Laurel Massé

Holy Women

 

The past 30 days have been astounding. Each time I think, "well, that's the top!", along comes the next thing, o'ertopping the top. So, return with me to St. Bede's Chapel in Greenwich, CT, on November 6, about a month ago, and the performance of Holy Women, a cantata composed by Robert Sirota (music) and Rev. Victoria Sirota (words).

St. Bede's Chapel sits back from the road, on the grounds of what used to be a girl's prep school. Light filters in through exquisite stained glass windows depicting female saints: Sts. Walburga, Catherine of Siena, and Theresa of Avila, mystics all; Sts. Ursula, Barbara and Agnes, martyrs; and Anne and Elizabeth, mothers, and Mary, the Holy Mother). Holy Women was commissioned to honor these windows and the chapel. I am sure an evening of lovely, meditative sacred music was anticipated. And there was loveliness. But the cantata was much bigger that just that. The Sirotas served the saints well. Robert's music was glorious - lush and stark, flowing and jarring, joyous and heart-rending. He and Rev. Vicki, with her libretto, accomplished the difficult task of giving each saint a distinctive voice within the whole. Each had her story to tell, her solo, and in her telling, was supported by other voices as she revealed her history, her devotion, and her wildness. That's the thing about these saints, you know. They're wild. You really can't control holy women. Once you invite them to step down from the containment of the window and let them give voice to their stories, there's no telling what may come of it.

We were 9 singers (I sang Walburga), and 7 musicians (credits below). The photo is one of the two great walls of glass. This one depicts, from left to right, St. Barbara, St. Theresa, St. Agnes, St. Ursula, St. Walburga, and St.Elizabeth, with St. Mary and the infant Jesus above them, epitomising love. I wish I could find a bigger, crisper photo of the windows, as they are truly extraordinary, and the colors are very rich (but Mr. Google has failed me!). The singers were dressed to match their windows as closely as possible; in that, and in movement, we were guided by stage director Dona D. Vaughn, Artistic Director of Opera Programs at Manhattan School of Music. Her contribution helped us make the glass breathe.

There is some talk of recording the cantata, which I hope will happen soon. The music and lyrics are still ringing in my head, and I have a dream of having this work presented in many more venues. They want their stories told, and the saints are nothing if not pushy.

Holy Women, a Cantata with text by Victoria Sirota, and music by Robert Sirota

St. Theresa of Avila, Margaret Peterson

St. Walburga, Laurel Massé

St. Catherine of Siena, Michelle Ripella

St. Ursula, Katya Powder

St. Barbara, Abigail Fischer

St. Agnes, Lindsay RIder

St. Anne, Lisa Chavez

St. Elizabeth, Maeve Höglund

St. Mary, Rina Saporsantos

 

Flute, Christopher James (this name is going to turn up in another post soon)

Oboe, Lauren Blackerby

Bassoon, Kathryn Brooks

Guitar, Jordan Dodson

Organ, Victoria Sirota (a concert organist before she became a priest)

Violin, Nicholas Mann

Cello, David Geber

 

 

Never fell far from the tree

Here's a clip from the Fred Waring Show. My grandfather, Leonard Kranendonk, and my uncle, Robert Kranendonk, were both featured singers with Waring's Pennsylvanians. In my family, being a professional singer was a normal occupation, and a real job.

I am tickled to see my granddad -  a glorious singer but never much of an actor - smiling and mugging for the camera. And they are managing props, too!

It's in the blood. Wait till you hear my sister...

Good people all

Though there is still light in the sky, darkness is settling over this part of the earth. The snow is taking on a blue cast, and I can hear the birds retreating to their roosts. I am getting ready to go out, and make my way down to the Church of the Intercession. I vowed decades ago that I would sing in any church that asked me, and so I will not be at the great Cathedral this night, but at a smaller church, singing with a choir, and soloing on my favorite Christmas song, the Wexford Carol (a gorgeous version here by Alison  Kraus and YoYo Ma).

