(+++) THAT WAS THEN, THIS IS NOW

Medieval Song from Aristotle to Opera. Concordian Dawn conducted by Christopher Preston Thompson. MSR Classics. $14.95.

Jake Heggie: Song Settings of Emily Dickinson. Melissa Davis, soprano; Jerry Wong, piano. MSR Classics. $14.95.

     The title of the second MSR Classics release from the medieval-music ensemble called Concordian Dawn is a bit of a puzzlement, given that neither Aristotle nor opera can be deemed medieval. The group’s first release, Medieval Songs of Fate, Fortune and Fin’amor, was clearer in its focus, provided that listeners understood that “Fin’amor” is a dialect term (Occitan) for “courtly love.” The second CD is in fact similar in some ways, all of them positive, including its painstaking and thoughtful approach to the work of composers who will likely be wholly unfamiliar to most modern audiences. The performers, as before, include Christopher Preston Thompson as conductor, tenor, and instrumentalist on the medieval harp; soprano Karin Weston; not one but two countertenors (Clifton Massey and David Dickey, with Dickey also playing recorder); bass Andrew Padgett; and Niccolo Seligmann playing vielle, a precursor of the violin that, as both the recordings show, has a very different but still clearly related sound. Of the 10 pieces on the new recording, three are anonymous, including one from the 11^th century – a truly remarkable distance in musical terms. Four works here are by Guillaume de Machaut (1300-1377); there is one from Philippe de Vitry (1291-1361); one from Bernart de Ventadorn (fl. 1147-1180); and one three-minute piece with elements credited to four separate composers. And how do all these works relate to or explain the disc’s title? The “Aristotle” reference has to do with Aristotelian notions with which some of the songs are imbued; the word “opera” turns out not to mean what modern audiences think it means, but to refer to the overall operatic – that is, multimedia – nature of the performances and the reconstruction of the music. This is all a bit rarefied and abstruse, having to do with the academic study of medieval music and the impossibility of truly re-creating it in modern times – because even if we could know for sure how it was supposed to sound (and we do not), the context in which it was produced and was intended to be heard was so different from our own that there is no way to bring it into our own time. That is, we cannot hear the music as it was meant to be heard, even if we can approximate (imperfectly) the way it was meant to sound. Very, very few listeners are likely to find the intricacy of this sort of thinking interesting or more than slightly meaningful. Thankfully, however, it is not necessary to delve into the underlying issues facing re-creation and performance of works of this time period in order to enjoy those performances. The members of Concordian Dawn may have no way to bridge the musical time span of nearly a thousand years, but the transcriptions and reconstructions performed here all have considerable power and considerable beauty on their own terms – or, rather, on the terms that modern scholars, performers and listeners bring to them in attempting to reproduce as many elements as possible of their original creation. These are works of beauty, of delicacy, that maintain communicative power even if one does not speak the languages they use or live within the culture and time period in which they were created. Some of the solo voices sound angelic, as if elevated beyond mere earthly concerns; others are warmer and more emotional; the grouped voices come through with considerable clarity and expressiveness; and the instrumental sounds serve as transport to a world very different from ours. If we cannot possibly re-create that world or know its intricacies, we can at least receive, through this music, hints of what used to be – and a reminder that in all times and places, music has served to express, to elevate, to emphasize, to emote, to evince an understanding of the human condition, whatever it is or may once have been.

