Leçons de Ténèbres
are the combination of Matins and Lauds for the last three days
(Thursday, Friday and Saturday; by the seventeenth century the
Wednesday, Thursday and Friday) of Holy Week. They have a noble
pedigree musically, having been set by such eminent composers
as De Lalande, Gesualdo, Couperin and Charpentier. Their name
derives from the fact that the place of worship became progressively
darker as a candle was extinguished after each Psalm was sung:
by the end… complete darkness.
Polyphonic settings
of the ‘Lamentations’ by Morales, Victoria, Lassus and Palestrina
had given way by the time of Lambert (c.1610 – 1696) to monodic
settings in conformity with the seconda prattica – there
was a single vocal line with continuo accompaniment. The present
arrangement on this two-disc set by French composer Michel Lambert
of the Leçons de Ténèbres is highly concentrated; intense,
probing, pared almost to a minimum. The richness comes – in
the same way as it does with Purcell – from melody and structure,
not the texture.
Michel Lambert,
who has no other CD in the current catalogue dedicated entirely
to his works, was born around 1610 and worked as a singer in
Paris, married a singer and was father to Lully’s wife. He was
widely praised as both teacher of the voice and performer. In
addition to three hundred ‘Airs’, Lambert composed two sets
of Leçons de Ténèbres – in 1663 and 1689. It’s the latter
that we have here on two beautifully-recorded CDs (released
originally in 1989) in the Abbaye de Royaumont with an ensemble
of specialists under the direction of Ivète Piveteau.
Stylistically the
Leçons de Ténèbres have much in common with Lambert’s ‘Airs’:
there is elaborate variation with flourishes to emphasise the
more significant points of text on the vocal line; they often
use the more staid Roman ‘tonus lamentationum’ as the melodic
foundation and exploit ornate instrumental accompaniment. It’s
thought that Lambert played the theorbo in at least one performance
of these Leçons de Ténèbres.
At first you may be
shocked by the concentrated intimacy of this music. As with Purcell,
there’s a good deal of chromaticism; yet the pace and forward
movement are less insistent for Lambert than is the case in even
the most reflective of Purcell’s songs. The first few movements
of the Première Leçon, for example, set an almost relaxed
tempo, which actually allows every nuance to be savoured wonderfully.
Moments of rapture and high animation - the ‘Lamed’ (‘O Vos Omnes’)
from the Mercredi Troisième Leçon, for instance – are rare
and too infrequent, really, to count towards the kind of inner
tension at which Monteverdi was so expert a couple of generations
earlier. This intimacy is really a meditative distillation of
devout regret by an 80-year old. Add to it the close recording
and you have a very atmospheric performance full of pathos, sadness
and pity. The gentle, sensitive continuo, in fact, is almost closer
at times than the voices.
Some may even find
at first that such a combination strays just a little on the
romantic side, lingering and languishing in order to squeeze
out every drop of feeling. Repeated listening, however, will
convince you that the sentiment (of searching, for example,
and loss) is in the music; the performance is reflecting, not
manufacturing, this.
Charles Brett’s
gentle countertenor leads the way in understatement where restraint
is needed; drive where emphasis is called for; and sinuous yet
clear articulation throughout. His presence in the each première
leçon (Stutzmann and Rime take the deuxièmes with Rime
the Mercredi troisième and Cook the other troisièmes)
is a tour de force. All the singers are utterly in control of
the long, usually slow, arches of text that describe the events
of the leçons – which are in Latin.
The booklet is a little
on the slim side – no texts and not much background; nothing about
the performers. But that’s a small price to pay. This two-CD set
is full of beautiful, concentrated music expertly played and with
great feeling and respect for both the composer’s intentions and
the sombreness of the liturgical event. It’s never gloomy music,
though dour and melancholy at times. If extended, pointed, sparsely
accompanied, yet richly coloured, solo sacred Baroque music appeals,
then this will too. Add the fact that Lambert is under-represented
in the current catalogue yet well worth exploring and you can
safely buy this set.
Mark Sealey
