The Silent Forest

June 1, 2019: Our Mother of Consolation Catholic Church, Philadelphia

June 2, 2019: Old Saint Joseph’s Church, Philadelphia

Sam Barge, Sonja Bontrager, Cory Davis, Lucas DeJesus, Conrad Erb, Joshua Glassman, Amy Hochstetler, Michael Johnson, Elissa Kranzler, Nathan Lofton, Cortlandt Matthews, Jessica Matthews, Hank Miller, Erina Pearlstein, John Piccolini, Rebekah Reddi, Jordan Rock, Lizzy Schwartz, Melinda Steffy, Emily Sung, Caroline Winschel, Michele Zuckman

Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland Samuel Scheidt (1587-1654)

Wie lang, o Gott Hieronymous Praetorius (1560-1629)

Nachtwache I Johannes Brahms (1833-1987)

Nachtwache II

Sechs Geistliche Leider Hugo Wolf (1860-1903)

1. Aufblich

2. Einkehr

3. Resignation

4. Letzte Bitte

5. Ergebung

6. Erhebung

Lockung Fanny Hensel (1805-1847) 

Abendlich schon rauscht der Wald

Litanei vom Hauch Hanns Eisler (1898-1962)

Vier doppelchörige Gesänge Robert Schumann (1810-1856)

1. An die Sterne

2. Ungewisses Licht

3. Zuversicht

4. Talismane

The Silent Forest is a meditation on sacred and secular German music, featuring works that span the 16th through the 20th centuries. Throughout this program, we explore two primary themes: spirituality and nature. 

We start our spiritual voyage with a hymn by Samuel Sheidt (1587-1654) that celebrates the coming of Jesus. A piece by Hieronymus Praetorius (1560-1629) echoes this yearning in a more desperate tone and begs for mercy and patience as the world waits for its savior. The spiritual character of our program shifts to a more romantic mood with Johannes Brahms’s (1833-1897) Nachtwache compositions. The text requests that we open a loving heart; “And if none opens, [we allow] the night wind [to] carry [us away].”

We would like to think that this phrase foreshadows the passage that inspired the very title of our program. Taken from Hugo Wolf’s (1960-1903) Sechs Geistliche Lieder, the following excerpt depicts the night as a haven from the wearying day:

O comfort of the world, you silent night!

The day has made me so tired,

The wide sea is already dark,

Let rest from lust and distress,

Until that eternal dawn

The silent forest is shining through.

These words were penned by Prussian poet Joseph von Eichendorff. His poems have been set to music by many, including Schumann, Brahms, and Hensel—three of the composers featured on today’s program. 

In fact, the themes from von Eichendorff’s poetry carry through to the second half of our program, which explores nature—a familiar theme in Romantic music, art, and literature. In Fanny Hensel’s (1805-1847) Lockung and Abendlich schon rauscht der Wald, von Eichendorff refers to the forest yet again, but this time, the woodland is not so silent. The poet illustrates sounds and scents of the forest that seem to intensify in the moonlight.

Next, we turn to composer Hanns Eisler with text by Bertolt Brecht. This duo collaborated on many works, including Litanei vom Hauch. Again, the text is descriptive of a silent forest with “not a breath in the trees”—a calm depiction meant to juxtapose against the horrors of human existence. We close our program with Robert Schumann’s Vier doppelchörige Gesänge. As you listen to the lush texture of Schumann’s double-choir setting, keep in mind this passage from Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, who provided the text for the fourth movement, Talismane: “In breathing, there are two graces, breathing in and breathing out. One constrains us and the other refreshes us; this is how wonderfully life is mixed.”

Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland

Born in Halle, Germany in 1587, Samuel Scheidt became one of the most prominent composers of the early Baroque era. Like most composers of the day, he served as music director at multiple churches, including Halle’s famed Market Church. His compositional style is most known for variation and syncopation. Set for double choir, Nun komm, der Heiden Heilandcelebrates the coming of Jesus. The source material, Veni redemptor gentium, was translated by Martin Luther during the Reformation.

Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland,

der Jungfrauen Kind erkannt,

des sich wundert alle Welt,

Gott solch Geburt ihm bestellt.

Now come, Savior of the gentiles,

recognized as the child of the Virgin,

so that all the world is amazed.

Wie lang, o Gott

Like Samuel Scheidt, Hieronymus Praetorius was a compositional influencer during the early Baroque period. Though he had no relation to the more famous Michael Praetorius (the composer of Lo, how a rose e’er blooming), his works were among the first written in north Germany in the progressive Venetian style.

Wie lang, o Gott, in meiner Not

willt lassen mich?

Erbarme dich über dein Knecht,

der Gnad begehrt und nicht das Recht.

Verzag, Herz, nicht, Gott wird dein Bitt'

erhören bald,

er hat Gewalt zu rechter Zeit,

sein Hülf er allen Frommen gibt.  

How long, o God,

will you leave me in my affliction?

Have pity on your servant,

who desires mercy and not justice.

Despair not, heart, for God will soon

hear your prayer.

He has power at the proper time

he gives his help to all the righteous. 

Nachtwache I & II

Johannes Brahms was one of the most prominent composers of the Romantic era. He combined his reverence for traditional music structures with harmonic innovations, providing a compositional model for other composers without abandoning past methods. Both Nachtwache pieces set stanzas of a poem by Friedrich Rückert and were composed concurrently with Brahms’s choral-orchestral masterpiece, Ein deutches Requiem (A German Requiem). In the first piece, the speaker sends their declaration of love upon the night-wind to their love interest, and declares that if it is unrequited, they will move on resolutely and confidently. The antiphonal, overlapping harmonies illustrate the night-wind’s sighs. The second piece employs large leaps in the voices to depict the horns of watchmen announcing the end of the day.

Nachtwache I

Leise Töne der Brust, geweckt vom Odem der Liebe,

Hauchet zitternd hinaus, 

ob sich euch öffn' ein Ohr,

Öffn' ein liebendes Herz, und wenn sich keines euch öffnet, 

Trag' ein Nachtwind euch seufzend in meines zurück.

Quiet sounds of the breast (heart), awakened from the breath of love,

Breathe, tremblingly, forth/out.

If you open an ear, 

Open a loving heart,

And if none opens to you,

Let the night wind carry you, sighing, back to me.

Nachtwache II

Ruh'n sie? Rufet das Horn des Wächters drüben aus Westen, 

Und aus Osten das Horn rufet entgegen: Sie ruh'n!

Hörst du, zagendes Herz, die flüsternden Stimmen der Engel? 

Lösche die Lampe getrost, hülle in Frieden dich ein.

Are they resting? The horn of the watchman calls from the West.

