Program Notes - La Crosse Chamber Chorale

Program Notes - La Crosse Chamber Chorale

Program Notes
Introduction
The answer is “Yes.” And not just to the famous question of the
Beatles’ 1967 hit – “Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when
I’m 64?” It’s also “Yes, we need to get to the church on time; Yes, I ain’t
gonna study war no more.” And it’s especially “Yes, and praise the
Lord and sing alleluia for the return of spring!”
We’ll of course say, “Yes,” to Brahms’ invitation to dance, to flirt and
to sing a romantic song by moonlight (though we are in a church).
And we’ll say, “Yes,” to the messages and themes of the sacred songs
of this concert. They express a spectrum of religious joy – from the
out and out happiness of the “Hosannas!” of Palm Sunday, to the
consoling happiness of the Psalms. This spectrum is also reflected in
the Biblical and medieval hymns that eventually bring us to a beatific
vision of heaven, but which first take us through suffering and
passion. (Think Easter!)
“Hosanna to the Son of David” by Thomas Weelkes
Hosanna to the Son of David.
Blessed be the King that cometh in the name of the Lord.
Thou that sittest in the highest heav’ns,
Hosanna in excelsis Deo.
In his personal life, the early English composer Thomas Weelkes was
like the mid-20th century Welsh poet Dylan Thomas: he was often in
trouble with the authorities. To say this in another way, he was often
drunk. But much was forgiven him because he wrote much splendid
music.
He graduated from Oxford in 1602. He was the organist and choir
master at Chichester Cathedral from then until his death in 1623
(except during the times when he was “absent without leave” in the
enticing city of London that was only 68 miles away!). He was a close
friend of his fellow composer, Thomas Morley, whose death in 1602
he commemorated in a madrigal-like anthem.
“Hosanna to the Son of David” is an anthem for Palm Sunday. The
text is from a pre-King James version of Matthew 21:9. The last line
in Latin would have also connected Weelkes’s contemporaries to the
not so distant time in the past when the Bible was only read in Latin.
This same last line also connects Palm Sunday with the Christmas
song of the angels in Luke 2:19.
“Sicut Cervus” by Palestrina
Sicut cervus desiderat ad fontes aquarum:
ita desiderat anima mea ad te, Deus.
As a hart longs for the flowing streams,
so longs my soul for thee, O God.
– Psalm 42:1
Of Palestrina, more is found in the next piece but one – his setting
of the long devotional hymn to Mary, the Stabat Mater. For this short
lyrical verse from Psalm 42, we can share in and enjoy Palestrina’s
genius for taking a single line of scripture or poetry and stretching
it out, as it were, in the musical style which he perfected, called
counterpoint. At the risk of making a pun, you could even say that he
is “playing” with his text.
The words are heartfelt, devotional and accessible. Everyone has
been thirsty, though perhaps not “as thirsty as a deer.” Everyone
has a soul which we try to understand and to nurture, though we
perhaps would not at first compare our soul to a thirsty deer. But for
every one – in ancient and modern times – God is easily compared to
water, for water is Life.
“The Wise Thief” by Alexander Grechaninov
The wise thief
in a single moment
Thou didst make worthy of Paradise, O Lord.
By the wood of the cross
enlighten me also and save me.
– a hymn sung on Great and Holy Friday
It was in April 1912 that Alexander Grechaninov’s monumental
“Passion Week” was first performed. But this work of “transcendent
beauty and great spiritual depth” was then suppressed during the
Soviet era, only to be rediscovered and re-celebrated in 1994.
“The Wise Thief” is the eighth of thirteen hymns from the rich
tradition of the Russian Orthodox Church which comprise “Passion
Week.” In its original context, this hymn was sung at the Good Friday
service. Its Biblical source is the poignant dialogue found in Luke 23:42 –
the “Wise Thief,” one of the two crucified together with Jesus, calls out,
“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” And Jesus
replies, “Truly I tell you, this day you will be with me in paradise.”
To help convey the sense of the presence of two voices, Grechaninov
uses a double choir here. The hymn begins with a declarative
statement of faith. It concludes with a personal prayer. The prayer
is short but it covers a wide expanse, asking as it does for both
enlightenment and salvation.
