Sunday, June 17, 2007

Hoeprich & Historical Clarinet: Searching for and Finding the Genuine Article

Eric Hoeprich
DSM: The performance of Nachtmusique at the Boston Early Music Festival (BEMF) illuminated several aspects of historical wind performance practice. Eric Hoeprich took a moment during the performance to explain to the audience the construction of 18th century clarinets and bassoons. Having only 5 keys, these instruments compel the performer to use a wide array of exotic “alternate” fingerings in order to realize the whole chromatic scale. And, as a result of these fingerings, the varying segments of the shaft of the instrument that are open, patterns of open tone-holes, and so on — the physics of the air column and the timbre of the instrument are tremendously different, not just across the registers but within each octave and from note to note. The timbral texture of the music is strikingly different when played on these period instruments, compared to performances of these same pieces on modern instruments. Fascinating – as well as beautiful!

  • Nachtmusique (Eric Hoeprich, clarinets; Toni Salar-Verdú, clarinets; Javier Zafra & Eyal Streett, bassoon; Erwin Wieringa & Gijs Laceulle, horn; Gonzalo Ruiz, oboe; Kristian Bezuidenhout, harpsichord)
  • Mozart, selections from Die Zauberflöte, K. 620
  • Mozart, Quintett in E-flat, K. 452
  • Duvernoy, Allegro pour deux cors
  • Kreutzer, Allegro pour deux clarinettes
  • Weyse, Allegro pour deux bassoons
  • Beethoven, Sextett op. 71
CMT: Eric Hoeprich is a founding member of several chamber music groups, such as Nachtmusique, which features these wind instruments of the 18th century (not just clarinets, but basset horns and other exotics). He also collaborates with the Salomon Quartet, Artaria Quartet, Festitecs Quartet, Aston Magnon, Turner Quartet, Apponyo Quartet, Da Camara Houston and other chamber groups. Besides his performing, Eric is on the faculty at Conservatoire de Paris and the Royal Conservatory in The Hague and lectures in Oxford and Cambridge, several American universities and conservatories in Brussels, Oslo, and Würzburg.

DSM: Eric has a new book published this year by Yale University Press, on clarinet history and performance practice. Richard Taruskin once wrote “I am convinced that ‘historical’ performance today is not really historical; that a thin veneer of historicism clothes a performance style that is completely of our own time, and is in fact the most modern style around; and that the historical hardware has won its wide acceptance and above all its commercial viability precisely by virtue of its novelty, not its antiquity.” But that was 15 years ago, and Taruskin’s once notorious views can now be applied not only to performance practice but to the instruments themselves. Eric’s passion for old instruments induced him to collect clarinets of the 18th and 19th century. Particularly interesting in his collection is the instrument of Heinrich Baermann for which Carl von Weber wrote his concerti opp. 73 and 74, and for which Mozart composed his concerto for clarinet KV 622 and his quintet KV 581. Sometimes, when it proves impossible to use old instruments, Eric Hoeprich plays on copies he makes himself. Eric’s attention to historical detail is exacting – he is clearly a purist. But his scholarship and high standards for authenticity don’t drive the life out of his subject.

CMT: I loved his remarks to the audience last night “How would Mozart feel about such a copy? Well, we have to acknowledge that these designs were, for Mozart and his contemporaries, ‘modern’ instruments in their day. And I’m not sure that Baermann or Lotz would necessarily have wanted to play a 250 year-old clarinet.”

DSM: There are quite noticeable differences between the technique of French and German clarinetists, and Hoeprich’s playing is faithful to these – as part of his historicism. By 1800, some specific, national characteristics in clarinet design had emerged, and he has published analyses of French and German instruments and given talks on these in recent symposia. In Paris, Frédéric Berr, for example, cited specific local clarinet makers in his Traité of 1836, as did several others, such as Fröhlich in Würzburg, Backofen in Darmstadt and Fahrbach in Vienna. With Hoeprich’s and Rice’s and Lawson’s and others’ careful study, the history of these wind instruments now approaches the depth characterizing strings, piano, and other instruments.

CMT: These books are a joy to read and a wonderful companion to the recordings and live performances. Bravo!




