A Christmas Miracle - Praeter Rerum Seriem by Josquin Desprez

Josquin's Christmas motet (1) Praeter Rerum Seriem (PRS) is a setting of a text contemplating the mystery of the Virgin Birth. At the heart of the work is the plainchant of the same name, a 13th century song "widely sung by French choirboys and nuns at Christmas and on major feasts of the Virgin Mary." (2) Josquin expert John Milsom suggests that it would have been performed in a "sprightly" manner in that era. At the opening of Josquin’s motet, however, the chant proceeds at a very slow pace indeed. Someone has helpfully put scores of the chant and the motet online (3), which makes tracing the progress of this cantus firmus (4) fairly straightforward. Even without the score, though, it is reasonably easy to follow in the first part of the work - listen initially for the sustained melody passing between the tenor and soprano parts (the highest male and female lines respectively). Set against the slow-moving chant are a series of beautiful, flowing lines, which must be a joy to sing (the way in which the piece seems to operate at several speeds simultaneously is endlessly fascinating).

In the second half of the piece, Josquin begins to quicken the pace of the chant, narrowing the rhythmic gap between the cantus firmus and the lines weaving around it. By the time we reach "Dei Providentia", the chant is in a lively three-in-a-bar, presumably sounding much as it would have when sung by those Medieval choirboys and nuns. As Peter Phillips points out in the liner notes to the Tallis Scholars recording (5), it is probably no coincidence that the chant goes into triple-time at the first mention of the final third of the Holy Trinity (1st paragraph Son, 2nd Holy Spirit, 3rd the Father). Josquin brings the lilting triple-time to a halt just before the end, for a strong yet peaceful close ("Mater, Ave!").

There is, of course, much more to this technically ingenious masterpiece, although an intimate knowledge of the score isn’t necessary to feel the special power of this work, or to appreciate the way in which Josquin's mysterious sound-world perfectly matches the awestruck tone of the text. Over the years, I've built up a collection of recorded performances of the piece. In general, I favour a more full-throated, expressive approach - I want to hear singers encouraged to enjoy those swirling, sprouting lines. The recording by Alamire and David Skinner is a particular favourite:

Josquin Desprez (c.1450-1521) - Praeter Rerum Seriem - Alamire / David Skinner (Obsidian)

This comes from their excellent two-disc set, Anne Boleyn's Songbook (recorded in the Fitzalan Chapel, Arundel Castle).(6) There are also fine performances by the all-male Gabrieli Consort (set deeper in a big acoustic - very atmospheric) and the closer-miked Gesualdo Six. A word too for the recording by Gli Angeli, which helpfully begins with a rendition of the chant, before going straight into the motet.

Josquin's PRS was one of the most influential pieces of the era, inspiring a number of later works - it was not unusual for Renaissance composers to base a piece on the music of another. I first heard Josquin's motet on a Tallis Scholars disc of a PRS-inspired mass setting by Cipriano de Rore (more on this piece below), and so was aware of one PRS-related work right from the beginning. As time has gone on, I've picked up PRS-inspired records as I've found them, gradually discovering more about a network of composers, courts and patrons, as well as a marvellous selection of musical tributes.

Cipriano De Rore’s Praeter Rerum Seriem mass honours both a patron and an illustrious predecessor. Duke Ercole II d'Este was Rore’s employer at the time of composition, while Josquin Desprez worked at the Ferrarese court under the first Duke Ercole (the grandfather of Ercole II). Rore uses the same cantus firmus as Josquin, although his chant - carried by the alto part throughout - moves even more slowly. The cantus firmus is sung to a text in praise of the Duke (Hercules secundus, dux Ferrariae quartus: vivit et vivet / Hercules the Second, fourth Duke of Ferrara, lives and will live) (7).

Rore’s mass employs a combination of cantus firmus and parody techniques. Where a cantus firmus mass is built around a found single-line melody (often hidden in the middle), a parody mass works with big, obvious chunks of an earlier piece. As the New Grove Dictionary Of Music And Musicians explains: "a parody mass is a musical setting of the ordinary of the Roman Catholic mass that is unified by the presence of the entire texture of a pre-existing polyphonic work…." Peter Phillips is full of praise for Rore's skilful blend of old and new, while recognising the slight oddness of a "new" work that borrows so heavily from an earlier piece: "in one sense very little of Rore's mass is original composition, yet he parodies his material so resourcefully that the stated material seems to take on new perspectives." (5)

Of course, as a massive fan of the motet, I'm more than happy to spend half an hour with this material. To listen to the Rore mass is to take a tour of Josquin's original, with an exceptionally knowledgeable and articulate guide. Rore takes us into every corner of the piece, opening up rooms to which we don't usually have access. As Peter Phillips suggests, Rore submits Josquin's motet to a vast range of musical transformations. Phillips points the listener towards the first few minutes of each of the mass movements, noting that each begins with an audibly different treatment of the opening of the Josquin. After that, you’re on your own, but if you take the time to get to know the original, you’re never far from home.

When it comes to recordings of the Rore mass, the disc by The Huelgas Ensemble and Paul van Nevel is something special. In general, it is brisker than other recordings I have heard, although Van Nevel’s tempi are pretty flexible. As with the Alamire performance of the original, the choir savour the surging lines in a way that really brings this complex music alive (the stunningly good recorded sound is also a big help here). Huelgas records often divide critics. For some, van Nevel's tendency to intervene more often than the average choral conductor is an unwelcome distraction. For me, his audible love of this repertoire trumps that, and a Van Nevel performance is always that - a real performance. In fact, his records may well be the ideal starting point for the classical fan who thinks of early choral music as dry and dusty. This real performance is capped by a daringly slow, exquisitely controlled account of the Agnus Dei.

In his day, Cipriano de Rore was best known for his secular music. The Huelgas disc of the PRS mass begins and ends with several excellent madrigals. In these (freely composed) works, we hear a different side of Rore. Here, the texture is mostly lighter, and the music is governed by the expressive needs of the poetry, rather than the musical logic of the dense polyphony (of course, as we have seen, Josquin was an earlier master of matching text and musical mood). Rore's madrigals were a big influence on the (now) better-known works of Claudio Monteverdi; judged by the Huelgas disc, Rore is with him at the top of the tree (try this). Returning to the mass after time spent with the madrigals is an interesting experience. Inevitably, I end up finding hints of later Italian music - faster-moving madrigalian melodies or moments of simpler homophonic movement.

