|
Please
note: Throughout
Classical New Jersey Society reviews some words are found preceded
by an asterisk (*). This indicates that the word is defined or discussed
in the IOW (In Other Words) section of our website. If
you are looking for a special definition or discussion, click on the
alpha-clickbar below or the actual word, if it is hyperlinked.
A | B
| C | D
| E | F
| G | H-I
| J | K
| L | M
| N | O
| P-Q | R
| S | T
| U | V
| W | X-Y-Z
|
Haydn
in Hidin' Solid pianism
Sunday,
December 7, 2003
By Henry Wyatt
Arbor Chamber
Music Marcia Weinfeld, violin Richard Goode, piano Mozart: Sonata for violin
and piano in A Major, K. 526; Beethoven: Piano Sonata no. 26 in E flat, op.
81 ("Farewell"); Janácek: Piano Sonata "October 1, 1905";
Brahms: Sonata for violin and piano in G major, op. 78. Presbyterian Church,
Westfield.
Only ten years
ago Richard Goode's Beethoven sonata cycle on Nonesuch recordings was released,
the first ever by an American pianist. Suddenly, at age fifty, this consummate
chamber musician, much respected for his intelligent and penetrating musicianship,
had become both a soloist and a Beethoven pianist of the first rank - a very
successful mid-life career change indeed. More solo recordings followed, all
to great critical acclaim. Defining Mr. Goode as a pianist isn't easy. His
Beethoven persona may seem elusive, compared to, say, the late Wilhelm Kempff,
who, with Olympian dignity and pellucidity of gesture, surveyed the sonatas
from the summit of great age and experience for Deutsche Grammophon in the
1960s. Russian-trained pianists such as Vladimir Ashkenazy and Evgeny Kissin
see Beethoven as Romantic, and play him with more flamboyance and technical
brilliance. Historicists such as Paul Badura-Skoda, Malcolm Bilson and Melvyn
Tan perform these stalwarts on period instruments. And from on high, the shade
of Artur Schnabel yet hovers.
Mr. Goode is
none of these. His musicianship has always rested in his ability to have the
music speak for itself, finding the right balance between inner detail and
overall design. In his rightly celebrated Nonesuch cycle, multiple hearings,
preferably with earphones and scores in hand, will reveal all the fastidiously-rendered
subtleties of articulation, rhetorical gesture and tempo change that lie underneath
his surface restraint.
These attributes
were evident when Mr. Goode played Beethoven's so-called Lebewohl ("Farewell")
Sonata for Arbor Chamber Music's concert of December 7th. He knows the difference
between the recording studio and the public venue, and made the necessary
adjustments: not quite so self-effacing, reaching out more to the tangible
listener. Beethoven's heroic gestures were more striking. The bold octaves
in the outer movements pealed like bells. Nonetheless there were Mr. Goode's
sensible tempos, the careful probing and shaping of inner motives and textures,
rendering this familiar work not so much the usual monument to Beethoven's
heroic period but rather a more immediate, human utterance.
Mr. Goode's performance
of Janácek's Sonata October 1, 1905 was in a similar spirit. Most of
us are accustomed to the Moravian composer's acerbic dissonances and choppy,
speech-derived rhythms. But this work is more reflective, commemorating a
student killed during that revolutionary year in eastern Europe, protesting
against Hapsburg domination of historic Bohemian and Moravian homelands. This
softer aspect of Janácek was revealed in Mr. Goode's meditative approach,
letting the rhetorical gestures of grief emerge as if by their own efforts.
Mr. Goode was
joined by his wife, violinist Marcia Weinfeld, for two joint offerings. In
Mozart's A-major violin sonata, K. 526, there were surprises aplenty in the
rhythmic stresses that created unexpected metric patterns, sudden shifts from
broad lyricism to brilliant figuration, highlighting Mozart's constantly changing
inventory of musical topics.
In general, when
paired with a pianist of this eminence, Ms. Weinfeld's comparatively narrow
expressive range and somewhat thin tone placed her at a disadvantage. Her
technique was also less than sparkling.
Nonetheless her
change of persona in Brahms' G-major violin sonata indicated an appropriate
musical discernment. In the opening movement her tone was more concentrated,
with more intense vibrato, against Mr. Goode's more open, translucent probing
of Brahms' musical fabric. Lyric episodes, especially in the slow movement,
were straight from the heart, undisguised by artifice. In the finale, *moderato
was the operative word, a judicious choice of tempo that let stand the right
balance between the piano's disquieted skittering and the violin's steady
lyricism. Not quite perfect together, but two intelligent musicians, striking
the right balance between the transparent and the opaque, so often the hallmark
of Brahms' later works.
When this recital
was originally announced, the bill included Haydn piano sonatas. This listener
looked forward to hearing Mr. Goode illumine at least a small part of this
most neglected body of great music. Maybe next time.
