Time after time

The Chameleon Arts Ensemble (above) opened its season last Saturday with "Music and All Silence Held" at the Goethe-Institut - but the program seems to have been star-crossed; just days before the concert, the group's lead violinist, Joanna Kurkowicz, had to drop out due to a hand injury. This left the group scrambling for someone who could step right into the Mozart String Duo No. 1, as well as someone who could handle the stunning technical demands of the violin part in Messiaen's Quartet for the End of Time.

No doubt time did stop for the group, at least for a while, but unbelievably, replacements were found at the last minute: Kristopher Tong of the Borromeo String Quartet stepped into the Mozart, and Gabriela Diaz took over the Messiaen.

So the concert was saved; the only problem for the Chameleons was that these two visiting stars shimmered brighter than anyone else in the Ensemble.

Which doesn't mean I'm not still a fan; I am. Yet I've worried before that there's not always a whole lot of passionate verve in evidence between the Ensemble's various talents, and that problem popped right out of the opening Mozart. The piece is a wonderfully crafted double virtuoso turn, and is of some added historical interest because Mozart composed it under someone's else name - that of Michael Haydn, composer-brother of that Haydn (to whom Mozart had recently dedicate a famous set of quartets), who had been unable to finish a commission due to illness. The duo is also unusual in that the viola's part is as complex as the violin's (Mozart played the instrument) and there's a good deal of competitive call-and-response worked into its delightful contrapuntal textures.

Immediately the visiting Tong dove right in with infectious energy, scampering brilliantly through his part and all but mischieveously fluffing his tail in his partner's face; here was a guy who clearly expected a little friendly competitive play on stage. But violist Scott Woolweaver was definitely not playing ball; his performance was technically clean, but uninspired, and he never even so much as glanced in his partner's direction. So what do you call half a duo? I guess an "uo."

Things began to look up, however, with the next piece, Debussy's Sonata in D minor for Cello and Piano, played by Rafael Popper-Keizer (cello) and Gloria Chien (piano), both of whom are more team players. The piece, composed at the end of Debussy's life, is an oddity, at first hauntingly, if haltingly, lugubrious, then almost feverish; legend has it the image in Debussy's mind was of the heartbroken Pierrot railing at the moon. Popper-Keizer was, as usual, dazzling on the piece's agitated pizzicattos, but somehow it was Chien who made the deeper impression with her moody, tentative rumblings on the keyboard.

Here the concert's "theme," as it were, began to take shape, in an emphasis on modern French chamber music, and especially its growing concern with the issue of time in the experience of music (or maybe just experience in general). For the composer of the next piece on the program, Toru Takemitsu, while Japanese, was inspired to become a composer by a French song he heard playing on an officer's phonograph while in the army (and later settled on Debussy as his musical model). This influence is quite evident in the late And then I knew 'twas wind (inspired by a line from an Emily Dickinson poem, although it's not a song), which is a self-consciously poetic, subtly exotic affair with "Asian" grace notes and glides accenting an episodic, Debussy-esque core. It's a lovely, if light, piece, and was charmingly brought off by Deborah Boldin (flute), Scott Woolweaver (viola), and Anna Reinersman (harp).

As a finale, the Chameleons had chosen Messiaen's famous Quartet for the End of Time, the piece in which the Debussy tradition, during the crucible of WWII, lifted off into a new level of mysticism and temporal experimentation. The tale of its genesis is well-known: trapped in a prisoner-of-war camp (although not, as legend would have it, a concentration camp) Messiaen fashioned the quartet for the instruments that were available among his fellow captives - a clarinet, violin, cello, and piano. The quartet's first performance - in the camp, before its inmates and guards - has become a touchstone of modernist culture.

But it seems to me that Messiaen must have been incarcerated with three virtuosos, or that the concert must have been close to cacophony. For the Quartet makes wild demands of its string players and its clarinetist (Messiaen played the piano part). The clarinetist in particular must persevere through one of the most challenging solos in the literature, "The Abyss of Birds," which consists of long, single notes drawn out to intense crescendos, and then interrupted by bursts of seemingly-improvised birdsong.

