"Messiah" and Me: A Personal Reflection

Following on last night's splendid performance of Handel's immortal oratorio (see previous post), it seemed like a good time for me to reflect on my own long-running history with this work.

Messiah forms one of the earliest cornerstones of my lifelong love affair with the whole world of classical music. I grew up hearing Handel's work in all its majestic, playful, solemn diversity of style. Excerpts were sung at our annual pre-Christmas extended family party. Some of the adults sang selected solos, and the group joined in choruses. 

It was talked about at home too, due to my father's decades-long membership of the Toronto Mendelssohn Choir (over 45 years). In time, my older sister, my brother, and I all took singing lessons and all took a turn singing in the Choir as well.

By now, we of the younger generation were singing some of those wonderful solo arias at the annual family Messiah fest. In one year, we actually worked our way through pretty much the whole of the first part, before wrapping up as always with the Hallelujah chorus. I've continued singing them all my life, sometimes with organ accompaniment, sometimes accompanying myself on the piano (we'll pass lightly over the hit-and-miss quality of my piano playing). Trying to sing Handel's most florid coloratura while sitting down and playing is an interesting challenge!

Mind you, I did achieve an odd distinction when I joined the Mendelssohn Choir myself for one season in 1977-78. We'd been intensively rehearsing and taping a lengthy work by Murray Schafer for the CBC, and the taping sessions ran right into mid-December. Thus, there was time for only one orchestral rehearsal before the annual Messiah performances, and no time at all to crack our scores before that one rehearsal. And right there was when the Toronto winter weather did me in, and I came down with a cold, losing my voice. I must be one of the very few members of the Choir, perhaps the only one in the last 90 years, who never actually sang Messiah with the Choir!

An odd side note: the idea that the Choir can do Messiah on next to no rehearsal got so ingrained in my thinking from this episode that I actually did a double-take when I saw in social media how many rehearsals were held with choir and orchestra for this week's concerts. Their rehearsing definitely paid off!

Looking back, I realize now that my family were participating in an old tradition of performing classical music at home. For many people, perhaps most people, this has died out as the arrival of recordings has made it unnecessary, since you no longer need to play or sing to hear the music. A pity. But no matter what, for me (as for so many other music lovers), Christmas has always meant Messiah.

 

And this is odd, because Handel really composed the work to be performed in the Lenten and Easter seasons, and always and only performed it then. Messiah is odd in another way, too, among Handel's output of English oratorios, a form he basically invented. All of his other oratorios are dramatic narratives, concert operas in all but name. Even Israel in Egypt, although it lacks dramatic characters, is a thoroughly dramatic and narrative work.

Messiah is another matter altogether: a purely Biblical text, meditating on the whole arc of the Biblical story of Christ from the annunciation of his birth to his final revelation as the enthroned Son of God at the last day of the world. The only narrative in the entire work comes in the four brief recitatives of the Nativity scene, leading up to the angelic chorus, Glory to God.

I'm certainly not alone in the English-speaking world in finding that Handel's immortal inspiration has a powerful grip. Last night, I was brought to tears by the understated but deeply-felt Behold and see if there be any sorrow like unto His sorrow as sung by Michael Colvin. I've never heard it given with a greater sense of the meaning of the words, or with greater emotional intensity.

For many people, the climax of Messiah comes at the end of the second part with the majestic Hallelujah chorus. Handel wrote in a letter that, when he was working on the score of Messiah, "I did think I did see all of heaven open before me, and the great God himself." It's common to assume that these words applied to the Hallelujah and perhaps they did.

For me, though, the unfailing sense of the heavens opening comes in the majestic leading chords of the final choral fresco, Worthy is the Lamb that was slain, and then again a few minutes later in the first fortissimo outburst and the final massive cadences of the concluding Amen -- and the power of this music brings me to tears once more, every time I hear it.

