Working in Concert

In case you couldn’t tell by the prolonged silence, life has been a little crazy as of late.

Well, crazier, anyway.

As of this writing, I’ve just about finished up my semester at the Hochschule für Musik Köln. My official classes were never that rigorous to begin with,¹ but the choral groups kept me busy until our last concerts, which both took place this past week.

First came the madrigal choir’s final concert, which took place in the Dom. Nothing could have properly prepared me for that. I’ve certainly sung in old, resonant churches before. As you may recall, I sang in a church with a chamber choir back in December, and I’ve even sung in true cathedrals, such as St. Stephan’s Dom in Vienna. Indeed, I thought a lot about that experience leading up to the concert in the Dom. Foolishly, I assumed the experiences would be similar. But the concert in Vienna had taken place in August, in Europe’s hottest summer on record. My concert with the madrigal choir was in January… in a giant stone building… at night… and I had no coat.

To put it mildly, I was cold.

Aside from the deteriorating functionality of my fingers as the concert progressed, I had a good time. When I performed in St. Stephan’s, the audience were scattered everywhere, and the choir stood askance the altar at an odd angle, singing directly into one of the columns. Evidently, the Kölner Dom hires better event planners. Both choir and audience were stationed in the nave of the church. This resulted in a surprisingly intimate effect, considering we were performing in a giant Gothic-style refrigerator. It was also a privilege to be there. Outside of tour groups, laity do not normally enter the nave of the Kölner Dom. But with the Christmas decorations still in place, and the tomb of the Magi² glowingly brightly behind the audience like some sort of giant golden hearth,³ it was one of the more beautiful places I’ve ever sung.

For me, the concert also felt like a touch of home. Our repertoire was almost entirely in English. Though I’ve had a number of occasions to butcher foreign pronunciation in the past,⁴ I had never been on the receiving end before. In early rehearsals, the auditory barrage of mistaken emphases and f*@%ed-up fricatives was enough to cause a vowel movement.

After a while, with a little help from their resident native speaker, the choir sounded almost English. True, they still sang of Mary’s “woam” and the Baby Jesus laying in a “crehhdle,” but at least sounding joys no longer repeated from the “fields and flutes,” and the “rocks, hills and plans.” And I was thrilled when they stopped announcing, “Joy to the World, the Lord is Scum.”

The following evening saw me once again under the baton of Marcus Creed. As I’ve said here before, Creed is an excellent director, and he expects an enormous amount of professionalism and dedication from those he works with.

I am also greatly amused by his approach to the German accent. Professor Creed has lived in Germany for many years, traveling between Cologne, Stuttgart, Berlin, and many other places. German is spoken with markedly different accents in these different cities. Rather than attempting one of these accents or a mix of all of them, Professor Creed chooses to speak German with no accent whatsoever. He simply retains his own plummy English diction in both languages. The German students admire him, so I think it is a sign of admiration when they impersonate his pronunciation of stock phrases like “Ja gut” as “Yaw gewt.”

As for the concert, the evening progressed from modern to Romantic – an improvement as far as I’m concerned. We began with an incredibly minimalistic, percussive piece by a composer whose name is pronounced “No-No...” which was also my internal reaction when first asked to sing it. This screeching racket was followed by Vaughn Williams’ Flos Campi, a wordless work that I now dearly love. I’ve liked Williams since I first encountered him in college, and this piece has a spiritual quality I have rarely heard elsewhere. It was also a blessing to perform it at the Hochschule, where the performers took it seriously enough to achieve the desired effect.

The evening concluded with Fauré’s Requiem. As with Williams' work, I first became acquainted with Fauré’s music in college. Though I find his fascination with three-quarter time bordering on fetishistic, Fauré is also consistently lyrical in a way I have found almost nowhere else. The Requiem had been recommended to me by friends over the years, but this was my first chance to really engage the piece as it is meant to be performed. Compared to, say, Mozart’s Requiem, I think Fauré’s piece is simpler, but it retains elegance, and is at times far more spiritual. Between this work and the Williams, the evening was one of the more satisfying musical experiences I have had since my arrival in Germany.

