ut then, quite suddenly and dramatically, and, it's got to be said, swholly without warning…nothing happened. In fact, immediately after this, it happened again. Nothing, I mean. To be fair, it went on happening for a good two centuries.
Nothing. Happening for two whole centuries! If you want to get any idea what that must have been like, try ringing a computer helpline. All the while, though, the world just kept on turning. Just. The years fairly creaked by. Turn ti turn.
In fact, before you knew it, it was already, ooh, later the same afternoon.
Eventually, though, the last Roman out of Britain had said '?????? ridensunf and now turned off the light, a rather angry young man name of Attila the Hun came and went, and the Ostrogoth navy, now split from the Visigoths, was defeated by the Byzantines.
There you are, see. Less 'the history of this period' and more a role-playing game.
Then, all of a sudden, before you could say 'bring out your dead', it was 600. ///c Anitphonar, a collection of church chants. To be fair, it's almost Hiiain, now, that he was just one of a bunch of mainly religious Igurcs who tried to move music on, generally, but, through a mixture ul legend and personal influence, it's he who is remembered for it.??- personal influence is obvious - he was Pope (from 590 to 604).Mid, back then, you probably couldn't have a safer bet for making sure you got your 'plus one' on a bouncer's guest list. The legend is more difficult to fathom. It appears that, despite being just one of a bunch? il important people in music, the passing of the years - and possibly the desire to blame someone - meant that he was seen as the person who not only gathered together plainchant, but also the one credited with writing most of it, which is almost certainly untrue. Still, it does Hive us a very convenient pivot point.
Gregorian chant had arrived and the last echoing spoonful of Ambrosian had faded away to nothing.