inside the Masonic Hall

I’d never been in a Masonic hall before, but Bath’s was used for a series of late-night concerts in the Festival. These were informal, in that you could take your drink into the concert hall and the seats were unreserved. The Masonic Hall was the original Theatre Royal, although quite a bit must have changed. There is now a triptych at one end showing King Solomon flanked by two others, and a fine chequered floor can be seen in photos, although at the concert it was covered with boring blue carpet (to protect it from women’s heels?!), as was the lower part of the triptych (perhaps it shows things non-Masons are not supposed to see?) I would guess that, after the Church and some civic organisations, Freemasonry must be one of the main clients for ceremonial embroidery, and this hall contained some of the most beautifully embroidered banners in Bath, thought it’s not clear where they get paraded.

The well-attended concert was a harp recital by Gabriella dall’Olio loosely based on a theme of sleep, and interspersing earlier pieces with contemporary ones (two composers were present). I enjoyed it without being really grabbed by any particular piece. The harp can produce a variety of tone, but aggression doesn’t really fall easily in its range. Some of the modern pieces seemed to be striving too hard to avoid the glissando and accompanied melody clichés; I thought David Knott’s Entice the dewy-feather’d Sleep succeeded best.

My husband went to hear the Gould Piano Trio play Beethoven’s Op. 121a and Brahms’ Op. 87, together with Peter Maxwell Davies’ A Voyage to Fair Isle and the première of James MacMillan’s second piano trio. Both Maxwell Davies and MacMillan were present, though I fear we’re unlikely ever to see a repeat of the 2005 concert where the latter conducted the Bath Festival Chorus. The two 21st century pieces came off well, especially the Maxwell Davies, but he felt that including the Brahms after other substantial pieces was a strain on the concentration of both performers and audience.

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Shopping songs

I was very proud to see my youngest child performing along with others in his class in the Bath Festival in a free lunchtime concert of music written for children by Peter Maxwell Davies and Alasdair Nicolson, the Festival’s director. The two groups of songs were on the theme of shopping, in Kirkwall and Bath respectively. Accompaniment was on piano and for the Nicolson songs an ensemble from Wells Cathedral School, which occasionally obscured the singing (at least from where I was). I’d seen the words and music coming back in the school bag and it was a real achievement for them all to learn the songs from memory and deliver them confidently.

The concert also included a brass ensemble playing arrangements by Maxwell Davies of Tallis and Gesualdo (I recognised O Vos Omnes in the latter set).

The concert took place in St. Michael’s Without, and was well attended. (You are guaranteed an audience of parents at least, if you involve primary school children). It was in competition with the boilers and washing up from the church café; how much these interfered with the music depended on where you were sitting.

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See Australia!

Some of us in the Erleigh Cantors felt that Tourism Australia should have sponsored our concert at St. Peter’s Earley, because of its potential for subliminal advertising. One piece we performed was Bob Chilcott’s setting of the Ave Maris Stella from his Salisbury Vespers, and on our practice recording the repeated phrase ‘sea most radiant’ came out sounding like ‘See Australia’.

We exploited the opportunity to deploy singers around the church in this piece and even more so in another Marian anthem, John Tavener’s Annunciation, where the solo quartet were in a small gallery off on one side of the west end of the church. For their final appearance they moved deeper into the gallery for a more distant effect. I just had a D to sing in this piece; our third Marian piece, Holst’s Ave Maria, was more demanding.

Our programme began with three Tudor pieces, including two rarities. I think I’ve only sung Weelkes’ O Lord, arise once before, with this choir, perhaps because it’s not very obvious what season the words would be suitable for. And it’s in lots of parts. And Morley’s Out of the deep is a real rarity, in that I’ve recorded it but not performed it! The recording was when I was a student, and we had a tenor soloist; this time the soloist was an alto.

