Looking for something to do at War Practice? Wishing to try your hand at a new art?
Come to the Great Hall and do just that!
In addition to classes in music and dance, and an embroidery salon run by THL Cristina inghean Ghriogair, you can try calligraphy and illumination under the helpful guidance of Mistress Yvianne de Castel d’Avignon and Mistress Liadin ní Chléirigh na Coille, play with fibers with Mistress Mahin Banu Tabrizi, or try cooking over an open fire with Mistress Katla úlfheþinn.
Scribal play time and the embroidery salon will run 3pm to 6pm on Friday; on Saturday, the various play times will be from 10am to 4pm. Stop in and try your hand at something new – embroidery, calligraphy, illumination, cooking, weaving in between attending the classes being run in the Hall. Or stop in and lend a hand to one of the areas, or just come spend the day doing something you love and sharing it with others!
Looking forward to the day.
Baroness Orianna Fridrikskona
Deputy Kingdom Minister of Arts & Sciences
Lady Tangwystl verch Gruffydd of the Barony of Northwoods in the Middle Kingdom has graciously volunteered to serve as Director of a Known World Choir at the upcoming SCA 50 Year Celebration event in June!
The earlier you register, the better the Director will be able to plan for the 50 Year setlist and the performance itself. You can change/adjust answers later if needed, so please don’t hesitate to sign up today!
Additionally, those who register by March 22nd* will have an opportunity to suggest pieces for our 50 Year Celebration performance.
*Registration will continue after March 22nd, but after that point setlist will be finalized.
My topics for this final essay address the act of composition, the premise or perception that original music is in any way less desirable within the SCA than “authentic” music, and the idea that the Arts and Sciences authenticity standards by which bardic arts are judged have become disjointed from the authenticity standards of composition and performance that many bards are attempting to practice.
One of the frequent criticisms faced by bards within the greater Arts & Sciences community is that when a bard writes something original, by definition it is not a period piece. Regardless of how “close” it may sound in style or lyric structure, it was written in the 20th or 21st century, not the 14th. No matter how closely the composer observes the “rules” of Renaissance composition, or crafts lyrics that show no obvious signs of modernity, it cannot be an extant, first-degree Medieval or Renaissance piece.
Over the fifty-year history of the Society, a lot of time, trouble, and tearing of hair has been expended by musicians who attempt to get as close to period as possible. Those who do not attempt it, or who are more comfortable with more modern structures, are frequently called out for writing them, and told that the work they produce does not rate high on the authenticity scale because it doesn’t match up to those rules. Those who write contrafait using post-period music are often put in an even worse position.
There are two separate but related suppositions within that line of reasoning that I reject. The first is the idea that there is only one “rule” for writing music that “sounds” sufficiently Medieval. As I theorized in my previous article about Medieval “folk music,” this is similar to the history in the College of Heralds, where for a long time, Fox-Davies was the only test of whether heraldry was “period.” In the same way, the test that many people use to whether music sounds period boils down to a very narrow spectrum. There’s more to period music than western European, liturgical, and court forms. We really have no way to know just how much popular music out there sounded somewhat similar to many a piece written within the acoustic / historical folk genre today. While many did correspond to the “rules,” there are also examples of pieces that did not. It may never be possible to sort out a definitive proportion, meaning that the debate can’t be resolved for sure. Thus, the “rules” school of thinking locks in the opinion that Western European church or court music is the only acceptable sound for a period-approaching piece, when clearly there are other influences and culturally accessible sounds which can readily be used as the inspiration for new music.
The second flaw in the logical argument is that even Medieval music was new, back when it was first composed. Court and church composers were constantly evolving and expanding their understanding of musical mechanics, and consequently they were constantly trying new things, experimenting with and introducing different “sounds,” modes, rhythms, and melodic structures. It was not until decades later that these “rules” were codified. Scholars today often refer to pieces extant from period that signal tonal shifts in the development of music, “revolutions” that represent precious examples of changing practice. However, it is important to remember that as with other arts and sciences, a “revolution” did not necessarily mean a sudden sea change. In addition, the number of extant samples of music is likely a fraction of what was being performed, sung, heard and written within the scope of our period. Bear in mind that some combination of chance and circumstance is vital to the preservation of most of the pieces we have. If only one example of a particularly exciting and different sort of piece survives, that may mean that it was completely unique for its time and that no one else ever composed to that model–or it may mean that it was part of a fad, or that it was merely the lucky winner of the preservation lottery because it was a “best” example or the “first” of its kind. Even if it is the only one of its type, it’s still acceptable for a modern artist to emulate the style, or to use it to inspire something else similar.
The reason these fallacies are important to expose is that they form pervasive standards against which the bardic arts are held. What is perplexing is that those standards are not applied in the same manner to other arts. We do expect cooks to redact recipes from period sources, but we also acknowledge that there are certain dishes which must be modified or updated in order to appeal to a modern feast-going audience. We do not expect them, however, to work with foodstuffs that we know will be unpalatable. We do expect clothiers to work from paintings, patterns, or extant examples of period styles of clothing, but we acknowledge that there are multiple garments for various classes, cultures, occasions, and climates. We expect them to choose natural fibers[1], but we would not actually expect them to work with 500-year-old cloth – nor would we expect them to use silk brocade to construct a working peasant’s garb. So why should we expect bards to work exclusively with 400-year-old or older music – and highly specialized music at that?
Bards were many things throughout the history and cultures that the SCA encompasses. They were singers, they were composers, they were instrumental musicians. They were storytellers and poets, whose job was not only to remember and recite the old stories, but to commemorate current events by immortalizing people, places, and occurrences. They were observers of nature and interpreters of the natural world. They could be lorekeepers, but also lawkeepers, and they were frequently privileged to speak truth with varying levels of protection from retaliation by members of higher rank or station. They settled disputes, they entertained courts and crowds, and they advocated for the social covenants that governed the communities they served. And not insignificantly, they performed their own work and the works of contemporaries in addition to the repertoire of those who came before. Note, not all cultures’ bards were all of these things, and not all bards within all cultures fulfilled all these capacities, but I think it’s fair to stipulate that SCA bards often present a conglomeration of those roles in their contribution to the SCA. Yet too frequently, they are not judged as embodiments of this particular art, but heavily judged on their material. In other words, there are period versions of a lot of different types of bards, and crafting one’s art to fit into one (or more) of those models is, in itself, an act of artistic accomplishment and worth consideration as its own separate category.