 

There have been times in my life when I have grown tired of Messiah, when I've felt as if it's finally losing its grip on me. Bach's beautiful but very different Christmas Oratorio claims an equal share of my time when Christmas rolls around. But then, I sit down to listen at home, or (as last night) attend a top-notch live performance, and all that familiar music unfolds its beauty for me once more. And then the final chorus opens the gates of heaven, and I find that I've fallen in love with Messiah all over again.

The Eternal, Immortal "Messiah"

 For the first time in too many years to count, I sat down in Roy Thomson Hall on Saturday night to enjoy the annual Toronto Mendelssohn Choir/Toronto Symphony Orchestra performance of Handel's grand, immortal Messiah.

 

Two factors drew me to this concert, after missing it so many times. One was the indefinable, but still quite strong, feeling that I desperately needed to hear Messiah after the ordeal of the last two winters.

The other was the discovery that the Toronto Symphony Orchestra's Music Director, Gustavo Gimeno, was going to lead these performances himself.

This is a real rarity. No TSO Music Director since Sir Ernest Macmillan, with the periodic exception of Sir Andrew Davis, has made a habit of leading these performances. It's become traditional to rotate one of the TSO's most popular annual events among the hands of assorted guest conductors. The orchestra says this is to allow for variations of interpretation, a very valid aim. But that's just what we are going to get here.

 

These concerts mark Gimeno's first-ever occasion to lead live performances of Handel's eternally popular oratorio. This is actually not surprising. Messiah has a far less powerful grip on the popular imagination in continental Europe than in the English-speaking world. I was, then, even more eager to hear how this first-time interpreter would fare with a work which is far more challenging than many of us Messiah veterans like to admit, and a work which would not necessarily be a key element of the musical world in which he had grown up and studied.

Then there's the whole question of whether there would be any innovations in the sequence of numbers, the choice of numbers to be omitted, or the versions of various numbers to be performed. It's entirely possible to write a whole book about the history of Messiah, and the huge multiplicity of alternative numbers which Handel composed. Trust me, it's been done. I took my own briefer crack at "the Messiah problem" in my rare music blog, Off the Beaten Staff, five years ago. Here's a link to that post:

 

Will the Real "Messiah" Please Stand Up?

 

 

Enough preamble. Let's get right to the performance. As usual, these TSO performances fly somewhat in the face of the authentic performance movement by using a large choir, but keeping the orchestra down to a smaller, more Baroque-sized body. No qualms about authenticity from this listener. Handel was well-known in his day for always wanting more singers and more players than he had. More to the point, the musicians of the TSO by now have all had experience in the requirements and skills of authentic Baroque performance and demonstrate it with a will. The old days of thick, plush, Wagnerian orchestral sound in Handel are, thankfully, long gone.

Gimeno staked his turf right from the opening overture, adopting a whole sequence of what most would consider central tempi at the present day, generally free from excessive speeds or distortions of the basic pulse. What he did bring to the performance, generating added interest, was a whole range of subtle little variations in the dynamic levels, avoiding the general sameness within each number that most conductors prefer. Gimeno also stressed clear articulation of notes in some passages, while generally shunning some of the comical excesses of other interpreters.

The only arguably excessive tempo was in His yoke is easy which lost its playful character and became hectic and effortful as the choir -- in just this one place -- struggled to keep up.

As for changes in the assignment of numbers, there were few, and they were confined to the second and third parts. The middle section and da capo of He was despised and of The trumpet shall sound vanished altogether. The recitative He was cut off and the following arioso But Thou didst not leave were transferred from tenor to soprano. On the plus side, But who may abide was correctly assigned to the mezzo-soprano. Otherwise, the traditional sequence of numbers with the traditional cuts was observed.

The orchestra of mainly strings, with a few winds, plus the necessary trumpets and drums, was for the most part effective, except that the orchestral tone tended to vanish altogether in the few passages where the choir sang full out. Continuo was provided throughout by a chamber organ, with nary a harpsichord in sight. Given the scale of the performance, it was just as well that Roy Thomson Hall's big concert organ was not used.

