What a Weekend (4/11-12/15)

On Saturday afternoon, Canta Libre (Bradley Bosenbeck, violin; Veronica Salas, viola; Bernard Tomosaitis, cello; Sally Shorrock, flute; and Karen Lindquist, harp) gave a delightful concert of chamber music featuring the harp, specifically the music of
Marcel Grandjany (1891–1975). Grandjany’s Aria in Classic Style (1951) opened the program, and “O Bien Aimee” (1955) was also performed. Grandjany’s son was on hand (Maurice?) and offered some very interesting insights. “O Bien Aimee” was written as a gift for Marcel’s secretary for her wedding. Originally a song for baritone and harp, it was adapted here for cello and harp. It was very pretty and traditional, with touches of ’50s harmonies.

In between those two, we heard Sonata for Harp, Viola and Flute (1915) by
Claude Debussy (1862–1918), which was quite modern in terms of dissonances and format of the composition. The three movements were too segmented for my taste, though some of the segments were pretty, even with the dissonances. The third movement was quicker than the others and had a dark, stark quality. Following that was the Harp Concerto in B-Flat Major (1736) by G. F. Handel (1685–1759) with its jaunty back and forth between the solo harp and the small ensemble. You’d probably recognize the first movement. The whole piece was altogether bright and pleasant.

We were then treated to a brief lecture demonstration about the harp, itself. The concert harp has 47 strings made of three different materials—gut, for the mid-range; bound gut, for the lower range; and nylon, for the upper range. Since there are three positions for each of the seven pedals, that results in more than 2,000! moving parts in the neck of the instrument. Ms. Lindquist demonstrated glissandos, plucking, and even slapping the strings. And the wood of the harp can also be used as a percussion instrument by rapping or tapping it.

The final work on the program was Concert for Five (1923) by Joseph Jongen (1873–1953), a three-movement work that had very modern sounds, very rhythmic, with dissonances but also with a sense of completeness. (The three movements were Decide, Calme, and Tres Decide, with Decide meaning decisive or forthright, which I think prompted my feeling of completeness.) I enjoyed the concert, even though parts of the Debussy and Jongen were a little too dissonant for me. But when the harp was making its very pretty sounds, it was quite a treat.

Sunday afternoon found me at a completely different type of concert—Sō Percussion, a percussion quartet. The guys, Eric Beach, Josh Quillen, Adam Sliwinski, and
Jason Treuting were joined by an unnamed co-conspirator (her name was briefly announced from the stage, but I didn’t get it) for Music for Pieces of Wood (1973) by Steve Reich (b. 1936). That’s exactly what they played—blocks of wood that seemed to be varied enough in size to produce different pitches, yet still seemed very similar in size and shape. Each performer played her/his own distinct rhythm starting with the gal’s solo that was joined successively by each member, one by one. Once all the rhythms were going together, the entire sequence repeated two more times, though the beginning of each repeat was a duet. I’m not big on minimalist compositions, but this one held my interest, for the most part.

Two pieces by John Cage (1912–1992) were next: Child of Tree (1975) followed immediately by Third Construction (1941). Child of Tree was an eight-minute solo work involving a barrel cactus (the spines were plucked with fingers and other plant materials) and various additional plant matter including tree bark that was broken, twigs that were snapped, tissue paper that was crumpled and torn, and pine needles that were used almost as brushes would be used on a drumhead or a standing cymbal. Interesting, but no wow factor. Third Construction was the full quartet playing everything from drums (several sizes and shapes) to cymbals, claves (those heavy bar-like things you tapped with a mallet in elementary school music class) to metal cans/buckets, and even a conch shell. There was some real noise (and music) there.

