March 12th, 2017
The saga continues, and our Josquin & Victoria album will not now be released until the autumn. Think Christmas presents…
If you only know the songs by Sting, John Paul Jones and Tony Banks that the four of us recorded on the Amores Pasados album you might wonder how we got to Josquin and Victoria. In fact, Josquin and Victoria was where it all began. Ariel Abramovich and I had been contemplating an album of Josquin, versions of his motets pared down for the two of us in keeping with our belief that the pristine ‘early music’ acappella performance of Franco-Flemish polyphony has misrepresented the way the music was mostly performed. This then evolved into a much more sensible plan to use two vihuelas and two voices, so we asked Anna Maria Friman and Lee Santana to join us. In the meantime it dawned on us that there was a Victoria anniversary coming up which we could approach in the same spirit. Lee couldn’t make the Victoria sessions so we asked Jacob Heringman (also a great intabulator whose approach was identical to ours). In one of those serendipitous ECM meetings Hille Perl happened to be there too, so she joined us for a couple of pieces.
The recording wasn’t easy – we were learning on the hoof how best to re-invent a performing style that was both unique to us and yet absolutely true to the spirit of the pre-baroque – and it was the first time each of the combinations had worked together. It was also the only time I’ve proposed a purely ‘early music’ project to ECM (early music being a concept that the label doesn’t really do). The Dowland Project uses early music as a resource – we live entirely in the musical present and have very little to do with the early music movement. Secret History, on the other hand, is a deliberate attempt to challenge the conventions and assumptions of the ‘early music’ approach to historical performance. The music lives in the present of course, but in just the same way as it lived in the present of 400 years ago.
The next chapter was the realisation that the combination of two voices and two lutes or vihuelas was not only the perfect way to perform almost any music from the 15th and 16th centuries, but that we could apply the same principles in a bit of reverse historical engineering to 20th century English song. From there it was a short step to asking Sting and Tony Banks to write something for us, and to revive the suite that John Paul Jones wrote for Red Byrd. In contrast to the occasional awkwardness of Secret History, the Amores Pasados recording sessions were pure joy, and even though the first album was ready to go it was decided to hold it back until after Amores Pasados. The rest, as they say, is History, and it’s Josquin and Victoria that we’ll be focusing on for the next season, alongside new developments in the Amores Pasados repertoire in preparation for a future recording.
There’s another reason this recording resonates for me. Amores Pasados was recorded at Rainbow in Oslo and our current plans assume studio recordings in future, so this may turn out to have been my last at St Gerold. This jewel-like monastery in the Austrian Alps was the spiritual birthplace of so many ECM projects. It was where the Hilliard Ensemble developed its formidable creative partnership with Manfred Eicher, where we did the first experiments with Jan Garbarek that resulted in the Officium and Mnemosyne albums, all under the kindly eye of its only monk (and wine buff), Pater Nathaniel. Three of the Dowland Project albums were made there, the first coinciding with the attack on the twin towers which we watched uncomprehendingly on the monastery’s stuttering black and white television. More recently I produced Trio Mediaeval recordings there (or rather, I sat beside Peter Laenger). The legendary Pater Nathaniel had retired but the monastery garden was still producing its own organic food and the wine still flowed. I’ll never forget it.
January 31st, 2017
When the French poet Gervais de Bus wrote his epic satire featuring a corrupt egomaniac sociopathic horse he probably wasn’t thinking that the wheel of Fortune (which also features in the plot) would come round again almost exactly 700 years later. My first engagement of the year took in both manifestations in rapid succession, with a performance of Presidentes in Thronis with Serikon in Sweden after which I was back in time for the anti-Trump demo in York (and we went straight on to La La Land to complete one of the most surreal 24 hour periods I can remember). Musicians out there: if you want to protest, Fauvel is the perfect programming opportunity (it even has leaders adrift without a moral compass who can’t wait to curry favour with the beast).
