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EARLY MUSIC REVIEW

Innocence and Mirth

December 22, 2002


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By Michelle Dulak

G. K. Chesterton wrote somewhere that the wonder of the Christmas story lies in its combining into a single mystery two seemingly incompatible things — a helpless baby, and "the unknown strength that sustains the stars." There is little Christmas music that doesn't try to get in both ideas, but listen to enough classical Christmas music and it's hard not to see a gradual shift of emphasis. In the 18th and 19th centuries the accent was on the Glory of God. The 17th century seems to have done rather better by the Infant. Gaiety, merriment, untroubled joy are the unmistakeable notes of the early 17th-century effusion of song and dance; and they are also the notes of Christmas.

It didn't seem too strange, then, to find an unusually touching Christmas program devoted entirely to music of Alessandro Stradella (1639-1682). The ever-enterprising baroque ensemble Magnificat performed two of Stradella's Christmas cantatas last week (I heard Sunday's performance at St. Gregory Nyssen Episcopal Church in San Francisco), and the simple joy in the music (and in the music-making) from the small ensemble was worth any number of ranked choristers or massed brass.

The program opened with a delightful "Sonate di viole" in four short movements that is generally acknowledged as the first independent instrumental piece designed on the "concerto grosso" model — that is, with a small solo group or "concertino" alternating with a larger ("ripieno") group. As played here it didn't sound much like a concerto grosso at all, because the concertino and the ripieno were nearly the same size, and spatially separated; it was far more "antiphonal canzona" than "concerto grosso." Which didn't matter at all to me, given the quality of the performance. The concertino (Rob Diggins and David Wilson, violins, with Elisabeth Reed, cello) were nimble, sweet of tone and full of verve, and they ornamented not only without fear (which is rare), but also intelligently (which is, alas, rarer). The answering "ripieno" group was almost as strong.

Magnificat

Of the two cantatas, Si apra al riso ogni labro (Let every lip break into a smile), which came first, is the simpler — just a colloquy of three speakers (Magnificat's note-writer calls them "shepherds," but there's no reason to assume so) about the news of Christ's birth. The soprano patiently explains to the other two what has happened (at one point she sings "Vostra stupida mente," tactfully translated "Your foggy minds" in the booklet). There are brief arias for all three singers and several equally-brief trios (one even a cappella) in that effortless kind of mid-17th-century counterpoint that manages to be impeccable and yet not stilted.

Bass Peter Becker was the most solid of the three singers, with firm, robust tone and impeccable intonation. Soprano Catherine Webster has a very lovely "early-music" voice — clear and solid, with minimal vibrato though not at all dry or cold. But in "Si aspra al riso" she drifted out of tune (mainly sharpward) too often for comfort. So did the third singer, countertenor Stephen Ng (who was also pervasively underbalanced to his colleagues).

Intonation is an awkward subject. I doubt that any singer ever hits every note in the center, always; the problem comes at a certain tipping point where the listener starts worrying about whether the next note is going to be in tune. Webster and Ng both went beyond it for me, even though both were in tune most of the time.

The strange thing is that in the succeeding cantata, Ah! troppo è ver (Ah! It's all too true), Webster sang the Virgin's aria with exquisite purity of intonation as well as meltingly sweet tone. Ng, too, was firmer of pitch in his tiny stint as St. Joseph here than he had been in the first half.

Lucifer at Christmas

Ah! troppo è ver is a much more ambitious piece than Si apra al riso. To modern listeners, the most startling aspect is that the piece begins with an extended scene for Lucifer (Becker), who hears rumors that God is planning something big. He frets and ruminates for awhile, then sends the Furies, his minions (all five singers here, in a sort of mini-chorus with agitated instrumental accompaniment) to find out what's happening and frustrate it if they can.

Exit Lucifer — for the duration of the piece. From there on it's all straight Christmas Story, beginning with the Angel speaking to the Shepherds, continuing with two Shepherds' tributes, with the Virgin's aria between them, then the brief arioso of St. Joseph, then a concluding "Madrigale" in five parts.

Of the two Shepherds, Scott Whitaker sang the tenor role (oddly labeled "Pastore secondo," though it is he who sings first) with a clear and vibrant sound. Jennifer Ellis, who sang the Angel, doubled as "Pastore primo." Her slender, appealingly vulnerable voice made her seem a better Shepherd than Angel, though some of that impression might have been due to the beauty of the Shepherd's aria and the exquisite accompaniment she received from the solo theorbo (David Tayler) that partnered her. Becker's Lucifer was just about perfect, impressive but not stage-blustery — that first several minutes of the piece was so good that I almost wanted to see Lucifer make a comeback before the end, but apart from Becker's taking the lowest part in the final "madrigal," his work was done.

Need I say that Stradella's music is marvelous? Ah! troppo è ver is so full of wonderful things (beginning with its graceful and joyous Sinfonia) that it seems invidious to single anything out, but if I had to, it would be that aria for the Virgin Mary. It begins in ineffable calm, with rich and serene suspensions in the accompanying strings, but at the words "gioisce per te" ([my soul] rejoices for Thee), it takes off into delighted dance. Joy and innocence and serenity and mirth, all there. That is music for Christmas. Thanks to Magnificat for bringing it to us.

(Michelle Dulak, editor of San Francisco Classical Voice, is a violinist and violist who has written about music for Strings, Stagebill, Early Music America, and the New York Times.)

©2002 Michelle Dulak, all rights reserved