Going Toward the Light: Shadow-Sounds in Schnittke’s Concerto for Mixed Chorus

Schnittke invented the perfect word for his polystylism: Schattenklänge, or shadow-sounds. Schnittke’s biographer thought of Schattenklänge as a kind of well of genetic memory, deeply encoding Russian and German cultural history. Schnittke considered the Concerto for Mixed Chorus one of his most significant works, and many critics argue for its preeminent as a masterwork of sacred choral music of the twentieth century. For me, one fascination of studying the Concerto lies in discovering the structural keys it contains, decoding all of Schnitte’s work. But perhaps what are most compelling are the shadows that flicker within it, shadows of some of the most powerful preoccupations of German and Russian post- Romanticism.

Schnittke’s musical imagination cannot be separated from his fascination with all forms of mysticism; the occult, in the sense of the hidden, became both inspiration and structure. Schnittke’s varying interests in theosophy, I Ching, kabbalah, and Gnosticism coalesced at the time of his conversion to Roman Catholicism in 1982; his sacred choral works came to outnumber the secular. Schnittke believed his function as composer was more a medium, a conduit of hidden and magical messages from a transcendent realm.

The choral concerto refined and elaborated by the Ukrainian Dmitri Bortniansky (1751-1825) for the liturgy of the Russian Orthodox church, reached its apotheosis in Rachmaninoff, Grechaninov, and Rimsky-Korsakov. This uniquely Russian choral tradition was nearly snuffed out after Bolshevik Revolution; Schnittke resurrected the form after nearly one hundred years of neglect. I’ve chosen two qualities of the Concerto for Mixed Chorus to unlock its meaning in the context of the history of sacred choral music: the importance of the D major tonalities, and the setting of the ideas of suffering and universality in the text. The Armenian monk, mystic and philosopher Grigor Narekatsi (951–1003) wrote his Book of Lamentations as an offering of ecumenical prayers “so that my singing may become healing, curing the wounds of body and soul.” Schnittke had profound reasons to be drawn to this text, and similarly meaningful choices structuring setting. The work is composed of three movements determined by the divisions in Narekatski’s text, followed by a fourth that functions as a coda, recapitulating the tonal progression of the entire work from B minor to D Major. (I’m indebted to Melanie Turgeon’s analysis in Composing the Sacred in Soviet and Post-Soviet Russia: History and Christianity in Alfred Schnittke’s Concerto for Choir, 2008).

D major represented light to Schnittke; the Concerto was not the first or last time he would use its symbolism in a sacred choral music, often in coda. The coda to his Fourth Symphony (1983) resolves four disparate modes representing the liturgical traditions of Catholicism, Russian Orthodoxy, Judaism, and Lutheranism into an Ave Maria in D Major. In the choral coda of Schnittke’s ballet Peer Gynt, Gynt (1986) escapes from the shadow world of illusion into transcendent dimension filled with light and the mysteries of eternities – a dimension that just happens to be D major.

It’s no mystery that since the baroque D major in choral music has represented the triumph of Christ’s victory over death and the affirmation of faith in the resurrection. The epitome of this structure is found in the Bach’s Mass in B minor, whose tonal progression from B minor to D major is echoed in the Concerto. The tradition was retained throughout the common practice period, with Beethoven’s masterwork Missa solemnis joining the Mass in B minor as its anchoring achievements. The Missa solemnis is almost entirely centered in D major, and concludes in D major. Another especially brilliant setting of D major is an ascending scale depicting a sunrise, found in Haydn’s The Creation following the recitative “And God said: Let there be lights in the firmament of heaven.” This D major as Fiat Lux surely must be a shadow-sound for Schnittke.

Happy hours

Ok, feeling a little irreverent here.  I’ve been fixated on ways to describe our upcoming program in concrete, tactile (and drinkable) terms. This Saturday evening (January 21st–a few tickets still available) at First Church in Cambridge, Cantata Singers is performing Alfred Schnittke’s Concerto for Mixed Chorus and Arvo Pärt’s Berliner Mass.

