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The Philadelphia Orchestra performs “Messiah” by Georg Fredric Handel on Thurs., Dec. 15, 2022 at Verizon Hall at the Kimmel Center in Philadelphia, PA. |
I have been waiting my entire life to see “MESSIAH” by Handel live.
I‘m picky. “Messiah” is my favorite body of music. The tenor (or even baritone-bass) solos (soli?) is my dream role — musical theatre be damned, give me “Messiah.” On YouTube, I have spent many a holiday viewing nearly every filmed version and listened to almost every album of this oratorio — even the glorious Vienna, Austria (Theatre an der wein) version staged as an opera with a reimagined storyline.
Thursday, Dec. 15, 2022, I waded without an umbrella (my mistake) to Verizon Hall to see The Philadelphia Orchestra’s “Messiah” by Handel, in person, finally, hoping I’d like it. Again, I’m very particular about this oratorio. I’ve disliked more versions than I’ve loved, but I figured it was time to just see it live. Note: my anxiety fuels me to heap praise on performances and other things that amount to mediocre at best but often subpar. This is why I rarely write theatre reviews anymore out of fear of hurting feelings.
Nevertheless, what I witnessed on stage, unplugged, at Verizon Hall (Kimmel Center) in Philadelphia, was the single greatest production of “Messiah” by Handel I have ever seen.
In fact, and now I’m about to sound dramatic and histrionic, it was possibly the most beautiful and surreal musical experience I’ve ever had. I am stunned how well the producers knew the type of audience that would show up for this in the dead of night on a Thursday in torrential rain during a time of year that can be festive and joyous, but also lonely and depressing. They built this for the latter. Handel’s people. They performed it in damn near the heart of Philly’s gayborhood exactly where it belongs. I was lucky to be in the front row, but I was soaking wet, cold, angry, annoyed, and felt like this was not worth the long and dark drive to Philly. Within the first few notes of the overture, I was enraptured.
Jeannette Sorrell freed the musicians to play with abandon, conducting both the orchestra and the Philadelphia Symphonic Choir. At the end of each act, she blew kisses to her musicians. She refused to be elevated on a conductor’s podium, instead conducting at stage level with her fellow musicians. Later in the performance, she accompanied singers on a Pennsylvania-made harpsichord. During her conducting — though I caution even mentioning this — her long orange hair flew around giving a subtle image of a “Messiah” on fire. (It may sound low-brow to comment on a physical attribute, but this “Messiah” was steeped in brilliant subtext.)
I hope nobody misinterprets my interpretation, but Philadelphia made this “Messiah,” as did Handel — not entirely for the church, but for the rest of us — maybe even those of us who’ve been abused, scorned, or despised by the church. (“He was despised” alto solo was astonishing). I mean that as no offense to anyone religious. “Messiah” by Handel — I’ve done extensive research on its history, not just the fiction passed down through the years — is, at its core, a somewhat undefinable avant garde piece of performance art, performed minimally staged and centered around its orchestra and choir. He called it “Oratorio.” Is it Opera? No. Is it concert? No. Is it symphony? No. Is it an alternate way of blending classical music subgenres? Sort of but not really. Is it a reimagining of how a story is told on stage? Arguably. Is it relevant? Definitely. Is it Baroque? Debatable. Is it the ultimate reckless middle finger to baroque? I’ll keep my opinion to myself.
Handel demanded it be performed outside of a church and the proceeds go to people in debtors prison. The earnings of the first performance saved more than 100 lives. He quite literally flipped off organized religion and did the work of Christ himself.
Oratorio, especially “Messiah,” is punk — and that may sound like a ridiculous eye-roller, but nothing says “<redacted> you and the high horse you rode in on” like Handel’s Messiah — not to mention he was broke when he wrote it, composed it in a feverish fit of inspiration in 24 days, and claimed he “saw God” while doing it. That’s badass.
It stole from the rich and gave to the poor. It was a rebuke to systemic poverty and the complicity of those responsible for aiding the poor. It literally starts with an ominous, and, at times almost dissonant instrumental (overture), and then a Tenor shows up and tells everyone to chill out (“Comfort Ye”). The lead “role”, the ingenue (as it’s called in opera, almost always played by a Soprano), is an Alto — and in Messiah, the role is sometimes shared by a woman and a man (the Philadelphia production did not opt for this but that would have been the cherry on top — would love to see queer/trans representation in this role, as I feel it is coded to be). The alto soloist is oft referred to as the “mezzo soprano” role — but I argue in favor of “alto,” the soloist was digging into and resonating low notes that shook the floorboards. Mezzos don’t do that.
“Messiah,” on the surface, is a collection of mostly Old Testament verses set to music. Under the surface is the construction and execution and intention of the oratorio, which, for some of us, contains a bit of a darker subtext, and is written as a secular or sacred (debate rages on) work for a secular audience, designed to be performed in a theater or an opera house. For some people at the time of its premier who understood it wholly, it was deemed “blasphemous”, “sacrilege”, “profane”.
Whether it’s original intent was to also be a “sacred” work, or if it has assimilated over time into the canon of sacred works and migrated over to the world of organized religion and churches because of its scriptural content is a long and complicated discourse. I lack the energy or literacy to speak on it intelligently. Just that, the Philadelphia “Messiah” is Handel’s Messiah nearly in its truest form. It’s the version I’ve always dreamed I’d see but never thought anyone would produce. Philadelphia nailed it. That is all I will say about it.
As a side note, yes, everyone stood for the “Hallelujah” chorus. No one quite knows why the tradition exists — some have credited King George II for standing at a performance, but there is no record he ever saw the oratorio. I think we stand because it’s awesome. There’s a record somewhere of a scientist becoming so overcome by the “Hallelujah” chorus that he crowd surfed and security had him removed.
