HowClef-er!

Friday, 4 April 2014

Sound of Praise: Church music amongst commoners

This is my final assessed blog for my course, though I am contemplating writing more as we go into second term simply to reinforce what I have learnt in my lectures. It has been a valuable past time, and one I hope you have enjoyed reading as much as I have enjoyed writing.

The church music we know and love now as part of the Baroque and Classical periods has largely originated from great cathedrals and higher institutions, but as today we have our pop adaptations of church music (such as memory verses put to rap), so the ordinary parishes then had their own different music for the masses. So, today’s blog is on Anglican Church music in the 18th and 19th Centuries.

The Anglican Church

The Church of England was established at the time of Henry VIII when he sought a divorce from Catherine of Aragon and the Pope did not allow it. Henry set himself up as supreme head of the Church of England in 1534, and aside from a brief and bloody return to Catholicism with Mary I the monarch has been the head of this church. Since that time the Anglican Church has largely been based on compromise on a large range of beliefs, in order for everyone to behave uniformly, which strikes me as a bit of an oxymoron.

The parish music

With such a background it is not surprising that the music of the following centuries greatly varies from parish to parish, and was subject to a great amount of change over time as popular opinion altered. In the 1800s, church singing wasn’t authorised and was considered illegal, but because congregations approved it churches did it anyway. This was aided by the fact that rubrics (the documents defining what church was and wasn’t) talked in lengths about how the church was to look, but remained silent on how it was to sound. Therefore parishes could pick and choose what suited them.

What it sounded like:

Due to many of these congregations being illiterate, there is little documentation of how hymns developed or altered as it tended to be an oral tradition, passing from generation to generation and becoming slower and slower as a consequence of younger generations not knowing the words or tunes properly, which explains how slowly our congregation sings ‘When I Survey the Wondrous Cross,’ composed in 1707.

Also, it is important to note that not everyone, in fact, no one in the country could afford to have Handel compose songs for their parish. Town musicians were little more than self-taught, but took it upon themselves to arrange music for the congregation, which resulted in tunes reminiscent to my year 11 attempts at arrangement. Parallel fifths and octaves, unresolved clashes... Since no music theory rules had been taught to them, this brought about rather jarring (but nonetheless enthusiastic) versions of music that had been popular in the towns, but didn't survive in memory quite as one would have hoped. Here is a clip of ‘Hark the Herald Sing’ as an example: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2E07b1WaJyQ

What is music in churches for?

While we know that singing is an integral part of a church service in any part of the world, it is good to look at the reasons why. Various sources from the bible give instruction that singing is part of worship, for example Colossians 3:16, and also the entire book of Psalms is dedicated to singing as part of worshipping God. Singing often comes from an overflow of emotions, such as joy or sadness, and as Nicholas Temperley notes music can “move men’s spirits”. Therefore the role of music in church is to direct thoughts and heats to God in response to what he has done, which is what the Church of England has been doing for the past 200 years, and will probably continue to do for the next 200 years, albeit with a more tuneful ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’.

Friday, 28 March 2014

Of Monarchy and Oratorio

I was torn between the two topics of Catch/Glee clubs and Oratorios this week because there were things that I wanted to write and draw about for both, so finally I resulted to my musical version of ‘flip the coin’: Playlist on shuffle, songs beginning with A-M would be Catch and Glee Clubs, N-Z would be Oratorio. There was a strange moment where I think my playlist was as confused as I was, for it played Glee’s version of ‘You Can’t Always Get What You Want’ which caused a fair amount of laughter.

But a deal is a deal, and oratorio it is. In particular I will be looking at how the monarchy and religious beliefs influenced it.

1) Belief and other things

When looking at religious beliefs in eighteenth century England we might be shocked at how little debates differ from those in our own time: Is the bible reliable/true? Is the New Testament (written account from Jesus’ birth, life and death including subsequent letters to support he was the Son of God and how believers are to live as a response) to be taken seriously? Is the Old Testament (account of creation, the fall, and God’s dealings with his people) relevant? Can all the miracles be explained through science?

