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Review of concert in Darmstadt, Germany, 16 December 2009
A Hallelujah for Handel | |
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| King's College Choir in St. Louis, USA. |
December 2004
It took me thirty years to hear them live the first time. As a grad student in early 1970s, I would faithfully go to the local record store ("Caveat Emptor" is was called) for their monthly sale. There I would find items on the"Argo" label, which I had never seen elsewhere with sacred music that I never heard elsewhere. I can remember being excited one month when King's College released on a budget label (which meant I could afford two albums that month) a requiem by a French composer (one Gabriel Faure). On that album, I heard my first Pie Jesu treble solo, done then by a young man named Robert Chilcott. Three decades later on a very ordinary June day, I found myself standing in line outside the crown jewel of Cambridge's chapels for the first time. My wife and I were in the company of a kind and gracious host, who had been in that line many times and who didn't think we needed to queue quite so early, but who conceded the Yank's need to defy the inclement weather to be part of something that had been out of reach for so long. I will spare you further details except that thirty years of high expectations were completely fulfilled by a service that to the choir must have seemed just another in a busy weekly round. |
| When that same gentleman pointed out early last fall that King's had a U.S. tour planned, I immediately checked the schedule. Only six concerts planned, but three were to be in the Midwest–and one of them was only a couple of states away. My wife and I had never been to St. Louis, and decided that the King's Concert was just the occasion to repair that omission. Coming from a time-challenged state (Indiana does not observe daylight saving's time), we arrived an hour earlier than we expected at the Cathedral Basilica. We knew that the doors would open an hour before the concert. We didn't want to stand outside in the bone-chilling December wind waiting for that, so my wife suggested we might slip into the foyer and wait. It turns out that a late Sunday mass was in process, and we could not only get in but could listen to a service for a congregation that obviously prizes its music. We regretted not arriving early enough to take in the full service. And we were not the only ones who had found their way early. The concert's organizers were under instructions to lock the front door until the appointed time, but they soon thought better under the determined stares of those who knew the rarity of the event and who were not about to budge, and they mercifully opened the doors a bit early so we could scurry to our general-admission-by-section seats. The front-most seats were reserved for patrons–those who made a substantial donation and purchased tickets to at least three events. We found ourselves in fine seats a dozen or so rows back just behind those reserved for the reviewers. |
| It was clear they expected a full house. Seats had by placed in the aisles next to the pews. The cathedral is massive. I imagine it could seat a couple thousand, and the patient and resourceful usher told us that the every place would likely be occupied. She also pointed out the cathedral has more mosaics than any other building in the world, representing seventy years of the work of German craftsmen. And if one looked carefully, one could see the changing styles over the years. Indeed, the cathedral is stunning, everywhere a feast for the eyes with soaring round arches, reminiscent of Westminster Cathedral–so this is what the as yet unfinished Westminster Cathedral may some day look like. |
| The concert was grounded in music of the last hundred years, mixing the very familiar–Britten's Ceremony of Carols and a selection of Christmas carols–with some very contemporary Christmas music commissioned for the choir. The full choir filed out from behind the altar for their first foray, Poulenc's "Quatre Motets"–in concert dress–the boys with Eton collars and neckties, the men with bowties–all in black academic gowns whose only equivalent this side of the pond would be the graduation gown, but worn open in what to these American eyes seemed almost a rakish and casual style (since most of the time we wear such robes well zipped). Perhaps in an attempt to give the impression that they were not preoccupied with worldly things, several of the boys had trousers that they won't grow into for some years yet. If the singing had been as imprecise as the tailoring, it would have been a surprising concert indeed. |
