IV.I The Ethical Aspect
It was when I was trying to explain my master project to a friend who has recently been diagnosed with schizophrenia, that I realized just how controversial my topic is. Having the 17th century understanding of madness as artistic motivation, when the system clearly caused a lot of pain to the ones involved, might be ethically questionable.1 However, exactly by bearing in mind the people involved when studying the context of the Mad Songs, I believe that there is a way to approach the material that could contribute to a broader understanding of humanity.
Foucault remarks that in the 17th and 18th century, “madness was a space of unpredictable liberty where frenzy was unleashed.”2 To me, that very concept is the essence that the Mad Singer has to trace. However, where the Mad Songs offer a rich musical world of imagination and playfulness, Foucault points out that in the view of madness in the 17th and 18th century, “The rich fauna of imagination were removed, leaving only a generalised air of threat and menace, the mute danger of a sleeping animal, who might at once abolish reason in violence and truth in insane fure.”3 The essential question to be answered when becoming a Mad singer, is whether to relate your performance to the actual patients, or the representation of madness in art? Rather than representing the physical nature of the madness from the 17th century point of view, the Mad Songs works within the conceptualization of madness, using the features of unreasonability and liberty to convey the resemblance. As illustrated in the artistry of Anne Bracegirdle, that is essentially what needs to be traced in the performance of Mad Songs, and that may be a way to approach the material in a respectful way.
To conclude this section, I would like to address a point made by the actress-singer, and member of the Dutch Historical Acting Collective, Laila Cathleen Neuman. She pointed out that: “Madness is not a concept that is locked to one historical period, it is timeless.”4 In Mad Songs, women can act in a way they do not usually do and push limits. Even though it is mostly seen as a genre that allows the singer to show skills and virtuosity, the main task of the Mad Singer might be to address something outside of the performance. At the Mad Song’s deepest core, the music is a mirror of a mad world and illustration of loss of freedom. Being seen as a tragic, rather than comic genre, the Mad Songs can be a timeless representation of misunderstanding and prejudice.
IV.II A Reflection on the Issue of Genuinity
How Can You Be in a State of Acting, If You Are Truly Mad?
Even though my goal is to create a believable and genuine performance of the mad songs, it is self-evident that this is not the same as really losing my mind. But what is my goal then? What is genuinity in this context? Aaron Hill is more or less encouraging the actor to allow the body to react naturally on stage. His goal was always to make the performer truly feel what he wanted to express. But how would it be possible to sing with genuine fear, when the breath is automatically blocked when sensing true danger? Or be furiously angry when singing coloratura?
As already established, the 17th century sources of passions in art believed in a moderation of nature in order to create a balanced and understandable representation. And as all performers experience, being on stage is not the same as being off stage. Some kind of moderation is needed, but what were the guidelines in the 17th century? As humans, we are naturally equipped with a set of instincts that are activated when we encounter situations that appeal to the primal part of us, the part that overrules time and place. Even so, the body language that Hill described is influenced by the time he lived in, and throughout all ages there have been many different ruling sets of norms or «code of behavior as to what it is or is not permissible to show in the way of emotion» as Montagu explains it5. Connecting this to Le Brun and the contemporary 17th century tradition of visual arts, Montagu continues: “It was not enough for the artist to imitate the expressions of nature that he might see around him, he must represent ideal nature: nature not as it is, but as it ought to be. The rules of decency insisted that the expression of even the most extreme emotions should be restrained within certain bounds, which were dependent on the age, sex or rank of the person depicted.”6 The so-called rules are indeed a result of a classic tradition, even though they were said to be based on the natural world. “The painter communicates through a set of symbols and patterns, which may (or may not) resemble more or less closely phenomena to be found in nature, but the effects of which are known either through long experience of artistic tradition, or by the process of trial and error. He learns to choose between them, and to arrange them so as to produce the effect he requires, and this is an intellectual, rather than an emotional process.”7 As Le Brun himself emphasized in his Conference (...)8, there are miles between a scream or the feeling of pain on the one hand, and a portrait of a man with an open mouth on the other hand. The artist struggles equally much to portray the feeling of pain in the portrait if he has a toothache while he paints, and if he is completely healthy. Therefore, I don’t think I need to go completely mad to do the material justice.