I know that, all over this city, people are celebrating this night and tomorrow's day in whatever fashion they can - which for some, is not at all. That's understandable. Aside from the fact that there are different faiths, including the faith of no-faith, we Christians have not always proven by our actions that this day is worth celebrating. As I see it, there is no point in just talking about Christmas and the birth of a Savior. Talk is not all that convincing if our deeds in the world, or lack of them, contradict what we are saying. I am not pointing fingers here except at myself. I know what is in my heart, but it is a little too easy for me to be privately devoted, and to stop just short of "going public"  and into action. So that's what I am going to be working on this year.

We can't prove that Christ is born unless he is born in our hearts and hands. So bring the torch, Jeannette Isabelle. Let's light the world.

And God bless us, everyone.

Blossoms in the snow

My life in a song. Blessed advent! The apple tree is about to bloom.

Bloggie goes a walking... to visit ChoralNet

I just discovered that my blog post of June 12, Why SIng? was picked up on ChoralNet. I was quite surprised, and also rather flattered that something I wrote "went choral" (next best thing to going viral).

I checked out the site, which seems a marvelous resource for choral singers of all kinds. There, I also discovered that Hal Leonard Music has purchased Shawnee Press. This pleases me. I am forever talking to students about pronouncing the words so that the listener can understand what the lyrics are about. Now, just maybe, it will be possible to get that helpful little Shawnee Press pamphlet, Tone Syllables, that outlines the techniques I first learned at my grandfather's knee - he was for many the lead baritone with Fred Waring's Pennsylvanians - and then had reinforced at Fred Waring's Youth Choral Workshop in 1966 (when I was extremely youthful!). I have never once sung onstage without using what I learned that summer, and I am completely mystified as to why every chorus and choir doesn't use this same concept. If a song has words, there is no reason whatsoever for the words to be unintelligible. I don't mean that lyrics in German should be understandable by non-German speaking listeners, but they certainly should be making sense to Germans! I am especially shocked to hear opera sung in English that is so mangled as to have to be supertitled. For cryin' out loud, folks! I realize there are technical difficulties in producing that incredible volume of sound, and several classical singers (and teachers of same) tell me that it is impossible to clearly enunciate. I might have believed them... had I never heard Rufus Muller.

I was privileged to get a ticket to his recent performance in Jonathan Miller's production of Bach's St. Matthew Passion. Rufus sang the tenor role ot The Evangelist (the central role) with exquisite control of his voice; able to caress, grieve, whisper, thunder, and inflect with a razor's edge of irony when called for. It was thrilling and gorgeous singing - and I understood every word.

Which proves it can be done, and there, for the moment, I rest my case. Let's have a run on Shawnee Press's Tone Syllables, and change the singing world!

Dreaming dreams

Yesterday was Pentecost Sunday, and it landed on a bright, breezy early-summer morning. I sang three services at the Cathedral, starting with the 9 AM. So I was there the whole day, from 8:15 to about 6, a day of much sitting on wooden seats, and even more standing. Standing, standing, standing, and no dancing. I have begun to think my body starts to panic when I have to hold still for a long time. First comes discomfort. Then something - neck, shoulders, back - hurts. Then it's hard to breathe. and sometimes I get dizzy, which can make it hard to read those tiny little notes. All for want of a triple step or a swing-your-partner.

To delay rigor, when we are sitting I scrunch my toes, bend my knees a little, lean over once in a while to pop my lower back (though I have concerns that the pop may be audible in the Cathedral's magnificent acoustical bloom), so that I can listen more carefully and "see" the readings as events happening right now, in front of me.

Yesterday, I imagined the disciples pouring out of the upstairs room where they had been staying since Jesus was crucified, hitting the streets on fire with the Holy Spirit that had descended on them in tongues of flame. I can't imagine that they were particularly still. In my mind's eye, they are vibrating, sizzling with excitement, urgency, and the Word in them exploding their silence and breaking them open like hot steaming bread. They are engulfed in languages. Peter - who has not been the greatest speaker in any of the gospels - erupts into eloquence. It's astounding.

