Trouble in Tahiti or Wherever You May Be

A friend of mine likes, “good news/bad news” jokes. He asked me once if I knew the good news and bad news about opera. He continued, “the good news about opera is you usually get your money’s worth because operas are incredibly long. And the bad news – operas are incredibly long!”

I thought of him recently, and his joke that does not apply to Leonard Bernstein’s opera, Trouble in Tahiti. This one-act opera’s running time is about 45 minutes. Perhaps for this reason it is seldom performed. Written in 1952, this opera depicts suburbia of the time, “Happily married, sweet little son…up-to-date kitchen, washing machine, colorful bathrooms and Life magazine, and a little white house in Brookline…Suburbia.” Just seven years after the end of the Second World War, funded in part by the GI Bill of Rights, suburbia had become a Garden of Eden for many families. And compared to the recent memories of World War II, the fighting and death abroad, the rationing at home, everyone’s life on hold till the war ended, suburbia certainly was Eden for many an American family.

The Next Theatre Company, Evanston, IL [http://www.nexttheatre.org] figured out an innovative way to bring Trouble in Tahiti to their audience. This opera has become the first act in the world premiere of The American Dream Songbook, described by artistic director Jason Loewith as “our hybrid world premiere music-theatre event.” After the conclusion of Trouble in Tahiti, the audience returns after the intermission for a second act titled, “The American Dream Revue” which consists of five contemporary songs written by Kevin O’Donnell, Michael John LaChiusa, Michael Mahler, Michael Friedman, and Josh Schmidt. Act One, which is Trouble in Tahiti, reveals an inner life of suburbia that doesn’t match its outer image. Act Two, “The American Dream Revue” sings songs of present day American Dreams. It left me wondering if this generation might not have any more luck in finding genuine happiness in their many and varied lifestyles than their parents or grandparents did in suburbia some sixty years ago.

The children and grandchildren of 1950s suburbia have other dreams. Many have repudiated suburban lifestyle, searching for other manifestations of Eden, through diverse careers, gentrified urban

neighborhoods and/or back to the land rural retreats to name just a few. How will these epiphanies of the American Dream look to people in another 50 years? What might our children and grandchildren’s dreams look like in 2058, and how successfully might their dreams take shape? And who will be the composers who capture these dreams in their music?

Music helps us to explore, communicate, and reflect upon each generation’s version of the American Dream. Music also often reminds us that each generation finds different and differing manifestations of their dreams, including the ever elusive American Dream. Leonard Bernstein’s short opera, Trouble in Tahiti does these things exceptional well on its own. Contextualized in The American Dream Songbook, it becomes even more focused for us today who still search for a Garden of Eden in our midst.

The American Dream Songbook runs until March 22, 2008 at the Next Theatre in Evanston, IL.

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Amahl and the Night Visitors Revisited

The 20^th century has produced an incredible array of holiday resources, some pretty bizarre. Remember flocked trees, some orange or lavender? Remember stainless-steel Christmas trees? Then there was a reindeer named Rudolph, who permanently nosed his way into Christmas.

Amid awful manifestations of Christmas are other awe-filled representations of this holiday. My personal favorite is Gian Carlo Menotti’s “Amahl and the Night Visitors.” This one-act opera in English was commissioned by NBC in 1951 to be aired over the young technology named television. It is the story of an overnight stay by the Magi at Amahl and his mother’s home as they follow the star toward Christ’s birthplace. These Magi, far from plaster figurines found in many crib scenes, are wonderfully human, delightfully eccentric, and faithfully driven people. Amahl, the young crippled boy, is a bit of a space cadet, a daydreamer. His single-parent mother, exhausted from work, has little enthusiasm for her son’s imaginative thoughts. What a great crew of humanity to birth and berth a messiah.

Back in 1951 television transmission was black and white, and confined to a TV screen in most people’s homes no larger than 14 inches. Such was the venue for my first encounter with “Amahl and the Night Visitors.” It intrigued me then, and now, more than 50 years later, this deceptively simple opera still mesmerizes me.