The balance between being taken over by passion, and still being able to utter meaningful content in an understandable way, has been a matter of discussion in the field of rhetoric and elocution since antiquity. The matter of actually experiencing the passion you want to convey, is a principle the Roman poet Horace (65 bc-8bc) was illustrating with his famous quote: “Si vis me flere dolendum est / primum ipse tibi. [If you want me to cry, you yourself must first experience grief.]”9 Cicero in his De Oratore (55 bc) writes: “for just as there is no substance so ready to take fire, as to be capable of generating flame without the application of a spark, so there is no mind so ready to absorb an orator’s influence, as to be inflammable when the assailing speaker is not himself aglow with passion.”10 The conception in many treatises is that the orator has to inhabit and feel the passion themselves in order to convince and touch the audience. About the Roman rhetoric Quintilian (ca 35-100), Montagu writes: “Quintilian advocated cultivating the imagination to produce ‘phantasies’, or ‘visions’, whereby ‘things absent are presented to our imagination with such extreme vividness that they seem to be before our very eyes’, and which would help to put him into a state of genuine passion11, while, like Cicero, he also believed that the orator’s words will work on the speaker himself as they work on his audience, so that he is like a lion who lashes himself into a fury with his own tail.12”Connecting this to the 17th century, we can look to Michel Le Faucheur (1585-1687), the author of Traité de l’action de l’orateur, ou de la prononciation et du geste who: “advises the orator to form a strong idea of the subject of the passion in himself so that he would infallibly be moved by it and communicate it to his auditors.”13 But not everyone in this period agreed with these terms. Among those we can place the French oratorian, Bernard Lamy (1640-1715), who, although he quoted Horace’s dictum, translated it in the words: “One cannot touch others, if one does not appear to be touched.”14 In addition to distinguishing between being as affected by the passion as the listeners, and appearing to be so, Lamy also writes: “One can never depict a passion without having seen it in the original, that is to say, without having studied those who were excited by that passion.”15
When reading descriptions of performances from the 17th century especially in France, you can sense how they rely on a tool, a craft, as well as a connection with the character. The following is La Mesnardière’s description of a contemporary actress’ deliverance of a sad speech:
“If she knows how to emphasise the pathetic passages, heighten her misery by the raising of her voice, depict her languor by the inflection of her tones broken by sighs, and suit her gestures, her tears and her looks to her sad thoughts, provided she has that beauty which is the universal charm that gives grace to everything, there will be scarcely a heart that is not deeply touched, and does not demonstrate by involuntary tears that the poet and the actress are both equally to be admired.”16
The discussion on portrayal of the passions in art stood strong in the 17th century. In France, a large number of treatises were written to instruct the performer on the proper method of expression. But as Montagu writes: “Rules, (...) may become mechanical; moreover, if applied too rigorously, they tended to replace an interest in the sensuous appeal of music.”17 Driven only by rules, the performance may become stiff and superficial, while a performance driven only by genuine reactions and emotions may be overwhelming for the performer, and ungraspable to the spectator. Montagu writes: “François Riccoboni, in contrast to his father and many of his contemporaries who had advocated complete identification with the rôle, and reliance on natural gesture18, was to write that ‘if one is so unfortunate as to truly feel that which one is expressing, one is in no state to act’, further pointing out the number of changes of emotion required within the short duration of a play.”19
It is clear that the gestures of music and acting refers to an already known language in its time. This leads to the question if we are at all able to know what every detail represents in the music from the 17th century, when this language was known to be self-evident? Will any performance of this music today essentially be in a modern shape? Even though we can never have a clear conception of how the social codes were lived, as we never will have the chance to experience it, we will always have our musical intuition, which, in the Western world, can be quite universal. Wouldn't it then be truly mad to go against the common perception of what a mad performance should be? To surprise and actively go against our artistic instinct? As some mental illnesses can cause megalomania or confusion regarding social hierarchy and roles, crossing the lines of behaviour can definitely be seen as a sign of mental illness. Even so, as a performer who emphasizes historically informed practice, I can’t help, but wonder: How can one create an unexpected and rule-breaking interpretation musically, but not lose touch with one’s anchoring in the tradition?
