There are many composers that I love and many that I hate, but in John Gardner I have a composer that I both love and hate simultaneously. Every work I’ve heard, without exception, has generated one of only two reactions in me: “ooh, lovely!”, or, “blimey, I’ve accidentally walked into a hoedown.” It’s love or hate, nothing in between. He’s the Marmite of Music.
In fact they should put that on his website, which doesn’t seem to go in for too much hyperbole. It kicks off by describing him, not as England’s most interesting living composer, most unusual living composer, or even most under-rated living composer. No, he is simply “England’s oldest living composer” (and even then only “almost certainly”). Wow what an accolade! Maybe they’re scared Tavener will sue.
We’ve done quite a few Gardner pieces since I joined the choir, and he does seem to be one of the most divisive of composers when it comes to general opinion. A Burns Sequence, for example, is mostly on the “ooh lovely” side of the Great Marmite Divide, but some people find the unstable rhythms and keys quite frustrating and unnecessarily difficult to follow. Gardner freewheels through cross-rhythms and unrelated chords with gay abandon, and it often feels like we’re trundling along somewhere behind, as though we were scared of speeding in a built-up harmony. But personally I rather enjoy the challenge of the quick changes. I especially love the hymn-like first and last pieces where the metric form means we have to be absolutely together. Conversely, my least favourite piece in the sequence is the simplest one, the utterly twee and vile (or fresh and engaging, depending on your viewpoint) “Whistle an’ I’ll come to ye”. OOOOOOOOH I hate it! My fingers are involuntary curling even as I type. It’s a folk song about young love (bleurgh) where the ladies have to sing coquettishly (double triple bleurgh) while the men whistle humorously in accompaniment (actually I do quite like that bit). We struggled with the style a bit at rehearsal on Wednesday. “Convince me that you fancy this lad” entreated David-the-conductor, on what felt like our hundredth attempt. I tried, but I may not have been utterly convincing. It’s hard to be coquettish when you’re wishing you were running the lad through with a pitchfork. I don’t think I was the only one struggling either, as David declared us all lesbians at one point. I think we got there in the end, but my greatest fear is that we’ll give it our all on Saturday, and it will go down so well that our loyal audience will begin insisting we do it as an encore at every single concert. I would actually rather bath in Marmite.
Saturday, 17 April 2010
Thursday, 8 April 2010
Our biggest venue yet
The Easter weekend was, for me, a weekend of both exhilaration and disappointment. Disappointment because, once again, Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick failed to make it into the Classic FM Hall of Fame. But exhilaration, because Star Wars in Concert was fab! The O2 arena was an amazing venue and the orchestra – the Royal Philharmonic Concert Orchestra - very slick indeed. (And with a nice line in sarcasm too: “Do you play all of these instruments?” one of our basses was overheard asking the percussionist. “No, we just set some of them up for fun” came the reply.) We were singing two pieces in three concerts, plus the sound checks, so we had several goes at getting the pieces right. We lulled the orchestra into a false sense of insecurity by being really quite dreadful at the first sound-check, but it was just the effect of a different conductor and an unfamiliar acoustic. Once we’d settled down we threw ourselves into John Williams’ space opera style with gusto, chanted through the Welsh-Sanskrit of the choral pieces to a demonic crescendo, while behind us on the giant screen Lord Vadar came into being! How exciting to spend a weekend invoking the forces of darkness.
We also got to meet C3PO himself, Anthony Daniels, who was the consummate professional and came to visit us unbidden to give us a quick pep talk. We asked him if we could get a group photo and he promised to pop back in the following day to do it, and was as good as his word. Unfortunately by that time we’d all forgotten about it. “Photo time!” he called gaily, striding into the dressing room. We all looked at each other with varying degrees of panic. Our usual photographer was out of the room - did anyone else actually have a camera? While his back was turned we compared mobile phone pixel counts and rummaged frantically through the pockets of all the choir members who were out having a coffee. How could we possibly confess to not having cameras for our important photo shoot?! Just as we were trying to rustle up a sketch artist and some charcoal, our efforts procured us four face-saving cameras. “Ratamah!” we all shouted into the camera with nonchalant grins, while Anthony remained blissfully unaware at the front. Phew, what a relief!
