Cambridge University Musical Society:

CUMS Chorus Diary 2009-10

Tuscany Tour August 19th - 26th August 2009

Report written by Charlotte Lee

The first event of the Cambridge University Musical SocietyÕs Italian journey was a choral concert in the Anglican church of St Mark in Florence, the city which was to act as our base. It was a most unusual room, reminiscent in its decoration as much of the orthodox as of the Anglican tradition; and its close atmosphere, along with the sparse lighting, provided a subtly dramatic setting for the concert programme: four Bruckner motets and FaurŽÕs Requiem. The motets are remarkable for their delicate harmonies and intense devotion, alternating between introverted contemplation and fervent outpourings; and the requiem ranges famously across a vast spectrum of moods, able to evoke the despair of death and the serenity of eternal life in equal measure. The size of the room, moreover, meant that choir and audience were barely separated, which gave the concert a particularly intimate feel, and lent even greater force to the trombones in the shattering motet ÒEcce sacerdosÓ. The disadvantage was the heat: unused as we were to the Tuscan climate, and having been exposed to it all day, many of us found ourselves wilting dangerously in the conditions generated by so many bodies in a small space. Not wishing to be outdone by conductor Joe Fort, however, who showed no signs of strain, despite being dressed for an English winter in jacket, waistcoat and bow-tie, we ploughed on. Ultimately, the only real casualty of the heat was the pitch in one or two of the motets.

Two more performances of the same programme were scheduled for Friday, the second full day of the tour. The first took place in San Gimignano, a medieval town in central Tuscany famous for its vast towers Ð for which it has earned the nickname ÒManhattan of the Middle AgesÓ. The morning was spent viewing the sights, including the stunning Collegiata, a twelfth-century church covered on the inside with medieval fresco depictions of scenes from the Old and New Testaments, and the Torre Grande (great tower), which one could climb for some magnificent views both of the town and of the landscape, characteristically Tuscan with its dabs of terracotta, green and yellow. The venue for the concert was the church of SantÕAgostino, it too famous for its beautiful, frescoed inner walls. The whole interior seemed to be awash with colour and light, lifting hearts and voices to a performance which will, I think, hold a special place in the memories of those who took part. Communication between choir members moved onto a level not reached before, and this, combined with JoeÕs supportive and perceptive direction, produced a precise but passionate rendition of the Bruckner, especially, and made it a favourite with many members of the choir.

No sooner was the concert finished than the choir was whisked back to Florence for an evening performance of the same programme in the Palazzo Strozzi. We were placed in the inner courtyard, which is set into the palaceÕs atrium, a space of unadorned grandeur. The positioning of the piano presented something of a challenge. For acoustic reasons the keyboard needed to be facing audiencewards; but that of course meant that the pianist, Henry Parkes, had his back to the conductor, making it nigh-on impossible for him to follow JoeÕs beat. Cosmetic mirrors in pressed-powder compacts were valiantly proffered from all sides in an effort to help Henry see, but alas, none could be fixed to the piano to withstand even the opening chord of the FaurŽ. Never one to be phased, Henry played as accurately and sensitively as ever; and, among the choir, the same focus carried over from the earlier concert to produce the rendition which, out of all the performances which we did of the piece in Italy, arguably did the most justice to BrucknerÕs delicate composition. Moreover, despite the solemn nature of both works, the atmosphere in the Strozzi was one of great joy. Many people appeared to stumble on the event by chance, the audience being free to wander in and out, and numbers swelled as the concert went on. The audienceÕs appreciation of the performance was generous and their enthusiasm infectious. It was a fitting way for Joe, who had done so much for the choir and was leaving the next day to start postgraduate study in America, to end his time with CUMS.

At the same time, a few hundred metres away, CUMS 1 performed Mozart, Dvorak and Elgar to a packed church of Santo Stefano al Ponte under the baton of Mark Austin who, like Joe Fort, is one of CUMSÕ outgoing conducting scholars. The orchestra was on top form, and the concert attracted more and more audience members as it went on so that by the end we were being cheered on by people who had been listening from outside in the street. ?

After a day given over to cultural visits and a splendid group meal in the hotel for all tour members, Sunday took us north-west of Florence to the city of Lucca, which we visited for sightseeing, and to Massa, where we were due to perform that evening. Stephen Cleobury, CUMS Chorus Director, had joined the group by this time ready to take the baton for the rehearsal and performance. After a comprehensive tour of Lucca from Simone Giometti of the Fondazione del Bianco (about which more later), himself a native of the town, the group dispersed to pursue their own interests. Some visited the cathedral, San Martino, or climbed the Torre dei Guinigi, a medieval tower with oak trees growing at the top. Others who, foolishly or no, defied the midday sun, took a cycle along the city ramparts, wide enough for a line of trees to be planted, boulevard-style, and which afford a clear view of the impressive villas on the outskirts, and of the mountainous surrounding countryside.

