Author: Tim B. Page 116 of 204
Having passed the veil of the Stormwall, the three chained-together Kremellian ships found themselves floating upon a calm blue sea. Though bruised and battered, and some among their numbers lost in the tempest, they continued under oar. In this they had no choice, for their masts were largely ruined, and their sails in tatters.
They had, however, not far to travel, for across the calm blue sea their quarry lay in sight: the place called Tetharys. As they came closer, gathering their wits again after the terror of the storm, they could see it plainly. Though once an island waystation between Kremel and Quatria, all that remained of that sunken isle was the upper halves of two massive columns jutting up out of the water. They had once stood atop the Temple Mount there, within the arx, supporting a long-since crumbled archway. Together, they formed the Gate of Song.
Legend had it that the Sea Bull, Kominthu, when the world was young, and after many adventures, had charged out to this place of deep waters, gravely wounded, and vanished. He left behind only his immense ivory horns, jutting up out of the mountain, which the Quatrians who later discovered and colonized the island carved into the pillars Kominth and Serus.
Benda, and all aboard the three ships, felt their hearts leap as their boats passed one after the other between the twin pillars of Kominth and Serus, and on through the Gate of Song. Though their hearts had lain heavy in their chests in the gale and in its aftermath, hope sprang anew, in each after his own fashion, and after his own virtue.
Whatever power held intact the magic of the Gate of Song, it recognized Benda now as the Keyholder. As the last boat passed, a distant sound of bells ringing which had begun when the first boat nosed through became now much louder and present, until it was all around them. The sound rang through each of them bodily, affecting them greatly. Whatever fears, strains, or worries had gripped them previously, whatever their intentions had been, they could feel them being melted down by the sound resonating within, and they were exceedingly glad.
Even gladder were they when they passed well beyond sight of sunken Tetharys and the Gate of Song, and in the distance saw land rising up out of the vast deep ocean.
“Quatria, at long last,” exclaimed Greppo in delight to no one in particular.
Benda, coming up beside him corrected him, “Nay, that is the island of Gilla, outer-most of the many isles of Quatria, near the borders of the Houses of Wealth and Song, and leading beyond it into the Bay of Erasure, and Quatria herself.”
It had been their plan under council to sail and make camp at Gilla, and thus proceed from a place of greater strength on to Quatria herself by and by. They were to send for reinforcements if necessary. Instead, however, a kind of mad fury gripped Greppo instead, upon his eyes catching sight of these shores. His imagination leapt into the void of the untold riches and glory which surely lay just beyond.
“We row on to Quatria, now,” Greppo said forcefully.
Benda looked at him, and saw the mad blood behind his eyes boiling. “Oh my king, it is not my place to question, but the men-at-arms and rowers are deathly tired, and our vessels badly damaged. Let us set ashore awhile, recover, and consolidate to the best ships remaining which will hold us all.”
The madness mounting in Greppo’s eyes subsided just long enough for him to see the reason in Benda’s suggestion, and he ordered it to be so. The rowers rowed, and after still a long time, when the shadows had well lengthened, they arrived and set anchor in the small seaward bay of Gilla.
Greppo, however, did not allow them to rest or go ashore until the ships had been inspected under torch-light, and the best among them discovered. It was found to be the third vessel, that upon which had embarked Mergolech, Eradus, Lualla, Sol, Tob Gobble, and their retinues and men-at-arms of Kremel. They had taken the least storm damage, and had a mast which would be salvageable come light of day. They spent that night, however, transporting provisions from the badly damaged first ship (which in point of fact would have sank before ever reaching Quatria proper), and distributing them to the others, and unchaining them one from the other.
Greppo took command of that ship, while Murta and Martis Ovnis in the second ship (still damaged, but less so than the first) received their share of provisions and men-at-arms to replace those rowers lost at the Stormwall. The first ship, which was already taking on water, was abandoned to soon sink, and the assembled company at last slept, and dreamt feverish dreams of what they’d find in Quatria.
