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MSR Classics 1095
2005
SOLAGE (fl. 1390)
1. Le basile [4:08]
En la maison Dedalus
2. Mark RIMPLE, instrumental [2:37]
3. Anon. (c. 1375) [4:18]
GRIMACE (fl. 1370)
4. Se Zephiras ~ Se Jupiter [3:42]
Johannes CUVELIER (fl. 1372-1387)
5. Se Galas [6:11]
Thibaut de CHAMPAGNE (1201-1253)
6. Ausi conme unicorne sui [5:07]
FRANCISCUS (fl. 1370)
7. Phiton, beste tres venimeuse [4:29]
Guillaume de MACHAUT (c. 1300-1377)
8. Phyton le merveilleus serpent [2:06]
instrumental
Baude CORDIER (fl. early 15th century)
9. Tout par compas [1:32]
instrumental
10. Anon. Un lion say [2:25]
Johan ROBERT, called TREBOR (fl. 1390-1410)
11. Se July Cesar [6:13]
Jacob de SENLECHES (fl. 1378-1386)
12. Le harpe de melodie [4:25]
Pierre TAILLANDER (fl. 1390)
13. Se Dedalus [5:31]
Johannes SUZOY (fl. 1380)
14. Pictagoras [4:11]
Gaucelm FAIDIT (c. 1150-1220)
15. Fortz chausa [4:47]
16. Anon. Le Mont Aon [6:43]
Trefoil
Drew Minter — countertenor,
harp (after Memling 19-string harp)
Mark Rimple — countertenor,
(5 course plectrum) lute, gittern, harp (after Ghent altar piece gothic harp)
Marcia Young — soprano,
cithara anglica
The complex polyphony of late 14th-century France was performed by small
groups of professional minstrels. Each court had its musician-clerks,
usually a trio of singers, who were well-versed in the current musical
trends and techniques. Some of these clerks were composers, and others
may have also been instrumentalists who used vocal music as the basis of
a new style of florid counterpoint. In the last quarter of the century,
a rhythmically complex style known today as the ars subtilior required
these clerks to be fluent in an intricate system of musical notation
that included a wide variety of numerical formulae, different uses of
colored ink, and a number of exotic note shapes. In preparing this
program, we chose to work from medieval notation. This required a
slightly longer learning process, sometimes including a bit of trial and
error. Only very occasionally did we resort to consulting
transcriptions in modern notation and in full score. Working from parts,
we were compelled to rely solely on our ears to keep track of one
another's part, and found that the rhythmic language was clarified by
the economy of the medieval notation.
Fourteenth-century poets
made frequent references to figures from their literary past for their
writings about love, praise, and war. This practice was inherited from
the troubadours’ use of a senhal, or literary pseudonym, that
replaced the name of a noble lady, a rival troubadour, or some other
person indicated in a poem. Colorful bestiaries – collections of
pictures and descriptions of exotic monsters and magical animals – were
quite common in late medieval libraries. The troubadours and trouvères
often used these animals as symbols of themselves or their love-object
in their poems, beginning with a comparison such as "ausi conme unicorne
suy" (I am like the unicorn). These creatures were chosen for their
symbolic associations. For instance, the unicorn appears as a
not-so-subtle metaphor for male desire in Ausi conme Unicorne suy.
The basilisk, a serpent with a deadly gaze, appears in a quirky song by
Solage; the poet compares its venom to the mortal pain of desire and
envy that afflicts all lovers, while its awkward physical nature (see
the CD cover) is mirrored in the unusual rhythms and syncopations of the
music. In Ung Lion Say a benevolent ruler is compared to a noble
beast who is incapable of using his great power against those who
possess a pure heart; its notation is such that only the love of its
solution will eventually yield a satisfactory musical experience.
Perhaps the Lion’s precious stones are mirrored by the special
notational symbols, or figures, that adorn the manuscript.
The
invocation of mythological figures may serve a more general symbolic
function, useful for constructing extended metaphors for the author’s
situation. In Se Dedalus, the poet invokes the famous inventor
and other classical figures including Zephirus, the god of the west
wind, the legendary musician Orpheus, and Jupiter, king of the gods; the
poet begs them all to use their special powers to release him from his
love-sickness, but to no avail. So many masters and mistresses are named
in Se Zephirus/Se Jupiter that the object of the poet's charms
would be a downright villainess if she refused him a glance. A different
kind of master, Pythagoras, leads a list of those who represent the
ancient art of music in Pictagoras. In this ballade, the meaning of the text is mirrored by Pythagorean numerical proportions within the music.