Of course, this concert wasn’t in the same league with singing Disney tunes, but you can’t hit them all out of the park.
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¹In case you were wondering, the German word for “torpor” is Betäubung.

²In case you don’t meticulously memorize everything in this blog, there is a relic in the back of the Dom, a golden triple sarcophagus that is said to contain the final remains of the three wise men who visited Jesus in the manger in Bethlehem.

³While we’re on the subject, can I just mention I find this really creepy? Under all the lights, the thing looks like an irradiated gingerbread house, and inside there’s not one, not two, but three dead people. And who, for that matter, got these guys back together after they all died? Maybe they did reunion tours.

⁴My French is a horror, like something from an ancient forgotten world. Scientists have theorized that every time I try to sing in French, the world becomes a quantitatively worse place.

Glühwein, Women and Song

The Christmas season is in full swing here in Cologne. The Weinachtsmärkte opened fully last weekend, and to solicit them came both locals and travelers from abroad. As I have discovered, many of these seasonal travelers come from Britain specifically to visit the Christmas markets. I don't fully understand the logic behind purchasing €100 plane tickets in order to eat €2 roasted almonds, but then, the English also enjoy warm beer, so the lunacy is not without precedent.

To my great fortune, along with this English en masse emigration came Meagan, the lovely hostess of my last two visits to London. Together, she and I braved the extensive network of Weinachtsmärkte that have sprung up across Cologne like cinnamon-scented mushrooms. I bring to you now some highlights of our discoveries, which, we being hungry travelers, ended up being mostly culinary:

1. Glühwein -- For a full explanation of this marvelous substance, see last post. Suffice it to say that we drank our fair share.¹

2. Poffertjes² -- To be fair, the credit for this one goes to a Dutch acquaintance I made in Bonn a couple of weeks ago. Evidently a seasonal favorite in Holland,³ Poffertjes is breakfast transformed into the most unhealthy confectionary dessert imaginable. While Poffertjes poses as a mere waffle cup filled with miniature pancakes, the real magic of this dessert comes in the condiments. Appropriate toppings include syrup, butter, powdered sugar, whipped cream, Nutella, or preferably, all of the above. Sprinkle that bad boy with Baco-Bits and you've got the next American breakfast favorite.

3. Reibekuchen -- Also known as Rievkooche in Kölsch, these deep-fried potato pancakes make an excellent follow-up to Poffertjes if you somehow haven't managed a heart attack yet. Reibekuchen are usually served immediately after being cooked, so it is customary to eat them with a cooling condiment such as apple sauce, or if it's your second helping, Pepto-Bismol.

4. Himmel un Ääd -- I must exonerate Meagan and clarify that she did not at any time sample this unique dish. Himmel un Ääd translates to "heaven and earth" in the local dialect. It is so called because it is a mixture of mashed apples and potatoes, the apples which reside in heaven (i.e. on branches) and the "apples" which reside in earth (i.e. potatoes). Somewhere along the line, the Kölsch community decided to make this culinary concoction their own by adding blood pudding into the mix,⁴ a development I can't help but think of as the cooking equivalent of the snake entering the garden.

There's more to do at the Weinachtsmärkte than just eat and drink, of course. Particularly predominant are small shops and rides for the children. That said, having too little funds to purchase €15 Christmas tree ornaments and too much self-respect to ride the carousel,⁵ Meagan and I mostly browsed.

With the arrival of Advent also came my first major concert of the season. I have been singing with three choirs at the Hochschule, two of which are directed by Marcus Creed. Professor Creed has proven to be a prodigious conductor. He is generally reserved and quiet in demeanor, but he brings out a superb level of concentration and execution from the singers with whom I have seen him work. Among his other obligations, he directs both the Hochschule's main choir and its chamber choir, the latter of which I performed with on Wednesday evening.