Cipriano De Rore (1516-1565) - Missa Praeter Rerum Seriem - Huelgas Ensemble / Paul van Nevel (Harmonia Mundi)

From Ferrara, we move to the richly resourced Bavarian court of the music-loving Duke Albrecht V. Ludwig Daser (c.1525-1589) joined the court as a choirboy, and went on to become Albrecht's Kapellmeister in 1525, remaining in service in Munich until 1571. We know that Rore's PRS parody mass was in the library there, thanks to a letter from Albrecht V to Ercole II, in which he praises the "suave harmonies and the rare and new invention of the melodies" in Rore's work.(8) The letter is dated 25th April 1557; Rore himself visited the Munich court in 1558. Daser's own PRS mass appears towards the end of a choirbook compiled between 1544 and 1555, suggesting it was composed around the same time as the Rore (I'm struggling to pin down the exact timeline).

Like the Rore, the Daser is a combination cantus firmus and parody mass, and once more, there is a superb recording by the Huelgas Ensemble and Paul van Nevel. This record appeared in 2023, earning the group a long overdue first Gramophone Early Music award (the Tallis Scholars disc of the Rore mass won back in 1994 - that was my first, memorable encounter with the Josquin motet). To me, the six-voice Daser feels darker than the seven-voice Rore, with its strengthened top line. There is also less madrigalian busyness - Daser strikes a more patient, devotional tone, while still submitting Josquin's original to a dazzling range of compositional techniques. Van Nevel is an expert at steadily building excitement, particularly in those thrilling sections where he really whips up the lines swirling round the still centre. It's the more tender moments that stay with me, though - try the "Et Incarnatus" in the Credo (3'40").

Ludwig Daser (c.1525-1589) - Missa Praeter Rerum Seriem - Huelgas Ensemble / Paul van Nevel (Deutsche Harmonia Mundi)

Daser was eased out of the Munich Kapellmeister job in 1563, most likely on account of his Protestantism. He was replaced by Orlandus Lassus, who had joined the court in 1556. It seems there was no bad blood between the two; in fact, Lassus and Duke Albrecht helped Daser secure the Kapellmeister job at the Protestant court of Duke Ludwig in Stuttgart, where he was able to expand the musical resources to Munich-like levels (more on this in a moment). Lassus' own contribution to the PRS parody genre is a Magnificat, the Magnificat secundi toni super Praeter Rerum Seriem (from c. 1582). There had been parody Magnificats before this time (there are English examples by Fayrfax and Ludford), but Lassus really made the genre his own, producing 35 in total, including eight based on motets. Magnificats were performed daily in Munich, as part of the evening Vespers service. The text ties in nicely with the Josquin original; where the motet deals with the Immaculate Conception, the Magnificat consists of words spoken by a pregnant Virgin Mary on her visit to Elizabeth, who herself was pregnant with John the Baptist (the so-called "Visitation").

In his parody Magnificats, Lassus alternates between verses of polyphony and verses of simple plainchant - the "secundi toni" part of the title identifies the traditional plainchant formula used in the work ("Mode 2 chant" if you want to look it up). The Lassus/Josquin links don't end with the PRS Magnificat. There is a Magnificat based on Josquin's motet Benedicta es, coelorum regina, and in Lassus' motet, Peccantem me quotidie, he quotes from Josquin's Miserere mei, Deus. Most intriguingly, in his motet Recordare Jesu pie, Lassus quotes from Josquin's PRS.(9) Lassus would go on to produce a superb Recordare Jesu pie Magnificat, parodying his own motet.

The vocal group called Magnificat have released two volumes of Lassus' parody Magnificats. Volume two opens with an excellent performance of the Josquin motet, followed by the Lassus PRS Magnificat. The Magnificat version of the Lassus incorporates cornett and sackbutt players - according to the group's director, Philip Cave, contemporary documents suggest that instrumentalists joined the singers for Vespers performances on feast days. Listening to these parody Magnificats is a subtly different experience from listening to the parody masses. The alternate plainchant verses break up the polyphony into bite-sized chunks, offering an opportunity to reflect on the previous couple of minutes, before being plunged back into polyphony (where in the original will we end up next?). The shorter spans of polyphony have a concentrated quality, with Lassus having to build and dispel tension more quickly than he might in an extended mass movement. I love the addition of instruments in these performances, particularly when the cornetts and sackbutts enter with force after a chant section, creating Gabrieli-like moments of grandeur. Again, with time to reflect, I find myself wondering what it is I'm actually hearing. Lassus' polyphony refers to both the Josquin and the plainchant mode - is there some Rore or Daser in there too?(10) 

Orlandus Lassus - Magnificat secundi toni super Praeter Rerum Seriem - Magnificat / Philip Cave (Linn)

Thanks to a recently acquired disc by the Spanish choir, El León de Oro, I have one last PRS-inspired piece to mention. The programme consists of music by Flemish composers based in Madrid, including a PRS parody mass by George de la Hélé, who was maestro de capilla at the court of Phillip II from 1581-1586. I've learned it takes a while to get to grips with these parody works, but, after a couple of listens, I'm sure this one is going to be worth my time. It's certainly a joy to hear this kind of music performed by a larger choir of almost 40 singers - the louder moments have real power (try the end of the Gloria), and, thanks to some skilful singing, conducting and engineering, there is no loss of clarity elsewhere. In the Hélé, the choir are conducted by Tallis Scholars director Peter Phillips, who seems to be in a more unbuttoned mode than usual, relishing the expanded forces at his disposal. There is a taste here:

The liner notes for the El León de Oro disc mention a handful of further PRS-inspired works, including a mass by Le Maistre, and motets by Lusitano, Willaert and Calvinius.(11) I don't think any of these have made it onto disc yet, but, if and when they do, they'll go on my improbably long PRS playlist. I've enjoyed having all of these fabulous pieces and performances in one place, for ease of dipping in and out. In the end, though, there is nothing to match a deep dive into Josquin's magnificent original. When I'm listening hard, lost to the world for six or seven minutes, this time-melding music seems to evoke strong visual images, which has made for some memorable listening experiences. Sometimes, out and about with headphones, I find myself looking to the sky, picking out details, then looking beyond them. Later at night, in the colder, darker silence, the work can feel grander still, with the faster lines like the teeming surface of a slowly-turning planet. Musical magic.

