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From Pompeii to Paris – the Berlioz Sistrum

You may see sistrum, sistri, sistro or similar on an old percussion score, but rarely does it actually indicate the use of the instrument featured in this blog post. For edification and disambiguation, seek out the excellent blog by David Valdés on this subject (and in particular, for Rossini’s The Barber of Seville). However, if you are looking at The Trojans / Les Troyens by Hector Berlioz, then you are in the right place.

Sistrums at the Louvre museum in Paris
Pompeii Sistrums at the Louvre, Paris

 

The story goes that in 1831 Berlioz visited the ancient Pompeii museum in Naples, Italy and saw there the ancient cymbals (crotales) and sistrums from Pompeii and Herculaneum, two ancient Roman cities buried in volcanic ash and pyroclastic flow during the infamous AD 79 eruption of Mount Vesuvius. These percussion instruments were from temples set up to worship the Egyptian goddess Isis (who had subsumed many of the aspects of the earlier deity Hathor; both goddesses were worshiped using the sistrum).

Berlioz wanted to use these instruments in the orchestra. He had replicas made in France at some time between the 1830s and 1850s and wrote them into his opera, The Trojans, composed between 1856 and 1858. The ancient cymbals – small, thick, heavy and specifically pitched were included earlier in his choral symphony, Roméo et Juliette, in 1839, so the replica cymbals were certainly made in the 1830s. It is likely that his replica sistrums came later, maybe soon after The Louvre museum in Paris acquired their own ancient specimen in 1852. The ancient cymbals caught on, with Debussy and other composers adopting them soon afterwards and they are still written into parts today, having evolved into the modern rack of crotales. The ancient sistrum, didn’t quite gain the same traction, though Saint-Saëns did include it in his comic opera Phryné in 1893. In more recent times, Takashi Yoshimatsu uses a sistrum in his Cyberbird Concerto and Tan Dun also includes one  in his Cello Concerto. Both composers are using the French nomenclature – sistre.

Berlioz was keen to add new percussion instruments to the orchestra, and not just in terms of decoration and colour. He wanted an expansion in the pitched percussion department also. Here is a plea to instrument makers that he wrote in the Journal Des Débats on the 12th October 1847:

Newspaper scan
Plea to instrument makers

 

Sistrums (or Sistra if we are to pluralise it in the Latin form) are still in use in various cultures today, and in various forms. They are a (usually) metal shaker / rattle with some form of open frame or hoop attached to a handle. Within the frame there are moving or fixed horizontal bars and often, but not always, there are metal discs on the bars  which are free to move back and forth within the frame. There are sistrums produced today for use in the Ethiopian Coptic Orthodox Church and you might argue that the Brazilian Samba Band Chocalho is a version of the sistrum.

Chocalho
Chocalho
Sensasel
Sensasel – Ethiopian Sistrum

 

Very early forms of this  instrument come from Sumeria and Babylonia as far back as 2500BC, with some even earlier similar instruments made of wood,  coconut shell, shark teeth and other materials coming from the Indonesia / Melanesia region. The Sistrum became a very big thing in ancient Egyptian culture from around 2000BC in religious worship of the goddess Hathor,  and later the goddess Isis. There are many depictions of priestesses  playing these. Instruments were made from materials including wood, bone, ivory, clay and bronze. Some were active ritual instruments, others were purely symbolic – for example the clay versions used in burials.

Isis worship spread around much of the Mediterranean including into ancient Greece and ancient Rome. The Roman name sistrum comes from the Greek seistron which means “that which is shaken”. The Egyptian names for the instrument are sekhem and sesheshet – the latter is quite likely to be onomatopoeic representing the sound of the instrument.

Nefertari holding sistrum
Nefertari Sistrum – credit Abu Simbel, Wikimedia Commons

 

Sistrums were depicted on various ancient Roman coins – here is the rear side of a coin minted during the reign of Emperor Claudius:

Isis Claudius Roman Coin
Isis with sistrum on rear of Claudius coin

 

Here is is depiction of a sistrum from an ancient Roman floor mosaic:

sistrum floor mosaic
Roman mosaic at the British Museum

 

