Month: November 2024

From Music to Poetry and Back Again

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The Imani Winds and Harlem Quartet with jazz pianist Alex Brown, A. B. Spellman at the microphone, Edward Perez on bass, Neil Smith on drums

I attended a memorable concert this week in the intimate Terrace Theater of the Kennedy Center in DC. It was given by two primarily classical music chamber groups, the Imani Winds and the Harlem Quarter,  joined by three talented jazz musicians and an “orator”, the well-known jazz music critic and prolific poet, A. B. Spellman.

My spouse, Andrea Dilorenzo, had encountered the Imani Winds while she was working as a school therapist at a local public school many years ago. They are a classical woodwind quintet who were bringing their music to kids in disadvantaged communities in the DC area. Andrea introduced herself to the musicians back then and happily discovered that they were graduates of Oberlin College where she had graduated. When she read about their upcoming performance at the Kennedy Center, she was quick to buy us tickets.

Bassoonist Monica Ellis of Imani Winds plays for kids
Members of Imani Winds, left to right: Brandon Patrick George (flute), Mekhi Gladden (oboe), Mark Dover (clarinet), Kevin Newton (French horn), Monica Ellis (bassoon)

Little did we anticipate the sublime experience ahead of us.

The concert consisted of one extended musical work, “Passion for Bach and Coltrane”, by the Oberlin music professor and composer Jeff Scott. The composition was inspired by a collection of poetry, “Things I Must Have Known”, by A. B. Spellman, the father of Mekhi Gladden, who is the oboist of Imani Winds.

Scott’s work is a brilliant integration of Spellman’s spoken poetry together with classical and jazz music. Both the 5-piece Imani Winds (flute, oboe, clarinet, French horn, bassoon) and the Harlem Quartet (two violins, viola and cello) have outstanding reputations in the classical arena. They were joined by a talented jazz trio on piano, bass, and drums. A. B. Spellman himself, now 89 years old, was the “orator” for selected poems from “Things I Must Have Known”.

A. B. Spellman reciting his poetry, the glue that holds the performance together.

Another draw for us was the Harlem Quartet which we had traveled to Winchester, VA to hear in concert about 5 years ago at Shenandoah University. The lead violinist of the quarter is Ilmar Gavilan, a Cuban native who has a brother, Aldo, still  living in Cuba, who is a first rate classical pianist. Andrea had seen a TV documentary about the two brothers and their cherished musical reunions both in Cuba and here. Aldo had joined the Harlem Quarter for an unforgettable performance of Schumann’s Piano Quintet  at Shenandoah U.

The Harlem Quartet at the White House with Barak and Michelle Obama. Musicians from left to right: Ilmar Gavilan, Melissa White, Felix Uansky, Jaime Amado

Thursday’s concert was the second musical event that Andrea and I had attended at the Kennedy Center within the week after not having gone to one there in some years. We were pleased to be among the younger, racially mixed audience at the Terrace Theater after our usual experience of older, white audiences. We’d invited a younger friend to join us for the concert as well.

Over the years, I have written a number of concert reviews for my blog. Although I love music of all genres, I always find it challenging to attempt conveying the felt quality of a live musical experience. Part of my inspiration to write this came from the first poem recited by Spellman, “Dear John Coltrane”. In it, the poet describes a musical reverie induced by listening to diverse radio broadcasts in a hotel room late at night. Specifically, he writes of a sublime feeling while listening to the slow movement of a Bach keyboard concerto. Switching stations, he later hears a recording of the jazz legend John Coltrane playing solo saxophone on his own composition, “Slow Blues”. Again, the poet is transported to a transcendent inner state. He reflects on the commonality of feeling evoked by the two radically different musical forms used within the 17th-century baroque tradition and the free jazz form of the 1960’s. I’m including the full text of “Dear John Coltrane” as an appendix.)

