Friday was my 58th birthday, and for a variety of reasons, it was one of the quietest and simplest birthdays I’ve ever had, but it’s what I wanted- just a quiet dinner and movie with Kathy. It’s only in retrospect that I realize that one of the reason why I didn’t need a party or big celebration on the day itself was because I had been given two wonderful gifts earlier that week: Tuesday night I saw the musical Hamilton in Chicago, and Thursday night I got to see one of the world’s finest a cappella groups, Voces8, in concert at Carthage. Both were awesome, mountaintop experiences- and the kind of experiences that penetrate the deepest reaches of your soul and never let go. They were also profoundly different experiences – almost night and day, in fact, and thinking about that now helps me to appreciate them even more.
I approached Hamilton with more than a little bit of trepidation, even though all kinds of people whose people are deeply respect – my wife, my best friends, all kinds of colleagues and music theater veterans – had given it exultant rave reviews. Marshall’s assessment was especially telling, since we are both dedicated opera lovers – but even Marshall was blown away by Hamilton (which he was blessed to see on Broadway) and he actually called it perhaps the most powerful theatrical experience he had ever had. And considering all that he has seen onstage over the years, that was the compliment to end all compliments!
Still, I was skeptical- as probably most people were who saw the earliest performances of this show. I mean, think about it: a musical about Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr …. in score rooted mostly in rap. Talk about a preposterous idea! I really can’t imagine how Lin-Manuel Miranda ever managed to convince anybody that this was an idea worth exploring. And even after all of the rapturous reviews and multiple Tony Awards that this show has earned, a big part of me still couldn’t quite imagine how this would work- or how I would like it. It doesn’t help that rap is probably my least favorite kind of music. (Or should I say “music”?) As I settled into my seat at Chicago’s Schubert theater (where more than 30 years earlier, I had seen another groundbreaking show called Cats) amidst a busload of Racine Theater Guild friends, I was not at all certain that I would even understand what I was about to see ….. let alone like it.
And then, the house lights went out- the stage lights went on- and I found myself completely swept up in this theatrical whirlwind of energy and exuberance. I found myself riveted to everything unfolding on that stage – to every line of dialogue – to every measure of music – to every gesture and dance step – to the lights – to the costumes – to every bit of it. And for the entire performance, it was like the rest of the world simply ceased to exist, which is one of the most amazing feelings one can have in the theater. Never once was I tempted to look at my watch. Never once did I come close to nodding off. (And both Kathy and Marshall will tell you that I am notorious for nodding off at least once during the first act of almost everything I’ve ever seen in the theater or opera house- even if it’s something I am enjoying. So for me, the simple act of staying wide awake through the first act of anything really says something!) I was especially amazed that the story was told so seamlessly, with such focus, despite so much going on. There is nothing simple about this show or about its storyline- and yet I never once found myself lost, but only ‘lost in it’ – which is quite a different thing!
I have two summary thoughts about Hamilton. The first is this: I am not sure I have ever been more astounded and amazed by a theatrical work as I was by Hamilton, which is the work of sheer genius. Many times after I have heard something wonderful, there will be this thread of thought in my mind that – if I dropped everything else in my life and channeled all of my time and energy into the effort – I could probably create something sort of like what I had just heard. (I hope that doesn’t come off sounding terribly pompous.) I don’t mean that I would be capable of composing something as good as 1776 or You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown, but I feel like it would be fun to try. But there are some works that are of such exceptional inventiveness and innovation that I feel utterly dwarfed by them. When Kathy and I saw Stephen Sondheim’s Into the Woods on Broadway, I walked out of there thinking “if I tried for the rest of my life, I could never ever come close to creating a work like this. This is completely beyond my gifts and abilities. I would not even know how to try.” Chicago was another such show. But Hamilton tops them all in this regard- a work of towering brilliance.
You may or may not have noticed one thing I have not said in all of these superlatives: “I loved it.” That’s because I’m not certain that I did. I was amazed, astonished, astounded, awestruck (and that’s just the a’s) – but it’s just not enough of the kind of music that speaks most deeply to me. I also didn’t cry (despite a number of people who were sure that I would be weeping during the final scene.) It didn’t quite take me to that place. Maybe I was too busy being impressed to be moved in that sort of way. The one time all night when I felt a lump in my throat and a tear in my eye was when the last music died away – and the entire cast stepped forward in one line to accept the roar of cheers and applause from the audience … with no background ‘bow music’ playing in the background, and with no solo bows whatsoever. It was as if this triumph belonged to everyone in equal measure …. which, in fact, it did.