I’ll be returning to Sweden with Serikon several times later in the year, and hopefully Fauvel will rear his ugly head at least one more.
It’s going to be another busy year. There will be a brief reunion with my old Hilliard Ensemble mates as we join Singer Pur for their twenty-fifth anniversary celebration at the Prinzregententheater in Munich on March 9. This collaboration was born at the Tampere Vocal Festival in the late nineties, after Singer Pur had won one of the major prizes. Klaus Wenk and I sat down to breakfast one morning and chewed over the idea of our two ensembles getting together at some point in the future. The project got off the ground with a commission from Joanne Metcalf, who’d been a winner in the Hilliards’ 1994 composition competition (and who wrote Doom-Begotten Music for me in 2003) and the two groups went on to do many concerts and a CD together after I left. Joanne will there for the concert, as will Gavin Bryars who is also a longstanding friend of the ensemble.
March 21 Ariel Abramovich and I will give a recital for the Wunderkammer in Trieste (there’s a Facebook page about it if you’re signed up). I haven’t been there since 1965 when hitch hiking through Europe after school. I went swimming with a Carabiniere who insisted on diving for oysters. I don’t think I even knew what an oyster was and having tried one I certainly wasn’t going to eat any more, so each time he brought one up I threw it back as soon as he submerged (possibly to bring up the same one over and over again). I’ll be trying a bit harder this time. Ariel and I will be doing our Dowland to Sting programme, which we’re also doing in July for a series of recitals in Catalunya in the FEMAP festival.
In May I’ll be returning to Sweden to rehearse the Musik i Syd project with Serikon and Ensemble Mare Balticum and then going on to Helsinki for some more PhD examining at the Sibelius Academy (and possibly some ensemble coaching if I can fit it in). Then the Amores Pasados season starts with a concert in the Swaledale Festival on June 4th. It’s possible that ECM will have released Secret History by then, and we’re still holding dates to record some of our new repertoire (including more fantastic pieces from John Paul Jones and Tony Banks). In the middle of June I’ll be coaching in Germany, and at the end of the month Gavin Bryars’ new piece for the Hull City of Culture will have its first performance in Winestead church, followed by outings in Hull itself and the Royal Festival Hall. This project will renew Gavin’s association with Opera North, which began with the co-production with the RSC of Nothing Like the Sun for the Shakespeare anniversary of 2006. One of the sonnets from Nothing Like the Sun is now in the Amores Pasados programme in Jacob Heringman’s arrangement for Anna Maria Friman, Ariel Abramovich, himself and me, and this will be on our new ECM recording. I’ll be working with Gavin again in the autumn with performances of Nothing Like the Sun in Leeds and Prague, and there will be a new commission with his band for the 40th anniversary of the Triskel Arts Centre in Cork next year.
More details on all of the above in due course.
January 23rd, 2017
Veljo Tormis 1930-2017
The York connection…
I first met Veljo Tormis in the mid 1980s, when Estonia was still part of the Soviet Union. It was, I think, the Hilliard Ensemble’s first visit to Finland, and I was only dimly aware of the extraordinary, symbiotic relationship between Finland and Estonia. Two black-clad figures came up to us after the concert and thrust LPs into our hands. ‘I am Tormis’, said one – the only English he knew back then. His companion was the conductor Tõnu Kaljuste, and the records were of the recently formed Kammerkoor Ellerhein, later to be re-invented as the Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir. Both men were on a semi-legal visit to Helsinki from Tallinn. I went home and put the LPs on a shelf.
I was getting used to being given stuff after concerts, and I didn’t think about them until several months later when I pulled them out and had a listen. I was immediately hooked. I didn’t know what the words meant, but I could certainly recognise a good tune when I heard one, and here were scores of wonderful melodies, sung in that vibrant non-western way that was the hallmark of the old Estonian Chamber Choir. Time passed; I made many visits to Finland and Estonia. I finally met the great man again when the Hilliard Ensemble commissioned Tormis to write ‘Kullervo’s Message’ (he didn’t much care for our interpretation of it…too English!)…but we recorded it for ECM, and stole one of his Estonian Lullabies for Jan Gabarek to improvise over.