| But it was immediately clear when the singing began that imprecision and casualness were not matters for concern. But as veterans of these concerts would expect, the singing was controlled, nuanced, and masterful. One thing to listen for with this group is the moment when a single voice breaks through the blend, and you hear it standing out from the group. The reason to listen for this is that it happens so seldom, and when it does, the voice is almost instantly, within two or three beats and with an almost imperceptible gesture from the boss, brought back into the fold. And failures of intonation are even rarer. The acoustics of the cathedral are very lively, but Mr Cleobury knew exactly what to do with them. He could get the most sublime pianissimos, and we could all hear them, and the loud staccato end note would linger in the air for an impossibly long time. |
| After the Poulenc, the choir left the stage. The next bit would involve the choristers only. BBC Magazine reports (in its Dec 2004 issue) that Britten originally targeted a women's choir for his most famous Christmas piece. But apparently, he soon got with the program, and recognized that the Ceremony of Carols was the perfect showcase for boys' voices. Given the opportunity to vary their sound, boys could morph from the most delicate flutes to the most strident of brasses. And the pieces offered intellectual challenges–singing one or two beats off the other sections–for heads better suited to puzzles than to lyricism. The question was always, would the choirmaster permit this variety? King's would undoubtedly handle the quiet, measured sections well–and they certainly did. The solos were awesome, to steal a word from the piece: makèles. The harpist was exquisite in her attention to detail, and hers was the most meditative rendering I have ever heard. But what about the brassy bits? I am of the opinion (which my wife, who knows more about these things than I do, does not share) that there are moments in this piece when the boys should pretty nearly shout in their best soccer-match, how-can-you-do-that-to-your-voice effort. The repeated "Deo" in Deo Gratias is one such moment. And, no, this choir could not be that unmusical. "Deo" got his due, but the sound was a cornet, not a trumpet, just a bit more rounded than I would have liked. And this is a piece that does not flatter a really lively hall. The quick, contrapuntal sections were hard to catch with each sound lingering. |
| This was the moment in the evening when one realized what these concerts are for. King's has a massive electronic presence, a discography as long as your arm and a worldwide electronic reach every Christmas Eve. If one wants to hear the Ceremony of Carols, one hardly needs to find it in a concert; it would be difficult NOT to find it among any collection of Christmas CDs in any store. Still, it's not a product of disembodied voices, which is what even the best CDs seem. To watch this piece unfold in front of you, with its dangerous exposed solos and rhythmic minefields, to see the solos move around among the voices of the choir, each voice possessed by an artist who knew what had to be done and did it at the highest level with no hint that any thing less might be possible, to watch the sections of the choir in apparent battle, but always resolving into a unity–this will inform my listening to this piece for years. I was suspicious when I saw the Ceremony on the program, that it was there purely as a crowd pleaser. No such thing. It was a masterful demonstration on how this stuff is supposed to be done. |
| The second half of the concert began with four contemporary pieces that were written especially for the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols. I know how important it is for new pieces to be written for these choirs. I know that it is just as much a sign of impending death when composers ignore the choirs as when the audiences do. I know all this in my head. But when I listen to the way contemporary artists talk about their audiences–and I mean writers and painters as much as musicians–I get apprehensive. The typical contemporary artist's stance is almost one of assault. I am not to be allowed my complacencies, my assumptions about tonal systems, my hope for peace and comfort. I am told that if I listen to a piece a thousand times I will begin to understand it. I feel when I am girding my loins to listen to contemporary music that I am saying to the composer, "Okay, go ahead and hit me; I can take it." Still, it is good to get out of one's cocoon occasionally. Of the four new pieces, the one that packed the most virile punch was Judith Weir's "Illuminare Jesusalem" with rumblings from the organ to accent the mystery. And then there was a very winning and completely unfamiliar "Shepherd's Carol", by, wait a minute, by the soprano who introduced me to Pie Jesu. I know Robert Chilcott has had an important career with the King's Singers and, I think, as a trainer of choirs, but it was good to hear the return home. I suppose the experience as a chorister at King's is a magnet whose force does not diminish over time. | |
After a brief organ interlude (I could have done with a couple more of these, but I am being greedy), the concert ended with the Vaughan Williams "Fantasia on Christmas Carols," a piece that finally gives the choral scholars their moment to shine. Although overflowing the hall, the audience seemed to me very reserved, but they were roused to a standing ovation and were treated to two encores.
