Thoughts on Karl Jenkins' The Armed Man

In November, I sang a piece of music that I mentioned in an earlier post deserved a write-up of its own. Here is that commentary, which speaks to my conflicted feelings about a memorable and powerful work on a difficult subject.

Karl Jenkins’ The Armed Man is a haunting and terrifying piece of music, in a good way. It is based on a hodgepodge of texts related to the “glory,” destruction, and horror of war, from 15^th-century poetry, to the Mahabharata, to poems written by a victim of the Hiroshima atomic bomb. Its ability to evoke horror and death in music is exquisite, managing to be beautiful and awful at the same time. Jenkins’ piece bills itself as “a prayer for peace” and is unabashedly structured as a mass, (though an inclusive one; it involves a Muslim call to prayer), but the ending seems to ignore the impact of what has come before, and its attempt to wrap up thousands of years of horror in a triumphal religious bow is also unsettling, this time less effectively.

Jenkins’ piece builds in an affecting and profound manner. We start with “L’Homme Armé,” of the duty of man to arm himself with a coat of iron mail, and the need of all else to fear him. The tune of the piece is not altered from when it was a Renaissance-era secular French song, and then later used as the setting for perhaps more Latin masses (40) than any other song, but Jenkins’ use of rhythms and horns urgently throws us into the middle of the army’s purposeful march. The theme develops almost into a round for the various voices, indicating war’s timeless and circular nature.

There are a few moments of contemplative prayer and variations on asking to be saved from “bloody men” (Book of Psalms). Things take a decidedly more menacing turn with the most military-sounding “Sanctus” I’ve ever heard, though the march also includes a hint of dance beat, indicating the discussion to come on the excitement war breeds. Kipling’s “Hymn Before Action” takes things to a more disturbing level; Jenkins’ choice to end the poem on “Lord, grant us strength to die!” both foreshadows the coming action and emphasizes the irony of having a “Lord God of Battles.” This ironic reading is supported by the report of Archibald Henderson, in his 1930 “Contemporary Immortals,” of a church choir refusing to sing “Hymn Before Action” because the director found the lyrics more fitting to be invoked by “troops of savages bent on slaughter…a primitive, unworthy conception of the Deity...”

This irony continues with “Charge!” where the army is being whipped into a frenzy with “the trumpet’s loud clangor” exciting them to arms; the band’s trumpets and brass play into this, actually exciting the singers and audience with heart-racing melodies set to words by Dryden and Swift. As we are nearly lifted off our seats in anticipation, the irony becomes clear when the horns and choir clash and dissolve in horrifying shrieks as the two armies finally “charge!” each other, deciding “’tis too late to retreat,” and meet death. The screaming and confusion of the choir, building to a dead silence, is bone-chilling, and utterly poignant in its contrast with the excitement and bombast of the piece at the beginning. Soloists, then, in “Angry Flames,” with occasional dissonant bursts from the chorus emphasizing words such as “death,” describe the aftermath of the clash, which is followed by the somber lines of repeated notes and awkward, off-balance and menacing vocal jumps in “Torches.”

Though the end features an affecting cyclical return, the denouement seems at first touching, then rushed. “Agnus Dei” is followed by “Now that the Guns Have Stopped,” a meditation on survivor’s guilt, which features a possible epiphany involving the alto soloist eulogizing a friend who didn’t live, while she was more fortunate than she had believed possible. “Benedictus” is a beautiful and quiet theme that speaks to this epiphany that “better is peace,” and I found myself wishing the piece had ended on this contemplatively beautiful note.

