On Friday, October 2,
at Bishops College Auditorium, there was a celebration of choir-singing and
choir-tradition, an encounter between audience and recitation which would have
jarred but didn't. The Western Music Society of Royal College put together and
presented "Festival of Choirs". Eight schools participated. Everyone
sang. Some danced. No one improvised. To perfection? Almost.
The event-label was
spot on, in particular for what it embodied. "Festival" precludes
judgment and a final verdict that can and does impede on talent. There was a talent-unbuckling. Throughout. Naturally then, no one presided. No one flaunted. Everyone had a role. From
every group. It was (in the end) all about “the collective”. Rightly.
What unfolded
thereafter was a celebration of taste and colour. True, as a show "aimed
at" Colombo it could have succumbed to insularity. It didn't. What
we saw instead was a repudiation of individuality and an embracement of variety. But for
this, two things had to factor in. The show had to be synchronised well, and it
had to interweave past and present.
Was that what
happened? Certainly. The arrangement was planned excellently, and because of
that what transpired from one performance to the other seemed smoothly preconceived.
"Festival of
Choirs" opened with Verdi, exemplifying choir-tradition head-on. "Va,
pensiero" after all is made for choir-recital and Royal College rendered
it plaintively. Those who had
heard it before and even those who hadn't would have been transfixed, so
harrowing was the recital. It paved the way for the rest of the night, hovering
between past and present, high and low, tenor and bass.
From
"Footloose" (performed by Elizabeth Moir) to Billy Joel (Royal
College) and from "Master Sir" (Asian International) to "Living
on a Prayer" (Wesley College), there was a frequent
travelling-back-and-forth without wallowing in the "then" or
"now". No one looked unfamiliar with what they were doing. No one
faltered. Granted, there were voices that rang out and some that could be heard
above the rest. But not once did that dilute the collective-thrust which
dominated the evening.
Everyone had been
briefed well, by the way, and here the teachers played a part. Not
every school was "accompanied", but whenever they were the
student/teacher divide blurred. Wesley College's choir-mistress in particular
sang along with the children. She made them drop inhibition, injecting verve
into a couple of songs which demanded energy and nothing but. Not surprisingly,
she stood apart. Noticeably.
The show didn't only
teeter between past and present. It also bridged tradition and culture. To make
things all the more vibrant everyone coupled music with movement, a
"needed" even when recital was paramount and everything else was
frill. People sang, yes. That didn't stop them from emoting though, and that without
losing track of whatever was being played out.
And here the venue helped.
Bishops College Auditorium doesn't stretch. It's structured to bring audience
and performer(s) together. For a musical show of this sort, that's needed.
Whatever was played therefore caught on with a crowd that was a microcosm of
the "out there" and "beyond": old, young, middle-aged,
appreciative of past and present, and willing to embrace the new without
forgoing the old.
So how did the
performances fare? "Festival of Choirs" was (as mentioned before) not
geared at verdicts given through arbitrary judgment. There were no winners and
losers. There was instead talent-unbuckling, and on that score no one went
overboard. True, there was passion. Enough and more. That didn't license
energy-overflow though. Thankfully then, everyone showed restraint. And
grace.
As the show moved on
however, that restrained almost shattered. A largely Western medley gave way to
a more "regional" and “modern” track. That congealed into a
transition from "classical" to "plebeian". The performers
did this subtly, even if this meant a deviation from the original program (as
per the souvenir). Without that, the shift from restraint to openness would
have jarred. Badly.
In this context
"other factors" weighed in. The performers never showed what they had
gone through for the finale. The presenters (Imaadh Dole and Shechem
Sumanthiran) interjected commentary without becoming an adjunct to the show,
while the audience clapped when applause was wanted and were overwhelmed when
they needed to be. There were those who couldn't make it, whose absences were
regretted openly. But they were acknowledged and thanked, enough to make it seem
as though they were looking on, well and truly present.
As the performances
drew to a close everyone got together. The senior members of the participating
schools showed solidarity by performing a number. Together. There was no need
for tributes, hence. No need to insert adjectives and award-adornment.
Solidarity counted. And triumphed. All the way.
Before he wrote of
insanity and long before he himself became insane, Friedrich Nietzsche wrote of
music. He contended that music threw out man's individuality and instead
championed the union of man with man through the human condition, filled as it was with
joy and suffering. His theory, studied by music lovers for ages to come, was
that music embodied the collective. He didn't "assess" choirs, but he
might have found in their unyielding solidarity a confirmation of that same argument.
"Festival of
Choirs" echoed this. Subtly. It inhabited a twilight between trial and
perfection. Everyone exuded harmony, and rightly so. Royal College moreover
affirmed Nietzsche's joy-and-suffering duality and that by ending their
souvenir with a quote by Victor Hugo: "music expresses that which cannot
be said and on which it is impossible to be silent".
Now here's the clincher: what more
inexpressible thing is there, which music cannot (and will not) ignore, than the human
condition?
Royal College must thus be
congratulated. They created and sustained a show unhampered by talent-verdicts.
True, everyone sang and danced. True, there was talent there. But those who
thronged to see the show heard and saw what "came out". Those claps
weren't decor, after all. They were free of frill. Genuine. As such awards weren’t
needed. At all.
There was sanity,
hence. And contentment. Everywhere.
Photos courtesy of Buhusuru Ranasinghe and the Media Unit of Royal College
Written for: The Nation INSIGHT, October 17 2015
No comments:
Post a Comment