Rhythm is one of the primary means by which we recognize cultures. I can distinguish the rhythmic profile of American English in the Babel of a crowded Paris M?tro, even if I can't understand the words. Conversations between people of different cultures can be fascinating to watch, as they struggle to attain a common physical rhythm of gesture and language cadence that will allow them to communicate. The music of a people is at once reflection, preserver and shaper of those rhythms. For me at least, the most poignant result of our continuing inability to reconstruct the rhythm of the music of the troubadours and trouv?res is our inability to enter into the rhythm of their lives. In beginning my own Odyssey into this much-travelled territory, I was baffled by the many eminent scholars who approach rhythm in medieval French secular repertoires by way of the language patterns and rhythmic theories of the clerical subculture whose primary language was Latin: to apply, for example, the rhythmic modes of classical Latin poetry or the theoretical precepts of Latin musical theorists to the musical settings of the vernacular poetry of the troubadours and trouv?res. (I should point out that our distinguished chairman, Prof. Hendrik van der Werf, was one of the earliest and most persistent voices against that practice.) I began to doubt my own image of two cultures, amicably intermingling but different in fundamental ways, each with its own characteristic musical style. For me, an essential first step became to examine whether there were, in fact, two contrasting musical styles reflecting the two contrasting cultures: one secular, no longer strictly ?oral? but placing a high value on the skills of oral discourse and memory, its life rhythms rooted in the
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