Sacred Sunday: “Resonemus Hoc Natali,” Anon.

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I am, as you’ve no doubt guessed, a big fan of early music.  I love its simplicity, I love its richness, and, to me, it is very centering.  Whenever things get overwhelming and I need to create an eye in the storm, I put on this piece.  It sounds mysterious, and therefore timeless.  Also, because its melody follows the Dorian mode, it is neither happy nor sad – which is what makes it such a good piece to listen to when you need the universe to just quit it for a second.  (Quick music theory tutorial!  A “mode” is another word for scale, a scale being a succession of eight notes in ascending order of pitch.  What makes the Dorian mode cool is that it includes both minor and major tonalities.  For example, a D scale is in the Dorian mode.)

“Resonemus Hoc Natali” is a very early example of the use of polyphony – polyphony literally meaning “many sounds,” and in more common terms, the use of harmony.  Like many early music pieces, we don’t know who wrote it exactly, but we do know it hails from the old region of France called Aquitaine in the 12th century.

Aquitaine!

Hey!  It’s Aquitaine!

When the words begin to describe the reason behind God taking human form – “that he might bestow aid to the human race, the heavenly assembly is astonished at this” – the rest of the choir falls away, hushed like a gasp, to leave a singer solo to tell the story.  Gets me every time.

The final reason I love early music?  It’s old.  When I listen to this piece, I contemplate the number of men and women over the last nine centuries who have heard it, too, and the joys and sorrows they carried with them as I carry mine.  That comforting connection makes me feel immortal.

Resonemus hoc natali
cantu quodam speciali,
Deus ortu temporali
de secreto virginali
processit hodie,
cessant argumenta perfidie.

Magnum quidem sacramentum,
mundi factor fit sic mentum,
sumens carnis indumentum,
ut conferat adiumentum,
humano generi,
cetus inde mirantur superi.

Post memorem redit risus,
aperitur paradisus,
et in terris Deus visus,
lapis manus ne precisus,
quem vidit Daniel,
quem venturum predixit Gabriel.

Hic est noster angularis,
spes iustorum salutaris,
hic est noster salutaris,
potens celi, terre, maris,
facture condolens,
quam premebat tirannus insolens.

At this birth let us sing out
with some special song,
God comes forth today in temporal birth
from virginal mystery,
let the disputes
of the faithless cease.

Indeed the mighty maker of the world
thus is made the sacrament of the spirit,
taking on the cloak of flesh
that he might bestow aid
to the human race,
the heavenly assembly is astonished at this.

After mourning, laughter returns,
paradise is opened,
and God is seen upon the earth,
the stone uncut by human hand
which Daniel saw,
whose coming Gabriel foretold.

This is our cornerstone,
the healing hope of the upright,
this is our saving power
over the heavens, earth, and sea,
consoling by his act
those whom the insolent tyrant oppressed.

Sacred Sunday: “Go Down, Moses,” Louis Armstrong

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bvEmq-cX0G4

A bit of a curveball today.  It’s not the type of weekend for a serious choral work.  It’s the type of weekend for a zippy, jazzy spiritual piece, and I for one have no qualms about calling anything Louis Armstrong did “sacred.”  And you gotta love it when it gets all New Orleans at 2:42.  So groovy.  Happy Sunday!

Sacred Sunday: “Jauchzet, frohlocket,” J.S. Bach

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Oh this is just the grooviest thing ever.  Before I open up the fangirl floodgates: this is the opening chorus of the first cantata in Bach’s Christmas Oratorio.  (I know, I know, it’s past Christmas.)  This piece is just.  So.  Happy.  The Monteverdi Choir is obviously of the very finest class, and the orchestra is superlative.  But even more than that – holy crap, Gardiner.  His direction is inspired.  I will brook no dissent on the point that Sir John Eliot Gardiner is the finest conductor of this piece that ever lived.  Watch his direction of the choir especially from 6:37 onwards.  He sculpts the melody into a gorgeous arc of a phrase (which it already is but some choirs get a little too bogged down somehow) and then cues the basses – then the tenors! – then the altos! – then the sopranos! – until the choir is one unified, harmonious expression of joy.  Even better than that is that you can tell the singers are responding to him and are having an absolute blast.  I must have watched this thirty times and it never fails to make me laugh out loud with delight.  I hope it has the same effect on you.

Jauchzet, frohlocket! auf, preiset die Tage,
Shout for joy, exult, rise up, glorify the day,
Rühmet, was heute der Höchste getan!
praise what today the highest has done!
Lasset das Zagen, verbannet die Klage,
Abandon hesitation, banish lamentation,
Stimmet voll Jauchzen und Fröhlichkeit an!
begin to sing with rejoicing and exaltation!
Dienet dem Höchsten mit herrlichen Chören,
Serve the highest with glorious choirs,
Laßt uns den Namen des Herrschers verehren!
let us honour the name of our ruler!

