The Glory of Josquin
M. R. Simpson | St. Davids, PA | 01/14/2010
(5 out of 5 stars)
"On this recording, Walter Testolin directs the young Italian Ensemble De Labyrintho in an exceptionally fine performance of Josquin Des Prez's masterpiece, Missa Gaudeamus. Their approach to Josquin is quite different from other groups--such as the Tallis Scholars, who have yet to record the Gaudeamus as part of their ongoing cycle, or the French group, A Sei Voci, who are presently the only other group to offer a recording of the Mass. What makes the ensemble's singing so distinctive, apart from their masterful blending of voices, is that they fully understand how Josquin's music is, above all, deeply felt. It can be very subtle, but the Italian singers bring out a whole range of emotion in this music--much like a late Beethoven string quartet. This is in contrast to the relatively cooler, more stoic precision of the Tallis Scholars.
Another aspect that sets De Labyrintho's performance apart is that their sopranos can at times sound close to boy trebles. Not to the extent that anyone is going to be fooled, but enough so that their delicate timbres blend together with the tenor and bass parts in such a way as to produce a more treble-like clarity within the overall mixture of voices. This is particularly evident in the denser passages of Josquin's writing, where the group is able to bring out more harmonic subtleties than one normally hears. This, in turn, has the dual effect of giving the sopranos a more rarified presence, while also allowing the basses to seem more darkly resonant, earthier--even solemn. It is somewhat akin to a painter's delineation of tonal values, where a full scale of values must be deftly employed--particularly on a lighter, more rounded form where the middle tones are more complex--in order to successfully achieve the overall chiaroscuro effect. (We are after all in Italy.) All of which leads me to strongly suspect that Josquin composed the Missa Gaudeamus specifically with boys and men's voices in mind, and not solely men.
The Italian singers are also masterful at varying the range of volume in their singing--both collectively and individually. Sometimes the singers are more forwardly placed in their vocal projection, like the English groups, while at other times they become more recessed, even faintly audible--which again, gives the music the dramatic subtlety and scale of a string quartet: Allowing Josquin's musical expression to seem more intimate and deeply human.
Nor does De Labyrintho's approach mirror that of the French group A Sei Voci, directed by Bernard Fabre-Garrus, who actually use children on the upper line (from Maitrise des Pays de Loire), in what now seems a failed attempt at authenticity (despite having won a Diapason award). Not only do they use too many children's voices--six on a line, but also the technical level of the children's singing isn't as strong as it needs to be (see Amazon reviewer Giordano Bruno's excellent review of this recording Josquin Desprez: Missa Gaudeamus/Motets). After hearing the leaner textures of De Labyrintho's women, I can't help but feel that Josquin would have been better served had Fabre-Garrus chosen instead to use just one or two first-rate boy trebles, rather than a whole group--given the intricate nature of the polyphonic writing. Not to mention that Josquin wrote his Masses to be performed in churches and great cathedrals, whose ample acoustics would only further contribute to a haze of sound. While there may indeed be some historical precedent for using a group of children on the soprano line, in the end the proof is in what we hear, and I simply don't hear anywhere near as many harmonic subtleties in A Sei Voci's performance as I do in De Labyrintho's (granted A Sei Voci's performance was recorded in a church). And presumably, Josquin expected those subtleties to be heard, otherwise, why compose them? Thus, De Labyrintho seems to have solved the problem of performing Josquin's Mass in the best possible way--by using a minimum of singers on each line, and choosing females whose voices are close enough to boy trebles to produce a similar effect, yet are fully capable of doing justice to Josquin's complex polyphony.
Lately, it has become popular to compare Josquin to Beethoven, not only in terms of stature, but also on the grounds that Josquin was in his time as heavily influential a composer as Beethoven was in his. While it is an interesting insight, I see their connection as being more profound than that. For me, Josquin and Beethoven are much alike, in that they were both composers who sought to express their innermost thoughts and feelings, their philosophy and beliefs, as well as their despair and struggles through their music--but always, always as part of a greater affirmation of their intense personal devotion to a Divine Creator. I recently came across a fascinating 1809 quote from Beethoven where he expresses such a yearning--"In the old church modes the devotion is divine... God permit me express it someday."
