Archive for February 8, 2008
saturday’s passage…
…from walt whitman hater to walt whitman lover. we rehearsed the Passage Into Spirit piece. i was few minutes late, having gotten a phone call or something, which held me up slightly. dragged in with a cup of coffee and huge bottle o’ water. i wore something cozy, big black sweater, and settled in to my seat, on the end in the back row (i can be somewhat of a hermit, or shy, or something, so i like that i am in the back, where i can see everyone else but no one can see me).
he had us stand to stretch and breathe with our hands on the ribcage, to actually feel the diaphragm expand with air and then release. i know i don’t support the way i should. i know my posture sucks. and i also know when i correct these things, i sing so much better and more efficiently. when i was a dancer, i had such great posture and control. if only i could get back into that (my hope and plan, now that life has seemed to finally settle down for me) i know it would positively affect my singing.
we dug right into the music, and time flew by. everyone was very focused, and again, i noticed a beginning seamlessness to the group’s sound. a feeling of ensemble. there were parts of course, that still felt insecure, and not together, but having the composer there, made a huge difference. you could feel palpable energy coming from people.
d next to me said it reminded her of all county band or chorus, and i agreed. you have the music ahead of time, after auditioning, and then you have two long days to pull it altogether for the concert on sunday. those experiences were awesome, now when i think about it, for us just being kids. i loved being selected for all county and all state. very cool.
back to Passage.
movement one begins with this:
Come said the muse, sing me a song. sing me a song no poet has yet chanted. sing me the universal.
the last word to that phrase, sticks with me. universal. that’s music. the universal language. a perfect way to open the piece, when i see it now.
Enclos’d and safe within its central heart, nestles the seed perfection.
…came next. i love this image. it makes me think of god. the way i think of god anyway. that inside us all is the seed of perfection, god, if you will. that we are all innocent and perfect.
By ev’ry life a share or more or less, none born but it is born, conceal’d or unconceal’d the seed is waiting.
and here too, i took this to mean that we each of us, have this seed inside, whether it is seen or not, it is there to be discovered.
he opened the piece with the perfect words, in my opinion, the universal idea of music (or love, because i believe it is a manifestation in the physical world, of love, which i also believe is god) and then the more focused idea of that seed inside of each of us.
onward (as robert creeley was wont to say).
movement two made me think of my cousin. i know that randol explained that he chose the words he did, because they were what whitman came to after his experiences in the civil war, that they were the images of heaven, instead of the other words which described in detail the horrors of war. he came to this place, after witnessing such horror. i’m not explaining correctly, but…
What do you hear? What do you see? Such gliding wonders! Such sights and sounds! Such joined unending links, each hooked to the next.
this part made me think of Kim, who had died the Sunday before, because her sister Kathy told me that her last words before she died were “I’ve never seen a room like that before. I’ve never seen anything like that.” she was happy and serene about it, in awe. Kathy felt she was seeing a glimpse of heaven. these lines seemed to be saying the same thing, except someone still here asking the person who’s passed on, or about to, what is it they see…
and this unison chorus, which was orchestrated perfectly, soaring smoothly. very emotional and still so positive.
O, vast Rondure, swimming in space. Cover’d all over with visible power and beauty. Alternate light and day and the teeming spiritual darkness. Unspeakable high processions of sun and moon and countless stars above.
here whitman is talking about the earth, swimming in space. and as Mr. Bass explained, as though you are witnessing the earth from above, or far away, not being present on it. god’s view of the earth perhaps? or spirit’s view? how lovely it is from a distance (as are many things…).
and then the very American part 
Toward you all in America’s name. I raise high the perpendicular hand. I make the signal to remain, after me, in sight forever.
Not sure what this really means, but it felt very patriotic, and yet not in a nationalist sort of way. I guess because of the last line here. I make the signal to remain, as though again, he’s talking about spirit remaining.
movement three, begins with baritone solo and very agitated orchestral and choral parts. the feeling of the anxiety and pain of war. he did take some of that text and placed it here. a feeling of battle or preparing for battle. but the movement ends with whitman saying he turns away from war (away with the themes of war)
and then this, one of my favorite parts of the whole piece (baritone solo):
Over the carnage rose prophetic voice, be not dishearten’d. Affection shall solve the problems of freedom yet. Those who love each other shall become invincible.
And this was my epiphany moment. the moment i understood, fully, what it is about whitman that is so wonderful. this line spoke to me, revealed something i feel deeply, that all the problems we have on this earth, can be solved by love. by our humanity. because we are all a part and connected to god.
and here also, was where i felt that the music so intimately connected with the text, that there had to be collaboration between the poet and the composer (though of course, in a practical way, we know that’s not possible, but spiritually? i believe it is).
and then the end of movement three, the beginning of what feels like a salve on the wounds…
O soul repressless, I with thee and thou with me. Thy circumnavigation of the world begin. Of man, the voyage of his mind’s return. Return to reason’s early paradise, back back to wisdom’s birth. To innocent intuition’s again with fair creation.
movement four is the second half, really, of the piece. the first movement foreshadows what one comes to, after the carnage of war (movement 3), a different perspective, one that is spiritual and all-encompassing, i think.
