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The subject of hope has gotten so much press, there
was bound to be a pushback. During a recent debate, our guy had to
carefully explain that hope doesn’t mean there’s no struggle,
but the vision of what we’re struggling for empowers the work and
makes it worthwhile. His hopeless opponent knows better, but she chose not
to get it and soon was reduced to sarcasm in Ohio, where heaven seems far
away: “Let’s get everybody together, let’s get unified,
the sky will open, the light will come down, celestial choirs will be
singing. And everyone will know we should do the right thing, and the world
will be perfect.”
Had she been here last weekend, she might have a
better appreciation for the role of choirs. Hope was the theme at the
concert of the Illinois Chamber Orchestra and Illinois Symphony Chorus, and
music delivers the message even better than Barack Obama does. Amid the
sparkling marble of the restored sanctuary of Blessed Sacrament Catholic
Church, the Rev. David Hoefler welcomed us with a classic if unfashionable
version of the hope story: “This is the season of Lent, when we
remember the life and death of Christ, awaiting the beauty of the
Resurrection.” Then came Karen Lynne Deal, music director of the
Illinois Symphony Orchestra, to conduct the chamber orchestra in another
version. The orchestra performed two works by the American
composer Alan Hovhaness, who died in 2000. The first,
“Tzaikerk,” or “Evening Song,” began with a
folk-dance sound that recalled the composer’s roots in Armenia. As I
listened I could follow the composer’s word-picture of the work:
“A somber solo violin melodic line enters, refusing to join in the
dancing texture of the rapid melodies. The other instruments gradually
become subdued by the dark solo violin’s compelling persistence. The
festival gradually becomes lyrical and spiritual. The solo violin has at
last silenced the antagonistic dance, and sings a long meditative melody of
adoration and spiritual serenity.”
Deal, always eager to educate, told me the Hovhaness
pieces are written in a “cyclical” style. She explained:
“I think of composers who identify with nature. Their music feels
organic. The image that comes to me is of the eclipse of the moon. By
repetition we get back to the natural circle of life.” She tried
again: “A typical classical composer is evaluated on how they develop
their material. They’ll present an idea, then another idea. The bulk
of the music is how they develop those two ideas. This is something
different. It is not the development of an idea. It is more about the
repetition.”
Whatever it is, I liked it, even more so with the
second Hovhaness, the “Prayer of St. Gregory.” St. Gregory, the
patron saint of Armenia, had been thrown into a dungeon to languish for 15
years and miraculously survived. The work is like a “prayer in
darkness,” with Amy Gilreath’s solo trumpet soaring over the
top. To me the trumpet said, “We can get out of this hole.” Yes
we can! All that was prelude to the Symphony Chorus’ 70
Springfield voices performing the “Requiem” by Maurice
Duruflé. A requiem is a funeral mass, named for the first line of
the traditional Latin liturgy, Requiem
aeternam dona eis, Domine, “Eternal rest
give to them, O Lord.” This one was dedicated to the students killed
at Northern Illinois University and to Vesta Nichols, a Springfield
civil-rights stalwart who died in December at the age of 89. As requiems
go, and there are more than 2,000 of them, Duruflé’s is serene
and so peaceful that chorus director Richard Robert Rossi calls it a
“requiem for the living.” The composer said of the piece,
written in 1947 in war-ravaged France, that it “represents the idea
of comfort, of faith and of hope.”
To teach me how this music is different, an
enthusiastic chorus member explained that Duruflé entirely omits the
traditional section called Dies irae, the day of wrath and
judgment, and adds a section, not traditionally included, called Pie Jesu Domine, dona eis requiem: “Gentle Lord Jesus, grant
them rest.” Mezzo-soprano soloist Kimberly Parsons was angelic in her
performance of this sweet prayer. The arts often lead where politics follows. Both are
pointing to a transcendental moment. As I left the church, the moon shone
bright on the snow. We have moved through an eclipse and emerged safely on
the other side. Something good is about to happen.
The Illinois Symphony Orchestra’s next concert
is March 8 in Springfield.
Contact Fletcher Farrar at ffarrar@illinoistimes.com.
This article appears in Feb 21-27, 2008.