In the end, there is a return to the beginning theme, but instead of L’Homme Armé being the sung text, minor key becomes major, and the chorus sings, “Better is peace than always war.” We are informed that “God shall wipe away all tears…neither shall there be any more pain” (from Revelation). Though it is a pleasant and moving sentiment, the horror of the earlier segment persists to the point that, as a listener, I found myself jarred by the sensibility that it could be “wiped away.” If nothing else, the ethics surrounding war demand that we never forget; "wiping away" the tears encourages us to forget and possibly turn to war once more. It seems petulant to complain about a Deus Ex Machina at the end of a mass, and as a non-religious person, perhaps this ending is not “for” me. The brashness of the ending seemed improper, however; it reminded me of “Charge!”, but instead of the irony we saw in “Charge!”, this brashness and celebration seemed to lack irony, and I wasn’t sure whether to take it at face value. There seems to be two ways to take such pieces as “Hymn Before Action” and “Charge!” – as ironic looks at how the perceived glory of war contrasts its actual horror, or without this irony, at face value, an in-the-moment look at how people deal with war. If we enjoy the former reading, the final piece seems to lose this edge of commentary. If we take the latter reading, the ending is less out of character, but the piece seems somehow less complex without the commentary (though still honest).

The ending, featuring the lovely sentiment, “ring in the thousand years of peace,” unfortunately rings false to me. The lyrics solve our problems for us and cease to ask probing questions like “how?” Perhaps this is asking too much of what has already been a serious and thoughtful work. Again, in a Mass, and in religion in general, God is going to be the solution to all problems; but with such a man-created issue, which has always been potentially exacerbated by religion, how does “god will wipe away all tears” fix it? We should be responsible for the clean-up, or for preventing tears in the first place. I find the comfort empty (again, as a person who is not religious). This is, again, perhaps asking the piece to be what it is not; it bills itself as a prayer for peace, not as a solution or philosophical discussion. But lyrically and musically, some things about it still seem strange.

The most haunting piece, lyrically, of the entire work is the “Torches” movement, consisting of animals being turned into living torches by the thousands, many when they were unable to leave their mothers, fathers and families to burn alone. This is taken from the Mahabharata and results from not a man-made bomb, but from war involving gods, who joyously drink the melted stream of animal fat. This is conveniently not in the lyrics portion used, but the source material cannot be completely discounted. (I do not by any means consider myself an expert in this text, so it is possible I am misinterpreting.) The Mahabharata also features one of the earliest notions of the idea of “Just War” – can the suffering caused by war ever be called worthwhile? The morally suspect nature of war at any time, these ethical discussions, and their relationship to god or gods is not really included; the idea of god can similarly be viewed here as either a black-and-white saviour figure, or a name that is invoked for all sorts of suspect purposes: “grant us strength to die”/”save us from bloody men.” The latter is more interesting, but less likely, given the end. It is difficult, though, to delve into the idea of “Just War” with the attempt of the piece to represent war in a general, rather than specific, sense. Given the inclusiveness of the piece and its use of various religious texts, I also don't think it is trying to promote the sense of a "right" god.

How do we balance the notion of “hope” without giving in to the triteness of a “happy ending,” though it is aurally pleasing and comforting to do so? A reading I can see of the ending as successful is as a somewhat ironic one with an undercurrent of fear; if “L’Homme Armé” as the base of “Better is Peace” does not indicate a change, but instead indicates lack of change, and the possibility to lose ourselves in war again by just taking the music down to a minor key. Perhaps better still would be to have the music break between the two themes. A prayer, a hope for peace, are very good things, but with the successfully contemplative nature of most of the music battling the destructive bombast, a beautiful but somber ending seems more in keeping with what has gone before, as a sense of bombastic sureness is shown in the score to lead to destruction. Showing humanity’s ability to grow, change, and work together, should be weighted against showing its rescue by forces beyond its control.

In the end, beginning and ending with “L’Homme Armé” seems apt; as one war ends, the next begins (humanity’s recorded history has only marked 29 individual years without a war, according to journalist Chris Hedges). The L’Homme Armé theme at the end, then, becomes more of a question: are we going to start again, or are we going to change our tune?

-Ilana

March (Music) Madness (and Theatre, Too!)

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The past six weeks have been a whirlwind of performance and work. The two performances of The Sealed Angel at the beginning of February were something of a transcendent musical and performance experience for me - the passion and professionalism demanded were both exhausting and invigorating, and our audiences absolutely loved it. The visual impact of the dancers, along with the movement of the choir, created a particularly entertaining and unusual soundscape (or should I say Soundstream?) For a taste of what we were doing, here is a video, taken by John Terauds (of the Toronto Star), of one minute of a rehearsal at the Winchester Street Theatre about a week before the show. I wish the audio did it justice, but it's still nice to see.



