Monteverdi Vespers (Vespro della beata Vergine)

The Monteverdi Vespers are a particular favourite of mine. It is the most magnificent of early choral works, the most spectacular such work until the big choral works of Bach. Yet it is shrouded in mystery; nobody has the slightest idea why or for whom it was written and nobody can point to a known performance anywhere. In a way, this polarises the world into two camps, those who think it was written for Monteverdi's then employers, the Gonzaga family, the Dukes of Mantua, and those who think it was written for Something Else Entirely. It follows from the former that it is a small-scale devotional work for the Ducal chapel, possibly for the patron saint St. Barbara. The SEE group thinks it should be altogether more grand.

In the one printed version (Venice, 1610), it is not a conventional Vespers. The Psalms are apparently published in the wrong order and have between them not the traditional plainchant antiphons but individual arias and duets, virtually love songs, not really normal church material. So, what happened? In 1610, Monteverdi was Italy's most famous secular composer. He'd written madrigals and other works, plus the first true opera “Orfeo†(the opening fanfare of “Orfeo†was to find its way into the Vespers) but virtually no religious music. Then, in 1610, he produced in the same publication two major religious works. In John Eliot Gardiner's famous phrase, it was as if Bach, employed as Cantor for the churches at Leipzig, had suddenly started writing Italian opera.

The boy was in fact angling for a new job. He was not happy in Mantua, where he was overworked and underpaid. His wife had died, his health was poor and his two sons needed an education, one of these hoping for a Papal scholarship. The first work was a Mass (somewhat old-fashioned), dedicated to the current Pope, the second was the Vespers. In having the music published by a Venetian publisher, Monteverdi would appear to have been hedging his bets – Venice and Rome were the two places where a prestigious appointment could most likely be found. The Pope accepted the dedication, but did nothing for Monteverdi. However, the Venetians wanted a new maestro di cappella to replace the recently deceased Giovanni Gabrieli, and in 1613 Monteverdi was summoned to a “provaâ€Â. The music used in this occasion is not known, but it involved moving two small chamber organs to the church and the hiring of extra musicians to augment Venice's salaried musicians. Whatever it was, the Venetians were impressed, Monteverdi got the job and stayed in Venice until he died.

So, did he play the Vespers? Nobody knows, but there is certainly circumstantial evidence. Certainly he would have wanted to strut his stuff to an audience that liked its music grand (just listen to some of Paul McCreesh's reconstructions to get the general flavour).

For years, the work remained virtually unknown, and was known only in rearrangements (that by Dennis Stevens was the one most often found in the English-speaking world). Then two things happened – the rise of the authentic instrument movement and the hearing of the Vespers by a schoolboy called John Eliot Gardiner. The Vespers changed JEG's life – as a result, he studied music instead of history and became a professional conductor. He conducted it as a Cambridge student, and did something for the first time – he presented it exactly as Monteverdi has scored it, rather than rearranging it to conform to some theoretical Vespers performance. JEG was one of the champions of the idea that Monteverdi knew exactly what he was doing, Corboz (see below) was another.

Two recorded versions emerged in the late '60s – early '70s, the Erato version of Michel Corboz and the Ensemble Vocal & Instrumental de Lausanne, and the Telefunken “Das Alte Werke†version of Jürgen Jürgens, featuring the Concentus Musicus under Nicky Harnoncourt and the Hamburg Monteverdi Choir (yes! another one!) with the Wiener Sängerknaben (Vienna Boys' Choir). Jürgens rearranged the work and added the antiphons thought necessary for a devotional performance, whereas Corboz (with mostly modern instruments) stuck to the original order. So small was the expertise with the original instruments that the lead cornetto player in both recordings (and in some subsequent ones) was Edward H. Tarr, the baroque trumpet specialist of the Schola Cantorum Basilienis, Basel's famous early music academy. One of these was a version that featured the famous Tölzer Knabenchor; can't remember anything else about it.