Although all four soloists had fine qualities and fine moments, I felt that the honours of the evening among them rested with tenor Michael Colvin. His characterization and feeling for the text made the recitative Thy rebuke hath broken his heart and the succeeding arioso Behold and see if there be any sorrow into a high point of emotional intensity. He then capped his performance with another dramatically conceived and fiery interpretation in Thou shalt break them.

 

Mezzo-soprano Stephanie Wake-Edwards would certainly have challenged Colvin for the honours if she had been allowed to use her rich, contralto-like tone in the entirety of He was despised -- and I wish she had done so. In the first part, she brought dancing joy to O Thou that tellest and simple lyrical beauty to He shall feed his flock. The dramatic intensity of her For He is like a refiner's fire made a stunning contrast.

 

Soprano Lauren Fagan sang throughout with simple lyrical beauty and soaring accuracy of high notes, all with no hint of overplaying her hand. A level of emotional commitment to match Colvin's would have been welcome in He was cut off and But Thou didst not leave, as also in I know that my Redeemer liveth. Lovely as it was, this aria somewhat skated over the meaning of the words.

Baritone Elliot Madore struggled with the coloratura of Thus saith the Lord, blurring the long chains of high-speed notes. He proved in much better form as the evening went on, bringing drama and accuracy to Why do the nations and The trumpet shall sound.

 

The most exciting contributions of the performance came from the Toronto Mendelssohn Choir. The choral parts in Messiah equal in length and intensity the work of all four soloists together, and the reduced body of 100 singers rose to the challenge admirably. Diction was variable from section to section, obviously due to the varying numbers of singers in each section who chose to wear masks. 

Aside from that one issue, the choir brought pinpoint accuracy to Gimeno's requests for articulation, and responded willingly to his unconventional but intriguing dynamic requirements. Equally clear were the long coloratura lines in such choruses as And He shall purify and For unto us a child is born. At one time, you might have heard the choir making a mighty shout in all the choral movements, but throughout the evening they held back the big guns, saving their full power for the Hallelujah chorus and the concluding Worthy is the Lamb... Amen. Most impressive of all were the times when the choir responded to the call for truly quiet singing, the voices reducing to a mere murmur while the text remained clear. 

All in all, an auspicious Messiah debut for Maestro Gimeno, predictably nimble and stylish playing from the Toronto Symphony Orchestra, an enjoyable evening of singing from the four soloists, and a splendid performance from the Toronto Mendelssohn Choir.

Performances of Messiah continue for the next four nights (December 18/19/20/21) at Roy Thomson Hall. Tickets can be purchased from the Toronto Symphony Orchestra's website.

Toronto Mendelssohn Choir 2022-2023 # 2: Festive Christmas Music From the TMC

December 6 marked the return of a welcome Toronto Christmas tradition: the annual Festival of Carols from the Toronto Mendelssohn Choir, including the well-loved carol singalong.

Although the Choir did present a virtual Christmas program in 2020, and last year went with a shortened live or virtual concert which (to meet Covid rules) ended with a "hum-along", it was the full-throttle audience participation in classic Christmas music which so many had missed.

Indeed, the demand for tickets was so great that the Choir added a second performance on December 7 and a webcast of the concert on December 9!

 

With this event, the Choir launched the Christmas season with the kind of festive energy that, even at Christmas, isn't easily or often found. The Choir's performance in this concert was memorable, exciting, and bursting with joie de vivre.

Under Music Director Jean-Sébastien Vallée, the Choir and the Toronto Mendelssohn Singers performed a kaleidoscopic array of Christmas music, including arrangements of traditional carols and profound music of the Christmas season, representing a time span from the 1600s to the present day and a world view encompassing multiple cultures and regions.

Two of the most beautiful and touching works were premieres, with the composers present: O Nata Lux by Christopher Ducasse and Heartbeat by Shireen Abu-Khader, the latter a TMC commission. Ducasse's music gave more than a nod to the serene polyphony of the European Renaissance, while Abu-Khader's work incorporated Byzantine chant, fusing it with her own distinctive and heartfelt melodic language.

