Tag: Roderick Williams

Thursday 16 May 2024

Royal Festival Hall, London

*****

A premiere by Roderick Williams explores the humanity of Elgar’s choral masterpiece The Dream of Gerontius

Edward Elgar’s choral masterpiece The Dream of Gerontius, with words by Cardinal John Henry Newman, describes the journey of a soul in the afterlife leading to a devastating encounter with the ‘glance of God,’ the climax of the piece, after which he cries in agony, ‘take me away.’ The opening work in last night’s superb, deeply moving concert was a world premiere (the fourth premiere reviewed here in the last week, after three by Manchester Collective.) Composer and baritone soloist Roderick Williams has written Cusp, commissioned by The Bach Choir, as a companion piece to Gerontius.

Even in the very early 20^th century when Gerontius was first performed, and England was largely an Anglican country, Newman’s text was controversial as it featured the Roman Catholic doctrine of the soul passing through Purgatory before reaching Heaven. In contrast, Williams’ new piece views the soul’s journey from the perspective of those still on Earth after the death of a loved one, examining, in his words,

‘…the loss and grief that remains with the living, people of any faith or no faith at all.’ 

Williams was inspired to think about those left behind by the interaction between The Priest and chorus, the first time the baritone soloist sings in Gerontius.The title Cusp, is taken from the expression ‘on the cusp’, referring, in the words of librettist Rommi Smith to, ‘a transition between two different states … a moment of change’ for both the person who has just died and those left grieving.

Smith’s libretto is a poem divided into four seasons, beginning with Autumn as the loved one is dying, just as the protagonist in Gerontius is ‘near to death’ at the opening. But the old man Gerontius (from γέρων Ancient Greek for old man) is here replaced by a much younger person, still fighting death in a hospital bed hooked up to machines, surrounded by loved ones. Smith’s libretto is based on conversations with her own networks, with medical professionals, and with members of the Bach Choir, sometimes quoted verbatim as in references to ‘cups of tea’ and ‘sweet peas’ in vases. The dying ‘yellow leaves’ of Autumn come Shakespeare’s Sonnet 73. Smith adds her own beautiful poetry throughout the poem to create a deeply moving, profoundly human text.

Smith is inspired in the second movement, Winter by the small community in Dylan Thomas’ Under Milk Wood (1954). But she adds her own striking imagery such as the snow which represents ‘the numbness death and grief impose on the living,’ as in the lines, ‘Outside, it is August. Inside/snow is rising up to our waists.’ The movement ends with a contemplation of the soul’s journey like that of Gerontius,

‘Your soul/ now travelling to where/ we can no longer hear it sing.’

The third movement, Spring¸ brings a brief moment of hope, ‘yellow crocuses/appearing through the thaw’, but there’s a crushing realisation that someone followed in a crowd isn’t the lost loved one after all, ‘a stranger turns to look at me’, an overwhelming moment of emotion. The last movement, Summer, finally brings peace, with simple memories of love represented by the cup of tea or sweet peas in a vase. There are also parallels with the end of Gerontius; the dipping of fingers in the earth is a secular version of the Angel dipping the soul of Gerontius into the lake; the birdsong and songs in a church, ‘I hear singing – and it comforts me’, recall the soul in Gerontius, ‘there I will sing my sad perpetual strain.’ 

Williams’ music is a perfect match for the libretto, sharing and deepening its humanity. The piece begins with sounds effects recorded in a hospital recovery room by a member of the Bach Choir. The rhythmic beeping of the hospital machinery is picked up by the orchestral woodwind and becomes a leitmotif during the piece, just as the Elgar has its own leitmotifs. Rasping brass suggests the pain of death then a sweeping string melody suggests death enveloping the loved one. The writing for chorus is largely consonant and strongly melodic, often calm and hymn-like, reflecting the sorrow and resignation of those around the hospital bed, like the ‘friends’ surrounding Gerontius’ bed.

The Choir’s singing was immaculate throughout the new piece, a great achievement considering the amount of music they had to learn for a piece in which they sang almost constantly – by all accounts, a very different from the premiere of Gerontius in 1900 when the choir was baffled by the difficulty of the music.