Yes, people in the 1700s considered the same things as we do today. At this point and time in England, due to advances in science and relative freedom in expressing views, was at a highly unstable point, reinforced also by the king’s tentative position to the throne. James II was Catholic in a Protestant nation, and soon after his coronation there was an uprising that was suppressed, closely followed by him signing the Declaration of Indulgence, which allowed everyone to practice their own religion. Many considered this illegal, as it allowed non-Anglicans to go to university (gasp) as well as attain high positions, and caused some Protestants to send a letter to William of Orange inviting him to come and take over, which he did. This was in 1688. Following his death and his sister Anne lacking an heir, English Parliament reinstated James I’s granddaughter Sophie and whatever child of hers was Protestant as heir. Before she could take the throne she died, and so her son George became king. I know, confusing, right? All we really need to know is that England is in a pretty shabby state monarchy-wise, which meant it was shabby religious-wise.

Hopefully this helps to explain a bit.

2) So, where does music come into this?

As mentioned last week Handel arrived in 1710, which was during the reign of Anne who had given birth to 17 children, none of whom lived to adulthood. There was little mention of whom would succeed, though it was on everyone’s mind. As previously mentioned, George I succeeded her. Handel wrote his best operas during this time, but was plagued with bad luck when it came to financing these grand displays of theatre. Around the time when George II came to the throne, Handel changed tact, creating the genre of oratorio.

Now, at this point you might get a wave of familiarity of “aaah, Handel’s Messiah”. Good, encourage that thought: large choirs, beautiful solo lines, but no staging, acting, costumes or special effects. In effect, a production far cheaper than opera. However, this is where religion comes in.

Although Handel was valiant in remaining shady in the area of what he believed or who he supported, his librettist (lyric writer) was not. Charles Jennens, Hendel’s librettist from 1735-1745, was an ardent Protestant and supporter of George I. In regards to politics, in Saul he supports Saul (the failing king) as a character rather than David (the usual hero) to support James’ line of succession rather than that of William of Orange. Religiously he uses his librettos to answer some of the questions at the start of this post: In The Messiah which is the oratorio of Jesus’ birth (found in the first 4 books in the New Testament) supports Jesus’ birth as the fulfilment of Old Testament prophecies, using 80 verses from scripture in the libretto, the vast majority of these from the Old Testament. As an example, the prophecy from Isaiah (chapter 9 verses 6-7) “For unto us a child is born, unto us a Son is given; And the government shall be upon his shoulder…” used as the 12th piece of The Messiah (link). These sentiments can also be found in Belshazzar where strong links are shown between Christ and Daniel. Also his compilation of the text for Israel in Egypt focusses on how the miracles happened by God’s hand, rather than any human influence.

Excerpt from Handel's Messiah, no. 12 Chorus: For unto Us a Child is Born

It has been interesting this week looking at the music that is now just considered the mainstream classical music, but at the time was really used as a rebuttal of arguments. Our lecturer likened it to the concept of global warming and how it has worked its way into music composed in the last decade, which I suppose is accurate in some ways, but maybe only on a lesser scale.

Any thoughts? Please comment below.

Further readings:

Ruth Smith, Handel’s Oratorios and Eighteenth-Century Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), pp. 141–156.

Ruth Smith. "Jennens, Charles." Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online. Oxford University Press. Web.

British Library, Making of the UK, ‘Outline of events in 1688’

"George, I." Encyclopedia of World Biography. Detroit: Gale, 1998. World History in Context.

"Anne, Queen." Historic World Leaders. Gale, 1994. World History in Context. Web.

Further Listening:

Handel's, Saul. http://canterbury.naxosmusiclibrary.com.ezproxy.canterbury.ac.nz/streamw.asp?ver=2.0&s=31852%2Fcanterburynml09%2F2379226

Friday, 21 March 2014

Lost in Modernization

Leaving the music history lecture on Wednesday with my friend to go and have a coffee we walked in a sort of stunned silence. My friend broke it first:

“I don’t understand. Why would you pay thousands of dollars on the perfect singers and period instruments, and then do that with the set?”