I struggle to find the right words to describe the members of this choir. "Intense" certainly applies. "Reserved" also applies, but that seems to fight with "intense" and will make some think "cold and unfeeling." This is certainly not a choir that wears its heart on its sleeve, but to suggest they are uninvolved and unfeeling is dead wrong. I would like to say "studious" as well, but that will make many think dull and bookish, which I don't mean, and I may just be diverted by the graduation garb. They are certainly focused on getting the job done right. That means constant attention to ensemble, nuance, dynamic, and intonation. They are artists, certainly, but it is craftsman's image that sticks with me. These are individuals who know the difference between good work and bad work, who know they can do good work, and who take quiet pleasure in demonstrating that fact. That the result is some of the finest work to be had in the choral discipline means that I am counting the days until I can hear them again. Alas, airline tickets to Minneapolis, the Big Apple, Norfolk, or DC are a bit pricey, and I fear if I get a ticket to Cambridge, it would be one-way only. | |
About the time I heard of this tour, I read that it was to be a fund-raising tour. That thought chilled the bones as deeply as the December winds outside the cathedral. The choir costs a thousand pounds a day and is in need of twelve million pounds to assure its perpetuity or 60 million pounds to make it financially free of the College. Well, harumph, how could anything King's College does be more important than the choir? So what if there are students whose study needs support and faculty with research to do. Piffle, let them go elsewhere. There are certainly plenty of colleges around. But then I got to thinking: 2000 seats at an average of $25 a seat. That's $50k. Say, generously, that half of that feeds the choral foundation; that's a bit over twelve thousand pounds. At that rate, complete independence would come after 480 such concerts. (Does the fact in my other life I am a beancounter show here?) Now, if just half of those concerts were done in the Midwest, that's 240 concerts I would have to attend. I can't think of a more enriching route to impoverishment.
--Lynn Schoch, Bloomington, Indiana | |
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Schleswig-Holstein Musik Festival.
17th-18th July 2003
Britannien erobert Bad Segeberg
"English translation/adaptation"
Britain conquers Bad Segeberg . . .
Bad Segeberg - A concert the evening before at home in Cambridge
. . . an early start at 5 o’clock in the morning . . . the whole day spent in a coach . . . and then a standing ovation by an audience of 750 in Bad Segeberg. That’s the Choir of King’s College for you. |
There can be no comparison between this group of 16 choristers and the 14 slightly older choral scholars and any of the choirs that we have here in Germany. Even if you try to equate the Thomaner Choir or the Vienna Boys Choir with them, these young Britons who performed in Bad Segeberg, set different standards as far as radiance and fullness of tone are concerned. |
The residents of Segeberg and their guests from all over the country once again experienced a wonderful opener to the three Festival concerts that the city will be hosting in the St Marien Church and, to add to this, in a setting where every seat had long been sold out. |
We should not be deceived by the appearance of these talkative young men with their Harry Potter-style capes, their ties and their serious countenance. Before and after their performance they are perfectly normal boys who fool around and squabble over who is going to get the largest slice of pizza. And the chocolate that was given to the little songsters by Ingrid Altner, president of the Schleswig Holstein Festival organising committee as a thank you was, of course, being wolfed down as the choristers stood outside the church. Reputations were at stake! But Stephen Cleobury, the Director of Music, merely raised half an eyebrow, because immediately afterwards there was supreme concentration |
Discipline, discipline and, surprisingly, the other great virtue that this choir displayed was . . . even more discipline. It is this very discipline that explains the worldwide success of this choir which has now been in existence for nearly 560 years. It is also what provides them with their artistic quality. But the same discipline helps these young boys and young men to get over their strenuous travelling activity as well. Yesterday morning, they managed to find the time for a short dip in the Ihlsee lake . . . and then it was on to the evening concert at the cathedral in Meldorf. Just a tip for anyone who missed their outstanding performance in Bad Seeberg: you can hear the Choir of King’s College again today from 11 o’clock onwards in the SHMF (Schleswig-Holstein Music Festival) in Stocksee. Tickets are still available at 22 Euros from the booking office. | |
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Englands berühmter Choir of King's College, Cambridge konzertierte in Segebergs St. Marien
"English translation/adaptation"
England’s celebrated Choir of King's College sings in Segeberg’s St. Marien Church
The voices of this choir represent God on Earth . . .
