Madrigal Mondays
Some people claim that they don't like madrigals. I've found that in most instances, this is because they think of them as a light, fa-la-la kind of ditty. But these aren't really madrigals at all. They're fun, but not deep. The real thing started in Italy in the first quarter of the 16th-century, joining substantive poetry with serious music, a true art-form which blossomed over the course of the century to be an expressive language of incredible range and capacity to express human emotion on a variety of levels and subjects.
At the beginning of each week, we will update our website with a new madrigal and we will try to include a few notes about each piece and why we think it's great--worthy of study and listening and singing. Then (as with the Chorales and Motets) it'll be up to you to learn your part and sing along, thus absorbing and internalizing and--in a sense--
becoming part of each piece.
At the beginning of each week, we will update our website with a new madrigal and we will try to include a few notes about each piece and why we think it's great--worthy of study and listening and singing. Then (as with the Chorales and Motets) it'll be up to you to learn your part and sing along, thus absorbing and internalizing and--in a sense--
becoming part of each piece.
Zefiro Torna by Luca Marenzio
In case you didn't already have enough to do, here's one of the world's greatest madrigals: 'Zefiro torna', with lyrics by Francesco Petrarca and music by the divine Luca Marenzio. (He really was called 'divine', by the way; also 'the sweetest swan'.)
Some of you will remember Monteverdi's setting of the same poem, which we did on one of our Italy tours. (If you don't know it, take a listen. And whether you know it or not, by no means miss the ending, starting here--The Best Page of Music Ever.) And perhaps you also remember Monteverdi's spectacular duet setting (over an obsessive bass line) of a different poem (same basic plot) with the same name. Unbelievable.
But Marenzio's madrigal takes a backseat to no other setting. It is sui generis, an utterly masterful, compact evocation of the abandoned lover wandering bereft through a perfect paradise. It's from his 1585 book of four-part madrigals, the same volume which includes the atmospheric 'Non vidi mai', our Monday madrigal several weeks ago.
Marenzio divides the piece into two parts, cuing from Petrarch's abrupt change of mood and message at 'Ma per me, lasso'. In the first part, the composer invents a perfect expression of each of the lovely features of the natural world through which the protagonist walks.
And then the screw tightens, as the reality of his situation truly strikes home. This is followed by one fleeting recall of the pretty birds in the landscape ('e cantar augelletti'); and then the descent--figurative and musically literal--to the tragic conclusion.
In case you didn't already have enough to do, here's one of the world's greatest madrigals: 'Zefiro torna', with lyrics by Francesco Petrarca and music by the divine Luca Marenzio. (He really was called 'divine', by the way; also 'the sweetest swan'.)
Some of you will remember Monteverdi's setting of the same poem, which we did on one of our Italy tours. (If you don't know it, take a listen. And whether you know it or not, by no means miss the ending, starting here--The Best Page of Music Ever.) And perhaps you also remember Monteverdi's spectacular duet setting (over an obsessive bass line) of a different poem (same basic plot) with the same name. Unbelievable.
But Marenzio's madrigal takes a backseat to no other setting. It is sui generis, an utterly masterful, compact evocation of the abandoned lover wandering bereft through a perfect paradise. It's from his 1585 book of four-part madrigals, the same volume which includes the atmospheric 'Non vidi mai', our Monday madrigal several weeks ago.
Marenzio divides the piece into two parts, cuing from Petrarch's abrupt change of mood and message at 'Ma per me, lasso'. In the first part, the composer invents a perfect expression of each of the lovely features of the natural world through which the protagonist walks.
And then the screw tightens, as the reality of his situation truly strikes home. This is followed by one fleeting recall of the pretty birds in the landscape ('e cantar augelletti'); and then the descent--figurative and musically literal--to the tragic conclusion.
Qual Mormorio Soave by Luca Marenzio
a beautiful piece by Luca Marenzio. We've already had a madrigal by Marenzio; this one is different in being a so-called 'madrigale spirituale'. This sounds like a contradiction in terms--
a madrigal is about love, relationships, the natural world, right?
But, as demonstrated by our motet last Friday (Robert Parsons' 'Ave Maria'), there's not always a bright line between a motet and a madrigal. Some sacred texts are as sensual as they are spiritual, and many madrigal texts are serious explorations of philosophical and spiritual issues.