Friday, June 15, 2007

23 May 07

Outage

5:10 pm The prison is locked-down. The power has been off all day due to repair work. The temperature is in the eighties and the swamp coolers are off, so we’re lounging around our cells wearing next to nothing. Prisoners are restless because their TVs aren't working. Some are listening to Walkmans. Others are talking through their windows.
“I’m about to get butt-ass naked in this motherfucker.”
“Let’s see ya naked, boyyyy.”
“They sure as shit ain’t lettin’ us out – motherfuckers.”
“Whaaaa-whoooo!”
“Yee-haw!”
"The motherfuckers are lyin’ to us, dawg. The electricity is on in the store.”
“Nah, dawg. My fan ain’t on.”
“The motherfuckin’ po-lice said theyz changin’ a generator.”
“That don’t take all motherfuckin’ day, dawg.”
“Whatchu doin’, dawg?”
“Readin’ all motherfuckin’ day, when I should be writin’ letters.”
“Yee-haw!”
“I am sooo very gay,” Black Nine said.
“Suck my cock.”
“He needs a dick su-cker…a dick su-cker…”
Now they’re all singing, “…a dick su-cker…a dick su-cker…a dick su-cker…”
The only other sounds are birds chirping. Pigeons cooing. The wind spitting dust at my window. And a staccato of metallic coughs from a walkie-talkie heading this way.

With the kitchen being closed, breakfast was a cheese sandwich, and so was lunch. For dinner I’m expecting a cheese sandwich. Cheese-sandwich days like these make me dream of being home, making up for all of the curries I’ve missed over the years.


Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Suitte d’un Goût Etranger: International Relations in Pierlot’s Evocative Marais


L uxury is the situation of a society in which riches have become the principal passion. As soon as money has become the exclusive object of the greatest number of society, there can be no more powerful motive than the desire to acquire it. There is no enthusiasm but that of opulence; there is no other emulation but to procure by the swiftest of routes those signs which are admitted by all to represent power, pleasures, and felicity.”
  —  Baron d'Holbach, Politique Naturelle, 1773, p. 130.

DSM: We in the twenty-first century may regard 12-tone music as if we had invented it, inhaled it, and thoroughly identify with the modern aporias that it expresses. But the Baroque literature could and should be equally resonant. The Baroque poets speak to us when they respond to the Thirty Years War and other tensions, insofar as such destructive wars and plutocracies are also leaving their mark on our own time—international relations gone awry, and, in the U.S., the longing for a return to effective statecraft.

CMT: Philippe Pierlot illustrated this inter-epochal concept beautifully last night at the Boston Early Music Festival, in his performance ‘Les Festes Galantes’ with harpsichordist Jan Willem Jansen. The entire program was technically superb, but the Marais pieces especially were particularly moving. Pierlot is Professor in the Hochscule fûr Musik, Trossingen, Germany. He lives in the belgian Ardennes and, among other things, directs the Ricercar Consort. In his account of these Baroque pieces, Marais’ Suittes, there’s a sensitivity to international relations — a reflet d’une perspective étrangère.

DSM: Contrast the expressions in Pierlot’s account of Marais’ Suittes last night with those of the film, Tous les Matins du Monde—with Gérard Depardieu cast as Marais. The film follows Marais from highly talented but self-centered student, through his personal follies with Sainte-Colombe’s daughter, to Marais’ old age, troubled by the realization that music—his talent, n’importe quoi—was so much greater than his ego had allowed him to explore. The film delivers a sense of real authenticity, but it’s an authenticity of an introverted sort. By contrast, these Suittes in Pierlot’s hands have a distinctly outward-directed, transnational flavor.

CMT: I’ve never heard anybody produce a tone like Pierlot’s, starting a long note so tenuously as to be more like whitespace, empty and begging for its fulfillment yet so clear and prophetic—clairvoyant even. Pierlot’s playing is the sheer epitome of Truth in a viol. We learn a lot from Pierlot—about the human condition, not just about musical expression.

DSM: This Marais music (1656-1728) presages Claude Helvétius’s writing on eighteenth century materialism. He knew courtly society, he knew the world of the financiers, and he saw the limitations of it all. For Helvétius (1715-1771), ennui and the various remedies proposed for it varied according to nations and their constitutions and temperaments. Helvétius’s book, de l’Homme, critiques an aesthetic of pleasure based on sensationalism: “The object of art ... is to please and consequently to excite sensations in us which, without being painful, are yet lively and strong. When a work produces such effects it is applauded.” Beauty is what strikes us sufficiently to enliven our soul. The sublime makes for stronger effects since it may evoke terror and fear—so much better than being bored or meaningless! The Arts were to be judged not by rules articulated by social hierarchy and convention but by genuine and spontaneous individual sentiment—individual responsible judgment and thoughtful action. Marais' music was a harbinger of this . . .


