Filed under: Reviews | Tags: Charles Johnson, Eugene Novotney, George H. Green, John Cage, John Kinzie, Michael Tetreault, Paul Lansky, Roetsu Tosha, Scott Higgins, Steve Hearn, Terry Smith, William Bolcom, William Hill
William Hill, John Kinzie, Terry Smith, and Steve Hearn, are the master percussionists of the Colorado Symphony Orchestra. Sunday, November 28, they presented a wonderful program entitled “Drums of the World,” along with guest percussionists Michael Tetreault and Scott Higgins. This was part of the Family Series of the Colorado Symphony Orchestra. Principal Timpanist, Bill Hill is one of the original creators of Drums of the World which began 12 years ago.
The program opened with a work entitled “Chonlima,” written by the Japanese composer Roetsu Tosha in 1986. Originally composed for the Kodo Ggroup, Roetsu Tosha is himself a Kabuki theater percussionist, and performs on a double headed hand drum known as a Kotsutsumi. The Kodo Group is based on Sado Island in the Sea of Japan and their main focus is the exploration of the limitless possibilities of the traditional Japanese drum, the Taiko. In Japanese, Kodo conveys two meanings; the first is heartbeat, which they consider to be the source of all rhythm, and second, it can mean playing drums with the heart of a child.
In the opening work Hill, Kinzie, Smith, and Hearn, introduced us to a little theater as they came out on stage in the dark with literal headlamps strapped on, as they looked for their instruments. And yes, there were plenty of instruments on stage, and it certainly drew a few chuckles from the audience. But I must tell you that these incredible percussionists performed at absolute blinding speed, and I also think it was an education for those in the audience who have never seen percussion ensemble perform. Education Number One, came from the knowledge that percussion ensembles don’t always play rock, and Education Number Two, came from the fact that it was clearly obvious how hard these gentlemen were working. Mr. Hill was using all of his strength, giving hammer blows to a bass drum placed on its side. The energy of their performance was something to behold, and of course, that added to the excitement of the piece. “Chonlima” really comes from a Korean legend which describes a horse of great stamina and speed that can run and endure one thousand leagues. They made it abundantly clear, and this is Education Number Three, that a percussion ensemble can be incredibly evocative.
The percussion ensemble had its beginnings back in the 1920s with George Antheil’s Ballet Mécanique which was written as a film score. Then of course in the 30s and 40s, American composers John Cage and Lou Harrison began writing for percussion instruments. And Béla Bartók wrote his marvelous “Sonata for Two Pianos and Percussion” in 1937. In addition, one has to give some credit to Paul Price, who was Professor of Percussion and Composition at the University of Illinois from 1949 to 1956, a university with a long history of participation in avant-garde music. One of his students was Michael Colgrass, who became the Pulitzer Prize winning composer for his piece, “Déjà Vu,” which was written for orchestra and percussion quartet.
The next work on the program was entitled, “Threads,” and was written by Paul Lansky who studied composition with George Perle at Princeton University where he is now Professor of Music. Early in his career Lansky concentrated on computer music, but during the late 1990s he began writing more frequently for instruments including the four-mallet marimba. It is interesting to note that the local two-piano and four hand team, Quattro Mani (DU’s Alice Rybak and Susan Grace from Colorado College) has recorded at least one of his compositions. The composition, “Threads,” is a four movement work that begins with a short and very ethereal first movement. In all of these movements which went through the emotions of romance, repeated rhythms, and a very well-defined jazzy last movement, it was amazing to watch the ease with which these percussionist played. It really took my breath away, because it looked so very, very easy. This is a really good piece of music and I hope that these percussionists perform it again on another CSO program.
These master percussionists (and they certainly earned that title just for Sunday’s performance alone), performed “Proposal” from a work entitled, Intentions, by Eugene Novotney, who, as a matter of fact received his Doctorate of Musical Arts in percussion and composition from the above-mentioned University of Illinois. He is currently Professor of Music at the California State University in Humboldt. This piece was remarkable for two reasons: 1) it was for three tambourines, and 2) I never knew that tambourines could do the things that this composer demanded. This was an incredibly difficult work, but I am beginning to realize that this group of percussionists revels in difficulty simply because they are so gifted. Tambourines, of course, are not melodic instruments, so this was an exercise in rhythmic challenge, as well as stamina. Many in the audience had an expression of disbelief on their faces when this piece came to an end.
