Carmina Burana

Nov 2, 2013 - 2:00 PM

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Grant Gershon, Conductor

Walt Disney Concert Hall

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Creator and Creation: A Feast of Music Sacred and Secular

by Thomas May

After beginning the current season with a celebration of its own halfcentury, the Master Chorale likewise pays tribute to the major composer anniversaries of Giuseppe Verdi and Benjamin Britten in this fall’s programming. By happy coincidence, the Italian master’s 200th birthday occurred less than a month ago (October 10). His late-period setting of the Te Deum makes an especially fitting choice to remember Verdi on several levels.

This music held special personal significance: Verdian lore has it that the composer even asked to have the score placed in his coffin and buried with him. The Te Deum also forms an ideal complement to his Requiem, which the Chorale, prepared by Grant Gershon, performed this past August under Gustavo Dudamel at the Hollywood Bowl. Even more, within its relatively compact span, the Te Deum presents a compendium of Verdi’s mature artistry — and, as the work of a man in his 80s, an affirmation of the creative spirit that remained incandescent at the very end of his long career.

The text of the Te Deum dates far back and is traditionally associated with the baptism of St. Augustine by St. Ambrose in the 4th century (hence its alternate name as “the Ambrosian hymn”). Blending elements of the Credo with a visionary call to praise the Creator, the Te Deum became historically linked to grand state occasions and ceremonies and is shared by the Anglican Church and some Lutherans as well. Earlier in the 19th century Berlioz composed an impressive setting of the prayer, while Bruckner had just written his glorious Te Deum in the mid-1880s, a decade before Verdi. As far as Verdi was concerned, however, this text posed particular challenges that had been satisfactorily solved neither by the old masters nor by his contemporaries. “I know several of the old Te Deums and I’ve heard a few modern ones and I’ve never been convinced by the way this canticle has been interpreted — quite apart from the value of the music,” the composer wrote to an archivist in Padua while researching an 18th-century setting. “It is usually sung during grand, solemn, and noisy ceremonies for a victory or a coronation, etc… But toward the middle the tone and color change…and [it] ends with a prayer…which is moving, melancholy, and sad, even to the point of terror.”

Verdi’s solution is to reference numerous musical tangents, while at the same time achieving a remarkable sense of integration of the whole. Most of the musical fabric is woven from variants on the opening plainchant melody given by male voices. “Verdi never wrote a more thematically organized work than this,” observes Julian Budden, the great authority on all matters Verdian. This anniversary year has, alas, sparked a number of silly and meaningless “Verdi versus Wagner” debates. (The Beatles versus the Rolling Stones makes more sense.) But works like the Requiem and Te Deum only emphasize the uniqueness of Verdi’s own approach to the burden and significance of music history. Another oft-repeated claim — that his sacred music is just opera “dressed up” in clerical garb — is a canard to the extent that it implies (as this is usually intended) that Verdi’s music is motivated merely by a search for “effects” as opposed to his authentic response to the big questions taken on by the prayer.

That said, his instinct for musical dramaturgy here is impeccable. Each element unfolds with tremendous economy as well, making the Te Deum a rich, dense score fraught with meaning. After the opening chant and the call-and-response by the tenors and basses from both choruses — all sotto voce — Verdi introduces the full double chorus and orchestra in a blaze of E-flat major on “Sanctus.” This outburst is elaborated before coming to rest on a new harmonic vista that echoes Beethoven’s setting of a similar moment of epiphany in the choral finale of the Ninth Symphony. And then…a retreat into choral pianissimo once again. (Verdi was actually so concerned about potential intonation problems with this a cappella opening that he considered adding a prelude to be improvised on the organ as a way to firmly set the key before the singers begin.)

The orchestral writing beautifully complements the choral forces while also establishing the various thematic segments and counterthemes with which Verdi builds his entire structure. Along with passages of majestic homophony (“Patrem immensae majestatis” or “Tu, Rex gloriae”), he develops thrilling counterpoint around the continuing praise, replete with calls from trumpets that sound like a positive reversal of the terrifying “Dies irae” summons from the Requiem. (Verdi was especially fond of this passage of “canto liturgico grandioso” in his setting.) The use of maximal contrasts adds dimension to the prayer by distinguishing the divine from the human perspective. It is the latter which comes to the fore in the final section, starting with the subdued plea by double chorus, “Dignare, Domine,” against an anxious tread, and continuing into the “Miserere.”

Repeating a stratagem from the “Libera me” in the Requiem, Verdi asks for a solo soprano — a voice individuated from collective humanity — to voice the hope for redemptive meaning. The final gestures are profound: Verdi’s choral setting ends in affirmation, but this is followed by a brief orchestral postlude, which casts doubt. Against a high E sustained by the first violins, which “shines like the faintest of stars in the night sky,” as Budden memorably writes, an A minor chord is sounded; to an E low in the strings, the Te Deum ends in stillness and near silence.

As the Wheel Turns
If there is irony in the defiantly anti-clerical Verdi’s setting of a traditional Catholic hymn — his humanism face to face with the ultimate existential questions is what makes this music so moving — this is matched at least by the paradox behind the anthology of poetry Carl Orff used as his source for Carmina Burana. This treasure trove of 254 medieval poems in praise of earthly delights was long hidden away in a monastic library in Bavaria, only to be rediscovered in the early 19th century (around the same time as the somewhat comparable reawakening of interest in the fairy-tales collected by the Brothers Grimm and the folk songs that were brought out as Des Knaben Wunderhorn.) Carmina is simply the Latin plural for “songs” or “poems,” while Burana is the Latin adjectival form of the German place-name Beuern, the town where the monastery was located.

Written for the most part in the simpler medieval Latin style — though also including texts in the vernacular Middle High German as well as Old Provençal and even mixtures of German and French — the Carmina Burana were products of the so-called goliards (clerical students who enjoyed themselves by crafting bawdy and satirical verse: think medieval hippies venting against the establishment and giving it the finger through clever lyrics). Frequently these were wandering drop-outs who amused themselves by competing with each other’s latest conceit, and they clearly had a good time giving their verse an obscene edge. The erotic and earthly aspect of such “goliardic” poems stands in fascinating contrast to the idealized, lofty tone of the contemporary troubadours and the emerging cult of Romantic love — but that’s an entirely different story.

Orff’s Carmina Burana similarly resulted from an unexpected discovery of such personal importance that the composer later told his publisher to destroy everything he had hitherto written, declaring, “with Carmina Burana my collected works begin.” The composer recounts that he happened upon an old 19th-century edition of this anthology in a rare bookstore, and must have been among the first editions to have been published. What impressed Orff in particular was the combination of poetry with the illustration of the “Wheel of Fortune” in the edition he came across. He selected 24 of the poems to create a “scenic cantata.” The array of performers Orff demands is vast: along with large mixed chorus, there are a children’s choir, three vocal soloists and a big orchestra fitted out with expanded percussion. The phrase “scenic cantata” refers to Orff’s mid-1930s experiments in music theory and education, which sought to inspire and activate what he believed was a universally innate musical ability (much as spoken language is a universal trait).

Like Wagner, Orff hearkened back to the aura of ancient Greek theater as a model for a theatrical kind of presentation involving a synthesis of music, bodily movement, spoken language, and visual elements. Dance and gymnastic cultivation of the body were allied in his pedagogical thinking to the discipline of musical performance. At the same time, Orff’s perspective was decidedly anti-Romantic and much closer in spirit to the kind of thing Igor Stravinsky and his collaborators had been exploring. To that end, Orff envisioned Carmina Burana as a modernist revival of the classical spirit. While we usually hear it today in the concert hall, it was premiered in 1937 in Frankfurt’s Opera House as a fully staged work, complete with scenic backdrops, costumes, lighting and dance. The fact that this became the most famous composition to emerge from Germany’s Nazi period has also cast a shadow over Carmina Burana (see sidebar). Orff went on to compose two related cantatas on actual classical themes — Catulli Carmina (1943) and Trionfo di Afrodite (1953) — with which he hoped to make a festive, evening-length trilogy, to be collectively titled Trionfi.

For Carmina Burana, Orff assembled his selection of medieval poems into a structure of 25 numbers, repeating the opening address to “Fortuna” so as to frame the whole with the iconic image of the Wheel of Fortune which had so impressed him. One signature of his musical style is the rejection of conventional patterns of thematic development as well as complex polyphony. In their place, Orff draws on his massive battery of performers to use timbres and colors — instrumental as well as choral and solo vocal — as essential compositional elements.

Another trait that’s easily recognized is the avoidance of a grand, harmoniously blended “wall of sound” you might expect from Wagner and other late Romantics. What Orff does is to build his musical structure with discrete blocks of orchestral sound that reinforce the mostly choral vocal parts. In fact Orff’s full Latin title for the work draws attention to the central role of the singers and chorus (as well as to the cantata’s theatricality). In English, the full title is “Carmina Burana: Profane/Secular Songs for Singers and Choruses To Be Sung Together with Instruments and Magical Images.” And with its prominent use of striking rhythms, percussion effects, dynamic contrasts, and melodic lines which are repeated with incantatory charisma, Orff’s music does possess an intensely theatrical sensibility.

