Codex Calixtinus

Ad Vesperas Sancti Iacobi
Music from Codex Calixtinus (12th Century)

Ensemble Organum
Marcel Pérès (dir.)

 



Antonio Vivaldi’s Six Concerts Op. 11

The last concertos by Vivaldi to be published in his lifetime were the twelve which, divided into two volumes identified respectively as opp. 11 and 12, came out in 1729. We first learn of them from an advertisement placed by their publisher Michel-Charles Le Céne in the Gazette d’Amsterdam on 2 September of that year. Vivaldi’s relationship with his various publishers had been unsettled, to say the least. After op. 2 (1709) he abandoned Venetian printers in favour of the Amsterdam firm of Estienne Roger, which used the technique of engraving. This association seems to have foundered after op. 7 (1717), perhaps because Roger added to that collection some works not actually by Vivaldi himself. In 1724 the composer was trying unsuccessfully to promote a project to publish his concertos by subscription. However, with op. 8 (1725) he returned to the Amsterdam firm, now headed by Le Cène. This renewed association lasted only four years; in 1733 Vivaldi confided to an English visitor that he had decided to give up publishing his works since he found it more profitable to sell them in manuscript copies.

Opp. 11 and 12 exemplify Vivaldi’s late style in its initial stage of formations. Although it has been argued that Vivaldi’s musical language never ‘developed’ in a conventional sense, simple observation shows that the concertos bear many of the general hallmarks of the late 1720s, a time when Italian composers of instrumental music were busily assimilating the innovations of the galant style introduced via opera in the mid-1720s and championed by such compoers by Leo, Vinci and Poropra. Composers were now fashioning melodic lines more intricately, drawing on much more varied stock of melodic and rhythmic ideas. This refinement of detail caused the tempo of many Allegro movements to slow down, for where formerly a uniform ‘patter’ of semiquavers could form the dominant rhythmic background, now triplet semiquavers and even demisemiquavers became important elements.

We must remember that by 1729 Vivaldi was no longer a composer from whom others borrowed ideas and techniques in order to remain at the forefront of musical development. Indeed, he himself risked falling behind public taste unless he looked over his shoulder at what a generation of younger composers was doing. The figure of the violinist-composer Giuseppe Tartini (1692-1770) is discernible behind certain traits in op. 11 and was to loom even larger in the next decade.

Whenever Vivaldi assembled a set of concertos or sonatas for publication, his usual practice was to make an anthology of works that had already been tried out during the previous years. When one compares the published versions with earlier manuscript versions that have survived separately one usually discovers evidence of revision, but the changes are often only small. The first and fourth of the op. 11 concertos, in earlier versions, were part of the repertory of Anna Maria, the star violinist at the Ospedale della Pietà during the 1720s. Vivaldi was by then no longer an employee of this famous Venetian institution, but even so, he sold over 140 concertos to it between 1723 and 1729. Those written for Anna Maria survive today – without their accompaniment, alas – in a partbook that once belonged to her. The second and fifth concertos were included in a manuscript set of twelve concertos entitled La cetra that Vivaldi presented to Charles VI in 1728 – it is possible that the concerto ‘Il favorito’ acquired this nickname when the emperor took an especial liking to it. The sixth concerto is a variant, with solo oboe. No prior use of the third concerto is known, but the fact that an autograph manuscript of it, preserved in Turin, contains the inscription ‘primo’ suggests that at some stage it was the first work copied out to fulfil a commission for a patron.

One feature common to four of these concertos is that their central slow movements share the keynote of the outer fast movements (in two cases with a change in mode). Hans Keller coined the term ‘homotonality’ for this characteristic, which is later encountered in several works of the Classical period. While it obviously lessens tonal variety, it can help to give a stronger or more consistent ‘flavour’ to a composition in several movements. Vivaldi was a pioneer of homotonality in the sphere of the concerto; one notices that as his career progresses, the incidence of concertos with a single key centre increases.

Concerto N.º 1 – This is perhaps the most straightforward of the six. In its bustling opening movement the abundant use of open strings (a characteristic feature of baroque string music in D major) is very evident. The Largo is cast in one of Vivaldi’s favourite forms; an extended solo in two sections framed by a concise orchestral tutti. The use of pizzicato lends delicacy to this movement.

Concerto N.º 2 – The second concerto is the most powerful and structurally elaborate work of the set. Its opening movement is full of chromaticism, tonal digressions and subtle thematic cross-references between solo and tutti. In the slow movement Vivaldi weaves fantastic arabesques that anticipate Haydn’s ‘Gypsy’ style in such movements as the Adagio of his String Quartet, Op. 54 n.º 2. The way in which Vivaldi disguises the reprise is very unusual for the time. The finale begins like a minor-key version of the ‘Autumn’ concerto from The Four Seasons, but soon dispels any hint of huntsmen’s jollity.