Happy Christmas.

(1) Setting for unaccompanied voices of a sacred Latin text.

(2) Liner notes for "The Earth Resounds" - The Sixteen / Christophers / Dougan (CORO)

(3) Chant here - scroll down for the version used by Josquin. Various editions of the score here.

(4) "Fixed song" - A "found" melody used as the basis for a new work.

(5) Liner notes for Josquin Desprez / Cipriano De Rore - Missa Praeter Rerum Seriem etc. - The Tallis Scholars / Phillips (Gimell)

(6) The "Anne Boleyn Music Book" contains 42 pieces, with Josquin and Mouton the most featured composers. It is now housed at the Royal College of Music in London.

(7) This text is hard to pick in performance, although it sticks out occasionally at the end of movements, when the cantus firmus ends on a consonant and the other voices end on a vowel. Both Josquin and de Rore composed masses named after the dukes - you will find a Missa Hercules Dux Ferrarie in both worklists.

(8) see Alvin Johnson - "The Masses of Cipriano de Rore" pg. 232, in Journal of the American Musicological Society, Autumn 1953. 

(9) John Milsom puts this down to the fact that the section of the Josquin used by Lassus sets the words "initus et exitus". Milsom suggests that, in context, this can be read as "birth and death" - Lassus' own motet sets a text from the Requiem mass. (see "Absorbing Lassus" pg. 314, in Early Music, May 2005).  

(10) We know that Lassus performed the Rore PRS mass at the wedding of Prince Wilhelm and Renée of Lorraine in 1568. Lassus' Magnificat dates from c. 1582. 

(11) Thanks to Charles Tebbs for alerting me to several PRS records.

Three Choice String Sextets

In a recent piece about Linda Catlin Smith's 6th String Quartet, I briefly mentioned the viol consorts of William Lawes. Lawes also crops up in this post about some favourite sextets...

1). Johannes Brahms (1833-1897) - String Sextet No. 2 in G major, op. 36 
The Nash Ensemble - Marianne Thorsen, Malin Broman (vln); Lawrence Power, Philip Dukes (vla); Paul Watkins, Tim Hugh (vc) (Onyx)

The three-in-a-bar first movement of Brahms’ op. 36 puts me in mind of certain great orchestral opening movements - I’m thinking of the Oxford, Eroica, Rhenish and Espansiva symphonies, to name a few. While the Brahms isn’t as forthright or athletic as the Haydn, Beethoven, Schumann or Nielsen, it has something of the same irresistible sweep - I can’t imagine pressing stop or pause part-way through any of these pieces.

The sextet begins with an oscillating figure, which rumbles uneasily in the background throughout the opening minutes. This figure comes to the fore in the development section (from around 7’35“ onwards), sounding a persistent alarm. Just before this, at the climax of the 2nd subject group, Brahms repeatedly spells out the name ‘Agathe’ [2] in the 1st violin and viola parts (at around 2′47″ / or 6′36″ on the repeat). This is a coded reference to Agathe von Siebold, to whom Brahms was briefly engaged. In a letter to a singer friend, Brahms suggested that this sextet was a final goodbye to Agathe, who had gone on to marry a sanitation commissioner.

The slow movement also has a link to Brahms’ complicated love life. Its opening melody was composed for Clara Schumann and included in a love-letter written several years earlier. On paper, this set of variations looks relatively straightforward. In performance, it’s more elusive. The theme itself seems to point in several directions at once, leading to a series of variations which are wide-ranging in mood and texture (sometimes unusually sparse). I was struck today by how skilfully Brahms blurs the lines between some of the variations, making the music feel through-composed at times.

2). Antonín Dvořák (1841-1904) - String Sextet in A major, op. 48
Sarah Chang, Bernhard Hartog (vln); Wolfram Christ, Tanja Christ (vla); Georg Faust, Olaf Maninger (vc) (EMI)

While Sarah Chang is best known as a globe-trotting violin soloist, she has also made a couple of excellent discs of Dvořák chamber music. There is this version of the op. 48 sextet, and also a recording of the 2nd Piano Quintet, with Leif Ove Andsnes. For the sextet record, she convened a blue-chip ensemble of current or former members of the Berlin Philharmonic. Sometimes, these starrier chamber music one-offs don’t quite work. Here, though, everyone is pulling in the same direction, audibly enjoying themselves. And why shouldn’t they? The Dvořák sextet is a big-hearted, perpetually tuneful work, full of opportunities for world-class string players to give their all. Brahms is clearly the model: the work’s opening phrase (later used in a more full-throated, momentum-halting manner) feels particularly Brahmsian to me.

A folk flavour is never far from the surface. At the time of the sextet, Dvořák was in a particularly folky phase: his op. 45 Slavonic Rhapsodies and op. 46 Slavonic Dances were composed just before the sextet (with a few bagatelles in-between). The 2nd movement Dumka [3] is a real charmer. Chang gets in a few swoops and slides, as the sextet stretch and squash the malleable material. The 3rd movement Furiant, an explosive one-in-a-bar dance, features some of the most thrilling playing on the disc. 