This style has been compared to the choral works Stravinsky pioneered — works such as Les Noces, a “cantata/ballet” with vocalists celebrating wedding folklore — along with the Russian’s “primitivist” rhythmic thrust familiar from The Rite of Spring. Such comparisons are almost always to Orff’s disadvantage, with the implication that Carmina Burana represents a “vulgarization” of Stravinskian models. But clarity is an essential value in Orff’s aesthetic of the pristine, magical power of music. After all, by the composer’s own description, the singers are said to be accompanied not only by instruments but “by magical images.” In a way, it might be said that Orff also looks ahead to the future, anticipating Minimalism with his radical stripping away of rhetorical complexity so as to make fresh contact with the wellspring of musical ideas.

The Wheel of Fortune serves as an organizing principle for the grouping of texts. The urges of pleasure and desire illustrated by the poems and music are oriented around the recurrent and implacable figure of Fortuna. Carmina Burana is revealed to outline a vast circle, ending with the chorus that begins the piece, as if to signal the eternal return of the cycle of life. Within this framework Orff maps out a tripartite scenario of sensual delights. These involve the innocence of nature (Part One: “In the Springtime” and “On the Meadow”), the social sphere of partying (the briefer, testosterone-heavy Part Two: “In the Tavern”), and the amorous and bittersweet awakening of courtship (Part Three: “Court of Love”).

The wheel’s rotations — ceaselessly repeated, much like human desire — are cleverly echoed in the repeated melodic material and refrains. Orff evokes a pre-Christian, pagan sensibility while relying on clever word painting that can sound both archaic and modern. (Among the most famous examples are the solo tenor’s high D’s to depict the not exactly comfortable situation of the swan being roasted in “Olim lacus colueram.”)

The wheel is similarly mirrored in the poems’ images of the cycle of seasons, the luck of gambling, social role reversals, the swan turning on its spit, and — in what are arguably the most enchanting sections of the score — the emotional ups and downs of sexual passion in the final story of “Blanziflor and Helena.” Throughout, Orff balances the score’s vigorous exuberance with moments of introspective tranquility, inviting us to an understanding of pleasure and pain as opposites of the same coin.

SIDEBAR:
The Dark Side of Carmina Burana
Carmina Burana is celebrated as that rare phenomenon — a classic from the modernist decades of the last century, and indeed a core work of the repertory whose popularity seems indestructible even regardless of its appearance in commercials and horror film soundtracks. But its origin during the Nazi era — along with Orff’s own complicit behavior — has given rise to reservations about Carmina Burana. One of Orff’s most damning choices as an active composer in those years was to agree to write new incidental music for A Midsummer Night’s Dream to replace the iconic score by the impermissibly “non-Aryan” Felix Mendelssohn.

At the same time, Orff had an ambiguous relationship with the Third Reich. Carmina Burana was actually viewed with suspicion by some of the cultural police for being insufficiently traditional (not to mention the bawdy content of the texts). The positive public response won advantages for the composer from Nazi authorities, but Orff doesn’t appear to have kow-towed to official stylistic directives and never became a Nazi himself. “[Orff’s] collaboration with the regime was therefore probably the result of a desire to survive rather than to achieve personal advantage or to advance some high-minded artistic agenda,” is the conclusion Nick Strimple reaches in his survey of 20th-century choral music.

Title	Composers/Arranger	Guest Artists
Te Deum	Giuseppe Verdi	Stacey Tappan, Soprano
Carmina Burana	Carl Orff	Sharon Chohi Kim, Tenor Stacey Tappan, Soprano José Adán Pérez, Baritone Los Angeles Children's Chorus
Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi	Carl Orff
I. Primo Vere	Carl Orff
Uf Dem Anger	Carl Orff
II. In Taberna	Carl Orff
III. Cour d'Amours	Carl Orff
Blanziflor et Helena	Carl Orff
Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi	Carl Orff