Each of us limitless, inevitable… Thoughts, silent thoughts of Time and Space and death.
it moves into serene connectedness toward the end…asking for god’s help, or light, in my interpretation…
Bathe me O God in Thee, in Thee. Mounting to Thee. Oh God.
and then what feels like joyous understanding (bass has written in majestic and fortissimo here) to conclude movement four:
I and my soul O God. I and my soul, to range in range of Thee.
the music swells here, as this does seem the climax, that one’s soul would eventually become one with God. again, the music met the text perfectly, in my opinion.
movement five, the final movement in the piece, begins with the playing of tuned crystals, and bells. sopranos sing Is it a dream, nay but the lack of it, the dream. while altos follow sweetly and ever so softly with Health, peace, salvation universal. together they end the phrase with And all the world a dream.
how true those lyrics ring today.
and my other favorite part (besides the baritone solo i spoke of earlier), the very end of the piece, chorus singing pianissimo, struggling to keep it all together, in time, in rhythm, no one voice early or late, no one voice sticking out above the incredibly smooth texture here…
Sail forth, steer for the deep waters only.
O soul, reckless, exploring.
I with Thee, and Thou with me.
For we are bound where Mariner has not yet dared to go.
And we will risk the ship, ourselves, and all.
no interpretation needed here. you must listen to the piece, and you will know of what i speak i can hear it in my head as i write this now. i hope that never goes away.
tuned crystals fade off into the ether.
i love walt whitman now. i understand. thank you mr. bass, again. your music has illuminated his words, in a way that makes them even more beautiful and accessible than they would be alone.
break during recording session
see the tall thin reed-like microphones in the distance? i like blurring the photos.i like the ghosts coming off the music. how appropriate. spirits, if you will.
friday night rehearsal notes
another storm, this one involving lots of slippery snow. mr. bass picked the best time of year to travel to buffalo. hee hee.
we did Concordia, an arrangement of Joy to the World, and the Gloria piece. all lovely.
just some notes from the composer (i’m paraphrasing):
on Joy to the World: we don’t want to sound like a bunch of singers in a street scene. make your voices sound very british. long jaws. (he was referring to the fact that we’d all sung this song a million times over and had to do something to bring fresh life to the piece)
on Gloria: the first gloria is a trumpet call (he admitted being a trumpet player–i could totally see that) (oh i just got homesick for my nephew the trumpet player who’s at university at the moment–same sweet demeanor)–push the sound, don’t cut it off, give it its full value. these ‘calls’ were so exciting and energizing–i loved this piece from the first time i sang it.
on Concordia: the piece was written to honor the composer’s high school choral instructor–who inspired many of his students, apparently, to pursue careers in music in some way. he talked about the meaning of the words, being that voices come together in music, to bring harmony (i’m not getting this as precise as he explained it). this piece, more so than the others, i think, was meant to make a chorus shine. it’s all about the voice in this one. lovely.
he saved Passage Into Spirit for the saturday morning rehearsal.
composer’s first rehearsal with us
was last wednesday evening. the day of the horrible wind storm (even school was canceled, which pleased me). he did mention to us that when he was making arrangements to fly up from texas (said with a little bitty southern accent). he thought it best to get here a day early, considering the time of year. if he’d tried to fly in on wed., he’d never have made it. i know i wouldn’t fly in that wind (and i used to fly, remember? the little 6 seater cessna–oh but that’s for another blog post).
so he was lucky to have arrived and made it to the music hall (notice i don’t say the name, as i’d be more google-able, and i don’t want those nosy philharmonic people to be browsing around here) for the first rehearsal with us. i wasn’t thinking of it at the time, but he had already been with most of the chorus the year before, for the commissioned piece. but i had never seen him.
i was surprised to see what he looked like, to hear him speak. you know, you think composer=long haired professor type with overly-dramatic personality, etc. not mr. bass (is he a dr.? i should check on that, because if he is, i should be referring to him as such). this was not him at all (see photo i posted somewhere below).
mild-mannered, soft-spoken but articulate, humble, and just seemed like a normal, regular guy. of course, after singing his pieces, we know otherwise. not normal. not regular. brilliant, talented, sensitive, human.
he hails from texas, and i think he attended the same university as my uncle mike (also a composer) taught at for awhile. so his re-intro to buffalo must have been fun (though i’m sure wind happens in texas as well).
our rehearsal was on stage with only the piano, no orchestra. i still wasn’t feeling the magic, so to speak, but it was exciting to be with the actual composer. he talked about the pieces, about hearing them in his head, and it reminded me of the times i wake up in the morning or middle of the night with a song or poem in my head. the first line, sometimes the whole thing. and i have to get right up and write it down.
his comments also reminded me of the time i was applying for a grant (way long ago, and so totally not prepared to do so) and i could NOT figure out the time signature for part of the piece i had written (i created it first on the piano, then had to try and write it down–backwards way of doing things–but hey, James Taylor doesn’t write or read music, as is true of many other great musicians). i needed to submit the score with the recording (i cringe when i think of that awful presentation) and i couldn’t get it correct.