Taming the Madness for Performance.
To express a genuine emotion, and still sing with adequate technique, is a contradiction. This problem specifically applies to the Mad Songs because the music often requires a huge surplus from the performer. Even though I am not addressing any modern acting techniques in this exposition, I would like to mention some points from the coachings I have received from my Pia-coach and singer-actress, Cora Burggraf, when addressing this topic. When we met in October 2024, she emphasized how, in order to seem genuine, I have to create characters who would sing or perform the way that is necessary for the piece. In November 2024, I had a meeting with Laila Cathleen Neuman, and she made the exact same point. A particularly difficult emotion to express while singing is fear. Neuman advised me to “Find the fear that makes you able to sing.”20 With Burggraf, I also discussed the very meaning of the word genuine, and I found that it resonated with Neuman’s advice:
“Being genuine means that you express yourself from a place that comes from within. The anger that you show doesn’t need to be extreme, it just needs to be honest to you.”21
In real life, there is a huge variety in how different people express the same emotion, but the historical sources rarely discuss the space for the performer’s personality. The way the different passions are described can be seen as stereo-typed or standardized. Being a living performer, adapting one’s emotions to a written or visual material can therefore be frustrating. In our conversation, Burggraf made a point that helped connect the historical sources and modern ideas of genuinity: “You can never become someone else, a character is always you highlighting different parts of yourself.”22 As in Aaron Hill’s didactic method, the descriptions of the different passions are merely guidelines to help channel a true sensation, and when found, this will hopefully result in a truthful performance that carries one’s personality.
But how do you invent a mad character by using yourself? Neuman introduced the idea of actually including your true self in the performance (whether we here speak about my private self, or my stage self, is not decided, and can be up for debate), which, when learning the story of Anne Bracegirdle, anchors her point in historically informed practice. A person who suffers from a mental disease often has moments of coming to one’s senses, and by giving space for the role to suddenly “break the surface” and address the audience as the sane singer, the effect of the madness could be even bigger. One pushes the character beyond itself and becomes oneself.
Burggraf, when addressing the characteristics of a portrayal of a mad character, emphasized the simple tool of: “when something is not matching.”23And as Laila Cathleen Neuman pointed out: the music can allow for many different interpretations - there is not only one suggestion to what kind of passion to charge it with. As with human minds, there are layers of emotions, and this was one amongst many things that the modern singer-actress Cora Burggraf, and the historically informed singer-actress, Laila Cathleen Neuman agreed on: Choosing passions that don’t traditionally would have been connected with certain musical phrases, can help produce a mad impression on the audience. As humans have layers of emotions, we can also allow the music to have layers in the same way. For instance, the melody and lyrics can take a form that would invite a joyful expression, while the performer tries hard to express anger. This mismatch of expression in music and emotion is one way to create a feeling of disturbance and madness on stage. If Hill had completed his work on the more complex passions, he might have addressed this point.
Extremity.
