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The Survival of a Junior Recital, by Julie Wold Peterson, 2002
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At
church today, a prayer was said for musicians and composers who have
contributed to the church, especially Johann Sebastian Bach, George
Frederick Handel, and Heinrich. Pastor had me until Schütz. It sounded
enough like a musician's name: Schubert, Schoenberg, Schumann. Yes, Schütz
fit. But did I know his music? A piano quartet, pulsing out the music at a quick,
allegro pace. My friend Troy in a tux. Sure, I did know Schütz, at least
one of his songs. "Paratum Cor Meum, Deus" ("Oh God, My
Heart is Fixed") was the song that began our joint Junior Recital.
Troy continued with the religious theme and stayed on the floor of the
recital hall to sing a piece by Handel. Preparing for our recital was more stress than we
ever expected. In our first year at Luther College, Troy and I decided
that we would be recital partners. Through lip trills, lessons, and many
hours in our practice rooms, we moved quickly through the semesters. By
junior year, we were ready to share our voices in a more formal setting.
We chose composers and their works, heavily debating our duet selection.
The non-musical choices, however, were the ones that caused the most
anxiety. Whether it was the size of the flower arrangement (I wanted small
and tasteful; Troy wanted big and obnoxious) or the type of refreshments,
Troy and I bickered at every stage of planning. Needless to say, we made
it through those decisions, and here we were. I was ready, took my opening bow, waited for the
initial chord from the piano. Waited some more. Eric had to adjust the piano
bench. Jung, my former pianist, sat beside him to turn pages. Hugo
Wolf--what a depressing set. Grief, torment, unsatisfied wishes! I only
hoped the expression on my face and in my body would prove the anguish of
my songs' characters and not my own. There was a fine line between the
two. The German language, in my mind, is greatly expressive of pain, so it
was suitable for my first, nervous set in the recital. Agony, terror--the
Germans did not have the market on these emotions. They were very common
to young Luther College recitalists like myself. Thank God for partner recitals. I stood, learning to breathe again, in the back hall with Eric. Troy was singing a lovely piece by Faure. Jessica Paul, his accompanist and my vocal coach, mesmerized both Eric and me with her playing. Troy went on to sing two other songs. I breathed some more and made one or two attempts at light humor with Eric. I was so thankful he was there. A good friend and a dam good accompanist, he could save me if my voice could not. But my Faure set was coming. I could do this. Faure's
music came so much more naturally to me. Maybe it was the language--one I
had known much longer than German and one devoid of the annoying "acht"
hacking sounds. I walked into the second set with much less trepidation.
This was almost fun. Oh how "Notre Amour" jumped in, the piano
and the lyrics lifting love to its proper height. "Our love is a
sacred thing! / Our love is an infinite thing." I believed in
this music. Unfortunately, my voice did not believe in the final high A. I
took a drink of water before the next songs in the set. I sang of the
lovers in "Dans les Ruins d'une Abbaye" ("In the Abbey's
Ruins"), holding the secret of their identities as birds until the
end. "Claire
de Lune" ("Moonlight")--oh, how I loved that song; still
do. The twelve measure introduction set the stage, flowing, playful, like
water bubbling from a fountain. Dr. Judisch taught me to sing from the
diaphragm. That song, however, could only be sung from the heart. The high
G did not take me down this time. I was in my element. The set ended with
"Fleur Jetee" ("Discarded Flower") and the drama of
love lost. "Carry away my passion / At the will of the
wind." With the applause, the images of French landscapes
and lovers parting fell aside, and I took a few glances at who was in the
audience. I searched the darkness for my parted lover, Joshua--a man I
would later marry-but he was not there. His roommate Dai had come and was
perched on a step in the middle aisle. The recital hall was crowded. My
family and boyfriend Brian all sat with wide smiles of encouragement in
one row. Roommates and friends were in other rows. Music instructors.
Music majors getting one of their recital attendance credits. After
Troy did a short Verdi piece, I was back on the recital floor with my
religious set by Ned Rorem. This was a shift--Rorem's melody and
accompaniment so modem and brilliant. Unafraid, I proclaimed Psalm 134 of
the Cycle of Holy Songs. "Bless ye the A
musical parody of "Old Mother Hubbard" kicked off Troy's modem
set. By this time, the back hall was a place of merriment. I knew what was
on the other side of the door. Much of it was behind me, with only a duet
and a reception to follow. The
duet was a piece entitled, "Your Wife?" from The Poacher. by
Albert Lortzing, a composer as known to me as Schütz. In this, I got to coyly put off the proposal of Baron Kronthal (played by Troy) while at the same time thinking very seriously about accepting the offer. Perhaps this was our make-up song, finding friendship after months of nervous preparation. Ending the recital was the best part. All of us went out to take a bow, seeing again the friends and family who came to give love and support. Though I may never be a Heinrich Schütz, I then knew that music would forever hold a place of reverence in my life. |
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