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The CBC commissioned Swiss composer Carl Rütti to write a piece to celebrate the change of millenium. The choir dedicated the piece to the memory of Caroline Brown, a choir
member who died two or three years earlier. Here are Carl's notes about the piece, written for the first performance.
I had three main reasons for choosing the Holy Spirit as the subject of my oratorio for the Cheltenham Bach Choir. First was Stephen Jackson's suggestion that I capitalize on the
choir's linguistic skills and bring together in one piece the languages I have used in all my choral writing - Latin, German and English. This seemed to give me a choice of two subjects: Pentecost, when the Holy
Spirit descended and gave the disciples the gift of tongues, or the Tower of Babel. I decided on the former, adding a little Greek, French, Spanish and mediaeval Italian for good measure.
Second was my own fascination with the nature of the Holy Spirit who, though he is constantly invoked as a member of the Holy Trinity, remains strangely unknowable and elusive. In the
orchestral introduction to "Prophecy", the first movement, I try to capture God's revelation of himself to Elijah: not (as Mendelssohn reminded us) in the tempest, nor in the earthquake, nor in the fire, but in a
smooth wind. Eventually this subsides, and from far away the "still small voice" of the distant choir is heard, singing of God's promise one day to pour his Spirit on us. At the same time come echoes of an oddly
familiar tune, misleadingly scored to suggest the sound of a carillon from southern Switzerland or northern Italy.
Yeats' The Secret Rose, which I have set in the second movement, tells how kings and lovers alike have been inspired to strike out, leaving home and goods behind them, and find
new life. For me this is a symbol of the work of the Holy Spirit. The music is based on a piece I wrote many years ago for violin and harpsichord, also inspired by this poem.
All good oratorios have recitatives and mine has two - recitatives in the old-fashioned sense that they are mobile and dramatic rather than static and reflective. Recitative I is
scored for solo soprano and solo violin only and is distinctly wild and windy (everything is touched by the Holy Spirit): Recitative II, again for solo soprano but with an ensemble of trumpets, harp and solo string
sextet, is wilder still. This movement is based on a bird song I first heard this spring.
In between the two Recitatives, at the centre of the whole work, comes Rilke's Wer bist du. The extraordinary imagery of this poem calls for the most colourful music possible,
and for the first time since the opening movement the remote sounds of distant choir and bells are heard, in dialogue with the soprano, harp, muted strings and main choir downstairs.
The third reason for my choice of subject in Till Earthly Passions Turn was the work's dedicatee Caroline Brown. I never knew her, but I have a strong sense of what her loss meant to the Cheltenham Bach Choir and, of course, to her family. Movement VI, Jesus'
Farewell, in which the Lord promises to send his friends his Holy Spirit to be their Comforter, is meant particularly for them and for her. The choir also asked me for a movement that they could detach and use
on other less exalted (and expensive) occasions. This is it.
With the last movement, Pentecost, the story of the upper room at last comes into focus. The rushing mighty wind of the opening movement is heard again, this time with choir and soprano soloist adding a narration. As in Prophecy a great calm follows the storm, but now there is something else as well: an explanation, much closer to home (about 30 kilometres in fact), for those early off-stage bell sounds. Once this has established itself, the distant choir, just like the Apostles at the first Whitsun, find they have the gift of tongues. Miraculously, the Apostles, for all that, were understood by all who heard them. We hope in some sense the same can be true of us.
Carl Rütti
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