In my introduction, I wrote that I believe in going to the extreme in order to have all possibilities. From Neuman's perspective of historically informed singing, a mad song is defined “by its extreme contrasting passions, organised in a less logical way.”24 So, the keyword is extreme. But wouldn’t an extreme level of every passion be like adding too much sauce on an already tasting dish? When discussing this topic, Neuman said: “I would not use the top grade of every emotion. Unexpected extremity. That is the extreme.”25 A variety of intensity in terms of passions can create a dynamic and surprising performance. She also emphasized the value of practising the unpredictable when performing, to allow an unexpected theatrical outcome in order to trace the madness. This variety of intensity is something to observe in the descriptions by Le Brun and Charleton. Within the range of each emotion they describe several manifestations, as pointed out by Charleton when describing Love and how it is acted out: “the Ambitious is carried on to Glory, the Avaricious to riches, the Drunkard to wine, the Libidinous to women, the Honest to his friend, the Uxorious to his wife, the good Father to his Children, &c. differ very much among themselves, and yet so far resemble each other, that they all participate of Love.”26 Or on the subject of anger, Charleton describes a whole range of outcomes: “For in the Harmless and Blushing or Weeping anger, there is always a mixture of shame and self-pity ; (...) : when on the other side, in the Pale and Trembling, but Dangerous anger, there is first deep Indignation, then Fear, and at last Farious persuit of revenge.”27
However, Mad Songs invite the performer to exaggerate their natural expression. But when can this be too much for the audience? Talking from experience, I can say that when performing Mad Songs, it is easy to push oneself upon the audience. One seeks to come close and wants to express the madness so badly, that it becomes exhausting to witness. But the wish to be there too much can take away the invitation to the audience. According to Neuman, the performer creates about 60% of the presentation, and the audience creates the rest in their imagination. It is “like in a movie with music that indicates fear - you know something will happen, but it is not there yet.”28 Extremity in presence or proclamation can destroy the strength of a genuine performance.
Concluding Thoughts
In order to create a believable, yet vocally doable performance, the main task for the mad singer is to balance and connect. By connecting with the sensations of the pure passions, while creating a character that helps you perform vocally, the actress-singer may find a balance where the result is clear, both musically and theatrically. In order to add “the madness,” the performer will have to find the “disturbing” or mismatching elements in the expression, and thereby adding a layer to the character itself, which strengthens the truthfulness.
However, the issue of genuinity can also be questioned regarding what kind of vocal technique one should apply in this repertoire. The fact that we don’t know what the mad singers sounded like, gives more possibilities than limitations. Since we don’t have any recordings from the 17th century, and written sources are far from specific, nor objective enough, I prefer focusing on the performance context of the repertoire. What I mean by that, is the venues in which the performances took place (the theaters), the sound of the instrumentation, and also the repertoire itself - what kind of skills were demanded from the singers and what can it tell us about the technical emphasis of the time? As I have discussed earlier, the songs were often written for specific singers, who then became part of the rule-makers for the mad songs. When taking a closer look at the songs made for Anne Bricegirdle, one can easily imagine a light and flexible soprano voice, and because the accompaniment was often restricted to a basso continuo group (even though that can mean multiple bass and accompanying instruments), it still makes me think that the volume was less than the belcanto training that many singers of today go through. This doesn’t give one kind of voice monopoly on the repertoire today, on the contrary, it allows for more freedom in the interpretation. One thing I am convinced of, is that there was a huge difference between theater singers and church singers, and that the passions in the acting definitely transmitted to the style of singing. This, however, is something that I invite other researchers to indulge in.