She was referring to the unfortunate rendition of Rinaldo by G. F. Handel we had just watched. A review written by Peter Wells describes the 2001 DVD's situation as this: “it is currently the convention in the staging of baroque opera to seek historical accuracy in the musical aspects but to juxtapose this with modernity of staging, setting and costume.” But he also notes that no one, not even director, explains why Rinaldo looks like a cross between an accountant and mafia member, nor why the set in Act 1 has wallpaper covered in palms with eyes drawn on them (honestly, whoever thought Pan’s Labyrinth would be a good basis for décor?).

I kid you not, this is an image from it.

Rinaldo was the first original Italian opera to be performed in London, and it goes something like this: Rinaldo is a knight of the first crusade who along with Goffredo (yes, Godfrey) is laying siege to Jerusalem to capture it. Goffredo’s daughter Almerina is with them and she is the love interest of Rinaldo. Armida the sorceress is on the enemies side and sees the only way of winning is to capture Rinaldo, so she goes and steals aforementioned love interest. In turn Rinaldo mounts a rescue mission which ultimately means he is caught in Armida’s trap. Armida then falls in love with him and so he manages to escape after spurning her love. There are a series of battles, the crusaders win, and all live happily ever after (with the surprising inclusion of Armida, who converts to Christianity, which is quite different from the original story).

I would without hesitation describe Handel’s music as sublime. At age 25 when he arrived in England he was writing music scarcely rivaled to this day, hence we still listen to it and have DVD adaptions of it. And considering there are no more castrati today, I would say he would have been pleased with David Daniels' performance in this instance. With eyes shut, it sounded as authentic as any good rendition of Handel. As a piece of advice though, I would recommend to keep your eyes shut.

Somewhere out there, zombie-Handel has his eyes firmly shut.

But this begs the question: Should we be reviving and modernizing things of the past? Is there value in mangling Monteverdi, or shifting Shakespeare? I would say yes, though this causes greater difficulty in operas than plays.

For heaven’s sake, maintain your form!

This would be my cry to all those who wish to bring new interest or enthusiasm for something that has long past. If you have kept the original script and not touched it, then do not alter the period set and costumes. Having a 1920s (though seriously, it looks more 1940s) set and keeping the musical style as accurately as you can to the 1710s is only going to cause confusion. My advice would be to just scrap anything remotely 1940s if you can. Anachronisms are just not pretty.

An example of modernization working can be seen in the more recent adaptions of Shakespeare which appeal to youth such as Ten Things I Hate About You (Taming of the Shrew) or She’s The Man (Twelfth Night). The key in this is if you have a modern setting, modernize the language.

I understand that there’s a huge limitation with modernizing an opera as opposed to a play. Composers have been deified and not one critic who knows his Handel would be happy with anyone modernizing the words and music to make it more appealing to youth. The story of Rinaldo has enough drama in it though to draw in a crowd if there were a revamp of the words: Battles, love triangles, pretty woman getting kidnapped. But I see little chance of anyone trying to alter the original masterpiece that it was without going insane. “Improving” and “Handel” do not go in the same sentence.

Unfortunately in all of this, I can only offer one simple solution: do not alter period setting and costume.

No opera should have polka-dots. I'm sure it's a rule somewhere.

In conclusion, I would like to say that this particular version of Rinaldo should have either done everything in period costume or set, or had Armida as a home-wrecker and Rinaldo’s voice dropped an octave. Or two.

What are your thoughts? Comment below.

Friday, 14 March 2014

The Italian Invaders!

Wow. Ok, that title sounds way too dramatic for the actual content. My apologies if you were expecting explosions, mutilation and bloodbaths, but really, this is a music blog. The most violent you’re going to get is a particularly loud diminished seventh chord.

Hint: This is when you generally hear it.

Anyway, today I am looking at how Italian influences on French music came about.

1: The seeds of something more sinister…

(Really, I should make my titles slightly less dramatic.)

