“This leads to the Crypt,” He explained. “where you’ll be playing.” We descended a flight of stairs to a dimly lit room filled with relics of last year’s nativity scene. I detected a musty smell and heard the sighing of massive heating pipes. “This, of course, isn’t the public entrance,” our guide assured us.

We followed John (that was the name of our Virgil) through a series of passageways and doors. Some were so low we had to duck. All the while we listened as he named the former Bishops and even Archbishops that were interred in this Crypt. To be honest, I wasn’t paying much attention to that. I was trying, in vain, to keep track of the rights and lefts that we took and to identify landmarks so I could find my way back out if need be.

The Crypt was pleasant enough, in fact quite elegant. It was a spacious stone chamber with a high vaulted ceiling. There was a central altar, a painting of a radiant and very approachable-looking Jesus, 100 or so chairs surrounding, and two chairs in the center for us.

“You will start playing at noon.” Our guide announced. “I will introduce you. Hmmm… Well, it’s 9:30 now, so you’ve got a few hours to kill.” With that he vanished and left us alone in the Crypt with the former Bishops and even Archbishops of New Jersey.

Ignoring a growing feeling of unease, I told Jamie that I was going to find my way back up to the car to grab something I had forgotten. This was going well enough, someone had drawn arrows in chalk on the walls to help someone in my position. I passed an elderly Janitor who smiled at me knowingly. Then I got a little lost. The arrows seemed to point in conflicting directions. My landmarks were useless. I was lost in a labrynth of pipes, dusty statues of the Virgin and unused vestry wardrobes. One corridor I was exploring became dark and the only way forward was on a small wooden plank suspended over as chasm, the dimensions of which were obscured in darkness. It was at this point that I began to lose touch with reality. Was I really in the basement of a cathedral in Newark or was I still in bed in my hotel room having an awful nightmare? For a moment I really wasn’t sure.

I was brough back to sanity by the familiar sound of Jamie’s guitar, not too distant, playing his part of one of the pieces we were about to perform. I found my way back to the Crypt, forgetting my errand to the car.

It turned out that the acoustics in the space were incredible. The room added an uncanny glow to the notes, subtly amplifying and warming the sound of our guitars. It was really amazing, probably one of the best spaces I’ve ever played in.

Totally hypnotized by the new resonances we were hearing in our playing, we began improvsing baroque cadences in the style of Marc Antoine Charpentier (whose opera Le Descente de Orphee aux Enfers we had been listening to repeatedly in the car – recorded by William Christie and Les Arts Florrisants, GORGEOUS ). Doing this we must have lost track of time because we were roused from our reverie by the entrance of some early audience members.

Our heads still swirling, we retreated to a little room and waited for the rest of of the  audience to arrive. I was so excited to play. Our program was to be all French Baroque. The combination of the sound of our guitars in that room and the fact that my head was full of our improvisations in the same style made me ready to experience these pieces (which we have played countless times) in a totally fresh way. This is always when the best music making happens, so I knew that this was going to be exactly the kind of performing experience that I live for.

John returned and, as promised, introduced us and we walked out. I was thrilled to find that it was a full Crypt! We started playing, the music flowed, the audience was smiling or closing their eyes, everyone was in it, and it was over too fast.

No more nightmare scenarios to round out this tale. We finished our program, made our bows, chatted with the audience and sold some CDs. We went out with the audience through their exit, which was considerably simpler than our entrance, just a short, well lit passageway of carved stone, and a large door that opened into the blessed sunlight.

This machine accompanied our arrangements of two works by Estonian composer Arvo Pärt – Fratres and Spiegel im Spiegel – for electric guitar duo.  These pieces represent a new development for us, and we’re very excited about them – they’ll definitely find their way onto future programs.  Before that were arrangements of Francis Poulenc’s Mouvements Perpetuels and Satie’s Crooked Dances, and piece by Steve Reich called Nagoya Guitars.  In keeping with the spirit of our mechanical stagemates, all the music played with the idea of perpetual motion, here frantically, there with austerity.  All told, a totally enjoyable night!  Our thanks to Arthur, Oni, and Guidonian, to the Ariel Artists folks for bringing it all together, and to Galapagos for their expertise and free drink tickets.

-Jamie

Years later, that is a few months ago, I began exploring music written for harpsichord by French composers of this period.  I found a lot of music that was huge, extravagant and bombastic and a lot that was small, exquisite, and cute, but again I found little that I felt would translate well to the sonority of the guitar and the Duo Orfeo sound in particular.  Now, I love the harpsichord as much as the next guy, but after listening to hours of recordings over several weeks it begins to wear on you. It was at this point of harpsichord saturation that I was sitting in the studio where I teach guitar lessons waiting for a student to arrive that I put on a CD of solo harpsichord music by Jacques Duphly, played by Katherine Roberts Perl. It was the last thing I expected at that moment to be struck down by and the beauty of what I was hearing,  but that is exactly what happened.  What I heard was music of such crystalline decadence, such delicate elegance. It was all these things, but also honest and un-ironic in tone. It’s sadness that of fairy tale or a nursery rhyme.  It’s longing that of a doo-wop ballad. No great truths are revealed here yet it makes you feel something very deeply. I am reminded of nothing so much as the wonder and mystery of opening a music box as child when listening to the music of Duphly.

When my lessons were over I went to the music library and found the complete works of Jacques Duphly. It was a slim inconspicuous volume with a blue spine with gold lettering, buried in the stacks in a row of identical volumes of music by other forgotten composers. The book had never been checked out.

From this book I eventually chose three pieces to arrange for guitar duo, an Allemande, and two Rondeau–one in D minor entitled Tendre (tender) and one in D major entitled Gracieux (graceful). The two rondeau we have recently recorded to go along with this post. A rondeau, in this case, is a musical form in which a short section of music (the refrain) is introduced and reappears again after sections of new material (the couplets). This form is particularly appealing when the refrains (which are heard four times each in these rondeau) are so irresistible.

The details of the life of Jaques Duphly are of interest considering how I first became attracted to the French Baroque. He spent his early life as a church musician in the country, but later moved to Paris to pursue a career as harpsichordist. That career consisted of entertaining in the elite salons of Paris.  He played and taught for those who lived a life of leisure, the aristocracy and their milieu, yet never attained that status himself, although he certainly lived comfortably. In this rarified atmosphere he composed music  that was all refinement and style, unconcerned, even aloof from the greater world. History passed him by. Duphly died in 1789, the day after Bastille Day, hardly anyone knew he was still alive. He hadn’t written any music for almost 25 years.

Arvo Part