Giovanni Gabrieli
(c.1553-1612)
Works for Brass,
Volume 2
Any real understanding of
Giovanni Gabrieli's music is impossible without some appreciation of its
context within the Venice of the sixteenth century, As the main trading post
between East and West, Venice was a rich and prosperous city; guarded by a
powerful naval fleet it contained some of the finest art and architecture and
successfully exported items of the most superb quality, including books, cloth
and glass, Venetians enjoyed political stability and felt genuinely privileged,
with a deep sense of pride in the quality of their own standard of living and
their ability to impress foreign dignitaries. This was reflected in the
ceremonial aspects of public life in which all strata of society were involved,
and where the religious was healthily mixed with the temporal - Venice was
never a close friend of the Church of Rome. Processions were regularly held on
important civil and religious occasions; they would often be led by the
republic's ruler, the Doge, whose role was as much caretaker and guardian as
head of state; they usually began around the magnificent Byzantine Basilica of
St Mark itself. They were of the utmost importance to the community, being
governed by a careful protocol dating back to the fifteenth century which
ensured the greatest degree of solemnity and pomp. One of the most important
customs was that at least six silver trumpets should play at such events,
ensuring the necessity of instrumental music to accompany all great celebrations
in and of the Most Serene Republic.
Into this splendour came
Giovanni Gabrieli; his exact date of birth is unclear, but it was some time
between 1553 and 1556: the unclear handwriting in his obituary indicates that
he was either 56 or 58 at the time of his death in 1612. He was born into a
musical family - his uncle Andrea (c.1510-1586) had worked and studied in
Munich and was appointed to St Mark's in 1566 as organist, quickly becoming a
celebrated composer, especially of ceremonial music, thus continuing a
tradition of formal music going back to the thirteenth century and one which
became particularly important following the appointment of the Flemish musician
Adrian Willaert (c.1490-1562) as Director of Music in 1528.
We know that, apart from
almost certainly having lessons with Andrea, Giovanni also worked in Munich at
the court of Duke Albrecht V and, like his uncle before him, studied there with
the great Orlando di Lasso (1532-1594), probably returning to Venice after
Albrecht's death in 1579. He deputised as organist at St Mark's in 1584 and
then again in 1585, and was made second organist and composer following the
resignation of the previous incumbent, Claudio Merulo (1833-1604), who was
lured to the Steccata Chapel in Parma for a higher salary .In the same year he
became organist of the Schola Grande di San Rocco, a part-time post. He was to
hold down both positions until his death in 1612 from a kidney stone complaint
which had troubled him for over six years.
Gabrieli's time as a
colleague of his uncle was unfortunately short-lived, as Andrea died at the
then extremely ripe age of 76, the year after his nephew's appointment. The
need for a successor to continue his grand style of composition must have been
in the minds of the authorities when they gave Giovanni the job; they were not
to be disappointed. Immediately he began to edit and publish his uncle's
'Concerti', often written for cori spezzati or divided choirs of voices
and instruments. This was to greatly influence his own compositional style;
Giovanni's genius was to fully realise the potential of their spatial technique
and to carry it even further, As the new Principal Composer of St Mark's, he
was granted permission to hire freelance singers and players to enlarge the
virtuoso ensemble already established permanently in 1567, and he embarked on a
series of choral and instrumental works which utilised not only the galleries
of the Basilica, but also special platforms which were erected for important
festivities, accommodating as many as five separate groups.
It would be easy to think
of Gabrieli just as a composer of special effects, but just the range and
expression of his compositions alone is remarkable. At no time is Gabrieli a
formulaic composer; he was constantly experimenting with every aspect of
musical technique Even a cursory examination of his two main collections, the
1597 Sacrae Symphoniae and the purely instrumental posthumously
published 1615 Canzoni e Sonate will reveal that no two works are really
similar. Sonority is especially important - groups of contrasting high and low
voices are common and he may even, surprisingly, dispense with alto and tenor
voices altogether. There is both mastery of intricate counterpoint and yet
immensely impressive block chords; part writing and complex rhythms reflect
both the virtuosity and sheer musicianship of the players for whom the works
were written, and in the later works especially there is a harmonic audacity
which pushes late Renaissance music-making to its very limits. It comes as no
surprise that Gabrieli's most famous pupil, Heinrich Schutz, said of him in a
preface to a set of his own Sacrae Symphoniae, which he dedicates to his
teacher, 'But Gabrieli, immortal gods - what a man!'
Giovanni Gabrieli had
taken the grand multi-choral style as far as it could go; it was the end of an
era - the Venetian High Renaissance. Claudio Monteverdi had already ventured
into opera with Orfeo in 1607 and his appointment as moestro di
cappella of St Mark's was to usher in a very different sort of
music-making; there is sadly no evidence to indicate that Gabrieli's music was
ever played there again until his rediscovery this century.
The works represented on
this, the second of three volumes of Gabrieli's complete instrumental ensemble
music, contain many sides of Gabrieli's genius. The seemingly fanciful titles
to the works contained in the 1597 Sacrae Symphoniae (Canzon Noni Toni, Duodecimi
Toni, Septimi Toni and so on) do not refer (as has often been postulated
with no real evidence) to the Church modes, but to melodic fragments based on
various modes known to both Milanese and Venetian musicians, and which were
possibly of both musical and emotional significance. More musicological study
is needed to reveal their exact meanings but the eight toni referred to in the
1610 Concerti Ecclesiastici by Giovanni Paolo Cima certainly point the
way for further research.
Recently found in the
German regional library of Kassel, the opening Canzon a 12 is for three choirs
unusually divided into three, four and five parts, with both bass lines in the
latter. It contains virtually no music for each separate choir, integrating all
voices into a rich yet spacious sonority unique in Gabrieli's instrumental
works.
Seven high tessitura
parts unfold remarkably cheerful and skilful counterpoint in Canzon V,
while the two five-voice groups and 'coro grave' of four trombones in the Sonata XVIII
are the vehicles for one of the very greatest works. Its dazzling chromatic
intertwining and subtle wit have no superiors in the late Renaissance.
The
four-part Canzon Seconda is one of three perfectly crafted miniatures
included here from the four in Raverii's 1608 collection, and forms a total
contrast with the stately formality of Canzon Primi Toni a 8. Both
grandeur and virtuosity are married in the three-choir Sonata XIX,
unlike the characteristic and lively rising theme of the largely
through-composed six part Canzon II, while Sonata Octavi Toni a 12,
with only two soprano voices on a plush underly of ten trombones, achieves the
ultimate in rich solemnity and noble antiphony.
Dotted
rhythms and battle-like figures feature in the two S.A.T.B. choirs of Canzon
XII, while the angular intervals of the diminished fourth and fifth provide
the material for the six voices of Canzon III.
The
confident, bright major feel throughout the seven-part writing of Canzon VI
points to a work conceived for a joyous rather than for a formal occasion; the
three choirs of Canzon XVI conversely begin with strongly independent
material linked by an instantly recognisable four-chord motif. When all the
choirs eventually combine, they trade incisive cross-rhythms or animated
chatter; only at the very end does everybody join in a coda of rare splendour.
Eric Crees
1999