Then in 2006 I taught a project at York called Estonian Icons: the Music of Arvo Pärt and Veljo Tormis. It was an exuberant experience: Tormis himself visited the Department and we serenaded him in the staff kitchen; one of the students went on to win the BBC writer of the year with an article on the composer. The Department serendipitously came in for some rare extra cash and we bought the entire Tormis catalogue for the university library.
Veljo Tormis (4th from left) in the Music Department kitchen
It was one of my last and most exciting undergraduate projects at York and I’m so glad to have done it. We performed most of the Forgotten Peoples cycle in one memorable concert with The 24. It was a timely reminder that in the far corners of northern Europe there is extraordinary music that is fun to sing and moving to listen to, and that Veljo Tormis was a crucial part of the nexus between folk and art music (along with Bartok, Kodaly, Vaughan Williams and other composers who have kept alive oral musics that would otherwise have been lost). It’s a cliché to say that a country’s musical soul resides in a particular composer, but if it’s true of anyone it’s true of Tormis. He dedicated his life to the recovery and dissemination of the music of the Baltic peoples. Estonia, that most musical of nations, will never forget him, and nor will we musicians the world over who were privileged to know him and to know his music.
January 11th, 2017
It was in my early years with the Hilliard Ensemble that I learned about coaching. The group ran its own summer school and had been asked to coach in mainland Europe, particularly in Finland and Germany. Our annual visits to Kangasniemi at the invitation of the Sibelius Academy – intense coaching sessions followed by traditional wood-smoke saunas and swimming in the lake – were the ultimate in combining business with pleasure. None of us had coached before, and it took a while for us to figure out how to do it. We were going through a huge change of approach to our own music making, moving away from the conventional leader/led string quartet model to a cooperative venture that would eventually revolutionise our ideas about how the music worked. We didn’t really know how we did it. It was an instinctive process – something we rarely talked about – and as we got more and more into it we rehearsed less and less, increasingly aware that no amount of rehearsal would reveal more than a fraction of the musical possibilities, some of which we would only discover in performance. We enjoyed testing each others’ listening to the limit whenever we could, and on the Hilliard Live recordings in particular you can almost feel the risk-taking as we pushed the music into one-off new shapes (and that’s exactly how Officium worked). We were incredibly fortunate to work with a number of groups who would go on to become hugely successful – Singer Pur and Amarcord from Germany, Köyhät Ritarit and Lumen Valo from Finland and the Scandinavian Trio Mediaeval were just the tip of an enlightened ensemble iceberg. When I came to edit the Cambridge Companion to Singing some years later the ensemble singing chapter wrote itself – I’d had several years to contemplate how we actually did it.
It was very simple. Once you realise that every note you sing is communicating information to the others, and that you are similarly receiving information from them, all you have to do is listen. The person with the moving part effectively has control at any given moment, and in almost any piece of renaissance music the lead will pass from part to part. You negotiate in real time. It’s easy until someone tells you it‘s difficult, and it enables you to perform the music differently each time. You don’t expect a definitive performance and you don’t count the beats – the text provides the rhythm. It’s endlessly creative, and was a far cry from the dull discipline we’d been brought up with – aim for a rehearsal close to perfection and reproduce it in performance; mark the score to make sure you got it exactly right, do as the director tells you. I haven’t marked anything in a score for years – if something works I’ll remember it, if it doesn’t I’ll try something else next time. In the bad old days we used to mark exactly how long the final chords were. Why on earth would you want them to be the same every time? The art of successful coaching is really to persuade your students that it really is that simple, and that they already possess the tools to make it work. So much more rewarding all round than simply telling them what to do.
