At the Schermerhorn
Hallelujah!: NSO’s Production of Handel’s Messiah
I was fortunate to experience George Frideric Handel’s Messiah performed by the Nashville Symphony Orchestra and Chorus. I saw the last performance on Sunday, December 17, 2023, at 2:00 p.m. Being relatively new to Nashville, this was my first trip inside the Laura Turner Concert Hall at the Schermerhorn Symphony Center downtown. I enjoyed seeing Turner Hall’s European-inspired, neo-classical architectural style, especially since the beautiful hall was festooned with traditional holiday décor. Nashville Symphony Chorus director Dr. Tucker Biddlecombe led the combined orchestra and chorus beautifully through Messiah, and this production featured vocal soloists Raven McMillon—soprano; Katherine Beck—mezzo-soprano; Tyler Nelson—tenor, and Rod Gilfry—baritone.
Messiah is one of Handel’s most popular and beloved works. Composed in 1741, Handel’s music—even nearly 300 years later—still has its place in the public’s consciousness in many parts worldwide, especially during the Christian holiday seasons, Christmas and Easter. The Messiah consists of roughly fifty musical numbers (depending on how the work is produced—sometimes smaller numbers are, or are not, combined) divided into three main parts that depict the life of Jesus Christ. The wordbook—or the libretto—for London’s 1743 premier of Messiah reads:
And without controversy, great is the mystery of Godliness: God was manifested in the Flesh, justify’d by the Spirit, seen of Angels, preached among the Gentiles, believed on in the World, received up in Glory. In whom are hid all the Treasures of Wisdom and Knowledge.[1]
Just as this forward above in part describes the Messiah, Part I of the work marks the coming and birth of Christ;
Part II reflects upon Christ’s passion, persecution and death, resurrection, and the spreading of the Christian Gospel; and last, Part III asserts Christ’s second coming, the end of the world, and God’s promise of eternal life. Also, Messiah is one of Handel’s remarkable oratorios; an oratorio, a genre of music containing the primary musical components of opera, is without some of the more costly performative aspects, like staging, sets, or costumes. One might consider Handel’s oratorios like that of concertized operas. Unlike other Handel oratorios—such as Esther, Saul, and Belshazzar—the Messiah’s narrative is less story-like, but instead, it operates like a collection of vignettes that together contemplate Christ rather than construct a literal and definitive account.
Oratorios, including Messiah, use the similar musical structure of Eighteenth-century Italian opera—for which Handel wrote over 40 Italian operas—such as choruses (many people singing), arias (solo songs), and recitatives (linking passages between arias and choruses). An excellent example of how these three components work together is in Part II—Christ’s Passion, during a sequence depicting Christ’s persecution as he was being hung on a cross. A large chorus sings, “He trusted in God,” which depicts a population doubting Christ as the son of God, saying, “He trusted in God that He would deliver him if He delight in Him.” The highly imitative texture of this chorus gives a sonic impression of people forming a growing mob mocking Christ with increasing intensity. A recitative immediately follows the chorus—“Thy rebuke hath broken His heart.” A solo tenor voice, representing an individual’s point of view from within the mob at that moment, reflects on his own sadness and dismay regarding his betrayal of Christ. The tenor sings: “Thy rebuke hath broken His heart; He is full of heaviness. He looked for some to have pity on him, but there was no man, neither found He any to comfort Him.” This recitative leads right into a short and solemn aria—still sung by the tenor—“Behold, and see if there be any sorrow like unto His sorrow.”
One of the reasons I chose to describe the sequence discussed above is because of Nelson’s brilliant performance as tenor soloist for this particular recitative and aria. Nelson, obviously a true professional, delivered such a compelling performance throughout the Messiah, but the emotion from the audience that his singing evoked in “Rebuke” and “Behold” was a stand-out moment for me. Blown away! describes my reaction to the firm, rich, and beautifully colorful timbre of mezzo-soprano Katherine Beck’s voice—the Boston Globe hailed Beck’s voice as “balmy.” Whether it was emoting Messiah’s long, expressive phrases or executing its fast and intricate melisma—or rapidly singing chains of notes while sustaining a single vowel—Beck maintained technical control over her voice, never letting the world-class quality of her tone diminish. Soprano soloist Raven McMillon’s performance was celestial. I perked up at her “Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion” performance, McMillion executing the coloratura soprano aria with the most remarkable ease, ultimately owning a nearly ten-second melismatic passage. Additionally, baritone soloist Rod Gilfry grabbed the audience’s attention with his loud, thunderous voice. Authoritative and commanding, Gilfry, even in his lower register, still sang such technical passages with a high level of clarity.
I would be remiss if I failed to mention the “Hallelujah” Chorus at the conclusion of Part II. Biddlecombe offered us a refreshing interpretation of the chorus’ entrance. The initial entrance of the lyric “Hallelujah” is often heard with a firm attack, as if to convey the intense joy and excitement associated with Christ’s resurrection. This aspect of the “Hallelujah” Chorus has become a cinematic trope, especially in comedies, marking moments of gratuitous celebration—think Clark Griswold’s house-lighting scene in National Lampoons Christmas Vacation (1989). Instead, Biddlecombe chose to round the edges of the articulation, allowing the chorus’ entrance to drift in, creating a gorgeous swell. All voices within the homophonic texture were clearly discernable, and the impeccable intonation enabled the composite sound to effectively ring throughout the hall. As tradition requires, the audience stood during the chorus. Nobody knows for sure why audiences display such magistral behavior, like standing during the “Hallelujah” Chorus; no one is sure about how the tradition started.