I would argue that whether our bardic community is writing to period or period-modal music is only one consideration among many in terms of accomplishment within the scope of bardic arts as they apply to the SCA. Why? Because almost alone among the arts practiced within the Society, the bards have the ability to embody authenticity not only through the forms they use, but in the acts of recording, preserving, reinterpreting, and presenting a window onto the Current Middle Ages. Their covenant is one that also includes firm grounding in the legends, histories, and traditions that inform, inspire, and engage the Society and its membership. The question may not be, “Does such-and-so perform period music / compose period-sounding music?” (or even, “Does such-and-so write period-perfect poetry?”) so much as it is, “Does such-and-so embody the spirit of bardic art, and propagate the bardic canon according to the precepts of that model?”
Does this mean they have no responsibility to “be medieval”? No, not at all. Bards must still be judged by and held to the same standards as other arts within the SCA–namely, that we must make “an attempt” to be authentic, and that authenticity is one of many components within the spectrum of accomplishment that make up the whole sum of a given artist’s skill and facility with their chosen form. But court and church rules are not the sole measuring stick of “medievalness”—nor do they necessarily provide a comprehensive definition of what is or was authentic.
The act of transforming our exploits into tales of glory heightens those feats and puts them on a spectrum with historical tales (such as the Song of Roland), with legends (such as Arthurian mythology), and with historical political commentary and editorializing (such as the long tradition of Scottish protest songs, many of which date to period or just-post period). Songs like “Bow to the Crown” immortalize our traditions and more importantly teach why those traditions exist. Retelling the legends, myths, and historical incidents in new ways keeps them fresh, alive, and relevant. Pieces that capture moments, observations, and feelings, rather than relate a specific narrative, also represent a period practice. More importantly, they provide a point of view which is informed by the experiences of individuals in the SCA–frequently as a direct result of some activity that they pursue or some event they witnessed. All of these compositions remind both the new member and the SCA veteran what is appealing about participating in the SCA, what ideals to uphold and for which to strive, and what might have drawn us to the Society in the first place.
Remember the principles I have been promoting for successful performance:
The material chosen must speak to some emotional grip on the audience;
The performance must move the audience to that emotional place;
The audience must be able to hear and understand the performance.
These guidelines govern the composition of a piece, as well. Thus, for the SCA bard who composes, the singular most important consideration is whether they are capturing the spirit of the incident, feeling, mood, or person they are writing about. The form they choose, whether it’s a story, a poem, a ballad or a drinking song, should be considered analogous to the fabric a seamstress might choose for a given garment. It should be able to successfully execute the second principle, which is to carry the listener to the emotional state desired. Or, to put it the way Stephen Sondheim does: Content dictates Form.[2]
If the use of a period tune or format interferes with the composer’s ability to create a piece that will carry the audience to the desired emotional space, then the problem could either be that the composer’s not ready to write that piece, or that it could be the wrong tune or format to use for that particular project. If using a period form will have audiences concentrating more on the form itself, and less on the content, then they are failing to pay attention and thus may not understand the piece. If the composer’s grasp of the form is insufficient, then the product will be inferior, and again, it should not be used until the composer can do a credible job. The author is fighting the form, in these cases, and thus the result will feel forced or insincere. That’s not to say no one should ever stretch or set an ambitious goal; merely that it takes practice and dedication, and sometimes the moment requires a solution with more expediency.
There are, of course, times when the performer does not want to call attention to the performance. Playing ambient music, or providing background entertainment during a party or vigil or similar venue, it’s more important to set the mood than to grandstand. But, I am speaking primarily of the type of bardic performance where it behooves the performer to put on a show.
Finally, there’s another important and essential reason why it’s neither reasonable nor necessary for bards to tie themselves in knots writing exclusively “period” music: Writing music for use in the SCA is, in itself, a spectrum. Sometimes authors are writing pieces that have to bridge more than one type of audience, with different tolerance for more unfamiliar formats. Sometimes the melody that comes or the words that fit just don’t correspond to a particular Medieval mode of writing. Sometimes the attempt to force the form results in a song or poem that just isn’t any good, and needs to be discarded in favor of something that works better. When that happens to result in something that can’t be discretely documented, then the artist probably shouldn’t enter it into an A&S competition–but that does not, in my opinion, mean that the piece itself is automatically disqualified from being an “attempt” at period.
Am I advocating a departure from period music? Absolutely not! Bards should certainly be familiar with period music and poetry! They should have period pieces in their repertoire, and I believe the more one learns, the more one finds to learn. And the more one listens to period forms, the more one’s own composition efforts will be able to imitate that sound. But, even if it never leads to more “period-sounding” music, I still submit that that is often a secondary goal. The primary goal for many bards is to be conversant in the canon of sung and spoken word pieces that apply to the milieu of the SCA. That means being able to come up with authentic period music on demand. But it also means that the canon of a well-versed bard should include the works of SCA virtuosos such as Leslie Fish, Heather Alexander, Joe Betancourt, Michael Longcor, Bob Charron, Heather Dale, Arthur McLean, Scott Vaughan, Ken and Lisa Theriot, and dozens and dozens more. These are the songs and poems of our own history, and their work has shaped who we are as a Society just as much as work from hundreds of years ago.
With all that in mind, I propose that the debate about bards who write period material, or do not, is one in need of reframing. Bards are not necessarily Early Music scholars, nor should that be the requirement at any level of recognition. Bardic artists are not necessarily practitioners of period music composition, and nor should they be judged merely on that basis. They are practitioners of a different art – namely, the art of acquiring, learning, performing, teaching, and propagating all the types of music, poetry, and story that have been created to enhance the fabric of the Society, from period on up to today.