The last piece was fairly lengthy, somewhat repetitive and involved made up instruments.
Music for Wood and Strings (2013) by Bryce Dessner (b. 1976) was commissioned by Sō Percussion and was played on four chordsticks, which were also created by Mr. Dessner. A chordstick is the head and tuning keys, and the fret board, of two electric guitars, with one tuning head at each end, laid out horizontally. The set of four were ranged like a soprano, alto, tenor, bass quartet. The strings of the guitars were then bowed like a violin, plucked, hit upon by mallets, like a hammered dulcimer, slid on like a steel guitar, and occasionally slid on along the fret board to create tunes, like a cellist would move his fingers along the fret board to create specific pitches. The overall effect was interesting and varied. It went on a little too long, and even though the dynamics were varied from time to time, I found most of it too loud. If you get a chance to see Sō Percussion (for free, like I did), I say go for it.

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Laurel ‘or’ Hardy; and ‘and’ (4/4/15)

Saturday afternoon’s silent movies showed us that Stan Laurel and Oliver ‘Babe’ Hardy each had movie successes on their own before being teamed in 1927. Laurel’s background was as a vaudeville comedian in England before traveling to the US and ending up in Hollywood. Hardy, on the other hand, was running a movie theater in the South in 1910 and decided, in 1913, to move to Jacksonville, Fl, which had numerous film studios. Who knew? Obviously, he also ended up in Hollywood. Okay, the history lecture is now over.

Just Rambling Along (1918) is a funny one-reeler that has Laurel as a fellow thrown out of a diner for lack of funds. After finding a wallet and being finagled out of it by a kid whose father is a cop, he eventually manages to get some money from the kid and follows a pretty young thing (along with a gaggle of other gents ogling her) back into the diner. In the funniest scene, he gets a taste of everything in the cafeteria line, rejecting each item and settling for a ten-cent cup of coffee. As the coffee is being poured, he stuffs his pockets with food and even gets his straw boater filled with flapjacks. While sitting with the pretty young thing, she slyly switches bills with him, and when he doesn’t have the $1.25 for the bill, he gets thrown out all over again.

In Smithy (1924), Laurel (Smithy) is mustered out of the Army and manages to find employment at a building site, though he has absolutely no experience. Via a letter delivered to him by mistake (intended for a different Mr. Smith, the boss’ second-in-command), Smithy ends up being the head honcho on the building site for a new house, even though he’s pratfalled his way through earlier attempts at different tasks on the site (ladder climbing mishaps, dropped construction materials, mayhem with hammers and nails and tarpaper, etc.). When the right
Mr. Smith arrives, demanding to be the building chief, Smithy’s house is already completed. Alas, when the last support beam is removed, the house tumbles to the ground like a house of cards, and Smithy ends up back in the Army. Funny stuff from Laurel sans Hardy.

The two Hardy shorts had him as a feature player, as opposed to Laurel’s starring appearances. Should Men Walk Home? (1927) was a vehicle for Mabel Normand and Creighton Hale as a pair of bumbling criminals who decide to hook up and work together after trying to con each other. A lot of the funny stuff happens at a big party in a fancy home. The two criminals are out to steal a precious piece of jewelry. When the brooch gets unceremoniously plopped into a punch bowl, Ms. Normand decides to keep an eye on each and every cup of punch that is poured. Unfortunately for Mr. Hardy, every attempt to get and drink a cup of punch is thwarted by the diminutive Ms. Normand. Slapstick ensues and is very funny. The crooks never get the brooch, and as they’re being tossed out of the party, tons, and I mean tons, of silverware tumbles out of Mr. Hale’s tuxedo.

Fluttering Hearts (1927) also had Mr. Hardy as a supporting player. Here’s what I wrote about it when I first saw it in June of 2012:
“Fluttering Hearts starred Charley Chase (not Chevy) and Martha Sleeper (touted as the “ultimate flapper”). It also had a very funny Oliver Hardy in a supporting role. The plot: Our flapper rushes off to a sale (bed linens at 89¢—with a caveat of only three to a customer). She enlists the help of the beau who followed her and the cop who wanted to give her a speeding ticket (did I mention that this was a comedy?) and mayhem ensues at the shopping spree.

