PART 3: Video Intro

Here's a question for you: what does the blues singer Ray Charles have in common with the Baroque composer Claudio Monteverdi?  You'll find out a bit later in this lecture...

In the meantime...let me ask you another question:

You've heard both Renaissance sacred music (i.e., Ockeghem's Missa Prolationum and Josquin's Missa Pange Lingua) and secular music (Weelke's When Vesta Was from Latmos Hill Descending, or the caccia Tosto che l'alba).

Which type of music did you prefer?

Which, for example, did you find more interesting— Ockeghem or Gesualdo? Which did you find more entertaining to listen to, Josquin’s sacred pieces or "El Grillo?"…

…yes, I thought so. You probably enjoyed the secular music a lot more. It was more fun and more spirited, right? And if that was your answer, then you were 'in sync' with most listeners at the end of the 16^th century, too. They were looking for a more immediate, more accessible experience in music. Secular music was more engaging to listen to, but even it had become too intellectual with complicated counterpoint. And those madrigalisms could be so trite! Composers now wanted to follow up on the idea of expressing emotions and ideas in music, but instead of using convoluted polyphony they wanted some style that could express emotions in a very direct, entertaining way.

Enter the Florentine Camerata, one of the most influential sets of individuals in the history of music. You would probably have enjoyed the company of the Florentine Camerata—a group of keen intellectuals from all different fields (poetry, music, science) who met together informally to discuss these latest issues and trends in the arts toward the end of the 16^th century. The members of the Camerata were great admirers of ancient Greek society and arts in particular, and were interested in emulating what they believed to be the ideals of Greek theatre. They decided to work together on furthering a musical art of simplicity and directness, and to combine this with the drama of theatre. To that end, two members of the Camerata, Iacopo Peri (1561-1633) and Guilio Caccini (1550-1618) collaborated on a project which became a landmark in the history of music: they wrote the first opera. (Whoever said nothing good can come out of a committee!) As subject matter they chose, appropriately enough, one of the famous Greek legends, the story of Orfeo and Euridice.

Peri and Caccini devised a new method for setting words to music—a kind of speech-song. Their goal was to represent in music the accent and emotional power of speech. Peri wrote in his preface to the work that he had listened to the conversation of people and had attempted to render in music their speech in all its shades of quiet and passion—to create an intermediate between speech and song.

This stile rappresentativo ("representative style") or stile recitativo ("reciting style") came to be known as recitative, from the Latin word for recite, and it became one of the fundamental components of opera. Recitative is a technique for singing/reciting words to music in a natural expressive way. The voice follows the rhythms of language- it mirrors the ups and downs that occur as we raise our voices at a question or lower them in asides, etc.

Peri and Caccini used recitative to tell the entire story of their opera, Euridice, which was premiered in 1600. I’ve embedded a sample from Euridice along with the words, but before you listen to it let me just give you a quick rundown of the storyline as told by Peri and Caccini. On the eve of their marriage, Orfeo and Euridice are each off (separately) with friends, celebrating and eagerly anticipating the great day. This is the joyful start of our excerpt, with Euridice out in a meadow. Suddenly though, she is bitten by an asp and dies. The music changes mood instantly as it goes through her death; it then portrays the breaking of the news to Orfeo. He is obviously stunned but soon resolves to go down to the underworld and plead with the gods for her release. In case you’re curious about how things turn out in the end: Orfeo does indeed go to the gods and entertain them with his lyre--Orfeo was a master musician--and the gods grant him permission to lead Euridice out of the underworld and back to earth. The only condition they set is that he must not gaze upon her until he has safely brought her back to earth. As he starts to lead her out, she follows but does not understand why he will not look at her. She concludes that he is spurning her and pleads with him. He is so moved by her despair that he turns to comfort her—and loses her yet again, this time forever. The tragedy of the story is therefore that Orfeo loses his love not once but twice—although this unfortunate outcome was changed by later generations who could not bear the thought of such an unhappy ending!

One more point before you listen to the excerpt! Please try to remember that this is the very first opera, ever. Be kind to it. It was an experiment—a first step along the way. In many ways this excerpt reminds me of looking at the drawings of my children: it is not sophisticated, but one ends up admiring the effort. There is a sincerity expressed in it which, in the end, is very touching. Peri actually captures the scene astonishingly well: the merry mood of Euridice and her companions before she is stung by the asp—and then suddenly the agitation.

