We open our program with one of my favorite Christmas passages from the Bible, albeit one not often set by composers in comparison to those more concrete and entertaining stories about shepherds and kings visiting the newborn. The declamatory opening of slow note values in homophony* emphasizes both the importance and the mystery of the Word becoming flesh. The following phrase und wohnte unter uns falls in stepwise motion to depict God’s descent to earth to dwell among us, and its three-time reiteration alludes to the Christian Trinity of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Wolfgang Briegel is one of the more obscure German composers of the Baroque era; his compositions fall between the early Baroque of Heinrich Schütz and the late Baroque of J.S. Bach.

Tonight we present two versions of the Ave Maria. Lorenzo Perosi uses the familiar and oft-set Latin text of the rosary, the first half of which quotes Gabriel’s salutation to Mary informing her she will bear Jesus, the savior of the world. While Perosi may be unknown to us today—he certainly was to me—he was a celebrated and prolific composer of sacred music in his lifetime. Like the Gabrielis and Monteverdi before him, Perosi served in his youth as Maestro di Cappella at San Marco’s in Venice, having first studied Renaissance counterpoint and Gregorian chant at the Solesmes Abbey. At the age of 26 he was appointed Maestro di Cappella of the Sistine Chapel, where he remained for fifty years. To my ear the thematic material opening the Ave Maria has a plangent quality effected by the opening tenor line (reprised at the end), which, having risen by half step, then moves up a minor third to create an appoggiatura* that resolves downward to another appoggiatura, resolving only at the last moment to a note consonant with the chord sung by the other parts. The solo line of the bass, preceding a homophonic* response by the other parts, descends through an octave, creating a musical representation of bowing in penitence and homage.

Rachmaninoff’s setting of the text in Church Slavonic comes from his All-Night Vigil. Based on the reaction of my singers when presented with this piece, I would infer it to have a cult status. Rachmaninoff begins and ends his piece with similarly placid harmonic and melodic homophony*. At the beginning, the piano* dynamic illustrates the awe with which the reciters regard the Virgin. In the middle section, the lower treble voices assume the melody in parallel thirds accompanied by a static line in octaves sung by sopranos and tenors, perhaps a musical depiction of the child surrounded by the womb. The work comes to a dramatic climax, achieved through a forte* dynamic* and high tessitura* among all the voice parts as they declaim for you have borne the Savior. The quiet ending mirrors the beginning to express both the singers’ wonderment and their sense of unworthiness that they have been redeemed.

Over the years, Musica Sacra has done quite a lot of music by the Estonian composer Arvo Pärt, starting with the New England premiere of his Passio in 1994. I’ve noticed that in his later works he has relaxed the compositional rules that he initially adopted to achieve his luminous minimalism; this has allowed him more expressiveness and emotional engagement. In that earlier construct, voices would be assigned either strict stepwise or strict arpeggiated motion, and their interactions would result in the vertical harmonies. In Salve Regina the organ part contains most of the arpeggiated triads. Pärt’s copious use of the minor triad in second inversion* might be a nod to the opening of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata and the Lachrymosa from Mozart’s Requiem, since that figure characterizes both. For much of the piece the choral lines take on the stepwise motion; as a result, when they finally assume the arpeggiated motion for the phrase illos tuos misericordes, the stunning contrast creates an emotionally charged moment. What started as a humble supplication turns into an anguished cry for help. That cry for help becomes a demand in the most dramatic moment of the piece, achieved by all voices in high tessitura* and forte* dynamic singing dense harmonies in long note values. The text of the Salve Regina captures beautifully the Catholic concept of Mary as the merciful intercessor between humanity and God.

The Hungarian composer Zoltán Kodály, like Vaughan Williams, Bela Bartók, and other composers of the first half of the 20th century, had a keen interest in collecting and preserving the folk songs of his country and region. At the same time, most composers also wanted to integrate these songs into the mainstream of classical music, which they accomplished by providing settings; A Christmas Carol is one such example. Eastern European folk tunes often had irregular rhythms caused by alternating triple and duple meters* as revealed in the music of Bartok and Kodály; in this case they provide an infectious excitement similar to that of a child anticipating presents under the tree. Kodály sets this tune in parallel triads,* anathema to classical harmony prior to the twentieth century. Despite the short length of the verse, he achieves interest by using a variety of settings. He starts with the melody in the treble voices and then moves it to the lower voices. He follows this with a canon* between the two upper parts and the two lower parts, then has the outer parts intone a verse in octaves while the inner parts provide a polyphonic* accompaniment. For the final stanza, which starts as a prayer to Jesus, he places the melody in the bass voice, with the upper three voices echoing in a call and response. As the prayer becomes more general the sopranos assume the melody, leading to an imitative Amen completely unrelated to the folk material.

