Where it all began...

The history of Western music all goes back to the Gregorian chant.  Gregorian chants are named after Pope Gregory I (590-604), who standardized the music used in the Church for each occasion of worship in the Christian calendar.  Originally, the chants were learned by rote, since in those days there was no system in place for writing music down on parchment.  It wasn't until the 9th century or so that singers started making notes in the text corresponding to the shapes of the melody they were supposed to be singing.  These mnemonic aids eventually became the familiar note-and-staff notation we use today.

An early Pie Jesu plainchant survives to this day.  Its original author is unknown, but it was discovered by the scholarly group Altus Pythonibus, and presented in their seminal work In Quaesitio Calicem Sanctum.  The harmony and rhythm for this early piece are quite simple, although the use of percussion makes it an unusual example.

OK.  So perhaps that one was of a bit more recent origin.

A more serious example of a Gregorian chant is the Pange Linga, which was written by Thomas Aquinas (yes, that Thomas Aquinas) in the 13th century.

What is it about Gregorian chants that give them their distinctive sound?

• Gregorian chants are monophonic.  There are no parts to a Gregorian chant; everyone sings the same notes.  (Another way of saying this is that everyone sings in unison.)

• Gregorian chants make heavy use of stepwise motion in the tune.  The difference in pitch between one note and the next is usually pretty small.  Most of the melody consists of half steps and whole steps, with the occasional third thrown in.  There are no big leaps like what you'd hear in the opening lines of "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean" or "Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire".

If you don't understand what I mean by half steps, whole steps, or thirds, that's OK.  That's something I plan to talk about Very Very Soon (™).

• The rhythm in Gregorian chants tends towards the simple.  Most notes are the same length, with the occasional note being somewhat longer.  There isn't a strong beat.  Although there's a definite pulse to the chant, it's not something you could count 1-2-3-4! to.

What I like about this YouTube video is that you can see all three of these features on the score.  You don't need to be able to read music to see it.  (And Gregorian chants are written in an older form of staff notation anyway!)  One part.  Notes close together on the staff.  And very little notation to indicate any kind of rhythm or meter.

In the meantime, over in France, something else was going on.  A composer by the name of Pérotin (also known as Perotin the Great) was starting something new.  Instead of using just one melody to make music with, Pérotin was adding extra voices on top of the plainchant, or droning under the plainchant, to create harmony.  In addition, we start seeing the development of rhythmic variation.  In Pérotin's Viderunt Omnes, which was written around the year 1200, you can hear the bass singing a series of sustained notes throughout the piece, while the upper voices dance to alternating long and short notes.

What's really interesting is the fact not only does this piece by Pérotin predate the birth of Aquinas by a good quarter century, it's a piece that Aquinas himself probably would have been familiar with!  Aquinas studied theology at the University of Paris from to 1245 to 1248, a stone's throw away from the Notre Dame cathedral, where Pérotin had been working.  Aquinas returned to Paris twice after that, between 1256 and 1259, and then from 1269 to 1272.  So although Aquinas may well have known about Pérotin's work, he chose the older, more traditional form of chant instead.

But then, we see the same thing in pop music today.  Contrast Simon and Garfunkel with Jimi Hendrix.  Or Skrillex with Mumford and Sons.

As time went on, composers purposely borrowed from the plainchant tradition to create new, more complex works.  During the Renaissance, masses were commonly written in which each section of the mass (the Kyrie, Gloria, Credo, Sanctus, Benedictus, and Agnus Dei) took its musical theme material from a Gregorian chant, or, sometimes, a popular song of the day.  This technique is called cantus firmus, or "fixed song".  Renaissance composer Josquin des Prez (1450 - 1521) used this technique in his mass Missa Pange Lingua, which is believed to be the last mass he ever wrote.  Each movement of the mass uses as its theme the Pange Lingua that Aquinas wrote.  Listen to the first movement, the Kyrie, to see what I mean:

The tenor comes in with the Aquinas theme: kyrie eleison.  But the bass is right behind him, ready to give an answer before the tenor gets a chance to finish: kyrie eleison.  The bass' theme isn't exactly the same theme as the tenor's - it's rhythmically similar, but it's transposed quite a bit down and it doesn't seem to go all the way like the tenor line does.  But that's OK.  The soprano comes in with the theme, followed by the alto … and then the bass is back, and then the tenor…

What we see here is an early example of a musical technique called counterpoint.  Counterpoint is a polyphonic technique in which several musical lines, each with its own independent sound and rhythm, interact with each other to form a harmonious whole when played together.  There's a notable German composer from the Baroque period, whose last name begins with B, who was the ultimate master of the art of counterpoint… but of him we will speak later, and with great reverence.

