It was a free concert of choral music and gospel performed by a
choral music group from St. Louis at the Manaus opera house. Manaus
is a bustling city in the middle of the jungle that grew up in the
rubber boom. Rubber boomed, and as the global economy sucked rubber
down the Amazon and out of the jungle, the jungle sucked money and
fanciness in. To Manaus. And the Opera House was the center of the
vortex.
Everywhere you turn ostentation borders on maniacal, sharpened by the
fact that in the middle of the jungle lots of stuff would have to be
imported anyway, even if no one was planning to boast about it in
drawing rooms. So it's steel from England. Architects from France.
Engineers from Germany. Painters and sculptors from Italy. Wood
from a self-consciously long list of different places tiled into a
floor so as to make you notice how many types of wood there are. And
the dome is a rainbow of individually painted ceramic tiles with
those of the Brazilian flag being the *least* intense!
When I took a tour of the opera house on Saturday I asked about
events, and saw on the calendar that there were several free concerts
coming up; the one on Monday was a gospel music group from St.
Louis. How fitting. "River to river," I thought (and kept wanting
to follow with "backyard to yard").
After Trinidad's dress codes I had a light worry about showing up in
"camper's casual", but when I arrived Monday evening, far from it
being a problem, I fit right in: everybody was dressed for a free
summer concert in the park. And even though everyone was sitting in
individual ornate mahogany (?) chairs with deep red upholstery in a
fabulously ornate concert hall, that was the vibe: summer concert in
the park.
On stage was a single piano in front of some risers, and since I
thought I'd seen the word "orchestra" in the program I felt a
momentary twinge of "uh oh" that I'd confused the date. But then a
string of singers filed onto the risers looking very much like a
small city American choral music group, and put to rest my doubt.
The conductor walked on to the stage and, working with their
interpreter and tour guide (who was in jeans and a t-shirt) greeted
the audience and announced the first few pieces of the program. One
interesting intercultural hiccup: the standard greeting ("This is our
last show in the country, we've loved its scenery, food, people,
etc.") ended with the almost-punchline "and we've spent lots of
money," which the interpreter, it seemed deliberately, didn't translate.
The first few selections weren't gospel at all; they were
ecclesiastical choral pieces sung in Latin. I felt a twinge of doubt
again: "I thought this was going to be gospel?" but that soon was
overwhelmed by the memories of my father--who died of cancer 18
months ago--singing in the Worcester Chorus. They sang music like
this to audiences like this. I'm not sure if they ever toured
Brazil, but they toured Poland and Russia, traveling bubbly in a tour
bus, singing free concerts in old, beautiful spaces that they strove
sometimes successfully, always admirably to fill with sound, drinking
a lot at dinner and then singing even more-- all this a Chorus buddy
may have reminisced in the days around his funeral, reflecting that
nook of his life back at us like a convex mirror, as happens.
The St. Louis Chorus was not well balanced; only a handful of altos,
four men-- only two tenors. And dear Missourians if this post finds
its way back to you through Google someday please understand that
this critic has an entirely unrelated bone to pick.
The program shifted into gospel, which everyone loved ("Hu--sh!" and
"My white robe" and "Children don't be weary") and then into a string
of songs for the Catholic mass sung in gospel fashion, commissioned
by the pope and composed by the conductor who stood before us. The
first of these was actually the Creed (it was pure for the virgin
birth, woeful for the death, and gospel energetic for the
resurrection). Following this were parts of the mass you would be
more likely to hear sung, again in Gospel style. I started to feel
like the whole presentation had a detectable Catholic vibe, in that
it was a bit more reserved and prim than you'd expect, but I haven't
seen enough gospel to be sure.
After intermission it went back into gospel and the conductor
encouraged the Brazilian audience to clap along, which many had been
itching to do from the start. They sang "Jonah in the Belly of the
Whale" which I either remember from some Worcester Chorus performance
or maybe even singing myself at some point in some church summer camp
somewhere. I really had no idea, but if you heard this when you were
a kid you'd remember it forever so it could have been ages ago.
The gospel thing meant that way more people had soloist chops. Some
of the soloists were amazing, and for all of them it was so much fun
to follow their flourishes.
When the last two soloists got up it sounded a little jarring. The
song they were singing sounded more like a musical than gospel, and
then it broke into a skit, "Flossy, where were you? I've been
looking all over!" in a cheesy broadway voice. The oddness quickly
became the most adorable thing in the world when I realized they were
closing their set with "Meet me in St. Louey": awww... they had to
represent the lou!
I went home delighted, and on the way back stepped into a restaurant
where who should I find but my bunkmate, Junior, who was just
finishing his meal. He ordered a beer and recommended the fish,
which was scrumptious. He told me he runs a business providing party
equipment ("you know, like helium balloons, mechanical bulls") for
kids' parties. After dinner we went for ice-cream by the kilo and
tromped home together.