Philippe Pierlot

Marin Marais

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Psyché: Jean-Baptiste Lully’s Puissance Autoriale

Psyche, Furies
  • Psyché, production by BEMF
  • Music by Jean-Baptiste Lully, 1671-8 (1632-1687)
  • Libretto by Thomas Corneille (1625-1709)
  • Paul O’Dette & Stephen Stubbs, Music Directors
  • Gilbert Blin, Stage Director
  • Lucy Graham, Choreographer
  • Ellen Hargis, Vocal & Gesture Director
  • Caleb Wertenbaker, Set Designer
  • Lenore Doxsee, Lighting Designer
  • Anna Watkins, Costume Designer
  • Kathleen Fay, Executive Producer
  • Abbie Katz, Associate Producer

DSM: You know, there’s a conventional notion of French classicism – that the Arts moved in the 17th Century toward purity and increasing standardization, and that French as a language was elevated such that it came to rival ancient languages in its expressive richness. Though it’s usually associated with Louis XIV’s Versailles and such figures as Molière, La Fontaine, La Bruyère, and Racine, the formative period of classicism was a bit earlier, and writers like Corneille were its vanguard. A caricature of French classicism goes further and implies that the development of the absolute monarchy, the pacification of the realm, the rising prestige and power of France in Europe, and the emergence of classicism are all “of a piece”. But it’s precisely this latter-day conclusory tone – the tacitly assumed inevitability of the association between political and social order, on the one hand, and aesthetic order in the Arts, on the other – that this Lully opera with the Corneille libretto calls into question. Christian Jouhaud’s 2000 book, Les Pouvoirs de la Littérature: Histoire d’un Paradoxe, is an excellent analysis of French Seventeenth Century literature and music and art, as revealing features and changes in the exercise of political power during that era.

CMT: Jouhaud’s book is a kind of sociological analysis of classicism, arguing that the affinity of classicism with royal power was an illusion. Rather than emphasize the commanding influence of the monarchy and patronage in creating classicism, or at least in ensuring its success, Jouhaud speaks instead of the ‘writer’ or ‘literature’. His book shows that in the seventeenth century that writers were seeking and getting increasing autonomy.

DSM: In that connection, Bourdieu once wrote that the Arts are not only situated in a social context but he asserted that this context was necessary for its emergence – debunking the claims for the universality and timelessness of classical expression. One aspect of this social context was a public of readers and chamber music listeners whose interests and level of culture enabled them to participate in these Arts, thereby fueling their development.

CMT: This reminds me of Habermas’ notion of a public sphere, but Jouhaud objects to the claim that a public emerged only in the eighteenth century. He says it was earlier, in the seventeenth century with Corneille and Lully. The modern entity of a public emerged then, he says — a public concerned with eloquence and expression, as intensely as the court was.

DSM: And at that time there were, of course, competing versions of eloquence — Jesuit and Gallican, say — in seventeenth-century France. The Jesuit style championed a thoroughly French rhetoric of images, and a not-too-challenging level of learning that was congenial to a nobility with limited educational aspirations and resources. Gallican eloquence, on the other hand, was cultivated by the magistrates of the parlement, who were bearers of more erudition — a Latinate humanism of the late Renaissance.

CMT: In Lully’s Psyché (see-shay'), we have an example of a humanistic interest in the ‘modernity’ of Ciceronianism that was at the heart of French culture then — in the generations following the wars of religion. The Jesuits’ style won the day by appealing to the gens de la cour, but their victory didn’t come from the public itself.

DSM: Yes, that’s part of Jouhaud’s argument. Jouhaud begins by considering a paradox, insofar as the Arts’ dependence on power actually created the conditions for its construction, and ultimately its autonomy, as a field or realm of human activity and culture production. To frame culture in paradoxical terms conforms to a contradiction, one that transcends the literary realm. Early seventeenth-century France was characterized by two tendencies. On one level was the consolidation of royal power and the consensus that emerged across elite society behind the continuing need for a powerful monarchy. On the other was the new bourgeois cultural realm marked by disparate trends — ones that suggest a scattering, ‘centrifugal’ dynamic in contrast to the crown’s ‘centripetal’ force.

