Berberis' World

Tuesday, 2nd December 2008, Bishopsgate Institute.

Trad. arr. Willcocks Once in Royal David’s City
Pearsall In Dulci Jubilo
J.S. Bach Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring
Trad. arr. Harvey Lord of the Dance
Percy Grainger The Sussex Mummers’ Christmas Carol;* Shepherd’s Hey*
Trad. arr. Vaughan Williams O Little Town of Bethlehem
Trad. arr. Harvey I Wonder as I Wander
Cornelius The Three Kings
Trad. arr. Cullen I Saw Three Ships
Parry I Was Glad
Britten A Hymn to the Virgin
Irving Berlin (arr. Farrington) White Christmas*
Jule Styne & Sammy Cahn (arr. Farrington) Let it Snow*
Rutter Shepherd’s Pipe Carol
Trad. arr. Rutter The Twelve Days of Christmas
Trad. arr. Willcocks O Come All Ye Faithful
Trad. arr. Warrell We Wish You a Merry Christmas

As a long-ago lapsed Christian, carols have no special significance for me. They’re nice to sing, in particular ‘The Three Kings’, ‘I Was Glad’, and ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’, though for different reasons. If I’m feeling adventurous, I will often attempt the descant line in ‘O Come, All Ye Faithful’ and ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’, but that usually requires some additional lubrication.

The highlight of this concert, however, was Iain Farrington’s brilliant piano playing. The man’s a genius.

Saturday, 18th October 2008, Royal Festival Hall.

“A great or even a very good performance of “Missa solemnis“, one of the great masterpieces of the 19th (or any other) century, is rare.

Christoph Eschenbach‘s interpretation was a case in point. The opening ‘Kyrie’ was promising enough, tender and concentrated with flowing tempos, the devotional feel beautifully captured by the London Philharmonic Choir.

The opening of the ‘Gloria’ was swift and bitingly intense with glowing work from the chorus, the sopranos rising magnificently to the formidable musical challenges.

The ‘Agnus Dei’ was suitably solemn, a prayer for forgiveness, yet the military drums and fanfares which punctuate the prayer have been a little bit more dramatic.

Of the soloists, Anne Schwanewilms was sweet and utterly secure in the upper registers, Nikolai Schukoff was full of fervour and made light of the considerable vocal demands.”

Exerpts from review by Andrew Maisel (www.classicalsource.com)

My only experience of Beethoven before this was the 9th. Beethoven ticks a lot of ‘firsts’ boxes for me; the first piece I performed in public; my first concert with my first proper choir (the Lewisham Choral Society); my first sight-reading challenge. Of all of these, it was the sight-reading that was the most difficult. There were times when I thought I’d never decipher the dots and lines and squiggles that covered the shiny new just-under-A4-size-pages of my precious score. However, I practiced my chords off and it all went splendidly. Even my husband — who absolutely hates singing — quite enjoyed it.

Apparently, Beethoven is (perhaps ‘will be’?) Spock’s favourite composer, because of the very mathematical nature of his composing. I don’t see or hear it myself, despite being quite good at maths.

I’ve only listened to ‘Missa Solemnis’ once since the performance — whilst clearing out the cellar, and only to rediscover what my favourite parts were — which gives some indication of how memorable it was. Or perhaps I just wasn’t giving it my full attention. Despite a few lovely phrases here and there, nothing really stands out. Not that it matters. What is more important is what ‘Missa Solemnis’ represents to me: a successful audition; my first performance with a new choir; first time singing at the RFH etc etc. And my very first blog entry.

Odd recollections:

• I was in the front row for the concert, as I had been for the 9th with LCS.
• The old adage “good rehearsal, bad performance” is true, in my experience. For me, the rehearsal went very well. In the performance, I missed cues and sang in the wrong place at least once.
• Patching. This was a new experience for me. Basically, what you hear on a CD are the best bits of the rehearsal, the performance, plus amendments. Someone shouted “Patch!” as we left the stage and, briefly, I wondered who’d lost their dog.
• It’s always a little bizarre seeing the orchestra and conductor in civvies. They look so ordinary. I doubt they have the same view of us.

Saturday, 5th July 2008, Blackheath Halls.

When I first got hold of the vocal score for David Fanshawe’s African Sanctus I was immediately drawn to the picture which graced the front cover. When I opened it, I could see that it was going to be a challenge to sing. The decision-making process which led to the choir singing this piece had been very democratic; choir members wrote on a very large sheet of paper what they would like to perform the next term. At the end of the evening, it seemed that African Sanctus was the popular choice.

As other people collected their copies, I skimmed through the pages of this large volume. All through the score was notation, hand-written by Fanshawe, details about the inspiration behind the music, and a little doodle which is his signature. I stopped at ‘The Lord’s Prayer’, prose I know by heart from endless repetition at church and school.