The title of the quartet refers not only to a climax of the Book of Revelation, but also to the cultural thunderclap that was the Second World War, and Messiaen's abandonment of diatonic musical "time" for looping, symmetrical structures built on modes extrapolated from Debussy's whole-tone scale (and exemplified in nature by birdsong, which became his obsession). But the key to the piece, for all its intellectual rarification, is a sense of both physical destruction and transcendent spiritual ecstasy - and this, I'm afraid, is what the Chameleons failed to provide. Clarinetist Gary Gorczyca hung onto the throughline of the "Abyss of Birds," for instance, but failed somehow to etch its central contrast between the dying voice of time and the ensuing exultation of larks (below, with the following Scherzo, in a performance by the Olivier Messiaen Quartet).



Gorczyca wasn't alone; even the reliable Rafael Popper-Keizer seemed to struggle with the slowly-unwinding power of the "Praise to the Eternity of Jesus" (thankfully, the Chameleons provided the audience with the work's program; without it, the Quartet is impenetrable). Only guest violinist Gabriela Diaz brought the required feeling to the second coming of the "Jesus" theme, in the closing "Praise to the Immortality of Jesus" (I was not surprised to learn she'd played the work before, and had worked extensively with Pierre Boulez, one of Messiaen's most influential students). Like Tong, she brought a level of passion to her playing that the Chameleons seemed to slightly lack; perhaps we should hope for more missed appearances in the future, the better to shake up this perhaps-too-staid ensemble.

Weren't your parents awesome?

Face it, you know they were. And you've got the photos (like the groovy one at left) to prove it. You can share them here, one of the sweetest websites I've come across in a long time. Hat tip to Andrew Sullivan.

Prairie home companion

Ronan Noone's new play, Little Black Dress, arrives with a four-page, single-spaced preface/screed from the author detailing the play's long sojourn in "development hell," which in this case stretched over three and a half years. Over that time the playwright packed up his Dress and took it to Aspen, Austin, and Newton, and twice to New York. He modeled it once at Vassar, and then one final time here at his local launching pad, the Boston Playwrights' Theatre (where a fully-produced version plays through Oct. 24). Noone writes that at one point in the course of the seven readings and sixteen drafts, he'd "forgotten why I wrote the play, and was quite sick of this rollercoaster of cheap readings, short rehearsals, and frustrating dependence on feedback from an unknown audience." Yet by the finish, it seems (I'm guessing here) that he'd pulled the play "back into its original shape" and had at the same time "improved [its] mechanics, raised the stakes, refined lines, and discovered, finally, that the whole process was not a failure after all."

Okay. Then he rewrote it one more time.

And the really sad thing is . . . the play still needs work.

So I guess it's lucky that even now, the program includes a sheet of paper soliciting audience comments!

Reading this stuff, it's hard not to both sympathize with Noone (at right) and yet be somewhat skeptical of his self-deceived grievance. On the one hand, everyone knows what it's like to try to create something fresh and new while being assailed by contradictory advice and agendas. On the other hand, Noone repeatedly seeks out these assaults himself - we can only assume because nobody's agreed to produce the play as is; in essence, while railing against the commercial demands placed on his work by the development process, the author is on a mission to, yes, make it more commercial via the development process.

The irony is that if, indeed, Noone did reject most of the advice that came out of that process, then perhaps he did himself a disservice. Because Little Black Dress, like much of his work, starts strong, with coiled, blackly comic monologues, a bleakly amoral POV, and tightly structured scenes. But slowly it goes haywire, and we can feel, even if the playwright can't, precisely where and how it jumps the rails. In a word, Little Black Dress wants to be like its namesake: black, sleek, and making a short, spicy statement. But Noone begins embroidering all over it, adding flounces and dropping the hem; by the finale, the play is barely a little black dress at all; indeed, we're not sure what it is.