Meanwhile, Flapper’s father needs to retrieve a compromising letter—if he doesn’t pay $10,000 it’ll be made public and ruin him. Our hero, Mr. Chase, convinces dad to dress in drag to allow them entry into a speakeasy. Mayhem ensues, dad is chased by the cops, hero gets a female doll (literally) and even attaches its feet to his shoes in a very funny dance sequence (a precursor to “Best Little Whorehouse in Texas” and countless drag show routines). Mr. Hardy has the letter. Our hero eventually gets it—then loses it—then our flapper replaces the female doll, with the letter down her bodice and all ends well! Did I mention that this was a comedy?”

The final film on this past Saturday was Two Tars (1928) starring Laurel and Hardy. I’ve also seen this one before in December 2011 but did not write a synopsis. Laurel and Hardy are two sailors on a brief shore leave (sound familiar, Comden & Green?). They meet and pick up two sweet young things in their rental car, after first going through a bit of slapstick involving gumballs and pratfalls. The rest of the film is essentially one long (very long) running joke about different ways to beat up on cars and their owners involved in a massive traffic jam. There’s a lot of funny stuff, and a few of the repetitions are good, too, but it’s really just too much. However, it certainly cemented their partnership for the future.

Saturday’s segment of the series was curated by Rob Stone, of the Library of Congress and, as always, the indefatigable Ben Model supplied the piano score for each film. Bruce Lawton and Steve Massa were also on hand for the Q&A session afterward. I didn’t stay for that, but did hear as I was leaving that we had gotten the UK version of Two Tars as evidenced by the Title Cards. There was much laughter involved all afternoon.

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Songbook, March 2015

Brief reminder, here. Songbook is a program that features up and coming, as well as some established, composers and lyricists writing for the musical theater. This past Monday’s edition, featuring the songs of Sam Carner and Derek Gregor, was superb. The past couple of Songbooks I have attended were good, though marred by an overwhelming case of instrumentalists completely overpowering singers (even though they were all using microphones). The techniques on display by the composers completely overshadowed the work of the lyricists. Not so, this past Monday.

On top of being able to hear and understand the singers (with a few minor exceptions), these songs themselves were really, really good. There were fifteen songs performed, from various shows, some of which have had performances, some of which are preparing to be workshopped, and some of which are from shows in their gestation periods. Four songs from Island Song kicked off the evening, and while all of the performers were good, Jackie Burns (recently of If/Then) and Leslie Kritzer were standouts. The first, “I’ll Take It All,” had real accompaniment (provided by Mr. Gregor, at the piano, plus cello, guitar, and percussion) with a nice jazz-rock feel that extended to the song as well. “Sing, But Don’t Tell” was very funny, telling the story of a singer who thinks she’s in love with her accompanist, but feels inhibited about telling him. Ms. Kritzer played it to the hilt, even including some ad libs to the cellist along the way.

Two songs from Unlock’d followed, and my favorite of the two was “Out of the Bay,” which showed influences from Sondheim and Gilbert & Sullivan and was very strong both musically and textually. Stephen C. Anthony did a fine job in performance.

Next up were two songs from Sheila Levine Is Dead and Living in New York, based on a cult novel from the 1970s. Interesting side note here: Carner and Gregor are providing additional songs for the show, which was shelved when the original composer died. The book writer, Todd Graff, decided to dust off the project and approached Carner and Gregor to continue with it. After a false start, David Perlman sang a great performance of “Settle Down,” a piece with a real vaudeville feel. Ms. Kritzer returned with “29 Words,” which is her character’s typing speed, in a very nice song about self-exploration and celebration. One nice turn of a phrase was, “I find peace when I see what I say.”