“Stabat Mater Dolorosa” by Palestrina
Stabat mater dolorosa The Mother stood, grieving,
Juxta crucem lacrymosa, next to the cross, weeping,
Dum pendebat Filius. while her Son hung there.
Cujus animam gementem, He whose soul, sighing,
Contristatem et dolentem saddened and suffering,
Pertransivit gladius. was pierced by a sword.
O quam tristis et afflicta O how sad and afflicted
Fuit illa benedicta was that blessed
Mater Unigeniti! Mother of the Only-Begotten!
Quae moerebat et dolebat, She grieved and lamented
Et tremebat cum videbat and trembled, when she saw
Nati poenas inclyti. the torments of her glorious Son.
Quis est homo qui non fleret, What person would not weep
Christi matrem si videret seeing the Mother of Christ
In tanto supplicio? in such distress?
Quis non posset contristari Who would not be saddened
Piam Matrem contemplari seeing the Mother of Christ
Dolentem cum Filio? suffering with her Son?
Pro peccatis suae gentis, For the sins of his people
Vídit Jesum in tormentis she saw Jesus in torment
Et flagellis subditum. and subjected to whips.
Vidit suum dulcem natum, She saw her own sweet Son,
Morientem, desolatum, dying, desolate,
Dum emisit spiritum. while he gave up his spirit.
Eja Mater, fons amoris, O Mother, fount of love,
Me sentire vim doloris make me feel the force of your grief
Fac, ut tecum lugeam. so that with you I may mourn.
Fac, ut ardeat cor meum Grant that my heart may burn
In amando Christum Deum, in loving Christ my God
Ut sibi complaceam. so that I may be pleasing to him.
Sancta Mater, istud agas Holy Mother, may you do this:
Crucifixi figi plagas fix the stripes of the Crucified
Cordi meo valide. firmly in my heart.
Tui nati vulnerati, Of your wounded Son
Tam dignati pro me pati who deigned to suffer so for me,
Mecum poenas divide. share with me the pains.
Fac me vere tecum flere, Make me weep truly with you,
Crucifixo condolere, to suffer with the Crucified,
Donec ego vixero. as long as I shall live.
Juxta crucem tecum stare, To stand with you beside the cross
Te libenter sociare and to join freely with you
In planctu desidero. in lament, I desire.
Virgo virginum praeclara, Virgin of virgins most excellent,
Mihi jam non sis amara, do not be bitter with me now;
Fac me tecum plangere. Make me mourn with you.
Fac ut portem Christi mortem, Grant that I may bear the death of Christ;
Passionis ejus sortem, recall his Passion
Et plagas recolere. and be mindful of his wounds.
Fac me plagas vulnerari, Let me be wounded by His wounds,
Cruce hac inebriari be overcome by the cross,
Ob amorem Filii. For love of your Son.
Inflammatus et accensus Burning and in flames
Per te, Virgo, sim defensus by you, Virgin, may I be defended
In die judicii. on the day of judgement.
Fac me cruce custodiri, Make me the guardian of the cross,
Morte Christi praemuniri, protector of the death of Christ,
Confoveri gratia. cherisher of grace.
Quando corpus morietur When my body dies
Fac ut animae donetur grant that my soul be given
Paradisi gloria. the glory of Paradise.
Palestrina first came to Rome, from the town twenty-four miles away
which gave him his name, to serve as a choir boy in the Basilica of
Santa Maria Maggiore. He “grew up” to become the choir master for
this and other prominent Roman churches. But he must have stayed
connected with his hometown, for when the Bishop of Palestrina
became Pope Julius III, he was appointed organist and choir director
at the biggest church in the world – St. Peter’s Basilica. It is of some
interest to learn that the choir actually sang in the equally famous
and more acoustically friendly Sistine Chapel. This was in 1571.
Palestrina was 45 or 46 years old. Michelangelo’s frescoes had been
on the ceiling for just under 60 years. Palestrina remained at St.
Peter’s for the rest of his relatively long life.
