Charles Ives’s Third Symphony (“The Camp Meeting”), composed in 1904, revised in 1911 (but not performed until 1946), seems like a natural for this orchestra, in this town so full of American history, but it is not without its difficulties. Unlike his “Concord Sonata” for piano, with movements devoted to Emerson, Hawthorne, the Alcotts, and Thoreau, the Symphony no. 3 bears no specific allusions to Concord. It builds its movements (“Old Folks Gatherin’,” “Children’s Day,” and “Communion”) from brief snatches of evangelical hymn tunes, which become recognizable near the end, where they may be conflicting with snatches of other tunes as countermelodies. After a moment of uncertain opening, the players settled in for an affectionate though sometimes uncertain expression of these tunes—“Just as I Am” more than once. The dissonances were confidently presented, and balanced. The final cadence of the second movement (“Children’s Day”) was delicate and lovely.

The Mozart piano concerto was no doubt intended as a familiar contrast in another different way—the music‘s stylistic conventions were familiar, whereas in the Ives the compositional structure of the familiar tunes was unfamiliar. A welcoming ripple ran throughout the audience, proving that the contrast was well-timed. Unfortunately tuning was a bit of a problem: during the break one of the contrabass players unexpectedly stepped down with his instrument to the piano and, bow in hand, awkwardly punched an “A,” and then resumed his playing position. That was just not enough for the remaining players, particularly the strings, to tune to; thus the piano’s entrance in measure thirteen was a bit jarring. The previous twelve measures had been a bit rocky because the strings were not playing together. There were other disturbing moments for other reasons; e.g., the second violins were not even bowing together in some phrases. Perhaps this was due to lack of rehearsal time. David Deveau was playing from a piano score, and missed a few notes, but might be forgiven because of the way he caressed Mozart’s singing phrases and his sense of gentle give and take with the orchestra members. Indeed there were many such moments of easy dialogue, shaping and communicating similar phrases with each other.

The second half of the program consisted entirely of Stravinsky’s Petrushka (1911, rev. 1946), its thirteen movements performed without pause—well over thirty minutes in Pittman’s easy, steady tempi. In any case, it seemed long, and the audience grew a bit restless. Petrushka of course is a puppet character, in the tradition of the English Punch and the French Pierrot, who suddenly comes to life. The music is an amalgam of Russian folk and liturgical music, generated with Stravinsky’s incredible ear for harmonic color and rhythm. A musical “libretto” for the scenes from the entire ballet was outlined in the program notes, intended to help the audience members keep their place. I heard a sparkling, instrumentally differentiated performance. I felt as though I had heard the piece for the first time, although without following the score, it is difficult to say why. I thought at first it was due to the smaller size of the orchestra than that of performances usually heard. To my surprise, the Concord Orchestra has the same number of winds, brasses, and percussion as the Boston Symphony Orchestra, but nineteen fewer strings (six fewer first violins). Were we really hearing the 1911 score, first performed in Paris under the direction of Pierre Monteux? Or the version he re-orchestrated for smaller orchestra in 1946? As Stravinsky’s biographer, Eric Walter White wrote (1969), “The new Petrushka is the music of the composer of 1910. . . ; the composer of 28 did not orchestrate like the man of 64, nor could the orchestrator of 64 have composed like the man of 28.” We’ll never know.

Mary Wallace Davidson has directed the music libraries at Radcliffe, Wellesley, Eastman School of Music, and Indiana University. She now lives in the Boston area.

The libretto tells a story set in a mythical kingdom “not quite so far away,” or, as the court Jester puts it, “long away and far ago.” The issue is conformity, political and otherwise. The five main characters comprise the Jester (Charles Blandy) who is both in, and commenting on the drama, King Pomposo III (David Kravitz), Queen Zealosa (D’Anna Fortunato), a Prince/boy (Gregory Zavracky), and The Girl (Natalie Polito). All but Blandy are members of Intermezzo. Two rocket scientists (Jonathan Price and Taylor Homer) appear and offer to do away with whatever foes there may be with their (imaginary) rockets. It turns out that not only are there no rockets, but also no foes, rather only the foolishness of the King and the Queen. The Jester tries to orchestrate a happy ending (they are expected, after all, in fairy tales), but the Prince, roused from his focus on cooing with The Girl, finally realizes that the solution is “to simply be,” in harmony. There are various other supporting characters, not all of whom sing, and a chorus of nine assuming the roles of citizens. The well-balanced chamber orchestra of fourteen, including electric piano, sported only one member of Juventas, cellist Rachel Arnold; none had performed with Intermezzo.

Yannatos, who directed the Harvard-Radcliffe Orchestra for over 40 years, had originally written this opera for a performance at the Loeb Theatre in 1972. Unhappy with the heavy-handed staging, Yannatos literally shelved it, but in 2008 completely rewrote it. Kravitz brought it to the attention of Intermezzo, and hence this performance. The set was minimal: black curtains over which seven banners with slogans from earlier times hung down: “Ask not what you can do for your country . . . ,” “Yes we can,” “A kinder, gentler nation,” &c.; at the conclusion, “Make Love, Not War” flopped down unexpectedly. A puppet theater was rolled on and off stage at various times and manipulated a bit to suggest scene changes. The director decided to open the opera with the children settling down for a bedtime story in their pajamas. They then become characters (the citizens) in the opera (still in their pajamas) with their storybooks (i.e., the chorus scores) in hand, because, as Cairns explained, there was no money either for their costumes or to pay them to memorize their parts. The orchestra members also wore pajama bottoms and socks without shoes, suggesting that they, too, were citizens of the fairy land, and further integrating the production. In any case they seemed to enjoy the fun. Only the principal characters wore costumes suggestive of far ago (although The Girl wore modern high heels with her peasant dress). D’Anna Fortunato’s wig was simply amazing (thanks to wig master Don Swenson). The three Courtiers (Thomas Oesterling, Paul Soper, and John Whittlesey) wore suits and large sunglasses..

Does all this sound a little gemischt? You betcha, in the most delightful, purposeful way. If the earlier production was “heavy-handed,” this one was surely “light-handed” in keeping with the alternate humor and seriousness, and certainly the timelessness of the messages offered.

Director Cairns mentioned that the music was difficult, but there was no sign of that from the performers. Baritone Kravitz (King) and mezzo-soprano Fortunato (Queen) sang and acted their roles, as is their custom, perfectly into their characters, with the confidence their long experience yields. Charles Blandy (Jester) sang from score, presumably to save costs as he is not an Intermezzo member, but he too managed the vagaries of his character with strong presence and a fine tenor voice. Tenor Gregory Zavracky (Prince/Boy) and soprano Natalie Polito (The Girl) have good voices, although Polito’s high pitches are so fat as to be almost non comprehensible at times; both lack the confidence and maturity of Kravitz and Fortunato, but they will get there.