Wide expressive range
An insomniac hears a goldfinch at dawn
Monday, December 8, 2003
By Paul M. Somers
Colonial Symphony,
Raymond Wojcik (guest conductor), Eugenia Zukerman (flute), Richard Foley
(oboe). Canning: Fantasy on a Hymn by Justin Morgan; Vivaldi: Flute concerti
in G minor, op. 10, no. 2 ("La notte"), and in D major, op. 10,
no. 3 ("Il gardelino") ; Sampson: Concerto for Oboe and Strings
(premiere); Dvorák: Serenade in E major, op. 22. Community Theatre,
Morristown.
Those who were
able to attend the Monday evening concert, hastily rescheduled to make up
for the snowed-out Saturday original date, got a good dose of lyrical American
music. The highlight was the premiere of David Sampson's Concerto for Oboe
and Strings in Three Movements, which will doubtless (and rightly) be simply
called his Oboe Concerto. It is a work which should definitely have a future,
for it is one of Sampson's most lyric works, as ingratiating for the soloist
as it is to the ear. While it requires a fine oboist, and the music is certainly
modernist in its uses of advanced harmonies and lines, it is so well understood
by the listener at first hearing that it acts as an invitation to find more.
Strictly speaking,
it is not an "oboe" concerto, for the central movement, originally
composed for a Tenebræ service, is played on english horn. While some
instrumentalists have no problem switching between different versions of their
instruments (B-flat clarinetists readily make the change to E-flat, flutists
switch to piccolo with barely a thought, and trumpeters often have an arsenal
of instruments lined up), oboists are not fond of changing to english horn
without some time to relax their embouchure so they can get set for the new
one. But veteran New Jersey oboist Richard Foley had no trouble at all and
produced a moving account of the gorgeous melody. The more sprightly, though
quite lyrical, outer movements were made all the more effective by the inclusion
of the central lament.
This work should
be taken up by more oboists. After all, quality concertos for them are not
in abundance, and here is one they'll love to play.
The other American
music on the concert was Thomas Canning's lush Fantasy on a Hymn by Justin
Morgan. The same 18th century New England man who bred the famed Morgan Horses
also wrote hymn tunes. His style sounds very much like that of William Billings,
his contemporary. Conductor Raymond Wojcik had the tune played by itself before
playing Canning's Fantasy. This was enormously helpful, for the piece itself,
though lush and quite attractive, is written for two string quartets and string
orchestra, a complex texture.
Canning, who
composed mostly choral music and taught theory at the Eastman School of Music,
admitted to being inspired by Vaughan Williams' Fantasy on a Theme of Thomas
Tallis, wanting something comparable based on an American theme. He was entirely
successful, and produced yet another work which could be programmed instead
of the incessant Barber Adagio. The latter really is great, but enough already!
Canning's Fantasy and Walker's Lyric are, frankly, just as good. So thanks
to Mr. Wojcik for bringing it before the public.
The guest of
the evening was the renowned flutist, author, and TV personality Eugenia Zukerman.
She and Wojcik had what seemed to be a real collaboration. Some of the little
details beyond merely keeping soloist and orchestra together were delicious.
In "La notte" (The night), there could be no mistake about the ominous
view of the dark - no moonlit vistas here. This was the world of the insomniac,
and the emphasis on the lower voices kept it dark. Zukerman, of course, made
the most of her chance to be expressive.
But her most
bravura moments were reserved for the finale of "Il gardelino" (The
goldfinch). Here she got to produce a baroque picture of a bird, a natural
for the flute. She dazzled the audience.
The somewhat
unsung hero of the Vivaldi portion of the evening was harpsichordist Gerald
Rank. His continuo work was exemplary, but his most public music was in his
effective improvisation on the *lute stop as the accompaniment to the slow
movement of the second concerto. Bravo!
The concert concluded
with Antonin Dvorák's rightly famous Serenade for strings. Here, finally
without soloists or complicated forces with which to contend, we could hear
the level of expressivity that Wojcik brought to the orchestra. The conducting
and playing were shapely, sometimes sensuous, and sometimes dance-like. The
orchestra had a wider *dynamic scope than they have exhibited for many concerts,
and this opened to them a palette of sound possibilities which Wojcik exploited
and that we hope future guest conductors will keep available.
Throughout the
concert we were dismayed at the insecurity of the concertmaster in a program
filled with solo playing in both Canning and Vivaldi.
Feet
in two worlds
Bartókian Korean
Friday, December 12, 2003
By Paul
M. Somers
Cho-Yeon Bak
(violin), Eunmi Lee (piano). A Musical Feast of Korean and Western Cultures.
