Ahi, morte! - Epitaphs and Laments of Monteverdi and d'India

These program notes were written by Elise Groves and James Dargan for a program of madrigals by Monteverdi and d’India presented by Tramontana in May 2014.

What is a madrigal, anyway?

The term “madrigal” actually refers to two different things, both Italian in origin.  The 14th-century madrigal, favored by composers like Jacopo da Bologna and Francesco Landini, referred to the poetic form that many of their pieces followed.  The madrigals of the 16th century were settings of secular poetry for three to six voices.  These pieces employed polyphony, imitation, and later, chromaticism to emphasize the meaning of the text.  As composers explored more daring ways of emphasizing text meanings, the madrigal shifted from a popular form of entertainment among amateur musicians to a complex repertoire reserved for professionals.  To showcase their skilled musical institutions, the dukes of Ferrara and Mantua maintained a group of highly trained singers, both men and women, to perform polyphonic madrigals, one singer to a part, in the rulers’ private chambers. 

The first madrigals appeared in Florence in the early 16th century.  While none of the pieces in the first publication were actually called “madrigals”, they displayed the characteristics that would later be used to distinguish the madrigal from other genres.  By the late 16th century, composers were beginning to experiment with more extensive word-painting and unusual chromatic relationships.  Composers had become ingenious in their use of what would come to be known as “madrigalisms” – passages in which the music assigned to a particular word were set in a way to vividly express the meaning of the word.  Such an example in this program can be found in “Sospir, che del bel petto” where the broken rhythms of “sospirata” resemble a sigh or a gasping for breath.

In the early 17th century, the madrigal continued to be popular, but it had diverged into several forms.  Madrigals in the familiar polyphonic style continued to be an important genre and compositional exercise for Italian composers and all who came to study composition in Italy.  Composers also wrote madrigals for a solo voice with instrumental accompaniment (monody), and also concerted madrigals, which d’India and Monteverdi both composed alongside their more traditional five-voice madrigals.  Our program features madrigals from the early 17th century that are in the older polyphonic style but show clear influences from other forms that were beginning to take hold.  

What was Monteverdi’s involvement?

Claudio Monteverdi (1567-1643) entered the service of Vincenzo I, Duke of Mantua as a viol player and singer in 1590.  He would remain at the Gonzaga court in Mantua for the next 22 years, eventually becoming the maestro di cappella.  After the death of the duke in 1612, Monteverdi moved to San Marco in Venice, where he restored the musical institution that had been failing since the death of Giovanni Croce in 1609.

Monteverdi’s prolific compositional output shows both the familiar styles of the late 16th century as well as the sometimes contentious style innovations of the early 17th century.  Although he is often viewed as the transition between the renaissance and baroque, it is important to remember that he was one of many composers who wrote fluently in both older renaissance and newer baroque styles, as any successful composer in this time would have done.  He was not bound by the rules and guidelines of compositional practice, but believed that music should “move the whole man” and therefore must match the words being set.  This emphasis on using music to intensify textual meanings drew criticism from Giovanni Maria Artusi, a conservative music theorist.  His criticism of the use of irregular dissonances and “modal improprieties” was directed specifically at Monteverdi but also at all Italian composers who were daring to explore these new techniques and place the words and their meanings first.

Monteverdi’s response, published in his fifth book of madrigals (1605), was to divide musical practice into two streams.  One was prima pratica, or the older polyphonic style of the 16th century, which was characterized by strict counterpoint, prepared dissonance, the equality of voices, and the predominance of music over the text.  The other was seconda pratica, or the use of free counterpoint and the use of dissonance in unusual ways so the text ruled the music.  While effective for silencing the critics, for giving composers a defense for their daring new practices, and also for giving music theory students something to memorize for exams, this explanation implied a strict division where none really existed.  The move from older polyphony into the new more expressive styles was a gradual transition during which composers wrote in a wide range of styles concurrently, depending on their needs and desires at the time.

How does the sestina fit in?

A sestina is a set poetic form consisting of six stanzas, each with six lines, followed by a stanza of three lines.  There is no set rhyme scheme, but instead the final words from each line of the first stanza are used as the final words for each subsequent stanza, rotated in a set pattern.  Traditionally attributed to the 12th-century troubadour Arnaut Daniel, the form was popular in Italy by the 13th century and continues to be used by contemporary poets.  Historically, sestinas were written as a lament or a complaint, since the repetition of words can serve to emphasize and intensify feelings, usually those of anguish or grief.

