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Gwyn
Pritchard: Madrigal Programme note from the 1st performance at The Michael
Tippett Centre, Bath; 1989 A programme note, whilst
endeavouring to be helpful (usually
by providing a kind of navigational chart, directing the listener to whatever
remote or exotic musical landscape the writer believes is to be found in a piece
of music) is all too often successful; the problem being that when we get there
the landscape frequently seems far less exotic than the programme note had led
us to anticipate. But perhaps all
that effort spent in keeping to such precise coordinates, instead of merely
listening, is the very reason for our disappointment - a disheartening thought
for the writer of programme notes, especially when it must be written by the
composer himself! Another, and probably more important, problem is to which of many shores should the listener be directed? Perhaps, without steerage he or she will, swept along by a mixture of insight, intuition and accident, discover some uncharted regions. This composer has been struck by a remarkable similarity between the voyages undertaken when listening to music, and when writing it. When setting out (and long before it had a name) Madrigal was intended to be primarily an exploration of the many forms of musical motion or flow; and perhaps it is about just that. But en route (or rather off route!) it seemed to lead to some quite unexpected places - some quite close to sixteenth century vocal forms. This was an experience not to be missed; so a programme note denying the listener the opportunity of a similar undertaking, by pointing to specific and identifiable landmarks, seems a little unfair. Whatever the merits or demerits of a piece of music assumed by its creator, we all know that his word can never be the last word on the matter; perhaps it shouldn't be the first either!!
Programme note from performance at The Turner Sims concert Hall, Southampton; 1989 Having written a number of pieces which were concerned with
ideas requiring fluid and continuous forms, I deliberately set out to compose a
work in which sectionalisation would play an
important part. Madrigal consists of nine clear sections: Chorale 1, Verse 1,
Solo 1 (clarinet), Chorale 2, Verse 2, Solo 2 (cor anglais), Solo 3 (piccolo),
Verse 3, Chorale 3. Such a design
obviously suggests a static, inorganic piece (however dynamic the music within
these sections may be), and in consequence I decided to impose on myself the
rigorous discipline of deriving all three Verse sections from exactly the same
material. The Chorale sections serve to freeze the motion, and the Solos (which
are accompanied by harp and percussion) to liberate it from the constraints
imposed in the Verses. Both the formal design and the detailed interacting of the
wind parts suggest certain
parallels with late sixteenth century madrigals, as does the contrast
between complex polyphony and harmonic passages. Madrigal was
written for Uroboros Ensemble
in 1988 and is dedicated "To my daughters, Alwynne and
Victoria". |