Showing posts with label Journey Rewind. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Journey Rewind. Show all posts

November 9, 2009

Anonymous 4 and "Secret Voices": A Concert Review

One unfortunate side effect of starting my journey from the very beginning of Western music was the relative obscurity of the subject matter -- medieval music isn't exactly a big draw and you really have to plan carefully if you want to attend a professional performance. As a consequence, it took me a full six months before I was finally able to make it to a concert with music from the time periods covered so far in the Journey. I thought it would be worthwhile to describe the experience here, especially considering that the performance included material that I hadn't covered in previous entries.

Unlike the other sections of my blog, the concert reviews will discuss the entire experience, including the skill of the performers and the atmosphere they create. Whereas most of my entries are designed to help develop familiarity with the different composers and styles of times gone by, I view the concerts as a sort of culmination -- whatever this music might have to offer, the live performance should present it in its purest form.

It is perhaps unfortunate, therefore, that I wasn't able to find a recording to familiarize myself with before attending this particular concert. The program was entitled "Secret Voices," and the set was performed by Anonymous 4, a famous quartet of vocalists/scholars based in New York City. Named after the author of an ancient treatise on medieval music (circa ~1280), Anonymous 4 has been performing medieval vocal music for over fifteen years. My first exposure to them was in a recording of ballate by Francesco Landini called "The Second Circle," where they delivered beautiful renditions, despite my general distaste for the composer. In "Secret Voices," their set is composed entirely of music from the Codex Las Huelgas, a tome of polyphony that was compiled for use in a medieval Spanish nunnery. Although scholars aren't sure whether the nuns themselves sang this music -- it was supposed to be forbidden for women to sing polyphony in those days -- Anonymous 4 choose to believe that they are following in the footsteps of these ancient pioneers.

Needless to say, the performance itself was excellent -- if there were flaws in their renditions, they were beyond my ear to catch -- but I still found myself somewhat disappointed by the experience. Some of the material was intriguing, including the rhythmically-bold Parens patris natique and the conductus that inspired "Secret Voices," Mater patris et filia. However, a great deal of the rest felt like filler; I find it hard to believe that the hexachord excercise, Fa fa mi/Ut re mi was, as the program declared, among the "greatest music of [the nuns'] time." Even the canon, Benedicamus Domino a 3, failed to impress with its barely-overlapping phrases.

I would note also that the quartet chose not to use any form of sound system for their performance. I was seated in the middle of a small auditorium and could hear them clearly enough, but even with skilled singers, a quartet of unamplified female voices will tend sound thin in a large concert hall. I've listened to a lot of pretonal music for my blog, but even I felt like their sound needed a stronger foundation... perhaps the Cistercian probation on women singing polyphony was motivated by more than simple gender discrimination.

Regardless, I want to tip my cap to Anonymous 4 for their efforts. Few music groups will devote themselves solely to early music, and fewer still will restrict their repertoire to the Medieval period. These are truly the origins of Western music. If I had an opportunity, I would see them again in a heartbeat and I recommend that others do the same.

Related Links: Secret Voices Program

October 3, 2009

On Math and Music: Intervals

Some believe that the most fundamental aspects of reality -- everything that we are and everything that we perceive -- ultimately come down to mathematics. It is the language of science and perhaps the only surviving bastion of irrefutable truths in the aftermath of the Age of Enlightenment. It is this irrefutable quality, this perfection of sorts, that also lends mathematics a certain beauty; in fact, the origin of all beauty may come down to simple mathematical relationships.

Our brains perceive mathematical relationships in countless ways, but perhaps none are so direct as the way in which we process sound. Suppose I were given two tuning forks, one designed for a frequency of 440 Hz and the other for 880 Hz. When I strike the first, the metal begins to vibrate, moving back and forth at a rate of 440 times per second. This vibration, in turn, causes the surrounding air molecules to oscillate at the same frequency, an oscillation that travels outwards from the tuning fork and reaches my ear. Assuming that the tuning fork continues to vibrate at this frequency, my brain will interpret the oscillation of air molecules as a steady and constant "pitch."

Now suppose I strike the second tuning fork, which vibrates 880 times per second. This new pitch corresponds to a frequency twice that of the first, and if I strike the second tuning fork while the first is sounding, they together produce a sound something like this. Notice how smoothly the pitches blend together. The interval heard here is called an "octave," a musical term reserved for any pair of pitches with a frequency ratio of 2:1. Our ear easily identifies the relationship between these two pitches because their frequencies are in a small, natural-number ratio to one another. By contrast, listen to the major seventh, an interval that corresponds to a frequency ratio of about 15:8. The blend is not nearly so pleasing to the ear.