Some musical symbols are easier to see than to hear. For instance, En la maison Dedalus
is inscribed within a circular labyrinth that symbolizes one of
Dedalus’s ill-fated inventions: the Minotaur’s prison. The singer must
double back once before completing the entire circuit. Meanwhile, the
two accompanists are in canon; the second player chases the first
through the maze, and never completes the entire circle. Much like the
narrator, he loses himself in pursuit of an ideal. An even more complex
labyrinth is formed by the notation of Tout par compas. Within
this circular maze, the musicians performing the canonic melody
encounter the mathematical equivalent of dangerous foes to be conquered.
By successfully negotiating these mathematical problems, the musicians
can continue their way through the maze. To this duo, a third voice
provides a continuous accompaniment. La harpe de melodie is famously notated upon the strings of a harp, in which, as in Tout par compas, two of the three performers embark on a hunt (chasse)
for each other through a musical maze whose notation is nothing short
of a medieval cryptogram. In learning these pieces, musicians traverse a
labyrinth of sound, much as a pilgrim would follow the path of the
Chartres cathedral labyrinth, making false turns, retracing their steps,
and eventually finding the end of the path – the knowledge of a new
piece of music, and the delight of the performance.
This music
was meant to be sung for living masters, or great lords, who enjoyed
hearing themselves and their courts compared to heroes and kingdoms of
the distant past. The setting of Le Mont Aon is a legendary mountain-top in ancient Thrace, where nine muses of antiquity are led by Phoebus Apollo. "Febus" was a sehhal
for the colorful Count Gaston III of Foix, who ruled a rugged,
mountainous kingdom in the south of modern France; his mane of red hair
and love of classical allusion inspired a number of courtly lyrics at
the end of the 14th century. Both Se Galaas and Se July Cesar contain his famous battle cry: "Febus avant!" (Febus forward!). Egidus' ballade Phiton beste tres venimeuse,
based loosely on the earlier ballade by Machaut, begins with the
premise that Gaston Febus will conquer a mythical serpent
(representative of a local rival kingdom) through his great prowess in
war. In these poems, Febus is compared to Arthur, Galahad and Julius
Caesar, among other great heroes of ancient battles. These heroes are
drawn from a medieval poem in praise of the "nine worthies" – three
heroes each drawn from the Bible, the ancient world, and the age of
chivalry.
These songs, written in fixed forms containing two or
three repeating sections of music, ars subtilior songs invite
contemplation in the same way a labyrinth or puzzle would. By shifting
the attention among varied musical impulses, the songs continually
promise a sense of arrival and just as often delay it. Unlocking the
thought-process that created them requires no less patience of the
auditors than of the musicians themselves. The seeker who dutifully
follows Ariadne's thread to the daylight at the maze's end will emerge
having glimpsed the beauty of the late medieval mind. — msrcd.com
[Concerts 2004-2005
Notes on the Program]
The complex polyphony of 14th-century France was intended for
performance by highly trained specialists. Each court had its clerks,
usually a trio of singers with an arsenal of the most current musical
fads and techniques. In the last quarter of the century, the rhythmic
complexity of "ars subtilior" polyphony required these clerks to be
fluent in an intricate new system of musical notation that included a
wide variety of numerical formulae, special colors and exotic note
shapes. The kaleidoscopic rhythmic language of this music should dispel
the typical bias against medieval music as music in a "primitive" state
or as an inconsequential phase on the way to the music of Bach and his
subsequent heirs. This is music written by some of the most skilled
composers of the western tradition, who composed much of it in their
minds and wrote their parts out without ever seeing them aligned, one
above the other, in a modern score. The real masters of this CD are
composers whose biographies are, sadly, marginal.
Like the
sinuous lines of the polyphony, the masters, monsters, and mazes in our
program are interwoven. The mazes hide monsters and their conquerors,
both in the texts and in the form of arithmetic conundrums that must be
solved by the performers. In preparing this program, we chose to study
the music from the original notation in order to confront the puzzles in
their original form. This required a longer learning process, filled
with trial and error. When absolutely necessary we consulted modern
transcriptions, a luxury not available to the clerks of the 14th century
(though perhaps the composer or a close associate was available for
consultation). We noticed several things immediately: First, "finding
the downbeat" was not an issue because we did not need to be aware of
our position "within a measure" as in modern scores. (No bar lines!)
Secondly, working from parts instead of scores, we were compelled to
rely solely on our ears to keep track of one another's part; and
thirdly, we found that switching back and forth between meters
(mensurations) was a natural function of the notation, made less
complicated when we couldn't see one another's music. Because we didn't
think about "lining up," we did it much more easily.
