This is a bit on the late side, I know, but I promised that I’d give myself a small breather after the last set of classical series concerts before I wrote about them.
First, Olivier Messiaen’s L’Ascension for orchestra. It’s not a work that I was familiar with before the rehearsals began, and it was a bit of an odd pill to swallow. Not unrewarding, not un-beautiful, just different, I guess. It’s enigmatic when you want (or expect) it to proclaim. Part of it is the way it is structured from the point of view of a performer.
The first movement, Majesty of Christ Asking Glory from his Father, is basically a slow, long, series of trumpet calls, with a few winds sprinkled in amongst the massive brass orchestrations. So we in the string sections start the piece by sitting around listening to really slow music for close to 10 minutes. If you’re the least bit tired, as I was on Saturday night, it can be excruciating sitting still in front of 2000+ people and struggling not to fall asleep on stage!
The two middle movements, Serene Alleluias of a Soul Desiring Heaven and Alleluia on the Trumpet, Alleluia on the Cymbal, are quite active, the first one being mostly centered upon the quasi-birdcalls of the woodwinds, the second involving the entire orchestra in a lively dance that is quite fun to play. I couldn’t help but think of Jesus Christ Superstar at the closing cadence – it is so Hollywood, but entirely appropriate for the most theatrical of the work’s four movements.
Then comes the final movement, the excruciatingly slow Christ’s Prayer Rising to his Father, which is murder to play after the preceding three movements, and it ends very loudly, but without a sense of resolution, which made the audience response a bit muted, and the performance a bit less gratifying. I suppose with more exposure to the piece I could warm to it, but it remains at arm’s length for me at this point.
Then came Carmina Burana. It does what it sets out to do, and it does it exceedingly well, but I don’t think that anyone will leave any performance of this work with their life altered in any meaningful way. But it’s proof that music does not have to have depth to have impact, or to be regarded as a masterpiece, or to have a lasting following.
I think of Carmina as the Sarah Brightman of the classical music canon, with followers flocking to every performance, knowing the words to all of the songs, and going crazy when it’s all sung and done. If I sound a bit condescending when I talk about this piece, it’s because I am, to be totally honest. But if programming it makes audiences happy, and fills the house (as it did, on both counts) then I’m happy to play it, and with a smile on my face besides.
Plus, having the three excellent soloists we had, and the on fire Portland Symphonic Choir and Pacific Youth Choir up in the choir loft made for an exciting and enjoyable performing experience.