When two pitches blend together well, like the octave, they are referred to as "stable," or a "consonance." Those that don't blend so well, such as the major seventh, are referred to as a "dissonance." In medieval music, the consonances were the octave (2:1), the perfect fifth (3:2, listen), and the perfect fourth (4:3, listen). In the early 15th century, starting with the Burgundian School, intervals of a major third (5:4, listen) and a major sixth (5:3, listen) began to be treated as consonances, allowing for developments such as triadic harmony.

August 28, 2009

Sumer Is Icumen In: Cuckoo for Canons

Album: Between March and April
Track: "Sumer Is Icumen In" (Track #20)
Composer: Anonymous
Instruments: 4 voices
Musical Form: Canon
Year: ~1250


Before I continue my Hopeless Journey into the Renaissance, I'd like to take a quick step back to mid-13th century England. You'll notice that England has been completely absent from my coverage of medieval music -- the primary reason for this is the scarcity of available sources. Most polyphony from the medieval period was sacred and the majority of English sacred music was destroyed during the dissolution of the monasteries, part of the English Reformation, in the 16th century. Fortunately, some English secular music has survived to the present day, including the famous canon, "Sumer Is Icumen In."

The canon really is a remarkable musical form: simple in structure, but complex in its presentation. A canon usually begins with a single musical line, sung by one or more singers. Before the line is completed, another voice begins singing the same (or a similar) musical line after a specified duration of time. Depending upon the complexity of the canon, this process can be repeated an arbitrary number of times, with new vocies appearing at intervals specified by the composer. To American ears, the most familiar canon is probably, "Row, row, row your boat," a campfire song written sometime in the 19th century. For that song, the second singer begins after the first has completed one measure, the third after he has completed two, and so forth.

"Sumer Is Icumen In" is similar to "Row, row, row your boat" in that it is a simple, light-hearted song that could conceivably have been performed for children (it means, quite literally, "Summer has come in"). It was written for six parts and is actually the first known example of six-part polyphony. Canons didn't really rise to prominence in sacred (or "artistic") music until the late 14th century, when the technique was pioneered by Italian composers and it wasn't until the mid 15th century that it began to catch on in the rest of Europe. Needless to say, these canons contained a great deal more complexity and depth than "Sumer Is Icumen In."

Related Links: YouTube, Wikipedia (includes translation)

August 19, 2009

Kalenda Maya: You Can Dance if You Want To

Album: The Dante Troubadours
Track: "Kalenda Maya" (Track #11)
Composer: Raimbaut de Vaqueiras
Musical Form: Dance music, Troubadour song
Year: ~1200


One of the difficulties with listening to dance music is that is wasn't really meant to just be listened to. I know, dance music isn't supposed to be deep -- I'm supposed to let the rhythm of the music carry me away. Problem is, it always takes me somewhere boring. I was hoping that something I found on my Hopeless Journey would free me of this prejudice, but so far I've been unimpressed.

One of the earliest recorded examples of dance music is "Kalenda Maya," a song with lyrics written by a troubadour called Raimbaut de Vaqueiras (no relation to John Rambo, I think). The melody was composed by some long-forgotten jongleur who fancied plucking triple-meter ditties for drunk Frenchmen for naught but a swig of brandy... or somesuch. Thing is, dance music was seldom written down in medieval times because it wasn't considered important enough. The troubadours would tell you that if a jongleur could compose a danceable melody, anybody could. Regardless, this one was written down because a troubadour decided to put poetry to it and make it respectable. I'm not sure they succeeded, but I'll let you judge that for yourself.

The type of dance that this song was written for was the estampie, in which the dancer either dances with only one foot or stamps both feet... etymologists aren't quite sure which (I wonder who got a Ph.D. for that). Anyway, the dance is a close relative of the Saltarello, a medieval dance that appeared in Italy in the 13th century that gets a good bit of attention in modern popular culture. One notable recording of a Saltarello is by Dead Can Dance, an '80s group famous for popularizing "world music."

