Explanatory Preface
I reverted to my old habit of sending elaborate letters to my correspondents, instead of posting to my blog like I had resolved to do some time ago. So in some places, it will read like a letter, which it was.
This letter concerns my [music] listening, reading and
thinking, as opposed to being a status report on my physical and mental health. That fact may
bear on your decision whether or not to continue. No offense taken
if you do not. Let me know, and I will write you off, er,
I mean, cancel your subscription. Considering my Disordered OC, you should not be surprised that I felt it necessary to look up "offense" to be absolutely sure of the spelling. My volatile memory now holds that "offence" is the British equivalent. Also, I found one of the definitions to be "something that outrages moral sensibilities", the specter (spectre) of which may also influence your decision to proceed.
I mean, cancel your subscription. Considering my Disordered OC, you should not be surprised that I felt it necessary to look up "offense" to be absolutely sure of the spelling. My volatile memory now holds that "offence" is the British equivalent. Also, I found one of the definitions to be "something that outrages moral sensibilities", the specter (spectre) of which may also influence your decision to proceed.
Lasciate ogne speranza, voi
ch'intrate
Dante's Inferno.
Hint:
Gates of Hell... Metaphorical
reference
to the juncture between this paragraph and the
following.
OK, the
phrase is Italian for
"Abandon all hope,
ye who enter".
Introduction
A number of days ago, I began this letter, which I
am now trying to salvage. Based on the preliminary estimate of
scope, I had to subdivide the content into installments. This is the
first. It has been a great while since I discussed music, as opposed
to more recent discourse on mathematics, science, philosophy, and
culture. I have herein provided links for reference, but instead of
forcing the reader to negotiate these obstacles at the outset, I have
moved them to the end. In the past, my Introductions could more
appropriately have been called Apologia, but I have since
decided that life is too short to defend things before I have written
them. This paragraph was condensed by Reader's Digest from the
full page in my head.
Hallelujah
When I first heard the song "Hallelujah",
I thought OK, it's not too objectionable, nice music. With that many
repetitions of the word Hallelujah, I figured it must a popular
praise song of the Contemporary Christian Music Community
(hereinafter CCMC). I didn't even bother to listen to the
non-Hallelujah text, sure to be content familiar to me, but not
really my cup of wine. However, I kept hearing it, and I do not seek
out such songs. I read somewhere that someone had changed the
lyrics, which seemed odd to me. Finally, I discovered "Hallelujah"
had been written by Leonard Cohen in 1984, to which I reacted Leonard
Cohen?? 1984?? Still, I did not investigate fully until
recently. Found the original lyrics, listened twice. Decided it was
actually a great song, quintessential Leonard Cohen. But why on
earth does the CCMC think of it as a praise song? No wonder the
Osmonds (per my research) changed the lyrics to lend more sacred
content, or else the CCMC doesn't pay attention to the non-Hallelujah
words either. Anyway, my cognizance is now more complete, sort of.
Since I wrote the previous paragraph, I've had
some time to mull it over. I may have been a bit too agnostically
harsh. Interestingly, I just told someone, regarding a different
song, "There is a fine line between a love song and a praise
song." Having now listened to several different performances of
"Hallelujah", with the benefit of my new investigational
20-20 hindsight, I hear a love song, albeit gritty and coarse,
sad and joyous, sacred and profane. The song is largely about
"broken" Hallelujahs (see commentary reference link below),
but also about rapturous Hallelujahs, arguably both physical and
spiritual. It portrays the deep pain that permeates the interstices
of existence, the dear cost of love, and of life itself. For me,
this is a sad song. The reiteration of the title Hallelujah at
such a measured pace, enables the skilled singer to evoke different
shades of meaning for each successive repetition. I think it is an
intense and powerful song. It speaks to me, no, it beckons me, to
examine my life through its lens, astigmatic as it may be. It
conjures within me, emotions too intimate to express. I expect it
does that for each listener, and therein lies individual
interpretation. I get love, both romantic and carnal. Others may
get love, both divine and spiritual. In both cases, affirmation.
