Another favourite piece of mine uses the same folk carol tunes -- noëls -- as the Daquin organ music.
This, too, comes from the Baroque era in France. Marc-Antoine Charpentier created one of the most unique pieces of choral music ever when he composed his charming Messe de minuit pour Noël. No other composer is known to have set the entire Ordinary of the Mass to the tunes of the traditional noëls. The result could have sounded contrived, but in practice it is completely successful.
This is due to Charpentier's great skill in the handling of his material. Not only are the traditional tunes beautifully fitted to the Latin text of the Mass, but the total effect -- orchestration, harmony, and all -- is so joyful and yet gentle that it is totally suited to the Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve.
My recording is an EMI CD which contains the Messe and another more extrovert musical hymn of praise, the same composer's Te Deum in D Major. The recording of the Messe de minuit dates from 1967 and is conducted by David Willcocks. The Te Deum is a 1976 recording conducted by Philip Ledger. Both use the King's College (Cambridge) Choir and the English Chamber Orchestra. Some people think this sounds too "English" for music of such strong French character, but I don't find that at all. Every bit of the Messe de minuit sounds just as utterly charming as it must. This performance uses for organ interludes a selection of organ settings of noëls by Nicolas Lebegue. As a further point of interest, the organist was a very young Andrew Davis, who was Organ Scholar at King's at the time. A new recording of the same combination has just appeared from Naxos, with the Aradia Ensemble conducted by Kevin Mallon. I haven't heard it, but if it is as fine as other recorded performances from this team then it would be well worth having.
I've just been listening to another delightful Baroque work, equally well-suited to Christmas Eve. This is Die Weihnachtshistorien ("The Christmas Story") by Heinrich Schütz. This work may date from 1660 or thereabouts, making it much earlier than Bach's Christmas Oratorio. In any case it is a much lighter and shorter work.
The backbone of the piece is the lengthy narration of the entire Christmas story by a tenor Evangelist. This is all in recitative, accompanied by organ. It sounds boring, but there are so many lovely turns of melody in the writing that it continually piques the ear. In between the lengthy recitatives of the narration come eight numbered sections called Intermedium. These too are part of the Biblical story, containing the words of angels, shepherds, wise men, and King Herod.
The only departures from the Biblical text are the opening and closing choruses. The opening simply announces "The Birth of Our Lord Jesus Christ as it has been recorded by the Holy Evangelists." This chorus has had to be editorially "reconstructed" since the source material contains only a figured bass line under the text. The concluding chorus of thanksgiving to God is thus the only part of the entire work which steps away from the Biblical story of Christmas. Contrast that with the numerous arias and choruses of commentary in the Bach Christmas Oratorio.
This recording is from The King's Consort conducted by Robert King. It adheres scrupulously to the composer's directions for the varied instrumental ensembles to accompany each Intermedium as well as the opening and closing choruses. Immediately obvious is the restraint of the scoring; trombones and cornetti (or trumpets) are used only in a couple of numbers. The net effect then is of a gentler, quieter musical experience, again very well adapted to a service on Christmas Eve. Following on the main work is a selection of Christmas motets by Schütz's first teacher of composition, the renowned Giovanni Gabrieli. These too are beautifully performed.
These Baroque Christmas works are a far cry from the grand splendours of Bach and Handel, but they each have their own rewards to offer, and I hope you'll feel moved to check them out.
.
Monday 24 December 2012
Friday 21 December 2012
Noel -- Part 1
When I was young, we listened to a lot of CBC-FM including a morning classical music program that was always on during breakfast. The host had his firm favourites, and this post is about one that always showed up in December.
France has a centuries-long and lively tradition of popular folk carols which are called "Noels". These Christmas songs are, however, not well-known outside the French-speaking world, and that is our loss. There's a whole added layer of tradition, in the form of classical compositions based on these traditional tunes.
In particular, French organists have often prepared and published "livres de Noels", which may have had their origins in organ improvisations during Christmastime services. There are a number of such collections dating from centuries back, but my personal favourite -- the one I return to time and time again -- is the Nouveau Livre de Noels of Louis-Claude Daquin.
Daquin lived from 1694 to 1772, so his lifespan coincided with those of the most famous of high Baroque composers, Bach and Handel. Daquin quickly established his reputation as a keyboard player of immense skill, on either harpsichord or organ. Very few of his compositions survive, but one of the few that did is the Nouveau Livre de Noels -- and with good reason, for it is recorded in a contemporary account that when he played these noels at the organ of the Sainte-Chapelle, all of Paris came to hear him.