I sang with the Claremont Chamber Choir through college, and I have grown to appreciate the sound a group of dedicated singers of that size can create. Even with that experience, I was very curious to hear what the chamber choir here would sound like. Though many of my colleagues in Claremont were music majors, this was an entire choir of music students, many of them with years of vocal training behind them. Thus I had little idea what to truly expect from the experience.

Our concert on Wednesday took place at St. Georgs, one of the smaller old Romanesque cathedrals. One could guess (rightly) by the modern look of town around St. Georgs that it was heavily damaged in the War. In its refurbished form, St. Georgs offers wonderfully resonant acoustics, ideal for an a capella choir. We performed two song cycles, one by Reger and another by Brahms, as well as a modern setting by James MacMillan of a medieval prayer titled "O Bone Jesu." It is easy to forget in the midst of preparing works of music that an audience will be listening with entirely different ears. So as the final note of the concert faded into the walls of the church, I was not sure what to expect from the little crowd in St. Georgs that night. They must have liked it, because they brought Professor Creed back for a total of five ovations, generous even for a German audience.

The past wonderful week did not come without repercussions. Regrettably, after spending my days out in the rainy markets and my nights rehearsing in a cold church, I have finally fallen ill. The doctor doesn't think it's anything serious, just a winter virus. At first, when I heard all I needed was probably some rest and lots of fluids, I was delighted. As it turns out, however, Glühwein doesn't count.

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¹Which, at €2,50 a glass came to one cup each. I can get a full bottle of wine for less than that. And I do.

²Pronounced by saying "Puffered? Tch! Yes!" quickly.

³I have no way to confirm or deny his claim, but I have my doubts. Almost all the Dutch I have met are very thin, and no one could eat Poffertjes with any regularity without resembling a Germanic Wilford Brimley, both in weight and diabetic condition.

⁴And you know they didn't pick something like blood pudding on a lark. There had to have been trial and error involved, which just makes me wonder: what didn't make it?

⁵Fine: they wouldn't let me. Are you happy now?

Out of the Internet Cafe and Back in School

Good Lord, it feels good to be in college again.

…After a fashion, anyway. Studies at the Cologne Academy of Music are definitely handled differently from my typical fare of the past. The Hochschule is as distant from CMC curriculum-wise as it is geographically. The most obvious difference from Claremont, however, is the manner of dress. Instead of flip-flops and board shorts, the young men at the Hochschule tend to wear dress coats and scarves. I have no qualms about this attire, but taken en masse, it does give the school the impression of a Doctor Who convention with cellos.

There is also very little in the way of what I have heard some Germans demeaningly refer to as “handholding.” Over the last century, the trend in American higher education has gradually been to make university a home away from home. Dorms commune, departments eat and drink together, and an entire array of activities take place to form what we in the USA call “campus life.” No such thing at the Hochschule. Students certainly befriend one another, and they bond through performance groups and research projects. But a visiting American would probably say the organization of the Cologne Academy of Music more resembles a high school than a college. Most of the studies, rehearsals and even performances are contained in one building, which itself is very reminiscent of all those concrete industrial behemoths built in the States to educate the baby-boomers of the sixties and seventies.

The classroom experience, however, is pure university fare. Indeed, I would say students at the Hochschule are much more engaged than the average university student. They are all aware how lucky they are to be in such a specialized and highly regarded school, as opposed to navigating the madness that is the main university system.* The average student I have met here is very happy as well as industrious in their chosen instrument and/or field. This has been particularly exciting for me since I have resumed singing. Somehow, over the past week, I’ve ended up in three different choirs: one intentionally, one through a lucky audition, and one by accident. And since every student in the school is a musician of one sort or another, the level of quality and professionalism is already evident.

I’m taking actual lecture classes, as well. These have been a little dizzying thus far. It’s amazing how one little variable can completely trip up a well-honed practice. Over the last four years, I acquired the necessary college acumen for following a discussion on social policy or qualitative research methods while simultaneously producing a transcription and contributing my own points to the progression of the dialogue.**

Suddenly, the whole thing’s in German, and now it’s a crap chute.

