Preview program notes for this weekend's concerts

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

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.

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

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.

Vespers at Monastery of the Holy Cross

Chorale has been singing at Monastery of the Holy Cross, in Bridgeport, almost since the group was founded.  Father Peter, the Monastery's Prior, spent his undergrad years at the University of Chicago, singing in the choral groups, stage-managing, assistant-conducting--  he even baby-sat my daughter on occasion (she really was a baby back then).  So it was natural to reconnect with him when Chorale was formed and had found its particular repertoire direction-- much of what we sing is appropriate to the Monastery's liturgies, it's acoustical properties, and it's visual ambiance. Most musical performance available for public consumption during the Advent and Christmas season is either light, entertaining, humorous;  or grand, heavily-produced, portentious.  Nothing wrong with either of these directions; I happily prepare and perform in both types of concert.  But many composers, historically, have responded to the season, especially the Advent part of it, with music that is introspective, self-examining, intimate-- music which seems appropriate in a shadowy, quiet, dimly-lit space, away from the crowds, the shopping, the holiday camaraderie; music reflective of the solstice, of the approaching wintery cold, of the darkness and yearning many of us feel within ourselves at this time of year.

The Monastery is ideally suited to this music, this mood.  A subset of Chorale's singers will present several works to enhance the monks' Vespers for the Second Sunday in Advent--  the "Evening Hymn" from Rautavara's Vigilia; "Scapulis Suis" (Under his wings) by Chicago composer Robert Kreuz;  a harmonized Kievan chant, "Behold, the Bridegroom Comes;"  Arvo Pärt's "Magnificat;"  Stravinsky's "Otche Nash (Our Father);  Randall Thompson's "Alleluia" (heard in these circumstances, it seems an entirely different and better piece than the one we all sang to death back in high school);  and Giuseppi Verdi's "Ave Maria," a gorgeous and under-presented setting of this text.  The choir, and the monks themselves, will also chant various psalms in the course of the liturgy.

My personal feeling, each time we sing for a liturgy there--  I feel so fortunate for this island of silence (strange comment from a musician!), this time and space in which my mind can slow down, sort itself out, focus on the season and on the beauty of the music we are presenting.  We are a concert-oriented culture;  but almost none 0f the music we perform was actually intended by its composers to be presented in concert settings.  In singing these Advent Vespers, I feel closer to the music's original intent, and oddly stimulated, reinforced, in my vocation.

Toward our December concerts

Building our a cappella Marian program was perhaps the most difficult repertoire planning I have ever done-- took several weeks last summer, with stacks of music sitting all over my piano and office, borrowed recordings, frequent visits to the Internet, frequent emails (cries for help) to my colleagues.

Planning a concert is rather like planning a major oratorio-- in this case, a major work with texts and themes determined by a very narrow focus. I was privy to an "Ave Maria concert" several years ago which ended up, despite its entirely unobjectionable repertoire, bothering both singers and audience; the more deeply I dove into my own project, the more I empathized with that conductor and his nearly impossible task. A series of beautiful motets, one after the other, just won't cut it. One needs to discover a structure-- a wave or a mountain or some such image of forward-moving energy, which has the power to get from here to there, without dissipating before accomplishing a full-length concert. This is always difficult with unaccompanied singing, which has so narrow and subtle a range of color and dynamics; and certainly a challenge when every single text deals with the rather limited list of Mary's attributes! I didn't want to settle on a chronological arrangement, nor on a national one-- I was more interested in mixing these particular elements, not randomly, but intuitively, much as I mix voices when placing them within a section-- not by formula, but by ear, finding the best combination of the materials at hand to build a unified section sound.