The Pärt is the easy one.  Vodka martini very cold.  Normally, I’m a gin girl, but this requires the crystalline cleanliness of vodka. I’m thinking it’s a twist, and not an olive this time.  Although then the mind starts to wander…  it has a softness too, so now I’m thinking cozy furs (the vodka is cold, but there’s a warmth inside) and a sleigh–taking us on a journey through a vast, spare and snowy landscape. Destination?  Perhaps we’re headed to  one of those super cool ice hotels!  The music is svelte, smart and sophisticated–think Bond girl with a PhD, but with a spiritual side–alone in a cool dark monastery (with her furs and her cocktail, naturally) surrounded by the warm light of many candles burning.  Another colleague of mine said it made him think of a cold spring pond. He specifically mentioned an Estonian pond, but since I’ve never been there, my mind immediately went to happy hours spent on the far side of Walden Pond, enjoying a solitary swim in  tranquil refreshing waters.

The Schnittke is a murkier issue–in many ways it’s just a deep feather bed of delicious harmony, spread out over several octaves–rich, deep, often favoring the sonority of the lowest basses.  So a rich velvety red wine comes to mind, one of those wonderful stinky french ones where you’re constantly seeking out the elements of the terroir (funky tastes like dirt and brussel sprouts and wait, is that a hint of licorice–or is it canteloupe?)  I love wines like that (especially with an equally “stinky” cheese or divinely grilled piece of meat).  I love waiting for them to open up as they interact with the air, the food you’re enjoying it with, and  as your palate comes into acquaintance with each flavor it expands to help you recognize a new element.  Complex, deep, nuanced.  But I think wine is not quite the right analogy.  Soft velvety manhattan with a liquor soaked cherry at the end?  Hmmm.

There’s a yeastiness to this music–a bubbling changeability as it weaves its way mercurially through major and minor with explosions of brilliant brightness.  Sourdough starter–dough expanding to the limits, and punched down to rise again.  So I’m heading in the direction of a gorgeous Belgian beer– but maybe with a gloriously astringent Negroni cocktail on the side?

My friend Majie also said it’s like being in an enormous Gothic cathedral with lots of voices all around you having their own conversations, and then all of sudden the sounds coalesce into a single coherent sound, and then wander again off into individual chatter.  Sometimes I feel like it’s the best shampoo you’ve ever had in a salon.  Lather, rinse, repeat. (With a soft angelic pillowy Amen at the end.)  Aaah.  Note to self–Book the spa day now.

My happiest hours are the time I spend living and breathing remarkable and challenging music.  I love the way this music sparks my imagination and speaks to my soul–what sort of a journey is it for you?

Contrasts

It’s amazing how two composers who were born only a year apart (1934 and 1935), lived only about 1,00o miles from each other in the same country (the Soviet Union), and both understood so well how to write for chorus in a way that’s both satisfying to hear and to sing, could produce works that are so different from each other.

Arvo Pärt’s Berliner Mass is spare and crystalline, sounding at once ancient and modern.  Its spaciousness is that of the outdoors on a cold, crisp winter day in Estonia.  The horizon is endless.

Alfred Schnittke’s Concerto for Choir is also spacious, but it’s the spaciousness of a huge cathedral, with centuries of echoing voices trapped and overlapping each other, then coming together suddenly in a big, bold and painfully beautiful consonant chord.  It’s so Soviet, so Russian.

Program notes for Jan 21 Pärt & Schnittke – “Searching Sublimity”

Hi all.  I’d like to share the program notes for the next Cantata Singers concert on Saturday, January 21, at First Church in Cambridge.

First, the set-up by David Hoose:

“The idea of pairing two such rarely performed and, frankly, bizarre works, one by Estonian Arvo Pärt, whose music is known and beloved by many, and one by Russian Alfred Schnittke, whose music is known and loved by some (mostly Russians), would seem merely strange and arbitrary if both compositions were not masterpieces in their own right,  measures of their composers’ highest achievement, and expressions so profound that each reaches down to the same well of human experience.”

Followed by the program notes by John Erhlich, “Searching Sublimity”:

Arvo Pärt’s music has touched many listeners’ hearts in recent years with its arresting amalgam of asceticism and ecstasy. There seems to be something inherent in his music’s expressivity that speaks directly and powerfully to today’s serious music listeners. Is it the music’s hovering stasis that so transfixes us? Is it the transparency of line? Is it the meditative spareness of the overall sound he conjures? A magical alchemy of all of these, it seems, in differing percentages that depend upon the material at hand, creates the aura that has become Pärt’s signature sound. 

