The following transcription is based on Harold Copeman’s transcription of a reading given by John Field and Charles Low of the Westminster School, who both followed the rules of John Sargeaunt’s explanation of “Old Style” or Modern English Latin. I’ve also included his transcription of the Gloria Patri (that’s right, pronounced PAY-trigh). Enjoy.
Pater noster qui es in cælis,
[ˈpʰeɪtʰɚ ˈnɒstɚ kwaɪ ɛz ɪn ˈsiːlɪs]
sanctificetur nomen tuum:
[saŋktɪfɪˈsitʰɚ ˈnoʊmɛn ˈtʰjuʊm]
adveniat regnum tuum:
[adˈvɛniat ˈɹɛɡnəm ˈtʰjuʊm]
fiat voluntas tua
[ˈfaɪæt βɔˈlʊːntʰas ˈtʰjua]
sicut in cælo et in terra:
[ˈsaɪkʊt ɪn ˈsiːloʊ ɛtʰ ɪn ˈtʰɛɹei]
et dimite nobis debita nostra,
[ɛtʰ ˈdaɪmɪtʰi noʊbɪs ˈdibɪtʰa ˈnɒstʰɹa]
sicut et nos dimitimus debitoribus nostris:
[ˈsaɪkʊtʰ ɛtʰ nɒs ˈdaɪmɪtɪmʊs dibɪˈtʰɔɹɪbʊs ˈnɒstɹɪs]
et ne nos inducas in tentationem:
[etʰ ni nɒs ɪnˈdjukas ɪn tʰɛntʰaʃiˈoʊnɛm]
sed libera nos a malo.
[sɛd ˈlaɪbəɹeɪ nɒs eɪ ˈmeɪloʊ]
Gloria Patri et Filio et Spiritui Sancto
[ˈɡlɔːɾia ˈpeɪtraɪ ɛtʰ ˈfaɪlioʊ ɛtʰ ˈspaɪrɪtʰjuaɪ ˈsæŋktʰoʊ]
sicut erat in principio et nunc et semper
[ˈsaɪkʊtʰ ˈɛɹaːtʰ ɪn pɹɪnˈsaɪpioʊ ɛtʰ nʌŋk ɛtʰ ˈsɛmpɚ]
et in sæcula sæculorum. Amen.
[ɛtʰ ɪn ˈsiːkjula siːkjuˈlɔɹʊm ˈeɪmɛn]
This was a piece written in the late sixteenth century by Thomas Tallis. Hence, it uses late Renaissance English Latin. What follows is my transcription.
O nata lux de lumine,
[ɔ ˈnæːtʰa ljuks di ˈljumɪni]
Ieſu redemptor ſeculi,
[ˈʤizju rɛˈdɛmptɔr sɛkjuləːi]
dignare clemens ſupplicum
[dɪŋˈnæri ˈkʰlimɛnz ˈsjuplɪkʰʊm]
laudes preceſque ſumere,
[ˈlɑudɛz prɛˈsɛskwi ˈsjumɛri]
qui carne quondam contegi
[kwəi ˈkʰarni ˈkʰondam ˈkʰontɛʤəi]
dignatus es pro perditis,
[dɪŋˈnatʰʊz ɛs pro ˈpɛrdɪtʰɪs]
nos membra confer effici
[noz ˈmɛmbræ ˈkʰonfɛr ˈɛfɪsəi]
tui beati corporis.
[ˈtjui biˈætʰəi ˈkʰɔrpɔɾɪs]
Vivaldi wrote his Gloria (RV 589, though the text is obviously the same with the other two Glorias) around the year 1715 in Venice. This means that the Latin used should be eighteenth-century Venetian Latin. What follows is a recording and my IPA transcription. It’s a little different that what you might think. Continue reading Pronouncing Vivaldi’s Gloria
“Thompson has been largely dismissed in academic circles as an amateurs’ composer, but this categorization belies the technical challenges present in many of his works. Detractors have cited the popular directness of such works as Frostiana and the sentimentality and jingoism of The Testament of Freedom, but these are not characteristic of his style in general. Notwithstanding such criticisms, his choral music has been more widely performed than that of any other American composer up to his time; in 1968 the Alleluia was the best-selling choral work in the USA.” —Fredric Woodbridge Wilson (From Grove)
Randall Thompson, in his 1946 inaugural address at Princeton, wrote that “a composer’s first responsibility is, and always will be, to write music that will reach and move the hearts of his listeners in his own day.” A nationalist, he was an advocate for fostering a non-European American musical sound. He insisted that composers find inspiration in “our own genuine musical heritage in its every manifestation.” His second symphony certainly displays this attention to tunes reminiscent of the United States. That work sounds like a mix of musical ideas from Chadwick, Dvořák, and Still. His extremely obscure early piano sonata employs a healthy amount of chromaticism. Despite the mastery of his instrumental music, his often less interesting choral music is quite popular. Some of his earlier choral works, however, like the Odes of Horace, are actually interesting and worth some study, in addition to being beautiful. Continue reading Dealing with Randall Thompson’s Choral Music
“The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing, for they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.”
