Singing Upon the Book: Further Methods of Chant Harmonization (Part 2)

This is the second part of the article by Mr Joseph Ahmad which was published yesterday, with our thanks.

Discantus and Cantare Super Librum

From the 12th or 13th centuries up to the 19th century, there persisted a tradition of improvising contrapuntal polyphonic settings of chant, variously called discantus, cantare super librum, faburden, chanter sur le livre, sortisatio, and contrapunto alla mente, depending on the period and region. Moreover, it admitted of many different genres, ranging from the aformentioned gymel—which is close to parallel organum—to canons, to fully independent four voice polyphony akin to a high quality written composition. Likewise, church records and witnesses, whether praising or decrying the practice, testify to its spread all across Europe.

Johannes Ockeghem (front right) and his choir in the chapel of King Charles VII of France.

Although we cannot visit Renaissance Rome to hear such improvisation for ourselves, history has left behind a number of witnesses’ reports, as well as written-down improvisations, such as written exercises in cantare super librum made by choristers as they were learning the art. Moreover, it is possible that certain published compositions reflect improvisational practices. For example, musicologist Philippe Canguilhem contends that Ghiselin Danckerts’s Missa de Beata Virgine reflects improvisational techniques used in the Sistine Chapel during the 16th century, given the circumstances of its composition and certain stylistic characteristics.

Regarding the quality of cantare super librum heard at the Sistine Chapel, Antimo Liberati observed in 1666, “listening to each of these erudite singers while they compose extemporaneously upon the plainchant, that is, when they make contrappunto alla mente with noble harmony as if it were written down and composed in advance, provokes at the same time wonder and sweetness.”

The Oxford Companion to Music records two later witnesses to such sophisticated improvisation. “Padre Martini, in his great work on counterpoint, says that in 1747 he heard very perfect extemporaneous singing in four parts in the church of St. John Lateran at Rome, and Dr. Burney…affirms (ca. 18050, ‘There are musicians in the church so well versed in this kind of singing that they lead off, and even carry on, fugues extempore when the subject will allow it, without confounding or encroaching on the other parts or committing a single fault in the harmony.’ ” Writing in 1938, the author of the Companion dryly comments, “despite the respectable authority of the writer, [this] is scarcely credible to us today.” If only he knew.

Chant book commissioned for the Sistine Chapel, ca. 1520 (Capp. Sist. 10, fol. 2v)

Still, given the difficulty of such a group improvisation, the results were sometimes cacophonous. In the early 19th century Adrien de La Fage lamented,  “France…has never abandoned its mania of improvising on a plainsong…and if today the combat has come to an end, it is only for lack of contestants. I say ‘combat,’ and with good reason; for it was indeed a perpetual battle, in which all the combatants appeared to butcher each other. The cathedral chancels were real battlefields, where one heard the cantors droning hoarsely in their lower register, then the counter-tenors shouting at the top of their lungs, and the tenors fitting in as best they could. For this, all these good men had no rule other than habit: they tried to start off on one of the notes of the harmony, and, for the rest, they abandoned themselves to Providence.”

Thus, one can only conclude that he should aspire to be more like the choristers of the Sistine Chapel and the Lateran, rather than the French.

The basic principle is quite simple. One portion of the choir sings a given piece of plainchant it in a very slow and measured manner (e.g., 4 beats per written neume). Usually this is done by the bass, but any other part can do it as well. Around this cantus firmus the other voices improvise melodies, following certain prescribed formulae. These formulae determine the intervals from which other voices sing above and below the cantus firmus, and they determine certain rules for cadences at the ends of phrases. In addition to following these formulae, singers add ornamentation.

For example, in discantus simplex, one voice sings the cantus firmus while the second voice, moving contrariwise to the cantus firmus, proceeds from unison, to the third, the fifth, the octave, and then back to the fifth, the third, and unison, cycling through this pattern throughout the piece. The discanting voice can add diminutions to this basic pattern, and a third voice can sing in parallel fifths with the cantus firmus to enrich the sound. If I am not mistaken, Jerycho’s performance of Kyrie IX employs a similar technique.

Another example of a simple formula is the fauxbourdon.

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Singing Upon the Book: Further Methods of Chant Harmonization (Part 1)

At the beginning of the year, we printed an article by Mr Joseph Ahmad, who works as a researcher at the École Biblique et Archéologique Française in Jerusalem, on the use of the “ison” or drone in Gregorian chant. We are happy to share this follow-up, which will be presented in two parts, with our renewed thanks to the author.

In my previous post, I discussed the most basic form of what medieval music theorists called diaphonia, namely the ison also known as diaphonia basilica. In this post, I would like to discuss some other forms of chant harmonization that choristers could employ for a given piece of chant in times past. Though these are more difficult, the ison can function as a gateway to these other forms, since, over time, it trains one’s ability to detect and produce chords. That is, one will develop sense of how different intervals “feel,” especially the perfect fifth, perfect fourth, and octave. Once you have a “feel” for these intervals—as well as comfort with sight reading neumes—you can begin experimenting with the methods discussed below.

