Cantar de Amor

Cantar de Amor

Juan Hidalgo and his contemporaries at the court of Philip IV

It is a well-known fact, and not an easy one to explain, that the arts flourished gloriously in 17th-century Spain, at a time of utter material and moral decline in the country. Perhaps that peak of painting, religious sculpture and architecture was itself a factor in the ruin, for what we would now call posturing was well-known behaviour among the impoverished Spanish nobles, who squandered the gold of the Americas, whether it arrived or not, on pageantry, palaces, altarpieces and portraits – at least since the famous breadcrumbs in the beard of the hidalgo in El Buscón (or rather in the Lazarillo, it hardly matters).

Music was no stranger to that dazzling glory. Although less well known than the likes of Guerrero and Morales (let alone Murillo or Velázquez), the Spanish composers of the early Baroque were respected in Europe for their quality and for the distinctiveness of their style, largely untouched by the all-pervading Italian influence. While trying to hold on to its distant frontiers in Naples, Portugal and the Americas, the most Catholic Habsburg monarchy closed its borders to heretical foreign influences, so its music became original by necessity, with no other sources to drink from than tradition and folklore. Spanish music thus kept and developed its own characteristics: almost exclusive instruments such as the guitar and the harp; unique harmonies; cross-rhythms between duple and triple time, very rarely felt elsewhere; its own forms, such as the villancico and the romance, or openly popular ones such as the jácara and the seguidilla; and dances from across the seas later copied throughout half of Europe, such as the folías, the chacona and the zarabanda…

The dominant musical figure at the 17th-century Spanish court was undoubtedly Juan Hidalgo, the fourth centenary of whose birth we celebrated in 2014. He is the Spanish counterpart of Henry Purcell in England or Lully in France: together with the playwright Calderón de la Barca, he tried to establish a Spanish operatic tradition along Italian lines. The ultimate goal failed for, as the Italian Baccio del Bianco warned as early as 1652 with regard to the Madrid court, “these gentlemen cannot get it into their heads that one can speak by singing”; Calderón himself acknowledged in La púrpura de la rosa (1659) that the Spanish would not tolerate an action that was “all music”. But the attempt proved a Pyrrhic failure. The collaboration between playwright and composer produced a varied range of works of musical theatre, half spoken and half sung, classified under very diverse labels: they include barely a couple of true operas, but also pastoral and musical comedias and, above all, zarzuelas. Their subjects are mythological, and in them spoken theatre alternates – according to complex symbolic codes – with dances, coplas sung by rustic characters, sung recitatives (usually given to the gods), ariosos and, above all, tonos humanos and divinos (secular and sacred songs). These play the musical role of Italian arias, though with a simple strophic song form (as in La noche tenebrosa) or, almost always, with a refrain, which links them to the Spanish tradition of the villancico.

Hidalgo was fortunate to possess a fertile melodic imagination, which allowed him to adorn the apparent formal simplicity of the tono with a subtle melodic weave, in delicate relation to the words. He was a harpist and keyboard player at court for almost all of his long life, but we have the misfortune that most of his work disappeared in the fire that destroyed the great palace of the Madrid court, the Alcázar, in 1734 – a disaster in which Velázquez’s Las meninas very nearly perished too. Even worse fortune, if possible, befell the work of one of Hidalgo’s predecessors at court, Mateo Romero, known as “Maestro Capitán”, a musician born in Liège but well adapted to Iberian musical peculiarities. His legacy suffered not only the Madrid fire but also the one that followed the Lisbon earthquake of 1755, since he had also worked for John of Braganza. Fortunately, we still have scattered manuscripts by both of them here and there, gathered in cancioneros: palace collections of songs by various composers, written ad hoc for chamber use or culled from theatrical works. Thanks to these cancioneros, now scattered across half the world – Munich, New York, Madrid, Venice… – the compositions of other first-rate vocal composers of the Spanish court have also survived, such as the adventurous José Marín: tenor, composer, cleric and murderer.

Like vocal music, the instrumental music of Baroque Spain received few foreign influences, and those it did came from the courts of the Spanish dominions: thus the Neapolitan Falconieri, in the service of his city’s viceroy, blended the Spanish manner with the new Italian violin style. But by then the instrument destined to become the national one, the guitar, was already enjoying its first heyday. In the hands of Gaspar Sanz, Guerau and many others it created a characteristic idiom of its own, full of its own resources, from strict polyphony to rasgueado. Its rhythmic and harmonic drive made it ideal for dances such as the chacona, the passacaglia, the marionas or the zarabanda, whose ostinato chord sequences and strong triple metre – with frequent hemiolas – betray a popular origin, in many cases even from Spanish America. That did not stop them from spreading, by way of Versailles, into the art music of the whole of Europe. The guitar may be the best summary of the music of that Spain: vernacular, with popular roots, rhythmic, flexible, fascinating… and, for all that, perhaps a little incomprehensible to foreigners.