And from the East the horn calls a reply: They rest!

Do you hear, apprehensive heart, the whispering voices of angels?

Extinguish the lamp confidently, and cover yourself in peace.

Sechs Geistliche Leider

Hugo Wolf’s Sechs Geistliche Lieder is a cycle of six sacred, unaccompanied songs for SATB chorus, all of which are set to poems by the great German Romantic writer and literary critic Joseph von Eichendorff. Completed in 1881, Sechs Geistliche Lieder was written around the time that Wolf’s fiancée, Vally Franck, broke off their engagement, plunging the composer into despair. This traumatic event may have contributed to the existentialism and profound sense of loss expressed in his music. Each piece in this cycle reflects upon the speaker’s longing for meaning, comfort, and eternity in the face of death and mortality. Despite near-constant homophony and relatively simplistic rhythmic writing, each work in this set is marked by distinct color and complexity. Wolf’s rich, intensely chromatic harmonies bring each piece on a winding—sometimes disorienting—journey through many keys, before eventually concluding definitively in its home key. Though each of the six pieces stands well on its own, they were likely meant to be performed together as a set. The final piece closes simply and quietly in C major on the word “prayer,” which encapsulates the final refuge for the speaker’s despair.

I. Aufblick

Vergeht mir der Himmel von Staube schier

Herr, im Getümmel zeig' dein Panier!

Wie schwank' ich sündlich, lässt du von mir:

unüberwindlich bin ich mit dir!

The sky of dust almost goes by

Lord, in the fray show your banner!

How do I sway astray?

I'm invincible with you!

II. Einkehr

Weil jetzo alles stille ist

und alle Menschen schlafen,

mein' Seel' das ew'ge Licht begrüßt,

ruht wie ein Schiff im Hafen.

Der falsche Fleiß, die Eitelkeit,

was keinen mag erlaben,

darin der Tag das Herz zerstreut,

liegt alles tief begraben.

Ein andrer König wundergleich

mit königlichen Sinnen,

zieht herrlich ein im stillen Reich,

besteigt die ew'gen Zinnen.

Now that all is quiet

and everyone asleep,

my soul greets the eternal light

and rests like a ship in harbor.

Misplaced industriousness, vanity,

which bring nobody solace

but distract the heart by day,

lie buried deep.

Another king, a wondrous one, 

whose spirit is truly royal,

enters the silent kingdom in majesty,

climbs the eternal battlements.

III. Resignation

Komm, Trost der Welt, du stille Nacht!

Wie steigst du von den Bergen sacht,

Die Lüfte alle schlafen,

Ein Schiffer nur noch, wandermüd',

Singt übers Meer sein Abendlied

Zu Gottes Lob im Hafen.

Die Jahre wie die Wolken gehn

Und lassen mich hier einsam stehn,

Die Welt hat mich vergessen,

Da trat’st du wunderbar zu mir,

Wenn ich beim Waldesrauschen hier

Gedankenvoll gesessen.

O Trost der Welt, du stille Nacht!

Der Tag hat mich so müd' gemacht,

Das weite Meer schon dunkelt,

Laß ausruh’n mich von Lust und Not,

Bis daß das ew'ge Morgenrot

Den stillen Wald durchfunkelt.

Come, comfort the world, you silent night!

How do you gently get off the mountains,

The skies are all sleeping,

A skipper just 'wandering',

Sing his evening song over the sea

To God's praise in the harbor.

The years go like the clouds

And let me stand here alone,

The world has forgotten me,

Since you were wonderful to me,

If I'm in the forest noise here

Sat thoughtfully.

O comfort of the world, you silent night!

The day has made me so tired,

The wide sea is already dark,

Let rest from lust and distress,

Until that eternal dawn

The silent forest is shining through.

IV. Letzte Bitte

Wie ein todeswunder Streiter,

Der den Weg verloren hat,

Schwank' ich nun und kann nicht weiter,

Von dem Leben sterbensmatt.

Nacht schon dekket alle Müden,

Und so still ist's um mich her,

Herr, auch mir gib endlich Frieden,

Denn ich wünsch' und hoff' nichts mehr.

Like a miracle fighter,

Who has lost the way

I sway now and cannot continue,

Dead from life.

Night already covers all the tired,

And it's so quiet around me,

Lord, I too can give peace,

Because I wish and hope nothing more.

V. Ergebung

Dein Wille, Herr, geschehe!

Verdunkelt schweigt das Land.

Im Zug der Wetter sehe

ich schauernd deine Hand.

O mit uns Sündern gehe

erbarmend in’s Gericht!

Ich beug' im tiefsten Wehe

zum Staub mein Angesicht.

Dein Wille, Herr, geschehe!

Your will, sir, be done!

Darkened, the land is silent.

See the weather on the train

I shiver your hand.

O go with us sinners

mercy into the court!

I bow in the deepest pains

to the dust my face.

Your will, sir, be done!

VI. Erhebung

So laß herein nun brechen

Die Brandung, wie sie will,

Du darfst ein Wort nur sprechen,

So wird der Abgrund still.

Und bricht die letzte Brükke,

Zu dir, der treulich steht,

Hebt über Not und Glükke

Mich einsam das Gebet.

You can only speak one word,

So the abyss is quiet.

And breaks the last bridge,

To you, who stands faithfully,

Lift over misery and fortune

Lonely the prayer.

Lockung / Abendlich schon rauscht der Wald

Fanny Hensel was one of the most prolific female composers of her era, having composed over 460 pieces of music. Much like her younger brother, Felix Mendelssohn, her prodigious musical talent and wealthy family’s aristocratic connections afforded her unfettered access to the finest musical education. But, unlike her brother, she was dissuaded from professional musical pursuits, instead expected to relegate herself to a more house-bound, “womanly” role. Although Fanny’s family did not want her to publish her own works, Felix sought her insight on his own pieces, and published a few of her works under his name. In 1846, in what would be the last year of her life, Hensel finally decided to publish under her own name, without her brother’s input. Both of Hensel’s pieces featured in this program come from one such collection of settings of poetry by J. V. Eichendorff. Lockung contemplates the sounds of the forest, including the calls of mermaids that lure the speaker into the refreshing river. Abendlich schon rauscht der Wald illustrates the forest’s sounds and its silence, and describes the calm that such tranquility brings to the speaker’s heart.

Lockung

Hörst du nicht die Bäume rauschen

Draußen durch die stille Rund?

Lockts dich nicht, hinabzulauschen

Von dem Söller in den Grund,

Wo die vielen Bäche gehen

Wunderbar im Mondenschein

Wo die stillen Schlösser sehen

In den Fluß vom hohen Stein?