Incidentally, for me, the aspect that makes this
song so powerful, the repeated Hallelujah, makes for infrequent
listening. I don't have (want?) that much Hallelujah in my life,
broken or otherwise. Or maybe I just don't want to be coerced
into repeated self-examination.
Why, you may ask, as did the little paranoid voice in my head, do I think the song is so sexual? Well, first off, the veil of implication is very thin. I've heard less direct references in porno dialog. And then there's the vacuum left by my fading theism, into which other thoughts are too easily sucked. Waxing momentarily serious, I will admit that I have been sensitized to detect such double entendres, but not in the way you might think. Hold that thought, even if it's wrong.
The First Swan
No, not in the Garden of Eden, in this letter.
Over the course of my life, I have encountered a
precious few pieces of music, that have changed me on the spot. Left
me dumbstruck, brought tears to my eyes, moved the earth beneath my
feet, quickened my breath and pulse. This is not an effect reserved
for musicians, but extends to anyone having at least one musical bone
in their body. I dare say, you are thinking right now about your own
experience with such musical revelations.
One of my transforming pieces is the Italian
Renaissance madrigal,
Il bianco e dolce cigno (The White and Sweet Swan) by Jacques Arcadelt (c1505-1568). When I regained conscious thought, I knew, at least for that moment, it was the most beautiful piece I had ever heard. At this point, I will suggest that you listen to one or more of the YouTube videos, links are below under Reference. Here is the Italian text with translation. We'll talk more after you listen...
Il bianco e dolce cigno (The White and Sweet Swan) by Jacques Arcadelt (c1505-1568). When I regained conscious thought, I knew, at least for that moment, it was the most beautiful piece I had ever heard. At this point, I will suggest that you listen to one or more of the YouTube videos, links are below under Reference. Here is the Italian text with translation. We'll talk more after you listen...
(Italian, rhymed)
Il bianco e dolce cigno cantando more,
Ed io, piangendo,
Giung'al fin del viver mio.
Stran'e diversa sorte,
Ch'ei more sconsolato,
Ed io moro beato.
Morte, che nel morire,
M'empie di gioia tutt'e di desire.
Se nel morire altro dolor non sento,
Di mille mort'il di sarei contendo.
(English,
idiomatic)
The sweet white swan dies singing,
and I, weeping, reach the end of my life.
Strange and different fates,
that he dies disconsolate, and I die blessed.
Death, which in dying, fills me full of joy and desire.
If in dying, were I to feel no other pain,
I would be content to die a thousand deaths a day.
The sweet white swan dies singing,
and I, weeping, reach the end of my life.
Strange and different fates,
that he dies disconsolate, and I die blessed.
Death, which in dying, fills me full of joy and desire.
If in dying, were I to feel no other pain,
I would be content to die a thousand deaths a day.
When I first heard this piece, I had only enough
Italian to understand the title, so my spiritual experience was based
only upon the music, and maybe the beautiful lilt of the Italian
language, but not the actual words. Except maybe "mille mort",
which I knew meant "a thousand deaths". So I had no
semantic context, only the pure sound. I must emphasize here that I
was both transfixed and transfigured on first hearing this piece, a
very intense experience. If you choose to respond to this letter
(not required), I would be interested in your reaction to the piece.
Ah, but all is not what it seems. Don't you just
hate it, when you hold something dear, beautiful, and pure, and then
someone sullies and degrades it, so much so that you are devastated
and embarrassed by your initial ardor? Yeah. Me, too. Well, that's
exactly what happened to me. And now I will inflict it on you. Hey,
at least I warned you.
It turns out that in the Renaissance, the
standards of society were modest to the point of prudery, not unlike
the Victorian Era. However, in many segments of society, apparently
including musicians, the veneer of politeness was appreciably thinner
than you might expect. It is not unusual, even today, that those
who want to talk about sex and other wickedness, ascribe alternative
salacious meanings to otherwise innocent words. Yep, here it comes.
