Bringing Out the Big Gunns

Nathan Gunn is a baritone, famous for taking his shirt off in opera productions. (He is famous for being a very fine singer and singing actor, too.) Julie Gunn — or "Dr. Julie Gunn," as she is known in her bio — is his wife and a pianist. They often give recitals together, and they gave one at Zankel Hall on Tuesday night. It was an exceedingly unusual recital.

The theme of the evening was the spiritual life, in particular the monastic life. Dr. Gunn played three movements of Messiaen's "Vingt Regards sur l'Enfant-Jésus." The evening began with one such movement, and the others were placed elsewhere on the program. Together, the Gunns performed several songs by the American composer Frank Ferko (b. 1950) to words by Thomas Merton, the Trappist poet. And they did Barber's beloved cycle "Hermit Songs."

Throughout the recital, there was moody, arty lighting, and a kind of video show played along. There was also dancing — by one woman, Sonia Warfel, who served as a choreographer, too.

The Gunns had a note in Zankel's program booklet, and it genuinely puzzled me. They said, "In this presentation of songs about the monastic life, we have tried to strengthen our communication to the audience by heightening their emotional experience with the use of lighting, movement, and video. Our effort in this recital, like the daily efforts of the monastic orders, is to eliminate distractions and to focus on what we already can see."

But if the point was to eliminate distractions, why the funky lighting, the video show, and the dancing? Why not the music, alone? A singer and a pianist on the stage? The lighting, video, and dancing — however good they were — were, precisely, distractions. I have no doubt that the Gunns know what they're doing; I simply do not understand what they're doing.

As Dr. Gunn played her opening Messiaen, words moved quickly on the wall behind the stage. For example, we read, "The woods are silent with the sleep of doves" (Merton). Then the dancer, Ms. Warfel, started to move. So did the (non-singing) singer, Mr. Gunn. Their movements were coordinated. For example, they stroked their cheeks, moving their hands down to their chests.

Dr. Gunn played all the Messiaen movements competently. She used sheet music, and turned her own pages — sometimes furiously, when the turn was tricky. That, too, was a (minor) distraction.

Frank Ferko wrote his "Five Songs on Poems of Thomas Merton" in 2004. And he wrote them for the Gunns. They are pleasant songs, with a spirituality and a pop aspect. Mr. Gunn sang with his beautiful sound, though that sound could seem a little heavy — hooded. Mr. Gunn might have benefited from lightening it and opening it somewhat. And he showed a very nice baritonal head voice.

As for what was going on videographically, we saw a picture of a wall — a wall on a wall. Later, yellow leaves. And then the letters in "silence" danced around, before coming together.

Ms. Warfel would sometimes sit in a chair, just contemplating. Then she would move, tumble, twist, scamper. Several times, she put her ear to the floor, as if listening for approaching horse hooves. She started to pant, emotionally. She was obviously very skilled at what she did. Again, however, I confess to not understanding.

The Gunns performed their Barber songs well (and rarely do you hear a man sing them). You could quarrel with the interpretation of this song or that — this tempo was too slow; the baritone was too heavy in this one. But the Gunns are solid musicians. And Ms. Warfel did most of her dancing, it seemed to me, between songs.

Writing about Philip Glass's opera "Satyagraha" the other day, I said you hoped to surrender — hoped to surrender to the minimalism, to get into the groove. If you could, you were happy. If not — not. The same was true of the Gunns' unusual evening. If you could surrender to it, "get" it, you were enthralled. If not ...

Obviously, the audience got it, big time. They were extremely quiet during the performance. And at the end they exploded in wild applause, calling back the performers over and over. I doubt Kreisler and Rachmaninoff were ever accorded such an ovation in Carnegie Hall.

Without question, the Gunns were the soul of sincerity. But, to me, their evening had an atmosphere of enforced spirituality and reverence, rather than the real thing. Furthermore, have you noticed that hype and gimmickry are playing ever larger parts in music? Why do people in this business not trust that music is enough, as it has been for eons? In that program note, the Gunns said they wanted to "strengthen our communication." I guarantee them that good singing, good playing — and good music — are enough.