From Handel to Horror

Last night, I attended a professional choral performance entitled "Angels, Demons & Kings". The first act consisted of three pieces by G. F Handel, which were magnificent (save the one soprano solo by that blaring facial contortionist -- I swear the only other time I've seen a face contort like that was in The Mask with Jim Carey!).

I should have gathered from the title of the concert that not all of the music would be angelic. Still, I was totally unprepared for the second act of the performance. With titles such as The Morning Stars, Hail Mary, Christ, the Fair Glory and so on, I was expecting your typical liturgical fare. I couldn't have BEEN more wrong.

At first, we were treated to an orchestral prelude meant to evoke the Chaos of the time before creation. The tympani, organ and dissonant strings did a magnificent job and I thought we were in for a treat... then the reading began. There were two readers: a British gentleman and a local woman. He sounded dignified and stately, she like a bad Shakespearean actress run amok. On and on she droned in a sickeningly sweet sing-song voice only a deaf mother could love.

As the piece progressed, the speaking was only briefly interrupted by song - harsh and atonal -- names and phrases were hurled at the audience, who shifted uncomfortably in their seats. On and on the readers jangled until even the fair Brit's accent irritated... the songs growing increasingly strident. I found myself gritting my teeth and begging for the end - fearing that one more stanza would cause me to throw myself onto the nearest sharp object.

When at last we were relieved of the suffering I leapt to my feet to escape the scene of this atrocity. I pray only that my standing was not mistaken for an ovation, for I confess that Mr. Britten's Company of Heaven was reminiscent of a place much farther south.