Fourteenth
century poets used authorities from the literary past as touchstones for
their writings about love, praise, and war. This practice was inherited
from the troubadours’ use of a senhal, or literary pseudonym,
that replaced a rival troubadour or other figure in a poem. Usually this
pseudonym came from the ancient past. Sometimes these masters became a
musical symbol: the inventor of the labyrinth was Dedalus, and En la maison Dedalus is inscribed within a circular labyrinth. An even more complex labyrinth is formed by the notation of Tout par compas.
Within this circular maze, the musicians encounter the mathematical
equivalent of dangerous foes to be conquered. By successfully
negotiating these mathematical problems, the musicians can continue
their way through the maze. The medieval musicians who learned these
pieces from these beautiful manuscripts were metaphorical
"maze-treaders." They traversed a labyrinth of sound, much as a pilgrim
would follow the path of the Chartres cathedral labyrinth, making false
turns, retracing their steps, and eventually making their way to the
end. Their reward was the knowledge of a new piece of music, and the
delight of its performance. Perhaps, as one scholar has noted, the
notation was a code meant to keep novices away from the treasures of the
courtly repertoire. A less negative comparison would be to a board game
– the winter months were long and without wars to fight, and courts
needed diverting games and activities to pass the time.
In Se Dedalus,
the famous inventor is listed beside Zephirus, Orpheus, and Jupiter, as
symbols of power made impotent when confronted by love. So many masters
and mistresses are quoted in Se Zephirus/Se Jupiter that the
object of the poet's charms would be a downright villainess if she
refused him her gaze. A different kind of master, Pythagoras, leads the
list of those who represent the ancient art of music in Pictagoras.
This ballade represents music in Pythagorean mathematical terms: one
voice as a constant mean in relation to two constantly shifting
partners. In this piece, the meaning of the text is hidden within the
process of its composition and the means for recreating it. It is a
musical attempt to represent Boethius’ concept of music as numerical
sound.
Of course, this music was meant to be sung for living
masters, or great lords, who enjoyed hearing themselves and their courts
compared to heroes and kingdoms of the distant past. Le Mont Aon is set on a mountain in ancient Thrace, amidst the nine muses, whose master was Phoebus Apollo. Phoebus was an official senhal
for the colorful Gaston III, known as Gaston Phoebus, count of Foix and
Bearn. Febus ruled in a mountainous region in the south of modern
France; his mane of golden hair and love of classical allusion was the
subject of a number of courtly lyrics at the end of the 14th century.
Both Se Galaas and Se July Cesar contain his famous battle
cry: "Febus avant!" (Phoebus forward!). In these poems, Febus is
compared to Galahad and Julius Caesar, among other great heroes of
ancient battles. These heroes are drawn from a medieval poem in praise
of the "nine worthies" or three heroes each drawn from the Bible, the
ancient world, and the age of chivalry. Egidus' ballade Phiton le merveilleus serpent,
based on the earlier setting by Machaut, begins with the premise that
Gaston Phoebus will conquer a mythical beast (representative of one of
his rivals) through his prowess in war.
Monsters and magical
beasts abound in these texts. Colorful bestiaries, or collections of
pictures and descriptions of exotic monsters and animals, were quite
common in late medieval libraries. The troubadours and trouvères often
used these animals as symbols of themselves in their poems, beginning
with a comparison such as "eismen comme la panthera" (like the panther…)
or "ausi conme unicorne suy" (I am like the unicorn…). These creatures
were chosen for their obvious symbolic content: the unicorn appears as a
not-so-subtle metaphor for male desire in the Ausi conme Unicorne suy,
while the panther was known for his (not so obvious) resemblance to
Christ, a victim of humanity’s self-centered and cruel nature. The
basilisk, a serpent with a deadly gaze, appears in a quirky song by
Solage, a composer who belonged to the mysterious Society of Smokers
(fumeurs). Its awkward physical nature is mirrored in the quirky rhythms
and syncopations of the music. The symbol of a hart, or stag, is the
basis of Bartolino's La douce cere, heard here in its elaborate
intabulation from the Faenza codex. This piece was very likely connected
to a feudal device of a great Italian or French monarch.
This is
not a program for idle listening. We hope that you will find yourself
learning to tread the labyrinth with us, following its twists and turns,
and discovering "clues" that will compete for your attention.
Thankfully, these songs are written in fixed forms containing two
or three sections of music that repeat many times. While listening, you
can avert your "gaze" from one event to another as the music returns,
much as spending significant time contemplating an elaborate medieval
painting or sculpture can unlock different aspects of its nature. If you
persevere and follow Ariadne's thread out of the maze, you might emerge
having glimpsed the beauty of the quest for knowledge.