Of course, these gentlemen had to do a work by John Cage, the American composer who was so instrumental in the formation of the percussion ensemble. They performed his work, “Third Construction,” which was premiered on May 14, 1941, in San Francisco. It was written for Xenia Cage in celebration of their anniversary. It was performed by Xenia Cage, Doris Dennison, Margaret Jansen, and John Cage’s composer friend, Lou Harrison. It uses just about every percussion instrument one can think of from a conch shell to a lion’s roar, which is an instrument known as a membranophone. It is made of a drum head with a cord of horsehair coming from the center. One pulls on the cord and the resultant sound is like a roaring lion. This composition has a very complex rhythmic structure which repeats 24 times in 24 measures, each phrase rotating from player to player. In this way, Cage achieved a certain amount of indeterminacy, because the order of the players can change at each performance. And now, it is time for Education Number Four: virtually every piece on this program was indisputably “listenable.” That is, perhaps, a crude way to phrase it, but every piece on this program could be listened to in the same way that one listens to a symphony. Much of that is due to the musicianship of these performers.
After the Cage, these percussionists performed three rags – as in, Scott Joplin. They were entitled Dill Pickles, Graceful Ghost, and Fluffy Ruffles. The composers of these pieces are Charles Johnson, William Bolcom, and George Green. Terry Smith, one of the performers Sunday afternoon, arranged Graceful Ghost for percussion ensemble. Marimbas were used, and in Dill Pickles, John Kinzie played some remarkable chromatic scales at an unbelievable tempo. I was sitting where I could clearly see how he did it, but the ease was quite something to see. Graceful Ghost, was introspective and absolutely beautiful. Bolcom wrote this piece as a dedication to his father upon his death. It was wonderfully performed, and even if the circumstances for its composition were not known, it would be a calm, flowing rag. Fluffy Ruffles began with an almost circus-like theme reminding me, at least, of the merry-go-round. It soon evolved into something far more complex, but still incredibly enjoyable.
The final piece on the program was composed by William Hill who is the Principal Timpanist with the CSO, and also an outstanding American composer. His work “Stonehenge: Rites of the Solstice,” was inspired by his visit to that prehistoric monument in England. He had the great good fortune to be in the center of Stonehenge as the sun was coming up, and of course at Stonehenge, there are far more questions than there are answers. His music contained Celtic rhythms, as well as what he describes as walls of sound depicting the stones themselves. A few paragraphs above, I use the word “evocative,” and that is certainly what this piece was. One could close his eyes and imagine…
William Hill, John Kinzie, Terry Smith, Steve Hearn, Michael Tetreault, and Scott Higgins are terrific performers. Some individuals, I fear, still view percussion ensembles as one may still look upon organ concerts. The cliché about organ concerts is that they are only for church - the cliché about percussion ensembles is that they are only for noise and banging. These gentlemen are helping to change that. Their sense of programming was absolutely terrific, and of course, all of them are true virtuosos.
Filed under: Reviews | Tags: Carl Nielsen, Haydn, Jeremy Reynolds, Michael Daugherty, Paul Robeson, Steven Byess, Travis Jürgens
I have heard two remarkable concerts this week presented by the Lamont School of Music. I have already written about the choral concert that was presented on Wednesday evening, and it was truly inspired. Thursday night, November 18, was the second remarkable concert, and this one was presented by the Lamont Symphony Orchestra conducted by Steven Byess who is filling in for Lawrence Golan while he is on sabbatical. It was also conducted by the Assistant Conductor, Travis Jürgens. And, this concert also introduced to Denver the new Professor of Clarinet, Dr. Jeremy Reynolds.
Both of these concerts were outstanding, and Thursday evening as I sat listening to Wagner’s Prelude to Die Meistersinger, I could not help but think that Prof. Joseph Docksey who is retiring at the end of this year, must be enormously proud of his faculty, and in addition, that performances such as these must be a very nice conclusion to his years as Director of the Lamont School of Music.
The program opened with the Wagner that I mentioned above. It has probably been ten years since I’ve heard this performed live, but I must also tell you that this work will always have a prominent place with me. When I was an undergraduate at Indiana University, piano performance majors such as myself, were used to fill out opera choruses. Therefore, I was in the chorus of Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg, so I know the Opera well. As I recall, Tibor Kozma conducted these performances, and I can remember the members of the choir commenting on the tempos that he took – they all thought it was fast. Travis Jürgens conducted the Prelude on Thursday night, and the tempos that he took reminded me very much of the tempos that Tibor Kozma took, and the tempos Thursday night were perfect. Maestro Jürgens infused the orchestra with a remarkable and urgent sense of direction that I truly haven’t heard since I left Indiana University. This is an incredibley complex piece, as all Wagner is, because of all of the themes (leit motifs) that keep reoccurring, and which are woven like fabric throughout. What this means, of course, is that Travis Jürgens, in spite of his young age (Please don’t be upset with me Mr. Jürgens – I can say that because I’m really old.), has a depth of understanding of music that few individuals his age have. In addition, he has the ability to communicate that depth to the orchestra in front of him, and in addition to that, he has the ability to convey to them the excitement that he feels about the music. Maestro Jürgens truly leads and controls the orchestra with clear, concise, and sharp movements that convey, without question, what the orchestra must do for the sake of good Wagner. It was very exciting to see this orchestra, comprised of students, albeit music majors, work so hard. There was not one person in this orchestra simply sitting in their chair passing the time. It was very easy to recognize the fact that they loved the music they were performing. Mr. Travis Jürgens is going to make a name for himself.
