What ties this exquisitely played collection of lute pieces together is that all appeared in the anthology whose pieces were chosen by one John Cozens. Searching through 16th-century manuscripts in the 1960s, Rooley evidently discovered many such personal collections, designed for each owner’s amusement and edification. Found in the Cambridge University library, the John Cozens Lute Book was distinguished in Rooley’s eyes by the collector’s taste, the “florid” ornamentation, and clarity. Rooley recorded a quarter of the music in the manuscript.
If the court of Elizabeth I could be compared to a bee-hive, John Dowland was one of its workers, tirelessly bringing in news from the Continent which he constantly visited, and as tirelessly producing the spiritual sustenance vital for the court's existence. It is this honey that Emma Kirkby and Anthony Rooley have gathered in an imaginative recital that focuses on Dowland's relationship to his various patrons – among them Elizabeth I and the Earl of Essex.
Both the music and this actual product are masterpieces. John Dowland's collected works here - covering 12 compact discs - exhibit the depth and power of this composer, a composer who many now regard as suffering from clinical depression. I doubt that the issue of the diagnosis of Dowland's depression can ever be settled, however, it is certainly obvious from his music, so completely on display here, that he was a man with very dark depths and corners in his mind. Dowland's various manifestations and "takes" on his own tune, "Flow my tears"/"Lachrimae" are here. This tune has haunted me ever since I first heard it when I was a child. It seems to sum up Dowland's feelings - at least Dowland seems to have thought so.
Rarely have I read a sleeve-note that pleads so vehemently in support of the music it introduces as does the one for this collection of works by Henry Lawes. ''I wish this record well,'' writes Anthony rooley, ''for Harry's [Henry's] sake, so that our un-sung genius of song may occupy his rightful place in the halls of Fame, and the late 20th century adopt the same conclusions as his own time''. Certainly you may find it surprising that a composer whose music was praised by such towering contemporaries as Charles I, Milton and Locke should have been neglected so universally by today's champions of early music—surprising, that is, until you hear the music itself.
Rooley's group has a strong feeling for the pungency of individual words and their harmonic emphases. He achieves a biting emotional style here, making this collection a compelling one. Even the sonic dimensions match the interpretive approach: Rooley has a close and sharply-etched sound.
The superbly consistent quality of the Third Book of songs by John Dowland suggests that the earlier issues, First Book and Second Book also recorded by Anthony Rooley and the Consort of Musicke, were no mere flashes in the pan, but set the tone for the whole series.
For twenty-first century ears accustomed to every type of music imaginable, it can be hard to hear Gesualdo's later madrigals as the shocking and revolutionary pieces they are or imagine the reaction of their original audiences, but sometimes the music is so supremely odd that it inevitably elicits a double-take. This is sometimes the result of Gesualdo's brilliant/cavalier disregard for the late Renaissance conventions of harmony, tonality, and voice leading, but just as often it's the intensity of emotional affect in his response to the texts, which can create music that seems alarmingly disjunct, even schizophrenic, in its mood swings. In any case, Gesualdo is a composer who's most appealing to listeners who like wild rides and lots of aural surprises.
…The crystal-clear tone, thoughtful intonation and bright sparkle of this beautiful voice [Emma Kirkby] is unmistakable. The music is not so well known as it ought to be and Anthony Rooley, who accompanies here so tellingly, is adept at promoting lesser-known works.
"Madrigali guerrieri et amorosi" ("Madrigals Warlike and Amorous") is how Claudio Monteverdi titled his eighth and largest book of madrigals–which was actually two volumes in one. The "warlike madrigals" (concerned largely with the "war of love") feature the "agitated style" Monteverdi pioneered: quick, almost nervous writing, lots of rapidly repeated notes, and more syllables than a Gilbert & Sullivan patter song. These works culminate in the famous short quasi-opera Il Combattimento de Tancredi e Clorinda. The "amorous madrigals" are no less ardent, but they are less, well, warlike–that is, more leisurely paced, with plenty of chromaticism, dissonant suspensions, and giddily virtuosic runs to depict the pain and excitement of love.