The Gesualdo Six
Program Notes by Owain Park
Grief touches all of us at some point during our lives, affecting each person in different ways. The music in this program is intended to illustrate some of these emotions, exploring musical responses to mourning and loss. In broad terms, we focus in on three perspectives: uncertainty, acknowledgement, and hope. William Byrd and Judith Bingham beautifully capture a sense of powerlessness in their works, asking for forgiveness and protection. The pieces by John Tavener, Vincente Lusitano, and Cristóbal de Morales present a series of questions, seeking reassurance for those whose lives are at an end. Settings by Richard Rodney Bennett and Joanna Marsh call on us to enjoy all that life has to offer, with a reminder not to let grief overwhelm us. If you like, this is a sequence for the souls of the departed, to be heard by those who remember them.
In Parce mihi Domine, by the Spanish composer Cristóbal de Morales, the music is bound together by a continuous thread: almost without exception each chord contains one note from the previous, knitting together the chordal texture. The questioning nature of the text is portrayed in music that gives a sense of slowly blinking, with repeated chords coming in and out of focus between silences. The repetition of harmonic patterns at the start of each section relaxes the ear, readying us for the next moment of change and allowing the later cadential passages the space to feel radiant in their difference.
In his work Funeral Ikos, a setting of words from the Orthodox service for the burial of priests, John Taverner forms two consorts which communicate the text quite directly in a manner not dissimilar to plainchant. This offers us as performers a chance to mold the text together as if collectively reading a poem. The work is full of questions, asked by the souls as they present themselves before God, unable to alter their lives any further. The repetitive, melodically closed nature of the musical writing reflects this; when harmony breaks out it provides a warm respite, but this is only temporary—there is inevitability in the austere relaxation to open fifths at each ‘Alleluia’.
Orlande de Lassus was born in Mons and trained as a choirboy before absorbing Italian influences while in-post at Mantua, Milan, and Rome. In 1555, his first publications appeared simultaneously in Antwerp and Venice, thus beginning his status as a one-man musical press: Lassus’ work accounts for three-fifths of all music printed in Europe between 1555 and 1600. His motet Clamaverunt ad Dominum sets three verses from Psalm 107, which portray those in darkness being shown the light by God. Lassus’ use of dissonance is particularly notable in this work: listen to how, when the bass voices enter, they regularly appear on clashing pitches, which need to be resolved as the phrase develops. A particularly striking moment is at “de tenebris et umbra mortis,” where Lassus takes us on a harmonic adventure through several chords, not yet heard in the work, and set low in the singers’ voices for dramatic effect.
Singing In jejunio et fletu at the original (low) pitch pushes vocal extremities almost to their limit, enabling us more vividly to depict the anguish of this Lenten text. Listen for how Tallis uses vocal range and texture to his advantage, building from low-set homophony at “inter vestibulum et altare” (“between the porch and the altar”) through to a top B-flat at “Parce populo tuo.” This cry to “spare thy people” unfurls into an extended passage as the words are despairingly repeated.
“Grief touches all of us at some point during our lives, affecting each person in different ways. The music in this program is intended to illustrate some of these emotions, exploring musical responses to mourning and loss.”
Setting a Respond from the Office of the Dead, William Byrd contributed Peccantem me quotidie to the 1575 Cantiones sacrae (the same co-authored publication which includes In jejunio et fletu). Byrd denotes each new section by pairing down the voices to a trio texture, which he gradually develops into full five-voice polyphony. Dissonances puncture the writing, with melismatic lines illuminating key moments in the text, including ‘conturbat me’ and ‘redemptio.’
In his 2005 work And there was war in heaven, Howard Skempton uses a few neat sleight-of-hand tricks to build and hold tension, often bearing a resemblance to Arvo Pärt’s rocking tintinnabuli technique. The text is shared syllabically between the voices in metronomic patterns, sometimes presenting a puzzle to the listener to decipher the syntax. Each bar consists of five beats, constituting an unsettled meter which contrasts with the harmonic stasis maintained by shifting melodic drones. The drama in the text, particularly the image of Michael fighting the dragon, takes center stage when the hypnotic patterns are brusquely halted.
For a number of years, Donna McKevitt’s main compositional focus has been music for film and contemporary dance. It was wonderful to collaborate with the composer to create this 2020 setting of the Nunc Dimittis in Latin, Lumen. Responding to the text, McKevitt has selected certain words to be cycled through the voices, giving the work a hypnotic quality. When these eventually break out into duets, the new line of text is highlighted by this textural contrast. Lingering dissonances, caused by overlapping voice parts, give the piece a poignant, haunting feeling.
We bookend the second half of tonight’s program with two settings from a five-voice Missa pro defunctis (or Requiem) by Morales, opening with the Requiem aeternam (Introitus), and finishing with the Communio ‘Lux Aeterna,’ the work which gives this program its title. These are texts sung within the liturgy to commemorate those who are no longer with us, and which ask God to grant them eternal rest. The plainchant incipit that begins the Mass movement provides a framework for the polyphony that follows: short, achingly beautiful melodies which combine to create a mellifluous sonic whole.
Vincente Lusitano was a Portuguese composer and music theorist of the late Renaissance. His motet, Heu me Domine, was published in an appendix to a music theory treatise in 1553. Lusitano set it in an extremely chromatic manner in the wake of his victory over Ferrarese theorist, Vicentino (who also set this text), in their famous dispute over tuning and music theory. The first section is defined by an ever upward feeling; as each voice enters it drives the pitch higher, creating a sonic tension as the tessitura rises. The second section starts with the new text stanza ‘libera me,’ with the voices ascending once more.
In Watch with me, Judith Bingham sets words from Matthew’s account of the scene in the Garden of Gethsemane and from Wilfred Owen’s poem Exposure. In combination, these texts evoke a powerful description of suffering, the loneliness contained in the ancient story here conflated with a more contemporary account of a terrified soldier driven to madness in the aching cold. The biblical text is often set in the lowest voices alone as if delivered formally from the pulpit, whereas the poetry is treated more melodically, with chromatic scalic patterns giving the work a claustrophobic feel as the lines struggle to break free. The piece was commissioned by the Dean and Chapter of Westminster Abbey for a performance on June 30, 2016, the eve of the centenary of the Battle of the Somme.
I take thee was composed by Joanna Marsh for The Gesualdo Six in 2020 as a commissioned gift from Stephen Bence to his wife of ten years, Ayesha Vardag. The text by Imtiaz Dharker celebrates significant moments in our lives, focusing on commitment and happiness. The work is in Marsh’s typically inventive harmonic style, opening out into rich added-note chords before subsiding to unisons. This tension and release almost feels like breathing. A beautiful passage in the text, ‘taking our tea with buttered / hope’, is wonderfully set here, full of joy and laughter.
The final piece in today’s program, A Good-Night, brings together many of the themes explored so far, offering a final secure resting place: sleep. Richard Rodney Bennett sets prose by the seventeenth-century writer Francis Quarles with remarkable warmth, allowing the words to shine by using simple melodic and harmonic gestures. There is a sense of closure as the music returns to the opening material, newly comforting in its familiarity.
© Owain Park, 2024