Archival Recording

Date	Review	Media	Reviewer
Nov 5, 2013	On Saturday, Nov. 2, 2013, the LA Master Chorale gave another ambitious concert at the Walt Disney Concert Hall, featuring two grand vocal works for orchestra and chorus. Joining the complete 115 members of the Chorale, were the LA Children's Chorus and guest soloists. The program c... Read More On Saturday, Nov. 2, 2013, the LA Master Chorale gave another ambitious concert at the Walt Disney Concert Hall, featuring two grand vocal works for orchestra and chorus. Joining the complete 115 members of the Chorale, were the LA Children's Chorus and guest soloists. The program contrasted the sacred work Te Deum for double chorus and orchestra by Verdi, with the 20th century ever popular choral work the exciting and complex Carmina Burana,by Carl Orff. The great 19th century opera composer, Giuseppe Verdi, known for his many famous Italian grand operas, wrote the Te Deum at the age of 82, shortly before he died. This dramatic but relatively short work is often performed alongside his other religious work, the "Requiem." The Te Deum is based on an ancient Latin text, elements of the Credo with other texts praising God and begging for salvation. Filled with personal and anguished expression, the piece employs a rich polyphonic and operatic style along with Gregorian chant. It is Verdi at his best. Music Director, Grant Gershon conducted with grand gestures, in a more dramatic fashion than usual. The orchestra was seated on the stage, while the Chorale sat above them in a kind of loft. Both groups performed together with astonishing clarity and cohesion, despite the physical separation between them. In this performance, Verdi's music came through in all its grandeur and passion, thrillingly performed with ringing tones and passionate conviction. After intermission, the orchestra and Chorale returned to perform a much longer work, Carl Orff's modern masterpiece, Carmina Burana. Described as "a scenic cantata" by the German composer, the music is set to 24 Medieval Latin poems of a secular nature, grouped in five major sections: Fortune - Empress of the World, In Spring, In the Meadow, In the Tavern, and The court of Love. The poems express the ups and down of fortune, erotic and romantic love, wild drinking songs, and joys of nature. Written in 1936, Orff's musical style is similar to Stravinsky's early music such as "Les Noces" or "The Rite of Spring." Conceived as a theatrical work, it was first performed in Germany, fully staged at the Frankfurt Opera House, with sets, costumes, and ballet. The orchestra's role for this colorful and rhythmic piece, extensive percussion and timpanni sections, were essential to the success of the evening. Comprised of some of Los Angeles's best musicians, they performed Orff's exuberant and at times explosive music with abandon and precision. In contrast, both Grant Gershon's conducting and the Chorale's performance was less effective. Rather than placing the singers on risers next to the orchestra, and thus closer as well to the audience, they remained high above the stage in the choir loft area. The opening songs came off stiffly, and the brilliant and pointed singing needed for Orff's frequent staccato declamation of text, was missing. The Chorale's muddy Latin diction and pallid softer sections were also problematical. However, as the piece continued, the Chorale gained dramatic power and vocal clarity. Especially moving was the delicate shimmer of the Sopranos in their poignant lament, exclaiming "Oh! Who will Love me?" in song#7, Floret Silva (The Noble Woods). The robust singing of the men was wonderfully articulated in the dramatic song #14, In Taberna Quando Sumus (When we are in the Tavern). The best moments came in the songs and dances of the final section, "Court of Love." Especially memorable was the 22nd song, Tempus Est Locundum (This is the Joyful Time) where the repeated "O, Oh, Oh, I am bursting out all over! I am burning all over with first love" was sung with great urgency and conviction, along with the guest artists, Baritone, José Adán Pérez and Soprano, Stacey Tappan. The honeyed tones of guest soloist Baritone, José Adán Pérez, were a pleasure to hear. Particularly impressive was his embodiment of the drunken and angry Abbot, Ego Sum Abas (I am the Abbot) and Esturans Interius (Burning Inside) with its bitter and passionate outpouring of despair. Though his expressive baritone voice showed a beautiful range of colors and dynamics, it was essentially too light weight for the role. Guest soloist, Stacey Tappan, soprano, dressed in a red gown that suggested innocence, was perfectly cast in her role as the Young Maiden, longing for her first love affair. Tappan's refined phrasing was matched by an elegant and compelling stage presence. Her small voiced, but shimmering lyric coloratura soprano carried easily in the hall, especially in her final solo, #22, Dulcissime with it's soaring high notes,which was gorgeously sung. LA Chorale member, tenor Timothy Gonzales, portrayed the comic yet tragic solo of the dying, cooked Swan with great charm. Normally sung by a more powerful tenor voice, his beautiful phrasing, diction, and passionate delivery made this famous solo with it's very high notes thoroughly convincing. The LA Children's Chorus was heard in the final section, Court of Love. Performing along with soloist, Stacey Tappan in Amor Volat Undique and in Tempus est iocundum, with both the Baritone and Soprano soloists, the children sang with beautiful, clear tones and excellent Latin diction. At the conclusion of the work, with the repeat of the dramatic O Fortuna, the combined forces of orchestra and Chorale exploded into full force, bringing the audience to its feet in a standing ovation. For more information about the rest of the LA Master Chorale's 2013-2014 season see: www.http://www.lamc.org Read Less	Examiner.com	Ahdda Shur
Nov 4, 2013	As part of its 50th anniversary season, the Los Angeles Master Chorale presented Carl Orff's Carmina Burana on Saturday and Sunday. The Master Chorale has close ties with Orff's work. Since its inception, each of the four choral directors has led the L.A. Master Chorale in O... Read More As part of its 50th anniversary season, the Los Angeles Master Chorale presented Carl Orff's Carmina Burana on Saturday and Sunday. The Master Chorale has close ties with Orff's work. Since its inception, each of the four choral directors has led the L.A. Master Chorale in Orff's piece. This performance marked the chorale's 17th rendition of the piece and the second under director Grant Gershon. Over the years, each of the chorale's four music directors have conducted the choral standard with a slightly different variation. The chorale's repeated performances reflect the cyclical nature of the piece itself and its staying power. Since its composition, the grand and ominous-sounding "O Fortuna," which bookends the piece, has appeared in countless films and TV shows. Good fortune · The Los Angeles Master Chorale's performance of Carl Orff's "O Fortuna" has a special symbolic significance: The cyclically themed work marked the beginning of the 2013/2014 choral season. – Photo courtesy of Los Angeles Master Chorale Carl Orff composed Carmina Burana in 1937, taking the text from a series of medieval poems by the same name from a monastery in Benediktbeuren, Bavaria. The title is derived from Latin and means "poems from Beuren." Though these poems were found in a monastery, they stray from typical religious themes. Penned by rebellious seminary students and vagabonds, these "goliardic" poems address human flaws, sexuality and the nature of desire. The work is divided into three sections: lyrical "Spring," party-like "In the Tavern" and sentimental "The Court of Love." Akin to modern day satires and lighthearted social critiques, these poems evoke a rebellious and witty spirit. When the piece debuted in Frankfurt's Opera House in 1937, Orff included elaborate scenery and costumes to complement the modernist sounds of the piece. At the time of its debut, this piece provided a refreshing contrast to the dense orchestrations other composers employed. As Alan Chapman, host of KUSC, noted: "[Carmina Burana] sounds like nothing else ever written." Most notably, Orff uses a series of simple repetitive motifs in the orchestral accompaniment to the third section of the piece, "The Court of Love." These rhythmic and harmonic melodies seem to be a precursor to the minimalist movement. Yet Orff's work cannot be easily categorized into a single musical style; it explores a variety of vocal techniques. The concert's three soloists played on the theatrical aspects of the work, adding to the piece as a whole. Though the Master Chorale did not stage Carmina Burana like an opera, the 115-person Master Chorale and the Los Angeles Children's Chorus gave a magical and fairytale-like rendition of Orff's piece, complete with stunning solos and lush orchestral accompaniment. The spirited performance and lighthearted nature of Carmina Burana contrasts with the concert's opening piece, Verdi's Te Deum. In 2006, Gershon paired Carmina Burana with Cliff Eidelman's Wedding in the Night Garden. Previous LAMC conductors have paired it with Mozart's Mass in C Minor and Morten Lauridsen's Les Chansons des Roses. Former director John Currie juxtaposed Carmina Burana with Antonín Dvorák's Te Deum and Aaron Copland's "Four Dance Episodes" from Rodeo. Each composer brought his own flavor to Orff's piece and the LAMC website allows listeners the chance to compare various renditions. In the "Listen Up!" pre-concert talk, Gershon described Verdi's Te Deum as one of his "desert island pieces," or pieces he would take with him to a deserted island. He added that the piece is especially relevant because this year marks the 200th anniversary of Verdi's birth. Verdi's dramatic Te Deum recalls a more traditional, though no less monumental, choral piece. Composed when Verdi was 82, this piece draws from the Latin story of Saint Ambrose's baptism by Saint Augustine and is commonly referred to as the "Ambrosian hymn." Verdi builds drama and grandeur by giving the tenors and basses a distinct and thematic melody. Te Deum uses a double choir to create a robust and overwhelming sound. The piece begins with an a cappella opening and increases in scale. Though the work is considered Verdi's most musically unified piece, each song in Te Deum involves vivid change of character. Aside from featuring robust chant-like lines in the bass and tenor sections, this piece also takes on a lighter, more haunting quality with the soprano and alto parts. The orchestra adds richly contrasting countermelodies that provide jewel-like color and depth. The piece ends with a call and response between the orchestra and a single soprano voice. Te Deum weaves a rich, traditional tapestry of sound while Orff's Carmina Burana paints an aural fairy tale, more akin to the stories of The Brothers Grimm. The pieces complement each other and showcase the skill and versatility of the choirs and orchestra. Though Carmina Burana has become an LAMC standard, the Master Chorale renews Orff's works with each performance. Like the shifting light shining through a stained glass window, each experience is singular and captivating. Read Less	Daily Trojan	Veronica An