It was the late Nigel Shipway who initially suggested to me that I should make some kind of period-authentic sistrum for Berlioz’s Trojans. Many orchestras who play the work today will opt for an alternative instrument such as a ringed triangle or some type of tambourine, or even spurs. This is a shame as the sound is not authentic to Berlioz’s ideas. The idea mulled over in my mind – on the back burner, so to speak – for quite a while. How best to construct this? Patterns, molds and casting maybe? How to get those shapes? How to make something sturdy, beautiful and musical? It wasn’t until I was approached this year by French percussionist, Sylvain Bertrand with a request for two to four authentic sistrums that the real impetus came along to make this a reality. The Festival Berlioz was marking 150 years since Hector Berlioz’s death and parts of Les Troyens were to be performed by The Hector Berlioz European Youth Orchestra – young pre-professional musicians from the best european conservatoires with section principals of the orchestra Les Siècles, specialists in the interpretation of the 19th century repertoire, on period instruments, under the baton of François-Xavier Roth. The timing was right.

I had been hoping that I might manage to visit the museum in Naples and see the actual inspiration pieces that Berlioz saw and I also have “agents” in various museum and opera house basements in Paris trying to find the replicas he had made. No luck on that front yet, but I opted for the next best thing which was to arrange to visit the British Museum in London and get hands-on access to some of the specimens from their collection in storage:

sistra and ancient cymbals
Egyptian sistrums and Roman cymbals at the British Museum

 

On public display, the British Museum also has a Roman sistrum. Like the ancient Egyptian ones above, it is made from Bronze. There are often sacred animals depicted on top of or at the base of the hoop – cats, birds and so on:

Roman bronze sistrum
Roman sistrum in the British Museum display

 

Being able to see these old instruments up close and take measurements, weights, etc. (though I wasn’t allowed to shake them and they were so corroded that they wouldn’t have sounded anyway) was very valuable to help me make my “replicas” with appropriate proportions. I put the word replicas in inverted commas as, with only so much time on my side and only so much budget from the orchestra, great and fine detail was not an option. So, instead, I made what might be better termed “homages” to the original instruments: more plainly decorated, but inspired by these wonderful artefacts of the ancient world.

I also studied many images of sistrums from different museums’ collections from around the world. With the opportunity to make four instruments, I thought it would be good to try out  varied forms and materials to explore the range of sounds these sistrums can make. I made the new instruments from three different bronze alloys and one brass alloy. Three of them have sliding rods, one has fixed rods, two have discs on the rods and two do not. They were constructed using a combination of brazing and welding, lots of cutting and filing, grinding and polishing, hammering, bending by hand, and turning and twisting of parts in the lathe.

Here is the first one, with what I call a “stirrup” shaped hoop:

Matt Nolan period-authentic bronze sistrum
Matt Nolan Stirrup Sistrum

 

The second is larger and heavier with a more elaborate handle:

Matt Nolan Bronze Sistrum
Matt Nolan Face Sistrum

This one has a blank plate between the hoop and handle where you might find a Hathor face engraved on an ancient Egyptian one. It has both moving rods and discs, all bronze. The discs sound quite chime-like, like the thicker discs on “spurs”, not like drier, thinner, tambourine type jingle discs.

 

For my third sistrum I really quite closely copied the turned handle detail from a photograph of an original instrument (you can click on all the pictures here to see a larger version). It is very comfortable in the hand and balances the instrument well. There is a numerical significance to three and one in ancient Egyptian religion, but not to four. Many old sistrums with four rods have them grouped like this, as three and one:

Matt Nolan Bronze Sistrum
Matt Nolan Bronze Sistrum with turned handle

 

For the last one, I took inspiration from two different originals. Snakes or serpents are often depicted on sistrums and there are suggestions that the sound of them being shaken is representative of snakes hissing. The sliding rods on many sistrums are suggestive of serpents, some even have little heads carved in. I actually have fixed rods here. I just wanted the sound of the discs in this instance. The entwined handle is a reference to snakes. I saw an old sistrum with two serpents entwined as the handle. There are other old instruments with four struts from the handle to the base of the hoop, so I combined these two ideas. Rather than being polished like new, this sistrum has been artificially patinated to look like a relic showing its age:

Matt Nolan relic sistrum
Matt Nolan twist handle Sistrum

The jingle discs are physically thin and light, and dry sounding. To get a broader sound, I used several different metals in combination.

