Though the picture doesn't show it, the building where this tractor is depositing its grapes is the same building where the finished wine is being sold. This single building quite literally takes grapes out of a tractor's cart on one end and sells them as bottles of wine on the other!
The house in Roujan where the course is hosted is called La Maison Verte, and it is owned by Anne and Fran who use it to host courses like the one I attended. La Maison Verte doesn't particularly stand out from the rest of Roujan when viewed from the street, but once you get inside you're transported into a sort of fairy tale.
So the course is essentially a chance to spend a week singing some of the world's most beautiful music in a fairy tale setting with world-class musicians as your tutors.
The tutors this year were Robert Hollingworth, Erik Van Nevel, and Francis Steele. Robert Hollingworth looked terribly serious to me in his publicity photo that I saw before I arrived, but within two seconds of meeting him I realized he was a quite charismatic and personable chap with a boyish charm that instantly puts people at ease. In every situation he had something amusing or insightful to say (and often both). I didn't get to work with him in sessions as much as the other tutors, but I did sing a Monteverdi madrigal in one of his sessions, which inspired me to give them another look -- they had never resonated with me before. Robert also led warm-ups, and really focused on getting rid of tension in our tongue and throat.
Erik Van Nevel was full of passion; I'll never forget his coaching on "Christe, adoramus te" by Monteverdi. It is a relatively short piece that on the page doesn't look particularly dramatic, but Erik's interpretation of the piece had an extreme amount of emotion: one moment humble, the next desperate, the next pained. I am quite confident that even in the end we gave him only a fraction of the emotion he was asking for. Erik also offered insight about how to make sure our interpretations were stylistically appropriate to the music. Erik pointed out times when we were doing things that were musical, but using "tools" that were Baroque rather than Renaissance.
And finally Francis Steele, who brings a deep reverence to the music and never-ceasing attention to the text. I have to admit that I've never given the text the care or attention it deserves in this music. I shame myself to say so, but in the past I've put forth the opinion that Latin serves primarily as a way to put a variety of vowels to polyphony. But Fran shows us all first-hand how much the music can improve when when you are sensitive to the text. He also demonstrated that resisting the urge to let the music "take off" volume-wise can make the music clearer and ultimately more enjoyable to sing.
We all arrived on Saturday afternoon, a beautiful sunny day as nearly every day was. Anne directed us to our rooms so we could deposit our luggage, and I spent a while just wandering around with my jaw on the floor. My room was quite dark when I walked in, giving me the opportunity to bring it to life by opening the doors onto my own private balcony that looked out over the town of Roujan.
We had our first singing session that night. We started with introductions, and I was somewhat surprised that the vast majority of the 17 attendees had attended the course before. I could already see that this was going to be a great experience, but it was still surprising that so many people were motivated enough to make the time and financial investment year after year. Nearly everyone was English, though some had been living in France for extended amounts of time. I was one of three Americans, and the only one currently living in America -- my trip from Seattle was by far the longest anyone had come for the course. However, to my surprise, the cooks (the exquisite, AMAZING cooks -- I'll get to that later) were originally from Seattle also.
In our first session Fran led us all in Diliges Dominum by Byrd, an eight part piece of tall chords that move in a slow but steady half-note (or "minim" as I would concede to the Brits) pulse. I almost immediately acted in an instinct to add intensity to the piece by really leaning into rising lines, but Fran stopped us and said "don't try to come out of the texture." He pointed us to the text for the piece, which is "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God from thy whole heart, and with thy whole soul, and with thy whole mind. Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself." He argued that it is a corporal, corporate text that demands total togetherness. I should mention that my recounting of Fran's remarks cannot do justice to the way that he delivers them. He speaks of the music and the texts to which they are set with such sensitivity and humility that it inspires us to sing with an entirely different attitude toward the music than we might have walked through the door with.
