Twilite Chorus comes of age without the orchestra

Twilite Chorus comes of age without the orchestra

By Y. Bintang Prakarsa

JAKARTA (JP): The Twilite Chorus, formed five years ago to
complement to the Twilite Orchestra under Addie MS., has come of
age at last with a debut concert without the orchestra at Gedung
Kesenian Jakarta, on Nov. 8 and Nov. 9.

Under Avip Priatna, its conductor since 1999, they sang as
their main offering Carl Orff's world-famous Carmina Burana. The
choice itself was quite symbolic, for the text of the work as
chosen and ordered by Orff (1895-1982) speaks about the new life
that buds in the spring and culminates in the celebration of love
and passion between the youthful of opposite sexes.

The text is a part of a collection of songs and poems coming
from an unexpected source: the old abbey of Benediktbeuern, near
Munich in Bavaria, Germany, which kept it for centuries in its
library. When it was dissolved in 1803, the Bavarian State
Library took over its library, and since then the public was made
aware of the collection through an edition by Johann Andreas
Schmeller (1847) titled Carmina Burana.

Who wrote these poems then, the monks themselves? If not, how
did they find their way into the monastery, and what would the
monks do with the collection?

These questions might remain unanswered forever, but it is
certain that they originated from the Goliards -- rowdy
intellectual outcasts in the 12th century who sang and begged.
There is more than just love and passion in this collection. It
contains also jokes with political and religious overtones that
ridicule those in power, both sacred and secular. (These unruly
bands, which many monks and priests joined, were of course
outlawed by the church.)

Orff's ordering begins with a welcome to spring, which brings
back life, warmth and color to the world, turns to the desire and
lust of human beings who then engage in unrestrained pleasures.
The first orgy happens in a tavern, where people of virtually all
social classes meet, gamble and drink. In piece number 14, In
taberna quando sumus (When We Are In the Tavern), the inebriation
climaxes with rhythmic repetitions and superlatives, apparent in
the compact and rhymed Latin.

The irony of the morally loose is described in the way they
drink. First they take a drink of wine, then a second, then a
third and so on for different intentions, imbibing endlessly at
the climax in a toast for the pope as well as the king. Then come
the detailed list of those libertines, and nobody escapes from it
save the highest persons on the hierarchical ladder (because
they, of course, never visit the tavern). The repeated word bibit
(drink) suggests the suffocating disorder in this crowded and
noisy tavern: Bibit hera, bibit herus, bibit miles, bibit clerus
(The mistress drinks, the master drinks, the soldier drinks, the
priest drinks -- translation taken from Classical Net Website
http://www.classical.net/music/comp.lst/works/orff-
cb/carmlyr.html.)

Next comes the love scene, the text of which, at least some of
it, must be classified as outright obscenity by contemporary
readers. The scene in piece no. 19, Si Puer Cum Puellula (If A
Boy With A Girl), would be considered indecent by many of today's
parents: If a boy with a girl/tarries in a little room,/happy is
their coupling./Love rises up,/and between them/prudery is driven
away,/an ineffable game begins/in their limbs, arms and lips. The
desperation of the desirous lover is captured in the babble
"hyrca, hyrce, nazaza,/trillirivos" no. 20, Veni, veni, venias
(Come, come, O come), confirmed by the reiterating chorus in no.
22 Tempus es iocundum (This Is The Joyful Time): Oh! Oh! Oh!/I am
bursting out all over!/I am burning all over with first
love!/New, new love is what I am dying of!

One might wonder why Orff, a devout Catholic, had no scruples
in setting these poems. But he selected the mildest texts whose
unpolished humor would seem to offend nobody. In the remaining
poems there is much, much more immodesty, like that in Sic mea
fata (This Is My Fate), which describes graphically how a man
imagines kissing, fondling and licking his lover. Even the
selected texts are still very compelling in their sensuality,
with suggestive "oh" and "ah" interjections added by the
composer.

Underlining these poems, there are some techniques that
contribute to its fantastic sound effects: repetitions of simple
rhythms, abundant staccatos and powerful accents, orchestra with
an enlarged percussion section. Those who are familiar with
harmony will notice, for instance, that the music uses many
parallel movements that was avoided by composers from the
Renaissance until the 19th century, involving voices with five
notes (fifth) or eight (octave) notes apart moving in the same
direction. Because the last mentioned feature is found also in
medieval and folk music, the arrangement evokes the aura of
antiquity, primitiveness and folksiness, and compels the listener
to sense instantly its direct rawness and sensuality.

The Twilite Chorus and the accompanists managed to hold
together under Avip, especially on the more difficult passages
that often push the human vocal range to the limit (many
compliments for soprano Binu D. Sukaman for her fine solos).

There were also enough stirring generated by the
instrumentalists in the reduced accompaniment of two pianos and
percussions. The mood of the text and music, however, calls for
still more passion and power, roughness and fierceness. This
performance was a bit tidy and tame, and it was understandable
when one tracks Avip's record as an expert in the Western
tradition of "groomed" sacred and secular choral music.
Hopefully, there is still much chance to work the "symphonic" or
"big" choral style with the Twilite Chorus, with which it seems
to be at more home.