3). William Lawes (1602-1645) - Consorts In Six Parts - Set a6 in G minor (nice essay about viols here) Laurence Dreyfus (treble viol, director); Wendy Gillespie (treble viol); Jonathan Manson, Varpu Haavisto (tenor viol); Markku Luolajan-Mikkola, Susanne Braumann (bass viol) (Channel Classics)

Much as I cherish favourite recordings of "standard" string sextets by Schoenberg (Verklärte Nacht) and Tchaikovsky (Souvenir de Florence), I probably play this marvellous CD more often. Lawrence Dreyfus’ gleefully bonkers liner notes ("Legalise Lawes Now!") are an excellent attempt to explain the strange power of the music on this disc. Those unfamiliar with Lawes’ work should expect a "Dionysan frenzy hell-bent on breaking civilised taboos", and "a brutal indifference to customary ideas about musical beauty". More specifically, Dreyfus highlights Lawes’ "rampant disregard of decent counterpoint", "bizarre themes", "offbeat imitations" and "wilful obsession with repeated notes". The G minor set is not the most extreme, but I chose this one because it shares a sense of abandon with the Brahms and Dvořák sextets. Lawes is just as melodically inventive, just as unafraid to play with form and tempo to suit his expressive needs - a sudden slamming on of the brakes for a yearning, aching couple of phrases is a characteristic move. Phantasm are right inside the music, displaying the kind of near-telepathic flexibility we sometimes hear from the greatest string quartets. They tear into the contrapuntal pile-ups in the second and third movements, and daringly string out the more expressive music in the opening Pavane (with just a hint of vibrato). While re-listening to this disc in a café this afternoon, I looked up to see two girls laughing at the scrunched-up faces I must have been pulling. It may be best listened to in the comfort of your own home. 

[1] Brahms was troubled by a fear of not measuring up to the musical giants of the past. It has been suggested (by Malcolm MacDonald for one) that he first turned to the sextet in his op. 18 because taking on the works already composed by that time (1860 - just Boccherini and Spohr, I think - viol consorts aside) was considerably less intimidating than squaring up to the quartets of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven and Schubert.

[2] A-G-A-B-E - H is B natural in German. Brahms omits the ‘unmusical’ T. This bit of musical spelling was mentioned in a letter written by the violinist Joseph Joachim in 1894.

[3] A dance of Ukrainian origin, characterised by alternating faster and slower sections.

Happy St. Cecilia's Day! (Charles Daniels Part 2)

A few months ago, I wrote something about two favourite records, A Venetian Coronation 1595 and Venetian Vespers. That post turned into an account of my first meaningful encounter with a solo classical voice, as I tried to put into words my delight at discovering Charles Daniels' thrilling performance of Grandi's O Intemerata. I had a similar experience a couple of years later, when Paul McCreesh and the Gabrieli Consort & Players released their version of Purcell's ode, Hail! Bright Cecilia.

Commissioned by a London society set up to celebrate the feast day of the patron saint of music (22nd November), Purcell’s contribution to the 1692 festivities is a 50 minute, 13 movement treasure trove. It opens with a substantial orchestral overture, followed by a series of solos, duets, trios and choruses, praising both music and Cecilia herself. A selected group of instruments (organ, violin, flute, guitar and fife) receive more specific attention. The whole thing is a joy. 

On the McCreesh recording, Daniels sings The fife, and all the harmony of war, as well as the piece that really grabbed me, ’Tis Nature’s voice, an exhilarating virtuoso song that took me straight back to my time with the Grandi.

Henry PURCELL (1659-1695) - Tis Nature’s Voice (from Hail! Bright Cecilia) - Charles Daniels (tenor); Gabrieli Players / Paul McCreesh

Daniels has the measure of Purcell’s "incredible Graces" (1), including the lung-bursting melismas towards the end. He is not afraid to use the full power of his voice (at "mighty", for instance), and clearly relishes the more dissonant passages (both appearances of "grieve or hate"). Purcell’s setting of the last line is superb, the teasing repeats of "charms" leading to a final long run of notes on "captivates". Daniels’ thrilling second pass at this is something special - I'm reminded of his stunning "et virgo gloriosa" in the Grandi motet (Purcell text here). 

Charles Daniels also played a part in my introduction to even earlier music, as a founder member of the Orlando Consort, a one-to-a-part vocal group specialising in Medieval repertoire. By the time I got round to hearing them in concert (in their ingenious Voices Appeared silent film with live music programme), he had already left the consort. I still have the earlier recordings, though. By a whisker, my favourite is Popes And Antipopes - Music For The Courts Of Avignon & Rome. I'm struggling to find any clips online, but there are CD copies around. Highly recommended.

I still remember the Gramophone review of Popes And Antipopes: "To be savoured meditatively, like an Islay malt".

(1) Thanks largely to an article about the premiere in the November 1692 edition of the Gentlemen’s Journal, ’Tis Nature’s Voice has been the subject of some musicological debate. According to this article, it "was sung with incredible Graces by Mr. Purcell himself", leading to uncertainty as to whether Purcell actually gave the first performance, or whether he wrote the "incredible Graces" (ornaments) for someone else to sing. The couple of recentish Purcell books I've seen indicate the latter, although the liner notes for my other (very fine, modern instrument) recording of the piece claim that the composer did give the premiere. On this CD (English Chamber Orchestra / Mackerras - 1969), ’Tis Nature’s Voice is performed by a countertenor. McCreesh’s decision to use a tenor is supported by an Andrew Parrott article in the Faber Purcell Companion, which addresses the subject of male voice types in this music: "the 1680s and 1690s seem to mark an historical mid-way point in the evolution of the countertenor, with the emergence of the later, and indeed current, falsettist countertenor overlapping with the glorious last years of an earlier tradition in which - contrary to popular belief - the voice was, in modern terms, essentially a (high) tenor". (pp. 417-8)

Holiday Listening Part 3 - Linda Catlin Smith's 6th String Quartet

The Sheffield-based record label Another Timbre has now released six CDs of music by Linda Catlin Smith. The most recent, Flowers Of Emptiness, features eight chamber works, including her superb 6th quartet, an endlessly fascinating piece I first heard on holiday. Since then, I've come back to it many times...

Linda Catlin Smith - String Quartet No.6 - Apartment House (Mira Benjamin, Chihiro Ono (violin); Bridget Carey (viola); Anton Lukoszevieze (cello)) (Another Timbre)

(There is a performance by the Mivos Quartet here, although I would urge you to get hold of the Apartment House record. Purchase details and a decent extract here).

