Hallelujah! Leanne sort-of reviews "Messiah"

The bit where Leanne waffles on...

The 8th of December is notable in my life for several reasons.

My brother was born on 8th December in the 1960s, although I wasn't yet around to heckle him. It was only a couple of years later I could start making his life a misery. I'm still catching those missed years up, but I'm persistent.

Also on the 8th of December, one of history's greatest musicians and song writers and all-round lust-after-able people, John Lennon, died. He was shot down outside his apartment block in New York by Mark Chapman.

I happen to know a Mark Chapman, but not the same one. He's a lovely guy and has not, to my knowledge, shot anyone lately.

The bit where Leanne may offend some readers, but probably not...

And last week, on the 8th of December, I lost my Messiah virginity.

Up until now, I'd managed to sing in choir for nearly two decades, without ever performing the thing. City Choir has now relieved me of my Messianic chastity, and I can now stand tall, and proclaim myself En-Messianized.

The bit where Leanne should be professional, and do a proper review. But doesn't.

I suppose this review should be all impersonal and stuff, and I should prosaically mutter on about the intonation of the choir. I should mention the dulcit tones of the sopranos, the warm, chocolatey notes of the altos, and the resonant richness of the basses.

I should comment on the fact that the tenors have never sounded better, and that their entries in the fugues were on time and pitch, confident and strong. I should discuss the wonderful soloists, noting in particular the excellence of the tenor, and how well our extremely late notice alto soloist performed.

In a typical, non-personal review, I would also mention the orchestra, and how well they played, with great timing, feeling, and dynamic sympathy to the music.

Lastly, I would comment on the ridiculously amazing dexterity of Mr. Burchell, and how fluently he managed to control and direct all this, while playing the harpsichord as well.

If I were being less than professional, I might make a silly comment, such as wondering where David is keeping Brain Number Two, because surely ("sure-ely!") a human being is not supposed to be able to do all that on one brain alone.

BUT...

This is not a professional review.

The bit where Leanne gets all personal, and stuff.

I am just some hack soprano, who thought it might be a good idea to write about my first Messiah experience, so I wouldn't forget what it was like, and what bloody good fun it all was.

So instead of all that official review-ey stuff, I'll talk about how I had an absolute ripper time singing the Messiah.

I loved it. I bopped my way through "And the Glory of the Lord", did a little bit of John Travolta-ing in the "All We Like Sheep" (and I've often wondered about Travolta's personal leanings too, so this seemed appropriate), and groovied along to the rest of the movements too.

Let's face it - the whole of the Messiah is one big show-off piece. Handel was a big, fat, glitzy show-off.

In my mind, I visualize Handel as a kind of Liberace figure, with cheesy, wheezy voice, funky wig and paste jewelry. And I don't think I'm too far wrong. I mean, look:



Only their mothers could tell them apart!

Handel wrote Messiah in order to impress everyone he knew, and a whole stack of people he didn't, and to piss off some people he thought were slightly...ummm...second rate to his own glorious self. The guy had a massive ego.

So the only way to sing the piece is to love it, jazz to it, sliiiide to it, and savour every moment in a slightly Hollywood-esque fashion. And that's what I did.

I imagined fat old Handel was sitting down there in the audience, saying "show us what you've got, baby!" and then there's me, and every other choir member up on stage coming back at him with "yeah, Handel sweetie, just watch this!"

Because it is our job to make the guy grin from ear to ear - a real, Tim Curry-esque, Cheshire Cat grin - by singing our hearts out and giving his music every single bit of glam sparkle we could throw into it.

So my experience of Messiah was a bit surreal - a bit Hollywood. I grooved, I danced around on stage far more than is appropriate - and I had an awesome time.

And in the end, that's what singing is all about really. Handel was into fun and games and stirring and partying - and I guess I honoured his memory a bit by enjoying his music in that kind of way.

Overall, I think City Choir did a terrific job. The reviews are coming back positive. From where I stood, we sounded great. The audience were certainly approving. We gave bang for the audience's buck. They got their money's worth, and then some.

So yes, I've lost my Messiah virginity. I'm far from expert, but I don't think I'll be quaking in my stylish-yet-affordable boots next time I have to sing it. Because I know that, somewhere up there, the not-so-wee ghostie of Handel is watching over us.

And he's chuckling at the "All We Like Sheep" lyrical positioning, just like I am. Because in Heaven I'm sure you get Babel fish as a free bonus.

Which is kind of cool.