     More-recent times are certainly more readily comprehensible to contemporary audiences – or at any rate those audiences, and those who perform for them, like to think so. It is the perplexing and inward-looking elements of the poetry of Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) that continue to make her words so attractive to composers of much later times, including Jake Heggie (born 1961). There are no fewer than 19 Dickinson-based songs for soprano and piano on an MSR Classics disc featuring Melissa Davis and Jerry Wong, and all the words are set with care, utilizing Heggie’s understanding of what he thinks Dickinson was trying to express (although it is worth pointing out that here too there are ongoing academic studies and arguments about the poems’ meanings). Heggie finds many ways to use Dickinson’s words: The Faces of Love and Newer Every Day, for example, are five-song cycles; The Rose Did Caper on Her Cheek, a world première recording, is a single song; there is also a two-song group, another world première, called Could It Be Madness – This? Heggie organizes the groups around similar (or at least analogous) themes, according to his understanding of the words; the cycles then contrast with individual songs, even when some of the material is nominally related – for instance, The Road to Bethlehem is a single song, while The Faces of Love contains the song As Well as Jesus? Davis and Wong make a fine, sensitive and committed interpretative pair, and when given the chance to shine as an individual, Wong goes beyond accompaniment to add in significant ways to a song’s emotional heft – as, for instance, in the openings of Silence and The First Day’s Night Had Come. Most of the songs are short – the entire CD runs just 47 minutes – but all have a feeling of compression. It is as if their meaning has been squeezed into a limited number of words (as poetry generally does) and the words have then been mixed with illustrative musical material that underlines Dickinson’s thoughts without attempting to expand or comment on them. If there is a flaw in this approach, it is that Heggie’s consistency of interpretative handling of the words results in a good deal of musical sameness: the actual sound of the songs is similar throughout the CD, despite the differences of the words and the emotions they convey. Some listeners will justifiably feel that this shows how thoroughly Heggie has absorbed the poetic world of Dickinson, or at least his interpretation of it; others, however, may wish for a somewhat greater variety of approaches to the verbiage, given the fact that while Dickinson does have a clear style, the feelings she evokes and the words she uses come in more guises than are apparent from their accompaniment here.

(++++) SMALL SUCCESSES

Mabel and the Mountain. By Kim Hillyard. Penguin Workshop. $14.99.

     A sweet, simple, silly little story with an uplifting moral and a distinctly peculiar central flaw (or at least oddity) that young children will notice immediately – but that will not reduce their enjoyment of the book – Mabel and the Mountain is, as the cover directly states, “A Story about Believing in Yourself.” That “yourself” of the title is Mabel, who is – a fly. This unlikely protagonist is, of course, a perfect surrogate for the very young children at whom the book is aimed: she is so small that pretty much anything she wants to do will seem large by comparison. So when she decides she wants to do big things, well, they are certain to seem to be very big things indeed.

     Kim Hillyard draws Mabel adorably and quite unrealistically: she is almost completely circular, with huge eyes and tiny wings. And of course she is packed with anthropomorphic thoughts and expressions. She has BIG PLANS, as Hillyard points out in underlined capital letters. Specifically, she intends to climb a mountain, host a dinner party, and make friends with a shark. Never mind that the second of those is modest compared to the first and third – there is a reason it is there, as Hillyard eventually shows. However, the book is almost entirely about the first of Mabel’s plans: climbing a mountain. “It is important to get started right away,” Mabel thinks, but first she has to confront the naysaying of her friends, who are equally round and equally big-eyed flies sporting a bandana in one case, a helmet in another, a handlebar mustache and bushy eyebrows in a third – in other words, thoroughly non-fly-like characters drawn very amusingly indeed.

     Mabel hears her friends’ warnings and concerns, but says she knows only to “listen to those who say YOU CAN” accomplish things. This is not entirely realistic – parents reading with young children may need to remind them that there’s nothing wrong with listening to cautionary words – but it fits the book’s approach well. So off goes Mabel to find an appropriate mountain to climb, rejecting a human’s long nose as too easy and a cherry-topped, Jello-like food concoction as too wobbly. She sets her sights on a real, honest-to-goodness, tremendously tall, snow-capped mountain, starts climbing, and soon discovers that “this is hard.” Furthermore, she is passed on her upward quest by faster and stronger climbers (including a mountain goat – well, duh) and considers altering her big-plans list to “climb a tree, eat dinner” and “make friends with a sheep.” But no! Mabel is determined, heeding her inner voice and singing words of encouragement to herself! And eventually, yes, she reaches the top of the mountain!

     Now at this point, any young children reading Mabel and the Mountain or having it read to them will ask, if they haven’t already done so, “But why couldn’t she just fly up the mountain?” That is a very good question indeed, and is the central difficulty with this otherwise charming book. A more-experienced author than Hillyard, who is a first-timer, would have anticipated the question and provided a simple in-book explanation, for instance by having Mabel say flying would be too easy and she is determined to use her teeny-tiny legs to climb. After all, she is a fly, and even the youngest children know that flies, umm, fly. Adults reading with kids should anticipate being asked about this no-flying approach and should come up with their own reason (attributed to Mabel, of course) for what Mabel does and does not do.

