contrast, has the form aabba. The differences in the two sections are reflected in the musical structure, where the chorus uses a completely different melody and rhythm. These poetic and musical properties are typical of modern pop music -- indeed, of many genres of modern music.

Virelais, on the other hand, were chansons, French lyric-driven songs that dominated secular music in the 14th and 15th centuries. These early songs were essentially poems with a melody, where changes in the melodic structure would often mimic changes in the poetic form, just as they did in "Beat It". Consider the first two stanzas of "Douce Dame Jolie":

Douce dame jolie,

Pour dieu ne pensés mie

Que nulle ait signorie

Seur moy fors vous seulement.

Qu'adès sans tricherie

Chierie

Vous ay et humblement

Tous les jours de ma vie

Servie

Sans villain pensement.

In the first stanza we see a poetic structure of aaab, just as in "Beat It," while in the second stanza the structure is aabaab. The poem takes on a different rhythm in the second stanza, so it also carries a different melody and feel. The remainder of the virelai alternates between these two poetic/musical forms, creating a melodic structure that is very similar to the verse--chorus--verse structure of modern music.

It would not be fair to say that all secular music of the middle ages was so similar to our familiar radio tunes. "Douce Dame Jolie" is arguably the most enduring song of the medieval period, a fact that is due in part to its familiar structure, so it does not represent an unbiased sampling of the period. Nevertheless, I believe we are closer to our musical ancestors than is often appreciated. Give it a chance, you might be surprised.

External Links: YouTube

Mass Settings: Sitting Through Church

Album: Guillaume de Machaut: Motets & Music from the Ivrea Codex
Track: "Gloria: Et verus homo" (Track #2)
Composer: Anonymous
Instruments: 3 voices
Musical Form: Mass movement
Year: ~1350-1370

I don't usually enjoy the music in church services. In my youth, I remember spending many Sunday mornings squirming in the pews as the church organ bleated out some droning melody that did more to test my faith than reinforce it. The simplistic and monotonous arrangements seemed little meant for human ears, although the pews were sufficiently moved that they would rattle and creak at the rise of each note. At the outset of my Hopeless Journey, I had hoped that the great composers of medieval polyphony would help to elucidate the original beauty and appeal of sacred music. Sadly, with the possible exception of Pérotin, these composers have, despite fairly complex arrangements, succeeded at capturing the monotony of my early childhood church experiences. The most tedious of all are the mass movements, like "Gloria: Et Versus Homo," referenced above. These polyphonic compositions are written to accompany individual sections of the Catholic Mass and necessarily incorporate a standard religious text as lyrics.

Up to this point, I have primarily discussed motets, which incorporate a traditional gregorian chant but are generally played as an addendum to the standard mass rituals. Individual mass movements did not begin to appear until the middle of the 14th century and some of the earliest are found in the Ivrea Codex. In that manuscript, the mass movements -- Kyrie, Gloria, Credo, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei -- are written separately and by different composers, but they could have been used to accompany an entire mass. The Gloria referenced above is a typical example of how polyphony was used to express standard religious texts. Unlike motets and secular compositions, these mass movements emphasize the words over the music; the vocal parts move primarily in parallel motion to ensure that the text comes through clearly. This effect is most pronounced in Gloria and Credo mass movements, in which significant portions of text must be recited.

Although it helps a little to see a translation of the texts in these movements (it can be found on wikipedia), I wouldn't recommend spending a lot of time on individual medieval mass movements. However, as the medieval period progressed, the mass evolved and composers began constructing entire masses as individual works of art. Stay tuned for this, the mass will soon become more interesting.

Mining the Ivrea Codex: Clap 'Em Like You Just Don't Care... Par Un Matin

Album: Music of the Gothic Era
Track: "Clap, Clap, Par Un Matin" (Track #12, disk 2)
Composer: Anonymous
Instruments: 2 voices, 1 harp, 1 fiddle, 1 psaltery, 1 mandora
Musical Form: Motet
Year: ~1350-1370

Beginning a long tradition of unsolicited choreographic suggestions by overzealous musicians, "Clap, Clap, Par Un Matin" presents a clever use of the rare second rhythmic mode to create a sound that is both peppy and bizarre. I can almost imagine hordes of medieval peasants clapping their hands and dancing to this peculiar number, though I doubt that their modern-day counterparts could find the beat. Personally, I find it intriguing and I suspect that other musicians agree with me; I stumbled upon at least two other recordings of it on my journey.

The piece is unique, even within the Ivrea Codex. The Ivrea Codex is a collection of medieval polyphony from the middle 14th century France and, although no composers are given credit within, stylistic analysis of elements in individual pieces suggests that it contains works by famous composers, like Philippe de Vitry and Guillaume de Machaut. "Clap, Clap, Par Un Matin" could not be attributed to any particular composer and so remains something of an enigma -- to me, anyway. The style is likely to have originated in secular music and it may be that a great many secular pieces of this kind were composed but not transcribed for posterity. Our knowledge of music of that era was biased toward sacred music, as the church was one of the few entities with the means and motivation to distribute large volumes of transcribed music. However, one of the defining features of the ars nova movement was the increasing use of secular styles and techniques in sacred music, so perhaps these gaps will slowly be filled in later periods.

