New Single - "Le Dodo, ou L'amour au Berceau"
Shhhhhh….. baby is dreaming about emptiness and loss…
Out Today: Couperin’s “Le Dodo, ou L’Amour au Berceau.”
When I first saw the title “Le Dodo” I was confused. At the time I had no clue why François Couperin, imminent composer of exquisite beauty and depth, would dedicate a work to an awkward bird that went extinct just prior to his birth. As it turned out, I had it all wrong.
The complete title of the work, “Le Dodo, ou L’Amour au Berceau,” suggests an interesting story as soon as you comb through it. First of all “Le Dodo” doesn’t mean “dead bird,” but instead it’s French baby talk for “sleepy time” or “cradle song.” Upon discovering that I understood why the work was so pretty, having a grace I didn’t expect from a work I mistook for a musical portrait of the poster child of idiocy and extinction. The second half of the title, “ou L’Amour au Berceau,” translates to “Amour (Cupid) in the cradle,” suggesting a tableau full of so many layers I could just squeal. Couperin, famous for writing work after work with gnostic titles whose meanings still elude us, creates a rich tableau when the music and title are taken together. BUT I HAVE QUESTIONS:
Cupid has to sleep? Gods have to sleep?
Who is singing? Who is rocking the cradle for a god’s naptime?
Are the two parts portraying two different people, or do they represent different elements of this tableau?
Why the two tonal areas of A Major and a minor? IS SWEET BABY CUPID HAVING A NIGHTMARE? Is his mom, Venus, upset with him?
Wait, is there really a bird in the bassinet and Cupid’s playing a joke? Right? I mean, Couperin is a funny guy.
Whose interiority is Couperin exploring? Is this the tune of Venus/the hand the rocks the cradle, or is this a musical depiction of the dreams of the child god? Or is Couperin only describing a moment - a musical snapshot?
When I was first introduced to “Le Dodo” by cellist Loretta O’Sullivan we were on a gig so there wasn’t time to dig into these pressing questions - any clarity gained came through our collaboration and Couperin’s music. At first it all seemed straight ahead: the bassline lulling us with its hypnotic lilt, while the “right hand” sang above in it’s very beautiful, and undeniably French, fashion. Had we stopped there the piece would become another forgettable Baroque miniature - nothing really new here, nothing truly exquisite. Gladly Loretta, who was beautifully playing the melody, stopped to ask something strange of me: “Can you stop accompanying me? Don’t do what I want. Pull me along. Don’t let me wallow.”
This added bit of tension, with the bassline leading the melody along by its nose, made the picture snap into focus for me. I imagined the pace of the rocking bassline was akin to the motion of a mother rocking a sleeping child, the speed varying depending on how fussy the baby might be. The melody follows along, attached to the pace of the bass, but never losing its beauty because mommy doesn’t want any screaming from the bassinet. I can totally imagine a freaked out mother singing “Hush Little Baby” in a tiny, shaky voice, knowing that any errant motion or sound could destroy it all, speeding up and slowing down depending on if the demon in her arms stirs. This I could work with.
The major/minor tonal areas of “Le Dodo” still confused me and didn’t fit neatly into my vignette - there was obviously more going on. Are these the dreams and nightmares of Cupid we are listening to, or is Venus changing her tune as she sings to her sleeping son? While I can’t be sure, I do think Couperin is exploring the double edged blade that is love. Often a source of such sweetness and warmth, I can easily understand a mother singing the first section to her sleeping babe. However, the second section, with its abrupt change from major to minor, doesn’t fit into my perception of a lullaby. But then I forget this is quite possibly a goddess singing to a god AND WHAT CAN A MORTAL KNOW OF THEIR WAYS? But seriously… Maybe Venus is singing of the tragedy of love, that all loves are lost one way or another, and that even in the peace of sleep the very nature of these gods is bipartite. The warmth of love is forever bonded with its shadows of loss and emptiness.
When I sat down to record I made several complete versions before I found a path that made sense, drawing back on my first time with “Le Dodo” and Loretta O’Sullivan. The bass line was where I started, making the most of the tension and shapes Couperin so deftly constructs in the near nonstop eight notes. A composer of Couperin’s skill can make a bassline a complete musical moment, with so much affective and harmonic information insinuated in a single voice. Once I felt I had a good base bass take I moved to the melodic line, and getting that to fit was tricky but well worth the effort. I had to memorize my previous performance as completely as I could, but not just the notes and their pacing. I had to get it down to memorizing breaths, bow, and finger noises in the first track. Eventually what emerged was the exquisite tension I had created with Loretta, with the bassline rocking the cradle as the melody follows along. Sometimes you can hear the bow of the melody part just barely hanging on the string, waiting for the motion of the bassline as its cue to continue. Even though I recorded it alone, it was strangely similar to playing with another person without the visual cues we typically depend upon.
Maybe we should start blindfolded chamber music concerts? I don’t know - just thinking. I’d be into it except for all the inevitable falling.