In September of 1536, the papal singer and composer Costanzo Festa wrote a letter to his Florentine patron Filippo Strozzi. Festa, having heard about a music printer in Venice, hoped to contact him there through one of Strozzi's agents. He continued:

Have him [the printer] understand that if he wants my works, that is, the hymns [and] the Magnificats, I do not want less than one hundred fifty scudi and, if he wants the basse, two hundred in all. If he wants to print them, he can place the hymns and Magnificats in a large book [choirbook format] like that of the fifteen Masses [Antico's Quindecim missarum, RISM 1516], so that all choirs would be able to make use of them. The basse are good for learning to sing in counterpoint, to compose and to play all instruments.

Any explanation of the emerging polyphonic chanson in the years before 1330 must negotiate varied repertories and compositions. One of the central genres in such a study would be the polyphonic rondeau. It is characterised by a musico-poetic structure more or less analogous to the rondeau of the later fourteenth century, but also by three-part music – mostly syllabic, note-against-note – that is copied in score. Our view of these sorts of compositions is dominated by the works of Adam de la Halle, whose sixteen score-notated polyphonic settings of vernacular lyrics are preserved in a manuscript now in the Bibliothèque Nationale (F-Pn), MS fr. 25566.

During the seventeenth century, the growth of opera created the need for a large number of artists to perform in theatres throughout Italy and, increasingly, in much of Europe. The biographies of nearly all the singers who performed in Venice, the centre of opera during the middle of the century, and in other cities of Italy remain unwritten and, in most cases, unwritable. For some singers, including Giovanni Antonio Cavagna, Nicola Coresi and Vincenza Giulia Masotti, letters survive that convey something of their personalities. Yet, for the most part, we know nothing of their families and the early years of their careers, nor of their lives as performers. This article will explore several episodes in the career of the Roman singer Silvia Gailarti Manni, whose operatic appearances during three decades have been known to scholars through librettos, but whose life has never before come into focus.

Galeazzo Maria Sforza (1444–76), fifth Duke of Milan, set out when he acceded to power in 1466 to style himself as one of the most glorious of rulers and to make his court (in the words of the contemporary chronicler Bernardino Corio) one of ‘the most splendid in the universe’. Galeazzo, a contemporary of King Louis XI of France and Duke Charles the Bold of Burgundy, entertained grand designs of turning his ducal coronet into a king's crown and transforming Lombardy into a royal realm, just as Charles the Bold sought to elevate the duchy of Burgundy to a kingdom. The two dukes, as vassals of the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick III, relied on that monarch's power to bestow the kingly crown; both failed tragically in the end. As part of his design to impress his contemporaries with the princely splendour of his court, in 1471 Galeazzo focused his energies particularly on the ambitious project of developing the best musical chapel in Italy. During the course of the next two years he sent emissaries to the rulers of England, Flanders, France, Naples and his neighbour Savoy, seeking to hire (or borrow, in the case of Savoy) the best singers available. His cappella grew to include more than thirty singers, making it larger than any other in Italy, even the papal chapel.

There is a passage in Willi Apel's discussion of the Alleluia of the Mass that nicely epitomises several of the difficulties that music historians have experienced with the genre. Apel found himself faced with a dilemma: on the one hand there was that undeniably late characteristic of the Alleluia, its notorious instability of liturgical assignment; and on the other hand there was literary evidence of the Alleluia's antiquity, its appearance in fourth-century patristic literature as the melismatic jubilus, and Gregory I's late sixth-century letter in which he admitted to extending the use of the Alleluia beyond Paschaltime.