Kennst du noch die irren Lieder

Aus der alten, schönen Zeit?

Sie erwachen alle wieder

Nachts in Waldeseinsamkeit,

Wenn die Bäume träumend lauschen

Und der Flieder duftet schwül

Und im Fluß die Nixen rauschen -

Komm herab, hier ist's so kühl.

Can’t you hear the forest rustle, 

outside through the silent round?

Aren’t you tempted to listen down from the balcony to the ground,

Where the many brooks flow, 

wondrously in the moonlight,

And the silent castles look 

into the river from high rock?

Do you remember the mad songs 

from old, beautiful times?

They all awake again at night, in the loneliness of the forest,

When the dreaming trees are listening,

and the lilac has a sultry scent

And in the river the mermaids murmur, ‘Come down, here it is so cool.’

Abendlich schon rauscht der Wald

Abendlich schon rauscht der Wald

Aus den tiefsten Gründen,

Droben wird der Herr nun bald

An die Sterne zünden,

Wie so stille in den Schlünden,

Abendlich nur rauscht der Wald.

Alles geht zu seiner Ruh,

Wie die Welt verbrause

Schauernd hört der Wandrer zu,

Sehnt sich tief nach Hause,

Hier in Waldes grüner Klause

Herz, geh edlich auch zur Ruh!

Beautiful evening breezes rustle the forest from the deepest grounds,

Above the lord will now soon light the stars

How silent in the chasms, just evening breezes in the wood.

Everything goes to its rest, how the world is spent,

Shuddering, listens the wanderer, yearning deeply for home,

Here in the forest-green hermitage, heart, go at last, too, to rest.

Litanei vom Hauch

Hanns Eisler was a remarkable composer of Austrian descent who created a large body of music in Europe and in America in the 20th century. Sadly, he is mostly unknown in our era. His long association with Bertolt Brecht, the great German author of the same era, resulted in much music, and he was a prominent composer of movie scores (including eight Hollywood films, two of which were Oscar-nominated). His association with political left causes resulted in his deportation from the United States in the Red Scare years; only two decades earlier he had been forced out of Germany by the Nazis. Eisler’s Litanei vom Hauch is a setting of Brecht’s impressive prose: It is an allegorical piece that is at times a cruel depiction of human tribalism, and a warning written in an almost fairy-tale fashion. The German word “Hauch” in the title adds a level of ambiguity in translation as it can mean “breeze” as easily as “breath.”  

Einst kam ein altes Weib einher,

die hatte kein Brot zum Essen mehr.

Das Brot, das fraß das Militär!

Da fiel sie in die Goss', die war kalte.

Da hatte sie keinen Hunger mehr.

Darauf schwiegen die Vöglein im Walde!

Über allen Gipfeln ist Ruh,

in allen Wipfeln spürest du kaum einen Hauch!

Da kam einmal ein Totenarzt einher,

der sagte: Die Alte besteht auf ihrem Schein.

Da grub man die hungrige Alte ein.

so sage das alte Weib nichts mehr!

Nur der Arzt lachte noch über die Alte

Auch die Vöglein schweigen im Walde,

über allen Gipfeln ist Ruh.

Da kam einmal ein einz'ger Mann daher;

der hatte für diese Ordnung keinen Sinn.

Der fand in der Sache einen Haken drin.

Der war eine Art Freund für die Alte.

Der sagte: ein Mensch müsse essen können, bitte sehr, ein Mensch!

Darauf schwiegen die Vöglein im Walde.

Über allen Gipfeln ist Ruh, un allen Wipfeln spürest du kaum einen Hauch!

Da kam einmal ein Polizist daher,

der hatte einen Gummiknüppel dabei.

Der zerklopfte dem Mann seinen

Hinterkopf zu Brei!

Da sagte auch dieser Mann nichts mehr!

Doch der Polizist sagte, daß es schallte:

So! Jetzt schweigen die Vöglein im Walde!

Über allen Gipfeln ist Ruh, in allen Wipfeln spürest du kaum einen Hauch!

Da kamen mit einem mal viele rote Männer einher,

die wollten einmal reden mit dem Militär!

Doch das Militär redete mit dem Maschinengewehr

und da sagten die roten Männer nichts mehr,

doch hatten sie auf ihrer Stirne noch eine Falte!

Darauf schwiegen die Vöglein im Walde.

Über allen Gipfeln ist Ruh, ist Ruh!

Da kam ein großer roter Bär einher,

der wußte nichts von den Bräuchen,

denn er kam von überm Meer,

und der fraß die Vöglein im Walde!

Da schwiegen die Vöglein nicht mehr!

Über allen Gipfeln ist Unruh!

In allen Wipfeln spürest du jetzt einen Hauch!

Once an old crone came walking along, no bread no more.

Military ate it up, ended in the gutter cold and wet,

no hunger no more. Silent the birdsong, not a breath in the trees.

Death doctor comes walking along: 

the lady insists on documentation.

hungry old crone buried,

no words no more,

doctor still laughing,

and silent the birdsong, not a breath in the trees.

One man comes walking along, 

refusing to toe the line,

something's wrong here, 

standing up for the lady.

A body has to eat, she's human too.

Then the birdsong was silent, not a breath in the trees,

in all the forest barely a breeze.

A policeman comes walking along,

carrying his billy club,

beats his brain to mush.

For the man no words no more.

Policeman yelling his words,

Birdsong be silent! In all the trees barely a breeze.

All at once a red crowd comes walking along,

wanting some words with the military.

Military answer with machine guns,

for the red men no words no more,

still with a crease on their forehead.

Now birdsong is silent, not a breeze in the forest, 

not a breath in the trees.

And once a big red bear comes walking along,

not knowing the lines, coming from distant lands.

Ate up the birds in the trees,

birdsong not silent no more.

Breath stirs in the forest, breeze in the trees.

Vier doppelchörige Gesänge

Robert Schumann was born in Zwickau, Saxony, in 1810. The fifth and youngest son of an author, translator, and book dealer, Schumann’s middle-class upbringing allowed him to pursue his interests in literature and music while also briefly studying law. After a hand injury forced him to abandon a planned career as a concert pianist, Schumann made significant contributions to 19th century music as a composer, critic, and champion of younger composers—notably, Johannes Brahms. All of this was achieved despite life-long struggles with mental illness, culminating in a suicide attempt in 1854 and eventually his death in 1856 at age 46.

The year 1849 was one of the most productive years of Schumann’s life and saw the completion of almost 40 compositions. Among these works is the final composition on today’s program, Vier doppelchörige Gesänge, Op. 141, a set of four “part songs” for double-choir. Part songs are typically simple, secular works for unaccompanied voices, and many were composed by the likes of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert. Here, Schumann significantly expands the form, giving us four independent songs that are each cast on a large scale.