The second movement, Winter features some lovely two-part writing for women, and then a climax of sorts as the baritone soloist (Williams himself) provided a mundane list of painkilling drugs which is picked up by the chorus to create an epic moment with crunchy orchestral chords. There’s a lovely phrase describing a fly as a ‘winged audacity’ which is illustrated by a muted trumpet. The movement ends with an explosion of yearning and grief from the chorus, which subsides with the hope of the coming of Spring, and a peaceful ending like that of Gerontius.

The third movement is more straightforwardly tuneful and optimistic, with simple textures, becoming more hopeful when it seems the loved one is still alive, mounting excitement leading to bitter agony when it becomes clear that the agony of loss will continue. There’s some beautiful word-painting here. The final movement begins with clusters of voices, evoking the ‘soft sunlight’ of Summer. Beating percussion recalls the beeping of the machinery, or perhaps the sun’s rays pushing through as it rises. A big romantic melody describes life unravelling like a ‘Ball of String’ and two pre-recorded sections of children from Winton Primary School recall childhood memories. The warmth of happy memories is evoked by jolly music, and ‘travelling’ no longer describes the passage of the soul but a treasured memory of a journey downhill on a bicycle. The beeping of the opening returns, and the recording of the hospital room, but it now seems happier; we have reached some kind of peace, and reconciliation with grief. 

The audience had been asked not to applaud at the end of Cusp, an excellent artist decision as the new work and the old spoke to and illuminated each other. The sweeping string lines and consonant chords of the Williams were similar to the opening Prelude of the Elgar, as if the journey were continuing from one piece to the next. The beeping leitmotif of the Williams piece took us into the Wagnerian world of Elgar’s leitmotifs. This was also an opportunity to hear the orchestra on its own for the first time. The playing of the Philharmonia was superbly refined, with precise ensemble, but warmth and drama where necessary. David’s Hill’s undemonstrative conducting brought out all the detail of Elgar’s rich and expertly orchestrated score.

The orchestra’s refinement was equalled by the Bach Choir. It was easy to forget that this was an amateur choir. The ensemble was as stunning as that of the orchestra, multiple voices joining to create a single, clear vocal line, a difficult feat with such large forces. Even in the most complex moments, clarity of texture was maintained. There were some lovely antiphonal moments, the sound being passed from one side to the other, a beneficial feature of the wide stage at the Festival Hall. The Choir relished the most difficult passages that defeated the singers at the first performance (and many more recent amateur choirs as well), including the challenging Chorus of Demons in Part Two, which they carried off with devilish aplomb, particularly enjoying the demonic laughter. Yet minutes later they became a Choir of Angelicals, and there was a heart stopping moment as the women of the choir soared high above on long held note on the word ‘praise.’ And the later hymns of praise were stunning as the full power and weight of the choir was felt.

The essential humanity of Williams’ piece was also carried forward into the performance of the Elgar. Complex arguments about religious doctrine were set aside. The three soloists brought out the humanity in the sometimes archaic text. The tenor Daniel Norman made his voice sound fragile in the tenderest moments, singing in a gorgeous sotto voce, but at other times more operatic as he rallied himself for his emotional journey, drawing us into the depths of his tortured soul. Roderick Williams was dignified and magisterial as The Priest, but with richness and warmth of tone and an intelligence that reminded us of his essential humanity. In the second half, as The Angel of Agony, he was by turns impassioned and contemplative, pleading on behalf of humankind with the words ‘Jesu! spare these souls.’ And Jennifer Johnston as The Angel brought wisdom and depth, with rich creamy tones and dark-hued low notes, sounding reverential and devotional, and at times noble. The three soloists transformed the piece into an operatic scene, a theatre for the mind. But the last word was left, appropriately, to the Bach Choir with a splendid final ‘Amen’, the packed house giving them a very well-deserved extra burst of enthusiastic applause.

Works

Cusp (world premiere) by Roderick Williams, text by Rommi Smith (Bach Choir commission)

The Dream of Gerontius by Edward Elgar, text by Cardinal John Henry Newman

Performers

David Hill: conductor

Jennifer Johnston: mezzo-soprano

Daniel Norman: tenor

Roderick Williams: baritone

The Bach Choir

Philharmonia Orchestra, leader Zsolt-Tihamér Visontay