Nov 4, 2013	There is no subtle way to unleash or finish Carl Orff's popular Carmina burana in performance. From the very downbeat of O Fortuna (Wheel of Fortune), one gets a lap- and earful of youthful fun and games set to full chorus and orchestra by Carl ... Read More There is no subtle way to unleash or finish Carl Orff's popular Carmina burana in performance. From the very downbeat of O Fortuna (Wheel of Fortune), one gets a lap- and earful of youthful fun and games set to full chorus and orchestra by Carl Orff, the Bavarian composer better known in some quarters for his elementary music education system. In Carmina, Orff seeks to evoke basic emotional involvement through unapologetic, driving rhythms (early minimalism!) and exotic instrumentation and vocalisms. Orff found the manuscripts in the Bavarian State Library in Munich, not (as noted elsewhere) in the Benedictine Abbey in Benediktbeuern, a quaintly beautiful bend in the Bavarian road from Munich to Northern Italy via Austria, despite the town's name in the title. How the Latin and Middle High German texts arrived in Benediktbeuern from their likely beginnings in Kloster Neustift in Brixen, a German-speaking village of Northern Italy, is unknown. In any case, it is thought that goliards, unemployed youth of the day, spread the genre throughout civilized Europe. As a generation, they were not unlike Occupy youth of today, openly criticizing both civil and clerical authority through satirical poetry and prose. The 24 poems and narratives chosen by Orff from the original 254 is that of bawdy sex and backgammon, and in some cases probably not the actual stuff of monks' life in 13th century Alpine Europe. In fact, it is thought by some that texts appearing to be "love songs" are really satirical tributes or spoofs of the dead, or even the Church itself. Soloists in Carmina burana on this evening of glorious choral and orchestral music-making were Stacey Tappan, a soprano capable of singing the very wide ranging score; José Adán Pérez, a baritone who emoted appropriately (that is, the entire time, including stage entrances and exits) and displayed a ringing voice spoiled by too many out-of-tune entrances; and Timothy Gonzales, who portrayed the dying goose on the spit with equal portions of self parody and helpless falsetto. Although Orff's manuscript stipulates a boys' choir in two of the movements, the Los Angeles Children's Chorus (Anne Tomlinson, director), were employed in that role. Interestingly, the composer stated to Gerhard Schmidt-Gaden, the director of the Tölzer Knabenchor prior to the premiere performance and recording, that it was his intention that the boys should sound like five- or six-year old "quackers" and not polished singers. In that regard, the LACC kids failed to quack, singing instead with their expected perfection of pitch, tone and absolutely unwiggly stage demeanor. Steve Scharf assembled a wonderful orchestra for this happy occasion, proving once again that Los Angeles stands second to no other place on earth when it comes to world-class musicians. As we have said so many times throughout the past decade, the Los Angeles Master Chorale stands second to no other chorus on earth. All of the above forces dedicated their infinite talents to Maestro Grant Gershon, whose attention to detail is phenomenal. Watching him work is a joy to behold. Nothing is missed, singers and players alike are never in doubt, and the result is as close to recording-session perfection as a live concert can possibly be. Finding new superlatives to describe Master Chorale performances is becoming ever more difficult! The opening opus, minus the children's chorus, was Giuseppe Verdi's Te Deum, the last of four parts to his tetralogy Quattro pezzi sacri, composed in 1895-96 and published in Verdi's 85th year (1898), a major work for double chorus and large orchestra. The Te Deum is not a long work, but packs a mighty wallop where required. The Chorale women were particularly stunning on their several a cappella entrances. The only reminders that we were not actually sitting in a recording session all happened within the space of a minute, just before intermission: a flubbed trumpet attack on a particular note brought to the audience's attention by Maestro Gershon, a peculiar wobbly solo soprano, perhaps made even wobblier by the trumpet's goof, and when the moment that was no longer magical ended, a cell phone in the audience rang on and on until applause drowned its ugly intrusion. The two works on the program shared a common "wall of sound" fortissimo+ opportunity that, with the Master Chorale sitting in the benches above the staged orchestra, brilliantly showed the true acoustic balance of Walt Disney Concert Hall. (When the musicians are all down on stage, there can be a "sizzle" effect at least for those patrons sitting in the third balcony.) What we heard last night was astonishing clarity. The Master Chorale has, in recent years, been especially noted for clear textual enunciation, and last night, acoustic translucence was especially brilliant. Finally, the usually brilliant program notes of Thomas May were sullied by discredited references to Nazism in which Orff was never a participant. No proof exists that he was interested in National Socialism in the slightest; if the Nazis loved his music, that is irrelevant. One would hope that such a canard and libelous reference would once and for all be omitted whenever Carmina burana is performed in the future. Read Less	LA Opus	Douglas Neslund
Nov 5, 2013	Los Angeles boasts several musical gems that, at least in the view of many Angelenos, rank it among the world's great cultural centers. One of those gems is surely the Los Angeles Master Chorale. On Nov. 3, in the second concert celebrating its 50th season, the LAMC and the Los Ange... Read More Los Angeles boasts several musical gems that, at least in the view of many Angelenos, rank it among the world's great cultural centers. One of those gems is surely the Los Angeles Master Chorale. On Nov. 3, in the second concert celebrating its 50th season, the LAMC and the Los Angeles Children's Chorus accompanied by the LAMC Orchestra, all directed by LAMC's music director, Grant Gershon, performed Verdi's Te Deum and Carl Orff's Carmina Burana to a packed house in Disney Hall. In his brief preconcert remarks onstage, Gershon quipped that "Carmina Burana is the answer to the question: What shall we program with Verdi's Te Deum?" It was clear that the Te Deum is a special piece for Gershon, who has described it as one of his desert island recordings. Gershon noted that the two pieces on the program were very different in length, omitting the obvious and huge difference in subject matter. The Te Deum is the 82 year-old Verdi's setting of a sacred text associated with the Baptism of St. Augustine by St. Ambrose, whereas Orff's Carmina Burana (literally Songs or Poems from Beuern, the town in Bavaria where 254 medieval poems were discovered in a monastery in the early 19th century) praises decidedly secular earthly delights, like drinking and love. In fact, the subtitle of Carmina Burana is Cantiones Profane, or profane songs. As Gershon indicated, the Verdi was short, coming in at a little over 15 minutes. But it is a very condensed and economical piece displaying a range of emotions. As for the performance, the Master Chorale sang beautifully and, with the exception of a couple of flubbed notes, the orchestra provided solid accompaniment. Most in the audience probably weren't as familiar with the Te Deum and were in attendance to hear Carmina Burana. And I must say that they weren't disappointed. The combination of the LAMC, children's chorus, orchestra, soloists and Disney Hall was, from the beginning fortissimo introduction of the first song, "O Fortuna," to the "O Fortuna" coda one hour later, a mesmerizing experience. The piece was premiered in 1937, not as a concert performance but as a fully staged work. Sunday's performance had a hint of drama provided by the three soloists, soprano Stacey Tappan, baritone José Adán Pérez and tenor Timothy Gonzales. Gonzales had the audience laughing when he waddled on stage to the sound of the solo English horn and bassoon mimicking the honking calls of a water fowl on land. His song, "Olim Lacus Colueram" (Once I Lived on Lakes), is about a swan who is going to be roasted and eaten. Gonzales gesticulated and cast dejected looks toward the male voices of the chorus, evoking more laughter from the audience. In fact, it was funny just to see such a large man hitting high As and even a high C and singing mostly in falsetto. Then during the third section of the cantata, "Cour d'amours" (The Court of Love), Pérez and Tappan exchanged flirtatious glances and smiles as they sang to each other. All three soloists sang their parts wonderfully. The allure of Carmina Burana is Orff's use of what might be called naïve musical composition, with very simple, sometimes child-like, but memorable melodies, driving rhythms and a large orchestra with a full complement of percussion instruments, including two pianos. To hear Carmina Burana performed by one of the world's premier choruses in Disney Hall was a rare treat. It was a glorious performance, and one that would be hard to imagine equaled. On Sunday night, the Los Angeles Master Chorale demonstrated why it is one of LA's musical gems. Read Less	Culture Spot LA	Henry Schlinger
Nov 7, 2013	THIS SHOULD BE A YEARLY INSTITUTION It seems a shame to fawn over Los Angeles Master Chorale's splendid rendering of Carl Orff's pagan-fest, Carmina Burana, because I can't tell you to mark your calendar now for the next ... Read More THIS SHOULD BE A YEARLY INSTITUTION It seems a shame to fawn over Los Angeles Master Chorale's splendid rendering of Carl Orff's pagan-fest, Carmina Burana, because I can't tell you to mark your calendar now for the next time. Even though LAMC has visited it before under all four of their music directors, who knows when we shall see this highly recommended affair again? Unlike the annual Messiah and Messiah Sing-Along presented at Christmastime, LAMC rarely unearths this popular 25-movement cantata. The 24 poems selected by the German composer are just a fraction of the entire Carmina Burana, the name applied to a collection of 254 medieval poems which survive via a manuscript discovered in 1803 at a Benedictine monastery in Bavaria. I was awestruck by the choir's exquisite diction, given that the poems are principally in Medieval Latin along with Middle High German and some Provençal. The poems, written by students and clergy, are serious when dealing with the human condition and highly satirical when referencing abuses within the church; there are also erotic elegies and poems about imbibing and gambling. The music is valued predominantly for its absolute fun, robust fervor, Stravinsky-esque faux-primitive rhythms, and boisterously immense choral sound. The 72-member LAMC Orchestra rivaled the LA Phil as each section contributed its share. They were extraordinarily well-balanced with the chorus. Whether executing a tender delicacy and elegance ("Ecce Gratum") or proffering a sparkling freshness ("Round Dance" — highlighted by Geri Rotella's flute solo), the orchestra and 110-member chorus brought a field of color to the already multihued score which premiered in 1937 under Nazi rule in Frankfurt. Timpanist Theresa Diamond's pulsing primeval punch showcased why this work is a particular feast for percussion lovers. As for many, it was the movies that turned me on to Carmina Burana. "O Fortuna," the gloriously thrilling movement that bookends the work, sounds like the theme to the Apocalypse. It was used in its entirety for the trailer of the movie, Glory, but James Horner adapted it for the climactic battle scene. Well-known from advertisements and its use in horror flicks, many associate "O Fortuna" with Jerry Goldsmith's main theme from The Omen, "Ave Satani," a chilling Latin chant that is forever mistaken for Orff's timpani-pounding march; while Goldsmith was clearly influenced by Orff (and rightly deserved an Oscar for his 1976 score), the comparison is silly. Except for the fact both pieces have Latin chant, they sound nothing alike: Goldsmith's opus, which makes me want to hide under the bedcovers, is lumbering, insistent and quite scary; Orff's inspiring, moody and compelling piece gives the flying fickle finger to Fate. LAMC's massive, exultant and squeaky-clean delivery made me want to toss off my clothes and march triumphantly towards my smoke-filled sky of destiny. Baritone soloist José Adán Pérez had the most to sing. Whether admiring Nature, remembering his love, choosing depravity when he is troubled, portraying both a drunken abbot and a lad who hunts and conquers a virgin, Pérez showed off his powerful range, maintaining volume as he extended from bass notes to falsetto. Soprano Stacey Tappan offered a variety of textures, from glassy to a near-belt; although her "In trutina" was a bit soft for my taste. Tenor Timothy Gonzales was hysterical but never hammy as the dejected swan whose goose is cooked in "Olim lacus colueram" ("Once I Lived on Lakes"). Under Artistic Director Anne Tomlinson, the bright-toned Los Angeles Children's Chorus was not just pitch-perfect, but offered impeccable enunciation and professionalism, most notable when they sang "Amor volat undique," which describes what a bummer it is when a girl doesn't have a lover to give her pleasure. It's fortunate that the Walt Disney Concert Hall was packed to its acoustically perfect rafters, and lucky were the patrons in attendance; but you, dear reader, will simply have to get on LAMC's mailing list and be patient for a few years. Or you could start a petition on Change.org. The Eveready Bunny of conducting, Grant Gershon — whose leadership was propulsive but never rushed — mentioned that with Verdi's 15-minute "Te Deum" preceding Carmina Burana, the performance last Sunday should be called "The sacred and the profane." Why not have a sacred and profane weekend every year? How flawless it would be to have a children's chorus singing carols one day and then vocalizing about the pleasures and perils of drinking, gluttony and lust the next? After all, pagans deserve a Christmas present as well as Believers. And, boy oh boy, do I ever believe in the Los Angeles Master Chorale. Read Less	Stage and Cinema	Tony Frankel