Doing-Il Sheen: For my family; Geon-Young Lee: Violin Sanjo; Vaughan Williams:
The Lark Ascending; Vittorio Monti: Czárdás; Ernest Chausson:
Poème, op. 25; Copland: Hoe-down from "Rodeo." Puffin Cultural
Forum, Teaneck.
The Puffin Cultural
Forum did what it does best: it challenged audiences with juxtapositions.
The main event, if you will, was a violin and piano recital by Cho-Yeon Bak
and Eunmi Lee respectively. But it was held within an art exhibit with a message
of peace for the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. The visions and voices of moderates
from both sides set up deep resonances with a recital by Koreans, whose nation
is even more severely partitioned and more filled with political enmity, if
that is possible.
Part of the underlying
problem in the Palestinian-Arab community also was inadvertently demonstrated
in the recital: the takeover of another culture by Western Culture at levels
far below the transient surface. It was quite apparent that violinist Bak
was far more comfortable playing the Western music than the Korean works she
chose.
It's not that
the Korean works were more difficult - they weren't; or that the music is
less interesting - it was what most of us came to hear, though Geon-Yong Lee's
unaccompanied Violin Sanjo was far more interesting than Doing-Il Sheen's
For My Family with its American-style accompaniments.
All five movements
of the latter are folk-tune related and all set sweetly. The four outer movements
are like photos: "The Day of Reunion", "Autumn 1988,"
"Winter Night", "And New Year." The central "Song"
is a lovely *ABA work. But with the accompaniments sounding at times like
salon music, the evocation of folk elements was not very successful. Both
players played the music accurately, if without a great deal of conviction.
The unaccompanied
work was very different indeed! Composed in an edgy post-Bartókian
style. It was always intense, whether fast or slow. The piece progresses from
"Fast and fiercely" in a lessening of tempo with each movement until
the final is "Very slowly." This last has the most "Asian"
feel to it with *bent pitches and *pizzicatos redolent more of plucked folk
instruments than of modern conservatory training.
Most striking
to my taste was the next-to-last movement, "Slowly." Here the left
hand, the one on the fingerboard, plucks the open G string while other elegiac
material is bowed. It sounded like a tolling bell.
For all the strengths
of the piece, there were some intonation problems which were patently not
a matter of bending notes.
When both artists
returned, it was to present a Western work: Ralph Vaughan Williams' mystical
The Lark Ascending. Its *pentatonicism made a great transition between the
Asian to the Western parts of the evening. Immediately Bak's playing took
on more authority, even in the delicate tracery of Vaughan Williams' transparent
vision. Conservatory training was apparent with each bow-stroke.
Following intermission
we heard three more works from the Western tradition, music now played with
all the conviction missing from "For My Family," music with superb
intonation and phrasing.
Vittorio Monti's
good old Czárdás, Ernest Chausson's equally well-known Poème,
and a spiffy arrangement of Aaron Copland's "Hoe-Down" from Rodeo
found both players in familiar territory. Ms. Bak's *double stops were accurate
and exciting. And if in the small and not very resonant hall, she tried to
play so softly that she couldn't get her very highest pitches to speak easily
in the Poème, it did not matter, so eloquent was the rest of the performance.
It was all too
easy to guess that the energy and style of the Copland hoe-down was a sign
of what went wrong with the Korean works. Ms. Bok certainly convinced me that
she has become thoroughly Americanized.
Who am I with
my strictly WASP credentials to lecture her? But allow me to suggest to her
that the unaccompanied piece by Lee is as worth learning as accurately as
anything else on the program. And let me suggest that For My Family, if taken
more seriously, could really become a series of musical snap-shots worth sharing.
"Mother
Mary comes to me." "My
soul doth magnify the Lord"
Saturday, December 13, 2003
By John Hammel
Harmonium Choral
Society, Anne Matlack (conductor). "Ave!" Ave Marias, Magnificats
and other Hymns to Mary from Josquin to Lauridsen, Pärt to Parsons. Church
of the Redeemer, Morristown.
Harmonium's musical
program presented composers from the Middle Ages to the present day, with
often thrilling results and only occasional stumbles, of choral and song offerings
in praise of the Virgin Mary. One of Harmonium's assets is a relatively smooth
choral blend with a straight or white vibratoless sound that impels the music
forward and provides an intensity to the musical shape and phrasing. Their
dynamics are finely tuned and coupled with exemplary diction, no matter what
language they are singing in, and Ms. Matlack generally achieves good balance
with her forces, conducting in a fluidly organic manner that aids in providing
aptly idiomatic renditions of the disparate styles on display. The lapses
were few and spaced far enough apart not to hamper the pleasure to be found
in this program. More than on any other occasion when I have heard this choir,
I found a few moments of imbalance which took me by surprise. The soprano
section had a tendency to push their sound to the point of sharpness, most
notably earlier in the program and once or twice towards the end. I found
the men had a tendency to over-enunciate the final syllable of the word "Maria",
especially in Morten Lauridsen's Ave Maria, which resulted in the tone moving
from the front of the *mask to the back of the throat, hence altering the
musical line.
