Music history, as we know it from dusty old books, doesn't start at the beginning. It starts, as Richard Taruskin put it, "in the middle of things." The musical scraps that survived from medieval and Renaissance times? They're just fragments. Fragments of what was once a raging, living beast of musical improvisation that ran riot through every corner of musical practice.
The role of improvisation in historical Western music? It's like asking about the importance of breathing to staying alive. Musicians back then weren't just sheet music slaves, robotically reproducing what some bloke had scribbled down. They were creators, expected to embellish, elaborate, and straight-up invent on the spot within whatever framework they were given. Think Brahms, Paganini, Chopin, and Mendelssohn. These weren't just composers, they were improvisational rock stars, celebrated for their ability to conjure magic from thin air.
As music "evolved," particularly in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, classical performance became about as spontaneous as a tax return. Precise reproduction of written works became the holy grail, and improvisation got tossed out like yesterday's takeaway. Ernst Ferand called it what it was: the near extinction of improvisation as an essential skill for classical musicians, despite the fact that "there is scarcely a single field in music that has remained unaffected by improvisation."
Medieval and Renaissance musicians didn't call their spontaneous musical creations "improvisation" any more than we call our everyday chat "improvisation." It was just "to sing counterpoint," or simply "to sing," the same way we talk about speaking language, or just speaking.
This linguistic parallel reveals something profound about historical musical practice. People learned counterpoint by doing it, picking up the idiom the same way you'd pick up the local slang if you moved to another country and actually bothered to listen. The tradition was oral, embodied, and fundamentally social. No pretentious theory books, no academic wankers telling you what you couldn't do. Just honest musical communication.
This work aims to bridge the gap between historical practice and contemporary music education by diving headfirst into the rich tradition of improvisation in Western classical music. I'm focusing particularly on medieval and Renaissance practices, but this isn't some dusty archaeological expedition to dig up musical corpses and put them in glass cases.
The decline of improvisation in Western classical music stands in stark contrast to its prevalence in jazz and world music traditions. Jazz musicians practice improvisation like it's a religion, emphasising creativity and spontaneous interaction. These qualities were once central to classical musicians' education too. If jazz musicians can improvise with such fluency and complexity, why has improvisation become about as common in classical training as a unicorn in Hyde Park?
This question becomes even more compelling when you consider that improvisational practices are universal across cultures. The Balkan instrumental genres like cifrazatok and kontrazas, the taqasim of Arabic music, the dastgah system of Persian music, and improvisational practices in India, Japan, and West Africa all prove that improvisation is an essential element of musical traditions worldwide. Only in the rarified world of Western classical music did we somehow convince ourselves it wasn't necessary.
By examining historical treatises, pedagogical approaches, and performance practices, we can see how improvisation wasn't just an art form but a method of musical education. Early improvisation manuals, like Tomás de Santa María's "Arte de tañer Fantasía" (1565), guide us through the Renaissance approach to improvising, providing insight into a period when improvisation was as highly regarded as written composition.
Western music history reveals a trajectory that's both fascinating and heartbreaking: from oral tradition to written preservation, from improvisation to composed rigidity. This transformation wasn't sudden, mind you. It was gradual, occurring over centuries, shaped by cultural, technological, and aesthetic forces that fundamentally altered how music was created, transmitted, and understood.
Medieval music, particularly in liturgical contexts, was primarily an oral tradition. Singers learned by copying, techniques passed down through generations, musical structures understood through embodied practice rather than theoretical wanking. The advent of musical notation represented both preservation and transformation of this tradition, capturing some elements while necessarily fixing what had previously been fluid and responsive to immediate circumstances.
Plato, that old philosophical bastard, saw it coming:
"If and now you, who are the father of letters, have been led by your affection to ascribe to them a power the opposite of that which they really possess. For this invention will produce forgetfulness in the minds of those who learn to use it, because they will not practice their memory. Their trust in writing, produced by external characters which are no part of themselves, will discourage the use of their own memory within them. You have invented an elixir not of memory, but of reminding; and you offer your pupils the appearance of wisdom, not true wisdom, for they will read many things without instruction and will therefore seem to know many things, when they are for the most part ignorant and hard to get along with, since they are not wise, but only appear wise."
The development of polyphony presents a particularly compelling case study in this transformation. The earliest written descriptions of polyphony appear in the anonymous ninth-century Musica Enchiriadis, where we first encounter the term "organum" used to describe a musical texture in which two or more voices simultaneously sound different notes, creating multiple independent melodies that interact in time.
There's substantial evidence that polyphonic organum and discant may have grown from improvised practice, eventually coming to be "composed in the mind" and then ultimately written down. Modern performers of medieval music are thus in a unique situation because they're attempting to learn music characterised by a substantial oral element whilst the line of direct transmission has essentially been broken.
This broken transmission presents both challenges and opportunities. We can't claim direct continuity with historical practice, but we can approach these traditions with informed imagination, using the fragmentary evidence to reconstruct not just the notes but the underlying musical thinking that made such practices possible.
The shift from oral to written musical culture wasn't merely a technological change but represented a fundamental alteration in musical consciousness. Written notation privileges certain aspects of musical practice (pitch relationships, rhythmic patterns, formal structures) whilst necessarily neglecting others (timbral nuance, microtonal inflections, contextual responsiveness).
Medieval music's lack of prescriptive notation is one of the strongest indications that the repertoire has always required a certain amount of inventive, improvisatory, and compositional skill from performers. We often describe liquescent neumes such as the quilisma, oriscus, and pressus as "ornamental neumes," but "ornament" implies something that's added. In other words, ornaments are part of the improvisational process, not a byproduct of received vocalisation transmitted by ear and memory.
