The Tragedy and Triumph of Corsican Music

There are so many highlights each day it’s very hard to pick one and keep my entries short enough not to bore you, Constant Reader, out of your mind.

In one of today’s sessions we worked on pieces from the Corsican tradition. There’s a history behind them which is touching and sad, but with a proud and hopeful ending. I’m telling the story as it was told to me… I’ll check sources later and see if I messed anything up badly.

So, do you know where Corsica is? I’ll give you a second before I give away the answer…

Ready? It’s an island in the western Mediterranean, south of France and west of Italy. It’s very mountainous, with relatively small coastal areas. Think of a little chunk of the Balkan Mountains dropped into the sea and you won’t be far off. They were part of the Roman Empire, and Corsican is still very close to Italian linguistically.

Since the collapse of the Roman Empire, Corsica has been vied over by the nearby countries and city-states: Genoa, Pisa, France, etc. This was mainly for strategic naval reasons. The best potential agricultural land was also plagued by malaria until the 20th century. It’s not like anyone could build big cities or produce much for trade. They wanted the island for where it was, not what it was, and the Corsicans just lived there and loved it like anyone loves their home. They did live fairly prosperously in the interior, thanks to huge chestnut forests that provided practically everything they needed, but that’s another story.

So despite their island setting, the Corsicans don’t think of themselves as seafarers. Instead they are mountain people. Because of the remoteness of the villages they didn’t have regular priests. They had their main church where the traveling priest might hold services, but attached would be a chapel where lay services were held. A family of the village would hold the hereditary responsibility of singing the masses for the community, and each village had its own musical mass, handed down generation after generation among the men of the family. 3-part arrangements were the rule, with complex systems of ornamentation, all learned by rote. And it was men’s music. Women had very few situations where they could publicly sing either sacred or secular music.

Three things nearly destroyed the music. The first factor was indirect, when France finally beat out their Italian rivals and took Corsica for keeps. It’s still French territory, though I get the impression French isn’t highly regarded there even though it’s the official language. The second factor was the two world wars. Corsica wasn’t particularly important as a battleground. I honestly don’t know if there was any fighting there at all. But besides singing the masses (and folk songs), the men of Corsica had another tradition. There aren’t many high paying jobs in Corsica, but you can always get a job fighting in someone else’s army and send the money home… So even though Corsica may not have been directly involved, the losses of men fighting for someone else in two succeeding generations formed a huge gap in the tradition. The final nail in the coffin was, oddly enough, Vatican 2. When the order came down to perform masses in the vernacular, the Corsican churches had to convert their masses to the official language, French.

The story could have ended there but thankfully didn’t. The worldwide folk revival begun in the 50’s and 60’s finally caught up to Corsica in the 70’s. At that time only 2 complete masses out of dozens were still extant. The rest were in fragments or were simply lost. But a handful of dedicated people recorded and revived what was there, and some even took on the task of reconstructing missing pieces from the partial masses. Sometimes they would only have one or two of three parts, and would painstakingly reconstruct the remaining part(s) from known principles. Then they would take it back to the surviving little old ladies of the village and say, “Does this sound right?” Sometimes the ladies would say, “hmm, I think this section went more like this,” and sometimes they would simply weep as they heard songs they hadn’t heard in 60 years and thought no one would hear again. Now the tradition is back on its feet, and there are new compositions and singing competitions and great pride amongst the Corsicans. Along the same time Corsican patriots fought for and won the right to use their languange have it taught and used in the schools.

So, today at Camp Singalot we started work on two Corsican songs. One was an Agnus Dei from, oh heck I don’t know which village’s mass and my music is downstairs and it’s late. This ain’t your artsy-fartsy middle-ages holy music here. It’s bold, vibrant, and very direct. At its best the three parts are working together very collaboratively. The middle part (Secunda) has the lead, and will stretch and push the notes, adding ornamentation and creating a great deal of energy and tension at times. The basses (Bass, actually) follow with their line, not with them but letting the Secunda have the note or syllable for just a moment before starting to build the next chord. The high voice (Terza) follows last, rounding out the chord, which lasts for a moment before the Secunda lead on again. The resulting sound is like a cataract of water, with occasional pools of clear brilliance as the choir settles on a bright chord, then the Secunda plunges into the next cascade of notes. The 3 parts are usually a large group of bass voices, plus two solo leads, middle and high. We’re splitting all the women between the two high parts, not traditional but what the hey we’re only here for a week and everyone wants to sing, that’s why were here eh? I’m just growling out the low bits with the other guys on that one, but keeping half an ear out for the leads in case I might want to bring the piece home to share. Ditto for the other song, which is not part of a mass but a folk song. It’s based on a little rhyme about a boy who sees a girl he likes, praying like the nuns in church... and he complains that seeing her like that makes him say things offensive to God. (He seems to have a personal stake in her not entering holy orders.)

That’s all for tonight. If anyone’s reading this let me know. Not that I’ll stop writing or anything if you aren’t.