Composer of the Month

February 26th, 2010

WFMT’s current emphasis on Rachmaninoff has been wonderful for Chorale. We have been “New Release of the Week” since last Sunday, and movements from our Vespers recording have aired each of the past five mornings—always about the time I am returning from my dog walk, in my truck, which means I hear the broadcasts. Other, wonderful recordings by professional ensembles have aired, as well, and it has been interesting, sometimes excruciating, to compare vocal sound, interpretation, idiomatic quality of approach. I have been proud of Chorale; and radio listeners seem to have liked them, as well: we have seen a dramatic spike in on-line sales of the CD. I have made three trips to the post office just this week!

The station is playing far more than Vespers recordings; I suspect in fact that they are trying to cover Rachmaninoff’s entire output. Some favorites, like the piano concertos, the Etudes-tableaux, the Vocalise and other songs, Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini, are played repeatedly, in performances by a wide variety of musicians. I have loved this music, been moved and thrilled and stirred by it, ever since a high school English teacher played a recording of the Paganini variations during an exam—I was so taken with the music, I couldn’t focus on my test, and had to retake it, later (the teacher was sympathetic). The other day, inspired by WFMT, I sat at this computer for an hour, playing various versions of the Vocalise that came up on Utube—with unabashed subjectivity, I recommend Anna Moffo’s and Kiri Te Kanawa’s renditions. The stirring, emotional beauty of this music, presented in good performances, really bowls me over.

But last spring, in the process of working on the Vespers, I discovered something I had not known previously– Rachmaninoff is a good, solid composer, not just an emotionally stirring one. Those fifteen movements are wonderfully planned and thought-out; the combination of the straitjacket of the historic Orthodox chant materials, with his imaginative manipulation of them, produces wonderful, complex, surprising music. I expect he is sometimes facile and self-indulgent in his piano compositions; but in the Vespers, craft and hard work are always evident, along with the melodic and harmonic inspiration for which he is celebrated.

Strangely—but typically, for me– J.S. Bach popped into my head during my Vocalise orgy (isn’t everyone haunted regularly by Bach?) I thought—Bach composes music just as appealing and emotionally satisfying as this, and so much more, besides. This does not diminish Rachmaninoff; his gift is real, honest, profound, and I am grateful to know him. What hit me, though, was– how could one be Bach, have this particular gift, and every other gift, as well? Put Stravinsky, Beethoven, Brahms, Rachmaninoff, Verdi, Palestrina, in a pot together, and you still haven’t quite got Bach—he had it all.

By the way—Chorale will present Bach’s B Minor Mass next April, little more than a year from now. My fifth preparation as a conductor; perhaps my twentieth altogether, if one includes performances I have sung. I was so thrilled, the day the decision was made, I could barely contain myself. Chorale will celebrate it’s 10th anniversary during 2010-2011; what could be more fitting, than to commemorate this anniversary by preparing and performing the greatest choral/orchestral work out there. Just announcing this, tells people who we want to be.

Singing, teaching, conducting

February 22nd, 2010

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In the broadest possible terms: I sing first, then teach others to sing. This seems to me an unassailable progression; many choral conductors would lay claim to some version of the same thing. I think our training and experience in the first two, greatly impacts the success of the third.

By the time I reached college, I wanted badly to sing well; then, and later, I sought out the best teachers, coaches, and accompanists I could find. They worked mightily to help me make the most of my instrument; they taught me about the expressive possibilities inherent in the human voice; they greatly broadened and deepened my instinctive range. They introduced me to great composers and vocal repertoire; they helped me with languages; they guided me through questions of national and historical style; and they taught me to perform effectively in public. I studied voice, participated in summer programs and master classes, and performed a broad range of solo repertoire regularly, for more than twenty-five years; it’s amazing how much one learns, and absorbs, through such an apprenticeship. No one ever told me I had a great voice, or a career right over the horizon; but my desire to learn what I could about the craft, was always respected. Read the rest of this entry »

Choral Singers and Choirs

February 12th, 2010

A friend commented once, “Instrumentalists work hard to get into the orchestra; singers work hard to get out of the chorus.” There are notable exceptions, of course—when did Joshua Bell last serve as concertmaster?—but mostly this generalization works. Music schools of greater and lesser renown turn out singers who want solo careers, and players who want orchestra contracts. A pitifully small percentage of those singers will ever achieve their goals; most of those who continue singing, will do so in choirs, large and small.