Creator and Creation: A Feast of Music Sacred and Secular

by Thomas May After beginning the current season with a celebration of its own halfcentury, the Master Chorale likewise pays tribute to the major composer anniversaries of Giuseppe Verdi and Benjamin Britten in this fall’s programming. By happy coincidence, the Italian master’s 200th birthday occurred less than a month ago (October 10). His late-period setting of the Te Deum makes an especially fitting choice to remember Verdi on several levels. This music held special personal significance: Verdian lore has it that the composer even asked to have the score placed in his coffin and buried with him. The Te Deum also forms an ideal complement to his Requiem, which the Chorale, prepared by Grant Gershon, performed this past August under Gustavo Dudamel at the Hollywood Bowl. Even more, within its relatively compact span, the Te Deum presents a compendium of Verdi’s mature artistry — and, as the work of a man in his 80s, an affirmation of the creative spirit that remained incandescent at the very end of his long career. The text of the Te Deum dates far back and is traditionally associated with the baptism of St. Augustine by St. Ambrose in the 4th century (hence its alternate name as “the Ambrosian hymn”). Blending elements of the Credo with a visionary call to praise the Creator, the Te Deum became historically linked to grand state occasions and ceremonies and is shared by the Anglican Church and some Lutherans as well. Earlier in the 19th century Berlioz composed an impressive setting of the prayer, while Bruckner had just written his glorious Te Deum in the mid-1880s, a decade before Verdi. As far as Verdi was concerned, however, this text posed particular challenges that had been satisfactorily solved neither by the old masters nor by his contemporaries. “I know several of the old Te Deums and I’ve heard a few modern ones and I’ve never been convinced by the way this canticle has been interpreted — quite apart from the value of the music,” the composer wrote to an archivist in Padua while researching an 18th-century setting. “It is usually sung during grand, solemn, and noisy ceremonies for a victory or a coronation, etc… But toward the middle the tone and color change…and [it] ends with a prayer…which is moving, melancholy, and sad, even to the point of terror.” Verdi’s solution is to reference numerous musical tangents, while at the same time achieving a remarkable sense of integration of the whole. Most of the musical fabric is woven from variants on the opening plainchant melody given by male voices. “Verdi never wrote a more thematically organized work than this,” observes Julian Budden, the great authority on all matters Verdian. This anniversary year has, alas, sparked a number of silly and meaningless “Verdi versus Wagner” debates. (The Beatles versus the Rolling Stones makes more sense.) But works like the Requiem and Te Deum only emphasize the uniqueness of Verdi’s own approach to the burden and significance of music history. Another oft-repeated claim — that his sacred music is just opera “dressed up” in clerical garb — is a canard to the extent that it implies (as this is usually intended) that Verdi’s music is motivated merely by a search for “effects” as opposed to his authentic response to the big questions taken on by the prayer. That said, his instinct for musical dramaturgy here is impeccable. Each element unfolds with tremendous economy as well, making the Te Deum a rich, dense score fraught with meaning. After the opening chant and the call-and-response by the tenors and basses from both choruses — all sotto voce — Verdi introduces the full double chorus and orchestra in a blaze of E-flat major on “Sanctus.” This outburst is elaborated before coming to rest on a new harmonic vista that echoes Beethoven’s setting of a similar moment of epiphany in the choral finale of the Ninth Symphony. And then…a retreat into choral pianissimo once again. (Verdi was actually so concerned about potential intonation problems with this a cappella opening that he considered adding a prelude to be improvised on the organ as a way to firmly set the key before the singers begin.) The orchestral writing beautifully complements the choral forces while also establishing the various thematic segments and counterthemes with which Verdi builds his entire structure. Along with passages of majestic homophony (“Patrem immensae majestatis” or “Tu, Rex gloriae”), he develops thrilling counterpoint around the continuing praise, replete with calls from trumpets that sound like a positive reversal of the terrifying “Dies irae” summons from the Requiem. (Verdi was especially fond of this passage of “canto liturgico grandioso” in his setting.) The use of maximal contrasts adds dimension to the prayer by distinguishing the divine from the human perspective. It is the latter which comes to the fore in the final section, starting with the subdued plea by double chorus, “Dignare, Domine,” against an anxious tread, and continuing into the “Miserere.” Repeating a stratagem from the “Libera me” in the Requiem, Verdi asks for a solo soprano — a voice individuated from collective humanity — to voice the hope for redemptive meaning. The final gestures are profound: Verdi’s choral setting ends in affirmation, but this is followed by a brief orchestral postlude, which casts doubt. Against a high E sustained by the first violins, which “shines like the faintest of stars in the night sky,” as Budden memorably writes, an A minor chord is sounded; to an E low in the strings, the Te Deum ends in stillness and near silence. As the Wheel Turns If there is irony in the defiantly anti-clerical Verdi’s setting of a traditional Catholic hymn — his humanism face to face with the ultimate existential questions is what makes this music so moving — this is matched at least by the paradox behind the anthology of poetry Carl Orff used as his source for Carmina Burana. This treasure trove of 254 medieval poems in praise of earthly delights was long hidden away in a monastic library in Bavaria, only to be rediscovered in the early 19th century (around the same time as the somewhat comparable reawakening of interest in the fairy-tales collected by the Brothers Grimm and the folk songs that were brought out as Des Knaben Wunderhorn.) Carmina is simply the Latin plural for “songs” or “poems,” while Burana is the Latin adjectival form of the German place-name Beuern, the town where the monastery was located. Written for the most part in the simpler medieval Latin style — though also including texts in the vernacular Middle High German as well as Old Provençal and even mixtures of German and French — the Carmina Burana were products of the so-called goliards (clerical students who enjoyed themselves by crafting bawdy and satirical verse: think medieval hippies venting against the establishment and giving it the finger through clever lyrics). Frequently these were wandering drop-outs who amused themselves by competing with each other’s latest conceit, and they clearly had a good time giving their verse an obscene edge. The erotic and earthly aspect of such “goliardic” poems stands in fascinating contrast to the idealized, lofty tone of the contemporary troubadours and the emerging cult of Romantic love — but that’s an entirely different story. Orff’s Carmina Burana similarly resulted from an unexpected discovery of such personal importance that the composer later told his publisher to destroy everything he had hitherto written, declaring, “with Carmina Burana my collected works begin.” The composer recounts that he happened upon an old 19th-century edition of this anthology in a rare bookstore, and must have been among the first editions to have been published. What impressed Orff in particular was the combination of poetry with the illustration of the “Wheel of Fortune” in the edition he came across. He selected 24 of the poems to create a “scenic cantata.” The array of performers Orff demands is vast: along with large mixed chorus, there are a children’s choir, three vocal soloists and a big orchestra fitted out with expanded percussion. The phrase “scenic cantata” refers to Orff’s mid-1930s experiments in music theory and education, which sought to inspire and activate what he believed was a universally innate musical ability (much as spoken language is a universal trait). Like Wagner, Orff hearkened back to the aura of ancient Greek theater as a model for a theatrical kind of presentation involving a synthesis of music, bodily movement, spoken language, and visual elements. Dance and gymnastic cultivation of the body were allied in his pedagogical thinking to the discipline of musical performance. At the same time, Orff’s perspective was decidedly anti-Romantic and much closer in spirit to the kind of thing Igor Stravinsky and his collaborators had been exploring. To that end, Orff envisioned Carmina Burana as a modernist revival of the classical spirit. While we usually hear it today in the concert hall, it was premiered in 1937 in Frankfurt’s Opera House as a fully staged work, complete with scenic backdrops, costumes, lighting and dance. The fact that this became the most famous composition to emerge from Germany’s Nazi period has also cast a shadow over Carmina Burana (see sidebar). Orff went on to compose two related cantatas on actual classical themes — Catulli Carmina (1943) and Trionfo di Afrodite (1953) — with which he hoped to make a festive, evening-length trilogy, to be collectively titled Trionfi. For Carmina Burana, Orff assembled his selection of medieval poems into a structure of 25 numbers, repeating the opening address to “Fortuna” so as to frame the whole with the iconic image of the Wheel of Fortune which had so impressed him. One signature of his musical style is the rejection of conventional patterns of thematic development as well as complex polyphony. In their place, Orff draws on his massive battery of performers to use timbres and colors — instrumental as well as choral and solo vocal — as essential compositional elements. Another trait that’s easily recognized is the avoidance of a grand, harmoniously blended “wall of sound” you might expect from Wagner and other late Romantics. What Orff does is to build his musical structure with discrete blocks of orchestral sound that reinforce the mostly choral vocal parts. In fact Orff’s full Latin title for the work draws attention to the central role of the singers and chorus (as well as to the cantata’s theatricality). In English, the full title is “Carmina Burana: Profane/Secular Songs for Singers and Choruses To Be Sung Together with Instruments and Magical Images.” And with its prominent use of striking rhythms, percussion effects, dynamic contrasts, and melodic lines which are repeated with incantatory charisma, Orff’s music does possess an intensely theatrical sensibility. This style has been compared to the choral works Stravinsky pioneered — works such as Les Noces, a “cantata/ballet” with vocalists celebrating wedding folklore — along with the Russian’s “primitivist” rhythmic thrust familiar from The Rite of Spring. Such comparisons are almost always to Orff’s disadvantage, with the implication that Carmina Burana represents a “vulgarization” of Stravinskian models. But clarity is an essential value in Orff’s aesthetic of the pristine, magical power of music. After all, by the composer’s own description, the singers are said to be accompanied not only by instruments but “by magical images.” In a way, it might be said that Orff also looks ahead to the future, anticipating Minimalism with his radical stripping away of rhetorical complexity so as to make fresh contact with the wellspring of musical ideas. The Wheel of Fortune serves as an organizing principle for the grouping of texts. The urges of pleasure and desire illustrated by the poems and music are oriented around the recurrent and implacable figure of Fortuna. Carmina Burana is revealed to outline a vast circle, ending with the chorus that begins the piece, as if to signal the eternal return of the cycle of life. Within this framework Orff maps out a tripartite scenario of sensual delights. These involve the innocence of nature (Part One: “In the Springtime” and “On the Meadow”), the social sphere of partying (the briefer, testosterone-heavy Part Two: “In the Tavern”), and the amorous and bittersweet awakening of courtship (Part Three: “Court of Love”). The wheel’s rotations — ceaselessly repeated, much like human desire — are cleverly echoed in the repeated melodic material and refrains. Orff evokes a pre-Christian, pagan sensibility while relying on clever word painting that can sound both archaic and modern. (Among the most famous examples are the solo tenor’s high D’s to depict the not exactly comfortable situation of the swan being roasted in “Olim lacus colueram.”) The wheel is similarly mirrored in the poems’ images of the cycle of seasons, the luck of gambling, social role reversals, the swan turning on its spit, and — in what are arguably the most enchanting sections of the score — the emotional ups and downs of sexual passion in the final story of “Blanziflor and Helena.” Throughout, Orff balances the score’s vigorous exuberance with moments of introspective tranquility, inviting us to an understanding of pleasure and pain as opposites of the same coin. SIDEBAR: The Dark Side of Carmina Burana Carmina Burana is celebrated as that rare phenomenon — a classic from the modernist decades of the last century, and indeed a core work of the repertory whose popularity seems indestructible even regardless of its appearance in commercials and horror film soundtracks. But its origin during the Nazi era — along with Orff’s own complicit behavior — has given rise to reservations about Carmina Burana. One of Orff’s most damning choices as an active composer in those years was to agree to write new incidental music for A Midsummer Night’s Dream to replace the iconic score by the impermissibly “non-Aryan” Felix Mendelssohn. At the same time, Orff had an ambiguous relationship with the Third Reich. Carmina Burana was actually viewed with suspicion by some of the cultural police for being insufficiently traditional (not to mention the bawdy content of the texts). The positive public response won advantages for the composer from Nazi authorities, but Orff doesn’t appear to have kow-towed to official stylistic directives and never became a Nazi himself. “[Orff’s] collaboration with the regime was therefore probably the result of a desire to survive rather than to achieve personal advantage or to advance some high-minded artistic agenda,” is the conclusion Nick Strimple reaches in his survey of 20th-century choral music.