Amadeus Choir also had a very successful fundraising day, with our two Celtic Celebration concerts. Our special guest band, Rant Maggie Rant, was an absolute treat to listen to, and I remain amazed by the versatile musical talents of our ensemble. In any case, we had to add seats to both the afternoon and evening performances, which was a very good thing.

Pavlov's Dogs Handbell Ensemble has also had a wonderful month- our busiest ever, I believe. I think it's really helped to help us bond as a group, not to mention some great exposure (not that kind of exposure, though we do play burlesque shows). We started off the month with "We Put the Spring in Springfield," a Simpsons-themed burlesque show organized by Underground Peepshow. The show was sold out, and people seemed thrilled to hear us play the Simpsons theme and a medley of Stonecutters, Talkin' Softball, Who Needs The Kwik-E-Mart, and Mr. Plow on handbells, as well as some Mancini classics (even if they sang along off-beat). Here are some clips of us playing, if you're so inclined (taken by Jeremy Wilson):

Stonecutters:


Stonecutters theme

Mar 11, 2012 | Source: Keek.com

Simpsons Theme Opening:


The Simpsons theme on handbells

Mar 11, 2012 | Source: Keek.com

Simpsons Theme Closing:

Dec 31, 1969 | Source: Keek.com

On Thursday night, we had what was probably our most exciting gig yet: we opened for "the best band that never was," (or at least the best 1960s English pop band that is really a 2012 Canadian band that ever was), The Cocksure Lads!


The Lads are the side project of former Moxy Fruvous members Mike Ford and Murray Foster (also the current bassist from Great Big Sea); being a major fan of both groups, this performance opportunity was basically a dream come true. We got to play a full set at the Rivoli before the Lads took the stage, and had a great time. The Lads themselves manage to strike the right and very difficult balance between humour and musical enjoyment.

As you can see, we tried to fit the 60's theme.


We have two more performances this week: tonight, we are the surprise midnight guests at what is described as a "psychedelic circus club party" (on St. Patrick's Day; should be interesting) and, next Friday, we are celebrating our fearless leader's birthday; "Winter Wrap Up" is at the Black Swan on March 23rd.

In theatre news, I've had the opportunity to read/work on three fascinating scripts recently; they're all good, though they couldn't be more different. The first a psychological drama playing with the conventions of theatre and audience, from Mute playwright Wren Handman; the second is also by a dear friend and collaborator; a space-based philosophical exercise by Ephraim Ellis that has been submitted to SummerWorks. The third is a show I saw and enjoyed in last summer's Toronto Fringe Festival, Pitch Blond. The show, by the talented Laura Harris, is a one-woman show based on the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) trials of Judy Holliday. Holliday was a very good friend and collaborator to Adolph Green, and his wife, Phyllis Newman, who, of course, I worked for in an archival capacity for a year. Doing so, I discovered all sorts of interesting photos and correspondence from Holliday and her family. We just had our first meeting after my first readthrough and notes, and I'm so thrilled to immerse myself in this world again. I think it's going to be both a fun and productive collaboration.

So it's been a busy time...I'm calling it March Music Madness. Luckily, unlike what's been happening on the courts, my performance brackets are pretty well intact.

-Ilana

The Sealed Angel

The end of the past year and the beginning of this one have been rough, but it's important to find joy and beauty where you can. In my case, I'm gearing up to be a part of the most interesting Russian musical/dance performance I've been involved with since Boris Godunov (a production that I do need to revisit sometime on this blog. As a part of Amadeus Choir, I'm performing in Rodion Shchedrin's masterwork, The Sealed Angel, directed by Lars Scheibner and presented by Soundstreams. Shchedrin finished the piece in 1988 to coincide with the celebrations of the thousandth anniversary of Russia's conversion to Christianity. The piece merges sacred elements of Russian Orthodox church music with secular elements such as the solo flute that functions as the only instrumental backup for a largely a cappella piece.