We also got to meet C3PO himself, Anthony Daniels, who was the consummate professional and came to visit us unbidden to give us a quick pep talk. We asked him if we could get a group photo and he promised to pop back in the following day to do it, and was as good as his word. Unfortunately by that time we’d all forgotten about it. “Photo time!” he called gaily, striding into the dressing room. We all looked at each other with varying degrees of panic. Our usual photographer was out of the room - did anyone else actually have a camera? While his back was turned we compared mobile phone pixel counts and rummaged frantically through the pockets of all the choir members who were out having a coffee. How could we possibly confess to not having cameras for our important photo shoot?! Just as we were trying to rustle up a sketch artist and some charcoal, our efforts procured us four face-saving cameras. “Ratamah!” we all shouted into the camera with nonchalant grins, while Anthony remained blissfully unaware at the front. Phew, what a relief!
Friday, 2 April 2010
Star Wars: the choir strikes back
A long time ago (well, Wednesday), in a rehearsal room far far away .....
It is a period of mild consternation. The evil O2 galactic empire has discovered that rebel choir Oriana plans to converge on their Death Star – disguised as the O2 arena –to take part in Star Wars In Concert this weekend. To thwart the rebel’s plans, the O2 has forced the closure of the Jubilee Line – a magical conduit through London with the capacity to ship choir, orchestra and 20,000 audience members into battle in Greenwich.
Undaunted, Oriana’s leaders have stolen secret plans to London’s transport network from the fabled oracle tfl.gov.uk. Pursued by transport workers and probably some tourists, the choir will race through London on their ship – the Thames Clipper – and take the agents of the O2 by surprise. But the rebels have not accounted for the movie projection during the concert, which means that the lights will go out. The choir will no longer be able to see their copies, and will have to use the Force (of memory) to overcome the Dark Side (of the stage). Rebel leader Tenor-one Ken-obi (also known as Ken in the first tenors) will gamble all in a last-ditch attempt to teach the rest of the choir Welsh-Sanskrit – the language in which the piece is written. “Korah! Matah! Korah! Ratamah!”, he will intone. “Cora! Martha! Cora! Agatha!”, we will chant in reply. Can Oriana possibly prevail? Tune in next week to find out!
It is a period of mild consternation. The evil O2 galactic empire has discovered that rebel choir Oriana plans to converge on their Death Star – disguised as the O2 arena –to take part in Star Wars In Concert this weekend. To thwart the rebel’s plans, the O2 has forced the closure of the Jubilee Line – a magical conduit through London with the capacity to ship choir, orchestra and 20,000 audience members into battle in Greenwich.
Undaunted, Oriana’s leaders have stolen secret plans to London’s transport network from the fabled oracle tfl.gov.uk. Pursued by transport workers and probably some tourists, the choir will race through London on their ship – the Thames Clipper – and take the agents of the O2 by surprise. But the rebels have not accounted for the movie projection during the concert, which means that the lights will go out. The choir will no longer be able to see their copies, and will have to use the Force (of memory) to overcome the Dark Side (of the stage). Rebel leader Tenor-one Ken-obi (also known as Ken in the first tenors) will gamble all in a last-ditch attempt to teach the rest of the choir Welsh-Sanskrit – the language in which the piece is written. “Korah! Matah! Korah! Ratamah!”, he will intone. “Cora! Martha! Cora! Agatha!”, we will chant in reply. Can Oriana possibly prevail? Tune in next week to find out!
