General Notes on English Madrigals

The language of Baroque music has become nearly as familiar to our ears as the idiom of Viennese High Classicism (Haydn, Mozart, early Beethoven). Moreover, Baroque musical style is largely stable and homogeneous across Europe, forcing one to look deeper into subtle differences in order to substantiate stylistic comparisons. In other words, we certainly know Baroque music when we hear it—and you will hear nothing else this evening—but whether this trio sonata is by Händel or Telemann, whether this dance suite came from the pen of Corelli or Vivaldi—these are questions which frustrate even the experts. Devices and descriptions of similar works run the risk of redundancy and, truth be said, the musical principles behind all of tonight’s selections are far more alike than different. Yet composers usually manage to infuse some tinge of novelty—a spicy dissonance, perhaps, or a contrapuntal magic trick—and we will do well to attend closely for these fleeting instances of aesthetic transcendence.

The farthest we go back this evening is to the end of the 16th century, when the full flowering of Italian vocal composition had secured a place in the hearts of English composers. One of the most popular forms taken over from Italy was the madrigal, traditionally a texted, contrapuntal work for four to six voices, and a group of English composers emerged as practitioners in this new medium: principally Weelkes, Morley, and Wilbye.
Like many musicians of his generation, Thomas Weelkes’ first training took place at the organ console, and two of his earliest professional appointments were as organist at Winchester College and later at Chichester Cathedral. He truly began to shine in composing madrigals, however, and we recall him tonight for that skill. His four volume of madrigals contain over 100 individual pieces—roughly the same number as his Italian contemporary, Gesualdo. (By comparison, Monteverdi wrote over 220 and Luca Marenzio over 400!) It is worth mentioning that the second Weelkes madrigal heard tonight, “Death hath deprived me” was written upon the death of his friend, Thomas Morley.

Morley is remembered today both as a composer and as a theorist. His Plaine and Easie Introduction to Practicall Musicke (1597) was of seminal importance in translating continental music theory into the hands of English readers and musicians. He composed short excerpts and pieces for the Plaine and Easie Introduction in order to demonstrate many of his points. The following passage comes from his description of how to write a madrigal in the Italian manner:

“If therefore you will compose in this kind you must possess yourself with an amorous humour . . . so that you must in your music be wavering like the wind, sometime wanton, sometime drooping, sometime grave and staid, otherwhile effeminate . . . The more variety you show the better you shall please.”

Very little is known about John Farmer except that he was active in the period from 1591 to 1601, first in Dublin and later in London. He is the least familiar of the so-called “English School” of madrigal composers, and his reputation rests on only a handful of extant works, including one of the most beloved English madrigals of the era, “Fair Phyllis I saw sitting all alone.”
A few generations later Henry Purcell had accomplished another translation from Italy to England: opera. Purcell lived a very short life; his 36 years are akin to the brief span of Mozart’s existence on earth. But like Mozart, Purcell’s story, too, is one of prodigious accomplishments at an early age. Following training as a chorister in the Royal Chapel, Henry was appointed resident composer at age 17 and became head organist at Westminster Abbey just two years later. It was at this time—around 1680—that Purcell’s earliest extant compositions, mostly violin sonatas and fantasias, were written. Such instrumental works show a firm grasp of the latest Italian fashions, and some of that exposure certainly served Purcell well as he turned to creating music for the theater. His appointments at court and chapel continued until his death and called forth a vast array of ceremonial odes, songs, and liturgical settings. But in his lifetime and ever since Purcell has been loved best for his dramatic scores: King Arthur (1691), The Fairy Queen (1692), and above all, Dido and Aeneas (1689).

(c) Jason Stell