This distinction proves crucial for understanding historical performance practice. What we might categorise as "ornamentation" was actually integral to the musical conception, not decorative additions to a complete structure. The written notation served as a framework or blueprint rather than a complete representation of the intended musical realisation.
The preservation of musical practices in written form often occurred at moments of cultural transition or crisis. Just as languages are most likely to be codified and preserved when they're under threat, musical traditions were most likely to be documented when their oral transmission was becoming uncertain.
The Renaissance period witnessed a complex relationship between written and oral musical traditions. On one hand, the development of music printing and the spread of literacy created new possibilities for circulation and preservation of musical compositions. On the other hand, improvisation remained a central expectation for professional musicians.
Sylvestro Ganassi's Opera Intitulata Fontegara (1535) represents a pivotal document in this transformation. Published in Venice, it stands as one of the earliest comprehensive treatises on instrumental improvisation, specifically for the recorder. However, Ganassi's work raises more questions than it answers about the relationship between written and oral traditions.
Venice in the early sixteenth century was a unique cultural environment. The city had become a thriving centre of wealth and artistic innovation, particularly following the sacking of Rome in 1527, which prompted a migration of artists and scholars to Venetian shores. Whether Ganassi's treatise was intended to introduce these newcomers to the unwritten musical style of Venice, or to preserve that style in the face of external influences, remains unclear.
What's certain is that by the time of its publication, the art of musical improvisation documented in Fontegara was highly developed, with many techniques and details so well-established that they didn't require explanation. The treatise assumes a sophisticated understanding of modal theory, contrapuntal practice, and instrumental technique that could only have developed through extensive oral transmission and practical application.
The Renaissance also witnessed the development of what we might call "written improvisation" — compositions that captured the essential characteristics of improvised performance whilst fixing them in notation. These works served both as performance pieces and as pedagogical models, demonstrating the kinds of elaboration and variation that skilled improvisers might create in real-time.
The relationship between composition and improvisation in Renaissance practice was far more fluid than modern distinctions might suggest. Composers were expected to be skilled improvisers, and improvisers were expected to understand compositional principles. The written score was one possible realisation of musical ideas, not necessarily the definitive or preferred one.
This integration of composed and improvised elements created a rich musical culture in which creativity and tradition, structure and spontaneity, individual expression and collective practice could coexist and mutually reinforce each other. Understanding this integration is essential for any attempt to revive historical improvisation practices in contemporary contexts.
To truly engage with medieval music and its improvisational practices, we must first understand the theoretical framework that governed musical thinking in this period. Many modern musicians are familiar with modal names (Dorian, Phrygian, Lydian, Mixolydian, Aeolian, Ionian, and Locrian), but these terms represent a tonal framework that was popularised much later in Western music history.
The medieval system, used between the eighth and sixteenth centuries, organised modes into eight categories based on authentic and plagal forms, each derived from the Protus, Deuterus, Tritus, and Tetrardus pairs. These modes were distinguished not merely by their scalar content but by their finals, reciting tones (the melodic focal point, analogous to a dominant), and unique ranges.
Rather than thinking of a medieval mode as an octave species scale, it's more accurate to conceptualise a medieval mode as overlapping species of fifths and fourths. This way of understanding the modes differs considerably from defining Dorian mode, for example, as a scale that "starts on the second scale degree of a major scale and extends up an octave."
This distinction proves crucial for improvisational practice. Medieval modes provided not just pitch collections but melodic and harmonic tendencies, characteristic gestures, and cadential patterns that guided both composition and improvisation. Each mode possessed its own ethos or character, its own preferred melodic contours, and its own harmonic implications.
For the improvising musician, modal theory provided both constraint and possibility. The constraints (the characteristic intervals, the preferred cadences, the melodic boundaries) created a framework within which musical invention could occur. The possibilities (the numerous ways of elaborating modal characteristics, the potential for creative combination of modal elements, the opportunities for expressive interpretation) allowed for infinite variety within established parameters.
Improvisation in medieval music heavily relied on the hexachord system, a framework that provided both structure and flexibility for musical invention. A hexachord consists of six notes arranged in a fixed pattern of intervals: tone, tone, semitone, tone, tone (T-T-S-T-T). This system wasn't merely theoretical but served as a practical tool for teaching singers to navigate melodies accurately and to improvise within established parameters.
The hexachord system recognised three basic types: the hexachordum durum (hard, starting on G), hexachordum naturale (natural, starting on C), and hexachordum molle (soft, starting on F). By understanding these three hexachords and their relationships, musicians could internalise pitch relationships and adapt to modal improvisation across the entire gamut of medieval music.
The pedagogical power of the hexachord system lay in its combination of theoretical clarity and practical applicability. The Guidonian syllables (ut, re, mi, fa, sol, la) provided singers with a consistent method for recognising and producing intervallic relationships regardless of absolute pitch. This system enabled musicians to think in terms of intervallic patterns rather than fixed pitches, a crucial skill for improvisation.
Chant served as both a musical and liturgical foundation for medieval improvisation. Its repetitive and formulaic nature provided performers with a stable framework to explore ornamentation, modal variation, and early polyphonic techniques. Whilst Gregorian chant dominated the Western tradition, parallel developments in Byzantine chant offered sophisticated models for improvisational practice.
The art of chant-based improvisation required deep familiarity with the modal characteristics of different chants, understanding of appropriate ornamentation techniques, and sensitivity to liturgical context. Improvisers needed to balance respect for the sacred text and its traditional musical settings with creative interpretation that could enhance the spiritual impact of the music.
