Open Writing

**

Something of a Meditation on “Carols Around the World”
as presented by
Whangarei Choral Society
Joan Kennaway (conductor)
Margaret Paul (piano)
Emma Couper, Caitlin Morris, Lynn Snell, Caleb Rawson, Ric Kennaway (soli)
St. John’s Co-operating Church, Kamo Road
Sunday 28 November 2010, 2.30 p.m.

My earliest memory of a “carol concert” still glimmers through the increasingly murky mists of time. This, a “Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols”, was held one dark December evening in my sixth or seventh year (sometime in the 1950s, if you MUST know!). Underfoot the ground was “as hard as iron” as we trudged to St. Wilfrid’s, the Twelfth-Century Parish Church of my home village of Calverley in the heart of the West Riding of Yorkshire. We were all bundled up to the eyeballs against the freezing conditions – and here I’m talking about the INSIDE of the Church.

Mists or no mists, I can well recall the dimly-lit scene. We sat – or more accurately SQUIRMED – in bum-and-back-creasing wooden pews. All around us were massive granite walls, pillars and arches that reeked of an incomprehensibly “long, long, long ago”. I felt a sense of an immense yet somehow closely-confined space.

I don’t think I will ever forget the impression made by those so-called “lessons”. Each of them droned on relentlessly, for a period that palpably extended the age of the Church. For entirely different reasons, neither will I forget the carols, which we schoolchildren – the main beneficiaries of the exercise – had been learning by heart for weeks. The awe-inspiring, belly-rippling sounds of the “merry” organ suddenly made us and our voices feel very still and small indeed. Ah, I wished, if only there had been many more of these latter, each of which seemed to be over in a flash, and far fewer of the former!

I have two reasons for relating this scene. Firstly, it was one of those legendary “seminal experiences”, which created in my mind an indelible precedent, colouring my impressions of similar events ever since. It helps to explain why, when I was approaching my fourth Christmas in Whangarei, I was still unable to reconcile myself with the wholly “contrary” conditions of antipodean carol concerts – bright sunshine; shirtsleeve warmth; seating that falls sinfully short of purgatory on Earth; surroundings predominantly of luminous wood, conveying the sense of a small but somehow wide-open space. All right, English immigrants are ten a penny, so I know I’m far from being the only one who feels this, but that doesn’t make phrases like “see amid the Winter’s snow” or “on a cold winter’s night” seem any the less surreal!

Secondly, and much less romantically, there’s the question of “programme balance”. In a concert such as this one we have, in effect, hoicked out the nine lessons and filled the resultant voids, not with Joan Kennaway’s introductions (which – happily! – lacked the essential INTERMINABILITY to qualify as “lessons”) but with a further SEVENTEEN carols.

Surely, this has to be the answer to my boyish wish, doesn’t it? Well, yes, it does – but, in the light of 50-odd years of reflective hindsight, I must conclude that the very monotony of those tedious lessons was also its virtue, because it cast the sheer JOY of the carols into infinitely sharper focus – in a manner of speaking, it’s a minor variation of the “No pain, no gain” maxim.

By now, I’m sure, you’ll be expecting me to say that I found 26 carols on the trot an unbearably tedious experience! Well, sticking firmly with the (let’s face it, highly dubious) advice that “honesty is the best policy”, I’d have to say “yes”. However, I’d hasten to add, “But not unbearably so!” The thing is, this problem is not the Whangarei Choral Society’s, it’s entirely MINE. My musical tastes, you see, are a bit topsy-turvy – the more I have to chew on the better I like it, whilst long strings of little bits I find relatively hard going.

This is not the same as saying that I do not delight in each little bit in itself (provided only that it actually IS, in itself, a source of delight). For instance, much as I love Rossini’s overtures, listening to umpteen of them on the trot nevertheless gives me the musical equivalent of indigestion! Neither does it mean that the Whangarei Choral Society hadn’t tried to build something larger out of their 26 musical “bricks”.

Thematic programming is one very common, but nonetheless effective way of binding your many bits into at least the semblance of a “symphony”. However, it’s not sufficient simply to adopt “Carols Around the World” as a theme, it’s also necessary somehow to bind the carols into related groups – the semblance of “movements” – and maybe even arrange those groups into some logical order. What about, for example, sequencing geographic groups like signposts along Santa Claus’s global delivery round?

An idea it may be, but, on this occasion, implemented it was not. Hence, there was I, sitting in my (probable) minority of one, munching meekly on a musical antacid (a.k.a. mint imperial), and making a heroic effort to suppress my particular prejudices. Possibly through the good offices of the Spirit of the “season of goodwill”, that effort was amply rewarded. Which brings us, I reckon nicely and neatly, to cherry-picking a few prize plums – and winkling out the odd stone!

The prolific John Rutter provided both a plum and a stone. Honestly, it beats me why Rutter, who is perfectly capable of composing pieces both characterful and catchy, should feel the need to keep drifting into the anaemic waters of the trendy modern “spirituality” school, but sometimes he DOES. His “Nativity Carol” is of this latter ilk, music so bent on being suitably “serene and soothing” that it ends up squeezing out the interplay of consonance and dissonance – the very juice that gives music its essential vitality!

