Paul Van Nevel: the importance of silence (2/2)

Based in Leuven, the Huelgas Ensemble has established itself over the past fifty years as one of the leading performers of the polyphonic repertoire from the 14th to the 16th centuries. At 80, its founder Paul Van Nevel continues his exploration by questioning its very foundations: silence, the perception of sound, the illusion of authenticity, the transfer of power. As he gradually prepares his succession with the tenor Achim Schulz, the ensemble is at a turning point, caught between staying true to a certain aesthetic and embracing a new balance. This is the final part of the interview, with both men present.

In the first part of this interview, you mentioned several important stages in the history of your ensemble, as well as the main realization arising from your long work on the repertoire of the 14th to the 16th centuries. What other important discoveries could you share with us?

Paul Van Nevel: The importance of silence. The dynamics of a work depend on it. In the past, rehearsal spaces as well as concert venues were largely marked by silence. A child grew up in silence. Of course, there were sounds—a dog barking, bells, a cart rumbling… But the underlying feeling was that of silence. This is a feeling we have lost. Yet music begins with silence. In a concert, the two seconds preceding the beginning are, for me, the most important moment. Total silence. It was from that silence that we sang. Today, we’re already satisfied when the noise level drops just a little. But back then, singing very softly meant being just above the silence. It was almost the norm. Today, the overall dynamic is far too loud. This intensified with the emergence of the orchestra, but even in the purely vocal repertoire, we sing too powerfully. This stems from the loss of the sense of silence. The definition of silence has, moreover, evolved since the 16th century. In the 19th century, one finds definitions describing it as an interruption of noise. It is therefore a complete reversal of the concept.

What have been the most memorable moments of these fifty-five years with Huelgas, if any stand out?

P. V. N.: Yes. And, curiously, one of the most important is the concert we gave a few weeks ago at Notre-Dame de Paris. For us, it was a real milestone.

Why?

P. V. N.: Because we sang music there that was written specifically for that place, that of Pérotin and Léonin. And we know more about performance practices around 1200 than about the entire 15th century; we were even able to position ourselves in the exact place where the singers stood at the time—this location is known. Of course, the cathedral no longer sounds today as it did in 1200 (I will spare you the details), but we need to look at things objectively: authenticity, in the absolute sense, does not exist. Anyone who claims to be authentic is lying. It is impossible. The only thing we can do is to give today’s audience, for whom we sing, an idea of the emotions, the aesthetic demands and the vocal aesthetics that were decisive in the 13th, 14th or 15th centuries. But this can only be an attempt at approximation. To say: “this is how it sounded in the 13th century” would be a lie. Our hearing has changed; around 1200, it was much more sensitive than it is today. Someone who spends every week at nightclubs today will no longer hear the same way by the time they’re thirty. That kind of constant exposure to loud noise didn’t exist in 1200.

Which repertoires have you already explored, and which would you still like to approach?

P. V. N.: What I still wish to do goes beyond what I have already accomplished. But I will obviously not have time to do everything. What I have done so far, you also know: I have approached both the great names such as Lassus or Dufay and lesser-known composers such as Alexander Agricola. And the music of the latter is extremely singular. I have always been drawn to composers who are not afraid to cross boundaries and go beyond what has already been achieved in the history of music, those who seek what can still be interesting, still adventurous. When it comes to the rhythmic complexity of melodic lines, Agricola went very far, even further than Johannes Ockeghem. It is composers of this kind who have always interested me and who continue to interest me. An example of a project I absolutely wish to carry out (this will be in 2027) pertains to the music of Ivo de Vento, born in 1544 in Antwerp. When Orlando di Lasso went to Antwerp to recruit children for the court chapel in Munich, he took de Vento with him. De Vento was then trained at the Munich court, where he later worked as an organist. He was also cantor in the summer residence of the Dukes of Bavaria in the Alps, when he spent holidays there with the court. He composed extensively, in very varied genres: German lieder that sometimes verge on the burlesque, but also motets, masses and many other things. He is an extremely prolific composer and of the very first rank. The fact that his works were included in the Munich choir books already says a great deal about his importance.

Yes, I believe I have already sung something by him, his German lieder…

P. V. N.: Yes, exactly. But that represents only a small part of his output, and certainly not the most important, nor probably the best. Next year, we will devote an entire concert to him as well as a recording, with a six-voice mass that truly reaches the level of Lassus.

If we look not at individual composers but at repertoires as a whole, which ones require the most attention today and are the most neglected?

P. V. N.: The 15th century. We of course know Dufay and Binchois, then, towards the end of the century, Josquin, but it almost stops there. Yet there is so much more! I will simply mention a composer we have recorded: Firminus Caron. His music is truly demanding, with complex counterpoint, not easy to listen to. The 16th century is much more accessible to our ears today, but in terms of the development of the complexity and architecture of polyphony, the 15th century is in reality more important than the 16th. Much is also said about the so-called Cypriot repertoire of the 14th century, particularly in musicology, and it is largely edited. We have, for example, recorded Cypriot antiphons. But everything that still lies there and has never been performed is phenomenal, singular, authentic and, for the most part, still unexplored.

In the years to come, what share do you still wish to assume yourself on stage, and what share will fall to your designated successor, Achim Schulz? Is there already a plan?