In 1584, Marenzio published his single book of madrigali spirituali. In it, he brings his full powers as a madrigalist to bear on a set of sacred poems in Italian. 'Qual mormorio soave' is one of my favorites from the book. It's a retelling of the Annunciation, with an atmospheric setting of the scene which seems to bring Fra Angelico's backdrops right off the canvas and into words; and with a closing section which celebrates the joining together of earth and heaven.
Marenzio's exquisite setting of this poem honors the gravity of the moment, but also expresses (in a very madrigalian way) each tiny detail of the poetry in a succession of sensual, evocative moments. The crucial middle section--the Virgin's response--is delivered by the trio of women's voices. Unforgettable!
a beautiful piece by Luca Marenzio. We've already had a madrigal by Marenzio; this one is different in being a so-called 'madrigale spirituale'. This sounds like a contradiction in terms--
a madrigal is about love, relationships, the natural world, right?
But, as demonstrated by our motet last Friday (Robert Parsons' 'Ave Maria'), there's not always a bright line between a motet and a madrigal. Some sacred texts are as sensual as they are spiritual, and many madrigal texts are serious explorations of philosophical and spiritual issues.
In 1584, Marenzio published his single book of madrigali spirituali. In it, he brings his full powers as a madrigalist to bear on a set of sacred poems in Italian. 'Qual mormorio soave' is one of my favorites from the book. It's a retelling of the Annunciation, with an atmospheric setting of the scene which seems to bring Fra Angelico's backdrops right off the canvas and into words; and with a closing section which celebrates the joining together of earth and heaven.
Marenzio's exquisite setting of this poem honors the gravity of the moment, but also expresses (in a very madrigalian way) each tiny detail of the poetry in a succession of sensual, evocative moments. The crucial middle section--the Virgin's response--is delivered by the trio of women's voices. Unforgettable!
As Vesta was from Latmos Hill Descending by Thomas Weelkes
To reward you for surviving into yet another week, I'm sending along (gasp!) An English Madrigal. It may be my favorite one of all: 'As Vesta Was From Latmos Hill Descending'. It's one of the 'Triumphs of Oriana'.
In case you're not familiar with the 'Triumphs': They were published in 1601 by the composer and music publisher Thomas Morley. His concept was borrowed from an earlier Italian anthology entitled 'Il Trionfo di Dori'. Morley asked dozens of his contemporaries to contribute a celebratory piece to the collection, which was to honor Queen Elizabeth, one of whose honorary titles was 'Oriana'. Each piece was required to conclude with the couplet:
'Then sang the shepherds and nymphs of Diana:
Long live fair Oriana''
There are many great pieces in the collection, but perhaps none so triumphant, none so festive, none so downright rousing as Weelkes' piece. Filled with madrigalisms and spirited contrapuntal repartee, it concludes with the most exciting refrain of all: Dozens of acclamations, high, low, fast, slow, near and far, ringing out, eventually moving to a conclusion over an impossibly elongated bass iteration: Joy crystallized into music.
To reward you for surviving into yet another week, I'm sending along (gasp!) An English Madrigal. It may be my favorite one of all: 'As Vesta Was From Latmos Hill Descending'. It's one of the 'Triumphs of Oriana'.
In case you're not familiar with the 'Triumphs': They were published in 1601 by the composer and music publisher Thomas Morley. His concept was borrowed from an earlier Italian anthology entitled 'Il Trionfo di Dori'. Morley asked dozens of his contemporaries to contribute a celebratory piece to the collection, which was to honor Queen Elizabeth, one of whose honorary titles was 'Oriana'. Each piece was required to conclude with the couplet:
'Then sang the shepherds and nymphs of Diana:
Long live fair Oriana''
There are many great pieces in the collection, but perhaps none so triumphant, none so festive, none so downright rousing as Weelkes' piece. Filled with madrigalisms and spirited contrapuntal repartee, it concludes with the most exciting refrain of all: Dozens of acclamations, high, low, fast, slow, near and far, ringing out, eventually moving to a conclusion over an impossibly elongated bass iteration: Joy crystallized into music.
Cruda Amarilli from 'Il Pastor Fido' by Giovanni Battista Guarini
It's Monday and time for another madrigal. So many great ones from which to choose! This week's selection is another all-time favorite: Giaches de Wert's incomparable setting of 'Cruda Amarilli', from 'Il Pastor Fido' by Giovanni Battista Guarini.