The development of chant-based improvisation in medieval Europe was significantly influenced by Byzantine musical traditions, particularly the evolution toward kalophony in the thirteenth century. Understanding these connections provides crucial insight into the sophisticated improvisational practices that developed across both Eastern and Western Christian traditions.
By the ninth century, Byzantine music had developed distinctive styles including the psaltikon and asmatikon, which emphasised florid, formulaic approaches to chant. The psaltikon featured soloistic chant with elaborate embellishments, whilst the asmatikon involved choral chant with formulaic stylisation emphasising collective performance. These styles were instrumental in shaping vocal performance traditions that would influence improvisational practice throughout medieval Europe.
The later thirteenth century marked the emergence of kalophony, characterised by extravagant vocal embellishments and improvisatory flourishes. Key features of kalophonic practice included:
Interpretive Approaches to the Quilisma:
Tremulous Effect: Some scholars suggest the quilisma indicated a vocal tremolo or vibrato effect, creating expressive intensity through rapid pitch oscillation.
Portamento: Others propose it represented a sliding vocal effect between pitches, creating smooth melodic connection whilst adding expressive colour.
Rhythmic Emphasis: The quilisma might have indicated rhythmic stress or lengthening, drawing attention to melodically or textually important moments.
Improvisational Cue: Perhaps most intriguingly, the quilisma may have served as a cue for improvisational elaboration, indicating places where singers were expected to add their own expressive interpretation.
One of the clearest descriptions of medieval ornamentation comes from Jerome of Moravia's thirteenth-century Tractatus de musica, which concerns the flos harmonicus, or "harmonic flower." This ornament could be either vocal or instrumental (vocis sive soni) and was described as a "quick and stormy" (procellaris) vibration.
Jerome specifically indicated that the ornament began on the note above the written pitch, not below, and could be varied in three ways:
"Long" trills: Featured steady vibration not exceeding a semitone
"Open" trills: Characterised by steady vibration not exceeding a whole tone
"Sudden" trills: Began with steady vibration that accelerated at the end (in fine est celerrima)
This level of specificity suggests that medieval ornamentation wasn't arbitrary but followed established conventions that were well understood within the musical community. The terminology itself — "harmonic flower" — reveals an aesthetic approach that valued ornamentation as an essential element of musical beauty rather than mere decoration.
Modern performers of medieval music face unique challenges because they're attempting to learn music characterised by substantial oral elements whilst the line of direct transmission has essentially been broken. This situation requires both historical imagination and practical creativity in approaching performance practice.
There's substantial evidence that polyphonic organum and discant may have grown from improvised practices, eventually coming to be "composed in the mind" and then ultimately written down. This suggests that much of what we see in medieval notation represents attempts to capture practices that were originally fluid, responsive, and improvisational.
The challenge for modern performers is to understand medieval notation not as complete prescriptive instructions but as frameworks for musical realisation that assumed extensive knowledge of oral traditions. The written symbols served as memory aids and structural guides for musicians who already possessed deep understanding of the stylistic conventions and improvisational practices of their time.
The enigmatic elements in medieval music require performers to balance historical authenticity with practical realisability. This involves understanding what can be known from historical sources whilst acknowledging the limitations of our knowledge and the need for informed creative interpretation.
Historical Evidence and Its Limitations:
Medieval treatises provide valuable information about performance practice, but they often assume knowledge that was common at the time but has since been lost. Treatises were typically written for educated musicians who already possessed substantial practical experience, not for beginners learning from scratch.
Iconographic evidence from medieval art can provide insights into instrumental technique, ensemble configurations, and performance contexts, but visual representations may emphasise symbolic or aesthetic considerations over literal accuracy.
The surviving musical manuscripts represent only a small fraction of the music that was actually performed in medieval times, and they reflect the practices of specific communities rather than universal standards.
Performing medieval music with its enigmatic elements requires a unique combination of scholarly knowledge and creative imagination. Performers must become, in effect, musical archaeologists who use fragmentary evidence to reconstruct not just the notes but the living musical practices they represent.
This challenge is both daunting and liberating. It's daunting because it requires extensive knowledge of medieval music theory, historical context, and performance practice research. It's liberating because it requires active creativity and personal interpretation rather than passive reproduction of established interpretations.
The goal isn't to achieve impossible historical accuracy but to create performances that honour the spirit and practice of medieval musical traditions whilst speaking meaningfully to contemporary audiences. This requires understanding medieval music not as museum pieces but as living traditions that can be adapted and continued.
For contemporary performers interested in incorporating understanding of the quilisma and similar ornamental neumes into their practice, several approaches can be helpful:
Technical Development:
Vocal Flexibility: Develop the vocal flexibility necessary to execute various possible interpretations of ornamental neumes.
Historical Techniques: Study and practice specific ornamental techniques described in medieval treatises.
Instrumental Application: Adapt understanding of vocal ornamentation to instrumental performance where appropriate.
Ensemble Coordination: Learn to coordinate ornamental interpretation within ensemble contexts.
Interpretive Development:
Contextual Analysis: Analyse the specific contexts in which quilisma and other ornamental neumes appear to understand their function.
Comparative Study: Compare different manuscript sources to understand variations in ornamental notation.
Cultural Research: Study the liturgical, social, and cultural contexts that shaped ornamental practice.
Cross-Cultural Comparison: Examine ornamental practices in other musical traditions that may offer insights into medieval practice.
Understanding medieval ornamentation and enigmatic notational elements has implications that extend beyond historical performance practice. It reveals fundamental aspects of how musical meaning was created, transmitted, and transformed in medieval culture.
Medieval ornamentation wasn't merely decorative but served structural, expressive, and spiritual functions. It was integral to musical meaning rather than added to it. This understanding challenges contemporary assumptions about the relationship between composition and performance, between notation and realisation, and between individual creativity and traditional practice.
