Elizabethan Songs and Consort Music Although the Golden Age of Elizabethan music-making is commonly linked with the upsurge in popularity of the madrigal,...
Elizabethan Songs and
Consort Music
Although the Golden Age of Elizabethan music-making is commonly linked
with the upsurge in popularity of the madrigal, this was really only a
phenomenon of the very last years of the Queen's life. The earlier part of her
reign (1558-1603) saw the production of a wealth of secular music, both
instrumental and vocal. Consort songs for solo voice and viols were
particularly esteemed, since their rich polyphonic fabric shared musical
interest between all the parts without detracting from the clarity of a single
voice declaiming the text. The voice was often the highest part, and therefore
most clearly audible, as in the simple beauty of Pattrick's Send forth thy
sighs [14], though it was common to have one treble viol spinning a descant
above the voice: the anonymous lullaby Ah, silly poor Joas [22] is a
good example.
Many consort songs stem from the entertainments and dramatic
presentations made at court and other London venues by troupes of choirboy
musician-actors from the Chapel Royal and the choir schools of Westminster
Abbey and St Paul's Cathedral, whose boys were in great demand in the early
years of Elizabeth's reign. Some songs, like Rennet's Eliza, her name gives
honour [17], were addressed directly to the chief guest. More often, music
was used in plays to heighten moments of great tragedy or distress: the texts
make frequent use of alliteration, as parodied by Shakespeare in the Pyramus
and Thisbe play produced by the rude mechanicals in A Midsummer Night's
Dream. So Pour down, you pow'rs divine [8] by Robert Parsons, who
drowned in the River Trent in 1570, contains such lines as 'Unless my hurted
heart have help, My hopes are but my hates'. The second part of this piece
survives only as an early seventeenth-century lute song, whose written vocal
embellishments give some idea of the virtuosity with which such songs might
have been performed. The viol parts have been reconstructed here by Richard
Rastall.
Many of these dramatic songs take the form of elegies or 'death songs',
either evoking death as a relief, as in the gentle O Death, rock me asleep [5],
or railing against fate like Panthea in Richard Farrant's Ah, alas, you salt
sea gods [2] as she prepares to die next to the body of her husband
Abradad. O Jove, from stately throne [20] is from Farrant's play King
Xerxes, one of a series of annual entertainments he produced each winter
for the Queen from 1567 to 1579, performed by the boys in his charge as Master
of the Choristers of the Chapel Royal. Farrant was clearly something of an
entrepreneur, for in 1576 he leased a rehearsal room in Blackfriars, London, to
prepare for that year's royal entertainment, but was subsequently sued for
charging the public to attend these 'private' rehearsals.
Another type of consort song took moralising rather than dramatic texts:
Climb not too high [15] by Nathaniel Pattrick, Master of the Choristers
of Worcester Cathedral between 1590 and 1595, sets a poem from The Arbor of
Amorous Devises on the theme of 'pride comes before a fall'.
The composer who developed the consort song furthest in terms of variety
and intensity of expression was William Byrd, who was associated with the
Elizabethan court and Chapel Royal from 1570 onwards. Byrd's contributions to
the consort song repertory are of the very highest quality. He too could
turn his hand to music for plays: Quis me statim [10] was probably
written for a performance of Seneca's Hippolytus at Christ Church,
Oxford in 1592. Its text closely parallels the dramatic laments of the choirboy
dramas: 'Who forbids me to die at once, my destiny having been destroyed? Alas,
while you, too cruel, forbear, let Death pierce my bowels with your sword
Scatter the bones of your beloved, O Hippolytus!'
Byrd also wrote heartfelt elegies for his patrons and colleagues,
marking the death of his friend, teacher and colleague Thomas Tallis in 1585
with Ye sacred Muses [24]. Although Byrd published Penelope that
longed [12] in his 1589 collection Songs of Sundrie Natures with all
parts texted, the altos part has many of the characteristics of a consort song
voice part: it enters last, has the narrowest range and presents the poem in
the clearest way, following the spoken word rhythms with little embellishment
and with the most important syllables placed on the highest notes of each
phrase for natural emphasis So this performance restores the song to its
probable original form, with the altos sung and the remaining four parts played
on viols.