After the Wagner, the LSO performed the Clarinet Concerto, Opus 57, by Danish composer Carl Nielsen. The soloist was Dr. Jeremy Reynolds, newly appointed to the Lamont faculty this fall of 2010. I will quote from the program notes: “In the fall 2010, Dr. Reynolds joined the faculty of the University of Denver Lamont School of Music as Assistant Professor of Clarinet after serving as the Principal Clarinetist of the Tucson Symphony Orchestra where his performances consistently brought high praise from critics and public alike. As printed in the Tucson Citizen, ‘… Jeremy Reynolds has been one of the TSO’s finest recruits able to infuse his solos with such delicacy, exquisite tone and liquid lines as to draw the listener close enough to touch.’”
“A native of New York, Dr. Reynolds holds degrees from Ithaca College, University of Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music, and a Doctor of Musical Arts from the University of Southern California Thornton School of Music. At the Thornton School he was named Doctoral Student of the Year and was inducted into the Pi Kappa Lambda National Music Honor Society. His principal teachers include Yehuda Gilad, Monica Kaenzig, Michelle Zuovsky, David Howard, Richard Hawley, Bil Jackson, Ted Oien, Michael Galvan, and David Minelli.”
In the interest of saving space, I have left out many of his awards and much of his professional experience. His remarkable ability to perform is a culmination of all of that.
Carl Nielsen had enormous success with his six symphonies, and over the course of composing those, gradually changed from neo-classicism to using very progressive harmonies, often switching from one key to a very remote key. The opening theme of the Concerto begins in the cello and bass section of the orchestra, and is then played in the clarinet. The opening theme is in F major, then switches to the distant key of E major. The “B” theme is in C major. The the concerto is in one movement with four distinct sections. Many consider this unusual, and I suppose it is, when applied to concertos. However, the concerto, as a genre, gets its basic form from the sonata-allegro, and this one movement concerto brings to mind the enormous one movement Sonata in B minor (which has three distinct sections) written by Franz Liszt. So, perhaps, it is not that unusual after all. This beautiful piece puts the clarinetist on his mettle right away because of its technical demands. It switches abruptly from low register too high register, and switches tonal demands just as abruptly. The cadenza to the first movement is not so terribly long, but it is terribly demanding. Following a short recapitulation after the cadenza, the second “movement” emerges, which is much more lyrical and warm. In the second movement there is additional support by solo instruments in the orchestra, particularly the French horn, to the point where one initially wonders if this is going to be a double concerto. There is a scherzo section followed by an exchange of ideas between the clarinet and the orchestra. It is in this fourth section that some of the difficulties of this work are noticed, i.e., extremely high pitches for the clarinet. But Dr. Reynolds hit every single one squarely and seemingly without much effort. This left the distinct impression that there isn’t anything on the clarinet that he cannot do. His playing is full of aplomb and grace and consummate musicality. And perhaps the most noticeable aspect of his playing, is the supreme confidence. Make no mistake about it, that confidence comes from hours of work and preparation. As a matter of fact, as I was headed backstage during the intermission, I heard one of the students from the orchestra comment, “Man, can you imagine the hours that he practices.” In hearing Jeremy Reynolds perform, I was left with the thought that he could teach and perform at any institution that he chose, be it Indiana, Juilliard, Curtis, or Eastman. We can all thank our lucky stars that he is here.
And by the way, for all you doctoral students: sometimes Nielsen’s works are referred to by DF numbers, and sometimes by FS numbers. The “DF” stand for a catalog compiled by Dan Fog and the “FS” numbers stand for Dan Fog and Torben Schousboe. So you see, it’s not quite as complicated as the Vivaldi numbers!
After the intermission, Travis Jürgens conducted Strut for String Orchestra, by American composer Michael Daugherty. Daugherty, who was born in 1954, is Professor of Composition at the University of Michigan School of Music, Theater & Dance in Ann Arbor. The work is a tribute to Paul Robeson (1898-1976), who was an attorney, an All-American athlete, a vitally important racial activist, linguist, actor, and baritone. Again, Jürgens inspired the orchestra to make the most out of the extremely complex rhythmic motives in this work. The orchestra played with great energy and imbued the piece with great excitement. This is a very exciting piece of music, and it was clear that the orchestra was working very, very hard.
