You may remember a film from the early 1970s called Henry VIII & his Six Wives, starring Keith Mitchell, Donald Pleasance, and Charlotte Rampling; it was notable for its score, which not only featured authentic music of the period (nearly unheard-of at the time), but also was, according to David Munrow, “the first historical film in which the music has been scored entirely for historical instruments.” Munrow also added a few numbers of his own to satisfy the needs of the movie, patterned after 16th-century style and form. Although these days such attention to authenticity is common, even expected, Munrow was one of the pioneers in bringing musicological research and the more immediate practicalities of really old, original instruments and stylistic practice to the level of popular culture. Of course, also in these early days was planted the impression that period instruments must necessarily be somewhat clunky and (to varying degrees) not quite ideally in tune–and in some cases, just plain annoyingly squawky and prone to obnoxious buzzing noises. While this generally fine issue from Testament offers many reminders of those times, when musicians were still finding their way in unfamiliar territory (and often using very user-unfriendly instruments), this release will prove mostly a delight for early music fans–and will be a real treat for those who own the original LPs from which these tracks were drawn.
While top billing goes to the selections from the film soundtrack (from 1972), the album is generously filled out with items from two other Munrow recordings–Greensleeves to a ground (1976) and Instruments of the Middle Ages and Renaissance (1973/74). And with such big names (or yet-to-be) as James Bowman, Martyn Hill, Christopher Hogwood, Catherine Mackintosh (playing viol!), and George Malcolm in the mix, you can be certain of first-rate, detailed performances totally committed to the letter and spirit of the music and its original context. There are viols and sackbuts, lutes and recorders, and full bands of winds, along with psaltery, harp, shawm, harpsichord solos, and selections for countertenor (one of which is a tune by Henry VIII himself) and tenor (an authentic-sounding Ballad of Robin and Marian composed by Munrow). We hear five dances from Dowland’s Lachrymae and also one of his lute pieces (Orlando Sleepeth) and a fantasy by William Byrd.
At least one of the pieces goes on way too long–the trying-to-be-realistically-crude Street Music–and Munrow’s strikingly weird, avant-garde-like Henry’s Loneliness, a truly creepy sequence written for the film that must be the most twisted use of psaltery, harp, and crwth ever devised, seems a bit extreme outside of the movie’s context. However, you can’t beat this revisitation of an exciting earlier, still-experimental era for its brave, bold vitality and freshness of approach to what until then was a relatively uninformed and largely ignored realm of the world of music performance and scholarship. Munrow was an important figure in the period-performance movement (sadly, he committed suicide in 1976 at age 33), and these recordings show what a class act he and his Early Music Consort of London were. The sound is perfectly fine, and the liner notes provide interesting information about Munrow and about the original recordings.