That said, my particular program is proving exciting enough to be worth the effort. The Center for International Arts Management, like most fledgling research institutes, isn’t so much a building or even a proper organization yet. It’s more an assemblage of faculty going about their particular projects while roping in graduate students as contributors/slave labor. Which is fine by me. This field is still mostly foreign to me, so I’m happy to soak up whatever experience I can.

Provided, of course, that I don’t alienate any more faculty. I have begun attending the Center’s central lecture series of the semester, which revolves around something called “Voices and Vocal Concepts.” As a singer, I was intrigued, so I swung by the first one to see what it was all about. As it turns out, the first lecture was to be given by the same gentleman who led the Voice Department meeting I ran out of so suddenly last week. When he was introduced, not only did I learn he was the school Rektor (i.e. president), he is none other than Josef Protschka. He is also Josef Protschka. And Josef Protschka. Hence my additional frustration when, as he entered the ninetieth minute of his sixty-minute lecture with no signs of stopping, I realized I was late for dinner plans and had to leave. The room was dark, and I probably could have made a decent getaway, had I not managed to knock over what seemed like every chair between mine and the exit.

Next week, I’m going to act like a proper American, and sit in the back.

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*If you dare, see last post.

**Not to mention writing sentences like that without triggering my gag reflex.

Gushing over Genia

I'm calling it, right here, right now. I want this in the Google cache, so that all may know, from this moment to Ragnarok, that I called it.

Genia Kühmeier is going to be huge.

Though maybe that's not the best choice of words when describing a classically trained singer. After all, there's a good chance she actually will be, erm, huge. She's a soprano. To paraphrase Victor Borge, she could very well end up being four and a half feet tall... lying down. It's kind of an occupational hazard of the profession.

That aside, Ms. Kühmeier is unabashedly amazing. I had the great fortune to hear her at the Kölner Philharmonie last night, where she performed six Strauss Lieder for soprano and orchestra. Particularly stunning were her renditions of Strauss' "Zueignung" and "Morgen." I do not often indulge in closing my eyes at concerts, but Ms. Kühmeier's voice demanded it. She generated a tone, a color, a sensation that filled that house and created the feeling any great musician should create: that the audience is so very lucky, so very privileged to be exactly where thay are at that moment, hearing what they hear.

If you don't believe my word that Ms. Kühmeier is going to be the next Renée Fleming or Anna Netrebko (or at least the next Angelika Kirschlager), just look at her track record. In the past year, this wonderful performer has premiered at the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden, the Théâtre Musical de Paris Châtelet, and the Bayerische Staatsoper, undoubtedly three of the most important opera houses in Europe. She will also perform the role of Pamina in Die Zauberflöte at the Metropolitan Opera in New York during the 2007-2008 season's run. Pamina is admittedly not the most important or demanding female role; it's not even the most demanding female role in The Magic Flute. But Genia is too young to be performing roles like the Queen of the Night, anyway. She is, however, cornering the market on performances of Pamina. That she has been so frequently hired for it as of late may mean she is on the cusp of fame.

Long story short, for those of you who are in New York, make the most of this opportunity, and hear her when The Magic Flute returns to the Met. Tickets don't seem to be available yet, but stay sharp.

And just in case you still don't believe me, please feel free to sample her talent as Pamina for yourself.

Street Music

When I was in Austria last summer, I toured Burgenland singing with a classical music festival. Our little band managed to fill virtually every venue we visited. This experience gave me a real appreciation of what music lovers Europeans can be. Likewise, while I worked in Austria last summer, I was able to hear a number of free concerts in one of Austria's best venues. As I went about my errands today, I chanced upon great music three times, and I thought both the quality and serendipity of the experiences were worth sharing.

Along the west bank of the Rhine lies St. Kunibert's Basilica, one of the more impressive Romanesque churches of Cologne. As I walked past, I heard the distinct sound of a powerful organ as muffled through thick walls. I went inside to find one of the largest organs I have ever seen. At the bench was one Gerhard Blum, who filled the church with Baroque music for the next twenty minutes almost without pause. Besides three assistants of some sort, I was the only other person in the church. After he finished playing, I stopped him for a moment to get his name and thank him for the pleasure of his playing. He seemed in a hurry, so I let him go, but I afterwards regretted not asking him when I could hear him performing again.* It had been a while since I had heard live music that impressed me so.