There were many highlights in this diverse anthology of seasonal music. Right at the outset, the Toronto Mendelssohn Singers brought beautiful and coolly serene tone to John Sheppard's motet Verbum Caro Factum Est ("The Word Was Made Flesh"), their voices soaring over the audience from the side gallery of the church.

The dialogue of Gabriel and Mary in Gabriel's Message was given by soloists Jacob Abrahamse and Emily Parker, and both they and the full choir relished the light-hearted dotted rhythms of this traditional English carol in Olivia Sparkhall's arrangement.

Two other bouncy arrangements by Mack Wilberg, Noe! Noe! and Ding! Dong! Merrily on High, were given by the choir with ample energy and the signature precision we've come to expect.

Speaking of energy, organist Isabelle Demers at one point launched an improvisatory interlude with a few high-powered bars of Messiaen, and it's a pity that space couldn't have been made for her to perform the entire number, Dieu parmi nous ("God Among Us") -- that being an obvious choice for the occasion.

 

Soprano Rebecca McKay brought ethereal tone to her part in Donald Fraser's This Christmastide.

 

Another delight was Donald Patriquin's arrangement of a lively traditional French noël, Tous les Bourgeois de Chartres. 

 

Among the most heart-touching moments of the entire evening was Paul Mealor's In the Bleak Midwinter, with Dan Bevan-Baker's luminous baritone solo over the quiet choral backdrop a true delight.

Coreen Duffy's setting of Adon Olam, a traditional Jewish hymn of praise to God, created a harmonic atmosphere which was unique in this concert.

 

Fortunately, the currently-fashionable styles of minimalist repetition of words or syllables (which only muddy the text), and wrong-note modernism in arrangements of traditional carols, were confined to only a couple of numbers.

 

The entire concert was arranged in six sets, lasting ninety minutes without an intermission. The eagerly-awaited singalongs were placed at the end of sections 2, 5, and 6 with the audience invited to rise and join in singing O Come All Ye Faithful first. Sir David Willcocks' splendid arrangement, a staple of church music since my childhood, brought tears to my eyes. Silent Night concluded the fifth set, and the high energy of Joy to the World brought the entire concert to a rousing conclusion.

Well, almost. Of course there had to be an encore, and of course that encore had to be that other grand old Christmas tradition, Handel's Hallelujah chorus. While the choir and organist tore into Handel's immortal inspiration with their customary flair, there may have been a few extra voices involved. I hope the choir, the conductor, and the audience located near me will forgive me for treating this as another singalong number but I simply couldn't resist -- I haven't had a chance to sing it for nearly a decade! And I don't think I was the only audience member singing along at this point either.

The concert repeats tonight (December 7) at 7:30 pm at Yorkminster Park Baptist Church, and the webcast is available starting on December 9. Tickets for either the live or the webcast version of this splendid concert can be purchased at this link:

 

Festival of Carols 2022

 

National Ballet of Canada 2022-2023 # 1: Sad About MADDADDAM

Although it was only a day after I'd returned home from a lengthy overseas trip, I simply couldn't miss the performance of the National Ballet's newest full-length work: Wayne McGregor's MADDADDAM, inspired by and based on the trilogy of novels by renowned novelist Margaret Atwood.

This performance was all the more important to me, in that I had already missed the season-opening mixed programme which officially launched Hope Muir's tenure as Artistic Director of the company. In it, Muir had introduced new choreographers whose work had not previously been staged by the National, and that was a particular reason I was sorry to miss it.

MADDADDAM, on the other hand, comes from the hand of Wayne McGregor, a choreographer whose work I already know and admire (think Chroma and Genus), and is actually a long-delayed holdover from what should have been the last season of Karen Kain's tenure at the head of the company.