The Italian Trecento: Finding Other Ways to Occupy Blind Men

Album: The Second Circle: Love Songs of Francesco Landini
Track: "Che chos'è quest'amor" (Track #3)
Composer: Francesco Landini
Instruments: 3 voices
Musical Form: Ballata
Year: ~1350-1370

The late medieval period is most often represented by the French ars nova, but a parallel musical movement was occurring in Italy in the 14th century. Known as the "Trecento," this period in Italian music is characterized by its "love songs," sweet but simple polyphonic compositions with fixed poetic forms. Although there is a certain grace associated with its expression, Trecento love has little to offer the modern ear and its quaint charm quickly becomes tiresome on repeated exposure.

The most popular composer of the Trecento was Francesco Landini, a blind organist from Florence with a penchant for ballate and cadential escape tones (more on both subjects later). Many of his compositions utilize only two voices and venture little from the simple parallel motion that was so abundant in early polyphony. His three-voice ballate, such as "Che chos'è quest'amor" are marginally more titillating, but still fall short of the poetry and sophistication of their French counterparts. I can imagine the subtlety and grace of Trecento music might appeal to a dancer, but whether these works are themselves dancable I could not say.

Admittedly, my prejudice against this music may be more due to personal taste than any failing of the composer. Whether it be in minimalist music or folk rock, I am often happy to indulge in stripped-down arrangements of well-crafted music. However, these ballate feel oversimplified in more than just their arrangement -- their mood is almost stubborn in its optimism, as if fearful of expressing vulnerability. Indeed, this may have been a sign of the times, the Black Death having swept through Europe from 1348 to 1350. Perhaps people were themselves fearful of expressing vulnerability and sought escape in their music.

Isorhythm: The Hidden Patterns

One of the defining characteristics of the late medieval period (and the ars nova, in particular) was the use of isorhythm. In short, isorhythm is the repetition of an arbitrary pattern of note durations in all or part of a musical composition. This repetition may occur in more than one voice, but each voice need not carry the same rhythm. In contrast to the rhythmic modes, isorhtyhm allows the vocal parts of a composition more freedom by, 1) allowing for a rhythm of arbitrary duration and structure and, 2) allowing for overlap between the rhythmic units of different voices. Isorhythm is essentially nonexistent in modern music, but it is instructive to consider a similar musical technique, the round.

Most of us are familiar with the campfire song, "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," in which one person starts singing the melody and then, after one or more measures are complete, another person begins singing the same melody. After each singer completes main melody line, they return to the beginning and repeat. This song structure could be considered a special kind of isorhythm because each singer repeats a rhythmic structure (that of the melody line) and the rhythms overlap -- that is, the singers finish the melody at different times. In medieval motets, a similar technique was used, but each singer would be singing a different melody and using a different rhythm. To generalize the previous example, imagine instead that, after the first singer completes a measure of the song, another singer jumps in singing only, "Row, row, row." This second singer repeats these three words over and over again, using a different set of pitches each time but speaking the words at the same rate. This three-word sequence can serve as the basic unit of isorhythm and is perhaps a closer approximation to how medieval composers would craft the lower voices of a motet.

Despite this basic understanding of isorhythm, the technique has so far eluded me in the pieces I've listened to. Unlike "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," medieval motets are highly complex and isorhythm was generally only used in some of the voices and for only part of a piece. Two of the most prominent practitioners of isorhythm were Philippe de Vitry and Guillaume de Machaut, but their pieces were composed to blend into a graceful whole, hiding the underlying structure. It's likely that the "undulating" feeling I get from Machaut's compositions is in part due to his use of isorhythm, but seldom can I pinpoint its origin. For the casual listener, I would recommend against trying too hard to find it -- their motets are better experienced as a unified whole.

Guillaume de Machaut: A Man of Many Hats

Album: Music of the Gothic Era
Track: "Lasse! comment oublieray" (Track #18 on disk 2)
Composer: Guillaume de Machaut
Instruments: 3 voices
Musical Form: Motet
Year: ~1330-1350

It is not uncommon for the great figures of a generation to excel in more than one area -- Leonardo da Vinci and Aristotle are two of the more dramatic examples -- but what I've read about Guillaume de Machaut is almost out of this world. It is unlikely that any future time period in my Journey will be so dominated by a single composer as the 14th century was by Machaut. His primary occupation was as a priest, but he is known today for his work as a poet and composer. His impact was immense in both areas; in the latter, he wrote some 150 pieces, including the first known cyclic mass. In addition, he was a trouvére (a Northern French equivalent of a troubadour) and an important figure in the development of secular musical formes, including the lai, the virelai, the ballade, and the rondeaux.

