Sestina by Claudio Monteverdi
As always, there's a lot to be thankful for--but there's also a lot to mourn. This week's madrigal project applies to the latter: Monteverdi's great sestina (Lagrime d'amante al sepolcro dell'amata--Tears of a lover at the tomb of his beloved). It's from his Sixth Book of Madrigals, published in Venice in 1614, not long after Monteverdi moved to that great city from Mantova to take up his role as maestro di cappella at the ducal basilica of San Marco.
The piece has a subtext: both poem and music were written in memory of Caterina Martinelli, a young singer who was to have premiered the title role in Monteverdi's opera Arianna in 1608. Alas, she was struck down before her time, and this was both a personal loss to Monteverdi--Caterina had been part of his household and much beloved--and a professional loss, for the young singer had been immensely talented and was a great asset to the musical establishment at Mantova.
Scipione Agnelli wrote the poem which served as Monteverdi's libretto in the form of a sestina: A six-verse structure in which each six-line verse includes the same six final words ending each line: but in a different order in each verse. The return of these same words can lend to the sestina a sort of bell-knell of repeated and indeed sometimes unending emotion, as it does here in Agnelli's depiction of a man's grief poured out at the tomb of his most beloved one.
Monteverdi divides the piece into six sections, assigning one verse to each section, with a tag to the last verse of the so-called envoi, a three-line concluding verse which often contains the moral or commentary or epilogue. The composer clearly and brilliantly poured his entire vocabulary of emotion-in-music into the sestina, including wrenching chromatic passages, long chains of suspensions, momentary clearing followed by further descent into despair, textural shifts from tutti to paired duets and solos, impetuous outcries and breathless pauses.
It is an unforgettable piece, and (like all great music of sadness) allows us to ride on the wings of the composer to explore a world of loss and pain and regret. This sounds depressing; but one of our jobs at times is to turn our faces to the darkness rather than avoiding pain, and music is a peerless aid in this important work. When we immerse ourselves in a piece like this, we become somehow greater, more aligned with the Way Things Are.
I've included the score to the entire sestina; text and translation; Cinzia's pronunciation recording; and the six madrigals which make up the piece, each as its own track for ease of listening. The wonderful recording--the best available, in my estimation--is by Venexiana. All of these items were too large to attach to this message, so they are available in this Dropbox file.
As always, feel free to treat this project as you are inclined or able--rehearse and study the piece; sing it with the recording; or just listen and immerse yourself in Monteverdi's world.
As always, there's a lot to be thankful for--but there's also a lot to mourn. This week's madrigal project applies to the latter: Monteverdi's great sestina (Lagrime d'amante al sepolcro dell'amata--Tears of a lover at the tomb of his beloved). It's from his Sixth Book of Madrigals, published in Venice in 1614, not long after Monteverdi moved to that great city from Mantova to take up his role as maestro di cappella at the ducal basilica of San Marco.
The piece has a subtext: both poem and music were written in memory of Caterina Martinelli, a young singer who was to have premiered the title role in Monteverdi's opera Arianna in 1608. Alas, she was struck down before her time, and this was both a personal loss to Monteverdi--Caterina had been part of his household and much beloved--and a professional loss, for the young singer had been immensely talented and was a great asset to the musical establishment at Mantova.
Scipione Agnelli wrote the poem which served as Monteverdi's libretto in the form of a sestina: A six-verse structure in which each six-line verse includes the same six final words ending each line: but in a different order in each verse. The return of these same words can lend to the sestina a sort of bell-knell of repeated and indeed sometimes unending emotion, as it does here in Agnelli's depiction of a man's grief poured out at the tomb of his most beloved one.
Monteverdi divides the piece into six sections, assigning one verse to each section, with a tag to the last verse of the so-called envoi, a three-line concluding verse which often contains the moral or commentary or epilogue. The composer clearly and brilliantly poured his entire vocabulary of emotion-in-music into the sestina, including wrenching chromatic passages, long chains of suspensions, momentary clearing followed by further descent into despair, textural shifts from tutti to paired duets and solos, impetuous outcries and breathless pauses.
It is an unforgettable piece, and (like all great music of sadness) allows us to ride on the wings of the composer to explore a world of loss and pain and regret. This sounds depressing; but one of our jobs at times is to turn our faces to the darkness rather than avoiding pain, and music is a peerless aid in this important work. When we immerse ourselves in a piece like this, we become somehow greater, more aligned with the Way Things Are.
I've included the score to the entire sestina; text and translation; Cinzia's pronunciation recording; and the six madrigals which make up the piece, each as its own track for ease of listening. The wonderful recording--the best available, in my estimation--is by Venexiana. All of these items were too large to attach to this message, so they are available in this Dropbox file.
As always, feel free to treat this project as you are inclined or able--rehearse and study the piece; sing it with the recording; or just listen and immerse yourself in Monteverdi's world.