T he oxymoron ‘aural image’ highlights the special nature of musical ‘exemplarity’ and notational representation. Notated music examples are doubly distant from the aural phenomena that they represent: the notation stands for sound, but, excised and framed as example, points back to a presumed whole that it represents (synechdoche) and also forward from the new discourse of which it becomes a part... In moving from an analogical mode to an iconic one, the example itself becomes exemplar—inducing an imitative realization on the part of the audience.” — Cristle Collins Judd, Reading Renaissance Music Theory, p. 5.
C oncerts like the one that Tallis Scholars presented in Kansas City last night reconstitute iconic ‘things’ in their own likeness, by encompassing them as examples.
A s Cristle Collins Judd (Dean for Academic Affairs & Prof of Music Theory at Bowdoin) has written, examples are inherently ‘dependent texts’: they occur in the context of other/larger texts or discourses, which provide the framework by which we understand them and systematize them and recognize them and remember them.
T he holiday season and concerts that are performed during the holiday season are meta-exemplary? They abound in the recognizable. They leverage both tradition and memory to work their magic. As ‘exemplary’, they bring what’s ‘outside’ into the ‘inside’—inside the texts/discourses that they enlarge and annotate and illuminate as we listen and participate in the spell that’s being cast...
T here are, of course, discontinuities and rhetorical processes that aren’t discursive. The music; the program notes for the Tallis performance; the snippets of rendered music notation that we are able to review, etc.—are extreme in their ability to simultaneously provide streams of visual imagery and sonic stimuli along with the unfolding ‘text’.
W e delight in Josquin’s 6 usual Marian tropes—the delight made juicier by our knowledge that the Missa de beata virgine was later piously excised in the 22nd session of the Council of Trent, in 1562-1563.
I s my reveling at papal pique and Counter-Reformation vanity so wrong?
O h, the final cadences, enriched with thirds that Josquin did not put there. The mensuration of transitions resolved to clean, clear ‘sesquialtera’ completions that were not Josquin’s. The final notes’ durations lengthened or more notes added to tidy it up. Bare spots filled-in. ‘Tis a thing now of even greater beauty than it were in Josquin’s day...
I need to go to library and check out a copy of Sherr’s wonderful book (link below).
T his Tallis Josquin has got to be the most beautiful version of the Kyrie and Sanctus I have ever heard! Tallis’s Missa de beata virgine is a scholarly version, not a vehement or sentimental or valedictory one. I find the Tallis Scholars’ approach brings a new freshness to the piece that I can’t help but prefer. In particular, the soprano, countertenor, and alto parts have a lovely tone and some soul-stirring melodies above the lower voices. The friendly acoustics of the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception lends extra warmth to the endeavor.
P hillips’s conducting—and the responsiveness of the ensemble to his direction—are the causes of the vibrancy and freshness. And just watch! The ‘vibrancy’ is explicit, demanded by Phillips’s hand gestures on many downbeats and on fermatas. So besides the notation and the ‘aural image’, we have the visual image of the conductor and the choir...
P hillips’s hands extend outward from his waist, oscillating in a diminuendo—the amplitude of the hand vibrations decays from 2 centimeters, peak-to-peak, to zero centimeters over a period of a second or so. The waveshape of the gestural decay is approximately exponential each time, with a time constant 1/λ equal to about 200 milliseconds. He does this throughout the performance; it is clearly a core idiom of Phillips’s personal conducting language.
A(t) = A0exp(-λt)
T his is not a ‘bouncy’ gesture. Instead, it suggests exquisite ‘tautness’, controlled impulsion—an equine sort of ‘puissance’ being brought gracefully to rest. It reminds me specifically of a manner of applying ‘leg aids’ to the flanks of your horse when you are bringing your horse to an elegant halt in the dressage ring.
W hat I mean to say is, this choral ensemble ‘animal’ loves its work, and it aims to utterly please. And the choral ‘rider’ [Phillips] loves the suppleness and compliance he finds in the animal, and his subsequent hand ‘aids’ generously adapt to the eager suppleness that’s displayed by the animal.
W hat we see and hear, then, is this sublime unity of the joy of conducting and the joy of singing, the joys of riding and of being ridden. Spirituality through innocent, virtuosic carnality. Maybe that’s what the Council of Trent was worried about.
A usterity, logic, and Josquin’s complete command of compositional form and contrapuntal symmetry permeate [Missa de beata virgine], suggesting a purity of conception meant to please God in its perfection—not excite the passions of men and women.” — Peter Phillips, Tallis Scholars Programme Notes, 10-DEC-2009.