At around the same time emerged Something Entirely Different, Gardiner's first version. The newly-created Monteverdi Choir and Orchestra (on modern instruments at this time) was accompanied by a star cast, including the Philip Jones Brass Ensemble and the David Munrow Recorder Ensemble. Gardiner stuck to the order published by Monteverdi's score and included no antiphons. This one was unlike anything previously heard – it packed a wallop. It didn't whisper, it BLAZED. The big choral numbers, Nisi Dominus and Lauda Jerusalem, were rendered like they had never been heard before. The world of Monteverdi would never be quite the same ever again. This Gardiner recording is now available cheaply as a Double Decca, and I would advise anyone wanting to try the piece to buy it.

So, after all that, what about recordings? For quality it boils down to two, each the antithesis of the other. In the red corner, Gardiner's second version, in the blue corner, Andrew Parrott and the Taverner Players and Chorus.

Gardiner's version, recorded to celebrate the 25th anniversary of the founding of the Monteverdi Choir, is a Gardiner-grand version. It was recorded by Archiv in San Marco, Venice, and a film was made of the live performance (still findable on videocassette, soon to be available on DVD). Gardiner's theory is that the Vespers may have been performed in San Marco. The performance is exciting and spectacular, with the Monteverdis, the precision machine of choirs, on top form. On the video, different solos and arias are sung from different galleries. Gardiner is seen to be having a ball. The instrumental group from the English Baroque Soloists (on original instruments) is tiny, augmented by players from His Majesties Sagbutts and Cornetts. It amazes me still that so few players in such a big space can make such a racket. In fact, in spite of the original instruments and the smallness of the group, the performance is even more spectacular than the first Gardiner, more dramatic, more exciting. Some questions have been levelled against the sound quality, the textures becoming muddled in the vastness of San Marco, but it's an exciting, vital performance. The total commitment of all participants is palpable.

Parrott's version, now available on Virgin at a good price, is a minimalist devotional performance, featuring top-class early music specialist solo singers (Nigel Rogers, Emma Kirkby). Its textures are crystal-clear, its performance no less dedicated than Gardiner's. It does not augment the instruments specified in the original, as does Gardiner, and it includes plainchant antiphons. It is very much the darling of the authentic instrument brigade, who regard the Gardiner version as irremediably vulgar.

Which one to have? Each to his own. I have both, but it's to Gardiner I always return. To me, Parrott's is a beautiful, musical performance, but to me it smacks of a museum exhibit that has been dusted off. Gardiner, on the other hand, makes the music LIVE. You are confronted with a living, breathing piece of music with something relevant to say to we moderns 4 centuries after its composition. All the cobwebs are blown away. There's the difference – a scholarly dissertation versus a red-blooded adventure novel. As a total pleb, I go for the adventure novel.

What about other versions? For a work that nobody would touch with the proverbial barge pole for years, there are an amazing number of available performances, and I have not heard them all. I listened to the oldies (Jürgens and Corboz) and found that I couldn't take them any more – Corboz is just soooo ponderous at times (Monteverdi played by hippos), and the Jürgens suffers from an “OK†choir and the old Das Alte Werke problem of apparently having been recorded in Nicky H's garden shed. Gardiner's older version now sounds too rich, but it's undeniably exciting and generally good (except for Robert Tear, whom I have difficulty tolerating in anything).

To me the best of the rest is, heaven help us, Japanese. I fell off my chair laughing when first introduced to the idea of a Japanese original instrument group, but Masaaki Suzuki and the Bach Collegium Japan have proved that they can cut the mustard with the Europeans. The performance is classy, if not as grand as Gardiner's. For me, it is somewhat spoiled by Suzuki's sometimes too intrusive harpsichord continuo, but the singing and playing is generally first-class. Suzuki does a Gardiner, in that he performs the score in the original order with no antiphons. He also throws in the Mass that was included in the same publication, also nicely done.

William Christie and Les Arts Florissants do a half-way house between Gardiner and Parrott, based on a live performance that Christie gave. He includes some instrumental numbers from a Monteverdi contemporary. Some of Christie's numbers are good, but overall it doesn't match Gardiner or Suzuki.

Another minimalist performance if that of Jordi Savall and La Capella Reial de Catalunya. This is the continental equivalent of Parrott and is beloved of the Seventh Day Authenticists on this side of the Channel. Like Parrott, it is beautifully sung and played. And like Parrott it lacks appeal (for me anyway). It's nice to listen to, but the fact that I forgot to include it in my initial write-up says it all.