Now when I say incomparable in this context, I am kind of edging out on a limb. Monteverdi's setting of the same text is one of the most famous madrigals of all time, by virtue of both being great and being one of the prime subjects of a savage polemic by the music theorist Giovanni Maria Artusi (c.1540-1613). Artusi singles out 'Cruda Amarilli' for special denigration, describing the piece as a sort of Frankenstein's monster with the 'head of a beautiful young man, arms like the wings of a swallow, the legs of an ox, and feet corresponding to the beauty of the head.'
The ensuing exchange between the theorist and the composer (and the composer's brother as well) was lively.
Ultimately the subject was modern music (the so-called 'seconda prattica', of which Monteverdi was a prime proponent--though he was a consummate master of the 'prima prattica' as well, as witness our first madrigal project, 'O primavera'). The dispute carried out over some time (this was before the internet), and was very public.
You can read about here if you like.
There's no question that Monteverdi's setting is wonderful (and groundbreaking as well), and there's plenty of room at the top, for sure. (We'll have the Monteverdi as a future Monday Madrigal, so you'll be able to judge for yourselves.)
But I have a special fondness for the setting by Wert, Monteverdi's senior colleague at Mantova. When I first heard it, I felt as though I'd been stuck by a lightning-bolt. Wert squeezes every ounce of expression out of each phrase of the poem, the unforgettable outcry of an abandoned lover who pours out his inconsolable grief and fury before sinking silently to the grave, while adjuring the mountains, forest and hills to echo and re-echo his complaint: 'The fountains will weep, and the winds will murmur, as they tell of my laments.'
(By the way, I have a strong association of this poem with Jimi Hendrix' 'The Wind Cries Mary'.)
But enough talk--you simply have to listen to the piece--it will speak for itself. And then sing with it, pouring out your heart as does the protagonist. It will be a form of therapy (and much cheaper than actual therapy).
A few notes: As usual I've attached the score (with text and translation), midi files for practice, and the recording. The piece is in two parts. I'm including both parts, but if time and/or energy is limited, you could just learn the first part. (But listen to the whole thing, for sure.) The wonderful recording is a whole-step lower than the notation.
It's Monday and time for another madrigal. So many great ones from which to choose! This week's selection is another all-time favorite: Giaches de Wert's incomparable setting of 'Cruda Amarilli', from 'Il Pastor Fido' by Giovanni Battista Guarini.
Now when I say incomparable in this context, I am kind of edging out on a limb. Monteverdi's setting of the same text is one of the most famous madrigals of all time, by virtue of both being great and being one of the prime subjects of a savage polemic by the music theorist Giovanni Maria Artusi (c.1540-1613). Artusi singles out 'Cruda Amarilli' for special denigration, describing the piece as a sort of Frankenstein's monster with the 'head of a beautiful young man, arms like the wings of a swallow, the legs of an ox, and feet corresponding to the beauty of the head.'
The ensuing exchange between the theorist and the composer (and the composer's brother as well) was lively.
Ultimately the subject was modern music (the so-called 'seconda prattica', of which Monteverdi was a prime proponent--though he was a consummate master of the 'prima prattica' as well, as witness our first madrigal project, 'O primavera'). The dispute carried out over some time (this was before the internet), and was very public.
You can read about here if you like.
There's no question that Monteverdi's setting is wonderful (and groundbreaking as well), and there's plenty of room at the top, for sure. (We'll have the Monteverdi as a future Monday Madrigal, so you'll be able to judge for yourselves.)
But I have a special fondness for the setting by Wert, Monteverdi's senior colleague at Mantova. When I first heard it, I felt as though I'd been stuck by a lightning-bolt. Wert squeezes every ounce of expression out of each phrase of the poem, the unforgettable outcry of an abandoned lover who pours out his inconsolable grief and fury before sinking silently to the grave, while adjuring the mountains, forest and hills to echo and re-echo his complaint: 'The fountains will weep, and the winds will murmur, as they tell of my laments.'
(By the way, I have a strong association of this poem with Jimi Hendrix' 'The Wind Cries Mary'.)
But enough talk--you simply have to listen to the piece--it will speak for itself. And then sing with it, pouring out your heart as does the protagonist. It will be a form of therapy (and much cheaper than actual therapy).