Title	Composers/Arranger	Guest Artists
Te Deum	Giuseppe Verdi	Stacey Tappan, Soprano
Carmina Burana	Carl Orff	Sharon Chohi Kim, Tenor Stacey Tappan, Soprano José Adán Pérez, Baritone Los Angeles Children's Chorus
Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi	Carl Orff
I. Primo Vere	Carl Orff
Uf Dem Anger	Carl Orff
II. In Taberna	Carl Orff
III. Cour d'Amours	Carl Orff
Blanziflor et Helena	Carl Orff
Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi	Carl Orff

Archival Recording

Date	Review	Media	Reviewer
Nov 5, 2013	On Saturday, Nov. 2, 2013, the LA Master Chorale gave another ambitious concert at the Walt Disney Concert Hall, featuring two grand vocal works for orchestra and chorus. Joining the complete 115 members of the Chorale, were the LA Children's Chorus and guest soloists. The program c... Read More On Saturday, Nov. 2, 2013, the LA Master Chorale gave another ambitious concert at the Walt Disney Concert Hall, featuring two grand vocal works for orchestra and chorus. Joining the complete 115 members of the Chorale, were the LA Children's Chorus and guest soloists. The program contrasted the sacred work Te Deum for double chorus and orchestra by Verdi, with the 20th century ever popular choral work the exciting and complex Carmina Burana,by Carl Orff. The great 19th century opera composer, Giuseppe Verdi, known for his many famous Italian grand operas, wrote the Te Deum at the age of 82, shortly before he died. This dramatic but relatively short work is often performed alongside his other religious work, the "Requiem." The Te Deum is based on an ancient Latin text, elements of the Credo with other texts praising God and begging for salvation. Filled with personal and anguished expression, the piece employs a rich polyphonic and operatic style along with Gregorian chant. It is Verdi at his best. Music Director, Grant Gershon conducted with grand gestures, in a more dramatic fashion than usual. The orchestra was seated on the stage, while the Chorale sat above them in a kind of loft. Both groups performed together with astonishing clarity and cohesion, despite the physical separation between them. In this performance, Verdi's music came through in all its grandeur and passion, thrillingly performed with ringing tones and passionate conviction. After intermission, the orchestra and Chorale returned to perform a much longer work, Carl Orff's modern masterpiece, Carmina Burana. Described as "a scenic cantata" by the German composer, the music is set to 24 Medieval Latin poems of a secular nature, grouped in five major sections: Fortune - Empress of the World, In Spring, In the Meadow, In the Tavern, and The court of Love. The poems express the ups and down of fortune, erotic and romantic love, wild drinking songs, and joys of nature. Written in 1936, Orff's musical style is similar to Stravinsky's early music such as "Les Noces" or "The Rite of Spring." Conceived as a theatrical work, it was first performed in Germany, fully staged at the Frankfurt Opera House, with sets, costumes, and ballet. The orchestra's role for this colorful and rhythmic piece, extensive percussion and timpanni sections, were essential to the success of the evening. Comprised of some of Los Angeles's best musicians, they performed Orff's exuberant and at times explosive music with abandon and precision. In contrast, both Grant Gershon's conducting and the Chorale's performance was less effective. Rather than placing the singers on risers next to the orchestra, and thus closer as well to the audience, they remained high above the stage in the choir loft area. The opening songs came off stiffly, and the brilliant and pointed singing needed for Orff's frequent staccato declamation of text, was missing. The Chorale's muddy Latin diction and pallid softer sections were also problematical. However, as the piece continued, the Chorale gained dramatic power and vocal clarity. Especially moving was the delicate shimmer of the Sopranos in their poignant lament, exclaiming "Oh! Who will Love me?" in song#7, Floret Silva (The Noble Woods). The robust singing of the men was wonderfully articulated in the dramatic song #14, In Taberna Quando Sumus (When we are in the Tavern). The best moments came in the songs and dances of the final section, "Court of Love." Especially memorable was the 22nd song, Tempus Est Locundum (This is the Joyful Time) where the repeated "O, Oh, Oh, I am bursting out all over! I am burning all over with first love" was sung with great urgency and conviction, along with the guest artists, Baritone, José Adán Pérez and Soprano, Stacey Tappan. The honeyed tones of guest soloist Baritone, José Adán Pérez, were a pleasure to hear. Particularly impressive was his embodiment of the drunken and angry Abbot, Ego Sum Abas (I am the Abbot) and Esturans Interius (Burning Inside) with its bitter and passionate outpouring of despair. Though his expressive baritone voice showed a beautiful range of colors and dynamics, it was essentially too light weight for the role. Guest soloist, Stacey Tappan, soprano, dressed in a red gown that suggested innocence, was perfectly cast in her role as the Young Maiden, longing for her first love affair. Tappan's refined phrasing was matched by an elegant and compelling stage presence. Her small voiced, but shimmering lyric coloratura soprano carried easily in the hall, especially in her final solo, #22, Dulcissime with it's soaring high notes,which was gorgeously sung. LA Chorale member, tenor Timothy Gonzales, portrayed the comic yet tragic solo of the dying, cooked Swan with great charm. Normally sung by a more powerful tenor voice, his beautiful phrasing, diction, and passionate delivery made this famous solo with it's very high notes thoroughly convincing. The LA Children's Chorus was heard in the final section, Court of Love. Performing along with soloist, Stacey Tappan in Amor Volat Undique and in Tempus est iocundum, with both the Baritone and Soprano soloists, the children sang with beautiful, clear tones and excellent Latin diction. At the conclusion of the work, with the repeat of the dramatic O Fortuna, the combined forces of orchestra and Chorale exploded into full force, bringing the audience to its feet in a standing ovation. For more information about the rest of the LA Master Chorale's 2013-2014 season see: www.http://www.lamc.org Read Less	Examiner.com	Ahdda Shur
Nov 4, 2013	As part of its 50th anniversary season, the Los Angeles Master Chorale presented Carl Orff's Carmina Burana on Saturday and Sunday. The Master Chorale has close ties with Orff's work. Since its inception, each of the four choral directors has led the L.A. Master Chorale in O... Read More As part of its 50th anniversary season, the Los Angeles Master Chorale presented Carl Orff's Carmina Burana on Saturday and Sunday. The Master Chorale has close ties with Orff's work. Since its inception, each of the four choral directors has led the L.A. Master Chorale in Orff's piece. This performance marked the chorale's 17th rendition of the piece and the second under director Grant Gershon. Over the years, each of the chorale's four music directors have conducted the choral standard with a slightly different variation. The chorale's repeated performances reflect the cyclical nature of the piece itself and its staying power. Since its composition, the grand and ominous-sounding "O Fortuna," which bookends the piece, has appeared in countless films and TV shows. Good fortune · The Los Angeles Master Chorale's performance of Carl Orff's "O Fortuna" has a special symbolic significance: The cyclically themed work marked the beginning of the 2013/2014 choral season. – Photo courtesy of Los Angeles Master Chorale Carl Orff composed Carmina Burana in 1937, taking the text from a series of medieval poems by the same name from a monastery in Benediktbeuren, Bavaria. The title is derived from Latin and means "poems from Beuren." Though these poems were found in a monastery, they stray from typical religious themes. Penned by rebellious seminary students and vagabonds, these "goliardic" poems address human flaws, sexuality and the nature of desire. The work is divided into three sections: lyrical "Spring," party-like "In the Tavern" and sentimental "The Court of Love." Akin to modern day satires and lighthearted social critiques, these poems evoke a rebellious and witty spirit. When the piece debuted in Frankfurt's Opera House in 1937, Orff included elaborate scenery and costumes to complement the modernist sounds of the piece. At the time of its debut, this piece provided a refreshing contrast to the dense orchestrations other composers employed. As Alan Chapman, host of KUSC, noted: "[Carmina Burana] sounds like nothing else ever written." Most notably, Orff uses a series of simple repetitive motifs in the orchestral accompaniment to the third section of the piece, "The Court of Love." These rhythmic and harmonic melodies seem to be a precursor to the minimalist