Read­ing the tea leaves of the Santa Fe Sym­phony con­cert al­lowed no am­bi­gu­ity; it pledged al­le­giance to ab­so­lute tra­di­tion­al­ism in con­cert for­mat and reper­toire.

Pasatiempo - - LISTEN UP - Be­neath the Vam­pire Slayer), still­ness, Oth­er­wise, Buffy a prom­ise in the

That, in any case, is how I ex­pe­ri­enced it from my seat at the very rear of the au­di­to­rium. Dur­ing in­ter­mis­sion, I moved to a place far­ther to the front, and the acous­tic was less boomy. From there, one could hear both the “live voices” and the “elec­tronic voices,” with the lat­ter not be­ing en­tirely over­pow­er­ing. From this per­spec­tive I en­joyed Caleb Burhans’ (in­spired by an episode of the tele­vi­sion show

a pleas­ant move­ment em­ploy­ing a good deal of throat-singing (of the Tu­van tra­di­tion, I think), and

a lovely, con­tem­pla­tive piece by on-the-rise jazz trum­peter Ambrose Ak­in­musire (not a jazz com­po­si­tion, though). The con­cert con­cluded with by the group’s di­rec­tor, Brad Wells, who wrote that it “fea­tures Sar­dinian cantu a tenore-in­spired singing, belt­ing, and some yo­del­ing all in a melange to high­light a bari­tone in full bel canto glory.” It de­liv­ered on its prom­ise. Wells’ note also pro­vided the help­ful in­for­ma­tion that “the ti­tle comes from one of my fa­vorite Jane Kenyon po­ems but uses no text, only non-sense syl­la­bles as lyrics.” I don’t know if he had to pay roy­al­ties to her es­tate.

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