There are many fabulous Renaissance settings of the text O magnum mysterium; I usually claim whatever one we happen to be presenting at the time as my favorite. However, I believe that this setting consummately captures the essence of awe at the miracle of God coming to earth, not as retributive judge, but as a helpless baby in a manger surrounded by farm animals. Part of it stems from the extremely static opening; the chorus slowly declaims the opening three-word phrase in homophony* and then falls silent before proceeding with the next phrase. Another aspect augmenting the sense of wonder is the blooming of the chordal texture outward, created by the outer parts moving further into the unique range of their particular register, thus creating a greater disposition* of voices. Ultimately though, to my taste, it is Morales’ boldness in opening the work with an open fifth. Such a chord, missing as it does the third of a triad to fill out the harmony, gives the chord a quality of mysticism later exploited by contemporary composers such as Arvo Pärt. Morales held a position as a singer of the Papal Choir, for whom he composed many sacred works. However, apparently his temper and intolerance of those of lesser ability made him a difficult employee, and, perhaps for that reason, he seldom held positions for long.

Distler excerpted his variations on Es ist ein Ros from his larger work Weinachtsgeschichte, or Christmas Story, an a cappella* work which alternates chorale settings with recitatives quoting appropriately from the Gospels of Matthew and Luke. The German chorale Es ist ein Ros is familiar to most who celebrate Christmas with sacred music; its authorship is unknown, but its first printed appearance dates back to 1599. In its form the larger work pays homage to Distler’s Baroque predecessor Heinrich Schütz, who also used unaccompanied recitative to quote the Bible in his settings of the Gospels. In fact, Distler modeled his choral music after that of Schütz to such an extent that musicologists classify him as a composer of the Neo-Baroque in the same way that they classify some of Stravinsky’s music as Neo-Classical. Both Schütz and Distler used the inflections of the text as the chief determinant of the shape and line of their melodic material, while the polyphonic* interplay of those lines determined the harmonic fabric of the music. Distler felt so strongly about this that he went so far as to bar each of his vocal parts differently such that their downbeats rarely coincide. His life ended tragically in suicide much too early; he had long felt great strain at having to be part of the Nazi party to be able to work, and he anticipated conscription into the army.

Distler provides cohesion to his set of variations by beginning and ending them with the same simple chorale setting in which the lower three voices accompany the melody in the soprano. In his second variation, the melody remains in the soprano, but Distler embellishes it. For his third, he assigns the melody to the tenor voices with the trebles providing the harmonic context. However, he divides the basses into three parts and gives them a two-chord ostinato* set to the German word one hears in other chorales to signify Mary’s cooing to her child. The triple meter of this ostinato creates the sensation of rocking, an understandable cadence to any parent who has rocked their child to sleep. For his final variation, a setting of the Doxology*, Distler places the melody in the bass voice while the other voices closely imitate each other and themselves with the reiteration of short musical phrases.

The next two works refer to the visitation by the angel Gabriel to the shepherds declaring the birth of Jesus as recounted in the Gospel of Luke. The text paraphrases Gabriel’s announcement, and Calvisius creates both a sense of great joy and “a multitude of the heavenly host” by having six vocal parts singing imitative polyphony* in very close imitation. Costeley’s strophic text imagines the shepherds’ conversation after the angels’ departure, particularly who will bring what gift; Costeley intersperses these with a refrain in which the shepherds enjoin each other to go to the stable. The text charmingly ends with their commenting on Jesus suckling at Mary’s breast.

While the prior works describe the shepherds’ visit to the manger, the next two recount the visit of the Magi or kings from the East, as described in the Gospel of Matthew. The German composer Peter Cornelius uses the Lutheran Epiphany chorale Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern as the underpinning for a beautiful free-composed melody. Cornelius wrote the work for solo voice with piano accompaniment, but I think this arrangement by the English composer Ivor Atkins is highly effective, since the chorale is sung rather than played; this sustains the notes and presents Bach’s harmonization in a more authentic manner. Guerrero’s Los Reyes is a villancico, a secular song sung in the vernacular based on medieval dance forms. It represents the most common form of villancico in its ABA structure and triple meter*.

Our last set presents three carols from various parts of Europe. Jansen arranged a Latvian carol that would be sung by mummers. As in the English tradition, they would go singing from door to door, but rather than libation they would be given meat, wool socks, and wool mittens; this last was to ensure that the sheep would produce a large amount of wool. They would also wear symbolic headgear such as cabbages and grain to perpetuate ancient fertility rites. Nordkvist’s Jul, jul, strålande jul was published in 1921 and is one of the most popular Swedish carols of the present day. From the text of its second verse one surmises that it was partly a response to World War I. The tranquil setting provides a musical representation of a windless snowy night and beautifully suits the text. Our third carol comes from Spain and manages to be both reverential and a musical depiction of carousing. Of course the celebration stems from Christ’s birth and sacrifice, but, nonetheless, one of the lines we sing translates as “take out already the wineskin, Ines.” Although there are trumpet parts, I feel the singers’ imitation of trumpets seems much more fitting for the setting.

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