For many listeners, the chief interest of this recording will be the presence of popular fiddler/composer Mark O’Connor and the premiere of his piece Let Us Move, a 15-plus-minute work based on an original melody set to Charles Wesley’s beloved hymn text, “Hail the day that sees him rise, Alleluia!” (usually sung to Robert Williams’ tune Llanfair). Its presence on a program of authentic folk hymns and ballads from Appalachia–including settings from original sources and arrangements by authorities such as John Jacob Niles and Alice Parker–is seemingly justified by the text’s long tradition in American church hymnals and because of O’Connor’s current popularity for his Appalachia-themed instrumental works, themes continued here by O’Connor’s insertion of his own improvisatory-style fiddling at various points throughout the piece.
Although in many circles Let Us Move will be highly praised for its built-in energy, its frequently catchy rhythms and appealing melodic/harmonic effects, and for the way it appears to cleverly combine elements of early American musical styles with more modern features (pseudo-jazz licks and vocal dissonances), in truth it’s not a very well organized or cohesive piece. As with every other O’Connor composition I’ve heard, the work is a string of separate and not necessarily compatible ideas, one interrupted by another and another and another. Chorally, the writing is a pastiche of well-worn techniques combined with what sounds more like experiments (wide leaping from register to register, extremes of range, snatches of modal harmony, short melodies cut into little bits and passed from voice to voice in different combinations) than refined, finished work. When O’Connor joins in with his fiddle, neither the musical content nor the playing style convincingly melds with what the choir is doing. He and the singers certainly are having fun, but it’s hard for a listener to join in. O’Connor admits that this is his first time writing for chorus, and this work, for all its attractive snippets, proves that it takes more than enthusiastic desire, a few ideas, and some previous compositional successes to manage the unique demands of an extended, multi-part vocal piece.
The rest of the program offers well-chosen examples of the repertoire promised by the disc’s title and liner notes–early American folk-hymns and arrangements, performed in Gloria Dei Cantores’ usual expert, technically assured, stylistically appropriate manner. This choir of roughly 40 adult voices has vast experience in performance of all sorts of repertoire, but director Elizabeth Patterson always is careful to honor the music’s historical context and–most importantly–the words. And we hear every one, delivered with conviction and concern for balance among sections and overall ensemble blend.
The only places the program falters is in the choice of soloists–non-professionals who come from the choir–and in the cumulative effect of the repertoire itself. The soloists’ sincere yet homespun quality–particularly tenor Richard Cragg in the decidedly out-of-place and overlong arrangement of the Civil War-era ballad Lorena–asks the listener to accept an amateur level of performance that doesn’t square with the choir’s infinitely higher standard. And when you program a whole disc-full of music that never was intended for concert performance–namely early hymns with their stark, open harmonies and formulaic structures–the whole thing can wear hard on the ear after 15 or 20 minutes. I love hymns, and I highly recommend Gloria Dei Cantores’ performances, available on numerous recordings on this same label. But this is not one of the group’s best efforts–try the Edmund Rubbra sacred music disc, for example–although the Alice Parker arrangements are exceptionally well done. The sound, from the storied acoustics of Worcester, Massachusetts’ Mechanics Hall, has a lively resonance that gives the choir fullness while preserving detail.