The sound of the first sistrum I made was surprising to me. The hoop / frame itself actually contributes a lot to the sound. Quite handbell-like, or like a modern orchestral triangle at the more pitched end of the spectrum. I hadn’t quite expected this but then I do usually aim to make my instruments as resonant as possible. I never quite agreed with the suggestions from some quarters that the modern triangle is a direct descendant of the sistrum. I think that comes more from the ringed triangle being used as a substitute for a sistrum, or from the Italian score nomenclature confusion. Now I can hear why the substitution is fairly appropriate. In fact, even Berlioz himself offers 19th Century style ringed triangles as alternatives for the sistrum part in The Trojans.

All four of the sistrums that I made have three components to the sound in different proportions: the sound of the hoop, the sound of the rods, and the sound of the discs. The manner of playing can also emphasise or de-emphasise different aspects of the overall sound, making the instrument more dry or more sustaining. There is a clatter of the free rods hitting the frame but also their own resonance, as with the discs. The dimensions and materials of the discs can be used to adjust how much dry “shuck” sound there is from them and how much ringing “jingle” sound. There is scope for a lot of variation. Fixing the rods or making a thin but stiff frame (like in the British Museum public display example, with the frame having a flange) can reduce the ringing contribution to the sound from the frame, as can playing in a more “dead-stroke” manner as you shake the sistrum back and forth.

Joseph Baggers Sistrum
French Sistrum from Joseph Baggers’ method book

Above is a picture of a French sistrum from Joseph Baggers’ method book published in 1906. So this would be roughly contemporary with the reproductions made for Berlioz – it may even be one of those. Berlioz had them made larger and more sturdy in an attempt to make them loud enough to compete with the full orchestra.

So, how do they actually sound? Well, with the time limitations and rushing to get these instruments delivered in time for first rehearsals, I did not have the chance to make a good audio or video documentation. However, the full performance with the instruments in context was broadcast on 21st September at 8pm (local time) on France Music on the “Saturday evening at the Opera” show – here is the link to listen to the performance. The sistrums are played shortly after the 35 minutes and 20 seconds mark. I don’t know how long that concert will remain available up there so here is just the excerpt featuring the sistrums. The rhythmic motive played on the sistrums is doubled on tuned triangles which I also made for this performance. This is another Berlioz first which did not really catch on – the Jeu De Triangles – a chromatic set of seven pitches in this case.

Addendum: Short video montage of my research expedition to the British Museum. How many different sistrums can you spot?

 

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The Quest for the Holy Grail?

I can’t resist a good challenge. This one, seemingly, has remained unsolved for over a century. I am talking about the deep tolling “crystalline” bells of the Holy Grail temple in Richard Wagner’s opera, Parsifal.

Wagner himself, was never quite satisfied with solutions to this sound he heard in his head. The lowest bell being 20 semitones below the deepest in St Stephen’s cathedral in Vienna. A real church bell like this would be larger and deeper than any ever made, as far as I know. The closest would be the great Kremlin Tsar Bell, which was never really finished and was damaged by fire in 1737. The low E would most likely have to be 8 metres in diameter and over 260 tonnes! For the opera leitmotif you’d need 4, of similar proportions, to produce the C3, G2, A2, E2 peal. Real bells like this are, of course, out of the question. Too big, too heavy, too expensive and too loud.

Wagner's grailmotif
Wagner’s original manuscript

One of the earlier sonic solutions, which was rejected upon testing circa 1882, was a set of Chinese tam-tam gongs, sourced from London. To help the perception of a clear resounding pitch, a piano / hammered dulcimer hybrid was concocted. This had 6 parallel strings for each of the four notes and was struck with a wide mallet. You can hear a later version of it on the 1926 recording conducted by Karl Muck. Steingraeber made various iterations of this Gralsklavier including a brand new one earlier this year.

Here is the combination of instruments used by the Royal Opera at Covent Garden in 1914. Giant oversize tubular bells / chimes, a single gong (hiding there in the background, middle), and another of these piano dulcimer hybrids. Quite a wonderful newspaper drawing. I love the idea of playing percussion in hats and trench coats! Perhaps it was cold backstage.

Covent Garden Parsifal bells 1914
Covent Garden backstage bells 1914

By far the most grand solution to add the metallic and somewhat discordant bell like tone plus some low end woof to the harmonious piano dulcimer was the set of brewing vat resonated bell plates constructed at Bayreuth. Absolutely huge and requiring one player each! You can also just about make these out in the Karl Muck recording. I can’t help but think that this solution was arrived at by trial and error rather than applying the techniques of Helmholtz from his 1863 paper “On the sensations of tone”.