exclaimed one of the audience after the last,
sustained chord sung by the boys and men of the
Choir of King's College Cambridge had died
away in the enormous brick-built, Romanesque
church. What the audience in the packed church |  |
| experienced as part of the SHMF cannot really be summed up any better than that. The multi-faceted programme, repeated yesterday evening at the cathedral in Meldorf and illustrating the constantly changing history of English sacred music from the early Renaissance to the present day, which was presented by the 32-strong choir (including two organ scholars), was more magnificent than anything previously heard here in terms of fullness of vocal timbre, brightness of sound, power, and purity of tone, even from the top boys’ choirs in our country. |
This world-famous choir, which is steeped in tradition, is especially well loved in England because of its annual broadcast of the Christmas Eve Carol Service. It was founded in the late Middle Ages by King Henry VI and has been conducted for more than 20 years by the Director of Music at King’s College, Stephen Cleobury. The choir not only responded to the ideal and resonant acoustic of the St Marien Church; it was also greeted with a warm response from an audience who were moved at their singing. The audience applauded at great length - which in fact disturbed the mood of the occasion somewhat - and was rewarded at the end by the performance of another Purcell anthem as an encore.
The 17-part sequence of Latin motets and English anthems, i.e. not musical settings of the liturgy, together with a few keyboard pieces by Thomas Tomkins, William Byrd and John Stanley performed on the chamber organ (more substantial items than these were eschewed because of restoration work to the main organ) opened with Christopher Tye’s jubilant setting of Omnes gentes and John Taverner’s Dum transisset sabbatum, captivatingly sung in five parts and written in a style akin to that of the Flemish composer Josquin Desprez. Apart from the sonorous basses and the striking middle-register voices, the secure and soaring treble voices of the ten to thirteen-year-old boys shone out in particular. However, the incredible discipline of these boys does not come about through being reprimanded or intimidated, but rather from the naturalness that results from singing and working with this music every day.
After singing a solemn setting of the Ave Maria by the Roman Catholic Peter Philips, who was imprisoned during the Elizabethan age, in a performance where the voices almost seemed to linger on, and a powerful anthem about St Michael by Richard Dering, who temporarily left Britain for Italy and Brussels, there were contributions by Orlando Gibbons and Thomas Weelkes. There were also incisive counter-tenor, tenor and bass solos to be heard, namely in the verse anthem by Pelham Humfrey Hear O heav'ns, written in the new Reformation style following the upheaval in the Anglican Church. Obviously, one of Humfrey’s most important pupils, Henry Purcell, could not be left out, and he was featured with his anthem I was glad with its specifically English idiomatic style and the seemingly baffling voice combinations. This piece provided the illustration of why male voices, on account of their timbre and different vibrancy, are more appropriate for sacred music than less robust female voices. The "second Renaissance", which came after a low point in English cathedral music at the start of the 19th century, was represented here by the highly expressive Lord, let me know mine end by Charles Hubert Parry, with its strong accentuation and romantic crescendi building up to the final fortissimo, but more tellingly by Charles Villiers Stanford’s three op. 38 Latin motets - also in eight parts. These anthems now form the bread and butter of today’s Anglican choral repertoire. The depth of his thematic and tonal vocal writing, influenced by Brahms, spoke for itself. The music by this Victorian was definitely something that one could grow to like. The choir also performed other more recent and modern pieces - each one as noteworthy as the next. One of these, Valiant for Truth, by Ralph Vaughan Williams, is the setting of a text by John Bunyan. There were compositions, too, by Gustav Holst and two contemporary composers who now have their place in the choir’s repertoire, Nicholas Maw and Giles Swayne, with their strong dynamic contrasts and fragmented voice parts. Even when there was supposed to be discord between the voices, there was not one uneven passage throughout to mar this overview of English church music.
