Journey Highlights: June 2009

Composer of the Month: Philippe de Vitry

I compared him to both the Beatles and Lou Reed, acknowledging his ability to appeal to larger audiences and his penchant for experimentation. Although none of the individual pieces jumped out at me, his contributions to the development of musical notation, as well as the ars nova and Roman de Fauvel, have led me to select him as the composer of the month. The revolution he started in the early 14th century has been compared by some to the introduction of perspective into painting -- its importance for the later development of music cannot be understated. To really get a feel for the ars nova movement, I suggest listening to the Roman de Fauvel. His other work, although interesting, fails to capture the spirit of the changes that were occurring during that time period.

Composition of the Month: "Clap, clap, par un matin" (Anonymous)

Although more of a novelty piece than anything else, "Clap, clap, par un matin" was my favorite of the month, holding up quite well to repeat listenings. The early ars nova pieces were fairly erratic and experimental -- it was clear that they were not yet making the best use of their newfound musical freedom. "Clap, clap, par un matin" was not as complex or experimental as many of the de Vitry pieces, but it created an ambience that was both energetic and unique. A close runner-up was a motet called, "Lasse! comment oublieray" by Guillaume de Machaut. It certainly demonstrates more sophistication than "Clap, clap, par un matin", but is more representative of the latter half of the 14th century, which will be the focus of the coming month.

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.

The Petronian Motet: Baby Steps

Album: Music of the Gothic Era
Track: "Aucun ont trouvé" (Track #2 on disk 2)
Composer: Petrus de Cruce
Instruments: 2 voices, 1 fiddle
Musical form: Motet
Year: ~1290

Any politician will tell you that tradition can often be a sizable impediment to progress, even when progress is the universal goal. So it goes with music as well. Suppose you decided one day that you were going to write a song about... I don't know, your favorite piece of dishware. Any song you would sit down to write would likely be some combination of music you had already heard, even if that music had not itself been about dishware (most likely it wasn't). This applies equally in the 21st century as in the 13th century, but imagine further if all of the music you had heard previously had been performed (and likely written) within 100 miles of your house. Even further, imagine that when you want to write this music down (there are no recording devices onhand), you need to write within a preexisting rhythmic structure if anyone is going to be able to translate what you have written into a performance. In other words, you have two choices. You either write your song the traditional way or you invent your own notation for a new rhythmic structure, write a treatise explaining that notation, and then write a song within this new untested rhythmic structure.

Given these barriers, it should be no surprise that it took over a century to break from the traditions established by the Notre Dame School of Polyphony, particularly when the latter had exploited them so effectively. Nevertheless, two medieval composers, Petrus de Cruce and Philippe de Vitry, chose the more difficult of the two options described above. In this case, the tradition was the rhythmic modes, structures that had at that point become embedded in the musical notation. Phlippe de Vitry essentially started from scratch and I will discuss his work in a later entry. Petrus de Cruce did not eliminate the rhythmic modes, but in his treatise, Ars cantus mensurabilis, he invented a notation that allowed for an arbitrary number of rhythmic subdivisions within each mode repetition. For example, if I was writing within the first rhythmic mode, I could have the lower voice keep a "long - short" rhythm at an arbitrarily slow tempo while the highest voice filled the gaps with an elaborate melody many notes in length. Any motet that used this technique (and accompanying notation) was called a "Petronian motet," named after Petrus de Cruce himself.

The example given, "Aucun ont trouvé", has only two voices and works primarily within the first rhythmic mode. The Petronian technique certainly makes the piece sound more "free", but at the expense of substance. The upper voice sounds like it's performing a monologue, while the lower voice carries a rhythm, performed in a slow drawl, that often gets lost in the flowery melody. Although there is no doubt in my mind that the technique could be used effectively, this Petronian motet really does feel like a short-term fix to a long-term problem -- like treating hemorrhagic fever with band-aids. Well, it's not really anything like that, but bigger changes (and better similes) are to come. Stay tuned.

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