Menotti’s exploration into the birth of Christ is a great example of midrash, a term less familiar to Christians than to Jews who developed this unique form of storytelling.

Midrashic stories enhance biblical stories, imaginatively filling in blank spaces, expanding on underdeveloped of missing events, or casting them in a contemporary situation or language. Midrash explores biblical stories, not through analysis, but through imagination. Menotti is a master at midrash.

It’s been a while since “Amahl and the Night Visitors” has appeared on television, but live performances of Menotti’s opera happen during the Christmas season. I was fortunate to see the Ars Viva Symphony Orchestra’s production of “Amahl and the Night Visitors” recently in Skokie, Illinois. This production transformed the black and white, small screen, original TV version into a colorful, full-stage, live performance. Once again, I was transfixed by Menotti’s miraculous music and story.

Trash your memories of flocked and stainless-steel trees. Silence the song about a red-nosed reindeer. Reread Matthew and Luke’s birth of Christ stories. Listen to Menotti’s midrashic Christmas story known as “Amahl and the Night Visitors.”

Merry Christmas.

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An evening of song with Sylvia McNair

The area where I live has been privileged to have more than its fair share of Sylvia McNair concerts. My wife and I recently got another opportunity to hear her, and I thought I would share my thoughts about the evening.

At a previous concert, Ms. McNair spoke about beginning her undergraduate studies studying violin. But, like many college students, she changed her major. As I recall, she said there were multiple reasons for this, but one was that she found vocal performance to be more highly communicative.

At this stage in her career, she is undergoing another change. Her most recent bio states that she has “segued from opera and oratorio to the Great American Songbook, the music with which she feels most at home.” Again, I’m sure there are multiple reasons for this. For example, after an impressive 2-3 decades of singing professionally, some of the magic from the top of her range and her trademark sense of effortlessness has waned a bit. But, perhaps like her transition in college, her new repertoire seems to allow her to be more highly communicative than that of her classical days.

And she does seem at home in this genre; she puts her heart and soul into it. A few rather pedestrian songs come alive when with her masterful touch, and other well-known (and well-worn) songs sounded fresh and made to be her own. And I believe that her expressiveness, her phrasing, her charisma, her ability to communicate to and connect with the audience, and her ability to sell the texts she is singing are as good as or better than ever. She may at times reach to the audience as a dramatic gesture, but really her whole concert felt like a reaching to the audience — an act of giving.

The concert took place in a chapel, lending a sense of intimacy and also of the sacred. Furthermore, Ms. McNair’s spoken words and sincerity of delivery encouraged the audience to take the songs she sang as personal statements and not just performances. Given that, and given that she had a bout with breast cancer last year, songs like “O God Our Help in Ages Past” and this one seemed to take on some of the greatest meaning:

No storm can shake my inmost calm
while to that Rock I’m clinging.
Since love is Lord of heaven and earth,
how can I keep from singing?

This is a strong statement indeed, and many of us would feel blessed indeed if we could make one like it after facing a serious trial.

Ms. McNair also made a case for looking in sacred not just in settings of religious texts like the Prayer of St. Francis, but also in more ordinary texts from Stephen Sondheim and Harold Arlen. This should not be a stretch as it sometimes is for those of us who believe that the God of heaven and earth was found as an infant by sheep herders amidst cattle.

For a few numbers, Ms. McNair invited a college choir to join her. That got me thinking: much of the training of a young artist is spent on technical development. This is reasonable, for without sufficient skill great art cannot be made. But I’m guessing that one strong lesson that many students in the choir will take from that experience is that artistry goes beyond the merely technical. An artist might even allow a little soul to creep into his or her work from time to time. And hopefully those students also would have picked up some of Ms. McNair’s spirit that can’t help but share the joy of life with others, and that can’t keep from singing.