Sacred Sunday: “Hanaq Pachap Kusikuynin,” Juan Pérez Bocanegra

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Where to begin with this piece.  There is so much to say.  I’ll start with its history.  The piece was written in Quechua, an ancient language native to the Andean region in South America, by the Franciscan Pastor Juan Pérez Bocanegra around 1610 and published in 1631.  Bocanegra sang and ministered at San Pedro de Andahuaylillas in Cusco, Peru.  This piece was meant as a processional hymn to be sung as parishioners entered church.  It is originally about 20 minutes long and has twenty or so verses; this version only contains the first two.

I find this piece entirely chilling.  First of all, it uses Amerindian words to express European religious concepts set to a European Baroque tune.  Second, though it’s a hymn to the Virgin, which would ostensibly sound sweet and calm, this piece is firmly in the Church Militant camp.  Yes, it’s a processional, and processionals are supposed to be rhythmic and metrical, but this goes beyond metrical to martial.  I think this is fitting, given the context.

By the time this piece was written, the Spanish colonization of the New World had been underway for just about a century.  In 1532, Francisco Pizarro and his soldiers ambushed and captured Emperor Atahualpa of the Incas, effectively defeating the mightiest of the indigenous South American empires and easing further Spanish conquest.  Ten years later, the Spanish government established the Viceroyalty of Peru, which, until the early 18th century, spanned almost the entirety of the South American landmass save only for Venezuela, which was under a different Viceroyalty, and the eastern half of Brazil, which was under the control of Portugal.  This was the second of four such viceroyalties that consolidated and administered Spain’s territories.  Control of the land, control of the government, and control of the economy comprise three-quarters of the recipe needed for complete domination – the last quarter is, of course, control of religion.  In this, the Catholic Church was masterful.

That is why I find this piece so chilling.  Religion has always been one of the strongest influences on society and culture, and as music is a part of culture, this piece is, to me, an audible relic of one civilization’s violent conquest and subjugation of another.

Bocanegra himself was born in Spain, but at some point (and for reasons I can’t find), emigrated to Peru.  I can only surmise that he actively chose to put the hymns he wrote into Quechua to encourage conversion.  Words and English translation are below.  Before I close, I want to be absolutely clear that this is meant in no way to be a dig against the current Catholic Church.  All denominations of all religions have done some fairly odious things in the past.  Finally, while this recording is perfectly serviceable, I highly recommend finding the one done by Ex Cathedra off their “New World Symphonies” album.

Hanaq pachap kusikuynin
Waranqakta much’asqayki
Yupayruru puquq mallki
Runakunap suyakuynin
Kallpannaqpa q’imikuynin
Waqyasqayta.

Uyariway much’asqayta
Diospa rampan Diospa maman
Yuraq tuqtu hamanq’ayman
Yupasqalla, qullpasqayta
Wawaykiman suyusqayta
Rikuchillay.

Oh, Joy of heaven
forever adore you,
flowering tree that gives us the Sacred Fruit,
Hope of Humanity,
the strength that sustains me,
yet I still fall.

Keep in mind my veneration
You, guiding hand of God, Mother of God,
Flourishing amancaicito of tender and white wings,
my worship and my tears;
to let Him know this son
places his stock in the Kingdom of Heaven.

Sacred Sunday: “Ne irascaris Domine,” William Byrd

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This piece is my most meaningful musical discovery of 2013.  Here’s how it happened.

Do you remember, back in September and early October, when it felt like everything was going wrong at once?  If you live in D.C., as I do, you probably remember.  Let’s catalogue everything that happened:

– The Navy Yard shooting

– The shooting/car chase around the Capitol

– The man who immolated himself on the National Mall

There were other awful things that happened in D.C. and around the world around that time, as well, and I remember talking about them but don’t remember what they were.  I guess I blocked them out.

Also around this time, my work started to really pick up and I found myself staying later and later at the office.  On late nights at work I like to listen to music to keep me going, and this night, filled as I was with a sort of existential dread, I looked for something soothing.  I’ve listened to William Byrd all my life, so I found a recording of his sacred motets on YouTube, pressed play, and forged ahead.

My ears leaned towards the speakers when “Ne irascaris” started.  It was different than the preceding track, and not just in tempo and melody and all the obvious things, but in tone.  It wasn’t exactly soothing but it wasn’t exactly sad, and it sounded a little resigned but simultaneously still kept some hope alive.  The music caused all the fear, anger, unease, and resentment – towards a whole lot of things – I had felt since the Navy Yard shooting to build in me until, once the music got to 06:10, I completely broke down.

“Zion has become a wilderness,
Jerusalem has been made desolate.”

I had to look up the English translation the next morning and was startled yet completely unsurprised to discover what the words that brought me to tears actually meant.  It felt spooky that I had, through total chance, found a piece that so completely resonated with feelings I’d not yet fully dealt with that it sparked a wonderful catharsis.  It’s amazing what music can do.

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Ne irascaris Domine satis,
et ne ultra memineris iniquitatis nostrae.
Ecce respice populus tuus omnes nos.  

Civitas sancti tui facta est deserta.

Sion deserta facta est,
Jerusalem desolata est.

Be not angry, O Lord,
and remember our iniquity no more.
Behold, we are all your people.
Your holy city has become a wilderness.
Zion has become a wilderness,
Jerusalem has been made desolate.