A few notes: As usual I've attached the score (with text and translation), midi files for practice, and the recording. The piece is in two parts. I'm including both parts, but if time and/or energy is limited, you could just learn the first part. (But listen to the whole thing, for sure.) The wonderful recording is a whole-step lower than the notation.
Non Vidi Mai by Luca Marenzio
I am delighted to introduce (or perhaps, for some of you, re-introduce) Luca Marenzio's setting of
'Non vidi mai dopo notturna pioggia', a poem from Francesco Petrarca's Canzoniere. Four-voice madrigals were something of a throwback by 1585; the industry standard (so to speak) had moved to the five-voice texture somewhat earlier. But Marenzio makes each voice really count, and the Book includes wonderful pieces in a wide array of textures, styles and moods. Serious pieces like 'Ahi, dispietata morte' and 'Zefiro torna' share space with light, fun pieces like 'Vedi le valli' and 'Nuova angioletta'. The poems include many by Petrarca, but also a number by the pastoralist Jacopo Sannazaro as well as the playwright Torquato Tasso and the always-mysterious Anonymous. Overall it's a delightful volume of imaginative settings of wonderful poetry, covering the gamut of human emotions in good times and in bad.
'Non vidi mai' is the first piece of the collection. Its evocative text is brought to vivid life by Marenzio from the opening mystical phrase, depicting the wandering stars on a calm, clear night. Each phrase of the text is given its own musical expression which not only paints the text, but brings it alive on an emotional and even spiritual level. This is the kind of music that plays in our heads in wakeful moments in the night.
I am delighted to introduce (or perhaps, for some of you, re-introduce) Luca Marenzio's setting of
'Non vidi mai dopo notturna pioggia', a poem from Francesco Petrarca's Canzoniere. Four-voice madrigals were something of a throwback by 1585; the industry standard (so to speak) had moved to the five-voice texture somewhat earlier. But Marenzio makes each voice really count, and the Book includes wonderful pieces in a wide array of textures, styles and moods. Serious pieces like 'Ahi, dispietata morte' and 'Zefiro torna' share space with light, fun pieces like 'Vedi le valli' and 'Nuova angioletta'. The poems include many by Petrarca, but also a number by the pastoralist Jacopo Sannazaro as well as the playwright Torquato Tasso and the always-mysterious Anonymous. Overall it's a delightful volume of imaginative settings of wonderful poetry, covering the gamut of human emotions in good times and in bad.
'Non vidi mai' is the first piece of the collection. Its evocative text is brought to vivid life by Marenzio from the opening mystical phrase, depicting the wandering stars on a calm, clear night. Each phrase of the text is given its own musical expression which not only paints the text, but brings it alive on an emotional and even spiritual level. This is the kind of music that plays in our heads in wakeful moments in the night.
Vezzosi Augelli by Giaches de Wert
Today's Madrigal, Giaches de Wert's 'Vezzosi augelli'. Its text, from Torquato Tasso's epic poem 'Gerusalemme Liberata' describes birds singing and soaring on the breeze through Armida's enchanted garden. Wert's setting is absolutely delightful, building in successive waves to the final, prolonged evocation of the alternating music of birds and breeze.
The piece captures in musical language a kind of breathtaking emotional reaction which we often have when confronted with an overwhelming instance of nature's beauty.
Today's Madrigal, Giaches de Wert's 'Vezzosi augelli'. Its text, from Torquato Tasso's epic poem 'Gerusalemme Liberata' describes birds singing and soaring on the breeze through Armida's enchanted garden. Wert's setting is absolutely delightful, building in successive waves to the final, prolonged evocation of the alternating music of birds and breeze.
The piece captures in musical language a kind of breathtaking emotional reaction which we often have when confronted with an overwhelming instance of nature's beauty.
O Primavera by Claudio Monteverdi
We begin with one of our favorites by one of my favorites: 'O primavera', by Claudio Monteverdi (1567--1643). It's based upon a text by Giovanni Battista Guarini, peculiarly appropriate for this exact moment. The protagonist sings of being outside on a beautiful spring day (look outside your window), extolling the beauties of new plants, of new flowers and of new loves. But then the music changes utterly, and we learn that all these external pleasures and glories are as naught, rendered null and void by internal suffering and loss.