For music education, studying medieval ornamental practice can develop sensitivity to the expressive possibilities of musical details, understanding of the relationship between technique and meaning, and appreciation for the creative responsibilities of performers.
For contemporary musical practice, medieval ornamentation offers models for integrating creative interpretation with traditional frameworks, balancing individual expression with stylistic integrity, and understanding notation as guide rather than prescription.
The quilisma and other enigmatic elements of medieval notation thus serve as windows into a musical world where creativity and tradition, individual expression and communal practice, written notation and oral transmission existed in dynamic and productive tension. Understanding these elements enriches not only our performance of medieval music but our broader understanding of what music can be and how it can function in human culture.
Sylvestro Ganassi's Opera Intitulata Fontegara, published in Venice in 1535, represents a pivotal moment in the history of musical improvisation. More than a simple instruction manual, it stands as a testament to the sophisticated improvisational culture that flourished in Renaissance Venice and provides modern musicians with unprecedented insight into the practices that shaped one of music's most creative periods.
The publication of Fontegara in 1535 coincided with a remarkable cultural moment in Venetian history. The city had become a thriving centre of wealth and artistic innovation, particularly following the sacking of Rome in 1527, which prompted a migration of artists and scholars to Venetian shores. Venice's unique position as a bridge between East and West, its wealth from maritime trade, and its relative political stability created an environment where musical creativity could flourish.
Ganassi's treatise captures the essence of this Venetian Renaissance culture. The book clearly documents an advanced aural tradition, yet its very existence raises intriguing questions about the relationship between written and oral musical transmission. Why did Ganassi choose to write specifically for the recorder, and what motivated him to commit to paper practices that had previously been transmitted through oral tradition alone?
One possibility lies in the social dynamics of Renaissance Venice. The rise of the bourgeoisie, eager to emulate the musical practices of the aristocracy, may have created a demand for written instruction in what had previously been exclusively professional skills. The music documented in Fontegara was firmly rooted in the practices of professional musicians, but its written presentation made these practices accessible to a broader social class.
The Venetian Musical Environment:
Venice's musical culture was characterised by several unique factors that influenced improvisational practice:
Instrumental Innovation: The inclusion of recorder and cornetto in ensembles as early as 1515 reflects the growing importance of wind instruments in Venetian music.
Ceremonial Integration: The participation of musicians in civic and religious ceremonies, such as those at the Scuola Grande di San Marco, created contexts where improvisation served both musical and social functions.
International Exchange: Venice's role as a centre of international commerce brought musical influences from across Europe and the Mediterranean, enriching local improvisational practices.
Professional Standards: The high level of professional musicianship expected in Venice created an environment where sophisticated improvisational techniques could develop and flourish.
Ganassi's approach to diminution reveals a sophisticated understanding of both the technical and aesthetic dimensions of Renaissance improvisation. Diminution — the practice of dividing longer note values into shorter, more elaborate patterns — wasn't merely a decorative technique but a fundamental aspect of Renaissance musical expression.
The treatise introduces rhythmic divisions of remarkable complexity, including segments of four, five, six, and even seven notes per beat. Rhythms such as five-four and seven-four are rare in Renaissance recorder music and appear to be unique to Ganassi's ornamentation style. This suggests that the rhythmic complexity he described wasn't a new invention but rather a well-established and commonly practiced style in Venice at the time.
Principles of Ganassi's Diminution:
Structural Awareness: Effective diminution requires understanding the underlying harmonic and melodic structure of the original composition. Ornamental passages must enhance rather than obscure these structural elements.
Rhythmic Sophistication: Ganassi's examples demonstrate complex rhythmic relationships that require high levels of technical facility and musical sensitivity.
Modal Integration: Diminution passages must respect and enhance the modal characteristics of the original composition, using ornamental figures that strengthen modal identity.
Expressive Function: Ornamentation serves expressive purposes, intensifying emotional content and creating dramatic effects that enhance musical meaning.
Understanding Ganassi's work requires appreciation of the broader social and cultural landscape of early sixteenth-century Venice. The city was experiencing significant developments that directly influenced musical practice and the preservation of musical traditions.
The early sixteenth century saw the rise of the scuole grandi — institutions like the Scuola Grande di San Marco — which began incorporating wind instruments into their musical ensembles. Events such as the Rialto Fire of 1514, the founding of the Jewish Ghetto in 1516, and the broader effects of the expulsion of Jews from Spain (1492) contributed to a dynamic socio-political environment in which music played central roles in both spiritual and civic life.
Music was integral to Venetian commercial culture as well. The Piffari musicians were often employed in commercial and civic contexts, such as announcing sales in the market. This commercial dimension of musical practice created additional contexts for improvisation and ensured that musical skills had practical economic value.
The tradition of musical diminution, as described by scholars like Dickey and Polk, flourished between 1590 and 1630, with many treatises emerging during this period. However, its roots extend much further back, even into the Middle Ages, where it began as an unwritten tradition passed down through generations of professional musicians.
Keith Polk's research reveals how medieval musicians learned by imitation, passing down improvisational techniques from generation to generation. These practices were embedded in the music of professional musicians, such as Conrad Paumann, whose treatises on diminution show striking similarities to later Renaissance works, including Ganassi's.
The learning process for diminution was grounded in the use of specific figures for ascending or descending lines, reflecting a deeply embedded oral tradition of musical transmission. This tradition, passed down through families and guilds of musicians, resembles the learning methods employed by traditional folk musicians in various cultures, where younger musicians learn by imitation, ensuring that musical knowledge is transmitted relatively unchanged across generations.
