All-Night Vigil
Sergei Rachmaninov
Paul Hillier conducting the Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir.
Harmonia Mundi HMU 907384

Folk Song Arrangements 2
Benjamin Britten
Philip Langridge, Thomas Allen, BBC Singers, Northern Sinfonia, Steuart Bedford, Simon Joly
Naxos 8.557222

No-res (Nothing); Ebony Fantasies
Leonardo Balada
Jose Ramon Encinar conducting the Orchestra and Chorus of the Comunidad de Madrid. Naxos 8.557343

Barabbas Dialogues, Op. 84
Aulis Sallinen
CPO 777 077-2

Songs
Amy Beach
Katherine Kelton, mezzo-soprano; Catherine Bringerud, piano.
Naxos 8.559191

Lieder
Emmerich Kalman
Anna Korondi, soprano; Istvan Kovacs, bass; Peter Stamm, piano.
CPO 777 059-2

My Name is Barbara: Songs of Barber, Bernstein, Britten, Copland, Griffes, & Quilter
Barbara Bonney, soprano; Malcolm Martineau, piano.
Onyx 4003

One of the great tragedies of the contemporary arts scene has been the denigration of choral music. Too many school music programs have replaced concert choirs with “show” choirs. Vatican II all but destroyed the Latin liturgy and sent musical standards plummeting, which has been surpassed by many Protestant denominations embracing so-called Contemporary Christian Music, a soul-deadening bathetic mixture of revival kitsch and Kenny G. And of course, the marketing geniuses at NPR have virtually banned choral music from the classical music airwaves, insisting that listeners of serious music find those vexsome words (some being in languages other than demotic English) too off-putting during the November sweeps.

All of this is truly sad and ultimately harmful for the cause of serious music, because choral music is still the one genre of art music that is most democratic in nature, inviting participation by anyone with a reasonably good voice who can carry a tune. One imagines that the participants in the many Messiah sing-alongs are among the most vigorous supporters and consumers of good music.

One composer who has done yeoman work in the field of choral music is Gordon Getty, whose works are featured in the exciting new album Young America. Getty’s choral works feature a real affinity for the rhythms of the English language, not the lockstep metrics that have been imposed on the language, but the true recitative-like rhythms that inform that half of the language which is Latin, not Anglo-Saxon, in origin. Indeed, there is such a wonderful feeling for the prosody of English in Getty’s compositions that he is able to imbue the poems of Benet, Housman and Tennyson with a freshness that invites a reappraisal of the poetry of the pre-Modernists.

Michael Tilson Thomas and Alexander Vedernikov leading the San Francisco and Rusian National Orchestras respectively deserve a great deal of credit for bringing such a project to fruition. Gordon’s choral works are not Mahler symphonies calling for a heroic and omnipotent conductor-god. Quite the contrary, these are choral works in which the chorus takes center stage. I was particularly impressed with “Jerusalem,” a scene from Getty’s opera Plump Jack, which is based on the Falstaff/Henry plays of Shakespeare. Getty’s attention to word-painting is such that he can have Clarence announce that Henry IV is “exceedingly ill” and do so on the interval of the tritone, the disquieting “diabolus in musica” of yore. Getty’s genius is in knowing that tonal music is alive and well and has a level of referentiality and self-reflexivity that is beyond the limited palettes of the atonalists.

There are no words besides absolutely stunning that do justice to the Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir’s recording of Sergei Rachmaninov’s All-Night Vigil. Brilliantly led by Paul Hillier, this choir sets a standard for choral performance that is unparalleled today.