Red Byrd, the Sound and the Fury and the Dowland project worked in much the same way; for me it’s the only way to work (it’s been a very long time since I worked with anyone who wanted to tell me what to do…). I still coach some amazing groups (most recently Nobiles and Sjaella from Germany)and I’d certainly never dream of telling them what to do. Even the young musicians who did my ensemble singing MA at York (invented by the singers who would later become Juice) were given complete freedom to explore their collective creative personae once they‘d grasped the secret of how musical communication works. In time the less courageous tend to revert to something more conventional and predictable, but I can always recognise those who really got it: you can never tell what they’re going to do next.
December 8th, 2016
It’s been a while since I gave up the seasonal tenor repertoire, which means that while the cup of my younger colleagues runneth over with Bach and Handel I generally get December off. January’s usually a pretty fallow month too so I have no excuse for not getting down to some writing. This process begins with as many displacement activities as possible (of which this is one). This year I’ve cleared the garden, laid a landing floor and even painted skirting boards before getting down to a kind of writing audit. It’s been a very busy performing year so my authorly optimism of a year ago turned out to be rather misplaced. I’m still struggling with a title, and with what sort of tone to adopt. I don’t want to alienate any more readers than absolutely necessary, but I can’t avoid some uncomfortable truths about the singing profession. I fully intend to get down it very soon…
I’ve been encouraged by the dozen or so publications which Google Alerts tell me have quoted Vocal Authority over the last year. It’s bit weird given that it’s way past its sell by date and slightly disappointing that none of my more recent stuff has had such an impact – but I hope the sequel will be worth waiting for. The VA references are mostly in journal articles on topics ranging from folk music, musical theatre, jazz and ensemble singing to feminism and cultural theory, most published in the USA but with several from the UK and significant pieces in German and Finnish. I wouldn’t normally have the temerity to compare myself with Roland Barthes but one thing we have in common is that both Vocal Authority and ‘The Grain of the Voice’ are primarily critiques of classical singing, yet both have found relevance in other sorts of music and are mostly ignored by the readership the authors had in mind.
In the same sort of vein I’ve also been referred to in two new books: Tracey Thorn’s Naked at the Albert Hall (Virago 2015) and Timothy Wise’ Yodeling and Meaning in American Music (Mississippi University Press, 2016). Penny my wife is a big Tracey Thorn fan and I know many EBTG albums pretty much from memory so that was a real (and totally unexpected)) treat. Tim Wise takes me to task for not mentioning yodelling in either Vocal Authority or the Cambridge Companion to Singing, but Neil Sorrell and I get a Brownie point for a yodel mention in our History of Singing. I quite often get complaints about what I’ve left out. The tenor book, inevitably perhaps, doesn’t cover everyone’s favourite tenor, and some of the more exotic singings of the world have tended to slip below the radar. But it still amazes me that anyone reads my stuff at all, just as I’m always surprised and delighted when I come across someone who’s bought my albums, and I don’t begrudge the complaints.
I can recommend both Naked at the Albert Hall and Yodeling and Meaning if you’re looking for last minute Christmas presents. I’m flattered to be quoted in both of them – not least because in their different ways they’re both great reads and a long way from the dry well of academia.
Merry Christmas all!
November 3rd, 2016
I spent much of October singing lute songs in one form or another (with one or both of my fantastic collaborators Ariel Abramovich and Jacob Heringman). As often happens I was asked at various points along the way to give lessons and classes. This is a difficult one – I like to encourage young singers and I don’t like to undermine the teaching of my fellow performers – but there’s very little about lute songs that an intelligent singer can’t work out for him or herself. It’s mostly a question of persuading them that they already have the means to do it, and giving them permission to suspend most of what they’ve been taught.