In his booklet notes, Walter Testolin writes eloquently about Josquin's fervent devotion to the Creator, and offers a fascinating analysis and interpretation of Josquin's symbolic use of number. Indeed, he likens the structure of Josquin's music to a great Cathedral: buildings whose elaborate designs were similarly constructed according to a belief and awareness in the cosmic significance of numbers. Hence, the title of the Cd, "Musica Symbolica." Testolin also shows how Josquin uses specific numerical repetitions within the Gaudeamus Mass (and his Motets) to secretly comment upon the text--in order to have a more or less subliminal and elevating effect upon the listener. He writes,
"...It is only thanks to research carried out by William Elders [in "The Josquin Companion"] that we are starting to have an idea of the extraordinary plan of construction and the redeeming intention behind the work. The Gaudeamus is truly a Symbolic Cathedral from which emerge not only Josquin's masterly organization and moving inspiration but also glimpses of his personality and ideas concerning man and God. The antiphon Gaudeamus omnes in Domino (the introit to the festivity of All Saints' and to various other festivities to the Virgin throughout the Liturgical year) provides the theme for the cantus firmus and is sung in its entirety throughout the Mass..."
He continues,
"Using both the cantus firmus as a supporting structure of the composition and the first six notes of the antiphon (which correspond to the word 'Gaudeamus"), Josquin created a sort of melodic astinato as the means of expressing the true purport of the work. Taking as reference W. Elders' analysis of its symbolism, we see how the theological aim of the Missa Gaudeamus was a sort of history of Salvation. Josquin used numerical symbols to narrate the story of Creation, of Abraham, the Tables of the Law, of Christ's birth and death, the spreading of His word through men and through the Gospels and the hosts of the Righteous at the final triumph of God and the Lamb, as narrated in the Apocalypse. It is a story that is reminiscent of the texts used in the Liturgy of All Saint's Day (Rev 7 and Matt 5, 1-12)."
Testolin goes on to explain how the Gaudeamus theme is repeated throughout the work 61 times in total, but also as a specific and meaningful number within each movement. For example, in the opening Kyrie the theme is repeated 6 times--which correlates not only to the six days of Creation at the opening of the Bible, but also relates to Christ's crucifixion on the sixth day of the sixth hour, and to the "six works by which the righteous shall sit at the right hand of the Father" at our salvation. Indeed, Josquin--in the true spirit of his age--views the plan of earthly creation, and the cosmos itself, as an act of creative and deeply meaningful mathematics. Testolin goes on to discuss how these repetitions of the Gaudeamus theme appear throughout the rest of the work, with the number 4 being of particular importance to Josquin. He writes,
"The numbers 4 and 23 which appear in the Agnus Dei represent the manifestation of the Divine. The theme appears four times in the first Agnus Dei: for the Pythagoreans Four was the number of space and manifestation. Furthermore, the sum of the numbers 1 to 4 is 10, symbol of Totality and therefore God. And Ten in Roman numerals is, again, a cross made up of four arms." [Of course, a cathedral is also designed with four arms, or as another kind of cross.] This element of epiphany also emerges from the 23 repetitions of the theme, ever more insistent, in the third, highly moving Agnus Dei. Christ (the Divine 10) is manifested through the coming of the Magi on the 13th day after his birth. That young child is the 'Son of man who shall come in his glory' (Matt XXV, 31). The sacrificed Lamb who washes away the sins of the world again becomes the King of Glory. And in Him, man will find salvation."