Vaughan Williams’ Three Choral Hymns were new to me. Written for a festival choir, they are really quite hard work because they demand a lot of continuous sustained singing. They have some tricky key changes too – the transition from minor to major in a couple of them isn’t so obvious when the ‘minor’ is really modal. Alongside this we performed Holst’s This have I done for my true love. The more I look at the words of this, the more intriguing they are. They can’t have been composed by some illiterate yokel – consider the ABAB rhyme scheme and the various Latin-derived words which rhyme with ‘dance’. But they must have gone through a period of oral transmission before reaching Sandys’ collection, during which this rhyme scheme has been lost in a few of the verses. Is there any evidence they are Cornish, as the score asserts?

Our final piece was John Rutter’s sequence of spiritual arrangements Feel the Spirit, which we did with piano accompaniment. I felt the most successful numbers here were where Rutter allowed his own voice to show through (as in the solo part in Deep River) rather than pretending he was in New Orleans or Alabama. I’m pretty certain some of the words (for example ‘Hallelujah brothers, hallelujah sisters, Hear the music going round and around’) were added by Rutter himself, but if they are traditional I’m willing to be corrected. These were in the finale, O when the Saints, which I once had the pleasure of singing under the baton of Rutter himself when he took a choral workshop in Manchester.

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Violetta’s back-story

One of the most poignant moments in the current (actually 20-year-old) Royal Opera House production of La Traviata comes even before the curtain rises; during the overture, images of 19th-century poverty-stricken girls are projected on it, to suggest Violetta’s origins and indeed recall the real Marie Duplessis on whom she is based. Violetta’s history before she becomes a poule de luxe is usually a conspicuous blank in the opera – she appears to have no family and never speaks of her childhood, though there are plenty of opportunities for her to do so.

I had great difficulty obtaining tickets for the performance. I was poised at the computer the moment tickets went on sale, grabbed a pair of the few remaining seats and then had an hour to pay for them before they were recycled and available for others to purchase. There must have been only seconds to spare when I finally got through to pay, owing to a bug in the site which only revealed itself when many people accessed it at once. Our seats were in the balcony, a long way round to the left so we had only a partial view of the stage.

I can see why this production keeps on coming round – it has lavish and attractive sets and costumes. (I was particularly taken with Flora’s beaded dress in Act II). They are broadly naturalistic, although something very odd has happened to the perspective in the second part of Act II; perhaps we are supposed to be seeing it through an alcoholic haze?

Diana Damrau rose to the vocal demands of the title rôle, though her gestures still had some of the old-school histrionics about them. (A hazard of international casts who are thrown together is potential inconsistency of acting styles.) She was especially impressive at projecting while facing downwards or towards the back of the stage. Francesco Demuro as Alfredo orbited around her in the required way; we thought he sounded a little shrill at times and he was definitely something of a wimp, indeed at one point quite literally a pushover. Dmitri Hvorostovsky brought the right sort of gravitas to his father, though as he was mostly on the left of the stage we didn’t see much of him. He drew a round of applause merely for walking on stage, and applause at the wrong time seemed to be a recurring problem – the abrupt shift into the cabaletta after Ah fors’è lui was obscured by another bout of it.

The orchestral playing seemed fine to me, but somehow lacklustre. This was the opinion of some of the reviewers cited below (others can be found in blogs):

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When our families are broken, when our homes are full of strife

The above text has just been added to the list of inappropriate/tasteless things I’ve sung at weddings (most singers I know have such a list). It was the first line of a verse of a hymn we sang during the signing of the register at the most recent wedding I sang for. Fortunately the words were not printed in the order of service, and I suppressed my musicianship and mumbled most of them, so the congregation would perceive only the tune (we sang it to Hyfrydol).

Our reward was refreshments at the end of the service. And they were served immediately – the champagne was being poured at the back of the church during the final blessing. But a rather telling attitude to the choir was shown by the two photographers who were in attendance throughout. They must have taken hundreds of photos between them, covering every aspect of the ceremony, except the choir, who appeared to be just part of the furniture as far as they were concerned. I had been told ‘you know the bride – so-and-so’s daughter’ but it turned out she’d ceased going to the church regularly by the time I joined and then moved away from the area. We had probably been in the building at the same time only on a handful of previous occasions some fifteen years before.