A confession. I can take an instant dislike to things; people, food, music, films, wallpaper… name a category, chances are I’ve taken an instant dislike to something included within it. I am not afraid to admit that my opinions have, occasionally, been found to have been too hastily formed and have needed to be changed somewhere down the line. The degree of embarrassment which accompanies this volte face varies depends firstly on the alacrity with which I formed said first impression and, secondly, the intensity of my initial dislike. First impressions aren’t always the most lasting.

Bearing that in mind, it would be fair to say that when we started to rehearse African Sanctus I didn’t like it. However, at the end of the performance on a sultry 5th July 2008, I liked it even less.

I’d listened to it on CD numerous times, as I do with every piece I’m going to sing, in an attempt to find the hook. Despite this, I found the whole thing tedious, even embarrassing. It might have been the overtly religious text, or the sometimes jarring blend of 60’s hippie-dom with world music, but there was little about it that I found either moving, exhilarating or fulfilling. Notably, The Lord’s Prayer, accompanied by guitar and drums was as mawkish and saccharine as Sir Cliff’s later Millennium Prayer.

To judge by the rave reviews I’ve read, my negative response seems uncommon. Even the presence of the composer himself at one rehearsal, as well as the performance, failed to spark in me the excitement apparently felt by many choir members. So it’s obviously not the piece, it’s me. I can live with that. No-one should ever feel obliged to like something – be it music, food, clothes, books, films, anything – simply because everyone else does.

I’d need to listen to African Sanctus again to remind myself which bits were the most pleasing, melodically but, to be honest, I’d rather not.

Saturday, 8th March 2008, St Paul’s Church, Deptford.

Philip Glass: There are some men/Quand les hommes vivront d’amour/Pierre de soleil (part)

Leonard Bernstein: Extinguish My Eyes/When My Soul Touches Yours/A Simple Song (from Mass).

Eric Whitacre: Lux arumque.

Samuel Barber: To be sung on the water/Adagio for Strings arr. for organ by William Strickland

Michael Tippett – Five Spirituals from A Child of Our Time: Steal away/Nobody knows/Go down, Moses/By and by/Deep River

Aaron Copland – Old American Songs: The Boatmen’s Dance/The Little Horses/Zion’s Walls/In the Beginning

Soloist: Rebecca Afonwy-Jones. Organist: Andrew Dutson. Conductor: Stefan Reid.

I can clearly recall four things from this concert. The first is that my hubby, who’d come along on the strength of there being Philip Glass on the programme, made his excuses afterwards and spent the second half sitting in the car listening to the radio. The second is that Whitacre’s Lux Arumque, a sublime, shimmering piece, was spoiled somewhat by the soprano who missed the top G by at least a semitone. Thirdly, Barber’s Adagio should not, in my opinion, be played on the organ. Finally, and despite much practicing, I took my eye off Stefan at a crucial moment during In the Beginning and was, for a bar and a half, at least 2 bars ahead of everyone else.

It sounds as if I didn’t enjoy this concert, doesn’t it? Actually, I did. One bum note does not a disaster make, and I doubt that anyone else noticed my over-eagerness to finish the Copland before the rest of the choir. In the Beginning is a lovely piece; full of dips and swells and rich harmonies (lots of high notes for altos) and a rousing finale. I can ignore the ridiculous creationist text, in much the same way that I can accept the overt religiousness of the spirituals, which I really loved singing. This was a surprise to me if no one else.

Saturday, 15th December 2007, St Mary’s, Lewisham.

Lo! He comes with clouds descending (Wesley/Cennick) – O magnum mysterium (Gabrieli) – Jesus Christ the apple tree (Poston/Smith) – O little town of Bethlehem (Vaughan Williams/Armstrong/Brooks) – A child is born in Bethlehem (Scheidt) – Nativity Carol (Rutter) – Hodie Christus natus est (Gabrieli)

Jardin du Monde by Robert Percy

The first Nowell/The shepherd’s farewell/In the bleak midwinter/As with gladness men of old/The three kings/Coventry carol/Past three o’clock/Jingle, bells/Ding dong! Merrily on high/A merry Christmas/O come, all ye faithful

As the running order suggests, this was standard Xmas fare, interrupted by the first performance of a brand new piece. Robert Percy was our adopted composer, and Jardin du Monde was the first movement of a composition called Happiness. The plan was to perform the whole piece, but it either hadn’t been finished or we didn’t learn it fast enough – I don’t remember which.

The highlight for me, however, was Gabrieli’s O Magnum Mysterium. It wasn’t the first time we’d performed it, but it really does bear repeating. There are some lovely melodic lines in this for the altos, and really glorious harmonies. Beautiful. Short, but beautiful.

Otherwise, carols tend to make me well up, primarily because they are full of musical cliches; melodies and harmonies guaranteed to elicit a very brisk blub reflex. Half time provided an opportunity to imbibe, which made my attempt at the obvious descants if not successful then certainly more likely. All in all, good fun.