When I think of British composers—or, perhaps, I should say, English composers, the first one that comes to mind is Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958).
Though Vaughan Williams is probably best remembered today for some of his orchestral works (in particular, The Lark Ascending, Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis, and his Fifth Symphony), his contributions to the vocal and choral literature are even more remarkable. The sheer volume of his work is remarkable: I could write an even longer diary than this just listing and briefly describing his works for chorus and orchestra.
But, in the spirit of the holiday season, I would like to present one of his lesser known works, which was also one of his last: his Christmas cantata Hodie.
(Also, please forgive the relative shallowness compared to Dumbo's outstanding work; (A) I don't have access to a copy of the score, and (B) I just found out two days ago that i had lost the first draft of this that I had done two weeks ago. Over 2,000 words gone poof. :( )
Ralph Vaughan Williams, around the time he wrote Hodie
Hodie (pronounced "HOH-dee-ay") was written in 1953 and 1954. Somewhat oddly, its premiere performance—under Vaughan Williams' baton—was at the Three Choirs Festival in September 1954.
Vaughan Williams called for larger forces here than in almost any of his other works: not only did he call for both chorus and full orchestra, he added three soloists (soprano, tenor, and baritone), a boys' chorus, and an organ. The work is in 16 movements, and runs a bit under an hour; if you want to listen to the whole thing, you can find at least two complete copies (albeit broken up by movements) on YouTube. If you do, note that one thing you won't find in this work is a traditional Christmas carol. (In fact, Vaughan Williams largely eschewed those even in his Fantasia on Christmas Carols, focusing on far more obscure ones).
At one point, I contemplated giving a movement-by-movement synopsis of the entire piece, but I realized that would be too long to be practical. So, I will focus on the opening three movements, and the finale. This is not to say that the other movements are not worth listening to (by all means they are), but the movements I have chosen highlight some of the things that make Vaughan Williams' music unforgettable.
(Timings in the descriptions below refer to the linked videos. You can find an almost-complete libretto, minus the sections whose texts are still under copyright, on the Wikipedia web page for Hodie. You can also find a non-live recording of the sections of Hodie here and here)
I. Prologue (chorus and orchestra) (listen to it here)
Hodie opens with a brass fanfare (0:39), followed by cries of "Nowell!" from the chorus (0:57). It then moves into a galloping theme (1:12) that introduces the Latin text that gives the work its name (Hodie Christus natus est—"On this day Christ is born").
At the word "dicentes" (1:56), though, the music suddenly slows down, as Vaughan Williams sets a fragment from the Latin text of the Gloria, introducing a theme that will recur several times in the work (though not in the movements I will discuss here).
After this comes one of the most interesting decisions in the entire work: how to set the word "Alleluia"? Merely saying the word likely brings to mind the "Hallelujah" chorus from Handel's Messiah; wisely, Vaughan Williams chose a completely different route. Although the orchestra begins the "Alleluia" section with an almost military march (2:48), it suddenly morphs (3:14) into a joyous dance with a sprightly accompaniment focused on high strings and woodwinds.
The movement then moves to its close with another short fanfare (3:56), followed by the choir reprising the first line of the chant a cappella (unaccompanied), followed by a return to the opening cries of "Nowell!" (4:16).
II. Narration (boys' chorus; tenor solo; chorus) (listen to it here)
The first of several Narrations in Hodie begins with (what should be) the childrens' chorus alone, accompanied only by an organ, sing verses from the first chapters of Matthew and Luke. (Note: in this particular performance, the children are replaced by women from the chorus. This is not nearly as successful.) These same forces would be used again just a few years later, when Benjamin Britten wrote his War Requiem, although the boys' chorus serves a far less jaded role here.
After the narration, the orchestra enters (1:11), supporting a highly chromatic line for the Angel (tenor solo) who declaims, "Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife. . . ." The "visitation" music has a mysterious feel, one quite fitting for such an event.
That music abruptly ends when the orchestra cuts out (2:43), as the tenor sings, for the second of just four times in the entire work, the name "Jesus." The orchestra returns and the chorus enters with the words "He shall be praised and shall be called the son of the Highest."