The Nouveau Livre de Noels was edited, published and recorded by the American organist E. Power Biggs, and it was his delightful recording that we used to hear so much around the breakfast table. The pieces quickly became popular standbys of many organists, but it's unlikely that many of the members of the church congregations that hear these charming miniatures could name the composer, or for that matter the traditional tunes on which they are based.
Daquin did the only thing you really can do with traditional tunes -- create variations on them. And this is what happens in almost every one of the 12 noels. In line with the traditions of the French classical organists, the entire musical texture -- melody, harmony, and bass -- becomes steadily more elaborate as the tune repeats. Often, this happens according to a strict scheme -- the number of notes-per-beat is doubled in each variation. In one instance, the entire melody is recast from a slower triple time to a fast duple time, with enchanting effect.
One curious fact, given the celebratory nature of Christmastime, is how many of the noels actually are in modal keys that are best harmonized in the minor. Far from sounding sad, the sprightly nature of Daquin's treatment keeps the music upbeat and lively, joyful from start to finish.
In the slower noels, Daquin often uses an enchanting effect which is easy to achieve on an organ but difficult on any other keyboard instrument. He adds a descant part on top of the melody, placing the tune in the second place among the parts. An organist, meeting this little problem, can play on two of the manuals (keyboards) simultaneously, using a quieter, gentler tone for the descant so that the melody remains clearly audible.
In the pioneering Biggs recording, all these possibilities were explored with great sensitivity, and with full use of the wide tonal palette of the organ at Harvard which he played. A more recent digital recording by Christopher Herrick, using a cathedral organ at Dieppe in France, is not quite so effective. His instrument has such a huge number of heavy reed stops that the music becomes almost ponderous, develops a certain sameness. The Noels simply aren't as varied as with Biggs, finely as Herrick plays.
Wouldn't it be wonderful if Sony (or some other label) could reissue that classic Columbia record? In the meantime, Herrick's playing makes him a more than acceptable -- if less than perfect -- alternative.
My Christmas season simply isn't complete without Daquin's Nouveau Livre de Noels -- and you may well come to feel the same way, if you enjoy organ music as much as I do.
France has a centuries-long and lively tradition of popular folk carols which are called "Noels". These Christmas songs are, however, not well-known outside the French-speaking world, and that is our loss. There's a whole added layer of tradition, in the form of classical compositions based on these traditional tunes.
In particular, French organists have often prepared and published "livres de Noels", which may have had their origins in organ improvisations during Christmastime services. There are a number of such collections dating from centuries back, but my personal favourite -- the one I return to time and time again -- is the Nouveau Livre de Noels of Louis-Claude Daquin.
Daquin lived from 1694 to 1772, so his lifespan coincided with those of the most famous of high Baroque composers, Bach and Handel. Daquin quickly established his reputation as a keyboard player of immense skill, on either harpsichord or organ. Very few of his compositions survive, but one of the few that did is the Nouveau Livre de Noels -- and with good reason, for it is recorded in a contemporary account that when he played these noels at the organ of the Sainte-Chapelle, all of Paris came to hear him.
The Nouveau Livre de Noels was edited, published and recorded by the American organist E. Power Biggs, and it was his delightful recording that we used to hear so much around the breakfast table. The pieces quickly became popular standbys of many organists, but it's unlikely that many of the members of the church congregations that hear these charming miniatures could name the composer, or for that matter the traditional tunes on which they are based.
Daquin did the only thing you really can do with traditional tunes -- create variations on them. And this is what happens in almost every one of the 12 noels. In line with the traditions of the French classical organists, the entire musical texture -- melody, harmony, and bass -- becomes steadily more elaborate as the tune repeats. Often, this happens according to a strict scheme -- the number of notes-per-beat is doubled in each variation. In one instance, the entire melody is recast from a slower triple time to a fast duple time, with enchanting effect.
One curious fact, given the celebratory nature of Christmastime, is how many of the noels actually are in modal keys that are best harmonized in the minor. Far from sounding sad, the sprightly nature of Daquin's treatment keeps the music upbeat and lively, joyful from start to finish.
In the slower noels, Daquin often uses an enchanting effect which is easy to achieve on an organ but difficult on any other keyboard instrument. He adds a descant part on top of the melody, placing the tune in the second place among the parts. An organist, meeting this little problem, can play on two of the manuals (keyboards) simultaneously, using a quieter, gentler tone for the descant so that the melody remains clearly audible.