Book of Hours, Paris 1450 - c. 14 British Library MS Harley 2971 f. 109v

Before we get to the music, I would like to consider a possible pitfall in these forms of ornamentation or enhancement that has plagued singers over history. How much is too much? How do we avoid mere aestheticism? It depends on how one builds upon a given piece of chant. To use a metaphor, is the manner in which you “diaphonize” akin to to donning a horse with horseshoes or garlands? In the former case, the addition enhances what is already an essential characteristic. The horseshoe helps the horse do horsy things. The latter case is an aesthetic fancy or a piece of buffoonery—unless, of course, this horse is a Hindu god. In the “garland approach,” sacred music becomes less and less mystagogic and iconographic, favoring that which is theatrical, entertaining, and aesthetically immanent—or, in the words of the Oxford Companion to Music, “meretricious and unliturgical.” The “horseshoe approach” consists of musically explaining or enhancing the pre-existing text, preserving the musical iconography and mystagogic nature of the original chant. As an example, I’d contend that a piece like Victoria’s Missa pro defunctis enhances, whereas a piece like Mozart’s Requiem, though brilliant as a musical composition, obscures. So, as you look at the following techniques, use your judgment and strive for the horseshoe approach.

Parallel Organum

Parallel organum, singing parallel fourths and fifths from the melody, is the earliest mentioned form of harmonization. Some form of it is arguably implied in Ordo Romanus XXX (ca. 8th c.), wherein the author calls a certain class of singers paraphonistae. In Greek musical terminology, the symphoniai paraphoniai designated consonances at the fourth and the fifth, as opposed to the symphoniai antiphonai, which designated tones either at unison or the octave. Thus it would seem that the paraphonistae were responsible for singing harmony.

This was not necessarily revolutionary, and perhaps such diaphonia was older in Greco-Roman music, for harmonizing in fourths and fifths seems prevalent in folk music around the world. Consider examples from South Africa:

Iceland:

Portugal

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Droning at Mass: Guest Article by Mr Joseph Ahmad

Our thanks to Mr Joseph Ahmad, who works as a researcher at the École Biblique et Archéologique Française in Jerusalem, for sharing with us this very interesting article on the use of the “ison” or drone in Gregorian chant.

The subject of this piece is neither homiletics nor ill-timed bee-keeping, but rather some practical notes on how to support a line of plainchant with a drone or ison. Adding a drone is simple—in Byzantine choirs, the task is given to novice choristers—yet it has a powerful effect. When done properly, it fills out the chant’s aural space, enhancing and magnifying its melodic line, modality, and mystagogic aspects.

While the ison is best known today in the Byzantine tradition, being used in both Greek chant and certain forms of Slavonic chant, a number of performers of early music have employed it when singing Latin plainchant since at least the 1980s.

The Graduel Si ambulem, sung by the Les Chantres de Thoronet. For other examples, see Columba Aspexit performed by Gothic Voices, Quasi modo geniti by Jerycho, and Kyrie IV by Ensemble Organum.)

Although some have doubted the authenticity of using an ison with Gregorian chant, there are some oblique references to the practice in Guido d’Arezzo’s 10th century Micrologus (capp. 18-19), and the ison is clearly described in the 13th century treatise Summa Musice (cap. 24). In the section on polyphony, the author states,

“Diaphonia est modus canendi duobus modis, et dividitur in basilicam et organicam. Basilica est canendi duobus modis melodia ita quod unus teneat continue notam unam que est quasi basis cantus alterius concinentis. ~ Diphony is the method for singing two lines in harmony, and it is divided into royal and organic (i.e., organum) . Royal diphony consists of singing in two lines in such a way that one singer holds a single note continuously which is, as it were, the foundation for the chant of the other singer.”

As Marcel Pérès notes [1], the adjective basilica, “royal,” in liturgical matters often refers to the city of Rome. Indeed, in official Byzantine documents—such as the canons and minutes of ecumenical councils—the city of Rome is very often called “Royal and Ancient Rome.” If that is the case here, then the name diaphonia basilica may imply that the practice is originally Roman.

To this we can add some circumstantial evidence. Pairing a drone with a melodic line is by no means a novelty in the world of Mediterranean music. Double-pipes, for example, are as old as ancient Sumer and Egypt [2]; they were widely used in antiquity; they remained popular into the Middle Ages; and their use persists today in the Egyptian arghoul and the Sardinian launeddas. More apropos, the hurdy-gurdy’s larger predecessor, the organistrum, is said to have been used to accompany singing in churches and monasteries: this would make sense given its size and volume, but I’ve not yet found hard evidence for this claim apart from a purported note by Odo of Cluny on how to make the instrument.

A man playing the double pipe depicted by Simone Martini in the chapel of St Martin, in the lower of basilica of St Francis in Assisi, 1312.

Returning to the music, then, the basic drones are as follows:
Mode          Drone          Flectus
I                   Re                 Do
II                  Re                 Do
III                Do or Mi       Re
IV                Do or Mi       Re
V                 Fa
VI                Fa or Do
VII               Sol                Fa
VIII             Do

Apart from modes III and IV, the placement of the drone is usually straightforward. Depending on the mode, one either holds a single note throughout the chant, or one drones on two notes (the drone and the flectus), changing according to the tonal center of a given phrase—if the drone and the chant are separated by an octave, however, one could probably remove movement altogether. For example, in mode I, when a phrase is centered on La (and above) you will most likely drone on Re; when a phrase is centered on Sol (and below) you will most likely drone on Do, returning to unison on Re at the completion of the phrase. Likewise, you should switch to Do to anticipate a cadence ending on Do or Mi.

The best way to understand this, of course, is to try it out and adjust to what sounds right. Here are some examples to help you get started. The drone is marked by red neumes.

Mode I

Mode II

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