Saturday, 27 March 2010
The sectionals in Glee look like more fun than ours
If you’re a tenor everybody wants you (chorally speaking). Tenors are a rare breed. As a tenor, you must surely feel appreciated, needed, perhaps even loved. If you miss a concert you will be abandoning your few loyal comrades in their hour of need. The rest of the choir will notice your absence, and throw uneasy glances at the space in the ranks where you should be. You make a DIFFERENCE. If you’re a soprano, however, your section stretches back to the horizon. You could get lost in the jungle for 6 months and when you emerge, staggering and traumatised, back into the choral ranks, people will throw you a glance and wonder if you’re up to date with your subs. You are part of a vast collective of strangers, tied together only by the need to chant approximately the same line. We’re like the Borg, basically. However the one real benefit of being a lady in the world of choral singing is that when we have sectionals (where we split into sections to rehearse separately), we’re too huge and amorphous a mass to move with any speed, so we get to stay in the nice bright main hall while the men have to troop off to the poky little chapel downstairs. Heh heh heh!
Sectionals this week gave us a chance to notebash some of the Puccini Messa di Gloria. It’s a really fun piece, and well-rounded with some lovely tunes. Don’t listen to The Grove Concise Dictionary of Music, which rather dismisses it with the cold one-liner - “Puccini's choral, orchestral and instrumental works, dating mainly from his early years, are unimportant, though the Mass in A-flat (1880) is still performed occasionally”. Blimey, bit harsh. Whoever wrote that had clearly not read Classical.net, which has Puccini writing the Mass in 1860, at the age of 2. That must surely raise its importance in the classical pantheon? In any case, it seems to have been well received at the time of its first performance in 1880, but then forgotten until 1952, when it was rediscovered by the portentous-sounding Father Dante and performed again in Naples to another warm reception. According to the programme notes at the start of our copies, the critics at these two performances – 72 years apart – made strikingly similar comments about the piece. Is this, as the notes hold, a demonstration of the timeless beauty and universal appeal of the Mass? Or did the critic at the second performance sleep in, miss the performance altogether and then search desperately through his newspaper back catalogue, copying the previous review verbatim and rushing it down to the editorial office bare minutes before his deadline? I guess we’ll never know.
Sectionals this week gave us a chance to notebash some of the Puccini Messa di Gloria. It’s a really fun piece, and well-rounded with some lovely tunes. Don’t listen to The Grove Concise Dictionary of Music, which rather dismisses it with the cold one-liner - “Puccini's choral, orchestral and instrumental works, dating mainly from his early years, are unimportant, though the Mass in A-flat (1880) is still performed occasionally”. Blimey, bit harsh. Whoever wrote that had clearly not read Classical.net, which has Puccini writing the Mass in 1860, at the age of 2. That must surely raise its importance in the classical pantheon? In any case, it seems to have been well received at the time of its first performance in 1880, but then forgotten until 1952, when it was rediscovered by the portentous-sounding Father Dante and performed again in Naples to another warm reception. According to the programme notes at the start of our copies, the critics at these two performances – 72 years apart – made strikingly similar comments about the piece. Is this, as the notes hold, a demonstration of the timeless beauty and universal appeal of the Mass? Or did the critic at the second performance sleep in, miss the performance altogether and then search desperately through his newspaper back catalogue, copying the previous review verbatim and rushing it down to the editorial office bare minutes before his deadline? I guess we’ll never know.
Saturday, 20 March 2010
The Force was with us
Choral singing is fabulous, but it can also be a pretty hard slog sometimes, and last Saturday’s pre-concert rehearsal was a good example. We were determined to nail the remaining few tricky bits in both the Leighton and the Martin, which meant a lot of hard work and extreme concentration in a church as cold as the cold cold grave. We froze solid for four grindingly hard hours, wrapped in coats and scarves, bolting as one down High Holborn during the break to form an agonized queue in Cafe Nero. But it was worth it. By the time of the concert we were ready to give it our all. There were a couple of hairy moments – I think I may have done an unintentional solo at one point – but it was atmospheric and at times overwhelmingly beautiful. I got shivers during the Martin Agnus Dei in particular, and it wasn’t due to the cold. Well, not entirely, anyway. And I’m happy to say we Jedi-mind-controlled our way through the tricky Hosannas with great success. Thank you, the Force.