Characteristics of the Diminution Tradition:
Formulaic Approach: Diminution relied on established patterns and formulas that could be adapted to different musical contexts.
Oral Transmission: Knowledge was passed down through direct musical interaction rather than written instruction.
Professional Integration: Diminution skills were expected of professional musicians and integrated into daily musical practice.
Regional Variation: Different musical centres developed their own approaches to diminution whilst sharing basic principles and techniques.
Ganassi's decision to document sophisticated improvisational practices in written form represents a significant pedagogical innovation. The treatise serves multiple functions simultaneously: practical instruction manual, theoretical exposition, and cultural preservation document.
The structure of Fontegara reveals careful pedagogical planning. Ganassi begins with fundamental concepts and gradually introduces more complex techniques, always providing practical examples and exercises. This progressive approach suggests that the treatise was designed not only for accomplished musicians seeking to refine their skills but also for serious students working to master the fundamentals of Renaissance improvisation.
The connection between Fontego and Ganassi's work extends beyond Venice itself. The term Fontego, derived from the Arabic funduq meaning "store" or "quarters," was used in sixteenth-century Venice to describe buildings along the city's port that served as palaces, warehouses, and market spaces for merchant communities.
A manuscript copy of La Fontegara held in the Herzog-August Library in Wolfenbüttel, Germany, contains a handwritten dedication from Ganassi along with a series of 150 diminutions based on a melodic theme. This suggests that Ganassi's works were disseminated not only within Italy but also in Germany, illustrating the international reach of his musical ideas.
This international circulation of Venetian improvisational practices demonstrates the broader European interest in Italian musical innovations. The manuscript evidence suggests that Ganassi's techniques were adapted and developed by musicians across Europe, contributing to a international tradition of Renaissance improvisation.
Throughout almost the entire history of keyboard music, the art of preluding has been an important element of improvised performance. An improvised prelude is a short, introductory passage that is played immediately before a substantial work, setting the scene for what follows in both mood and key.
Irrespective of their historical period, preludes tended to be rhythmically free and depended substantially on arpeggio, broken-chord, and scale figurations. François Couperin's L'Art de toucher le clavecin notes that "although these preludes are written in measured time, there is, nevertheless, a style, dictated by custom, which must be observed... A prelude is a free composition, in which the imagination gives rein to any fancy that may present itself."
Functions of Renaissance Preludes:
Practical Preparation: Preludes could establish tempo, introduce melodic material, or check instrumental tuning.
Modal Establishment: They could establish the sound of a mode or highlight particular melodic phrases or rhythmic patterns.
Emotional Preparation: Preludes could convey something about the mood of a piece, preparing listeners for what was to follow.
Rhetorical Function: A prelude functions as a rhetorical exordium, capturing attention and preparing the audience for the main musical argument.
Renaissance Prelude Techniques:
Modal Exploration: Use prelude time to establish modal characteristics through characteristic melodic gestures and cadential patterns.
Motivic Introduction: Introduce melodic or rhythmic motifs that will appear in the main composition.
Technical Preparation: Use preludes to warm up technical facility whilst serving musical purposes.
Atmospheric Creation: Develop sensitivity to the emotional and spiritual preparation that effective preludes can provide.
Beyond preludes, Renaissance practice included interludes and postludes that provided additional opportunities for improvisation within larger musical contexts. An interlude might elaborate on the musical and textual content of a song or provide intentional diversion from it. Postludes served to bring musical experiences to satisfying conclusions whilst providing opportunities for final elaboration or commentary.
Interlude Functions:
Musical Development: Interludes could develop musical ideas presented in vocal sections, providing instrumental commentary on sung material.
Textual Reflection: They could reflect on textual meaning, providing musical interpretation of poetic content.
Structural Articulation: Interludes could clarify formal structures by providing transitional material between sections.
Technical Display: They provided opportunities for instrumental virtuosity within appropriate musical contexts.
Practical Approaches to Renaissance Interludes:
Thematic Development: Use interlude time to develop melodic or rhythmic themes from the main composition.
Contrapuntal Elaboration: Create counterpoint to melodic material, either in imitation or in contrasting character.
Textural Variation: Provide contrast through different instrumental textures or combinations.
Improvisational Freedom: Balance structured development with spontaneous musical invention.
The tradition of preluding, interluding, and postluding largely died out during the twentieth century, but sufficient models exist for it to be revived in historically appropriate ways. Understanding these practices enriches both historical performance and contemporary musical creation by providing frameworks for creative musical invention within traditional structures.
Right, there we have it. The complete story of how Western music went from a living, breathing, improvised tradition to the sanitised, note-perfect museum pieces we call "classical" music today. It's a tale of creativity crushed under the weight of notation, of oral traditions bulldozed by academic institutions, and of musicians transformed from creators into interpreters.
But here's the thing: it doesn't have to stay that way. These traditions, these techniques, these approaches to making music that were once as natural as conversation — they're all still there, waiting to be rediscovered. The quilisma is still mysterious, the hexachord system still works, and Ganassi's diminutions still sound bloody magnificent when executed with skill and imagination.
The real tragedy isn't that we lost these traditions. The real tragedy is that we convinced ourselves we didn't need them anymore. Well, bollocks to that. It's time to reclaim what's rightfully ours: the ability to create music in the moment, to respond to the energy of the room, to make every performance a unique event rather than a carbon copy of every other performance.