Giant barrel bells
Giant Barrels at Bayreuth 1927

It wasn’t long before electronics were getting in on the act. Smaller, grandfather-clock-like, metal tines with pick-ups and amplification have been used. Manipulated recordings (or “samples”) of actual bells have been used. Synthesisers have been used – including for quite some time as a favourite, the Mixtur Trautonium, one of the very first synthesisers. The latter was also a favourite of Alfred Hitchcock. He used it on the soundtrack to his film The Birds.

Hitchcock Trautonium
Alfred Hitchcock with the Mixtur-Trautonium

And yet, anything electronic or amplified and played through loudspeakers always meets with disapproval from at least one corner or other.  Even the (only slightly manipulated) recordings of the actual bells from St Sulpice in Paris as used this year for Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique at the Proms and the Edinburgh Festival got a drubbing in the review press. I can see why. When the rest of the orchestra is real, live, organic and full of human interpretation, expression and inflection, accompanying sounds which are not do rather stick out as alien interlopers.

As my own experiments and minor successes in the realms of bass bell plates in various different metals and bass tubular chimes have been proceeding not unnoticed by the symphonic and operatic worlds, I have now been asked by 3 separate people to consider producing a good, acoustic percussion solution to the problem of these Holy Grail bells of Montsalvat. There are numerous technical issues to overcome to do with the physics of such instruments and the psycho-acoustic vagaries of the human ear and brain, not to mention logistical and practical considerations. Nonetheless, I have a handful of different ideas to go and test out. Some are a single instrument per note, some are combinations. Whether I can produce a solution which satisfies all discerning ears, who knows? Watch this space…

Update November 2015: Here is an experiment with octave unison bronze bell plates and aluminium slab metallophone

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Castagnettes en Fer

Here is another “authentic” period instrument recreation. This time some “metal castanets” for Samson and Delilah by Saint-Saens. So, I’m working from a picture, but not one I’ve seen. It is in an out of print book and it has been described to me over the phone!

Some people use finger cymbals for this part, often mounted on “castanet machines” to make them easier to play. The reference picture though comes from the book of Joseph Baggers – Saint-Saens’ very own percussionist (and also the teacher, of percussion, to Messiaen, no less). So, again, we’re back to how the composer heard the sound.

What is required is a single piece of metal, forged into a shape somewhat like salad tongs, but with the ends like large spoons and arranged back to back, not face to face. Quite chunky because we need a good spring from the handle and the cups need to be robust. For the first prototype, I’ve gone with Nickel-Silver which I have artificially patinated to look somewhat ancient. There was a slight hiccup. I thought the brief was “like two large Victorian serving spoons”. Apparently it was *soup* spoons. So, I shouldn’t have pointed ends on the cups, they should be much closer to round. Ah well – that refinement will have to wait for prototype #2!

Metal Castanets

Reportedly, the sound and playability are very good. However, a pair would be preferred, to be played on the knees. I quite liked using the one so that you could modulate the timbre somewhat by shaping a cupped hand as you played against it. Perhaps Danse Bacchanale is a little too fast for one-handed playing. Maybe I’ll bring some pairs to PASIC in November and see if anyone else is interested in these.

Update – August 2018

Prototype #2 finally made – indeed, a pair of them. Nigel Shipway (RIP) visited me earlier in the year mostly to try out all sorts of things triangular, with and without rings, open and closed, and I took the opportunity to get his feedback on a revised Castagnette en Fer. I made this one from Spring Steel and had hardened and tempered it after forging it into shape. This new one had cups which were more circular and Nigel was very happy with it – the sound and the feel of playing it. He also suggested that smaller and larger pairs with low and high pitches might be a useful addition. Prototype #3 for another day…

After getting the Seal of Approval from Nigel, I went ahead and made the second of the pair. Here is a little video demo for you – oh yes I have sourced a copy of the Baggers book in the interim:

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Recreating Baroque Triangles

I’ve been meaning to get around to making some proper old-school triangles for quite some time. Did you know that the original incarnation of this instrument was gap-free and had loose jingling rings on the bottom limb? I’ve had a few requests from possible customers. Period ensembles like to use instruments authentic to the time when the music was written – so that it sounds closer to the composer’s original aural vision. This either means using original / restored instruments or, more often than not, reproductions.