The infiltration of Italian culture into France has never been a particularly foreign concept. Indeed, we can see François I (1494–1547) readily introduced Italians into his court and as a result there was greater refinement. Both François I and Henri II employed Italian artists such as Rosso and Primaticcio, who brought various Italian styles into France. Much like in our Baroque music era that we've looked at, interest in the arts changed depending on the monarch, before trickling down to the nobles and then the masses, so it stands to reason that if the king wanted something Italian, Italian was what he got, or if he didn't want Italian, he could feel free to banish them (as Louis XIV did).

2: The whims of a king…

During Louis XIV’s reign Italian music was not tolerated in court. After all, the king had his own personal composer to write songs that basically worshiped him (as mentioned in Lara’s Blog last week), so why have anything else, especially from a series of states with no monarch (gasp!)? It was only in his later years, where he seemed to go through a mid-life crisis, that his tastes changed drastically and he lost interest in what Lully was doing. It wasn't that he now liked Italians. No, Louis had moved away from frivolities that permeated the French court in favor of a more somber tone. I like to think he realized that he was in fact mortal and would one day have to meet his maker, and dancing around on a stage wasn't going to cut it. In any case, he endorsed a more serious kind of entertainment, and expected others to follow suit.
But they didn't.
The nobles of the French court didn't seem to like this change in pace, having spent many years fully immersed in comedie. Of course, they still attended whatever performances the king wanted, but now they were the ones who had to patronize new things.

Italian things.

French dealers 1690s

3: The Italian Invasion

Following Lully’s demise (as seen last week) there was no great French composer to take his place as main man, which allowed several composers with several different styles to take his place. Pieces by Corelli for example crossed the border and sold like hotcakes. Italian operas were included in French operas, as can be seen in Le Carnaval de Venise by André Campra, which is an opera within an opera. The story itself is about a company preparing to play an Italian opera, and the end of it includes snippets from an actual Italian opera, which stands at stark contrast to the French norm. They would only get snippets of these, rather than the entire opera because the manuscripts that were sold would be of the individual arias. Because it was not composed and played for the king, there was no more propaganda, but rather a comedic commentary by a goddess called Folly.

An example of Italian style melisma from Le Carnaval de Venise.

Among contemporary music critics there were those both for and against having the Italian style in France. François Raguenet particularly favored Italian music, and backed his opinion up with saying that French music focuses on the shaping of the highest part and the lowest part, and has a tendency to lump the rest together, whilst Italian music crafts all parts to be equally beautiful. On the other hand there were those such as Jean-Laurent Lecerf de la Viéville, who claimed that everything in Italian music is done to excess and thus becomes unpalatable to a nobleman’s diet.

So, who won this war? Post your opinion below.

Further Readings:
R. J. Knecht, French Renaissance Monarchy: Francis I and Henry II, 2nd edn (New York, NY: Longman, 1996), pp. 73-85

François Raguenet, from A Comparison between the French and Italian Music and Operas (1702)
and
Jean-Laurent Lecerf de la Viéville, from A Comparison of French and Italian Music (1704)
(both in Enrico Fubini, Music & Culture in Eighteenth-Century Europe: A Source Book (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994).)

Further Listenings:
A whole clip of André Campra’s Le Carnavale de Venise on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vh7AsOZVEVI

If you can get onto Naxos (my advice would be to go through Christchurch City Library if you are a member) you can listen to individual tracks of André Campra’s Le Carnavale de Venise, and as a source of contrast between French and Italian I would recommend listening to tracks 8, 9 and 10 of disc 2.

Wednesday, 12 March 2014

Composing Composers NOT ASSESSED

***NOTE: THIS IS NOT A POST FOR ASSESSMENT, JUST AMUSEMENT***

I just want to point out that the comic images on these blogs are not a result of traipsing through the internet to find little drawn people that look like people from this time. These images are lovingly crafted in my usual style of 1 minute lazy sketches that are all over my hand-written lecture notes (hence why I now type all my notes, I am far too easily distracted by pen and paper).

So, here are just some of my interpretations of composers in the Baroque period, in no particular order (except that it may or may not be alphabetized).

He'll be Bach.

Lully the French bully.