The Lamont Symphony Orchestra concluded their program with Franz Joseph Haydn’s great Symphony Nr. 104, which is the last Symphony that Haydn wrote and it is the last of the London Symphonies. It was conducted by Steven Byess, a truly fine conductor, who, I hope all of you remember, conducted the final concert of the Denver Philharmonic Orchestra last spring. I reviewed that concert as well, and I will quote some biographical information from that review.
“Steven Byess is Music Director of the Tupelo Symphony Orchestra and the Arkansas Philharmonic Orchestra, Cover Conductor for the Detroit Symphony Orchestra, Principal Guest Conductor of the Ohio Light Opera, and Conductor at the International Vocal Arts Institute in Tel Aviv, Israel.
“He is a former faculty member of the Cleveland Institute of Music and the University of Michigan School of Music.
“Mr. Byess received his Bachelor of Music Degree in classical performance and jazz studies from Georgia State University, and his Master of Music degree from the Cleveland Institute of Music, where he studied conducting with Louis Lane and Carl Topilow, bassoon with George Goslee and David McGill, violin with Carol Ruzicka, and piano with Olga Radosavljevich. He also attended the Pierre Monteux Memorial School for Conductors under the tutelage of Maître Charles Bruck. In addition to his conducting studies with Louis Lane, Robert Shaw, and Carl Topilow, he has worked under the auspices of the American Symphony Orchestra League with such noted conductors as Lorin Maazel, Zubin Mehta, Daniel Barenboim, Pierre Boulez, and Otto Werner Mueller. Mr. Byess was an assistant to conductor Robert Shaw at the Shaw Institute in Souilliac, France.”
As I stated above in the first paragraph, Maestro Byess is replacing Maestro Lawrence Golan while he is on sabbatical leave from the Lamont School of Music. The choice was very fortunate.
Haydn has often been referred to as the Shakespeare of music. And, why not? And before all of you stammer, “But… But… What about Beethoven?”, let us remember, with great reverence, that Haydn was Beethoven’s teacher. And, as Maestro Byess said at the performance, this really is Haydn’s ultimate work. And Maestro Byess proved that he knows Haydn very well. In the third measure of the slow introduction, the violins have some portato notes which recur throughout the slow introduction – their last occurrence is bar 16 – but every time Haydn wrote them, the orchestra played them exactly the same length. That, folks, is attention to detail that makes one look up and stare at this orchestra which is comprised of students. This fine conductor is helping them be professional musicians, and I do not mean professional in the sense that they belong to a union. The other spot that drew my immediate attention, was the fermata in bar 25 of the Andante movement. Maestro Byess approached it, and then held it with incredible grace and exactly for the right length of time. I know that Haydn had to have been nodding his head in agreement. The tempos of the entire symphony were wonderful. And why is it, do you suppose, that most in the audience were a little afraid to smile at the gently humorous two measures of rest that Haydn writes in the third movement in bars 45 and 46. This is so typical of Haydn, and one can find examples of similar humor in almost everything that he wrote. I have performed a great many of Haydn’s sonatas, and those that I did not perform, I have read through several times. His humor is everywhere. As I have sometimes expressed to my students, if I eventually go to the same place where Haydn is now, he is one man that I would like to have several conversations with: there is just so much to learn from him. In the last movement of this work, Steven Byess was able to bring out an almost pastorale character in the first few measures of the opening theme, even though it is marked Allegro spiritoso – a tempo which is far removed from a pastorale character. Now, that is consummate musicianship.
Several thoughts ran through my head as I listened to this concert. Number one) I had just attended a marvelous choral recital the night before at the Lamont School of Music. Number two) what must it be like to conduct a student orchestra that works so hard and with such great energy. Number three) what is it like to be the director of a school where even the replacement faculty is as outstanding as the permanent faculty. Incredible.
Filed under: Reviews | Tags: Aubry Gray, Brahms, Delibes, Dillworth, Dr. Catherine Sailer, Frank Loesser, Handel, Hannah Senesh, Jaakko Mäntyjärvi, James McCray, Lamont Chorale, Lamont Men's Chorus, Lamont Women's Chorale, Lamont Women's Chorus, Mariko Murase, Nick Page, Palestrina, Paul Smith, Poulenc, Praetorius, Tallis
Wednesday night, November 17, the Lamont Women’s Chorus, the Lamont Chorale, and the Lamont Men’s Choir gave the opening choral concert of the quarter. It was really terrific. The conductors were the eminent Dr. Catherine Sailer and her colleague, the very artful Paul Smith. Both of these individuals should, by now, be familiar to everyone in the Denver Metro area. I must tell you that I continue to be impressed with the depth of musicianship of everyone on the faculty at the Lamont School of Music. Both of these individuals know how to put a choir together and achieve outstanding results. All three choirs that performed Wednesday night had absolutely superb diction, and that is something not easily obtained in small groups or large groups. When I say, “Put a choir together,” I mean that quite literally. The choir conductor can place the different sections, soprano, alto, tenor, and bass, however they wish to get the best balance and sound. And, of course, each choir is different. Both of the conductors Wednesday night have absolutely astonishing ears, not only for diction, but also balance and tune. An orchestra conductor has to worry about tune as well, but doesn’t get to mix the violas in with the violins, or scatter the cellos across the stage to achieve the kind of balance their ear demands. That’s one reason you see an orchestral conductor conducting one section at a time to help them accentuate a phrase or a certain dynamic level.
