Micrologus; The Art of Song: England

84-13 THE ART OF SONG: ENGLAND

We tend to think of England as having a rich heritage of art song—typically, the lutesong composers of Elizabethan times come to mind—but while there were such bright flourishes, and while the quality of the works is high, the repertory of surviving English solo songs is comparatively small.

By the year 1400, Spain, France, and Germany had produced hundreds—in some cases thousands—of songs in their own languages, but from England before 1400 we have only 33 songs.

The earliest of these is a set of three short devotional pieces by St. Godric or Godrich. Godric was a 12th century merchant seaman of Saxon descent who suddenly felt a religious calling. He undertook a pilgrimage to Rome and perhaps Jerusalem, and ultimately became a hermit in the northeast of England. His songs reportedly were taught to him by an angel who visited him in a dream. This is the first of the three. "Sainte Marie Viergene,” sung by Paul Hillier. from a performance on the campus of Case Western Reserve University.

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The next century, the 13th, saw the composition of England's most famous medieval work, "Sumer is icumen in,” but since that is intended for an ensemble of voices we will not be hearing it today. Contemporaneous with the Sumer Canon is the Latin song "Angelus ad virginem,” describing the scene of the Annunciation, where the Angel tells Mary that she will have a child. This seems to have been one of the most popular songs in England over the next 150 years or so, and in fact, its popularization is evident in its translation into English as "Gabriel fram Heven King,” before the end of the 13th century. By the 14th century, composers were attempting to make arrangements of the song for two or three voices. Whereas the earliest settings are unmeasured, these later versions are in a lilting triple meter, suggesting that such a rhythm might have been associated with the piece at its inception before the advent of more precise rhythmic notation.

The version we will hear is in English for solo voice but with an improvised accompaniment based, to some extent, on surviving polyphonic settings. This may have been what Chaucer had in mind for Nicholas the Clerk in his "Miller's Tale." Here again is Paul Hillier with the reference and the song.

[MUSIC: "Gabriel from Heven King,” a medieval English song performed by Paul Hillier, again from a concert on the campus of Case Western Reserve University]

The 15th and early 16th centuries were dominated by the production of polyphonic songs in England almost to the exclusion of works for solo voice or accompanied solo voice, as in the style of the contemporary French chanson. (In fact, almost all of the small handful of works with English text in the chanson style are preserved, ironically, in continental rather than English manuscripts.) The 2- or 3-voice carol was the most common form in England up to about 1500, then the strophic partsong, that is, a work in several stanzas for an ensemble of voices.

But in this latter repertory there was usually one voice line that had more melodic interest than the others, and about 1550, emerged a convention of performance where one line would be sung and the rest played on viols. After that, composers began to conceive pieces specifically for that arrangement. We know it now as the consort song.

Here is the consort song, “My mistress is as faire as fine,” by John Bennet, sung by Garry Crighton with the Musicians of Swanne Alley.

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While there is some evidence for the use of the lute to accompany solo singers in England earlier in the 16th century, it is surprising to find that the first published collection of lutesongs did not appear until 1597 —John Dowland's First Booke of Songs or Ayres—and even there, Dowland hedged his assessment of the market by including alternative arrangements for 4 voices.

Even with acknowledged masters like Morley, Campion, and Rosseter producing lutesongs, Dowland towers above the rest, acquiring the epithet ''The English Orpheus.” His foreign travels enabled him to experience first-hand, and to incorporate into his own works, stylistic features of the new, emotionally-charged Italian monody. For his late songs, there is no question of ensemble arrangements: there is just too much rhetoric in the vocal part, and the lute accompaniments are so idiomatic as to be untranscribable for voices.

Here is Dowland's masterpiece, "In darkness let me dwell.” It is sung by Paul Hillier in Elizabethan dialectical pronunciation, with Barry Mason, lute, and Rosemary Thorndycraft, viol, of the Camerata of London.

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It was, of course, impossible for composers to surpass Dowland in the writing of such introspective, melancholy ayres, and for the most part they did not even try.

From the years immediately following Dowland's last publication in 1612, we have a repertory of unpretentious but very often beautiful songs written for the theatre, like those by Robert Johnson and John Wilson, for example, composers in residence to the company which also employed William Shakespeare. Some of their songs make use of special effects appropriate to their placement in the drama, like Johnson's “O let us howl some heavy note" from Webster's Duchess of Malfi. Others are simple tuneful settings in the style of Campion, while still others are distinguished by the application of written-out divisions, virtuosic ornamentation in a florid style. It is surprising to find this florid technique applied to the English repertoire: we tend to think of it as being an Italian or French phenomenon, but in fact, there are about 50 English songs preserved with florid ornamentation, as well as some Italian songs in English sources with florid ornamentation, suggesting that both composers and performers were familiar with the practice. Undoubtedly, the most famous of the songs with written-out ornamentation is Robert Johnson's "Care-charming sleep,” sung ironically by a poisoner to ease, or perhaps hasten, the death of his victim. This is reminiscent of "Possente spirto" from Monteverdi's opera Orfeo, in which Orfeo, by means of a very florid aria, tries to charm the gatekeeper into letting him enter the underworld.

But the most beautiful of Johnson's songs, in my view, is one of obscure theatrical origin: "Dear, do not your fair beauty wrong." In this performance, the written-out divisions have been added to by the singer, Julianne Baird. She is accompanied by lutenist Ronn McFarlane.

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The middle of the 17th century was a lean period tor English song. The last lutesong collection appeared in 1622, and after that, no songs were published in England for 30 years—and by that time the King had been beheaded and the theatres closed by the Commonwealth regime. In this difficult period the acknowledged songmasters included William and, especially, Henry Lawes. The latter was prolific (with well over 400 songs) and was much admired by no less a person than John Milton, the famous poet, but in more ways than one he is largely unsung today.

So, as John Dowland's songs stand as a pillar at one end of the 17th century, at the other end stand the songs of Henry Purcell. At his death in 1695 at the age of only 36, Purcell was already referred to as "Orpheus Britannicus" (The British Orpheus), not to be confused with the "English Orpheus,” who was, of course, Dowland. As Purcell’s publisher said in a posthumous edition, he showed "a peculiar Genius to express the Energy of English words, whereby he moved the Passions as well as caused admiration in all his Auditors.” Indeed, Purcell’s settings are unlike anything in any other language. Although he himself acknowledged a general stylistic debt to both France and Italy, when it came to actually writing music for English words, what came out was uniquely English. Whether in a more declamatory, recitative-like passage, or in a more dance-like movement, the rhythms and angular cadences of the spoken language are captured in an unconventional but entirely convincing manner. No English composer before or since has achieved such consistent mastery in setting the English language.

The song by Purcell that we are going to hear is "From Rosie Bowers" from the play Don Quixote, or "Don Kwiksot,” as Purcell probably would have said. The piece is a microcosm of styles, facilitated by its being sung by a madwoman gleefully demonstrating the "whimsical variety" of insanity. It is also Purcell’s last song, said to have been composed when he was "in his final illness."

[MUSIC: "from Rosie Bowers" by Henry Purcell, performed by Emma Kirkby with the Academy of Ancient Music under Christopher Hogwood]

It was to be a long time before England was again blessed with songwriters of importance. Handel was a great melodist in the Italian style, but his grasp of English diction was execrable. Not until the Pre-classic works of William Boyce and Thomas Arne would English song reclaim some of its former glory.

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