A popular theory describes how King George II stood during the “Hallelujah” Chorus at the Messiah’s 1743 London premiere. However, despite a widespread acceptance of that account, it has never been 100% confirmed. During the NSO’s performance, spectators began moving their bodies in ways they felt were appropriate in the moment—some swayed, others waved their arms as if to conduct. Also, I could hear several audience members around me singing passages under their breath. Many people seem to feel strongly connected to the “Hallelujah” chorus, and witnessing it in Turner Hall was remarkable.
NSO’s production of Handel’s Messiah was top notch, and I look forward to attending more NSO concerts in the future. Nashville is fortunate to have such a high quality and active symphony orchestra of its own. Find out more about the NSO and their concert and event schedule on the website at https://www.nashvillesymphony.org.
[1] “Wordbook for the first London performance of ‘Messiah’, Theatre Royal, Covent Garden, March 1743,” Oxford Music Online, Accessed: December 19, 2023.
The MCR Interview
Denice Hicks on Her Career and The Nashville Shakespeare Festival
As actress and administrator, Denice Hicks has been one of the most pivotal players in Nashville theater for several decades. This year she announced her imminent departure from the Nashville Shakespeare Festival to embark on her own creative projects. MCR Journalist Grace Tipton took the opportunity to interview Hicks on her career (so far) and work with the Nashville Shakespeare Festive.
at the Blair School of Music
Nashville Scholars and Musicians Celebrate Florence Price
I attended the event Florence Price: A Celebration for Orchestra, November 14, 2023 in Martha Rivers Ingram Hall at the Blair School of Music in Vanderbilt University. The Vanderbilt University Orchestra was under the direction of conductor Dr. Ernesto Estigarribia with featured piano soloist Dr. Susan Yang—both Estigarribia and Yang serve on Vanderbilt’s music faculty. This concert, featuring composer Florence Price’s orchestral works, was part of a month-long—October 3, 2023, through November 14, 2023—tribute concert series dedicated to Price’s monumental career titled Florence Price: A Celebration. (More details of the concert series can be found here). Dr. Douglas Shadle, Musicologist and Associate Professor of Musicology at Vanderbilt, produced this multi-event music festival honoring Price with the help of funding from the National Endowment for the Arts.
Florence Price (1887–1953) was the first African-American woman to attain a prevalent respect and recognition as a symphonic composer, gaining mounting distinction in the 1930s. Her early musical training came from piano lessons with her mother. During her formative training, Price studied music composition at Boston’s New England Conservatory under Wallace Goodrich and Fredrich Shepherd Converse and privately with George Whitefield Chadwick. Fast forward, Price eventually became the first African-American Woman to have any orchestral work performed by a major American orchestra. After her time in Boston, Price spent most of her professional time teaching in the American South—between Little Rock, Arkansas, and Atlanta, Georgia—before getting married. She moved to Chicago with her husband in 1927, presumably to remove themselves from the growing hostility in the Southern US regions toward people of color. However, Price’s relocation was partly an impetus to a period of compositional creativity, and she collaborated with those like Carl Busch, Wesley La Violette, and Arthur Olaf Anderson at the Chicago Musical College. Price’s artistic and professional growth quickly earned her awards and national acclaim, winning first prize in the Wanamaker competition for her Symphony in E Minor in 1932. The next year this symphony was premiered by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra under the baton of Frederick Stock.
Price’s career extends beyond that one incredible milestone, but the strong resonance it created was felt by audiences at Vanderbilt’s November 14th performance. The evening’s program represents the kind of music that Price preferred to write. During his detailed concert notes, which he presented between movements during the concert, Shadle quoted a letter Price wrote to conductor Robert Whitney on April 25, 1953 in which she expressed her love for symphonic composition:
Dear Mr. Whitney, During the last several years, I have been rather busy at writing “commercially”—that is—the publishers ask me for such music as have sales-appeal in the teaching field. I have recently decided to give more time to the writing of the kind of music which lies closest to my heart and already have been fortunate enough to win a number of composition contests and hear manuscripts performed, among which was the TV performances a few weeks ago of a group of pieces of mind performed by the Chicago Symphony Chamber Orchestra on their program of American Music.[1]
The works featured in this concert only came to light years after Price’s passing in 1953. Shadle described how several of Price’s lost and unpublished manuscripts were discovered in 2009 inside an abandoned and dilapidated house on the outskirts of St. Anne, Illinois. Also discovered in this house were several of Price’s books and personal papers which were all eventually sent to the Florence Beatrice Smith Price Collection archive at the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville. By 2015, Price’s orchestral music was performed in many parts of the United States and worldwide.
One might ask, Why would this almost-destroyed collection of work be subject to such neglect? In the New Yorker, Shadle pointed out how the classical music canon was (and is) “rooted in ‘conscious selection performed by individuals in positions of power.’” (The topic of Price’s position in the classical canon, and programming her pieces in contemporary performance has also been discussed in the pages of MCR here). A large portion of Price’s legacy could have perished in that St. Anne house. Other tangible evidence of such neglect is found in a series of letters from 1943, also given in that article from the New Yorker, that Price wrote to Serge Koussevitzky the Music Director of the Boston Symphony Orchestra:
“My dear Dr. Koussevitzky, To begin with I have two handicaps—those of sex and race. I am a woman; and I have some Negro blood in my veins.”