 

It is also the third major full-length work staged jointly by the National Ballet of Canada and Britain's Royal Ballet, and the first of the three to receive its world premiere in Toronto (the first two were Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and The Winter's Tale, both choreographed by Christopher Wheeldon).

For all of these reasons, I approached the performance with considerable anticipation and excitement, and came away rather saddened that the work seemed to me to be a misfire in some (not all) ways.

I hasten to point out right away that the dancers of the company were absolutely on top form throughout the performance. Wayne McGregor's signature choreographic style has the dancers bending, turning, twisting, and flexing in ways which appear to be impossible -- and yet they aren't because you just saw some of them do it. The National's remarkable company rose to the occasion, bringing all their passion, energy, and skill to bear on McGregor's choreographic challenges. I have only the strongest of compliments for their performances across the board.

 

That also applies to the National Ballet's house orchestra, which appeared as a pared-down live pit ensemble working successfully in conjunction with extensive pre-taped music, always a situation fraught with possibilities for things to go wrong.

Despite the best efforts of these dedicated performing artists, MADDADDAM comes across as a rather confusing, obscure, elliptical piece of work. 

The problems begin, I think, with the source material. Right at the outset, I have to wonder if there is really any feasible way to present, in a single 95-minute performance, the contents of a richly layered and detailed trilogy of novels. My sense, for what it's worth, is that this was an impossible assignment at the outset. The finished work, as far as I could tell, got around the difficulty by presenting a series of choreographic impressions rooted in the books, rather than attempting a narrative.

 

The way in which the work was presented to the audience caused problems for most of the people I have discussed this work with, and with many other members of the audience -- to judge by the comments I heard around me at the theatre.

 

Atwood's novels have certainly not been read by everyone, and a short synopsis of the contents of the books would have been enormously helpful. What we got, instead, were a few isolated comments scattered through the three preview videos, and a few more elliptical statements in the extensive, scholarly, but curiously uninformative programme notes. All of this material was presented to the audience from a perspective that we were expected to be familiar with the novels already -- and this was a huge mistake.

 

Among other things, we had no guidance at all as to the meaning or significance of a number of named characters, who or what they might be, or what their function or purpose might be.

 

It didn't help matters at all that the programme notes' references to the second act seemed to bear no relation at all to what we saw on stage. Certainly, I couldn't make the connection.

 

Problems within the actual performance come down mainly to two key areas.

The first is the extensive use of video and moving objects in the set designs. Difficulties began right at the outset with the moving projections of huge, ominous figures on a scrim as the dancers were beginning their choreography. Sadly, the dancers came off second-best as the enormous projections kept yanking our attention away from the on-stage movement -- a classic example of what's known in theatrical parlance as "pulling focus." Those projections forcefully commanded our focus and I truly sympathized with the dancers in their losing battle against their own stage set. 

Matters were compounded when the huge "orb" on the stage began rotating slowly during a later part of the first act. Again, attention was diverted to the orb as we waited to see what it would do or what it would show as it turned. These mobile set effects did the the dancers an enormous disservice.

The other key problem, for me, was the original score by Max Richter. I had fondly hoped that the tedious "minimalist" movement in music was at an end, but here it came again, full force. When a short, simple rhythmic or melodic fragment is repeated several times, it can (and certainly does) help to establish a mood or emotion, and that is a useful function. When it keeps repeating for another five or even ten minutes (as it seemed at times), mood or emotion is succeeded by boredom and then by aggravation which makes me want to scream, "Just play something different already!"

The only key to the music which we were given in an advance video was a quick fragment of a descending melody which would appear in the final minutes of each act. My relief was immense when I at last heard that melody beginning to emerge for the third time, and knew that the relentless musical tedium was finally coming to an end.

To sum up: MADDADDAM is certainly a brave attempt at making dance out of some very challenging source material, and on a choreographic level it is strikingly powerful. Sadly, the power is often dissipated by the tedious music, the hyper-competitive videos and moving set elements, and above all by the lack of any programme notes which can give the audience an actual context to the impressions which are being danced on the stage.