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Symphonic Meditations for 9/11

I came across an informative piece on Aaron Copland, his politics and his music, titled, “Appalachian Autumn” written by Alex Ross in the August 27, 2007 issue of the New Yorker magazine (page 34). This article struck me personally as we approach the sixth anniversary of 9/11.In the days immediately following 9/11, numbed by the endless reportage on television, I turned to two American composers, Aaron Copland and Charles Ives. Their music not only soothed my soul but also helped me reflect deeply on the unique genius of America, and the problematic interpretations of that genius from inside and outside this country. I am forever grateful to these two American composers for assisting me to look more deeply into the significance of life after 9/11.So I was most interested in this Copland article. Copland realized that “a mood of suspicion, ill-will and dread that typifies the Cold War attitude” during his productive years stymied the artist. Yet he managed to create a body of work that continues to help me navigate life in this tender land today. Would Copland be able to create music today in the present atmosphere of suspicion, ill-will and dread that has been generated since 9/11?

I don’t know.

But this I do know: even though Copland is long gone, his sometimes deceptively simple music lives on, and reveals a complex mind who thought deeply about the American experiment. Ross ends his piece, “Copland conjures a perfect American Sunday in which the music of all peoples streams from the open doors of a white-steepled church that does not yet exist.”

Both Copland and Ives weave explicitly spiritual music in their various works. Yet their work is often categorized as secular. Certainly, for me, in the aftermath of 9/11, and now, six years later, their works function as sacred music for me.

What makes sacred music? What makes music sacred? Good questions for sure. Listen to Copland and Ives carefully before trying to answer these questions.

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Sacred Music and the Quest for the Divine: an introduction

In short, I have great interest in the quest for the Divine, and how the arts are faithful companions along the way.This interest is both personal and professional.My own personal quest for the Divine the first 18 years of my life was contextualized in pre-Vatican II Roman Catholicism. Latin liturgies, solemn high masses, and Gregorian chant were coins of the religious realm for me.

I was a university student during the Second Vatican Council (1961-1965) when Roman Catholicism evolved from its exclusively high church liturgical practice to a more inclusive and communal church liturgical practice.

This seismic shift included liturgy in the language of the people, a period of great experimentation and creativity in liturgical practice and sacred music, and, to the dismay of some, loss of a great tradition of sacred music in Latin. Since my university years, I have embraced this reorientation of my religious tradition with enthusiasm, and my continuing quest for the Divine now is contextualized in, but not limited to, post-Vatican II Roman Catholicism.

In my professional life, I teach graduate religious studies at Loyola University Chicago’s Institute of Pastoral Studies. Most all of my students are in church ministries. They help others quest for the Divine. Although Loyola is a Catholic University, about 20% of my students are from religious traditions other than Roman Catholicism. Students from many different Christian denominations as well as Jewish, Hindu, and Moslem students come to learn how to minister at our Institute.

We welcome them all and know that our school is a better place because of the religious diversity represented in our student body. We all learn from each other about the quests for the Divine embodied in the various religious and spiritual traditions.

I have come to appreciate God’s revelation is not necessarily confined to one or another particular religious tradition. Jacques Dupuis writes in Christianity and the Religions, “In short, the question is whether the divine design for humankind might not be much more vast and deep than we had every thought before.” I think he has hit the theological nail on the head.

Sacred music is both a language and experience that transcends denominationalism, and reflects the much more vast and deep divine design Dupuis writes about. Sacred music has the power to reach into people’s hearts, illuminate their religious consciousness, and sustain them on their never ending quest for the Divine. Sacred music also provides common ground for people of the many and varied faith traditions to come together as they quest for the Divine.

Faithful people experience salvation in their quest for the Divine, not by sacred music alone! Yet sacred music can point the way and ease the path, for those on this pilgrimage. Faithful people are fortunate to have Soli Deo Gloria as a rich resource of tradition and creativity.

I hope to further illuminate the theological dimensions of sacred music through my comments and conversations.

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