Price was clearly aware of how the intersection of her sex and race was an obstacle within powerful Euro-centric music circles, however, Shadle further shed light on how Price was not naïve in her communication. During his lecture he argued:
It’s easy to read the 1943 Koussevitzky letter as a generic plea for attention, but we have to read it with two other pieces of context in mind. First, when she says that she has had trouble getting the attention of East Coast conductors, she is obliquely referring to him; she had sent him a letter two years earlier [1941] essentially asking him [Koussevitzky] the same questions about reviewing her scores. He never replied. Second, now that the United States was in the middle of World War II, Koussevitzky had publicly called on classical music ensembles to support American composers. The 1943 letters represent Price’s answer to that call, rather than a random inquiry. With those two pieces of context, I [Shadle] think we can see Price engaging in some clever gamesmanship with Koussevitzky.[2]
I first heard Price’s orchestral works at Vanderbilt’s November 14th concert. Rich, beautiful, and anachronistic—dare I say, Wagnerian. The first piece performed was a tone poem titled The Oak. Low-voiced strings begin with the piece’s returning motivic figure of a descending minor second (A–G#) followed by an augmented second (G#–F). This combination of notes creates a downward, ominous-sounding musical gesture. As this descending motif continues, the upper voices begin to gradually move upward, all fused together by dissonant and chromatic harmonies. Typical of orchestral music in Romantic and post-Romantic styles, The Oak sounds cinematic, leading audiences through a sonically driven series of emotions and mental images. Halfway through, a few tinges of jazz harmony rise through the texture during transitional moments. The ending Allegro section develops the descending, three-note motive into multiple repetitions of ascending sequences before a dramatic finish.
Second on the program was Price’s Piano Concerto in One Movement, featuring piano soloist Susan Yang. Though the concerto’s three movements are attaca, or without pause, each section has its own distinct characteristics. The first section generally uses a late-Romantic style, but the primary thematic material draws from the sound of African-American spirituals. Yang exquisitely introduced the thematic material in the piece’s opening section, and fragments of the pentatonic-melodic theme were thoroughly developed throughout the first movement.
The slower second movement elicits a deeper reverent and spiritual essence that Yang conveyed beautifully, taking her time through the more introspective moments at important transitions. A highlight for me was at the end of the introduction, where a surprise plagal function by the piano—like the “A-Men” chords at the end of hymns—at measure 230 after a sustained dominant—instead of the expected V–I function—which fortified an even more secure sonic evocation of the piece’s spiritual resonances. Another highlight of the second movement was how Price created an interplay between the piano and solo instruments and smaller instrumental groups, showcasing the orchestra’s diverse timbral pallet.
In the concerto’s third and last section, Price took inspiration from the juba dance, a Nineteenth-century African American dance performed by enslaved African people. Juba dance involves what is called “patting juba,” or the slapping of one’s hands, legs, and body, generating music. Juba dance is also known as “Hambone.” The many syncopated—short-long-short—rhythms create a cake-walk or ragtime feel. The lively and charming melody, led by Yang on the piano, is supported by various consorted instrumental groups before culminating in the piece’s overwhelmingly exciting last forty-six seconds.
The final piece on the concert, Ethiopia’s Shadow in America, is another tone poem that belongs to Price’s earlier collection of orchestral works. The large form of Ethiopia’s Shadow is very much like The Oak—an opening section with a heavily developed theme is followed by a slower and reverent movement before a more brilliant conclusion—but Ethiopia was composed with more transparently programmatic sense. Shadle described how Price included in its manuscript an intended narrative portrayal of each movement: “I—The Arrival of the Negro in America when first brought here as a slave. II—Hist Resignation and Faith. III—His Adaptation, A fusion of his native and acquired impulses.”[3]
In all, the concert and festival was well done! And thank you, Dr. Estigarribia, the Vanderbilt University Orchestra, and Dr. Yang, for such an incredible performance of this vital music. Special appreciation is given to Dr. Shadle for his time, interest, and conviction in leading this presentation of Price’s music to us here in Nashville—we are all fortunate to have had this experience. Look for a biography of Price from Shadle and musicologist and pianist Samantha Ege, soon to be published in the Master Musician Series by Oxford University Press.
[1] In addition to Shadle’s talk during the November 14th concert, the account of lost manuscripts is found in: Alex Ross, “The Rediscovery of Florence Price: How an African-American Composer’s Works Were Save from Destruction,” The New Yorker (January 29, 2018), Accessed: December 4, 2023. https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2018/02/05/the-rediscovery-of-florence-price.
[2] Shadle’s words from follow-up correspondence we had after the evening’s performance. The discussion was included in Shadle narration during the November 14th concert.
[3] From Shadle’s talk at the November 14th concert and reiterated in: Shadle, Douglas, “Ethiopia’s Shadow in America,” Boston Symphony Orchestra, Accessed: December 2, 2023. https://www.bso.org/works/ethiopias-shadow-in-america.
From OzArts
The truth is hidden under the posh dinner table: A review on Geoff Sobelle’s “FOOD”
Geoff Sobelle’s performance “FOOD,” brought to Nashville by OZ Arts, took me through a roller coaster of feelings and kept my head spinning long after the amusement was gone. Within 90 minutes, without an intermission, I rolled my eyes, I laughed out loud, I felt joy, pity, and sadness. I physically participated in co-making the performance and I cried…
Actor, co-director, and magician Geoff Sobelle opens “FOOD,” a performance deftly involving the audience into a participatory experience, by tricking us towards a meditation that dives into tracing the heritage of the relationship between the human and the secret ingredient which enables it to remain alive: food. We are led through the chronicle of consumption in reverse: from reminiscing about what we’ve eaten before coming to the show, all the way back to the genesis of our relationship with food: collecting, hunting, harvesting, producing, processing and mass producing.
The performance embraces and questions the power of theater to examine life through make believe. What is true on stage and what is false and how does this reflect our relationship with the reality outside of the performance space? Sobelle deceives the audience to believe the candle he lights to begin the performance ritual is fake, which one would certainly expect as a safety measure in an indoor theater setting, but is it fake really, if he blows it and the wick releases smoke?
This sets the atmosphere for the polarity of reality and fabrication, the second being one of the strongest traits of theater; its capacity to teleport the audience into a world that is not directly theirs, which through the personal experiential palette, becomes relatable. We become co-conspirators of the world we live in and are invited to share and hold responsibility for where we stand today, both environmentally and in terms of social justice. To quote playwright and screenwriter David Mamet in Theatre: “Drama … is about discovering the truth that had previously been obscured by lies, and about our persistence in accepting lies.”
