Program Notes In 1533, Henry VIII divorced Catherine of Aragon and married Anne Boleyn. In doing so he broke formally with the papacy and, surely without intending to, set England upon its tortuous path to official Protestantism. Henry, "whose will was to himself as the oracles of God" averred he sought only a queen who, by bearing him a son, would ensure the continued hold of the Tudor house upon the throne. In seeking an end to the wars of succession that had burdened the realm during the latter half of the 15th century, he instead plunged his people into a morass of religious and civil strife which would not end until the beginning of the 18th century. Parliament, driven by anti-clerical sentiment and with Henry's assent, mandated the dissolution and plunder of some 600 monasteries, and forbade contact between the English Church and the Roman See. These deeds, virtually unprecedented in Christendom before the time of Luther, cut at the roots of a system which had nurtured generations of musicians and composers. Until this time, almost all musicians in England and Europe began their careers as choirboys and were trained in religious establishments. Now, this vast and wealthy institution was stripped of its land and possessions, its clergy were humiliated, and its many dependents and servitors were dispersed and cheaply pensioned off or discharged. In this light, even without consideration of the more subjective and complex issues of personal faith and fealty in that age, it is not surprising that most of the English musical establishment remained loyal to the old religion through the end of the 16th century, despite increasingly trying circumstances. And although the roots had in a sense been cut, the tree had been so well nourished that it continued to flower with amazing luxuriance, and bore fruit in the work of Thomas Tallis and William Byrd, as well as that of many now less well-known masters like John Sheppard, and Robert White. England's earlier isolation and musical conservatism (in some respects) had allowed the development of a truly indigenous and distinctive "dialect" of the central musical language in Europe. In the realm of sacred choral music, an art had arisen, characterized by rhapsodically flowing melismas; full, often elaborate textures; emphasis more on free counterpoint and less on pervasive imitation; a certain expansiveness of mood; the leisurely, at times even wayward, movement of underlying harmony; a preoccupation with sonority for its own sake; and a most peculiarly English love for certain harmonic effects that sometimes sound strange and idiosyncratic to our ears today. Although continental influences began to flood in during the mid-sixteenth century, the insular distinctiveness of the English School was only very slowly submerged. Composers and the Music It is a privilege to be able to present some of the works of John Sheppard (c. 1512? - 1560?), a gifted composer whose music reveals a many-faceted and versatile spirit. Due to an accident of history his considerable legacy of works, second in quantity only to Byrd's, has been neglected until recently. Sheppard may have been a choirboy at St. Paul's Cathedral, and by 1543 took a post teaching choristers at Magdalen College, Oxford. Although probably still a Roman Catholic, he was able to join the list of the Gentlemen of the Chapel Royal during the reign of Edward VI (1547-1553), a time of the vigorous advance of Protestantism. He retained this position of esteem through the five year reign of Queen Mary, which saw the ruthless reinstatement of Catholicism, and until his death. Of Sheppard's music, Peter Phillips has said that "...some of his harmonies were especially daring by the standards of the time." Sheppard's flair for unusal, almost Romantic harmonic motion results from an unorthodox but imaginative treatment of dissonance and sus- pension. This is most apparent in his cantus firmus pieces. Verbum caro factum est, the final responsory for Matins on Christmas Eve, is an excellent example. Most likely written during the reign of Queen Mary, it has much of the robust and extravagant character of the pre-Reformation English musical tradition, with its melismatic counterpoint and brilliant sonority produced by the employment of high treble voices. The incipit and responsory verses are left to be chanted by cantors, alternating with tutti responses, just as in the Gregorian tradition; there the chant appears, cloaked in polyphony, as a slow-moving monorhythmic tenor cantus firmus. Although imitation is employed continuously, the melismatic lines and continuous thick texture of the polyphony give Verbum caro an archaic flavor. This is typical of works in this genre, and results from the relation of the polyphony to the cantus firmus; the five highly independent contrapuntal parts are suspended in motion until the tenor part reaches the end of each phrase in the plainchant. There all voices cadence together, facilitating the "telescoped" repetition of the polyphonic sections according to the traditional form: (incipit)ABC(verse)BC(verse)C. In pace, in idipsum, a short responsory to be sung at compline, is quite different. There is no cantus firmus, and its four-part texture is clear and open, frequently using