Scattered Rhymes

Laidlaw Music Centre, University of St Andrews, 12/5/24

Singers of Dunedin Consort, Nicholas Mulroy (director)

 The Singers of the Dunedin Consort: Scattered Rhymes

 Just under a year from my first visit to the innovative acoustically and spatially programmable auditorium of the Laidlaw Music Centre of the University of St Andrews, I returned to catch the 16 Singers of Dunedin Consort, on tour with an a cappella programme: ‘Scattered Rhymes’.  This is a reference to Petrarch’s 14th century Rime Sparse, his sonnets of adoration addressed to the beautiful Laura; the programme wove settings of these interspersed with songs inspired by the sensuous passionate Song of Solomon (a.k.a. ‘The Song of Songs’) from the Hebrew Bible. The programme was introduced by the conductor, Nicholas Mulroy.

James MacMillan’s song of devotion and commitment, written for his son’s wedding in 2018, ‘Behold, you are beautiful, my love’ began with a solo soprano and alto proceeding from the back of the auditorium to the stage, singing repeated notes, the other voices entering with harmonies which gradually blossomed into a fuller melodic sound.  A contrasting section was more rhapsodic, before the music pared back to the simple solo soprano’s emulation of a ringing bell.  The perfect blending, dynamic range and skilful exploitation of the marvellous acoustics of the venue, which were to be a feature of the evening’s music-making, were evident from the outset.

There followed a set of 3 contrasting 21st century pieces.  Gavin Bryars’ 2004 ‘A la dolce ombra’, the second of his fourth set of 4 Madrigals setting words of Petrarch, was of melancholy mood couched in sweet harmony, with great surges of sound, the flawless dynamic balance preserved by the fabulously live acoustic.  Biancamaria Furgeri’s 2003 three-part ‘Ego flos campi’ for female voices had a delicious fusion of modern harmonies and echoes of medieval chant, infused with passion and performed with perfect breath control.  Stephanie Martin’s 2012 ‘Rise up, my love’ started in the sound world of Vaughan Williams, modal and emotively poignant, leading to a dance-like mischievous central section that was more like Holst. A return to the opening mood led to a powerful climax, before ending in a calm afterglow with lovely harmonies, The Furgeri and the Martin both set parts of the Song of Solomon.

The first half concluded with Tarik O’ Regan’s 2008 ‘Scattered Rhymes’, a strange concertante collage where a quartet of solo singers sang fragments of three Petrarch sonnets in a variety of styles that focussed on syllabic sounds rather than evocation of textual meaning, while the rest of the choir acted as ripieni  intoning fragments of a mass by 14th century French composer Guillaume de Machaut.  From this seemingly chaotic texture emerged a surprisingly cogent musical argument.  It must be fiendishly difficult to perform, but it worked perfectly and was as satisfying as it was intriguing.

The glorious Renaissance polyphony of 17th century Augustinian nun Raffaella Aleotti, a contemporary of Monteverdi, opened the second half with her ‘Surge propera’, A ‘Song of Solomon’ setting for double choir in antiphony; it was stunning. The starring role of the venue’s acoustics cannot escape fresh mention.

Staying in the High Renaissance, a set of 4 pieces followed, two Flemish masters, Willaert and Clemens flanked by two Palestrina pieces. Palestrina’s ‘Duo ubera tua’, the nakedly and ardently erotic text clad in the coolest liturgical disguise, contrasted with the eager ebb and flow of his ‘Surge amica mea’.  Both were delightful, even if the racy text might prompt the reaction “It’s Palestrina, Jim, but not as we know it”.  Adrian Willaert’s Petrarch setting ‘Lasso ch’i ardo’, for tenors and basses only, lamented unrequited passion but took solace in the permanence of art. The liquid lines of Jacobus Clemens non Papa’s 7-part setting of ‘Ego flos campi’ evoked clear running water with exquisite limpid polyphony.

In the concluding set of 3 pieces, a new Dunedin commission receiving its world premiere on the tour, Caroline Shaw’s ‘Companion Planting’, was flanked by two late Renaissance pieces, one French, the other Spanish. Guillaume Bouzignac’s ‘Vulnerasti cor meum’ evoked the heartache of the ‘wounds of love’ with intense chromaticism.  In his introductory remarks, Nicholas Mulroy explained that companion planting is the practice of cultivating together plants which nourish and protect each other, like beans which fix nitrogen fertility to support other vegetables or broad-leaved plants which shelter others from intense direct sunlight. He went on to say that this was not unlike human relationships, lovers, families and societies.  And, he added, the curating of concert programmes. Looking back over the evening’s music, I was struck by the truth of this statement and a sense of gratitude for the novel insight.  Edward Edgcumbe’s programme notes promised: “Like a nature documentary’s time-lapse of plants growing towards the light, the piece curls chromatic tendrils across the parts as they grow together and apart”.  Shaw’s words and music (for the lyrics are her poetry) did exactly that. Very lovely. The evening concluded with Tomás Luis de Victoria’s ‘Vadam et circumibo civitatem’, a winding, wandering melody evoking the lover wandering the city streets searching for his lost beloved, where resolutions of the polyphony are fleeting and vanish as the melody moves on, a sense of unsatisfied longing ever present, until a sense of calm acceptance brings peace, if not joy.  The evening of consummate artistry was over.