Laudate Coeli
Songs of Light in Winter’s Deep
Friday, December 5, 2025, 7:30pm, San Francisco
Saturday, December 6, 2025, 7:30pm, Palo Alto
Sunday, December 7, 2025, 4pm, Berkeley
This concert—Laudate Coeli (Praise, O heavens)—gathers music that finds light in the heart of winter. It brings together composers separated by centuries but linked by a shared fascination with the Baroque: its balance of clarity and complexity, its ability to make devotion sound luminous.
Charpentier and Buxtehude represent that world in its original form—one shaped by expressive counterpoint and elegant craft. Distler, Brahms, and Saint-Saëns, writing long after the Baroque had passed, looked back to it as a source of renewal. Each reinterprets its language for a new time: Distler through lean, modern austerity; Brahms through Romantic depth and structure; Saint-Saëns through lyricism and grace. Heard in sequence, these works form a kind of setting: the Baroque pieces at the center gleam like a gem, surrounded by later reflections that refract their light in different ways—through rhythm, harmony, and texture.
Heard together, they form a conversation across centuries about how music can praise, comfort, and illuminate. They remind us that the impulse toward light—whether expressed in exuberant choral sound or in quiet reflection—remains one of the most enduring human themes.
Hugo Distler (1908–1942)
Es ist ein Ros entsprungen, Op. 10 no. 1 (1933)
Hugo Distler belonged to a generation that sought to renew sacred music by looking backward—not in nostalgia, but in search of integrity and clarity. Working in Lübeck, the same city once home to Buxtehude, he found inspiration in the transparent counterpoint and heartfelt simplicity of Heinrich Schütz and early Lutheran song.
This setting of Es ist ein Ros entsprungen opens his 1933 cycle Die Weihnachtsgeschichte, a sequence of short choral tableaux narrating the Nativity. Within that broader work, the chorale functions as both introduction and invocation—an austere prelude to the unfolding story. Distler creates a quietly dissonant texture by offsetting the voices against one another: each part moves in its own regular tempo, yet their entrances are staggered, producing a subtle rhythmic tension that feels both structured and free. The result is a modern echo of the early Lutheran motet—lucid, austere, and tender—turning a simple carol into a meditation on balance, order, and the quiet blossoming of hope in winter.
Johannes Brahms (1833–1897)
O Heiland, reiß die Himmel auf, Op. 74 no. 2 (c. 1863–64)
Brahms approached sacred texts with the same craftsmanship he brought to chamber and symphonic writing, transforming inherited forms rather than imitating them. In this motet, one of two that make up Opus 74, he reinterprets Bach’s choral idiom through Romantic harmony and weight.
The five verses of Friedrich Spee’s 17th-century poem unfold as a sequence of emotional contrasts—chorale-like statements interwoven with dense imitation and chromatic color. In the third verse, O Erd, schlag aus (O earth, break forth), Brahms introduces flowing triplet rhythms that animate the texture, depicting the earth breaking open and flowers springing up. The final verse rises from these gestures into a pure expression of praise: a radiant chain of “Alleluias” that gathers momentum and resolves in a luminous major chord.
For a relatively brief work, the motet traces a striking emotional arc—from supplication through awakening to joy.
Marc-Antoine Charpentier (1643–1704)
Magnificat, H. 80 and In nativitatem Domini canticum, H. 414
Charpentier’s music glows with the elegance of the French Baroque and the expressive warmth he absorbed in Rome from Giacomo Carissimi. Returning to Paris, Charpentier entered the service of the Guise family, whose household chapel became one of the city’s most active musical centers. The Guise were close patrons of the Jesuits, and many of Charpentier’s works from this period—including In nativitatem Domini canticum (1684)—were written for their devotional celebrations.
In nativitatem Domini canticum is a miniature Christmas oratorio: brief, luminous, and full of contrasts between narration, solo reflection, and joyful choral praise. It captures the season’s quiet wonder.
The later Magnificat, probably from the early 1690s, reflects Charpentier’s move toward the more formal liturgical world of the Sainte-Chapelle. Its alternating verses for soloists and chorus reveal a serene balance of emotion and craftsmanship. Both of the Charpentier works radiate clarity, tenderness, and a sense of light breaking through shadow—qualities that have made Charpentier’s sacred music beloved well beyond its 17th-century Catholic roots.
Dieterich Buxtehude (c. 1637–1707)
Das neugeborne Kindelein, BuxWV 13
Buxtehude was one of the great architects of the North-German Baroque—a composer whose music combined learned craft with a direct, joyful energy. Serving as organist at the Marienkirche in Lübeck, he created a body of sacred vocal and instrumental works that would shape the young J. S. Bach’s imagination for life.
Das neugeborne Kindelein (The newborn little child) sets the words of a familiar Christmas chorale by Cyriakus Schneegass. Rather than quoting the hymn tune, Buxtehude creates new melodic material, alternating choral verses with lively instrumental interludes that blend devotional gravity with dance-like vitality. The result is music of unguarded celebration: a festive welcome to light’s return at the heart of winter. Its rhythmic lift and contrapuntal brightness remind us that joy, too, can be a kind of prayer.
Camille Saint-Saëns (1835–1921)
Oratorio de Noël, Op. 12 (1858)
Composed in only two weeks for Christmas 1858, the Oratorio de Noël reveals Saint-Saëns’ youthful command of proportion and color. Scored for soloists, chorus, strings, harp, and organ, it unfolds in ten short movements that balance lyric intimacy with moments of striking power.
Though far more modest in scale than Bach’s Christmas Oratorio, Saint-Saëns shaped his own work in a similar sequence of scenes from the Nativity—beginning with the angelic announcement to the shepherds, passing through meditative and dramatic moments, and ending in communal rejoicing. The opening Prelude in pastoral 6/8 sets a mood of expectancy, its lilting rhythm evoking shepherds’ pipes and candlelight. The Christmas story then begins, but soon the calm gives way to contrast: “Quare fremuerunt gentes” (Why do the nations rage?) erupts with rhythmic drive and harmonic tension, momentarily darkening the scene. From that turbulence the music gathers brightness, culminating in “Tollite hostias”—a vigorous, resonant finale whose jubilant “Alleluias” ring out with unguarded joy. What began as inward meditation ends in celebration. If the Baroque oratorio sought grandeur, Saint-Saëns achieves radiance through proportion and clarity—a Romantic tribute both to Bach’s architecture and to the season’s sense of renewal.
From Charpentier’s luminous balance to Buxtehude’s exuberant joy, and from Distler’s meditative clarity to Saint-Saëns’ graceful warmth, our program, Laudate Coeli, celebrates the enduring vitality of the Baroque spirit. Across centuries, these composers found in counterpoint and chorale the means to express awe, tenderness, and hope—sentiments that transcend any single faith or tradition, and that continue to speak to every listener as the year turns toward light.
Their shared language is movement itself: Distler’s offset rhythms, Brahms’s moment of blossoming triplets, Saint-Saëns’ sudden turbulence and radiant close, and the dance rhythms that animate Charpentier and Buxtehude. Through these patterns of movement, each composer finds a different path toward renewal and hope.
~ Patricia Jennerjohn