There are a number of recordings that I haven't heard. I know that Harry Christophers and The Sixteen have done it, in a reconstructed version claimed to be possibly Monteverdi's original concept (for Mantua). Nicky Harnoncourt had another go in the 1980s in live performance, but I've never even seen this one. Ditto Philip Pickett, whose performance reportedly vies with Parrott's for minimalism.

So, for me, Gardiner's San Marco version every time. It's not perfect, but then, whoever gets a major work like this completely “right� It would certainly accompany me to my desert island.

 

Well, I've got a new one to report on – the version by the Scholars Baroque Ensemble on Naxos (good price!). This is a half-way house, with adherence to the order on the 1610 publication (no added antiphons), but sung one voice to a part. Not a bad job, but the voices are competent, rather than outstanding, so the overall result is rather thin to my ears. It's not helped by a flat, lifeless recording.

I guess I just like the Gardiner too much. Purists frown at Gardiner, but JEG makes the piece live like nobody else does. In any case, the purists have little to be pure about; nobody knows why the Vespers were composed or when or how they were performed. The whole idea of one performance being more “authentic†than another is therefore a nonsense. Gardiner therefore remains the choice for my desert island, with Suzuki second.

 

And another! Don't worry, I'm not going to do 'em all, there are too many (for a piece of music of which most people have still not even heard, there are a lot of them around). This one was going cheap on Caiman. It is by the Boston Baroque under Martin Pearlman (Telarc 2CD-80453).

It is one of the ones with plainchant antiphons added between the psalm settings. (Pearlman has used the ones for the Feast of the Assumption, probably the most appropriate choice for Marian Vespers).

And how is it? Really quite good. Telarc have produced a nice sonorous recording, which works well with the "echo" parts in the Magnificat (an instrumental part duplicated by a second instrument at a distance). The musicians are excellent, with some nice cornetto playing and tasteful decoration of parts, and the solo singers do a good job. The choir is also good. In some recordings, the antiphons (which Monteverdi didn't specify, but which would probably have been employed in any actual church performance) can get in the way, robbing the piece of its overall tautness and drama, but not here. They're short, and neatly and crisply done.

Most importantly, it makes the music live. Most of the Seventh Day Authenticists go for Parrott's version, which to me sounds like a museum exhibit respectfully dusted off for display. Gardiner, Suzuki and Pearlman make this a living, vibrant piece, with something to say to us 400 years after Monteverdi wrote it.

However, in my opinion, it doesn't supplant Gardiner and Suzuki at the head of the queue. Although excellent in parts (its version of the Sonata sopra "Sancta Maria, ora pro nobis" is the best I can recall hearing), it lacks the drive and power of the Big Two. I just like the dramatic drive that Gardiner brings to the piece. We have no idea how Monteverdi would have performed it, but it suits this sort of treatment, big and bold, the way the Venetians liked their music. Where Gardiner really shines is in the big choral numbers - the Monteverdi Choir's ability to perform miracles on command is that set's major asset. Quite simply, nobody can touch Gardiner here (even the critics admit it). The Suzuki also has that bit of extra drive to go with the outstanding performance.

So, in conclusion, a worthy addition to the collection, and one that I shall enjoy hearing on a regular basis.

 

A top version



This two-CD/SACD set is first-rate. It gives you ALL the music on Monteverdi's famous 1610 publication - the Vespers, with both the seven- and six-part Magnificats, and the Mass that Monteverdi dedicated to Pope Paul V, in the hope of landing a job in Rome (without success).

This version is without antiphons, uses a full choir and follows the order of the publication (no rearranging things or shoving in bits of other composers). The performance is top-class, as is the recording. I rate it better than Suzuki, which I rate second in my personal experience.

And against the Gardiner "live" recording, which is my favourite? Well, King's is a crisper, sharper, altogether better recording - it lacks the diffuse quality produced by the vast spaces of San Marco. In some numbers, King seems to hit a better tempo than Gardiner, for example, in the Sonata sopra Sancta Maria, King's seems to fit better. Gardiner uncharacteristically dragging his feet. King also sticks faithfully to the score and eschews the extra brass that Gardiner adds, for example, in the great psalm settings Laudate pueri and Nisi Dominus.

