Harlow T's Blimp Hangar: 2016/04

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.

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...

(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.

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...

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."

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."

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