Baroque Opera Orchetra Pit
CMT: The arrangement of the baroque orchestra to accompany the opera manifests some of this centrifugal tension too, I think – sitting as the performers do on opposite sides of a picnic-table-like layout in the orchestra pit. The principal violinist actually projects his/her sound predominantly toward the stage, toward the singers, not toward the audience. There is an egalitarian aspect to the musicians’ performance in baroque opera that, unlike other opera or orchestral forms, retains the dialogue-among-equals, discursive character of smaller chamber music idioms. Very interesting, compared to eighteenth and nineteenth century opera. You know, Jouhaud’s focus doesn’t dwell on Paris in the decades following the religious wars, a city that had become a haven for cosmopolitan elites, humanists, and various eccentrics. But his concentration on a handful of literati, and on the paradoxical nature of contemporary culture, yields ideas that brings these contradictory things—power and culture—into a clear and informative relationship. Jouhaud’s method is to see the relationship between power and the Arts as a series of exchanges – to see it as a process that serves to construct each. Political power and literature don’t confront one another as fully constituted entities. Rather, each feeds off the other. In this Lully opera, we have music in service of statecraft, or as an artifact of statecraft.

DSM: In Jouhaud’s words, we get a “littérarisation” of politics and a “politicization” of literature. Does this exchange suggest parity between the two? Although Jouhaud acknowledges that in the eighteenth century it would lead to the autonomy of literature as an independent discursive venue for the first time, he insists that in the early seventeenth century, at its birth, a dependency characterized the Arts’ relationship to power.

CMT: Looked at in this way, there’s an abstract quality to Jouhaud’s idea that, even in the detailed case studies he provides, threatens to obscure his argument. To start with, it’s helpful to know that his concern isn’t primarily with the simple connections between politics and literature and music and other art that come to mind when we think of the seventeenth century: not the exploitation of literary forms to exalt the monarch; not the control of literature through patronage or censorship; not the appropriation of political subjects by literati—although all of these do find a place in Jouhaud’s analysis. So what does he mean by the “littérarisation” of politics and the “politicization” of literature, and what are the implications of this process?

DSM: One place not to begin, Jouhaud says, is with the institution that traditionally stands at the center of discussions of literary life in the early seventeenth century, the Académie Française. That would give a misleading view of writers and composers and artists (who previously had no formal standing in the “society of orders” of the Old Regime) as having gained autonomy and protection through its establishment.

CMT: Jouhaud argues that writers and composers and others were defined by their exceptional nature—as individuals and an activity lacking a corporate identity. “Fundamentally, their status was not to have one,” he says. This feature was both a weakness and an advantage: a weakness because it left them vulnerable and in need of protection; an advantage because as relatively free agents they were uniquely suited to the ad hoc service that aristocrats, ministers, and monarchy required.

DSM: So Jouhaud holds forth with a social analysis of writers’ anomalous position in the society of orders, and suggests that the novelty of literature and the Arts in the early seventeenth century—or of composing music—was not only its promotion of writing and composing in the vernacular. The novelty of the Arts consisted in the artists’ unique social position as well. Jouhaud implies that writers embodied a modern predicament: individuals, lacking any traditional moorings and support, engaged in a novel enterprise, in need of legitimizing for the sustainability of their social status and livelihood and practice. They naturally gravitated to the service and patronage of the wealthy and powerful, whom they were uniquely equipped to serve because of their adaptable skills. Surely has face-validity as modern — sounds like today, in fact.

CMT: Far into Jouhaud’s book we learn why politicians and royalty were so interested in artists of this sort. It wasn’t so much the intrinsic nature of their writings and compositions as the position they occupied on the sociocultural landscape. They were valued as an alternative and, even more, as a counterforce to the rising bourgeoisie whose legitimacy and expertise represented obstacles to both the crown’s authority and its latitude of maneuverability. He writes: ‘Between the development of these new forms of literary authority and the development of a power that sought to confine the privileges of corporations and to deny them the right to dispute political matters, there would thus be agreement, harmony . . . perhaps even a solidarity in expansion’ (p. 330).

DSM: So writers and composers served to domesticate—the term is not necessarily pejorative one—a cultural field which the rulers did not wish to see emancipated. They recalibrated the norms of comportment and limited the authority of the ‘learned’ bourgeois members of society while simultaneously giving lessons in pleasure and good taste (p. 368).