In my mind's ear, I hear something wild, almost raucous. My mom tells me that in her little church, Acts 2:1-21 was read by several readers in different languages - Russian, Greek, Spanish, German,English and French - and all were speaking at the same time. That feels so right. Because who can wait? How do you take turns when you have something so life-changing, so momentous roaring inside you? It astounds me that the readers don't levitate when they are speaking this passage, and that we who are hearing it manage to sit in our seats and hold decorously still. Shouldn't we should be bursting with joy and running out the door with our hearts on fire? Even if maybe we didn't on Easter.

It's never too late...

That night at Birdland

If my head was not attached to my neck.... I meant to post this right after the gig a month ago, and realized (with some bemusement and embarrassment) that I never said anything about how the Birdland show went, at least not in the Land o' Blog. So here is the set list, with my apologies for the delay.

1. Something’s Coming  Leonard Bernstein/Stephen Sondheim

2. On the Street Where You Live  Alan Jay Lerner / Frederick Loewe

3. Seven Years in Four Minutes  Medley arr. by Tex Arnold and Laurel Massé

4. Think About Your Troubles   Harry Nillsson

5. Dublin in the Rain  Hubert “Tex” Arnold / Carol Hall

6. Can’t Teach My Old Heart New Tricks  Richard Whiting/Johnny Mercer

7. Minuet and Gigue  Johann Sebastian Bach

8. My Blue Heaven  Walter Donaldson / George Whiting

9. It’s Only a Paper Moon  Harold Arlen / E.Y. Harburg & Billy Rose

10. Dividing Day  Adam Guettal

11. Crazy  Willie Nelson

12. It’s Only a Broken Heart  Carol Hall

13. Old Devil Moon  Burton Lane / E.Y. Harburg

14.  Obsession Medley: Losing My Mind   Stephen Sondheim
                                      With Every Breath I Take  Cy Coleman / David Zippel
                                      Breathing  Michele Brourman / Amanda McBroom

15. Fascinating Rhythm  George Gershwin / Ira Gershwin

16. Finding Beauty  Ann Hampton Callaway

(Encore: Doodlin’  Horace Silver / Jon Hendricks)


Seven Years in Four Minutes is my Manhattan Transfer medley, by the way.

In all this I was ably assisted and inspired by Tex Arnold on piano, Richard de Rosa on drums, and Steve LaSpina on bass. Everything went very very well, and I was specially pleased that the new pieces were as I had heard them in my imagination. What a great rhythm section!

The audience was wonderful, too. Folks were there from many different parts of my life: Transfer, jazz musicians, Cathedral choir folk and clergy and volunteers, classical musicians, Ashokan friends, blog readers, media, fellow artists, students, Yale Cabaret folks. Very fine indeed.

My secret wish,though, is this: one day, having just sung the last notes of the Bach piece, I will see my cello teacher from Paris, Alain Meunier, in the house, smiling and applauding. That will really be a dream-come-true.

Be Still and Know

I just read an article by Pastor Rick Warren, author of The Purpose-Driven Life and its many spin-offs, and pastor of Saddleback Church, one of the most successful "seeker-friendly" churches in this country. Pastor Warren is under fire these days for his support of Proposition 8 in California, and President-Elect Obama is under fire for asking Warren to give the prayer invocation at his inaugural a few days from now (Warren. like all of us, is made of both coal and diamonds. I have many disagreements with the pastor, but I admire Obama for making this choice, for continuing to listen to people with whom he does not completely agree).

The article is called How to Make Your Church Guest-Friendly. He lists several points, such as reserving the best parking for the guests, providing refreshment tables, having greeter; all good ideas. He then says this:
Have taped music playing when people enter. In America almost every public building has music playing. Even in the elevator, music is playing. You go into the restroom and music is playing. You go into a restaurant and music is playing. Why? Because people expect to hear music. If you walked into a church right now and everyone was dead silent when you walked in, you’d probably be uncomfortable. On the other hand, if you heard fairly loud praise music playing, you’d feel much more comfortable.