On first listen, I was reminded of favourite viol consorts, by the likes of Lawes and Purcell. This was partly down to the starkly beautiful vibratoless string sound, and partly down to the busy texture, that can suggest more than four players. In an interview on the Another Timbre website, Smith talks about creating a "tangled, woven polyphony" in this quartet, adding "I wanted to try to get lost in the polyphonic thickets." This is a music of small surprises, and subtle, easily missed change. With ears primed for micro dramas, we may detect a slight shift in tone colour, or spot one note moving in a chord. Sometimes, the texture briefly thins, and there is a bout of rhythmic unison - a recurring pulsing gesture. The "polyphonic thicket" is thorny in places; while this piece is harmonically beautiful, it is not a warm bath of consonance. Tension comes from tightly packed lines, fighting for the same space.

As the music goes on, there's a definite sense of expanding and developing, but it's hard to pin down. Longer lines emerge, sometimes projected by two instruments in unison, and the music becomes more continuous. Earlier in the work, there are significant moments of silence. Smith suggests that "maybe I'm like a still life painter, looking at the same objects again and again." This is pretty much what happens in the first part of the piece, with the listener invited to compare what comes before and after the silence, almost like a musical spot the difference. Her enthusiasm for Japanese gagaku feels relevant here: "the sense of time in that music is very slow and you feel you have all the room you need to hear everything that's going on, and it requires a kind of slowing yourself down."(1) I've enjoyed adjusting to the gagaku-like underlying slowness of the quartet, although having the space to step into this music doesn't necessarily make it any easier to untangle. Smith embraces this unknowable quality: "I like things that are slightly obscure, that you can't quite make out, but I also like the idea of something that has multiplicity of meanings."(1)

The final section of the piece is perhaps the easiest to grasp. It's certainly magical. From around 15 minutes onwards, the music becomes more effortful, almost dragging itself along. Gradually, it seems to shake off the extra weight, begins to rise, and just keeps going, untethered from the earth. Often, my immediate response was to go straight back to the beginning, to spend another 20 minutes with this special piece of music.

I've dwelt on the 6th quartet, the longest piece on the disc, but it's worth saying that the rest of the music is also excellent (and superbly played). In fact, the record makes an ideal introduction to Smith's work, with pieces from across her career (1986-2024). If you're not familiar with Another Timbre, do investigate. Simon Reynell has put together an impressive range of over 200 releases, several of which have become great favourites of mine. If you're looking for a place to start, I can recommend John Lely's Meander Selection, Oliver Leith's Me Hollywood, John Tilbury playing Terry Riley, ffansïon by Angharad Davies and Tisha Mukarji, James Weeks' Gombert arrangements, and Pauline Oliveros' Sound Pieces. All superb. If you want more Linda Catlin Smith, try the marvellous Dirt Road, a series of violin and percussion duets.

(1) From an interview in Tempo, Vol. 71, No. 280, pp. 8-20

Holiday Listening Part 2 - Bang On A Can play Eno's Music For Airports

Part 1 here.

David Lang, one of the founders of the new music collective Bang On A Can (BOAC), once described their repertoire as "too funky for the academy and too structured for the club scene."(1) Brian Eno's ambient classic Music For Airports (MFA) doesn't quite fit this bill, although Eno's position as a key figure at the intersection of 70s rock and experimental music would definitely have put him on the BOAC radar. Their version appeared in 1998, and, inevitably, given the special status of the original, it raised some eyebrows. The anti position is well laid out by Cecilia Sun, who sees BOAC's version as an attempt to claim MFA "for their own musical canon and narrative", by "dragging the piece into the concert hall, with its aura of culture."(2) Lang's liner notes do tend to dwell on the more "classical" aspects of the piece, calling it "music that's carefully, beautifully, brilliantly constructed", adding that its "compositional techniques rival the most intricate of symphonies." Suitably intrigued by all this, I took both records on holiday, for some side-by-side listening...

1. Brian Eno - Ambient 1: Music For Airports (1978)

2. Brian Eno, arr. Gordon, Lang, Wolfe, Ziporyn - Music For Airports - Bang On A Can All-Stars (Robert Black (bass); Mark Stewart (guitar); Lisa Moore (piano/keyboards); Evan Ziporyn (clarinet/bass clarinet); Maya Beiser (cello); Steven Schick (percussion) + guests - Katie Geissinger, Phyllis Jo Kubay, Mary Runyan Maratha, Alexandra Montano (voice); Wu Man (pipa); Davis Fedele, Liz Mann (flute); Chris Komer (horn); Wayne du Maine, Tom Hoyt (trumpet); Julie Josephson, Christopher Washburne (trombone); Todd Reynolds (violin); Matt Goeke, Greg Hesselink (cello) Mark Stewart (cello/mandolin/mandocello)) (1998)

MFA is in four parts, titled simply 1/1, 2/1, 1/2 and 2/2.(3) The original 1/1 was put together from keyboard improvisations by Robert Wyatt and Rhett Davies (guitarist Fred Frith was also present, but we don't hear him). Eno took a section of music he liked, and made a tape loop. He then slowed the whole thing down, and added touches of his own. The 17 minute final version is apparently made up of 11 repetitions of the loop, but it's hard to hear the music that way, such is the length of each repeat, and the repetitive nature of the music within it (Eno's additions also serve to conceal the joins). 

For the BOAC version, arranging duties were shared between the three founder members of the group (Lang, Michael Gordon and Julia Wolfe), with the fourth and final piece given over to clarinettist Evan Ziporyn. In his version of 1/1, Gordon makes full use of the expanded line-up of the organisation's performing arm, the Bang On A Can All-Stars. Slowly-decaying tuned percussion instruments help to recreate the reverb-heavy environment of the original, although Gordon also adds quiet string lines to extend certain notes within phrases. Unsurprisingly, the BOAC version of 1/1 becomes a more "active" listening experience; ingenious composerly touches and the technicolour palette are bound to tickle the ear. Oddly, I was reminded of Webern's version of the Ricercar from Bach's Musical Offering. Webern's approach is more kaleidoscopic, but like Gordon, he transforms a rigorous, tonally muted original into something more vivid (for better or worse).