Concerto N.º 3 – The opening movement of this concerto exhibits an almost disconcerting variety of moods and textures. The frequent shifts between major and minor are a gallant feature that Vivaldi employs very often in his late music. For the slow movement, which bears the unusual titled ‘Aria’, Vivaldi reverts to the single scoring of a violin sonata, accompanying the solo violin with plain continuo. This interchange between the repertory of the violin concerto and the violin sonata, mainly affecting slow movements, is a hallmark of Vivaldi’s style. The finale is a vigorous study in rushing scales.

Concerto N.º 4 – The first movement of the fourth concerto is dominated by the see-sawing rhythms of the violins. For the Largo cantabile Vivaldi reverts once again to the ‘sonata’ model. For all one knows, he might actually have used the movement already in an earlier sonata – it bears a remarkably close resemblance to the opening movement of one of Vivaldi’s ‘Manchester’ sonatas (G minor, RV 757). The finale features more shifts between major and minor; particularly appealing is a little appendix, in G minor, to the opening ritornello.

Concerto N.º 5 – This work opens with an Allegro non molto in which the tempo direction itself, repeated for the final, illustrates the slowing down of the basic pulse mentioned earlier. The central Largo is a perfect demonstration of Vivaldi’s lyricism.

Concerto N.º 6 – Another ‘vintage’ slow movement is found in this concerto. Vivaldi employs the old device of an ostinato bass, where constant repetitions of the same pattern (here a chromatically descending figure traditionally associated with the idea of a lament) form a background to the excursions of the solo instrument.

Michael Talbot



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Giovanni P. da Palestrina's Missa 'Ecce Ego Johannes' and Motets

Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina (his name derives from a town not far from Rome) was probably born in 1525 or 1526. After seven years as maestro di cappella at the cathedral of his native town, he went to Rome at the summons of Pope Julius III to become chapelmaster of the Cappella Giulia at St Peter’s. He later became a singer at the Sistine Chapel but was dismissed by Paul IV on account of his unacceptable married status. After other appointments, Palestrina returned to the Julian Chapel in 1571 as chapelmaster. He died in 1594.

Still thought of today as the grand master of the polyphonic style, Palestrina was highly regarded and much published in his lifetime. His output comprises one hundred and four firmly attributed Masses, over three hundred and seventy-five motets, sixty-eight offertories, at least sixty-five hymns, thirty-five Magnificats, four (possibly five) sets of Lamentations, and over a hundred and forty madrigals. His publications bear dedications to men of great power: discerning and wealthy patrons of the arts such as Guglielmo Gonzaga, foreign princes and potentates (there are two books of Masses inscribed to Philip II of Spain) and, increasingly in his later years, popes.

The six-voice Missa Ecce ego Johannes is based on an unknown model. The text ‘Ecce ego Johannes’, from the Book of Revelation, is used for the chapter (capitulum) at Vespers on All Saints’ Day, and it appears elsewhere (in the Sarum books, for example) as an antiphon at Matins for the same feast. The character of Palestrina’s setting, however, suggests that it might well have been based on a polyphonic model. It is a powerful, confident work, something evident from the very first notes of the Kyrie. As with the Missa Papae Marcelli, it is a model of Palestrinian word-setting. There is a constant, subtle use of homophonic writing throughout which gives it tremendous rhetorical power. A good example is the reflective chordal opening of the second Kyrie, which not only contrasts with the more flowing, transparent textures of the Christe before it, but gives rise to imitative writing, out of which arises the climactic second phrase of the cantus, soaring up the octave.

The Gloria and Credo are customarily characterized by more declamatory writing on account of the length of their texts. In this case, so interwoven is the use of homophony and imitation in the various subdivisions of the choral ensemble that it is hard to say where one ends and the other begins. Thus it is that the exultant ascending scales at ‘rex caelestis’ in the Gloria arise completely naturally out of the more static chordal writing preceding them, and the same is true of the contrapuntal writing following the block chordal ‘Domine Deus’. There is a marvellous flowering, using a descending scalic motif, at the final phrase of the Gloria, like an illuminated initial placed at the end of a text rather than at the beginning. Such scalic figures also appear in order to decorate the otherwise straightforward cadences at ‘et incarnatus est’ and ‘et homo factus est’ in the Credo, and the reduced-scoring ‘Crucifixus’ develops them further. The triple-time of the ‘Et in Spiritum Sanctum’ is a real surprise after such delicate tracery, though this lasts only until ‘Et unam sanctam’.

