Intonation is one of the most critical aspects of this style; florid lines require harmonic clarity which only good intonation can give. Nevertheless, intonation and tuning would themselves have varied with the performance context. When singers were unaccompanied, they would likely have sung simultaneous octaves, fifths, and thirds as close to pure as possible. But when they performed with instruments, we must assume that they adopted the instruments’ tuning. This is of particular concern with regard to the fretted strings and keyboard instruments, especially the organ, on continuo parts. Fretted strings such as lutes and viols can make some concessions to just intonation through the use of double fretting or variable finger placement and pressure at the frets, but keyboard instruments are completely inflexible, and any instruments or voices performing with them must match their pitches.
In the early seventeenth century, matching keyboard pitches often meant performing in quarter-comma meantone, which provides perfectly lovely pure thirds as long as one keeps to the right keys. By the time of Buxtehude, however, the use of a wide variety of well-tempered tunings were coming into vogue in Germany, especially the temperaments of Andreas Werckmeister. The greater chromatic flexibility permitted by these temperaments was balanced by the fact that more chords were slightly out of tune, although not as badly as the wolf chords of the meantone system.
Although singing frequently with such instruments may have affected singers’ tuning ability, nevertheless, seventeenth-century singers probably had an excellent sense of just intonation, which we should try to duplicate in our performances of this music. Pitch, however is another question. There was no single pitch standard in the seventeenth century, but by a very ancient tradition, many organs in Germany and Italy were built higher than today’s standard pitch; the so-called hoch Chorton in Germany was about a tone higher than
a'=440, and Italian organs were quite variable, anywhere from slightly to a third higher. The reason for this is the considerable savings in metal derived from omitting one or two of the instrument’s longest pipes and adding the same number of the shortest ones at the upper end of the keyboard without changing the instrument’s keyboard compass. This made more difference in the performance of works than we might suppose, since organists playing a meantone-tuned instrument had a limited range of transposition possibilities. As the century progressed, the widening ranges of written voice parts may have required more frequent transposition by the organist, which undoubtedly spurred the adoption of more equal temperaments.
Aside from the variations in pitch and tuning imposed by the physical limitations of accompanying instruments, certain clef combinations had long been used to indicate transposition downward, usually to a fourth or a fifth below the written notes. That such a practice lingered into the seventeenth century has recently been documented and demonstrated in performance. The clef combinations used to indicate these transpositions were collectively known as chiavette, and they might appear in isolated movements within a larger work. Where chiavette appear, within the allowances for adaptability and flexibility described above, transposition as the chiavette indicate should be regarded as obligatory for the “most correct” performance of a work. The conductor or performer should be vigilant in searching for these clefs, since many editors (including this author) may have presented the music as notated, with or without annotation of the directed transposition. Herbert Myers discusses the issue at greater depth, and The New Grove Dictionary includes a very concise and clear explanation of the clef combinations to look for in the original source. In a modern edition, a movement with a bass line that does not descend below c or B♭ should definitely spur
further investigation.
In addition to pitch and tuning, the seventeenth century saw the advent of the new considerations of tempo, dynamics, and sectionalization. By the end of the sixteenth century, the old mensural system, which had defined both tempo and meter for centuries, was breaking down. The 2:1 relationship had virtually disappeared, and the two mensurations were roughly equivalent. A triple proportion or triple time signature could signify either a 3:2 or 3:1 relationship with a preceding duple meter, depending on context. The presence of characteristic dance rhythms can also indicate the tempo, even where no verbal marking appears.57 Toward the end of the century, verbal tempo markings did begin to appear. But these merely confirm the tempo suggested by the prevalent note values in the music, just as dynamic markings of the period merely signal to players the size of the ensemble playing at any given moment. Over-interpretation of either of these types of signs should be avoided.
Tempo, dynamics, rhythmic variety, and melodic invention combined with timbral and spatial contrasts to provide seventeenth-century music with unprecedented sumptuousness. The rich variety of musical effects provided essential vehicles for the abundant and powerful emotional affections so central to seventeenth-century aesthetics. The expressive means inherent in the notes themselves — rhythm, melody, and harmony—provided the most essential components. Augmented by clever dynamic and tempo contrasts and judicious ornamentation, these primary elements acquired more expressiveness, even in a relatively small performance. But in a musical institution that was richly endowed, infinite timbral variations and enveloping reverberations over, under, and around must have provided an experience closer to the ninth circle of paradise than anyone in the seventeenth century (or now) would have any reason to expect. Whether our ensemble is a modest chamber group or the large, imperial size, whether we perform this music from modern editions, original parts, or something in between, the electrifying contrasts of seventeenth-century music in all their richness, variety, and affect must be the final aim of all our interpretive skills.