So if there were an intermission, my advice would be to leave during it, because for more than two thirds of its course, Little Black Dress is a nasty hoot, and it's being played to the hilt by a wicked-good cast at Boston Playwrights' Theatre.

But there's no intermission. So you have to take the good with the bad. And to be honest, there's still plenty of good. Noone's premise - two horny Kansas lads launch a gigolo service for the lovelorn ladies of the lone prairie - may feel a bit Risky Business-ish, but it has the same frank, amoral coldness that gave The Atheist its bite, and the playwright has a twist at hand (one of the boys is servicing the other's mom) that we feel could lift the proceedings to "the next level," as they say in the lower circles of development hell.

What's more, Noone has the benefit of a crackling cast and nearly-flawless direction. Marianna Bassham captures every lonely heartbeat of Amy, the long-suffering spouse and faithless wife who yearns to don that titular dress and escape to Florida - but who also knows that to "make your fantasy come true, you have to make some sacrifices," and has begun to wonder just how big a moral sacrifice she might be capable of making. Meanwhile Karl Baker Olson makes you forget all about his earlier, suffering-geek performances with his hungry-eyed young comer (literally), and Alex Pollock raises self-conscious dorkery to an art form as the reluctant business partner whose mother is also a client. Rounding out this dysfunctional heartland quartet is local stalwart Jeremiah Kissel, who brings his usual energy to a nasty turn as the average-joe husband who may, or may not, be the villain of the piece. Director Ari Edelson adds some flourishes here and there that hint at something like the amoral synchronicity of cyberspace, and there are a few, less-successful gestures toward pantomime (and maybe even dance). But in general this mostly-natuaralistic production is strong enough to serve as precisely what the author needs - an x-ray of his script that reveals what's broken in its structure.

Whether he'll be able to take advantage of the opportunity, of course, is another question; focus and build are hard things to pull off, but are in general required when murder, or even manslaughter, are in a playwright's sights. And focus and build are what Little Black Dress desperately needs; it's basically too skimpy a conceit to cover the doubly-ironic-dénouements and dance numbers Noone begins to load onto it. Indeed, towards the finish one gets the impression the playwright has the idea that writing characters who are morally off-hand means that he can afford to be off-hand too. Unfortunately, that's a fantasy worthy of his leading lady.

In the case of Roman Polanski

Polanski at his court appearance in 1977.

I've been having my own little late-night Roman Polanski film festival the past few days, replaying Knife in the Water, Rosemary's Baby and Chinatown, and pondering why, exactly, I'm sad that U.S. authorities finally nabbed the diminutive director for a disgusting crime he has admitted to committing.

Although actually the reason was staring me in the face the whole time: the films themselves. And the fact that no one, not even Polanski (with the possible exception of The Pianist) has been able to equal them since the last dark heyday of Hollywood in the 70s. It's true that his career was highly variable in quality. Rosemary's and of course Chinatown, a film I've found myself watching many more times than The Godfather, are the obvious peaks; the rarely-seen What? is the obvious low. And Bitter Moon is more than a little ridiculous, Pirates more than a little grotesque; I'd never watch either again. But The Fearless Vampire Killers is an unforgettable curiosity, Repulsion is, well, seminal, Knife in the Water haunting, and there are wonderful stretches in Macbeth, Frantic, Death and the Maiden, Oliver Twist and Tess, and yes, even The Ninth Gate.

The gnomic sensibility that connects all these quirky cinematic points is perhaps most memorable for its innate sophistication, which is so naturally worn that it never even declares itself, much as the 30's décor in Chinatown never begs for attention but is simply there. Polanski was a master at precisely sizing the effects he required; his films open up to epic scale and then shrink down to intimacy at will, while always maintaining their quietly fascinating surface. He was also expert at conjuring potent cinema from next to nothing; in Repulsion and Rosemary's Baby, long, absorbing scenes concern themselves with such minutiae as piano scales in distant rooms and a crack inching up a plaster wall; when we learn in The Pianist that the hero must spend several weeks alone, we know Polanski will make his isolation interesting. And he does.

