Stephen Paulus
Pacific Symphony Orchestra
John Alexander, Conductor
Voices was commissioned by the Association of Clinical Pastoral Education and premiered in November of 1988 by the Minnesota Orchestra and the Dale Warland Symphonic Chorus with Richard Buckley conducting. The premiere took place before an assembled gathering of over 2,000 participants in the "Dialogue 88" Council. The council's purpose was to bring together people of different faiths - ministers, priests, rabbis, and pastors - who work with the disenfranchised members of our society in half-way houses, jails and even on the streets, so they could listen to each other's stories and share both successes and failures.
The most difficult part of this commission for me was finding words which would impart a spiritual message with power and purpose while not alienating anyone because of his or her own particular religious faith. The words of Rainer Maria Rilke seemed to impart both a timeliness and power that was fitting to the occasion and our own time.
Voices is constructed in nine sections, but the architecture is really that of two sections - the first being comprised of six poems and the latter of three poems. After an opening preamble the next five poems depict some of the distressing conditions of any society - "Song of the Beggar," "The Drunkard," "The Suicide," "The Idiot" and "The Leper." After the charged "Opening" there is a momentary retrenchment in the "Song of the Beggar" and then the mood gets progressively more intense. The exception to this is a brief respite with the "Song of the Idiot" which features two musical quotes - one from Schumann's Carnaval and the other from Bizet's four-hand piano duo - Le Bal from "Children's Games."
The last three poems (representing a more positive message) I have taken from the "Duino Elegies." The first of these, "I Am, O Anxious One" starts slowly and quietly. The pace quickens with the eighth movement, "As once the winged energy of delight" and becomes progressively more outgoing and exuberant - reaching a climactic finale in the closing movement from which the work takes its title: "Voices."
These last three poems are translations by Stephen Mitchell. The first six poems are translations by Albert Flemming with whom I have collaborated on several projects. It is to him and his enthusiasm that I owe much for the inspiration in writing this work. In July of 1988 he wrote me a letter which I quote:
"Of all the poems I chose to translate, none speaks so directly for the needs of the disadvantaged, for the needy, for the street people, for the suicidal, for 'the drunkard,' read 'the drug addict;' for 'the leper,' read 'the AIDS victim' ... [It is] as if Rilke had written them (in 1906) prophetically foreseeing the human disasters of the twentieth-century's ending. And his message embraces all mankind."
My gratitude goes to Dr. and Mrs. Edward Shanbrom for their generous support of this recording and to John Alexander and the members of the Pacific Chorale for bringing a zeal and passion to the music which truly makes Rilke's "message" come alive.
JAMES HOPKINS - Songs of Eternity
I composed Songs of Eternity in the summer and fall of 1992 on a commission from the Orange County Philharmonic Society for the 25th anniversary season of the Pacific Chorale. It was composed in memory of David Lee Shanbrom (1958-1986) whose life was tragically cut short in an automobile accident.
The text of each of the three movements is a poem by Indian author Rabindranath Tagore. Although these poems relate to some aspect of death, the prevailing mood is one of subdued joy in eternal life. The first movement, My Song, addresses both the earthly and the 'eternal' song in a reflective musical manner. The second movement, When Death Comes, affirms the positive experiences of life on earth and climaxes in an extroverted Dance for the orchestra. The last movement, Peace, My Heart, treats the most beautiful of these poems in a mood of tranquillity and acceptance of death as part of the inevitable continuum of time. The orchestra is treated as an equal partner to the chorus rather than as mere accompaniment.
The musical language reflects the character of the poems: each movement is firmly rooted in traditional tonality yet becomes somewhat more dissonant as the conflicts imposed by the consideration of death become more pronounced. The irregular rhythms and joyous outbursts of the middle movement affirm a life well lived, while the very consonant and peaceful harmonies of the final movement suggest resolution and repose.
(Text by Rainer Maria Rilke)
The rich and the fortunate do well to keep silent, for no one cares to know who and what they are.
But those in need must reveal themselves,
must say: I am blind, or: on the verge of going blind, or: nothing goes well with me on earth, or: I have a sickly child, or: I have little to hold me together. . .
And chances are this is not nearly enough.
And because people try to ignore them as they pass them by: these unfortunate ones have to sing! And at times one hears some excellent singing.
Of course, people differ in their tastes: some would prefer to listen to choirs of boy-castrati.
But God himself comes often and stays long, when the castrati's singing disturbs Him.
I am always going from door to door, whether in rain or heat,
and sometimes I will lay my right ear in the palm of my right hand.
And as I speak my voice seems strange as if it were alien to me,
for I'm not certain whose voice is crying: mine or someone else's.
I cry for a pittance to sustain me. The poets cry for more.
In the end I conceal my entire face and cover both my eyes;
there it lies in my hands with all its weight and looks as if at rest,
so no one may think I had no place whereupon to lay my head.