     Well, by the time Mabel comes back down the mountain – and she apparently does fly down, since the next page shows her flying to greet her now-admiring friends – all the former naysayers are complimenting her and discussing their own big plans, such as writing a book and building a robot. Mabel greets all of them at, of course, a dinner party – thereby fulfilling her second big-plans plan. And the book ends happily, with Mabel near the seashore, shark fins projecting from the water behind her, determined to start on her third big plan. Be careful, if reading with kids, not to suggest that this time she might be biting off more than she can chew. Or might be bitten and chewed herself. After all, the whole point of Mabel and the Mountain is “never say die.” Or “never say nay.”

(+++) A BIT OF A GIFT

Wise Words from Bookish Women. Harper by Design. $14.99.

     What exactly is that word “bookish” supposed to mean in this little gift-book-size hardcover volume, which is offered without author attribution (although the illustrator, Nicole Cicak, does get a credit)? If the word means the quoted women appear in a book, well, that’s pretty obvious, since this is a book. If, however, the word’s implication has anything to do with “book learning,” education, authorship or other intellectual things, then the title is misleading: this is merely a brief collection of mostly celebrity-originating comments, often from Americans even though the book was originally published in Australia.

     In fact, the emphasis on U.S. women’s comments is somewhat surprising: American politicians Hillary Clinton, Michele Obama, Kamala Harris and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, none of whom is known to be particularly intellectual, appear here, as do U.S. media celebrities Oprah Winfrey and Reese Witherspoon. Their provenance, however, matters less than the quality of what they have to say – but much of what is quoted here is far from revelatory or inspiring. Still, the material appears intended to be inspirational. One of the better remarks comes from Amy Poehler (yet another American celebrity-type): “People who read are people who dream, and we connect through the stories we live and tell and read.” That is worth thinking about, and it even qualifies as a “bookish” thought – or certainly a book-related one.

     There are a few other gems, at least semi-precious ones, here, such as the comment by former New Zealand Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern: “If you sit and wait to feel like you are the most confident person in the room, you are probably going to be left by yourself.” That is especially interesting in light of Ardern’s own political career – but readers of this book need to know about that career already, and indeed need to know exactly who Ardern is, because the book does not explain who anyone quoted is and gives no background or otherwise relevant information on anybody. The underlying assumption is that readers are already quite familiar with Min Jin Lee, Ali Wong, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie and the other women quoted herein, so none of the women needs any introduction. But the notion that readers will in fact know all those who are included is at best a bit naïve.

     Maya Angelou, another American quoted in the book, offers one of the most-telling comments here: “We may encounter many defeats, but we must not be defeated. In fact, it may be necessary to encounter defeats, so we can know who the hell we are.” In the complete absence of context for the remark, though, readers may find themselves puzzled even as they admire the way Angelou expresses herself. And in fact this is a misquotation, and a partial one at that: Angelou actually said, “You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated. In fact, it may be necessary to encounter the defeats, so you can know who you are, what you can rise from, how you can still come out of it." Complete accuracy is not this book’s strong point.

     Still, former Chancellor of Germany Angela Merkel here offers thoughts well worth contemplating: “Fear has never been a good adviser, neither in our personal lives nor in our society. Cultures and societies that are shaped by fear will without doubt not get a grip on the future.” And another former leader, Margaret Thatcher of Great Britain, has a comment that sheds considerable light on the well-known staunchness of her personality: “If you want something said, ask a man; if you want something done, ask a woman.”

     On the other hand, there are remarks in Wise Words from Bookish Women that are scarcely revelatory, to the point of being trite (even though obviously well-meant). For instance, Leigh Sales – one of the very few Australians in the book – says, “I’ve come to believe that amongst all the good human qualities, there is none greater than kindness.” And the longest quotation in the whole book comes from American rapper Lizzo; it says, in part, “Think about how you can make the world a better place in the real world.”

     It is really no surprise that Wise Words from Bookish Women is a mixed bag – collections of quotations inevitably are. But the selection of these specific women to quote, and these specific quotations to include, is somewhat on the odd side, and it is difficult to know for whom the book would really be appropriate as a gift. It contains a few substantive and interesting comments mixed with a good deal of blandness, from women who have little in common either intellectually or bookishly – whatever specific meaning may be attached to that word.