Scarlatti: "Sudoku è così difficile." (sorry for the refill lines, it was my first sketch of him)

What's Vivaldis puns?

Also, these comics are free for you to use, but if you do, giving credit where it is due would be appreciated.

Friday, 7 March 2014

A Musical Monopolizer

It has come to my attention in the last few days that my blog from last week may have portrayed Lully as the bullied child of baroque composers, who got his lunch money stolen and was generally picked on for being ‘different.’

I assure you, he was not.

As I previously mentioned, Jean-Baptiste Lully is among the enviable musicians that had a high and reliable income, not to mention was an esteemed favorite of the king. But that’s not all. Hopefully by the end of this post I will have convinced you that Lully was the play-ground bully of the school of French music, and that there was little anyone could do about it.

From the very beginning of Louis XIV’s reign, Lully was given the title of surintendant de la musique de la chamber du roi in 1661, the highest position a musician could hope for in the French court. Considering his very humble beginnings in Florence as a peasant and how he tried to portray himself as of higher birth than he actually was, we can perhaps see his own character parodied in his opera Le bourgeois gentilhomme (The Middle-Class Gentleman, 1670) where a middle-class gentleman tries to pass himself off as of higher class, trying and yet failing at singing serious songs or dancing minuets. (Click here to listen to it, or there is an example clip at the end of this)

Operas such as this one are what Lully is well-remembered for, despite him saying in the 1660s that opera would not work in France due to the nature of the language. In 1672 Lully took over the privilege of being the director of the Académie Royale de Musique, thus beginning what I like to call his musical monopoly. James P. Fairleigh describes that from this point on, “Lully had established almost absolute control over secular musical performances, not only in Versailles and Paris but in all the provincial communities as well.” He achieved this by prohibiting shows to have dancers, or having music groups perform with more than two voices and six violins without his permission, for which he charged. As an example, a series of operas to be performed in Marseilles cost 2000 livres a year just for his consent.

He charged steep prices for his shows, and chose where the best (most expensive) tiers in the amphitheater would be, the “best” possible seats being on the stage itself.

A poster advertising for Lully's first production after he took control of Opera.

Lully controlled just about every aspect of his productions. His cohort Philippe Quinault would select the subjects for the king to choose from, following which he would write up a rough overview to be given to Lully who would arrange the order and acts as well as scenes. He then gave it back to Quinault who wrote the libretto (words), who would then have it revised by his peers before giving it back to Lully, who had the choice to take or leave the criticisms. The composer worked on the score until he knew it, then dictated it to his secretaries, beyond that not letting others besides the king see what he was working on.

The dictatorship which he created can be seen most of all in the rehearsals. Missed rehearsals or performances were met with fines per hour missed. Not content with just composing the music, he was often found listening at the back of the theater for wrong notes or extra flourishes, to which he felt at liberty to go up and smash the instrument over the player’s backs. It had even been said he kicked a pregnant actress in order to make her pregnancy fail.

Lully the Bully

Following this, it doesn't even surprise me that his death came from conducting. The cane he used to beat time in ballet class was used so vigorously it smashed his foot, which became infected by gangrene. He only lived for another eight weeks.

Jean-Baptiste Lully was the composer of the French court during Louis XIV’s reign, composing very beautiful and entertaining operas that not surprisingly were still played in France 100 years after his death, though it is probably fair to say his musical monopoly was not the result of super-human talent, but rather a result of being the playground bully.

Further reading:
Jérôme de la Gorce, ‘Lully,’ Grove Music Online. Accessed March 7, 2014, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/42477pg1.

James P. Fairleigh, ‘Lully as “Secrétaire Du Roi,” Bach, Vol 15, No.4 (1984), 16-22.

Wendy Heller, Music in the Baroque (New York: Norton, 2014), 121-129.

Robert Isherwood, Music in the Service of the King: France in the Seventeenth Century (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1973), 204-214.

Caroline Wood and Graham Sadler, French Baroque Opera: A Reader (Brookfield: Ashgate, 2000), 22-26.