It was not in me. It moved in and out.
When I dared to stop it, the wine won out.
(What it was, I no longer remember.)
The wine then offered this and offered that,
till I became dependent upon him, I, fool!
Now I am part of his game, as he throws me around in utter contempt,
and surely he will lose me this day to that scavenger: death.
When death wins me, soiled card that I am, he will use me only to scratch his sordid scabs and toss me away into the mire.
Well then, one final look around.
How they have always managed to cut my rope!
Lately I was so well prepared that in my entrails
I sensed already something of eternity.
They keep on offering me the spoon: this spoon containing life.
No, I want none of it, not now or ever, let me go . . .
I know that life is altogether good, the world itself a brimful pot,
but my blood refuses to absorb it, instead it goes right to my head.
What nourishes others makes me sick. Do realize that I scorn life.
For at least a thousand years to come, I will have to diet.
They do not hinder me. They let me go. They say, nothing could happen. How good.
Everything comes and circles uninterrupted around the Holy Ghost,
around that certain ghost (you know), how good.
No, one really must never think that there could be
any danger involved in this.
There is, of course, the blood. Blood is the heaviest. For blood is heavy.
Sometimes I believe, I can no longer. How good.
Ah, what a lovely ball that is: red and round all over.
Good that you brought it. I wonder would it come if I called?
How odd everything behaves, driving into each other,
swimming away from each other:
friendly, though a little confused: how good.
See, I am one everyone has deserted. No one in the city knows of me.
I have fallen victim to leprosy.
I beat my wooden clappers and knock the pitiable sight of me
into the ears of everyone that passes near me.
And those who hear the wooden sound avert their eyes, look elsewhere,
not wanting to know what has befallen me.
Where the sound of my rattle reaches, I am at home;
perhaps it is you who makes it sound so loud,
that no one dares to be too far from me
who now avoids to come too close to me.
So now I can walk for ever so long without encountering a girl,
a woman or man, or even a child.
Animals I do not frighten.
I have great faith in all things not yet spoken.
Don't you hear my voice surging forth with all my earthly feelings?
They yearn so high that they have sprouted wings
and whitely fly in circles around your face.
My soul, dressed in silence, rises up and stands along before you:
Don't you know that my prayer is growing ripe upon your vision,
If you are the dreamer, I am what you dream.
But when you want to wake, I am your wish,
and I grow strong with all magnificence
and turn myself into a star's vast silence
above the strange and distant city, Time.
As once the winged energy of delight
As once the winged energy of delight carried you
over childhood's dark abysses,
now beyond your own life build the great arch of unimagined bridges.
Wonders happen if we can succeed in passing through
To work with Things in the indescribable relationship is not too hard for us;
the pattern grows more intricate and subtle,
and being swept along is not enough.
Take your practiced powers and stretch them out
until they span the chasm between two contradictions ...
For the god wants to know himself in you.
Voices. Voices. Listen, my heart, as only saints have listened:
until the gigantic call lifted them off the ground:
yet they kept on, impossibly,kneeling and didn't notice at all:
so complete was their listening.
But listen to the voice of the wind and the ceaseless message
that forms itself out of silence.
Someday, emerging at last from the violent insight,
let me sing out jubilation and praise to assenting angels.
Let not even one of the clearly-struck hammers of my heart fail to sound because of a slack, a doubtful, or a broken string.
Let my joyfully streaming face make me more radiant!
(Text by Rabindranath Tagore)
This song of mine will wind its music around you my child,
like the fond arms of love.
This song of mine will touch your forehead like a kiss of blessing.
When you are alone it will sit by your side and whisper in your ear.
When you are in the crowd it will fence you about with aloofness.
My song will be like a pair of wings to your dreams:
it will transport your heart to the verge of the unknown.
It will be like a faithful star overhead when dark night is over your road.
My song will sit in the pupils of your eyes,
and will carry your sight into the heart of things.
And when my voice is silent in death, my song will speak in your living
When death comes and whispers to me, "Thy days are ended."
Let me say to him, "I have lived in love and not in mere time."
He will ask, "Will thy songs remain?"
I shall say, "I know not, but this I know, that often when I sang,
Peace, peace, my heart, let the time for the parting be sweet,
Let it not be a death, but completeness.
Let love melt into a memory and pain into songs.
Let the flight through the sky end in the folding of the wings over the nest.
Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night.
Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a moment and say your last words in
I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light you on your way.