Some of these gifted, trained singers will never completely recover from their disappointment, and will approach choral singing with resentment — they will dislike and undermine their conductors, compete with their fellow choristers for any special recognition that happens to be lying around, and generally spin their musical tires in the slough of despond. Most will ultimately cultivate specific niches—early music, church music, chamber choir, opera chorus, symphonic chorus, and every conceivable variety of overlap between these various genres—in which they feel best satisfied, and in which they receive the most recognition. And many of them will learn to be happy with this. The common denominator is, they are all choral singers. Read the rest of this entry »

Piano in choral rehearsals

January 28th, 2010

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When I conducted college choirs, money was provided for rehearsal accompanists, so I always had one. Most were not thrilled to work with me—I did not let them play very much. Pianists want to play; the better they read and play, the more they wish to be constantly active.

My principle college conductor, Weston Noble, used a pianist very sparingly. Our choir was large, 70-75 singers; we sang primarily a cappella music, we rehearsed five times a week, and we had ridiculously high standards. Mr. Noble felt that piano accompaniment, past warm-ups, initial pitches, and help in learning difficult passages, would actually weaken our learning, and our final product. Never, ever, did the pianist “just play along,” supporting the group’s singing. Even when we worked on music which would be accompanied in performance, we would learn it without keyboard help. This enabled the conductor to hear what was happening; it also forced singers to be responsible for their own pitches and rhythms. Read the rest of this entry »

Which Latin?

January 17th, 2010

The “which Latin?” issue rears its head, relative to the Mahler 8 first movement (Veni, Creator Spiritus). When I was in college, this issue did not exist, at least in Iowa: we pronounced the language one way in Latin class (weni, widi, wiki), and another in choir (veni, vidi, vichi). The choral pronunciation we termed “ecclesiastical Latin;” only later did I learn that we were using an Italiante pronunciation, greatly influenced by our upper Midwestern vowels. I first encountered German Latin several years later, under Margaret Hillis, and became accustomed to singing the Latin settings by German composers with this pronunciation. Through a rather intense immersion in early music, especially under the influence of Belle Bouche, Bel Parleur ( I have lost track of this book, even of the proper spelling of its title), I learned about German, French, English, even Swedish Latin, as well as appropriate pronunciation shifts related to dates and religious influences. The options, as well as the consequences of making a wrong choice, mounted alarmingly. I found myself wallowing in a morass of strongly held opinions, lacking the background to do anything with confidence. About this time I landed a teaching job back in Iowa—and happily returned to the “ecclesiatic” pronunciation people out there were using.

I didn’t stay in Iowa for long; but, because I did not return to a specifically early music-oriented milieu, I continued with my Iowa Latin: I had enough trouble teaching my college-age choirs the proper notes, and had little energy left to hound them about their Latin. Read the rest of this entry »

Rehearsing Mahler 8

January 10th, 2010

457px-Gustav-Mahler-KohutI began rehearsing the Mahler 8th Symphony this past week, with both groups, Chorale and CMAC. Beastly big! Our performance isn’t until April 19th—and I’m glad; we need time to digest and understand it.

Physically/vocally it is very challenging: Mahler composed for two equal choirs, each choir often divided into eight or ten parts; the tessitura in each voice is quite challenging; and the dynamic requirements are enormous—the orchestra is very large, with lots of winds, especially brass, competing with the singers, necessitating a very full sound from the chorus, top to bottom. But, as well, there are many lyrical, pianissimo sections, often in the difficult upper range—and these sections occur as often as not after a forceful, fortissimo passage, leaving the singers no good chance to return to piano mode. Music in this Germanic, dense, post-Romantic idiom requires very clean pitch in all voices if Mahler’s exquisite, expressive harmonic movement is to come across with any clarity—but that clarity is exactly the thing singers lose, when they are operating at top volume: less fortunate singers tend to push, distort, and lose pitch identity, even if they hear things accurately; and even the healthiest, best-trained singers, under this sort of pressure, can lose control of good choral technique, allowing their individual, idiosyncratic sounds to over-express themselves, thereby losing the pitch and rhythmic accuracy so integral to good choral singing. A work of this magnitude is a draining, constantly challenging physical workout, requiring healthy vocalism, lots of preparation, and an iron will to accomplish the composer’s intentions Read the rest of this entry »

Conducting while seated

December 19th, 2009

I have been fending this off for nearly twenty years; but last
Saturday and Sunday I finally had to sit while conducting concerts. I am likely to recover from this particular acute back event, and conduct on my feet again– but this is definitely a harbinger of things to come.