We are introduced to a polished pretense dinner party around a 500-square-foot table, neatly covered by a white tablecloth and a red decorative ribbon holding the above-mentioned candle. The table is barely set with only the necessary tableware. Above the table dangles a glamorous chandelier, although when looked more closely, it is easy to notice that it’s made of cut plastic bottles and utensils, shining a reference to the debris of our consumption.
The audience is split in two: those with wrist bands that sit around the table and those behind, who witness the performance from a further distance. Thus, a division is set between those that sit at the table and those that are on the elevated seats behind them. Sobelle invites the ones on the back to help him serve wine to the ones sitting on the table. The desires of the table guests are met bluntly: when someone orders eggs, as per the text directions on the hand-written menu provided by Sobelle, they get eggs, raw, luckily unshelled. The audience behind the table observes these privileges of drinking wine and being served food, although what is served, confirmed by the comments of the relishing table ‘guests’, doesn’t necessarily sound very appetizing. The wrist-banders know how to test the quality of their wine, order their steak medium rare, pay a bill and leave a tip. The audience obeys to the choreographed ceremony and accepts this division without questioning their strata: those who pay more get first class seats. They, however, are also more exposed to the splashes of wine, the rising dust, the invitation to recite lists of food production history, share memoirs that arise from tasting the wine and certain foods, prepared vigorously and with a stinging humor.
Then there is a twist. Sobelle unapologetically collects everyone’s glasses and empties them, even the drinks the audience bought at the bar before the performance began. There is a rush to perform this act of cleaning up the table, and although he is polite, the audience becomes exposed to a forceful act that puts an end to their privileges.
After the hasty, almost caricaturized serving on roller shoes, when off duty, the polished waiter who has finished his exhaustive and sweaty shift, transforms into a gluttonous monster. His, respectively, our chafed nature is exposed. Greedy consumption of whatever comes in front of our eyes. What at first seems like a humorous interpretation of magical tricks making food and non-food disappear referentially into Sobelle’s mouth, turns into disgust. Unlike Mr. Creosote in Monty Python’s “The Meaning of Life” (1983) who underestimates his stomach and explodes, Sobelle’s character has a stomach to gobble the leftovers of his lavish guests.
The climactic turning point unfolds when Sobelle pulls the tablecloth together with the tableware, the smushed leftover food and we find ourselves in a completely different setting. The lustrous table has apparently been laid on top of barren soil. The awed audience members sitting around the table with the rising dust above them, are invited to touch the soil and trace the ancestral voyage through civilization. Herds of bison appear from under the soil, wheat grows, and a plastic plate spontaneously leans on one of the wheat stems. Sobelle’s dexterity in performing the origin of human intervention on nature in a way also hides the indiscreetness with which humanity has treated its surrounding environment. Behind and under the stage, a whole team of sound, light and trick technicians are involved in enabling the unfolding of magic. He plunges his arm through the soil to bring out the black gold that to this day is the cause of human savagery towards the land and those residing on it. As toy pumpjacks erupt, instigating the building of transportation, factories, housing, plantations, all done with the help of audience members serving little toys on food trays, Sobelle’s hands become as dirty as those of Lady Macbeth.
There’s a crucial scenography detail I’d like to end this reading with.
Behind the spot from where Sobelle operates as center stage, hangs a painting by the U.S. painter William Holbrook Beard named ‘Dancing Bears’(1865). William Holbrook Beard is best known for his satirical paintings of animals performing human-like activities. Sobelle’s performance slithers through satire and the absurd which makes the choice of the restaurant decor to be quite a purposeful hidden source of meaning and critique. Hanging this painting is not only an elegy to the indigenous peoples who considered animals as beings holding spiritual powers and knowledges, but it also is a dirge to those peoples whose lands were confiscated to eventually build skyscrapers on. And for what? So that in the end, we can be buried in the very same land we fought to take over.
The performance is an invitation for vigilance and acceptance of responsibility. Outside of the theater setting, will we be able to acknowledge and hold on to the connection with the rough truth that the luxurious table we eat on stands on top of a soil of rare species on the verge of extinction, evicted peoples, usurped lands, and a shattered planet, divided by the prejudice of difference? Is this the world that we want to hand to our successors?
From Nashville Ballet
The MCR Interview: Mollie Sansone, resident choreographer for Nashville Ballet, discusses her work
A star on Nashville’s skyline since 2004, when she began her career with the Nashville Ballet, Mollie Sansone has had a remarkable career as a dancer, teacher, and choreographer. Her most recent work, Wild Swans, a children’s ballet based on Hans Christian Anderson’s story of the same name, is available and free to watch on the Nashville Ballet’s website. Music City Review Journalist Y. Kendall had the opportunity to speak with Sansone about her aesthetics, her dance, and her work with the Nashville Ballet. This is a recording of that discussion.
At the Darkhorse Theater
A Fabric of Sound
A Fabric of Sound was presented in partnership with Global Education Center and was led by Daniel Arite. The event was held at the Darkhorse Theater located in West Nashville, an old church turned black box theater that provided enough open stage space to spread out the diverse cast of musicians.
The program was organized to feature the six artists separately and categorized as Sonic 1. I was interested in the way each performer made a space, a humble claim of the moment, to express themselves through their music. This showcase was a chance to perform and improvise individually before the finale, labeled Sonic 2, in which the artists performed a collaborative composition.
The first stitch was provided by Daniel Arite and his acoustic guitar. Shortly after his opening theme Thandiwe Shiphrah joined him on stage to recite a stirring poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar titled Invitation to Love. This duo has been performing together for a while now according to Arite, and they know exactly how to flow together. It was a great introduction to prepare the audience for the unique listening experience forthcoming.