So another concert successfully completed, and we’re straight into the next challenge. Wednesday was spent singing our way through the music for our next Oriana concert in April. We’ll be doing Shicksa ... Schiscka ... sssiska ... something in German by Brahms, Gardner’s A Burns Sequence, and Puccini Missa di Gloria. It feels much more relaxed and lighthearted after the majesty of the last concert, but again really great music. But before that, on Easter weekend we’ll be taking part in the Star Wars extravaganza at the O2, singing music from the film scores. We were really hoping this meant singing the theme tune with some random words attached – “Star – WARS – Sta-a-a- AAAAAAAR – wars” - but sadly it appears to be genuinely choral music from the prequels rather than a Singalonga event. But I have high hopes for some improvisation in the bar afterwards.
So another concert successfully completed, and we’re straight into the next challenge. Wednesday was spent singing our way through the music for our next Oriana concert in April. We’ll be doing Shicksa ... Schiscka ... sssiska ... something in German by Brahms, Gardner’s A Burns Sequence, and Puccini Missa di Gloria. It feels much more relaxed and lighthearted after the majesty of the last concert, but again really great music. But before that, on Easter weekend we’ll be taking part in the Star Wars extravaganza at the O2, singing music from the film scores. We were really hoping this meant singing the theme tune with some random words attached – “Star – WARS – Sta-a-a- AAAAAAAR – wars” - but sadly it appears to be genuinely choral music from the prequels rather than a Singalonga event. But I have high hopes for some improvisation in the bar afterwards.
Friday, 12 March 2010
5 times is bad times
Call me old-fashioned, but what’s wrong with a nice stable 4/4? We all know where we are with that. If the time signature just stays the same, we can get on and sort out the melody and the harmony without concentrating reeeeeely hard and having to count quavers on our fingers. And seriously, what is it about the word “hosanna” that makes 20th century composers break out in 5-time?? What’s wrong with them? I remember when hosanna was a nice 6/8 word, in my primary school days. Does that really need tinkering with?? It shouldn’t be allowed. And especially, ESPECIALLY, composers should be banned from throwing in the occasional 6-time bar just when we’ve got our heads round counting in 5s! That’s just cruel.
The Leighton is mainly the piece causing this angst, although that doesn’t get Martin off the hook. The rhythm is the only tricky thing now because we’ve sorted the complicated, dissonant harmonies. In fact we’re attacking the discordant clashes with some relish, and I’m even confident that those discordant clashes are AS WRITTEN in the score, something I haven’t always been able to say in my choral career. So all was going well with the Leighton at this week’s rehearsal, and I was particularly psyched to get picked for the semi-chorus singing the beginning of the Sanctus, which I was banging on about last week as the loveliest part of the piece. But then the word “hosanna” approaches, and Kenneth gets his 5/4 hat on. Suddenly the entire choir were all over the place. 5-time is HARD. “Do you want only the semi-chorus to sing this bit too?” the soprano sitting behind me asked David-the-conductor hopefully. I glowered at her as befits such a blatant escape attempt, but she just looked back at me like butter wouldn’t melt. In this situation we did what any choir would do, and resorted to epic Hollywood. “Use the force!” cried David, Yoda-like at his music stand. We felt for the notes with our minds, and, incredibly, the force was with us. Now we just need to retain the force until the concert on Saturday. I’m maintaining it through meditation and some mild ewok-baiting.