The program opened with the Lamont Women’s Chorus conducted by Dr. Sailer, and a piece by Rollo Dillworth with the title “How Can I Keep From Singing.” Rollo A. Dilworth is Professor of Music and Director of Choral Activities and Music Education at the North Park University School of Music in Chicago, Illinois. He also serves as director of the Music Institute of Chicago Children’s Choir. He has a Bachelor of Science degree in Music Education from Case Western Reserve University, and a Master of Education Degree in Secondary Education from the University of Missouri-St. Louis, where he studied composition and choral music with Robert Ray. He received the Doctor of Music degree in conducting performance at Northwestern University where he studied conducting and composition with Robert A. Harris.
This piece was rhythmically alive, and it was clear that the choir enjoyed performing it. All of the members of the Lamont Women’s Chorus are good musicians and they all kept their eyes glued to Maestra Sailer, however a few of the chorus members still had young voices (and why not, many are still in their teens) and they were just a little screechy on the top notes. I might add that the accompanist was a little loud, and didn’t seem to vary her dynamics very much.
Following the Dilworth piece was the Kyrie and the Gloria from Messe Breve written by the French composer Léo Delibes. Delibes (1836 – 1891) studied composition at the Paris Conservatory with Adolphe Adam. He was a student of no particular distinction, though he achieved great success as a composer of theater music after he left the Conservatory. Like many other French composers of the time he concentrated on lighthearted operettas. He attracted great attention with his ballet Coppélia in 1870, as it was the first full-length ballet with such remarkable craft. His reputation as a composer spread and he was eventually offered a professorship in composition at the Paris Conservatory. His Messe Breve was written in 1867. Liya Khaimova, soprano, and Amanda McCoo, mezzo-soprano, were the soloists, and they were a joy to listen to. This is a beautiful Mass and was conducted with great sensitivity by Sailer, but the sensitivity displayed by the soloists and by Sailer was almost lost because of the accompaniment.
Following this was famous duet, “Sous le dôme épais,” from Delibes’s opera Lakmé. “The Flower Duet” takes place between characters Lakmé and her maid, Mallika, as they gather flowers on the riverbank. This is a beautiful duet, and displays Delibes’s ability to write convincing and very gentle harmonies. The choir was excellent, providing the soloists, Xiaolu Dai as Lakmé, and Christie McNeill as Mallika, with an almost ethereal background.
Next on the program were two works that were not only in contrast with each other, but provided quite a contrast with what had been previously performed. The first work was the Alma Redemptoris Mater by Palestrina, and a new work called Amid the Splendors of the Sun.
The Palestrina motet, Alma Redemptoris Mater, is one of Palestrina’s most beautiful. It is a short piece that does not require a huge choir to express its inherent religious ecstasy, which uses an 11th century Marian poem for the text. The conductor was a student, Kim Schultz. Her movements seemed a little stiff at first, perhaps because they were relatively small. However, in such a serene peace one does not need to use huge, sweeping motions, and she certainly knew what she wanted from the choir to support this remarkable work. At that, she was very successful.
The next work, Amid the Splendors of the Sun, is a wonderful piece that seems to use ninth and thirteenth chords. It was a perfect contrast to the preceding Palestrina. Kim Schultz conducted this work as well and in this piece seems to draw very little in the way of dynamic contrast from the choir. I don’t doubt her musicianship at all but perhaps, larger movements would be more successful in pulling dynamics from the choir.
The last piece presented by the Lamont Women’s Chorus was a Cuban fishing song that made use of percussion.
The Lamont Chorale performed the middle section of Wednesday’s concert evening, and to my way of thinking was an absolute triumph of programming. It began with the work of Thomas Tallis who was the court composer to the Tudors. He was a devout Catholic who had little use for the emerging Anglican Church. But he did write eight anthems in four voices, and this small work that opened the middle portion of the program remains a stallwart of the Anglican Church service.
