There was lots of music that was new to me in the Cathedral Chamber Choir’s sojourn at Winchester Cathedral. One piece that wasn’t was Tallis’ Latin Magnificat, which I’ve sung with a couple of other visiting choirs. So I was rather surprised that none of the other 36 singers in the choir, many of whom had years of Cathedral experience as choristers and/or with visiting choirs, knew it. Possibly this is because there wasn’t a performing edition until quite recently. Or because it’s very long (most performances of it last about 10 minutes). It was paired with Josquin’s Nunc Dimittis, also quite long, which brings back the opening words of the canticle at the end in a way I associate with Stanford (more in a moment) but doesn’t set half of the Gloria. And our anthem was Guerrero’s Simile est regnum cælorum, which sets the beginning of the parable of the labourers in the vineyard. I’d never sung either of these last two before.
On Saturday we had one new piece that had been on my wishlist a long time, All Wisdom Cometh from the Lord by Philip Moore. I’ve heard this so many times on broadcasts and was very glad of a chance to sing it. It’s another piece that pushes 10 minutes in length and is rhythmically quite tricky. Our canticles were Stanford’s early set in E flat. These contain hints of his mature works, as well as sounding Schubertian in places, although Stanford tends to resort to getting the choir to sing in unison when he can’t think of anything else for them to do. Much is sung by a solo verse group.
On Sunday we sang Mozart’s Orgelsolomesse K259, in which I did the solos in the Gloria and Agnus Dei (our other movements were the Sanctus and – unabridged – Benedictus). I have worked my way through a fair few of the Mozart Missa Brevis settings but not done this one. Earlier at Matins we had Gibbons’s ‘Short’ Te Deum which I hadn’t sung for a long time. The final novelty was Whitlock’s Mag and Nunc in G at Evensong, in a rather more serious style than the lighter works I associate him with. I don’t think I’d even heard of these, and while I am not in a great hurry to sing them again, I don’t really see why they shouldn’t be as well known as, say, Murrill in E.
I did a bit of casing the joint for the Erleigh Cantors’ visit in October. We were well looked after by the vergers, even though they’d been very busy with tidying up after building work at the east end (the ceiling is now sparkling white there). The south transept is currently closed for more restoration work, and we rehearsed in the Undercroft, which is now locked with a key, not a code (I remember a previous visit during which choir members repeated the code under their breaths like a mantra) and has a nice new kitchen on the first floor. The plan to build a new choir room on part of Dean Garnier’s garden appears to have been dropped – under pressure from whoever placed a large plaque there in 2016?
The texts of Mahler’s 8th Symphony can be problematic. How do the two parts fit together? And can one take Part II at all seriously in an age when gender differences are played down?
A further potential problem with Mahler’s 8th, as with Haydn’s Creation, is relentless positivity. Where can there be a bit of darkness to introduce contrast? Mahler achieves this at various points: the jagged vocal lines at the prayer to dispel enemies in Part I, the scene-setting opening of Part II amid bleak rocky cliffs (I am writing this in sight of similar landscapes in SW France), and a later passage where angels describe the effort required to carry Faust ‘Uns bleibt ein Erdenrest’. This last uses a minor-key version of the opening theme (also heard in Part I), and took a lot of rehearsing, mainly in order to ensure correct balancing of the many different vocal parts; but I think the words are a clue to how the two parts fit together.
If I understand this passage rightly, it explains how hard it is to separate what is spiritual in Faust from what is earthly, something that can only be done by everlasting love. It’s couched in the scientific language Goethe sometimes turns to – there can’t be many works in the classical canon that mention asbestos. So one could see message of Part II as ‘free the spirit’, which leads us straight back to Part I’s Pentecost message.
I don’t claim to understand Goethe‘s Faust part 2, or (as I’ve said before) Mahler, but this seems to join the two parts together nicely, and the more I sing this work, the more musical links I find between the part too (it all seems ultimately to be built out of fourths).
Posted in repertoire
I’ve often been told of great occasions Bristol Choral Society members have taken part in before I joined, such as a Prom performance of the Gothic Symphony. Without a doubt joining the BBC National Chorus of Wales (and the BBC Symphony Chorus and London Symphony Chorus) for Mahler’s Eighth will join them in the choir’s collective memory. There can be few experiences other than performances of this symphony where so many people stand so close together, collectively creating something beautiful and uplifting.