Recent experiences have made me think about whether I should be more selective about accepting invitations to sing at weddings. I don’t get very many and tend to accept all the ones I’m able to do. But a worst-case scenario would run as follows (this is not an account of any single actual occasion): I spend an hour travelling (in order to arrive an hour and a half before the starting time) and then the ceremony (involving two people I’ve never met, and who wouldn’t be able to name a single member of the choir that is singing for them) starts half an hour or so late. I sing a few rather banal hymns in unison, craning my head to share with another singer because there are only a handful of orders of service for the choir, and a very simple anthem, sit through the rest of the service, and am ‘paid’ with a chocolate or two before returning home. Is this a sensible use of my time and abilities, or am I being taken advantage of?

In other words, should I insist on being paid a fee when I sing at weddings, unless I know the couple well enough to make my services a present to them? (Or – lest I seem too mercenary – unless the church or choir is given a donation equivalent to the fees for the wedding singers?) There are a few other factors to take into consideration:

  • the venue – I don’t mind throwing in a wedding as part of a Cathedral weekend, if I’m going to be there anyway
  • the social side – will there be people there I know but don’t see regularly?
  • the networking potential – is the conductor someone I’d like to sing more for in future?
  • the standard of performance – will I be singing in a really good group? (In practice this tends not to happen often at the weddings I’m invited to sing at)
  • the repertoire – will there be some really interesting music to sing? (Again, this rarely happens. The most ambitious piece I’ve done at a wedding was Spem in Alium – but all that choir were also guests.)
  • the congregation-building potential – might the music at the ceremony attract people to come to other services at the church? My church in particular draws few of its congregation from nearby streets, and it is always good to welcome new people into the building. But if the bride and groom have never lived nearby, their guests are unlikely to do so, or to want to attend that church.

I’ll try to be more discriminating in future but I suspect that I will have my arm twisted and the end result will be the same.

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Dedicating the Dobson organ

It’s not every day you get to go to a 750th birthday event. I attended the dedication evensong for the new organ in Merton College Chapel in Oxford, at which one of my friends and contemporaries was preaching.

The choral pieces overlapped with what I’ve heard the choir sing on previous occasions, but the anthem was Parry’s Blest Pair of Sirens, sung enthusiastically yet precisely, although there was a point when the ensemble with the organ failed for a few bars. There were lots of hymns for the congregation, and otiose descants (a common problem nowadays) were avoided. We had Psalm 150 to the gorgeous 5-part chant by Parratt.

The service ended with the congregation moving to the antechapel for the blessing of the organ by the Bishop of Oxford. Congregational procession is always a dodgy business in Church of England churches. It just doesn’t come very naturally to English people, who tend to shuffle around in an embarrassed way, many of them clutching coats and bags that they have brought in and don’t want to leave behind in their pew. The Bishop was very efficient anyway, though after the service the holy water was hastily wiped off lest it damage the instrument. Maybe he would have done better to use one of those misters that hairdressers have.

I hadn’t actually heard the choir singing from the choir stalls recently, because when I have attended broadcasts, they have stood in front of them and near the screen. The acoustic has the same trick as Bath Abbey, that you can be near the choir (I was in the next rank of stalls) but yet the sound appears to be coming from much further away. I notice that the Chapel now has discreet amplification, which on the whole the large Oxbridge chapels have tended to eschew.

It would have been nice, given that the service showcased the organ, to have had the pieces played before the service (some of which I recognised) listed in the order of service. (It turned out that they were listed in the Chapel music list for the term.) I’m not really qualified to comment on its sound except that it met with general approval. I haven’t yet heard it in French repertoire which requires a rather different sound and I had of course been a bit spoilt by hearing the newly restored Festival Hall organ the previous week. The service both began and concluded with a tinkle on its Zymbelstern.

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Good Friday and Easter 2014

This was actually my first Good Friday singing in the church choir (I’d been away the last two years), and this year the service took the form of Stations of the Cross with musical interludes. There were some new pieces which were new to me: Leighton’s Solus ad victimam (not as daunting as it seemed because much of it is in unison), and de Morales’ Parce mihi, Domine, setting a rather unusual text from the funeral service.

