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Program notes - "Service High and Anthems Clear" |
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A Note from the Artistic Director
. . . by John Milton (1608-1674)
The title of the concert "Service High and Anthems Clear," drawn from the quotation above, was chosen to denote the musical content of this program, including two services (a Mass and a Requiem) and two anthems. But the title has come to be imbued with much more meaning in the subsequent dedication of this concert to the memory of Mark Sheldon.
Nine months before he died, Mark approached me "backstage" at St. Elizabeth's during the intermission of our "French Impressionism" concert, and asked very privately, "Should anything happen to me, could you do Howells' Requiem?" What was left unsaid in this short sentence was greater than what was said. I assured him that we would. I think he had begun to realize that, despite holding his cancer at bay for many months longer than doctors thought possible, its spread was beginning to outpace the procedures keeping it in check.
As my planning began to form around his request, I asked him what he thought of putting the Howells Requiem into the same concert with the premier of Terry Schlenker's Mass for Double Choir. He was little short of ecstatic, and thought the pairing an extremely good one (he sang and recorded the Kyrie of Terry's Mass with us for our CD The American Spirit, and expressed deep admiration of it both to me and to the composer. So, even though he never came to know the work in its entirety, he felt the Kyrie held such promise that the full work would become a force to be reckoned with in the choral world).
Returning to the quotation above, when I reviewed it recently in anticipation of writing this note, the vision of a "full-voiced quire" dissolving one into ecstasies, such that it brought "all Heaven" before one's eyes, reminded me so much of Mark that it moved me deeply in recollection. There have been only rare examples, in my experience, of persons who have communicated the glories of music so immediately and passionately as to practically embody it in themselves; and Mark is the foremost among these, in my mind. I am speaking not so much of his verbal communication - both on the air and in private, although these are what some may rightfully think of first - but of his face when he sang in St. Martin's. There was no one else in the choir who so totally conveyed the spirit of the music in his very body, who visually accompanied the sonic glories and emotional impact of the music, as did Mark.
I've never been a fan of telling a choir to smile, or "look like you're enjoying what you're doing." I've always felt that the music should convey itself on its own merits. But Mark's passion for the music was so intense that it simply had to express itself visually; and it was infectious. I tended to look right at him when cueing the bass section, because I knew he would always catch the cues, and convey them like a mirror back to the audience. And at least one person after every concert would comment to me how much they enjoyed watching Mark sing.
We don't have Mark to watch singing tonight; and, with this concert, his direct influence over the programming of St. Martin's' concerts (into which, for about four years, he had no little input) comes to an end. But as these aspects of who he was tragically begin to fade, St. Martin's, according to Mark's own wishes, has established the Mark Sheldon Memorial Fund to carry on his wider legacy of passion for the arts, specifically choral music. I refer you to the inside back cover of this program for a fuller explanation of how the Fund is going to be used to preserve Mark's memory; but I would personally like to encourage you to consider making a donation in Mark's memory to this Fund tonight.
Timothy J. Krueger
© 2004 Timothy J. Krueger |