Composed in 1915, Rachmaninov’s All-Night Vigil is a poignant reminder that the horrors of war can bring about a renewal of spiritual artistic creativity, not just a sense of Adorno-esque anomie. Based on the traditional znamenny plainchant traditions of the Russian Orthodox Church, the All-Night Vigil is one of the most profoundly affective and spiritually uplifting compositions from the early 20th century, as well as being a musical composition of enormous aesthetic value. Those who cherish the plainchant traditions of the Western church may find the Orthodox predilection for the bass voice to be startling at first. It is fitting that Rachmaninov retained the prominence of the bass voice, particularly in the role of the narrator whose troped interpolations announce each section of the composition. The composition derives its title from the fact that the texts that are set come from the evening Vespers and the morning Matins portions of the Offices. These are mostly familiar texts, such as the Doxology and the Magnificat, but in Rachmaninov’s hands they are treated to otherworldly musical settings. There can be no doubt that the numinous is present in both Rachmaninov’s composition and in the Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir’s interpretation of the same.

There is perhaps no greater composer of music for the voice in the English language than Benjamin Britten, who made English soar with Italianate expressiveness and flexibility. The Naxos album of Britten’s Folks Song Arrangements 2 is a remarkable compilation of some of the composer’s lesser-known solo voice and choral works, most of which were written for his long time collaborator Peter Pears. What is remarkable about Britten’s folk song adaptations is how he was able to transform and transcend the humble origins of his thematic material, which was mostly taken from British and American Appalachian folk tunes. Tenor Philip Langridge is a noted Britten specialist and performs brilliantly on this album. Another aspect of this cd that needs mentioning is the quality of Britten’s orchestrations of the folk songs with orchestral accompaniments. Because of his great accomplishments in opera and song, Britten’s genius as an orchestral composer is often overlooked. Although his orchestrations tend to be of a more astringent nature than his predecessors, Britten’s utilization of the orchestra and his combining of instrumental colors are every bit as virtuosic as those of Berlioz and Mahler.

Unfortunately, there is little good that can be said of Spanish composer Leonardo Balada’s No-res (Nothing). Subtitled “An Agnostic Requiem,” this composition is ironically one of the most powerful calls to religious faith imaginable, if for no other reason, to avoid its performance at one’s memorial service. In fact, the piece is laughably awful and begins with a chorus intoning “Oooooooooh” in much the same manner as the little costumed goblins and ghouls who come to your door at Halloween. The composition goes downhill from there. The text is composed of inchoate textual fragments about death in various languages. The bathetic quality of Balada’s music is reminiscent of the “liturgical” music that Anton LeVay composed for his “Church of Satan,” a sort of non-believing kitsch. Much comfort, however, can be taken from the fact that, old sayings notwithstanding, the Devil does not get all the good tunes.

Risible is the only way to describe Balada’s “Ebony Fantasies—Cantata,” a collection of Negro spirituals that have been transmogrified into musical grotesqueries by the composer’s ineptitude. Balada’s staccato-like approach to text-setting is similar to the stile agitato of the renaissance mannerists; however, Balada is no Gesualdo. This work did remind me of a techno version of “Amazing Grace” I once heard while standing in line at a Burger King in Munich. Perhaps the disco should be the preferred performance venue of the music of Balada.

At first glance, there wouldn’t seem to be much to recommend itself of a chamber composition in the Finnish language with an ensemble including accordion that explores the interior life of Barabbas, the thief spared by Pilate when he condemned Jesus. But in the able hands of Aulis Sallinen somehow it all works. In his Barabbas Dialogues, Op. 64, Sallinen uses Biblical passages and texts composed by himself and Finnish poet Lassi Nummi to re-imagine the hidden lives of both Barabbas and Judas. This is an aspect of the Passion that has been seldom examined: Is the less-than-savory behavior of Judas and Barabbas part of a divine plan?

There is a certain logic behind Sallinen’s unusual performance group, which is basically the Pierrot Lunaire ensemble plus accordion. In Europe the accordion is taken seriously as an instrument and is often taught at leading conservatories. One section of the composition is in the form of a tango, a favorite form of music in Finland with its hundreds of tango halls, and obviously the accordion—like the Argentine bandoneon—is an appropriate instrument in this context.

