A Chilly ‘Messiah’ Marks the Season
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Handel’s “Messiah” may be overfamiliar, but, if so, there’s a reason: People can’t get enough of it. And they are completely right. “Messiah” is one of the greatest works in all of music. What was it that Robert Graves said about Shakespeare? I’ll paraphrase: “The amazing thing about him is that, despite his popularity, he is actually very good.”
The New York Philharmonic performed “Messiah” on Wednesday night, in Riverside Church. I should say that about half the Philharmonic was there; the other half was in Avery Fisher Hall, for a (different) Baroque program. Joining the Philharmonic in the church was the Westminster Symphonic Choir — ably prepared by its director, Joe Miller. All forces were led by Harry Bicket.
Mr. Bicket is a British early-music specialist, and, indeed, a Handel specialist. He is obviously knowledgeable, skillful, and admirable. But, sometimes, you should beware a specialist.
This one established himself as a “period” man the second he began the overture. He took it like the wind, and it was very, very detached — a little cold, slightly callous. And the introduction to “And the glory of the Lord” was cruelly spare. No one, these days, demands the full Beecham; but a hint of majesty would be nice. Similarly, when the strings introduced “Why do the nations,” in Part II, they sounded like mosquitoes.
“And He shall purify” was dainty, pretty, almost languid — no fun at all. Another big letdown was “For unto us a Child is born.”When the choir began singing it, I had to ask,”Aren’t they happy about this news? Or can’t they at least pretend to be?” The “Hallelujah” Chorus was almost without soul. And the concluding chorus, “Amen,” was neither joyous nor prayerfully grateful — a nothing.
Was there anything good about Mr. Bicket’s efforts? Sure: “Lift up your heads” was properly exuberant, though a little rushed. And the conductor’s technical cleanness was to be appreciated — though “Let us break their bonds asunder” was not quite together.
The truth is, “Messiah” is an oratorio whose main purpose is to praise God. Those words may sit uneasily in the modern secular ear, but there you have it. A “Messiah” without spiritual uplift is no “Messiah” at all. Too often, Mr. Bicket conducted on Wednesday night like a banker (no offense to bankers). Portions of this “Messiah” had all the spiritual conviction of the sociology department at Brown University.
You will want to know about the four vocal soloists, and I will address them in order of appearance — their appearance in the oratorio. The tenor was Bruce Ford, an American. He was assured and fairly correct. But his sound was rather pinched, bordering on strangled. There’s a long tradition for that — think Peter Pears.
The bass, or bass-baritone, in this case, was Neal Davies. He is a Welshman, as you might guess from his name. He even studied with — get ready for another classic Welsh name — Dame Gwyneth Jones. A singer with a more unassuming appearance than Mr. Davies, you never saw. Sitting there, waiting his turn, he looked like an accountant. (No offense to accountants.) But when he began to sing, he was incredibly animated, and he sang brilliantly.
He was incisive, dramatic, and well-nigh riveting. He let himself be quasioperatic, but did not transgress any oratorio bounds. On the words “Behold, I tell you a mystery,” he was absolutely beautiful.
Stephanie Blythe, the great American mezzo, was present, and she sang with all the conviction you could ask for. Yet she was plain and direct — free of emoting or affectation. Her recitatives were nicely conversational. And when she sang “O thou that tellest good tidings to Zion,” she sounded like a hearty herald. Whenever Ms. Blythe had her mouth open, “Messiah” was fully alive.
Rounding out this quartet was Dominique Labelle, a soprano from Canada. Like Ms. Blythe, she is a direct communicator — she knows how to be intimate even in a cathedral. Her singing was pure and refined. And, though the voice is smallish — certainly lyrical — it has remarkable carrying power. Once or twice, Ms. Labelle drained her voice of all vibrato, to excellent effect. And you will know what I mean when I say this: She sang exquisitely, but not preciously, thank goodness.
You may also wish to know how she came down in the great “Rejoice” debate.(It comes up in a favorite aria,”Rejoice greatly.”) Do you sing “Ree-joice” or “Rih-joice”? Ms. Labelle chose “Ree.” I’m a “Rih” man myself, but some say “tomahto.”
Allow a trio of footnotes: As Ms. Blythe was about to sing a recitative, a cell phone played the “Ode to Joy,” loudly. Right spirit, wrong composer.
And, for the “Hallelujah” Chorus, the audience stood, following tradition. And the four soloists sang along (though modestly — Ms. Blythe could have drowned out the entire Westminster Symphonic Choir).
Finally, I might point out that a conductor long associated with the Philharmonic, Sir Colin Davis, is probably the finest “Messiah” conductor we have. Wouldn’t it be nice to engage him, for old times’ sake?