In the introduction to our score, Markus Zahnhausen writes that the story of The Sealed Angel is that of "Nicholay Lsekov's 'Sealed Angel,' written in 1873," which "tells the story of an icon painter, Sevastyan, who lives amongst believers of the old order. Officials of the state have ruined the miraculous icon," (the angel) "by pouring hot sealing wax over it. At great pains Sevastyan has to go out and recover it and then laboriously restore it." Shchedrin does not retell this story in his piece, but uses liturgical texts that the piece references, and carries over its theme of art's eternal magic and beauty.

Lars Scheibner has been staging this piece since 2005 in various settings; here we're taking the place of his original Berlin Rundfunkchor. It's an honour to be part of such an expansive project. In Scheibner's staging, the choir moves throughout the piece, winding up in fourteen different formations around the dancers from ProArteDanza, in what Rundfunkchor's website defines as creating new structures, in a display of external versus internal forces. The dancers not only add another layer to the performance through their interpretive movement, but solve the difficult issue of visual interest during choir performances, of which there are usually few moments to hold the audience's attention.

Major movement rehearsals take place this weekend, and performances are Thursday, February 2nd, and Friday, February 3rd, at Koerner Hall, a venue that I hear has brilliant acoustics. If you get a chance, and we haven't sold out, check out this performance. It's really quite something.

For a taste, here is a promo clip (with footage from the 2005 Rundfunkchor performance).



-Ilana

Happy Holidays! (Carol of the Bells)

I don't have any footage of Pavlov's Dogs performing The Dreidel Song for Chanukah, but as a general holiday treat, please enjoy our performance of Carol of the Bells at Lunacy Cabaret on December 10th. This is probably the only time you will hear a handbell group get heckled, but it's worth it to hear the heckler get shouted down (he was later ejected). Thanks to Wm. Perry (myvideoscrapbook) for the video, and the audience for the lovely standing ovation!



-Ilana

Handbells and Singing and Concerts, Oh My!

It occurs to me that, though this is a theatre blog predominantly, it is an arts blog in general, and most of my arts-related activities lately have been in the form of music. I belong to two music groups; the Amadeus Choir, an auditioned SATB chorus with approximately 100 members, led by Lydia Adams, and Pavlov’s Dogs, a nerd-rock 6-woman handbell ensemble that plays anything from Queen to the Mario theme. The two groups couldn’t be more different in tone; one tackles large, serious choral masterworks and the other…well, sometimes we spend 15 minutes of practice in serious discussion of the My Little Pony reboot…out of musical necessity, of course. Both are a lot of fun and I find them very fulfilling for different reasons.

One of the reasons I am so fond of musical theatre is that my first love is vocal music. I have been singing in various groups since I was a child, from the Dr. Rao Choir and North York Festival Singers, to Chamber Choir and Earl Haig Singers in high school, to the FireHazards and Koleinu in college and the Barnard/Columbia Chorus and its chamber choir in grad school. I was pretty upset when I had to quit the Columbia Chorus my first year of grad school; filling two nights a week, it was too much, even if I was starting to get the solos I wanted. When I moved back to Toronto, I felt a need for structured singing in my life, and my friend Kelli convinced me that Amadeus was where I wanted to be. Amadeus Choir moves lightning-quickly when it comes to learning new music, and we tend to sing beautiful, compelling pieces. I think my favourite piece of choral music I’ve ever performed was When David Heard by Eric Whitacre, from my first concert last year. I actually felt pained handing the music back.