—C. S. Lewis, from The Weight of Glory
I love this explanation, even after reading it several times. The more we get stuck in the notes and the how of music, the more likely it is for us to forget the power of music. Music’s power is not in its notes, but in what the music suggests about our nature, which we cannot really understand using language. Music gets us that much closer, but not because of it itself, but because of something much more ineffable than it.
I thought it would be good to occasionally read a Sinfonia writing to be enjoyed on a car ride or any time when one feels like hearing the words of our founders. Above is such a recording of Percy Jewett Burrell’s best-known writing, from the 1908 Sinfonia Year Book. Continue reading Burrell’s 1908 Address
If you have found yourself singing a Monteverdi piece in your choir, perhaps you might want to unveil the mystery behind its original formats and not put your whole trust in a modern editor.
In my experience, reading from the original is not only better for the environment (fewer pages) and historically fun (you do feel a lot more connected to the music when you sing from the original notation), but it is actually a bit easier and less hectic than reading from modern scores.
The good news is that many of Monteverdi’s pieces are available online at the International Music Score Library Project in their original formats. When you go to his composer page, look under the Collections tab for them.
These parts can look a bit foreign at first if you’re used to seeing round notes vertically aligned with all the others parts in a modern score. These parts typically have no bar lines, use strangely shaped notes and rests, are somewhat crudely printed, and use odd time signatures. In the immortal words of the early music musicologist Jan Herlinger, “Everything was strange and difficult to read before you learned how to read it!”
If you have never tried early notation before, Monteverdi’s music is a great place to start, since the music is usually quite clear and easy. So let’s start from the beginning of a part to learn this system. Continue reading Monteverdi Unfiltered: How to read Monteverdi part books
This season, BREVE is doing a concert of Monteverdi’s music, including both sacred and secular music. Since we are doing Monteverdi, the music is rather available online, particularly in the original part book formats. I was originally reading straight from the old part books, but getting tired of the crude printing, I opted to draw out all of the music in Illustrator.
The final product is something quite nice.
The entire hour of music for me is only eight pages, or four sheets of paper. I used the original large block initials for each part and had Illustrator auto-trace them into cleaner vector images. I also replicated as exactly as possible all of the spelling conventions and abbreviations, including ampersands, m/n tildes, and long s’s. All of them are copied exactly from part books except for Cantate Domino, which I could not find anywhere online, so I just converted it from a modern edition.
This is the first time I have typeset an entire concert folder into this system of notation. To me, it is not only much more elegant, but also more enjoyable. I feel a kind of intimacy with the music that I didn’t have when reading it from a score or from round notes. Having no bar lines also helps a lot with text stress, like in the “Confregit” section of the Dixit Dominus. Reading it with the added bar lines in a modern edition will tempt singers to sing “CON-fre-GIT re-GES” instead of “con-FRE-git RE-ges.” This book is satisfying to sing through.
The LSU Choirs were recently toying with the idea to perform the Mozart/Süßmayr Requiem in modern German Latin. By Modern, I mean the pronunciation as currently practiced by German choirs, which differs slightly from the Latin Mozart would have heard (for instance, Mozart would have heard [ˈʦɛli] rather than [ˈʦœli] and [ˈkʰiɾiɛ] instead of [ˈkʰyɾiɛ], as the moves to those vowels happened around 1850).
To aid in this effort, one of the choral conducting graduate students asked me if I would be willing to provide an IPA transcription of the words of the choir into German Latin. They are in this PDF and reproduced below. There is also here a recording of myself reading the text. I have not included the solo and quartet movements. Continue reading Mozart’s Requiem in German Latin
When singing in a choir, one eventually sees a piece where a sung note lasts an eighth note longer than the measure containing the beginning of the note. When I began to sing music from the English sacred tradition, I saw these notes frequently. I was told by multiple conductors that it was a British practice to simply treat the eighth note as the release itself, or more literally to cut off at the beginning of the eighth note, pretending it is not there at all. Thus I began to mark through all the tied eighth notes in any score from which I sang, as it was common enough a practice to cut early that it was a safe bet. I never really questioned this practice until last year, when I sang with Stephen Cleobury here at LSU during a week-long residency with our choir. There he was, a man representing the finest in British choral practice, asking us to carry those tied quavers over until the end of the note, exactly as printed, in Howells’s “Like as the hart desireth the water brooks.” This led me to actually investigating the practice and doubting the authenticity of the assertion that it is a common practice to cut off early when one sees a tied eighth note after a bar line. Continue reading Tied Eighth Notes in Choral Music