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.

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.

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.

External Links: YouTube

O Mitissima: The Hypnotic Modes

Album: Music of the Gothic Era
Track: "O mitissima" (Track #15 on disk 1)
Composer: Anonymous
Instruments: 3 voices, 1 shawm, 1 tabor
Year: ~1200

One of the defining characteristics of the ars antiqua period was the strict adherence to the set of rhythmic modes laid out by the Notre Dame School of Polyphony (see Sederunt Principes and Rhythmic Modes for a full description). Since there were six modes -- only three of which were commonly used -- and the modes were only two or three strikes in length, these early pieces tended to be repetitive in nature, with fairly simple dynamics. Furthermore, the preponderance of octaves, fifths, and fourths in the harmonic structure (anything else was viewed as a dissonance) made ars antiqua compositions sound very rigid.

Although this rigidity was often a bad thing (see Honking Geese), a clever composer could use it to give their music a hypnotic feel. Nowhere is this more apparent than in "O mitissima", one of the many Gregorian chants converted to polyphony by an anonymous ars antiqua composer. Interestingly, the composer here chooses to overlay the stanzas from the original chant, giving one to each voice and making it seem as if the singers are all part of a larger, ongoing conversation with God. In the modern era, rhythmic repetition is often used in dance music to put the listeners (or dancers) into a trance-like state, perhaps not so unlike that of a devout monk praying to God.

The Rhythmic Modes and Sederunt Principes

Album: Leonin & Perotin: Sacred Music from the Notre Dame Cathedral
Track: "Sederunt Principes" (Track #31)
Composer: Pérotin
Instruments: 4 voices
Musical Form: Conductus
Year: ~1200

The Notre Dame School was renowned not just for polyphony, but also for its use of rhythm, which came in the form of one of six rhythmic modes. These modes can be thought of as groupings of notes with the same relative durations. For example, the first mode is simply a long note followed by a short note. If you skip to 1:45 in "Sederunt Principes", the second-to-last piece on L&P, you can hear the first rhythmic mode clearly in multiple voices, being repeated over the steady drone of the lowest voice. The full set of modes are as follows:

1) long - short
2) short - long
3) long - short - medium
4) short - medium - long
5) long - long
6) short - short - short

Pérotin utilizes a variety of modes in Sederunt Principes, most frequently the first, third, and fifth modes. Listen to the whole piece and see if you can identify modes as they pop up in the different voices, keeping in mind that voices aren't always in the same mode at the same time.

The piece is also worth a listen in its own right. The way it slowly shifts in rhythm and pitch structure, I am reminded of modern minimalist composers such as Philip Glass and Steve Reich; in fact, the latter acknowledges drawing inspiration from Pérotin. This fact alone reassures me that I haven't wasted my time revisiting the music of the ancient world.

External Links: YouTube