movement. Yet Orff's work cannot be easily categorized into a single musical style; it explores a variety of vocal techniques. The concert's three soloists played on the theatrical aspects of the work, adding to the piece as a whole. Though the Master Chorale did not stage Carmina Burana like an opera, the 115-person Master Chorale and the Los Angeles Children's Chorus gave a magical and fairytale-like rendition of Orff's piece, complete with stunning solos and lush orchestral accompaniment. The spirited performance and lighthearted nature of Carmina Burana contrasts with the concert's opening piece, Verdi's Te Deum. In 2006, Gershon paired Carmina Burana with Cliff Eidelman's Wedding in the Night Garden. Previous LAMC conductors have paired it with Mozart's Mass in C Minor and Morten Lauridsen's Les Chansons des Roses. Former director John Currie juxtaposed Carmina Burana with Antonín Dvorák's Te Deum and Aaron Copland's "Four Dance Episodes" from Rodeo. Each composer brought his own flavor to Orff's piece and the LAMC website allows listeners the chance to compare various renditions. In the "Listen Up!" pre-concert talk, Gershon described Verdi's Te Deum as one of his "desert island pieces," or pieces he would take with him to a deserted island. He added that the piece is especially relevant because this year marks the 200th anniversary of Verdi's birth. Verdi's dramatic Te Deum recalls a more traditional, though no less monumental, choral piece. Composed when Verdi was 82, this piece draws from the Latin story of Saint Ambrose's baptism by Saint Augustine and is commonly referred to as the "Ambrosian hymn." Verdi builds drama and grandeur by giving the tenors and basses a distinct and thematic melody. Te Deum uses a double choir to create a robust and overwhelming sound. The piece begins with an a cappella opening and increases in scale. Though the work is considered Verdi's most musically unified piece, each song in Te Deum involves vivid change of character. Aside from featuring robust chant-like lines in the bass and tenor sections, this piece also takes on a lighter, more haunting quality with the soprano and alto parts. The orchestra adds richly contrasting countermelodies that provide jewel-like color and depth. The piece ends with a call and response between the orchestra and a single soprano voice. Te Deum weaves a rich, traditional tapestry of sound while Orff's Carmina Burana paints an aural fairy tale, more akin to the stories of The Brothers Grimm. The pieces complement each other and showcase the skill and versatility of the choirs and orchestra. Though Carmina Burana has become an LAMC standard, the Master Chorale renews Orff's works with each performance. Like the shifting light shining through a stained glass window, each experience is singular and captivating. Read Less	Daily Trojan	Veronica An
Nov 4, 2013	There is no subtle way to unleash or finish Carl Orff's popular Carmina burana in performance. From the very downbeat of O Fortuna (Wheel of Fortune), one gets a lap- and earful of youthful fun and games set to full chorus and orchestra by Carl ... Read More There is no subtle way to unleash or finish Carl Orff's popular Carmina burana in performance. From the very downbeat of O Fortuna (Wheel of Fortune), one gets a lap- and earful of youthful fun and games set to full chorus and orchestra by Carl Orff, the Bavarian composer better known in some quarters for his elementary music education system. In Carmina, Orff seeks to evoke basic emotional involvement through unapologetic, driving rhythms (early minimalism!) and exotic instrumentation and vocalisms. Orff found the manuscripts in the Bavarian State Library in Munich, not (as noted elsewhere) in the Benedictine Abbey in Benediktbeuern, a quaintly beautiful bend in the Bavarian road from Munich to Northern Italy via Austria, despite the town's name in the title. How the Latin and Middle High German texts arrived in Benediktbeuern from their likely beginnings in Kloster Neustift in Brixen, a German-speaking village of Northern Italy, is unknown. In any case, it is thought that goliards, unemployed youth of the day, spread the genre throughout civilized Europe. As a generation, they were not unlike Occupy youth of today, openly criticizing both civil and clerical authority through satirical poetry and prose. The 24 poems and narratives chosen by Orff from the original 254 is that of bawdy sex and backgammon, and in some cases probably not the actual stuff of monks' life in 13th century Alpine Europe. In fact, it is thought by some that texts appearing to be "love songs" are really satirical tributes or spoofs of the dead, or even the Church itself. Soloists in Carmina burana on this evening of glorious choral and orchestral music-making were Stacey Tappan, a soprano capable of singing the very wide ranging score; José Adán Pérez, a baritone who emoted appropriately (that is, the entire time, including stage entrances and exits) and displayed a ringing voice spoiled by too many out-of-tune entrances; and Timothy Gonzales, who portrayed the dying goose on the spit with equal portions of self parody and helpless falsetto. Although Orff's manuscript stipulates a boys' choir in two of the movements, the Los Angeles Children's Chorus (Anne Tomlinson, director), were employed in that role. Interestingly, the composer stated to Gerhard Schmidt-Gaden, the director of the Tölzer Knabenchor prior to the premiere performance and recording, that it was his intention that the boys should sound like five- or six-year old "quackers" and not polished singers. In that regard, the LACC kids failed to quack, singing instead with their expected perfection of pitch, tone and absolutely unwiggly stage demeanor. Steve Scharf assembled a wonderful orchestra for this happy occasion, proving once again that Los Angeles stands second to no other place on earth when it comes to world-class musicians. As we have said so many times throughout the past decade, the Los Angeles Master Chorale stands second to no other chorus on earth. All of the above forces dedicated their infinite talents to Maestro Grant Gershon, whose attention to detail is phenomenal. Watching him work is a joy to behold. Nothing is missed, singers and players alike are never in doubt, and the result is as close to recording-session perfection as a live concert can possibly be. Finding new superlatives to describe Master Chorale performances is becoming ever more difficult! The opening opus, minus the children's chorus, was Giuseppe Verdi's Te Deum, the last of four parts to his tetralogy Quattro pezzi sacri, composed in 1895-96 and published in Verdi's 85th year (1898), a major work for double chorus and large orchestra. The Te Deum is not a long work, but packs a mighty wallop where required. The Chorale women were particularly stunning on their several a cappella entrances. The only reminders that we were not actually sitting in a recording session all happened within the space of a minute, just before intermission: a flubbed trumpet attack on a particular note brought to the audience's attention by Maestro Gershon, a peculiar wobbly solo soprano, perhaps made even wobblier by the trumpet's goof, and when the moment that was no longer magical ended, a cell phone in the audience rang on and on until applause drowned its ugly intrusion. The two works on the program shared a common "wall of sound" fortissimo+ opportunity that, with the Master Chorale sitting in the benches above the staged orchestra, brilliantly showed the true acoustic balance of Walt Disney Concert Hall. (When the musicians are all down on stage, there can be a "sizzle" effect at least for those patrons sitting in the third balcony.) What we heard last night was astonishing clarity. The Master Chorale has, in recent years, been especially noted for clear textual enunciation, and last night, acoustic translucence was especially brilliant. Finally, the usually brilliant program notes of Thomas May were sullied by discredited references to Nazism in which Orff was never a participant. No proof exists that he was interested in National Socialism in the slightest; if the Nazis loved his music, that is irrelevant. One would hope that such a canard and libelous reference would once and for all be omitted whenever Carmina burana is performed in the future. Read Less	LA Opus	Douglas Neslund