Harmonium has
acquired a reputation for a high level of professionalism and consistency
as well as their ability to take on challenging works, no matter how knotty
or rhythmically convoluted. Where they fall down consistently is in Ms. Matlack's
choice to draw her soloists from the ranks of the choir. Whether this is from
political or financial necessity, combinations of both, or for reasons entirely
of another nature, it diminishes the effect of high professionalism which
otherwise permeates the ensemble.
A good choral
singer is a thing of beauty unto itself and one to be cherished. The ability
to sublimate one's ego and work on blend and the good of the whole over the
individual is a wonderful characteristic.
A soloist is
an animal of an entirely different nature. It requires years of study of placement,
projection, and dramatic interpretation that is totally different than that
required of a chorister. The twain hardly ever meet. And with one or two exceptions
they didn't meet in this concert, as Ms. Matlack, again drew her soloists
from within the ranks of the choir with varying results. If she wishes the
group to be accepted on the highest plateau of performing choral ensembles,
I believe she needs to address this issue.
With the above
caveats out of the way, there was still much to enjoy at this concert. The
evening began with a note perfect rendition of Robert Parson's Ave Maria.
Diction and balance were exemplary; pitch was spot on; cut offs were perfect;
and the contrapuntal lines were woven seamlessly. The choir brought unified
timbre to Morten Lauridsen's setting of Ave Maria. Anton Bruckner's Tota pulchra
est was a richly dramatic reading.
They exhibited
exemplary diction in Benjamin Britten's A Hymn To The Virgin, a work written
when he was a seventeen year old student. This is a macaronic text (utilizing
both Latin and English) from about 1300 that employs *modal harmonic structure
and spare *dissonances which the choir easily executed with very effective
gradations of dynamics leading to well-shaped phrases. This was the most finely
sculpted performance of the first half of the concert. Herbert Howell's A
Spotless Rose was imbued with a sense of ebbing and flowing phrases that coupled
with super diction, thus providing a beautifully compelling flow to the outstanding
melody.
The performance
of Arvo Pärt's Magnificat was disappointing. His music is surprisingly
difficult because of the seeming ease with which one hears its construction.
He lingers over a single note or phrase, building his thematic material with
triads and silences within one tonality. Yet it all exposes singers or instrumentalists
mercilessly. Breaths must be taken with exactitude or the music comes off
with weakened flow. The harmonies are close and dense, and the choir found
it difficult to tune the chords at times. *Piano singing was less exact than
*fortissimo, and I found the soprano soloists not employing enough breath
support to maintain purity of line.
Harmonium and
Ms. Matlack were back on much firmer ground in the first half closer, Franceso
Durante's magnificent Magnificat. The string orchestra was everything to be
expected in this music, with finely honed playing that provided apt support
and nuance to the soloists and choir. The lack of first class soloists showed
most in this piece but was more than compensated for by the rousing energy
and conviction on the part of the choir. They sang with robustness and drive,
outstanding blend. These virtues were coupled with superb phrasing, crisp
diction and musical phrasing that was well nigh perfection.
The Harmonium
Chamber Singers opened the second part of the concert and were featured on
four numbers, two of which were settings of There Is No Rose. The first setting
was the familiar medieval carol, and the second one by John Joubert, born
in 1927. Both settings favor transparency to illuminate the words, and the
chamber singers handled the medieval text well, though with some minor lapses
in the duet portions of the arrangement.
The Joubert setting
utilized *rounds, and had denser and more interesting harmonies. The Chamber
singers sang exquisitely in their two other featured numbers, Josquin's four
voice Ave Maria, bringing out the delicacy of the music, with the *canon,
sung by the tenor and soprano parts, a sublime highlight. Their final feature,
Gottfried Homilius' Ich freue mich, was spirited and employed *dotted Baroque
runs that tickled the ear.
The choir's tour
de force performance of the evening was Totus Tuus by the Polish modernist
Henryk Gorecki. His music is extremely dense but highly listenable due to
his affinity for the folk and religious music of his background. His music
opens softly and slowly, like petals on a ripened flower, and this mystical
feeling was brought out fully by the accurate and excellent rendition of the
now full Harmonium chorus. They brought the resolutions within the thematic
material to divine fruition through the smooth shaping of the chord progressions.
Ann Matlack conducted with her usual flair and a perfervid passion that conveyed
itself to both chorus and audience. A wonderful, wonderful performance.