The three Cabaret Songs that were next were all winners. Mr. Anthony kept finding girls who were “Savin’ It”—for Jesus, as it turned out. Very funny stuff. Natalie Weiss sang “A Piece of Me,” about someone buried in the past, opening up (but just slightly) and realizing that “piece by piece we could be whole.” Mr. Perlman’s slightly manic “What Do You Do With Your Arms” explored a bit of physical comedy as well as hitting (just right) Mr. Carner’s use of humorous and humerus. I’m not making this up, you know! Of the two songs from Toast, “Advice to a Young Firefly” was, hands down, the winner—a power ballad–style number given a dynamite performance by Tituss Burgess. A fitting ending to the concert was “Opening,” the opening number from Island Song. The vocal quintet performed well, but this was one of those cases where five microphones at one time, with overlapping phrases, both musically and textually, made for a bit of a muddied result.

Here’s the thing, though, and I only came to realize this when thinking about the concert afterwards. Carner and Gregor’s songs are so successful because they’re so well crafted. But you’re not hit over the head with their technique. It just is. It is there; it is good; it is really spot-on. They were video recording the concert for Playbill, I believe. If I learn anything about how to access it, I’ll be sure to pass it along. Hat’s off—but not the red hat—to John Znidarsic for putting together Songbook, in general, and this really superb edition. It truly was the real deal.

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Elora Festival Singers (3/15/15)

The Elora Festival Singers, Noel Edison, conductor, is a Canada-based professional choir that I heard in concert at Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church on Sunday afternoon. The 23-voice ensemble began their program with what I call the “English choir school sound”—sort of like a choral organ (a white choral sound, as in vocal purity with very little vibrato). There were two pieces by Timothy Corlis (b. 1972), a Canadian composer who was in the audience, and two by Eric Whitacre (b. 1970), an American, er, USofAn composer. The first Corlis work displayed the choir’s nicely blended choral sound and had minimal piano accompaniment, in a slightly minimalist style. James Bourne, one of the basses, was the able accompanist throughout the afternoon, as needed. The first of the two Whitacre works that followed was calm and slightly dissonant at times and demonstrated nicely controlled dynamics. Immortality, the second work by Corlis, was commissioned especially for the choir’s recent appearance at Carnegie Hall. While I liked it, I found it to be a touch too repetitious toward the end. Two more contemporary pieces followed before closing out the first half with Benjamin Britten’s (1913–1976) Rejoice in the Lamb, an eight-movement cantata for choir, soloists and organ (played here by
Andrew Henderson). The rather absurdist text, written by Christopher Smart while he was in an insane asylum, is pretty well known to me, and I had no problems understanding it in the choir’s capable hands. The four soloists, stepping out from the choir, all sang well. The eight movements progress in a through-composed style—each is distinct but leads to the next with no real break, yet not exactly nonstop.

After intermission, the works were a bit on the lighter side, including a small set of four Old American Songs by Aaron Copland (1900–1990). Of the four, my favorite was I Bought Me a Cat, which is sort of like a grown-up’s version of Old MacDonald. Along the way we hear cat, duck, goose, hen, pig, cow, horse, and wife(!) sounds. It was robust, as compared with the two tender songs that preceded it, At the River and Long Time Ago.

Folk songs and quasi-folk songs followed, including settings of John Brown’s Body (with a terrific soprano solo), a jazz-tinged Londonderry Air, Loch Lomond, Shenandoah, and She’s Called Nova Scotia. The latter could have become treacly, but the powerhouse baritone solo just about turned it into a power ballad/anthem with piano and choral accompaniment. The final work was a William L. Dawson (1886–1970) arrangement of the spiritual Soon-Ah Will Be Done. The enthusiastic crowd response led to an encore of another spiritual (maybe also a Dawson arrangement?), Every Time I Feel the Spirit.

This was a wonderfully performed concert by a fine choral group. They hit the mark whether it was a cappella, with piano accompaniment, or with the organ, in a nicely varied performance, with the choir as the main event, backed up by fine step-out solo turns from individual singers. Many thanks to Andrew Henderson and Mary Huff for providing me with the opportunity to hear the Elora Festival Singers.