Before I go on, let me just say: There are many highly accomplished bards in our midst who are *also* highly accomplished period scholars in a particular area, such as “Arthurian legend” or “Norse studies” or “Renaissance poetry” or “Celtic culture.” There are even bards who are *also* qualified Early Music Scholars! What I am talking about is a different aspect of their skill, one that emphasizes their knowledge about performing and choosing what to perform.
Judging a bard on this basis, therefore, does not begin and end with the question of composition or authenticity. It should place emphasis on the skill with which they choose venue, select or create their pieces to suit that venue, pick their moments, and move their audiences through their selections. The question should concern itself with the depth and breadth of repertoire, including the ability to change gears, when needed, from period to SCA-original to a well-timed current reference. If they do compose music, and are to be judged on what they write, then the question of authenticity should apply as much to the construction of their music and lyrics as it does to the effect those compositions create. For example, if it’s a dance tune, does it fit the type of dance? If it’s a quiet mood piece, does it blend into the background while still creating a pleasant atmosphere? If it’s a show-stopper, does it live up to the expectation of the crowd? Writing in period styles need not be a prerequisite, but rather an additional, extra level of skill.
But I Still Hate Filk! I hear you cry.
Well…unfortunately, that’s a matter of taste, and potentially of appropriateness, not necessarily of whether the contrafait the bard performs is “authentic” because it’s not a period tune. To me, it’s a question of perspective–are we judging authentic practice, or authentic source material? In fact, one could argue that if one considers an expanded definition of “authentic” for the bardic arts, then the period practices of a skilled bard would support a newer song. A contrafait written to an obscure centuries-old tune, for example, might be considered a less authentic practice, because in period, a bard likely would have chosen a more popular or timely tune, one that everyone is already humming, on which to hang a modified lyric.[3]
Besides, as I said in my article on contrafait, it’s deceptively difficult to write a really good one – and when it’s really, really good, and it’s used effectively, then rarely is there objection. The important question about using a contrafait tune is the venue in which one plans to use it, and sensitivity to whether using it will break the wall of immersion for the other people within earshot. Obviously, the brighter the spotlight on the performer, the more important it is to be sensitive to the piece’s qualities (e.g., its humor/gravitas, its obscurity/recognizability, its timeliness or its importance, or even the way in which the original informs the adaptation). These factors govern what will make the moment, or mar it. If the venue is one that values documentable authenticity more highly than any other factor, then a modern contrafait is likely to bomb no matter how clever it is. If the singer is only singing for a very select group of people who love the genre of the original source material, then it’s likely to go reasonably well assuming it’s performed well.
Ultimately, it all comes down to the performance, and the frame in which we as members of the Society choose to view the performing artist.
Again, this is a delicate balance I am drawing, here, and it’s easy to be mistaken for excuses or arguing that we don’t need any standards of authenticity when it comes to the bardic arts. Nothing could be further from the case. We still subscribe to a conceit that we are recreating the Middle Ages, with the clothing, food, activities, and amenities that would have been available between 600 and 1600 CE. We are still striving to immerse ourselves in an enviroment that consciously sets aside the modern. Bards must and should be cognizant of that. In their performances, they should strive as well to reduce the intrusion of the modern onto the medieval. I don’t expect a modern contrafait to score high in an Arts and Sciences competition based on its source of melody, or to exempt bards from any attempt to remove obvious modern references that tax the listener’s willing suspension of disbelief. Bards who refuse to play the game are just as culpable in their offenses as other types of “bad bards” who do not respect their audience or the venues in which they perform.
I do, however, believe that parts of the SCA have moved the needle, if you will, too far to the side of “period-and-nothing-but” whether inside or outside of A&S competition. Most particularly, I submit that what they perceive to mean “period” may be in need of adjustment and expansion, because it is often considered only within the narrowest of definitions. Those definitions have limits which are often too proscriptive when they are applied to the theory and practice of the bardic craft within the milieu of the SCA.
Throughout the course of this series, I’ve tried to expose the reader to the state of the Bardic Arts. I’ve discussed how to listen, participate, and encourage bards to improve. I’ve provided definitions of types of music found in the SCA. I’ve given a technical lesson on the sound of Medieval music and discussed why that sound is perhaps a very small percent of what music really sounded like. I hope that I’ve shed some light on the standards by which bards judge each other – and the standards by which I believe they should be judged.
Thank you for reading along and for all the comments I’ve received from many of you. I hope this is not the end of the conversation! Please consider checking out the classes and symposium at Pennsic, attend a bardic circle (or just get some singing going at an event), and especially, find me or my fellow bards and let’s have fun!
Before I sign off, I wish to thank Duke Titus and Countess Anna Leigh for having selected me as their Sylvan Bard during their reign. I offer my heartfelt congratulations and best wishes to Master William de Montegilt for succeeding me at 12th night last month. He knows the role of Kingdom Bard well and will, I am certain, continue to bring our Kingdom wordfame through his performances and his encouragement of other performers. It was my great honor and privilege to serve over the past year as Æthelmearc’s Champion for, and of, the Bardic Arts.
[1] Except in circumstances where it is impossible, impractical, or unattainable, for the intended purpose.
[2] In “Finishing the Hat,” Stephen Sondheim’s first volume of collected annotated lyrics (Knopf, 2010), he cites his three rules for lyric-writing: “1. Content dictates form; 2. Less is more; 3. God is in the details; all in the service of Clarity, without which, nothing else matters.” Rules to live by, indeed.
[3] There’s an exception to every rule. There is amazing, excellent contrafait to period music that is still relevant and fun to sing; and as we all know, there’s plenty of contrafait to modern music that misses its mark. Conversely, there’s a lot of modern stuff out there that does not make good filk. See my Filk Article for more on this.
Greetings from the Ice Dragon Pentathlon Coordinators!
We want to share a brief reminder that the Literary Arts category has a special deadline and entry rules.
The LITERARY ARTS category consists of the following:
Lit1: Research Paper
Lit2: Musical Arrangement & Composition
Lit3: Poetry & Prose Written Entries
Entries in Literary Arts must be received by the Pent Coordinator no later than March 5. Entries must be sent electronically to carnabyservices at yahoo dot com (email link also here). If you do not receive a confirmation email within 24 hours of sending, contact the Pent coordinator. You may attach your entry as a Word document or as a pdf.