In such Renaissance double-speak, as in the dialog
of more cerebral porn films, the word "death" is synonymous
with "orgasm". There are, of course, other words and
phrases that carry similar dual meanings. However, in many cases, it
only takes one word (in this case, death) to lend the dual meaning to
the surrounding context. For the most part, I will leave the
contextual reinterpretation as an exercise for the reader, but I will
drop some hints.
When I looked closely at the English translation
of the text, fortified with a better-educated command of Italian, I
was confused by the seeming role reversal between the singer and the
swan. At first, the approach of death finds the swan singing and the
singer weeping. [My only other source for swans singing at death
is found in the next section, The
Second Swan (No, don't look yet!). For the moment,
let's just assume singing is natural for a dying swan.] Then
suddenly the swan is dying disconsolate? And the singer is dying
blessed? Blessed? OCD again, check the Italian carefully to be
sure. Alternative translations of "beato"... Blessed.
Blissful?! Lucky?!?! Finally, the light began to dawn. In my
defense, I went for years without the double meaning ever occurring
to me. Such is the power of music, to blind a man from the more
abject and sordid aspects of life. OK, give me a "Duh!".
Upon realizing the worst, I was truly angry that the same people who
snigger at dirty jokes, were out there sniggering at this beautiful
madrigal about having sex a thousand times a day.
A final note...(wait for it) I think the
cascading descent of the voices on "de mille mort" is very
skillful text-painting. It reminds me of a fountain, or fireworks,
or perhaps both? (Sorry.)
The Second Swan
No, not on Noah's Ark, in this letter.
Yes, a second madrigal, in English, about a second
swan, which also dies singing. I am sorry that this piece is not
another one that immediately struck awe into my mind and heart. I
was not very impressed with it at first blush. However, it has grown
on me like kudzu.
I once long ago had a Music History prof, a very sensitive and emotional man, who challenged me. "Go to the appropriate museum, and view one of Monet's mural-sized paintings of Water Lilies. After a few minutes, you will suddenly find it so beautiful you can't stand it! " He spoke to me that intensely, the italics seared right into my ROM. Thus has this madrigal beguiled me over the years since. I won't say any more until you listen to The Silver Swan by Orlando Gibbons (1583-1625). You, too, should have the pleasure of relatively uninformed discovery. First, the text...
I once long ago had a Music History prof, a very sensitive and emotional man, who challenged me. "Go to the appropriate museum, and view one of Monet's mural-sized paintings of Water Lilies. After a few minutes, you will suddenly find it so beautiful you can't stand it! " He spoke to me that intensely, the italics seared right into my ROM. Thus has this madrigal beguiled me over the years since. I won't say any more until you listen to The Silver Swan by Orlando Gibbons (1583-1625). You, too, should have the pleasure of relatively uninformed discovery. First, the text...
The
Silver Swan who, living, had no note,
When death approach'd, unlock'd her silent throat.
Leaning her breast against the reedy shore,
Thus sung her first and last, And sung no more:
"Farewell all joys, O death come close mine eyes.
More geese than swans now live, more fools than wise."
When death approach'd, unlock'd her silent throat.
Leaning her breast against the reedy shore,
Thus sung her first and last, And sung no more:
"Farewell all joys, O death come close mine eyes.
More geese than swans now live, more fools than wise."
Catch me at the right moment, and this madrigal
will bring tears to my eyes. It is very sad, mournful,
accepting of death, but not above taking a swipe at the ignorant
masses (geese). I will dispense with the suspense, and state
for the record, I don't believe there is any sexual implication here,
at any level. (Except perhaps that if you're a goose, you're
f*cked.) I may be wrong about the piece's purity, but I am unwilling
to stretch my imagination that frighteningly far.
About swans singing at death... This has been a
proverb since Ancient Greece. It is the basis for the term "swan
song". (Let's hear another rousing "DUH!" for Bud,
who just figured that out.)