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A Very Busy Weekend (3/13, 14, 15/15)

Friday evening found me at the US premiere of the play Keeping Up Appearances, based on characters from the British comedy television series. Those of you who know, or know about, the series have a bit of a leg up. Those of you who don’t, feel free to let your eyes glaze over.

The main characters are all represented. This is not a re-creation of any specific portion of the series, but a true stand-alone piece. Hyacinth Bucket (“It’s bouquet!”) starts out quarreling with her neighbor Emmett, who is preparing to rehearse a play he’s directing, thus preventing Hyacinth from displaying her painting (oil on silk—she could never use anything so coarse as canvas!) as part of the art display that is supposed to be set up in the church hall. An interesting metaprime moment here is that the performance I saw was staged in a church hall. Hyacinth insists that she’s committed to the painting group and could not possibly devote any time to Emmett’s play. That is, until she hears that the role of Lady Malverne still needs to be cast. Well, she graciously wheedles her way into the production.

What she does not do, however, is read the script and see that Lady Malverne gets murdered early on in the first act, and that she must also play a lowly cook in the second act. She is not amused!

Along the way, we find out that her sister Daisy is in the cast (as a duchess, no less!), as are her sister Rose and Daisy’s husband Onslow. There is a recently divorced gentleman, Edward “Milly” Milson, for Rose to ply her wily charms upon, Richard is on hand to run various errands for Hyacinth, and the Vicar is on hand (in a non-speaking role) to turn tail every time he sees the “Bucket woman.” Even Daddy makes an appearance, after giving sister Violet the slip (she’s the one with the Mercedes, swimming pool, and room for a pony). She is only referenced in a couple of Hyacinth’s set pieces—phone monologues. Seeing that the location is not Hyacinth’s home, the phone monologues take place on her clunky cell phone that gets trillingly answered, “You have reached the exclusive private mobile phone of Hyacinth Bou-quet. She herself is speaking!” Hyacinth also has the requisite phone monologue with her son Sheridan.

Well, you get the drift. There were lots of laughs in this Theatre Fellowship of Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church production, with its mix of two Actors’ Equity members, several variously trained actors in the equivalent of a very good community theater performance, and a handful of church members. Wisely, none of the actors tried to imitate or impersonate the cast members of the TV series. There was a mix (and a mix of success) of British accents. The entire cast performed well, with special kudos going to Isabella Knight as Hyacinth, who provided laughs as Hyacinth, Lady Malverne, and the lowly cook. I had a very pleasant evening in the theater.

On Saturday afternoon, I attended a program of silent films with live piano accompaniment. This was the second in a series featuring the Hal Roach Studios, and all seven of the shorts featured Harold Lloyd in films ranging from 1915 (he had only gotten his start in the movies in 1914 as an extra) through to 1920. It ably demonstrated his growth as a comedian and Roach’s growth as a director and producer, but it was a little heavy handed and a little too much same old, same old for my taste. While I enjoy these silents, I’m not a real diehard aficionado, and this seemed more like a mini movie class as opposed to just an afternoon of fun. The 1915 offering, Peculiar Patient Pranks, and the 1917 offering, When Clubs Are Trumps, were both single-reel offerings and both had fairly heavy condition issues. Maybe one of them could have been dropped?

The City Slicker (1918) was more enjoyable for me, and Get Out and Get Under (1920) was the most sophisticated of the seven. Even though I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it before, it still packed a lot of laughs. As always, Ben Model’s mostly improvised scores were quite impressive, as was his stamina, and Steve Massa’s program notes were packed with information, though he tended to cover a lot of it in his introduction to the first two films. Hey, I read program notes—I don’t need them essentially read to me. But that’s just my minor quibble, and I’ll most likely attend the third in this series later in the spring. More on Sunday in the next post.

