Ars Subtilior and the Late Trecento: Volume III of the Hopeless Journey

The quantity of recorded music from the ars subtilior and late Trecento period (~1370 - 1400) is actually quite sparse, but the music is so intriguing that I had no trouble compiling a volume worth of my favorite tracks. I highly recommend this particular volume.

The ars subtilior was not dominated by any particular composer, although Baude Cordier makes two appearances on this collection. The late Trecento period is represented by Johannes Ciconia, an exhuberant Italian composer with a taste for French music. His works are rife with hocket and imitation, decorated with melismatic interludes. The order of the following tracks was selected for flow and is not chronological:

1. Una panthera
2. Belle, Bonne, Sage
3. Leray au soleyl
4. O felix templum jubila
5. Tout Par Compas (recommend recorder version)
6. Dieux gart
7. Fumeux Fume Par Fumee
8. Doctorum principem -- Melodia suavissima -- Vir mitis
9. En Seumeillant

The total running time is ~45 minutes.

The albums/collections I've heard, in order of preference:

1. The Saracen and the Dove - I already devoted a blog post to this album -- it is probably my Journey favorite to this point.

2. Codex Chantilly (Ballades & Rondeaux) - This album includes vocal performances of some of the must-hear ars subtilior pieces, including "Belle, Bonne, Sage" and "Fumeux Fume Par Fumee." Unfortunately, it also includes some mediocre instrumental interludes.

3. En Seumeillant (French Ars Subtilior) - It's hard to believe that they can do so much with a trio of bass recorders, but this album really stands out for its interpretation of the ars subtilior pieces. Although Codex Chantilly presents more historically accurate renditions, I still recommend checking out this recording.

4. Popes & Antipopes - Music for the Courts of Avignon & Rome - The latter half of this album dips into the Renaissance, but the whole thing falls kind of flat anyway. Although from the same group that did Saracen, their choice of material here may have sacrificed quality for thematic continuity (songs about the Great Schism).

Latest Update: 09/12/09

Anonymous Composers: The Price of Anonymity

Album: Song for Fransesca
Track: "O Regina Seculi - Reparatrix Maria" and "Confort d'amours" (Tracks #10 and 15)
Composer: Anonymous
Instruments: 4 voices
Musical Form: motet and rondeau
Year: ~1400-1430

It is an unfortunate fact of life that the appreciation of art is dependent upon who we can ascribe it to. Perhaps we have a primitive need for an idol, an artist who we can hold up as a standard for excellence, either for ourselves or for others... or perhaps we don't trust ourselves to judge a work of art unless we know the source. Whatever the reason, anonymous compositions from the medieval and renaissance period are difficult to come by in modern recordings. The vast majority of the existing choral recordings of early music are from the big-name composers, but every now and then a recording artist will include anonymous works on their album.

A number of such works were included on the recording, Song for Francesca, including the motet, "O Regina Seculi - Reparatrix Maria," and the rondeau, "Confort d'amours." These are two of the best compositions that I've heard in my journey thus far, but I'm afraid that there is little I can say about them. I know that they were composed sometime in the late 14th or early 15th century in France and are fairly advanced, four-part works. The latter contains an intriguing rhythmic structure and may have been influenced by the ars subtilior. They also sound as if they could be isorhythmic, but I don't have the sheet music to confirm this.

Related Links: Song for Francesca review

Una Panthera: A Meeting of the Minds

Album: Saracen and the Dove
Track: "Una Panthera" (Track #10)
Composer: Johannes Ciconia
Instruments: 3 voices
Musical Form: Madrigal
Year: 1399

New music is born at the intersection of pre-existing movements; this truism is well known by punks as much as by classical composers. Unfortunately, during the late medieval period, musical cross-fertilization was a slow and difficult process, in no small part due to the Black Plague that was ravaging Europe. Nevertheless, one musical patron, a man by the name of Gaston Febus, managed to both navigate the turmoil of the times and foster an atmosphere of invention in his court. To the music world, he was much like a medieval Andy Warhol, attracting the great composers of the day and encouraging them to compose in the complex ars subtilior style.

In addition to having its own cast of talented musicans, Febus' court attracted many visiting composers, including those from Italy. In the late 14th century, the Italian Trecento was itself flourishing, pioneering musical techniques and forms, such as the canon and imitation, led by composers such as Johaness Ciconia. It is not known whether Ciconia ever visited Febus' court, but it is clear that the ars subtilior style had a big influence on his later work, most notably "Una panthera." This madrigal can be heard to alternate between the elegant fluidity of the Italian Trecento and the rhythmic experimentation of the ars subtilior.

As it would turn out, the late Trecento period (late 14th century and early 15th century) would be the last hurrah for the elaborate experimentation characteristic of the ars subtilior. Early Renaissance compositions saw a return to a more graceful (and accessible) style that, although not lacking in beauty, lacked the cerebral sophistication of the music coming from the court of Gaston Febus. Compositions with such rhythmic complexity would not be heard again until the 20th century.