The remaining parts of MFA were composed/assembled before 1/1. 2/1 came about during a visit to the studio owned by Conny Plank, a German musician who worked with both Stockhausen and the leading lights of the Krautrock scene. Seeing and hearing the results of Plank's experiments with tape loops, Eno had the idea of making a piece from the recorded voices of Plank's partner and two studio assistants (his own voice also ended up in the mix). The sound of Eno's highly processed chamber choir has a tranquillising effect on me - I find it just about impossible not to slow to the glacial pace of 2/1. Sometimes, I'll fight it, and end up tracking the gaps between the vocal entries, but not for long. In the BOAC version, David Lang also has fun with instrumental colour, and, as in 1/1, I find myself engaged in wondering how and why he makes the choices he does. It's worth noting that the BOAC singers do a terrific job of reproducing the original (all of the arrangements were recorded in single takes). That said, although they are electronically treated to sound remarkably like Eno's singers, there are occasional moments of (very) slight imperfection. On repeated listens, these little blips became oddly touching: tiny glimpses of real life humans through the electronic haze...

1/2 combines the ethereal voices of 2/1 and the gentle piano excursions of 1/1. The mood is different, though. The vocal entries are further apart, and the piano responses (Eno this time, I believe) are more fragmentary. Again, there is a sense of patterns repeating, and, as before, it's hard to pin down, thanks to the similar nature of the material involved and the time between repeats (if they are repeats). The BOAC version is more sure of itself. I think this is partly a result of the arrangement, with its strong, anchoring bass notes, and the now familiar range of colours, including vocal-sounding brass. It may also be down to the playing of the ensemble - some of Eno's tentative phrases are briskly dashed off by these new music virtuosi. This, and the rapid shifts of instrumentation give the BOAC version a much greater (unwanted?) sense of forward motion.

Eno's 2/2 is an improvisation on an ARP 2600 synthesizer, slowed to half-speed, and drenched in delay. The synth has a lovely, warm sound, swelling and fading like a well-matched low brass choir (with identically perfect articulation). Listening again now, I'm drawn to the play of these gentle attacks, which seem to increase in frequency as the piece goes on.  My goal-directed ears, conditioned by hundreds of symphonies and sonatas, point me to the lowest line, which occasionally suggests we're making a big harmonic move. It never comes, though, and the end feels quite sudden.

As mentioned, the BOAC 2/2 arrangement was entrusted to clarinettist Evan Ziporyn, a familiar name to new music fans. In an interview, Ziporyn talked about his approach to MFA, saying: "I asked myself: What's going on inside the piece [...] what's the pattern and what do I want to do with it? I began to impose my own narrative on it."(4) While Gordon, Lang and Wolfe make the most of the resources at their disposal, they don't tamper with the form of the original. Ziporyn does, adding two and a half minutes of his own material, right in the middle of the piece (around 4'40" onwards). What's more, this new music has a different character: over a drone, Ziporyn and pipa player Wu Man trade and expand ideas, in what feels like a kind of written-out improvisation. After this section, Ziporyn sticks to the original, although the frequent tremolando effects maintain the surface busyness (lots of "expressive" playing here). The introduction of more dynamic, developing material makes for a different kind of piece, and I'd understand if ambient Eno devotees found it beyond the pale. For my part, I prefer the purity of the original - I'm not sure that Ziporyn's extra music really adds much. In fact, it made me wonder if he really likes (or approves of) MFA. 

Personally, I can't get too upset about the idea of a concert arrangement of Music For Airports. As someone from the more classical side of the tracks, I was bound to want to check out the arrangements. Plus, as a listener fascinated by how we listen, this experiment in ambient/active listening was sure to grab me. Eno has suggested that his ambient records are designed to "accommodate many levels of listening attention without enforcing one in particular." For me, his original succeeds in achieving this: it can fade into the background, but will stand up to focussed listening, without seeming boring or facile (not always the case with other ambient records I've heard). Eno himself is a big fan of the BOAC version. At the UK premiere, at Stansted airport, he called his original a "demo", waiting for its first "proper performance." He was also impressed by the BOAC record, sending them this fax: "I don't know why this recording has moved me so deeply [...] I think this is so very beautiful I'm almost embarrassed to say it, except for the fact that what I'm finding beautiful is the powerfully emotional quality you brought to it."(5)

(1) Alex Ross - Shall We Rock?, The New Yorker, 23rd June 2003

(2) Cecilia Sun (2007) Resisting The Airport: Bang On A Can Performs Brian Eno, Musicology Australia, 29:1, 135-159

(3) For more on how MFA was put together, plus an account of the album's origin story, see this excellent Pitchfork article.

(4) Quoted in Sun, pg.154

(5) Bang On A Can Bandcamp page

Holiday Listening Part 1 (The Necks in Northumberland)

My last holiday listening piece looked at music conceived for specific locations - duets for musicians and resonant buildings. This time round, I picked out three records with a slow resting heart rate, and hoped a theme would emerge. Here's the first...

The Necks - Aether - Lloyd Swanton (bass); Chris Abrahams (piano); Tony Buck (drums)

The Necks began as an improvisation workshop, formed by three key members of the late 80s Australian jazz scene. Swanton, Abrahams and Buck were keen to try something new, in part inspired by their experience of working in other musics, particularly those where long-form repetition is common (salsa, funk, dub reggae, some African and Indonesian music...). They moved away from standard jazz forms, and worked to break down the usual distinction between soloist and rhythm section (Tony Buck: "we wanted to play in a way where no one was soloing.")(1). Buck contrasts this with the "everyone solos" approach of some improvised music.

