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First Church of Christ Scientist
April 27, 2014
Whether it was planned or unplanned (the hurdy gurdy didn't seem to be sufficiently in tune) MacIaac's invitation to the audience to provide the drone for the opening 12th century polyphonic plainchant created an unusual opportunity for a first hand experience of the mysterious power inherent in maintaining a consistent note while the voices around pull, squeeze and harmonize with you.
After invoking the Virgin from all sides of the acoustically perfect surroundings, the solemnity of the violet accented black attire marking quite a shift from their more usually vibrant choice of flamboyant colours, the 30 singers broke into a rousing rendition of an anonymous 14th century English conflation of the first bud of spring, the fragrant rose with the King's Virgin bride - in lovely four part harmony.
Moving from the thoroughly pre-baroque to the contemporary Spanish composer, Javier Busto, shows just how irrelevant dates can be when it comes to musical sensibility. From the drama of the opening "Salves" in successively rising intervals, through beautiful dissonances, the descending darkening on "Madre", ringing dramatic tones, exquisite diminuendos from the sopranos, intense feeling on "clemens pia" to the slow fading on "Maria", the choir had the audience in the palms of their hands, as the slow collective sigh from the pews at the conclusion demonstrated.
We arrived at the baroque proper with a motet from the noted French organist Clerambault who nevertheless chose to work at a school for impoverished girls of noble birth. The lightly tentative introductory solo phrases recalled the orphan girls for whom this was written, while the accomplishment of the body of the music, the lively string accompaniment from Pat Unruh and the warmth and precision of tone from the fascinatingly beautiful small chest organ (built and loaned by Grant Smalley and played by Nicholas Fairbank) added an unexpected yet delightful richness to the choral sound.
The most stunning, and it turns out, very late addition to the programme, was the newly commissioned work for female voices and viola da gamba by the young composer Sarah Quartel, who grew up in Ontario where she now lives and works, but spent 3 years in Victoria. Intended to evoke a landscape she has left behind, her choice of the traditional Latin texts of the Requiem Mass proved very interesting, focusing as they do, not on what is lost, but what remains when loss is transformed into presence. Opening with a muttering in a handful of voices, the "Requiem Aeternam" (Water) soared over them with shock and awe, the "luceat eis" both dramatic and gorgeous. The "Kyrie" (Mountains) movement was all fire and excitement, a sense of total inclusion, so many pitches all shimmering together; the "Christe Eleison" taking us from very bright to very dark, the final "Kyrie" a blast of triumph. The "Agnus Dei" (Wind) introduced a new delicacy and tenderness with intervals of rising drama in "peccata mundi", all culminating in a great peace. The final "Lux Aeterna" (Sky ) developed a statelier mood, a feeling of light flowing over the whole landscape, perfectly accompanied in the very spare bowing of the viola da gamba. This rich and inventive musical writing seemed a perfect match for Laude's voices and clearly substantiates Quartel's reputation as a brilliant composer with a deep insight into singers and their world, as well as the depth of her appreciation of our magnificent West Coast.
The following "Kyrie" and "Gloria" from Rheinberger (19th century) was no anticlimax, creating a necklace of glittering sound, the singers recalling the purity of cloistered voices, culminating in a thrillingly full-bodied amen. And the final piece of the first half of the programme peeled back the centuries to evoke stone walls and resonating voices invoking dawns and evenings in lonely landscapes - the compelling setting, full of dissonances, of an 8th century Ambrosian chant. I could almost see the the swaying of cassocks in the antiphonal arrangement.
The second half opened with "Dixit Domine", a Haydn composition for the choirboys of Salzburg Cathedral which had such a tuneful and dance-like exuberance, reminiscent of the Cuban composer Esteban Salas, made so popular some years ago by the Cuban choir, Exaudi, that it seemed closer at heart to the high jinks of school boys than the innocents slaughtered by Herod. The second piece, also from Haydn, opened with a solo "alleluia" from MacIsaac herself, notes flung like a string of pearls, sublimely pure, answered with the warm tones of the altos. The period instruments contributed a rich and lively texture without overpowering the singers, the dancing melodies and incredibly bright colours in the sopranos creating an atmosphere of utter joy.
The "Magnificat" from the Italian 18th century composer Porpora was also written for orphaned girls. By this time the light was fast fading, the singers faces shadowed, but backlit, making them almost as anonymous as the orphan girls, screened behind grilles, would have been. The downside of this was that in the absence of a recognizable text, and with the rich texture of the accompanying baroque instruments so compelling, the meaning of the singing seemed a shade diminished. The "Benigne Fac Domine" by J.A.Hasse which followed was a tour de force of tremendous energy and sustained brilliance, while the second "Benigne" from Antonio Sacchini opened with a charming lyricism, achieving a satisfying balance between the brightness of the sopranos and the warmth of the altos.
With the complement of the very talented instrumentalists, and the success of the commissioned Requiem by Quartel, Ensemble Laude seem to have positioned themselves in a new league. From mediaeval to baroque to contemporary, they seem fearlessly at home. Returning for an encore they sang what could almost become a signature piece - the young Estonian composer, Uusberg's "Muusika", an ode to a capella perfection recalling icicles gleaming in refracted light, pure play with notes.
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