Scholars date the first performance of his Stabat Mater to Holy Week
of 1589 or 1590. Palestrina was by that time known throughout
Europe as “the greatest master of polyphonic music.” He was one
of the first composers to have his works extensively published. But
he did not publish Stabat Mater in his lifetime. He guarded it as the
exclusive property, as a “signature piece,” of the Sistine choir, handing
out its precious copies every year for Good Friday and then no doubt
making sure they were all returned. His successors maintained this
tradition until 1771, when the English musician Charles Burney (who’s
especially remembered as the father of the popular novelist Fanny
Burney) was in Rome and procured a copy by bribing a choir boy. It
was published in England that same year.
The text of the Stabat Mater was, on the other hand, no secret. It
dates from the 1200s and is associated with the early Franciscan
movement. It is emotional. It is personal. Yes, it is a … little long, but
its short verses, which interlock through the rhyming of their final
lines, could be easily memorized.
The hymn does what the best theology does – it makes an event in
the life of Jesus contemporary for us. The hymn’s first four verses are
in narrative form; it then becomes a sung sermon with its rhetorical,
though heartfelt, questions. But the longest section of the hymn, the
last twelve verses, is a prayer. It’s a modern prayer as the singer uses
the first personal singular: the “I, me and my” of subjective truth.
I hope you will have time to read the hymn through before it’s
sung. By doing so, you can more readily appreciate what one writer
calls “the contrast and interplay of voices and textures.” The same
commentator sums up this work as “A fresco in music – filled with
light and shade. It is a masterpiece of Renaissance choral writing.”
And then, just imagine how it must sound – and feel – when sung in
the Sistine Chapel!
“O Saviour of the World” and “Psalm 121” (from his Requiem) by
Herbert Howells
O Saviour of the World
O Saviour of the world,
who by thy cross and thy precious blood
hast redeemed us,
save us and help us,
we humbly beseech thee, O Lord
– Antiphon for Matins, Exaltation of the Cross
Psalm 121
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills:
from whence cometh my help.
My help cometh from the Lord:
who hath made heaven and earth.
He will not suffer thy foot to be moved:
and he that keepeth thee will not sleep.
Behold, he that keepeth Israel:
shall neither slumber nor sleep.
The Lord himself is thy keeper:
he is thy defence upon thy right hand;
So that the sun shall not burn thee by day:
neither the moon by night.
The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil:
yea, it is even he that shall keep thy soul.
The Lord shall preserve thy going out, and thy coming in:
from this time forth and forevermore.
After the death of his only son at the age of nine in 1935, the English
composer Herbert Howells wrote a Requiem. He was forty-four. But
he did not release it for publication until 1980, when he was 88, or
twice 44.
Knowing this, we can sense some of the composer’s personal pathos
in these two selections from his Requiem. Howells took traditional
prayers and Biblical passages which everybody (in his day) knew
and he composed for an audience of one: himself. His English
Requiem differs in form and context from the Latin Requiems of
composers such as Mozart and Fauré. But this difference is really
only for musicologists. The essential question for all of us, whether
professional musicians or appreciative concertgoers, is – “How can
one create a positive response to death?”
Again, read the texts – the prayer and Psalm 121. To add a scholarly note
which I hope is not out of place, the translation of the Psalm is the one
found in the Anglican Book of Common Prayer. It dates from 1549.
“O Sacrum Convivium!” by Olivier Messiaen
O sacrum convivium in quo Christus sumitur:
recolitur memoria passionis ejus:
mens impletur gratia:
et futurae gloriae
nobis pignus datur. Alleluia!
O sacred banquet
in which Christ is received:
the memory of his passion is recalled,
the mind is filled with grace,
and, of future glory,
to us, a pledge is given. Alleluia!
In December 1989, for our first Christmas in La Crosse, my favorite
French professor, Jean-Claude Lieber, wrote Elizabeth and me and
said, “We thought of you when we walked to the church of the Holy
Trinity close to our apartment in Paris to hear Olivier Messiaen play
improvisations on old hymns.”
It is of course meaningful for me to have a distant, personal
connection with this great contemporary French composer. His
“Quartet for the End of Time,” composed in a German prisoner of war
camp in 1940, is one of the masterpieces of modern classical music.
His communion motet, set to the medieval Latin hymn, dates from
1937. It is then both modern and “ancient.” If it can be summed up
in just one sentence, I would call it, “A positive RSVP, a ‘Yes’, to an
invitation to dinner with Christ.”