Here are the words to our excerpt from Euridice:

There is a generic name for this style of recitative writing: it is called Monody. Let’s just briefly look at this monodic style of singing and accompaniment created by the Florentine Camerata. We know already that it was a declaimed style which mimicked speech patterns and was supposed to sound more natural. So we had no melismas (afterall, people don’t speak in melismas!) and no polyphony or complicated textures (afterall, people aren't supposed to talk all at the same time on top of each other! Monody featured one person singing at a time.)

What about the accompaniment? The accompaniment was very discrete—in fact, it was so simple and unassuming that it was not even written down, but was left to the performer to improvise! It may interest you to know that the accompaniment in the excerpt of Euridice you heard was improvised, and that it was augmented with improvised violin parts.

This type of improvised accompaniment has various names: figured bass, continuo, basso continuo, and thoroughbass, to name a few. There is a whole art to learning how to improvise in this style and it is an art which, after being lost for hundreds of years, has been revived in the last 25. As a harpsichord major in conservatory, I learned to improvise figured bass. It is now a requirement for harpsichordists, organists and lutenists in most music schools.)

Basically, here’s the way it works: the composer supplies the bass part (the lowest part) of the music--in the harpsichord, for instance, this will be the left hand part. Then, above that line some numbers are written—a kind of shorthand for the harmonies that the composer wants you to improvise. So if the interval of a third was needed the composer wrote in a "3" above the bass line. The performer improvised mostly strummed or rolled chords. The continuo parts were most often played on a lute, harpsichord or organ, with the bass part sometimes doubled by a viola da gamba or bassoon. This doubling (meaning that two people played the same part) was meant to enhance the bass line, which was so fundamental to the music.

Lots of times a composer would not write any numbers at all because he was playing the continuo part himself and knew which harmonies were needed where. These are the scores that are the trickiest for a modern player to interpret because you don’t have the guidance of the numbers. In those cases you’ve just got to listen very well to the vocal line and try to improvise something that sounds appropriate. It’s a bit of an art…

So now you’ve heard a sample of Euridice. Perhaps you liked this experimental, pioneering work in monodic style? If you’re like most of the music students I’ve played this for, you probably found this little excerpt yielded some touching moments. That’s the good news. But the bad news is that you would probably hate the rest of the opera! Why? Because it continues on in this same monodic style for another two hours! (And I’d have to agree with you. I’m a specialist in this type of music, but even I have my limits!)

As successful as monodic style was, it couldn’t sustain a whole evening. Claudio Monteverdi (1567-1643- one of my all-time favorite composers!), was one of the first to recognize that the problem was not with the monodic style itself, but rather with using it for two hours straight! He put his finger on the problem exactly: what was needed was contrast. Monteverdi set out in 1607 to write his own story of Orfeo and Euridice which he titled, Orfeo.

Here's a brief tally of Monteverdi's innovations, which made Orfeo such a success:

He used monody to tell the storyline, but interspersed wonderful songs or "arias", instrumental numbers, and even dances all along the way to liven things up.  Instead of using the simple accompaniment of just a few instruments, he used an unprecedented 40 piece band.  Rather than just featuring solo singers he also added whole choruses singing.

In short, Monteverdi invented the modern-day Broadway show, but in 1607! What is particularly important was the alternation of sections of recitative with arias (or songs). This alternation became a standard tool for composers and librettists (librettists write the libretto--the words to the opera) because it divided the drama neatly into areas of action (declaimed by the recitative, which is fast-paced) and areas of reaction or reflection (sung in the arias).

Let's listen to how Monteverdi portrays the beginning of the same scene from the legend of Orfeo. Monteverdi sets a celebratory mood by having Orfeo singing a lively song. (You may notice that the rhythm of this song is almost 350 years ahead of its time—it is the same rhythm that Leonard Bernstein used in West Side Story  for the song, "I like to be in A-mér-i-ca," a very sophisticated pattern that alternates 6/8 and 3/4 rhythm.)
If you have a moment, email me and let me know you're opinion of it.