Nov 5, 2013	Los Angeles boasts several musical gems that, at least in the view of many Angelenos, rank it among the world's great cultural centers. One of those gems is surely the Los Angeles Master Chorale. On Nov. 3, in the second concert celebrating its 50th season, the LAMC and the Los Ange... Read More Los Angeles boasts several musical gems that, at least in the view of many Angelenos, rank it among the world's great cultural centers. One of those gems is surely the Los Angeles Master Chorale. On Nov. 3, in the second concert celebrating its 50th season, the LAMC and the Los Angeles Children's Chorus accompanied by the LAMC Orchestra, all directed by LAMC's music director, Grant Gershon, performed Verdi's Te Deum and Carl Orff's Carmina Burana to a packed house in Disney Hall. In his brief preconcert remarks onstage, Gershon quipped that "Carmina Burana is the answer to the question: What shall we program with Verdi's Te Deum?" It was clear that the Te Deum is a special piece for Gershon, who has described it as one of his desert island recordings. Gershon noted that the two pieces on the program were very different in length, omitting the obvious and huge difference in subject matter. The Te Deum is the 82 year-old Verdi's setting of a sacred text associated with the Baptism of St. Augustine by St. Ambrose, whereas Orff's Carmina Burana (literally Songs or Poems from Beuern, the town in Bavaria where 254 medieval poems were discovered in a monastery in the early 19th century) praises decidedly secular earthly delights, like drinking and love. In fact, the subtitle of Carmina Burana is Cantiones Profane, or profane songs. As Gershon indicated, the Verdi was short, coming in at a little over 15 minutes. But it is a very condensed and economical piece displaying a range of emotions. As for the performance, the Master Chorale sang beautifully and, with the exception of a couple of flubbed notes, the orchestra provided solid accompaniment. Most in the audience probably weren't as familiar with the Te Deum and were in attendance to hear Carmina Burana. And I must say that they weren't disappointed. The combination of the LAMC, children's chorus, orchestra, soloists and Disney Hall was, from the beginning fortissimo introduction of the first song, "O Fortuna," to the "O Fortuna" coda one hour later, a mesmerizing experience. The piece was premiered in 1937, not as a concert performance but as a fully staged work. Sunday's performance had a hint of drama provided by the three soloists, soprano Stacey Tappan, baritone José Adán Pérez and tenor Timothy Gonzales. Gonzales had the audience laughing when he waddled on stage to the sound of the solo English horn and bassoon mimicking the honking calls of a water fowl on land. His song, "Olim Lacus Colueram" (Once I Lived on Lakes), is about a swan who is going to be roasted and eaten. Gonzales gesticulated and cast dejected looks toward the male voices of the chorus, evoking more laughter from the audience. In fact, it was funny just to see such a large man hitting high As and even a high C and singing mostly in falsetto. Then during the third section of the cantata, "Cour d'amours" (The Court of Love), Pérez and Tappan exchanged flirtatious glances and smiles as they sang to each other. All three soloists sang their parts wonderfully. The allure of Carmina Burana is Orff's use of what might be called naïve musical composition, with very simple, sometimes child-like, but memorable melodies, driving rhythms and a large orchestra with a full complement of percussion instruments, including two pianos. To hear Carmina Burana performed by one of the world's premier choruses in Disney Hall was a rare treat. It was a glorious performance, and one that would be hard to imagine equaled. On Sunday night, the Los Angeles Master Chorale demonstrated why it is one of LA's musical gems. Read Less	Culture Spot LA	Henry Schlinger
Nov 7, 2013	THIS SHOULD BE A YEARLY INSTITUTION It seems a shame to fawn over Los Angeles Master Chorale's splendid rendering of Carl Orff's pagan-fest, Carmina Burana, because I can't tell you to mark your calendar now for the next ... Read More THIS SHOULD BE A YEARLY INSTITUTION It seems a shame to fawn over Los Angeles Master Chorale's splendid rendering of Carl Orff's pagan-fest, Carmina Burana, because I can't tell you to mark your calendar now for the next time. Even though LAMC has visited it before under all four of their music directors, who knows when we shall see this highly recommended affair again? Unlike the annual Messiah and Messiah Sing-Along presented at Christmastime, LAMC rarely unearths this popular 25-movement cantata. The 24 poems selected by the German composer are just a fraction of the entire Carmina Burana, the name applied to a collection of 254 medieval poems which survive via a manuscript discovered in 1803 at a Benedictine monastery in Bavaria. I was awestruck by the choir's exquisite diction, given that the poems are principally in Medieval Latin along with Middle High German and some Provençal. The poems, written by students and clergy, are serious when dealing with the human condition and highly satirical when referencing abuses within the church; there are also erotic elegies and poems about imbibing and gambling. The music is valued predominantly for its absolute fun, robust fervor, Stravinsky-esque faux-primitive rhythms, and boisterously immense choral sound. The 72-member LAMC Orchestra rivaled the LA Phil as each section contributed its share. They were extraordinarily well-balanced with the chorus. Whether executing a tender delicacy and elegance ("Ecce Gratum") or proffering a sparkling freshness ("Round Dance" — highlighted by Geri Rotella's flute solo), the orchestra and 110-member chorus brought a field of color to the already multihued score which premiered in 1937 under Nazi rule in Frankfurt. Timpanist Theresa Diamond's pulsing primeval punch showcased why this work is a particular feast for percussion lovers. As for many, it was the movies that turned me on to Carmina Burana. "O Fortuna," the gloriously thrilling movement that bookends the work, sounds like the theme to the Apocalypse. It was used in its entirety for the trailer of the movie, Glory, but James Horner adapted it for the climactic battle scene. Well-known from advertisements and its use in horror flicks, many associate "O Fortuna" with Jerry Goldsmith's main theme from The Omen, "Ave Satani," a chilling Latin chant that is forever mistaken for Orff's timpani-pounding march; while Goldsmith was clearly influenced by Orff (and rightly deserved an Oscar for his 1976 score), the comparison is silly. Except for the fact both pieces have Latin chant, they sound nothing alike: Goldsmith's opus, which makes me want to hide under the bedcovers, is lumbering, insistent and quite scary; Orff's inspiring, moody and compelling piece gives the flying fickle finger to Fate. LAMC's massive, exultant and squeaky-clean delivery made me want to toss off my clothes and march triumphantly towards my smoke-filled sky of destiny. Baritone soloist José Adán Pérez had the most to sing. Whether admiring Nature, remembering his love, choosing depravity when he is troubled, portraying both a drunken abbot and a lad who hunts and conquers a virgin, Pérez showed off his powerful range, maintaining volume as he extended from bass notes to falsetto. Soprano Stacey Tappan offered a variety of textures, from glassy to a near-belt; although her "In trutina" was a bit soft for my taste. Tenor Timothy Gonzales was hysterical but never hammy as the dejected swan whose goose is cooked in "Olim lacus colueram" ("Once I Lived on Lakes"). Under Artistic Director Anne Tomlinson, the bright-toned Los Angeles Children's Chorus was not just pitch-perfect, but offered impeccable enunciation and professionalism, most notable when they sang "Amor volat undique," which describes what a bummer it is when a girl doesn't have a lover to give her pleasure. It's fortunate that the Walt Disney Concert Hall was packed to its acoustically perfect rafters, and lucky were the patrons in attendance; but you, dear reader, will simply have to get on LAMC's mailing list and be patient for a few years. Or you could start a petition on Change.org. The Eveready Bunny of conducting, Grant Gershon — whose leadership was propulsive but never rushed — mentioned that with Verdi's 15-minute "Te Deum" preceding Carmina Burana, the performance last Sunday should be called "The sacred and the profane." Why not have a sacred and profane weekend every year? How flawless it would be to have a children's chorus singing carols one day and then vocalizing about the pleasures and perils of drinking, gluttony and lust the next? After all, pagans deserve a Christmas present as well as Believers. And, boy oh boy, do I ever believe in the Los Angeles Master Chorale. Read Less	Stage and Cinema	Tony Frankel

Carmina Burana

Creator and Creation: A Feast of Music Sacred and Secular

Archival Recording

Creator and Creation: A Feast of Music Sacred and Secular

Archival Recording

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Carmina Burana

Creator and Creation: A Feast of Music Sacred and Secular

Archival Recording

Program Notes

Creator and Creation: A Feast of Music Sacred and Secular

Repertoire

Archival Recording

Archival Recording

Reviews

Visit WALT Disney CONCERT Hall

Meet the los angeles master Chorale

COMMUNITY SERIES: SACRED SPACES

RUFUS WAINWRIGHT'S DREAM REQUIEM

NEW RENAISSANCE

Visit
WALT Disney
CONCERT Hall

Meet the
los angeles
master Chorale