La mia doglia s'avanza by Pomponio Nella
Like last week's Nicolò Jommelli, Pomponio Nenna was a closed book to me until recently. A southern Italian (he was born in Bari, down near the heel of Italy), judging from some of his works, he seems to have been influenced by Don Carlo Gesualdo, the mad prince of Venosa.
But as far as we know, Nenna didn't act out his obsessions and demons in the manner of Gesualdo. And actually musicologists are leaning now toward the theory that the influence ran quite the other way, Gesualdo's court musician perhaps having taught his eccentric patron a thing or two before moving on to the greener pastures of Rome.
I was drawn to Nenna because one of his four-part madrigals appears on a wonderful recital CD by Les Cris de Paris, entitled 'Melancholia'. Several months ago, we explored Thomas Tomkins' strange 'Too much I once lamented' from this CD, and would have proceeded to today's madrigal had its score not proven difficult to find.
I eventually found a listing for Nenna's 'Primo libro dei madrigali a quattro voci' (1613) on abe.com. I ordered it, and then about six weeks later I realized it had never arrived. I contacted the seller, and they said, 'Oh, sorry, we'll check it out and get back to you'. Then...nothing...until four or five days ago, when an eccentrically wrapped, nearly unmarked package arrived on our doorstep. And there the volume was, clearly brand new (though sold as used), with quite a few of the pages uncut.
The poem for 'La mia doglia s'avanza' is anonymous; it pursues the common late Renaissance theme of romantic and/or sexual love as both pain and pleasure, both delightful longing and longing delight, a nearly simultaneous intensification and obliteration of the senses. The tiny poem pursues these themes almost in the manner of a several-times iterated koan:
My pain increases, while my hope, alas, diminishes;
My desire is reinvigorated even as it falls;
And in the bitter torment, excessive grief does not kill me.
Such lines were of course catnip to the madrigalist. There are so many ways to suggest liveliness, just as many to express the opposite. And here we are allowed three little journeys from one end of the spectrum to the other, with perhaps a little gleam of optimism at the end.
Take a look at the attached scan, upon which I have laid the translation to make the little drama easier to follow. Nenna's use of dissonance, of harsh harmonic confluences, of fast and slow notes--all these are masterful, both entertaining and gripping, creating a tiny scene of frustration and confusion and (possible) consummation, a jumble of feelings (and, no doubt, hormones) recognizable to many, even if only in the rear-view mirror.
So: Pomponio Nenna! Who knew? Keep an eye and an ear out--you never know when you might find your new favorite composer.
In addition to the score noted above, the Les Cris de Paris recording, a text-translation sheet and one of Cinzia's peerless pronunciation recordings are attached herewith.
Like last week's Nicolò Jommelli, Pomponio Nenna was a closed book to me until recently. A southern Italian (he was born in Bari, down near the heel of Italy), judging from some of his works, he seems to have been influenced by Don Carlo Gesualdo, the mad prince of Venosa.
But as far as we know, Nenna didn't act out his obsessions and demons in the manner of Gesualdo. And actually musicologists are leaning now toward the theory that the influence ran quite the other way, Gesualdo's court musician perhaps having taught his eccentric patron a thing or two before moving on to the greener pastures of Rome.
I was drawn to Nenna because one of his four-part madrigals appears on a wonderful recital CD by Les Cris de Paris, entitled 'Melancholia'. Several months ago, we explored Thomas Tomkins' strange 'Too much I once lamented' from this CD, and would have proceeded to today's madrigal had its score not proven difficult to find.
I eventually found a listing for Nenna's 'Primo libro dei madrigali a quattro voci' (1613) on abe.com. I ordered it, and then about six weeks later I realized it had never arrived. I contacted the seller, and they said, 'Oh, sorry, we'll check it out and get back to you'. Then...nothing...until four or five days ago, when an eccentrically wrapped, nearly unmarked package arrived on our doorstep. And there the volume was, clearly brand new (though sold as used), with quite a few of the pages uncut.
The poem for 'La mia doglia s'avanza' is anonymous; it pursues the common late Renaissance theme of romantic and/or sexual love as both pain and pleasure, both delightful longing and longing delight, a nearly simultaneous intensification and obliteration of the senses. The tiny poem pursues these themes almost in the manner of a several-times iterated koan:
My pain increases, while my hope, alas, diminishes;
My desire is reinvigorated even as it falls;
And in the bitter torment, excessive grief does not kill me.
Such lines were of course catnip to the madrigalist. There are so many ways to suggest liveliness, just as many to express the opposite. And here we are allowed three little journeys from one end of the spectrum to the other, with perhaps a little gleam of optimism at the end.
Take a look at the attached scan, upon which I have laid the translation to make the little drama easier to follow. Nenna's use of dissonance, of harsh harmonic confluences, of fast and slow notes--all these are masterful, both entertaining and gripping, creating a tiny scene of frustration and confusion and (possible) consummation, a jumble of feelings (and, no doubt, hormones) recognizable to many, even if only in the rear-view mirror.
So: Pomponio Nenna! Who knew? Keep an eye and an ear out--you never know when you might find your new favorite composer.
In addition to the score noted above, the Les Cris de Paris recording, a text-translation sheet and one of Cinzia's peerless pronunciation recordings are attached herewith.