The second half of De Labyrintho's recording is comprised of five Motets. Again, Testolin has some fascinating comments to make about these works, explaining that over half of Josquin's Motets are deeply influenced by the cult of the Virgin Mary, which was very popular during the Middle ages and early Renaissance. He even speculates that Josquin himself may have been a devout follower of this cult, since many of his most memorable works were dedicated to Mary the Virgin--explaining, for example, that the 12 repetitions of the word 'Alma' at the opening of the Motet 'Alma Redemptoris Mater' are symbolic of "the twelve stars in Mary's crown." Testolin also mentions the acrostic "IOSQUINDesPREZ/ACAVVESCAUGA," made from the first letter of each line in the text of the Motet 'Illibata Dei virgo Nutrix'--as a kind of self-portrait (presumably the text was written by Josquin). Which again reveals an intensely personal and reverential relationship between Josquin and the Virgin, and between Josquin and the Creator.
While there's little denying that Josquin uses numbers symbolically in his works--just as the architects and painters of his day used them in their building designs and painting compositions--we should remain open to the possibility that Josquin may have applied additional or multiple mystical meanings to these numbers beyond the orthodox Christian ones. I am in no way trying to invalidate or dismiss the meanings that others have suggested, certainly not, but there may exist the potential for other interpretations--ones that would not have been seen as incompatible or heretical to Christian views in Renaissance Italy, but rather intimately connected to them. Such as interpretations of a more Kabbalistic or Hermetic nature: two esoteric disciplines that were very popular within certain intellectual circles during the years that Josquin spent in Italy (as well as in his home court of Burgundy), circles that the composer was undoubtedly acquainted with.
For example, Josquin's devotions to the Virgin 'maiden', may have also been understood by occult practitioners to contain an oblique reference to the constellation Virgo, or the Virgin as it is called, such as in Josquin's Motet 'Illibata Dei virgo Nutrix'--which contains the lines 'Hail, thou glory of maiden, the door to Heaven for humankind.' In accordance, we might also see the 12 repetitions of the word 'Alma' at the opening of 'Alma Redemptoris Mater,' as symbolically representing the 12 signs of the Zodiac--or the ages of mankind, in addition to the 12 stars of Mary's crown. Of course, it's also possible that Josquin may have seen the 12 stars of Mary's crown and the 12 zodiacal signs as mystically related in some way. Likewise, the number 61, or the total number of repetitions of the 'Gaudeamus' theme throughout the Mass, could be viewed in terms of the Kabbala, with the numbers 6+1 equaling the divine number 7. Josquin may have also had knowledge of ancient Egypt, as I have been reading about Egypt lately, and was quite surprised to learn that the ancient Egyptian pyramid of Menkare on the Giza Plateau is exactly 61 metres high.
Testolin concludes his notes by writing,
"In these as in many other works by Josquin, symbols as archetypal signs and keys to a language common to God and man, appear in numbers, music, text and structure. The fact that they were almost always hidden demonstrates the extraordinary complexity and depth of Josquin's work--concealed that they might be revealed... we glimpse another aspect of him through the symbols that lie hidden in his works but cannot grasp the whole, for the symbol itself pales before the unfathomable Secret. His music narrates an undecipherable enigma which remains mute not withstanding it ineffable eloquence."
De Labyrintho is definitely an ensemble to watch, as they are quickly emerging as one of the bright new lights on the early music scene. They are also--as co-founder Bronislawa Falinska has stated--particularly dedicated to the works of Josquin DesPrez--which is very good news, especially if it means that we're going to get a complete Mass cycle from them. One that could compete with and be contrasted to the Tallis Scholars ongoing cycle. (They've already recorded Josquin's Missa Hercules Dux Ferrariae and Miserere Mei Deus Josquin: Missa Hercules Dux Ferrariae.) Certainly the catalogue is greatly in need of such a cycle (as presently there isn't a single complete cycle by any group), more than it needs yet another set of Beethoven or Brahms symphonies. I, for one, would rather listen to Josquin these days."
Let's Start with theTenor ...