“Christus Factus Est” by Anton Bruckner
Christus factus est pro nobis obediens usque ad mortem, mortem
autem crucis. Propter quod et Deus exaltavit illum, et dedit illi nomen,
quod est super omne nomen.
Christ became obedient for us unto death, even the death of the
cross. Wherefore God also hath exalted Him, and hath given Him
a name which is above every name.
– Philippians 2:8-9
Everyone knows a little about the major Austrian composer Anton
Bruckner. He’s most known for his eight symphonies, together with
his unfinished 9th (which he dedicated “To God the Beloved”). The
earliest work which he deemed good enough to preserve was an
1849 Requiem. This was written during the ten year period of his
life when he was the organist and choir director in the Priory of
Saint Florian, the Austrian town where he himself had first been a
choirboy. (Shades of Palestrina some 300 years before!)
Bruckner’s stature as a composer is complicated as he was both
modern and traditional. He was also ahead of his time in that he
solicited musical collaborations in order to “improve” his symphonies.
This mixing of different “hands” bothers musical purists.
It is certain, however, that only Bruckner wrote the music for Christus
Factus Est. These two verses from St. Paul’s Letter to the Philippians
are read at the Roman Catholic service for Maundy Thursday. The
piece is technically known as a “Gradual,” from the Latin word for
“step.” It is a piece that is sung as the priest steps up to a lectern to
read from the Bible.
The theological concept that St. Paul is expressing here comes
very close to answering the question asked in connection with the
selections from Howells’ Requiem: “How can something positive come
from death?”
“French Choruses from The Lark” by Leonard Bernstein
Spring Song
Revecy venir le printemps. Spring has returned.
Laudate Dominum. Alleluia. Praise God. Alleluia.
Court Song
Fi, mari de vostre amour.
Cor j’ai ami, noble et de bel a tour.
Tout l’aime aussi. Fi, mari.
J’ai ami, noble et de bel amour,
Ne sert de nuit, sert de nuit et de jour!
Tout l’aime aussi. Fi, mari!
Fie, husband, on you and your love.
For I have a love,
noble and beautifully dressed.
Everyone loves him also.
Fie, husband.
He doesn’t just serve me at night,
He serves me night and day!
Everyone loves him also.
Fie, husband!
Soldier’s Song
Vive la Jeanne! Long life to Joan!
La jolie Jeanne! The pretty Joan!
With these three French choruses from a play about the trial of Joan
of Arc, we can go back to the 1950s or to the 1430s! As Bernstein’s
music is intentionally evocative of late medieval France, perhaps we
should start there.
St. Joan of Arc had the popular nickname of “The Lark.” She – “The
Maid of Orleans” – was a peasant girl from the village of Arc who
heard angels speaking to her of how she would rescue France from
English occupation. This was toward the end of the Hundred Years’
War.
If you want more history, keep in mind that St. Joan led the army of
the future King, Charles VII, to victory over the English at Orleans in
1429; that this victory and others galvanized the French to such an
extent that they soon took back control of their beloved country. But
not before St. Joan was betrayed into the hands of some pro-English
French. She was put on trial for witchcraft and heresy and burned at
the stake in Rouen, France on May 30, 1431. She was all of 19 years
old. To sum up her life and her mystique, she personifies the soul of
France.
The American adaptation of Jean Anouilh’s 1953 drama about Joan
of Arc’s trial premiered on Broadway in 1955. It is of interest that
the choruses (called then “incidental music,” for this was before
Bernstein was really famous; his West Side Story was still a few years
away) remained in French. They are, in fact, background music. Their
purpose was to give “local color” to the action of the drama.
Musicologists have pointed out some similarities between the first
chorus and a part of Bernstein’s 1971 Mass. Perhaps this can teach us
something about the not-always-clear distinction between sacred and
secular music. In any case, the answer is “Yes.”
Three Songs by Brahms, Opus 31
“Wechsellied zum Tanz” (Dialogue at the Dance)
Die Gleichgültigen: The indifferent ones:
Komm mit, O Schöne,
komm mit mir zum Tanze; Tanzen gehöret zum festlichen Tag.