On 31 March 1685, the very day that a certain Johann Sebastian Bach came into the world thousands of kilometres from Madrid, Juan Hidalgo was buried in the parish church where he had been baptised, San Ginés. In that very place, and at the very moment these notes are being written, 329 years later, the same posthumous honour is being paid to the chief executive of a well-known Spanish department store. O tempora, o mores.

Juan Ramón Lara

1. Andrea Falconieri (c. 1585-1656)
   Passacalle à tre 2:42
   Falconieri was one of the most illustrious composers of Habsburg viceregal Naples, and his published instrumental music is a key source for the Neapolitan and Spanish dances of the time.
2. José Marín (c. 1618-1699)
   No piense Menguilla ya 3:16
   Tenor, priest, composer and murderer, Marín is one of the most singular figures of 17th-century Spain.
3. A. Falconieri
   Ciaccona a tre 1:46
   Another of Falconieri’s dances: in this case, the famous chacona.
4. Juan Hidalgo (1614-1685)
   Trompicávalas Amor 2:36
   Together with Calderón de la Barca, Juan Hidalgo was the great driving force behind the creation of a Spanish opera.
5. J. Hidalgo
   La noche tenebrosa 5:32
   Hidalgo’s melodic inspiration shines in this nocturnal strophic aria.
6. Francisco Guerau (1649-c. 1722)
   Marionas 5:21
   Guerau is one of the best-known composers of music for the Baroque Spanish guitar.
7. Mateo Romero ‘Capitán’ (c. 1575-1647)
   Ay, que me muero de zelos 5:30
   Also known as Mathieu Rosmarin or Maestro Capitán, the Flemish-born Romero came to Spain as a child and became a key musical figure at the Habsburg court.
8. J. Hidalgo
   Esperar, sentir, morir 4:39
   This time Hidalgo sets a text by Melchor Fernández de León (see the text of the piece below).
9. Gaspar Sanz (1640-1710) – Fahmi Alqhai (b. 1976)
   Pavana 4:11
   Alqhai arranges another piece for Baroque Spanish guitar, this time by Gaspar Sanz, from Calanda in Aragon.
10. J. Hidalgo
    Ay, que me río de Amor 3:06
11. J. Hidalgo
    Ay amor, ay ausencia 4:26
    Two more excerpts from Juan Hidalgo’s stage works, sung by Juan Sancho (see the texts of the pieces below).
12. G. Sanz
    Passacalle sobre la D 4:41
    Alqhai arranges a passacaglia for Baroque Spanish guitar: a set of variations on a chord progression.
13. J. Hidalgo
    Recitativo a lo humano: Rompa el aire en suspiros 5:16
    Full of madrigalisms to express the text, this beautiful recitative, preserved in the Manojuelo poético-musical of the Hispanic Society in New York, is typical of Hidalgo’s style.
14. M. Romero ‘Capitán’
    Romerico florido 3:08
    We close the album with one of Maestro Capitán’s most famous pieces.

TEXTS

No piense Menguilla ya

No piense Menguilla ya
que me muero por sus ojos,
que he sido bobo hasta aquí
y no quiero ser más bobo.

Para qué es buena una niña
tan mal hallada entre pocos
que no está bien con el fénix,
porque le han dicho que es solo.

Oh, qué lindo modo
para que la dejen unos por otros.

El mal gusto de Menguilla
es una casa de locos;
el tema manda al deseo,
vaya la raçón al rollo.

Mucho abandona lo vano
si poco estima lo hermoso
la que por ser familiar
no repara en ser demonio.

Oh, qué lindo modo (…)

Trompicávalas, amor
(Los celos hacen estrellas, Juan Vélez de Guevara)

Trompicávalas Amor
a las niñas de Barajas,
¡y cómo las trompicávalas!

Trompicávalas con celos
que son del descuido trampas
pues a pesar de lo frío
aun a los viejos abrasan,
¡y cómo las trompicávalas!

Barajávalas con celos
que son del descuido trampas
y tan sazonadas burlas
que suelen picar que rabian,
¡y cómo las barajávalas!

La noche tenebrosa
(Los celos hacen estrellas, Juan Vélez de Guevara)

La noche tenebrosa
que en sombras se dilata
y con luces de plata
no acierta a ser hermosa,
madre de la pereza,
en el descanso olvida la tristeza.

El triste enamorado,
que, ausente de su gloria,
teme que la memoria
su fineza ha olvidado,
y, aunque en ansias tropieza,
en el descanso olvida la tristeza.

El pajarillo amante
que de un ingrato olvido
halló en ajeno nido
las señas de inconstante,
aunque a gemir empieza,
en el descanso olvida la tristeza.

La fiera que, aunque calla
silvestres regocijos,
cuando pierde los hijos
sólo bramidos halla,
rendida su fiereza,
en el descanso olvida la tristeza.

¡Ay, que me muero de zelos!

¡Ay, que me muero de zelos
de aquel andaluz!
Háganme, si muriere,
la mortaja azul.

Sólo a darme guerra
passó, madre mía,
del Andaluzía,
mi morena tierra.
Fue de Ingalaterra
su fingida fe;
pero nunca fue fe
que es tan común.
Háganme, si muriere,
la mortaja azul.