paired voices in the Flemish manner. The phrases are tuneful and rhythmically concise, and are introduced and developed imitatively. There is a nice balance between the use of melis- matic phrases and homophony. In pace belongs to an earlier tradition in which it is the soloists' chant which is replaced by polyphony; thus the whole choir sings the incipit, "In pace", and the response "in idipsum" is chanted. The long career of Thomas Tallis (c. 1505-1585) shows a clear development from the florid, somewhat discursive style exemplified by Taverner, to the more concise, post-Reformation idiom with its emphasis on textual declamation and melodic economy. Of Tallis' life little is known, despite his great reknown as a composer. In 1577, in a petition to Queen Elizabeth for assistance, he described himself as "verie aged" and reminded her that he had "served your Majestie and your Royall ancestors these fortie years", a reference to his tenure in the royal household since King Henry VIII. His epitaph bore verses that revealed that although childless, he had "Lyv'd in Love ful three and thirty Yeres" with his wife Joan, and "As he did lyve, so also did he dy, in mild and quyet sort (O! happy Man)". Dum transisset Sabbatum is also a matins responsory for Easter. But unlike Verbum caro, it is written in a modern idiom in which the polyphony is afforded more independence from the cantus firmus, here appearing in the top voice. The melodic lines are more concise, and homophony is used at "et Salome" and at "ut venientes", as well as in the concluding chorus of alleluias. The plainchant melody is carried in the highest part in notes of equal value, while the lower four converse polyphonically in support. The beginning section is suffused with a quiet joy anticipating the miraculous discovery of the first Easter morning, and the warmth and subtle sensuousness of the music, while appropriate for this celebration, is otherwise unusual for the period. Although this composition lacks the occasional harmonic shocks often found in English sacred music, the underlying progressions lead us on strange paths: the piece begins (in contemporary musical terms) in C major, eventually settles into A minor, and concludes on a B major chord. O sacrum convivium is a mystical celebration of the highest sacrament of the Roman and Anglican rites. The piece has the clear ABB form of the early anthem, and despite the repeat of the last section and the anthem-like simplicity of the phrases, this is a true polyphonic motet in which the five voices share equally in musical importance. There are numerous "cross" or "false" relations harmonically, in which an augmented or diminshed octave, fifth or fourth is produced by the raising or lowering by a semitone of a note in one part, which then sounds dissonantly against an unaltered note in another part. This effect is highly characteristic of English Renaissance music, and was so loved that it was often indulged in purely for its own sake. It has been suggested, based on certain details of the text underlay, that the version with an English text on the same subject, I call and cry to thee, is the original one. Tallis, like Byrd and others, supplied innovative music in the vernacular for the Reformed service. It seems ironic that these Catholic composers laid the foundations of Anglican church music, but it is to their accomodation in this respect that they owe their enduring reknown, as their music in English continued to be sung in the churches of their homeland up to the present day. One could argue that these composers, whose Anglican compositions kept the sounds of 16th-century music familiar to English ears, may thereby have played an indirect role in the revival of "early music", at first largely a British phenomenon, in the twentieth century. Robert White (c. 1538-1574) has suffered a fate opposite to that of Tallis and Byrd, whose careers flourished later in their lives. We can only speculate as to the gifts that might have been bequeathed to us by White had he not been carried off, together with his wife and three daughters, by the plague in November 1574. The mere 27 of his sacred compositions which survive reveal a highly individual and inventive musical gift, which justifies the esteem in which he was held by his contemporaries. White's five-voice Lamentations of Jeremiah are a masterpiece. The scribe who copied it out added a couplet at the end: "Not even the words of this mourning prophet sound so sad as the sad music of my composer." Within a carefully sustained atmosphere of desolation and penitence White continually finds fresh ideas and nuances of expression, and appears conscientiously to avoid cliches and habitual formulae in the writing. The music for the Hebrew letters at the head of each verse is particularly free and "vocal" in its elaborateness, with much use of very long notes in the bass, over which the other parts flow. Here still, the melismatic indulgence of older English music is beautifully in evidence, and here too are found the occasional harmonic surprises referred to earlier. The underlying rhythmic pulse also is notably free in this music; in the modern edition are measures of two, three, four, five, and six beats. It is not known precisely when