The medieval and Renaissance masters weren't museum pieces. They were rock stars, pushing boundaries, taking risks, and creating music that was alive, dangerous, and utterly compelling. We can be too. We just need to remember how.Sequences and Repeated Articulations:** Extended passages built around single pitches, creating hypnotic and meditative effects
Wide Leaps: Melodic leaps that added drama and complexity to traditional chant structures
Anagrammatismos: Reordering of syllables for artistic effect
Teretismata and Kratēmata: Extended melismatic passages using nonsensical syllables to heighten expressiveness
Byzantine kalophony and Western chant-based improvisation shared a reliance on modal structures and melodic elaboration, but they diverged in their approaches. Byzantine music leaned toward extravagant ornamentation and compositional precision, whilst Western traditions, particularly evident in sources like the Cantigas de Santa María, emphasised rhythmic vitality and narrative clarity.
This interplay of influences enriched the improvisational practices of medieval music, bridging geographical and cultural divides. The Cantigas, compiled under King Alfonso X of Castile, provide a Western counterpart to Byzantine kalophonic tradition, demonstrating how improvisational techniques could be adapted to different cultural contexts whilst maintaining essential characteristics.
The development of early polyphony (the art of creating multiple independent voices in music) marked one of the most profound shifts in Western musical history. Whilst monophonic chant had been the foundation of liturgical music for centuries, composers and performers gradually began experimenting with layering melodies, giving birth to entirely new possibilities for musical expression and improvisational practice.
This transformation didn't occur suddenly but evolved over several centuries, beginning with simple parallel voice-leading and developing into increasingly complex textures that would eventually become the sophisticated polyphony of the Notre-Dame school and beyond. For the improvising musician, understanding this evolution provides insight into how polyphonic thinking developed and how it can be approached in contemporary practice.
The roots of early polyphony emerged from the context of Gregorian chant, primarily within ecclesiastical settings. The first experiments with polyphony were often based on organum, a form of parallel or oblique voice-leading that expanded monophonic chant by adding a second voice. Over time, these experiments developed into more complex textures, leading to the intricate forms of medieval and Renaissance polyphony.
Initially, polyphonic improvisation was closely tied to chant-based melodies and modal structures. Musicians could explore improvisation within the framework of liturgical chant, gradually developing more complex polyphonic lines. For improvisers, the foundational chant melodies provided stability and direction, whilst allowing creative exploration in additional voices.
Early polyphonic practice can be understood through several distinct but related approaches, each offering different challenges and opportunities for improvisational development.
Parallel organum represents one of the earliest forms of polyphony, where the second voice moves in parallel motion with the chant, typically at fixed intervals, most commonly at the fifth or octave. This simple approach created harmonious textures whilst remaining relatively easy to execute.
Improvisational Practice: In parallel organum, improvisers could experiment with parallel intervals, typically staying within the limits of a fifth or octave from the chant melody. This created simple, harmonious textures whilst allowing performers to explore variations in rhythm and phrasing. The simplicity of parallel motion made this an ideal starting point for developing polyphonic consciousness.
As polyphony evolved, musicians began to experiment with free organum, where the second voice no longer followed the chant in strict parallel motion. Instead, the voices moved more independently, with the second voice occasionally creating contrary or oblique motion relative to the foundational chant.
Improvisational Practice: Free organum allowed improvisers to experiment with changing the direction of the second voice, creating contrary motion (where one voice ascends whilst the other descends) or oblique motion (where one voice remains static whilst the other moves). This provided greater flexibility in voice interaction whilst still relying on the original chant melody for structural foundation.
By the twelfth century, particularly in the Notre-Dame school of polyphony, organum had developed into more complex florid organum. In this style, the second voice (the organal voice) became much more ornate, often featuring multiple notes for each note of the original chant (the plainchant voice).
Improvisational Practice: Florid organum allowed for greater expressiveness in the second voice. Improvisers could create long, flowing melismas in the organal voice whilst the chant melody remained in the tenor voice, providing foundation. This approach required more sophisticated understanding of voice-leading principles and contrapuntal relationships.
The thirteenth century saw the emergence of cantus firmus technique, where pre-existing chant melodies were used as the foundation for polyphonic compositions. The chant was usually placed in the tenor voice, with other voices (alto, soprano) added above or below, creating intricate harmonic relationships.
Improvisational Practice: In cantus firmus improvisation, the improviser would begin with the fixed chant melody in the tenor and layer additional voices above it. The upper voices could be improvised in counterpoint, following established rules of consonance and dissonance, or more freely through exploration of simple harmonic progressions.
In early polyphony, duplum referred to the second voice in an organum or polyphonic texture. This voice was crucial for establishing polyphonic relationships and often served as the primary site for improvisational creativity.
Improvisational Practice: In duplum improvisation, the improviser focused on creating a second voice that supported the cantus firmus or original chant. The duplum could be created in parallel motion or involve more complex counterpoint, depending on the style of organum being used. In later polyphonic developments, duplum voices became more melodically independent, leading to richer and more intricate polyphonic textures.
Troping involved adding material to existing chants, whether through insertion of extra text or development of new musical material. Trope improvisation required spontaneous creation of new material within the framework of existing chant, often adding new verses or melismatic embellishments that expanded the original melodic lines.
Improvisational Practice: In trope improvisation, performers would take pre-existing chant and improvise additions that enhanced or elaborated on the original material. This could involve creating melismatic embellishments, adding new textual verses that fit within the chant's structure, or reinterpreting the rhythmic phrasing. The goal was to add richness and complexity whilst respecting the original chant's form and function.
Discant (from the Latin "discantus," meaning "to sing apart") refers to a style of polyphony where each voice moves in roughly the same rhythmic pattern, often in note-against-note fashion. This style contrasted with florid, melismatic organum by offering more rhythmically defined and harmonically precise structures.