On Easter Day we opened the service with Ola Gjeilo’s Prelude, whose text is a variant of that set by Mozart in his Exultate, Jubilate. Gjeilo had obviously been listening to Duruflé’s Tota pulchra es when he wrote the central section.

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Performing the Glagolitic Mass

@bristolchoral
We gave two performances of the Mass on successive nights, the first in Colston Hall, the second in the Royal Festival Hall. This marked my Royal Festival Hall début!

I have a principle of not evaluating here concerts that I myself took part in, even to say that they went particularly well. However I’ll relax this to say that the London performance had some advantages over the Bristol one. One was the RFH’s recently restored organ, played by Thomas Trotter. (There was an interesting exhibition about the building of this instrument – I particularly enjoyed the appropriately waspish letters from Vaughan Williams). The Philharmonia Orchestra was also larger (8 double basses instead of 6, for example). Although some of Bristol and Gloucester Choral Society didn’t make it to London, the Philharmonia Voices boosted the remainder.

Nevertheless, there were some special moments at Colston Hall. The conductor, Jakub Hrůša, came round afterwards to shake the hand of every choir member he could find. (I contrast this with the time a few years ago when I joined a small choir to sing another tricky 20th-century Central European Mass setting – Kodály’s Missa Brevis – on one rehearsal, and the conductor made no acknowledgement at all of the extra singers individually or collectively.) I was sat near the orchestra as I was in the last concert, and I couldn’t think why I had a draught playing on my back in the normally warm hall – then I realised the curtain screening the organ pipes had been drawn back.

The programme for the rest of the concert (which we were allowed to listen to from our choir seating) differed slightly between the two concerts. Both contained Dvořák’s piano concerto, but even Lukáš Vondráček couldn’t really sell the piece to me. The 19th century piano concerto was usually a display piece, and this was alien to Dvořák’s melodically inventive style. Or perhaps the concerto is just too early, and shares the relative obscurity of the earlier symphonies. In Bristol we heard the overture to the Bartered Bride (I wonder if this is still thought of as a crowd-puller – I’m not sure it is one now that the opera itself is a rarity). In London the concert opened with Suk’s Scherzo Fantastique which I enjoyed rather more.

It is a pity that no national paper seems to have reviewed the London concert. However there are the following online reviews:

Classical Source
Bachtrack (doesn’t name the choirs!)

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Learning the Glagolitic Mass

Our two performances of the Janáček’s Glagolitic Mass were sufficiently remarkable that they merit two posts. I’ll begin by considering the problems I encountered in learning the Mass.

The obvious one is the language. It ought to be no harder than, say, Rachmaninov’s Vespers, but rather than being transliterated for the benefit of English speakers you have the words written out for speakers of Czech, and it can be hard to spot the difference between, say, n and ń. Fortunately there are not too many words for the chorus (the lower voices seem to have more) and so it is possible to memorise the tricky bits.

The score used was the new Bärenreiter edition, but the chorus hire copies were Universal Edition’s, which tended to obscure the dynamic markings and orchestral cues, and had some of the nastiest page turns I’ve ever encountered. A particular speciality was splitting the first and second soprano parts in the first bar at the start of a new page, without warning.

This is all apart from the difficulties in the work itself. Some people I know who’ve sung the Mass have said they found it unsatisfactory because it was very ‘stop-start’, without long, sustained lines. This may just be because of Janáček’s style, or the fragmentation of phrases could suggest an uncertain belief. I think for example of the moment when the chorus sing ‘And I believe in one holy …er…um…’ and a few bars later the tenor soloist finishes off ‘…Catholic and Apostolic Church’. At any rate, the short phrases make the work less physically demanding to sing, and although there a fair number of high notes in the soprano line it is not difficult to nail them to whatever it is you nail high notes to.

Janáček also has ways of varying repeated phrases that you would never have expected. My favourite was the phrase which had an accelerando towards the end first time round, but not when it was repeated immediately afterwards. When he said that his Mass lacked ‘the sound of the usual imitative procedures’, he really meant it!

I’ll write about the actual performances in my next post.