T wo stanzas, and the tune is done. Silence hangs over the hall. It drifts above the seats like a balloon across the horizon. For two downbeats, even breathing is a crime. Then there’s no surviving this surprise except by applauding it away. The noisy gratitude of hands starts time up again, sending the dart to its target and my brother on to the things that will finish him.” — Richard Powers, The Time of Our Singing, p. 4.
M usical liturgical life does unquestionably contain this potential [to elicit a thrill of existential elation and fear and longing]: its legacy even now supplies much of the repertoire for secularized concert-goers; and its visual art stocks our galleries and continues to inspire... The phenomenon of ‘edge’ experience certainly links worship to universal human apprehension. It does more: it directs worship itself back to an original evocative power, a force which seems mostly to have been overtaken by the mundanity it was supposed to overcome.” — Graham Hughes, Worship as Meaning, p. 276.
L iturgical theology for late modern times must show how worship can make sense for people shaped within the modern paradigm... Worship’s recognizability lies in its coherence with other human ‘boundary’ experiences. Worship cannot be simply coextensive with generalized human experience. ‘Meaning,’ hence liturgical meaning, lies in the play on one another of similarity and difference. Characteristic of ‘edge’ experiences is that these heighten or intensify—and in this way disclose—what has always been the case. Perturbation can range in intensity from the annoyance of missing my train, to a disbelieving discovery that my job no longer exists. And elation can be either the joy of a spring morning or beaing head-over-heels in love. But this sliding scale between normalcy and the extraordinary also means that there are infinite degrees according to which I will allow the ‘alterity of the edge’ to assert itself... The sensed security can be illusory: it is possible to be hurled from assured self-determination to uttermost dread in seconds. Even should I be so fortunate in life as never to have been plunged in crisis my equanimity conceals the fact of my ‘thrownness’: that I had no say in whether and in which circumstances I would be born, nor about my eventual departure. At the borders, exposed and concealed, I am anything but in-control. And at these edges—whether of disaster or of fortune—it will not be uncommon to use language such as ‘undone’, ‘coming to pieces’, ‘at my wits’ ends’. In a word, alterity which had been kept at bay in ordinariness is now terrifyingly (or wonderfully) real.” — Graham Hughes, Worship as Meaning, p. 276.
It’s usually two singers per part (SSATB), donning the surprise of flesh and emitting celestial notes here on earth. And so it was this evening in Kansas City when The Tallis Scholars performed.
Peter Phillips and colleagues presented a concert of works from Spain and Portugal, including:
Mendes - Asperges me
Cardoso - Lamentations; Magnificat
Lobo - Pater peccavi; Audivi vocem
Melgas - Ajuva nos; Domine hominem
Victoria - Requiem.
The Victoria six-voice Requiem was particularly novel. Like all Requiem settings, the music is predominantly dramatic in character and intent—taking off with the introspective/hermetical Requiem æternam, ascending through the ecstatic and terrifying vision of a furious and wrathful God, and coming in for a feather-light ‘landing’ with a subdued Kyrie, singers on the brilliantly-lit altar platform at Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, audience in the dark. The Spanish mystical brand of Catholicism communicated in this piece seems oddly premonitory of present-day self-styled liturgies.
A fter seeing the Tallis Scholars, the Renaissance doesn’t seem remote at all.” — Chicago Sun Times, August 2006.
This superb recital gave us an aerial view of religious conviction as ‘acting-out’—aspirations toward an innocence and goodness that would not only be acceptable to God but also quieting to one’s own conscience, enacted in public. The appeal that this had in Renaissance times—and that it still has today—cannot be overestimated; not just the innocence and expiation as motives, but the seductiveness and popularity of institutionalizing it as public ritual.
The counterpoint alternating with homophony is especially dramatic and evocative of other-worldliness, in support of the liturgical ‘acting-out’ of conviction and supplication.
In fact, the evocativeness is so powerful and profoundly moving that it boggles my mind: how one can sing this music without tears rolling down one’s cheeks the whole while? How can one not come undone? Rehearsing and performing it repeatedly cannot possibly immunize one against its power!