Giordano Bruno | Wherever I am, I am. | 02/17/2010
(5 out of 5 stars)
"... No, let's start by declaring that this is in every way a gorgeous performance: excellent voices singing in tight ensemble, finding musical depths in the Missa Gaudeamus that no other consort has probed, unraveling the rhythmic tangles of Josquin's motets, making the whole 'business' sound like Music rather than either religious duty or scholarly homework. Bravi, amici! Multi registrazione di piu, per piacere! If you want to hear how really skillful the singers of De Labyrintho are, listen to track 7, the challenging motet "Illibata Dei virgo nutrix", with its insistent 'colorations' (internal changes of time-signature, often in one line only) and the effect of syncopation that result from its polyrhythmic 'prolations'. I have no hesitation in saying that this is easily the best recording of the Missa Gaudeamus. (There are only two.) But I'd also say it's one of the top twenty recordings of any of Josquin's masses.
Now let's get back to the Tenor. In Josquin's era, "tenor" didn't refer to a high male voice, but rather to a specific line of music. The Tenor was the line that 'maintained' the structure of the composition (tenere > maintain > tenor). It was most often, but not always, a middle line, therefore sung by the higher male voices, and it often consisted of material quoted by the composer from plainchant or another pre-existing source. Very commonly, even as late as Josquin (1455-1521), the Tenor would be expressed in long, sustained tones. It might be repeated a given number of times completely. It might be suspended and/or intermittent. It might be doubled canonically. In any sort of treatment, however, it was the core of the music, analogous to but not the same thing as a chord sequence in later music. One can almost always assume that Renaissance composers composed from the Tenor outwards, both the upper and lower lines being added as "contratenor superius" or "contratenor bassus". Passages where the Tenor was tacit were usually freely decorative, melismatic and essentially irrational. The Tenor was implicitly the voice of reason, of rationality.
It's important to understand the role of the Tenor in Renaissance polyphony to discuss the "authenticity" of a performance. Very many modern performances subdue the Tenor. Treat it as mere background. Ignore its expressive capacity in favor of a more prominent top (soprano) or bottom (bass) line. After all, those are the lines with the tricky fast notes....
So, just for fun, let's consider the ways in which this very fine performance by De Labyrintho is not at all authentic, but in fact a "thoroughly modern sound event."
1) The obvious. Women sopranos. There were certainly women singers in Josquin's world, but they never never never sang the Ordinaries of the Mass, which were always always always sung in the context of a liturgical service. (But do the women of De Labyrintho sound okay ? Yes, of course. Use your own ears and decide for yourself.)
2) The voices here are two-on-a-part. That isn't inauthentic, except statistically; I would guess that such a mass was sung one-on-a-part at least three times as often as two-on-a-part.
3) It's too artistic. Too artful. Too dramatic, with its strongly contrasting sectional tempi and dynamics. That's how you sing for a concert audience, with a conductor imposing an interpretation. There's nothing in the many musical theory writings of Josquin's era to suggest that such 'impressionism' was cultivated. Without a conductor, how could it have been done? And without an audience, what would have been the point? Frankly, the "art" of the Franco-Flemish polyphonists like Josquin was an exercise of mathematical reason, a connoisseur's art, what modern critics call 'Apollonian' in contrast to 'Dionysian' art.
4) The Tenor is too often taken for granted. Every entrance of the Tenor line should be a significant moment in the music, a moment when things come together and fall in place. The tenors of De Labyritho are quite good, by modern standards, but even here they are a little too reserved in timbre.
5) It's not sung in a liturgical context. The five Ordinaries of such a mass were NEVER sung as a single, uninterrupted musical event in Josquin's time.
Now then: Would a rigorously 'authentic' performance be better? More pleasing to hear as pure music? More comprehensible for a modern audience? Oh golly gee, that's a big maybe. I would have to take it on faith alone. Meanwhile, this is as good a recorded performance as you're likely to hear in our lifetimes."
Track Listings (10) - Disc #1