What's God Got To Do With It?

[December 13th, 2006] Soprano Anne-Carolyn Bird hopes that audience members will believe every note she sings as soloist in this weekend's annual Portland Baroque Orchestra performance of Handel's Messiah.

Even if she herself doesn't believe a word of it.

In 2005, more than 2,300 locals plunked down $60,000 to see four performances of the Christmas choir blockbuster (in both a full and "highlights" edition). But the NYC-based Bird, like many other members of the PBO and collaborating chorus, Cappella Romana, does not identify as a Christian. She identified yoga as her primary form of religion. So, putting over a lyric like "for as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive" might be, well, a challenge.

Encountering atheist and agnostic classical musicians, especially those in the notoriously sacred-music-drenched field of early music (where the number of times musicians have performed the Messiah edge into the three-digit zone), is maybe more common than you think.

"I am not a Christian now, although I was raised as one," says Bird, whose PBO appearance marks only her second time as soloist in the work. "But if the performers, whatever their background, have their heart in what they're performing, the intention will come across. In a way, singing this story becomes my truth."

Many modern classical performers have learned to compartmentalize their spiritual/religious beliefs, usually fairly far from their professional musical obligations. But not always. At the 2000 Oregon Bach Festival in Eugene, student groups protested conductor Helmuth Rilling's decision to perform J.S. Bach's St. John Passion, a monument of Baroque music, because of the perceived anti-Semitic tone of the work's text by Martin Luther.

While most of the young musicians WW spoke with seemed content to divorce the words from the music—or at least any religion-specific meaning from the music—others insisted that the two were inseparable. Not that identifying Messiah as a spirit-lifting, direct line to the big G-O-D is a negative thing, anyway.

"Messiah is a masterwork of divine art," according to former PBO board member—and annual Messiah chorus member for 20 years now—Jas Adams.

Its divinity may be nearly unquestionable, but some members of the upcoming Messiah performance mentioned unique "coping mechanisms" to avert their ears from the clunky Christian-centric texts.

"When I sing the recitative 'The Shepherds in the Fields,' it makes me think of A Charlie Brown Christmas, with Linus and his blanket," noted Bird.

"The actor in me comes out," says chorus member Amy Russell Cathey, 30. "And really, you can insert any religious icon or figure into the piece and it works just the same—we do that all the time."

Another chorus member, tenor Brian Francis, 35, identifies himself spiritually as "a seeker of truth" and "a quasi-God believer." What is he thinking about when performing Messiah, if not the text? "The notes or rhythms or technical things." And, in the midst of this, does his mind sometimes wander? "Yeah, sometimes it does," he admits.

It may just be the universal appeal of Messiah that accounts for its longevity—and also its annual appearance (or at least a half-hearted "Hallelujah" chorus) on high school and community chorus concerts and "open sings," where you pay a small fee and rent a musical score to join in the Handelian antics.

PBO violin section member and self-described "spiritually minded borderline atheist" Adam Lamotte, 32, says it's the "lushness of Handel's writing" and "extremely satisfying counterpoint" that make it a perennial crowd-pleaser.

And PBO might program it for this other reason: "Messiah is a cash cow," according to PBO violinist Rob Diggins. "It gets people in the door." It certainly better, as it's PBO's most ambitious and expensive program all season, with more than 50 singers and instrumentalists (this writer included in the chorus), some of them traveling internationally. Messiah ticket revenues are expected to account for nearly one third of PBO's performance income for their entire season.

"Messiah is like James Taylor," according to chorus member Cathey. "It makes you feel all good and fuzzy, it's comforting, it's easy listening.

"It's also complex," she continued, "but it doesn't make you feel stupid."