As has become
somewhat customary with Harmonium concerts, they offered somewhat lighter
but no less rigorous fare, to change the mood and let the audience go home
tapping its toes, as it were. This show was no exception with the five final
selections; the West Indian spiritual, The Virgin Mary Had A Baby Boy, rhythmically
precise and crisply sung; Durme, durme, a Sephardic folk tune arranged by
Alice Parker, a melodious blend of Arabic, Jewish, and Spanish influences
sung with fine attention to the intricate inner rhythms; Hombe, a Kenyan lullaby
arranged by Laz Ekwueme, and sung sumptuously by alto, Laura Kosmich and the
choir; and Steven Sametz's Gaudete!, a dynamic and complex piece that unfortunately
suffered from muddiness as the quick tempo shifts caused the choir to spin
it's wheels a bit. Yet there was still enough offered on the positive side,
to elicit vigorous applause as the final chords reverberated and died away
in the rather fine acoustic of Church of the Redeemer.
Mature
composing, mature artistry
A high-level faculty on display
Saturday, December 13, 2003
By Paul M. Somers
Thurnauer Chamber Music Society: Richard Goldsmith (clarinet),
Laura Koepke (bassoon), Daniel Grabois (horn), Deborah Buck, Sharon
Roffman (violins), Kathryn Lockwood, Daniel Panner (violas), Yari Bond
(cello), Peter Weitzner (double bass), Mendelssohn: Viola Quintet, Op.
87; Schubert: Octet for Strings and Winds, Op. 166, D. 803.
Eric Brown Theater, JCC on the Palisades, Tenafly.
Two
late works, one by Mendelssohn and one by Schubert, unveiled what many
consider the pinnacle of 19th century romanticism. The audience was filled with families, including
many young music students come to witness their teachers performing. This is a regular condition at the Thurnauer
School in Tenafly where the faculty includes highly respected and even
well-known artists.
The six movements of the Schubert were, of course the “big work,”
not only because of its length but because it is filled with the sonic
variety of an orchestra. Indeed, it was this very aspect which marked
the performance: tight sectional ensemble and blending of sounds were
the prime virtue. Solos by all
concerned were at the high level one has come to expect from this group
over the years, but it was the evocation of symphonic mass rather than
transparency that made an impression.
This is not to say that the playing was clunky or over-heavy
- far from it - but that this was a performance with grand scope and
the power to sustain it.
Mendelssohn’s Op. 87 viola quintet, while far more transparent
by virtue of its smaller size, was also clearly written by a composer
used to orchestral writing. The sensibility is not that of the familiar
Mendelssohnian færie but of full humanity.
The “Scherzando” was played with a laid-back whimsy, and the
lyricism of the *“Adagio e lento” was spun out with careful shaping.
The finale lived up to its marking as *“Allegro molto vivace.” But it was not manic, instead focusing on a
very human positive energy which drove the players along. Certainly the music is by a man who had found
his way to a place in life where lithe spirits did not habitually intrude. But it was the virtue of the players that they
gave the music the gravity it deserves.
This year's Messiah.
Clarity and consistency
December
19, 2003
By Don Martone
Masterwork Chorus
and Orchestra Andrew Megill, (conductor), Laura Heimes (soprano), Alexandra
Montano (mezzo-soprano), David Vanderwal (tenor), Sumner Thompson (baritone).
Handel: Messiah (1761 Dublin version). Community Theater, Morristown
If you are like
me, you tend to view the year from one Christmas to the next. I know New Year's
Day is in there, but that seems like an add-on to me.
Also, if you're
like me, a Messiah performance is a required part of the season. Indeed, it's
a holiday tradition. It goes without saying that the Masterwork Chorus and
Messiah are indelibly linked. The long performance tradition of this organization
is a given. In fact the group's 200th performance was as far back as 1998.
However, it helps to insert a bit of a twist in tradition from time to time.
Starting last
year conductor Andrew Megill began to explore some of the other versions of
Messiah that differ from the more or less standard version we were offered
in the past. Starting this trend with the 1743 Covent Garden version, Megill
seemed to be announcing a new beginning. A soprano version of "Comfort
ye" and "Every valley"(most familiarly for tenor) made us sit
up in our seats and take notice.
This year, the
version selected was the one from 1761 in Dublin. Though in many ways not
as openly adventurous as last year's, it contains some interesting variants.
No, not the 12/8 "Rejoice," but it does contain the duet version
of "How beautiful are the feet" leading into the rarely heard "Break
forth into joy" chorus. Also, a *recitative version for tenor of "Their
sound is gone out" (usually heard as a chorus), a soprano and alto recitative
of "O death where is thy sting" (most often heard as a full duet
for soprano and tenor) are featured.
Of course, this
would all be academic if the performance were not at a high level but this
year's combination of soloists, chorus and orchestra under the leadership
of Andrew Megill may have been the most consistently satisfying in recent
memory.
