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| foto by roski :) |
Most of this year, we have been listening to music by Juan Gutierrez Padilla an early 17th century Mexican composer who became maestro de capilla at the Puebla cathedral which was completed in 1649 and for which i have a familiar attachment going back generations.
As cantor and then chapel-master, Padilla wrote sacred music, although from the sound of his villancicos we might hardly know it. Villancicos were popular liturgical songs composed for feast days, including Christmas, and often accompanied by dramatic processions.
It is perhaps off the mark to refer to "popular liturgical music", because the word liturgeia originally meant the "work" of the "people" (laios). But, in all events, villancicos do not have that somber, disciplined melodiousness which characterises chant and sacred polyphony.
In fact villancicos are a musical riot. In Spain they are often built around the sesquiáltera, a dynamic rhythm employing strong syncopations derived from Arabic sarabands. But indigenous Mexico had sarabands of its own, most prominently huapangos or "thumpings" which were percusive rhythms marked out by dancing feet on a stage of resonating wooden planks. Arab and Aztec meet in Padilla's villancicos under the umbrella of Renaissance.
In 1596, Phillip II forbade the further use in his court of villancicos or anything not sung in Latin. But no one, including Puebla's Archbishop Juan de Palafox y Mendoza paid any heed. One did not have to await Vatican II for popular liturgies, at least not in Puebla. While Europe sank into Pietism and Counter-Pietism, Mexico was apparently enjoying itself.
It would be equally mistaken, however, to think that Padilla's other sacred music is lacking in syncopation, arrests, puns and other innovations, although my ignorant ear was deaf to them. Beautiful and soothing as his sacred choral polyphonies were, the overall first impression was still that of multi-voiced chant. You know, that Palestrina stuff.
But it is not that Palestrina stuff. It is that Padilla stuff, uniquely Spanish and Mexican. I found the beauty irresistible and the more i repeatedly listened to the compositions the more the different voices began to emerge in distinct relief -- like blurred friezes coming into focus.
The "syncopations" were easy to get. Padilla put them into Glorias and Credos because "the Indians liked them." But he also employed fugues and counter-point, which is why his music is technically Baroque. Like so much in Mexico his music looks backward and forward at the same time.
Over time, with much listening, the pieces of his intricate sonic kaleidoscope come into distinct hearing filling me, at least, with a kind of serene awe.
Like all musicians (including the great Bach) Padilla falls back on "stock phrases". At times Padilla seems to exalt the music over the text which is a big no-no when one is dealing with sacred texts. But at other times, his music gives a flattening force to words, which they simply do not have on their own. I say "flattening" because not only is one "bowled over" but everything else is squeezed out leaving only consciousness of the words which sink in and fill up.
A case in point is his very short piece Velum Templi Scissum Est -
"And the veil of the Temple was rent in the middle and all the earth trembled. The thief cried out from the cross, saying: Lord remember me when thou comest into thy Kingdom."
The words are just a narrative rendered trite by familiarity and license. But when intoned the metaphor comes to life and it simply cuts you open. Did the Indian, i wondered, hearken back to the chacmol and if so did he see the new in the old way or the old in a new way? The music dispels the question; for it pushes beyond formulation and into the realm of archetype.
Another example is the Lamentations of Jeremiah often called Lamentations for Maundy Thursday. Literally, the lamentation is for the desolation of Jerusalem but Padilla's score brings out the deeper psychological meaning as an existential lamentation for the city that each of our souls is. It is the music of pure despair when all that was has withered and disappeared and turned.
Between these lamentations and the villancicos lies a chiaroscuro that is common in Latin countries and particularly characteristic of Mexico.
But perhaps the thing that has impressed me most about Padilla's polyphony -- and polyphony in general -- is that it is sung without the artificiality of instruments. The incredibly rich, layered and counterpuntal sound arises entirely from the natural voice of the human animal so that the voice of man becomes the quintessence of birds.
Now, i like a good bellow from the pipes, blast from the horn, whistle from the flute and strain from strings as much as the next guy; but i am verging on the opinion that these things actually detract from perfection.
The voice that emerges from polyphony is that of human voices plying together in such social harmony as to produce a sonorous unity which must certainly be the sound of a City of Angels.
---oOo---
P.S. For anyone interested, i strongly recommend the performances by the Cappella Rutenberg for his choral works. Unfortunately i was not able to find any clips of this group's performances. However, the mixing and mastering is superior to that of other CDs. The group does not use any instrumentation to fill in gaps or smooth out edges. Lastly, in my opinion, the pace is slower and, as a result, better. The slower pace tends to "hide" Padilla's bouncy rhythms making them less obvious and more intriguing. With villancicos which were instrumental "theatrical" performances are another matter and i've found quite a few good renditions with the usual interpretative variations.
