The music of the spheres

It was one of those evenings - most evenings, to tell you the truth - when I didn't want to go out.

However, we had tickets for Tafelmusik.

Seventeen long years in Hades, and I never got the opportunity to see Tafelmusik. They were either sold out, or the schedule didn't permit. We made sure of this opportunity by buying a small subscription to the Early Music Society of Victoria.

Steeling myself against my Taurean tendencies to warmth, comfort, and indolence, I reminded myself that this was Tafelmusik, for heaven's sake, and that it wasn't raining, and that, instead of a long Hadean wait for a bus-ride, the Resident Fan Boy and I could take a fifteen-minute stroll to Alix Goolden Hall.

I forgot my cushion, of course. I have such first-world problems.

Fifteen musicians and one actor took the stage, and it was like a revolving constellation of waves of beautiful music. The narrative followed the day-to-day life of the citizens of Liepzig, where Bach and his large family lived. Without leaving our pews (Alix Goolden is, of course, a former church), we were transported by slide and music to the town hall, and the churches. We were shown where the music students lived. Concerts at the coffee house were re-created. The sumptuary laws of the time and place, which determined how different classes in Liepzig dress, were explained. There was a great deal of emphasis on who made the instruments and how, using images of current instrument makers.

There wasn't much mention of women, alas, although a third of the Tafelmusik ensemble - and their director - is female.

Still, it was like a time machine, and the musicians turned and swayed, and rearranged themselves, some dropping back to chairs to await their next turn.

At one point, the audience was invited to sing the eight notes that make up the Goldberg Variations; at another, violinists appeared like shadows in the balconies, passing along an air.

Tafelmusik performed two movements of the third Brandenberg Concerto, and Schafe können sicher weiden (Sheep may safely graze). I felt those around me pulled and rocked by the familiar music.

The rest was not quite so famous - although I recognized the tune of Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme (Awake, calls the voice to us) as something sung in church to other lyrics.

Two women stepped forward for a brief bit of Klezmer in the section about market days, the only days Jews were allowed into the city. Everything else was very Lutheran.

At the end, I sprang (well, struggled) to my feet to applaud.  This is rare for me.

The performers bowed and bowed -- and left with no encore.

It was enough.

Flushed with triumph

The Resident Fan Boy and I had tickets for a "Festive Baroque Christmas Concert" at St Andrew's Presbyterian Church.

St Andrews is one of two St Andrews in downtown Victoria; the other is a Roman Catholic cathedral. Having lived in Victoria for several years - not counting those seventeen hellish years in Hades - I naturally assumed I'd been there at some point; I've passed it several times.

As soon as the RFB entered through one of the red inner doors leading to the sanctuary itself, I realized I'd never been there before. It's a lovely church but quite claustrophobic, and not just because the place was jammed for the concert. Each door leads to one aisle, or one balcony only, and consequently, it's really difficult to maneuver around the place, or get a clear idea of where the unoccupied pews are - if you're there for a jammed Christmas concert, that is.

You get up to the balconies by ascending one of four winding staircases. After trying three doors and finding the section of balcony behind each door appeared to be crammed, we made our way to the very front where we sat three rows up and overlooking the performance space from behind.

This was fine for hearing the musicians, although I couldn't really hear the soprano from behind. It turned out the ensemble was being led by violinist Jeanne Lamon, who, from 1981 to 2014, was the artistic director of Tafelmusik. Another featured guest musician Kris Kwapis, who is from Seattle, and plays her baroque trumpet all over the place. The baroque trumpet is a very long instrument that made her look like a plum pudding sort of Renaissance angel.

Scanning my programme in the dark balcony, I recognized a lot of the names of the fifteen musicians in the Victoria Baroque ensemble because a few of them play in the Victoria Symphony and a few of them bear the surnames of prominent musical families in the city.

At intermission, the lady next to me picked up my programme, stuffed it in her bag and departed with her companion. I was bemused, but reasoned I needed a leg stretch anyway, and decided to try the door behind us. It led to yet another red winding staircase and I descended into a long line of ladies waiting for the tiny washroom. "Good luck," one of them grinned.

My need was not yet desperate, so I wove in and out of doors, and aisles until I found a stack of programmes. Finding my way down the opposite side of the sanctuary, I tried another door, which led to another winding staircase. This one was also red, but very dark. At the top, another door, rather brown and ancient, which I thought might lead back across the church to my balcony. Instead I found a dark sort of seminar room, or kitchen -- I didn't want to linger to find out -- but there was also a cubicle with a toilet.

I was quick, because the cubicle didn't lock, and it was kind of creepy. I had one nasty moment, when I thought the big brown door through which I'd come might not open again, but it did, and I fled.

When I found my way back to the RFB, I told him of my explorations, and the bathroom no one else seems to have discovered.

"Where is it?" he asked.

"I'm not telling you! It's mine!" I said, and we settled to enjoy the rest of the concert.

One of the pieces was the first half of this concerto by Francesco Manfredini. It's called "Pastorale per il santissimo natale", but is also known as "Christmas Concerto", and was published in 1718. The group in the video is smaller than the ensemble we heard, but the swaying dancing motions of the violins is familiar.