The Tallis provided a very interesting contrast, and in some ways, was even similar to the Poulenc motet that followed – an interesting bit of programming, considering that these composers are 400 years apart. But this is the kind of thing that Catherine Sailer does with great regularity. The Tallis piece is a miniature with wonderful late Renaissance harmonies, and the Poulenc is a miniature as well, with harmonies which are not so dissimilar from the Tallis. How can that be? Nonetheless, it was terrific hearing them one after the other.
There followed three sections I, VII, and VIII, from Handel’s Dixit Dominus which was his setting of Psalm 110. It was written for four soloists, chorus, string orchestra, and continuo. The soloists were Jennifer Joyce, soprano; Mari Sullivan, soprano; Myranda Whitesides, mezzo-soprano; and Amra Tomsic, tenor. The string orchestra was remarkable and was led by Sarah Johnson who is an outstanding violin student at Lamont. This was a very satisfying performance, and fit very well with the Tallis and the Poulenc.
The Lamont Chorale then performed “How lovely are thy Tabernacles,” from the Brahms Requiem. It still amazes me that when this piece was first performed, there were those critics who did not like it. However, there was one who rather succinctly expressed his approval for the piece by stating, “Anyone with an ear and a brain can easily realize Johannes Brahms is going to produce some wonderful, large works.” Brahms wrote the Requiem when he was 35 years old. Brady Lloyd was the conductor, and he convinced the choir to produce some incredibly lyrical and legato singing. And again, I must say that this was the perfect place in the program for the choir to sing this excerpt. It was terrific.
For the next work, the choir divided itself, with some members remaining on stage and others going out into the aisles of the auditorium. They then sang one of the most beautiful Christmas carols ever written and which, by the way, was one of the few carols to be used by both Catholics and Protestants. It is Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming by Michael Praetorius (1571 – 1621). Because of its beauty, Brahms used the theme for a set of organ variations. As this piece was being performed Wednesday evening, one could see a very wide range of emotions on the faces of the audience. I was sitting in an aisle seat, and I must say that it was like being in the choir. Wonderful!
By far, the most serious work on the program came next. Entitled “El Hambo,” it is a relatively short piece attributed to the Finish composer and linguist, Jaakko Mäntyjärvi. Musicologists have labeled the manuscript C – 359 because it was discovered 359 mm away from a clothesline post, where it had mistakenly been used to wrap up discarded herring bones. It is true that a “Hambo” is a Swedish folk dance in ¾ meter, however, the composer states that he composed his work in a 5/4 meter because he wanted it to be attributed to those folk musicians whose “enthusiasm exceeded their sense of rhythm.” It is also true that Mr. Mäntyjärvi has explained this work as being inspired by the Swedish Chef on “The Muppet Show.” You will notice that the word attributed appears in this paragraph. Positive identification has come from comparing the teeth on Mäntyjärvi’s cat to the dentition pattern on the herring bones enclosed in the manuscript. All agree that any kind of carbon dating technique would be wildly inaccurate because of its obviously recent condition. Nonetheless, there are several musicologists who are pressing foundations to pay for a trip to Mr. Mäntyjärvi’s backyard, so that they can carry out more exhaustive study. Choral groups around the world are speculating daily on what new manuscript may be discovered in this yard. In addition, several libraries have been rumored to be reserving shelf space which will hold this riveting and difficult manuscript example.
This portion of the program concluded with a Spiritual arranged by Andre J. Thomas. It was joyously done indeed.
The final portion of this very enjoyable concert was conducted by Paul Smith and sung by the Lamont Men’s Choir. They opened with Bonse Aba which is a traditional Zambian song arranged by Andrew Fisher. Colton Shavietello was the percussionist and Brady Lloyd, the song leader. It was cheerful and very rhythmical, and most certainly it was full of life. These men sing in a very relaxed way, which allows them to have very good vocal production.
After this very upbeat work, they sang Danny Boy. This song, which amounts to an Irish anthem, certainly tugged on everyone’s heartstrings. No one is sure what the song refers to, but most accept the story that it is a father’s song to his son as he goes off to war. Mr. Smith arranged for the solo to be sung by Bobby Swift who is a soprano member of the YVC Boychoir. In addition to his solo Wednesday evening, Bobby will perform the role of Amahl in the Central Presbyterian Church production of Gian Carlo Menotti’s opera, Amahl and the Night Visitors. Danny Boy was such an emotional performance that many people in the audience had tears in their eyes, trying to wipe them away without attracting attention to themselves.
“Rise Up My Love” was the next selection on the program, and it was conducted by Kim Schultz, with Jennifer Slaughter playing the flute. This is often used as an anthem in church services, and is probably the most famous choral piece that James McCray produced. McCray was Professor of Composition and Musicology at Colorado State University in Fort Collins. Schultz does very well as a conductor and the choir responded to what was wanted.