Bist du mein Schatz nicht,
so kannst du es werden,
wirst du es nimmer,
so tanzen wir doch. Come with me to the dance,
O beauty;
Dancing is right for a festive day.
You can become my sweetheart
if you are not,
but if you will never be,
we can just dance.
Die Zärtlichen The tender ones:
Ohne dich, Liebster, was wären die Feste? Ohne dich, Süsser,
was wäre der Tanz? Wärst du mein Schatz nicht,
so möcht ich nicht tanzen,
bleibst du es immer,
ist Leben ein Fest. Without you, dearest,
what would a festival be?
Without you, my sweet,
what would a dance be?
If you were not my sweetheart
I would not want to dance.
If you stay my sweetheart forever,
life will be a celebration.
Die Gleichgültigen: The indifferent ones:
Lass sie nur lieben,
und lass du uns tanzen! Schmachtende Liebe
vermeidet den Tanz.
Schlingen wir fröhlich
den drehenden Reihen, schleichen die Andern
zum dämmernden Wald. Let them love,
but let us dance!
Languishing love
shuns the dance.
Let us merrily weave about
in spinning rows,
and let the others creep off
into the twilit woods.
Die Zärtlichen The tender ones:
Lass sie sich drehen,
und lass du uns wandeln! Wandeln der Liebe
ist himmlischer Tanz. Amor, der nahe,
der höret sie spotten,
rächet sich einmal, und rächet sich bald. “Neckereien” (Teasing)
Let them twirl,
and let us wander!
Wandering in love
is a heavenly dance.
Cupid is nearby
and hears this mockery;
he will have revenge someday,
and soon!
– Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832)
Fürwahr, mein Liebchen,
ich will nun frein, ich führ als Weibchen dich bei mir ein, mein wirst du, o Liebchen,
fürwahr du wirst mein
und wolltest du’s auch nicht sein. It’s true, my dear,
I am now courting,
and I will establish you
as my wife;
you will be mine, my dear,
truly mine,
even if you don’t want to be mine.
“So werd ich ein Täubchen “Then I’ll become a dove
von weisser Gestalt, with a white form,
ich will schon entfliehen, I will fly away from you,
ich flieg in den Wald;
mag dennoch nicht Deine, mag dennoch nicht dein, nicht eine Stunde sein.”
fly into the woods,
so that I may not be yours,
may not be yours,
not even for an hour.”
Ich hab wohl ein Flintchen, das trifft gar bald,
ich schiess’ mir das Täubchen
herunter im Wald;
mein wirst du, O Liebchen,
fürwahr du wirst mein
und wolltest du’s auch nicht sein.
I have a flintlock
that can fire quickly,
I’ll shoot the dove
in the woods;
You will be mine, my dear,
truly mine,
even if you don’t want to be mine.
“So werd ich ein Fischchen,
ein goldener Fisch, ich will schon entspringen
ins Wasser frisch;
mag dennoch nicht Deine,
mag dennoch nicht dein,
nicht eine Stunde sein.” “Then I’ll become a little fish,
a golden fish,
I’ll spring into
the fresh water;
so that I may not be yours,
may not be yours,
not even for an hour.”
Ich hab wohl ein Netzchen,
das fischt gar gut,
ich fang mir den goldenen Fisch
in der Flut; mein wirst du, O Liebchen,
fürwahr du wirst mein
und wolltest du’s auch nicht sein.
However, I have a net
that fishes very well;
I’ll catch me this golden fish
in the water.
You will be mine,
my dear, truly mine,
even if you don’t want to be mine.
“So werd ich ein Häschen voll Schnelligkeit,
und lauf in die Felder,
die Felder breit,
mag dennoch nicht Deine,
mag dennoch nicht dein, nicht eine Stunde sein.”
“Then I’ll become a hare,
full of swiftness,
and run in the fields,
the broad fields.
so that I may not be yours,
may not be yours,
not even for an hour.”
Ich hab wohl ein Hündchen, gar pfiffig und fein, das fängt mir das Häschen im Felde schon ein; mein wirst du, O Liebchen,
fürwahr du wirst mein
und wolltest du’s auch nicht sein.