And yet, to me at least, Gardiner has a magic all of its own. Perhaps it's the atmosphere of a unique, very special occasion. Perhaps it's the sheer drama of the Gardiner version, or the commitment with which the Monteverdis sing the piece that gave them their name. Gardiner's version is highly dramatic, and that extra brass adds to the drama. You have the feeling that the Venetians, with their heritage of blazing brass choirs from the Gabrielis, would have loved Gardiner's version.

So, Gardiner remains my favourite. But I'm delighted to have found such a worthy alternative version, which I'll enjoy playing for years to come. Moreover, I'm looking forward to the SACD sound, when I get my recently-acquired Sony universal player up and running.

 

Well, I'll have to listen again. I found it very disappointing & not particularly well recorded (SACD layer). It drove me back to Parrott with pleasure.

 

Perhaps the ESLs were kind to mine, because it did sound good. Haven't got a home yet for the SACD, so I haven't played it, but I look forward to that. Of course, perhaps we are looking for different things. Parrott is my least favourite version. I play it (ditto Savall) now and again, out of a sense of duty, rather than any great pleasure.

 

I love this beautiful music!

I have the wonderful Gardiner DVD and to me the only downside is the soprano Marinella Pennicchi whose voice I find quite shrill. I bought the Herreweghe on CD and it is another lovely interpretation although nowhere near as dramatic as the Gardiner.

The Sancta Maria always sends shivers up my spine, and brings a little tear to my eye.

 

Brilliant, isn't it? Gardiner's documentary on the piece is also fascinating. Naturally there is no proof that the Vespers was the music played at the famous Prova, which involved bringing in extra players and moving two chamber organs to the church where the Prova would take place, but it seems it had to be either the Vespers or the Mass. After all, they were virtually Monteverdi's only religious music. At the time of the 1610 publication Monteverdi was Italy's best-known secular composer. I love Gardiner's comment that, for him suddenly to produce two major religious works, was like Bach, settled in Leipzig, suddenly starting to write Italian opera. But of course, this pamphlet was a CV - which eventually worked.

 

Very illuminating...one of the things I like about Gardiner is how he provides the listener with a little extra in the way of education (e.g. the essays in his Bach Cantata CDs, and the supplementary 20-minute discussion on the Beethoven Symphony CD cycle). This always enriches my understanding and enjoyment of the music.

Have you heard the Herreweghe recording of the Vespers, tones? I'd be interested in knowing what you think of it.

 

No, I haven't. I'm nearly as dreadful a Philistine with music as I am with hi-fi - I find something I like that makes an agreeably musical noise, and I stay with it. (I've had the same Rogers LS3/5as since 1980!).

 

Fair enough; but you're far from being a Philistine!!

 

In this magnificent work, Gardiner and Herreweghe make an ideal combination, IMHO.
Gardiner: detailled and spectacular performance, devout (San Marco!) recording.
Herreweghe: devout performance (and with antiphons, which I like), detailled (more intimate) recording.

A third possibility of course is a recording with a smaller amount of performers. Cantus Cölln (Junghänel) might be a good option. I once had the honour to heard them doing this composition 'live' and I was totally flabbergasted.

Totally understandable. But sometimes it can be very worthwhile to expand your view. I always thought that Solti's perfomance of Mozart's Le Nozze di Figaro was the absolute zenith, after I heard it. I still think this way, but I'm glad that I eventually got to listen to other very good versions, too (like Davis and Gardiner).

 

I take your point, but given that I already have

Gardiner (1 and 2)
Corboz
Jürgens (das Alte Werke, with Harnoncourt)
Savall
Parrott
Suzuki
the Naxos one (can't remember who did it)
and now King, you can perhaps understand my reluctance to buy another.

 

Of course I can.



It was only meant in a general manner.
Maybe I should have written: [....] sometimes it can be very worthwhile to expand one's view.

Have a nice time listening to your 'modest' collection of Vesperae!