Conductor Edward Jones may be known to readers as the Harvard University organist and choirmaster, and a fine one at that, but he also aspires to conduct opera, which he pursues at Harvard and elsewhere. Unfortunately, the Agassiz Theatre has no pit, although there is a slightly raised stage. My seat was directly behind Jones on the same level. His directions to the instrumentalists and to the singers were crisp and clearly differentiated.

Yannatos is a fine craftsman: the music was perfect for this multilayered invention, yet in a classical style with respect to recitatives and arias. In particular I enjoyed the humorous use of the woodblock or snare drum to punctuate recitatives.

The audience for Sunday’s performance was skimpy, although there seemed to be more present during the second act — too much going on in Boston that particular day. But the minute the enthusiastic applause died, I heard voices behind me saying, “Great! Great! Well done!” I agree wholeheartedly. The choices Intermezzo made, given the funds, were not only sensible, but contributed to the magic of Yannatos’s vision; kudos to Intermezzo for making this effort and seeing it through. Nevertheless, I would still like to see this opera picked up by a company that could afford it.

Mary Wallace Davidson has directed the music libraries at Radcliffe, Wellesley, Eastman School of Music, and Indiana University. She now lives in the Boston area.

]]> http://classical-scene.com/2011/10/04/yannatos/feed/ 0 http://classical-scene.com/2011/09/20/stunning-sonorities/ http://classical-scene.com/2011/09/20/stunning-sonorities/#comments Wed, 21 Sep 2011 03:17:58 +0000 Mary Wallace Davidson http://classical-scene.com/?p=8967 Cantabile, Putnam and Meneses graced each others’ performances with fluent give-and-take. Putnam’s rich, though here subdued, violin tone is breathtaking. Meneses's stunning sonorities in Brouwer’s Paisaje cubano con campanas held this listener spellbound, and the guitarists traversed idiomatically varied styles in Berio’s Duetti per due violini. Putnam and Meneses in the simple folk concept of Robert Beaser's Mountain Songs was a treat.            [Click title for full review.]]]> The Concord Chamber Music Society presented an unusual program to a full and appreciative house at the Concord Academy Performing Arts Center on Sunday afternoon, September 18. This was music for one or two guitars or violin and guitar performed by Eliot Fisk and Zaira Meneses, guitars, and Wendy Putnam, violin and founder director of the Society. Preceding the concert, Steven Ledbetter, who also wrote the program notes, gave a wide-ranging pre-concert lecture providing some context to the works.

The concert opened with two pieces for violin and guitar by Nicolò Paganini (1782-1840).  Cantabile (originally entitled Cantabile e Valtz, 1823), was written during a slack period of recovery from venereal disease, when Paganini visited Domenico Pino, a retired general and amateur musician with whom he played duets for violin and guitar at the General’s villa on Lake Como. On these occasions Paganini reportedly had the sense to tone down his virtuoso violin technique, and the result is a strikingly beautiful, indeed “singing” piece, performed with the art of simplicity by Putnam and Meneses. Putnam’s rich, though here subdued, violin tone is breathtaking. To accommodate additions to the program, the two also performed just the last movement (Andantino variato) from Paganini’s Grand Sonata in A major. Here the opening melody is in the guitar, where, thanks to an arrangement by Fisk not noted in the program, the melody is in the violin during each repeat, an alternation that continued throughout this theme-and-variations movement. Putnam and Meneses graced each others’ performances of the same music with fluent give and take.

Meneses then returned to the stage for the first of two insertions in the program, Leo Brouwer’s stunning Paisaje cubano con campanas (Cuban landscapes with carillons), composed in 1986, and often recorded. Brouwer, a brilliant Cuban composer, guitarist, and conductor born in 1939, is said to have gone through many stylistic periods, the 1980s marked by “a ‘new simplicity’” and lyricism. By now one expects to hear a work by this composer in every concert of guitar music. In this case unusual sonorities are achieved by both hands lovingly plucking, or even striking the strings at the frets, holding at least this audience member spellbound.

Luciano Berio’s thirty-four Duetti per due violini, each named for a colleague or family member, were composed between 1979 and 1983, during a time when Berio was focused chiefly on large-scale works for opera or orchestra. These duets, however, were written as teaching pieces, mostly for beginners, to be played with their teachers. The seven selections here transcribed for two guitars (Fisk and Meneses) are from a work-in-progress by Fisk, although he is not the first to make these transcriptions. They are diverse in style; for example, “Bela” presumably refers to Béla Bartók, and the music is reminiscent of the Hungarian’s harmonies, whereas generally the music is quite tonal; “Igor,” presumably Stravinsky, generated a lullaby; “Alfredo” seems to be part bumblebee and part song. In any case, they are charming in the hands of Fisk and Meneses, who traverse the styles idiomatically.

At this point Fisk inserted his transcription of three Sonatas by Domenico Scarlatti: K. 431 and 432 in G major (both marked Allegro), and K. 414 in G major (Presto). Harpsichordist Ralph Kirkpatrick, who catalogued and made an edition of all Scarlatti’s Sonatas, was Fisk’s mentor at Yale and provided his insights about the interpretation of these works to his eager student. Thus the transcriptions have a special sense of authority, clarity, and just plain fun — also characteristic of Kirkpatrick on a good day.

Fisk ended the first half of the concert with another work with close connections to a previous teacher: J.S. Bach’s well-known Ciacona in D minor, arranged from his Partita no. 2, BWV 1004 for violin, which was often performed and recorded by Andrès Segovia. Fisk was the famous guitarist’s last “direct” pupil. In this case, the arrangement was by Fisk. He performed it rather fast in the beginning, in almost square tempo, but later eased into a more flowing rubato characteristic of the original.

After intermission we heard four Mountain Songs, for violin and guitar (Ms. Putnam and Ms. Meneses) by Boston’s own Robert Beaser, a classmate of Fisk’s at Yale. These pieces are part of a set of eight written for flute and guitar in 1978; thus no arrangement was noted or necessary. “Barbara Allen” was clearly recognizable in its traditional form, with gentle countermelodies floating throughout. “House Carpenter” was played almost in a country style, while “Fair and Tender Ladies” yielded a lyrical fantasy on the melody. “Cindy” was a frolic. What a treat to hear these two instruments alone together in the simplicity of the folk concept!