I will discuss all of the above contributions in more detail in later posts, but first listen to one of his motets, "Lasse! comment oublieray." When I was first immersing myself in the latter half of Music of the Gothic Era, this piece jumped out at me because of its contrapeuntal sophistication; that is, the contrary up-and-down interaction of the voices. The melody seems to undulate in a manner that you'll soon see to be characteristic of Machaut. I suggest listening to one of the anonymous motets of the early 14th century before experiencing Machaut because it really puts his work in context. There was simply no equal for the beauty and sophistication of Machaut's pieces and it's with good reason that he is the most revered composer of the middle ages.

External Links: YouTube

Le Roman de Fauvel: The Spirit of Rebellion

Album: Le Roman de Fauvel: Clemencic Consort
Composer: Anonymous/Philippe de Vitry
Year: 1314

Challenging the listener is not as risky as it used to be. In fact, originality is greatly valued in our culture... and if that originality is rebellious in nature, all the better; after all, what better way to draw attention to your work than to have it mock established tradition? Not so in the middle ages, when the dissemination of music and art was difficult without the support of the establishment. It is therefore somewhat incredible that a work such as Le Roman de Fauvel would garner so much attention in the 14th century. Although the recording, Le Roman de Fauvel: Clemencic Consort, presents only one possible interpretation of the manuscript (they perform only fragments, the full collection contained ~3000 verses and 169 musical pieces), this music possesses a quality I had previously not heard in my Journey... edge.

Written by a French clerk named Gervais du Bus, with musical arrangements by composer Philippe de Vitry (along with a collection of anonymous composers), this cheeky manuscript mocks both church and state and makes no apologies for crudeness. The story surrounds the exploits of an upwardly mobile donkey, whose continuous dissatisfaction with the improvements in his life lead him quickly into the grips of the seven deadly sins. I don't understand a word of what is being said, but the biting nature of the verse and the unconventional musical compositions remind me at times more of punk music than medieval polyphony. In "Veritas arpie", bagpipes accompany a monophonic lament similar to something you might expect to be performed by a drunken sailor. "Ad solitum vomitum" resembles the musical accompaniment to a Late Night with Conan O'Brien sketch that was written by a drunken sailor. Finally, in "Charivari", we hear a hodgepodge of chanting, percussion, and sound effects that were almost certainly drawn from a Yoko Ono wet dream (perhaps about a drunken sailor).

Nevertheless, having immersed myself so completely in the (largely sacred) music of the early medieval period, I find this music to be a welcome change -- and perhaps for the same reasons medieval listeners did. It doesn't take a modern listener very long to get tired of the repetitive rhythmic structures used by early composers. It's true, music need not be "edgy" to do away with these structures -- the changes originated here would be carried over to sacred music and would eventually become integrated into the entirety of Western music. This gradual development of the "new art" would bring with it the pretensions I alluded to in my last post. Nevertheless, I believe it is in Le Roman de Fauvel that we hear the true spirit of the original ars nova transition; that is, cheeky, rebellious, and crude.

I'm left wondering... in the later years of the movement, did devotees to this "new art" complain in the same way as aging members of 20th century countercultural movements? Perhaps they felt that the later ars nova composers "sold out" or lost the spirit of the movement... perhaps so, but there are always a few whiners.

It was 687 years ago today...

...Philipe de Vitry taught the French to play... without rhythmic modes. The point here, which should have escaped all but the most dim-witted readers (no, I didn't get that wrong), is that Philipe de Vitry is like the Beatles. How, you may ask? Well, I'll tell you. Up until the early 14th century, French musicians had been restricting themselves half-heartedly to a set of rhythmic modes (yes, I know you're tired of hearing about rhythmic modes), in part because they had become embedded in the musical notation. In 1322, de Vitry may have changed all that with a collection of "avant garde" music in which he broke all the rules (you might say he left nothing sacred, LOL).

I say he may have changed things because historians still aren't sure that he was the author, but let's say for the sake of pseudo-simplicity that he was. This "new" art music turned more than a few heads, and so was dubbed ars nova (that is, "new art"). It wasn't very good at first -- composers mainly liked it because it was different and gave them more rhythmic space in which to be unpleasant to listen to. I'll admit that de Vitry had a few good pieces, but for the most part he was just feeding the community's hunger for something new... like a medieval Lou Reed. I started out saying that he was like the Beatles, however, so I'll try to make that (seemingly contradictory) case as well.

You see, until the 14th century, music wasn't much of an art form. Nobles used it to dress up their courts and churches used it to augment their drone-happy services, but it wasn't generally viewed as an intellectual pursuit. That began to change with the ars nova, however, as musicians stopped being decorative and became something much more annoying -- they became artists. Just as Sgt. Pepper ushered in an era in which rock musicians could begin to snub their noses at one another, ars nova blanketed the music world in an air of pretension that it would never really escape from.

Many believe the true beginnings of ars nova can be traced back to the Roman de Fauvel, an allegorical play about a self-important equine antichrist. Philippe de Vitry composed most of the score, but I haven't gotten around to listening to it just yet. Its "rebellious" political satire could be compared to the drug-induced, postmodern fumblings of the late 1960's... or perhaps to some elaborate Orwellian version of an Aesop's fable. Either way, I'm happy to see musicians getting more pretentious, because it makes my journey a lot more interesting.