2002 Subscription Series: Concert Four

2021 Subscription Series: Concert One Friday 29 January 7.30pm, Albert Hall, CANBERRA Sunday 31 January 3.00pm, Verbrugghen Hall, SYDNEY Rebels Amy Moore Soprano Sally Melhuish Recorder Hans-Dieter Michatz Recorder Matthew Greco Baroque Violin Julia Russoniello Baroque Violin Karina Schmitz Baroque Viola Tim Blomfield Baroque Cello Simon Martyn-Ellis Theorbo Monika Kornel Harpsichord Salut! Artistic Directors: Sally Melhuish & Tim Blomfield A huge thank you for all for the amazing support you gave us in 2020. We greatly appreciate your donations and offers to convert tickets into donations during such a difficult time, especially as we received no government funding or support. It has been inspiring to receive such crucial support – we could not have done it without you, and we look forward to continuing the baroque music journey with you in 2021. Salut! wishes to thank the following for their generous support in 2021: Sonata da chiesa ($1,000+) Andrew Singer Friends ($10-$99) Fugue ($500-$999) Michael Barton Mary Nagle & Deirdre Whitford John & Cynthia Blount Anonymous Keith Brister Kay Britcliffe & Margaret Pitt Sarabande ($100-$499) Barbara Burns Geoffrey Bartlett Pamela Harris Andrew Bennett Ailsa Hocking Susan Cox & Bernard Williams Peter Cumines Pamela Kenny Robert Dingley Brigitte Kestermann & Elizabeth Lawson Celia Lindsay Ross & Elizabeth Hindmarsh Peter Marshall Rosemary Greaves Elizabeth & John Oliver Paul and Betty Meyer Anne Quinane Dr Louise Moran Stuart Read Elizabeth Murphy Edward Reid George & Margaret Nichols Pamela Swaffield Helen White & Bob Susan Tanner Richardson Sheila Thompson Anonymous Anonymous Program Johann Joseph Fux (1660-1741) Ouverture in D minor K.357 (1701) Overture; Pour le Rosignol; Gigue Nicola Porpora (1686-1768) Aria Alto giove from Opera Polifemo, Act III, Scene V (1735) Georg Frideric Handel (1685-1759) Concerto in G minor Op. 4 No. 3 HWV 291 (1735) Adagio; Allegro; Adagio; Gavotte-Allegro Interval Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750) Sinfonia; Aria Ricetti gramezza e pavento from Cantata Non sa che sia dolore, BWV 209 (1729?) Jean-Féry Rebel (1666-1747) Le Cahos from Les Élémens simphonie nouvelle pour ballet (1737) Tarquinio Merula (1595-1665) Hor ch'è tempo di dormire Canzonetta Spirituale Sopra Alla Nanna (1636) Wilhelm Friedemann Bach (1710-1784) Sinfonia in F major (Dissonant), F. 67 (c1735) Vivace; Andante; Allegro Claudio Monteverdi (1567-1643) Damigella tutta bella SV 235 from Scherzi musicali (1607) Rebels When thinking about Rebels, we should identify from what it was they were rebelling and why. For starters, in terms of the era in question, this program opportunely includes the composer popularly identified as the culminator of the Baroque period – JS Bach – and concludes with the chief instigator of it – Claudio Monteverdi. Given that we will be enjoying a certain amount of exquisite vocal music (from Bach, Porpora, Merula & Monteverdi) with instrumental accompaniment (the quintessence of the Baroque), and by Fux and Handel who composed a goodly amount of it, we need to understand how the Baroque period came into being and what Monteverdi had to do with its birth and early nurture. The Baroque period was a rebellion against all that had gone before in the Renaissance. Towards the very end of the 16th century, when the madrigal (a vocal music form for 4 to 6 voices originating in Italy that flourished in the Renaissance) had been brought to its highest perfection and popularity, certain attempts were made to apply it to the stage: a string of madrigals portraying the story ‘behind the scenes’ as it were, whilst actors recited on stage in front of the singing ensemble. An early form of melodrama, perhaps. Such presentations, however, ultimately did not persuade discriminating minds. After all, how could a highly developed, elaborate polyphonic choral style adapt itself to dramatic situations for which it was never originally intended? The simultaneous mixture of singing and speaking is inherently confusing by nature. Rebellion: enough was enough! In Florence, in the last decade or so of the century, efforts were made in the direction of a totally new style of writing. The group who made these efforts largely belonged to the more aristocratic intelligentsia. That at which they eventually arrived was their reaction to this late Renaissance ‘development’. Beginning, in fact, a century and a half earlier, with the capture of Constantinople by the Turks (1453) and the dispersal of Greek learning, numerous Byzantine Greek scholars fled Constantinople and travelled westward to Europe, bringing with them ancient Greek manuscripts of the highest cultural value – source material for study of Classical texts. With this wide dissemination grew a love of the literature, drama and philosophy of antiquity. 