By contrast, Fisk and Meneses next played Fisk transcriptions of three waltzes for piano by Frédéric Chopin: in A Minor, op. 34, no. 2; in B minor, op. posth. 69, no. 2; and E-flat major, op. 18. The sound was definitely Spanish, and what a transformation! The many difficulties were accomplished with seemingly easy aplomb by these two exceptional guitarists. Their styles are actually very different, as are their instruments. Fortunately no attempt is made to reconcile them, though they are compatible; thus the sensitive artistry of each shines through the performance.

Continuing in Fisk’s transcriptions of works for other instruments, we heard first Claude Debussy’s familiar piano piece, Clair de lune (Moonlight), in the players’ hands a gleaming jewel in which they often doubled each other, further brightening the sound while reducing the contrapuntal complexity. Finally, and by contrast again, we heard the Dance espagnole (Spanish dance) from the second act of Manuel de Falla’s opera, La vida breve (The brief life). Other transcriptions exist, notably by guitarist Emilio Pujol, but surely none as exuberant, a perfect ending for a fascinating concert.

For an encore we were treated to the Recuerdos (Memories) de la Alhambra (1899), also known as a tremolo study, by Francisco Tárrega for guitar alone. Fisk’s transcription for two guitars may have eased the fiendish difficulties, but in any case, it is a real showpiece and as performed as such.

Mary Wallace Davidson has directed the music libraries at Radcliffe, Wellesley, Eastman School of Music, and Indiana University. She now lives in the Boston area.

This concert of French Baroque Theater Music, Tailored for the Salon, was presented by the relatively new ensemble, Old City Music, comprising Geoffrey Burgess & Owen Watkins, Baroque oboes & recorders; Heidi Powell & Richard Hsu (who happen to be man and wife), violins; Leon Schelhase, harpsichord; and Laura Jeppesen, viola da gamba. Burgess and Shelhase founded the group in East Philadelphia (the “Old City”) in 2009.

Nicholson mentioned in his opening remarks that the ensemble had just spent almost three days of intense rehearsal of this difficult but rewarding music, and it paid off. The point was to present the artists’ idea of an intimate salon concert, “conducted in an overtly theatrical fashion,” often with music from the latest theatrical productions, but also comprising “music imitating theatrical gestures.” That is to say, there was a great deal of the performers’ ingenious selection and arrangement responsible for the presentation, and it was all salutary.

For example, François Couperin’s L’Espagnole, the Second ordre des nations (1726), comprising both a Sonate and a Suite, were placed at the beginning and the end, respectively, of the first half before intermission and were performed by the entire ensemble. The order of movements of the suite was altered, resulting in alternation of trio textures (violins viz. oboes plus continuo), beginning and ending with the whole group.

Sandwiched between was, first, Jean Henri d’Anglebert’s “Prélude & Allemande,” from his Pièces de clavecin (1689), stylishly performed by Schelhase on Nicholson’s harpsichord, built by William Dowd in 1978 after an early 17th-century instrument from the Ruckers’ shop and tuned to a mellow A=392. Schelhase’s ornaments were amazingly rich and smooth; nevertheless the Allemande almost lost its sense of the dance. Next came selections from Livres III-V (1701-25) of Marin Marais’ Pièces de violes, performed with grace and ensemble intimacy by Jeppesen and Schelhase. This was a suite completely made up by the performers to provide “thematic continuity” for the last movement, “L’operation de la taille.” Marais wrote this as an almost literal description of a lithotomy (cutting of a stone from the urinary tract), which he himself underwent.

The program notes included a facsimile of the original engraved score (1725), with inscribed comments about the operation along the way, duly translated into English and read by Jeppesen as she played. She also preceded the performance by reading descriptions of two similar contemporaneous operations — lots of blood and gore. Jeppesen has a very special way of connecting musical phrases that has you sitting on the edge of your seat, waiting for more. Schelhase was an excellent partner, responding in kind to Jeppesen’s playfulness in the imitative sections. The intention behind the performance was, however, quite serious — an informative lesson in both musical and medical history.

The second half also presented fascinating anomalies. It began with the juiciest selections from the eighth of Couperin’s Les Goûts-réunis ou Nouveaux concerts (1724), specified as “dans le goût théâtrale” (in theatrical style). Although instruments are not specified, there are lines for only one or two voices and continuo. Old City performed these movements as an ensemble but featured some sections with the original slimmer instrumentation, finally giving the violinists a chance to shine without the winds. Although, according to a prefatory page to the first edition, Couperin intended the entire Goûts-réunis to be a mixture of the French and Italian styles (as implied in the title), this particular Concert was specifically in the French style, as a tribute to Jean-Baptiste Lully (1632-1687).

For sonic contrast, this was followed by Jacques-Martin Hotteterre’s Première suite de pièces à deux dessus (1712), performed with jocularity on alto recorders by Burgess and Watkins, two men who grew up in Sydney, Australia, and have been playing together since their youth. Rarely have I heard such joyful intimacy and tunefulness in ensemble playing, especially of two completely exposed instruments. The two players, by the way, have very different embouchures.

Les caractères de la danse (1715), by Lully’s student, Jean-Féry Rebel, was one of the composer’s most successful suites of dance music, performed by the most famous women dancers of the time. From a later parody, Old City concluded that each of its fourteen movements, except the two sonatas, was personified in amorous escapades. The work was performed without pause, requiring the performers to fall into each character instantly and then move on. This they did with great energy and glee.

The concert’s lovely dénouement arrived in the form of the Passacaille d’Armide (1686), a slow, stately dance-lament originally written by Lully for the orchestra of the Paris Opera, but also extant in an arrangement for harpsichord by d’Anglebert published in his Pièces de clavecin (1689). The latter was here performed first with appropriate stylish feeling and ornamentation by Schelhase, immediately followed by Old City’s version of the original, in a careful attempt at least to provide context for the d’Anglebert, and “to demonstrate the richness of Lully’s scoring.” This they did, with great aplomb, sending the smallish audience of old-faithfuls home with smiles of satisfaction.

Mary Wallace Davidson has directed the music libraries at Radcliffe, Wellesley, Eastman School of Music, and Indiana University. She now lives in the Boston area.

Fanfare to Stop the Creeping Meatball! (Hilary Scott photo)

This year’s Tanglewood Festival of Contemporary Music, presented from Wednesday, August 3 through Sunday, August 7, was directed by Charles Wuorinen, who in an earlier era was often considered an academic, serial composer.  He is no stranger to the TFCM, having first served on its faculty in 1970, and many of the composers whose music was performed were either his colleagues or former students.