The magic of it is that music can do this at all. The terror of it lies in the fact that music is so potent, that it works so well, and that it can make us go where we don’t necessarily want to go. (That may have been the whole liturgical ‘point’ ... )
Thyrotropin-Releasing Hormone (TRH; (pyro)Glu-His-Pro-NH2 ) when suddenly released in large amounts (by the hypothalamus, into the pituitary’s hypophyseal portal system) can produce this shaking and shivering and the spine-tingling qualitative sensations that are associated with experiencing ecstatic awe. It does this by direct action of TRH on receptors in the brain. And 1-[2-hydroxyphenyl]-4[3-nitrophenyl]-1,2,3,6-tetrahydropyrimidine-2-one, an experimental drug, can do this too—it has been used as an experimental model to try to understand spine-tingling—but the drug has a peripheral site of action instead of only in the brain, so its mimicry of TRH’s action on the pituitary is not exact.
And after the TRH hits its receptors, then the multi-faceted signalling cascade begins. How does this work?! Shaking and shivering and spine-tingling sensations are elicited by a variety of stimuli. The sensations can be inhibited by central administration of drugs that act as agonists on opiate receptors, muscarinic cholinergic receptors, and alpha-adrenergic receptors. We know that from experiments with laboratory animals, plus anecdotal accounts by anesthesiologists—whose practice in the operating room and in the PACU involves administering drugs that potently affect those receptors; and whose practice also involves recovering patients as they emerge from anesthesia and those medications are washed out or metabolized away. [Bear in mind that the neurophysiology of how ‘spine-tingling’ emotional reactions happens is different from the cell biology of nerve synapses—a scientific field that recently has co-opted the phrase ‘spine-tingling’ as a colorful way of referring to spiny structural changes and variations in nerve cell synaptic membranes. See Huettner and Spires and Hyman and others (Spine-tingling excitement from glutamate receptors. Science STKE 2003; 210:53; Neurobiol Aging 2007; 28:687). Keep in mind, too, that there is a lot of appallingly incorrect disinformation/bullshit (via YahooAnswers.com and other web sources) about the physiology of spine-tingling. Needless to say, spine-tingling has not been a heavily funded area of research, insofar as it is (a) not related to an important medical problem or disease {not even Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy (RSD) or neuropathic pain or Familial Dysautonomia} and (b) it is transient {each paroxysm unpredictably comes and goes in seconds} and would therefore be very difficult to study.] A considerable amount is known about the neurophysiology of spine-tingling in general, but not a lot is known about the neurophysiology of spine-tingly music specifically.
At any rate, for me in Saturday night’s Tallis Scholars performance there was no pharmaceutical protection from spine-tingling, no remedy in sight at all. Just a few bars into the 6-voice Requiem (Tomás Luis de Victoria, 1605) and here come the shivers—up and down the whole length of the spine, uncontrollably, continuously, my dorsomedial hypothalamus (DMH) and brainstem going wild.
You must realize I didn’t go there expecting this to happen; I did not attend this concert with the aim of being moved to tears in this way by the singing. Nor do you attend concerts with this aim, with some exceptions. And yet it does happen, this reflex, this shivering tearing neurophysiology of the ancient hind-brain of our mammalian prehistory. The rest of our Saturday had been ‘normal’, and now this—in this darkened cave of a cathedral, full of echoes and faintly redolent of Saturday 2:30 p.m. and 4:30 p.m. Masses and a funeral held here earlier in the day, for a dear 88.9 year-old someone we did not know. But we now see that we are just tiny bystanders, ceremoniously hurled into emotional depths on a cold March evening; bystanders undone by sacred music written by clever Lusitanians and Spaniards some 400 years ago. Hyperhedonic existential adventure! Acoustically-evoked hyperautonomia! Syncopal musical psychotourism! You need to read Phillips’s book, What We Really Do, to better understand their art. Better still, go to one of The Tallis Scholars’ performances and get your spine tingled yourself. Don’t understand Latin? Doesn’t matter. Deist, or atheist, or somewhere in between? Doesn’t matter. The cosmic beauty—and the shivers—induced by Tallis Scholars are universal.
T he embellishments that the soprano sings on the way down from the top C [in Allegri’s Miserere] were not composed by Allegri but were instead improvised by generations of singers in the Sistine Chapel. These embellishments were guarded even more jealously than the written music…” — Peter Phillips.
C onvinced that people shape their meanings from those available to them, Graham Hughes inquires into liturgical constructions of meaning, within the larger context of late twentieth-century meaning theory. Drawing particularly upon the work of Charles Peirce, Hughes employs semiotic theory to analyze the construction, transmission and apprehension of meaning within the worship service.” — Jacket blurb, Hughes book.
