Listening to Early Cyclic Masses

We don't often think of listening to music as a skill; after all, those of us who aren't listening for the purpose of writing a paper or preparing for a performance are hoping that the music will serve us. There should be little or no obligation in the other direction...

And it's true, we owe nothing to the music. Nevertheless, I believe we do owe it to ourselves to put in the legwork when we have trouble understanding the appeal of a particular style of musical composition or performance. I can safely say that there have been few things in my life that have been more rewarding than discovering new music, but even putting that aside, understanding the appeal of music from another culture (or subculture, as the case may be) can help us to better understand the people who created it. If all United States politicians went out of their way to develop an appreciation for hip-hop, I guarantee this country would have fewer problems with racism.

There are no real political implications when it comes to developing an appreciation for early music, but the experience can still broaden one's horizons a great deal. For me, the most difficult musical form to develop an appreciation for was the cyclic mass. In addition to being very long (typically 30-90 minutes in length), cyclic masses don't feature a great deal of repetition and seldom put emphasis on melody. It is very easy to become disconnected from the music -- I often caught my mind wandering, even when using headphones.

It may be that part of the problem was my inability to place the music in its proper context. As the name suggests, these pieces were written to accompany religious masses, all together with the solemn adornments, vast halls, and pious followers. As it is, lying in bed with my headphones on scarcely seems an apt replacement. Nevertheless, I believe I am beginning to understand what the Renaissance composers were trying to achieve.

Some modern critics describe early cyclic masses as "ornamental," implying that they served only to decorate an already lavish ceremony. I don't think this description does these pieces justice, however. Late music critic, Wilfrid Mellers, was a bit more generous in reference to John Dunstaple's early cyclic masses:

"He was not concerned with his own emotional response, which could only seek incarnation in time, but was rather, like Machaut, concerned to create, through his music, an 'atmosphere' in which an act of revelation might occur. He did not know when, or even if, it would happen, but he did his best to create the conditions in which it might. Just as an Indian vina player would perform for hours or even, with a few necessary intermissions, all day or all night while his audience of 'participants" came and went, so the ritual music in a medieval cathedral might resound for hours, while the congregation fluctuated."

The reference to an Indian vina player may be a tad obscure, but the point is clear. These masses were not meant to be approached like a movie, for which the director aims to tell a cohesive story that suffers when viewed in pieces. Rather, it is more analogous to a meteor shower. Any momentary display of brilliance may sweep the listener off their feet, but successive bursts do little to build upon one another. A cyclic mass is, quite literally, equal to the sum of its parts.

With this realization, I became less concerned about keeping a constant focus on the music. Often I would play the masses in the background while doing work or surfing the internet and every now and then they would pull me in, providing a fleeting but soothing experience. Whether I will ever achieve a true "revelation" through cyclic masses... only time will tell. In the meantime, I will enjoy them for what they are.

Related Links: Wilfrid Mellers' book

The Development of the Cyclic Mass: A Great Service

Album: Dunstaple: Musician to the Plantagenets
Track: "Missa Rex Seculorum" (Tracks #12-15)
Composer: John Dunstaple
Instruments: 3 vocals
Musical Form: Cyclic Mass
Year: ~1410 - 1440

When we consider the composers of early music, it is important to judge them not just on the music they themselves wrote, but also the future music they contributed to. Unlike a scholarly paper, a mass or a symphony does not include citations -- it is the task of music historians to trace the origins of the forms and styles that the composer used. In this respect, the early composers perhaps deserve more credit than our ears are inclined to give, as they helped to develop the conventions we now take for granted.