Monteverdi’s motivation for composing this sestina setting is somewhat unclear.  Some believe that it was written for his wife, while others suggest it was written for a favored singer, or merely written out of duty and not with any particular attachment.  In 1607, Monteverdi’s wife died, leaving him with three children all under the age of six.  After her death, Monteverdi returned to his father’s home in Cremona in a deep depression.  He was quickly summoned back to Mantua to compose a new opera, L’Arianna, for the marriage celebrations of the Gonzaga heir, Francesco, to Margherita of Savoy.  Tragedy continued to plague him when Catarina Martinelli, the young singer for whom the title role of Arianna was written, died of smallpox just weeks before the premiere.  Monteverdi again retreated to Cremona and refused to return to Mantua for quite some time.  The music composed during this period, including the sestina, reflects his emotional state with the use of intense dissonance and vivid depiction of anguish and loss.

The demanding poetic form of Monteverdi’s sestina, or “Tears of a lover at the tomb of his beloved”, elicits some of his most inspired music, with each stanza representing a single tear.  The first stanza sets the stage for an exploration of grief in the moment when a lover bends over the grave of their beloved.  In the second stanza, a haunting duet between two inner voices is repeated three times, increasing in grief with each iteration, before the remaining voices finally join in and bring it to a solemn conclusion. The third and fourth stanzas feature duets and trios as the lover expounds upon his grief and appeals to nature, to the heavens, and to anyone who will listen.  In the fifth stanza, the lover invokes the muses with a series of musical sighs that pass from voice to voice and almost seem to interrupt the lamenting for a moment, transmuting the mood to one of wonder before returning to a haunting gesture of sobbing.  The text painting in the sixth stanza is exquisitely beautiful and very effective, each voice building up and over the other until all activity is stopped by death and the tomb ("Ahi morte, Ahi tomba!") when the voices converge into a unison, and then silence. Then the final stanza arrives in the shape of monody-influenced homophony, almost as if the speaker is too exhausted for any more grief, and the sestina ends in dry-eyed calm.

Who was Sigismondo d’India?

Sigismondo d’India (1582-1629) can be grouped with Don Carlo Gesualdo and Luzzasco Luzzaschi as the composers who explored and perhaps even exploited chromaticism in the early 17th century.  Very little is known about d’India’s early life.  He was of noble Sicilian birth, and probably was a relative of Don Carlo d’India, a Palermo nobleman who was living in Naples in 1592.  By 1606, when he published his first book of madrigals, he was in Mantua, where he may have met Monteverdi.  In 1608, he was in Florence, where he sang alongside, and earned the admiration of two of the most celebrated singers at this time – Giulio Caccini and Vittoria Archilei.   In 1611, he was appointed director of chamber music at the court of Emanuele I, Duke of Savoy, in Turin.  He remained there until 1623, when he was forced to leave by vicious gossip or to avoid a scandal, depending on which account one reads.  In any case, he settled temporarily at the court of Alfonso II d’Este, Prince of Modena before moving on to Rome under the patronage of Cardinal Maurizio of Savoy, his former patron’s son.  His later years are as shrouded in mystery as his early life.  In 1627 he competed for the commission to write music for the wedding of Duke Odoardo Farnese of Parma to the daughter of Cosimo de’ Medici, but that honor was eventually given to Monteverdi.  He was given an appointment to the court of Maximilian I of Bavaria, but died before assuming the post.

His extensive travels throughout Italy gave him a thorough understanding of most of the major styles present in Italy at the beginning of the 17th century, and his masterful synthesis of these styles is apparent in his compositional output. He wrote in most of the major vocal forms of the time, including monody, polyphonic madrigals, concerted madrigals, and sacred motets.  While he never ventured into the world of opera, his extended monodic laments can easily be considered dramatic scenes.  He followed in the traditions of the monody composers in Florence, writing five books of monody for one or two voices and continuo, and introducing into monody the chromaticism that was well established in the polyphonic madrigal.  In his five-voice madrigals, d’India followed the wild chromatic style of Luzzaschi and Gesualdo instead of the more restrained and monody-influenced style of Monteverdi.  Like the other composers of his day, d’India alternated between genres.  He wrote monody and polyphonic madrigals side by side, believing monody to be incapable of everything the polyphonic madrigal excelled at.  

In his final publication in 1627, d’India lamented that composers increasingly tended to delight in facile melodies rather than attempt the ingenious elaborations of genuine counterpoint.  For much of the 17th century, monody and the forms that followed (aria and cantata) focused on the importance of a single line and a clearly expressed text.  It wasn’t until the 18th century and the high Baroque that composers once again turned themselves to the creation of exquisite counterpoint and polyphony.


How 900 year old Medieval chant teaches you to kick butt

This past weekend I wrapped up an amazing project - a production of Hildegard von Bingen's Ordo Virtutum with Ensemble Musica Humana.