Sallinen manages to pack a great deal of musical content into his unusual work. Much attention is paid to text-setting and vocal declamation. There is a great variety of vocal styles employed, and the Apostle speaks rather than intones his texts. There are first-rate performances given all around by the ensemble, although I leave it to others to judge the musical nuances of the vocal performances of the Finnish text. This is a fascinating work that deserves to be heard, and hopefully other groups will take up the challenge in English translation.

Amy Beach has gained and suffered much at the hands of feminist musicologists who have taken up her cause, but have regrettably turned her into an icon for issues not her own. Mrs. H.H.A. Beach, as she preferred to be known, was a highly trained and prolific composer and performer who made her debut with the Boston Symphony at the age of 18. Although she did not study at a German conservatory as did most of her fellow contemporary American composers, her music is suffused with the German romantic style. The excellent Naxos compilation album, Amy Beach: Songs, presents 36 of Beach’s art songs from throughout her lengthy creative career.

Beach’s deft handling of a wide variety of texts in English, German and French shows a talent that was easily the equal of her male counterparts. She truly was not a “female composer”, but a composer who just happened to be female. There is a tendency, however, for Beach’s music to far outshine the rather banal and sentimental texts she set to music. Interestingly enough, some of Beach’s more successful songs are those to German texts, in particular “Ich sagte nicht” (“I did not say”; 1903). Mezzo-soprano Katherine Kelton and accompanist Catherine Bringerud do a fine job of bringing Beach’s songs to life.

The songs of the Hungarian operetta composer Emmerich Kalman were a real revelation to me. There is an intensity and musical complexity to his lieder that is a far cry from the schmaltz and sentimentality of popular musical stage. Listeners will be very interested in his settings of “Crusader” poems, which deal with the Hungarian patriots of the 16th century who fought against the oppressive rule of the Germans. This is some of the most anti-German music this side of Spike Jones.

The rhythms and melodic patterns of Hungarian folk music inform Kalman’s music much in the same manner as that of Bartok’s. This is heard most prominently in “Hajdu Dance” and also in the four miniatures for piano that are included on this cd. There is also in Emmerich’s lieder a defiant quality that is uniquely Hungarian—a defiance against political subjugation as well as against one’s personal fate. Absolutely magnificent performances are given by baritone Istvan Kovacs and the radiant soprano Anna Korondi. CPO has done a great service in producing this album of Kalman’s lieder to add to the appreciation of an overlooked composer and to demonstrate that the greatness of 20th century extends well beyond Bartok and Kodaly.

Soprano Barbara Bonney has recorded a fascinating album of English and American art songs from the first half of the 20th century entitled My Name Is Barbara, the title being taken from one of the songs from Leonard Bernstein’s 1943 song cycle “I Hate Music!” In addition to Bernstein, the featured composers also include Aaron Copland, Benjamin Britten, Samuel Barber, and the lesser-known Roger Quilter and Charles T. Griffes. Especially significant is the inclusion of Griffes’ 1918 cycle “Three Poems of Fiona Macleod.” Griffes (1884-1920) was a rising star in American music who had mastered the impressionist style of Debussy before his life was tragically cut short at the age of 36. His death was a major loss to American music, and it is extremely fortunate that a major talent such as Bonney has undertaken a recording of these unjustifiably neglected songs.

Another song that I was particularly taken with is Samuel Barber’s “Sure on This Shining Night,” from Four Songs, Op. 13 of 1940, with text by James Agee. Most listeners will be familiar with Barber’s 1947 work Knoxville: Summer of 1915, also with an Agee text. There is a real affinity between Barber’s music and Agee’s words, which Bonney is able to bring out in much the same manner that Eleanor Steber was able to do earlier with Knoxville. In sum, My Name Is Barbara is a fascinating re-examination of 20th century English language art song, a very rich field that is only now beginning to receive its due.