Ciacona by Dietrich Buxtehude
Or Ciaccona. Or Chaconne. Or Chacony. Or Chacona. Or even Passacaglia.
According to Grove, these "are built up of an arbitrary number of comparatively brief units, usually of two, four, eight, or 16 bars, each terminating with a cadence that leads without a break into the next unit. This almost limitless extendibility allows for the creation of a momentum sustainable over an appreciable length of time..."
The most famous example, of course, is Bach's Passacaglia in C Minor, with its 8-bar theme infinitely repeated, decorated, varied, built upon, wrung out and strung out for all its worth. (Talk about 'an appreciable length of time'!)
Not far behind this monument (among us early-music people, anyway) is Monteverdi's famous 'Zefiro torna', one of our Monday projects earlier in the pandemic, in which the infinitely repeated bass line represents a sort of pathology of the spurned lover trying to deny his grief.
And I would be remiss if I were to omit Dido's powerful lament at the end of Purcell's 'Dido and Aeneas':
'When I am laid in earth'.
As many of you know, I have been working on our 2021-2022 season. Actually, it's nearly complete, with just one project for February 2022 to be finalized. Our second set of the season, in the just-before-Thanksgiving slot, will feature Dianna and Chris Fritzsche and LOBO in an exploration of the 17th-century 'stylus phantasticus', the amazing movement which had its roots in Italian music, but which moved north and tied in with other threads in Germany and Austria and other areas.
The title of the concert, 'World of Wonders', is a tribute to the eponymous novel by Robertson Davies; but it's also a pretty good description of a deep dive into the fantastic style. It seems as though each new piece one discovers offers surprises and twists and delights. One of the many revelations I had was in finding Dieterich Buxtehude's Ciacona in E minor (BuxWV 160). I first heard it in a transcription for string ensemble with basso continuo and thought, 'We gotta do this!'. I tried to get the transcription from the director of the German ensemble on the recording, and though she sent me a kind response, could not put her hands on the score.
So I made a transcription of my own.
The recording (the group happens to be called 'Stylus Phantasticus') and the score are attached herewith. Take a listen and I'll bet you'll be blown away as I was. The piece is based upon the so-called 'Phrygian tetrachord', a form of the 'lamento bass': An ever-repeating bass pattern which descends step-wise in four notes from (in this case) E to B.
Over this foundation, Buxtehude creates an entire world of variations, beginning in an almost formless moody space and gradually developing courage and steam to a peak of intensity, which persists and evolves to the last bar. Along the way, the texture is constantly shifting, the harmonies at times turn forbiddingly chromatic, and lines skitter up and down as if having consumed too much of some special sauce.
Of course when I was working on the transcription, I went to YouTube and discovered many organ recordings. Here's one of my favorites; the organ score is attached in case you're interested in how it looks on the page.
I also discovered recordings of many different transcriptions, ranging from piano and harpsichord to chamber ensembles to full-on symphony orchestras. Play-times range all over the map--from under four minutes to over seven (!). Each version seems to reveal something different about the piece (and/or about the ensemble).
Here are two of these transcriptions which I really enjoyed, two perspectives and voicings very different from the attached recording. It's always fascinating to realize how many potentialities can be inherent within a single piece!
An early wind ensemble called Consort Brouillamini: I love the sound and the way they move, and they bring out a meditative aspect of the piece which is so different from the Stylus Phantasticus recording.
A Spanish mixed consort called Wave in Tempo: Again, more meditative, but this one rises and falls more dramatically than the wind ensemble. The studio and the lighting and the interaction of the players all contribute to a wonderful effect. It makes me think of the so-called 'hortus conclusus', an enclosed garden containing a world of its own.
Modern-day versions of the ciacona exist as well. Perhaps the most well-known of these is 'In-a-gadda-da-vida', by Iron Butterfly. I just learned (isn't the internet great?) that the title of the song arose from a misunderstanding among the band members. The song was intended to be called 'In the Garden of Eden' (speaking of the 'hortus conclusus'...), but someone had had too much Red Mountain wine, and it was transcribed as given above.