(++++) SCALING THE HEIGHTS

Mahler: Symphony No. 8 (“Symphony of a Thousand”). Carolyn Sampson and Jacquelyn Wagner, sopranos; Sasha Cooke and Jess Dandy, altos; Barry Banks, tenor; Julian Orlishausen, baritone; Christian Immler, bass; Minnesota Chorale, National Lutheran Choir, Minnesota Boychoir, Angelica Cantanti Youth Choir and Minnesota Orchestra conducted by Osmo Vänskä. BIS. $19.99 (SACD).

Mahler: Symphony No. 9. Minnesota Orchestra conducted by Osmo Vänskä. BIS. $19.99 (SACD).

Mahler: Symphony No. 10 (version by Deryck Cooke). Minnesota Orchestra conducted by Osmo Vänskä. BIS. $19.99 (SACD).

     Osmo Vänskä’s nearly two-decade term at the helm of the Minnesota Orchestra had the sort of turbulence, and ultimate triumph, that only a composer such as Mahler could capture in music. A 16-month contract dispute between musicians and management midway through Vänskä’s tenure led him to resign as the orchestra’s 10^th music director – only to return after the musicians accepted a pay cut (deemed necessary to avoid dissolving the orchestra altogether) and gained greater artistic input and control. Before the lockout started in 2012, Vänskä had already spent a decade honing the orchestra into one that could stand at the pinnacle of American ensembles and rival many of the best in Europe. After the interregnum, Vänskä and the musicians plunged back into their work with the strongest of wills, and the result was – among other things – one of the best Mahler symphony cycles ever recorded. A few of the earlier performances had their slightly tentative moments: the orchestra coalesced around Vänskä’s exceptionally well-thought-through interpretations despite a few missteps here and there. But as the Mahler series continued, conductor and ensemble produced recording after recording of rare scope, power and intensity – most clearly in their readings of Mahler’s last three symphonies.

     This cycle on BIS has not been released in the symphonies’ actual sequence: the most-recent recording is of Symphony No. 8. And what a recording it is! The sound of these SACDs has been exemplary throughout, and never more so than here, where astonishing clarity allows perfect audibility of everything from the remarkably quiet passages to those that gave the work its nickname of “Symphony of a Thousand.” The clarity and intensity of Vänskä’s approach are apparent from the very start, where conductors must make a choice as to how the chorus sings the words, Veni creator spiritus – are the words a prayer, imploring the Holy Spirit to enter, or are they more of a command? Vänskä opts decisively for the latter interpretation as the movement strides forth boldly. The quick initial pacing conveys a sense of enthusiasm plus expectation. Imple superna is strongly contrasted in tempo, with very fine vocal blending in this expansive section. Orchestral elements and interludes are especially strong, with the excellent audio quality notably highlighting the bells and the first-rate brass – while chamber-music elements (such as the solo violin) balance the huge masses of sound to good effect. Dissonance is emphasized at the start of Accende lumen sensibus, and this whole section is delivered with tremendous power and enthusiasm – with the words obviously being of special significance to Mahler. The sweetness of Pacem dones protinus is also notable. In its totality, this is a jubilant performance, with the re-entry of the organ near the end cementing the instrumental component.

