At the risk of whiplash, I have to interrupt my Tales from the Big Apple to talk about the extraordinary concert which happened at Carthage tonight- when one of the finest music groups in the world performed in Siebert Chapel. And it was free.
Free.
The story actually begins back on May 31st, just as the choir returned to Carthage from its trip to NYC. As Maestro Garcia-Novelli got on the microphone for a final set of announcements for the choir, he announced that he had just learned that the news was official: the King’s Singers, one of the most acclaimed vocal ensembles in the world, would perform at Carthage on the 13th of June. I don’t think I was the only person who greeted that announcement with almost more bewilderment than excitement. What?!?! The King’s Singers? At Carthage? In two weeks? I would not have been more stunned if he had announced that John, Paul, George and Ringo had chosen Siebert for a reunion concert. (And two of them are dead!)
Carthage is actually no stranger to world famous music ensembles, thanks to our splendid chamber music series, which has brought groups like the Juilliard String Quartet, London Brass and Chanticleer to campus. But this had nothing to do with that and seemed to emerge from nowhere, overnight. Surely it was some sort of mistake. They’re actually performing in Carthage, Scotland. Or they’re performing at “our” Carthage but on June 13, 2013. But no, he was serious- and he was correct. In two weeks, the King’s Singers would be singing in Siebert Chapel and in a concert that would be free and open to the public. The concert was in conjunction with the 31st Annual World Council of Poets, which happens at Carthage later in the summer- and this was a special precursor to that. And like a similar concert late in May with the Carthage Choir, it would be an evening in which a poet would recite some of his or her own poetry- but most of the evening taken up with music.
I learned something interesting from the woman who is essentially coordinating the entire poetry event. Their steering committee had discussed the possibility of a major music group being brought in to help draw attention to their festival – and it was someone on the committee who brought in a CD of the King’s Singers, a group with which the chairwoman was actually not acquainted. But when she heard them, she thought they would be perfect- and one way or another she was able to hire them for this occasion, and evidently secured underwriting which meant that the concert could be free. Incredible.
There had actually been a similar sort of concert in late May, when the Carthage Choir sang its Carnegie Hall program, joined by a talented poet who recited his poetry (in both English and Spanish.) That was an intriguing evening, except that the poetry and the choir’s music had absolutely nothing to do with each other. In this case, they chose a British poet, Ruth O’Callaghan, who chose the poems she would recite- and then those poems were actually sent to the King’s Singers in the hopes that at least some of their repertoire for the concert might be chosen accordingly. And in fact, that is exactly what they did – and the integration of the poetry and music made for a much more satisfying artistic experience.
And yet, for as lovely as the poetry was- especially a poem titled Evensong that put really a lump in my throat – this night was mostly about incredible singing. The King’s Singers are six singers, two of whom are counter-tenors, so they are able to sing SATB music with an almost unearthly purity. They have more than 150 recordings to their credit, with a shelf full of Grammy Awards and an itinerary that has taken them to every major concert hall around the world. What is especially impressive is how they can sing music from the Renaissance or earlier – and then turn around and sing the most intricate and complicated modern scores – and sound equally at home in both. As for balance and blend, they have this uncanny ability to sing as though they are one singer split into six – thinking and breathing and phrasing as one person. And singing as pure and effortless as this seems to refresh the very air we’re breathing and makes it seem as though time stands still and the rest of the world recedes. (I remember thinking the same thing at least year’s performance of Anonymous Four – but I think I felt it even more powerfully tonight.) I think the human voice has that capacity like nothing else does, and I would even venture to say that there have been Caritas performances when I’ve sat back as Kathy and Kate have sung together in “His eye is on the Sparrow” or “Breath of Heaven” – when you can scarcely tell where one voice ends and the next begins – and felt like I was in the presence of music-making at its most divinely inspired. For as mostly secular as tonight’s concert, it was that kind of holy experience from start to finish.
As for favorite moments- it would almost be easier to list those songs that weren’t wonderful, except that there weren’t any. I did especially love the song with which they ended the first half: “The long day closes” by Sir Arthur Sullivan. I actually am indebted to Kathy’s dad for introducing me to this beautiful piece, which is an example of Mr. Sullivan without his operetta partner, W.S. Gilbert. Bob heard a recording of this song and fell in love with it to the extent that he decided to try and teach it to the local barbershop chorus, which he was directing at the time. It was not barbershop, and the men fought him terribly but he hung in there, insisting that the song was too beautiful to discard and well worth the effort to learn. . . and they put in an admirable effort without ever getting it to performance readiness. A couple of years later I gave it to the chamber singers, who did a lovely job with it – but tonight’s performance of it was like musical velvet, sung with gorgeous sound and tender expressiveness. . . about as breathtaking as music ever gets.
And in the second act were wonders every bit as exquisite- especially a piece by Brahms titled “Vineta” that I had never heard before in which they sang the intricate, shifting lines with such ease. I also loved the piece that came right after it, “Abenlied” (which means evening song) by Rheinberger, a 19th century composer who hailed from the tiny nation of Lichtenstein. (The Carthage Choir sang a Kyrie by him that was similarly gorgeous.) But I’m sure a lot of the audience most enjoyed when the King’s Singers let their hair down a bit with “The Pirate King,” “What shall we do with a drunken sailor,” and a transcendentally lovely rendition of “Danny Boy” which was their one and only encore.
Several weeks ago, I made a catty remark about Lady Gaga and how I am so bewildered by all of the visual strangeness that accompanies her performances – which evidently a lot of people do not mind at all. I think tonight’s performance by the King’s Singers helped clarify for me what I was trying to say. So much popular music is about jaw-dropping spectacle. . . lighting effects, smoke, props, costumes, a stage full of gyrating dancers, etc. – and to some extent that’s probably okay, even if it’s sometimes because the music itself, on its own, might not have much impact without it. But that’s not always the case. Heck, as a lover of grand opera I would be a huge hypocrite if I dismissed the whole notion of music and visual spectacle coming together in exciting ways. (Otherwise, we could never have Verdi’s Aida with elephants!) But to my grave I think my favorite kind of music-making will be the kind that is completely unplugged and devoid of any visual razzle-dazzle. . . Dawn Upshaw and a pianist in recital – or James Taylor and his guitar. What we experienced tonight with the King’s Singers could not have been plainer and simpler, visually. It was six guys, standing in a semi-circle, in unremarkable suits, in front of a plain acoustical shell. . . roughly the equivalent of watching grass grow. But it didn’t matter one little bit, because the music itself and the perfection of these performances was all we needed to go on a ride that was every bit as spectacular as a Lady Gaga extravaganza . . . or the Met’s new production of Die Walkure. Who knew that there could be such splendor in simplicity?
pictured above: The King’s Singers in concert at Carthage. Their microphones, by the way, were not for amplification but rather for a recording that was made of the performance. Only the poet’s microphone was for amplification.