P. V. N.: Yes, we have a very clear idea: I continue as long as I wish, as long as my body allows it and as long as I feel like it. If one day I no longer feel like it, I stop. But gradually, Achim is already taking on certain concerts, as a way to gradually get into the role. Next year, for example, he will conduct a concert in Hamburg. We have spoken a great deal about the moment when I will stop definitively and when he will take over everything. He is patient, ready, and could do it immediately. If I were to drop dead tomorrow, he would be there the next day to take over. It is a clear understanding, but not a rigid planning as one might imagine today. In an ensemble, this kind of transition happens gradually. He remains my principal tenor, he sings with us, immerses himself in the work and gradually takes on more responsibilities, until the moment when he will assume everything.

Another subject: you recently acquired a Plantin choir book [Christophe Plantin (c. 1520–1589), a major Antwerp printer of the Renaissance, whose workshop disseminated high-quality editions of polyphonic music throughout Europe, notably large-format choir books intended for liturgical practice], a rather exceptional discovery today. Can you tell us how that happened?

P. V. N.: Yes, I was in a second-hand shop in Utrecht and I saw a large book lying on the floor. I asked if I could see it. It was placed on the table, and I saw that it was a printed book, clearly indicated on two pages: Plantin print, 1572. Incredible. And the seller clearly did not know what it was worth; I was able to buy it for almost nothing. It is a thick choir book made up of three parts, evidently from three different collections, notably offertories of saints, which were later bound together. I am going to bring it to the Plantin-Moretus Museum, where specialists work, in order to determine when it was bound and whether it is indeed an authentic print by Christophe Plantin or possibly a mistaken attribution. But the printing is remarkable, in two colours, very clear. I am very happy about it. I only need to have the exact date of the binding specified.

What can be expected from you and the Huelgas Ensemble in the coming months?

P. V. N.: We have a concert in Cuenca, Spain, as well as other concerts in festivals in Belgium. So we remain very active. The auditions at the end of March are particularly important: it is the first time that we have received such a large number of applications from young singers, eighty-six in total! It will take us quite some time to listen to all these voices. But as often, many feel called, few are chosen…

Achim Schulz, you are the designated successor—currently on a part-time basis—to Paul Van Nevel as the head of the Huelgas Ensemble. How do you feel about the prospect of taking over such a prestigious ensemble?

Achim Schulz: It is a very variable experience, almost different at every hour. One constantly adjusts one’s relationship to this task. And I obviously note that, even if I approach this with a long experience as a singer, this experience concerns only myself, not conducting. That still has to be built. But of course, the very possibility of doing it rests on other forms of experience. In a way, it seems natural, like a process that goes without saying, and at the same time a little unreal. I will only really be able to speak about it after having conducted several concerts and worked concretely with the singers. For the moment, I am still their colleague, not the one standing in front of them. That is a considerable difference, even if I would like to retain a form of collegiality, if the position allows it.

And of course, it is also a joy! For a musician, being able to approach a deeply musical task with musical responses of this level, with such singers, is an exceptional moment, almost a celebration. And yet we have almost lost today the sense of celebration, caught in the constant flow of screens, no longer knowing where those moments are that one truly celebrates. For me, this mission is a moment of that kind in my life. I am now sixty years old, and it is no coincidence that life offers me this moment. Not only to bring something to a close, but also to open new doors. There is a part of uncertainty in it, but a healthy uncertainty, made of risk and respect.

Does the history of the ensemble and its reputation represent more a responsibility or a challenge?

A. S.: Both. Perhaps even the challenge of a true responsibility. But life itself is made of challenges. Responsibility will probably come to the fore, because I have before me singers who want to build their artistic lives with the greatest possible musical richness. And I think that this responsibility is essential.

How has this process of transmission unfolded so far?

A. S.: It began with a long conversation and some time spent together with Paul Van Nevel in Lisbon, the city closest to his heart. I no longer remember exactly when it was, perhaps in 2019. In fact, he had already spoken to me about it before, at least ten years ago. At the time, I had replied that it was not possible, because I felt that Huelgas and Paul Van Nevel formed an inseparable unity. And then, over the years, by finding my place in the ensemble, by feeling increasingly naturally integrated into it, no longer as an added element but as an organic part of this polyphonic universe, I reconsidered the question. And I understood that the ensemble deserved to continue, if it so wished.

What does it depend on?

A. S.: On subsidies, on the singers, and ultimately on me. I, for one, want it. The process truly began at a festival in Talant, in Burgundy, where I conducted my first concert, also to see how the singers would react. They had not been informed in advance, so it was a surprise for everyone. But I felt total support, and it was a very powerful experience. Last year, I conducted a major concert at the Laus Polyphoniae festival in Antwerp, which in a way constituted the real handover. What comes next remains entirely open. I let Paul Van Nevel decide the pace that suits him and the moment when it should end. That is part of the stars I gaze at every evening from my finca. As I gaze at the night sky, I know that everything will turn out just as it should.

Contre le Temps: Reclaiming the Middle Ages

What would you like to preserve, and what would you like to evolve, in terms of repertoire, singers, sound?

A. S.: I have no intention of changing anything, and certainly not as a matter of principle. I am of course a different person from Paul Van Nevel, but he himself is not a fixed musician: one can work fifty times on the same work with him and obtain fifty different outcomes. I feel very close to this way of working. I am not someone who plans once and for all and then repeats identically. I need to feel things in the moment, starting from the singers. These singers are today my point of departure. I have taken part in auditions for several years, and I love this ensemble as it is. Thus, many things will change simply because I am there. But not because I would consciously wish to modify anything. In short, yes, much will change, and yet nothing will change.