This afternoon the sky
gradually turned grey and then almost black. A few unwelcome claps of
thunder sent the dogs scuttling into their usual hiding-places. Almost
exactly on cue the rain arrived in torrents, but at least it saved me
watering the garden. I began to think of this time of year in The Old
Country, and a melancholy time of year it was too. The clocks had dutifully
been put back an hour and the grey, sullen days seemed depressingly shorter.
It must have been especially bleak at this time of year in Britain’s
Elizabethan era, which in case you have forgotten, was the second half of
the sixteenth century.
This brief window in history is often
described as England’s Golden Age. It was a renaissance in every sense of
the word and saw the boundless flowering of poetry, music, theatre and
literature. National pride expressed itself through classical ideals,
international expansion and especially the naval triumph over the dastardly
Spanish, who had been bitter rivals for years. It was an age of exploration
and as the historian John Guy noted, “England was economically healthier,
more expansive, and more optimistic…than at any time in a thousand years”.
The Brits had never had it so good.
But all this must have been small
comfort in late November if you lived in a draughty house with precious
little lighting and heating. If there were enough candles to spare, you
could read because thanks to the invention of the printing press, books were
becoming more plentiful. You could play cards or as many women did, do a bit
of embroidery. Or you could make music.
In her fascinating book Elizabeth’s
London, Liza Picard writes that “anyone of reasonable education would be
expected to sight-read and sing part-songs, sometimes accompanied by a lute
or more instruments….Most men could play the lute (and) one was available to
the waiting queue of customers in any barber’s shop to while away the time.”
If you couldn’t play an instrument or read music, you would have been
considered a dullard, a social misfit or both.
Printed music had become increasingly
available and madrigal singing was a popular pastime in educated circles.
The madrigal was a short unaccompanied song for several different voices.
These part-songs were not religious, but settings of secular poetry and many
composers tried to reflect the meaning of the words in the music.
Madrigals were produced in their
thousands especially in Italy. In England, they became hugely popular after
the publication of Nicholas Yonge’s Musica Transalpina in 1588, a
collection of Italian madrigals complete with alternative English verses for
those who couldn’t get their tongue around the original language. Madrigals
were intended for home performance and private amusement and some of the top
composers turned their attention to the genre. You see, there was money in
Thomas Morley (1557-1602): Now is the Month of Maying.
King’s Singers (Duration: 02:04; Video: 720p HD)
This is a madrigal in all but name.
Strictly speaking, it’s a ballett which was a light-hearted rhythmic
part-song often with a rustic or romantic theme and usually with a
“fah-lah-lah” chorus. This one appeared in Morley’s 1595 publication
First Book of Ballets for Five Voyces. The opening line sums up the tone
of what’s to come: “Now is the month of Maying, when merry lads are
playing.” The text is full of deliciously bawdy double entendres and
includes the line “Shall we play barley break?” which means roughly, “Let’s
go for a roll in the hay.”
Thomas Morley also had a more serious
side. He was one of the leading composers of the day and also wrote an
important reference book entitled A Plaine and Easie Introduction to
Practicall Musicke. It’s still essential reading for those studying
music of the renaissance. I have a copy here, and it is neither plain nor
Orlando Gibbons (1583-1625): The Silver Swanne.
Ping Voices (Duration: 01:27; Video: 720p HD)
In 1612, Orlando Gibbons published his
First Set of Madrigals and Motets, apt for Viols and Voyces. It
consisted of twenty pieces, but notice how he cunningly implies in the title
that they can be played or sung - a common marketing strategy at the time.
The first piece is the lyrical,
bittersweet madrigal entitled The Silver Swanne. The lyrics tells of
the swan which sang for the first time only when death was imminent. It’s
not the merriest subject you might agree, but as well as romantic or erotic
themes, madrigal composers loved doleful, melancholy subjects and reveled in
thoughts of impending death, unrequited love, broken promises and other
things that would send most people in search of a gin and tonic. And on
reflection, I think I shall do just the same.