Another work on the program, which was very poignant, was “Eli, Eli.” Written by Hannah Senesh (1921-1944), she volunteered to go into Nazi-controlled areas in Europe to save Jewish lives. In 1944 she parachuted into Yugoslavia. After staying with the partisans, she went to Hungary, where she was discovered and executed by the Germans. She is known both for her heroism and her poetry. Heidi Schmidt, alto, saying the solo; Aubrey Gray, who is a fine cellist, accompanied the choir and Heidi Schmidt. Brady Lloyd was the conductor, and again produced a very emotional performance.
The next work was almost rowdy. Entitled “Hol’ You Han’”, it doesn’t make a great deal of sense, but nonetheless was full of humor. The performers were Paul Lannon, Zac D’Argonne, Everett Ford, Andy Gatti, Josh Kroot, Michael Cox, Nick Schwartz, and Alex Clever. It involved pop style, rap, and a little jazz.
The last work done by the Men’s Choir was a perennial favorite from the 1950s – Standing on the Corner by Frank Loesser. And I must say, that here, the Men’s Choir was really in their element. They exhibited perfect casualness as if they were accustomed to standing on the corner, and enduring teenage angst. I would also like to point out that Mariko Murase, the accompanist for the Men’s Choir, was truly excellent. She was very well prepared and did not have to stare at the page, and that means that she could watch the conductor and watch the choir, and be a part of the group as a musician, not as a separate entity. The choir expressed their appreciation by giving her a bouquet, and it was richly deserved.
Filed under: Commentary
Every once in a while a student or a friend will ask me what it is like to go out “on the road” and play concerts. What kind of frustrations are there? Do I enjoy it? One student even asked if I ever had to give any money back. The answer to that was a resounding “no.” At least, in that respect, I have been lucky.
I suppose, that in performing over 300 concerts around the country, I do have some interesting stories to tell. At least, they are interesting to me because I went through them. So, I thought I would take the opportunity to reflect a little bit, and pass on some of the more interesting – and now, amusing – anecdotes that have really and truly happened to me on my performing trips.
One trip that really sticks in my mind was a performance in a very small town which will remain unnamed, in South Dakota. I had been told that even though the town was small, they really appreciated hearing concerts. But the real motivating factor in my performing in this town was that, as a new faculty member at the University of South Dakota, even though I was Chairman of the Piano Department, I was, more or less, required to take recruiting trips to towns all over South Dakota for the benefit of the University. This was some time ago, and it was rumored, at the time, that the population of the entire state of South Dakota was just under 300,000. At any rate, I was told that the performance would be in the local high school gymnasium which had a stage at one end, and a piano on the stage. Being relatively young at the time – compared to the present – I did not think of asking what kind of piano I would perform on. So, in my naïveté, I drove north across the state, and arrived at this town at about three in the afternoon. The concert was scheduled that same night at 7:30 PM. Before I went to the high school, I found a boarding house in which to spend the night. Boarding houses are fairly common in South Dakota, especially in towns too small to support a motel, and this town had a population of around one thousand which, you must understand, is on the large side as small South Dakota towns go. That should have been the first warning. However, the boarding house was very pleasant and very clean, and the owner, who reminded me very much of Aunt Bea from the Andy Griffith show, was very nice indeed. I left my luggage in the room and proceeded to the high school. The high school was relatively new, built within the last 10 years perhaps, and as I entered the gymnasium I saw that there were approximately one hundred chairs already lined up on the floor facing the stage. As I looked at the stage, I saw the janitor tidying up, a drum set shoved against the back wall, and an old $50 upright piano next to the drum set. No one else was in sight. I introduced myself to the janitor, who greeted me cordially, and said that they were very excited to have me here to perform. When I asked where the piano was, he pointed to the $50 upright, and said, “That’s her right there. We got her all tuned ‘cause we figured you’d be particular.” That was the second warning. I stared in disbelief as my heart sank. The program consisted of two Haydn sonatas, the Webern Opus 27 Variations, a Mendelssohn Song Without Words, and as the big finale, the Schumann Sonata in F minor, Opus 14. There was no question that I could not back out now. I was committed to this performance. The janitor and I shoved the piano out into the center of the stage and I sat down on the bench to try out the piano. There were spaces between the keys where it seemed one could fall through and never be found. That was the third warning. The piano was old enough that it had genuine ivory keys rather than plastic. The janitor had not lied; the piano had been tuned. But, it probably hadn’t been voiced for its entire life, which must have been at least 70 years. The lower register thudded, the upper register sounded like broken glass. It was impossible. But, at 7:20 PM, the concertgoers began to appear. Out of the 1000 souls in the town, a total of 29 persons showed up for the concert. How I got through the concert, I will never know. It was all a blur of concentration and, even for me, a blur of missed notes. After the Schumann, I stood to acknowledge the applause, and walked off stage. The minute I was out of sight the applause stopped. The janitor, who was acting as stage manager, said, “Go back out! Go back out!” As I walked warily back on stage, the applause abruptly began. I walked onstage a couple of times and walked offstage. Again, the minute I was out of sight the applause stopped. I looked quizzically at the janitor, and he said, “Well, we are very sophisticated here in this town. And we know that in New York, when the performer leaves the stage, the applause stops, and when he comes back out the applause starts again. This is how they applaud in New York, so this is how we applaud here in this town.”