Iranian setarist Reza Filsoofi gave us the most intimate performance while sitting cross-legged on a pouf under a single stage light. His delicate touch and droning improvisation on the setar evoked something ruminative in me, like a free flowing state of mind but one that was still fragile and momentary.
In contrast, Carlos Duran’s percussion solo pulsated with a more guided direction. I felt led away to another world sonically, from the start, by an instrument that was handcrafted and made up of plastic bottle tops of all sizes and colors. Duran then led the audience on an adventure that he was crafting in the moment which felt more direct than the other performances. He was excellent and focused and an exciting performer.
A Child is Born was performed by Dr Gary Powell Nash on solo clarinet. This piece was written by Thad Jones and once again appropriately fit the goal of the program by providing a range of melodic threads that swelled, sustained, and twisted throughout. This was the most familiar music to me, as far as a classical instrument in performance goes, and was played professionally by Nash.
Soprano Sangeetha Ekambaram performed The Whole Journey is Love: A Medley accompanied by Alessandra Volpi on piano. This medley was her own arrangement of songs that unfolds an emotional drama of love in different languages such as Spanish, French, Czech, Italian, and English. That incredible display of polyglotism was not even what impressed my party most. After interviewing each of them, I found they all agreed the performance was outstanding. Ekambaram’s technique and expressive delivery moved us, shocked us, and warmed us even though to be honest we could not understand the plot of the drama she was sharing. It ended with her own improvisations over slow harmonic movements from the piano. Reflecting on this medley, I’ve come to appreciate it on many levels and I’m thankful to have heard it. I believe Ekambaram had the most difficult task of using her instrument in a new, innovative way that breaks from tradition.
A bit of Take Five by Paul Desmond was in continuous use in Arite’s arrangement for guitar while Shiphrah performed spoken word to create what they introduced as “an audio collage.” Her works Word Rhythm Come and On Being a Perfect Number displayed her ability to confidently flow with the guitar beats while delivering dynamic lines that explored the musicality of language.
She was the thread throughout the evening that gave the show that extra something. I am not sure it’s tangible and I can’t recreate that feeling of energy she brought to the moment. She was a performer that blended in a unique way with an earthy, roots quality. You got the feeling she was a narrator in a way: her instrument was the only one using spoken language so it was familiar but incredibly fluid and sonically rich.
With the exposition of talent in the first part of the program finished, the artists all returned to the stage to deliver the collaborative composition followed by a Q & A session. The music started with a low whistle produced by swinging a plastic tube paired with dappled percussive rhythms on hand drums and cymbals. The first melodic strain was passed from guitar to clarinet and then synchronized while crescendoing along with the percussion. The light, tonal blend of instruments glimmered for a moment before Shiphrah’s spoken word took things in a very beat oriented direction. Her and Duran meshed well with a neat syncopated back and forth. Guitar, clarinet, and setar each played single line melodies accompanied by Duran’s handcrafted water percussion instrument which set up the entrance for the soprano voice. As all these instruments meshed, spoken word re-entered and the ensemble was finally fully involved. At the cue “I am one with the universe,” exclaimed by Shiphrah, the group swelled to the climactic section of the piece.
I really enjoyed the format and programming of the show and I felt it culminated neatly in the final performance. We learned that the ensemble was given a prompt by Arite and they then worked out the composition through a few rehearsals, eventually recording it. He said the goal of the piece was to “take you somewhere else” and that was the feeling that kept reoccurring for me; a bit of nostalgia. The show’s casual feel reminded me of friends getting together just to make and share art. Those experiences are always fun, meaningful, and inspiring. If those were the three things A Fabric of Sound impressed upon its audience, I am sure the artists were thrilled.
The Ghosts Come to TPAC
A Christmas Carol from the Nashville Repertory Theatre
Hyped for this play since I first saw it listed on the Nashville Repertory Theatre’s plan for the season, my interview with Artistic Director Micah-Shane Brewer (Nashville Reps ‘Christmas Carol’ (Interview with Micah-Shane Brewer, Artistic Director) – The Music City Review) only heightened my interest. The play doesn’t disappoint.
The set and costumes (done by Gary C. Hoff and Melissa Durmon, respectively) are fantastic! The ensemble costumes aren’t identical bland outfits, but each character has their own look: dresses and tailcoats, different colors and patterns, all well-fitted to the cast. Main characters stand out from the others by their lines and the staging, and small side characters are helpfully recognizable by distinctive hats, wigs, and the like. The sets are many, each full of details, from props to moulding on the walls. This gives a lavish and sincere air of festivity to the show, and makes each change of setting fun. Projections on the main backdrop usually match the sets, but occasionally are distracting as the image moves or backlights the wires as characters fly.
Each Ghost has distinctly different vibes (although most of them flew at some point, one of them dragging an unwilling Scrooge along). The Ghost of Christmas Future spends a lot of time in the air, and its gloomy presence is threatening and massive, although less movement could have made it more threatening. Cloaked in black, the costume department kept it creepy and avoided the easy error of making it a knock-off dementor.
While not a musical, there are original songs, dancing, and many classic carols. For the large original songs there is not live music accompanying the cast, but a track, and the canned quality of the recording steals somewhat from the richness of the music. However, the majority of musical moments are carols sung a capella or with actors playing live guitar or fiddle. This is probably my favorite aspect of this adaptation, which matches the title so well. The (presumably) historically correct carols are well chosen, well sung, well accompanied, and their placement within the play is excellent: carolers sing and are insulted by Scrooge, songs are sung by the cast while they enjoy Christmas parties, and carolers sing while set pieces are shifted about. Delightful in themselves, they add a musical richness to the world Dickens created, and Scrooge’s desire to join in with the dancing while attending a party with the Ghost of Christmas Present is palpably relatable.