Who? 
Hildegard von Bingen was a nun who lived 1098-1179.  She was a scientist, philosopher, political figure, and all sorts of things that women weren't really allowed to be, and she had crazy visions and composed music based on her visions.  She also is responsible for writing the Ordo Virtutum - a musical morality play (a play that tells a story with a moral, like Aesop's fables).

What?
The Ordo Virtutum is the story of the journey of the soul ("Anima") and the battle between the Virtues and the Devil over the final destination of the soul.  In the original version, there are 17 virtues (all sung by women), a chorus of men representing the Patriarchs and Prophets, a chorus of women representing other souls, and the Devil (a spoken male role).  In the version I just did, we had a women's chorus of "Souls", a "Patriarch", a "Prophet", a "Devil", 4 Virtues ("Humility, Chastity, Knowledge/Wisdom of God, Victory") and of course, "Anima" - the soul.  What makes the Ordo unique is that it is the earliest morality play (by at least a century), and it's the only Medieval music drama for which we know who wrote the music AND the words.  Basically, it's really cool (in a nerdy sort of way).

The Story?
Here's the easy version...  The Virtues show up and announce that they've arrived.  The Patriarch and Prophet give them all high fives.  The Souls wander in, lost as usual.  Anima starts to realize that life kinda sucks.  The Devil tempts Anima, somewhat successfully.  The Virtues get frustrated when Anima gives in to the Devil.  Then Anima comes back to the Virtues, admitting that she blew it and asking for help.  The Virtues give Anima a serious pep talk.  Anima finally stands up for herself and tells the Devil she's not into him anymore.  Then (finally) Humility (she's in charge) tells Victory (the hit (wo)man) that she can go kick the Devil's butt.  The Devil is bound and everyone (led by Victory and Knowledge of God) rejoices.  Then Chastity and the Devil get into a spat, which Chastity wins.  Because Jesus was born of a virgin.  Make sense?

Enough background - on to the action... of memorizing!
Even with the shortened cast of characters (which also meant a shortened play), it was an hour long production.  Of chant.  Memorized.  So... how do you memorize chant?  Slowly.  Usually when you set out to memorize something (as a singer), the accompanying music helps cue you on what comes next.  Such is not the case with chant.  There isn't necessarily accompanying music (more on that in a minute).  So... relying on the music is not an option.  Next = words!  When you don't have music to memorize, you have to memorize the words.  Like a monologue.  Except in Latin.  So, I made flash cards.  I transcribed the 19 different chants I had to learn, cut them up, and started working through them.  In order to make sure I learned them in the right order, I practiced singing them in order.  Even if I would work on them out of order, I always ended my practice sessions by singing the whole thing, in order.  Then I realized that I had to know which character and which line immediately preceded my responses.  So I wrote the character's name and final 3 words on the back of each piece of chant.  It was a good system!  If I ever have to memorize an hour of chant again, there's the system!

Uh...on to the REAL action!
Rehearsals started on March 17th.  We had 6 rehearsals (4 hours each), plus two dress rehearsals (4 hours each), and 3 performances.  It was an amazing amount of work to get done in a small amount of time, but it really came together!  Everyone came prepared with their chant all learned and partly memorized (full memorization was the goal, but it was just too much for all of us).  We had a fantastic leadership team who gave us just the right amount of direction and free license with our characters.  We even got to dance!  And amazingly, after all those hours of rehearsal and repeating little bits of chant over and over and over and over again, it all came together!

That's nice.  Why is "Victory" a "virtue"?
Some of Hildegard's "virtues" make total sense.  Humility, Discretion, Chastity, Hope, Patience, Obedience, Faith, Heavenly Love... yeah, all of those "Virtues" can easily be viewed as "virtues".  Those are reasonable character qualities for someone to want to develop.  Some of the other ones make a little less sense.  Contempt of the World, Fear of God, Knowledge/Wisdom of God... yeah.  I can kinda get it, but it's not so obvious.  And then there is Victory.  As far as I can tell, Victory exists in the Ordo for one purpose - to step in as a "military" leader and conquer the Devil.  She doesn't say much, though when she does it's awesome, high, and pretty much can bring the whole thing to a halt.  She also doesn't get to act on her own.  She doesn't get to decide when it's time to conquer the Devil.  Humility has to tell her when it's time.  So basically, she functions as Humility's hit (wo)man.  And in that context, it all makes sense.  Victory is the "virtue" of conquering.  Of not being afraid and of taking charge of what needs to happen.  Victory is the "virtue" of kicking butt in the proper time and context.  Victory isn't warm and fuzzy.  She won't hug you and tell you it's ok.  She won't even tell you to stop being dumb with your stupid boyfriend (that's Knowledge/Wisdom of God's job).  Victory just waits until everyone has had enough and then goes and beats him up.  Victory doesn't rationalize or explain.  She just does what needs to be done.  She throws it down.  She gets the last word.  She's dangerous.  And as one of the directors mentioned to me, she may still be covered in gore and hasn't wiped her sword off yet.  Yeah... she kicks butt.  As awesome as Victory is, that's something that can be hard to display on stage.  She doesn't say much.  It's all in her attitude.  The most hilarious part, and yet probably also the most helpful part of Victory's journey came when someone (Matt) was watching me get ready for a dress rehearsal and started quoting Cool Runnings to me.  (If you haven't watched Cool Runnings, do it.  It's worth it.)  "I see pride!  I see power!  I see a bada-- mother who don't take no crap off nobody!"  I don't know if any description can sum Victory up quite as well.  "No crap off nobody."  Yup.  Pretty much.

