Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY) presents The Sacred and Profane: Carmina Burana in Review
William C. Powell, Guest Conductor
Rosephanye Powell, DCINY Composer-in-Residence, Narrator, and Soloist
Distinguished Concerts Orchestra; Distinguished Concerts Singers International
Jonathan Griffith, DCINY Artistic Director and Principal Conductor
Distinguished Concerts Orchestra; Distinguished Concerts Singers International
Penelope Shumate, soprano; Dillon McCartney, tenor; Keith Harris, baritone
David Geffen Hall at Lincoln Center, New York, NY
May 28, 2018
I originally expected to have one experience on Monday at this DCINY concert, but wound up having quite another—this is good. It is hard to upstage the eternal crowd-pleaser that is Orff’s Carmina Burana, whose first chorus is used to sell everything from cars to post-apocalyptic scenarios, but Rosephanye Powell’s Gospel Trinity came very close. The Orff was also given a thrilling read.
Rosephanye Powell turned David Geffen Hall into a gospel church service with the New York premiere of her Gospel Trinity, less an explanation of than a physical celebration of the “three incarnated in the Godhead,” the traditional doctrine not only of Catholic theology but some Protestant ones as well.
Perhaps from a compositional standpoint, the musical content of the Gospel Trinity is somewhat simplistic. It is very approachable, borrowing from extant hymns and standard gospel gestures, but in the hands of Ms. Powell, who also served as narrator and stunning soloist, the Holy Spirit inhabited the hall, and the music led to an experience beyond itself.
Ms. Powell’s voice ranged from baritone low notes to stratospheric high notes and every color in between, all of which were produced with beauty and fervent energy. The massed choirs were conducted with swinging enthusiasm by her husband William C. Powell. The choral body swayed freely, and clapping and other responses were perfect. The entire score was presented from memory, and it contains a great deal of improvisatory spirit. The two Powells exhorted the audience to clap and testify, and the spiritual frenzy mounted—a great manifestation of faith.
In his excellent program note for the Orff, Joseph Kahn states: “If there were a contest for the composer with the most despicable character, Carl Orff would definitely make the finals.” Orff’s own daughter said: “He did not really love people; if anything, he despised people unless they could be useful to him.” Hitler’s minions lionized him, and he did nothing to assist friends who were being rounded up. Eventually, he was “de-Nazified,” officially classified as “gray acceptable” (an upgrade), and he did devise a system of musical instruments in use to this day for the development of early-childhood musical potential. Ultimately, one separates the man from his artistic production.
Under Artistic Director and Principal Conductor Jonathan Griffith, the enormous assembled forces navigated this score with complete assurance, even ease, making all its rhythmic shifts and faux-primitivism seem utterly natural. The three soloists were all top-of-the-line. Baritone Keith Harris had the most to do, and he colored his sections with just the right amount of acting, especially in the bibulous tavern scene. The baritone part is often cruelly high, but he was completely in control. Penelope Shumate, who I’ve reviewed previously in these pages, was radiant in her high-flying Dulcissime, a high D sounded nowhere near the top of her capability. She also gave a charming “look,” full of implicit pleasure, to concertmaster Jorge Ávila as he performed the metric shifts of the Tanz. Her In trutina had a lovely hushed eroticism, virtually banishing memories of Streisand, who recorded it in the 1970s on Classical Barbra in a kind of tranquilized perfection. The tenor, Dillon McCartney, has only one solo, but what a doozy it is! The Roast Swan (Olim lacus colueram) scene, in which the poor bird recounts its own cooking, lies at the outer-space regions of high notes, and once again, Mr. McCartney sounded born to sing it.
The chorus work was world-class, from whispered threats to full-glory exultation, with clear diction in all the ancient languages represented. All the wind and percussion playing in the huge pick-up orchestra was excellent. I have mentioned previously that I think it’s a shame for these players not to be credited. I only mention concertmaster Ávila because I happen to know his name.
Some of the content of these scabrous medieval doodlings is quite “adult,” and I wondered how (or if) the children and other younger singers were educated about what was going on. I guess I’m giving away my age, for today’s young people see and experience so much more than we did when I was young, including the thrill of a major New York concert.
