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Monday, November 26, 2007

Monday, November 26, 2007 4:34 pm by Cristina in , ,    No comments
The Guardian reviews the event that took place last Saturday in Leeds: Brontë Mass by Philip Wilby.
The Brontës are not a family of authors so much as a brand: you can read the books, you can eat the shortbread, and now you can listen to the choral mass, commissioned by the Leeds Philharmonic Chorus from Philip Wilby.
In his programme note, the Pontefract-born composer recalls hearing "this great choir in great Victorian oratorios in this great town hall, so I come to produce something in this great tradition" - which, despite the grating insistence on the greatness of it all, at least gives you an idea of where he is coming from. It's a lavish celebration of Yorkshire amateur music-making, and though the premiere is given here by the distinctly professional Royal Liverpool Philharmonic, Wilby has produced a parallel version for brass band.
The work interleaves poems by the Brontës with strophes from the Latin mass. There seems to be no more logical reason for this than there would be for inserting psalms between chapters of Jane Eyre; although the Brontës grew up in a parsonage, there is surprisingly little reference to conventional religion in the sisters' work. Yet the poems are haunted by the spectre of mortality. Wilby rings funereal bells throughout The Autumn Day, in which Charlotte is pursued by a silent nun with a "mask of gloom", while the "feeble faith" of Anne's A Prayer is evoked by a plaintive solo trumpet.
Surprisingly, given that three-quarters of the Brontë children were women, Wilby employs only a baritone soloist. He also gives black-sheep Branwell the final word: at the conclusion of his fragment, Memory, the outstanding baritone Leigh Melrose evokes the mournful whine of an Aeolian harp by floating up to a ghostly falsetto.
David Hill conducts dramatically, and the Philharmonic Chorus sing the Latin Ordinary with full-throated vigour. But it's hard not to feel that the sudden liturgical interruptions belong to a different work altogether. (Alfred Hickling)
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