     In the symphony’s second part, the concluding scenes of Part II of Goethe’s Faust, the opening Poco adagio re-sets the scene immediately and very impressively. Although the work is essentially a grand cantata with a strong vocal focus, Vänskä is highly sensitive to the instrumental elements that serve to tie the whole thing together. Mahler's scene-painting here is exquisite, and Vänskä's pacing is just right. So is his attentiveness to the thematic material, as when Mahler in this transition introduces the music that will eventually conclude the whole work, presenting it repeatedly and insistently – although its full significance becomes known only at the very end of the symphony. Quiet and a sense of wonder blend when the chorus enters, and tremendous sincerity is projected by the soloists in what is admittedly some rather abstruse/mystical verbiage. Vänskä, the singers and orchestra do an exceptional job of differentiating the sound of the various sections – Mahler's use of multiple choruses is beautifully highlighted, with the glowing strength of the instrumental material holding everything together and underlining the amazingly variegated vocal writing. There is exceptional sweetness in the instrumental material before Dir, der Unberührbaren, which like all the solos is sung with deep reverence and conviction. It is doubtful that the boys' and youth choirs fully understand the meaning and philosophical implications of what they are singing, but it is a credit to Vänskä and choir directors Mark S. Johnson and Elizabeth Egger that the lines are delivered with such sincerity as well as such an appealingly pure sound. Although all the solo singers are excellent, Carolyn Sampson is especially outstanding in two separate roles. Her pure ethereality as Mater Gloriosa is wonderfully contrasted with her comparatively earthy Magna Peccatrix – she has a marvelously adaptable voice. The final chorus' swelling from extreme quiet to overwhelming sound is extraordinarily well paced, bringing this exceptional performance to an exceptional end.

     Mahler did not so much “top” each symphony with the next as take each in a different direction from its predecessor – yet with some structural elements remaining distinctly “Mahlerian” to tie together the entire symphonic cycle. In the first movement of Vänskä’s reading of the Ninth, there is slight hesitancy at the open, which sounds just right; then the music strives for lyricism and finds it in the strings. There is a pervasive sense of struggle from the start, a yearning for peace and acceptance/resignation that is not to be found until the end of the fourth movement. The faster material ups the emotional ante: Vänskä keeps the pacing strong, and sometimes headlong, the rhythms carefully articulated, the swelling and subsiding of sound managed carefully, even elegantly. The emotional conviction of this performance is what stands out. Then, just when the energy seems about to flag midway through the movement, Vänskä pulls the music forward into a passage of heightened tension and drama. The brass section is a standout here: both warm and precise, it sounds much like the brass in a first-rate European orchestra – unusual for an American ensemble. The chorale three minutes before the end is elegantly played and almost unbearably sweet, and the conclusion evaporates into evanescence that sounds fraught with meaning.

     In the second movement, the rhythmically emphatic opening – again with outstanding brass contributions above the strings – brings strength but not heaviness. There are elements of awkward dance reminiscent of the third movement of Beethoven's Sixth, but the scope here is larger and more personal, more internalized. The dissonance of the contrasting second section stands out – this is heavy-handed (or heavy-footed) music that remains determinedly earthbound, as if in contrast to the ethereality of much of the first movement. The return of the initial section lightens matters a bit; but there is a level of twisted humor, almost sarcasm, underlying it. The final five minutes heighten that sense as the music becomes increasingly frenetic, more insistent on its dissonances; and then there is a sudden slowdown to something approximating the movement's opening – but the context is different, paving the way for the Rondo-Burleske. The solo instruments toward the second movement’s end are suitably pointed and played with strong rhythmic assurance. And then, in the third movement, the sarcasm is made explicit, Vänskä seeing to it that the music takes on a frantic quality from the start, sweeping and swooping – led by brass but with especially pointed woodwinds, which come into their own in this movement. The nonstop activity envelops all sections of the orchestra, which tumble over one another in what often sounds chaotic but in fact is very carefully controlled and structured. Vänskä gets this duality just right, juxtaposing a sense of burgeoning chaos with close attentiveness to the movement's underlying form. It is a wild ride, interrupted at its center by somewhat strained (and restrained) lyricism that seeks to find order in the apparent chaos – only to fall back, first reluctantly/tentatively and then enthusiastically/almost orgiastically, into the earlier chaotic realm. The essential weirdness of the movement is allowed to flower fully here in a truly breathless conclusion.

