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St. Andrew's Cathedral
December 21, 2019
Sitting in the side aisle of St. Andrew's, waiting for the concert to begin, I couldn't help noting the resonances between the Mediterranean and Mexican Catholic churches I have been in, and the gilded rose, green and sky blue walls, alcoves and ceilings, and even, in this setting, the presence of beautifully carved and painted West Coast Indigenous furnishings in the sanctuary, echoing, centuries later here in the more Puritan North than in Latin America, the creative presence and influence of the original peoples of the New World. I wished I had remembered that EMSI usually provides a pre-concert talk, as I only caught the tail end of what sounded like a fascinating conversation on the role of the Spanish guitar (no round backed instruments allowed for fear of alluding to the much despised Oud, and thus offending the Monarch) and its historic introduction of combined percussive strumming and exquisite lyrical and harmonic fingering continuing its influence to this day.
The aim of the concert was to explore 17th and 18th century Spanish and Southern Italian composers, their influence and role in performance in the Latin Americas, and the impact of indigenous traditions on performance and composition. The evening opened with a a few languorous bars from Scarlatti, suddenly becoming a vigorous passage, muted in the eloquent shape of a cello line, the whole a play on the transition from a peaceful doze to a jolt of alertness...consider lying tranquilly in your hammock, then leaping out to join in the dance!
Enter the two sopranos for a song by the Guatemalan born composer, Rafael Castellanos. The blend of the two voices, very different in character, evoked the perfection of sun and shade on a summer's day, expressive, lively and with a touch of humorous sweetness in the almost whispered cha cha chas...all about the sheer joy of celebrating in rhythmic song and dance a gypsy child in his cradle.
After an electric Ciaconna by Falconieri on the baroque guitar, the swaying rhythms making it impossible to sit still, the sopranos combined in a spell-bindingly gorgeous blend of effortless expressivity and crushing power in a song by Jose Marin, all about eyes and pride in the face of humiliation, the guitar running silkily underneath, unflustered by all this passion.
A set of chord changes opening out into delicate passages punctuated by fiery strumming and familiar melodies, fingered as lightly as a butterfly kiss; Gaspar Sanz's Folia and Canario.
The first set continued with two more long songs by Castellanos; the two violinists brilliantly alternating verses with the the cello, the sopranos a joy of warmth and power, the poignant lament of the last verse accompanied by the strings weeping where the subject of the song could not. The second song opened at a fast trot, the clippety clop of the castenets introducing a dark theological conundrum of how to explain God's protection of the enemy when one goes down to defeat in battle. Jennifer Ellis Kampani accomplished this magisterial feat with passionate strength, her forceful consonants like black paint or lead in a stained glass window. Man might offend God, and God might offend man — but surely no-one could offend such a voice! The concluding Tarara by the Mexican composer Salazar immediately produced a party atmosphere, both dramatic and fun, with a gentler tone for the "nino dios" and irresistible pleasure in the "country-girl mother". The blend between the sopranos matched by the blend of the violinists and the whole feeling like a Christmas hamper of ornaments, candied fruits and colourful toys.
Richard Savarino returned to Falconiero to open the second half — I imagined courtly dancers slowly beginning to turn and swirl their dresses. I saw their arm gestures, felt the mellow ambience of the occasion, ribbons of sound floating back to begin whirling again and then the final curtsey and bow! A perfect precursor to Sebastien Duron's exquisitely meditative lullaby, 'al dormir el sol'. The blending of the sopranos closer to what one associates with sisters or choristers. Alternating singing alone and together underlined how effectively they listen to each other, enhance each other while remaining quite distinct; Jennifer E Kampani the fine old cognac while Nell Snaidas has the ebullient smoothness of an equally fine champagne. A complex aroma, magically contained.
The next two songs from the Spanish composer Juan Hidalgo demonstrated two ends of a spectrum of possibilities for solo soprano and guitar; the first sheer delight in the light of creation (very appropriate for the longest night of the year) and the second an almost shocking contrast in mischief, joking, power and clarity — grief all but vanquished in the final NO!
Another instrumental interlude featured the largo and allegro from Vivaldi's concerto in D Major. Exquisite interweaving threads from the two violinists, darkening in the quiet entry of the cello, showing off the sweetness of the guitar's song. And then the burst of crystalline energy in the allegro.
Back to Castellanos, Nell Snaidas and a waterfall of beautiful sound, the lower notes splashing into diamonds as they fell to the pool below — a hymn to all womanhood as girl, mother and queen of heaven, and pure affirmation that the world was created for joy and laughter.
The concluding, and possibly the liveliest of all the selections, came from the Peruvian composer José de Orejon y Aparacio, again featuring both sopranos in alternating solo and duo verses in a celebration of the Feast Day of the Virgin. The effect was extraordinarily beautiful, wild, theatrical and humorous in its storytelling and shameless showing off. An exhilarating way to end the evening.
In another life I imagined these sisterly singers to have been a celebrated folksinger and a cabaret star. Only an era that celebrates early music could have brought them together with such stunning success. In fact, the true success of this whole programme lies in the masterful blending at every stage, including the major contribution made by the Victoria musicians who completed the ensemble, the very talented young violinists and of course those peerless sopranos. A question was raised as to the audience's response to the venue — at a certain point I realized I had not heard much from the harpsichord, and briefly wondered if I was too far off centre in my aisle seat. But as soon as I had the thought, my ears made an adjustment, and from then on heard it as a figured silk cloth, supporting and occasionally emerging from under all the beautiful jewels stitched upon it. So yes, I would say the choice of St. Andrew's was a happy one.
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