I. An die Sterne

Sterne in des Himmels Ferne!

die mit Strahlen bessrer Welt

ihr die Erdendämmrung hellt;

schau'n nicht Geisteraugen

von euch erdenwärts,

daß sie Frieden hauchen

ins umwölkte Herz?

Sterne in des Himmels Ferne!

träumt sich auch in jenem Raum

eines Lebens flücht'ger Traum?

Hebt Entzücken, Wonne,

Trauer, Wehmut, Schmerz,

jenseit unsrer Sonne

auch ein fühlend Herz?

Sterne in des Himmels Ferne!

Winkt ihr nicht schon Himmelsruh'

mir aus euren Fernen zu?

Wird nicht einst dem Müden

auf den goldnen Au'n

ungetrübter Frieden

in die Seele tau'n?

Sterne in des Himmels Ferne,

bis mein Geist den Fittich hebt

und zu eurem Frieden schwebt,

hang' an euch mein Sehnen

hoffend, glaubevoll!

O, ihr holden, schönen,

könnt ihr täuschen wohl?

Stars in the distant heavens!

who brighten the twilight of Earth

with the beams of a better world;

Are there not ghostly eyes

looking from you towards the earth,

breathing peace into clouded hearts?

Stars in the distant heavens!

Is the fleeting dream of life

dreamed even in that far-off place?

Are there hearts beyond our sun

which are also lifted

by delight, joy,

sorrow, melancholy, anguish?

Stars in the distant heavens!

Do your twinkles not signify heavenly peace

to me from far off?

Will you not melt peace

into the soul of weary men

one day in golden meadows?

Stars in the distant heavens,

until my spirit takes wing

and flies to your peace,

I pin my longings on you,

hoping, trusting.

O you lovely, beautiful ones,

is it possible for you to deceive me?

–Friedrich Rückert

II. Ungewisses Licht

Bahnlos und pfadlos, Felsen hinan

stürmet der Mensch, ein Wandersmann.

Stürzende Bäche, wogender Fluß,

brausender Wald, nichts hemmet den Fuß!

Dunkel im Kampfe über ihn hin,

jagend im Heere die Wolken zieh'n;

rollender Donner, strömender Guß,

sternlose Nacht, nichts hemmet den Fuß!

Endlich, ha! endlich schimmert's von fern!

Ist es ein Irrlicht, ist es ein Stern?

Ha! wie der Schimmer so freundlich blinkt,

wie er mich locket, wie er mir winkt!

Rascher durcheilet der Wandrer die Nacht,

hinnach dem Lichte zieht's ihn mit Macht!

Sprecht, wie: sind's Flammen, ist's Morgenrot,

ist es die Liebe, ist es der Tod?

Without a path, without a trail,

the man, the wanderer storms up the cliffs:

Plunging streams, a roaring river,

Booming woods, nothing breaks his stride!

Warring in darkness above,

Clouds pursue him in armies;

Rolling thunder, streaming torrents,

a starless night, nothing breaks his stride!

At last, ha! At last it glitters in the distance!

Is it a phantom, is it a star?

Ha, its sparkle is so friendly,

How it entices me, how it beckons to me!

Faster now the wanderer hurries through the night,

Drawn by the power of the light.

Tell: is it a flame, is it the sunrise?

Is it love, is it death?

–Joseph Christian von Zedlitz

III. Zuversicht

Nach oben mußt du blicken,

gedrücktes, wundes Herz,

dann wandelt in Entzücken

sich bald dein tiefster Schmerz.

Froh darfst du Hoffnung fassen,

wie hoch die Flut auch treibt.

Wie wärst du denn verlassen,

wenn dir die Liebe bleibt?

You must look up,

oppressed, wounded heart,

Then your deepest agonies

Will soon turn to delight.

"You may cling to hope gladly,

however high the flood rises.

How can you be lost

if you still have love?

–Joseph Christian von Zedlitz

IV. Talismane

Gottes ist der Orient!

Gottes ist der Okzident!

Nord und südliches Gelände

Ruht im Frieden seiner Hände.

Er, der einzige Gerechte,

Will für jedermann das Rechte.

Sei von seinen hundert Namen

Dieser hochgelobet! Amen.

Mich verwirren will das Irren;

Doch du weißt mich zu entwirren,

Wenn ich handle, wenn ich dichte,

Gieb du meinem Weg die Richte!

Ob ich Ird'sches denk' und sinne,

Das gereicht zu höherem Gewinne.

Mit dem Staube nicht der Geist zerstoben,

Dringet, in sich selbst gedrängt, nach oben.

Im Atemholen sind zweierlei Gnaden:

Die Luft einziehen, sich ihrer entladen:

Jenes bedrängt, dieses erfrischt;

So wunderbar ist dasLeben gemischt.

Du danke Gott, wenn er dich preßt,

Und dank ihm, wenn er dich wieder entläßt.

The East is God's!

The West is God's!

Northern and southern lands

rest in the peace of his hands.

He, the only one who is just,

wants justice for everyone.

Of his hundred names,

Let this one be highly praised! Amen.

Errors try to confuse me,

But you know how to disentangle me.

If I act, if I compose poems,

Give direction to my path.

Although I think on earthly things,

that stands me in higher stead.

The spirit that doesn't disperse with the dust

is forced back into itself, and ascends.

In breathing, there are two graces:

breathing in, and breathing out.

One constrains us and the other refreshes us;

This is how wonderfully life is mixed.

Thank God when he presses you,

and thank him when he releases you again.

Amen.

–Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

We Who Believe

November 9, 2018: Presbyterian Church of Chestnut Hill

November 11, 2018: First Unitarian Church of Philadelphia

Sonja Bontrager, Lucas DeJesus, Conrad Erb, Julie Frey, Joshua Glassman, Amy Hochstetler, Michael Johnson, Elissa Kranzler, Nathan Lofton, Cortlandt Matthews, Brian Middleton, Hank Miller, John Piccolini, Rebekah Reddi, Jordan Rock, Rebecca Roy, Lizzy Schwartz, Melinda Steffy, Emily Sung, Caroline Winschel, Michele Zuckman

Hope, Ysaÿe Maria Barnwell (b. 1946)

Spiritual, Ysaÿe Maria Barnwell

A ship with unfurled sails, Gabriel Jackson (b. 1962)

Advance Democracy, Benjamin Britten (1913–1976)

What do you think I fought for at Omaha Beach?, Melissa Dunphy (b. 1980)

Mu isamaa on minu arm, Gustav Ernesaks (1908–1993)

El pueblo unido, Sergio Ortega (1938–2003), arr. Gene Glickman

she took his hands, Nicholas Cline (b. 1985)

Te Quiero, Alberto Favero (b. 1944), arr. Liliana Cangiano

we cannot leave (from Privilege), Ted Hearne (b. 1982)

Ella’s Song, Bernice Johnson Reagon (b. 1942)

Hold On! traditional spiritual, arr. Moses Hogan (1957–2003)

If you were hoping that a choir concert might represent the last apolitical space in our public sphere, you might be disappointed today. But this program is only as topical as you need it to be: singing together about revolutions isn’t especially revolutionary, as evidenced by this music that spans continents and carries the voices of earlier generations. The history of societal progress echoes with song, drawing as much from our faith in deliverance as from our need to keep motivated during the struggle.

