Super flumina babylonis

It is an easy misconception to think that music tends to grow increasingly complex and elaborate over time. It is part of our modern mindset, instilled by ideas from Hegel and Darwin and generations of “progressive evolution” scholars. But a few striking examples completely undermine the progressivist theory. By far the most striking, and one with lasting impact on music history, comes from 16th-century Italy. At the center stands Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina (ca. 1525-94), once regarded as the savior of sacred music and the single most identifiable voice of Renaissance music in Italy. First, a short digression is needed.
Sacred music had grown increasingly complex over the previous 150 years, culminating in extremely florid motets in which each voice could have a unique melody, text, and language (French, Italian, and Latin), all at the same time. Words were totally lost, existing like mere appendages upon which the music soared into extravagance. The legend grew that the Council of Trent (1545-63), the Catholic Church’s main counter-reformation effort, was ready to ban polyphonic music entirely until Palestrina composed a beautiful choral mass that showed a way forward. That work, the Pope Marcellus Mass, remains a cornerstone of 16th-century sacred music. But that it was written to appease the Council is total fiction. For his own reasons, Palestrina had already settled on a leaner, more text-based style before the Tridentine Council even convened.
Of course, as news of the Council’s feelings about music emerged, Palestrina was perfectly poised to take advantage. In 1551 he took his first post in Rome at St. Peter’s. All of his remaining life was spent in Rome and involved several of the most significant church positions.
One of the Palestrina’s best-loved works is the motet Super flumina Babylonis (1581), a setting of Psalm 137 that treats of the Israelites tribulations while in Babylonian captivity. Other early modern composers, including Victoria, Gombert, and Byrd, joined Palestrina in setting this powerful passage. His version, covering just the first two verses, begins in a dolorous mood. It manages expertly to be both succinct—lasting less than four minutes—and yet powerfully responsive to the text. It also quickly traverses a rather complicated five-part form. Though in the midst of Palestrina’s pearlescent, clear part-writing, counting successive variations on a theme seems rather pedantic.

(c) Jason Stell