So how did it go? Far better than I expected. I have fallen, twice, while conducting during the past two seasons, so my singers are always somewhat on edge, warning me with their eyes when I approach the edge of the stage, gasping a little if I momentarily lose my footing. And I rehearse more and more while seated– so they are both comfortable and relieved when I am not on my feet. But I have always felt that the group could happily lose itself in comfort and relief, and consequently needed all of my physical energy and involvement– like a blood transfusion; pull out the tube, and they would wilt before me. I conflated that tube, with being on my feet– as though the strength came up out of the ground, through my arms and hands, and just bodily picked them up. Facing the future, as well as acknowledging weaknesses in my conducting, I have known that I had to find a new and better way to get the results I was after– but then, as soon as I sensed low energy or attentiveness from the group, I’d be back on my feet again, fanning their feeble flames.

My lesson this past weekend: the choir CAN respond on a higher level if they MUST do so– I have to trust that, and be willing to force them to do so. I, in turn, freed from so much cheer leading, can do a better, more precise job of delineating line, and of creating a complex atmosphere.

Chorale is not out of the woods, on this one– I will soon enough remember why it is, that I enter rehearsals as though they were boxing matches; and I will feel helpless to shake them up and galvanize them, short of attaching each singer to a pair of electrodes. But I think I learned, this past weekend, that this is the very site of our growth point,the sine qua non of our continued upward trajectory.

Preview program notes for this weekend’s concerts

December 10th, 2009

In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a city of Galilee named Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David; and the virgin’s name was Mary. And he came to her and said, “Hail, O favored one, the Lord is with you!” But she was greatly troubled at the saying, and considered in her mind what sort of greeting this might be. And the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus.” (Luke 1: 26-31)

This oft-quoted text introduces us to the shadowy and mysterious figure of Mary, mother of Jesus. Venerated by Christians, honored by Jews and Muslims, Mary figures in much of the art, literature, and music that enlivens our libraries, concert halls, museums, churches, and other public buildings throughout the world. She has inspired awe, wonder, and devotion in composers and poets throughout history. Today’s concert focuses on music and texts appropriate to the Advent and Christmas seasons—specifically, on the various treatments of Mary as a religious and historical figure whose elusive, multiple qualities have been celebrated throughout the centuries, sometimes in contradictory ways.

Luke’s text introduces our concert’s organizing principle, the Ave Maria prayer, which, by the mid-sixteenth century, became one of the basic canonic texts not only of the Roman Catholic church but also of the Eastern church and newly independent Lutheran church. We present five settings of this text, with variant readings. The oldest, “Ave Maria…Virgo serena,” by Josquin des Pres (c.1450-1521), sets the first six words of the prayer, then continues with a devotional poem in rhymed couplets, extolling Mary’s life and virtues. Franz Biebl (1906-2001) sets not only the Ave Maria prayer, but three additional Biblical phrases, which put the prayer in its original context. Francis Poulenc (1899-1963) has the characters in his opera, Dialogues of the Carmelites, sing it before they are lead off to the guillotine. We have adapted his music, originally sung by soloists, for the women of the choir, with the men singing the orchestral accompaniment. Anton Bruckner (1824-1896) presents the text straightforwardly, presumably for liturgical use, but with the late Romantic harmonic richness and dynamic extremes for which he is noted. Sergei Rachmaninoff’s (1873-1943) setting of the Orthodox version of the text (sung in Church Slavonic) is the sixth movement of his Vespers, opus 37, often excerpted from the larger work because of its particular beauty and devotional quality.

Conceptually in this concert, the rest of the selections, canonical or drawing from other religious and cultural traditions, expand our view of Mary from the foundation of the Ave Maria settings. Our second canonic text, the Magnificat, comes from a later passage in Luke, 1:46-55. In the narrative, Mary greets Elizabeth, who is pregnant with the future John the Baptist, and the child moves in Elizabeth’s womb. When Elizabeth praises Mary for her faith, Mary responds, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior….” Chorale’s sopranos sing the chant version of the Magnificat in tone 2, from the Liber Usualis.

Ave Maris Stella is a Vespers hymn to Mary that originated in or before the eighth century. The text has been attributed to several people, including Venantius Fortunatus (d. 609). Both settings presented today are by Scandinavian composers, Swede Otto Olsson (1879-1964) and Norwegian Trond Kverno (b. 1945). Kverno’s setting, dating from 1976, shares many characteristics with the music of the “spiritual minimalists,” including Henryk Górecki, Alan Hovhaness, Arvo Pärt, and John Tavener. In a departure from the complex, serial, and experimental compositional styles that had been in vogue, these composers returned to radically simplified materials, a strong foundation in tonality or modality, and the use of simple, repetitive melodies; together these materials lend an explicitly spiritual orientation to their works. Olsson’s setting, although completed much earlier, demonstrates a similar neo-romanticism in its return to the lyricism of the nineteenth century.