Please make sure your name IS NOT on your entry.
Send the following information with your email and use “Pent Literary Entry” as your subject line:
SCA Name
Legal Name
Email
Phone Number
Address
Title of Work
Category Entering
The works will be assigned an entrant number (for blind judging purposes) and then forwarded to the judges. If you are entering the Literary Arts Category, we will automatically pre-register you and assign your general entrant number; this number will also be used for any other entries you have for the event.
General Pent information can be found on the Pent website.
From Mistress Arianna of Wynthrope, greetings unto the singers of Æthelmearc!
The Coronation of Their Highnesses, Byron and Ariella, may seem far distant, but it less than three months away. Their Highnesses are planning an authentic late-14th century English coronation ceremony, which requires a good deal of choral music. I have been asked to coordinate the choir for this exciting event.
If you attended the Coronation of Duke Maynard and Duchess Liadain three years ago in Heronter, you may recall the choir’s participation in that ceremony. This one will be similar, but English instead of German, and the music will be from about 175 years earlier. Like that coronation, this ceremony is being designed by ceremonial scholar Master Steffan ap Cenydd of the East Kingdom in collaboration with Their Highnesses and other gentles.
The choir will be singing several fairly straight-forward monophonic chant pieces in Latin, but the ceremony’s recessional will be more complex: an excerpt from the Gloria of Guillaume de Machaut’s Messe de Notre Dame. This piece will be challenging but lots of fun! You can listen to it here. We will be singing just the first 2 minutes of the piece.
The performance will be anchored by the Debatable Choir, but we invite singers from throughout the Kingdom to join us! I will provide not only sheet music but also electronic audio files you can use to learn your part. I also hope to have some rehearsals at events around the Kingdom prior to Coronation, including Ice Dragon.
If you are interested in singing with us at Coronation on April 9 in the Shire of Gryffyn’s Keep, please contact me at ariannawyn@gmail.com.
The Kingdom Bard, Brehyres Gwendolyn the Graceful, sends this announcement,
Remember that you still have a few days to prepare for the Sylvan Bard Championship! As previously mentioned, Their Majesties’ wish is to celebrate Saturnalia at Kingdom Twelfth Night this weekend with pieces about the sun, light, the turn of the season and return of daytime, and/or candles or lights as sources of knowledge.
The competition begins at 1:30 but performers are welcome to gather at 1:00 pm to hang out and sing.
I hope to see many gentles at Kingdom Twelfth Night this weekend to participate and to support each other as we determine our next Sylvan Bard.
Greetings of the Yule Season! Welcome back to my penultimate article on the Bardic arts in the SCA. So far in this series, we’ve talked about bards and what makes a good one, the types of music one can encounter within the SCA, what a contrefait or “filk” is and isn’t, and the particular modes of music that flourished throughout the Middle Ages and Renaissance in the church, known as plainchant modes. This time, we’re going to talk a little bit about what wasn’t well preserved from the period: Medieval folk music.
I mentioned before that one of the most obvious reasons we have so much music from the church and the court from within our era is simply that it’s the stuff that got written down. Wealthy patrons sponsored the creation of huge books collecting the music and translating it into notation. That notation evolved and eventually became almost recognizable as modern notation (though modern notation was still a few centuries away at the time our period covers). Other cultures had different ways of preserving their musical heritage, mostly through an oral tradition but sometimes with other systems of musical writing. They also had systems of composition that were and are markedly different from the liturgical sound that is the basis of so much extant music from the Medieval and Renaissance periods in western Europe.
What about people who didn’t have more than a Sunday morning exposure to church music, or formal training, or even people who didn’t grow up in an area where liturgical music and Gregorian plainsong were prevalent? What about people who didn’t compose for the purpose of church or court, or who weren’t familiar with the “rules” that governed that kind of music? For every court composer or noble amateur who was educated (by the church, incidentally), there were presumably dozens of musicians, performers, and peasant amateurs who were not. They likely adapted many of the tunes they heard in church and repurposed them in the form of contrefait. (In fact, we know for a surety that they did.) But they also just as likely composed their own tunes along lines that may be much more similar to modern folk melodic structure than one might think.
In addition, there are dozens of settings in which liturgical music simply won’t get the job done. No one rouses an army and stirs them to run into battle to the dulcet tones of a lute. Just being loud is not necessarily a recommendation, either. The Waits of local areas played loudly, but they evolved into entertainment over time from their original purpose as a warning system. Similarly, court music is simply not suited to the tavern hall, or the threshing house, or the marketplace, as any busker can attest. The sound is too delicate. Dance music has huge variety and moreover has to be played loudly to be heard, so it can attract the sort of attention and liveliness that is called for in those circumstances, but it still doesn’t achieve quite the same result as a chorus song or patriotic anthem, or a drinking song. (Though there are many dance tunes that acquired lyrics over time!) There are basic human needs which have not changed in thousands of years, and for the most part, the music that fills those moments speaks in melodies that do not necessarily correspond to the extant music we have from the Medieval period. The songs of the people were likely much more robust and simpler than church modes.
The problem is that whatever they were writing or singing, little to none of it survived.
So what did it really sound like?
Well, we have a few examples. We have some rounds, catches, and canons. We have a few drinking songs dating back to the 12th century, notably from the Carmina Burana. From later in period we have published books of broadsides by Purcell, Ravenscroft, and others. The Renaissance provides a much higher number of pieces, but then again, the same principles of survival apply: the majority of them are not populist in origin. We have large numbers of suriviving lyrics, with tunes which have been extrapolated or revised based on other suriviving music.
For the most part, we’re left to imagine.
And while it’s true that the harmonics of the time resulted in some intervals, chords, and rhythms that sound “funky” to a modern ear, if one isolates the melody line, often they are not too far off from something that might sound “folky” to a listener today. By the time we reach Middle English, the line between “Medieval sounding” and “traditional sounding” is very blurry indeed.