Having consulted my favorite spurious tertiary
source, Wikipedia, I discovered there is some speculation that
Gibbons' last line is lamenting "the demise of the English
madrigal form or, more generally, the loss of the late Elizabethan
musical tradition." I guess his goose-swan distinction is thus
limited to musicians, and perhaps their patrons.
Gibbons was the leading composer in England during
his lifetime. Also an accomplished organist and virginalist
(harpsichordist), he was appointed to the Chapel Royal, a prestigious
post devoted primarily to sacred music. Perhaps this is why his
madrigal is not sexually charged. Jacques Arcadelt, on the other
hand, was Franco-Flemish, and the preeminent composer of madrigals
and chansons (secular music) during his lifetime. However, he did
hold a number of church posts to pay the rent.
It is risky to criticize such a classic madrigal
as The Silver Swan, but hey, Gibbons is long dead. I'm not on
Twitter, and anyway, how big could his fan base be? The world-wide
Episcopal Church, the academic music community, and every college
student who ever took Music Appreciation. Maybe I should rethink
this... The only quibble I have is with that last line. At the
end of this beautiful intimate portrait of death and sadness, Gibbons
slaps on a thinly veiled political statement in graffiti spray paint.
How would the swan know that? The swan would never say that. Maybe
the aphorism is too trite for our modern ears, too stale and banal,
insufficiently profound, considering the high poetic artistry of the
other lyrics. I am not a master of iambic pentameter, but I
nonetheless brazenly dare to offer a less controversial alternative.
"Farewell
all joys, O death come close mine eyes,
And bear mine spirit off to paradise."
And bear mine spirit off to paradise."
I encourage you to devise your own alternative
closure to the madrigal, so I won't feel quite so alone out here on
this limb. Perhaps the piece in any other form would not have lasted
so long.
Answers without Questions
You can now let go of that thought you were
holding. My sensitivity to sexual overtones in text comes from
studying way too many madrigals in Music School. (offense? offence?)
Italian poetry, which includes virtually all
Italian musical texts, is highly elided. In order to render the
elisions explicit, apostrophes are inserted for the missing
letter(s). This is critical to the singer, and difficult for those
learning the language. Think of the helpful fingerings marked in
your piano music.
It
took me way too long to complete this letter. I
started in mid-March. If I had a deadline, I would be toast.
Of course, it is highly
uncharacteristic
of me to make deadlines.
Most
musical examples on YouTube leave much to be desired as far as
quality, he says derisively. It is a pool of randomly uploaded
favorites and abominably poor self-made videos. You have to kiss a
lot of frogs to find your YouTube prince. If it weren't for bad
recordings, we'd
have no recordings at all. Gloom, despair, and agony on us.
I
suppose there are good and useful parts of YouTube, but I have yet to
discover them. Remember, I'm not on Twitter.
I
wish
I had a big finish, but the pressure of pushing this out the door,
er, outbox, yet tonight is giving me writer's block. Aphorism: When
you have nothing more to say, shut up.
Love
to all !
HARLOW
HARLOW
REFERENCES
Hallelujah (1984)
Leonard
Cohen (b.1934)
Performances
Commentary and Lyrics
Il bianco e dolce cigno (a4)
Primo libro dei
madrigali (1538/39) [first book of madrigals]
Jacques
Arcadelt (c1505-1568)
Performances (all excellent
recordings)
The
Consort of Musicke, Anthony Rooley, dir. (1987), audio only,
vocal
performance followed immediately by instrumental (viol consort)
The
Hilliard Ensemble (date?), video continuously displays the score.
I
feel this performance is most expressive of text.
The
King's Singers (date?), video continuously displays the score.
This
is the tempo most to my liking.
The Silver Swan (a5), 1612
Orlando
Gibbons (1583-1625)
Performances
(excellent recordings)
Trinity
Baroque (date?), video continuously displays the score.