The venue for the concert in Massa was the courtyard of the Palazzo Ducale: attractive by day, but quite stunning in the evening, with the contrast between the white pillars and archways of the surrounding colonnades, and the warm greens of the olive and bay trees and orange of the cloister walls beautifully accentuated by the lighting. The outdoor acoustic, on the other hand, required some getting used to. The design of the courtyard meant that there was very little return of sound at the performersÕ end; and the reduced ability to hear the other singers made things more nerve-wracking for the choir, already chastened by the challenge of getting oneÕs tongue around the Latin in HaydnÕs brisk Te Deum. Under StephenÕs expert direction, however, confidence was gradually restored to yield a pleasing performance, both of Haydn and of BeethovenÕs Ninth Symphony. The concert reached its climax with the moment in the final movement of the symphony when the baritone breaks through the orchestraÕs dissonant chords with the words O Freunde, nicht diese Tšne! Almost as much power resides in the voice of baritone Ashley Riches as in the entire orchestra and choir combined; and that, together with his ability to bring out every hint of drama in a given section of music, filled the audience with palpable excitement. After the concert, the gelateria round the corner did roaring trade as performers and listeners alike swarmed in, searching for something both to sustain the exhilaration and relieve the exhaustion of that fourth movement.

After a brief stop en route in the charming medieval hilltop town of Monteriggioni, choir and orchestra arrived on Monday in Siena. The town holds far more than can be seen in one afternoon, but there was certainly enough time for the highlights: the vast Piazza del Campo, a shell-shaped area of undulating ground paved with reddish stone, and stage of the annual Sienese Palio; the Palazzo Pubblico on the edge of the Campo, home to Simone MartiniÕs magnificent depiction of the Virgin Mary in heaven, known as the Maestˆ; and the cathedral or Duomo, whose lovely marble floors, inlaid with biblical and mythical scenes which, in order to preserve them, are covered for most of the year, we were fortunate enough to see. The area immediately in front of the cathedral, the Piazza del Duomo, was the setting for that eveningÕs concert. Mark AustinÕs conducting, always versatile and insightful, and on this occasion especially so, was met with an equally impressive performance from the orchestra. In their rendition, the wistful second movement of Dvo?‡kÕs ÔNew WorldÕ Symphony seemed to have doubled its usual ability to wrap itself round the heart of the listener. Moreover, the drama of the later movements, so suggestive of American power and yet full of the melodies of Slavic Bohemia, was wonderfully offset by the location: the small floodlit area of the stage surrounded by a piazza in almost total darkness, and the faade of the cathedral rising up behind, its white stone now quite austere in the dim. It was the finale, however, which took the audience by storm. ElgarÕs ÔPomp and CircumstanceÕ, despite the somewhat dubious connotations of its verses, is always a rousing piece Ð and not just for the British, it seems. The Italians would not be sated until they had had an encore, and a moving concert was thus brought to a whirling finish.

The culmination of the tour was TuesdayÕs concert in the Palazzo Vecchio in Florence. The Salone dei Cinquecento, the walls and ceilings of which are entirely covered with paintings in gilded frames, was by far the grandest, most imposing setting in which we had sung. The resonant acoustic brought out all the exuberance of the Haydn at last, and enabled the tender strains of the third movement of the Beethoven to drift and linger for just a little longer than usual. As in Massa, however, the performance was perhaps most memorable for its soloists: the warm, elegant voice of mezzo of Jessica Lawrence-Hares; the light, serene tenor of Edmund Hastings; and the voice of soprano Raphaela Papadakis, rippling above everyone with such grace and lightness as to fill those of us in the soprano section of the choir who were feeling the strain of all the top ÔAÕs with admiration, and not a little envy. It was a delight to watch the audience being ripped to their feet by the last bar, which takes a tantalisingly long time to arrive and allow the listeners to release their pent-up excitement; and the sense of celebration continued into the after-concert party.

There were so many people to thank - the conductors: Stephen Cleobury, Mark Austin and Joe Fort, the four soloists: Raphaela Papadakis, Jessica Lawrence-Hares, Edmund Hastings and Ashley Riches but most importantly, perhaps, the tour organisers: Caroline Goulder, without whose logistical prowess the tour would not have gone ahead and the multi-talented Mark Austin. In addition, John Barber fielded many important contacts which shaped the trip, notably the Fondazione del Bianco in Florence and Marcello Flores in Siena. It was through these people and organisations that such impressive and diverse concert venues were secured; and in addition, the Fondazione del Bianco made it possible for all 150 participants (70 singers, 55 instrumentalists, 3 conductors, 4 soloists and some dedicated supporters) to stay together in the same two hotels, and to enjoy a group meal. It was a great privilege to sing and play in Florence and the other Tuscan towns, and a wonderful way to celebrate the musical heritage of Cambridge University on the occasion of its 800th anniversary.

Whilst music was the central focus of the tour, a trip to Italy is not complete unless at least one of the other senses, that of sight, is exercised. Thanks again to the efforts of the Fondazione del Bianco, we were privileged with free entry to the most significant museums in Florence. On the Thursday, visits were organized to the Bargello museum and to the Uffizi.