As the 15th century opened, composers were restricted to short musical forms; that is, secular chansons and sacred motets (both typically ~5-10 minutes in length). The first long-duration musical form to see mainstream popularity would be the cyclic mass, developed by the composers of the Burgundian school in the mid-15th century. You may recall that I first discussed the concept of a cyclic mass in a post on La Messe de Nostre Dame. That mass setting, which was composed by Guillaume de Machaut, may well have been the first of its kind, but was either unknown to his contemporaries or failed to inspire further development of the form, because it wasn't until the early 15th century that the cyclic mass was acknowledged as a genuine mode of composition. The first cyclic masses (after Machaut's) were written in England and were unified by a musical theme at the beginning of each section.

The example given, "Missa Rex Seculorum," was written by John Dunstaple and includes a Gloria, Credo, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei. Notice the uniformity in scoring and rhythm between the Gloria and Credo -- each starts with a duo, not adding the third voice until about a minute and half in, at which point the rhythm changes as well. The Sanctus benefits the most from Dunstaple's pre-Renaissance style, the thirds blending to create an elegant and immediately-appealing texture that wasn't possible in Machaut's sonic framework. Overall, however, the piece is lacking the energy and invention of Machaut's mass, suffering somewhat from the limited vocal arrangment (2- or 3-part polyphony). Even Dunstaple himself has composed individual mass settings with more flair.

Just as with triadic harmony, the early development of the cyclic mass has been lost to history due to the purging of the monasteries in 16th-century England. Fortunately, however, the form would quickly catch on in continental Europe and composers such as Dufay and Busnois would continue to develop it. In fact, many of their inventions would survive for over a century, as the cyclic mass wouldn't truly fall out of favor until the Baroque period, starting around 1600.

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)

The Trecento Madrigal: Art by Improvisation

Album: Landini and His Time: 14th Century Italian Ars Nova
Track: "Vestisse la Cornachia" (Track #9)
Composer: Jacopo da Bologna
Instruments: 1 voice, 1 vielle
Musical Form: Madrigal
Year: ~1350
Composition for comparison: "Freddie Freeloader" by Miles Davis (1959)

For those of us who like to sing or hum along to our favorite songs, improvised music can present an unwelcome challenge. Unlike arranged music, it should not be approached with the intention of developing familiarity; just the opposite, the thrill of improvisation is in the unexpected. It's not completely random (like the more obscure "chance music") -- the musicians are still working within a prearranged structure -- but the driving melody is seldom predictable or repetitive. The notes that are played depend more upon the mood of the musician at the moment it was recorded than on any larger artistic purpose. The casual listener may allow the music to carry them astride, like an elaborate neural massage, while for the connoisseur the experience may be more like a voyage of discovery -- notes arise in new and unexpected patterns as the performers freely explore the vast musical spaces stored in their brains.

Truly improvisational music is, of course, a fleeting thing. There is no way for a modern performer to play ancient improvised music in the way it was intended to be played because our minds are polluted by exposure to the many centuries of subsequent musical development. Nevertheless, there do exist musical forms that are written in a pseudo-improvisational manner; that is, with a melody that is fairly free in form and not adhering to any larger-scale melodic structure. One such form is the madrigal, a development of the Italian Trecento in the mid-14th century.

A short but characteristic example of the madrigal is "Vestisse la Cornachia" by Jacopo da Bologna. The piece is composed for two voices, but in this particular arrangement, only the melody is carried by a vocalist. Note the relatively simple manner in which the two parts interact, with the accompanying vielle moving steadily in the background as the lead voice provides an elaborate melismatic foreground. There is a great deal of similarity between melodic motion heard here and that found in modern improvisation forms, such as jazz and blues. For comparison, listen to "Freddie Freeloader," a jam off of Miles Davis' groundbreaking album, Kind of Blue (1959). Listen to how the saxophones, piano, and trumpet exchange the lead melody, while the backing musicians provide a skeletal accompaniment.

The madrigal did not last much beyond the 14th century, although an unrelated form with the same name arose in 16th century Italy. It seems that the early madrigals of this type had very little popular appeal... if only Coltrane had been born six centuries earlier.

