Ying Fang performs with the Orchestra of St. Luke's. Photo by Stephanie Berger.

 

At Stern Auditorium on the evening of Tuesday, February 27th, I had the extraordinary privilege to attend a magnificent concert version of Carl Orff’s exceedingly popular, astonishing cantata of 1936, Carmina Burana—which was presented as a part of Carnegie Hall’s current festival, “Fall of the Weimar Republic: Dancing on the Precipice”—performed by the superb musicians of the Orchestra of St. Luke’s—brilliantly conducted here by Tito Muñoz—along with both the excellent Westminster Symphonic Choir—directed by James Jordan—and the wonderful Young People’s Chorus of New York City, the Artistic Director of which is Francisco J. Núñez. (At Lincoln Center’s Alice Tully Hall on the evening of Saturday, January 27th, Muñoz—who is the Virginia G. Piper Music Director of The Phoenix Symphony—led the Juilliard Orchestra in a splendid concert—previously reviewed here—that included Sergei Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No. 2 and Igor Stravinsky’s score for the ballet Petrushka.) The program also featured an outstanding slate of soloists with, above all, the lovely and amazing soprano and Metropolitan Opera star, Ying Fang, as well as tenor Nicholas Phan and baritone Norman Garrett.

 

In useful notes for the event, Ryan M. Prendergast provided some background on the work:

 

Orff’s source text was an edition of songs and poems from a 13th-century codex first discovered in the Bavarian monastery of Benediktbeuern in 1803. Its eventual published title, Carmina Burana, translates to “Songs of Beuern.” The individual poems date from the 11th and 12th centuries, with the majority written in Latin and a smaller number in vernacular German and French of the periods. While some named authors survive in the collection, many of the poems were written by anonymous Goliards, well-educated student clerics whose works often satirized the Church of Rome and who made liberal use of pagan symbols and imagery. The codex later entered the collection of the Bavarian royal family, and was edited for publication in 1847 by Royal Court and State Librarian Johann Andreas Schmeller. Orff came into possession of a second-hand copy of Schmeller’s edition in 1934. In Orff’s telling, the imagery of the opening text, “O Fortuna / velut luna / statu variabilis,” instantly transfixed him, and he began composition. With his friend and collaborator Michael Hoffmann, Orff sifted through the massive codex to find the poems that would best suit the “scenic cantata” he envisioned. There are no conventional story line or characters, but rather self-contained vignettes that create a world unto themselves.

 

He adds: “Orff’s Latin subtitle forCarmina Burana,‘profane songs for singers and choruses to be sung together with instruments and magical images,’ indicated a preference for the work to be fully staged” with dance. And further:

 

Orchestrally, the score of Carmina Burana relies upon a large ensemble with an enormous battery of percussion. The work contains 25 individual movements separated into four major sections and a prologue, “Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi” (“Fortune, Empress of the World”).

 

The thrilling, exclamatory, almost incomparably famous “O Fortuna” that opens the piece is followed by the more subdued “Fortunae plango vulnera” that completes the prologue, “Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi.” The first section, “Primo vere,”—described by the Encyclopaedia Britannica as consisting of “youthful, energetic dances”—begins with the quiet chorus “Veris laeta facies” and then the moving “Omnia sol temperat” for solo baritone. The celebratory “Ecce gratum” precedes a sub-section, “Uf dem anger,” with first, a captivating orchestral “Dance” and the exultant “Floret silva nobilis” which has aländler-like melody.The next choral song, “Chramer, Gip die varwe mir”—the first written in the German language to appear in the cantata—is also joyful and is succeeded by the waltz-like orchestral interlude, “Reie.” There then occurs a series of German choral passages, starting with the ebullient “Swaz hie gat umbe” that recapitulates after the subsequent “Chume, chum, geselle min,” which is suggestive of a siren-call. This part ends with the affirmative “Were diu werlt alle min” which begins with exciting fanfares.

 

The middle section, “In Taberna”—which, theBritannicasays, “evokes drunken feasting and debauchery”—opens with “Estuans interius”—for solo baritone—which has a spirit of protest, while the following “Olim lacus colueram” is eccentric with an almost sinister quality. Also peculiar is the “Ego sum abbas” which precedes the rhythmic, propulsive “In taberna quando sumus” that concludes the second part.

 

Of the third section, “Cour d’amours,” theBritannicastates that “courtship and love are the subject.” The first verse of its initial song, “Amor volat undique”—which is for solo soprano and children’s chorus—is hushed, while the second is plaintive, followed by a brief recapitulation of the first. The sorrowful “Dies, nox, et omnia” for solo baritone precedes one of the most lyrical songs, “Stetit puella,” for solo soprano. The subsequent “Circa mea pectora” for solo baritone and chorus has a self-pitying tone. About the next two songs, Prendergast writes:

 

“Si puer cum puellula” presents the baritone and solo members of the chorus acapella, extolling the delights of fleshly love. The full chorus returns in “Veni, veni, venias” in another roundelay of lust.

 

The reflective “In trutina” for solo soprano is succeeded by the “Tempus est iocundum”—for solo soprano, baritone, chorus and children’s chorus—with which merriment returns. The third part closes with the ecstatic “Dulcissime” for solo soprano.

 

An epilogue, “Blanziflor et Helena,” includes the exalting, triumphant “Ave Formosissima” for chorus and, finally, a return of the glorious “O Fortuna.”

 

The artists received an enthusiastic ovation.