With classes and consultations come a lot of helpful insights- and no matter what form it takes, it's progress, in a way.
I have suspected a problem for some time now: that the opera was going to have a lack of coherence as a whole. Since my composing was mainly focused within the specific sections of the work, my professor for this semester rightly pointed out that the music I had written was too localized to each section, and that I was going to have to rework the structure and engage with my text's form further if I wanted the opera to sound anything like a complete work. Of course, my immediate reaction was to panic (on the inside), and wonder how I was going to fill up the allotted time for my senior recital. But all things considered, it would be good to take a break from rushing out music and spend some time really getting into the structure from the ground up. So once more from the top, working with the method my professor recommended:
The text (which I have included here) can be generalized like this: first there is the establishing of a dreary 'present day' (Scene 0), which is then replaced ('paint(ed) over', as Atlant would put it) with the memories of a more distant past (Scene 1) and a more recent one (Scene 2). So far, both are benign memories. However, the turning point from joy to a sense of disquiet (Scene 3) comes in, with memories leading up to the painting's displacement taking a turn for the worse. Now up til this point, the changes have been pretty gradual: dealing mainly with the quiet passing of time, and the slow change of feelings surrounding the memories as their nature changes. But then comes a complete, sudden break from all that has come beforehand- violence erupts (Scene 5), with Atlant being ripped from the wall of the church along with the other murals. The sense of outrage and chaos is key here, and the sudden burst of (musical) 'kinetic energy' from this violence eventually simmers down into despondency and grief (Scene 6). As for the final auction scene, I was thinking of it as an attempt to accept fate for good, but that's too complicated of a notion to put into music. I need to think about this part further, but I do like the idea of it being a sort of 'want to move on but can't' sort of thing.
Regardless of how Scene 7 is, the overall vision for the emotional arc, structure and scene-to-scene connections for the opera are clearer now. Some scenes can even be grouped according to what connects them- though there are multiple different options to explore. To give an example: it is possible to group Scenes 1 and 2 together under a general theme of 'benign memories, associated with the pleasant past', and then group Scenes 4 through 7 together under 'a group of chain events associated with the unpleasant past', while leaving Scenes 0 and 3 as standalone scenes with their own function. We'll call this Plan 1. However, a Plan 2 is equally possible where Scenes 1 through 4 are grouped under 'gradual passage of time', Scene 5 through 7 is 'sudden violence and its fallout', and Scene 0 is tenuously connected to Scene 7. So what to do? The simple answer would be to pick one and commit, based on what I think would work best and is within my ability to depict.
After the general musical structure is worked out, then comes the narrowing down of details to establish distinctions between certain groups of scenes, especially those that may be similar in subject matter. For example, Scenes 1 and 2 need to be distinguished from each other both by time period and by how recent they are in Atlant's memory, and this distinction can be made in a variety of ways: through leaving imprints of distinct styles (chant vs. Mompou's piano music, for example), different qualities of soundworlds that are similar in musical material (hazy vs sharper, through use of instrumentation or sound design), and so on. While I haven't gotten this far in the process yet, it would be helpful to make distinctions early so as not to make some sections sound 'samey' later on- which was another one of the problems I was noticing with the music even as I was working on them in the summer.
This part is, in some ways, the hardest- not least because of our decade's definition of 'productivity'. The urge to draft many passages at once is palpable- and yet, my professor had recommended maybe only a bar or two and loose sketches to clearly define what needs to go on in each scene, at least for the week ahead. It certainly gives more time to think and reflect on compositional intent, though, so I'll have to get used to working slowly and carefully. (It also serves as a good exercise in mental discipline and rigour of thought, I think...)
As with the opera, the idea for this research project had one huge oversight: it failed to take into account how the music was passed down in the first place. Factors like text underlay, instrumental or vocal usage, and others would inevitably impact how any song would have been recieved by its listeners, or even how it was intended to be listened to- which means that any question about the relation between text and music is percieved will have to begin with addressing these issues no matter which way you slice it.
One particularly interesting example is the different ways that an introductory melisma to a song can be performed; the choice between vocal or instrumental melismas can subtly impact how the song is heard. It can change how the structure of the song is percieved, how the melismas function within the context of the chanson, and many other things- which is already important to deal with on the performance level, and even more so on a musicological one. Dufay's Ma belle dame illustrates this well: here's a version by the Medieval Ensemble of London, which plays the opening melisma on instruments for all of the song's verses. The instrumental melisma followed by the singers' voices would frame the melisma as a sort of 'introduction', highlighting one of its roles: that of introducing musical ideas which become relevant as the chanson progresses.1 In this case, that would mean the equal ranges between all three voices and a preoccupation with lush sonorities, which scholars like Rodin and Fallows have noted are the song's most striking qualities. On the other end of the spectrum, here's Ensemble Amadis's rendition of the song, which chooses to perform the melismas vocally. This decision shines a different light on the melisma- now it heightens the expressive effect of the opening word, compelling listeners in a different way. And then, just for a lark, here's Cantica Symphonia's version which has instrumental melismas on both beginning and end of some verses- which has a different rhetorical effect altogether. And this is just one of the many factors affecting how 15th century music is heard! Frankly, I don't know how the performers manage it- but I figure it'd be best to learn now rather than never. Then, hopefully, I will get to untangling the affective relations between text and music (itself a whole nebulous subject).
In line with the discussion in the 15th Century Chansons section, here's Margriet Tindemans's and Crawford Young's arrangement of Ma belle dame, incorporating fiddling styles reminiscent of bluegrass. It's a very novel and energetic combination of styles, which is especially refreshing in light of how many slow recordings of the song there are. Plus, the triangle sounds are simply gorgeous.