CMT: It’s in this way thaqt the subject of Jouhaud’s analysis is really a theory of the origins of “the public”, although it’s not Habermas’s notion of a public characterized by an independence from the court and crown. Just the same, Jouhaud addresses autonomy as part of the culture of a developing modern civil society. And Jouhaud’s public fundamentally intersects and overlaps with the court, instead of being fully independent from it.

DSM: And in the case of Lully’s operas, we can read them as reactions to, and at the same time intertwined with, court culture itself. It’s consistent with Jouhaud’s warning us against reifying the idea of a “public” as a space or a cultural arena fundamentally characterized by autonomy from royal control and manipulation. It’s still intertwined with the emerging political consolidation and intersections with self-referential royal, ministerial, and aristocratic power. The wedding festivities and Bacchanalia in Act V of Psyché are good illustrations of that!

CMT: But still, even if we set aside the problematic idea of a ‘public’ we can examine the idea of the term ‘publicity’, indicating a dynamic of representation and disclosure through the discourse of literature and music and the Arts. Insofar as a public coincides with court culture, or the court itself, the analysis is fraught with ambiguity.

DSM: But if you consider outsiders and bourgeois citizens – contemporaries who would have viewed the court in terms of secrecy and power not yet attained – the analysis of disclosure and publicity is straight-forward. This is certainly the prescriptive characterization of apologists for reasons of state—the view of statecraft that, as Jouhaud notes and as Ross suggests in his new book, was shared by members of the Arts community.

CMT: The Arts of the early seventeenth century—based on the vernacular and aimed at somewhat educated aristocrats—were pretty transparent and accessible. And it must be that a desire to appeal to a broader ‘public’ was not limited just to literature but would’ve been a factor for all of the Arts.

DSM: Erudite magistrates were also looking to enlarge the appeal of ‘eloquence’ through a so-called Ciceronianism that would synthesize the rival camps of courtly cultures. So the move to broaden public discourse—to make it in fact public—was shared by others, including Lully’s circle.

CMT: In conflating public and court, Jouhaud finesses differences between aristocracy and crown that play a central role in this period. Intertwined, inseparable, but different.

DSM: One aspect concerns me. Jouhaud does seem to under-appreciate the literary text or the musical text as imparting ‘political ideas.’ Instead, he emphasizes the textuality of political commentary and its reality as a literary performance with political implications. For Jouhaud, the ‘text’ serves to demonstrate that the realm of political power can be penetrated by a ‘puissance autoriale.’ This puissance, this intertwined reactionary independence — is surely part of what Lully accomplished in Psyché.

CMT: The BEMF team’s brilliant insights into seventeenth-century culture; their extraordinarily astute, sensitive, and learned reading of a whole range of musical texts, some well known but many obscure, make this production of Psyché an important resource for anyone interested in the relationship between the Arts and politics in the Ancien Regime. The discourse of power is never so simple as a tool of state at the service of a royal or ministerial absolutist regime, nor is opera or literature or any other art form every confined to a handful of writers whose texts meet the criterion of having political import. In this period, when literature and literary sociability permeated so much of elite culture, especially in Paris, surely there was more to the ‘powers of literature’ than this. Bravo to the BEMF in imparting these subtleties to this production of Psyché!


Cutler Majestic Theatre


19th May

Reversing on a Slope

Seeing Slope I began to sing, “Yankee Doodle Dandy –"
“Stuck a feather,” Slope sang, “in his butt and called it macaroni.”
“That’s bloody rubbish,” I said.
“Bloody rubbish!” Slope said. “That’s a used tampon.”
“Jon’s lookin’ for somethin’ more inspirational,” Red said.
“If he puts a finger in his butt, that’ll inspire him,” Slope said.
“You’re sure fixated on sticking things in butts this fine morning, Slope,” I said.
“When you get fucked so many times, you wanna fuck someone else,” Slope said. “The English know all about that – the sneaky bastards.”
“Sneaky!”
“You sneaked up via New Orleans. Goddam frickin’ shifty Limey characters.”
“Shifty!” I said. “Us Brits are well-mannered and honest.”
Slope eyes narrowed with disbelief.
“Slope’s givin’ you the stink eye,” Red said.
“Like that, Slope?”
“Are you sayin’ the history books wuz wrong,” Slope said. “Puh-leeze.”
“How’s Xena doing?” I asked.
“Why?” Slope said. “Are you tryin to smack that brown Cheerio?”
“You’ve got to remember,” Red said, “cheerio means somethin’ else in England. Cheerio, old boy, I’ll see you for high tea at Harrods.”
“Jon ain’t doin’ no high tea at goddam Harrods.” Slope said. “He was too busy eatin’ Ecstacy and scratchin’ his balls all night.”
“We didn’t scratch our balls.” I said. “We did silly things with Vick’s Inhalers.”
“Didn’t you Limeys start all that rave shit out here? Doin’ the E thang, man. I’ve only seen that shit on TV. MDMA. But I do know a little bit about the chemical composition at the molecular level. Gotta love American chemists,” Slope said. “How d’yuh think them GIs marched across Europe in the middle of winter? Spun outta their minds they wuz on good dope. Government speed. Nonna that made-outta-sinus-pill shit.”
“You ever use lube, Slope?”
“Hell yeah! How d-yuh Limeys keep friction down in yer motorceeckles?”
“How about water-based lube? Do you prefer that?”
“Well in your machine shops - “
I couldn’t contain my laughter when Xena arrived. Xena, who had heard the lube questions, laughed too.
“Grrrrr!” Slope said. “The goddam Limey’s askin’ lube questions, and I’m figurin he’s talkin’ about greasin’ motorceeckles, when he’s reckonin’ on ridin’ the ass with it.”