The director was also a genius at discreetly rendering the unspeakable - particularly the sexually unspeakable (rape by the Devil figured in one movie; incest, in two more). His technique was simple: he only showed as much as he had to, and suggested the rest; but how hard it seems to be for any other director to learn that deep lesson! Of course it's not lost on me that his later, actual life has amounted to an application of something like that same elliptical technique: there's a horror in the background that he always manages to not address directly. And indeed, a deeper irony moves behind that one. For if Polanski's greatest work took as its theme the vain struggle of individuals against hidden, but organized, evil, then his fractured later films were riven by the awareness that his earlier point of view was untenable, now that he had been revealed as evil, too.

So does it make sense to say that I have no sympathy for him, but rather for what he stood for, and that this may be what his defenders feel, too? I know that to some, those defenders look a bit like the crazies who stood vigil outside the Michael Jackson trial, and released doves once the pedophile had been set free. But then again, weren't those fans accorded more respect than Polanski's? Let's say it again: Michael Jackson was by all appearances a serial pedophile - and an ongoing risk to children (which Polanski demonstrably was not, and is not). And, of course, the deeply mourned James Brown allegedly raped a woman at gunpoint. Rapper R. Kelly was, by all accounts, videotaped committing statutory rape on a 14-year-old, and has been arrested multiple times for possession of child pornography. Rolling Stones bassist Bill Wyman seduced and maintained an ongoing sexual relationship with a 13-year-old. Bad boy Jack Nicholson once had to settle out of court with a prostitute he had savagely beaten. Even California governor Arnold Schwarzenegger repeatedly forced his attentions on vulnerable women during his Hollywood career.

It's interesting, then, that America should clasp these figures to its collective breast while openly and vociferously despising Polanski - despite the fact that the accusers of several of these men pursued them with passion, while Polanski's victim (who received a reported $500,000 settlement from him) is by now practically a witness for the defense. But perhaps this only underlines the fact that, as our academics tell us, "justice" is socially constructed, and Polanski no longer fits into any protected category of perp - indeed, he is in the formerly protected category that is now often a target of popular villification. He is white, and wealthy, and male - and Jewish, and elderly (while Jackson and other pop perps have played at being overgrown children); he even lives in France. And he is a filmmaker whose best films consciously bridge the gap between pop and fine art - an endeavor which is impossible and useless, according to most fans and critics today. Like Bergman, he is a man of the theatre (indeed he became a celebrated stage director in Europe); like Kubrick, he is an aficionado of serious music. He's even being protected by a more highly cultured foreign power! All this means Polanski taps into America's cultural insecurity as well as its sexual insecurity; in a word, he is everything he should not be to play on our current sympathies.

None of this should matter to the law, as many rightly say - although there are all those other cases, similar to or worse than Polanski's, that don't seem to be bothering any of these zealots very much. Somehow the phrase "he raped a child" is constantly heard of Polanski, when it was rarely heard of R. Kelly or Bill Wyman. Of course the phrase is certainly true, even if as rapes go, the Polanski version was slow and disjointed, and involved constant requests and conversation, interludes with pills and wine, an interruption, and a pathetically obvious effort on the part of the rapist to deceive himself into believing what was going on was some degraded form of seduction. In short, his crime played out as he might have directed it in one of his own films.

Even these details, however, have undergone a political metamorphosis over time. That the poor girl was dressed and made-up as an adult was once viewed as possible evidence of an intended seduction by her (although Polanski knew she was underage, if not how far underage). By way of contrast, today Samantha Geimer's appearance during her ordeal sometimes seems to be nearly a cause célèbre. In the 70's, society looked askance at women (or girls) who ventured into compromising, he said/she said situations; today such situations are considered by many a kind of right, with an unspoken faith granted to the woman's version of events. (It may be worth worth noting, given the widespread publication of Geimer's grand jury testimony, that few of those outraged by her statements seem to realize she has never been cross-examined.) And in a way such faith is required, as the sexualization of young women has become not only a stipulation of so much campus political theory, but also an important global business in its own right.