Related Links: Gaston Febus, Allmusic

Johannes Ciconia: Art Imitates Art

Album: The Saracen and the Dove
Track: "Doctorum principem - Melodia suavissima - Vir mitis" (Track #1)
Composer: Johannes Ciconia
Instruments: 4 voices
Musical Form: Motet
Year: 1409 - 1411

For an artist, catching someone's attention is much more difficult than it may seem at first. It doesn't matter the form of expression, a work of art always seems much more significant to the maker than it does to the casual listener. Over the years, musicians in particular have developed a wide variety of techniques to help overcome this difficulty, the synthesis of which led to what we would now call "pop" music. If implemented carelessly, the use of pop techniques can cheapen music, but in the hands of a gifted composer, their use can enhance the elegance and impact of a piece.

Among the most common tools of this trade is repetition. Whether on the scale of short sequences of notes or entire verses, repetition acts to reinforce a particular musical or lyrical theme. Even in medieval times, composers made use of repeated poetic stanzas (as in, for example, the virelai) or musical sections. In the late Trecento period, composers used "imitation," in which brief musical passages would be repeated, one singer after another. The repetitions were not always identical to the original passage, but the effect often resembled an echo.

Imitation was a particularly potent musical tool when combined with the hocket, as can be heard in "Doctorum principem - Melodia suavissima - Vir mitis," by Johannes Ciconia. The motet is about Francesco Zarabella, the archpriest of Padua Cathedral in the early 15th century, and it makes extensive use of the imitation and hocket techniques to construct an emphatic tribute to the man and his cathedral. The rapid melodic jumps, particularly at the end of the piece, are vaguely reminiscent of modern electronic music, but lend a more regal feel to the music in this context. This is one of the most impressive performances on the engaging album, The Saracen and the Dove, so I highly recommend it.

Related Links: YouTube, Doctorum Principem

Saracen and the Dove: This Dove Can Fly

Album: The Saracen and the Dove
Instruments: Vocal
Musical Form: Mixed Sacred Music
Period: Late Trecento (~1380-1420)

I had nearly lost hope for Trecento music after listening to the work of its supposed shining star, Francesco Landini. However, the recording, The Saracen and the Dove, is one of the most impressive and fascinating that I've heard so far. It is a collection of music from the late Trecento period, especially highlighting the work of Johannes Ciconia and Antonia Zachara da Teramo. Included in the collection are motets, madrigals, ballata, and even a short canon (like a round, more on this in a later post). In addition, although this blog has thus far avoided discussing individual performances and recording artists, I feel inclined to tip my cap to the vocal group, the Orlando Consort. I've encountered them several times on my journey and every time they have delivered superb vocal renditions, often of extremely difficult material. The Saracen and the Dove is no exception, give it a listen.

Related Links: Orlando Consort

The Landini Cadence: A Pseudo-Suitable Ending

Album: The Second Circle: Love Songs of Francesco Landini
Track: "Nella partita pianson" (Track #4)
Composer: Francesco Landini
Instruments: 2 voices
Musical Form: Ballata
Year: ~1350-1370

I tried very hard to care about this, I really did. The way a composer chooses to end a composition (or a section of a composition) seems like it would be really important; after all, human aesthetic judgement is highly prejudiced towards endings. Nevertheless, I have yet to see a correlation between how much I like a composition and how it chooses its cadences.

A cadence is a pattern of notes that establishes some kind of ending or transition within a piece. In medieval music, virtually all candences end on the tonic, with voices either singing in unison or an octave apart (sometimes including the fifth). For those of you who didn't take music theory, the tonic is simply the "root" note of a scale (the "do" in "do-re-mi"). If you don't end a song on this "root" note, it has a tendency to sound like it's not finished yet. In medieval music, the cadence is the sequence of notes that leads up to and includes this "root" note. A standard two-voice cadence in the ars nova period involved a transition from the leading tone (the note a half step down from the tonic, "ti" in the "do-re-mi" sequence) up to the tonic. Just as the tonic has a feeling of finality, the leading tone, true to its name, gives a feeling of leading to an ending; the next-to-last step, if you will.

What Francesco Landini did that was supposedly so important was that, in his "Landini cadence" (also called the "under-third" cadence), he stuck a note in between the leading tone and the tonic. Specifically, he moved down a step from the leading tone before coming back up to the tonic, "ti-la-do". This note did not give the listener the feeling that the composition was moving anywhere different than it would with the standard cadence, it simply "dressed up" the ending to his pieces. If you listen to enough of his compositions (such as "Nella partita pianson," referenced above), you'll begin to recognize it, but personally, I don't think it adds much to the music. Perhaps it's important for historical reasons, but I don't think it would be of much interest to the casual listener.

Related Links: Advanced discussion of Landini cadence; Youtube; Wikipedia; Intervals

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.