No one came backstage, though the audience milled around for a while in their personal conversations, and when I descended the steps to the gymnasium floor, they told me they had enjoyed the concert. Dismayed with the situation, I stepped out into the street which was already dark. I went for a walk in the light of the only two streetlights in town, with a gentle breeze blowing and the smell of late suppers still lingering in the evening. I contemplated on my chosen career, and wondered how I had gotten to this town in South Dakota. Indiana University and the University of Illinois seemed so very, very far away. About 9:45 PM, I noticed that some of the lights in the houses were going out, so I headed back to the boarding house. The porch light was on, but the rest of the house was dark except for the stairwell beyond the front door. I ascended the steps to my room and closed the door. On the nightstand next to the bed, was a fresh piece of apple pie and a glass of milk. Next to that was a note from the landlady that said, “I just wanted to let you know that everyone who heard you play this evening was thrilled to death with your performance, and so very grateful that a person from the city would come to our town to give us a concert. Thank you.” I never did learn how many high school students eventually enrolled at the University of South Dakota as the result of my visit. Somehow it did not seem to matter.
A few years later, when I had had several performances under my belt, I was asked to play at a small private college in Northern Iowa. In spite of being small, the college had a reputation of having a fairly decent music department. I arrived at the hall about two hours before the scheduled performance, and I had already changed into my performance clothing, which was black tuxedo pants and a black turtleneck sweater. I chose that attire because a coat with tails, which was traditional, was too restrictive for my tastes. I walked out on stage, and there was a marvelous 9’2″ Bechstein grand from Germany. Instantly noticeable was the fact that there were no pedals on the piano. However, the piano was in perfect tune and sounded magnificent. I asked the stage manager what had happened to the pedals, and he told me that he knew nothing of pedals, that he was there only to operate the lights. I told him that if there were no pedals on the piano, it was going to be pretty dry Schubert, to which he just shrugged. I finally convinced him to help me search for the pedals, and they were eventually found in the corner, backstage. I asked him if he would help me put them on and he explained that was not his job. His job was to operate the lights. He grudgingly helped me find a screwdriver and a newspaper. I laid the newspapers on the stage floor beneath the piano, and attached the pedals myself. By the time I finished, I had only about 45 minutes of warm-up time before I played. Thankfully, the audience applauded after the concert. I never did find out who took the pedals off the piano. It would not make sense for the tuner to take them off and then not reinstall them. Just another exciting day in performance life.
Ah, remembrances. There is one more story that I will tell you, and it is important, because it underlined for me the seriousness of really and truly memorizing what I was to play. When I was 18, I played a performance on a genuine concert stage as opposed to a proscenium stage. A concert stage has a fixed back wall, because there is no need to move scenery about. There was wainscoting on the wall of this stage, and in the center of the back wall was a metal box bolted to the wall about seven or eight inches high, and perhaps three inches wide. Inside the metal box was a punch which was chained to the box. A night watchman would insert the punch into his time clock, which then made a hole on a roll of paper tape. Thus, when his boss inspected the paper tape, it proved that the night watchman had completed his security rounds, and had not been overcome by sloth. I was in the middle of a Schubert sonata, wearing a nice suit, and there were perhaps 700 people in the audience. All of a sudden I hear some loud footsteps coming on stage and loud gasps from the audience. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the night watchman enter the stage, go to the little black box and noisily fling it open, and just as noisily punch his time clock. He then slammed the door shut and walked off the other side of the stage. At that point, I lost all concentration, and it seemed like an eternity before I remembered where I was and continued playing. My friends in the audience said that it was only three or four seconds before I regained my composure. My friends also said they saw the night watchman look at the audience and realize that it was there, and he must have realized that it was a performance and not a rehearsal. Another hint, of course, was that I was dressed rather nicely. I did finish the concert, and I never saw the night watchman again. But it was a real lesson for me, because I had not memorized the piece as thoroughly as I had thought. I learned to memorize every single note and rest so that I would have something to think about, rather than worrying about a night watchman interrupting my concert or, perhaps, the hall burning down around me.