Lamentations was composed, but by the later years of White's life "Papists" had come under increasing pressure to conform. In 1570, Elizabeth was excommunicated by the Roman Church (as her father had been), and faithful Catholics understood that their obedience to her put them in an intolerable position with respect to their faith. The many texts, chosen by these Catholic composers, that refer to the destruction of Jerusalem and plead for divine forgiveness and "restoration" must be taken to allude, with only slight ambiguity, to the tragic condition that had befallen the nation in their eyes. Of William Byrd (c. 1543-1623) the historian Paul Henry Lang wrote: "After Shakespeare, Byrd is without a doubt the most imposing figure of the English Renaissance, towering above all his contemporaries." Certainly he stands as at least the equal of Palestrina and Lassus as one of the great composers of later Renaissance music. In 1563 he was appointed choirmaster and organist at Lincoln Cathedral, near the place of his birth, but by 1570 he had moved with his family to London, where he took up the post of organist at the Chapel Royal, a position he shared with the illustrious Tallis. Despite his staunch Catholicism, and the heavy fines he endured in consequence, he was held in such high esteem by the Queen (herself an accomplished keyboard-player), the court, and the whole nation, that he seems to have remained relatively secure in this position, which he held until his death. He somehow managed to succeed in those perilous times at being both "a stiff papist and a good subject", to use Elizabeth's own words. Byrd was "of him selfe naturally disposed to Gravitie and Pietie", and the evidence shows him as a man of more than usual tenacity and perisistence in all matters: as a friend, in his faith, and to a surprising degree as a litigant in his later years. Unusual for a musician, he died with property and some wealth. In one of his prefaces Byrd reveals something of the quasi-mystical process he empployed in composing. He speaks of his belief in "the profound and hidden power" of sacred words: "to one thinking upon things divine, and diligently and earnestly pondering them, all the fittest measures [i.e., musical ideas] occur as of themselves..." (his Latin words in translation). The funeral motet Libera me, Domine, et pone me, one of his most celebrated pieces from the joint 1575 publication with Tallis, illustrates the development and sophistication the mature composer had brought to the motet form. The succession of musical subjects, their expressive appropriateness to the words, their variety and originality, together with the overall large scale of conception, invite appropriately qualified comparison with the genius of J. S. Bach in this genre. In particular, the constant juxtaposition and simultaneous development of contrasting phrases anticipate the dialogue of subject and countersubject in the Baroque fugue. Another work giving ample evidence of Byrd's profound and searching engagement with a text is his most famous, Ne irascaris, Domine, which in a 17th century English version "O Lord, turn thy wrath" has been heard in English cathedrals to the present day. Published in 1589, at a time when Catholics must have felt especially desperate and embattled, with the ruthless suppression of the Jesuit mission to "convert" the nation and the defeat of the Armada in 1588, it is one of the "Jerusalem" motets pleading for divine mercy and deliverance. Byrd employs the five voices in contrasting groups of three and four in a manner derived from the contemporary madrigal, and highly effective chordal passages alternate with the polyphony. It is outstanding in its perfect balance of drama and prayerful restraint, and for the directness of its simple and obviously personal sincerity. Between the careers of Peter Phillips (c. 1560-1628) and Richard Dering (c. 1580-1630) there are many parallels. English Catholics had hoped that the accession to the throne of James I in 1603 would bring a relaxation of the oppressions to which they had been subjected, but the failure in 1605 of the famous "Gunpowder Plot", an attempt by Catholic extremists to blow up Parliament and the King, resulted in redoubled persecution. Many musicians like Phillips and Dering sought refuge in the Spanish Netherlands, where both settled as organists and choirmasters in Brussels. Both were prominent as composers of madrigals in the Italian style, and both also wrote estimable sacred music influenced by the former genre. Phillips' well-known Ascendit Deus, for five voices, comes from his Cantiones sacrae, published in Antwerp in 1612. It has a fine balance of polyphony and homophony, as well as intermediate textures. the "fanfares" illustrating the sound of the trumpet just after the beginning, and the vigorous "alleluias" at the end are particularly striking. Although in output as well as reputation the lesser of the two composers, Dering provided in his six-voice Factum est silentium (Antwerp, 1618), something of a small-scale masterpiece of depictive music. The hush in heaven during the opening moments, the battle with the dragon, and the brilliant concluding "alleluias" are wonderfully dramatic. -- Joel van Lennep and Mike Terranova