So why care about a medieval music drama?
Well, on a purely nerdy level, it's a really cool thing that it still exists and it's very seldom performed. And Hildegard is awesome and so is her music.  Also, the production was really well done.  The singers were amazing and the instrumentalists... oh the instrumentalists!  There is no written accompaniment for the Ordo Virtutum.  Just the lines of chant for the singers and dialogue for the Devil.  So, the amazing instrumentalists improvised the whole thing.  It's modal, so they just played things in the same mode as the chant lines and it all worked out.  I make it sound way simpler than it actually was.  They deserve a ton of credit for bringing the whole thing together and creating a sound world that made the singers' job SO much easier.  The directing/staging/costuming/alltheotherstuff was so good and made for a really awesome production.

It's still an hour of chant that's 900 years old.
Well yes.  You can't really pretend it's anything else.  But 900 years isn't really that long when you consider how relevant the material is.  Yes, it's a morality play steeped in Catholic imagery.  Hildegard was a nun, so duh. 

But think about the action... 
Anima makes dumb choices.  We all make dumb choices.
The Souls are generally confused. We've all been generally confused.
Anima finally decides to start making good choices but discovers that it's hard.  We've all been there too.
Anima stands up to the Devil but realizes she can't do it on her own and asks for help.  This is such a good lesson to all of us.  We all need help from time to time.

And as far as the Virtues go...
The virtues can talk to the soul, but she makes her own choices. 
They can't act until she asks for help.  That's kind of like life too.  You can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped.  You can't change someone who doesn't want to change.
But as Victory taught us, when it's time to move, MOVE.  Don't hesitate.  Just throw it down. 

Don't take no crap off nobody.

And that's a lesson that still applies to all of us, 900 years later.

Early Music and Movies

Because I am studying something a little more "off the beaten path", I often have to explain what early music is (as opposed to not-early music) and justify why one would even want to do it.  Explaining this to other musicians is certainly an interesting task, but explaining it to non-musicians baffled me for quite a while.  Finally I think I have found an explanation that works for everyone. 

So let's start with a comparison:  music is like movies.

Music has performers.
Movies have actors.
In both, the performer/actor is presenting something to an audience, hoping to move the audience in some way.

So far, so good?  Awesome.

Movies come in different genres (action, horror, romance, comedy, sci-fi, etc.)
Music can come in different genres based on instrumentation and form (orchestral, solo, vocal, instrumental, etc.) or from different time periods or composers (romantics, classicists, impressionists, jazz, baroque, renaissance, medieval, and many of the more modern 20th and 21st century techniques).

Movies can involve many different actors (or groups of actors).
Music can involve many different performers (or groups of performers).

In movies, you do not always assume that an actor who is good in one genre of film would be good in another.  For example, many people are fans of Adam Sandler's comedy work, but somehow I don't think he would thrive as well in a serious drama.  There are always exceptions to the rule, of course.  Robin Williams' comedy brilliance is well known, and his dramatic roles are also always excellent.  The reason this works, though, is that he doesn't use the same delivery in a comedy that he does in a drama.  The techniques of acting that he employs in Mrs. Doubtfire, for example, are very different from Good Will Hunting or Dead Poets Society.

In music, it should be the same, but it isn't always.  For some reason, some musicians expect to play every piece in the same style, regardless of genre.  Obviously, techniques appropriate to jazz do not always transfer to Beethoven piano sonatas, or vice versa.  Fortunately, many musicians are wiser than this and recognize that each piece should be played in its own style with its own unique characteristics.  Ladies and gentlemen - this is the premise of early music. 