I love Pavlov’s Dogs, not just because it gives me a chance to play music with some awesome ladies, but because there’s something fantastic about deciding you are going to pick up an instrument and learn it well enough to perform it in a matter of weeks. When I was in college, I decided to pick up the alto saxophone I had put down permanently after grade eight, and for the heck of it, to join the Princeton University Band. I had never played handbells before mid-summer 2010. There’s something to be said for a musical trial by fire. Some might argue a woman of my level of coordination should never attempt to play an instrument where you need to pick up a new thing for every new note you play. But handbells are lovely and make a terrific rounded sound; they have an even more fascinating quality when they are unexpectedly juxtaposed with David Bowie or MGMT. Playing handbells gives you an increased appreciation for the components and composition of music. Because each note is a separate instrument, you become hyper-aware of how a piece is put together and how notes run and mesh. Songs that are easy on saxophone or voice because there are a lot of close runs become feats of dexterity when you are in charge of a specific half-octave. Want to see us in action? Here's the video from our performance at Nerd Girl Pinups' Gunpowder Plot (it's my first concert, so ignore a few clunks), and here are two videos from last year's Christmas show at the Rivoli:Wizards in Winter and A Charlie Brown Christmas.

This Friday, Amadeus performed Handel’s Messiah, which was a lovely experience. Our first concert of the year was Karl Jenkins’ “The Armed Man: A Mass for Peace,” a complex work which deserves a post in itself. On December 17^th, at Yorkminster Park Baptist Church, we’re performing an evening of traditional carols, along with new ones; the choir sponsors a yearly competition that alternates between a children’s competition and adult/youth amateurs and professionals. This year is the adult year, and the new carols, from both seasoned professionals and up-and-coming undergraduate composers, are really quite beautiful. One of my favourites so far is the solstice carol, “The Shortest Day;” a little unusual and filled with gorgeous harmonies. We are performing both separately and with the Bach Children’s Chorus. For more info on “Glorious Sounds of the Season,” check here.

Pavlov’s Dogs’ upcoming guest spot is at Lunacy Cabaret’s “A Grotesque Christmas,” in support of Circus Without Borders. We’ll be playing “Carol of the Bells” this time – because, as awesome as it is to play rock handbells, there are just some situations, like Christmas shows, where there is actually music written for handbells, and it would be a shame not to play it occasionally.

The show is at:

Centre of Gravity EAST
Vaudeville Theatre & Circus Training Studio
1300 Gerrard St. East
Toronto, Ontario

Advance tickets (they tend to sell out) available at:

Sideshow Cafe
Next to Centre of Gravity East
1300 Gerrard St. East
Toronto, Ontario

Shanti Baba Trading Company
546 Queen St. West
Toronto, Ontario

Check here for details!

That’s where the music in my life is at right now; more updates to come.

-Ilana

(Photo screengrab from video by YouTube user mizzmonsta - thanks for the terrific video!)

Ride The Cylone - Revisited

I went to see Ride The Cyclone at Passe Muraille tonight; I really enjoyed the show when I saw it at SummerWorks last year, and was glad to get a chance to see the slightly-revamped version. My previous review still stands (with some slightly-revamped observations); do see the show if you can. It's a wonderfully quirky musical that's full of heart, and I've been unable to decide whether it's one of the funniest depressing shows I've seen, or one of the most depressing funny shows. (This is the sort of line it's riding.) There's been an actor change (Matthew Coulson plays Misha Bachinsky with a new ballet-inflected rap flair), but the beats have mostly stayed the same.

The thing I'm most pleased about in this remount is that we get more moments where the characters are real, human, three-dimensional, and sad; some of the archer moments that seemed to be there for sheer incongruity have been taken out. In my last review I complained about the intrusion of nonsense lyrics about a cartoon bear and the appearance of a bear costume; this has been excised (naturally, as a random Internet blogging dramaturg, I feel entirely responsible for this). In recompense, we get more of the haunting moments that feel like splashes of cold water amidst the warmth that zany humour brings. Jane Doe (Sarah Pelzer) has a longer solo with which to beguile and chill us, the operatic soprano notes floating effortlessly above the choreographed circus cabaret. Ocean's (Rielle Braid) sudden realization that she will never eat beavertails while visiting her mother in Ottawa again was a small emotional moment that I'm not sure is new but was certainly highlighted beautifully. The spooky atmosphere that I loved last time around holds up well on second viewing, as do the very impressive voices of the cast. (I did, however, find the balance and blend occasionally slightly off in some of the choral bits; I wasn't sure whether the high-strung, Type-A Ocean was attempting to overpower the other voices as a character choice or not. It's a very small quibble, however.)

