By Benjamin Rivera, Guest Conductor
When I sat down to plan our upcoming concert, I chose to build the experience around a singular, towering masterpiece: Eric Whitacre’s stunning 1999 work, When David Heard. Using just a single verse of Hebrew scripture, Whitacre captures King David’s crushing grief upon learning of the death of his son, Absalom. While the loss of a child is devastating under any circumstance, this particular story carries a uniquely complicated tragic weight.
Absalom had become deeply estranged from his father, actively leading a bitter rebellion to seize the throne. Though David’s forces were tasked with crushing this treasonous coup, the king openly begged his commanders to spare the young man's life. It was to no avail. As the biblical narrative goes, while Absalom fled through the forest, his long hair became entangled in the branches of a large oak tree. Learning of his whereabouts, David’s general Joab showed him no mercy, killing the young man while he hung helpless.
The verse set by Whitacre—and by renowned composers centuries before him—captures the ultimate agony of a broken father:
“When David heard that Absalom was slain he went up into his chamber over the gate and wept, my son, my son, O Absalom my son, would God I had died for thee!”(2 Samuel 18:33)
This fierce love transcended the rational: Had Absalom lived, David himself likely would have been executed. I have always found this account profoundly moving because it strips away the distant historical archetype to reveal a real human being experiencing immense inner turmoil. Other Davidic narratives—David and Goliath, David and Jonathan, David and Bathsheba—similarly reveal a multi-dimensional character defined by a complex, non-linear life trajectory.
With Whitacre's work as my conceptual springboard, I chose a selection of Psalms to flesh out a wide-ranging musical portrait of this complex, fascinating figure. Approximately half of these 150 sacred poems are traditionally associated with David. Whether or not he personally authored them remains a subject of scholarly debate; the phenomenon of pseudepigrapha, where texts are attributed to major historical figures to enhance their authority, could very well apply here. Regardless of their literal origin, the Psalms are remarkably diverse—ranging from exuberant songs of praise to desperate cries for help—and reflect the full spectrum of human emotion. For centuries, Jewish and Christian traditions have woven these verses into their worship and liturgy. (And while today's performance does not feature works by Muslim composers, it is worth noting that David is revered as a major prophet in Islam as well.) Yet, one need not be religious to find deep meaning and personal resonance in these texts.
To frame this rich history, I chose to bookend the concert with the voices of two extraordinary Jewish composers from completely different eras: Salamone Rossi from the late Renaissance, and Leonard Bernstein from the twentieth century. As we enter the final portion of the program, we step into the Greek and Latin movements of Bernstein’s vibrant Missa Brevis, yet the music ultimately brings us full circle. In a brilliant stroke of ecumenical synthesis, Bernstein’s Mass concludes not with the traditional Catholic liturgical text, but with a quiet, playful dance drawn directly from the Psalms: “Laudate Dominum. Alleluia.”
Altogether, we will traverse an expansive expressive and spiritual landscape spanning centuries, only to land exactly where we began. I am absolutely thrilled to share this music with you, and I look forward to meeting you at the concert.