Flanked by an array of potted red and white poinsettias, the choir radiated energy during the uptempo choral sections. The Messiah is a celebratory composition, despite some somber parts, and the chorus gets most of the upbeat sections. So it came as no surprise to see on occasion the college-aged singers in the chorus swaying back and forth like they were in a gospel choir.
I'm no music critic, so I'll pass on assessing the work of the soloists, all of whom had beautiful voices, some projecting better than others. But I have to say something about one of them-- the countertenor. When I saw countertenor in the program notes, I really had no idea what that person (male or female?) would sound like. I figured it must be in a musical range slightly above or below a tenor voice. So, when the young American countertenor, Jay Carter--a stocky blond fellow with male pattern baldness-- stepped forward to sing his first recitative (There were shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night . . .), I thought Frankie Valli had put on a tux and made a guest appearance.You know the falsetto of the lead singer the Four Seasons? That's what I'm talking about, only a voice more formal and classically trained, and you would be hearing Jay Carter, the countertenor. In fact, his singing was the purest and most moving of the evening, full of the trills and arpeggios familiar to listeners of the Messiah, sung so clearly and with such evident emotion in places that the hairs on the back of my neck stood out. It's easy to understand why the castrati were so popular in Italy, a fame earned by the elimination of their testicles, but certainly worth it for the listeners.
One other surprise of the evening for me was the size of the orchestra. I counted 11 violins, 4 violas, 2 each cello, bass, and oboe; a timpani, harpsichord, and organ; and 3 trumpets. When I've seen the Messiah done on televised performances or listened to the music--and I admit to paying most attention during the famous louder parts--my impression is of a titanic accompanying orchestra. And that is sometimes the case. But, I discovered from the program notes and a little post-concert research that Handel had an even smaller orchestra than I heard last Thursday. The heart of the music was meant to reside in the voices and not the instrumental accompaniment, although both are important.
The other lingering impression from the performance also came from the program notes. Just as in music and sports and politics today, the best performers do not always lead the most virtuous lives. And the London choirs of Handel's day were evidently full of randy debauchers, who were free to belt out secular music but were seen as inappropriate participants in sacred works. When apprised of a proposed performance of the Messiah at Covent Garden in 1743, Edmund Gibson, the Bishop of London, objected to hearing the words of the New Testament sung by "actors and actresses of loose morals and dubious sexual habits," in the words of Robbins Landon. So it took the promise to share proceeds from the concert with the foundling hospital and a charity for "deserted young children" and the additional measure of renaming the piece "A New Sacred Oratorio" to even get the Messiah staged.
That tradition of performing the Messiah to benefit a worthy cause continues to this day. A canned food drive was associated with the Kennedy Center concert we attended. A local church is staging Messiah to raise funds to repair their pipe organ, which suffered damage in this summer's DC area earthquake. One would be hard pressed to find a major city anywhere in the world that does not offer at least one performance of Handel's Messiah during the Christmas holidays. The music and lyrics and performance have taken on the weight of a holiday tradition. In that vein, we, like George II, stood during the hallelujah chorus, buoyed by participation in hearing (and secretly singing along to) sacred music brought to life by flawed mortals. Another miracle of the season.
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