Take for example one of the better known drinking songs: In Taberna Quando Sumus from the Carmina Burana. Here’s an excellent recording via YouTube.
Ignore the accompaniment and just listen to the melody of the chorus. It’s in minor key – not in a church mode. It’s repetitive, it’s eminently singable, and it’s not too far off, in many ways, from a melody an SCA bard might come up with.
Just for giggles, compare the melodic structure of In Taberna to an SCA bardic classic: Heather Alexander’s March of Cambreadh.
Really, not terribly far off.
Here’s another example. “Dives and Lazarus” is a very popular tune that survives and has been used many times with variations or new lyrics. It’s better known to many as “The Star of the County Down.” There are also familiar Christmas carols that date back to our period of study, that are not only familiar because we still sing them, but because they have a “folk-like” structure and modality. Now, this is not to suggest that any tune can be justified as Medieval-sounding. There are certainly songs written for or used within SCA contexts that contain much more aggressively modernistic melodic progressions, structures, and even tricky intervals that bear little to no resemblance to any extant Medieval music. Nonetheless, it demonstrates that songs did exist that were not written in Church modes or with a terribly unusual structure.
But don’t we just have to limit ourselves to what we know existed?
If you’re researching a piece or trying to stick to a specific mode, then yes. The problem with that premise is it pre-supposes the need to do that, when there’s far more to the question of composition than what survived. There’s just so little extant Medieval music that did not originate in the church, or the court, or somewhere in between. Compared to what must have existed at the time, it’s a drop in the bucket.
Here’s some food for thought, and forgive the modern statistical intrusion, but bear with me. According to Billboard, the premiere music rating service, approximately 75,000 albums were released in the U.S. in 2010. An average album has about 12 tracks on it, but let’s say 10 just to account for EPs, singles, and so on, and to give us a nice round number. Even if we assume that half of those recordings were of exclusively non-original material, that is, new recordings of pre-existing music, that’s still 37,500 new albums’ worth (at a guess) produced and registered with Billboard, or 375,000 individual pieces of music – and that doesn’t count albums that *aren’t* registered with Billboard. That’s for one calendar year.
Classical music scholars consider the Medieval period to cover music between 800 and 1400; the Early Music project acknowledges music from before the 12th century but concentrates on the era from 1100 forward. They divide the era thus due to the emergence of surviving polyphony that appeared at that time, slowly overtaking the previous three centuries of plainchant. Our period comprises 1,000 years (600-1600 CE). Still, let’s be conservative and limit calculation to the 300 years between 1100 and 1400. Let’s further limit ourselves by factoring only 1% of the estimated number of new songs written in 2010 as an estimate, to account for the smaller populations and geographical area of Europe. One percent of 375,000 is 3,750 new compositions per year. Over 300 years, that’s 1,125,000 songs that might have been composed during that amount of time. And that’s just one third of our span.
So, while we do have examples and abundant resources on what has survived, the comparative number of songs that might have been written and lost is astronomically high.
That’s one reason why I, for one, am not too fussed if an SCA-composed piece is not particularly “Medieval” or even “Renaissance” sounding. What we consider to be that “sound” corresponds to a narrow definition and a very limited repertoire of surviving music. Of course, our stated purpose is to strive to recreate the period with the greatest achievable level of authenticity. As long as original compositions avoid using constructions that adopt those aforementioned “modernistic” devices, I submit that it is hitting that mark. It still may not be to every taste, or may sound too much like “folk music” for those purists who only wish to listen to actual period music – but that is not the same distinction as something that is “indistinguishable” in its use of modes or construction from a composition by a court composer of the era.
I think that for many years, there’s been an entrenched assumption that the only “authentic-sounding” music is music that sounds just like composers such as Hildegard von Bingen, Peter Abelard, Adam de la Halle, Guillaume de Machaut, or any of the handful of others whose music has survived. That assumption is, to my mind, analogous to the old days when the only form of heraldry used, recommended, and accepted by the College of Heralds was modeled after Fox-Davies and a handful of other resources specialized mostly around English and French heraldry. The heralds revised their position to become more accepting of other cultures’ rules and standards, and thus more flexible about serving the SCA populace with personae from outside that narrow sphere. In a similar way, our expectations about SCA music are unnecessarily restrictive. We need to broaden the spectrum of what qualifies as “authentic” in its structure.
Of course, there are limits. I love musical theatre but I would not be remotely tempted to compose a modern-era musical theatre style song and expect it to sound appropriate within most SCA contexts. If I did introduce something modernistic, I would attempt to mask it in ways that blend better into the milieu of our events – or I would be using it for deliberate anachronistic dissonance. Skill plays some role, here, too, and the saying about “knowing the rules in order to break them” may well apply. There are certainly SCA musicians who write music intended for a broader audience, whose pieces sometimes take significant departures from a standard SCA-style melodic structure. On the other hand, even there, a lot of the feeling of modernity can be attributed to the arrangement of accompanying instruments. Some of Heather Dale’s studio albums feature electric guitar – but when she sings the same song at Pennsic, accompanied only by a bodhran or her penny whistle, the feeling is dramatically different and more “Current Middle Ages” in tone. Again, go back to the Carmina Burana piece and if you can, ignore the cadences of the accompanying instruments. Focus on the melody. It’s almost classic “SCA bardic” style. And it’s one of the oldest drinking songs we have.
The important and essental exception to these practices of avoiding the modern is the area of contrafait – but for that, see my filk article and how that’s not always going to be the right choice to evoke the right emotional response in a given SCA moment.[1] Remember that, as with all these guidelines for the bardic arts, there are three fundamental principles which must be observed:
The material chosen must speak to some emotional grip on the audience;
The performance must move the audience to that emotional place;
The audience must be able to see, hear, and understand the performance.
Therefore, for achieving of the feeling of “Medieval folk music,” I hold that composers are justified in using simple melodic constructions which draw inspiration from ballads, chansons, and other sources, but that do not necessary correspond point by point to the surviving “rules” of plainchant or even early polyphony – because that structure was not necessarily the only thing that was being produced.
