Document

  1999
    September 1999
        Choral and song
                A. Agricola Fortuna desperata. Sacred music.

A. Agricola Fortuna desperata. Ensemble Unicorn (Bernhard Landauer, counterten; Johannes Chum, ten; Colin Mason, bass-bar; Marco Ambrosini, fiddle; Nora Kallai, vihuela d’arco; Thomas Wimmer, vihuela d’arco/lte; Riccardo Delfino, hp/snare hp) / Michael Posch (rec).

Naxos (Super budget price) (CD) 8 553840 (65 minutes: DDD).

A la mignonne de fortune. Adieu m’amour. Adieu m’amour II. Allez, regretz. Ay je rien fait. Cecsus non iudicat de coloribus. De tous biens plaine. De tous biens plaine II. De tous biens plaine III. Et qui la dira. Fortuna desperata. Guarde vostre visage. Guarde vostre visage II. Guarde vostre visage III. J’ay beau huer. S’il vous plaist. Soit loing ou pres. Sonnes muses melodieusement.

A. Agricola De tous biens plaine. Dung aultre amer. Fortuna desperata. Gaudeamus omnes in Domino. Je n’ay dueil. Missa Je ne demande – Kyrie. Missa secundi toni – Gloria. Missa Le serviteur – Credo. Missa Re fa mi re fa – Sanctus. Missa In myne zyn – Agnus Dei. Salve regina. Se mieulx ne vient d’amours. Virgo sub ethereis a 3. Huelgas Ensemble / Paul van Nevel.

Sony Classical (Full price) (CD) SK60760 (67 minutes: DDD). Texts and translations included.

Alexander Agricola (1446-1506) was praised by his contemporaries for the bizarre turn of his inspiration, and his music likened to quicksilver. By the standards of the period this is a highly unusual turn of phrase, but it was, and remains, spot-on. His instrumental music survives in sufficient quantities to qualify as a distinct genre at his hands, and has hitherto accounted for most of his ‘cameo’ appearances in renaissance anthologies. Nearly ten years ago, however, DF welcomed Crawford Young’s Ferrara Ensemble anthology (DHM, 7/90) very enthusiastically – the first ever devoted to the composer. This focused on the secular music, both instrumental and vocal: precisely the area covered by Michael Posch and Ensemble Unicorn, who here give us their most satisfying disc to date. Where there is duplication (surprisingly little, in fact) the performances compare with those of the Ferrara Ensemble, though the style of singing is very different: the voices are more upfront and less inflected, perhaps the better to match the high instruments with which they are sometimes doubled (the Ferrara Ensemble used string instruments only). But the tensile quality of Agricola’s lines comes through none the less (the opening A la mignonne makes for an interesting comparison), as does its miraculous inventiveness and charm. Further, much of what is new to the catalogue really is indispensible, for example Agricola’s most famous song, Allez, regretz. Unicorn keeps its improvisations and excursions to a minimum, and I must say that the music is the better for it. Incidentally, it is interesting to note their flexibility in this respect: each new disc reassesses the relationship between voices, instruments and interpretative licence. This disc would be indispensable at full price, let alone super-budget. It really is a must-have.

And so is Paul van Nevel’s latest offering, though for entirely different reasons. I implied earlier that very little of Agricola’s sacred music has hitherto been available. In fact, this is the first ever recording to include his Mass music. Under the invented title Missa Guazzabuglio (a word meaning hotchpotch or mishmash) van Nevel has assembled individual movements from different Masses, after the fashion of his ‘La Dissection d’un Homme Arme’ (Sony, 6/91). It allows us to sample different Masses, but leaves one a little frustrated when an individual piece augurs so well for the rest of the cycle, as does, for example, the sprawling but deliciously profligate Agnus Dei on In myne zyn, in which the bass sings the tune in long notes of 11 minim’s duration, sending the surrounding voices’ metrical stresses flying in all directions.