Fred Ho’s Fanfare to Stop the Creeping Meatball, a world première commissioned by the TFCM, was programmed to open all of the concerts except Sunday’s “Prelude” — although it was finally excluded from the Saturday afternoon one. On Thursday night it was performed from the center of the front balcony by Alex Fioto and Najib Wong, trumpets, and Douglas Rosenthal and Paul Jenkins, trombones. Is brief, jazzy, close harmonies and dense textures — short, humorous sentences strung together — set a jolly mood.

The rest of the first half featured members of the Ensemble Signal, conducted by Brad Lubman, whose expressive but subdued use of his entire body (rather than a baton) is a model of its method. Tobias Picker’s Sextet No. 2, “Halle’s Ravine” (1977), was performed by Jackie LeClair, oboe; Bill Kalinkos, clarinet; Christopher Otto, violin; Lauren Radnofsky, cello; Bill Solomon, vibraphone and marimba; and Oliver Hagen, piano. The three movements were all studies in instrumental color in various combinations, marked by dynamic contrasts. Jason Eckardt’s Rendition (2006), for bass clarinet and piano, played respectively by Kalinkos and Hagen, opens with a low growl from both instruments, from which the bass clarinet eventually emerges with notes spreading higher, some bending upwards. There then are a series of crashing chords in the piano, an amazing feat of power and endurance on the part of Hagen, followed by slow, contrasting single notes to close.

Brian Ferneyhough’s Terrain (2005), like much of his music, ferociously difficult, was written for solo violin and chamber ensemble. Performers in this concert were Otto, violin; Kelli Kathman, flute/piccolo;  LeClair, oboe/English horn; Kalinkos, clarinet/bass clarinet; Brad Balliett, bassoon; Nathan Koci, horn; Mike Gurfield, trumpet; Steven Parker, trombone; and Greg Chudzik, double bass. The violin opens with fragmentary phrases, then is joined by low instruments (bass clarinet, double bass, bassoon), finally expanding to include all, slowly building to a long climax, from which there is a short dénouement, and a brief end vanishing into the air.

 A tribute to the late Milton Babbitt was a performance, after intermission, of his More Melismata (2006), by the extraordinary cellist, Fred Sherry, who exhibited incredible control of Babbitt’s pitches as they gleefully hop around with great complexity, ending in a final sigh. Perhaps the most dramatic work I heard during these days was John Chowning’s Voices (2005, rev. 2011), for soprano and electronics. Soprano Amy Petrongelli entered tentatively from stage left while the audience was still settling down. In her rich, mellow voice, sometimes amplified and sometimes not, she sang excerpts from various Greek poets (no texts provided) in microtonal intervals, turning and gesturing here and there, as she walked slowly to center stage, and then ascended to the higher levels provided. Meanwhile the electronics both commented on, and incorporated her voice in amplified droplets, becoming louder, almost drowning Petrongelli’s voice as she started down the stairs to end the work stage center on an extended low note supported by low-pitched electronics. This was altogether a dramatic mix of visual and sonic beauty.

John Zorn’s À Rebours (in memoriam György Ligeti), commissioned by the TFCM, was premièred by Fred Sherry as solo cellist, and a group of nine players comprising mostly New Fromm players on flute, clarinet, percussion, harp, violin, viola, and cello. The work begins with Sherry’s solo introduction, to which the other instruments slowly join in long phrases, building to a noisy cacophony with some pauses. The phrases then morph into really beautiful individual instrumental sounds and harmonies to close.

Saturday afternoon’s concert, in the Theatre rather than Ozawa Hall, was a bit of a disappointment, and not just because the performers were all students, save one New Fromm Player; all performances were polished. The program included only three long works of fiendish difficulty. The order of the announced program was wisely changed so that it opened with Jonathan Keren’s Multiscala (2007), for mandolin and string trio. This turns out to be a combination that does not work very well, because when the dynamics are loud, the mandolin completely covers the string trio, making their lines inaudible. The piece stops and starts a lot, and the most balanced section involves pizzicato for all.

This was followed by Jo Kondo’s Beginning, Middle, and End (1987), for flute/bass flute and string quartet. Kondo provided soft, fragmented phrases, nevertheless connected by common pitches and harmony, the same basic harmony being treated in different ways. George Flynn’s fifty-minute Pieces of Night (Three American Nocturnes), for solo piano, is part of a longer work written between 1986 and 1989 in response to the Vietnam War. The three Nocturnes, performed with amazing skill by Nolan Pearson, were interspersed with two “Myocloni” (Muscle spasms), performed on another piano by the composer. The Nocturnes are subtitled (respectively) Turmoil, Nightmare, and Tumult and Lullaby. “Turmoil” begins gently with single pitches, but quickly leads to the “turmoil,” based on much repetition of loud harmonies and pitches. “Nightmare” generally explores the lower range of the piano and makes use of repetitive arm slams. “Tumult and Lullaby” are much like the second Nocturne, generating the question, How much repetition can a person stand?

Sunday evening’s “Prelude” concert was performed in its entirety by the amazing long-time advocate of contemporary music, pianist Ursula Oppens. Jason Eckardt’s Cuts (1996), retains the “harmonic, rhythmic, and textural characteristics: as invariant, while the music’s registral, dynamic, and timbral aspects witness continual mutation.” The result is a piece that begins with noisy clusters in the bass, changing to high, random, small clusters, then a quieter series of chords, slowing down at the end—again, repetition is constant. Milton Babbitt’s It Takes Twelve to Tango (1984) is a witty, two-and-a-half-minute twelve-tone tango, performed accordingly. Bernard Rands’ three-movement Tre Espressioni (1960) was the earliest work of the Festival, and well worth resurrecting. It makes pointillistic use of individual pitches and small chords, and Rands certainly knows how to pick the right notes for each sound or group. Jo Kondo’s High Window (1996) is characterized by transparency, a constant beat, and repeated chords in the upper registers punctuated by low single notes. Tobias Picker’s Four Études for Ursula (1996) provided a fitting climax for the program, in that three of its four movements were fast and difficult. The third movement, “Legato espressivo,” provides a melody in the right hand while the left counters with either a melody or chords. Of the fourth movement, the composer writes that it “studies the difficulties of polyrhythm, simultaneous melodic lines, and expansive chords in the context of sheer bravura and pianistic force . . . a study in endurance.” You get the idea.