We’re left with a dry husk, a “nice” sound – a VERY “nice” sound! – whose only real service is to critics seeking cracks in a choir’s blend and intonation. O.K., then, I’ll say, “Thankyou for that!” and do my duty: the ladies of WCS were on very good form, evenly blended except perhaps when a little stretched up top, whilst the gentlemen were not quite so smooth, occasionally allowing individual voices to raise their heads above the parapet. Would I be wide of the mark in suggesting that this might be symptomatic of the peculiar problems facing Joan Kennaway in preparing such a huge diversity of so many small items?

Returning to Rutter: happily, a little later, compensation came courtesy of a real plum. In “The Shepherd’s Pipe Carol” Rutter serves up a bit of a “Spiritual”, tingling the spine with jazzy little shifts, not just of rhythm but also of harmony. This linked up nicely with a couple of real Spirituals – “Go Tell It on the Mountain”, in spite of a couple of front-row ladies who were itching to swing and sway, was perhaps a nadge “stiff-collared”, unlike “De Virgin Mary Had a Baby Boy”, which the jaunty WCS invested with sharp staccati and lusty climaxes. Incidentally, the former was described as “Negro” and the latter as “West Indian” – but, really, what’s the difference?

One fascinating facet of this feast of carols – provided, that is, you weren’t busy just lapping up the festive fare – was the varied strength of the local flavours, ranging from richly endowed to a sort of globalised “vanilla”. You could tell immediately that “Glad Tidings Bringing” was Polish. The choir’s translucent, idiomatically-accented part-singing bristled with brio, complemented by the piano accompaniment of the ever-dependable Margie Paul, who “leant” succulently on the bass drones.

The selection of French carols also had a strongly characteristic tang. Urged on by the clangour of Margie’s pianistic bells, the WCS injected some brazen dynamic lifts into the campanological celebrations of “Ding Dong, Merrily on High”, revelled in the tramping rhythm of “He Is Born”, and rose to the challenge posed by the inimitable Hector Berlioz in “Thou Must Leave Thy Lowly Dwelling” which – I would say “sadly” – substituted English words for the original, much fruitier-sounding French.

There were some – comparatively atypical – examples of the relatively stolid German tradition. Gruber’s music for “Silent Night” shows just how to do “serene and soothing”. Contrary to a currently growing trend, Joan kept the tempo on the right side of soporific, allowing the WCS to capitalise on the curvature of the melody’s sighing phrases. Max Reger’s music makes a barcarolle (!) of “The Virgin’s Slumber Song”, which featured the apparently effortless, silvery sound of Emma Couper’s soprano voice. Then there’s “O Tannenbaum”, whose tune was curiously co-opted by the Communists for their anthem, “The Red Flag”, and which also sounds strangely “New England-y”. Not that any of this worried the ladies of the WCS, who sang sweetly and with a considerate balance between sopranos and contraltos.

On the other hand, what about “I Wonder as I Wander”, in which Emma Couper’s tender solo floated over a softly humming choir evoking (in spite of the words) something so sad and lonely; and “Jesus, Jesus, Rest Your Head”, given a splendid sotto voce opening? Without prior knowledge, I’m sure that I’d never have placed either of these in Appalachia! As it happens, that “vanilla” I mentioned seems to correspond closely to “English”, at least as represented here by the scattering of popular traditional carols. However, where was that quintessential specimen of the Old English tradition, “The Coventry Carol”? Now, that is one at which I’d LOVE to hear WCS have a crack!

Soloists? Ah, yes! I’ve already mentioned Emma Couper, whose solo carol, “O Holy Night”, was beautifully sung – pure-toned, open, smiling and flowing of line. Young as she is, though, Emma still had many more years under her belt than the other two guest soloists put together. Caleb Rawson’s part in “Away in a Manger” was sweet and neat, and bang on the notes. For the hugely-popular, tuneful “Pine Cones and Holly Berries”, Caleb was joined by Caitlin Morris. They blended a real treat, simply oozing confidence in the carol’s contrapuntal duet. If their later collaboration, “Feliz Navidad”, seemed to me a wee bit less successful, you can blame it on my aversion to those slavishly-adopted “transatlantic accents” that seem to be de rigueur in much popular music! In fact, the two youngsters showed a nice sense of rhythm, and came across as cute as monkeys.

In her brief contribution to “See Amid the Winter’s Snow”, Lynne Snell’s calm, clear voice echoed the then-current conditions in England! Sometimes I pity the poor bass who, if he gets a solo part at all, is almost always cast as either a bad guy or a “gloom and doom” merchant. Perhaps on this account, in “The Three Kings” Ric Kennaway’s rich, brown tones fair rang across the face of the chorus!

Following “Christmas Finale”, a medley of three carols whose links afforded Margie another chance to shine, the choir – and everyone else – finished on “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing”, a big blow-out that unleashed the lustiest singing of the entire programme, furnishing a real climax to send the audience (including me) wending its way home as happy as Larry!

**

For more of Paul’s words on great music please click on http://www.openwriting.com/archives/views_and_reviews/