Next up… the plainchant makes a reappearance in the 20th century.

O Vos Omnes - Pablo Casals

Last time, we talked about some ways that silence is used as an integral part of music.  I'd like to continue that discussion in the context of an entire piece.

This is a piece by Pablo Casals titled O Vos Omnes.  It's one of my favorite choral pieces, and I think you'll like it too.

It sounds a little bit like the Palestrina Kyrie from last time, doesn't it?  The voices blend together mellifluously to form a cohesive whole.  It's in Latin, the tempo is quite slow, and it's for choir without accompaniment.  You might think that Casals and Palestrina could have been contemporaries.

Actually, that couldn't be farther from the truth.  Palestrina wrote the Missa Papae Marcelli, of which the Kyrie is a part, in 1562.  Pablo Casals was a Catalan musician.  He wrote O Vos Omnes in 1932 - 370 years later!  I refer to Pablo Casals as a musician, rather than a composer, because he was the most famous and respected cellist of his day.  (Much like Yo Yo Ma is today.)  You can hear the basses and cellos playing in Casals' head when the basses and tenors in the choir come in: o vos omnes.  O vos omnes qui transitis per viam.

In this piece, Casals borrows heavily from the Renaissance tradition of Palestrina.  Like many choral works from the Renaissance, this piece borrows from the liturgy of the Church.  The text comes from the Bible, in the Book of Lamentations:

O vos omnes

Qui transitis per viam:

Attendite, et videte

Si est dolor sicut dolor meus.

O, all ye

Who pass by on the road before me:

Behold, and see

If there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow.

Casal's setting of O Vos Omnes is an example of homophonic texture.  Remember how the Palestrina had all the voices singing on top of each other, with each voice singing different lyrics all at the same time?  O Vos Omnes isn't like that.  For the whole piece, each voice sings the same lyrics at the same time.  When one voice rests, all the voices rest.  And so we hear:

O vos omnes.  O vos omnes qui transitis per viam.

Attendite, attendite!  Attendite et videte.

Attendite et videte!

Si est dolor, si est dolor sicut dolor meus.

Si est dolor, si est dolor sicut dolor meus!

Si est dolor…

Si est dolor sicut dolor meus…

O vos omnes.

O vos omnes qui transitis per viam.

Each one of these lines, all by itself, is called a phrase.  Phrases in music are like sentences in English.  A phrase is the smallest unit of music that conveys a more or less complete musical thought.  A phrase has a definite beginning, moves towards a climax, then resolves as it reaches the end.  

Listen to the first phrase: the basses and tenors singing "O vis omnes".  There is a crescendo - the music becomes louder - from "O" into "omnes" - and then it dies back a bit.  The choir goes on: "o vos omens qui transi…"  Here, the parts clash with each other, creating dissonance and stress.  But then they resolve: "…tis per viiiiiiiiiiiiam."  With a bit more stress on "viam".

There it is.  A complete phrase.  Followed by silence.

That silence is important.  It makes an impression on the listener: this is what I just said.  Reflect on it, think about it, while I continue.

There are two climaxes in this piece.  The first is on "Attendite! Et videte!"  Stop!  And see!  What am I supposed to stop and see?  The music goes on.

"… si est dolor sicut dolor emus."  OK.  Sorrow such as mine.  But it keeps building…

"SICUT dolor emus!"  Sorrow SO BAD as what I feel!

But then it dies down.  "Si est dolor… sicut dolor emus…"

OK, I give up.  Sorrow such as mine.  You really don't understand, do you?

And then we're back to the beginning.  Except, if you listen closely, we're not really back to the beginning, are we?  The first time around, the basses and tenors came in with a minor chord.  "O vos omnes"… somber and haunting.  But this time, it's a major chord!

"O vos omnes"… yeah.  You.  Passing before me.  You think you understand, but you don't.  I'm laughing at you as you walk right in front of me.

O vos ornes qui transitis per viam.