In the pioneering Biggs recording, all these possibilities were explored with great sensitivity, and with full use of the wide tonal palette of the organ at Harvard which he played. A more recent digital recording by Christopher Herrick, using a cathedral organ at Dieppe in France, is not quite so effective. His instrument has such a huge number of heavy reed stops that the music becomes almost ponderous, develops a certain sameness. The Noels simply aren't as varied as with Biggs, finely as Herrick plays.
Wouldn't it be wonderful if Sony (or some other label) could reissue that classic Columbia record? In the meantime, Herrick's playing makes him a more than acceptable -- if less than perfect -- alternative.
My Christmas season simply isn't complete without Daquin's Nouveau Livre de Noels -- and you may well come to feel the same way, if you enjoy organ music as much as I do.
Tuesday 18 December 2012
A Christmas Miracle in Music!
Christmas is a wonderful time of year for musicians and music lovers. So much beautiful music has been written around the Christmas story at so many periods that it's hard to know where to start. And of course, much of it is choral. For many people, Christmas is a time to burst out in mass song with groups of others -- and so it's not surprising that the # 1 perennial Christmastime musical favourite is Handel's oratorio Messiah. We'll pass lightly over the fact the Handel wrote Messiah for, and always performed Messiah at, Eastertime -- not Christmas.
Another favourite Christmas treasure of mine is Bach's beautiful Christmas Oratorio, and if you know and love Messiah and are wondering where to branch out, this is a good place to start.
But all that was written over two centuries ago (closer to three centuries now). What about in our own times? Well, that's where I'm coming to the real theme of this post, a piece composed in the 1950s which truly carries the banner forward from the great Baroque works mentioned above.
Imagine a composer who is into his eighties, who has seen Christmases coming and going throughout his long and fulfilling life. He's lived for most of his life immersed in the great traditions of Christmas music of the past, whether composed for the church, the concert hall, or simply arising out of the traditions of the people. As a master orchestrator and composer of music to be sung, he could truly be said to be born for this particular assignment. Because of his age he can impart great wisdom and power to his music, yet he remains youthful in spirit so he can still write with tremendous drive and energy. Most of all, he can still be drawn into a childlike spirit of wonder at the beauty of language in the traditional Christmas story, and at the miraculous events described there. And all these aspects of his personality are going to be clearly heard in the Christmas cantata he is going to compose.
The man (surprise, surprise to my regular followers) is Ralph Vaughan Williams, and the work is Hodie (This Day), which was premiered in 1954.
Like most of Vaughan Williams, the music is predominantly tonal and lyrical, yet there is also tremendous power here. Take the long opening sequence: the rumbustious opening chorus, the mysterious wind chords of the narration (given by a children's choir), the huge outburst of sound and glory at the words "Emmanuel, Emmanuel, God with us!", and the following long, lyrical aria for soprano solo setting words from Milton. What a tremendous variety, and all in ten minutes of music.
More riches abound throughout the score. The narrative passages from St. Luke's Gospel all start from a similar melodic figure, and then wander off in different directions. Truly, Vaughan Williams has evolved a workable twentieth-century descendant of Baroque recitative in this piece. The use of children's choir and chamber organ for this specific purpose works like a charm.
Between the narrations unfold a series of arias setting texts from various English poets through the centuries, and this I feel is the most successful and unified of the composer's numerous "anthology" works of this type. The showpiece of the lot is the tenor's "Bright portals of the sky" which calls for a powerful voice to overcome the rich orchestration.
The most powerful poem of the collection is "The March of the Three Kings" which was written by the composer's wife, Ursula, specifically for this work (one of two poems so composed). I find it impossible not to be swept off my feet by the composer's heaven-storming choral/orchestral setting, with solo voices crowning the ensemble, of these lines:
Hodie has been recorded several times, but for me the original recording from 1965 reigns supreme. The conductor was David Willcocks, the leading British choral conductor of his day. His trio of soloists were Janet Baker, Richard Lewis, and John Shirley-Quirk, all ideally in tune with the musical sound-world of the composer. Remastered for CD, and joined by a good account of the earlier Fantasia on Christmas Carols (a great representation of the composer's love for folk carols), it's the recording to go for if you can get it.
Another favourite Christmas treasure of mine is Bach's beautiful Christmas Oratorio, and if you know and love Messiah and are wondering where to branch out, this is a good place to start.
But all that was written over two centuries ago (closer to three centuries now). What about in our own times? Well, that's where I'm coming to the real theme of this post, a piece composed in the 1950s which truly carries the banner forward from the great Baroque works mentioned above.