Related Links: Improvisation in Madrigals

Belle, Bonne, Sage: Music in the Shape of a Heart

Album: Codex Chantilly (Ballades & Rondeaux)
Track: "Belle, Bonne, Sage" (Track #7)
Composer: Baude Cordier
Instruments: 2 voices, vielle, clavicythérium
Musical Form: Rondeau
Year: ~1380 - 1400

I can't think of any song better suited to provide an introduction to one of the most popular musical forms of the 14th and 15th centuries than "Belle, Bonne, Sage." This piece is not only a good listen, but as with most ars subtilior compositions, is also rhythmically complex and experimental. It's certainly one of the most recorded compositions from its time period, though every performance seems to carry a unique style and feel. The piece was originally written as sheet music that was wrapped into the shape of a heart, where red notes are meant to indicate a slight alteration of the note values. These stylistic tendencies have sometimes been associated with mannerism (a Renaissance art movement), but there doesn't seem to be any direct link to that later cultural phenomenon.

"Belle, Bonne, Sage" is a rondeau. As I mentioned previously, medieval secular music generally used one of three formes fixes: the ballade, the virelai, and the rondeau. Rondeaux generally follow ABaAabAB, where A (or a) is a verse-like section and B (or b) is a refrain/chorus-like section. Here, capital letters indicate one set of lyrics and lowercase letters indicate another -- the reasoning behind this structure is a mystery to me. It nearly follows an alternating verse-chorus structure, but there's an additional verse in the middle of the song; perhaps it was used to provide buildup and lyrical context for the finishing phrases. Whatever the reason, this form was widely used by composers throughout the 14th and 15th centuries.

As ars subtilior pieces go, this is one of the easier ones to listen to, so it's a good place to start if you're interested in developing a taste for the music. I would also recommend it to a listener interested in listening to only one piece from the movement. If you're looking to follow the rondeau structure, the first verse ends at 0:30 and first refrain ends at 1:06.

Related Links: "Belle, Bonne, Sage" lyrics and translation , The poetic rondeau form

En Amer a Douce Vie: A Medieval Traveling Song

Album: Machaut: Chansons
Track: "En Amer a Douce Vie" (Track #10)
Composer: Guillaume de Machaut
Instruments: 4 voices
Musical Form: Ballade
Year: ~1350

One of the difficulties with listening to new genres of music is that we need to get our bearings; that is, our minds aren't accustomed to the structure and style of the compositions we're listening to. As such, the music often sounds like a garble of phrases, perhaps with some familiar note patterns, but lacking any coherent flow. I found that I had these same difficulties with medieval music, despite the fact that the composition structure is generally simpler than that found in modern music and the sections of the composition are usually very clearly delimited. When I made an effort to look for this structure, however, the music began to feel more comfortable and listenable.

In medieval music, one of the forms with the simplest song structure is the ballade (distinct from a "ballad"). Essentially, a ballade is two verses followed by a refrain, repeated some number of times (usually three, in my experience). The length of the sections can vary from one piece to the next, but it's usually clear when they're ending because medieval composers have a tendency to establish their cadences very clearly -- the voices all sound at once and hold a sustained note. I think these rigid section endings detract from the flow of the piece, but it may be that the medieval ear would have gotten lost without them. I'm sure our music would sound like a garbled mess to them.

Anyway, one of the best ballades that I've heard is "En Amer a Douce Vie" by Guillaume de Machaut. It has a distinct rhythm that I tend to associate with some steady motion, perhaps walking or some other kind of traveling. For those trying to get their bearings, the first verse ends at 0:27 and the first refrain ends at 1:57. The verse 1-verse 2-refrain sequence appears three times in the piece. The refrain is unusually long in this ballade and I especially like how the bass line (established by the tenors) moves toward the end of that section.