It marked the final concert of Thomas Søndergård as principal conductor of the BBC NOW. My favourite among the soloists was Marianne Beate Kielland, who was a late stand-in; but I could only hear them obliquely. This isn’t the largest performance of the work I’ve sung in (the first ever one I did, in Green Park Station in 2000, had a choir of 600) but the BBC NOW was appropriately enlarged with suitably grand percussion – a real church-style bell rather than the tubular bell you usually get for example.
I was put in choir 2, but when given the choice of part, I opted for soprano 1; in fact there is little splitting, but you get a shot at a top C at the end of the first movement, and it was particularly satisfying to see someone on Twitter single this moment out for praise. In fact the chorus were complimented in a lot of the reviews.
It may seem a familiar work now (I’ve now sung it 3 times in the last 4 years), but there were 5 notes I’d never sung: ‘Er will uns lernen’. When I previously was in Choir II they were given to the young people’s chorus. No performance ever follows Mahler’s instructions to the letter – they just get too complicated about sorting out lighter voices and putting people in the front row. And the usual bar-counting and working out leads, although as I get to know the work better this is a little less perplexing. We choir 2 sopranos had one particularly nippy stand just before ‘Du schwebst’.
Lots of reviews as you might expect. The general consensus seems to be that it was a four-star performance. I’ll put some thoughts about the symphony itself in another post.
Having a free morning before my own Proms performance, I got wind of the Sunday organ recital by the Latvian organist Iveta Apkalna and took the opportunity to go along. I would not normally be around in London on a Sunday morning, and I heard someone pointing out at the box office that it was at the worst possible time for active organists, many of whom would be playing for a church service at the time.
I have heard so much live organ music, usually as closing voluntaries, and I recognise many pieces without knowing what they are called, or even who wrote them. In other cases, going to a recital allows me to discover how they continue after the opening section during which the choir processes out; Franck’s Pièce héroïque and Bach’s Fantasia BWV72, played in this recital, fall into this category. Other familiar pieces included Widor’s Toccata from his Fifth Symphony, and Apkalna’s own arrangement of Fauré’s Pavane. Unknown to me were Thierry Escaich’s Deux Évocations and George Thalben-Ball’s Variations on the standard theme by Paganini. The latter were mostly for pedals with a bit of what I think of as Victorian chapel soupiness thrown into the middle for some light relief. I was taken with the encore, Aivars Kälejs’ Toccata on the Chorale ‘Allein Gott in der Höh sei Ehr’.
I don’t feel very competent to pronounce on the performances but they were expressive and at times virtuosic, my only reservation being that I felt there was some rhythmic slackness in the Bach. But perhaps that cannot be avoided on an instrument that size. Also that there were some minor issues with the tuning – inevitable in a hot summer? As I left I overheard a veteran of these recitals remarking that it was the first one he’d heard where it didn’t sound like a Willis.
Posted in going to concerts
Tagged Aivars Kälejs, Bach, Fauré, Franck, George Thalben-Ball, Iveta Apkalna, Paganini, Proms, Royal Albert Hall, Thierry Escaich, Widor
I joined the South Cotswold Big Sing Group for Berlioz’ Grande Messe des Morts in Gloucester Cathedral, conducted by Adrian Partington. So a revisit of Bristol & Gloucester Choral Societies’ combined performance a few years ago, with quite a few of the same people involved. The orchestra was the British Sinfonietta, which seems not to be a single outfit, but a body of musicians from which ensembles can be drawn, as it was playing in three different places that night! There were certainly plenty of them in Gloucester.
Earlier in the year I watched a lot of the ice skating in the Winter Olympics, and it occurred to me that the final section of the Lacrymosa (beginning the reappearance of the initial theme) would make a good accompaniment to a routine, with its contrasting gentler second subject and dramatic climaxes – a double axel on the tam-tam clash? I do not regard it as a criticism of a piece of sacred music that it could also be skated to.
Our tenor soloist, Nick Pritchard, was just the sort of voice I want for this piece, floating over the strings and flute in the Sanctus. I’ve just transferred a couple of LP recordings to CD – both were by EMI and Robert Tear must have been their house tenor as he sings in both. André Previn’s is rather ponderous, but Louis Frémaux has the measure of the French military brass sound, doubtless helped by a couple of stints he did in the French Foreign Legion.
I dedicated my performance to the memories of my husband’s aunt Angela, who died last year and who loved Berlioz (see my last post) and my cousin Joan, a music teacher, who died earlier this year.
I’d be interested in joining the South Cotswold Big Sing Group again depending on the repertoire and conductor – it meets every two years or so.