Yet against statutory rape charges, none of the grotesque circumstances of the case actually prevail (and at any rate, I believe Geimer's version of events is roughly true). Nor does the fact that America is happy to accept statutory rape from more popular entertainers constitute a legal brief for Polanski. The only brief he can cling to, really, is the judge's alleged misbehavior in his case - indeed, Polanski's sudden arrest was probably sparked by his recent attempts to have his case dismissed, given that judge's conduct. The director could make these technicalities stretch a long way, and I'll be surprised if he ever sees serious jail time. And to be honest, it may be that insult to American judicial power - along with the implication from abroad that many in America cannot understand or appreciate his achievement - that is partly driving the rage toward him.

But to be doubly honest, I admit I would be dismayed to see one of our greatest living artists, and probably our greatest living film director, end his days in jail. Not merely because of his past achievement, but because there still might be one more great movie or stage production in him, and punishing him would therefore mean punishing us, too (particularly as he has no real heirs on the cinematic scene). If he were a current threat, like Jackson or Kelly, or if his victim were indeed committed to the prosecution, I'd feel differently. I agree, of course, with the arguments of the accusers about the rule of law and making an example and all the rest of it; I'm just too old, and understand the rule of law too well, to have much sympathy with their selective sense of outrage. Even though I also understand that, ironically enough, Polanski's defenders are more like the unseen conspiracy in Chinatown than some gaggle of Michael Jackson fans - while the director has morphed into his own pint-sized version of his most famous villain, Noah Cross. And yet here I am, guiltily half-hoping that the San Fernando Valley gets irrigated one more time anyway.

No dramatic rescue for the North Shore . . .

The Boston Herald reports that Citizens Bank, with a $3.6 million offer, was the top bidder in yesterday's foreclosure auction for the bankrupt North Shore Music Theatre, and so will retain control over the property, on which it holds two mortgages. No theatrical organization materialized to bid on the complex, although some still hope the bank will rent the spaces to a producer in order to recoup some part of the $4 million it is still owed.

A haunting, and haunted, Giselle

Boyko Dossev is danced to death in Giselle. Photos by Eric Antoniou.

Last night Boston Ballet opened its fall season in its official new home, the Opera House - which was looking freshened up (no cracking plaster!) as well as opened up (a big new orchestra pit) for the occasion. The Ballet chose for the occasion a re-mounting of its much-loved Giselle, as staged by Maina Gielgud - a piece the Ballet knows well, and a production which is lovely, thoughtful and subtle. The results were often wonderful - and befitting its first step onto its new stage, the Ballet generally showcased younger dancers on opening night (including the very-young Isaac Akiba, the first Bostonian to rise through the Ballet's training program to its company).

With its sparkling new website and refurbished new home, this season is all about renewal for the Ballet. But this Giselle hardly banished memories of the company's earlier versions - indeed, it seemed slightly haunted by them. The sound balance hasn't been quite figured out yet at the Opera House, for instance (the pit is much deeper than most), and of course its stage is smaller than CitiCenter's, so even this production's modest pageantry at times looked slightly cramped. (I know - damn you again, Josiah Spaulding, Jr.! We're just going to have to live with the Opera House.)

As for the dancing - much of it was superb. Erica Cornejo's Giselle (at left) was technically impeccable (Cornejo always is); this time her dreamily supple legwork seemed almost ethereal. Meanwhile, as the prince who falls for her despite being betrothed to another, Nelson Madrigal danced with verve and romantic spirit, and brought a convincing dramatic development to his character (who realizes too late how deeply he has touched his summer crush). For her part, Cornejo revealed surprising dramatic depths in her shell-shocked response once the Prince's deception was revealed (by another jealous boyfriend). Over her time with the Ballet, Cornejo has grown enormously as an actress. And needless to say her heartbreaking re-iteration of her earlier, love-struck steps was perfection. But a few melodramatic acting strokes, and perhaps not enough of a hint of Giselle's essential fragility earlier on, meant that Cornejo couldn't quite match memories of the Ballet's own Larissa Ponomarenko as the shattered heroine slipped into madness and death.