There is one other reason it may be appropriate to include the typical “SCA Bardic” sound as a legitimate approximation of perioid style. It’s important to remember that “period” original music (excluding contrefacta) wasn’t “old” music at the time it was written. But that will be the topic of my next (and final) article in this series.
Here are some additional sources of existing Medieval music and known composers:
[1] Unless it is, that is. Anyone who was at Pennsic Opening Ceremonies may remember that “Æthelmearc is awesome!” because when Lego hands me a song opportunity on a platter, sure, I’m going to go for the cheap laugh. But that’s contrafacta, not a composition crafted specifically for the SCA. And it’s also important to note that the intention of that was primarily humour, and secondarily something that incorporated a timely cultural reference and co-opted it for the emotion of the day. Most importantly: It worked.
Hello again!
This month’s bardic profile is of Bugga Bilibit, a performer whom I have come to know and greatly esteem over the past couple of years.
-Gwen
What’s your full SCA name?
Bugga Bilibit æt Elediche. My camp has a sub-group dedicated to Anglo Saxon studies, ‘Bugga’ was the name of several abbesses in period, and ‘bilibit’ is a word made up by the Anglo Saxon monk, Aldhelm, it means ‘the sound of wine pouring’. ‘Elediche’ is the name of one of our camp’s ‘villages of legend’.
What attracted you to the bardic arts? I’ve been a singer my whole life, and a musician. I joined the SCA because I was inspired by hearing the choir perform at a Newcomer’s meeting, though my family had already been going to Pennsic for about eight years at that point.
How long have you considered yourself a bard? I think of myself as more of a minstrel, and beginning the process of choosing to see myself as a performer of any real sort in the SCA probably really started when I won my first Barony Bardic competition a few years ago.
What’s your primary form? Do you play any instruments, and if so, which?
I am primarily a singer, though I also play mandolin and guitar, a little recorder. I’d like to be doing more with those.
Where can we find your work?
Ask me when you see me! I’ll sing on the spot.
What sorts of pieces do you enjoy producing? What attracts you to that style?
I am passionately in love with period music, the earlier the better. I love singing in other languages, I love singing with others in weird and beautiful harmonies.
Describe a favorite performance of your own in the SCA. What makes it a highlight for you?
During the Kingdom for a Stage event last year I started off one performance playing, badly, ‘Gaudete’ on my recorder. I could feel the wincing from the audience, but then I broke into a filk of ‘Gaudete’, ‘Cows Say Hey’, written by my campmate Lichang. It got a good laugh. Unexpected incongruous things please my sense of humor very much.
Also in this category: teaching my Barony to sing a Latin drinking song at a meeting, and singing with three of the Kingdom’s top Bards processing it with Æthelmarc at Pennsic opening ceremonies.
Describe a performance by someone else that inspired you in the bardic arts. How did that performance guide you to improve your own art? What did it prompt you to do?
I am continually inspired by Aneleda Falconbridge (ed. note: Analeda just received a writ to be elevated to the Laurel in the East). Her songs and performances are so joyous and unpretentious. I heard her speak at one point about writing songs that others could sing and be inspired by, and I love her way of viewing a portion of her own art as having the goal of sing along. I think ‘I Am of the North’ is perhaps my favorite of hers, though I also heard her doing a contrafait based on John Dowland about life as a parent at Birka last year that I loved. You can find it here.
What projects are you working on now?
I’m again teaching a class on singing in other languages, because I think it’s easier and way more fun than most people think. The feel of another language in your mouth in a song is like a postcard from far away; it opens up new stuff.
But my big obsession is the Pilgrimage Project. When I became Barony Bard I chose to use that award as an excuse to learn as much as I could about monophonic period music. I found the collections of pilgrimage songs to be such beautifully rich resources, particularly the Cantigas de Santa Maria, which are endless and so sing-able. I thought that Pennsic would be the perfect place to ‘go on pilgrimage’ and sing these songs. And it is! This year will be our third, and I’m trying to broaden the circle of invitation every year, this year by having a class during Peace Week to practice the songs. Meanwhile we practice them in my Barony most weekends leading up to Pennsic, drawing not only on the Cantigas but also heavily on the Llibre Vermell de Montserrat. It’s a whole different, magical experience to be banging along with our staves, pilgrim hats on, as we walk on the Serengeti singing at Pennsic.
Who are some of your favorite influences, either for your own research and composition, or for performing within the SCA? I love the recordings that Philip Pickett and Istanpitta have made. I am eternally grateful to Al Cofrin’s books of music, available through the Istanpitta site; they are an amazing treasure that he created based on research done while he was doing graduate studies. I’m so glad that he chose to publish and share it with all of us.
What other types of performance do you particularly love to see / hear? My tastes are fairly eclectic, I like all sorts of genres of performance. But I will admit to a slight preference for the singer who includes a sing along in their repetoire.
What advice do you have for someone who wants to be a bard? Follow your passion. Start with what you love to do and learn to do it even better. Then see what avenues of discovery open off that beginning. Also: commit entirely to what you are doing, 100%. And breathe. Still learning from my own advice.
Is there anything you want to add? Thanks for doing this, Gwen! You are inspirational! (ed. note: Awww, thanks!)
Hello, and welcome back to my series of articles about the Bardic Arts in the SCA!
Often in these articles, I’ve made reference to whether something “sounds” period or not. The primary quality that signals a piece’s authenticity to our ears is almost always the mode in which the piece is set. The vast majority of “modern” music, even music written in a generic minor key, SCA-folksy style, is said not to sound quite right because it’s set in the modes that have become standard format in music from about the post-Baroque era.
Disclaimer: I am not a musicologist, and I have only taken a handful of music theory lessons. I’m not academically trained in the area of early music, so what you’re getting here is very much a layman’s explanation of modes. However, I have found that it’s something very few people do know, so I wanted to touch on it before moving on to other, less technical, topics. Undoubtedly there are musicians in the SCA who know far more about this than I, and are better qualified to discuss it!