As usual, the final concert of the Festival comprised works for full orchestra — in this case mostly huge, with eight double-basses—conducted by different student composers: Case Scaglione, Ken-David Masur, and Robert Treviño, with the finale conducted by TFCM faculty member, the expert Stefan Asbury. Ho’s opening Fanfare was played this time from downstage right, setting the tone for Andrew Norman’s Drip Blip Sparkle Spin Glint Glide Glow Float Flop Chop Pop Splatter Splash (2005), commissioned by the Minnesota Orchestra for its Young People’s Concerts. Whatever ones age, the work establishes a high energy level and shows off the possibilities of instrumental color in the orchestra. Jo Kondo’s In Summer (2004) begins and ends quietly,  a study in orchestral wide space and color in a very different mode. The title of Felipe Lara’s Onda (2007) means “Wave,” which is suggestive of the work’s rushes of orchestral color, beginning in the winds and harp. David Felder’s Inner Sky (1999) is a revision of an earlier work (November Sky, 1992), now for solo flutes (piccolo, flute, alto flute, bass flute), all smoothly performed in turn by New Fromm Player Marie Tachouet, four percussionists, amplified piano, strings, and computer processed sounds (also derived from pre-recorded flutes) delivered in surround sound. As might be surmised from the use of the various flutes, the work is sectional, a complex pitting of the flutes with various other instrumental and electronic colors. Christopher Rouse’s Phaethon (1986) is for very large orchestra, including a huge battery of percussion (with metal sheets of two sizes). At the speed and dynamics required, it is very difficult for the orchestra to be crisp. In fact it could be said that this is simply a loud and raucous work, except that under Stefan Asbury’s direction, it achieved intelligible shape, and brought the house down in the final enthusiastic applause of the festival.

Mary Wallace Davidson has directed the music libraries at Radcliffe, Wellesley, Eastman School of Music, and Indiana University. She now lives in the Boston area.

Before retreating upstairs to the Richards, Fowkes & Co. organ, op. 10 (2000), Porter stepped to the chancel to say that he was not going to address the fact that the “Leipziger” Chorales were written in Weimar, or that only seventeen of these “Great Eighteen” chorales were on the program, because we could read that in the program booklet. But he did wish to call attention to the three new stops installed and voiced on this organ in the summer of 2010: (1) a Schalmei 4’ in the Ruckpositiv, (2) a Vox Humana 8’ in the Hauptwerk, and (3) a Cornet 2’ in the pedal. He also told us which chorales would feature each of these stops in which voices. Characteristic Porter in his gentle attention to detail!

Like one of BMint’s other reviewers (Rebecca Marchand), I too resisted buying the entire BEMF program book, so had to find my own solutions to his two puzzles, based on recent research by the British scholar-organist Peter Williams and “our own” Christoph Wolff. Seventeen of the chorales (BWV 651-657) were probably begun before 1717 while Bach was organist in the court of Wilhelm Ernst, Duke of Saxe-Weimar. As Bach’s son, C.P.E. Bach wrote in his father’s obituary, “His grace’s delight in his playing fired him to attempt everything possible in the art of how to treat the organ. Here he also wrote most of his organ works.” The organ at the court comprised two manual keyboards and a pedal-board; hence the multiple chorales of trio texture. Bach moved to Leipzig in 1723. His revisions of BWV 651 through BWV 665, between 1739 and 1747, survive in his own hand in a manuscript (P. 271) now in Berlin. Shortly before his death in 1750, and nearly blind, he dictated revisions to BWV 666 and 667 to his student and son-in-law Johann Christoph Altnikol, who copied them posthumously into the same manuscript. (If you’re counting, that makes seventeen; more about BWV 668 later.)

Porter was committed to playing all the “Leipziger” Chorales, but not necessarily in order, with inspired design of his own intelligence. They were presented in two “programs,” one beginning at 2:00 and one precisely at 3:15 as he announced. Both began with chorales functioning as “openers,” specifically BWV 651, “Fantasia super Komm Heiliger Geist” (Program 1) and BWV 652, the entirely fugal “Komm, Heiliger Geist” (Program 2). Program 1 seemed intended to show off various individual chorales that made good use of the trio texture of the two manuals and pedal and revealed Bach’s myriad ways of treating the chorale melody. The cantus firmus (i.e., the chorale tune) was sometimes in the soprano, and sometimes in the pedal; sometimes treated homophonically with an imitative introduction to each phrase, sometimes with the addition of many sequences. The most elaborate was the last, the long “O Lamm Gottes, unschuldig” (BWV 656), in three verses, with its wild, chromatic maneuvering near the end.

The air conditioning was turned on for the second program, no doubt at Porter’s instigation, because he was perspiring heavily up there, but at quiet times it was a bit intrusive. He had designed this program to compare contrasting settings of three chorales: Nun Komm der Heiden Heiland (BWV 659-661), Allein Gott in der Höh sei Ehr (BWV 662-664), and Jesus Christus, unser heiland (BWV 666, 665, i.e. in reverse order, so that 665, “sub communione,” i.e. with its extended length probably used during communion, full of chromaticism ended the program). All three of the Allein Gott settings used the trio texture, but with the cantus firmus in a different key- or pedal-board. The Nun komm settings were highly contrasted, heightened by Porter’s strong registrations. The final Jesus Christus pair bore the most differentiated treatment by Bach himself.

These Achtzehn Choräle von verschiedener Art (Eighteen chorales of a different art), the title under which they were first published together in the complete works of 1875, have rarely been recorded in their entirety, much less performed live in one sitting. This concert was a stupendous accomplishment for the modest Mr. Porter. Moreover, the wisdom and clarity of his registrations, and our ability to hear every voice at every minute, was absolutely revelatory. His tempos were never rushed, but lively—e.g. the O Lamm Gottes umschuldig (BWV 656), last on Program 1, with its gentle tactus. Several members of the audience were following their own scores, and no wonder. This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to hear and compare these magnificent works in the hands of a brilliant organist on an appropriate instrument.

Oh yes, the eighteenth chorale! After a thunderous ovation, Porter with great difficulty quieted the applause, to ask simply if we now wished hear it. (Answer obvious.) Quite a story lies behind it, most of it without substantive evidence. The first page was entered by an unknown copyist into the P. 271 manuscript with the title, Vor deinen Thron tret ich hiermit (“Before your throne I now appear”). Hence it became known as the “Deathbed Chorale,” and various biographers told some version of such a story. It is now generally accepted that this was a planned reworking of an earlier chorale, Wenn wir in höchsten Nöten sein from the Orgelbüchlein (1715). The encore ended with a chuckle of appreciation, and reluctant willingness to let Porter go after his long ordeal. After all, it was 4:30.

Mary Wallace Davidson has directed the music libraries at Radcliffe, Wellesley, Eastman School of Music, and Indiana University. She now lives in the Boston area.