Further listening:

I found a particularly useful YouTube clip to understand how dancing was an integral part of Lully's productions, as shown in Le bourgeois gentilhomme: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fBFigs-fjLs

Feel free to add any comments or queries below.

Friday, 28 February 2014

The French Baroque?

[This blog is part of one of my assessments for a music history course that I am currently taking. At the moment we are covering the Baroque period across Europe, and these blogs are a series of thoughts from my lectures and readings. The cartoon images are mine and can be used as long as it is cited back to me.]

Bach, Vivaldi and Scarlatti hanging... Poor Lully

Bach. Handel. Scarlatti. Vivaldi. Names that we can gladly hold up a large sign to labelled ‘Baroque’. Only with deep reflection and perhaps a quick Google search can we find some French names: Lully (don’t let the name deceive you, he’s Italian-born) or Lambert, but none of these are the ‘greats’ for the general public. Considering that being a musician in France during the “Baroque” period could be one of the highest paying and most reliable jobs (cue a sad sigh of any musician today), we should be surprised at the lack of renown of French names. But, perhaps there is good reason for this.

1 – “If it aint Baroque, don’t fix it”

Among contemporaries and historians in France, it has been argued at length whether music during the period of seventeenth and eighteenth century should be labelled Baroque. As with all music periods the name heavily generalizes everything and lumps together what are more often than not completely different styles from across different cultures.

For instance, the word Baroque inspires the image of very structured, ornamented music that remains simple but beautiful (cue Vivaldi’s Four Seasons). The French pieces of this time can be said to fit in to this mold, but yet do not.

D’Anglebert’s, ‘Chaconne, Mr. De Lully’ takes ornamentation to a whole new level as described by Wendy Heller, with basically every beat including a trill on either one or both hands of the harpsichord, the ornamentation often being left to the performers ‘good taste’ (although if you have not been gifted with ‘good taste’ you should talk to someone who does. Also, the rhythm for this piece is uniquely French, and named inégalité for a reason. Notes which are written as equal value would be interpreted by the performer to be played with much liberty, swinging the rhythm in a strong-weak fashion, another feature only found in French music.

French historians such as Norbert Dufourcq argue that music of this period cannot be named baroque, for the most accurate description of music is Classique. The term encapsulates the fashion of the music being much more subtle than in other areas of Europe, to match the high level of class displayed at the French court.

Ornamentation Table from Jean Henry d'Anglebert, Pièces de clavessin (1689)

2 - What’s language got to do with it?

A practical reason as to why there is such a dramatic difference in the seventeenth and eighteenth century between music from France and music from other areas can be linked to the language itself. More rhythmic differences can be found particularly in pieces that are sung (or where instruments are to play the melody as if being sung).

This can be seen in Michel Lambert’s ‘Par mes chants’, where the rhythm is obscured for emotive purposes, and where the pace constantly shifts in response to the words between duple and triple meter, as noted by Heller. The French language affects pieces such as this as the emphasis falls on the second to last or last syllable of the verse. Unlike Italian, English or German Baroque pieces, the French preferred syllabic writings, placing a higher value on a flow of emotions rather than obeying rules of meter. Not that the French ever have.

Michel Lambert, 'Par mes chants' (1689)

So, can this music be classed as Baroque, or do we need to redefine our standards of labeling periods?

Something to keep in mind is our recent past. Last week I purchased a CD that is labelled “Pure 80s” which presents what a group of editors decided would be a generalized form of hits during the prescribed decade. Now, comparison time: Baroque music spans across about 150 years. This is ten. Baroque music extents across many languages and countries. With the exception of a particularly languid Julio Iglesias song, these are all either English or American groups. Does all the music of the 80s sound like the tracks on my discs? No way. Does all the music we have from the Baroque period sound like Handel’s Masses or Bach’s Concertos? Of course not.

So there is, of course, a place for composers of Louis XIII-XV’s court among the labeling of Baroque. As for our opinion of what Baroque should sound like, rising above the sense of style and flamboyant meter, French music from the era remains elegant and structured, heavily ornamented, and most of all has a courtly grace which can indeed match any sign-posted Bach, Handel, Scarlatti or Vivaldi piece.