As I have often explained to my vocalist friends in other departments, one would never dream of singing Mozart and Wagner in the same style.  Obviously, solid technique is a must for both, but the stylistic characteristics (and costumes!) are very different.  Early vocal music often gets a reputation for being an excuse for bad technique, but this is such a misconception.  Bad singing is bad singing, no matter what is being sung.  There have been performances and recordings made of any and every piece of music with bad technique.  That is not a phenomenon unique to "early" music.  Good singing is good singing, no matter what the repertoire is.  Honestly, some "early" repertoire is so outstandingly difficult that it is impossible to sing without solid technique.  Early music isn't about good technique or bad technique any more than any other musical genre.  I sing with just as much power and support as my opera colleagues.  I sing with vibrato.  I use different articulations and ornaments for colors and effects.  Obviously, when I'm performing with a lute, my volume level is lower to accommodate the softer sound of the lute.  When I'm singing a recitative (as I did this summer) accompanied by six harpsichords, an organ, a clavicytherium, and cello, more volume and power is required.  Early music is about performing music before 1750 (or so, depending on who you talk to) and performing it in the proper style and, in many cases, on the proper instruments.

But back to the point about actors sometimes only being successful in one genre and sometimes being able to succeed in many...

In this area, musicians are the same.  Some musicians can make a career of only performing one thing (Beethoven piano sonatas or Puccini operas), while others can be successful with multiple things.  Many performers of medieval and renaissance music are also successful performers of 20th and 21st century music, including some very avant-garde styles.

One more comparison before I leave the movie analogy...

Sometimes, movies are bad.
Sometimes, musical performances are bad.

Yes, it happens.  And it happens to everyone.  No matter the genre of music or movie, bad happens.  I have often heard "modern" musicians criticize "early" musicians for a bad performance, saying that "gut strings are just an excuse to play out of tune."  Well, out of tune happens.  It happens to everyone, regardless of gut strings or metal wound strings.  Bad movies are made.  Bad concerts are recorded.

Now, legitimately, if you look for it, there is quite a bit of distasteful early music that has been recorded.  My music history listening CDs from college are full of terrible recordings of early music.  I think it is a huge shame that whoever made the CDs chose to use such awful recordings, because all music deserves to be shown in its best light.  There are absolutely mind-blowing performances of the madrigals of Gesualdo, early Italian Trecento repertoire, and chant.  But the recordings on those CDs are full of bad technique, bad diction, horrible intonation, and all the things that would make anyone hang their head in shame.  On the same CD are some fantastic performances of Schubert and Schuman Lieder.  Possibly the person who put the CD collection together hated early music.  Possibly they didn't have many recordings to choose from.  Or they were cheap or lazy.  I don't know.  I know I can find amazing recordings of Hildegard von Bingen's responsories on youtube, along with clips from the latest Hollywood Blockbuster.  I can also find terrible recordings, along with segments from laughably bad B-rate horror films.

Unfortunately, it is also true that many of us come to the earlier styles of music after having spent many years learning later repertoire.  This is less of a challenge for vocalists, and more of a challenge for instrumentalists.  Violinists may begin their training at a very young age, but a baroque violin is a different instrument than its modern cousin.  Gut strings make a different sound, and the bow is held in a different way.  Playing a piano is a very different experience from playing a harpsichord, even though both are keyboard instruments.  Sadly, most people don't start on harpsichord or baroque cello or theorbo.  Maybe one of the few instruments which has remained more or less unchanged is the recorder... and that is now being taught to hundreds of elementary school students as a "beginning instrument".  Personally, I love the recorder.  Everyone should learn to play the recorder.  That said, treating the recorder as a children's instrument only, perhaps as a step-up to a clarinet (a "real instrument"), ignores the fact that there is an amazing repertoire for recorder that requires as much skill and virtuosity on recorder as one would expect from any other "professional" instrument.

With that said, it is incumbent upon those of us who are performing on early instruments or performing early repertoire to dedicate ourselves wholeheartedly to our performances.  We should not be content with bad performances.  If the pieces we are working on are badly written, we should find new ones.  There is no excuse for poor performance, no matter what the repertoire.  A bad movie is a bad movie, no matter the genre.  A good performance is a good performance, no matter what pieces are performed.

Obviously, every person has their own personal preferences.  I happen to love action and sci-fi movies.  My husband loves comedies.  I also happen to love the music of Hildegard von Bingen.  I love early Italian baroque works.  My husband loves playing orchestral music of Russian composers.  I'm not a huge fan of horror movies.  I also don't care much for Schoenberg.  Everyone is entitled to their own preferences.  Whether one happens to like early music is a separate issue from what early music is and whether a performance is good or not.