Gilles Vonsattel and Stefan Jackiw during intermission (BMInt staff photo)

Rockport Chamber Music Festival’s 30th Anniversary Season brought violinist Stefan Jackiw and pianist Gilles Vonsattel to the Shalin Liu Performance Center on Saturday, June 11. (Jackiw pronounces his Ukranian surname “Ja-keev” rather than “Ya-keev.”) Both, now in their mid-twenties, were childhood friends and prodigies — in fact, Jackiw introduced their encore (the slow movement from Brahms’s third violin and piano sonata) by saying they had first performed it together in 1993, when he was eight and Vonsattel, twelve. Both went to Roxbury Latin School, and then on to private universities for  B.A. degrees:  Jackiw to Harvard, majoring first in psychology and then in music, and Vonsattel to Columbia, majoring in political science and economics. He also has a masters degree in music from Juilliard, and Jackiw, an artist’s diploma from New England Conservatory. Of course both had further intensive musical training here and elsewhere. These similarities and their long friendship may or may not explain the unusual musical partnership evident in their performance: not just soloist and accompanist, but true artistic interaction in expressing and shaping the music, while instinctively serving its aims. Both have formidable technique, but never use it for its own sake. Rarely have I heard artists so in tune with each other in so many ways. Vonsattel’s ringing sounds never overwhelmed Jackiw’s sensitive lyricism; in fact they often seemed to grow out of each other.

The program opened with Stravinsky’s six-movement Suite italienne (1932), one of many spinoffs from his immensely popular ballet music for Pulcinella (1919-20), including one for cello and piano of the same year, and itself a revision of an earlier version of 1926. During all that time Stravinsky understood that he was arranging melodies from manuscripts (later proven forgeries or music by other composers) of the 18th-century composer Giovanni Battista Pergolesi, some of which were dance movements (gavotte, minuet, tarantella). Although the original overture to Pulcinella (here, “Introduzione”) is marked Allegro moderato, it is usually played at a stately tempo, more Moderato than Allegro. The Jackiw-Vonstattel duo took this and the following movements at a much faster speed than the orchestral versions of the ballet. Thus the gavotte, for example, was more rapid than could be danced. Nevertheless the piece served as an introduction to the extremely romantic, yet delicate approach to performance taken particularly by Jackiw.

The apex of the concert for the audience was Brahms’s Violin Sonata no. 1, in G major, op. 78 (1878-79). Here the performers’ quiet intensity was most apparent, appropriate, and well received. This is a difficult piece for the pianist, with wide leaps that must be accomplished quickly without too much seeming effort, while the violinist enters and leaves with gentle wisps, expanding into much larger gestures, and long passages of double stops. Balance becomes crucial, and this they achieved with magical aplomb. Jackiw introduced the work, noting that the third movement makes reference to Brahms’s earlier “Regenlied” (Rain song). According to a 1995 article by Dillon Palmer, references to the song exist in all three movements, and Brahms indeed wanted the connections to be noticed.

After intermission we heard Luigi Dallapiccola’s Sonatina canonica su capricci di Niccol1ò Paganini (1942-43), for solo piano. In his introduction to the work Mr. Vonsattel described it as “deranged but affectionate,” a most apt description of this short, almost humorous piece, written in hiding, one could imagine as an obstinate response to Mussolini’s repressive Nazi policies during this time. (Dallapiccola’s wife was Jewish.) Indeed Dallapiccola wrote in 1953, “One day, in a mood of Galgenhumor (gallows humor), I wrote the Sonatina canonica … in a way as proof that … I was able to write in regular tonality, with a stated theme.” Each of the movements is based on one of Paganini’s violin caprices and requires difficult passage work. Vonsattel brought them off in just Dallapiccola’s spirit, with his characteristic clear pedaling and close dynamic control.

The final work was Richard Strauss’s only Violin and Piano Sonata, op. 18, written in 1887 at the end of his student days. It is a large (long) work, full of bombast, but also of surprisingly long, soft passages contrasting with the same dense complexity.  Nevertheless the performers triumphed with this seldom heard work whose exuberant “Finale” constitutes almost half the piece. The encore then further rewarded the audience, which honored the mood of each piece with a moment of respectful silence before applauding.

Mary Wallace Davidson has directed the music libraries at Radcliffe, Wellesley, Eastman School of Music, and Indiana University. She now lives in the Boston area.

The program opened with a short Anthem for chorus alone by Cleveland composer Andrew Rindfleisch (b. 1963). This was commissioned by Burleigh for the Mendelssohn Choir of Pittsburgh, which she also conducts, and premiered at the Library of Congress in February, 2009. The text is “an English version of Psalm 130,” according to the composer’s brief program note. Although this was an a capella piece, and the CPM’s diction is excellent, it was a shame that the chosen text (same or different from the English of Luther’s — see below) was not printed in the program, as was the case with the other works. It was a tough but grateful opener because of the need to maintain shimmering, sustained Debussy-like harmonies; even so, the chorus excelled. A chorus member sounded a minor third on the piano, and off they went, simply declaiming the text as softly as possible. The ending was stunning on the text, “Amen:” the altos sang a long sustained pitch, then taken over by the sopranos, as if one voice (even though a different color), using circular breathing. Such a simple, unusual, and successful device!

The next work, also a capella, was Francis Poulenc’s Exultate Deo, based on Psalm 81. Composed in 1941, it reflects his earlier deep study of Bach’s chorales and accordingly presents the brief but joyful text — all about the timbrel, psaltery, lute, and trumpet — in a declamatory fashion. The CPM did it proud.

Felix Mendelssohn’s Aus tiefer Noth schrei’ ich zu Dir (“Out of deep distress I call to you”), Psalm 130, was written in Rome in October, 1830. It is the only one of a number of his “Bachian chorale cantatas” that was published during his lifetime, as the first in his Drei Kirchenmusiken op.23 (Bonn, 1832). It is in five movements, of which the third and fourth were omitted in this performance, probably because of the solo voices and organ required. The first movement is a straightforward, fourteen-bar setting of the chorale, with German text as translated by Martin Luther. The second, using the same text, treats the chorale tune fugally, beginning with the basses and working straight up to the sopranos (although only the basses and the sopranos have the tune). The fifth movement is again a straightforward, but different setting of the same chorale, using the text of the second verse. Again the large chorus of seventy-five members enunciated clearly. Inevitably the individual chorale parts were not as crystal clear as one would hope, but admirable given the large numbers of non-professional singers.

