This article by Jeffrey Charles Palmer was published by Australian classical and new music magazine CutCommon on 24 October 2024. To see the article in full, click here.
Cécile Mclorin Salvant. photo courtesy of Princeton University Concerts.
“The applause of them that judge, is the encouragement of those that write.”
This quote taken from the “Epistle to the Reader” in John Dowland’s Third and Last Booke of Songs or Ayres, published in 1603, was projected onto the screen hanging over the stage in Princeton University’s stately Alexander Hall before Cécile McLorin Salvant’s recent performance there of her own Book of Ayres.
While Dowland was likely referring to applause given in reaction to songs from his first and second books as being a source of encouragement to write his third, this quote led me to think about how the reaction of the audience there with me that evening would indeed encourage and help to shape my own writing about the performance that I was about to witness.
With that in mind, I settled into my balcony seat as the hall lights dimmed and let go of any preconceived notions that I had about hearing a program described as a “fusion of jazz, Baroque music, vaudeville, Sappho and folkloric material” by Princeton University Concerts director Marna Seltzer. I allowed myself to imagine all of us in the audience that evening uniting and morphing into one great, blank canvas – ready to allow Cécile McLorin Salvant to paint her sonic imagery on us. And paint, she did.
Clad in a black satin frock with pearl drop earrings dangling above an Elizabethan-style white ruff around her neck — a stylistic choice reflecting the era of Dowland — Salvant and her troupe of musicians entered the stage all smiles and waves to start the program on a tender note with Say love if thou ever didst find from Dowland’s third book of ayres. Accompanied by expert and sensitive playing from Sullivan Fortner on harpsichord, Dušan Balarin on theorbo, and Emi Ferguson on flute, Salvant’s voice displayed just a hint of nerves around the edges. The seemingly improvised vocal ornamentation she offered was at once fresh and contemporary whilst remaining stylistically appropriate. Known predominantly as a jazz vocalist, I was both surprised and impressed by her affinity for Renaissance music.
After a brief welcome and introduction of the other musicians onstage, also including Yasushi Nakamura on double bass and Keita Ogawa on percussion, Salvant told us about the next piece she would perform – an original composition called Fenestra (Occitan for “window”) inspired by a figure of European folklore depicted as a woman who is serpent from the waist down, known as Mélusine in French. In the legend that inspired her lyrics, Mélusine would only take on her serpent form on Saturdays, prompting her to insist that her fiancé never sees her on that day of the week. Well, one Saturday he did look in on her in the bath and saw her brushing her hair whilst playfully splashing bathwater all over the room with her writhing tail. Upon realising that she had been spotted, Mélusine turned into a dragon and flew out of the window. This delightful song featured a light samba beat and showcased Salvant’s French language, as well as her familiarity with the ancient Occitan language of southern France. Her vocal dynamism was also now fully on display, with an innocent sweetness in her upper and mid-ranges, reminiscent of Betty Carter, and a rich velvetiness in her lower notes akin to Sarah Vaughan.
Before jumping back in time with her rendition of I attempt from love’s sickness to fly from Henry Purcell’s opera The Indian Queen, Salvant told us a little bit about her love for Baroque music, her studies as a voice student in Aix-en-Provence and how, despite her nerves, she was excited to once more be exploring this familiar musical world. The Purcell aria was followed by two original songs – the first inspired by a letter written by the photographer Alfred Stieglitz to the painter Georgia O’Keeffe, and the second based on a conversation that she had had with a friend about how expectations could be perceived as premeditated resentments. The second song, entitled Obligation, was a masterclass in jazz vocals and lyric-writing and featured exceptional playing from Nakamura on double bass.
We were then given another selection from Dowland’s third book of ayres, Flow not so fast, ye fountains as well as the exceptionally beautiful D’un feu secret by Michel Lambert, which Salvant said was the very first song she learnt when she began studying with her singing teacher in Aix. However, in between these two gems of early music came an original song called Oh Snap. At this point, Fortner had moved on from harpsichord to simultaneously playing piano and keyboards, producing a wash of sound reminiscent of sunlight on waves, whilst Ogawa drummed out a tropical beat. It was incredible to watch the audience smile and relax as if they had suddenly been whisked away on a Caribbean holiday. The musicians were clearly having fun here, treating us to an extended improvised middle section. The screen above the stage, which up to this point had either shown images of music scores or paintings, was filled with drawings of volcanoes, crosses, cars, and voluptuous figures. It felt as if we had been transported into a dream world.
To finish off the program, we were given another Salvant original called I Am A Volcano, featuring exceptional playing and backup vocals from Fortner, and a song from Dowland’s first book of ayres entitled Can she excuse my wrongs. The lyrics of the Dowland song are attributed to Robert Devereux, 2nd Earl of Essex, who was once a favourite of Queen Elizabeth I but was later executed for treason. Salvant pointed out that while this is a love song, Devereux’s lust for power is also hinted at in the text. How precarious is the dance between love and power.
The audience rose to their feet after the final song, encouraging Salvant and her incredible band to return to the stage for an encore – Dido’s Lament from Purcell’s opera Dido and Aeneas. Her voice was tender and, in a way, it felt as if we had returned right back to where we started.
As I wandered out of the hall to walk across the campus on that clear October night, Dowland’s words from the beginning of the concert were still very much in my mind. The heartfelt applause of the audience after a performance that defied expectations, crossed cultures and offered new ways to look at both early music and jazz certainly encouraged me to return home and write. I sincerely hope that it encouraged Cécile McLorin Salvant to do the same.