Hopefully you made it through the analogy!
The next installment:  Everyone is an early musician (they just don't know it yet).

The Good, the Bad, and the Crazy - Madrigals of Monteverdi, Marenzio, and Gesualdo

These program notes were written by Elise Groves and Hilary Anne Walker for a program of madrigals by Gesualdo, Marenzio, and Monteverdi presented by Tramontana in April 2013.

The term “madrigal” actually refers to two different things, both Italian in origin. The 14th-century madrigal was favored by composers Jacopo da Bologna and Francesco Landini and referred to the poetic form that many of their pieces followed.  The first collection of pieces known as “madrigals” in the 16thcentury was published in Rome in 1530.  For the most part, madrigals in the 16thcentury were settings of secular poetry for three to six voices that used polyphonic, imitative, and chordal techniques to emphasize the meaning of the text. Advances in printing, specifically in printed musical notation, allowed composers a greater range of rhythmic options, and the exploration of chromaticism opened realms of expressiveness that had not been previously possible.  With the advent of what became known as the “seconda practica”, emphasis was placed heavily on the text.  The text became the most important element in the composition, and it is from this emphasis that the techniques of word painting developed.  As composers explored more daring ways of emphasizing text meanings, the madrigal shifted from a popular form of entertainment among amateur musicians to a complex repertoire reserved for professionals.  The dukes of Ferrara and Mantua maintained a group of highly trained singers, including both men and women, specifically to perform polyphonic madrigals, one singer to a part, in the rulers’ private chambers.  Beginning in the 17thcentury, the forms of monody, opera, and cantata gradually replaced the madrigal. Publishing a book of madrigals had been and would continue to be a compositional exercise for young composers, but for Marenzio, Gesualdo, and Monteverdi, madrigals were a deliberately chosen form of musical expression.

Luca Marenzio (ca.1553–1599) is the oldest of the three composers featured in this program.  He worked for Cardinal Madruzzo in Rome before joining Cardinal Luigi d’Este in 1578. He had a reputation as a fine singer and an accomplished lutenist, but it was during his time with the d’Este family that he became known internationally as a composer.  His first books of madrigals, published in the 1580s, were incredibly popular in Italy and were reprinted frequently both in Italy and throughout Europe.  Marenzio’s relationship with his employer was somewhat tumultuous – he occasionally had difficulty obtaining his salary, and in 1583 he was almost sent as a “gift” to King Henry III of France.  Fortunately, this plan fell through and he was able to continue working for the d’Este family until the death of Cardinal Luigi d’Este in 1586.  He then declined a position with the Duke of Mantua, a post that Monteverdi would take four years later.  Records from that time show that while Marenzio was popular as a composer, he maintained a flourishing performing career and comfortably lived on that income alone.  He spent 1587-1589 working for Cardinal Ferdinando de Medici in Florence, but eventually returned to Rome where he moved freely in the musical circles of the nobility and high-ranking clergy without being attached to any particular patron.  In 1595 he received a commission from Pope Clement VIII to take over the work begun by Palestrina to revise the chant books.  During this time Dowland traveled to Italy with the desire to study with Marenzio, but it is unknown if they ever actually met. 

Throughout Marenzio’s career, he treated his chosen poems as a series of short phrases, with each musical phrase designed to bring out the idea and affect of the text line to which it corresponded.  His early works were so popular that they were published in Musica Transalpina in England in 1588 and inspired the English composers who were just beginning to explore the madrigal style. Marenzio’s later madrigals differed greatly from the early madrigals featured in our program.  In his later years he explored chromaticism in a way that would be surpassed only by Gesualdo’s last two books of madrigals twelve years after Marenzio’s death.  

Claudio Monteverdi (1567-1643) was born in Cremona.  He received his only formal training from the cathedral maestro di cappella Marc Antonio Ingegneri.  Ingegneri proved to be a shrewd instructor not only in music, but also in poetic taste and political savoir-faire.  His guidance can be seen in the poetry chosen for Monteverdi’s earliest publications, as well as in the dedication of larger works to important potential benefactors. Having published his first collection of music at age 15, Monteverdi aspired early on to take a place in one of Italy’s numerous wealthy and musically rich courts.  His hard work paid off in 1590, when he earned a position at the Gonzaga court in Mantua, a place he would remain for the next 22 years. His reputation as a composer helped him to secure employment, but his primary role in Mantua was that of string player and singer.  Under Duke Vincenzo Gonzaga and his successor Francesco, musical life in Mantua continuously expanded.  For the Gonzaga family, like their cousins the d’Este family in Ferrara, an integral part of maintaining power and prestige meant raising the standard of excellence in arts and culture.  In 1601, Monteverdi assumed the role of maestro di cappella.  While in Mantua, Monteverdi published three more books of madrigals and began to experiment with music for the theater, including opera.  Following his move to Venice in 1613, Monteverdi’s compositional techniques became firmly cemented in the early Baroque style. This can be seen from his sixth book of madrigals onward with his increasing use of basso continuo and the polarization of voice writing.