In the early seventeenth century, matching keyboard pitches often meant performing in quarter-comma meantone, which provides perfectly lovely pure thirds as long as one keeps to the right keys. By the time of Buxtehude, however, the use of a wide variety of well-tempered tunings were coming into vogue in Germany, especially the temperaments of Andreas Werckmeister. The greater chromatic flexibility permitted by these temperaments was balanced by the fact that more chords were slightly out of tune, although not as badly as the wolf chords of the meantone system.
Although singing frequently with such instruments may have affected singers’ tuning ability, nevertheless, seventeenth-century singers probably had an excellent sense of just intonation, which we should try to duplicate in our performances of this music. Pitch, however is another question. There was no single pitch standard in the seventeenth century, but by a very ancient tradition, many organs in Germany and Italy were built higher than today’s standard pitch; the so-called hoch Chorton in Germany was about a tone higher than
a'=440, and Italian organs were quite variable, anywhere from slightly to a third higher. The reason for this is the considerable savings in metal derived from omitting one or two of the instrument’s longest pipes and adding the same number of the shortest ones at the upper end of the keyboard without changing the instrument’s keyboard compass. This made more difference in the performance of works than we might suppose, since organists playing a meantone-tuned instrument had a limited range of transposition possibilities. As the century progressed, the widening ranges of written voice parts may have required more frequent transposition by the organist, which undoubtedly spurred the adoption of more equal temperaments.
Aside from the variations in pitch and tuning imposed by the physical limitations of accompanying instruments, certain clef combinations had long been used to indicate transposition downward, usually to a fourth or a fifth below the written notes. That such a practice lingered into the seventeenth century has recently been documented and demonstrated in performance. The clef combinations used to indicate these transpositions were collectively known as chiavette, and they might appear in isolated movements within a larger work. Where chiavette appear, within the allowances for adaptability and flexibility described above, transposition as the chiavette indicate should be regarded as obligatory for the “most correct” performance of a work. The conductor or performer should be vigilant in searching for these clefs, since many editors (including this author) may have presented the music as notated, with or without annotation of the directed transposition. Herbert Myers discusses the issue at greater depth, and The New Grove Dictionary includes a very concise and clear explanation of the clef combinations to look for in the original source. In a modern edition, a movement with a bass line that does not descend below c or B♭ should definitely spur
further investigation.
In addition to pitch and tuning, the seventeenth century saw the advent of the new considerations of tempo, dynamics, and sectionalization. By the end of the sixteenth century, the old mensural system, which had defined both tempo and meter for centuries, was breaking down. The 2:1 relationship had virtually disappeared, and the two mensurations were roughly equivalent. A triple proportion or triple time signature could signify either a 3:2 or 3:1 relationship with a preceding duple meter, depending on context. The presence of characteristic dance rhythms can also indicate the tempo, even where no verbal marking appears.57 Toward the end of the century, verbal tempo markings did begin to appear. But these merely confirm the tempo suggested by the prevalent note values in the music, just as dynamic markings of the period merely signal to players the size of the ensemble playing at any given moment. Over-interpretation of either of these types of signs should be avoided.
Tempo, dynamics, rhythmic variety, and melodic invention combined with timbral and spatial contrasts to provide seventeenth-century music with unprecedented sumptuousness. The rich variety of musical effects provided essential vehicles for the abundant and powerful emotional affections so central to seventeenth-century aesthetics. The expressive means inherent in the notes themselves — rhythm, melody, and harmony—provided the most essential components. Augmented by clever dynamic and tempo contrasts and judicious ornamentation, these primary elements acquired more expressiveness, even in a relatively small performance. But in a musical institution that was richly endowed, infinite timbral variations and enveloping reverberations over, under, and around must have provided an experience closer to the ninth circle of paradise than anyone in the seventeenth century (or now) would have any reason to expect. Whether our ensemble is a modest chamber group or the large, imperial size, whether we perform this music from modern editions, original parts, or something in between, the electrifying contrasts of seventeenth-century music in all their richness, variety, and affect must be the final aim of all our interpretive skills.
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