Improvisational Practice: In discant improvisation, the second voice would mirror the rhythm of the chant melody, creating counterpoint that aligned rhythmically with the original chant. The improviser would perform counterpoint that created more defined rhythmic relationships between voices, allowing for greater harmonic and rhythmic precision. This style was frequently used in medieval motets and provided superb training for developing rhythmic coordination between voices.
The connection between music and dance has existed throughout human history, and in the medieval period, improvisation played a crucial role in both musical and dance traditions. Musicians who accompanied dances needed to improvise to provide the necessary rhythmic and melodic foundations for dancers, often adapting their performances in real-time to match the energy, mood, and specific requirements of the dance occasion.
Medieval dances were generally structured around specific rhythmic patterns and melodies that accompanied the movements of the dancers. The dance music varied by region, occasion, and cultural context but was often rooted in simple, repetitive structures that allowed for flexibility in performance. The importance of improvisation within these dance forms stemmed from the need to respond dynamically to the physical actions of the dancers and the energetic atmosphere of live performance.
Dance music consisted of two main elements: melody and rhythmic accompaniment. Musicians improvising for dances could explore variations of both elements, adding layers of complexity, ornamentation, and rhythmic variation as needed to suit the dance style. Improvising musicians had to balance familiarity in the music with creativity, tailoring their performances to the specific style of dance and the mood of the occasion.
The social context of medieval dance was crucial to understanding improvisational practice. Unlike liturgical music, which followed established patterns and served specific religious functions, dance music needed to be immediately accessible and physically compelling. This required musicians to develop sensitivity to group dynamics, physical movement, and emotional atmosphere.
The double versicle was a fundamental musical structure commonly found in medieval dance and chant contexts. It consisted of two musical phrases paired together in a repetitive pattern, with each phrase mirroring or complementing the other. In dance music, the double versicle provided a simple, predictable structure that was easy for both musicians and dancers to follow.
This structural approach offered significant advantages for improvisational practice. The repetitive nature of the double versicle allowed musicians to introduce variations whilst maintaining the essential character and flow of the dance. The predictability created a framework within which creative exploration could occur without losing the fundamental rhythmic and melodic identity that dancers depended upon.
Improvisational Practice: In the context of dance music, the double versicle could serve as a foundation for improvisation. The first phrase might be repeated or varied in the second phrase, allowing musicians to add ornamentation, variation in rhythm, or even harmony to suit the dance's movement. The predictability of the double versicle allowed for creativity within clearly defined framework, with musicians altering rhythm or introducing melodic flourishes in ways that maintained the dance's momentum.
Example: In a pavane (a slow, processional dance), the double versicle might consist of a simple melody in the tenor (the foundational voice) paired with a more decorated second voice in improvised counterpoint. The repetitive nature of the double versicle made it possible for performers to introduce different rhythmic patterns and variations without breaking the dance's flow.
The fourteenth-century scholar and theorist Johannes de Grocheo provides crucial insights into medieval music and dance in his treatise "De Musica." Grocheo's observations about the role of music in dance and the improvisational nature of musicians' roles during dance performances offer valuable perspectives on how improvisation functioned in social musical contexts.
Grocheo emphasised that music was inseparable from dance and was often improvised to suit the movement and mood of the dancers. He distinguished between vocal music and instrumental music, noting that instrumental music was more closely associated with dance forms. Instrumentalists, especially those performing in dance ensembles, had the freedom to improvise and adapt their performances based on the rhythm and energy of the dancers.
Grocheo also wrote about the importance of rhythmic improvisation, suggesting that musicians didn't always follow fixed melodic lines but rather responded to the dynamic environment of the dance. He noted that singers sometimes added melodic phrases or neuma to the end of antiphons, "just like on the vielle after a cantus coronatus or a stantipes, the ending of which vielle players call mode," and declared that "the good artist introduces every cantus and cantilena and every musical form on the vielle."
Improvisational Practice: According to Grocheo, instrumentalists had to be highly adaptive in their improvisation. For example, in the case of a farandole (a lively French dance), musicians might improvise the rhythmic accompaniment, switching between different patterns of meter to match the energetic movements of the dancers. The improvisational aspect also extended to melodic improvisation, where instrumentalists might embellish the melodic line, repeating and varying it according to the needs of the performance.
Example: In a dance such as the saltarello (an Italian dance), melodic improvisation might take the form of ornamentation or embellishments around a base melody, creating a lively, varied accompaniment to the energetic and often improvisational movements of the dancers.
During the medieval period, several dance forms became popular across Europe, each with its own rhythm, structure, and potential for improvisation. Understanding these forms and their characteristics provides insight into how improvisation functioned in social musical contexts.
The pavane was a slow, processional dance featuring stately movements. It was often performed in couples or groups and had a simple, repetitive structure that made it ideal for improvisation. The music accompanying the pavane often followed a double versicle form, with two sections that could be repeated or varied.
Improvisational Practice: Musicians improvising for the pavane would focus on ornamenting the basic melody, adding grace notes, trills, and other embellishments to create a more elaborate performance. The repetitive structure allowed musicians to introduce subtle variations, creating a sense of musical development without disrupting the dance's flowing rhythm.
The galliard was a lively, upbeat dance, typically featuring leaps and quick steps. The fast pace and energetic movements of the dance provided ample opportunity for musicians to add complexity to their improvisation. The galliard was often performed in triple meter and involved rhythmic patterns that could be flexibly altered to match the dancers' needs.
Improvisational Practice: Musicians could create variations in rhythm to complement the fast-paced movements of the dancers. This might include changing the tempo, altering the emphasis of certain beats, or adding rapid melodic flourishes to match the exuberant energy of the galliard. Improvising in triple meter involved finding ways to play around the established rhythm, creating moments of syncopation or offbeat accents.