The humble triangle (albeit often the instrument that makes other instruments sound better!) has murky roots. There seem to be different origin stories and, just perhaps, it might be possible that more than one of them is true. Did the triangle evolve from the Ancient Egyptian Sistrum, a ceremonial instrument? Or did it start out as rudimentary horse stirrups which were taken off the straps and used as folk instruments? There’s even an outsider suggestion of a hand-held metal device for making sparks from flints, the fire steel.

Sistrumacciarino_medievaleStirrup    SistrumSistrum3

Officially, the triangle entered the European Orchestra with the fashion for “Turkish” music in the late 1700s to early 1800s, this new section being called the “banda turca”. The triangle had existed in other musics in various places on the planet well before then. Though we only know this from paintings, drawings and wood carvings. I don’t know of any surviving instruments from those times. Today, these ancestors may be classified as early “mediaeval” triangles (closed, with rings, often quite tall and isosceles, sometimes even trapezoidal) or the later “baroque” triangles (open, with or without rings, often with scrolls fashioned into the open ends).

Ting tingBaroque triangle diagram

Of course, nobody today really knows how the originals sounded, we can only guess. Then there’s the question of whether you go the whole hog into authentic materials, construction techniques and hopefully sound or do you make a halfway house. Somewhere between the guess of what the originals sounded like and the modern, open ended, ring-free triangle we are used to hearing now. As a maker, it fascinates me to wonder if there’s some secret buried back there waiting to be re-discovered.

Last year I had a percussionist from an Austrian Orchestra after a “banda turca” triangle. He was disappointed with solutions he’d found elsewhere and wanted something with more sustaining and obvious sizzle – that you can still hear from a distance, through the texture of the orchestra. I had an idea about using cymbal rivets instead of rings and it certainly worked better than rings that pass through holes in the triangle limbs. Still not quite what was wanted though. Then, we tried a pair of tambourine jingles on a small bolt, threaded into the triangle at an angle – perfect! So, we have a triangle that sings for a short – but not too short – time, accompanied by a clear jingling sizzling sussuration. So, not remotely authentic, but it made the sound the player wanted.

Jingle Triangle

This February, I had a different request. For a more authentic baroque style triangle, for Mozart. The suggestion was to have a slightly unorthodox scroll arrangement – both turning upwards. This was perfect for keeping the loose hanging rings from falling off the bottom limb though. The other alternative is to have the triangle gap small enough that the rings can’t get out unless you prise the bars apart. That has issues though, I think. Straight off the bat, this worked better than a rings-through-holes triangle. The rings are much more free to move, and thus they dampen the triangle less.

Baroque triangle with rings

There’s still a question to be answered regarding how many rings, of what material, what size and weight, etc. The originals would have been forged from iron by a blacksmith. For the triangle itself though, my client wanted one of my brighter sounding bronze alloys. Making small rings from this was somewhat out of the question, brass ones would be easy to make, but I don’t think they’d work too well. I found some wrought iron rings (for curtain poles!) – perhaps a little large, or maybe OK. Then also some stainless steel rings which were smaller and felt to be about the right size.

After rehearsal tests at Glyndebourne in late May and early June, the stainless steel rings were found to be the sonic winners, 4 of them on a 9″ triangle. But they don’t look right, of course. The wrought iron ones look the part but are too heavy. So, I cut some down to the same weight as the stainless ones and re-forged them into a smaller ring. So, that should be perfect, right? Wrong. Still the stainless ones work better (good job I had blued some up to make them look more in keeping). My theory is that actually the natural pitch of the rings is important. If the rings resonate at a frequency which is strong in the triangle then they can more easily suck energy out of the instrument. The wrought iron rings were much lower pitched than the stainless ones, and possibly close to one of the main lower partials of the triangle. Only time and making more will tell…

jingle rings

As for mediaeval style triangles with all 3 corners closed (or 4 if a trapezoidal one), I’ve got to figure out some welding smarts for that one. Butted joint? Scarfe joint? Forge-welded or cheating modern methods? I think there may be some other subtle tricks too, to get an instrument that actually sings nicely. Tune in to a later blog to find out!

 

Update Feb 2016 – though this photo is from November 2015:

I got better at making the scrolls. Here are some more recent editions of my triangle with the “blued” stainless steel rings.

New baroque triangles
Newer edition triangles
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