So, this article will only scratch the very surface of understanding what a mode is and what it does to the sound of the music that we hear. I’m also going to grossly over-simplify it, mainly for the purpose of keeping this article short (or as short as possible, anyway). I strongly encourage anyone interested in this topic to take a class from a qualified teacher. Nonetheless, this is probably the most “technical” of all these articles, so bear with it. I promise it’ll pay off later.
Another thing to remember throughout this article is that the modes discussed here are those found in the Western European Church and to some extent in the courts of Western Europe. They are perhaps familiarly referred to as Gregorian modes, because they are the rules that grew up to govern Gregorian chant and plainsong. Plainchant is the all-inclusive proper term for the music that encompasses these rules. Other cultures and locations saw very different development of melodic construction, so their chord structures and modalities accordingly fall outside the rules and strictures of what we loosely think of as “Medieval” music modes.
Okay, so, to start off, let’s talk for a moment about “major” and “minor” keys. Most people are somewhat familiar with this concept, but in case you’re not, a “typical” major scale (in modern musical terms) is an 8-tone progression, each note one step above the previous, with the exception of the intervals between notes 3 and 4, and notes 7 and 8, which are half-steps. (The white keys on a piano keyboard, from C to C.) Think “Do re mi” from “The Sound of Music.”
There are also five additional half-steps that bridge the gap between those other full steps in the scale (the black keys on a piano). These half-steps are referred to as either a sharp (higher) tone relative to the note below them (symbolized with a ♯), or a flat (lower) tone relative to the tone above (symbolized by ♭). A major scale without any of the “extra” half-steps or half-tones is called a “diatonic” scale; a scale that includes all the “extra” half-tones is called a “chromatic” scale. Here’s what they sound like. (MP3: Major scale
; MP3: Chromatic scale )
Musicians can change the quality of that scale by altering which half-tones are used, and which ones are not. For example, the half-tone interval between E and F could be displaced one half-tone lower, and the half-tone between intervals 7 and 8 can be moved to the space between notes 5 and 6, like this:
C D E♭ F G A♭ B♭ C
The intervals in the first scale above could be described thus:
C D E F G A B C
1 1 ½ 1 1 1 ½
And in the second one thus:
C D E♭ F G A♭ B♭ C
1 ½ 1 1 ½ 1 1
Notice that there are still five whole steps and two half-steps, but now instead of being step-step-halfstep, step-step-step-halfstep, they are step-halfstep-step, step-halfstep-step-step. In other words, it’s the same pattern but wrapped around so that the two halfsteps are split, instead of both coming before the first halfstep. (MP3: Major scale e; MP3 Minor scale )
If we wanted to keep all the notes on the white keys, we could simply move the starting note up 6 or down 2, and we’d have an identical set of intervals.
Visually, it looks like this:
C D E F G A B C D E F G A B C
{ 1 1 ½ 1 1 1 ½ } 1 1 ½ 1 1 1 ½
C D E F G A B C D E F G A B C
1 1 ½ 1 1 { 1 ½ 1 1 ½ 1 1 } 1 ½
See how the area bounded by the brackets is a continuation of the original pattern, just started at a different point in its repetition? That shift changes what we hear as a “major” scale into a “minor” one – the difference in quality being that a minor scale sounds a little more mournful or serious to our modern ears. (MP3: Major scale ; Amin scale )
You can also move either of these scales up and down in pitch by simply changing the note where you start and finish, and adjusting all the other intervals accordingly. As long as you keep the same relative distance between notes, you will “hear” the same scale. All you’re doing is changing the key to correspond to your starting and ending note (the “tonic” part of diatonic).
Because the church in the Medieval period didn’t use Major and Minor keys.
And they (generally) didn’t use “black keys” to fill in the gaps between the white ones, a.k.a., those other five missing half-tones from our chromatic scale. The interval between an E and an F was always a half-tone, and the interval between an A and a B was always a full step[2].
But, they DID move the starting note up and down to create different key signatures.
And that’s how we get Gregorian modes. Clear as mud?
I’ll explain.
Let’s go back to our modern major scale (MP3: Major scale ):
C D E F G A B C
1 1 ½ 1 1 1 ½
But what if you started on D? No black notes, no adjusting the space between tones 3 and 4:
D E F G A B C D
1 ½ 1 1 1 ½ 1
What happened? It almost looks like a minor scale, but it’s not quite. See where the half-steps fall? Between 2 and 3 and also between 6 and 7. This is the Dorian mode. It was the first “Authentic” mode of plainsong, and the building block for everything else. (MP3: Dorian scale )
Just like the minor scale, where the intervals are in the same order but as if it’s been “wrapped around” to shift the placement of the half-tones, the Dorian mode uses the same method to change where the half-tones fall in its bracket:
C D E F G A B C D E F G A B C
{ 1 1 ½ 1 1 1 ½ } 1 1 ½ 1 1 1 ½
C D E F G A B C D E F G A B C
1 { 1 ½ 1 1 1 ½ 1 } 1 ½ 1 1 1 ½
What’s next? Move up one note on the board, and start your bracket there:
E F G A B C D E
½ 1 1 1 ½ 1 1
That’s the Phrygian mode (MP3: Phrygian mode ). Compare it to our major scale again:
C D E F G A B C D E F G A B C
{ 1 1 ½ 1 1 1 ½ } 1 1 ½ 1 1 1 ½
C D E F G A B C D E F G A B C
1 1 { ½ 1 1 1 ½ 1 1} ½ 1 1 1 ½
Sensing a pattern?
Guess what comes next.
Correct! The Lydian, also known as Ionian, mode, starting on F (MP3: Lydian ).