Soprano Laura
Heimes, mezzo-soprano Alexandra Montano, tenor David Vanderwal, and baritone
Sumner Thompson formed the fine solo quartet with no individual standing out
above the others, but forming instead a finely matched group. *Ornamentation
was not ostentatious nor overdone and was appropriate.
The Masterwork
Chorus has never sounded better. The males of the chorus, who in the past
have been the weak link, have now improved markedly. They are more evenly
blended and sing with a fuller tone than in the past. I'm sure this reflects
the efforts of Mr. Megill. In addition, the clarity of enunciation during
*melismatic passages for the whole chorus has improved and hints of much work
in this area.
If asked to characterize
the performance, I would say it reflected taste and refinement. It seemed
effortless.
By my count there
are about ten versions of Messiah. So if Megill continues this tradition of
a different version each year, it may not be long before we get to hear Mozart's
reworking of Messiah. Now that would really be something to look forward to.
A
farewell to Christmas. "Pipes" with mixed emotions.
Annual
"Wow!" experience
Saturday,
December 20, 2003
By Paul M. Somers
The Clan Currie
Society presents "The Pipes of Christmas." Susan Porterfield Currie
(narrator); Evan Thomson Cattanach, Frederick C. Clark (readers); Tom Roche
(tenor), Mark Delavan (baritone), Jeffrey H. Rickard (piano, organ); Jennifer
Port (Scottish harp); Local Hero; Solid Brass; New Jersey Youth Chorus, Patricia
Joyce (director); R. P. Blandford and Sons Pipe Band, Matt Nonnemacher (director).
Presbyterian Church, Summit.
The day after
the "Pipes of Christmas" concert I attended the holiday open house
of some friends. I barely had my coat off when a voice emerged from somewhere
near the punch-bowl, another friend named Dave: "Paul, wasn't that the
best concert ever?"
I didn't have
to ask to what concert he was referring. Just to be honest, I did demur a
bit; the word "ever" was over the top for this concert-goer who
still can hear a Brahms Second at Saratoga in 1967 by Philadelphia, the Mahler
Third of the NJSO, and the Schubert Cello Quintet with Mostly Music back in
the days when they were in the Westfield Baptist Church. Those were transcendent
performances. But I understood Dave's enthusiasm. I also knew that our host
Ed had planned to attend the "Pipes" concert but had decided he
couldn't with the open house the next day. So as Dave and I "reviewed"
the concert with Ed listening avidly there was about it a sense of ribbing
him for not attending.
We described
in detail how the opening of the concert is always hair-raising. A solo piper
begins playing Highland Cathedral at the back of the nave, then walks slowly
down the aisle. As he comes closer to the front he is joined by Solid Brass
with a prominent timpani part, then by organ, and in a final layer of sound
by four more pipers and four drummers from the R. P. Blandford and Sons Pipe
Band for Redlands, California. Even the non-Scots in the full house were thrilled.
But there was
a bitter-sweet touch to this year's proceedings. Pipe Major Kevin Ray Blandford,
who had been that solo piper since the inception of the "Pipes"
concert, had recently passed away far too early, losing a fight with cancer.
It was he who developed much of the music with organist Jeffrey Rickard, also
from Redlands. Matt Nonnemacher, who marched down the aisle this year, has
stepped into the leadership role of the Pipe Band, and his playing showed
he deserves it.
The concert is
very much a Christmas event with readings from the Bible and from Celtic writers
all supporting the music. Clan Currie Director Robert Currie, who produces
the event, keeps as many "Pipes" traditions alive as he can, yet
also likes to add new things so the concert does not become stale over time.
Of course there was Met lead baritone Mark Delavan wearing his Clan Johnston
tartan. His annual singing of "Baloo, Lammy" with incomparable fiddler
Paul Woodiel was an expected highlight.
This year tenor
Tom Roche joined the ensemble, singing among other things the "Wexford
Carol" with another newcomer, the New Jersey Youth Chorus. Both were
up to the excellent standard set in past years and by the returning artists.
There was the
singing of "Amazing Grace," surely the best-known *pentatonic melody
in the western world, with Delavan and the pipes providing uncommon power.
This year of course had extra meaning as the hymn's frequent use at funerals
reminded us again of Mr. Blandford's absence.
The first audience
favorite, one which Dave and I set before Ed with glee, was the "Hymn
to the Savior." To be sure, it begins with a plaintive, hymn-like quality
of very Celtic origin. But soon it turned into (as old hands knew it would)
a lively foot-stomping duel between flutist Christopher Layer and fiddler
Woodiel. The toes were tapping audibly in the audience as well.
Another tradition
the audience awaited was Evan Thomson Cattanach's reading of the Christmas
story from Luke. A man from the Highlands, he read it in Scots dialect, which
set many a heart beating with nostalgia. Moving south and west of Scotland,
Frederick C. Clark read from Dylan Thomas's A Child's Christmas in Wales as
he began with the opening of the narrative poem, then jumped seamlessly to
the very end, keeping the mood while skipping the story episodes.