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The Messiah in India

The South West Festival Chorus believes in travelling the world and followed taking Gerontius to China a few years ago with performances of the Messiah in India. We were not quite trail blazing as we were following in the footsteps of a Cambridge College choir which toured the same places (Goa and Bombay/Mumbai) last year. But we think it was the first Messiah in Goa, and the first since 1962 in Bombay.

Actually the choir didn’t resemble a typical SWFC lineup very closely, as there were some former members, friends and friends of friends, and sadly several people I know quite well intended to come and then didn’t. A knowledge of the work was assumed, so we polished it with a rehearsal on the night of our arrival in Goa and a longer one the following morning (following in my case a dip in the infinity pool and a mixed South Indian and continental breakfast).

We brought our own soloists, trumpeter and for the second performance a timpanist as well as a conductor. Our orchestra were string players from the Symphony Orchestra of India, a mixture of Indians trained in Western classical music and Eastern Europeans.

It felt a bit odd performing Messiah with a score in my hands. I realised how thoroughly I had familiarised myself with the parts I memorise each year, especially when we came to two movements BCS don’t sing and I was suddenly tied to my score again. But by looking away from the score I risked missing some of the markings we’d put in specifically for the Indian performances.

The Goan performance, in the Basilica of Bom Jesus in Old Goa, really did feel exotic, with fans spinning and a crowd of interested onlookers at the open west doors. One could imagine the galleries of the building (in which St Francis Xavier is buried) populated with Portuguese colonial ladies in mantillas (or whatever Portuguese colonial ladies wore). The Bombay performance, in the National Centre for the Performing Arts concert hall on Nariman Point, seemed not so very different from a concert elsewhere.

How to cope with the sense of anti-climax on my return? Make my Royal Festival Hall début a week later.

Reviews:
Luis Dias’ blog
The Times of India

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quick on the draw in Wells

Just a quick note of an evensong I went to in Wells Cathedral, sung by the men and boys. A mixture of periods, with the Byrd responses, Howells in B minor and Wesley’s Wash me throughly. The Howells in particular is a favourite and seems to be gaining more of a hold in the repertoire. Howells in G, by contrast, seems to be retreating. All nicely sung so I’ll end by noting a couple of non-musical aspects of the service. One was the speed with which the collection plate came round during the final hymn – before the playover had finished! (I was on the end of a row) The other is that the kneelers are now tucked away under the seats and you have to be quite determined to use one.

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scanning the Bath Festival programme

We’ve just received the Bath Festival programme for 2014’s festival, and I looked through to see which concerts I might want to go to. But I was struck by three things: the shortness of the programme, the relative absence of performers whose names I recognised (other than local ones), and the lack of large-scale concerts. The only orchestral one is the Bath Phil, whom we can hear several times a year. There is no concert involving a choir, only the Abbey’s festival evensong, which is essentially a beefed-up version of what they do every week.

I’m not objecting to the jazz weekend, though I’m not qualified to comment on how good the line-up for it is. But the whole festival now consists of only 22 events spread over 11 days (excluding the ‘on tour’ events, but including the evensong and a screening of a Hitchcock film). I’m all for giving a platform to performers starting on their careers; I’ve been to a number of Festival concerts given by them in the past. But I have the impression that when it comes to attracting big names, the International Music Festival is in danger of being overtaken by the Mozartfest, which has built up relationships with the Nash Ensemble and other groups. Certainly the programme doesn’t read like one for one of the country’s principal music festivals. Possibly funds have run low, or is there a conscious attempt to rebrand it as a chamber music/crossover festival? Why are the Assembly Rooms, usually the hub of the Festival, only being used for two concerts? However, one attractive feature is the use of the Old Theatre Royal, now Bath’s Masonic Hall; I’ve never been inside and am intrigued.

(My open letter to the Artistic Director, written a couple of years ago, is here. I see that they have done something which I was in favour of: stopped calling the Festival the ‘MusicFest’ and got rid of the logo. Actually, this seems to have been done across the board for all Bath Festivals.)

P.S. This article, illustrated with a photo of my former colleagues in the Chandos Singers, may be relevant. Many festivals are now claiming a share of BANES’ limited arts budget, which must have considerably reduced the amount the International Music Festival receives.

P.P.S. A relevant blog post from the Guardian.

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