Enno Neuendorf
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| Director: Ralph Allwood | | | Organist: Rupert Compston | |
Church of the Holy Spirit in Lake Forest, Illinois USA
Sunday, 28 March 2004
The Programme
| Antonio Lotti: Crucifixus | | | John Taverner: Christe Jesu, pastor bone | | | Britten: Festival Te Deum | | | J.S. Bach: Prelude & Fugue in B Minor | | | Deodat de Severac: Tantum ergo sacramentum | | | Colin Mawby: Ave verum Corpus | | | Gustav Holst: Nunc dimittis | | | Richard Davy: excerpt from Passio Domini | | | Stanford: Beati quorum via | | | John Ireland: Greater Love | | | Marcel Dupré: Prelude & Fugue in B Major | | | --------------------------------------------- | | | Signature tune from Fame | | | Billy Joel: And so it goes | | | Procol Harum: Whiter Shade of Pale | | | So Long, Farewell (from Sound of Music) | | | --------------------------------------------- | | | Fauré: Cantique de Jean Racine | | | John Rutter: The Lord bless you and keep you | | | Hamba lulu (African folk song) | | | Henry Ley: Founder’s Prayer | |
On Sunday, 28 March 2004, the young men of the Eton College Chapel Choir found themselves in the American Midwest, at the Church of the Holy Spirit in Lake Forest, Illinois. My wife and I also found our way to this very upscale suburb of Chicago for this, one of only eight concerts this unique choir will give in the U.S. during this tour. As I am not a musician myself, others will have to provide the professional review. I will confine myself to a few impertinent musings.
First of all: Eton. Founded before the first permanent European settlement in the western hemisphere, productive of generation after generation of leaders and public servants. Famous as much for the recent presence of two princes as for the absence of their father from its rolls. (The Duke of Edinburgh, if I recollect the official story correctly, wanted Charles, for better or worse, to face a more spartan life at Gordonstoun.) It is impossible to consider Eton without thinking about privilege and elitism. Where else could you find a game (Eton Fives) whose rules depended on certain peculiarities of Gothic architecture? It is a tremendously attractive world and culture. And many, many American anglophiles have permitted their democratic political principles to turn to dust when confronted by a schoolboy dressed in top hat and tails-a tendency that has exasperated the more radical British observers. I was mulling these thoughts as we drove around Lake Forest and discovered that we could not take a walk along the lakefront because we could not find a place to put our car (because the lakefront parking lot required a special permit) in this vale of million_dollar mansions. It was difficult not to be aware that this town, like Eton itself, did not represent the lifestyle to which we were accustomed.
I have long ago given up confidence in the rightness of my own political principles and now suspect all who mount their high horses. In this context, it is worth noting that the Church of the Holy Spirit was charging nothing to attend this concert. And that while they appeared not to advertise the event at all nothing on their website and only a modest signboard at the edge of the church parking lot, they nearly filled the sanctuary of 500 seats a half hour before the concert was set to begin. Not only did this community provide us gratis with a precious opportunity, it recognized the value of the event.
And it did not take long hearing and watching this choir to realize that, whatever privilege may be represented here, there was an intense commitment to music and to excellence in performance. Ralph Allwood, director of the choir (and, I suspect, architect of much of Eton's recent successes in music) provided background on most of the music and on the music program at Eton. He quoted a statistic also found on Eton's web site that over a thousand music lessons are given at Eton each week in facilities that not so very long ago seem to have doubled in size. He also described the background of choir members, of whom he was unabashedly proud. While the "backbone" of the choir consisted of singers who did not come from cathedral or college foundations, a large number did. These five (raise your hands) were from King's (the Founder's other educational venture), this one from St. John's, and another from Chichester, and one or two from Canterbury, and one from Llandaff, spoken with the proper Welsh sound on that double_L which I can never imitate. As cathedral choristers, they sang nine or more services a week, and the Eton choir does at least three a week. The collective musical experience of this group of young singers was unequaled by any group of similar age in the British Isles. And this is the unique opportunity that Eton could exploit. Choristers could continue their treble careers and mold new ones as tenors, baritones, or basses, all in continuous and seamless training. Eton could continue what the other choirs began. In turn, the choir could exploit the talent, disciplined training, and high standards of the sending institutions.