In this context, returning to this music of progress isn’t simply affirming: it’s crucial. Raising our voices together is both our birthright and our responsibility; it is among the most intimate of public acts and one of the strongest, simplest forms of community-building. And although we are presenting these works formally, we ask that you receive them viscerally, with your whole selves. Your voice––your belief, your power, your faith, your fear––is needed if we are to grow together in community. When the call comes, sing out.

Hope

Today’s program would not be feasible without the ongoing work of Black and African American artists and teachers whose wisdom and talents infuse our contemporary understanding of both music and progress. Chief among these is Dr. Ysaÿe Maria Barnwell, a founding member of the internationally renowned vocal ensemble Sweet Honey in the Rock and a celebrated composer, choral clinician, and master teacher in the African American musical tradition. She summed up much of her teaching and composing in 2016, addressing a workshop audience in Massachusetts: “I see songs as armor when you need it. And I see songs as a blessing. We’re back to the beginning. Songs have a function. That’s what I want people to understand. They come to you when you need them.”

Viewed then as a kind of mantra, Barnwell’s “Hope” builds out of complementary layers of influences, with her timeless text juxtaposed against polyrhythms that hearken to African drumming. The repeated structure makes it easy for any of us to call upon the song when it’s needed—or even to add new calls to action.

Spiritual

With its title defining both its genre and its cultural resonance, Barnwell’s anthem “Spiritual” explores the all-too-familiar uncertainty that comes to those living through unrest. Recorded by Sweet Honey in the Rock in 1993, Barnwell’s references here are to the headlines of the late twentieth century, like the global AIDS epidemic, South African schoolchildren protesting apartheid-fueled educational policies in Soweto, and the Los Angeles police force’s brutal beating of Rodney King. The repeated refrain takes us out of time, framing our shared vulnerability against this backdrop of systemic injustice.

A ship with unfurled sails

“A ship with unfurled sails” places us in similarly uncertain territory, but here the dividing line between possibility and hope seems more tenuous, with nightfall now presaging a new beginning. The text, by Estonian poet and translator Doris Kareva, is colored by the Soviet occupation of Estonia, which achieved modern independence only in 1991. That Kareva’s long-awaited ship comes sovereign, unclaimed by any nation, indicates how deeply the strife of occupation had cut—no flag at all would be better than the standard of a hated occupier.

Gabriel Jackson’s setting of this enigmatic text grounds the poet’s own experiences in striking text painting. The haunting wavelets in the alto line keep the melody off-center, unsure, and the recognition that something glorious may be to hand––Imperceptibly all is changed. All arrives so secretly.––comes in phases, allowing for a surprising expression of pure joy before the narrator can collect herself.

Advance Democracy

In contrast to Jackson and Kareva’s uncertainty, Benjamin Britten’s “Advance Democracy” offers us pure bombast and a more direct call to action. Written in 1938, less than a year before the outbreak of World War II, “Advance Democracy” pleads for an alternative to war, with stirring text by the British poet Randall Swingler. Britten’s own pacifism is well known from his War Requiem, composed in 1962, and though “Advance Democracy” clearly reflects the composer and poet’s own pre-war anxieties, there’s a grim familiarity to the mechanisms of violence and fear as political ploys. Framed with that resonance, Britten’s darker moments carry great weight: listen for the contrast between the disjointed, staccato chant and the soaring, eerie obligato in the other voiceparts.

What do you think I fought for at Omaha Beach?

Of course, Britten and Swingler’s pleas didn’t account for the genocidal horrors being wrought elsewhere in Europe, and the world did go to war for the second time that century. That war included Philip Spooner, a Maine native who served as a medic and a chaplain between 1942 and 1945. Decades later, in 2009, Mr. Spooner shared a glimpse of his wartime experiences before the Maine Judiciary Committee while testifying in support of marriage equality. In reference to the atrocities of the war, he said, “I have seen with my own eyes the consequence of a caste system and of making some people less than others or second class. Never again. We must have equal rights for everyone.”

After a video and transcript of his remarks went viral, Philadelphia composer Melissa Dunphy crafted this intricate choral setting of Mr. Spooner’s address. Although the rhetoric is lofty, Dunphy’s speech-like rhythms hold us tightly to Mr. Spooner’s hesitant, sometimes-shaky delivery, with the sweetness of the setting inviting us to consider that a man who has “seen much” may still be nervous about addressing his state legislators.

A few months after Mr. Spooner’s speech, Maine voted in favor of marriage equality. It might be tempting to ascribe this achievement in part to his testimony—as Dunphy herself laughingly admitted recently, the words of an octagenarian Nazi-fighting veteran are “pretty unimpeachable,” and the extraordinary digital reach of his remarks reveals the impact of a single person’s voice. Still, Mr. Spooner’s insistence on the equality of all people would suggest that his particular contribution to the discussion might as easily have come from someone else. And indeed, that may have been what he intended to share that day with the committee: after Dunphy’s composition received international attention, she was contacted by the canvasser quoted in Mr. Spooner’s remarks. As Dunphy explained recently, the canvasser suggested that all the viral transcripts had captured Mr. Spooner’s central question inaccurately: though his delivery was halting, he had actually asked, “What do you think our boys fought for at Omaha Beach?” Viewed in this light, we must wonder anew about just what Mr. Spooner has seen in his many years: not only about the losses he may have suffered during the war but also about the fears and grief he may have confronted afterwards as a partner and a father. He doesn’t betray any evolution in his own views—he was “raised to believe that all men are created equal”—and so we are left to wonder about how much this man has seen, and about how much he himself has sacrificed in the name of his ideals.

Mu isamaa on minu arm

In the same era as Mr. Spooner’s service, freedom and equality were at risk in Estonia, which was newly under restored Soviet control after only 26 years of independence in the early twentieth century. The Soviet Union was intent on destroying the cultural identity the Estonians had begun forming, and part of their imposed censorship included banning Estonia’s national anthem from being sung in public. 