Some years ago I transferred our LP collection to CD. I am now embarking on digitising a second collection of LPs, formerly belonging to my husband’s late aunt and dating from the late 1950s to the 1980s. It would seem that the only CD player she ever owned was in her car; a combination of early hearing loss, marriage to someone who wasn’t a music lover and a resistance to new technology meant that she never made the transition to buying CDs.
The collection reveals that she had some very particular tastes; for example Mozart but not Haydn, and a preference for chamber music and Czech composers, especially Dvořák. There are a few operas, including L’Incoronazione di Poppea and La Clemenza di Tito; did she have a thing about operas set in Ancient Rome?
A group of recordings of orchestral works by Berlioz stands out, as there are few other French works. She must have had a particular liking for this composer, which I share, so it’s a shame that I never realised it and talked to her about it. I know there are further discoveries to be made as I work my way through the collection.
Posted in recordings
I went to hear a joint concert given by the Paragon Singers and Divertimento (the latter from Leamingon Spa) in the chapel of Prior Park College.
I’d heard a lot about the chapel but never been in it. It is an impressive building, with a coffered ceiling and Corinthian columns, dedicated (not very appropriately for Bath) to Our Lady of the Snows. The concert was in aid of restoration of the building, with a collection at the end, followed by the chance to buy wine and strawberries and admire the very impressive view of the city from the steps of the main school building. It was well attended with a lot of people I knew from the Bath choral scene present.
The programme was loosely themed around birds and flowers, with a number of pieces I didn’t know. Each choir chose repertoire they were comfortable with, which avoided the problem of joint recitals – one party showing up the other.
There were some pieces I would be interested in singing – such as Britten’s Flower Songs, two of which was performed (I’ve sung most of the rest of his music for choir). And a fun arrangement of the calypso Yellow Bird, a melody which I heard played again the following day at a Windrush-themed church service, and which I dimly remember singing at primary school. There were two arrangements by Holst that were new to me (There was a tree and I love my love) and, rather less successfully, Vaughan Williams’ of Greensleeves, the rather unvocal lines suggesting this was a by-product of his Fantasia on the same tune.
It was all nicely performed and the choirs were good advocates of the music they’d chosen. But listening to this, I realised that I don’t much regret leaving chamber choir music for the symphony chorus repertoire. I wouldn’t be terribly sorry never to do those pieces which I’d never sung.
We sang about these in Paul Gerhardt’s hymn Geh aus, mein Herz during an Anglo-German wedding we were guests at recently. (Sadly, the ornithological reality is that they are not to be found within about 200 miles of the city.) The music for the four hymns was printed in the order of service (not always in the keys it was played in). There wasn’t a choir, so the singers among the guests had to give a lead and work out where the other singers in the congregation were. The bride and groom had met in the string section of an orchestra and a string orchestra of wedding guests was assembled at the reception.
A few weeks ago there was another wedding at my church with an unusually large music requirement: three anthems (including Parry’s I was glad) and no fewer than five hymns. We really earned our £20!
Both made a pleasant change from the rather dull unison fare which choirs and congregations generally get offered at weddings now.
Bradford Cathedral was famously the last of the English Church of England Cathedrals that I performed in. I wasn’t expecting to return so quickly but the Cathedral Chamber Choir’s Artistic Director is now Director of Music there, so we were invited up to sing a half-term weekend. With more time to inspect the building than before, I noticed the similarities of the more recent parts to both Guildford (designed by the same architect) and St Edmundsbury Cathedrals.
There were some discoveries in the repertoire chosen. For Saturday evensong our canticles were Purcell in B flat, which were described to us as being unfairly neglected compared with the G minor set. And this is indeed unfair – how has a Purcellian like me missed these? – although they are rather harder than the G minor setting. I sang in some of the verse sections. Our anthem was another piece I’d never sung, although I’d heard it a few times: Bach’s O Jesu Christ meins Lebens Licht, often designated as a seventh motet. Its performance context, intended to be sung in procession with litui, seems to me to put it in a category of its own; at any rate it sounds to me like a cantata movement that got away.
On Sunday morning we teamed Jonathan Dove’s Missa Brevis with Libera nos by Sheppard, which we sang from the Lady Chapel at the extreme east of the building. I’ve not done much Sheppard at all, and very little recently but on the basis of this I would like to do more. Sunday evensong was Stainer’s I saw the Lord for the second time in two weeks for me, with Howells’ Westminster Service, one of my favourites of his canticle settings.
We had a block booking to stay at the Midland Hotel nearby. It’s a rather grand example of the ‘railway hotel’ for a railway station that now no longer exists. If you are ever there, do check out the ‘back door’ entrance that once led to the platform.