The Sanctus is powerful and majestic; again descending and ascending scalic figures feature prominently, and they give a special colour to this section when doubled in thirds, sixths or tenths, as at ‘et terra’, or at several places in the substantial Benedictus. Less effusive melodically, the Agnus Dei is triumphant and thrilling. The opening of the second recalls the beginning of the second Kyrie.

Tribulationes civitatum and Peccantem me quotidie are both penitential motets. The former appeared in the 1584 Motectorum liber quintus, published in Rome, the latter in Motettorum liber secundus, published twelve years earlier in Venice. Both make use of soaring melodic phrases and quite abrupt harmonic and textural contrasts: the block chords at ‘Timor’ in Tribulationes civitatum, for example, which clearly make the word stand out, or the subsequent harmonic change at ‘et super liberos’. At the end of the first part there is a real sense of imploring for mercy at the words ‘Domine miserere’, characterized by a descending motif. In the second part such procedures are continued; most remarkable of all is the sudden harmonic stasis caused by the use of pedal notes at ‘iniuste egimus’; this is followed by two sequential descents onto bare fifths at ‘iniquitatem fecimus’. Peccantem me quotidie is even more haunted by the need for repentance and the fear of death: the words ‘timor mortis conturbat me’ (so chillingly reiterated by the fifteenth-century Scottish poet William Dunbar in his Lament for the Makers) are set in simple block chords, but move symbolically into new harmonic territory. There is an audible darkening, so to speak, with the despairing descending phrases of ‘nulla est redemptio’, but with the startling plea for mercy at ‘Miserere mei, Deus’, the end of the work is bathed in the light of hope: these two motets seem to incarnate the dictum of the Orthodox monk Staretz Silouan, who said ‘Keep thy mind in hell, and despair not’. If it is still today unfashionable to read such spiritual concerns into this music, it should not be forgotten that Palestrina was working at the very centre of the development of Counter-Reformation spirituality: as Lewis Lockwood has written: ‘His career exhibits not only enormous artistic power and fecundity, exercised with great restraint, but also a strong religious feeling coupled with a sense of worldly purpose’ (‘Palestrina’, in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians).

Laudate pueri, from the 1572 collection of motets, and Cantantibus organis, published in 1575, show the festive side of Palestrina, with exuberant melismatic writing and, especially in the former, for two choirs, a dextrous handling of textural contrast. The seven-voice Tu es Petrus, from the 1569 Liber primus motettorum, and less familiar than the later six-voice setting, is also a joyous celebration of confident faith in the church of Peter. Its seamless polyphonic flow, though not its harmonic language, suggests composers such as Morales and, especially, Gombert. The Magnificat is one of five which Palestrina wrote in Tone 4. He set the text of the Magnificat, in fact, no fewer than thirty-five times; sixteen of them appeared in the Magnificat octo tonum liber primus published in Rome in 1591. It is a pity indeed that they are nowadays somewhat little known, for they are quintessential Palestrina: the servant of the Church quietly writing magnificent music which speaks directly to mankind even - and perhaps especially - today.

Ivan Moody
(1999)



Alessandro Marcello’s ‘La Cetra’ Concertos

During the last fifty years or so, the revival of interest in the music firstly of Vivaldi and then, more recently, of Albinoni has tended to overshadow the contribution of other composers to the Venetian musical scene. Foremost among these other figures during the first half of the eighteenth century are the Marcello brothers, who, unlike their two better known contemporaries, were members of the Venetian nobility.

Alessandro Marcello was the son of the Venetian senator Agostino Marcello and the poet Paolina Capello. In 1676 the Marcello and Capello families had jointly founded the Teatro Sant’Angelo, the theatre with which Vivaldi was to be connected on and off throughout his theatrical career, and the imposing Palazzo Marcello on the Grand Canal was a further symbol of the family’s status. The new generation continued their parents’ interest in the arts. Alessandro’s younger brother Benedetto (1686-1739) was a prolific composer with some 700 compositions to his credit, although he is now best known for his biting satire on Venetian operatic life Il teatro alla moda, published in 1720. Another brother, Gerolamo, was a religious poet.

