Laboravi in gemitu meo by Martin Peerson
You know how I'm always touting my new-favorite-composer-I'd-never-heard-of. I'm not sure whether this syndrome is a sign simply of my own lack of systematic education in my field or of just how much material is out there to be discovered and learned. I do hope it never goes away, for that feeling of discovery, of a new vista opening beyond the trodden ground, is inspiring and motivating.
So it is with Martin Peerson (c1572-1651). He led a productive musical life, working in the private homes of noblemen, later in London at Westminster Abbey and then at St. Paul's Cathedral. The choir at St. Paul's was disbanded in 1642, but Peerson held a non-musical position there to the end of his life.
Apparently much of Peerson's music has been lost, but much abides, and it's well worth a close look. I came across a motet by Peerson early last week and became intrigued. I found little of his music available through my normal sources; but then I discovered a recent complete works project being carried out by an outfit called Antico Editions. A web order and the magic of expedited shipping put a carton of volumes on my doorstep this past Wednesday.
Peerson wrote a lot of music for viol consort, for viols and voices, and for voices alone. The volume I have studied over the past few days contains his only Latin motets. These are preserved in a set of partbooks created several years after Peerson's death; unfortunately the Cantus partbook has been lost. However, Richard Rastatt, the editor of the entire Peerson Edition, has brilliantly reconstructed the part, and a number of the motets have been recorded.
Today, we're focusing on one of these: 'Laboravi in gemitu meo'.
The brief text is an excerpt from Psalm 6, one of the Penitential Psalms:
I am weary with my groaning;
With my tears, I make my bed swim;
Thus I water my coverlet.
Peerson provides this sad text with an appropriately wrenching setting. Falling lines in some places, urgently rising lines in others; chains of suspensions; strange harmonic shifts; rhythmic complexity; and both compression and expansion of range: All of these and more combine to create an indelible image of a troubled soul, unable to rest, tossing and turning in fear and regret and grief.
Attached you'll find a very good recording and a score for the piece.
There's a lot more great stuff to explore in the several volumes I received. We may well have some Martin Peerson in our mutual future!
You know how I'm always touting my new-favorite-composer-I'd-never-heard-of. I'm not sure whether this syndrome is a sign simply of my own lack of systematic education in my field or of just how much material is out there to be discovered and learned. I do hope it never goes away, for that feeling of discovery, of a new vista opening beyond the trodden ground, is inspiring and motivating.
So it is with Martin Peerson (c1572-1651). He led a productive musical life, working in the private homes of noblemen, later in London at Westminster Abbey and then at St. Paul's Cathedral. The choir at St. Paul's was disbanded in 1642, but Peerson held a non-musical position there to the end of his life.
Apparently much of Peerson's music has been lost, but much abides, and it's well worth a close look. I came across a motet by Peerson early last week and became intrigued. I found little of his music available through my normal sources; but then I discovered a recent complete works project being carried out by an outfit called Antico Editions. A web order and the magic of expedited shipping put a carton of volumes on my doorstep this past Wednesday.
Peerson wrote a lot of music for viol consort, for viols and voices, and for voices alone. The volume I have studied over the past few days contains his only Latin motets. These are preserved in a set of partbooks created several years after Peerson's death; unfortunately the Cantus partbook has been lost. However, Richard Rastatt, the editor of the entire Peerson Edition, has brilliantly reconstructed the part, and a number of the motets have been recorded.
Today, we're focusing on one of these: 'Laboravi in gemitu meo'.
The brief text is an excerpt from Psalm 6, one of the Penitential Psalms:
I am weary with my groaning;
With my tears, I make my bed swim;
Thus I water my coverlet.
Peerson provides this sad text with an appropriately wrenching setting. Falling lines in some places, urgently rising lines in others; chains of suspensions; strange harmonic shifts; rhythmic complexity; and both compression and expansion of range: All of these and more combine to create an indelible image of a troubled soul, unable to rest, tossing and turning in fear and regret and grief.
Attached you'll find a very good recording and a score for the piece.
There's a lot more great stuff to explore in the several volumes I received. We may well have some Martin Peerson in our mutual future!