I think I’ll miss you most of all

I recently posted the picture above on my facebook page with the caption “Bach is the center of it all.” A brief discussion ensued about who really is the greatest composer–Beethoven gets center billing on the Symphony Hall proscenium, but Bach recently came out on top in the NY Times. I am not good at choosing favorites, whether it be my favorite color, book, or food (or sister! haha!), but I think I may have a favorite composer.

I had a quick little insight during rehearsals for the B-minor Mass this week–it may or may not be a strong analogy, but I thought it was at least amusing.

Beethoven, with his magnificent bravado is the Cowardly Lion, while Brahms wins my heart as the Tin Man.

Bach of the great intellect is naturally cast as Scarecrow.

The week following a wonderfully successful concert is always just a little bittersweet. As we leave the B-minor and Bach behind us this week, and move on to Howells, Bernstein, Ives and more Vaughan Williams, I’m feeling a little like Dorothy.

Scarecrow, I think I’ll miss you most of all…

–posted by Bonnie

Bach Mass in B-minor: an insider’s listening guide

***I wrote this for my friend and her guests at Friday night’s performance: none of whom had ever had the pleasure of hearing this masterpiece. It is an absolutely approachable work, which is one of the things that enhances its greatness, but to a first time listener, its massive breadth and length can be overwhelming. My hope was that by giving them a few things to explore in each movement that they would have a greater connection with the piece, and enjoy a greater depth of appreciation. We have a second performance this Sunday March 20th at 3pm at Jordan Hall. Print this out, and join us for an afternoon of thrilling and deeply moving music.

–posted by Bonnie

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Fun things to listen for: Most of the choral pieces are in either 4 parts or 5 parts (in 5 parts the women divide 3 ways).
The 4 part music is in a more ancient style (stile antico) while the 5 part music is more “modern” (stile moderno).
Here’s a little game to play: Find the second sopranos!

SECTION ONE: KYRIE
Note the symmetry of Kyrie(chorus)-Christe (soloists)-Kyrie(chorus)

1.Kyrie I: (5-part chorus)
Starts out with a BANG! Those first 4 measures are epic and contain enough emotional weight to introduce and bear the rest of the mass. You can almost hear the sopranos walking up the hill to the cross.
The orchestra then begins a long extended fugue that is then picked up by the 5-part chorus. Listen for the various entrances of the fugue—and the overall glorious sound Especially enjoy the increased drama when the bass instruments enter the fugue. This movement is full-on baroque luxury; I really feel the mood of questioning and uncertainty. Amazing how much music Bach gets out of two words in this movement and the next 2!

2.Christe eleison: (Soprano1, Soprano2 duet)
This movement is very fresh and modern sounding to my ear, especially after the searching quality of the first Kyrie. Enjoy the way the soloists parts move together, and when they answer one another. The orchestra is strings only in this movement. This is more like opera than church music.

3.Kyrie II: (4-part chorus)
This movement is our first experience of the stile antico. Again, Bach treats the text as a fugue, but this fugue is more chromatic (i.e. more tortured), and more formal. The first four notes of the theme make the shape of a cross (f-sharp up to g-natural, down to e-sharp and back to f-sharp). It has more overt dramatic weight and almost a severity. Again, listen for the entrances of the fugue subject, noticing when they get closer and closer together for added drama.

SECTION TWO: GLORIA

4. Gloria in excelsis: (5-part chorus)
Here we get a little preview of the the D-major dance party yet to come. Kick back and enjoy the fireworks, trumpets and timpani. Pure joy, unbottled!

Bach B Minor Mass: Why you should go

Here are a few reasons that I think the Cantata Singers’ performance of the Bach B Minor Mass (Friday night and Sunday afternoon) is worth the price of admission.

• “Gratias”
• “Dona Nobis Pacem”; same as above, but with a bigger payoff
• The bass section’s virtuosic rendering of “Et iterum venturus est”
• “Confiteor” (OK, David, you convinced me)
• Piccolo trumpets!