There is no narration, and it is never needed. Micah-Shane Brewer’s adaptation remains faithful to the book without slowing the pace to tell us what is easily shown. The pacing of the play is good, and it does not feel 2.5 hours long (there’s an intermission midway through the Ghost of Christmas Present’s visit). There are a few added moments of humor that match the tone of the play. Brewer doesn’t shoehorn anything into or out of the story and there’s no gimmick. His tone matches the novel’s, and the darker moments (for example, the children Ignorance and Want) aren’t avoided, emphasizing the purpose of the play: to show that the true spirit of Christmas is generosity and love through helping others. Scenes that are often shortened in adaptations are given the emphasis the novel gives them. Everyday people celebrating Christmas or spending an evening together showcase the everyday goodness and love that endures through adversity, and that is what truly breaks Scrooge’s cold heart.
The cast is marvelous: Matthew Carlton is perfect as Ebenezer Scrooge. He nails being a miser, undergoing a steady transformation, and ending in joyful redemption. On stage basically the entire play, his performance never loses energy. Brian Charles Rooney plays my favorite Ghost of Christmas Present. He’s funny, ho ho’s well and with spirit (but never aggressively or painfully, as I’ve seen others do) and his mysterious but somewhat comical nature is well-balanced. The Cratchits are eminently likable, never twee or dully moralizing.
When I attended opening night in TPAC’s Polk Theater, the audience was mainly adults, but there were some young children who were impressively well-behaved throughout the performance, although I’d recommend only bringing your kid if they’re old enough to sit through (and pay attention to) talking scenes in movies. While the play is family friendly and focused, with music, spectacle, dancing, and special effects, most of the play is dialogue.
This play is the Nashville Repertory Theatre, yet again, bringing a fantastic performance to Music City. Seeing this quality adaptation of the archetypal Christmas story was the best way to set off my Christmas spirit powerfully enough to sustain me through the Christmas shopping that I’ve yet to begin.
Shows continue at TPAC’s Polk Theater through the 17th. For tickets and more information, see A Christmas Carol — Nashville Repertory Theatre
A Tenth Season from Chatterbird begins!
The Blossoming at Emerson Hall
On Thursday, November 30th, at Emerson Hall, Nashville’s experimental chamber ensemble Chatterbird inaugurated it’s tenth season with a concert titled The Blossoming, featuring Dream Chambers. My first exposure to this wonderfully innovative ensemble was their 2016 performance of Halldór Smárason’s 1972, Game 13, a piece written for amplified chess board, electronics, and video which re-enacted the “Match of the Century” between Chess Master Bobby Fischer and his Soviet Counterpart Boris Spassky. It was experimentally weird, entertaining, and cool. Since then, and as demonstrated by The Blossoming, Chatterbird has not changed much, they are still cool, entertaining and experimentally weird, but I would dare say they’ve improved their game.
The concert at Emerson Hall was made up of a series of seven pieces that Dream Chambers, an electronic artist from New Zealand (transplanted to Nashville for the last four years), had written during the pandemic while she was immersed in our ambient and electronic scene. These pieces, seemingly autonomous on synthesizers, were then given an added orchestration by Sonya Waters, also from New Zealand, for a kind of expanded Pierrot Ensemble of clarinet, harp, viola, cello, flute and violin. The result was fascinating.
As an electronic expression, Chamber’s music, which she describes as “…analog oscillators waver[ing] through clouds of granularized vocal melodies revealing a somatic experience of expanding patterns of dissonance and harmony” is remarkable. However, Water’s rich acoustic interpretation of Chamber’s highly processed sound created a stunningly organic translation of Chamber’s intimate and breathtaking work. By this I mean, not to be too much of a Luddite, it felt like the reverse of modern life.
For example, increasingly in this modern life, technology, in the form of the smartphone, smartwatch, smartglasses, etc, has found its place between us and our day to day experiences with the world. These technologies are important, but, as Arthur Schlesinger once said: “Science and technology revolutionize our lives, but memory, tradition, and myth frame our response.” Waters added the traditions and memories of classical orchestration to Chamber’s emotional expressions—creating a fascinating dialogue between acoustic tradition and electronic innovation within the works themselves. As such, Emily Bowland’s pastoral clarinet, Sarah Crocker’s delicate harp arpeggiations and the melodic line on Kaitlyn Raitz’s cello all worked together to contextualize Chambers music within the long span of Western Music’s aural history.
And as if that wasn’t enough, the stunning projections by Flooded Sun Liquid Light Show on the blanched walls of Emerson Hall brought another layer of experience to the performance. A more highly developed version of a light show than Bill Ham might have given at the Avalon Ballroom in the Psychedelic Sixties, the show channeled the ideals of the hippy experience—an expanding consciousness and a presence in the moment, within a broader and grounded understanding of the idea that these visual effects can provide visual and emotional clarity (instead of distracting from it). While driving home from this remarkable concert and enjoying the wonderous view of Music City from the neighborhoods to the East, I couldn’t help but thinking what a wonderful concert—here’s to another ten years Chatterbird!
del Schermerhorn:
Velada entre danzas y un duelo
(English Version here: https://wp.me/pabEmc-2vN)
Me atrevo a afirmar que la experiencia deseada por Aaron Copland, Astor Piazzolla y Antonio Estévez en cada composición, fue revelada de manera fascinante el pasado 18 de noviembre en el recinto del Schermerhorn. La Orquesta Sinfónica de Nashville bajo la batuta de Giancarlo Guerrero, y el Coro Sinfónico de Nashville dirigido por Tucker Biddlecombe, definieron con pericia el carácter enérgico y sensual del folklore latinoamericano. En el programa del concierto se conjugaron los paisajes sonoros de las joviales veladas de la capital mexicana en El Salón México, de los pasajes porteños en la Sinfonía Buenos Aires y de la extensa sabana venezolana en la Cantata Criolla.