i finally threw up my hands, two days before the postmark deadline. the next morning, i actually saw the score, the time signature as well, in my head before opening my eyes. i got up and wrote it all down and realized how simple a solution it had been all along. i know nothing about composing, but that event made me consider divine inspiration. it’s like that with my novel sometimes too, i don’t know where it comes from, it just comes. like a gift.
back to bass. we were on stage now, and that was an adjustment in sound, as everyone is so much more spread out. i was sitting in the back row, on the very end, and so i felt very very far away from the other half of the chorus. even the piano on the other side of the stage felt far away.
i brought my camera, took a few photos, but knew there was more to come. i also had committed to singing these pieces for my cousin Kim, who had died of breast cancer just two days before. i was in the middle of an emotionally charged week already.
months of rehearsals
we’d been rehearsing the pieces since last fall, every monday night. i remember one saturday morning (an extra rehearsal) being jammed into a hot church pew for rehearsal because our regular space at a local college was being used for something else. seat was hard, and when we’d stand, my body was configured in such a way that i had to bend to stand, or my thighs would be pressed hard against the pew in front of me. very annoying way to sing.
i digress. we practiced the piece Concordia, which mainly just made me wonder what the word Concordia meant. i wasn’t against the piece and i wasn’t for it. lots of count-singing (thank you robert shaw, thomas swan and brandon). if i had to guess what it meant, i was thinking it meant something along the lines of “heaven.” some writer i am, didn’t know what this word meant? other people didn’t know either, and some asked.
we also began practicing Gloria, for the holiday pops concert in december. i LIKED that piece. full of energy, something decent for us to sing at the pops (instead of ooohing and aaahing along as background singers for marvin hamlisch’s arrangements). and i liked that i got to sing the second alto line at the end (my high notes are back since i no longer have cats affecting my allergies), as per maestro franz’s instructions (he is just a complete doll and great and on as far as direction goes) (however, randol bass’s interpretation–of his own music–was much more meaningful than franz’s–funny how that happens, but not really funny at all since he’s the one who birthed the music in the first place).
then we had Passage Into Spirit. well. that piece; brandon hammered it out with us, count singing, etc. (i believe brandon is in line for our vacant music director position, which is great–i think he’s very in tune with us, with choral singing [despite his confession that he was a percussionist--wow--and usually i can't stand percussionists--so picky am i {and bad past relationship with one in particular} ] and we were coalescing nicely under his baton)
i distinctly remember that during that rehearsal in church, i leaned over to whomever was sitting next to me, and i whispered vehemently, “i HATE walt whitman!” that was honestly how i felt. the words seemed prosey and over the top. ugh. i knew all the reasons i was supposed to adore him; he being THE american poet and me being a poet and an american as well. i felt like a traitor admitting it. how could i not love his work? how could i be a true american and a true poet and not like walt whitman? blasphemy!
i trudged along, singing the words when we were finally allowed to sing them. we only were practicing with piano so it was difficult, if not impossible, to hear the full impact of the music, the nuances and interpretation. but that’s always how it is when you are first learning a piece. it comes together later on, and frequently, something i’ve not enjoyed during endless rehearsals will be something i adore later on.
i refused offers to listen to a CD of the piece over the fall. i was dead set against whitman, yet again. first with vaughn williams in the sea symphony (which is a case of something i ended up liking, though not loving, in the end) and then persis vehar’s tribute to him (i think it was that piece that solidified my “why can’t anyone use something other than whitman poetry as their lyrics??” attitude).
i make no secret of my musical snobbery and selectivity. it’s the one area of my life where i am super picky, and when i talk about it here, i see that in fact i could be close-minded a bit. but i do listen to and appreciate all types of music, so maybe i am being a bit hard on myself.
back to Passage Into Spirit. it was a piece commissioned by the chorus last year for our 70th anniversary. so that made me feel even worse about my attitude, but not bad enough to actually change my attitude. most of the chorus had sung the piece last year and i hadn’t, as i was still moping around ithaca, missing everyone, including but not limited to, the chorus (if one more person there told me about the myriad of choruses i could join, i thought i’d scream–but it’s not the philharmonic chorus!–that is clearly where my heart still was [and is]).
december arrived and our focus changed to holiday music, and then the holidays themselves. brief reprieve. then back to weekly, and some saturday, rehearsals for the recordings we just did this week. i buckled in, determined to be well-prepared and dedicated, as i knew this was perhaps a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. there was excitement running throughout the chorus and some concern about whether we’d be ready when the composer finally arrived the week before the recording sessions.
i think we were well-prepared. i knew people were practicing at home, because i could feel the change, the clarity, the energy. it made me wonder what we could accomplish if each and every one of us always felt this way, always prepared this way, for every piece.
it’s difficult of course, to ask that much of a mostly volunteer chorus. we do it because it’s in our hearts, but most everyone has a full time job, family, life.
i believe we rose to the occasion anyway. that in another post.
