True North: a little bit of Scandinavia in Canada
August 2007
Picture a cathedral in a big city anywhere. Chances are you have in your mind’s eye an imposing
edifice that dominates the skyline. Christ Church Cathedral in Vancouver, on the other hand, could
be easily missed if you weren’t specifically looking for it, dwarfed as it is by the tightly-packed
surrounding skyscrapers of Downtown. In fact the 19th Century neo-Gothic building narrowly
escaped demolition when the local religious authorities tried to capitalise on its occupation of a
piece of prime real-estate. Public opposition thankfully prevailed, resulting in its being listed as a
heritage site.
Stepping inside to attend a concert in the Festival Vancouver 2007 series, the Cathedral felt
like the ecclesiastical equivalent of a tardis. The dimensions of the interior, height-wise as well as
footprint-wise, seemed impossibly huge. The warmth of the burnished Douglas fir timbers provided
a suitably spiritual welcome from the cold realities of commercialism outside. And even pre-concert,
the atmosphere was buzzing, with a packed audience arranged semi-circular fashion, awaiting the
entry of the Vancouver Chamber Choir.
After just a couple of bars from the twenty-strong professional ensemble, I relaxed into my
surprisingly comfy seat and thought to myself: ‘oh yes, this is going to be good’. The programme,
‘True North: Music of Northern Climes’, incorporated 19th and 20th Century songs from Scandinavia
and Canada – in addition to displaying their musical ability it tested the choir to their linguistic limits,
singing as they did in Swedish, Danish, Norwegian, Icelandic, Finnish and ‘English’. Translations were
provided in the printed programme, but apart from the odd glimpse I didn’t bother with this, since
the choir was a joy not only to hear but also to watch – a true example of musicians relishing their
music.
They sang without accompaniment. Under the direction of their conductor, Jon Washburn,
the nuances in the dynamics and their immaculate sense of timing were particularly noteworthy. Mr
Washburn also proved an entertaining compere, introducing the stories behind the pieces. Some
were by familiar names like Sibelius, Grieg and Nielsen, others less so to me, although local
composer Stephen Chatman, who was present in the audience, had a rapturous reception when his
Elves’ Bells was performed. We were regaled with anecdotes about getting to grips with the foreign
languages: the choir had been guest entertainers at a congress in Finland, and after Mr Washburn
had expressed a liking for singing in Finnish (apparently a very singable language with its helpful long
vowel sounds) and an off-the-cuff remark that next time they performed Messiah they should
perhaps do so in Finnish, their host promptly presented him with the score.
More poignantly, he prefaced Jon Leifs’ Requiem with a breaking voice. I was left wondering
whether he personally knew the Icelandic composer, whose daughter had drowned, or whether it
was simply a measure of a musician’s natural sensitivity.
By complete contrast and putting a smile back on everyone’s face, the final piece, Tell My
Ma, an arrangement by Jon Washburn himself of an Irish dance song, should have been a total
show-stopper, full of ever-increasing excitement and the addition of rhythmic hand-clapping and
foot-stomping, building to an uproarious climax. Should have been, except that the audience
demanded an encore, which was duly delivered in the form of the haunting Tango to Evora, a
memorable and moving example of human voices in harmony creating an astonishing range of
beautiful sounds without uttering actual words. Who knew that a type of tango was indigenous to
Finland?
Although I’d flown over Iceland en route to Vancouver, I’d never been there nor any of the
Scandinavian countries. In the cathedral amongst the skyscrapers, though, a little bit of Scandinavia
had come to me.