I ended up with a program built on five pillars-- five slightly varied iterations of the Ave Maria text, set in widely divergent styles (Josquin, Biebl, Bruckner, Poulenc, Rachmaninoff),for SATB, TTBB, and SSA voicings. I then worked in two chants-- a Magnificat for women's voices, Alma Redemptoris Mater for men's voices-- and two settings by scandinavian composers (Olsson and Kverno) of Ave Maris Stella. At this point I felt I needed something big, a resting place between numerous small pieces-- so I added the Gorecky Totus tuus. I chose the remaining motets and texts-- Britten, Byrd, Sandström, another Rachmaninoff-- to complement what I had.

And, with regret, I discarded just about as many pieces as I chose, each of them wonderful, because I could not justify adding them to what had come to be a unified work with a rhythm and inevitability all its own. A couple that I particularly liked and hated to lose-- Pärt Magnificat and Verdi Ave Maria-- will appear in their appropriate places at our December 6 Advent Vespers at the Monastery. A good reason to attend both events!

Bruce Tammen

All Saints concerts

Yesterday Chorale completed it's All Saints series, with a concert at Lake Forest College, as a part of the college's Lyrica series. Our other performance was the previous Sunday, November 1, at Monastery of the Holy Cross, in Bridgeport. The music was identical, but the concerts differed greatly one from the other, primarily because of differences in the venues.

Holy Cross inspires whispering, introspection, awe, and very slow tempos-- the reverberant acoustic causes harmonies to become confused and trip over themselves, if they succeed one another too quickly. Spoken communication with the audience is nearly impossible; one depends on the music itself, and the program notes, to communicate with the listeners. The vaulted ceiling, the altar, the stained glass (which shone beautifully in the natural light of a Sunday afternoon), and the monks themselves, present in their brown robes, all lent a powerful and unalterable character to our performance.

Lake Forest's chapel, on the other hand, is a warm, cozy space with comfortable chairs, lots of wood, and a clear, bright acoustic-- speaking is easy, and talking about the music with the audience feels as natural as sitting in a living room, chatting. The clarity of the acousitc made communication amongst the choir members easier, than in the Monastery-- they really had no problems hearing one another across and through the group. This sort of acoustic emboldens the singers-- but also sets a higher bar for them: the audience misses nothing. A consonant out of place, a scooped pitch, a mispronounced word-- the space is merciless. So the singers are somewhat more careful, somewhat more on edge, about the details, and less blown away by the total effect of what they are doing.

Both are wonderful venues; both were important partners in producing good concerts. I fear that we choral musicians sometimes fail to understand the importance of venue-- especially of the acoustics, but also of the overall ambiance of the space. In addition to giving the listeners' eyes something to rest on, creating a mood even before the music begins, venue is our amplifier, it shapes and directs our sound, is in many respects our voice.

Our Christmas concerts will be in two other venues-- Hyde Park Union Church, rich in wooden surfaces and museum-quality stained glass; and Church of the Holy Family, a historical and architectural monument which has graced Chicago's South Side since from before THE FIRE. Preparing for these many venues keeps us on our musical toes; it also greatly enriches our musical experience.

Bruce Tammen

Donor reception with a special treat

Last night Jana French and Peter Gotsch hosted Chorale's board and donors for a lovely evening of which Bruce's solo performance was the highlight. He sang art songs by Chausson, Debussy, and Duparc, and attendees commented afterward on the thrill of hearing Bruce "really sing" and the treat of enjoying a centuries-old form of entertainment: chamber music in the living room. Garry Grasinski also provided videos of performances, interviews, and informal footage of Chicago Chorale on a continuous loop playing throughout the evening. If you haven't seen all of Chorale's videos yet, you should! Right here. Sharon Harris

Welcome to the Chicago Chorale Conductor's Blog!

We plan to post here about once a week—usually something from the director (me), and occasionally something from a member of the group-- about the repertoire we are singing, about the techniques we utilize to learn and present that repertoire, and about other issues of general interest which come up in the course of the group’s activities. We welcome your feedback! If you wish to comment on something you read here, or have a question about the group’s activities and projects, let us know, and we’ll respond as we are able. Bruce Tammen