I think I forgot to paste the following excerpt of a concert review of Britten's Serenade in my last e-mail. It is from The Grand Rapids Press September 26, 2003 edition.
My apologies, John Schreckengost Yet it was Benjamin Britten's "Serenade" that provided the evening's piece de resistance. The multifaceted composition had a life of its own. And it was a veritable dream come true for any music-loving English professor, what with a Prologue and Epilogue as bookends for abridged poems by notables William Blake, Alfred Lord Tennyson, Charles Cotton, Ben Jonson and John Keats. Christopher Cock's tenor voice during the entire Britten piece was a force to be reckoned with. He handled with enormous poise and proficiency the solo's challenging jumps, rhythm changes and often extremely high notes. His expressive eyes even danced to the music on "Summer Evening" Pastoral as he sang of shadows, sunsets and cool air. "Dirge," sung in old English, has both pace and feeling. Although the orchestra instruments seemed to get carried away during the poem's midsection and overpowered the words, Cock's mighty voice surged on. Without overwrought theatrics, he made the final verses, along with the imploring refrain "And Christe receive they saule," a thing of beauty. "Nocturne" was extraordinary, too, as the tenor voice faded in sync with the emotion-charged, repeated "answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying." Throughout the lengthy piece, the linkage of text to the breadth of vocal expression was nothing short of profound. Horn soloist Richard Britsch proved himself a worthy sharer of the spotlight. A top-caliber horn player, Britsch played with dignity and emotion entirely appropriate to the heady text. In graceful, mellow turns, Britsch's playing shone, uplifted, helped out, shouted, beseeched and reflected. His deliberate, long solo with orchestra on "The Sick Rose" artfully introduced the dark lyrics' tension. Britsch was masterful, too, on the stark passages in the opening and closing to the "Serenade." Like the trusty stroller through "Pictures at an Exhibition," early on he set the stage for the yet-to-be-heard melodies and colorful verses. At the end, from outside the hall, his more straightforward Epilogue was not only well-timed (thanks to an ever-alert John Varineau who told him when to begin), it made for a poignant and memorable resolution after all the concentrated, versified passion. _______________________________________________ post: [EMAIL PROTECTED] set your options at http://music.memphis.edu/mailman/options/horn/archive%40jab.org