A grandes rasgos podría pensarse que la selección de este repertorio pretendía sumergir a la audiencia en una gala latinoamericana al azar. No obstante, estas tres obras comparten indicios de una época en la que el arte reclamaba su autonomía, aunque el lenguaje tradicional europeo permaneciera como medio de expresión. Una referencia en común en el estilo de estos tres compositores, gira en torno al tratamiento rítmico y motívico que Igor Stravinsky empleaba en su composición. Tanto Estévez como Copland, reconocieron en el compositor ruso la intrepidez de superponer tonalidades y métricas, así como la inclusión de melodías folklóricas sin caer en la obviedad de la variación o la rearmonización. Un ejemplo de ello es la alternancia de las métricas 2/8 – 15/16 – 17/16 en las líneas del “Diablo” en la Porfía de la Cantata Criolla, mientras que la orquesta permanece en un constante patrón alusivo al corrido llanero (ritmo del joropo). En El Salón México, Copland incluyó una selección de melodías pertenecientes al folklore mexicano, “El Palo Verde”, “La Jesusita” y “El Mosco.”
Extrajo los motivos con mayor potencial y los convirtió en ostinatos que superpuso con fragmentos de las mismas melodías. El argumento de esta deconstrucción está referido en sus palabras: “Mi propósito no era simplemente citarlas literalmente, sino realzarlas sin falsificar en modo alguno su sencillez natural.” Si bien hay varios elementos implícitos de la influencia de Stravinsky en la Sinfonía Buenos Aires, el más evidente es el desplazamiento de las acentuaciones sobre el ritmo base del tango, como sucede en el inconfundible ostinato de la Consagración de la Primavera. Esta característica se ratifica en la orquestación que Piazzolla empleó para enfatizar las acentuaciones. Los timbres de cada sección no se entremezclan reafirmando el impacto de la percusión, y los flautines en acelerados movimientos ascendentes, alteran el ciclo normal en la respiración del oyente. “Maestro, yo soy su alumno a la distancia” le expresó Piazzolla a Stravinsky en un evento en el que coincidieron en Nueva York. Casualmente, Estévez también ansiaba ser alumno del compositor ruso, tanto que se propuso perseguir una beca que le permitiera continuar con sus estudios en la Universidad de Columbia donde él era profesor. A pesar de que consiguió su objetivo, Stravinsky se trasladó a Los Ángeles cuando Estévez arribó en Nueva York.
Otro factor en común en este repertorio es la exploración nacionalista de cada pieza. Los tres compositores emprendieron un viaje a la región que les serviría de inspiración. Copland escribió El Salón México desde su perspectiva como turista de un recinto de baile ubicado en la capital mexicana. En este lugar se reunían los “danzoneros y las rumberas” que no se permitían dejar morir la noche en sus pistas de baile. Estévez se encontró con Florentino y el Diablo entre los desafiantes versos de un poema venezolano, motivándolo a empacar maletas para aventurarse en los pueblos tradicionales de la música llanera de Venezuela. Luego de una infancia neoyorquina, Piazzolla se establece en Buenos Aires con el objetivo de convertirse en un auténtico intérprete del tango. En su alternancia como bandoneonista y estudiante de composición de Alberto Ginastera, Piazzolla obtuvo la revelación de imprimir el timbre de este instrumento en una amalgama orquestal sin precedentes para su Sinfonía Buenos Aires. Es inverosímil cómo a pesar de la complejidad rítmica y armónica en la estructura de cada obra, del laberinto de estados emocionales, anécdotas y climas, la música fluye y no altera su esencia. Las singularidades de la música de banda, el tango y el joropo están latentes de principio a fin en un discurso a veces sugerente y en otros momentos conciso. Cada elemento está dispuesto como si se tratara de una pintura impresionista donde la escena recobra sentido si se observa como un todo.
En una labor semejante a la de Aaron Copland como diplomático cultural en la búsqueda de gemas latinoamericanas, el director Giancarlo Guerrero logró reunir en el mismo escenario artistas de renombre mundial y que son especialistas en el repertorio que se interpretaría. El bandoneonista argentino Daniel Binelli, quien hizo parte del Sexteto Tango Nuevo dirigido por Astor Piazzolla, hizo gala de su virtuosismo al interpretar las partes escritas de los dos bandoneones que se requieren en la Sinfonía Buenos Aires. Los cantantes venezolanos Aquiles Machado (tenor) y Juan Tomás Martínez (barítono), han participado en numerosos montajes de la Cantata Criolla. Su simbiosis con esta obra es evidente; las líneas vocales escritas instan un estilo lírico impregnado de cadencias llaneras, faena completamente conseguida por los dos artistas. La búsqueda de gemas no termina aquí, hay un elemento de valor inestimable en la orquestación de esta cantata, las maracas llaneras. Este instrumento de apariencia sencilla, se reserva los mejores secretos en cuanto a la ejecución. Su academia es el Llano mismo. Por esta razón la sección de percusión requería de un miembro adicional para interpretar esta línea; era imprescindible encontrar un intérprete originario de los Llanos Venezolanos. El clarinetista Alcides Rodríguez, miembro de la Sinfónica de Atlanta, fue el encargado de dar vida a este auténtico resonador del joropo.
Ciertamente es este un magnífico reparto para un fastuoso repertorio. Quienes asistimos a la alucinante charla previa al concierto impartida por el director Giancarlo Guerrero, obtuvimos de primera mano los acontecimientos alrededor del concierto. Sin embargo, dado a su importancia para el evento, era imprescindible que esta información se resaltara también en el programa de mano. Es entendible que el bandoneón en esta oportunidad no era un instrumento solista, pero su participación en un escenario extranjero y naturalmente por la celebridad del intérprete, merecía destacarse en la disposición de la orquesta. Las falencias en la logística obstaculizaron la interacción del público con el maestro Daniel Binelli, así como el reconocimiento final por su magistral interpretación.