Sacred Harp singers view their tradition as a participatory one, not a passive one. Those who gather for a singing sing for themselves and for each other, and not for an audience. This can be seen in several aspects of the tradition.
First, the seating arrangement (four parts in a square, facing each other) is clearly intended for the singers, not for external listeners. Non-singers are always welcome to attend a singing, but typically they sit among the singers in the back rows of the tenor section, rather than in a designated separate audience location.
The leader, being equidistant from all sections, in principle hears the best sound. The often intense sonic experience of standing in the center of the square is considered one of the benefits of leading, and sometimes a guest will be invited as a courtesy to stand next to the leader during a song.
Source: Sacred Harp – Wikipedia
The music of the Middle Ages and Renaissance was often annotated under the assumption of musica ficta, which were particular raisings and lowerings of notes by the interval of a semitone, not written in the music notation. Authentic performance of such music must rely on the best available musicological scholarship to interpret the difficult and obscure rules governing when musica ficta should be introduced.
The reason why Sacred Harp includes practices not notated in the music (that is, in the various published editions of The Sacred Harp) is that the printed music is not the only way that the music is transmitted among singers and across time—there is an oral channel as well. Many Sacred Harp participants can be described as “traditional” singers. They learned Sacred Harp by being taken to singings as children, and usually are the children of traditional singers of the previous generation. The parents, in turn, also learned the tradition as children.[1] Thus there is often a chain of direct transmission dating back to (or even before) the original appearance (1844) of The Sacred Harp. This chain has evidently developed and transmitted a number of singing practices distinct from what is printed in the book. As Sacred Harp scholar Warren Steel states, “traditional singers use the printed book in learning songs, and refer to it while singing, but the notes in the book are not interpreted literally, but according to a performance practice and style that is learned through oral tradition and varies among different regions and families.”
Strikingly, pitchers at singing conventions generally do not use any mechanical aid, such as a pitch pipe or tuning fork, to help them find the right pitch.[6] (Such aids may be more common at small local singings.)[7]
How Sacred Harp pitchers (who generally do not possess perfect pitch) achieve their ends without mechanical help is not a fully understood question. It probably helps that pitchers typically know the songs very well, and that they have the opportunity to test out how a particular key “feels” when they sing the first note aloud. Sometimes a pitcher will try one opening note, find it unsatisfactory, then execute a glissando to a neighboring pitch.
Cobb lists some ways in which pitchers make up for the lack of a pitch-giving device.[8] Some use their own voices as a kind of reference, for instance by knowing the lowest note they can comfortably sing. Others have a kind of “reference song”; a song so familiar that when they summon it to mind it is in the original key, which then can be used as a reference point.[9] For many singers, however, good pitching seems to be a purely intuitive activity, a skill they possess but cannot explain. One experienced pitcher told Cobb “it’s kind of like learning to fix an automobile–you just got to have a knack for it.”
Dhwani (Sanskrit) means sound of any kind. Out of all the Dhwanis created in the world, sounds that are ‘musical’—give an experience or perception of a ‘musical’ sound—are called Nadas. The sound of a ‘clap’ is a dhwani, but that of a bell is a nada. […]
In this way, sounds (dhwanis) are progressively classified as:
– All sounds in the world are dhwanis.
– Selected dhwanis become nadas, (innumerable), which provide a musical experience.
– Selected nadas become shrutis, (22), which create a change in the perception of 12 swaraprakaras (universal chromatic pitch classes) as we play them from one end of the string. This change happens only at 22 points as placed by nature.
– Selected (12 or fewer) shrutis become swaras —used in a particular raga.[21]
Source: Shruti (music) – Wikipedia
The swara differs from the shruti concept in Indian music. A shruti is the smallest gradation of pitch that a human ear can detect and a singer or instrument can produce.[3] A swara is the selected pitches from which the musician constructs the scales, melodies and ragas. The ancient Sanskrit text Natya Shastra identifies and discusses twenty two shruti and seven swara.[3] The swara studies in ancient Sanskrit texts include the musical gamut and its tuning, categories of melodic models and the raga compositions.[4]
Source: Svara – Wikipedia