The best evenings often turn out to be the ones you don’t plan in advance
If it hadn’t been for our Borrowed Dog we wouldn’t have known about it at all. Our friend mentioned it casually when she came to pick him up from his weekend stay with us. An American choir was giving a concert in the church at Meursault the following night. Would we like to go? I sneaked a doubtful glance at Hubby. Live music isn’t exactly his thing, with the exception of folk, preferably accompanied by liberal quantities of real ale. Musicals leave him cold. The one time I persuaded him to go to a classical concert it was Mahler’s Resurrection and we were far too close to the percussion section for comfort. What would his reaction be?
“Why not?” he said.
I suppose I shouldn’t have been all that surprised. One thing that living here has done for both of us to is make us far more willing to try different things. In England we sat comfortably among our little circle of friends who were mostly connected with the local theatre group and didn’t feel any need to venture beyond it in order to make new ones. Here we’re back to square one. We have made a few friends among the ex-pat community and some of the French people connected with it but if we want to widen the circle we have to get out and about.
I wasn’t expecting much. I saw it mainly as a chance to practice my French. I was delightfully surprised.
The church itself was a real pleasure. Hubby often teases me about my continuing weakness for what he calls “Catholic tat” despite the fact that I rejected the Church Holy Roman and Apostolic and its entire works on my thirteenth birthday. I tell him that he has no soul. Good church architecture is one of the glories of human endeavour and it doesn’t matter a damn to me that a many of these beautiful buildings only exist because Sir X or the Duke of Y wanted to obtain a “get out of gaol free” card from Purgatory. The church itself dates from 1480 but restoration work carried out in 1989 has returned the limestone pillars supporting the soaring arches to their original colour. The gilded statues of the saints and the brightly coloured pictures making up the Stations of the Cross glow against pristine whitewashed walls. The lighting has been cleverly designed to mimic the effect of candlelight. It was a perfect setting for what was to follow.
I am no expert so I cannot comment on the technical quality of the performance. I can only say I was entranced. In the space of a couple of hours, the choir, composed of students at the Central University of Connecticut, gave us a mixed programme which really served to show off their range. They went from sacred music to French folk songs to Negro spirituals to showtunes and back again. The sacred music was deeply moving and I especially enjoyed hearing it in that setting. The only thing I could have done without was a rather po-faced rendition of “Money Can’t Buy Me Love”. For God’s sake, aren’t there enough good modern tunes without stooping to something so patently unsuitable? McCartney might have sold out but Lennon was probably turning in his grave.
Highlight of the whole thing was a gloriously silly piece in the style of Tom Lehrer called “Deconstructing Johann” which took us on a whistle-stop tour of some of JSB’s most famous works via the vehicle of a dialogue between Johann and Mrs Bach about how on earth he was going to finish that most famous of Toccatas. Suffice to say the last word of the piece is “fuge”. At one point even a mobile phone got in on the act (you’ve guessed it - that ring tone!). By the end I was laughing fit to bust, as were all the other English speakers in the audience. I think the French were just a teeny bit mystified by it all.
Mystified or not, the predominantly French audience gave the choir a standing ovation and called for two encores. It was the most satisfactory end to a lovely evening. The American students, their faces alight with happiness, being applauded to the roof by an appreciative audience of French music lovers for a performance that had managed to cross the language barrier with a vengeance.
I went home feeling that there’s hope for the human race yet.