Van Nevel is easily as eccentric as Agricola ever was, and while the singers of the Huelgas Ensemble cope admirably with even his most bizarre directions, some ideas seem to be almost beyond the pale. He claims that fully vocal performance of the instrumental music is at least plausible. In the case of the six-voice Fortuna desperata (now, with at least four recordings, a staple of the Agricola repertoire) one can hardly disagree, but to hear the soprano clambering up two-and-a-half octaves in semiquavers (Dung aultre amet) forces admiration and disbelief in equal measure. More problematic is the assertion that such counterpoint represents instances of chant sur le livre, a technique of extemporization on plainsong: there is no basis for this. Equally dubious is van Nevel’s performance of the ‘Osanna’ of the Mass Re fa mi re fa according to two different ‘legitimate solutions’ of the notation, his implication being that both were intended by the composer: the musical result is intriguing, but the claim itself is merely fanciful. Yet as I hinted earlier, the amazing thing is that the singers’ sheer athleticism and musicality lends such dotty notions an air of plausibility. More than that, they confirm the growing perception of Agricola as a composer of the very first rank. I have no hesitation in singling out both these recordings among this year’s high points. Don’t miss them.

FF



		Alexander Agricola (1446-1506) was praised by his contemporaries for the bizarre turn of his inspiration, and his music likened to quicksilver. By the standards of the period this is a highly unusual turn of phrase, but it was, and remains, spot-on. His instrumental music survives in sufficient quantities to qualify as a distinct genre at his hands, and has hitherto accounted for most of his ‘cameo’ appearances in renaissance anthologies. Nearly ten years ago, however, DF welcomed Crawford Young’s Ferrara Ensemble anthology (DHM, 7/90) very enthusiastically – the first ever devoted to the composer. This focused on the secular music, both instrumental and vocal: precisely the area covered by Michael Posch and Ensemble Unicorn, who here give us their most satisfying disc to date. Where there is duplication (surprisingly little, in fact) the performances compare with those of the Ferrara Ensemble, though the style of singing is very different: the voices are more upfront and less inflected, perhaps the better to match the high instruments with which they are sometimes doubled (the Ferrara Ensemble used string instruments only). But the tensile quality of Agricola’s lines comes through none the less (the opening A la mignonne makes for an interesting comparison), as does its miraculous inventiveness and charm. Further, much of what is new to the catalogue really is indispensible, for example Agricola’s most famous song, Allez, regretz. Unicorn keeps its improvisations and excursions to a minimum, and I must say that the music is the better for it. Incidentally, it is interesting to note their flexibility in this respect: each new disc reassesses the relationship between voices, instruments and interpretative licence. This disc would be indispensable at full price, let alone super-budget. It really is a must-have.



		And so is Paul van Nevel’s latest offering, though for entirely different reasons. I implied earlier that very little of Agricola’s sacred music has hitherto been available. In fact, this is the first ever recording to include his Mass music. Under the invented title Missa Guazzabuglio (a word meaning hotchpotch or mishmash) van Nevel has assembled individual movements from different Masses, after the fashion of his ‘La Dissection d’un Homme Arme’ (Sony, 6/91). It allows us to sample different Masses, but leaves one a little frustrated when an individual piece augurs so well for the rest of the cycle, as does, for example, the sprawling but deliciously profligate Agnus Dei on In myne zyn, in which the bass sings the tune in long notes of 11 minim’s duration, sending the surrounding voices’ metrical stresses flying in all directions.



		Van Nevel is easily as eccentric as Agricola ever was, and while the singers of the Huelgas Ensemble cope admirably with even his most bizarre directions, some ideas seem to be almost beyond the pale. He claims that fully vocal performance of the instrumental music is at least plausible. In the case of the six-voice Fortuna desperata (now, with at least four recordings, a staple of the Agricola repertoire) one can hardly disagree, but to hear the soprano clambering up two-and-a-half octaves in semiquavers (Dung aultre amet) forces admiration and disbelief in equal measure. More problematic is the assertion that such counterpoint represents instances of chant sur le livre, a technique of extemporization on plainsong: there is no basis for this. Equally dubious is van Nevel’s performance of the ‘Osanna’ of the Mass Re fa mi re fa according to two different ‘legitimate solutions’ of the notation, his implication being that both were intended by the composer: the musical result is intriguing, but the claim itself is merely fanciful. Yet as I hinted earlier, the amazing thing is that the singers’ sheer athleticism and musicality lends such dotty notions an air of plausibility. More than that, they confirm the growing perception of Agricola as a composer of the very first rank. I have no hesitation in singling out both these recordings among this year’s high points. Don’t miss them.