While a product of traditional Anglican choirs, the Eton choir is of a quite different mold. Its altos, tenors, and basses are younger and its sopranos older than the college and cathedral foundations. These differences are crucial to understanding the particular quality of the Eton choir performance. These are singers used to following rigorous vocal discipline and exercising the control necessary to assure a perfect blend of choral sound. Yet, these singers now have voices that may seem to change daily and that require constant adjustment. What was once certain and sure, domesticated and predictably controlled has suddenly become a bit wild, a tad unpredictable. Add to this another kind of wildness resulting from egos that have begun to challenge the ideal of blending in. The resulting performance provides moments of sheer, controlled beauty, mixed with moments when individual voices break through the ensemble or take on a sharp edge. I'm sure there are choir directors (if they have read this far) who are cringing at the thought of this, but I would like to represent it as a positive and unique feature of a group like this. There is a thrill in this unpredictability, and in the determined effort of the singers to control what was once effortless. When Eton sings Britten, there is an energy and an edge to the result that I think Britten would have loved. Not the same as the performance of these boys in their venerable earlier choirs, and not necessarily better or worse, but necessarily different, so that a concert of well known English music seems like new ground even to the jaded ear.
For someone like myself who is completely enamored of British church music, the concert went from high point to high point. The director chose music that plumbs the depth and breadth of the British tradition, and to hear, live, Britten's powerful Festival Te Deum or Holst's complex Nunc dimittis was a rare privilege, as was the opportunity to hear Stanford's Beati quorum via, for which the choral forces were lined up cantoris/decani with the audience between. No surround_sound genius could ever reproduce the effect. While I was getting teary eyed hearing pieces that I had known previously only as recordings, my wife was deciding (sacrilegiously, I later declared) that the five hour trip was worth it for the Incognitos alone. When intense musical discipline and the demands required by works in the serious tradition are applied to popular music, that music sounds like something new. The Incognitos (who might just be considering a new recording) gave up for a moment the red cassocks for traditional Eton dress embellished by outrageous waistcoats, a privilege the web site declares to be reserved for prefects, hmmm. They did loosen up for the this music; one could hear American elisions of final t's and the like in pieces that must have been intensely rehearsed. The Incognito's shift from sacred to secular, in a mode where the standards of musicianship were equally high, had the audience eating out of their hands.
Other high points came with a spirited rendition of part of Richard Davy's Matthew Passion, another piece where the sense of the music is clearer when you can see it performed. And two preludes and fugues played by an organist who, if he doesn't have a musical career in mind, needs a serious talking to. In the second piece--Marcel Dupre's Prelude and Fugue in B major__ the music seemed to take over and play itself in the kind of relentless, powerful drive that even the best of performers cherish when it happens. Awesome.
Not everything in this concert was perfect. One piece (which I won't name; it was not English) was much too ragged, and there were occasional, and usually very minor, failures of voice. But it was instructive to watch closely, for behind the performance decorum one could sense the performer's real anger that something was missed or didn't come off exactly right. And that is where I would like to end this. Eton = privilege, yes. But what we saw in this choir channelled the advantages of that privilege into commitment and discipline in the making of music. And if the statistics are correct (and I have no doubt they are), this musical mission extends through much of the school. If this institution chooses to use its "privilege" to honor and promote music, then we must honor it. When Eton puts so much of its cultural muscle behind what we all fear is an endangered species, then we should all be grateful.
All in all, the performance was even more than I had hoped it would be. I secretly wished they had arranged for a demonstration of Eton Fives during the intermission, but we can't have everything. Maybe next time.
-Lynn Schoch, Bloomington, Indiana, USA.
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