April 28, 2002

St. Cecilia Triumphs in Rachmaninov and Orff
Carnegie Hall, New York: April 27, 2002
by David Hurwitz

The musical life of so many cities and towns thrives, not just on visits by big name artists and ensembles, or on concerts by high-profile resident organizations, but on the grass roots enthusiasm of amateur and semi-professional groups that sing and play year in, year out, and get little or no recognition in major media. The St. Cecilia Chorus is one such group, and one of the best. Under the direction of David Randolph since 1965, it performs large-scale choral works in Carnegie Hall and various New York churches, and whatever its 160-odd members may lack in precision they more than make up for in enthusiasm. On April 27 before what looked like a sell-out crowd, the group took on a hugely ambitious program consisting of Rachmaninov's rarely heard masterpiece "The Bells," followed by Orff’s perennial favorite "Carmina Burana."

Despite being Rachmaninov's own favorite work, "The Bells" gets little exposure in concert, for reasons that have nothing to do with its musical quality. It requires a very large orchestra and chorus, three soloists who get just one movement apiece, lasts only about 35 minutes or so, and commits the unforgivable sin of ending quietly. But what a gorgeous work it is! And how thrilling it sounds when the massed voices burst in with their first cry of "Listen!" Conductor Randolph, directing the assembled forces without a baton, shaped a tremendously dramatic and powerful interpretation. Mindful of the composer’s view of the work as a true symphony, he did not "go soft" by treating the vivid orchestration as mere accompaniment, nor, given the quality of the vocal work, did he have to.

Of the three soloists, tenor John Danieki had the most purely beautiful voice, a silvery tone for the silvery bells he described (this performance employed the English text, a retranslation from the Russian only loosely based on Poe’s original). Soprano Linda Hohenfeld projected the words effectively but with an edge in her upper register not ideally suited to Rachmaninov’s suave evocation of wedding bells. Both she and baritone Kerry Henderson, who found the finale’s tessitura too low for comfort, came into their own in the Orff. Issues of vocal timbre aside, however, the general quality of the solo singing was very good, and Randolph really cut loose in the wild third movement, its alarum bells ringing with the necessary ferocity and excitement. A lovely English horn solo in the finale from the very good pick-up orchestra capped a truly memorable performance.

Orff's Carmina Burana gets played to death these days, but once again Randolph and his singers made sure that this wasn’t just another routine run-through. They did more than just perform it: they had fun with it. The opening "O fortuna" had tremendous urgency and impact, with vivid percussion at a swift tempo. It was also heartening to see Randolph generously follow Orff's instruction to speed up for each verse of "Ecce gratum". Indeed, his attention to detail, particularly in matters of tempo and dynamics, would put many a big-name performance to shame. The only major mishap occurred in "Chramer, gip die Varwe mir", where the chorus and orchestra got out of sync in the first verse, but this was swiftly corrected and I can't argue with Randolph’s decision to play only two of the three verses of this longest, dullest, and least musically interesting number in the whole work.

Things got interesting in Part Two (the tavern scene). Tenor Danieki not only portrayed the roasting swan with an aptly lachrymose sense of misery, he wandered through the orchestra in despair looking for help and, at the final site of gnashing teeth, jumped off the stage and fled the auditorium in terror. Kerry Henderson loosened his cummerbund as the drunken abbot, and the men took on "In taberna" with gusto, though as with so many amateur choirs, it would have been nice had there been a few more tenors and basses.

Part Three impressed most of all, with both baritone and soprano soloists at their best. Hohenfeld sang a lovely "In trutina" and both figuratively and literally let her hair down for a seductive "Dulcissime". The whole ensemble (including the children of St. Bartholomew's Choristers) had a blast in "Tempus est iocundum", particularly the last verse where Randolph really slowed down to get the maximum effect. A very grand "Blanziflor et Helena" led to a dramatic return of the opening chorus, capping a refreshing, thoughtful, and hugely entertaining performance, and an altogether extraordinary evening. St. Cecilia would have been proud.