The lights dimmed as the Oakland Symphony Chorus began their performance of “Two Black Churches + Carmina Burana” on Friday night, November 11 at the Paramount Theater. Their confidence in their craft was palpable, and their voices were infectious. It felt like we had clapped for five minutes straight.
For the Oakland Symphony, this is a season of striking back. They’re recovering from a pandemic that rendered live concerts impossible, as well as the recent death of their former conductor and music director, the beloved Michael “Maestro” Morgan. “And we’re all recovering,” one of the speakers says, “from the deep polarization that divides this country in light of this election.” The talented and decorated new music director and conductor of the Oakland Symphony, Kedrick Armstrong, ushers in a new era taking place in both the musical and physical worlds.
“We are the first responders of the soul,” begins Shawn Okpebholo, the contemporary Nigerian-American composer of “Zoom!” And “Two Black Churches”.
“Zoom!”
ZOOM, verb: move or travel very quickly. Or as Okpebholo defines it; ZOOM, verb: to be together when apart. Named after the software we all know and love, this short but sweet introductory piece layered strings and percussion. It examines the silver lining of the pandemic. Though quarantine disconnected us, we fostered a different kind of closeness through our shared hardship.
“Two Black Churches”
The projector reads: Addie Mae Collins, Cynthia Wesley, Carole Robertson, and Carol Denise McNair—these are the names of four children who died at the Birmingham Church bombing in 1963. This piece had two movements (parts) based on two poems powerfully sung with a backdrop of orchestral woodwinds. These poems detail the atrocities that happened at two different black churches: Birmingham Church and Emanuel AME Church. The drums, striking and startling, symbolized gunshots as the singer became a vessel to grieve the reality of racism. He sang a ballad of a young black girl who asked to join a freedom march but whose mother would not let her go because it would be too dangerous. She tells the girl instead to join the children’s choir at the Birmingham Church. That would be the last time she would see her daughter, as the church would be bombed that same day. The irony of her death is as devastating as it is meaningful. I heard sniffles in the crowd as the piece ended.
“Carmina Burana” O FORTUNA, VELUT LUNA. Fortune is like the moon, everchanging. The fickle Goddess of Fortune spins her wheel and seems to be always against us. This piece was an hour-long epic of a performance consisting of 24 poems in Latin, German, and French which comprise a narrative that is more operatic than symphonic. It begins with a cry out to Fortuna: Why does she always, in our most dire moments, seem to have forsaken us? We then transition into the beauty of spring. The music evoked taverns, food, drinks, and love (that kind of love). Joy, yearning, and desire, with hints of sorrow, are some of the emotions gifted to us. We left the Paramount Theater with renewed vitality and fire in our souls. Under the night which covers us (and will again and again) let our fires shine bright as we live in defiance to the indifferent world.