The piece starts with Spellman reciting the first stanza of “Dear John Coltrane”. The musicians then come in with the melody and variations of Bach’s F minor concerto. The arrangement is such that each of the woodwind players has a chance to solo. The piano then comes in, followed by the quartet of strings. It was as interesting and beautiful arrangement and rendition of Bach’s well known melody as I’ve heard. Spellman then comes back in, reciting the second stanza of the poem, this one about listening to Coltrane’s “Slow Blues” and experiencing the same kind of fluid transcendence as he’d experienced listening to Bach. The words help to guide the audience into the ensuing musical piece in a languid way.

The next session is entitled “Psalm” and begins with Spellman reciting the poem “After Vallejo” (the Peruvian writer Cesar Vallejo is regarded as a tragic giant of 20th century poetry). It includes the poignant lines:

i’ll be writing when i go, revising another
hopeful survey of my life. i will die of nothing
that i did but of all that i did not do
i promised myself a better self
than I could make & i will not forgive

J. S.Bach composed two large choral works about the passion and death of Jesus Christ – the Saint John Passion and the Saint Mathew Passion. Composer Jeff Scott uses the double meaning of “passion” in his “Passion for Bach and Coltrane”, referring to Bach’s works as well as to the musical passion expressed by A.B. Spellman in his poetry. Two sections of Scott’s work use Spellman’s poems “Out of Nazareth, Pt. 1” and “Out of Nazareth, Pt. 2: Manual for a Crucifixion”. In the latter one, Spellman references a Roman manual on how best to enact the gruesome torture of a crucifixion. Spellman’s portrait of Jesus is as a highly compassionate and selfless man of God. The musical sections here reflect that spiritual purity and integrity, as well as the cynical barbarity perpetrated on him by the Romans.

The entire concert was about 90 minutes long, and the last third consisted of some high powered, driving jazz. The jazz trio provided the rhythmic framework for each of the musicians on stage to showcase their extraordinary improvisational skills. I sat in utter amazement at the sophisticated jazz riffs played by each of the classically trained musicians of the Imani Winds and the Harlem Quartet.

When the musical intensity became a bit challenging for me to stay with, a slower, bluesy interval brought in a welcome lyrical calm. Spellman read from his poem “Groovin’ Low” at that point:

my swing is more mellow
these days: not the hardbop drive
i used to roll but more of a cool
foxtrot. my eyes still close
when the rhythm locks; i’ve learned
to boogie with my feet on the floor
i’m still movin’, still groovin’
still fallin’ in love, but
i bop to the bass line now.

I happen to be 75 and do most of my bopping to the base line, too. My real amazement was that Spellman, at 89, could still speak with such passion, expression and volume.

The last section of the concert, “Acknowledgment”, is an extended recapitulation of major themes from John Coltrane’s magnum opus, “A Love Supreme”. It begins will Spellman reading his inspired lines of meditation on the nature of life, death and love: that the highest purpose of living is to love and be loved.  he concert ends with everyone on stage chanting the words “A Love Supreme” over and over again, tapering off to a whisper.

There was a rousing standing ovation as the concert ended, and many rounds of applause for the individual musicians and for the whole ensemble. Jeff Scott was in the audience and was invited to come on stage to partake in the well deserved acclaim for these consummate musicians.

John Bayerl,11/24/2024

APPENDIX:

Dear John Coltrane
by A. B. Spellman

dead night has me writing poetry
in another hotel room. j.s. bach
is on the radio. the keyboard concerto
in f minor: the one you also hear
on oboe or violin, the largo
second movement begins
& the book in my hand drops
the room fades
& I put my reason down
to trail the bach of endless line
along this earthless path, each note full
& bright, a brilliant footprint on the dark
through beauty, past knowledge, into
the state that shines too much
to be wisdom, is too transparent
to be art. i catch a fear of that place
where he will lower me when
this transporting melody closes
then it closes on itself & here I am
dear john, back at the beginning, better

later, different station, cold room dimming
it’s you, john, trane’s slow blues
now it’s your line that opens, & opens
& opens, & i’m flying that way again
same sky, different moon, this midnight
globe that toned those now lost blue rooms
where things like jazz float the mind
this motion the still & airless propulsion
i know as inner flight. this view
the one I cannot see with my eyes
open. i hear the beginning approach, &
i know the line i traveled was a horizon
the circle of the world, another freedom
flight to another starting place
if I believed in heaven I would ask
if you & bach ever swap infinite fours
& jam the sound that light makes
going & coming, & if you exchange maps
to those exclusive clouds you travel thru
& do you give them names?