Decades on, we have a good idea what to expect: a typical Necks live performance consists of an hour-long piece of music, created in the moment, with no plan or rehearsal (Buck: "we don't have anything we have to do.")(2) Long, slowly evolving grooves are common, but not compulsory. On record, The Necks still tend towards hour-long epics. They make full use of the studio, though, bringing in extra instruments, and recording multiple overdubs, mixing and matching until they're happy. The first Necks record I heard was the only one in the shop that day, Hanging Gardens. This, their fifth release, begins with a skittering cymbal figure, which sets up a head-nodding drum n bass flavoured groove (with strong hints of electric Miles Davis). According to Lloyd Swanton, the first mix was "really full on", so the band "decided to be ruthless with the laser scalpel and cut it right back."(3) The finished record got me hooked - the brilliant playing, and skilful studio sculpting makes for an absorbing 60+ minutes (I'd love to hear that full on mix, though)

On their sixth record, the band came up with a bolder way of building an hour-long piece of music. Aether begins with of a series of isolated "events", separated by spells of silence. In the first section, these silences are daringly long, giving the music an unpredictable, hard-to-track quality.(4) Gradually, the silences shorten, and the warm synth/bass/cymbal "events" are joined by a variety of new gestures, which fill up the space: we hear a pulsing piano, a bowed cymbal, and a juddering synth effect. At around the 20 minute mark, there are hints of a piano melody, and, at about 30, that synth becomes more constant, fully closing up the gaps. Five minutes later, the music finds a pulse, with a heartbeat "lub dub" in the bass. Then, about two-thirds of the way through the record, we head into the "finale", with a busy piano idea which fades in very slowly, cutting across the synth. The bass drops out, and a deep drum enters, locking in with the piano. A second piano joins (very Steve Reich now), and the synth comes back - from here on in, the music is a hulking machine, heading our way. At the climax, Swanton(?) drops big bass bombs (terrific on good speakers/headphones), and from there, things slowly tail off. The pianos, drum and synth fade away, leaving the bass and, finally, just a wash of cymbals.

Live, The Necks are known for impressive displays of stamina. I've no idea if those pulsing pianos and drums were set down in single takes, but the final third of this record gives a good idea of their more muscular mode. Listening again to Aether just now, it still seems unlikely that this is where the music will end up. Ultimately, though, I've always found the journey from Morton Feldman-like mystery to ecstatic, pounding minimalism totally convincing. For me, it's a special record - have a listen here (my attempts to describe the music inevitably fall short).

(1) Quoted in Shand, John - Jazz: The Australian Accent, pg. 98

(2) From a Guardian article

(3) From the Uncut magazine review of the year 2023

(4) The Uncut article above offers some clues about how Aether was put together. Apparently, the band played to click tracks at two different tempos, which may well account for some of this rhythmic unpredictability.

(Record 2 is Bang On A Can play Eno's Music For Airports. Coming as soon as I've written it).

Between A Grock And A Hard Piece - Luciano Berio's Sequenza V For Trombone Solo (1966)

Between 1958 and 2002, Luciano Berio composed a series of fourteen virtuoso solo pieces. Called "sequenzas", they were often written with specific performers in mind. In the case of number five, Berio sought the advice of two trombonists, Stuart Dempster and Vinko Globokar, both of whom were involved in what became the final version of the piece.(1) A third performer, the Swiss clown Grock (Karl Adrien Wettach - 1880-1959), also played an important part. Berio grew up near Grock's villa, and, as a child, was scared of the great clown. Only later in life did he come to appreciate Grock, and to value the "blend of humour and profundity"(2) in his work. Grock's act would often feature music, including performances on the violin and piano. He was also adept at yodelling and multiphonic singing (producing two or more pitches simultaneously), an effect explored at the length in the sequenza, where the performer is often asked to play one note while singing another. The trombonists Abbie Conant and William Osborne have gathered together clips of Grock's performances on their website, creating a valuable resource for interested performers and listeners. Among those clips is a version of the routine which would provide much of the inspiration for Sequenza V. Berio explains: "halfway through a wonderfully interpreted scene he'd stop and stare at the audience with an expression of confusion - No, it is impossible to describe it. He'd ask warum? why? It was a really beautiful moment. That's why I wrote a sequenza about this warum?, only not warum? in German, but why? in English."(3)

A quick look at the score shows that Berio devised special notation for the vocal sounds, produced both into and away from the instrument. There are also bracketed vowels, [u], [a] and [i], which must be either "vocalized in a perceptible way" or produced through the trombone. Musically, it quickly becomes clear how "warum" became "why": by using these vowel sounds, Berio can produce ghostly "whys" fairly easily. He also directs the performer to use a metal plunger (or wah-wah) mute, which has its own "on/off" line at the bottom of the score. This is another means by which the composer produces "whys", as well as a more veiled, less brassy tone, further blurring the line between what is played and what is sung. The sung/played/plungered "whys" are particularly prominent in the first part of the work, although there are echoes in the less frenetic second section. Berio plays with our expectations, giving us a mixture of [u]s, [ua]s and [uai]s, as well as, at one point, a full, spoken "WHY?", marking the divide between the two sections (A and B). For a brief moment, Grock takes centre stage.

I first heard Sequenza V in the early 90s, when I picked up Christian Lindberg's 1984 CD, The Virtuoso Trombone. The Berio is the final track; before that comes an appropriately diverse selection of serious and lighter fare (Hindemith and Martin, alongside Arthur Pryor's variations on The Blue Bells Of Scotland and Lindberg's frankly ridiculous double-tongued version of The Flight Of The Bumble-Bee). This impressive performance of the sequenza is one of the fastest on record: he gets through the whole thing in just 5'18". As a result, the quickfire exchanges of the first part are thrillingly dynamic, almost suggesting a second player. The slower-moving B section is also immaculate, particularly when it comes to managing the tricky balance between the sung and the played.

In 1998, Deutsche Grammophon released a boxset of the (then) complete sequenzas, including the Sequenza V of Ensemble Intercontemporain trombonist, Benny Sluchin. It's another scrupulously accurate version, with the added benefit of excellent recorded sound, which really helps when it comes to hearing the full effect of the multiphonics.(4) Despite being a fair bit slower overall, Sluchin generally takes a similar approach to Lindberg, moving fairly swiftly in the first part, and smoothing out the second, despite the odd more violent interruption.(5)