La Messe de Nostre Dame: The Advent of the Cyclic Mass

Album: De Machaut: La Messe de Nostre Dame -- Le Voir Dit
Track: "Kyrie" (Track #1)
Composer: Guillaume de Machaut
Instruments: 4 voices
Musical Form: Cyclic mass
Year: ~1365

The development of music as an art form was not something that happened overnight, nor was it something that happened entirely within one musical period. In 14th century France, the freedom and sophistication of musical composition was increasing rapidly, but the musical community was still learning how to express itself. The ars nova revolution was bringing about great changes in the form and style of both sacred and secular music, while the Italian Trecento was integrating the expression of love into polyphonic composition. Nevertheless, music was still written in the form of independent motets or chansons lasting ~5 - 10 minutes, not long enough to express a broad or complex artistic message.

This first began to change in the sacred realm with the advent of the mass. In a previous entry, I commented on musical settings to individual portions of the Catholic mass, some of which date back to the early 14th century. It wasn't until ~1350, however, that the first cyclic mass (that we know of) was written. By cyclic mass, I mean a coherent work of art written by the same composer and with parts intended to be performed in a particular order. It should come as no surprise that the composer in question was Guillaume de Machaut, arguably the most important musician of the medieval period. His mass was titled, Messe de Nostre Dame (Mass of Our Lady).

Messe de Nostre Dame has six parts in total, the most interesting and impressive of which is the opening number, the Kyrie. The entire text to the Kyrie consists of a pair of two-word phrases repeated over and over again,

Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison,

which literally mean "Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy." Despite the simplicity of the text, the musical setting is extremely complex, including four voices and an isorhythmic structure. I consider this portion of the mass a must-hear for interested readers -- the voices undulate like a wave in motion, creating an effect that is both beautiful and characteristically medieval in style. The remainder of the mass is pleasant as well, though it resorts to simple parallel vocal motion to recite the more wordy texts of, for example, the Gloria and the Credo.

Whether or not Renaissance composers were even aware of this mass is unclear, but the idea of creating complete musical settings to the Ordinary of the Mass caught on fairly quickly. By the 15th century, any composer of sacred music worth his salt had composed at least one mass. The mass offers a unique opportunity to make a direct comparison between the compositional styles of different composers in different eras and I'll no doubt be returning to it many times in future blog entries.

External Links: YouTube

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.

~1000 A.D.: Gregorian Chant

To begin my journey, I downloaded the album The Ecclesiastical Year in Gregorian Chant by the Schola Cantorum of Amsterdam Students & Wim Van Gerven. The artist performing the chant sounded sufficiently pretentious as to make it of likely high quality and the number of tracks (31) seemed large enough that I would get a good sampling of the music. As it turned out, however, 10 probably would have been enough, as I could have put it on a loop and not noticed that it was repeating for several days.

The music is a cappella, monophonic, arhythmic, and entirely sung in Latin. Since I don't speak Latin, the experience was one-dimensional, the only redeeming quality being its soothing nature. Of course, this music was never meant to be "listened to" in the sense that you would listen to a symphony or prog rock album. Rather, it was meant to "hypnotize" and elevate the listener to a different state of consciousness. Insomuch as boredom is a state of consciousness, it achieved this end, but I will admit that I sometimes play the chants as I'm going to sleep. Other possible uses include for meditation, ambient music for infants, and cool-down music for those with anger management issues.

The realm of "sacred" music, the foundation for which was the Gregorian chant, dominated Western art music in the late medieval period, so my developing a familiarity with these chants was not without purpose. Many later composers would use a traditional Gregorian chant as the driving force for their compositions, styling elaborate polyphonic motets about this "cantus firmus". In modern terms, it is akin to a hip hop artist sampling "Sittin' On the Dock of the Bay" to a chorus of scantily clad women moaning and feigning coitus. Ok, not exactly, but the principle is similar, as the composer is elaborating on a melody already familiar to the listener. I will attempt to continue developing this familiarity with the Gregorian Chant as I prepare for my review of Leonin & Perotin: Sacred Music from Notre-Dame. I promise the next review will be more positive... if before then I don't give up on my Hopeless Journey.