Verdi’s Macbeth and “Our Oppressed Homeland”

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I just returned from a magnificent performance of the Washington National Opera’s “Macbeth” at the Kennedy Center. The music reviewer for the Washington Post wrote an excellent account of the many masterful elements of the production after it opened last week:

 Dark powers guide dagger-sharp ‘Macbeth’ at Washington National Opera – The Washington Post

Rather than discuss the performance itself, I’d like to share some strong feelings that arose in me while watching it.

I first encountered Shakespeare’s classic play, “The Tragedie of Macbeth”, as a sophomore at my Catholic boys’ high school in Buffalo, NY. My English teacher, Rev. Claude Bicheler, had us read much of it aloud in class, stopping frequently to explain some of the arcane Elizabethan English. Rev. Claude was an avid theatergoer and also the director and producer for all our school plays and musicals. He had a way of making the story of Macbeth come to life and encouraged us to persevere even when we were feeling lost. Like many, I was most taken with the scenes of the witches who foresaw and steered the infamous, homicidal direction of Macbeth’s thirst for power.

I had seen some stage versions of the play later in life. I appreciated the keen psychological rendering of the character Macbeth and Lady Macbeth given by Shakespeare, but never felt deeply affected by the story. It all seemed a bit melodramatic to me.

I became an opera fan during my college years (1967-1971) at Fordham University in the Bronx. A friend in my dormitory would listen to the live radio broadcasts of the Metropolitan Opera on Saturday afternoons. I overheard the music and asked him about his interest in opera. He invited me to join him the following Saturday to listen to something called “The Barber of Seville”. He had a copy of the libretto (text) of the opera, and he helped me follow along as we listened to the live singing. My friend was a native New Yorker who had been attending live opera performances at the Met and the New York City Opera for many years. His enthusiasm was contagious. And being able to closely follow the story line of the opera while listening to the Met broadcast drew me in. My friend regularly attended both of the opera theaters at Lincoln Center in midtown Manhattan and I started to accompany him. I was soon hooked.

The nineteenth century Italian Giuseppe Verdi is a giant among opera composers. Over the years, I had listened to recordings and attended performances of many of his most famous operas, including: La Traviata, Il Trovatore, Rigoletto, Aida, Don Carlo, Otello, Nabucco, La Forza del Destino, and Simon Boccanegra.

When I met and married my spouse, Andrea DiLorenzo, in the mid 1980’s, one of the strong common passions we shared was for music of all genres, but opera in particular. We’ve attended dozens of operas together over the years in venues including the Kennedy Center Opera House in DC, the Wolf Trap Summer Opera, the Met in New York, the Pittsburgh Opera, the Charlottesville Opera, Covent Garden in London, and the Mexico City Opera. It became a tradition for us to get opera tickets for Andrea’s birthday every year, and it just so happened that “Macbeth” was being performed in November, her birthday month. We got the tickets some months ago and were eagerly anticipating the performance, which we’d be attending with another couple.

Neither of us had ever encountered Verdi’s “Macbeth”, which is an earlier work of the composer and not often performed. I had learned from my Fordham dorm-mate the importance of becoming familiar with an opera before attending. So a few weeks ago, I began listening to a recording of the opera via a streaming service, following along with a libretto that I easily downloaded.