I was not long in waiting for more. I came across another act about a half kilometer south on the Frankenwerft, a scenic part of the western Rhine filled with charming restaurants. This time it was some sort of amateur drum corps, performing an ongoing circular routine to cheer on the spirits of runners in the day's marathon as they blasted past. Their performance place was at the base of a semi-circular staircase between Frankenwerft and the Rhine, and an appreciative audience assembled on that staircase as they played, including a pair of homeless men who managed to get a decent portion of the crowd to dance. I watched this routine slowly develop into a small impromptu street party, which was still going on when I left for the evening.

Just south of Frankenwerft on the Fischmarkt I came across a street band composed of accordion, fiddle and bass. I have seen them a few times in this vicinity, and while it would probably be a stretch to say they have a following, the crowd usually appears pretty appreciative. One would think the band makes enough in tips, since they come around so often. The band's repertory was very familiar: an Oompah rendition of Joplin's "The Entertainer," what I believe was "Monty," and selections from Fiddler on the Roof. If for nothing else, my day was worth hearing two entire outdoor restaurants break out together into singing along to "Wäre ich ein reich Mann."

This town is starting to grow on me.

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* It turns out Herr Blum is the Kantor at St. Kunibert's, so if you're in town and Baroque music is your thing, Mass at the basilica is probably a safe bet to hear him.

Diplomacy, the Musical

I have tried to keep the amount of this blog that is directly about my life to a minimum. My working assumption is that German culture and what it has to offer is more interesting than whether I am getting along with my Gastfamilie. I have been told, however, that this is a pretty funny story, so here goes.

We proud participants of the Parlementarisches Patenschafts-Programm (the German name for my fellowship) attended an event in Düsseldorf last Friday, which was charmingly referred to as a "Stipendiatentag." Germans rarely hesitate when it comes to the creation of new, very LARGE words, so I was hardly surprised to learn that they would conceive a word which means -- and this is the only definition, mind you -- "a party for recipients of a scholarship."

Along with the Cologne contingent of the PPP, many other international students were invited: Europeans, mainland Chinese, and students from various South American countries. We were informed of the existence of this event about a week in advance, and the Americans were encouraged to attend. Some of our number who are more musically inclined were additionally encouraged to prepare some sort of performance, in order to share our American culture with the group. Taking this simply as a suggestion, we did not think we were seriously expected to perform. It was clear that a performance would be appreciated, but I for one did not think it was by any means expected. The party was only a week away, after all. On Friday, as we rode the bus to the party, I spoke with Daniel, a fellow "PPPler" and future orchestral conductor, about what we might hypothetically perform, were this a serious event.

We soon realized our error: Germans do not take such important matters as musical numbers lightly. Immediately upon entering the party, Daniel and I were seized by the regional director. She asked us what we had in mind to perform for everyone there, perhaps 200 heads, as a "representation of American culture." Evidently, the purpose of this performance was an example of that "junior ambassador" stuff they keep talking about. We were to represent America. And were to do it in song. And we were on in twenty-five minutes.

Scrambling, Daniel and I came up with a plan. We quickly ran through which songs Daniel could reconstruct from memory, and then cross-referenced it with which of those songs for which I knew the lyrics. We then triangulated these results with a list of songs silly and campy enough that no one could mistakenly think Daniel and I were taking ourselves seriously.

And that is how I ended up singing "A Whole New World" as both Aladdin AND Jasmine in front of an international assembly.

All in all, I would have to admit it went rather well. I wasn't pitch-perfect, but I had fun, and Daniel came through masterfully on the keyboard. We were silly, we were schmalzy. And everyone laughed, which I guess is all you can ask for in such circumstances. The regional director was very grateful, and I received a number of compliments from both American friends and international students for a very amusing performance. So while the beginning to my ambassadorial endeavors may not have been conventional, it does appear to have been successful.