F G A B C D E F
1 1 1 ½ 1 1 ½
Compared to the major scale:
C D E F G A B C D E F G A B C
{ 1 1 ½ 1 1 1 ½ } 1 1 ½ 1 1 1 ½
C D E F G A B C D E F G A B C
1 1 ½ { 1 1 1 ½ 1 1½} 1 1 1 ½
And so on, right up the scale. The last is Mixolydian, which starts on G (MP3: Mixolydian ):
G A B C D E F G
1 1 ½ 1 1 ½ 1
These four modes (Dorian, Phrygian, Lydian, and Mixolydian), are collectively called the “Authentic” modes. Why Authentic? Because they came first. No, really. There are four others that make up the “Plagal modes,” each of which adds the prefix “Hypo” to the names of the authentic mode (Hypodorian, Hypophrygian, etc.). The “hypo” part signifies that each of these modes starts one fourth (i.e., three intervals) below the tonic (or “final”) of the authentic mode it follows, and ends on the fifth above the final. In other words, Hypodorian starts on A, but on a piano keyboard, it would be the A below the D of our Dorian scale; Hypophrygian starts on B, Hypolydian starts on C, and Hypomixolydian starts on D.
So if you’ve been paying attention, you’ll realize that Hypolydian, starting on C and ending on C, is basically a Major scale! Ha, fooled you! It’s not, exactly, because the “final” note (that is, the note on which a chant will resolve, or end), is not C, but F. Nonetheless, for all practical purposes it is basically a Major scale. Well spotted.
But wait! you cry. If Hypomixolydian starts on D, and Dorian starts on D, aren’t they the same?
Well, yes and no. To start, sometimes the B is flatted (lowered) in Dorian, Lydian, Hypodorian, and Hypolydian modes (to avoid a “clash” between B♮and B♭)[3]. Also, the position of the tonic (final) note is different between the two scales. In Dorian, it’s a D. In Hypomixolydian, it’s G. You don’t have to worry too much about all that — and if you’re really intrigued, again, I recommend taking some formal theory classes to help understand it all.
The important thing to take away is that this was the methodology used by clerics for hundreds of years to compose liturgical music. As the four, then eight, and eventually twelve modes of chant evolved, they influenced other Medieval and Renaissance music produced by court composers. The influence of these modes is a large factor in why the music of that era has a particular sound, distinguishing it from more modern pieces.[4]
But I want to stress again here that this is only the case in most of western Europe, in areas where the Church held a great deal of influence. In fact, Early Music scholars sometimes call it “Frankish” or “Carolingian” chant to try to allow for all the other varieties of chant that were evolving during this time. And in other areas, Eastern European, Chinese, Japanese, Middle Eastern, Sephardic, Ladino, African, and Native American musical structure were not nearly as influenced by the Gregorian modes for most of period, to name just a few. So they are often markedly different from this Gothic European sound.
Another big factor to remember is that the secular music that followed these rules was basically limited to the music of the high court, composed by learned scholars who had likely been educated by monks or nuns in the proper composition of music using these modes. The Church, and the Courts with their wealthy patrons, had the resources and the power to see to it that these pieces were preserved. They sponsored the compliation of books that collected music in written notation. That is why a preponderance of extant music from the Middle Ages and Renaissance employs these sounds: The music of the court and the church, is, quite simply, what survived intact.
As to what might or might not have survived outside of liturgical and court music, and what rules people used to guide composition–well, that’s for another article!
Footnotes:
[1] If you’re still having trouble, think how one might use ROT13 to encrypt a statement like a spoiler on a website. You’re using all the letters in order, but offsetting where you start. So A corresponds to N, B to O, C to P, and so on. It’s the same with the notes on the scale – you can shift the relative starting point and maintain the same spaces in between the notes. The difference is that for modes, you’re not adjusting the intervals for the two places where the relative pitch is not a perfect step up or down. Get it?
[2] Except for when it wasn’t. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
[3] See note #2 — here’s where it catches up with us!
[4] Though they do appear in secular music all the way up to the modern era. See here for some examples.
Master Remus Fletcher reports on music happenings at Pennsic:
Remus Busking with Serpent
Did you know that there were over 30 European Music classes taught at Pennsic? These classes included everything from music Pre-1200 to Singing in Foreign Tongues. There were also singing and instrumental workshops and performances. Artisans’ Row featured Musicians Day, a hands-on demo were people could show off their instruments and jamming, or otherwise promoting instrumental music. The main stage hosted the Performing Arts Afternoon Series: European Music Exhibition that previewed musical performances and classes that would occur later during the War.
One of my interests is Loud Band. In the SCA a Loud Band is normally comprised of double reed shawms, and rauschpiefes accompanied by sackbuts (period trombones).
Period Brass Workshop II – The strangest Brass band in History – Sackbuts, Cornettos, non-period Euphoniums and Serpent
Military bands and Town Musicians known as the Waits played Loud Band instruments. Period musical instruments are divided into two types Bas Instruments and Haut Instruments. Bas instruments are the quieter instruments that are normally used indoors like the recorders, crumhorns, virginals and lutes. Haut referred to loud instruments that are more suitable for outdoors. Wolgemut, a popular performance band at Pennsic is a Loud Band. The Pennsic Great Hall has poor acoustics and the sound of recorders gets lost in the din. Loud Band instruments are used to provide processional and fill music for Æthelmearc Court.
Loud Band Workshop II – THLady Rachel Dalicieux in Blue on Soprano Schalmei (Shawm)
Pennsic is one of a handful of events in the modern world where you can get over a dozen people to from a Loud Band. The others are Early Music Festivals and Waits conventions in Europe. Pennsic even has an A&S tent on the battlefield that is known in the music community as the Loud Band Tent.
Mistress Deona von Aachen who has led the Pennsic Loud Band for many years has handed it off to Master Robyn Solarius. Master Robyn held two classic Loud Band sessions and two Period Brass Band sessions for cornettos, an instrument played with a trumpet type mouthpiece and fingered like a recorder and sackbuts. Mistress Rufina Cambrensis also held a Loud Band Sensitivity class. It was run as a Master Class with one person on a part with discussions on how to improve playing and performance techniques. Several “Instrument Petting Zoo” workshops were also held for people to try instruments and discuss how to correct problems with instruments they already own.
Remus teaching Serpent and Cornetto Class. The Serpent’s name is Augustus!
While music may be my interest, there are many other classes and workshops taught at Pennsic. Next year, look through the Pennsic book or Pennsic University website; you may find a class or three that interests you.
Loud Band Workshop – Mistress Elsbeth Anne Roth in red on Soprano Shawm