I was left with a question with the realization that the climax of Ocean's debate scene (the opponent in the wheelchair, the topic of whether humans are good) is the same scenario (resolved differently) of one of the few episodes of Community I've gotten a chance to see. Strange coincidence, or nod to the show?

I'm very happy that the show appears to be selling out; it was tonight, with a number of added seats. It appears to be one of those rare shows that has deservedly found its eager audience. That's probably because it's a hell of a ride.

-Ilana

Theatre Instruction On Speed!

I’ve been creating an undergraduate course about communication that will be taken as an intro course by every person who goes through the new program its being created for. Because this is a course designed by me, I have a certain license to indulge my predilections for content, which, if you haven’t notice, include theatre. However, much as my inclination tells me otherwise, I am not allowed to turn this into a theatre course. Two weeks is all I’m going to spend on the subject; I have essays, journalism, poetry, short stories, and a novel to teach as well.

Here’s the trouble – how do you introduce undergraduates to theatre in two weeks? The impossibility of the task, in a way, is both completely binding and utterly freeing. I have no possibility of actually introducing theatre in a complete and meaningful way; my goal is to teach some interesting plays and to get across the uniqueness of theatre as a communications medium. What I’ve decided to go for is a combination of two classically-structured plays (one drama, one comedy) for the first week, with a couple of unconventional plays and a monologue to really “play” with the idea of audience and theatrical convention in the second. I’m hoping that a group exercise where the students will read out loud will help them understand how theatre is meaningful on the page, but “pops” on the stage. I’ve done some crowdsourcing, because I have an exceptionally wide base of friends who work in and study theatre, and have turned to a piece I wrote in grad school where I actually had to alter an entire syllabus on 20^th-century American plays.

In a way, this exercise maddens me, because I want to teach an entire theatre semester (I tried, but was kindly rebuffed). I want to be able to spend an entire week on Angels in America, but because of these constraints I can’t really teach it at all, as it can’t have an entire week to itself. I’d like to show various modes of theatre and theatre through history; I’d like to get some serious diversity in the plays I teach. Heck, I’d like to teach musical theatre but that’s putting the cart before the horse, theatrically-speaking. I’d like to teach an entire course on theatre as a vessel for social justice, or the way theatre deals with illness; I’d like to teach a course on the monologue, on Canadian playwrights; I’d like to get the chance to teach several of the courses I found immensely valuable in grad school, such as the 20^th-century one, the modern theatre history one, or the evolving theory of comedy. But I also find this idea of comparative media to be exciting. I designed this course so that I wouldn’t be “penned down” (pardon the pun) to any particular type of writing, and that came with its advantages and disadvantages. The comparisons between the types of writing are going to be very interesting, but each style/form subset of writing has driven me to its own particular crisis of “what to include?” The range of students in this program, in terms of background, level of English skill, and country of origin will likely be breathtaking.

With that, the starting point changes. Last week, in one of my classes a large percentage of students stared blankly when asked to place the reference, “Alas, poor Yorick!” The grad student in me wanted to lie down and cry. The professor in me decided that this was an awesome learning opportunity, and explained the reference and its meaning with enthusiasm. And, honestly, I think the meaning was understood – that’s the great thing about writers who deal sensitively with universal issues.

In the end, whatever plays these students are taught in this new course (and five is definitely pushing it, even if some are short), the key word is enthusiasm. I’m not going to be able to give anyone a thorough grounding in theatre theory in two weeks, but an idea about why theatre is special and exciting and fun, conveyed through a combination of study and enthusiasm, seems possible.

I’m not going to tell you which plays I’m choosing, because, in the end, the syllabus, particularly pre-approval, is a private matter between the institution and the course developer. I’m hoping I haven’t overstepped my bounds here by just talking out some of my mental process. Feel free to speculate or suggest, though!

-Ilana