Vinko Globokar's 1967 premiere recording (Wergo) is something different. A full 2'10" longer than Lindberg's, it is also much more overtly theatrical. Employing a rawer, brassier tone, he seizes on every opportunity to shock - in this version, the louder outbursts really erupt. In the second section, after the "WHY?", Globokar really digs in. Berio's sung and spoken slides become slow smears, giving the music a pained quality that feels a long way from the generally more streamlined traversal of Lindberg and Sluchin. It's an essential listen for anyone interested in the piece, but sadly, it doesn't seem to be easily available online (it's this one). Fortunately, his Deutsche Grammophon remake is on YouTube. It's similar in style, if not quite as arresting as the original. Stuart Dempster's 2006 recording is part of a set of the complete sequenzas on the Mode label (including no. XIV for cello, from 2002). It's superbly played: Dempster matches Lindberg's nimble virtuosity, and is brilliantly recorded. At 5'01", he's faster still, resulting in a B section that has some of the pinballing drive and drama we usually only hear in the first part. Highly recommended.(6)

Recording the sequenza in the safety of a studio is one thing; playing it for a live audience is quite another. The score contains extensive notes for prospective performers, detailing the many extended techniques involved, and offering staging suggestions from both Berio and Dempster. The composer suggests the performer should be in "white tie," with a "spot from above etc." In the A section, they should "strike the poses of a variety showman about to sing an old favourite." Berio also highlights the score instructions to raise and lower the instrument (both quickly and slowly), which may well be a nod to Grock's musical routines, in which he often prepared to play, before aborting. The B section should be performed seated, "as though rehearsing in an empty hall." Dempster gives detailed suggestions on lighting, as well as how to play the opening notes ("like gunshots") and how to bow at the end ("stiff and aloof"). In his excellent article on the piece, trombonist Barrie Webb compares the visual aspects of Dempster's and Globokar's performances, noting that Dempster "dressed in tails, would enter in quite agitated fashion." Globokar, on the other hand, "always presented in normal dress and with an absence of showmanship" (intriguing given my response to his CD recording). Webb cautions against an approach that "says more about the performer than the piece," adding that "too much gratuitous clowning - entertaining as it may be - creates an (unintended) empathy with the audience which could seriously detract from the impact of the music." Globokar backs him up: "Berio did not think about any kind of clothes or any kind of theatralisation, only standing, sitting and the gesture up and down. When I saw the first time somebody who did it in a clownesque way, I found it superfluous, not necessary, because the piece is so strong musically."(7)

Despite these concerns, in the almost 60 years since the first performance, many trombonists have been unable to resist the temptation to go "full clown", particularly when it comes to dress. Indeed, you will struggle to find a YouTube version that doesn't go down this road. Here's Christian Lindberg, with another impressive account. Costume and make-up aside, this is pretty much in line with the Berio/Dempster conception of the piece, with Lindberg seen "rehearsing in an empty hall." Aside from a few close-ups at the beginning, the performance is simply filmed, sticking to a handful of basic shots. Gerard Costes, by contrast, gives us something of a multimedia extravaganza, centred on Grock. It begins with a montage of Grock clips, while the performance itself takes place in a room full of TV screens showing yet more Grock. It's well worth a watch, but, for me, it's all too busy - the rapid cuts between cameras and superimposed pictures of Grock tend to distract from what is actually a very fine performance. See what you think.

The recording by Gabriele Marchetti presents the piece as an interruption to a standard orchestral concert. Marchetti enters to much nervous laughter, which continues throughout the somewhat manic performance.(8) At the end, the orchestra go straight into another piece, giving the audience little chance to reflect on what just happened. Deb Scott's audience are similarly shocked by her appearance, and, like Marchetti, she plays up to it, tripping up the stairs, and letting the trombone slide fall off, before pretending to use it to bow the bell, like a cello. Scott's excellent performance (impressive circular breathing) is the first I've heard by a female trombonist, raising the interesting question of how the sung lines could and should be modified for female performers. That said, if I'm not mistaken, Scott manages to sing the majority of it at the written pitch.

While some of these clips play fast and loose with the score instructions, there's a lot to enjoy, and any filmed performance is a useful reminder of the huge challenges (and rewards) involved. When the piece is done well, "instrument and voice, instrument and breathing, indeed, instrument and the whole body [are] inseparably blended together," as composer Henri Pousseur puts it in his liner notes for Globokar's first recording of the piece. In recent days, I've returned to Pousseur's interesting essay a few times, partly because, while getting lost in multiple recorded versions, it's helped to focus my listening, and to remind me of this music's special qualities. I'm particularly drawn to his intriguing suggestion that Sequenza V is: "unquestionably closer to electronic music than to those indispensable trombones of the underworld in Monteverdi's Orfeo." He goes on to describe it as "a completely continuous and wholly uninterrupted tone modulation."(9) This chimes with me: music this multi-faceted invites a variety of interpretations, but I most often hear it as a study in extraordinary tone colour. It really does resemble early electronic music, although the heroics of Berio's fabulous one-man band, and the kindly shadow of Grock, add an extra dimension to this strange and beautiful piece.

(1) The story of the two trombonists' involvement is quite complicated. See page 47 of this fascinating dissertation for more.
(2) From a film clip of Berio, quoted in Barrie Webb - "Performing Berio's Sequenza V" in Contemporary Music Review, Vol. 26, No. 2, April 2007.
(3) This clip isn't quite as Berio describes, but it's still good to have.
(4) In the B section, Berio often has the sung and played pitches slowly pass one another, producing distinctive beating, fluttering tones - especially prominent in this recording.
(5) There is a YouTube video of the Sluchin performance synchronised with the score here. If you haven't seen it, do have a look - it's a work of art.
(6) I have one further audio-only recording to recommend. It's by Byron Fulcher, and comes as part of a BBC "Discovering Music" programme. Having skilled performers on hand gives host Stephen Johnson the opportunity to explore three sequenzas using audio examples - particularly useful for studying the ways they are organised harmonically and melodically. Trombonist Fulcher gives demonstrations of some of the extended techniques involved, before a very fine full performance of the piece.
(7) All quotes here from Webb, 2007.

(8) Like clowns, trombonists have a long history of operating in a space between the serious and the humorous. The instrument is often tasked with light relief (raspberries and disruptive glissandi) as well as more weighty, dignified material. 
(9) Creating this stream of sound requires considerable ingenuity from Berio, and (again) very considerable skill on the part of the performer. Berio covers the gaps by having the player breathe audibly through the instrument, or by making them rattle the metal mute in the bell of the trombone.