During the 1947 Laulupidu (the once-annual national song festival), the first since the war’s end, composer Gustav Ernesaks debuted a new setting of the poem “Mu isamaa on minu arm,” an ode to the country written by the famous Estonian poet Lydia Koidula in the mid-nineteenth century. Taken up by the Estonian people as a new anthem of sorts, it too was soon banned, but it continued to be sung and was eventually allowed back on concert programs. In 1969, during the song festival celebrating the 100-year anniversary of Laulupidu, Ernesaks’s piece was performed by a choir, after which the audience—estimated at 100,000 people––and the choir on stage began singing it again in a burst of patriotic fervor. The choir stood firm when they were ordered to leave the stage, and a Soviet military band attempted to drown out the anthem, to no avail.

As referenced in Kareva’s poem, the power of Estonian singing was finally realized in the late 1980s, when it won its independence through the non-violent “Singing Revolution,” thanks to mass demonstrations at which people sang pro-independence songs by contemporary Estonian rock bands. Laulupidu still recurs every five years; in 2019, for the festival’s 150th anniversary, “Mu isamaa on minu arm” will return as the central theme.

El Pueblo Unido

From Chile comes another twentieth-century anthem, here by the storied Leftist composer Sergio Ortega. Ortega worked closely with President Salvador Allende, composing both his electoral theme song (“Venceramos,” or “We Shall Triumph”) and “¡El pueblo unido, jamás será vencido!” in the same period of Allende’s brief tenure before being assassinated during a coup. Ortega was exiled from Chile in the early 1970s, but “El Pueblo Unido” remained part of the Latin America vernacular, known and sung by progressive forces throughout the region. This arrangement by the New York-based arranger Gene Glickman centers the piece’s title as if proclaimed by demonstrators.

she took his hands

“she took his hands” is a setting of an excerpt from a 2007 Washington Post article about the arrest of Elvira Arellano, an immigrant from Mexico who worked for seven years in the United States and took sanctuary in a Chicago church to remain near her U.S.-born son, before ultimately being arrested and deported by U.S. immigration officials for her illegal status. Chicago-based composer Nicholas Cline sets the text in sparse, haunting repetitions that carry the strength, fear, and faith of Elvira’s words to her son. 

Te Quiero

Another vision of activism and faith comes to us from “Te Quiero,” a bone-deep love song by the Argentinian composer Alberto Favero setting a much-beloved poem by Uruguayan poet Mario Benedetti. Favero is known in Latin America primarily for his compositions of popular music; this choral version, by the Argentinian arranger Liliana Cangiano, captures Favero’s inherent expressiveness as he treats the lyrical text. Benedetti’s refrain—“Somos mucho más que dos”––can be a lover’s caress or a revolutionary’s cry; we like that it also speaks to the power of intertwined voices. 

we cannot leave

Ted Hearne’s music blends rock-inspired minimalism with social consciousness. Although educated on the East coast and based for much of his career in Brooklyn, Hearne now lives in Los Angeles and teaches composition at the University of Southern California. Hearne is best known to Philadelphia audiences through his association with the new music choir The Crossing, with whom he has collaborated on numerous occasions. Among these collaborations was Sounds from the Bench, premiered by The Crossing in 2014, which was a finalist for the 2018 Pulitzer Prize in Music.

Privilege, composed in 2009 for the San Francisco choir Volti, was one of the composer’s first major successes and has been performed by dozens of ensembles throughout the United States. Privilege is a collection of five short pieces for a cappella chorus: the first and third movements are settings of “little texts” by the composer that question a contemporary privileged life (his own). The second and fourth movements are settings of excerpts from an interview with TV producer and journalist David Simon, creator of the television series The Wire. Simon’s words are answers to questions about economic and educational inequality. The final movement, “we cannot leave,” which we share here today as a standalone piece, is a setting of As’ Kwaz’ uKuhamba, a Xhosa anti-apartheid song from South Africa.

The composer writes: “The first four movements are of course most closely related to contemporary America. Because the fifth takes a text from an outside culture (black South African) and is more removed historically (because the era of Apartheid is over we are able to process it as a chapter that has been closed), it can provide relief from texts that are more ‘close to home.’ But also […] there are common themes running between the movements, and in a way the distanced perspective makes the last movement the saddest or most tragic of all. One thing that should not be overlooked is the parallels between social and economic injustices in Apartheid South Africa and America.”

Ella’s Song

In addition to her role as the founder of Sweet Honey in the Rock, Bernice Johnson Reagon is a celebrated composer, arranger, teacher, and theater artist. In 1981, she was commissioned to compose the title song for Fundi: The Story of Ella Baker: the result was “Ella’s Song.” Although the lyrics seem shockingly familiar today, they are drawn from Baker’s decades of writings and activism against exploitation, racism, and injustice. As Reagon writes, “The first verse is from a statement Baker made about the murder of three Civil Rights Movement workers, Michael Schwerner, James Chaney, and Andrew Goodman during the Mississippi Campaign in the summer of 1964. A search was mounted after their disappearance that involved dragging the rivers of Mississippi. As they searched the muddy waters, they turned up bodies of Black men who had never been looked for because they were Black.” Although the call-and-response pattern means that only a few singers give voice to Baker’s words, Reagon’s score cautions that “all harmony lines must carry the emotional responsibility of the song.”

Hold On!

“Hold On!,” sometimes known as “Gospel Plow,” is a traditional American spiritual recorded by such artists as Mahalia Jackson, Duke Ellington, and Bob Dylan. The text implores us to live life to the fullest, committing ourselves to work for meaning and justice in this world.  Hogan's arrangement features small groups of voices sharing each verse while the rest of the ensemble emphatically supports them.