Unlike Marenzio and Monteverdi, Carlo Gesualdo (1560-1613) was a nobleman.  He was born in Naples and inherited the principality of Venosa in 1586.  He married his cousin, Maria d’Avalos, the same year, and thus began a story almost too salacious to be believed. Four years later, he surprised his wife and her lover in bed and murdered them both.  In 1594, Gesualdo married Leonora d’Este, niece of Alfonso d’Este, Duke of Ferrara.  This marriage, while unhappy, helped put the scandal of the murders behind him and lasted until his death.  His travels to Ferarra also brought him into the musical establishment of the d’Este family where he was introduced to Luzzaschi and other composers who were experimenting with chromaticism.  Between 1594-1596, Gesualdo published four books of madrigals in Ferarra, thus solidifying his reputation as a composer.  Gesualdo returned to his own estate in 1597 and immersed himself in music, focusing specifically on setting up a musical establishment similar to what he had seen in Ferarra.  In 1611, two years before his death, Gesualdo published his last two books of five voice madrigals.  The madrigals in those two books took chromaticism to an extreme that would not be seen again until the 20thcentury.  

While it is easy to look at Gesualdo’s chromaticism as an isolated phenomenon, it is important to recognize that it was a trend that many composers were exploring at the time. Luzzaschi and d’India both used striking dissonance in their compositions.  Marenzio had begun to explore chromaticism near the end of his life, and even Monteverdi used it before moving solidly into what would become the early Baroque style.  But it isn’t just the striking use of chromaticism that makes Gesualdo’s madrigals unique.  In another departure from the norm, Gesualdo’s madrigals were published in full score rather than partbooks.  Gesualdo used incredible variation of rhythmic ideas in his pieces, with fast and slow sections alternating very quickly.  Just as Marenzio made each line of text a separate musical idea, Gesualdo highlighted each line with differing harmonies, rhythms, and textures. Gesualdo made excellent use of emphatic pauses in the form of rests to further set off the text.  All of these elements together resulted in a weakening of the idea of the “tactus” or underlying pulse that was essential to Renaissance style.  

Equally as interesting as the composers on this program are the poets whose texts they set.  Like composers and musicians, poets also found employment and patronage in Italy’s rich courts, thus providing composers with easy access to their works.  The two poets most often used by Monteverdi, Marenzio, and Gesualdo were Torquato Tasso and Giovanni Battista Guarini.  Marenzio also set a number of Petrarch’s sonnets, but Petrarch’s poetry did not find as much favor with Monteverdi. 

One style of poetry popular with Marenzio and Monteverdi, especially in their early writing styles, is pastoral poetry, which is imbued with classical imagery and is dedicated to glorifying the beauty of nature.  Those lucky enough to have seen Italy can understand why pastoral poetry was so popular.  The rivers, seas, and rolling hills are alone a wordless poetry.  Monteverdi’s setting of Tasso’s Ecco mormorar l’onde is a superlative example.  With gentle harmonies, sustained phrases, and limited text repetition within a single vocal line, his music serenely captures the understated beauty and awe of watching a sunrise over the sea that is expressed so earnestly in Tasso’s text.  

Unsurprisingly, Gesualdo avoided pastoral and narrative poetry, preferring to musically interpret the metaphors and introspection of tormented love.  In Già piansi nel dolore, each new phrase presents a new and opposing sentiment.  Thus the music reflects the extreme mood swings between ecstasy and anguish, as well as the utter confusion of experiencing both simultaneously. 

Tasso and Guarini owe a great deal to Francesco Petrarch and Dante Alighieri, the fathers of courtly poetry or il dolce stil novo.  This poetic style centered on la donna angelo, a woman of the utmost beauty, decorum and, of course, high social standing, who was the key to all redemption in the eyes of heaven. Heavily laced with double entendre, the poetry of this style is extremely introspective, restrained, and symbolic.  Marenzio’s setting of Tasso’s Disdegno e Gelosiais exemplary of this style, describing a courtly lady surrounded by towering, guarded walls, without whose love the subject is a savage beast. Tasso and Guarini went further than their stylistic predecessors by bringing more romance and sensuality into their poetry, which encouraged our composers to write more vivid and descriptive harmonies.  Interestingly enough, Zefiro torna, the first of only six settings of Petrarch’s poetry by Monteverdi, was written fairly late in comparison to his other madrigals.  Monteverdi’s use of chromaticism in Zefirorivals some of the most extreme settings by Gesualdo with unexpected harmonic changes and vivid depiction of the torment described in the poetry.     

