Berberis' World

Saturday, 17th November 2012, Great Hall, Goldsmiths College.

Mozart: Mass in C Minor
J S Bach: Jesu meine Freude
Beethoven: Choral Fantasia

Sopranos: Rachael Austen, Louise Kemeny, Helen Meyerhoff
Tenor: Thomas Herford
Bass: Philip Tebb

Forest Philharmonic Orchestra

Piano: Nico de Villiers

Conductor: Dan Ludford-Thomas

This was the first concert I did after I rejoined the Lewisham Choral Society. I’d briefly thought about going back after the debacle with the LPC but, whenever I did, I imagined returning would be a public admission of failure: I’d failed my re-audition with the LPC, and there were a number (albeit a small number) of people who would know that I’d failed. Also, I’d been part of a choir who’d failed to win a singing contest. I was going back because I just wasn’t very good.

I’d left LCS just before Stefan Reid departed. His successor – Dan – was one of the people who’d coached the hospital choir to our joint 2nd place at Llangollen, and it was Dan’s suggestion that I rejoin LCS. His enthusiasm was sufficient for me to think that it wasn’t out of pity, but a genuine belief that LCS was a very good choir and that I might enjoy it.

The bit of Beethoven’s Choral Fantasia we performed sounded remarkably like an early draft of the last movement of his Symphony No. 9. Bach’s ‘Jesu meine Freude‘ is much nicer. It’s not Nänie – what is? – but I preferred it to the Beethoven. It was written for a 5-voice choir (!) and I don’t know whether or not this was the reason for omitting bars 123-146 and 277-405. It surely couldn’t have been because it’s difficult to sing, because there are longer semiquaver runs in the B minor Mass. Perhaps it was for time, or the overall feel of the piece.

The Mass in C is not as instant as the Requiem, although that’s probably because I’ve sung the latter half a dozen times, and it’s used in dozens of films, documentaries, adverts, etc. However much I prefer the Requiem, I’m not on the committee so the Mass in C is what we got. My score has yellow highlighter all over the first half, and then – apart from a few scribbles in pencil – there’s nothing. This probably reveals more about my frame of mind than anything to do with the music. A safe, if unmemorable, return.

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.

Saturday, 10th November 2007, Blackheath Halls.

My, but this is BIG. And it’s got everything; slow bits, fast bits, quiet bits, loud bits, slow and quiet bits, loud and fast bits. It’s the one with the bit that goes ‘laa la la la la la la lalalalalalalalala laa lala‘ which is fine for the 1st sops but fairly dull for everyone else. You know the one… it’s used in advertising almost as often as O, Fortuna.

Despite that, I really enjoyed singing this, mainly because it’s so… so Italian. Whilst the aforementioned Dies Irae is thrilling to listen to, much more satisfying to sing are the Rex Tremendae, which ends in the almost sobbing plea of ”Salve me” and the Lacrymosa, which contains some delicious phrases and lovely harmonies.

Movement 4 is the Sanctus, which fair bounces along until towards the end, when you can open your throat and give it some really welly on the breves and semi-breves of “Hosanna in excelsis”. This is countered beautifully by the following Agnus Dei, all ppp and precise pitching.

The final movement, Libera Me, starts with some very soft voicing by the chorus before the soprano solo, none of which I remember because I simply could not wait to get to the final fugue. After dispensing with the Dies Irae opening, you get the andante Requiem aeternam which is actually quite difficult, as the chorus needs the most precise timing, tuning and volume control to accompany the soprano.

From the final top B, she then bursts out with the beginning of the Libera me before the altos lead in the chorus, the orchestra interrupting every few bars with some amazingly quick, thrusting arpeggios. Just when you think it’s over, it surges again; the final Dum veneris is incredible to sing, but too short!! It’s over almost before it’s begun, and the juggernaut finally slows to a halt with a repeated sigh of Libera me.

Definitely one to do again, and soon.

Soloists: Cheryl Enever (soprano), Joanna Gamble (mezzo-soprano), Stephen Brown (tenor), Simon Preece (baritone).

Aurelian Symphony Orchestra: Leader Michael Gray.

Conductor: Stefan Reid.