I’m also looking forward to the great, dramatic tension of the performance.  Not Mr. Bach’s drama–our own personal variety.  For instance:

• Will the soloists be able to cross the stage without colliding?
• Will the horn player sustain his unblemished record of not splattering the high notes?
• Will the tempo in the “Cum Sancto” be caffeinato or molto caffeinato?
• Will the oboists finish their crossword puzzles before curtain time?
• At what point will I be so carried away by the music that I whack the organist in the head with my folder?

Come and join us Friday night, 3/18 or Sunday afternoon, 3/20; both performances at Jordan Hall.

—by caradmer

Mein glaubiges Herze

Scenes from our Valentine Party and Benefit Auction.

Feb 10, 2011 at the Harvard Club.  An evening of delicious food and drink with entertainment by OVERBOARD – Boston’s hottest a cappella sensation to benefit the Cantata Singers musical and education programs.

As you can see–it was a lively, entertaining, and successful event!  Enjoy!

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Photos- Marilyn Humphries

Cantata Singers 2011 Valentine Auction

Program notes–Bach: Mass in B minor

by David Hoose

Johann Sebastian Bach: Mass in B minor, BWV 232                               Bach’s Mass in B minor is scored for soprano I, soprano II, alto, tenor and bass solos; chorus variously in four, five, six and eight parts; an orchestra of two flutes, three oboes (the first two doubling on oboe d’amore, and the third appearing only in the Sanctus), two bassoons (the second having an independent part only in the Quoniam), horn, three trumpets, timpani, keyboard, and violins I and II, viola, cello and bass.

History is rich with music that, upon first hearing, seems utterly impenetrable. If our response is not to dismiss it, but to return to it another day out of curiosity, with humility and patience, we may be rewarded, and we may even begin to puzzle over why we were so deaf to the music’s wonders the first time we heard it. History is also replete with music that, seeming eager to please, makes a starry first impression. To that we may also return, but often with diminishing reward. Eventually, we tire of the music’s predictability and, again, may begin to wonder why we were so deaf the first time.

Were there only these extremes—the obviously obscure and the merely obvious—we might not worry so about the role of classical music in our culture. A few people would crave a tough challenge for the sake of a tough challenge, and others would yearn for a balm to offer insulation from life. Each group would go its own way, blissfully unaware of the other.

But there is also a magnificent body of music that fills that gap between the extremes, music that grabs us the first time we hear it and then reveals more with each hearing. It is this music that links the extremes of the tough and the facile, and that lets us be both fascinated by Milton Babbitt and enchanted by Ottorino Respighi. Like the most appealing of facile music, this music invites us in, sparking our imagination, metabolism and emotions. And, like the best of gnarly music, it rewards the mind and heart with a journey that seems different and deeper when we return. Despite the music’s immediate appeal, it reveals itself only when we give it time, concentration, openness and patience—qualities in increasingly short supply. It is the future of this music that should concern us.

Big Girl Pants

Jeffry George, our executive director, sent out an email earlier in the season asking the members of the chorus to take a few minutes to write a few words (I think even asked for just a single sentence!) about how we feel as individuals about Cantata Singers.  I immediately responded with a desperate “YIKES!” and “how scary!” !!!  I then promised to put on my “big girl pants” and sit down to write him his sentence.  Task still not completed.  Months and months later.  Sorry, Jeffry.

Problem is, my feelings about the organization are much too complex and interwoven with my musical and artistic life to distill into one sentence, or even just a few.  As I prepare for what looks to be yet another richly nourishing and absolutely quintessential Cantata Singers performance tonight, this seems as good a time as any to pull on those “Big Girl Pants” and tackle this little mission from Jeffry.

I moved to Boston from Colorado in 2002 in hopes of diving headfirst into the vital, abundant, and eminently delightful vocal music scene.  I made a conscious decision in that first season here to just attend concerts rather than auditioning for various organizations blindly.

I devoured concerts that year like a baby tasting her 1st birthday cake–cautiously choosing just a tiny taste and then diving face-first into the deliciousness with utter abandon.  I reveled in the diversity, quality, and depth of artistry.

And then I bought a ticket to hear Cantata Singers semi-staged performance of Stravinsky’s The Rakes Progress (January 2003)…  I was blown away.  It was a performance of great personal warmth, radiant and extraordinarily luminous singing, inventive, intelligent and emotional, meticulously honed, but with  fluidity and brimming with breathtaking excitement.  In other words, I had found my home.