The other big dancing news of the first act was the debut of local-boy-made-good Isaac Akiba, who acquitted himself well in the "Peasant Pas de Deux," partnering the sweetly expert Misa Kuranaga. A balance issue marred one complicated landing, and you could see it register in the kid's eyes; but Mr. Akiba should take heart - in general he impressed with a fresh energy, an exuberant stage presence, and crisp beats and legwork (if not the longest extension). We look forward to seeing him again in other roles, and soon.

In the cemetery-set second act, the stars fought for attention with the imperious Kathleen Breen Combes, who commanded her squadrons of ghostly virgins with nearly, but not quite, the same level of cold panache she'd brought to earlier versions (somehow that extra drop of vengeful relish had gone missing). The corps was in fine shape, however - probably better than ever, in fact, and Meghan Gray and Heather Waymack (at top) made the most of their torment of Boyko Dossev, Giselle's other swain, who gets danced to his death in the moonlight for his part in her demise. For my money, Dossev is now the best male actor the company's got, and I long to see him in a lead; still, it's always wonderful to see how much he makes of the many character roles he's given.

This was a fine night for Madrigal too - in a role with intense second-act demands - and he and Cornejo found a touching connection at the finale, as the forgiving Giselle intercedes to keep her repentant lover alive until daylight. Indeed, as Combes and her ghostly "Wilis" receded into the mist, an atmosphere of redemption was palpable in the theatre - as well as a survivor's sense of determination. It was hard not to draw the implied moral from Giselle - to triumph in its new home, all the Ballet has to do is keep dancing.

Sweet charity

The last year or two have been rough on Boston's classical singers. So rough that most of them respond to questions about hard times with, "I'd rather not comment about that."

But every cloud has its silver lining, and as the economy has headed south, and many local jobs have dried up, the singing community has been banding together as never before. And this weekend, in a pretty-much-unprecedented concert, singers from just about every major local classical group will join forces to present "The Singers' Voice", a concert benefiting the newly-founded Boston Singers' Relief Fund, which will provide financial relief to New England classical singers who have experienced catastrophic life events.

Spearheading the effort is local conductor Murray Kidd (at left). I spoke to Kidd recently about the concert, the relief fund, and his involvement with both:

HR: I understand the Boston Singers' Relief Fund is your brainchild. What inspired you to take on such a project?

MK: It's true I was the one who started this effort, but only with the encouragement of many, many people, as you can imagine. I suppose the inspiration for the relief fund came to me years ago, when I landed a full-time job at a music school as an admin. I was doing auditions and practicing on nights and weekends and trying to make it into the "scene." I soon got a call for a long run that actually included a performance in New York, at Avery Fischer Hall. That meant asking for a day or two off from my job, but I didn't think that seemed too unreasonable. To my surprise, however, my boss informed me (very nicely) that I would be needed during the time I had requested and I couldn't have the time off. Needless to say, my resignation letter was being typed in my head as she spoke the words to me. But once I'd quit, I realized I was out on a limb financially and things were not likely to change any time soon! It was then that I first thought about a fund for singers.

HR: What brought the idea to fruition now?

MK: This past year, as the concert load for singers has been reduced, it seemed to me as good a time as any to "do something." I felt I was in a position, unlike the time of that first gig, to help create a better environment for singers going forward. When I pitched the idea to friends, colleagues, and a few organizations, I was very encouraged by the response. There was not much time, as this was early summer, but I felt the time was ripe and if I didn't do it then, I might not ever do it.

HR: Tell me more about the Boston Singers' Relief Fund and how it will be administered.