...

music |ˈmyo͞ozik|

noun

1 the art or science of combining vocal or instrumental sounds (or both) to produce beauty of form, harmony, and expression of emotion: he devoted his life to music.

• the vocal or instrumental sound produced in this way: couples were dancing to the music | baroque music.

• a sound perceived as pleasingly harmonious: the background music of softly lapping water.

“Music” is one of those words that’s difficult to define.  We all know what it is.  You turn on the radio, and some song is playing.  This song isn’t just random noise.  You may have it playing in the background, just like you have your dishwasher running in the background, but a song is something that somebody consciously wrote.  And it’s a particular kind of thing that a person would write.  It’s not a poem, it’s not a speech, it’s not a love letter.  If it’s music, it’s got a tune you can sing along with, it’s got a beat, it sounds nice, what more do you want?  

There’s one thing missing.  Have a listen to this clip and you’ll hear what I mean.

It’s got a tune you could sing along to, but I’m not sure you’d really want to.  The melody doesn’t go anywhere.  It just keeps going, and going, and going.  Even when you think it’s about to take a break, it starts right back up again.  It’s almost as if that violin is having a conversation with someone you can’t see.  Every time the poor guy thinks he can get a word in edgewise, the violin cuts him right off!

There’s no silence anywhere in the piece.  That’s what’s missing.  

In contrast, listen to how Beethoven uses silence in the the beginning of his Symphony #3.

BAM!  BAM!  Two big chords from the orchestra!  In between the two chords - silence.  In musical terms, this is called a rest - a place where one or more instruments are silent.  Think about how the opening would have sounded had Beethoven not put those rests in between those two chords.

DAAAAAAA!  Not nearly as impressive, is it?

Beethoven’s making a statement here: the symphony has begun.  In those first two chords, he’s already given us a few clues about what we can expect in the rest of the piece.  We know it’s in a major key.  We know what the tempo is going to be.  Moreover, we hear every instrument in the orchestra in those first two chords.  Beethoven makes it plain from the very start that every instrument is going to be important in this symphony.

Silence can also be useful for setting up the mood of a piece.  

This piece, the Kyrie from the Papae Marcelli Mass, was written by Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina in 1562.  The text for the piece, “kyrie eleison” comes from the Latin setting of the Mass, and means “Lord, have mercy.”  At the beginning of the piece, we have a few seconds of silence - a time to take a breath, focus, and put all other worldly thoughts aside.  And then the singers come in, one by one.  

Listen closely to how each vocal part (there are six of them) comes in and goes out during this piece.  The music is continuous from start to end, but each individual part has periods of rest while the other parts continue singing.  You can hear it most clearly in the boy soprano parts - there’s a very nice handoff around 0:20.  This is an early example of something called polyphonic music: when you have multiple musical lines going on on top of each other, all at the same time.

In my next post, I’ll finish up this discussion of silence, introduce a couple 20th century pieces, and bring up an old friend you just might know.  :)

Hello world!

About me:

Hello everybody!  My name is Mark, but all my friends call me Turtle.  Welcome to my blog!

I'm here because I love classical music.  And I want to share that love with as many people as I can.

Classical music has been a hobby and interest of mine ever since I was a teenager.  I started singing in high school, then continued singing through college and grad school.  I've sung with a number of volunteer choirs, including the Houston Symphony Chorus.  

I have no formal training in music at all.  I don't teach, I'm not a musicologist, I didn't major in music in college.  I make my living as an engineer, tucked away in a part of the country where classical music is rarely heard.  What I know about classical music, I've learned from the over 20 years I've been singing as an amateur.  I've sung a lot of great pieces, been exposed to a lot of great composers, and have had my horizons broadened immeasureably.

I don't claim to have all the answers.  I'm probably going to get a lot of things technically wrong.  All I have is my own point of view, and it's free.  Make of it what you will. :)


About this blog:

This blog is about introducing classical music to a wider audience.  It's not an online music appreciation course - if you want that, you can get that at your local college.  It's not a "Classical Music's Greatest Hits" collection either.  They make CDs for that.  

I want to tell a story.  It might be a story about a composer.  Or about musical history.  Or about a common element several random pieces share.  Or just about what it's like to be on stage with a professional orchestra as a performer.

Having this blog also keeps me looking for new music to listen to.  Which is always a good thing!