O dolcezz' amarissime d'amore - Luzzasco Luzzaschi
Remember that women's ensemble I told you about a few weeks back, the famous 'Concerto delle Donne' of late 16th-century Ferrara? They wowed their listeners with spectacular performances of all sorts of madrigals, making Ferrara a hotbed of the art of combining secular poems (mostly about love, both the good and the bad) with exquisite musical settings; but were best known for their skill in rendering breathtakingly ornamented polyphony.
As you may recall, I've been on a Luzzasco Luzzaschi tear these past several Mondays. First we heard the magnificent solo madrigal, 'Aura soave', in an outstanding performance by the soprano Perrine Devillers; next up was Luzzaschi's setting of disturbing verses from Dante's 'Inferno'; and today we'll complete the triptych with one of his most famous (and most florid) settings: 'O dolcezz' amarissime d'amore' ('O most bitter sweetnesses of love').
Just the title gives you an idea of the poem, and indeed of madrigal poetry in general. The central topic is love, of course, but often the focus is upon one of two particular aspects of the tender feeling: The sweetness involved; and (at times) the bitterness. Or, as in this case: Both. The poet here invokes the pleasures of love, and then immediately considers the potential downsides--the unreturned phone calls, the little betrayals, the arguments, the lawyers, the dissolution.
These aren't exactly spelled out, of course. Instead, Cupid, that little naked god with bow and arrow, stands in as the mischief-maker par excellence, always ready to promise the world, always willing to jerk the rug from under your foot. Take a look at the poem for today's madrigals (attached) and you'll see what I mean.
What's great from a composer's standpoint is that the pendulum of the poem swings back and forth from declarations of love's (Cupid's) wonderfulness (loving, flattering, smiling, gentle) and his harshness (fierce, venomous, bitter, cruel). Sometimes aspects of both are gathered into a single conceit, as in the title; or as in the line 'venom that sweetly kills'. This strong language is catnip to composers. It provide opportunities for sweet, optimistic phrases, for bitter recriminations, and for shape-shifting between the two. These characterizations can be accomplished through harmony, through consonant or dissonant counterpoint, through changes of pace, through lulling conjunct motion or disturbing, jagged leaps, and, yes, through florid ornamentation, which can amplify and extend and invigorate a phrase and its kernel of meaning.
That's a lot of words! Now you simply must hear this incredible piece. I am attaching a score (with translation underlaid); a wonderful recording; a text-translation sheet; and Cinzia's pronunciation recording, which has its own special passion and poetry.
And here's an alternative recording which I enjoyed very much. It takes some different interpretive paths.
Apparently it's gonna be a hot one today--stay cool, calm and eclectic
Remember that women's ensemble I told you about a few weeks back, the famous 'Concerto delle Donne' of late 16th-century Ferrara? They wowed their listeners with spectacular performances of all sorts of madrigals, making Ferrara a hotbed of the art of combining secular poems (mostly about love, both the good and the bad) with exquisite musical settings; but were best known for their skill in rendering breathtakingly ornamented polyphony.
As you may recall, I've been on a Luzzasco Luzzaschi tear these past several Mondays. First we heard the magnificent solo madrigal, 'Aura soave', in an outstanding performance by the soprano Perrine Devillers; next up was Luzzaschi's setting of disturbing verses from Dante's 'Inferno'; and today we'll complete the triptych with one of his most famous (and most florid) settings: 'O dolcezz' amarissime d'amore' ('O most bitter sweetnesses of love').
Just the title gives you an idea of the poem, and indeed of madrigal poetry in general. The central topic is love, of course, but often the focus is upon one of two particular aspects of the tender feeling: The sweetness involved; and (at times) the bitterness. Or, as in this case: Both. The poet here invokes the pleasures of love, and then immediately considers the potential downsides--the unreturned phone calls, the little betrayals, the arguments, the lawyers, the dissolution.
These aren't exactly spelled out, of course. Instead, Cupid, that little naked god with bow and arrow, stands in as the mischief-maker par excellence, always ready to promise the world, always willing to jerk the rug from under your foot. Take a look at the poem for today's madrigals (attached) and you'll see what I mean.
What's great from a composer's standpoint is that the pendulum of the poem swings back and forth from declarations of love's (Cupid's) wonderfulness (loving, flattering, smiling, gentle) and his harshness (fierce, venomous, bitter, cruel). Sometimes aspects of both are gathered into a single conceit, as in the title; or as in the line 'venom that sweetly kills'. This strong language is catnip to composers. It provide opportunities for sweet, optimistic phrases, for bitter recriminations, and for shape-shifting between the two. These characterizations can be accomplished through harmony, through consonant or dissonant counterpoint, through changes of pace, through lulling conjunct motion or disturbing, jagged leaps, and, yes, through florid ornamentation, which can amplify and extend and invigorate a phrase and its kernel of meaning.
That's a lot of words! Now you simply must hear this incredible piece. I am attaching a score (with translation underlaid); a wonderful recording; a text-translation sheet; and Cinzia's pronunciation recording, which has its own special passion and poetry.
And here's an alternative recording which I enjoyed very much. It takes some different interpretive paths.
Apparently it's gonna be a hot one today--stay cool, calm and eclectic