REVIEW: Symphony

A trumpet fanfare. The chorus' magnificent command: "Behold the sea!" And with that, the anchor was lifted, the sails were hoisted and the Lancaster Symphony Orchestra and Chorus set off on a voyage of unprecedented splendor in Ralph Vaughan Williams' Symphony No. 1, "A Sea Symphony."

Friday night's audience did not merely watch from the shore, but rather were perched on the bow of this grand ship. With eyes closed, you could believe that a cast of thousands was singing and playing on the Fulton Theatre's stage. The sound was overwhelming, the effect, thrilling.

The first movement, "A Song for all Seas, all Ships," is devoted to the sea itself — the sailors, the vessels and the "separate flags of nations." There are wonderful examples of Vaughan Williams' tone painting here. A few minutes into the first movement, the baritone soloist and then the chorus describe the "waves spreading and spreading far as the eye can reach, dashing spray, and the winds piping and blowing." When the text turns to the idea of flags unfurling, the strings strike up a rapid descending 16th-note motif that conveys the image of flapping cloth.

Later in the first movement comes a requiem of sorts to "all brave captains and of all intrepid sailors and mates, and of all that went down doing their duty," introduced by soloist Evelyn Santiago, a petite soprano with staggering vocal power and color, who wowed the audience all night with her rich, thrilling sound.

"On the Beach at Night Alone" is the tranquil second movement, opening with a baritone solo. Philip Lima was at his best here, and the audience was able to appreciate the richness, depth and timbre of his voice in a way that often was not possible to hear in the denser orchestration of the first and fourth movements.

The third movement, "Scherzo — The Waves" speaks of the sea itself. The soloists are silent in this movement. The text is occupied with the raw physicality and awesome power of the ocean.

Overall, the chorus' diction was good. Only occasionally, broad American vowels poked through, and some final "r's" were heard that should have been dropped in choral music of this type — but a perfect consistency in a chorus of 90 with only a few days of combined rehearsal is hardly possible.

The final movement, "The Explorers" is the longest, but deservedly so, for it traces the history of mankind from the Garden of Eden down to modern times. With the ship as a metaphor for the human soul, man sets sail in search of God and eternity.

The orchestra and chorus were at full power as mankind's final voyage is charted, before receding as the baritone and soprano take up a gentle duet.

At the start of the evening, Clark McSparren presented the annual Composer's Award to Jennifer Higdon. In his introduction of Higdon, he explained how she had come to classical music rather late in life. A gift of an old flute led to a major in flute performance in college, when she was first exposed to classical music. When she accepted the award, she remarked, "Who would have known when I picked up that flute years ago that it would have led to this? I am extremely honored to be in such company."

A performance of her tone poem "River Sings a Song to Trees," from her larger composition "City Scape," followed the award presentation. Written for the Atlanta Symphony, the movement opens with otherworldly sounds emanating from the percussion section, thanks to unusual techniques employed by the timpani players.

At the symphony's dress rehearsal Thursday, Higdon admitted she sometimes calls up a timpanist and says, "Here's what I want. How could we make that sound?"

Then, in her friendly, frank manner, she also admitted, "Sometimes I go down to the timpani room at the Curtis Institute and just bang on things until I figure it out."