Obviously I can’t really charge a fee to tell someone they don’t need teaching so what I often do is invite them for a coffee and a chat. It’s free, and if they learn as much as they would in several lessons (as they sometimes do) it’s worth quite a lot. The first thing I point out is that Dowland, Campion and their contemporaries didn’t have singing lessons. They just applied their rhetorical instincts to the poetry and, probably with only minimal enhancement of their speaking voices, turned the poetry into song. Our speaking voices are unique (which is why voice printing works) – they are the audible and aural representation of our personalities. No one would have mistaken Dowland for Campion, even if they were singing each other’s songs. Today’s trained singer is likely to be a generic tenor, soprano or whatever, and the price you pay for sounding like a proper tenor is some loss of your own individual vocal persona. There are musical implications here too: modern breathing technique is what enables the legato line that we’re all taught to aspire to. No breathing technique: no line; no line: no tone colour. Horror of horrors…
What you’re left with when you take away the taught enhancements is a direct line to the poetry itself, a direct line from the creative bits of your brain to your voice. And there’s a bonus: you find yourself entering into a completely new relationship with the lute. It becomes your equally audible partner, not your inaudible accompanist. You breathe where the poet breathed, you adapt the music to the text and not the other way round. The lute can sing too, and the two of you merge into that extraordinary synthesis of words and music that is the 17th century lute song. And you don’t really need a singing teacher to tell you that – it’s probably what you’d do if left to your own devices.
September 30th, 2016
October’s concerts start with a trip down memory lane with my old Hilliard Ensemble colleagues. On Wednesday 5th we’re taking part in a charity concert in St Paul’s Covent Garden. The plan is to sell off the group’s remaining stock of albums in aid of Music For Open Ears which supports classical music in primary schools. We’ll be singing Tallis, Brumel, Dufay and Leonin among other composers. So come along and see if we can still cut it! If we’re still alive and kicking we’ll all be at the Singer Pur 25th anniversary concert at the Prinzregententheater in Munich on March 8th next year.
The Hilliards’ recording of Roger Marsh’s Poor Yorick, commissioned for the anniversary tour with us ex-members, is hot off the press and available from the Lawrence Sterne Trust.
and Miserere and Officium are now available on Vinyl! Though the picture accompanying the Officium catalogue entry is a little misleading…
Goodly Ayres in Buenos Aires and Tenerife
At the crack of dawn the next day I set off for Argentina, and a recital with Ariel Abramovich in the fabulous CCK hall in Buenos Aires on the 8th. It’s a programme of Dowland and Campion with one or two surprises thrown in (and will be my first visit there). I then have a week off before meeting up with Ariel again in Tenerife on the 21st (my first visit to the Canaries since playing in a lava tube in Lanzarote with the Dowland Project a while ago). This time we’ll be featuring Johnson’s Shakespeare settings alongside Danyel, Campion, Dowland and Tony Banks at the Festival de Música Antigua La Laguna .
Amores Pasados news
Then it’s swiftly to Germany via Madrid for Amores Pasados in Murnau at the Grenzenlos world music festival on the 23rd and Enjoy Jazz in Heidelberg’s Heiliggeistkirche (above) the following day. We’ll be adding Jacob Heringman’s new transcriptions of Butterworth and the elusive Peter Pope, and having a first rehearsal of John Paul Jones’ Blake Lullaby which he’s just finished for us and which we’ll probably unleash in Madrid or Trieste in March (it’s going to be a busy month). We’ve just agreed to do the Swaledale Festival next June and hope to slot in more UK dates before recording the next album.
I’ll be making my way to Blackburn on the 30th to join my ex-Swingle colleagues Linda Hirst and Catherine Bott on the panel for the Kathleen Ferrier Junior Bursary. I was unable to make the recent Swingle reunions (one of them coincided with the Hilliard reunion gig) and I don’t think the three of us have sat down together in the same room for decades so we’ll have a lot to catch up on as well as listening to some of the brightest young singers of the year. Very appropriate, having started the month raising money for primary school music, to end it hearing what talented first year conservatoire students can do.