Where the Truth Lies

March 24, 2018: Historic St. George’s United Methodist Church

March 25, 2018: First Unitarian Church of Philadelphia

Sonja Bontrager, Lucas DeJesus, Conrad Erb, Joshua Glassman, Amy Hochstetler, Michael Johnson, Elissa Kranzler, Nathan Lofton, Cortlandt Matthews, Hank Miller, Rebekah Reddi, Jordan Rock, Rebecca Roy, Eddie Rubeiz, Lizzy Schwartz, Zachary Sigafoes, Melinda Steffy, Emily Sung, Caroline Winschel, Michele Zuckman

Conquest

“Those who tell the stories rule the world.” –Hopi proverb

Windham, Daniel Read (1757–1836)

La Guerre, Clément Janequin (c. 1485–1558)

Trois beaux oiseaux du Paradis, Maurice Ravel (1875–1937)

The Dying Soldier, American folksong (c. 1863), arr. Nigel Short and Mack Wilberg

La Guerra, Mateo Flecha the Elder (1481–1553)

Hanacpachap cussicuinin, Inca hymn (c. 1631)

Devotion

Hymn to St. Cecilia, Benjamin Britten (1913–1976)

I am the Rose of Sharon, William Billings (1746–1800)

Love, Bob Chilcott (b. 1955)

I love my love, Gustav Holst (1874–1934)

History’s Stories, Dale Trumbore (b. 1987)

For thousands of years, we have created stories to chronicle, to educate, to entertain, and to explore our identities. This program begins by exploring stories of conquest and loss through the music of colonialism and warfare. We weave together the programmatic songs of Clément Janequin and Mateo Flecha, bookended by American and Spanish colonial hymns, to show how music can be used as a vehicle of conquest itself. Meanwhile, through the heartbreaking music of Maurice Ravel, Nigel Short, and Mack Wilberg, we feel how war destroys us by cutting short our stories with the people we love.

Selections by Benjamin Britten, William Billings, Bob Chilcott, and Gustav Holst then take us on a transcendent exploration of devotion, showing us how stories of love, both human and divine, have intertwined and nurtured each other through the ages. As with music and conquest, here we experience music as a vehicle for love, and love as an integral ingredient in music: no more so than in Britten’s Hymn to St. Cecilia, a complicated love story about music itself. We begin and end our program with the same musing: how do stories take shape—in the telling or the retelling? Our journey closes fittingly with this phrase by American poet Diane Thiel, beautifully set in a final piece by Dale Trumbore:

       Our voices rise and leave, traveling, raveling, veiling

       currents across the sea, longing to reach each

       Atlantis, locate shapes that sounds recall––call

       back the world, as it was first encountered, heard

Windham

We open with “Windham,” a shape-note hymn set to a text by Isaac Watts with the more-interesting subtitle “The Almost Christian, The Hypocrite, or The Apostate.” More dogma than narrative itself, the angular sonorities and strident singing emphasize the piece’s Puritanical pessimism. Listeners, take heed: the forthcoming tales of love, triumph, and other frivolous things may wrench you from the narrow road of wisdom and salvation.

La Guerre

Clement Janéquin is one of our favorite composers, and “La Guerre,” his onomatopoetic depiction of the French victory over the Swiss at the Battle of Marignano in 1515, perfectly illustrates why. Listen carefully as the battle intensifies: what begins as a nationalistic song meant to stir up comrades evolves into the sounds of charging cavalry, sackbuts, and cannonfire. This was a decisive and unexpected victory for the French: after decades of Swiss supremacy, the French forces had taken an unprecedented stand, hauling hundreds of pieces of artillery––including dozens of huge cannons––through the Alps before the battle. The French army’s shock and delight will be apparent in their declarations of “Victoire!” at the end of the piece.

Trois beaux oiseaux du Paradis

“Trois beaux oiseaux du Paradis” is the second of Maurice Ravel’s Trois Chansons, which together consist of the only a cappella choral music he ever published. Ravel wrote the music and texts for all three pieces between December 1914 and February 1915, while waiting to be enlisted in the army. The other two songs in the set employ light, whimsical music and texts, but “Trois beaux oiseaux du Paradis” is unmistakably the product of a man contemplating war. A woman greets three birds of Paradise, each representing a color from France’s tricolored flag and each bearing something from her lover, who has gone to the war. The woman’s anxious vigil at home is embodied by a soprano soloist, and the blue, white, and red birds of Paradise are sung by tenor (here a low alto), mezzo-soprano, and baritone soloists respectively. The three birds bring the woman snatches of her beloved’s voice and fragments of a story which she, far from the front, cannot access. Ravel’s heartbreaking music and evocative text invites us to contemplate the ways in which war and separation unravel our narratives with the people we love. 

The Dying Soldier

Exploring another perspective on the same theme, the titular narrator of “The Dying Soldier” is an American Civil War soldier who has been mortally wounded while fighting far from home. Lying on the cold ground, he shares final thoughts with his friend, Brother Green, relaying both his deep love for his family and his faith that they will reunite in heaven. The baritone solo carries most of the text, while the choir provides harmonic support and an ethereal quality.

La Guerra and Hanacpachap cussicuinin

Linked across time and hemispheres by imperial conquest, “La Guerra” and “Hanacpachap cussicuinin” will be performed together as a set. “La Guerra” is a sixteenth-century ensalada by Mateo Flecha the Elder that vividly recounts a heroic battle between the forces of Christ and the forces of the devil. An ensalada, which literally translates to “salad,” is named for its mix of textures: such pieces are comprised of quotations from popular melodies and texts set in varying meters, rhythms, and even languages, at the free discretion of the composer. The second piece, “Hanacpachap cussicuinin,” is an anonymous processional hymn to the Virgin Mary written in Quechua, the language of the Inca Empire. Printed in 1631 in Peru, “Hanacpachap cussicuinin” was the first piece of vocal polyphony to be published in the New World, and it remains a relic of a time and place in which Spanish Catholicism and native Inca belief systems had begun to fuse together in a new and unusual religious environment.

By the time Flecha was writing his ensaladas in the 1530s, a Golden Age of arts and literature was dawning in Spain; at the same time, the Spanish Empire was at its height overseas, and the Inquisition was still underway at home. As a story about Spain’s holy war, “La Guerra” is very much a product of this time period. The piece has five sections: a call to battle; an interlude of fifes and drums; a song within a song, in which Christ’s assistance is requested and granted; the battle scene; and the final victory. The piece is fast-paced, rousing, and somewhat comic in character. Yet the subject itself––the supremacy of Christ over infidel forces and the conquest of Christianity over the entire world––is meant seriously. Flecha’s intent comes through clearly in the slower, less-jocular sections of music; in his use of formal language rather than vulgar or vernacular text; and in the sudden switch to declamatory Latin for the piece’s final stanzas: “This is the victory that conquers the world: our faith.”

Fittingly, “Hanacpachap cussicuinin” speaks to the ways in which the same era’s Spanish conquistadors used music as a tool for conversion in the New World. It also points to the fluidity of both Christianity and native belief systems in seventeenth-century Peru. The text is nominally a prayer of supplication to the Virgin Mary, but it features imagery that relates instead to the Inca goddess Pachamama, the Earth Mother, who was commonly incorporated into Marian devotion. Although the composer’s identity is lost to history, it is likely that they were an indigenous American musician writing in the Spanish polyphonic style: first, because the hymn was written in Quechua, and second, because of its use of syncopations and a 3-3-4-3-3-4 phrase structure––both features that were common in native music but unusual for European compositions of the time. 

