We just finished the first weekend of "Chansons d'Amour: April in Paris," the newest Chicago a cappella program. I must say I'm very happy with the program and how it all turned out. If you haven't ever heard the Poulenc Huit chansons françaises (Eight French songs), mostly based on 16th-century and other traditional tunes, they're worth the whole admission price on their own. What a fabulous cycle! Poulenc is amazing.
But I don't want to dwell on Poulenc -- rather, on what it takes to deliver the 16th-century chanson in a convincing manner. This is harder than it looks. Replicating the notes on the page is necessary but not sufficient for a great performance.
So I've been thinking about this a little and have a few thoughts to offer.
How do we connect with the very remote past? I am trying to figure this out. For starters, my wife (Sandy) and I are leaving, a week from Friday, for a brief cathedral-hopping tour of England. To get ready, we've been watching the DVD series on English history by the wonderful historian Simon Schama, developed for the History Channel.
Though I've been there half a dozen times, I am going to England with a new sense of wonder this spring because I've learned a lot recently about how the cathedrals were built. However, I'm also going with a little twinge of sorrow in my heart, because I now know more than ever how much pain and suffering there was in the Middle Ages; how the Black Death truly transformed British society and all of Europe; and how much war and cruelty was inflicted on peasants and others by people hungry for power, money, or to be right about religious doctrine or practice.
I think that as an American, I have been conditoned to believe that history does not really matter in some ways, that hard work can overcome everything, and so on. But now I'm not so sure. I feel that singing Renaissance music has much more inside it than I realized when I first fell in love with it as a high-schooler and as a young bass at the University of Chicago. At that time, I loved the music mostly on its own, "purely musical" merits, and I immersed myself in the sounds and building-blocks of that music, even going to grad school to get a Ph.D. in how Renaissance music was put together by its composers. But even this is not enough, I now believe. And it's not even just a sense of tradition sweeping one along, or of familiarity with a given idiom, though that helps a lot.
There seems to be a true and real and valid reason why Americans can sing jazz like nobody else, why black spirituals sung by British choirs leave me cold, and so on. Much as I would have liked to believe that you can somehow conquer a musical style that is not your own, I feel that there are some limits to this. Now that I'm a little older, I can admit my shortcomings more readily than I would have done at age 30, when I started Chicago a cappella; I felt at the time that I could take virtually any musical style and wrestle it to the ground. But in some cases I have met my match and have to acknowledge that there are styles I will in all likelihood never truly be able to master, and it is time to keep playing to my strengths for the good of all concerned!
While I feel that Chicago a cappella does them effectively, I wish I knew more about the background of the 16th-century chansons. They are really not the same as English madrigals, though they were created with some of the same musical materials of harmony and counterpoint. French poetry has its own conceits and themes; more so than with Italian or English madrigals, the French repertoire seems to have its own independent world. Were it not for my friend Tim McTaggart, who was a grad student at the U of C when I was an undergrad, and who edited hundreds upon hundreds of chansons into modern edition and gave me a chance to sing them in the quartet Musique de Joye, and were it not for the late, great Howard Mayer Brown, the most musical musicologist I have ever met, I would not have any confidence that I could make music out of chansons written 500 years ago and have them communicate well with audiences.
Despite our best efforts, a bit of a cultural gulf remains between us and the people of the Renaissance. What was impactful to them, and how, seems quite different from what moves us to our core now. Still, the music they left is are heartfelt, sometimes hilarious, and quite human. I would be curious as to your thoughts on how well we can really cross that gulf of time in our present day.
Comments
How to sing a style not our own - Jonathan Miller's blog
Thu, 4/23/2009 - 5:48am — AnonymousJonathan - As a singer and as someone with a degree in French (and who spoke French - admittedly a cleaned-up version of Canadian French - as a child) and who worked for three years with the French as a liaison officer in Europe, I think the very issue you're addressing is one of culture. The late Pope John Paul II spoke directly and often to that issue, and the more I have reflected on that, the more I'm convinced that for all the validity of other forms of study, knowing more about a culture's "milieu" is the real challenge. I could not agree with you more that there is a major, perhaps an insurmountable, challenge in dealing with a culture not intimately your own. Doesn't mean we shouldn't attempt it - but we shouldn't have the hubris to think we really can nail it, either.
This is perhaps a cultural bias, but I recall my dear French teacher in high school commenting that it seemed as though the gift of the French, at least in music, was in the smaller forms. His description of what a French composer did was to focus on one facet of the jewel (some aspect of human endeavor or struggle, spoken or un-) and polish it until it gleamed. Did he seriously think that French composers were incapable of or uninterested in larger forms? Hardly. But what he seemed to be focusing on was on the "genius" of the French - and it may be a reflection of the language's peculiarities as a reflection of the worldview of the French themselves. I realize this gets into extremely dangerous ground - generalities (including this one) being inherently indefensible, at least from a logical standpoint. Nonetheless, a study of the language is to study profoundly and intimately the subtleties of society and culture and point of view. (A small and telling example is how in English we say, "I AM hungry," thus identifying ourselves directly with our hunger - in a mathematical way, saying "I = hunger". The French (and Spanish and other Romance languages) say "J'ai faim" - "I HAVE hunger" - rather like a possession that you can drop on the side of the road, if need be; or mathematically, "I +/- hunger". One is not ruled by one's physical needs in the Romance tradition. Is one less hungry? Hardly - but the viewpoint can be instructive even in the most basic expressions. Yet another example is the emphasis on "time" in the past - imparfait, passe compose, plusqueparfait, passe anterieur, passe historique - sorry I don't have the accents there - but such an awareness of the passage of time in the past and their relationship the one to the other is much more common in modern spoken French than in English, where we tend to put everything into "the past tense" - without significant gradation.)
Am I suggesting that one shouldn't approach any of this music unless one has a Ph.D. in cultural anthropology, a or several languages, history, musicology, etc.? No, no - we'd never do a darn thing, and we'd all be impoverished as a result. But at the very least, as a director or performer (with the choice of music at hand), one should be very aware of the cultural context - the fullest range of history, religion, sociology, etc. - and be prepared to share that with one's chorus and/or to integrate into one's own performance, if solo. You mentioned Simon Schama - yet another is Fernand Braudel and his monumental works on Renaissance Europe, especially Spain. And is there a "cultural language" that seems to be understood by a specific group of people - which goes beyond the mere bounds of language? I believe so. To the extent that people share a common cultural heritage - take the African-American as a case close to home - no matter how much the rest of us try to achieve that, we will fall short in general, and with rare individual examples succeeding. It would take more time and space than is truly available here to go into the why of this - but I think it doesn't require a raft of degrees to figure out why - and it boils down to culture.
As to the repertoire of the Renaissance, looking at English music of the Tudor period compared to that of France at the same time, is to look at an increasingly "muscular" society, feeling at one and the same time hyperconfident (defeating France in the Hundred Years War on a fairly regular basis until right before its end, and defeating Spain both near home and in the New World) and supremely lacking in confidence (constantly looking over their shoulder and wondering when Spain/the Empire/the rest of Catholic Europe were going to try yet again to knock Elizabeth off the throne) - and then you have the French, who are feeling themselves militarily and politically surrounded (the Empire/Spain/England) while at the same time finding Europe turning to them for cultural direction - it's all reflected in the literature and the music. And so it goes. Any easy answers? No - but the struggle has to be worth it - because without it, we fail to grasp at least the edges of our heritage. And there will be parts of the musical repertoire that we just won't nail - but we should try, because it is ours, in a sense.
Ron Duquette
ronart.assoc@cox.net
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