Since 1967, Pacific Chorale has been providing national and international audiences with great choral music performed at the highest musical standards. Under John Alexander's direction, Pacific Chorale produces its own series of choral/orchestral concerts each year with the Pacific Symphony Orchestra at Southern California's beautiful Orange County Performing Arts Center. The Pacific Chorale is also the resident chorus for the Pacific Symphony Orchestra and performs regularly with the Pasadena Symphony, Long Beach Symphony and the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra. In addition, the Chorale has performed with the Los Angeles Philharmonic and the Ojai Festival Orchestra. John Alexander and the Chorale have toured extensively in Europe and Asia, performing with orchestras in London, Paris, Belgium, Estonia, Shanghai, Guangzhou, Beijing and Hong Kong.
Pacific Chorale encourages the commissioning and performance of music from our nation's finest composers. This recording of works by two contemporary American composers fosters that belief and supports the continued growth of our own musical heritage.
John Alexander has been Artistic Director of the Pacific Chorale since 1972 and has received acclaim by critics and audiences for his inspired conducting. Alexander has conducted his singers with the National Philharmonic of Belgium, L'Orchestre Lamoureaux of Paris, the Leningrad State Chamber Orchestra, Estonian National Symphony Orchestra, Shanghai Symphony Orchestra, Central Philharmonic Orchestra of Beijing, Guangzhou Philharmonic Orchestra, Hong Kong Sinfonietta, Pasadena Symphony, Pacific Symphony and the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra. Alexander has prepared choruses for numerous conductors including such notables as Zubin Mehta, Pierre Boulez, Lucas Foss, Michael Tilson Thomas, Gerard Swartz and Max Rudolf.
Alexander is Professor of Music and Chairman of Choral Activities at California State University, Fullerton and serves on the Board of Directors of Chorus America, the national service organization for choruses in North America.
American composer Stephen Paulus (b. 1949) was born in New Jersey but for many years has been associated with Minnesota. Paulus' works include song cycles, operas, and numerous chamber and orchestral compositions, as well as works for chorus and orchestra. He has been composer in residence for the Atlanta Symphony and for the Minnesota Orchestra, a position he shared with Libby Larsen, with whom he founded the Minnesota Composer's Forum.
James Hopkins (b. 1939) is Professor of Music Theory and Composition at USC. He studied at USC, Yale and Princeton; included among his teachers are Halsey Stevens, Quincy Porter and Edward Cone. He has frequently received major commissions. His works include seven symphonies, three concertos, several large-scale works for orchestra and numerous smaller choral, solo instrumental and chamber pieces.
Pacific Symphony Orchestra
Founded in 1978, the Pacific Symphony Orchestra, under the artistic supervision of Carl St.Clair, has established national acclaim through its performances, recordings and broadcasts. The Pacific Symphony Orchestra has played a central role in the spectacular growth of the performing arts in Orange County, each year attracting more than 100,000 residents to its concerts. The Orchestra's primary concert venue is Orange County's Performing Arts Center, where, along with its own concert series, it appears with the American Ballet Theatre, The Royal Ballet and Joffrey Ballet, in addition to performing with the Pacific Chorale.
Carl St.Clair and the Pacific Symphony Orchestra, along with cellist Yo-Yo Ma and the Pacific Chorale, have recorded Elliot Goldenthal's Fire Water Paper: A Vietnam Oratorio which is released on the Sony Classical label.
Voices for solo Tenor and Mezzo-Soprano, Chorus and Orchestra
[2] Song of the Beggar (4:17)
[3] Song of the Drunkard (1:33)
[4] Song of the Suicide (3:12)
[5] Song of the Idiot (3:01)
[6] Song of the Leper (3:15)
[7] I Am, O Anxious One (5:35)
[8] As Once the Winged Energy of Delight (3:01)
Songs of Eternity for Chorus and Orchestra
[2] When Death Comes (5:21)
[3] Peace, My Heart (7:50)
Production Supervisor: Julie Bussell
Production Coordinator: Richard Messenger
Recording Engineer: Tony Beecher
Digital Editor (Hopkins): Alan Howarth
Recorded at Segerstrom Hall in the Orange County Performing Arts Center
This recording was made possible through the generosity of Dr. Edward and Helen Shanbrom. Funding was also provided by the Aaron Copland Fund for Music, Inc.
Pacific Chorale • Pacific Symphony Orchestra
Martha Jane Weaver, Mezzo-Soprano • Frank Kelley, Tenor
John Alexander, Conductor
Voices for solo Tenor and Mezzo-Soprano, Chorus and Orchestra
Song of the Beggar (4:17)
Song of the Drunkard (1:33)
Song of the Suicide (3:12)
I Am, O Anxious One (5:35)
As Once the Winged Energy of Delight (3:01)
Songs of Eternity for Chorus and Orchestra
To celebrate the life and honor the memory of David Lee Shanbrom
(b. May 30, 1958, d. March 18, 1986)
Songs of Eternity was commissioned by the Orange County Philharmonic Society for the 25th anniversary season of the
Pacific Chorale and was made possible by the generous support of Dr. Edward and Helen Shanbrom and family.
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