No, I don't believe I would. In fact, that is the single factor most likely to make me leave before the service has even begun. It's not praise music I object to; my musical tastes run broad and deep. It's the volume, and the imposition. Yes, there is music in every restaurant. Every elevator. Every store. But not because people expect it. It is there to keep us buzzed and buying. Vast sums of marketing dollars have gone into the studies that have resulted in the constant aural assault. I have visited many churches in my travels and I never have returned to one that pummeled me with sound from the moment I entered.

Warren goes on to say:
"Here’s something interesting I’ve found: If you play soft music, people talk softly. But if you play loud music, people talk louder. When non-Christians come into your church, they want it to be noisy. They want to hear what’s going on." 

How exactly does one hear what's going on in a noisy environment? Understand that I am not saying that church should be silent. Far from it. There are times when the church should erupt into wild celebration. Our response to the birth of Jesus - God-among-us! - and to the Resurrection should be so jubilant that neighbors should be drawn to our holy noise - neighbors, and maybe the police!

But when we first enter, something else is needed. When people walk into my church, I hear them sigh. I see them sink into the great quiet space. Their shoulders relax. Some engage in silent prayer. Some crane their necks to look at the stained glass windows. Some chat in whispers to each other. The first big sound is the voices of organ and choir that open the service, to which is added those of the  congregation. The first words spoken are usually these: "Blessed be God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit", to which we reply, "And blessed be God's kingdom, now and forever." With this we become one people, gathered to hear the stories of our history, and to worship our God with our hearts, minds, and bodies.

It is imperative to make the visitor feel welcome. I agree with Warren on that. My church does have greeters, and ushers, and we do our best to make all feel welcome. The order of worship is printed in the leaflet that is handed to each person who comes in, and it includes everything: hymns, prayers, scripture readings, psalms. This makes it possible for the visitor to participate without feeling mystified by unfamiliar music that everyone else seems to know. We have a hospitality table, too, and a welcome table. But we don't have recorded music playing before the worship service. Most Americans are barraged with relentless recorded sound all the time. We need an occasional, special quiet place, because God speaks to us in many ways, and one of the most profound ways is in silence, as described in 1 Kings 19:11-13:

He [the Lord] said, "Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by. Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him.... (NRSV, emphasis mine).

Sometimes we must be allowed to be still, so as to begin to know.

Christmas Eve

Every Christmas Eve I listen to the BBC Radio broadcast of "Lessons and Carols". In years past, especially while I was living in the Adirondacks, this was my only Christmas experience of the lovely sound of Anglican choral singing. It is fairly deep in my personal history; in 1962 my family moved to England, and there were hymns sung at chapel every morning at the school I attended. Since I started singing at the Cathedral (St. John the Divine, in Manhattan), I have heard (and sung) a lot more of that style, and under the cathedral's new music director, Bruce Neswick, there will be much more to come. And a lot of that is coming tonight.

The Cathedral, newly rededicated after a seven-year restoration triggered by the smoke and water damage incurred in the fire of December, 2001, will no doubt be full tonight. It is quietly thrilling to stand with my fellow singers in the choir and, looking down the whole length of that beautiful structure, see the seats - all the seats! - filled by the devoted, the devout, the curious, the skeptical, the travelers, the fans of music, the fans of architecture, the tourists, the sad, the lonely, the joyous, on and on. I look at this, and think "Here comes everybody", as James Joyce (I think) said when describing the Church.

Here we are, in need of the "tidings of comfort and joy" now perhaps more than ever, when it seems that light cannot possibly overcome the darkness. But look out the window tonight: trees are alight, menorahs glowing. Families are gathering together if they can. I come from a family of singers, and even though we are not all together this year, I know that, wherever we are, we are gathering to sing, and sing, and be reminded of why we are singing.

I recognize that some of my readers are not "churchy". That's fine. We each have a path to walk, and each path is difficult enough to walk without leaning over off-balance to critique someone else's walk. Let me simply say that I am grateful for your presence, visible or invisible, in my life this Christmas.

God bless us, every one.