The Leighton is mainly the piece causing this angst, although that doesn’t get Martin off the hook. The rhythm is the only tricky thing now because we’ve sorted the complicated, dissonant harmonies. In fact we’re attacking the discordant clashes with some relish, and I’m even confident that those discordant clashes are AS WRITTEN in the score, something I haven’t always been able to say in my choral career. So all was going well with the Leighton at this week’s rehearsal, and I was particularly psyched to get picked for the semi-chorus singing the beginning of the Sanctus, which I was banging on about last week as the loveliest part of the piece. But then the word “hosanna” approaches, and Kenneth gets his 5/4 hat on. Suddenly the entire choir were all over the place. 5-time is HARD. “Do you want only the semi-chorus to sing this bit too?” the soprano sitting behind me asked David-the-conductor hopefully. I glowered at her as befits such a blatant escape attempt, but she just looked back at me like butter wouldn’t melt. In this situation we did what any choir would do, and resorted to epic Hollywood. “Use the force!” cried David, Yoda-like at his music stand. We felt for the notes with our minds, and, incredibly, the force was with us. Now we just need to retain the force until the concert on Saturday. I’m maintaining it through meditation and some mild ewok-baiting.
Friday, 5 March 2010
Luscious Leighton
After the glory of Sound and Vision, we came back to earth with a clatter this week when we realised our next concert was only 10 days away. We’re singing Masses for double choir by Frank Martin and Kenneth Leighton. They’re both superb pieces, but pretty complicated and a complete change of style from our recent pop successes, so we’re working super-hard to polish them for performance.
Up to now I’ve been far keener on the Martin than the Leighton, but after a rehearsal devoted to Leighton and lots of listens to the recording, I’m really starting to understand the shape of the piece much more. Leighton was a master of counterpoint, and this mass is no exception. The Sanctus in particular is gorgeous, interweaving the voices in lyrical triplets. And just as it’s lulled us into a soothing false sense of security, in comes the hosanna with tricky crossing entries and changing time signatures to thoroughly wake us up again. The Agnus Dei ramps up the emotional tension, with beautiful solo lines set against the choir exploring its full dynamic range. I was briefly disconcerted when the soprano solo line ended with a jarring slide upwards, but that luckily turned out to be the sound of my train departing King’s Cross. The joys of the i-pod age. And if the music itself isn’t enough to fall in love with the mass, it’s dedicated to a man with the happy name of Herrick Bunney. Hurray!
We must have been struggling to make the change of style, however, because David-the-Conductor went off into ever more extravagant realms of imagery to get us to infuse expression into the music. And we duly came to life. The altos had a good go at being perverted. The basses were positively sinful. We all invoked the exact wave of terror you feel when you’re in a kebab shop and someone runs in and hits you on the head with a bottle and runs away. It was all very appropriate for a Mass setting. I’m not sure I’ll ever see church-going in the same way again.
Up to now I’ve been far keener on the Martin than the Leighton, but after a rehearsal devoted to Leighton and lots of listens to the recording, I’m really starting to understand the shape of the piece much more. Leighton was a master of counterpoint, and this mass is no exception. The Sanctus in particular is gorgeous, interweaving the voices in lyrical triplets. And just as it’s lulled us into a soothing false sense of security, in comes the hosanna with tricky crossing entries and changing time signatures to thoroughly wake us up again. The Agnus Dei ramps up the emotional tension, with beautiful solo lines set against the choir exploring its full dynamic range. I was briefly disconcerted when the soprano solo line ended with a jarring slide upwards, but that luckily turned out to be the sound of my train departing King’s Cross. The joys of the i-pod age. And if the music itself isn’t enough to fall in love with the mass, it’s dedicated to a man with the happy name of Herrick Bunney. Hurray!
We must have been struggling to make the change of style, however, because David-the-Conductor went off into ever more extravagant realms of imagery to get us to infuse expression into the music. And we duly came to life. The altos had a good go at being perverted. The basses were positively sinful. We all invoked the exact wave of terror you feel when you’re in a kebab shop and someone runs in and hits you on the head with a bottle and runs away. It was all very appropriate for a Mass setting. I’m not sure I’ll ever see church-going in the same way again.
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