Two nights later, I experienced my second musical mountaintop of the week- but this one could not have been more different from the complex phantasmagorical spectacle that was Hamilton. Thursday night, Carthage hosted Voces8, one of the world’s most renowned small vocal ensembles – a group of six men and two women who spin the kind of musical magic one has come to expect from the King’s Singers and Chanticleer. I spent most of the week ferociously lobbying for people to come and experience their concert- and I pulled no punches in doing so. (When talking to the guys in my voice studio, I quoted a famous line from Judith Martin, aka Miss Manners- that the only acceptable excuse to miss this important event would be “the death in the family …. preferably your own.” I didn’t want any of my students to miss out on this precious opportunity.
As I walked into the balcony of Siebert Chapel right before the concert began, I was delighted to see so many Carthage students there – and immediately began to worry that the sheer perfection that I had heard in the recordings of Voces8 might not be equaled in live performance – especially in as challenging a space as Siebert Chapel. My worries doubled when I looked into the performance space and realized that the group had decided not to use our acoustic shell, which almost all of our special chamber music guests, from the King’s Singers to the Juilliard String Quartet, had insisted on using. Would those eight voices get lost in the space or lose their impact without that shell? Compounding my worries was the fact that Barnaby Smith, the founder and artistic director of the group, had shared at my pre-concert lecture that the group had been forced to change about a fourth of their announced program because of illness.
What would that mean? How badly would their singing be compromised? Would they live up to the hype that I had been frantically generating all week? My stomach was in my throat as the eight members of Voces8 walked into Siebert Chapel, took their places, breathed, and prepared to sing an anthem by Renaissance master William Byrd.
The only word I can use to describe the moment they began singing was magic. I have heard all manner of magnificent singing in my life, but never have I heard anything quite as exquisite as the sound that emerged from these eight singers – every bit as beautiful as what I had heard in their many recordings, and even more miraculous because one knew that it was entirely real …. and not the result of an engineer’s dial-twiddling. The sound was clean, clear, yet also incredibly warm and resonant – so much so that it was hard to believe that we were hearing only eight voice when it sounded more like twenty. And yet they also sounded like one voice. It was uncanny. No, it was miraculous.
The second piece they sang was “For He shall give His angels charge over you” by Felix Mendelssohn. This piece is almost always heard in its second version, as an orchestrally-accompanied chorus in his oratorio Elijah, sung by a full-voice chorus. But we heard it sung a cappella by a mere octet, and their singing seemed to make time stand still. And it was one of the most powerful instances I can remember of feeling one’s soul being healed of hurt by music. The hurt to which I’m referring is the collective hurt we were all feeling (and are still feeling) from the tragic school shooting in Florida the day before. But this performance was a palpable reminder that there was still hope and beauty and love in this broken world. And as the almost impossibly quiet final chord trailed away, we found ourselves lost in our own reverie of silence and awe. That’s the first of many times that night that I had tears in my eyes. Again and again, I was struck not just by the utter perfection of their singing, but also by the hushed, reverent silence of the audience. Rachmaninoff’s “Ave Maria” . . . Jonathan Dove’s “In Beauty may I walk” . . . Kate Rusby’s “Underneath the Stars” . . . “Deep River” . . . “Shenandoah” . . . it was one magical performance after another. (And that’s not even touching on their brilliant way with Duke Ellington, Nat King Cole, Simon & Garfunkel . . .)
Of everything else that was sung that evening, the piece that most deeply touched me was a song by Ben Folds called “The Luckiest.” I’d never heard of him or the song, and had no idea what to expect. But then they began singing this song’s haunting melody and poignant words, and I found myself dissolving into a pool of grateful tears:
I don’t get many things right the first time. In fact, I am told that a lot.
Now I know all the wrong turns, the stumbles, and falls brought me here
And where was I before the day that I first saw your lovely face?
Now I see it every day – and I know that I am . . . I am The Luckiest.
What if I’d been born fifty years before you – in a house on a street where you lived?
Maybe I’d be outside as you passed on your bike. Would I know?
And in a wide sea of eyes, I see one pair that I recognize
and I know that I am . . . I am . . . The Luckiest.
I could not feel luckier that my 58th birthday week could include the exquisite, intimate beauty of Voces8 . . . the impassioned, spine-tingling drama of Hamilton . . . plus a truly spectacular recital earlier today featuring Carthage’s keyboard faculty. When I climb into bed tonight, I’m going to be sure that I’m wearing one of my ‘Life Is Good’ t-shirts …. because that has never been truer for me than it is right now. I am so grateful for my wife …. for my family …. for my friends …. for my work … for my community …. and for the precious gift of music, especially when so masterfully performed and so lovingly shared.
Below: here are a couple of shots from after the Voces8 concert. As much as I loved their performance, I think some of our students were even more excited. That was great to see!