The central work of the evening was a CPM commission, Expectans expectavi, composed by Minneapolis-based Abbie Betinis (b. 1980), premièred on this occasion. She was asked to write a piece that would complement Stravinsky’s Symphony of Psalms. The fact that she is a three-time cancer survivor affected both the composition and the performance; CPM offered 200 free tickets to friends, staff, family, and cancer survivors of  the Dana Farber Cancer Institute, the Lymphoma Research Foundation, and the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.  The text, of the piece, in Latin, is selected from Psalms 38, 39 and 40, blaming God, yet pleading for deliverance. The work is scored for soprano soloist (Bonnie Gleason), full chorus, flutes, oboe, English horn, bassoon, French horns, harp, timpani, trumpet, trombone, tuba, piano, bass drum, cellos and basses — i.e., generally a low instrumental timbre without clarinets, violins or violas. The work is a palindrome, beginning and ending quietly with the title text (in English, “I waited patiently for the Lord”). After repeating that line many times at the start, the music builds rapidly to a fortissmo, then softens briefly (“Hear my prayer, O Lord”) before introducing the soprano solo, “O Lord, make me know my end.” Again a rise to fortissimo on “Hear me, hear me, hear me.” The final plaint, actually the kernel or generating text, “Amove a me plagas tuas” (“Remove your scourges from me”) is set apart just before the piece ends with slow, quiet, sustained phrases in the winds, softly punctuated with pizzicati in the strings, and finally only the latter. It is a striking and dramatic piece, full of dissonance, as one might expect, with the chorus and instruments forging separate paths.

After intermission the composer took to the stage to deliver informal remarks about the generative musical devices in the piece, and then the work was performed again, to standing ovation, including previously overlooked recognition of Bonnie Gleason’s fine if brief performances in the central sections, soaring above the low instruments.

The afternoon culminated with Igor Stravinsky’s magnificent Symphony of Psalms, commissioned by Sergei Koussevitzky for the 50th anniversary of the BSO in 1930, on that occasion performed with the members of the Cecilia Society. It uses two verses from Psalm 38, three from Psalm 39 (including “Expectans, expectavi dominum”), and almost all of Psalm 150 (numbering from the Vulgate). As Stravinsky has said, “It is not a symphony in which I have included Psalms to be sung. On the contrary, it is the singing of the Psalms that I am symphonizing.” The instrumentation is a fuller version of Betinis’s work, i.e. same instruments but more of them. In this performance they sometimes overwhelmed the chorus. But the instruments have a lot to say in this piece — many repetitions of same or similar motives, sudden punctuation, and then on to something else. The opening of the second Psalm, a difficult fugal play among flutes and oboes, beginning with two parts and swelling to six, was perfectly executed with the verve it needs. Nothing, however is as memorable as the altos’ opening and persistent half-step (e-f-f-e) on “Exaudi orationem meam, Domine” (“Hear my prayer, O Lord”), or the chorus’s opening of the third Psalm with the tentative, ethereal, “Alleluia,” followed by a rest, and then the tenors and basses, chanting in unison a firm, almost hammering, “Laudate,” repeatedly. A brief reminiscence of these two phrases closes the work poignantly, yet powerfully. This caring, nurturing performance certainly did it justice.

Mary Wallace Davidson has directed the music libraries at Radcliffe, Wellesley, Eastman School of Music, and Indiana University. She now lives in the Boston area.

The first “B” was Samuel Barber (1910-1981), represented by his Summer Music, op. 31, composed for the Detroit Chamber Music Society in 1956 at the height of his productive career. It has become a standard in the wind quintet repertoire, performed here by Boldin (flute), Nancy Dimock (oboe), Kelli O’Connor (clarinet), Elah Grandel (bassoon), and Whitacre Hill (horn). The piece comprises short sections with changing textures, introduced by the horn paired with the bassoon. Such pairings are an organizing principle, soon joined by “twitterings” from the two high winds, singly, and in pairs. Particularly enchanting was the expressive playing of Dimock, also constantly watching her colleagues for cues. The ensemble playing was indeed exemplary.

The only extant “B” was composer and clarinetist Derek Bermel (b. 1967), whose music has been performed in Boston at least three other times this season. He is known for making music from a multiplicity of genres: those of jazz, rock, gospel, Jerusalem, Ghana, and Brazil. In 2001 he studied with a Bulgarian folk clarinetist, from whence came the inkling for Tied Shifts (2004) for flute (Boldin), clarinet/bass clarinet (O’Connor), violin (Katherine Winterstein), cello (Rafael Popper-Keizer), piano (Esther Ning Yau), and percussion (William Manley). The instrumentation itself suggests pairings (ranges, or winds, strings, piano/percussion), which were evident throughout in ingenious ways, beginning in the first movement with violin+flute. The title refers to the Bulgarian folk practice of tying melodic notes over a bar line, in various compound meters (5/8, 7/8, etc.), so that the meters are obscured. The tied notes are often ornamented with mordents — “rapid alternation of the main note with a subsidiary note a step below” (Grove), which becomes an “obsessively repetitive cell” (composer). The first movement, “Driving, relentless,” makes use of constant repeated notes and phrases to achieve its announced effect. The second, “Rocking gently,” begins with a diatonic hymn for violin, cello, and piano. This becomes overlain with counter melodies in different keys by the flute and clarinet — a simple, but effective, device. Percussion (marimba and xylophone) is often paired with piano, reinforcing or stretching, or echoing. At one point there is a cascade of descending scales falling upon drums. The coda becomes more and more dissonant. All in all, a triumph.

B is for Beethoven (I suppose it couldn’t be avoided, but wish it had), a poor fit. The choice was his Sonata for piano and violin, no. 4, in a minor, op. 23, written in 1800 and dedicated to Count Moritz von Fries, a Viennese banker in whose home Beethoven was frequently a guest at the time. It was performed by the brilliant Russian guest pianist, Sergey Schepkin, and Chameleon core member, violinist Joanna Kurkowicz. The piano’s top was raised to the fullest, and the sound of this instrument in the narrow hall most often obscured the violin. Both performers played well, no question, but with the Sonata’s too-fast and exaggerated, contrasting tempi, in a very hot overcrowded, unventilated, room, one was ready for intermission.