IV.III Embodiment
In this chapter, I have essentially addressed the process of embodiment. When applying historical techniques to my personal singing practice, attempting to achieve a performative result, I am using embodiment as a methodology. In the 2022 edition of European Drama and Performance Studies29, a discussion between the members of the Dutch Historical Acting Collective was published, were they reflected upon the subject of embodiment in historical acting. To the question: “What does one do when aesthetics and embodiment collide?”, Ivo Han, 15th century specialized singer, responded that his dilemma was “how to bridge the gap between the aesthetic of the re-creation of a kind of performance and yet make sure that this phenomenon that you try to replicate is also received by the audience in the same manner.” According to Han, this dilemma is an underlying concern about the whole idea of historical performance as well as the idea of embodiment, as “Making a performance style your own, making it second nature to you, that is our main goal. But the problem is that we are usually dealing with something that is chronologically and geographically very far away and unnatural for us, both in music making and in acting.” The dilemma highlights a double task: “We have two sides of the coin that are very hard for us to control simultaneously. It’s very hard to make sure that (even if you are able to incorporate the style) it’s also received in the manner that was intended. It’s much more a question of reception, than a matter of performance.”30:
Han’s response reflects the core of what I hope to achieve with my performance: an accessible, yet historically informed experience. Referring to the time-specific codes of behaviour, as addressed earlier in the chapter, this combination is often contradictory in contact with a modern audience. But could it be that through genuinity and true embodiment, we can channel a timeless connection, and touch the audience despite the unrecognisable elements? If the theatrical exercises can be effective today, despite the distance in time and setting, why can’t the performance? When Jed Wentz, accompanied by fellow Dutch Historical Acting Collective member Anne Smith, tried out Hill’s system, using the ‘Applications’ as exercises, he experienced that the process was too ‘startling’, and even had to pause the experiment31. In his research, Jed Wentz tries to answer whether Hill’s didactic could be of use to actors today, but what about the effect on the audience? Wentz’ and his colleagues' shared experiences have been of great inspiration, and having had the privilege to witness them in action, I can say that the method definitely had an effect on me. However, I am a humble colleague and informed audience member, not representative for the group of people I want to reach. In the second part of this research, I will do a series of experiments to embody my chosen Mad Song. If it is effective or not, will be up to the reader to decide.
Footnotes:
1: A parallel can be drawn to the discussion around exoticism in art, which also has become a problematic issue as it might be considered to root in a colonialistic mindset.
2: Foucault 2006, p. 150.
3: ibid.
4: Meeting with Laila Cathleen Neuman, 20.11.24 on Zoom.
5: Montagu 1994, p. 4.
6: ibid p. 4.
7: ibid, p. 6.
8: LeBrun 1698.
9: Horace -19, lines 102-3.
10: Cicero 1942, II. Xlv. 189.
11: Quintilian 95, VI.ii.29.
12: Ibid., X.vii.26, quoted in: Montagu 1994, p. 51.
13: Le Facheur 1657, p. 209.
14: Lamy 1676, p. 80: ‘On peut pas toucher les autres, si on ne paroît touché.’
15: Lamy 1699, p. 89: ‘On peut jamais bien une passion qu’aérés l’avoir veut en original, c’est-à-dire, qu’aprés l’avoir étudié ceux qui étaient animez de cette passion.’
16: de La Mesnardière 1640, p. 374: ‘Si elle sçait faire force sur les endroits pitoyables, agrandir son infortune par l’élévatioon de sa voix, dépeindre ses langueurs par l’inflexion de ses tons entrecouppez de soupirs, & accommoder son geste, ses larmes & ses regards à ses sentiments lugubres, pour peu qu’elle ait de beauté qui est le charme universel qui donne la grace aux choses, il n’y aura guère de coeurs qui ne soient chichement touchez & qui ne publient encore par des pleurs messe involontaires, que la Poste & l’Actrice sont également admirables.’ translated in: Montagu 1994, p. 52.
17: Montagu 1994, p. 55.
18: See, for example Riccoboni 1728 II.
19: Riccoboni 1750, p. 37: ‘Si l’on a la malheur de ressentir véritablement ce que l’on doit exprimer, on est hors d’état de joüer. Les sentimens se succedent dans une scène avec une rapidité qui n’est point dans la nature’, translated in: Montagu 1994, p. 52.
20: Meeting with Laila Cathleen Neuman.
21: From lesson with Cora Burggraf 8.10.24, The Royal Conservatoire.
22: ibid.
23: ibid.
24: Meeting with Laila Cathleen Neuman.
25: ibid.
26: Charleton 1701, art. 18, p. 104, That there are not so many distinct sorts of Love, as of objects to excite it.
27: Charleton 1701, art. 48, p. 149: Two sorts of Anger ; one Harmless, the other Revengeful.
28: Meeting with Laila Cathleen Neuman.
29: Wentz 2022
30: ibid, p. 49.
31: Wentz 2022, p. 184.