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The Mirror Visions Ensemble (3/7/2015)

Vira Slywotzky, soprano, Scott Murphree, tenor, and Jesse Blumberg, baritone, presented a program called "Journeys," ably assisted by Grant Wenaus, piano. The program listing itself was nice in that it gave the composer, title, and poet/lyricist—everyone was on equal footing. Clocking in at sixteen songs, not every one will get a complete mention and treatment. Each vocalist got a chance to perform as soloist, and there were nice combinations of duos and trios put together, some mixtures of their own devising, which made for an interesting afternoon. I preferred Messrs. Murphree's and Blumberg's voices to that of Ms. Slywotzky—purely my preference.

L'invitation au voyage (Henri Duparc/Charles Baudelaire) set us off on the right course. It was simple and lovely, with tinkly accompaniment, sung by Mr. Murphree. His voice was somewhat dark hued for a tenor, but it was put to good use, as well as his foreign language and English diction. The same can pretty much be said for all three, in terms of diction. Mr. Blumberg followed  with Auf einer Wanderung (Hugo Wolf/Eduard Mörike). You just have to love a language where 'lustbeklommen' = 'joy'. Ms. Slywotzky followed with The Mermaid's Song (Joseph Haydn/Anne Hunter), sung in English. I'll say it again and again, it's difficult setting lyrics for the soprano voice—the composer wants that gleaming sound which is, often, not conducive to clearly set lyrics. That was the case here.

L'Île Inconnue deftly took a Hector Berlioz setting of a Théophile Gautier text and divided it between all three vocalists. It was a wonderful way to tell the story. Great Barrier Reef, by Gilda Lyons with a text by her, based on recent studies that she adapted, came across pretty much like that—fragmented phrases, mouth pops, a modern madrigal that was not terribly effective in terms of pleasantness—but it was performed well. It was commissioned by the ensemble.

Tale of the Oyster (Cole Porter, from Fifty Million Frenchmen) gave Mr. Murphree a chance to show his comedy chops. Not over the top, but using Porter as a theme. The tag line from each verse sort of says it all: Poor little oyster; Lucky little oyster; Thrilled little oyster; Proud little oyster; Scared little oyster; Up comes the oyster; Wise little oyster.

Letters to Isabella was another commission, and this one hit the mark much better. Composed by Scott Wheeler, it set the texts of three letters to Isabella Stewart Gardner (she of Boston museum fame, a place I need to go see) from Henry James, Paul Bourget (a French poet and novelist), and Kakuzo Okakura. Mr. Okakura's letter was actually written to his cat, Kotchan, who he had to leave behind with Isabella upon his return to Japan, though the letter was really to both Kotchan and Isabella.

Of the next set, He's Gone Away (Traditional, arr. K. Davis/Unknown) spoke to me because I have a beautiful setting of it sung by the Dale Warland Singers. It was a favorite of mine and Michael's. Mr. Blumberg did a fine job.

A trio of Hotel songs (Francis Poulenc/Guillaume Apollinaire, Samuel Barber/James Joyce, Tom Cipullo/Edna St. Vincent Millay) was effective, although the last one was pretty much a long way to go for such a little payoff. It was also a commissioned work; however, I have to give the ensemble props for supporting contemporary composers and for going out on a limb from time to time.

Chanson (Stephen Schwartz), from The Baker's Wife, was pleasant, if slightly not quite effective enough as performed by Ms. Slywotzky. There were a couple of other commissioned works that were dropped from the program, and the ensemble finished with a setting of The Owl and the Pussycat, which was somewhat amusing (except for the rather juvenile repetition of "pussy," "pussy," "pussy").

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Carnegie Hall Neighborhood Concerts (2/22 & 28/15)

I can’t sing the praises of the Carnegie Hall Neighborhood Concerts enough—free concerts in all five boroughs ranging from classical to jazz, to children’s concerts, etc. More on singing later, however.

