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Tylman Susato (arround 1510-1570): Twelve Dances from the ‘Danserye’ (1551) Click to activate the English subtitles for the presentation (00:00-01:22) 00:00 La Mourisque (full bande) 01:13 Branle quatre Branles (recorders & strings) 02:54 Ronde & Salterelle (recorders & strings) 04:28 Ronde mon amy (cornett, crumhorn, dulcian, sackbut & tabor) 06:59 Allemaigne & Recoupe (strings & harpsichord) 09:39 Pavane Mille regretz (recorders & lute) 12:38 Basse danse Bergeret sans roch & reprise (full band) 15:13 Danse du roy (crumhorns & rackett) 16:36 Ronde (crumborns & rackett) 17:38 Passe et medio & Reprise Le Pingue (recorders, viol, lute, strings & harpsichord) 20:17 Ronde (crumhorns, regal & sackbuts) 22:16 Pavane La Bataille (full band) Thomas Morley (1557-1602) Dances for Broken Consort from ‘The First Booke of Consort Lessons’ (1599) * Click to activate the English subtitles for the presentation (25:13-26:47) 25:13 Mounsier’s Almaine (William Byrd) 27:46 Lachrimae Pavan (John Dowland) 32:22 Michill’s Galliard (Anon) 34:39 Lute Duet: My Lord Chamberlain’s Galliard (John Dowland) 37:12 The Jew’s Dance (Richard Nicholson) 38:59 Captaine Piper’s Pavan & Galliard (John Dowland) 46:18 My Lord of Oxenford’s Maske (William Byrd) 47:25 Lavolto (Thomas Morley) 49:11 La Coranta (Thomas Morley) The Early Consort of London The Morley Consort * Conductor: David Munrow Recorded in 1971, at London Painting: Pieter Brueghel l'Ancien (around 1525-1569) La danse de la mariée en plein air (v. 1566) 🔊Find CMRR's recordings on Spotify : 🔊Download CMRR's recordings in High fidelity audio : David Munrow studied English literature at Cambridge and spent a while in South America, where he became fascinated by native wind instruments. Even as a student he was a brilliant reéorder player, and during the 1960s he extended his expertise to a wide range of early wihd instruments. He established his Early Music Consort in 1967 and much of his later work was based round this ensemble, with James Bowman (countertenor), Oliver Brookes (viol), Christopher Hogwood (keyboard and percussion) and James Tyler (lute). His infectious enthusiasm and skilful programming brought him an immense following. He recorded a rather wider repertoire than he could take on tour with the consort (it ranged from the 12th to the 1 8th century, as well as contemporary music written for him). Everything Munow did was meticulously planned and researched. His own knowledge and experience was vast, extending far beyond the sort of music the public associated with him. This became apparent in his radio programme Pied Piper, broadcast four times a week, ostensibly intended for younger listeners but fascinating to all ages for its range of topics and engaging presentation. Perhaps the following reminiscences will give some idea of his character. I first met David in the mid-1960s, before he began his career. We were both enjoying a holiday at the Dartington Summer School of Music and our common interest in early music led to a week of intensive talking, arguing, drinking and listening to music. Although subsequently we did not see a lot of each other, when we did meet we immediately dropped back into the same easy relationship. Later, when he ran ensemble classes at the summer school, I was continually amazed at his remarkable memory. When auditioning prospective participants, he could remember the abilities of those he had heard for only a minute or so the previous year. He wasn't just being polite if he complimented them on their improvement: his private comments to me implied that he really had remembered. In 1969 he was appointed Professor of Recorder at the Royal Academy of Music. In practice, this meant that he turned up once a week and organised some sort of musicmaking with the tiny group of students who were interested in early music. I used to creep out from my job in the library, and we were also joined by a promising student from the Guildhall School of Music and Drama, Philip Pickett. On his first day, David expected me to join him for lunch. When I told him that I was not entitled to use the professors' dining room, he insisted on using the students' canteen and subsequently always ate there. One Wednesday in May 1976, he phoned me in my office (l was now at the BBC) and asked if I would compile a list of editions to include in the notes for his next record set. I agreed, but was puzzled: why wasn't he doing it himself? I was working at it on the following Saturday when it was announced on the radio that he had died. The fact that he committed suicide was only divulged later; but it was obvious that he had known that he would not have time to finish the work necessary for the recording and did not want to leave anything incomplete. Everything he did he did with a thorough professionalism: the panache of his performance was underlaid by an infinite capacity for attending to detail. Clifford Barlett
