“What is this? Now there is something one can learn from!” That’s a huge compliment, especially as it was uttered by the arrogant Mozart when he heard the music of J. S. Bach.

The six motets of Johann Sebastian Bach are beautiful beyond measure, perfectly composed, and fiendishly difficult to sing. “Der Geist hilf unser Schwachheit auf” (The Spirit gives aid to our weakness) was composed for a funeral, but the text is equally perfect for the Christian day of Pentecost – the day the Holy Spirit descended upon the disciples and the birthday of the Church. The piece begins with the double-chorus singing back and forth to each other, like the biblical “rush of wind” that occurred on the first Pentecost. A fugue follows, as a sort of response to the fiery opening section – listen for the constant hissing of different s’s, again, giving the effect of rushing wind, or perhaps speaking in tongues. The motet closes with a sweet setting of a hymn which Martin Luther wrote for Pentecost, and would have been well known by any 18th century German Protestant.

0:00 – double-chorus singing in dialogue
The Spirit gives aid to our weakness, for we know not what we should pray for as we ought; but the Spirit itself makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.

John Tavener is best known for his glorious religious choral music. For Mother’s Day, this is his “Hymn to the Mother of God”. It is a transcendental experience to listen to it; like many things in the spiritual realm, it is simultaneously simple and complex.

The piece is scored for two choirs of approximately ten voices each. It’s harmonically driven (the melody isn’t particularly prominent or memorable), yet the harmony itself is simple – a choral hymn which doesn’t stray far from the home key. There are really only three phrases in the whole piece, and the third phrase is identical to the first. So what makes it sound other-worldly? First, each ten-voice choir is singing in a huge range in thick chords; second, each choir sings the same music three beats apart. The second choir ends up sounding like an echo of the first. This causes lots of notes to momentarily clash in dissonance, but then resolve to form a powerful consonance.

Short, simple, but wow does it pack a punch!

Since the end of World War II, there has been a renewed interest in the music of the renaissance era. Gradually, this music that was once considered ancient or irrelevant has risen back into the mainstream Art Music world. The problem was, musicians in the 1950’s played the renaissance music the same way they played modern music. Some musicians questioned the wisdom of this, and began researching the instruments and practices of the earlier musical eras. The result was like finding an old tarnished work of art, and polishing and restoring it to its magnificent luster. The modern, bright brass sound was traded for the older, mellow, rich sound of older instruments. Over-vibrating strings and voices were replaced by a softer, straight-tone style. Slow, ponderous tempos were replaced with agile dances. It wasn’t enough to simply play the notes from the old scores – much more research and effort was needed to make the music come back to life. This approach to playing old music became known as performance practice, and was firmly rooted in the Art Music world by the 1980’s. Nowadays, it is expected that any performance of older music follow at least some, if not all, of the principles of performance practice.

The 1950’s approach to old music is similar to walking through a historical city – you admire the buildings, read a few historical placards, maybe buy a souvenir. The performance practice approach would be a historical city where there are people, in costume, doing the things that were done centuries ago – like stepping back in time. It’s more than an amusement, it is an experience!

On of my first exposures to performance practice early music was through the work of Paul McCreesh, performing the music of Giovanni Gabrieli, also featured in this previous post.