#traditional troubadour hurdygurdyists of yore

[plungermusic]

Wherefore divers yonge violistes preferreth Bach …

… perforce eschewing ye earthy stylinges of ye traditional troubadour hurdygurdyists of yore?

Forsooth Susanna, conducte me thence for none hath passed my ken in a twelvemonth! But in earnest, thy inquiry is ane righteous inquiry. Verily ye yonge violistes do seeme in thrall to ye complex melodies, riche textures and syncopated rhythmes of Bach, rather than ye turgid repetitive drones ande plaintive dirges of ye traditional troubadour hurdygurdyists of yore.

Er, ande?

I prithee pardon Susanna, methought I had replied most compleatly to thy entreaty, is’t not patent to thine understanding?

Well, Confessor, mine credence be that too muche hath been lost in such a reformation. Ye traditional troubadour hurdygurdyists of yore brought suche emotioun and passione in their musicke and lyrickes, borne of ye harsh verity of quotidienne peasant existaunce: it speaketh to ye listeneres of ye paines of toile and ye pangs of love.

Indeede yet also like ye dailye grinde of bondsman livinge it is dulle and uninteresting after ye firste three minutes. It is most especially dulle for ye musician, particularly ye musician who no longer hath need of labouringe from sunrise til sunsette for his cruste, who feareth not the lord’s overseer’s wrath nor the blight that cometh on the crop. Nay some may say to expresse suche shalt be dishoneste mummery at beste?

I grant thee thy finalle pointe, yet ‘dulle’? Ye traditional troubadour hurdygurdyists of yore summon the spirit of sweaty Sabbath-eve dances in unsmoke-filled taverns with ye joyes and exultatioune of celebrating the end another sixe days mangel-wurzling and ye promise of ye rough congresse to follow (God will’t)! Dulle is’t not! Shew me the manne that may performe ye hide-ye-parsnippe to ye strains of ye Goldbricke Variation alla settima!

Egad, Susanna, I knoweth notte what concerneth me moste! That any manne relieth on ane song to keepe up ye beate (thus to speake) or that he mighte notte be able to count 1-2, 1-2 over a ground in sevens…

Fie, sir, thou dost disrespect and calumniate me too muche!

I crave thy pardon mistress, and woud coole thine ardour and lift thy humour with ane witty rejoinder thus, “What dost thou callest ye workes of ye traditional troubadour hurdygurdyists of yore for shorte?" 

I know not, I trow.

Serf Musicke!