For the time being, I can't recommend spending a lot of time on saltarellos or estampies, but this may change as I delve into the Renaissance. Gutenberg invented his printing press in 1440, and the standards for what was considered worthy of being written down dropped significantly. Perhaps the propagation of written dance music even brought it to the level of an art form...

External Links: YouTube

July 25, 2009

Cantigas de Amigo: The Gender-Confused Jongleur

Album: Wanderers' Voices - Medieval Cantigas & Minnesang
Track: "Cantigas de amigo" (Track #11-17)
Composer: Martin Codax
Instruments: 1 vielle, 1 voice
Musical Form: Cantiga
Year: ~1230 - 1300


Not everyone who listens to the Beatles' recording, "Please Mister Postman" (a song from their Cavern Club days that made it onto With the Beatles), realizes that the original version of the song was written from the point of view of a woman. The song was first released as a single by the Marvelettes in 1961 and laments the tragedy of a woe begotten girl whose boyfriend is away at war. Desperate for word from her beau, she implores the postman for comfort, with "just a card... or just a letter." Alas, the song ends with her unanswered pleas fading into the distance... If you're familiar with the Beatles' recording, this image likely never entered your mind, as the fab four deftly transformed it into a fast-paced power pop number, with guitars ringing and John Lennon belting out the now pronoun-reversed lyrics.

It's likely that the song's message was of little concern to the Beatles, since pop music was seldom written to be poetic in 1963 (the Beatles would later help to change this, but that's for another post). Even today, it's not uncommon for pop standards to have their pronouns changed to suit the vocalist in question. What is uncommon, however, is for a vocalist to sing from the point of view of a member of the opposite sex. Nevertheless, this is exactly what Spanish jongleurs did in the 13th century when performing one of the most popular musical forms, the cantiga de amigo.

In short, a cantiga de amigo is a love song in the voice of a woman. Women seldom performed music in the 13th century, so it seems likely that it was the jongleurs themselves (all male) who performed these pieces. The recording in question features seven cantigas de amigo, all composed by Martim Codax, and in the manuscripts from which these pieces are drawn, they always appear in the same order. This suggests that it may have composed a coherent work of art or perhaps a performance set list. The songs have some of the most beautiful monophonic melodies that I've heard from medieval music, so I highly recommend them to the interested listener. Perhaps the Beatles should have taken a cue from these ancient minstrals -- there is no shame in voicing a woman.

Related Links: Book of translated cantigas de amigo lyrics

July 18, 2009

Minnesang: A Troubadour Alternative

Album: Wanderers' Voices - Medieval Cantigas & Minnesang
Track: "Owê dirre nôt!" (Track #4)
Composer: Nedhart von Reuental
Instruments: 1 voice, 1 vielle
Musical Form: Minnesang
Year: ~1210 - 1240


Every now and then, I may feel the need to turn back the clock on my Hopeless Journey and revisit an earlier time period. My reasons will vary; sometimes I'll have simply overlooked something, while other times I may be backtracking to provide context for a future entry. Whatever my reasons, these posts will be framed in green to distinguish them from main flow of the Journey.

In A Final Note on Troubadours, I opined that troubadour music (and its close relatives) had little to offer the modern listener, primarily because we have lost much of the lyrical context and the music itself is fairly repetitive and simplistic. By and large, I will stand by that claim, but I thought it worthwhile to step back and review the Minnesingers, who are essentially the German equivalent of troubadours. Up to now, Germany has not been represented in my posts and I want to make sure I take a relatively even sampling of music from the European continent, at least to the extent that it's availbable to musical historians.

One thing I immediately notice when I listen to the Minnesingers is the way in which the differences in language affect the sound of the music. Unlike in French or Occitan, German words are pronounced with a great deal of inflection. When used in lyrics, this inflection creates a pronounced sense of rhythm a sense of rhythm that is very much independent of the musical structure. Some of the Minnesinger lyrics may sound a bit goofy at first, but this cultural bias passes quickly. Overall, I think the exaggerated rhythm of the poetry adds to the music.

The song structure of the Minnesinger compositions is very similar to that of the troubadours, though they have a distinct melodic feel. In "Owê dirre nôt!" one gets a very wistful feeling from the piece, no doubt reinforced by the final cadence, which ends on the mediant (the third in the scale, "mi" in "do-re-mi") rather than the tonic. If you enjoy troubadour music and are looking for a simple variation on that familiar theme, then Minnesang might be worth a look.

Related Links: YouTube, Minnesang