Sunday, February 22, found me in Brooklyn at the Brooklyn Public Library, Central Library, for the Calder Quartet (Ben Jacobson, violin; Andrew Bulbrook, violin; Jonathan Moerschel, viola; and Eric Byers, cello). The venue there has the audience in darkness, so jotting notes was not possible. There were three works on the program.

Sabina (2008–2009) – Andrew Norman (b. 1979)
Arcadiana for String Quartet, Op. 12 (1994) – Thomas Adès (b. 1971)
String Quartet in F Major (1902–1903), Allegro moderato: Très doux; Assez vif: Très rhythmé; Très lent; Vif et agité – Maurice Ravel (1875–1937)

Taking the last first, the Ravel was very modern sounding, and probably seemed incredibly modern for its time, with its use of disjointed phrases, dissonances, and playing techniques that included repeated motifs tossed from player to player, and not always at the same time. So, somewhat jumbled. Still, I liked the work, and the four movements were clear as to their beginnings, middles, and ends. I went for the last first because of the way it demonstrated those various techniques. Arcadiana had seven movements, but it was pretty much impossible to tell one from the others. So, fairly jumbled. And where the strange new techniques in the Ravel worked pretty well, the same could not be said for the Adès. And those same techniques were used and splintered even more in the opening work. So, we heard very strange techniques in the first two works and then the genesis of those techniques in the Ravel, where they made much more sense. It was an interesting afternoon, with the Ravel being my favorite of the three works.

Saturday, February 28, found me on the Upper West Side for a vocal recital by Andrew Haji, tenor, with Liz Upchurch, piano. Both artists are associated with the Canadian Opera Company Ensemble Studio, Mr. Haji as a member and Ms. Upchurch as music director. The program notes refer to Mr. Haji’s “bright, clear tone ... and Italianate voice,” and both were on display Saturday.

S’il est un charmant gazon; Oh! Quand je dors (Élégie Etienne Monnier); Enfant, si j’étais roi – Franz Liszt (1811–1886)
Dichterliebe, Op. 48 – Robert Schumann (1810–1856)
Oliver Cromwell, Vol. 1, No. 7; Down by the Salley Gardens; O Waly, Waly; The Foggy, Foggy Dew, Vol. 3, No. 5 – Benjamin Britten (1913–1976)
O sole mio – Eduardo di Capua (1865–1917)
Torna a Surriento – Ernesto de Curtis (1875–1937)
L’alba sepàra dalla luce l’ombra – Paolo Tosti (1846–1916)

My notes for the first of the French chansons remarked on the very pretty voice and very sensitive accompaniment. Both of those carried through the entire recital. The second had an almost mystical quality, while the third was livelier and ended very prettily.

Dichterliebe is a sixteen-song cycle dealing with a young man’s finding love, finding the love not only not returned, but given to another man, and eventually totally resigned to the fact that it will never be. Mr. Haji’s arc through the cycle was very good. There were a few spots (mostly in his lower register) where the brightness of his voice didn’t quite come through, and he was slightly overpowered by the accompaniment, although that might also have been due to the acoustics in the church. This was, according to him, the first time he’d performed the entire cycle; he did an admirable job—and it was all from memory.

The Britten songs were interesting, and Mr. Haji’s diction here, as in the French and German, was very good. But the actual setting of the text in the first song made it difficult to understand. The second, Down by the Salley Gardens, was quite pleasant. O Waly, Waly (“The water is wide I cannot get o’er”) was a traditional version of the text and tune, with a varied and intricate accompaniment. Of the four English songs, I found this to be the most successful. The Foggy, Foggy Dew had a nicely done touch of humor.

O sole mio and Surriento were described as ‘lollipops’, and that’s exactly what they were. They’re so familiar that they could have come off as trite, but he played it straight and they turned out just fine. The third ‘lollipop’ was in the same vein, but its lack of familiarity made it the most enjoyable of the three, for me. As an encore, he sang Una furtive lagrima from Donizetti’s L’elisir d’amore.

A very pleasant late afternoon recital well sung and well played.

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