Canticle. Commissioned by the Vocal Arts Ensemble of Cincinnati, Craig Hella Johnson, Music Director. SATB, 3 cellos, 1 percussionist playing vibraphone, bass drum, tambourine. 65′.  See the score. Additional notes written for the Boston Cecilia performance. See the entire score here, at MusicSpoke.

CD released 16 Nov 2018, Canticle and Alleluia. Available from Amazon, Naxos, iTunes, Spotify, others. 2020 Grammy, Classical Producer of the Year, Blanton Alspaugh.

Reviews

American Record Guide, Nathan Faro. “sensory setting … quiet and meditative, slowly building to ‘Our bed is in flower,’ the climax of the work … In other moments, nature mysticism … propulsive … a great debut recording from this ensemble. I’m looking forward to more from them … sound is crisp and well-balanced.”

Broad Street Review, Peter Burwasser, 18 Mar 2019: “hypnotically beautiful … delicately ecstatic … unabashed sensuality … in its simple beauty, seems to transcend any specific musical era … extremely careful musical pairing to the import of the poetry, in ways that are sweetly profound … I expect to hear this music again … the Vocal Arts Ensemble performs superbly, with rich tone and a natural sense of pacing … A brief, lovely piece titled Alleluia” More reviews. 

Text: A Spiritual Canticle of the Soul and the Bridegroom Christ by St. John of the Cross (1542–1591), translations by David Lewis (1864), with corrections by Benedict Zimmerman, O.C.D. (1909), and, in the Catholic Treasury, updates of pronouns added by Harry Plantinga (1993/5, public domain). A few minor alterations were introduced by me after reference to the original. Premiered 30 April 2016, Lakeside Presbyterian Church, Lakeside Park, Kentucky, and 1 May 2016, Old St. Mary’s Church, Cincinnati, Ohio.

Canticle is a setting of the great mystical work of St. John of the Cross, The Spiritual Canticle of the Soul and the Bridegroom Christ, or as it’s often and simply known, the Spiritual Canticle. The 40-stanza poem is revered as one of the great religious and literary works of the 16th century. Following the tradition of the biblical Song of Solomon (or Song of Songs), St. John personifies, with symbolic and beautiful imagery, the journey of the soul, through the travails of the world, to union with her bridegroom.

Though John of the Cross is a revered Christian saint (he also wrote what is known as The Dark Night of the Soul), he does not mention Christ in the Spiritual Canticle, nor does he delineate any theology. It abounds with religious symbolism, but like the Song of Solomon from the Torah, it is a poem with universal appeal. Adherents of all spiritual and meditative disciplines will immediately recognize the dangers, delights, side-steps, ecstasy, and peace described in the Spiritual Canticle.

Canticle is composed for choir with three cellos and one percussionist playing vibraphone, bass drum, and tambourine. Lasting just over an hour, it follows the three sections laid out by St. John, each prefaced by a short instrumental statement. These Meditations use an old Swedish Sanctus, the “Holy, Holy, Holy” played by one cello in the opening, then two cellos in imitative counterpoint to open Section Two, then three at the beginning of the last section, all accompanied by vibraphone.

Section One, The Search for the Beloved, covers about one-third of the length of the piece, but Section Two, Preparations for Perfect Union, takes only half that time, leaving about a half-hour, or one-half of the total duration, for Section Three, Full Union. These sections and any movements headed by titles (The Bride, The Bridegroom, Question of the Creatures, Answer of the Creatures) were so designated by St. John.

Since the poem is in 40 five-line stanzas (each of which in the Spanish follow the same rhythm and rhyme scheme), I decided early on to combine them into various groupings. I hoped to complement the logic and tempo of the narrative—for it is a narrative, however symbolic and mysterious—while allowing the various musical settings to have their own way. A few verses stand by themselves, and one is split into two parts (Nos. 8 and 9 here), just as in the poem.

The lion’s share of the text given to a character is the Bride’s, so it wouldn’t do to assign the Bride to the women and the Bridegroom to the men. Either the men wouldn’t have much to sing at all, or the words would have to be unbalanced with repetition, an intolerable burden on an already long text. Besides, since we are all the Bride seeking the Bridegroom, we must all be able to partake in the representation, so the choral parts and occasional soloists from within the choir are used in whatever manner that seemed appropriate musically.

St. John himself wrote an exhaustive commentary on his own work, clearly explaining all the imagery and symbolism. Here is a good online resource. Much of the language will be familiar to anyone who has read mystical literature or metaphysical poetry, but still, there are some difficulties.

The foxes in No. 10, for instance, are those thoughts or intrusions that would destroy the garden or its fruit. In No. 13, “where your mother was corrupted,” “mother” is our human nature which dies, but which the Bridegroom redeems. (This is the only place where I transposed a line for musical purposes, here from the fifth line of the original stanza 23 to the second line.) In No. 14, “if you found me dark before,” as in the similar Song of Solomon passage, refers to a peasant—tanned or swarthy by working under the sun in the fields and vineyards—who is noticeably darker than someone of high rank. Aminadab in No. 18 is Satan, who, by the end, is nowhere to be found.

At times the inspiration of the Spain of St. John of the Cross may be guessed at. Plucked cellos may be reminiscent of a guitar, the tambourine may recall a dance, and the swaying twos against threes may bring to mind music from the late Renaissance. The juxtaposition of spirituality and earthiness, each echoing and symbolizing the other, will be found here, as it is in music from that time. More than feints, however, toward this or that musical landmark are not to be found, I don’t believe.

My love of modes will be evident. There isn’t too much by way of musical riddles, but text-painting is everywhere. In No. 6 “O crystal spring,” the women’s voices mirror themselves and likewise do the men’s; the “if only” imitative part gradually spreads out as ripples.

Music, lending voice and texture to words that they themselves cannot denote, is nevertheless hindered. From the many layers of meaning that St. John of the Cross points to in his commentary, I could focus on only one or two in each stanza as I chose a musical tapestry. But music, like love, has its own reasons, and in this I rest, hoping that there may be untapped surprises and comfort in any performance of Canticle.

I. The Search for the Beloved