Many Elizabethan choirboys were skilled viol players as well as singers:
records of a banquet in 1561 tell how 'All ye dynner tyme ye
syngyng children of paules played upon their vyalls and songe very pleasaunt
songes to ye great delectacion & reioysyng of ye
whole companie.' One of our chief sources for the sort of music they may have
played is now in the British Library (Add. MS 31390), written in table-book
format with each player's part facing outwards to a different side of the table
on which the book was placed. Most of the instrumental tracks on this recording
are taken from this manuscript.
The single genre most frequently found in this London consort table-book
is the In Nomine. The origin of this refined and fascinating collection
of pieces is John Taverner's elaborate six-part festal mass Gloria tibi
Trinitas, possibly written for the celebrations of Henry VIII's meeting
with François I of France at the Field of the Cloth of Gold in 1520. In the Benedictus,
when the voices sing the words in nomine Domine, the texture reduces
to four parts, the plainsong cantus firmus is clearly heard in the alto
voice in relatively quick note-values, and the often complex triple rhythms are
replaced by a more square-cut duple pulse. These may be the reasons that this
short section was lifted out of its original context and written into keyboard
and consort books without its words.
Between Taverner and Purcell, a period covering 150 years, there is at
least one example of an In Nomine by virtually every major English
composer, as well as by many less well-known ones. Many of the earlier settings
used the same four-part texture as Taverner: Tallis adopts the undulating
phrases characteristic of the plainsong and ends his setting with serenely
rising scales while the cantus firmus holds a long final pedal.
Christopher Tye, choirmaster at Ely Cathedral and possibly music tutor to
Elizabeth's brother Edward, wrote more In Nomines than any other single
composer. They are in five parts, often with enigmatic titles; Reporte [11]
is unusual for its lilting triple-time pulse and wayward cross-rhythms, while Crye
[13] is characterised by a strident repeated-note figure typical of the
calls of the Elizabethan street traders. While many In Nomines recall
the vocal origins of the genre, the anonymous six part setting [7] seems purely
instrumental in conception. It opens with a jaunty duple-time theme, and
continues in an often homophonic style that seems colourfully at odds with the
linear counterpoint of other settings.
It was a common Elizabethan procedure to perform vocal music such as
motets without words. Singers might employ sol-fa-ing (pitching and naming the
notes of the hexachord, the six-note scale of Elizabethan music theory), or
even replace voices altogether with instruments. Several of the textless pieces
performed here on viols may well have once been motets: Mundy's Fantasia [1]
with its unusual scoring for two equal high parts and its bright major tonality
suggests a celebratory theme, while Parsons' Song [3] is more
melancholy, its harmony coloured by numerous 'false relations' (the
simultaneous sounding of sharp and natural leading-notes). The title of
Tallis' A Solfing Song [21] suggests that it was intended for singers to
practise sol-fa-ing, while its closely woven musical imitative counterpoint
shows the great English composer's adoption of a continental device.
If none of these motet-like fantasias shows signs of intrinsically
instrumental writing, there are others that do, particularly in the works of
Robert Parsons, Byrd's immediate predecessor as Gentleman of the Chapel Royal. The
Song called Trumpets [4] imitates the marching rhythms and signal calls of
military bands before launching into a hectic gallop. In contrast, De la
court [16], one of the most frequently copied pieces of Elizabethan
instrumental music, begins each of its two substantial sections with serious
vocal-style polyphony, but gradually introduces increasingly skittish ideas
before ending with vivacious flourishes from the two treble viols. Parsons' Ut
re mi [9] may well have been intended as teaching material for the
choirboys of the Chapel Royal; while the treble simply plays up and down the
six-note hexachord, the lower three parts play counterpoint of some rhythmic
complexity. In one source an Elizabethan performer commented, 'The second part
is good, but that it is so hard, I will not sing this part'.
Dance music made up another most important element of Elizabethan music
making. During the sixteenth century two dances in particular swept to
popularity: the pavan, with its majestic stylised walking step, and the galliard,
in which six beats were matched to five steps, the penultimate one taking
two beats as the dancers sprang into the air. The Pavin of Albarti [18]
and its related Gallyard [19], found in the Lumley partbooks, probably
date from the 1560s and are typical of the continental dances imported into
England at that time. Their jaunty air and robust rhythms provide a lively
counterbalance to the prevailing melancholy of the dramatic songs and elegies
so central to Elizabethan music making
John Bryan