Here are the words to the song (partial words only):

Vi ricorda o boschi ombrosi Vi ricorda o boschi ombrosi De' miei lunghi aspri tormenti Quando I sassi ai miei lamenti Rispondean fatti pietosi. Vi ricorda o boschi ombrosi Vi ricorda o boschi ombrosi.

You remember, O shady woods, You remember, O shady woods, my long, bitter torments, when the stones responded compassionately, to my lament.

 

A personal note from LK~ How I discovered Monteverdi's opera, Orfeo...Click here for video.

One of the techniques that Monteverdi made use of (and which was a standard technique in the Baroque era) was Ground Bass (also sometimes called Passacaglia). The Ground Bass was a set of notes in the lowest (bass) part of the piece that were repeated over and over and that formed the basis of the piece.  There were several popular Ground Bass patterns that were used by composers over and over again.  One of them even earned the nickname of the "Lament Bass" because it was always used for love songs with some kind of lament in them. Here's an example of Monteverdi's Lamento della Ninfa (Lament of the Nymph), with the popular four-note Lament Bass (please listen for it in the bass; it is repeated over and over again).

It may interest you to know that the Lament Bass has never really gone out of style.  There's a very popular example of it in the 20th century, in fact.  You'll probably recognize this famous song. :-)

If you were to purchase only one CD (outside of the Kamien set) as a result of taking this course, what would I recommend? John Eliot Gardiner conducting Monteverdi's Orfeo. It is phenomenal from beginning to end, as the piece is!

You may not know that during this era, women were not allowed to participate in public dramas. In operas, the female roles were sung by castrati, instead. The history of the castrato is one of the most shocking chapters in music history. Castrati were boys who, before reaching puberty, were castrated to retain their high singing voices, which were very prized. They were megastars in Italy, although they were mercilessly satirized in France. Their services were used in church as well, and the last castrato actually served at the Vatican until 1913. Nowadays it has become customary to use male countertenors for recreating the castrati roles. Countertenors are males who sing mostly with what's called "head voice," a method of sound reproduction that allows them to sing high-pitched parts.

There is a terrific film (available on video) called Farinelli, which tells the story of one of the most famous of all castrati.

For further reading: a novel about the castrati by Ann Rice, called, Cry to Heaven.

 

Teatro La Fenice in Venice

It must have been some scene, to take in opera during the 17th and 18th centuries… Very, very different from the sometimes stuffy, off-putting affairs we have nowadays, where people go to sit quietly for three hours and give the music their undivided attention. In those times an opera (on account of the huge cost) would play for, say, three weeks at a time. People would buy a subscription and go to it every night.

"What!?" you say. "See the same opera every night for three weeks??" Yes, but here’s the catch: you would buy a box at the opera and eat supper there! You could even serve supper to your friends—or go visit them and sup at their boxes. (Didn’t bring any food with you? Not to worry. You could easily buy some from vendors who walked through the aisles hawking raisin-nut mixes and oranges.) You played chess during the opera, chatted away freely with friends, and carried on flirtations and secret conversations behind fans. Whenever one of your favorite songs in the opera came up you could stop your activity to actually listen—but this wasn’t mandatory. (The favorite part of most opera-goers in Italy was actually the elaborate ballets that were staged, and that captured the complete attention of the audience; this behavior prompted one writer to quip that opera audiences would talk through the music and then listen to the dancing!)

Add to all of this that there developed a cult of machinery in the opera houses: machines to let angelic singers down from heaven, or to swoop them across the sky; machines to create the illusion of water, or machines to drive scenery changes that were so instantaneous that they've never been equalled—even in today’s computer-equipped opera houses!

If you would like to see a reenactment of an old opera, complete with audience response, rent the video Jefferson in Paris.  This tells the story of Thomas Jefferson's years in Paris as the United States Ambassador to France. There is a scene in the movie where Jefferson goes to the opera, and you can see just what a roudy affair operas were in those days.  By the way, there is also a scene in the movie where Gwyneth Paltrow (who plays Jefferson's daughter) plays the harpsichord.  I'm very proud of that scene-- because I was Gwyneth's harpsichord coach for this movie!

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