The plague was ravaging Europe. Heinrich Schütz was in Dresden. It was the early part of the 17th century. The city was in turmoil. The specter of death was at every doorway. Every place haunted, everyone uneasy as family, friends, neighbors developed fevers, chills, pains. Doctors were hopeless, gravediggers busy. It was a very dark time and yet Schütz, the most famous of German composers, was creating beautiful masterworks. There can be beauty in misery, he proved. There can be light in the dark.
The coronavirus has killed more than one million Americans. For the last handful of years, we, too, have been in turmoil, with death lurking. From hospital rooms to coffee shops, gas stations to dance halls, the virus has taken a lot out of us and, for many, the virus has taken people from us. It’s been a time where peace has been hard to come by. It’s been a time when the arts could prove some solace, if only the opportunities could arise again and we could gather and we could ruminate about what’s been lost these last years and what we have found in that time, both about ourselves, and the world around us.
An opportunity arose this last weekend. It’s been two years since Coro Vocati, an Atlanta-based ensemble of professional singers, was able to produce a concert. Now in their 12th season, the renowned choral group, under the leadership of John Dickson, and in collaboration with pianist and organist Jonathan Crutchfield, performed Saturday at Morningside Presbyterian Church (the following day they performed the same program at Peachtree Road United Methodist Church). It was a lovely setting for their concert. The church is one of quiet beauty. With a spartan interior, white towering walls and opaque windows, it was a good seed from which Coro Vocati’s music could bloom.
The concert was titled “Live the Questions” in response to some lines by beloved poet Rainer Maria Rilke. Rilke wrote, “Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves . . . Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything.” Rilke continues, “Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.” The concert asked questions of us. The concert answered questions for us.
The concert was broken out into five sections. The first, “From the Silence and Benediction,” began with a work by Elaine Hagenberg (born in 1979). It was a soft enrobing of voices. Then came works by Sophie Elisabeth and her contemporary, the aforementioned Heinrich Schütz. The section ended with a piece by Bach. Alas, the Bach piece was the least affecting of the entire evening. It was a bit muddled, both by the musicians (two violins, a viola, a cello and a pianist/organist) and by the singers themselves.
Coro Vocati more than made up for the misstep in the second part, “Time and Benediction.” They coupled a work by Mendelssohn with “In the Middle,” a composition by Dale Trumbore (born in 1987). “Each day, we must learn again how to love,” the lyrics read, “between morning’s quick coffee and evening’s slow return.” Tomorrow is not a promise. Today is all that matters. For Schütz, it was the plague that had him question the future. For us, it has been the coronavirus. Each day we must love again for there might be no tomorrow. The singers showed audiences their love through their voices.
The strongest piece of the night was “Pour Toi, Mère,” in the third portion of the evening, “Love and Benediction.” Composed by young Sydney Guillaume, a Haitian American composer based in Portland, Oregon, it’s a song of a son’s love for his mother. Words that I scribbled into my program as it was being performed: soaring, evocative, bird flight, lush, tranquil, stirring. Words that I scribbled into my program in regard to the accompaniment: a Sunday morning, light, airy, flowers touched with dew and drying in the new morning sun.
Part four, “Heal and Benediction,” included “Tikkun Olam” (“Heal the World”) and other stirring pieces including soprano Lauryn Davis belting out Moses Hogan’s “There is a Balm in Gilead” and Dan Forrest’s “The Sun Never Says.” Forrest’s piece proves that sometimes the simplest of songs can be the most stirring.
The evening concluded with “Live and Benediction.” Composer Jake Runestad put to music Rilke’s words and, finally, Edward Elgar’s “Requiem Aeternam” ended the night. “Grant them eternal rest, Oh God,” they sing.
The uncertainties of life have never been more profound than of late. One day we’re at a birthday party and the next, we develop a sniffle which turns out to be more than a simple cold. We lose our sense of smell and taste. For many, the circumstances compound, some disastrously. The Coro Vocati concert wasn’t as much a remembrance of those we’ve lost to the virus but a soft awakening for the rest of us. That our lives are here and now, and we are works of art in and of ourselves. Schütz is long dead. Elgar passed from cancer in the 1930s. Rilke’s grave is surrounded by roses in a Swiss churchyard. “Grant them eternal rest, Oh God,” they sing.
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Jonathan Shipley is a freelance writer based in Hapeville. His writing has appeared in such publications as the Los Angeles Times, National Parks Magazine and Earth Island Journal.