At the climax of the movement (3:19), "Emmanuel, God with us," something very strange happens: instead of the brightness we might expect with the Gospels, we get the chorus singing in a minor key, and the orchestra playing an anguished theme (3:34) that seems more fitting in an oratorio about the Last Judgment. Ironically, the music itself harkens back to one of Vaughan Williams' earliest works, the "Evening Hymn" from his Four Hymns for tenor and viola, vastly magnified, and changed from a major key to a minor one.
A remarkable thing happens, though, as the orchestra quiets down: the music suddenly shifts into a major key (3:49) and moves immediately into the next section.
III. Song (soprano solo; women of the chorus) (same video as movement II)
The first song in Hodie sets excerpts from John Milton's poem "On the Morning of Christ's Nativity." I won't comment on this movement too much, for reasons you'll see below, but I encourage you to listen to it closely.
Thematically it's in an A-B-A form; the first verse (4:01) introduces the traditional picture of Christ lying in the manger amidst the snow. The soprano line shows Vaughan Williams' gift for melody. (It's been said that Vaughan Williams wrote melodies so prolifically that one movement of one of his symphonies would have more melodies than some composers used in entire symphonies, as if he had a whole cellar full of them.) And, as Vaughan Williams so often did, he crafts a gorgeous melody for it; I can almost guarantee you'll hear it running through your head for days after hearing it. In the second verse (5:04), the soprano remarks, again with accompaniment somewhat more ominous than one might expect, on the "peace on earth" that follows.
The women of the chorus enter wordlessly (5:58) just before the third verse starts, and, near the end, they backup the soprano, as she sings with rapt wonder about the "peaceful night" accompanying the birth of the "Prince of Light."
XVI. Epilogue (all three soloists and chorus) (listen to it here)
One of Vaughan Williams' most remarkable gifts was his ability to transform a theme, and Hodie ends with a classic example.
The Epilogue opens (0:03) with a return to the ethereal "Annunciation" music (which now sounds like it would be at home in the aforementioned Tallis Fantasia). One by one, the soloists enter—first the baritone (0:26, singing "In the beginning was the Word!"), then the tenor (1:01), and finally the soprano (1:22), they finally join together at the words "Full of grace and truth" (1:37). At that point, just as in movement II, the orchestra swells, until we return to the "Emmanuel" music (1:53). This time, though, as the music ends, we do not get the anguished theme that we heard in the first narration. Instead, we move immediately (2:14) to a major key.
And now comes the final surprise: Vaughan Williams reworks the music from the soprano's song for full chorus. Moreover, not only does he reuse the music, he also sets more verses from the same Milton poem! While the music does turn faster and slightly more ominous (3:30) in the second verse (just as it did in movement III), it returns to a jubilant outburst from the orchestra, as Milton's poem describes (4:23) for the final verse (4:38). And, thankfully, Vaughan Williams, in a move unusual for him, chose to end Hodie not with the quiet niente endings that are a hallmark of so many of his works, but rather with a fortissimo blast (5:22) that marks one of the only times in the entire work that the chorus and all three soloists join together.
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I encourage you to listen to at least the sections above (you can find YouTube videos of the entire piece, including one of this entire performance), before continuing.
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Now I'd like to present a few final thoughts:
You'll see I linked two different performances of Hodie; while the studio recording is clearly superior, I chose the live one to prove a point: even an "average" performance of Vaughan Williams' music can be quite an experience, and an outstanding performance can touch the soul. (True story: the premiere of Vaughan Williams' Serenade to Music moved Sergei Rachmaninoff to tears.)
That said, on the subject of souls, let me pose a question to you all that still vexes me: why did Vaughan Williams write the "Emmanuel" music as he did? Although it leads to two very cool transitions, it just doesn't seem to fit in with the theme of the work as a whole, or with the Christmas spirit.
Finally, I'd love to know what brought Vaughan Williams to write Hodie the way he did. How and why did he pick these texts? Why do I want to know?
Because Vaughan Williams was, to use his own words, a "cheerful agnostic."
Yet many of his best works are overtly religious, including his oratorio Sancta Civitas, his Mass in G minor, and his magnum opus, The Pilgrim's Progress. How was a composer who questioned the basic tenets of the Christian faith (and, in fact, saw himself at times as an atheist) able to write music like this?
Regardless of the why and how, though, what remains is a beautiful testament to a giant of classical music.
And on that note, I bid you a Merry Christmas, and a safe, happy, and prosperous New Year in 2011.