Mi amor pagó en yelos
mi fe con mudanças
verdes esperanzas
en azules zelos.
Si buelvo a los cielos
a pedir favor
de su azul color
nace mi inquietud.
Háganme, si muriere,
la mortaja azul.

¡Ay, que me muero de zelos (…)

Esperar, sentir, morir
(Ícaro y Dédalo, Melchor Fernández de León)

¿Por qué más yras buscas que mi tormento,
si en su siempre callado dolor atento,
yo propio me castigo lo que me quexo?

Esperar, sentir, morir, adorar,
porque en el pesar de mi eterno amor
caber puede en su dolor
adorar, morir, sentir, esperar.

Vive tú, muera solo quien tanto siente
que sus eternos males la vida crecen,
y solamente vive porque padece.

Esperar, sentir, morir, adorar, (…)

¡Ay que me río de amor!
(Los juegos olímpicos, Agustín de Salazar y Torres)

¡Ay, que me río de amor!
Escuchen, atiendan
verán lo que importa
seguir mi opinión.

Dicen que quien quiere bien,
luego la razón quitó;
luego solo el que no quiera,
es el que tendrá razón.
Todos del amor se rían,
mas con una condición:,
que es bueno burlarse de él,
mas burlarse con él, no.

¡Ay, que me rio de amor! (…)

Inclinación natural
dicen que causa su ardor,
mas quien lo dice, no dice
cómo es mala inclinación.
Todos del amor se rían,
mas con una condición:,
que es bueno burlarse de él,
mas burlarse con él, no.

¡Ay, que me rio de amor! (…)

¡Ay amor, ay ausencia!
(Contra el amor desengaño, Calderón de la Barca)

¡Ay amor, ay ausencia,
ay dulce dueño,
que te buscan mis ansias
y sólo encuentro
un dolor muy hallado
de que te pierdo!

Salid, pena mía,
no ahogue el silencio
el blasón ilustre
del origen vuestro.
Salid, pena mía.
Vivid pues yo muero.

La voz del dolor
confirma el afecto,
cuando al corazón
responde con ecos.
Salid, pena mía.
Vivid pues yo muero.

¡Ay amor, ay ausencia, (…)

Rompa el aire en suspiros

Rompa el aire en suspiros,
queja sin voz, y voz de mi silencio
templada con el llanto
porque no abrase la región del viento.
De las supremas luces
en su crueldad me quejo:
¡dioses de la hermosura,
si labráis imposibles, haced ciegos!
¡borradme la razón!
que, si es en mi dolor influjo vuestro,
quitarme el albedrío
¿para qué quiero yo el entendimiento?

La beldad de Narcisa adoro
entre las aras de un incendio,
en cuyo sacrificio
aún de temeridad se viste al ruego,
que a imaginar no alcanzo
de tu hermosura el soberano imperio,
que, al querer contemplar,
se me turba también el pensamiento.

Retratada con el alma,
idolatro, la admiro y me suspendo.
¿Cuál será la fatiga,
dónde es la diversión?
El sentimiento callo,
y, por más desgracia,
en lo mismo que callo.
No, no merezco,
que aunque quiera decirlo
no sé cómo se llama mi tormento.

Ejemplo, y no milagro
de tu deidad, en el hermoso templo,
a un corazón de bronce
rendido colgaré de cera un pecho.

Romerico florido

Romerico florido coge la niña
y el amor de sus ojos perlas cogía.
Romero, coge la niña.

La que es el lucero de nuestro lugar,
flores va a buscar de amor en verdad,
coge la niña,
y la del romero que es azul y blanca,
cual la mano franca de quien la coja,
coge la niña.

Romerico florido (…)

01. Marizápalos – Gaspar Sanz (1640-1710)
02. Fandango – Santiago de Murcia (1673-1739)
03. Passacalle (Gaspar Sanz)
04. Canarios (Gaspar Sanz)

In this first set of pieces Fahmi Alqhai adapts dances from the Spanish baroque guitar repertoire for the viola da gamba.

05. El canto de los pájaros – Catalan traditional

The classic Catalan cant dels ocells, made famous by Pau Casals.

06. Les pleurs – Mr. de Sainte-Colombe (c. 1640 – c. 1700)
07. Allemande – Mr. de Sainte-Colombe
08. Sarabande. Le pleureux – Mr. de Sainte-Colombe

Marais’s teacher, Sainte-Colombe was the first great French master of the viola da gamba. His pieces are characteristically melancholy.

09. Les sauvages – Jean Philippe Rameau (1683-1764)

A version of the famous operatic passage from Rameau’s Les indes galantes.

10. Les voix humaines – Marin Marais (1656-1728)
11. La guitare – Marin Marais

Marais was the viola da gamba master par excellence, a leading figure at the court of the Sun King, Louis XIV.

12. Always with me, always with you – Joe Satriani (1956)

From baroque guitar to electric guitar: Fahmi Alqhai covers the great Satriani.

13. Andante from the Sonata BWV 1003 – Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750)

Bach, as an encore.