From the Schermerhorn:
A Soirée between Dances and a Duel
(Versión en español aquí: https://wp.me/pabEmc-2vM)
I would dare to say that the experience desired by Aaron Copland, Astor Piazzolla, and Antonio Estévez, in each composition, was revealed in a fascinating way last November 18th at the Schermerhorn Symphony Center. The Nashville Symphony Orchestra under the baton of Giancarlo Guerrero, and the Nashville Symphony Chorus conducted by Tucker Biddlecombe, expertly defined the vigorous and sensual character of Latin American folklore. The concert program combined the soundscapes of the convivial evenings of the Mexican capital in El Salón México, the porteño passages in Sinfonía Buenos Aires, and the extensive Venezuelan Savannah in Cantata Criolla.
In broad strokes, one might think that the selection of this repertoire was intended to immerse the audience in a random Latin American gala. However, these three works share hints of an era in which art claimed its autonomy, although the traditional European language remained as a means of expression. A common reference in the style of these three composers revolves around the rhythmic and motivic treatment that Igor Stravinsky employed in his compositions. Both Estévez and Copland recognized in the Russian composer the dauntlessness of overlapping tonalities and meters, as well as the inclusion of folk melodies without falling into the obviousness of variation or reharmonization. An example of this is the alternation of the metrics 2/8 – 15/16 – 17/16 in the lines of the “Devil” in the Porfía of the Cantata Criolla, while the orchestra remains in a constant pattern alluding to the corrido llanero (joropo rhythm). In El Salón México, Copland included a selection of melodies that belong to the Mexican folklore, “El Palo Verde,” “La Jesusita” and “El Mosco.”
He extracted the motifs with the greatest potential and turned them into ostinatos that he overlapped with fragments of the same melodies. The argument for this deconstruction is referenced in his words, “My purpose was not merely to quote literally, but to heighten without in any way falsifying the natural simplicity of Mexican tunes.” While there are several implicit elements of Stravinsky’s influence in Sinfonía Buenos Aires, the most evident are the accent displacements over the base rhythm of the tango, as happens in the unmistakable ostinato of the Rite of the Spring. This characteristic is ratified in the orchestration that Piazzolla used to emphasize the accentuations. The timbres of each section do not intermingle reaffirming the impact of the percussion, and the accelerated ascending motions on the piccolos alter the normal cycle in the listener’s breathing. “Maestro, I am your pupil from a distance,” Piazzolla told Stravinsky at an event where they coincided in New York. Interestingly, Estévez also longed to be a student of the Russian composer, so much so that he set out to pursue a scholarship that would allow him to continue his studies at Columbia University where he was a professor. Although he achieved his goal, Stravinsky moved to Los Angeles when Estevez arrived in New York.
Another common factor in this repertoire is the nationalist exploration of each piece. All three composers undertook a trip to the region that would serve as their inspiration. Copland wrote El Salón México from his perspective as a tourist at a dance venue in the Mexican capital. This was the place where the “danzoneros and rumberas” (dancers) gathered and would not let the night die on their dance floors. Estévez met Florentino and the Devil in the defiant verses of a Venezuelan poem, motivating him to pack his bags to venture into the traditional towns of Venezuela’s llanera music. After a New York childhood, Piazzolla settled in Buenos Aires intending to become an authentic tango performer. In his alternation as a bandoneon player and composition student of Alberto Ginastera, Piazzolla had the revelation of printing the timbre of this instrument in an unprecedented orchestral amalgam for his Sinfonía Buenos Aires. It is incredible how despite the rhythmic and harmonic complexity in the structure of each work, the labyrinth of emotional states, anecdotes, and climates, the music flows and does not alter its essence. The singularities of Banda music, tango, and joropo are latent from beginning to end in a discourse that is at times suggestive and at other times concise. Each element is disposed of as if it were an impressionist painting where the scene makes sense when is observed as a whole.
In a similar effort to that of Aaron Copland as a cultural diplomat in the search for Latin American gems, conductor Giancarlo Guerrero managed to bring together on the same stage world-renowned artists who are specialists in the repertoire that would be performed. Argentine bandoneonist Daniel Binelli, who was part of the New Tango Sextet led by Astor Piazzolla, displayed his virtuosity in performing the written parts of the two bandoneons required in Sinfonía Buenos Aires. Venezuelan singers Aquiles Machado (tenor) and Juan Tomás Martínez (baritone), have participated in numerous Cantata Criolla stagings. Their symbiosis with this musical work is evident; the written vocal lines urge a lyrical style impregnated with llanera cadences; a task completely achieved by the two artists. The search for gems does not end here, there is an element of inestimable value in the orchestration of this cantata, the maracas llaneras. This instrument of simple appearance reserves the best secrets in terms of execution. Its school is the Llano itself. For this reason, the percussion section required an additional member to play this line; it was essential to find a performer from the Venezuelan plains. Alcides Rodríguez, clarinetist of the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra, was in charge of giving life to this authentic joropo shaker.
Certainly, this is a magnificent cast for a splendid repertoire. Those of us who attended the mind-blowing pre-concert talk given by conductor Giancarlo Guerrero got a first-hand account of the occurrences surrounding the concert. However, given its importance to the event, it was imperative that this information also be highlighted in the distributed program. It is understandable that the bandoneon on this occasion was not a soloist, but its involvement on a foreign stage and naturally due to the celebrity of the performer, deserved to stand out in the orchestra setting. Logistical shortcomings hindered the interaction of the audience with maestro Daniel Binelli, as well as the final recognition for his masterful performance.