The Bargello was built in the thirteenth century as the cityÕs town hall, and used in the sixteenth century as a prison; and the sturdy inner courtyard, lined with statues and coats of arms, attests to the buildingÕs history of political power. Today, however, it is best known for its impressive collection of sculptures, among them MichelangeloÕs Bacchus, whose dizzy-drunkenness almost transfers to the observer if you look at him too long; GiambolognaÕs bronze Mercury, whose characteristically (for the sculptor, that is) complex arabesque pose projects both grace and might; and DonatelloÕs David, a slender, androgynous figure in bronze, as different from his namesake in MichelangeloÕs famous version as can be imagined.

As for the Uffizi, which we visited that afternoon: no amount of retelling can do justice to what visitors to the gallery see, so I shall mention just a few works here. First, of course, BotticelliÕs famous paintings Primavera and The Birth of Venus. They are both so familiar in reproduction Ð the latter especially is everywhere in Florence, on posters, cards and, unfortunately, even fridge-magnets. But when you stand in front of them for the first time, it is as though you had never seen them before. The colours are finer and creamier than they appear in print versions, an effect perhaps of the egg-yolk which the artist mixed into his paint. Moreover, the sensuous impact of both is infinitely greater when viewed in the original: there is real movement in the dance of the Graces in Primavera, and the embrace of the embodied winds blowing Venus ashore is powerfully evocative in its warmth and intimacy. Equally touching was the Madonna and Child with Angels by BotticelliÕs most influential teacher, Filippo Lippi. It is a tender but passionately executed work, from the exquisite profile of the central figure to the delicate greenish-blue of the MadonnaÕs dress and the yellow-gold of all the figuresÕ hair, shades of colour which soothe even as they delight. Among the most striking of the earlier paintings was Gentile da FabrianoÕs Adoration of the Magi, remarkable for its intensity of detail, from the crowd of worshippers winding its way into the foreground of the painting to the embroidery on the robes of the Magi, and for its radiant use of gold, which lends the whole a sense of exultant celebration.

Saturday morning took us to the Medici chapels, added in stages to the Basilica San Lorenzo by members of the Florentine dynasty. The opulence of the Cappella dei Principi, the lavish Medici mausoleum paved with marble and dripping with gemstones, contrasted sharply with the more subdued Sacristry: a classically-structured but tense space, designed and executed by Michelangelo, with some of his most remarkable sculptures, embodiments of Night and Day, Dawn and Dusk, atop the tombs. We were to see more by Michelangelo that afternoon: for the next scheduled visit was to the Galleria dellÕAccademia di Belle Arti, home to his monumental statue of David. The sculpture is infinitely larger than it appears in photographs, towering over the room in which it stands; and it is testimony to MichelangeloÕs genius that a face hewn out of marble can bear a range of expressions, which flicker and vary according to the angle from which the piece is viewed. Another stunning piece was the Giambologna sculpture known as the Rape of the Sabine Women (a name imposed on it later, not by the artist, and one which is arguably a misinterpretation), in which three figures, loosely entwined, spiral upwards in a seemingly unending flurry of limbs. In addition, a fascinating temporary exhibition of works by the American photographer Robert Mapplethorpe pointed up the continuities between the Renaissance preoccupation with the human form, and his own interest in capturing the body and perfecting it through art.

The last of the arranged cultural visits was to the Pitti Palace and the Boboli Gardens on the Tuesday. As with all the galleries, the collection in the Pitti is too vast to permit anything but a summary of the highlights here. Perhaps the most famous work housed there is RaphaelÕs Madonna of the Chair, an unusually sensual depiction of mother and child, the figures wrapped in rich hues of ochre and orange, and their costumes bearing the traces of Eastern influences. More offbeat, but equally interesting, was an exhibition in the modern wing devoted to the Futurist Arnaldo Ginna, featuring works remarkable for their vibrancy and playfulness, and their striking visual renderings of moods and physical sensations. The vast Boboli Gardens, laid out for the Medici in the sixteenth century, encompass a range of styles, from the geometric to the semi-wild, and long avenues of ilex and cypress tress cut across at points.

The Florentine vista from the summit by the Kaffeehaus was worth the climb: rising up behind the greenery in the foreground were the Duomo and Campanile (bell tower) which are in the centre of almost every postcard of Florence, along with the heavy structures of the Bargello and the Palazzo Vecchio; and beyond that, the cityÕs characteristic red roofs seemed to spread right back to the mountains on the horizon. It was the ideal spot for reflecting on the many and vivid experiences of the past week: the music we had sung, the paintings and sculptures we had seen; but perhaps most of all, the firm friendships that had arisen from all these shared experiences, and the never-ending flow of different opinions and perspectives that comes from travelling in such a large group. Each participant will have his or her version of events Ð this story is just one of many.

Charlotte Lee
September 2009

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