The saltarello was a lively Italian dance characterised by its quick footwork and rhythmic intensity. Often played in compound time (6/8 or 12/8), the rhythm of the saltarello gave musicians freedom to create improvisatory textures that both supported and responded to the dancers' movements.
Improvisational Practice: In saltarello improvisation, musicians could vary the rhythmic accents to give the music a sense of urgency and drive. Improvising a melody over a persistent drone or repeated rhythmic figure was also common, as it allowed musicians to focus on rhythmic complexity whilst the dancers performed intricate steps.
The farandole was a fast-paced, circle dance that originated in southern France. It was often performed in repeated sections with increasing tempo, and its improvisatory nature required music to adapt quickly to the energetic movements of the dancers.
Improvisational Practice: Musicians improvising for the farandole would typically focus on providing a constant pulse, allowing dancers to maintain their energy. The music might start with a simple melody and rhythmic accompaniment, then gradually increase in complexity and speed. The improvisational challenge lay in creating dynamic variations in the music whilst ensuring that the tempo and rhythm aligned with the physical movements of the dancers.
The estampie (in Italian, istampitta) represents the most well-documented medieval dance form, constituting nearly half of the surviving instrumental dance melodies from the Middle Ages. Its structure provides a superb example of how formal constraints could support rather than limit improvisational practice.
The estampie was characterised by sections, each containing its own melody (punctum), which was repeated twice. The cadential phrase that completed the first iteration of each melody ended on a note other than the final and was described as the "open" ending (aperto in Italian manuscripts, ouvert in French). The cadential phrase that completed the repeat of each melody ended with the final and was called the "closed" ending (chiuso in Italian manuscripts, clos in French).
Improvisational Applications: The estampie's structure provided numerous opportunities for improvisation:
Melodic Variation: Each repetition of a punctum could be ornamented or varied whilst maintaining the essential melodic character
Rhythmic Development: The repeated structure allowed for progressive rhythmic elaboration
Dynamic Contrast: Open and closed endings could be differentiated through dynamics, articulation, or ornamentation
Ensemble Texture: Multiple instruments could share melodic lines or provide rhythmic accompaniment
The open and closed endings often shared melodic or rhythmic material, creating both unity and variety within each section. In the Italian istampitta, each punctum ended with a common refrain that preceded both the open and closed endings, providing additional opportunities for variation and development.
Understanding the social context of medieval dance music is crucial for appreciating how improvisation functioned in these settings. Unlike liturgical music, which served specific religious functions within established institutional frameworks, dance music was performed in diverse social contexts that required different kinds of musical responsiveness.
Medieval dances occurred in various settings: courtly celebrations, popular festivals, religious feasts, seasonal celebrations, and private gatherings. Each context brought different expectations, different levels of formality, and different opportunities for musical creativity.
Court dances often required more sophisticated musical arrangements and greater attention to ceremonial protocol, whilst popular dances emphasised accessibility and communal participation. Religious feast days might combine liturgical elements with secular dance traditions, creating unique opportunities for musical synthesis.
The musicians themselves came from different social backgrounds and had varying levels of formal training. Professional musicians might be highly skilled in improvisation and capable of sophisticated musical elaboration, whilst amateur musicians needed to rely on simpler, more accessible approaches to musical variation.
These social factors directly influenced improvisational practice. Musicians needed to assess their audience, understand the social context, and adapt their musical approach accordingly. This required not only technical skill but also social awareness and cultural sensitivity.
Medieval dance music performance involved practical considerations that significantly influenced improvisational approaches:
Instrumentation: Different instruments offered different possibilities for improvisation. String instruments like the vielle could provide both melodic lines and rhythmic accompaniment. Wind instruments excelled in melodic elaboration but might be limited in harmonic support. Percussion instruments provided rhythmic foundation but required other instruments for melodic content.
Acoustics: Performance spaces ranged from intimate chambers to large halls to outdoor settings. Each acoustic environment required different approaches to balance, volume, and articulation.
Duration: Dances could continue for extended periods, requiring musicians to sustain interest through ongoing variation and development. This demanded both stamina and creative resourcefulness.
Coordination: Musicians needed to maintain coordination with dancers whilst simultaneously managing their own improvisational development. This required high levels of musical awareness and social sensitivity.
These practical considerations demonstrate that medieval dance music improvisation wasn't merely an artistic pursuit but a practical skill that required adaptation to diverse and changing circumstances. Modern practitioners seeking to understand and revive these traditions must consider not only the musical elements but also the social and practical contexts that shaped historical practice.
The quilisma stands as one of the most tantalising and mysterious elements in medieval musical notation, representing a crucial intersection between written notation and oral performance tradition. As one scholar observes, "If we wish to create a living performance that is more than a snapshot of accurately carbon-dated bones," we must grapple with these enigmatic neumes that clearly indicate something beyond mere pitch notation.
The quilisma, along with other liquescent neumes such as the oriscus and pressus, has traditionally been described as "ornamental neumes." However, this terminology proves problematic because "ornament" implies something that's added to a complete structure. In reality, these neumes represent integral aspects of the improvisational process, not byproducts of received vocalisation transmitted by ear and memory.
Medieval music's lack of prescriptive notation is one of the strongest indications that the repertoire has always required inventive, improvisatory, and compositional skill from performers. The presence of quilisma and similar neumes suggests that medieval scribes were attempting to notate aspects of performance practice that went beyond simple pitch and rhythm — elements that were understood within the oral tradition but needed some form of written indication for those learning the tradition.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t about perfection. It was about risk. It was about leaning over the edge of the known and letting the music tremble on your tongue before it jumps.