These compositions by Monteverdi, Marenzio, and Gesualdo show the full development and flowering of the madrigal genre.  Marenzio, as the oldest of our three composers, began with the form at the height of its popularity.  His compositions spread the enthusiasm for madrigals throughout Europe.  In his later works he explored chromaticism and extremes of text painting and opened the door for Gesualdo, who took those ideas to their absolute extremes.  Monteverdi, as the youngest, experimented with the same chromaticism and text treatments, but in the end turned in another direction and ushered in the styles that would culminate in the high Baroque. 

Shouldn't everyone be an "early musician"?

I have come to understand that "being in early music" really has many disparate meanings and various levels of meaning.  The first and easiest level references the repertoire of music - generally speaking it is agreed that "early music" is the music before 1750.

The other meanings, though, become a little harder to pin down.  For some, "being in early music" means that they perform on instruments that aren't quite so well-known today - the shawm, theorbo, or serpent, for example.  For others, it means that there are slight adjustments to what we know as the modern version of their instrument - a violinist may use different strings or a different bow than a modern player, a flute may be wooden instead of metal, and an oboe may not have keys.  For a singer, neither of these differences really matter - the voice is, more or less, the same as it always has been.

If the instrument may or may not be the same, this definition clearly isn't enough.  So then, we dive into the most commonly imagined difference between "modern singers" and "early singers" - the discussion of technique.  For whatever reason, there seems to be a belief that early music singing has its own technique separate from modern singing.  The techniques required for singing early music may be different from what one would use to sing Puccini, but I would argue that the techniques used for singing Puccini, Ravel, Stephen Foster, or Charles Ives are vastly different from each other, even in the realm of "modern singing technique".  Each of those composers is from a different country, a different time, and a different compositional style.  Obviously, the performance of their works must be representative of the time and place it was composed and the performance practices of the time.  One wouldn't dream of singing Puccini's "O mio babbino caro" and Ives' "Ann Street" with the exact same interpretation and techniques!

This is the same with early music.  There is no one set of practices that can encompass the wide range of styles from the dawn of time to 1750, so even within early music there are many different stylistic choices that have to be made and many different techniques to use.  Inevitably, when I have a discussion with another singer and they discover I am into early music, the question of "so you only sing with straight tone?" eventually comes up.  For some reason, this seems to be the prevailing belief - that to sing early music, one can only use straight tone.  Certainly there are times when a sound with less vibrato is desirable, but this is not to say that vibrato shouldn't be or isn't used.  It is a stylistic choice - just like the use of dialect in Stephen Foster and George Gershwin or the portamenti in Puccini.  This being the case, early music singers aren't really different from anyone else - we all make stylistic and technical choices based on the repertoire.

This isn't to say, however, that I could or should go sing Puccini or that someone who regularly sings Puccini can just pick up Machaut at the drop of a hat.  They are drastically different styles, and out of respect, one should take the time to learn what is required of each before attacking it with no understanding of its idiosyncrasies of the expectations of style.  The key point here is that there are many different techniques and each of us has better facility with some than with others.  Within early music, some singers may excel at Renaissance French music, while others prefer Italian medieval and others German Baroque.  Each of these requires very different techniques.  The technique divide comes not between early music and everything else, but is much more subtle and divided across many genres, times, and countries.  Even more importantly, good vocal technique is good vocal technique no matter what the technical demands of the repertoire.

Another difference commonly cited between early music and modern performers is that in early music, we take more time to understand the context in which a work was written and performed, as well as how other influences (art, architecture, the use/study of rhetoric, politics, etc.) may have influenced the composer, the performers, or the perception/reception of the work.  Even if this is true, shouldn't modern performers be doing the same thing?  Certainly modern orchestras wouldn't pick up Shostakovich's 7th Symphony ("Leningrad") without a discussion of the German siege of Leningrad during World War II (and whether or not the symphony even had anything to do with that).  All musicians, early or not, should carefully consider the context of the pieces they are performing.  While music has the ability to "stand alone", how much more significant is it when considered in the proper context?  This should be an even easier task for musicians performing a more modern selection, since the historical record is bound to include more information on a more recent time.  If this, then, is truly what "historically informed performance" means, shouldn't all performance be "historically informed"?  If "early" musicians are those who research their music and the practices associated with it and seek to present it to an audience in an engaging way, shouldn't everyone be an "early" musician?