MK: Well, I am the founder of the Fund, and the producer of "The Singers' Voice," the gala concert to launch it. After October 3rd, I will act as clerk to the Fund. Peter Gibson, who has many years of experience in the financial world, will chair the Fund. Our treasurer is Erica Finn, a senior accountant in the health care field. Also on the committee are Brett Johnson and Gail Abbey.

My vision, of course, is that the Fund will provide assistance in the form of grants. I would also like to see it eventually provide no-interest loans, and scholarships to families of singers. I want to note that we will not be providing money for career assistance. Rather, we will provide the working singer with enough money to get by if they are faced with a life-changing situation that is beyond their means. First and foremost, we want to help singers. Our motto is, "Keeping the voices of New England strong," and that's what we plan to do.

HR: This concert sounds like a huge effort.

MK: Yes, it is a huge effort! I've been living and breathing this concert for the past four months. But it has also been very gratifying calling colleagues and catching up a bit before we talk "business." I have also been able to reach out to new singers in the area. Everyone has a story and is dedicated to singing and the joy it brings to all our lives.

I want to emphasize that the support we've received from the singers themselves is the most notable aspect of the whole project. They're all performing for free and are giving generously of their time and effort. And the program is not the usual repertoire for some, so there have been a few more rehearsals than the usual "pro bono" benefit might require.

HR: Who in particular has been instrumental in helping the concert come together?

MK: It's a long list, so I hope I'm not going to leave anybody out! Organizations who have given valuable support include UMASS/Lowell, the College of Arts and Sciences; New England Conservatory, School of Continuing Education; Boston Baroque; the Handel and Haydn Society; and Polymnia Choral Society (full disclosure, I'm their music director). Many colleagues have also given me guidance with certain aspects of the fund and the concert, including Tom Vignieri of "From the Top," Demetrius Spaneas, Marie-Helene Bernard and Cliff Rust of H&H, Carole Friedman of Boston Baroque, Nina Coppens, Frank Talty, and Paula Telesco of UMASS/Lowell, and the Oversight Committee for the Fund itself, Brett Johnson, Peter Gibson, Gail Abbey and Erica Finn. I can't forget to mention the Boston Singers' Resource. They are the fiscal sponsor of the Boston Singers' Relief Fund. Lynn Shane has been very supportive and helpful in many aspects of this process.

HR: Tell me more about that unusual program - any particular highlights we could look forward to?

MK: (laughing) The entire program is one big highlight! Sorry, but it's hard not to say that. It's an incredibly diverse program designed to showcase the abilities of the singers. Richard Knisley will be our guest MC, and the concert will include the presentation of a special Senate Citation to all the professional singers of Massachusetts. Of special note is the Vaughan Williams Serenade to Music. It features 13 soloists from the group. Also, it's just one of the most beautiful pieces ever composed. Barbara Kilduff (at left), who has sung the role of Adele in Die Fledermaus all over the world, including the Met and San Francisco Opera, will be singing the "Laughing Aria." "Dan-u-el," by Kirke Mechem will feature baritone Donald Wilkinson (at right). It is a rousing aria from Mechem's opera, Songs of the Slave. One more: "The Lee Shore," by Samuel Coleridge-Taylor is a unique addition to the program. Coleridge-Taylor is not performed often, but his music is rich and exciting. I love that piece.

The main highlight, however, is the amazing ensemble you will see. Never before has there been a group comprised of singers from so many diverse backgrounds. Ensembles represented are Blue Heron, Cantata Singers, Boston Baroque, Handel & Haydn Society, Boston Lyric Opera, Opera Boston, Boston Opera Collaborative, Boston Secession, Emmanuel Music, Boston Camerata, Capella Clausura, Church of the Advent Choir - and I am sure I'm forgetting someone. This is a one-of-a-kind concert!

"The Singers' Voice" will take place this Saturday, October 3, at 8 PM at the Church of the Covenant in Back Bay. Tickets are available here.