Alma Redemptoris Mater is one of four liturgical Marian Antiphons (the other three are Ave Regina caelorum, Regina caeli, and Salve Regina) sung at the end of the office of Compline. Hermanus Contractus (1013-1054) is thought to have written the original words for the antiphon, which is usually sung from the eve of the first Sunday of Advent until the Feast of the Purification (February 2). The tenors of the choir will sing the original plainsong version from the Liber Usualis.

Kristallen den fina is a quodlibet: a compositional procedure reaching back to at least the fifteenth century, in which separate melodies and texts, sometimes from strikingly different traditions, are artfully combined to create a new and meaningful whole. Gunnar Eriksson (b. 1931), professor of choral music at the University of Göteborg, has combined three melodies in the piece–”Kristallen den fina,” a secular, modal Swedish folk tune; “Världens Frälsare kom här,” a Swedish translation of the Lutheran chorale “Nun komm der heiden Heiland”; and “O Kriste, du som ljüset är,” a translation of the Gregorian hymn “Christe, qui lux est et dies”–and added a newly composed bass line with words from the folk song. The combination of the folk song’s 6/8 meter with duple meter in both the chorale and the chant, the unexpected harmonies formed by the juxtaposition of the different melodies, and the combination of secular lyrics with liturgical texts together evoke the spirit and image of Mary while identifying her only as the mother of Jesus.

Benjamin Britten (1913-1976) composed A Hymn to the Virgin when he was just seventeen years old; it is his earliest surviving piece of church music. The anonymous text, dated ca.1300, is from the Oxford Book of English Verse, and contrasts English phrases (sung by chorus I), with Latin phrases (sung by choir II). The work was one of the composer’s personal favorites and was one of only two pieces by Britten to be performed at his funeral service.

Our second Bruckner motet, Virga Jesse floruit, features another text from the Liber Usualis, for the Feast of the Annunciation. This text, based on Isaiah 11, establishes Jesus’ place in the lineage of King David (Jesse was David’s father) and includes the well known images, “the wolf will dwell with the lamb…and a little child shall lead them.” The Liber text omits these images, but states, in their spirit, “God hath given back peace to man, reconciling the lowest with the highest to Himself.” Bruckner’s musical setting mirrors this reconciliation of opposites, climaxing at the extremes of range and dynamics–writing a fortississimo high A for soprano and forte high B for tenors against a pedal low E for the basses–which then reconcile themselves into a lower register pianississimo E Major chord for the entire ensemble.

Words and music of the well known but anonymous Christmas carol, Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming (Es ist ein Ros entsprungen, in the original German) first appeared in print in the late sixteenth century. In 1609, German composer Michael Praetorius (1571-1621) composed the harmonization through which we now know the carol. Jan Sandström (b. 1954), professor of composition at the Piteå School of Music in northern Sweden, has composed a wordless, eight-voice accompaniment to Praetorius’ original, embedding the the carol in a peculiarly wintery, Scandinavian atmosphere, which has inspired our concert theme, “A Rose in Winter.”

Salve, sancta Parens, from the Liber Usualis, is the Introit for Votive Mass of the Blessed Virgin. The words originally appeared as a phrase in Carmen paschale, a biblical epic in five books of dactylic hexameter, probably written by the Christian Latin poet Sedulius in the period 425-450. William Byrd’s (1543-1623) masterful five-voice setting was first published in 1605, in Gradualia I, a collection of liturgical polyphony dedicated to recusant Roman Catholic members of the English nobility.

Polish composer Henryk Górecki (b. 1933) composed Totus Tuus, opus 60, in 1987, to celebrate Pope John Paul II’s third pilgrimage to his native Poland, and the work remains his best known a cappella piece. Setting a contemporary poem to the Virgin Mary, patron saint of Poland, the composition features a homophonic texture that allows the words to be heard clearly, while the chant form is repeated, slowly building a musical affirmation of faith. This simplification of texture also occurs in Górecki’s most famous work, Symphony No. 3, where similar, minimalist musical language evokes a spiritual, other-worldly mood.

To Thee, the Victorious Leader, the fifteenth and final movement of Rachmaninoff’s Vespers, presents a much more active view of Mary than the other texts in this concert’s collection. The text, from the Matins service of the All-Night Vigil of the Russian Orthodox Church, describes her as the victorious leader of triumphant hosts, possessing invincible might–someone who can free the faithful from all calamities. Rachmaninoff’s music, his setting of a preexistent Greek chant, is appropriately energetic, confident, and joyous.

