Archive for December, 2009

Conducting while seated

Saturday, 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

Thursday, 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

Monday, 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

Tuesday, 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.