No "Pipes"
concert would be the same without Susan Porterfield Currie as the narrator.
She has a voice that David and I agreed would even entice us to hear her read
a phone book. All the transitions, the glue which hold the wonderfully sprawling
celebration of pan-ethnicity together, were delivered with care and assurance.
O Holy Night
is hardly Scottish or any kind of Celtic. But when Delavan, backed up quite
effectively by the New Jersey Youth Chorus, sang the famous piece it transcended
any background. The soloist sang a climactic high A-flat, which incongruously
reminded the listener that he regularly sings big Verdi and big Wagner. Then
he took up a guitar and led the singing of "Silent Night" in the
most authentic manner. It had, after all, been originally written as a song
to be accompanied by guitar because the parish organ was broken.
"O Come
All Ye Faithful" began with organ, then in came Solid Brass fully living
up to its name, and finally the pipers. Even those who knew what was next
had a "wow!" experience. That ended the religious portion of the
evening.
What was next
was the entrance of the drummers and the rousing and very secular annual finale
Scotland the Brave. Every tartan in the Presbyterian Church, be it full kilts
(many), or sash and scarf (there was my wife wearing her Clan Grant), or something
in a plaid pattern from L. L. Bean, glowed extra bright at that moment. Even
people named "Pulaski" or a very English "Somers" had
their spirits raised by the collected energy of the evening and that final
march.
Welcome to New Jersey
Choral
variety sung very well
Saturday,
December 20, 2003
By Barbara Thomson
Antioch Chamber
Ensemble, Joshua Copeland (conductor), James Little, organist. An Antioch
Christmas.
Calvary Episcopal Church, Summit
Suffering from
holiday stress and overload as I arrived for Antioch Chamber Ensemble's Christmas
concert, I was really not in the mood to listen to anything, much less a group
I had never heard of. I settled grumpily in my seat in Calvary Episcopal Church's
lovely, albeit chilly, sanctuary and was prepared to be annoyed.
Then the first
notes of Morten Lauridsen's instantly recognizable harmonies drifted up from
the rear of the sanctuary: the O Magnum Mysterium. The intonation was pure,
the blend exquisite, the voices ethereal in the church's sympathetic acoustics.
As the group of 12 singers processed up the aisle, ending with a gorgeous
pianissimo, I went from frazzle to transcendence in a mere three minutes.
The Antioch Chamber
Ensemble, most of whose youthful members graduated from Westminster Choir
College, has been in existence since 1997. They look like what you would call
a madrigal group: they stand in a semi-circle, sing mostly a capella (at least
on this occasion), and are discretely conducted by their director, Joshua
Copeland. But their repertoire goes farther than madrigals, even into works
written for large chorus, although the madrigal ideal of one or two persons
on a part and a lot of eye contact and interaction between singers is indeed
their style.
Their clear,
English boy-choir sound worked well in the repertoire chosen for that night:
music by British, French, and American composers with an emphasis on the Brits.
The first half
of the program consisted of unaccompanied works, some arrangements of familiar
carols, and Christmas anthems. Two selections from Poulenc's Un soir de neige
contained the unusual turns of phrase and harmony one expects from him, and
three carol-anthems by Herbert Howells featured beautiful flowing lines, with
fine attention to *dynamic ebbs and swells and the always-present impeccable
tuning. I could be picky about the sometimes clipped ends of phrases, but
to some extent that is part of that style of choral singing - just something
I personally find too abrupt.
A particularly
interesting and haunting work was an arrangement of the Coventry Carol by
New Jersey's Steven Pilkington - pungent quartal harmonies accompanied by
7 high-pitched handbells rung softly by the singers (with a nice *four-in-hand
by Copeland). Late in the first half it provided a welcome change of texture.
They began the
second half of the concert by again processing through the church - this time
down the side aisles and up the middle - to an arrangement of Ding Dong Merrily
on High. The main work on this half was five of the seven movements of Benjamin
Britten's A Boy was Born. A work of stark, even austere, intensity, it featured
crystalline solos by soprano Kate Mulvihill and intonation so pure you could
hear the *beats between women singing in *seconds. I must say I didn't understand
a word they were saying (a problem that cropped up now and then in other works
) but I didn't really mind - in this piece it made the involvement in the
purely musical elements that much more intense.
The rest of the
program was accompanied on organ by Calvary's Music Director, James Little.
The audience was invited to sing along in three familiar carols. Then Antioch
sang a John Rutter arrangement of their namesake, the hymn-tune Antioch, (better-known
to most as "Joy to the World") which featured a lively, well-played
running accompaniment on the organ.