- Bruce Tammen

A Rose in Winter

December 7th, 2009

We chose our concert title, A Rose in Winter, and the accompanying photographic image, very carefully.  I asked Justin Flosi, who was at that time a member of Chorale (he has since joined the FBI!), for some phrases based on our Marian theme.  He has a wonderful, unforced poetic sense, and quickly came up with a number of titles, any one of which could have worked.  We chose this one, I think, because we are based in Chicago:  our winters are brutal and ugly, and the whole idea of a rose blossoming in the midst of that is preposterous– only faith and poetry could believe it. The distance between Rose and Winter offers lots of room for dramatic development, evokes pain as well as beauty.

We then sent this title to our designer, Arlene Harting-Josue, and asked her for some corresponding images.  Arlene sent us a broad range from which to choose–  smiling Marys, brightly-colored Marys, Marys with crowns, Marys with babies, Marys from numerous historical periods.  Our ad hoc committee was, I believe, immediately unanimous in our choice– we all preferred the stone Mary, with her face half in shadow, her eyes and her mouth hidden from view.  The ancient, mysterious Mary.  The rough, weathered limestone, the beat-up eye and nose–  this Mary had seen a lot, and pondered the world’s mysteries in her heart.  Neither angry nor joyful, she seems, rather,  beyond our understanding–  quietly acquiescent, yet the Mother of God.

Mary image

One of the most poignant works in our concert program, for me, is the Ave Maria from Poulenc’s Dialogues of the Carmelites–  sung by the nuns as they face death.  Poulenc experienced a powerful, life-changing religious conversion at the shrine of the Black Virgin, in Rocamadour–  I have been there, and seen the pilgrims dragging themselves up the stone steps on hands and knees; approaching this ancient, pre-christian basalt figurine, just a rock, really; weeping, bleeding where the stones have cut them, exhausted, ecstatic.  A hot summer afternoon, flies buzzing, a peculiar stench of sweat, incense, blood, in the air– and presiding over all, this faceless, expressionless piece of rock, surrounded by candles.  Who is she?  Why do Poulenc’s nuns die for her?

Our concert program explores these questions through music composed as long ago as 800 A.D., up to music composed in our own time;  through the ears and understandings of composers from many countries, speaking out of numerous religious traditions, influenced by their own times and circumstances.  All of these composers are skilled, inspired, committed;  Chicago Chorale meets the challenges they present, with our own brand of skill, inspiration, and commitment.  We hope you’ll come to hear us this weekend.

The real potato

December 1st, 2009

I was a singer first, a voice teacher second, a choral conductor third.  With years of overlap.  This progression seems good and natural to me;  I have never regretted it.  All the choirs I have conducted reflect the amount of time I have spent on the upstage side of the podium, and the years I have spent trying to figure out how voices work.

I studied with a number of teachers in Chicago, some of them excellent– Elsa Charlston, Ron Combs, and Hermanus Baer come to mind.  But the one I was with longest, and connected with most personally, was Norman Gulbrandsen.  Perhaps it was our shared Norwegian heritage, our mutual love of choral singing, the fact that we were both tall, large men– whatever it was,  he said things to me that I understood, that I remember, that have grown in meaning since I first heard them.

Norman was really hard on “over expressing”–  he wanted constantly good vocalism, line, beautiful production;  believed that a good portion of art and communication happened purely as a result of good sound.  He disliked distortion, affectation, preciousness of any kind.  He would say, “Just put one note in front of the other,” or “It’s just another note.”  And one day, “Just give me the real potato, a good potato.  The older I get, the less gravy or butter I want on it.  Just the real potato.”  And that said more to me than all the rest.  The lowly potato, growing underground– lumpy, strangely-shaped, the color of dirt.  Peel it, make it neat and clean, and you lose most of the nutritional value.  Just the real potato.  I never forget this– when I evaluate and select repertoire, listen to singers, work with my own choirs, hear other choirs– I try to see and hear past the gravy, and be open to the real potato.

Interesting, as I think about it… potatoes, of many varieties, are one of the crops I most enjoy growing in my own garden.  They are a challenge, in this terrible urban ground– I work hard building the soil with compost, leaves, grass clippings, horse manure from the police stables, anything at all that over time might settle into something resembling real dirt.  The reward comes when I dig into the hill, and there they are:  real potatoes.