Alessandro was a leading figure in Venetian public life, becoming a member of the Grand Council in 1690 (as did Benedetto sixteen years later) and gaining recognition as a skilful politician. Among his hobbies were mechanical inventions, and he developed a kind of secret notation like Braille, using punched codes to represent letters, in the hope that it would prove beneficial to princes and diplomats. Outside politics, however, his principal interests lay in the arts. He was active as composer, poet and painter, and he became. Although the Arcadian movement was centred on Rome, other Italian cities developed their own ‘academies’ to discuss all kinds of artistic ideas, with a particularly emphasis on those of ancient Greece. The members took on pastoral pseudonyms and produced new works for discussion and criticism – weekly meetings were held in Alessandro’s home, and many of Benedetto’s numerous cantatas, a genre which exemplified the classical ideal of an intimate link between text and music, were probably written for such occasions. Alessandro’s interest in music also resulted in a large collection of instruments, from traditional one such as crumhorns to the latest inventions including a fortepiano by Bartolomeo Cristofori, made in Florence in 1724 and the first known fortepiano to be built for Venice.

Alessandro Marcello was a much less prolific composer than his younger brother Benedetto. Of his eighteen known vocal works, twelve cantatas were published in Venice in 1708 as his Op. 1, while nearly thirty instrumental works survive. Many of his concertos involve two oboes, although the best known is the solo oboe concerto in D minor, published by the Amsterdam firm of Roger around 1717 and made famous appeared, also from Augsburg, entitled ‘La cetra’ (‘The lyre’, a title used earlier by Vivaldi for his Op. 9, dating 1727, and for another set of manuscript concertos). The title-page of Marcello’s set, which gives the composer under his Arcadian pseudonym ‘Eterico Stinfalico’, describes the six concertos as parte prima, although there is no evidence that a further parte seconda was ever published.

Marcello has provided clear instructions regarding the scoring of ‘La cetra’. He asks for a total of fifteen instruments divided into six groups: a first oboe or flute (traversiere) with a first violin; a second oboe or flute with a second solo violin; two ripieno first violins; two ripieno second violins; a first cello plus two violas (no separate viola part is given, necessitating much octave transposition); and a harpsichord (cembalo), second cello, violone and bassoon. The ripieno violins, simply double sections of the top two solo lines, and Marcello allows for smaller-scale performances with just six solo strings or even a minimum of four violins and one cello (plus harpsichord). Indeed, as the printed edition puts it, ‘These Concertos are laid out in such a way that they can be performed in any Academy’.

All six concertos, which may date from well before their publication, adopt the three-movement pattern of the typical Venetian concerto, although Marcello does not favour a clear ritornellos structure for the outer movement. Most of the finales are in binary from, both halves being repeated, and, like the Vivace of No. 1 with its unusual 12/16 time signature, are sometimes in the style of a gigue. The slow movements generally provide tonal contrast, moving to the subdominant in Nos. 1 and 5, the relative major in the minor key concertos Nos. 3 and 4, and the tonic minor in No. 2. Only in the final work of the set is there no change of tonality, all three movements being in G major. Here contrast is provided instead by a tripartite first movement, two allegro sections framing a central lento passage exploiting Scotch snaps on two solo violins. The movement ends on an imperfect cadence in E minor, which leads into the ensuing Larghetto with its muted violins and optional flutes.

Marcello’s treatment of the instruments varies enormously. In the first concerto, for example, the first movement has only two short solo passages, the first for violin and cello and the second for two oboes. The oboes are omitted entirely from the central Larghetto, which has a contrasting section of trio sonata scoring for two violins and cello, while the finale is like a movement from a ripieno concerto with no solo passages at all. Pizzicato strings without harpsichord form the accompaniment for solo oboe or flute and violin in the Adagio of No. 3, and a similar lower string texture accompanies the florid solo violin in the opening Moderato of No. 5. This is one of the few instances of more elaborate solo writing, although the opening movement of No. 4 employs arpeggio effects for both soloists and ripieno violins, and the finale of No. 6 inhabits a totally different world, its multiple stops for the first solo violin being much closer to the German tradition of polyphonic violin writing. The opening movement of this latter work illustrates well the importance of imitation in Marcello’s writing. Although the initial fugal texture breaks up after ten bars, the next two main musical ideas also exploit antiphony between the two upper parts.

Marcello’s harmonic style reveals a penchant for brief sections in the parallel minor key (a trait familiar from Vivaldi’s music), although he is much fonder than his Venetian contemporary of the augmented sixth chord, which appears many times in this collection. He is also fond of falling chromatic lines, both in upper parts and in the bass. The use of dissonant appoggiaturas is particularly prominent in the central movement of No. 4, which is entitled ‘Largo appoggiato’.

Eric Cross
(1995)



 

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