     It is left for the finale to bring closure to the apparently incompatible complexities of the first three movements. Vänskä understands this from the movement's start, setting a very broad Adagio tempo that strongly emphasizes the warmth of strings rather than the acerbity of the other orchestral sections as heard in the previous movement. Mahler's unusual indication for this movement is not always observed. It is Sehr langsam und noch zurückhaltend – "very slow and still reserved." In what sense "reserved" is meant is a matter for each conductor to decide. Vänskä takes it to mean that the undeniable emotionalism of the movement must not be so over-the-top as to become cloying. He focuses on extracting gorgeous sound, especially from the strings, and keeping the movement's pace regular enough to carry listeners along with its emotional expressiveness – which he does not emphasize to the point of overdoing either its sweetness or its pervasive sense of resignation. Even knowing that there is a Mahler Tenth, it can be hard at the end of the Ninth to imagine what more the composer could possibly have to say: there is a glowing beauty to this movement that seems to sum up so much of what the symphony has been expressing – indeed, what all the symphonies, individually and collectively, express. Unlike the slow conclusion of the Third, which is equally extended, the finale of the Ninth does not seem to look outward to God but inward to a kind of self-awareness melded with acceptance of mortality, of the evanescence of consciousness. It is a huge credit to this performance that it inspires thoughts of just that sort of meaning and meaningfulness, solving nothing but pointing toward a solution both specific to Mahler and universal for all those experiencing his music. Thus, the exceptional quiet at the end comes across as a kind of peace that passeth all understanding.

     Where could Mahler possibly go from here? The unfinished Tenth Symphony, which would certainly have undergone changes had Mahler lived to complete it, nevertheless does take matters several steps further than the Ninth – as is made clear by the Deryck Cooke performing version of 1976/1989 that is used by Vänskä (and that is still the best, although there are now at least half a dozen others). Vänskä has clearly studied Cooke’s realization with extreme care. In the first movement, there is exceptional delicacy at the open, after which the odd and eerie dancelike lyricism comes through particularly well. There is a sense of unending expansion and striving through the first third of the movement. Then it becomes more exploratory, wandering musically but still firmly centered emotionally – and always exceptionally well-played. There is a tremendous contrast between the quiet just before the famous eruption of a nine-note dissonant chord, which comes as a genuine shock and seems impossible to follow – yet Mahler does follow it, just as he followed his Ninth Symphony with this movement. The quiet portions are exceptional, almost inaudible yet piercingly clear in their delicacy and careful emphasis. The very end is a perfect example of Mahler’s skill at writing chamber music for large orchestra. Then comes the second movement and first Scherzo, producing a notable structural parallel with Mahler’s Seventh, but with dissonance more pronounced. The whole is a somewhat off-kilter dance. In the third movement, again, the delicacy is notable, and Vänskä shows an excellent sense of rhythmic vitality. This is a very short movement, but it is packed with thematic materials that will reappear later. The fourth movement and second Scherzo opens intensely, its jagged rhythms hinting at anguish. The sense here is of a constant threat that can erupt anytime. Again, dissonance is a crucial component of the music: the movement seems to argue with itself, with lyrical/quiet passages contrasted with intense/louder ones, all within a kind of stop-and-go structure. The sound world here is deliberately odd; for example, Mahler combines “oompah” rhythms with muted trumpet sounds. The use of solo instruments and timpani at the end, and the very quiet conclusion, are highly impressive in this reading.

     Then the finale appears attacca, and again strangeness of sound is front-and-center: the muffled drum that Mahler heard in a funeral procession comes as a shock, after which the movement seems to grow organically above its cortège elements. The strings evince a lyricism here beyond that of prior movements. The sense of yearning familiar from earlier symphonies develops here as well, but is interrupted by further muffled drum strokes and reminiscences of earlier movements. It is, all in all, a strange and expansive movement. Unlike Bruckner's finales, which have an inevitability about them even if that becomes clear only in retrospect, this conclusion never fully clarifies where it is going emotionally or structurally – until, in its second half, it unites all the disparate elements of the symphony (including a recurrence of the nine-note dissonant chord) to produce a wholly satisfying sense of summation. The ending manages to be heartfelt, uplifting and foundationally sad at the same time – a remarkable emotional combination to which Vänskä pays precise attention.

     There is a remaining irony to Vänskä’s excellent presentation of Mahler’s last three symphonies, in that these recordings are not in fact the conclusion of his Mahler cycle with the Minnesota Orchestra – despite the fact that he has now left the ensemble. The gigantic Third Symphony remains unrecorded, a victim, like so much else, of scheduling issues associated with the COVID-19 pandemic. Surely Vänskä will return as conductor emeritus for that final capstone of what has proved to be a thoroughly remarkable Mahler cycle. This is a sequence that is fully deserving of the attention, and the accolades, of every Mahler aficionado.