It's All Down to Perspective
CD: Chanticleer: And on Earth, Peace: A Chanticleer Mass
When it comes to our choices in music, books, or movies, we're always in danger of seeking safety, familiarity, even repetition over a real challenge or new experience. It's been said you can spend a lifetime essentially reading the same novel, watching the same film, and listening to the same music, no matter how often the titles change.
The other danger is becoming numb to reality and the meaning behind our daily rituals and routines, even down to our work, prayers, and relationships. One of my friends has long been encouraging me to live in in the moment, and this past weekend I had at least two synchronistic conversations with cousins who brought up the importance of optimism. All this has left me with a renewed appreciation of the role of attitude.
So when I learned the latest Chanticleer album was a reworking of the Catholic mass and, in some respects, a departure from its fundamentals, it seemed another call to reexamine my perspective.
To get in the proper frame of mind, I played a CD by the American countertenor David Daniels. Countertenor solos are not my usual fare, but since Chanticleer, like the King's Singers, features countertenors in its ensemble, I wanted some time to reflect on male voices in that range.
You see, when it comes to choral performances, I have a decided preference for the adult female voices over, for instance, young trebles. Perhaps it's the residual effect of the angriest put-down my university choral instructor hurled at the sopranos when we failed, as he put it, to produce a womanly tone: "You sound like the Vienna Boys' Choir!"
So it's with reluctance that I surrender alto and soprano parts to the males. I have no problem with Frederica von Stade in Mozartean trouser roles, but anything that smacks of shutting the door to women (or, worse, consigning men to the castrati life!) makes me a tad nervous.
That is not to say that it's a penance to listen to Chanticleer, countertenors and all. On the contrary, the group won me over on initial hearings. For example, their Magnificat album, devoted to musical compositions in honor of Mary, the mother of Jesus, was a breath-takingly beautiful performance of works from several centuries. Listen to the way the voices blend and complement each other and suddenly the question of gender is moot.
This latest project, And on Earth, Peace, is also compelling, but for different reasons. On the one hand, you'll find Gregorian chant and Renaissance polyphony, familiar from previous albums. Chanticleer does justice to the spare beauty of the one and the glorious complexity of the other.
Beyond that, however, there are definite surprises with texts and music. The work was commissioned as a mass with the traditional prayers of penitence, reaffirmation, praise, and supplication, but with a twist: the Gloria, from Turkish composer Kamran Ince, takes its text from the Sufi poet Rumi, and Shulamit Ran's Credo reflects the core principles of the Jewish faith. As in recent projects by Montserrat Figueras and others, this album subtly unites the three Abrahamic faiths via text and music.
Those are by no means the last daring moves. Michael McGlynn contributes a Celtic-influenced Agnus Dei ("Lamb of God"), perhaps even veering off into sean nos singing, if I'm not mistaken. Douglas Cuomo, best known for, of all things, the theme music to Sex and the City, composed the Kyrie, a prayer of penitence, an appeal to God's mercy.
Ivan Moody's Sanctus subtly reflects the Greek Orthodox theology, rather than taking a purely Roman Catholic standpoint.
In short, this is a challenging album, by no means a predictable journey, but definitely a showcase for the talents of Chanticleer, and a jumping-off point for perspectives on faith.
When it comes to our choices in music, books, or movies, we're always in danger of seeking safety, familiarity, even repetition over a real challenge or new experience. It's been said you can spend a lifetime essentially reading the same novel, watching the same film, and listening to the same music, no matter how often the titles change.
The other danger is becoming numb to reality and the meaning behind our daily rituals and routines, even down to our work, prayers, and relationships. One of my friends has long been encouraging me to live in in the moment, and this past weekend I had at least two synchronistic conversations with cousins who brought up the importance of optimism. All this has left me with a renewed appreciation of the role of attitude.
So when I learned the latest Chanticleer album was a reworking of the Catholic mass and, in some respects, a departure from its fundamentals, it seemed another call to reexamine my perspective.
To get in the proper frame of mind, I played a CD by the American countertenor David Daniels. Countertenor solos are not my usual fare, but since Chanticleer, like the King's Singers, features countertenors in its ensemble, I wanted some time to reflect on male voices in that range.
You see, when it comes to choral performances, I have a decided preference for the adult female voices over, for instance, young trebles. Perhaps it's the residual effect of the angriest put-down my university choral instructor hurled at the sopranos when we failed, as he put it, to produce a womanly tone: "You sound like the Vienna Boys' Choir!"
So it's with reluctance that I surrender alto and soprano parts to the males. I have no problem with Frederica von Stade in Mozartean trouser roles, but anything that smacks of shutting the door to women (or, worse, consigning men to the castrati life!) makes me a tad nervous.
That is not to say that it's a penance to listen to Chanticleer, countertenors and all. On the contrary, the group won me over on initial hearings. For example, their Magnificat album, devoted to musical compositions in honor of Mary, the mother of Jesus, was a breath-takingly beautiful performance of works from several centuries. Listen to the way the voices blend and complement each other and suddenly the question of gender is moot.
This latest project, And on Earth, Peace, is also compelling, but for different reasons. On the one hand, you'll find Gregorian chant and Renaissance polyphony, familiar from previous albums. Chanticleer does justice to the spare beauty of the one and the glorious complexity of the other.Beyond that, however, there are definite surprises with texts and music. The work was commissioned as a mass with the traditional prayers of penitence, reaffirmation, praise, and supplication, but with a twist: the Gloria, from Turkish composer Kamran Ince, takes its text from the Sufi poet Rumi, and Shulamit Ran's Credo reflects the core principles of the Jewish faith. As in recent projects by Montserrat Figueras and others, this album subtly unites the three Abrahamic faiths via text and music.
Those are by no means the last daring moves. Michael McGlynn contributes a Celtic-influenced Agnus Dei ("Lamb of God"), perhaps even veering off into sean nos singing, if I'm not mistaken. Douglas Cuomo, best known for, of all things, the theme music to Sex and the City, composed the Kyrie, a prayer of penitence, an appeal to God's mercy.
Ivan Moody's Sanctus subtly reflects the Greek Orthodox theology, rather than taking a purely Roman Catholic standpoint.
In short, this is a challenging album, by no means a predictable journey, but definitely a showcase for the talents of Chanticleer, and a jumping-off point for perspectives on faith.
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