The story of “Macbeth” is dark and menacing. It’s about a Scottish warrior and his wife, Lady Macbeth, who become addicted to political power by any means necessary. The witches provide a dark supernatural element, a kind of black magic, which convinces Macbeth that he can rise to kingship by killing off the king himself and all potential rivals. He does so in a cold, calculated way and soon gets the coveted kingship. Lady Macbeth eggs him on, scorning her husband at any sign of hesitation. Eventually, their heinous crimes, which include the murder of innocent women and children of their rivals, begin to take a toll on their psychological wellbeing. They both start drifting into a guilt-ridden madness. Lady Macbeth commits suicide, and Lord Macbeth throws himself into one final battle against the king of England’s army and is fully vanquished by Macduff, a former aide whose entire family was murdered by Macbeth’s minions. Macbeth’s last aria laments that he is utterly alone in death, unloved, even hated by his people.

The part of the opera that most moved me this afternoon was a choral piece about the suffering and oppression suffered by the Scottish people during Macbeth’s short, bloody reign. It is called “Patria Oppressa” (Oppressed Homeland) and laments the dire suffering of so many victims of Macbeth’s onslaughts. A translation is as follows:

Oppressed homeland of ours!
You can no longer have the sweet name of Mother
Now that you’ve become a tomb for our sons and daughters.
From the orphans, from those who mourn for husbands and children
A cry of outrage goes up to heaven at each new dawn.
To that cry heaven replies, moved by pity for the oppressed land,
And proclaims our grief forever.
The bell tolls constantly for death,
But no one is so bold to even shed a vain tear
For the suffering and the dying.

The “Patria Oppressa” chorus affected me so deeply because I was still feeling traumatized in the aftermath of the American presidential election last week. I was anticipating a great deal of chaos and suffering that this chorus gave voice to.

Throughout the unrelenting treachery and deceit of the Macbeth story as sung so masterfully by the outstanding singers, I’d been feeling queasy inside, as if the opera was depicting a kind of political dystopia that I feared our country had already entered. The chorus also evoked in me an identification with the peoples around the world suffering under the weight of violent oppression in the Ukraine, Palestine, Lebanon and elsewhere.

In the case of the American election, I realize that the oppression I was anticipating was brought about by the American electorate. In some ways, that realization made the situation even more painful.

When Verdi revised “Macbeth” for a new production in Paris in 1867, he added a number of important elements that remain in the version that has been used since then. In Shakespeare’s tragedy, the play ends with Macbeth’s last words after having been mortally slain: “I sink – my soul is lost forever.” But in 1867, Verdi added a final chorus that followed the death scene. It is the rousing “Inno da Victoria” (Hymn of Victory) which celebrates the death of a tyrant and gives glory to the liberators:

Victory! Victory!
Where is Macbeth?
Where is the usurper?
The God of Victory has struck him down with a breath.
He (Macduff) is a valiant hero who killed the traitor.
He has saved our homeland and our king.
Honor and glory to him!
Our gratitude rises to the great God of vindication!
Let us sing hymns of glory!
The new dawn will bring us peace and glory!”

I was relieved to vicariously experience the victory so triumphantly celebrated as the opera ends. Verdi himself was emphatically committed to the cause of Italian independence during his lifetime. Many of his other operas have hidden allusions to that quest as well. When Italy finally did achieve independence, Verdi was elected and served for four years in the first Italian legislative body.

Andrea and I have been active politically since the 2016 presidential election. We have formed two political groups since then, both of them meeting monthly, both committed to sustaining a strong democracy. We were heartbroken that Kamala Harris failed to convince enough voters to elect her, despite a high energy campaign, and her winning persona.

Many of us are justifiably wary of the kinds of oppression that the current president-elect is capable of. Watching the masterful production of Macbeth yesterday elicited some of my darkest fears of what’s in store for our country over the next four years. But Verdi’s triumphant closing statement, a Hymn to Victory, served to buttress an underlying belief that all is not lost, and that the forces of Good will ultimately prevail. As the story of Macbeth shows, the forces of evil often sow the seeds for their own ultimate destruction.

John Bayerl, 11/17/2024