John Gardner's
arrangement of Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day had an interesting setting
with drums and tambourine, and the program closed with Ring Out Ye Crystal
Spheres - the last movement of Ralph Vaughan Williams' Christmas oratorio
Hodie.
I had misgivings
as to whether a work written for full orchestra and chorus would translate
well to twelve singers and organ, but it did. The standing ovation from their
clearly enraptured audience was rewarded by a setting of that old chestnut
- The Christmas Song ("Chestnuts roasting on an open fire"). Johnny
Mathis would have loved it.
The Antioch Chamber
Ensemble is clearly an exceptional group, but tweaking a few things would
have helped the program. Spoken commentary on the pieces was often unintelligible
(to me, anyway, sitting about half-way back) as the church's acoustics, which
favor singing, don't favor clear speaking. While it was fine to include some
audience singing in the old familiar carols, it felt like a big ending, and
it wasn't the end yet. It would have made a nice ending for the first half,
however, which suffered a little from sameness of texture. Perhaps that's
like complaining that a string quartet always just sounds like four players,
but the program could have used a little more oomph, especially in the first
half. They have to look out for the temptation to be too pure, almost bordering
on the effete. Still, what they do they do very, very well. If you have a
chance to hear them, go!
OPINION
The
Sublime and Sublimity
(Excerpted by the editor from a longer, more detailed article)
By Henry Wyatt
The ancients
taught that eloquence had three purposes: docere, conciliare, movere was common
to the three rhetorical genres, and was considered the principal function
of oratory. To do this, the so-called elevated style was employed, as it dealt
with the profoundest topics: virtue, nobility of the soul, the good, and their
corresponding opposites.
Aristotle's categories
of virtue taught that they were perceivable even in natural phenomena including
animals and inanimate objects. This attitude was inherited by his Enlightenment
successors. Thus, a mountain prospect or a tall forest grove can be described
as noble, and can stir our emotions.
Classic rhetoricians
taught that the elevated style, with its topics, figures and tropes, could
move an audience to such an extent that their very souls were transported
to elevated realms of thought and feeling. When this effect was worked upon
the audience, they experienced the sublime.
At this juncture
it is important to say that the sublime is not mere strong emotion. To be
sure, powerful emotions can be produced, to which the audience succumbs: when
Mimì dies at the end of La Bohème we may be reduced to tears;
at a rock concert we may be bludgeoned into submission by driving rhythms
and sound levels exceeding 100 decibels, and enjoy every minute of it. In
neither case are we transported beyond our own selves to view that which makes
us seem insignificant (Kant's definition of the sublime); no elevated style
is involved, drawing us upward; no sophisticated quality and combination of
artifice are employed by the musicians or recognized by the listeners. Kant
reminded his readers that love is beautiful but not sublime. The beautiful
and the sublime are distinct categories.
Grandeur of thought
is Longinus' first source of sublimity. So we must consider - especially in
high-volume pop music and rock - that there is often a lack of rhetorical
and textural clarity which would permit us to relish artifice and exercise
our most refined faculties of judgment. To be fair, not all art aims at the
sublime or needs it, and sublimity is not necessarily a barometer of artistic
quality. Different genres have different purposes and techniques, and the
pleasures they afford are genuine enough, even if not sublime.
Sublime transport
was described by some classic rhetoricians. Quintilian spoke of oratory that
struck the listeners with the force of a thunderbolt. But it was an obscure
Greek writer, Longinus (about whom nothing is known), whose rhetorical treatise,
On the Sublime (1st century CE), defined the sublime as a literary æsthetic
as well as a rhetorical style. "Sublimity," Longinus wrote, "is
the note which rings from a great mind," and "the soul is raised
by true sublimity, it gains a proud step upwards, it is filled with a joy
and exultation, as though itself had produced what it hears." Additionally,
and to a greater degree than other writers, he stressed a natural or supernatural
component beyond what the elevated style contains, to produce the sublime.
Nature planted sublimity in the soul of the orator and has provided him with
the genius that transports the listener beyond himself, "not to persuasion
but to ecstasy that passages of extraordinary genius carry the hearer",
with immediate, marvelous and lasting effects.
Longinus became
widely known to the European men and women of letters when Boileau's translation
was published in 1674. Within a few decades it became a fashion; within a
century, the prevailing æsthetic.
By then critical
thought had moved beyond Longinus. Burke separated the sublime from the beautiful,
and subdivided it into the sublimes of obscurity and of terror.
This is an important
aspect of sublimity: the experience that occasions it is more æsthetic
than actual. The latter paralyses the mind, whereas the former is pleasing.
Pleasure derives not from the experience itself but from the powerful emotions
it produces. To feel the complete working of the sublime, the listener (or
reader, or viewer) must be alert to be transported by employing it. Sublimity
is thus created not only from the thing being described, but from within the
elevated minds and natural gifts of both speaker and listener.