Imagine a composer who is into his eighties, who has seen Christmases coming and going throughout his long and fulfilling life. He's lived for most of his life immersed in the great traditions of Christmas music of the past, whether composed for the church, the concert hall, or simply arising out of the traditions of the people. As a master orchestrator and composer of music to be sung, he could truly be said to be born for this particular assignment. Because of his age he can impart great wisdom and power to his music, yet he remains youthful in spirit so he can still write with tremendous drive and energy. Most of all, he can still be drawn into a childlike spirit of wonder at the beauty of language in the traditional Christmas story, and at the miraculous events described there. And all these aspects of his personality are going to be clearly heard in the Christmas cantata he is going to compose.
The man (surprise, surprise to my regular followers) is Ralph Vaughan Williams, and the work is Hodie (This Day), which was premiered in 1954.
Like most of Vaughan Williams, the music is predominantly tonal and lyrical, yet there is also tremendous power here. Take the long opening sequence: the rumbustious opening chorus, the mysterious wind chords of the narration (given by a children's choir), the huge outburst of sound and glory at the words "Emmanuel, Emmanuel, God with us!", and the following long, lyrical aria for soprano solo setting words from Milton. What a tremendous variety, and all in ten minutes of music.
More riches abound throughout the score. The narrative passages from St. Luke's Gospel all start from a similar melodic figure, and then wander off in different directions. Truly, Vaughan Williams has evolved a workable twentieth-century descendant of Baroque recitative in this piece. The use of children's choir and chamber organ for this specific purpose works like a charm.
Between the narrations unfold a series of arias setting texts from various English poets through the centuries, and this I feel is the most successful and unified of the composer's numerous "anthology" works of this type. The showpiece of the lot is the tenor's "Bright portals of the sky" which calls for a powerful voice to overcome the rich orchestration.
The most powerful poem of the collection is "The March of the Three Kings" which was written by the composer's wife, Ursula, specifically for this work (one of two poems so composed). I find it impossible not to be swept off my feet by the composer's heaven-storming choral/orchestral setting, with solo voices crowning the ensemble, of these lines:
Crowning the skiesThe mystical conclusion, setting words of St. John's Gospel, and followed by three more verses of Milton's Ode on the Morning of Christ's Nativity, is a true culmination -- not least because it draws in so many musical threads from earlier sections of the work. The final Milton setting takes the music of that first soprano aria and works it into a conclusion of triumphant grandeur. And the whole work is, as always with a truly great piece, far too short!
The star of morning, star of dayspring calls,
Clear on the hilltop its sharp radiance falls,
Lighting the stable and the broken walls
Where the prince lies.
Hodie has been recorded several times, but for me the original recording from 1965 reigns supreme. The conductor was David Willcocks, the leading British choral conductor of his day. His trio of soloists were Janet Baker, Richard Lewis, and John Shirley-Quirk, all ideally in tune with the musical sound-world of the composer. Remastered for CD, and joined by a good account of the earlier Fantasia on Christmas Carols (a great representation of the composer's love for folk carols), it's the recording to go for if you can get it.
Sunday 2 December 2012
A Vivid and Dramatic Oratorio
Okay, I mentioned it in the last post, I'd better drop the other shoe and cover the whole of Jeanne d'Arc au bûcher
("Joan of Arc at the Stake") by Arthur Honegger.
The Trial scene, Joan Given Up to the Beasts is the first, but hardly the only, major choral/orchestral fresco in this vivid and dramatic work. Although Honegger wrote some very experimental pieces at times, he never gave up his faith in the appeal of music to large audiences. Jeanne d'Arc is plainly designed for such large-scale public performance. Honegger, though, was far too good a musician to water down the product in these circumstances.
This "dramatic oratorio" (to quote Honegger's own description) uses numerous recurring themes which constantly interweave in new and varying combinations while at the same time evolving in their own shapes to suit their new surroundings. Not only that, but the themes are often played simultaneously in counterpoint which is apparently as effortless and natural as it is skilful. Very few composers in the Twentieth Century could manipulate counterpoint so effectively. Honegger's orchestration is equally skilled, making effective use of the saxophone and of the electronic ondes martenot. This instrument's strange whistling tone effectively illustrates the poem's pictorial possibilities from a dog's howling to an ass's braying.
Paul Claudel's poem calls for parody in certain places, and Honegger supplies it readily -- the aria of Porcus (the pig) in the trial scene is a lusty parody of 1930s jazz while the Game of Cards scene supplies a neo-Baroque parody of the sound of harpsichords by calling for metal rods laid across the strings of the two pianos. The music too is a parody of the Baroque style.