Ernest Bloch (1880-1959) wrote his Piano Quintet No. 1 over a period of three years (1921-23) while he was serving as founding director of the Cleveland Institute of Music. A big, romantic work, it is dedicated to Harold Bauer and the Lenox Quartet. The title of its three movements, “Agitato,” “Andante mistico,” and “Allegro energico” suggest the ominous, hanging, unresolved feelings that are built up and released throughout the work. There are many virtuosic techniques required, including double stops, and quarter tones among the strings in the first and third movements. According to Gabriel Langfur’s program notes, Bloch “insisted that he was not trying to . . . draw on non-Western music, but rather, to inflect the Western scale system in order to further intensify the enormous range of the emotional material.” Until they read these notes, some in the audience assumed the performance was out of tune. A look at the score makes one appreciate how difficult the quarter-tone notation is to make music of this successfully, particularly when the ensemble includes a piano, which cannot bend notes at all. And it is nearly impossible for the strings to bend together at the rapid rate required. Perhaps the tension among these sounds is what Bloch desired. The performers, Kurkowicz and Winterstein (violins), Scott Woolweaver, (viola), Popper-Keizer (cello), and Schepkin (piano), gave it their all, with intense concentration and expressivity, as long supported melodic lines morphed into even longer ones, without benefit of cadence. An extended coda near the end of the third movement, developed in the major mode with rich harmonies. It was almost overwhelming in its rich sonorities, ultimately resolving all that went before. An enthusiastic audience showered the performers with well-deserved applause.

Mary Wallace Davidson has directed the music libraries at Radcliffe, Wellesley, Eastman School of Music, and Indiana University. She now lives in the Boston area.

Lassus is said to have been “one of the most prolific and versatile of 16th-century composers, and in his time the best-known and most widely admired musician in Europe.” Born in Flanders, he became a musician in the ducal court of Mantua when he was a teenager. From there he entered various court services in Rome and Naples, and after a brief period of return to Antwerp, fetched up in Munich in 1556 for the rest of his life in a ducal court where Italian musicians were increasingly hired. So who’s to say whether Flemish or Italian influences are most prominent in his music? In fact he used both styles as they suited his purpose. Indeed, no doubt at his urging, in 1555 the Antwerp printer Tylman (Tielman) Susato published a mixed collection usually referred to as Lassus’s ‘Opus 1,’ with two entirely different titles, the first in Flemish for distribution in the North, and later, in Italian, (using the same music plates), destined to be marketed in Italy. Lassus’s subsequent collections were published all over Europe wherever there were printers with music fonts.

His versatility was clearly evident in Exultemus’s programming of well chosen and beautifully balanced selections from literally hundreds of the composer’s vocal works. There is no way to know when most of these were written, and hence nearly impossible to present his music chronologically. Yet Exultemus nearly managed to do this, having done their homework extremely well, represented in their modest program notes.

The centerpiece of the first half comprised five selections from the four-voiced motets, Prophetiae Sibyllarum, from a manuscript source of about 1560. The sung Prologue (in Latin) explains: “These are songs which proceed chromatically. They are the poems in which the twelve Sibyls, one after the other, once sang the hidden mysteries of our salvation.” All twelve poems are in dactylic hexameter, set in the most chromatic of Lassus’s music — presumably to heighten the mystical nature of the poetry. The direction of chromatic change is almost always upward, further enhancing the inspirational effect.

I have to say that here, and often elsewhere, the singers tended to drag behind countertenor Martin Near’s direction, apparently to revel in their gorgeous sounds while letting diction go astray, particularly word endings. The group stood in a semi-circle, with Near approximately in the center, depending on the voicing. If one wanted to understand the text, which became difficult to follow in the program without vocal cues, then one simply watched Near’s mouth, which emphasized the shapes of the words. (I was sitting in the third row, where hearing was certainly not a problem.) On the other hand their well-matched voices really did make gorgeous sounds, with nary a slip in intonation, even in this difficult chromatic music.

The program opened with “Lectio Octava” from the composer’s Sacrae lectiones ex Propheta Job, another collection of about the same period, this one published in 1565. The text comes from the depths of Job’s rages and also from his hope that he will be redeemed — very strong stuff. Not a sibilant, in almost every word, was heard in the three verses, a worrisome omen. In a brilliant stroke, however, Exultemus presented another “Lectio Octava” from a second collection of readings from the Book of Job and written almost twenty years later. The text is the same, but set in two verses instead of three. This appeared midway through the second half of the program, so there was no chance to compare them. I must admit: I haven’t been to a library to do my homework on this one. (I don’t know of an article that compares them either.) But I’m happy to say, diction had improved.

The rest of the first half included a French chanson from the first version of  Lassus’s ‘Opus 1,’ “Susane un jour d’amour solicitée” (from the Book of Daniel) in which Susanna tells two old men leering at her that she would rather die an innocent. This was followed by a German drinking song, “Der Wein, der schmeckt mir also wohl” (“Wine tastes good to me”). Here the diction was far better, partly because of the boisterousness of the song, and partly because German is a more explosive language anyway. These were both sung by a smaller group: countertenor Pagenkopf, tenor Anderson, baritone Scoggin, and bass Profit, with the addition of baritone Fuggate in the first and tenor McSweeney in the second. The first half ended with a villanesca from the Italian version of ‘Opus 1,’ “No giorno t’haggio havere intra ‘ste mane” (Someday I shall catch hold of you). Each verse of two lines ends with the rollicking refrain, “Fugimi quanto voi” (Run from me as much as you want), sung with a clear sense of taunting, relishing the repetition.

The centerpiece of the second half comprised five excerpts from Lagrime di San Pietro for seven voices, the last published works by Lassus, written when he was said to be in a “religious melancholia.” They set texts of the Neapolitan poet Luigi Tansillo (1510–1568), focusing on St. Peter’s feelings at the Crucifixion and about his denial. The title page of the collection calls these works motets; others have referred to them as madrigals. They make use of a “call-and-response” device, contrasting high and low voices, usually within the same poetic line, sometimes overlapping. The second half began with “Salve Regina misericordiae,” a four-voiced motet (sung by all eight) from his Beatissimae Virginis Mariae, published in 1586. Although a motet, its character is more like a chant in falsobordone style, ending on an open fifth. This was followed by the short “Musica, Dei donum optimi” for six voices, from Lassus’s last motet collection, Cantiones sacrae (1594), and another drinking song, “Ad primum morsum” (At the first bite, if I do not drink, I am dead) from the same collection, vigorously sung, as you can imagine.

The final work, “O la, o che bon eccho!” is from his Libro de villanelle, moresche, et altre canzoni, published in 1581, but probably written many years earlier. The key word here is “echo.” Thus the octet split into two quartets, one remaining in the chancel, and the other moving quickly to the rear balcony, while Exultemus General Director and founding soprano Shannon Canavin made some announcements. Many smiles ensued as the gentlemen tried out the echo effects (as directed by the text), bade their farewell, and then sang, “Basta! Basta!” (Enough! enough!), to much applause.

One brief comment about the space: with its gently pointed (not arched) ceiling over the narrow nave, this church is a superb venue for intimate music-making, where huge crowds are not expected.

Mary Wallace Davidson has directed the music libraries at Radcliffe, Wellesley, Eastman School of Music, and Indiana University. She now lives in the Boston area.