But I have a hound
that’s smart and fine;
he’ll catch me
that hare in the fields.
You will be mine, my dear,
truly mine,
even if you don’t want to be mine.
– Josef Wenzig (1807-1876) after the Moravian
“Der Gang zum Liebchen” (The Path to my Dear One)
Es glänzt der Mond nieder,
ich sollte doch wieder
zu meinem Liebchen,
wie mag es ihr gehn? The moon shines down,
I should yet again
go to my darling.
How does she fare?
Ach weh, sie verzaget
und klaget, und klaget,
dass sie mich nimmer
im Leben wird sehn! Alas, she’s despondent
and laments, and laments,
that she will never see me
again in her life!
Es ging der Mond unter, ich eilte doch munter,
und eilte dass keiner mein Liebchen entführt.
The moon is going down,
I hurry off briskly,
hurrying so that nobody
shall steal my love away.
Ihr Täubchen, o girret,
ihr Lüftchen, o schwirret, dass keiner mein Liebchen,
mein Liebchen entführt!
O coo, you doves,
O whir, you breezes,
so that nobody
shall steal my love away!
– Josef Wenzig (1807-1876) after the Bohemian
If what you’ve been waiting for is some good, old-fashioned 19th-century
German Romanticism, these three songs by young bachelor Brahms
should fit the bill! Each song is a little short story. They are almost,
but not quite, fairy tales. Each one is a dialogue between different
voices.
The first song, with a text by the very famous German author Goethe,
contrasts two dancing couples. In the second song, we both see and
hear the back and forth teasing between the guy and the girl. This
song has the same structure as the popular children’s book, The
Runaway Bunny. (And no doubt of many other folk songs such as
the classic French one which begins, “Derrière chez ma tante il y a un
étang” – “Behind my aunt’s house there’s a pond.”)
The third song may first look like a monologue by a despondent
lover, but it contains the imagined voice of the distant sweetheart, as
well as what’s always possible in romantic poetry: the voices of birds
and of the breezes.
I hope that this brief introduction spurs you to read, or re-read the
words of the songs. They do not really need any explanation. What’s
clear is that Brahms must have liked them and said to himself, “Yes,
I’ll set these to music!” He did this early in his career, in 1864.
Musicologists point out the “distinct character” of the piano
accompaniment in each song, as well as Brahms’ effective use of
dance rhythms: a minuet in the first song and a waltz in the third.
One writer gives this verdict on the three songs of Opus 31: “They are
miniature masterpieces.”
In Conclusion
“Well it was 47 years ago today
That Paul McCartney taught us all to play
(or to sing)
‘Will you still need me,
Will you still feed me,
When I’m 64?’”
As all of us “of a certain age” remember vividly, “When I’m 64” was
released in 1967 on the iconic album, “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club
Band.” (And we all now start to hear the cheering in the background …)
And it was 50 years ago today that many of us went around singing,
“But get me to the church on time!” That is to say, My Fair Lady,
Lerner and Lowe’s musical adaptation of G.B. Shaw’s Pygmalion,
first came to us masses in the form of the 1964 movie. (Most of
us missed the 1956 Broadway production, though it ran for 2,717
performances. And I guess we also missed the 1958 London run of
2,281 performances too.)
The classic American spiritual, “Down by the Riverside,” was first
published in 1918, and first recorded by the Fisk University Jubilee
Singers in 1920. But it has to be much older than those two dates.
Like many folk songs, its “published” verses could be (and no doubt
were) almost infinitely expanded. All you need is just six syllables
after the repeated, “I’m goin’ to…”
So how about:
“I’m goin’ to … make them sing an encore
Down by the Riverside (Park).
I ain’t gonna study war no more.”
– This fall, it will be “23 years ago today” that Prof. Paul Rusterholz gave Rev. Donald
Fox the assignment of writing program notes for the Chamber Chorale, saying, “You
were an English major. Would you please write something about the great poems and
wonderful texts we are singing.” Rev. Fox remains grateful to Paul and to the Chamber
Chorale for the way these assignments have been a major part of his continuing
education. He extends special thanks to Beth Bonney, the Chorale’s general manager,
for help in editing and in “getting him to the deadline on time!”