Bold program belied by soft-edged style
The recital that the gifted young soprano Julia Bullock presented in Berkeley’s Hertz Hall on Sunday afternoon, March 25, came packed with a strong implicit claim. In programming songs by Schubert, Barber and Fauré alongside a range of music associated with African American women — Alberta Hunter, Billie Holiday, Nina Simone and more — Bullock asserted the importance of those artists, and shone a corrective spotlight on the way their voices have been squeezed out of the musical discourse.
There’s an undeniable boldness and heroism about this, yet the striking — and perhaps disorienting — thing about Bullock’s recital, presented by Cal Performances, was how softedged the whole affair was.
Bullock is a singer who rarely opts for a crisply defined rhythm or a sharp turn of phrase when something more lyrical or shimmery will serve. Her vocal tone is sheathed in velour, and she would rather sneak up on a high note or an emphatic dynamic shift than land on it with full force.
Add to that the blurry, heavily pedaled accompaniments of pianist John Arida, and the vague, halting spoken commentary that Bullock interleaved among her selections, and the result was a performance that seemed to emerge from behind a filmy, diaphanous scrim. Even the blues and pop numbers that closed the program had a gentle veneer about them.
In the Schubert selections and in Barber’s “Hermit Songs,” that brought a certain vaporous quality to the music (the Barber, in particular, has rarely seemed less suggestive of stone monasteries and chilly, candle-lit cells).
But it made the Fauré songs, drawn from the cycle “The Song of Eve,” consistently persuasive as a melding of style and substance. This is music that comes packed in velvet under any circumstances — the melodies liquid and slightly droopy, the harmonies tinged with indirection — and Bullock’s performance delivered a full helping of sybaritic delight.
Not that her presentation here was lacking in a provocative point, either. From the 10 songs in Fauré’s cycle, which depict the early days in the Garden of Eden, Bullock selected only those that view the world through Eve’s consciousness — as she promised, “No God, no Adam.”
That made for a thematically consistent sampling, and it comported beautifully with Bullock’s alluring artistry. In richly tinted renditions, she brought out the evocative fragrance of “Roses ardentes” (“Ardent Roses”) and the delicate grace of “Crépuscule” (“Twilight”).
In the wake of the Fauré, Bullock seemed to ease her way into the final segment of the reprogram. A triplet of songs associated with Hunter — Spencer Williams’ mournful “Driftin’ Tide,” the racially charged “You Can’t Tell the Difference After Dark” of Maceo Pinkard, and “Downhearted Blues” by Hunter and Cora “Lovie” Austin — grew gradually more intense in their emotional impact without quite shaking the gentility that had been present all along.
It wasn’t until the Simone selections — a blazingly potent, unaccompanied account of “Revolution” and a piercing version of “Four Women,” arranged by Jeremy Siskind for prepared piano — that Bullock gave full and free rein to her vocal arsenal. There were poignant encores associated with the performers Josephine Baker — a Bullock specialty — and Connie Converse.