Taken together from a time that saw both great change and great resilience within art, society, and religion, “La Guerra” and “Hanacpachap cussicuinin” give us a lively but deeply unsettling portrait of music itself as a tool of war and conquest.

Hymn to St. Cecilia

St. Cecilia is the patron saint of musicians, and composers from Purcell and Charpentier to Mahler and Howells have written works in her honor. Hymn to St. Cecilia by the English composer Benjamin Britten, born on St. Cecilia’s feast day in 1913, opens the second half of our program. Britten completed the work in 1942, during an extraordinary period of creativity that coincided with the height of World War II. Britten was an avowed pacifist; notably, he produced some of his best-known works between 1939 and 1945, including not only today’s selection but also A Ceremony of Carols (1942), Rejoice in the Lamb (1943), and the opera Peter Grimes (1945).

In Hymn to St. Cecilia, the composer sets a poem by his friend and early mentor, W. H. Auden. The conductor Robert Shaw writes that the poem “is certainly more than occasionally obscure, but it is clear that it mixes erotic imagery (Blonde Aphrodite) with artistic and even religious symbolism.” At the time, Auden was encouraging Britten to embrace his own homosexuality, in hopes that this personal development would lead to even more artistic freedom. Shaw continues, “There is little doubt that in the beginning of Part II (‘I cannot grow, I have no shadow to run away from…’) Auden is urging Britten to begin to have ‘a past’––a ‘shadow’ from which he can grow.” 

Hymn to St. Cecilia is in three large sections, separated by settings of the refrain: “Blessed Cecilia, appear in visions / To all musicians, appear and inspire.” The first section sets the most literal portion of the text with lilting music. The harmonies expand and contract as the “innocent virgin” constructs an “organ to enlarge her prayer” and the saint’s music reaches its first climax and quickly calms as “around the wicked in Hell’s abysses the huge flame flickered and eased their pain.” The first refrain sounds, set almost entirely in unison. The second section, a scherzo of sorts, builds upon this unison with a sprightly canon between the sopranos and tenors layered over slow octaves in the altos and basses. The section ends still in unison but with a much more intimate statement: “Love me.” After the second refrain, now fully harmonized, the third section of the poem begins as a passacaglia, with a repeated bass line. This music leads to a series of solos, beginning with a soprano voicing St. Cecilia herself. Other soloists impersonate instruments––a violin, a drum, a flute, and a trumpet––to convey Auden’s coded messages to Britten, using the saint’s own powers to reckon with this musician born on her feast day. After this outpouring of emotion, the final refrain returns to the music that began the piece, bringing the work to a quiet close. 

I am the Rose of Sharon

Revolutionary-era American composer William Billings was also a successful singing teacher, church musician, and leatherworker. A self-taught yet prolific composer, Billings produced six volumes of Psalms, hymn settings, choral anthems, and fugues.“I am the Rose of Sharon,” his choral setting of texts from the Song of Solomon, was first published in 1778 and remains one of his best-known works.  Billings juxtaposes choral solos, duets, and full chorus textures, creating charming interplay between the voiceparts and allowing each new idea in the text to receive its own distinct melody. Through tempo and meter changes, he evokes playful and dance-like moods to illuminate passages that still bring joy today: “For lo, the winter is past; the rain is over and gone!”  

Should this setting inspire you to similar musical outbursts, Billings also included a bit of advice for aspiring singers in the same 1778 publication: “SING that part which gives you the least pain, otherwise you make it a toil, instead of pleasure; for if you attempt to sing a part which is (almost or quite) out of your reach, it is not only very laborious to the performer; but very disagreeable to the hearer, by reason of many wry faces and uncouth postures, which rather resemble a person in extreme pain, than one who is supposed to be pleasantly employed. And it has been observed, that those persons, who sing with the most ease, are in general the most musical.”

Love

In contrast to the rollicking good cheer of “I am the Rose of Sharon,” Bob Chilcott’s “Love” feels markedly unsettled. Chilcott relies heavily on an Impressionist technique called harmonic planing: throughout the piece, the top three voices move in the same direction, by the same interval, at the same time. With the voice parts remaining constant relative to one another, the chord moves through the scale but never changes. The result creates a feeling of seasickness, as the chords plane out of the major scale but remain relatively consonant. The bell-like soprano and tenor solos, sounding in unison against the choir’s undulating chords, remain as constant as the title, drawing us close against the “deep night” to assure that “all is well.”

I love my love

“I love my love” is one of Gustav Holst’s Six Choral Folksongs, published in 1916. A setting of a Cornish folksong, this piece tells the story of Nancy, a young woman whose lover was sent to sea by his parents, presumably in an effort to break up their relationship. As a result, she is so distraught with heartbreak that she has been sent to Bedlam, an old nickname for London’s St. Mary Bethlehem hospital, the oldest-known psychiatric institution in Europe and a place made infamous by its historic mistreatment of the mentally ill. Holst, who is still well-known today for his beautiful settings of English folksongs, alternates between the different voiceparts in the choir to illustrate the dialogue between Nancy and her lover and to switch between first- and third-person narration of Nancy’s story. We cannot help but wonder whose version of the story this is: is Nancy truly able to speak freely, or does the text come from the community that both condemned and redeemed her? But even as Nancy questions her immediate circumstances, she never wavers in her devotion to her beloved or her confidence in his reciprocation. At least the story seems to end happily, with both love and madness cured at once.

History’s Stories

Dale Trumbore is among the emerging generation of choral composers. A native of New Jersey, she is now based in Los Angeles, where she was a student of Morton Lauridsen at the University of Southern California. Trumbore’s works have been performed by The Esoterics, the Los Angeles Master Chorale, New York Virtuosos Singers, and VocalEssence, among many others. 

“History’s Stories” is actually three pieces in one: two separate pieces for women’s chorus and men’s chorus that can be performed simultaneously to create a third piece. This structure is derived from the poem by Diane Thiel, which can likewise be read three different ways: the body of each line makes one poem (set for men’s chorus), the final word of each line forms a second poem (set for women’s chorus), or the poem can be read in its entirety (the combined third piece). This structure is further highlighted in Trumbore’s setting, where the sopranos and altos echo the final word or syllable of each line sung by the tenors and basses. Trumbore’s evocative approach to Thiel’s plaintive text challenges us to consider the ripple effects of the stories we tell and hear: though the men and women sing simultaneously, they are functionally isolated, telling the same tale from very different perspectives. Listen for the distinct characters between the gendered choruses as the two stories unspool past each other, each hoping that art and music will bridge the chasm left by narrative.