1453 is generally accepted as the critical date and prominent landmark in the universal movement towards the study of Greek literature – a movement one result of which was to bring about the attempt to find and apply afresh the principles of Greek drama, thereby leading to the development of a new age and a new art: Opera! In their infatuation with everything Greek, the little aristocratic group, led by Count Giovanni de’ Bardi (1534-1612) and known as the Florentine Camerata, attempted a restoration of the Greek presentation of drama as they perceived it – as had been discerned by them thanks to the initial Byzantine Greek dispersion. Taking Greek mythological subjects, they cast them in dramatic and poetical form as they imagined the dramas of Æschylus and Euripides would have originally been presented. Along with this, they rejected as barbaric the choral polyphony of the madrigal (with the superimposed speaking), and set monologue or dialogue to music, imitating the inflections of speech (recitativo) and accompanying the single voice by playing only playing supporting chords (figured bass/basso continuo). Short choruses could be interspersed but underneath they, too, were supported by block chords (as opposed to independently weaving parts, i.e. counterpoint). In brief, counterpoint for the most part was abandoned by those bold, rebellious aristocrats, necessitating the harmonic aspects of the music to come to the fore. Variously, this new style was called Le Nuove Musiche, the title of a 1601/2 book of songs by Giulio Caccini (1550-1610) – the preface of this book being the manifesto of this new style, or Dramma per musica. The term that soon came into use was Monody – the great invention that rang in the Baroque era and from which all tonal, Western music has flowed ever since. Now that the overarching rebellion has taken place, let us move on to see how our remaining rebels were affected by its aftershocks, or indeed, what smaller tremors they created of their own making. Monteverdi, largely due to a long-running stoush during the first decade of the 17th century with Bolognese composer and influential theorist, Giovanni Maria Artusi (1540-1613), did become known as a leading exponent of this modern (monodic) approach to text expression and harmony. Conservative Artusi’s well-publicised polemics at the turn of the century were critical of this seconda prattica (i.e. monody). But as they say, bad press can turn out to be good press in the end! In his preface to his 5th book of madrigals (1605), Monteverdi berated his critics and upheld his harmonic licence as being a written reflection of the vocal ornamentation and improvisation that had recently become fashionable, as well as now-accepted instrumental practices. Monteverdi’s brother, Giulio Cesare, continued his defence in the preface to the Scherzi musicali (1607), from which Damigella tutta bella comes. All the while, Monteverdi was on a mission to find a musical expression for every affect or emotional state, for each human sentiment, each spoken word and linguistic formula. The most famous example of his systematic search is contained in Combattimento di Tancredi e Clorinda, a scene composed in 1624. He carefully selected a text that could express the state of violent rage. But then the music to accompany it; what could that possibly be? “But since I couldn’t find an example anywhere for an impassioned mental state in the music of earlier composers … and since I also knew that the opposites move our souls the most, something which good music should also do, … I began with all my energy to search for a passionate form of expression. … In the description of the struggle between Tancred and Clorinda, I found the opposites which seemed right for transposing into music: war, prayer, death.” Was that really true? Did music, and in particular the madrigal, prior to 1623 provide no means of expressing states of fevered passion? Well, yes, it is true. According to Nikolaus Harnoncourt, the lyric madrigal contains no outbursts of rage, neither great states of excitement – positive or negative. Inherently, the madrigal does not need these elements. On the other hand, for staged dramatic action they are absolutely necessary. To whom could Monteverdi turn? What about one of the ancients? Plato, for instance. In Plato, Monteverdi discovered repeated notes. On his discovery he said, “I therefore investigated the fast tempos, which according to the leading philosophers, originated in an excited, martial mood … then I found the effect I was looking for. To accompany words that expressed anger, I divided the crotchet into four semi- quavers, which are all individually struck.” This style of rapid repetition of same-pitched notes – which would be used to express agitated emotional states – he named stile concitato (concitato meaning “excited”). From that moment stile concitato became a favourite device. Monteverdi writes that at first the musicians in his orchestra rebelled; they went on strike and refused to play! Feeling insulted that they were being forced to do something that to them made no musical sense, they objected to playing the same note potentially 16 times in a bar! After all, the repetition of a note in strict part-writing – even just once – is frowned upon.

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