Ah! The path of art is strange sometimes!
Or Ciaccona. Or Chaconne. Or Chacony. Or Chacona. Or even Passacaglia.
According to Grove, these "are built up of an arbitrary number of comparatively brief units, usually of two, four, eight, or 16 bars, each terminating with a cadence that leads without a break into the next unit. This almost limitless extendibility allows for the creation of a momentum sustainable over an appreciable length of time..."
The most famous example, of course, is Bach's Passacaglia in C Minor, with its 8-bar theme infinitely repeated, decorated, varied, built upon, wrung out and strung out for all its worth. (Talk about 'an appreciable length of time'!)
Not far behind this monument (among us early-music people, anyway) is Monteverdi's famous 'Zefiro torna', one of our Monday projects earlier in the pandemic, in which the infinitely repeated bass line represents a sort of pathology of the spurned lover trying to deny his grief.
And I would be remiss if I were to omit Dido's powerful lament at the end of Purcell's 'Dido and Aeneas':
'When I am laid in earth'.
As many of you know, I have been working on our 2021-2022 season. Actually, it's nearly complete, with just one project for February 2022 to be finalized. Our second set of the season, in the just-before-Thanksgiving slot, will feature Dianna and Chris Fritzsche and LOBO in an exploration of the 17th-century 'stylus phantasticus', the amazing movement which had its roots in Italian music, but which moved north and tied in with other threads in Germany and Austria and other areas.
The title of the concert, 'World of Wonders', is a tribute to the eponymous novel by Robertson Davies; but it's also a pretty good description of a deep dive into the fantastic style. It seems as though each new piece one discovers offers surprises and twists and delights. One of the many revelations I had was in finding Dieterich Buxtehude's Ciacona in E minor (BuxWV 160). I first heard it in a transcription for string ensemble with basso continuo and thought, 'We gotta do this!'. I tried to get the transcription from the director of the German ensemble on the recording, and though she sent me a kind response, could not put her hands on the score.
So I made a transcription of my own.
The recording (the group happens to be called 'Stylus Phantasticus') and the score are attached herewith. Take a listen and I'll bet you'll be blown away as I was. The piece is based upon the so-called 'Phrygian tetrachord', a form of the 'lamento bass': An ever-repeating bass pattern which descends step-wise in four notes from (in this case) E to B.
Over this foundation, Buxtehude creates an entire world of variations, beginning in an almost formless moody space and gradually developing courage and steam to a peak of intensity, which persists and evolves to the last bar. Along the way, the texture is constantly shifting, the harmonies at times turn forbiddingly chromatic, and lines skitter up and down as if having consumed too much of some special sauce.
Of course when I was working on the transcription, I went to YouTube and discovered many organ recordings. Here's one of my favorites; the organ score is attached in case you're interested in how it looks on the page.
I also discovered recordings of many different transcriptions, ranging from piano and harpsichord to chamber ensembles to full-on symphony orchestras. Play-times range all over the map--from under four minutes to over seven (!). Each version seems to reveal something different about the piece (and/or about the ensemble).
Here are two of these transcriptions which I really enjoyed, two perspectives and voicings very different from the attached recording. It's always fascinating to realize how many potentialities can be inherent within a single piece!
An early wind ensemble called Consort Brouillamini: I love the sound and the way they move, and they bring out a meditative aspect of the piece which is so different from the Stylus Phantasticus recording.
A Spanish mixed consort called Wave in Tempo: Again, more meditative, but this one rises and falls more dramatically than the wind ensemble. The studio and the lighting and the interaction of the players all contribute to a wonderful effect. It makes me think of the so-called 'hortus conclusus', an enclosed garden containing a world of its own.
Modern-day versions of the ciacona exist as well. Perhaps the most well-known of these is 'In-a-gadda-da-vida', by Iron Butterfly. I just learned (isn't the internet great?) that the title of the song arose from a misunderstanding among the band members. The song was intended to be called 'In the Garden of Eden' (speaking of the 'hortus conclusus'...), but someone had had too much Red Mountain wine, and it was transcribed as given above.
Ah! The path of art is strange sometimes!