The next big moment is the scene of the King's journey to Reims which collates folk songs and folk symbols from north and south into a lavish choral tapestry to symbolize the union of France which Joan had worked to bring about.
There are two unique features of this work. The first is the fact that the two main characters -- Joan and her confessor, Friar Dominic, are spoken parts, not sung. This happened simply because the work was commissioned by the actress/dancer Ida Rubinstein, who had very little singing ability. The other unique feature is that Claudel composed the text so that the story unfolds at the moment of Joan's impending death, from a book read to her by Friar Dominic. The two comment between the major scenes on what is happening.
Eventually, Dominic reaches the end of his reading and Joan finds herself back in the present. Once again she hears her angelic voices calling to her. In a moment of supreme emotional and musical power -- vividly illustrated by a rising glissando from the ondes martenot -- she shatters her earthly bonds, crying out, "Je viens, j'ai cassé, j'ai rompu!" ("I'm coming, I've burst them, I've broken them!"). From this immense climax the music gradually dwindles down to the gentlest of conclusions with a quiet cadence sounding from the flute that has played a key role throughout the work.
Jeanne d'Arc au bûcher was first performed in 1935. In 1944 Claudel wrote a Prologue for it and Honegger set it to music, giving the work its final form. It has remained intensely popular in France but has never had as great a welcome elsewhere. The recording I'm listening to as I write this (conducted by Seiji Ozawa on DGG) is a live performance given during a festival in the Basilica of St-Denis in Paris, 1989. This church is generally held to have set the standard for the Gothic style that swept across Europe after its construction, and thus is an appropriate setting for a work which is in effect a mighty cathedral created in sound instead of stone.
The Trial scene, Joan Given Up to the Beasts is the first, but hardly the only, major choral/orchestral fresco in this vivid and dramatic work. Although Honegger wrote some very experimental pieces at times, he never gave up his faith in the appeal of music to large audiences. Jeanne d'Arc is plainly designed for such large-scale public performance. Honegger, though, was far too good a musician to water down the product in these circumstances.
This "dramatic oratorio" (to quote Honegger's own description) uses numerous recurring themes which constantly interweave in new and varying combinations while at the same time evolving in their own shapes to suit their new surroundings. Not only that, but the themes are often played simultaneously in counterpoint which is apparently as effortless and natural as it is skilful. Very few composers in the Twentieth Century could manipulate counterpoint so effectively. Honegger's orchestration is equally skilled, making effective use of the saxophone and of the electronic ondes martenot. This instrument's strange whistling tone effectively illustrates the poem's pictorial possibilities from a dog's howling to an ass's braying.
Paul Claudel's poem calls for parody in certain places, and Honegger supplies it readily -- the aria of Porcus (the pig) in the trial scene is a lusty parody of 1930s jazz while the Game of Cards scene supplies a neo-Baroque parody of the sound of harpsichords by calling for metal rods laid across the strings of the two pianos. The music too is a parody of the Baroque style.
The next big moment is the scene of the King's journey to Reims which collates folk songs and folk symbols from north and south into a lavish choral tapestry to symbolize the union of France which Joan had worked to bring about.
There are two unique features of this work. The first is the fact that the two main characters -- Joan and her confessor, Friar Dominic, are spoken parts, not sung. This happened simply because the work was commissioned by the actress/dancer Ida Rubinstein, who had very little singing ability. The other unique feature is that Claudel composed the text so that the story unfolds at the moment of Joan's impending death, from a book read to her by Friar Dominic. The two comment between the major scenes on what is happening.
Eventually, Dominic reaches the end of his reading and Joan finds herself back in the present. Once again she hears her angelic voices calling to her. In a moment of supreme emotional and musical power -- vividly illustrated by a rising glissando from the ondes martenot -- she shatters her earthly bonds, crying out, "Je viens, j'ai cassé, j'ai rompu!" ("I'm coming, I've burst them, I've broken them!"). From this immense climax the music gradually dwindles down to the gentlest of conclusions with a quiet cadence sounding from the flute that has played a key role throughout the work.
Jeanne d'Arc au bûcher was first performed in 1935. In 1944 Claudel wrote a Prologue for it and Honegger set it to music, giving the work its final form. It has remained intensely popular in France but has never had as great a welcome elsewhere. The recording I'm listening to as I write this (conducted by Seiji Ozawa on DGG) is a live performance given during a festival in the Basilica of St-Denis in Paris, 1989. This church is generally held to have set the standard for the Gothic style that swept across Europe after its construction, and thus is an appropriate setting for a work which is in effect a mighty cathedral created in sound instead of stone.
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