For me that opening session set a tone for the week: this was not going to be a week of powering through big pieces, it was going to be about sensitivity and awareness. These were lessons that were probably overdue for me as a musician: I've always been primarily motivated by melody, harmony, sonority, and musical brilliance, and haven't given text or meaning the attention it deserves. So this week was going to expand my horizons.
After that session we had our first supper, made by our resident cooks who were a couple originally from Seattle but now living in France. I have to say that I was totally unprepared for what an effect the food would have on me. I eat out a lot and I definitely enjoy food, but food has never been a motivating factor in my life. At La Maison Verte I found myself eagerly awaiting every course, reveling in every new flavor. The sorts of things that foodies always say suddenly started making sense. I ate things that on paper I never would have imagined liking, like tomato and peach soup. The food was exquisite.
The next several days followed a predictable format. There were three sessions of singing per day: two hours in the morning, one and a half hours in the early afternoon, and another hour and a half in the early evening. In each session we were divided into three groups among three rooms and three tutors. Everything was one on a part. Fran would lay out the schedule for these group sessions every morning, attempting to mix us up among all the singers, all the tutors, and all the rooms.
The rehearsal spaces were a sitting room (the room where we ate breakfast), a small art gallery, and La Maison Verte's main rehearsal room. I had gone with some worry that I would find the rehearsal spaces frustratingly dry in their acoustic. What I found is that though they were certainly not reverberant like a church is, I never found myself frustrated about them. They didn't force one to work disproportionately hard. And they made our opportunity to sing in the church at the end of the week a great reward.
Each evening at 6pm we would have a brief "sharing" of three or so of the nine pieces that had been sung that day. This was a chance to see what everyone else had been up to. I also much appreciated the repeated opportunities to "perform," since I have performance-related tension problems that manifest themselves even in the most informal sort of "performance." All in all I found that the course's itinerary worked very well. I even conceded once our day off came that it was good and necessary to let our voices rest for a day, even though I recoiled in horror when I first learned that we would have a whole day in the middle of the week without any scheduled singing!
There is one part of the course's format that doesn't make it onto the itinerary but is nevertheless an absolutely essential part of the experience. You see, the last thing on the itinerary every day is supper at 8pm. What is not captured are the hours of talking, drunken singing, and general silliness that extend well into the morning, for as long as anyone will stay up. And one thing you can be sure of is that Fran will be the last one to retire, and until the very end will share with you a mix of silly banter and profound moments that it's hard to describe unless you know the guy. One night when there were only four of us remaining he whipped out a set of part books written in old notation, and we attempted to read through them despite the strange notes and unfamiliar clefs that can change from line to line! The next morning Fran tacked an extra event on the day's schedule: "12am: Josh lectures on singing from sixteenth century part books (with full illustrations by Josh)," which was especially devious given that I was clearly the most clueless about anything having to do with part book singing. But naturally by 12am that night I was suitably drunk that I heartily delivered a pseudo-intellectual treatise on the subject.
Wednesday was our day off, and I was lucky enough to be able to tag along with a fellow participant who was taking a drive through the French countryside. She had an interest in Geology, and had marked on her map several places that had some geological significance. We stopped in several beautiful villages (again, none of which had any tourist bent whatsoever) and walked a ways up the Gorges d'Héric. On one of the more rural roads our way was blocked at one point by a cow and later by an entire herd of sheep that were being moved from one field to another. As I mentioned, I was initially disappointed that we had a day off, but in the end I was quite happy for the opportunity to see some of the surrounding area.
The week culminated in a concert on Friday night at the town church, which was only a short walk from La Maison Verte. Despite the fact that we had been sharing every day, the concert was a great opportunity to have a bit more formal and prepared presentation of our music, and to sing for other people. The acoustic also felt very rewarding after the week of singing in smaller spaces.
My week at La Maison Verte was fantastic, and I hope I get a chance to go back. The people were lovely, the tutors fabulous, the food exquisite, and the music deeply satisfying.