September 11th, 2016
rehearsing in the Konzerthaus
It was great to kick off the new season at the Kulturwald festival in Blaibach – our first appearance in Germany – and to play in a hall voted by acousticians as one of the top 10 in the world. It was perfect for us – we could get the balance between voices and lutes absolutely spot on. A big thankyou to Thomas Bauer and his very efficient team, and thanks to Klaus Wenk for this picture from the concert:
The programme was our now usual mix of Jacob Heringman’s versions of English song (we’re big on Warlock and Moeran at the moment) with the new music by Sting, Tony Banks and John Paul Jones. We’re back in Germany next month for the world music festival in Murnau and Enjoy Jazz in Heidelberg and in the spirit of early music we’ll be performing at least one piece that hasn’t see the light of day since way back in the last century (and not quite as the composer intended).
No news yet, sadly, of the release of Secret History or a possible new recording.
August 27th, 2016
It’s going to be an interesting autumn with the first Amores Pasados concerts in Germany, and recitals in Argentina and the Canary Islands with Ariel Abramovich. I’ll also be getting together with my old Hilliard Ensemble colleagues for a grand charity concert at St Paul’s Covent Garden, and Jacob Heringman and I will be doing a lutesong course at Benslow (the first time I’ve been there since the days of Tragicomedia and the Hilliard Festival of Voices eons ago). We hope to encourage participants to think beyond the 30 year window that is English lute song.
Here’s what I’ll be up to in the next two months:
September 10 Blaibach Kulturwald Festival Amores Pasados
September 19 Benslow Music Hitchin Secret Lute Songs recital with Jacob Heringman
September 20-22 Benslow Music Hitchin lutesong workshop with Jacob Heringman
October 5 London St Paul’s Covent Garden ex-Hilliard Ensemble charity concert
October 8 CCK Buenos Aires lutesong recital with Ariel Abramovich
October 21 La Laguna (Tenerife) lutesong recital with Ariel Abramovich
October 23 Murnau World Music Festival Amores Pasados
October 24 Heidelberg Enjoy Jazz Amore Pasados
There are no Conductus dates in the diary at the moment, but we have a newly revamped webpage here.
August 18th, 2016
I tend to keep quiet about the inanities of government educational policy these days, but I couldn’t help getting a bit exercised by the proposal to penalise bad university teaching by lowering the fees. As usual, they completely miss the point by focusing on the teaching (impossible to measure) rather than the learning (which is at least quantifiable according to some very broad criteria). Thinking back to my own time as a university lecturer I’m pretty sure I never taught anybody anything (just as my own teachers from O level onwards didn’t ‘teach’ me), but I hope I enabled students to discover their innate ability to be creative with their own learning. I was incredibly lucky with my university job: when I started out I had a free hand to teach what I liked however I liked. There were no specified ‘aims and outcomes’ – and the very idea that you could reduce the results of a course to three outcomes when you had maybe twenty students all with different expectations would have sounded completely mad. I’m probably seeing it through rose tinted reality goggles, but it seems like a glorious golden time in retrospect. Then the government decided it needed to measure everything, and it went downhill after that. Now students are customers who expect ‘value for money’. It’s no good just hoping to inspire your students to be creative – you have to tell them how to do it, and they have to do it according to a set of rules (and as was made clear to me towards the end of my time as a lecturer, the Music criteria had to be the same as those for the Biology Dept).
I won’t bang on any more about it as there will be plenty of bile in my new book (assuming I can find a publisher that way inclined), but I can’t help thinking there might be an opportunity here for poverty stricken arts students to indulge in a bit of sabotage of the government’s obsessive educational monetizing. A cheap bad teacher – one who lets you do your own thing – may be preferable to a highly measurable expensive one. You get to be creative and your loan goes a bit further.
Normal service will be resumed with the autumn gig list shortly.