Email comments to writeinside@hotmail.com or post them below

Copyright © 2006-2007 Shaun P. Attwood

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Leçons de Ténèbres: Antiphonal Gestures in Claudin de Sermisy’s Chansons

Courtly Love
J`attends secours de ma seule pensée --
J`attends le jour, que l`on m`éconduira,
Ou que du tout la belle me dira,
‘Ami, t`amour sera récompensée.’
Mon alliance est fort bien commencée,
Mais je ne sais comment il en ira
Car, s`elle veut, ma vie périra
Quoiqu`en amour s`attend d`être avancé.
Si j`ai refus, vienne Mort insensée --
A son plaisir de mon coeur jouira.
Si j`ai merci, adonc s`éjouira
Celui qui point n`a sa Dame offensée.”
  —  Clément Marot (1497-1544)


(I wait for rescue from my thoughts alone --
I wait for the day when I will be rejected,
Or else the lovely lady will tell me,
‘Friend, your love will be rewarded.’
My relationship has started well,
But I cannot tell the outcome
Because, if she wishes, I can die
Despite my hope to win her love.
If I am refused, let death come --
She will play with my heart at her pleasure.
If I am shown mercy, he who has not
offended his lady will find joy.)

DSM: The antiphonal ‘call-and-response’ structure is a way to valorize the subject of the chanson. Le Jardin de Mélodies, the King’s Noyse performance last night at Jordan Hall in Boston opening the Boston Early Music Festival, was surely that – an enthusiastic valorization!

CMT: Your ‘antiphonal’ comment is specifically concerning the Claudin de Sermisy piece, ‘Auprès de vous’, where the strings (David Douglass [violin], Robert Mealy [viola], Shira Kammen [viola], Julie Andrijski [viola], David Morris [bass violin], Paul O’Dette [lute], Pat O’Brien [lute]) seem to call and answer to each other and overlap each other?

DSM: Yes. Rhetorically, the ‘call-and-response’ suggests that the courtly renaissance lover is subordinating his interests to those of the loved one, will not stray from the loved one to whom the chanson is sung, will remain ‘next to her’. Phrases performed by two or more semi-independent choirs interacting with one another, singing alternating musical phrases – this is essentially antiphonal, isn’t it? Or at least, historically, antiphonal psalmody was the singing or musical playing of psalms by alternating groups of performers. This Sermisy piece – these waves of sound, in the manner that Auprès de vous (‘Next to You’) creates them, strongly convey the idea that the lover is deeply affected by the loved one.

CMT: The antiphonal ‘waves’ and ‘call-and-response’, to me, signify also an element of epistemological doubt that this courtly lover has, about how requited the attachment is or will be. The piece has an antiphonal call-and-response character, but it’s essentially a soliloquy – almost as though the lover is pacing around. There’s an existential tension that accompanies these spatial acoustic displacements in this Sermisy chanson. The antiphonal effects suggest a vulnerability that the lover feels, upon realizing or fully gauging his profound dependency on the loved one. Of course, in courtly love this might all be merely for ‘show’. But in Sermisy’s score – or in the King’s Noyse’s interpretation – there is an aspect of genuine vulnerability. Very sweet. Poignant even. Lessons in darkness!

DSM: What a fine opening of BEMF this was! Wonderful!