Ficino Ensemble and Michelle O'Rourke: Folk Songs
Ergodos

Among the many things recommending this stellar outing from Irish chamber group Ficino Ensemble and Irish vocalist Michelle O'Rourke is a set-list balancing old and new. In pairing four new Ficino-commissioned works with a stellar reading of Luciano Berio's 1964 collection of folk song arrangements, the album offers ample rewards and invites repeat visits. Both sets of works draw from multiple parts of the globe: whereas the eleven songs in Berio's Folk Songs originate from the USA, France, Italy, Armenia, Azerbaijan, and elsewhere, the new pieces are by composers from the USA (Judd Greenstein), Ireland (Kevin O'Connell, Garrett Sholdice), and Australia (Kate Moore, now based in the Netherlands)

In curating the project, Nathan Sherman, the ensemble's violist and artistic director, pondered what exactly it is that constitutes a folk song, whether it be a feeling, style, lyrical content, and/or instrumentation, and ultimately determined that, for him, the genre offers a portal into the past as well as a way of making sense of ourselves and appreciating the continuum of which we're a part. The lines effectively blur between classical and folk throughout the disc, as demonstrated, for example, by Berio's work in the way it applies a classical composer's sensibility to folk songs from different traditions. That idea carries over to the performers also, with O'Rourke classically trained yet clearly comfortable inhabiting a folk milieu. She delivers the songs without affectation or heavy vibrato, wisely opting instead for a natural and unfussy approach that allows the beauty of the songs to emerge. (Berio, incidentally, wrote the piece in part as an expressive vehicle for his then-wife, singer Cathy Berberian.)

Recorded in November 2020 in FitzGerald Chamber, University College Dublin, co-produced by Sherman and Sholdice, and conducted by Malachy Robinson, the material's performed by O'Rourke, Sherman, cellist Kate Ellis, harpist Richard Allen, percussionists Maeve O'Hara and Caitríona Frost, and on woodwinds Kieran Moynihan (flute, alto flute, piccolo) and Macdara Ó Seireadáin (clarinet, bass/contrabass clarinet). The album begins on a high with Green Fields of Amerikay, an expansive, cinematic travelogue credited to Greenstein, despite being a dramatic re-composition of the folk song of the same name. No matter: the eleven-minute journey mesmerizes from start to finish as its protagonist bids a melancholy farewell to Ireland and sets sail for the United States. In this spellbinding setting, O'Rourke's rich, articulate delivery at times calls Annie Haslam (Renaissance) to mind (a good thing), while the luscious vocal-and-instrumental tapestry recalls the classic folk era associated with Steeleye Span, Fairport Convention, and others.

In using four anonymous ancient Greek texts as a springboard for imaginary folk songs, O'Connell's Late-crying voice perpetuates the transporting character of the opener though opts for a more enigmatic, word-painting style. The focus of each part is different, with Orpheus and Echo the respective subjects of the framing episodes and the second a celebration of the cicada and the third food, drink, fragrances, and music. O'Connell's piece, while fascinating and expertly realized, is less easy to warm to than Greenstein's. For the text of Cronachdain Suil, Moore chose a folk-spell invoking St Brigid to protect the chanter from danger; such compelling lyric content naturally invites an equally dramatic musical design, and Moore delivered in crafting a visceral, percussion-driven proclamation that's brooding, at times foreboding, and finally ecstatic. Like the others, Sholdice used pre-existing material as a foundation on which to build, with the text for I would be where I am not deriving from the refrain and fourth verse of the American folk song “Katie Cruel.” In its meditative advance through eleven delineated sections, the haunting setting unfolds with deliberation and captivates for the poise of O'Rourke's moving performance, the sensitivity of the ensemble's accompaniment, and the tastefully restrained arrangement by the composer.

Berio's re-compositions include familiar pieces—the plaintive “Black is the color” plus “Malurous qu'o uno fenno” and “Lo fiolaire,” two pieces Canteloube included in Songs of the Auvergne—as well as others lesser known. Their disparate geographical origins notwithstanding, the songs cohere into a collective expression that's generally riveting, especially when Berio's instrumental choices enhance the texts and their origins. His respect for the source material is consistently evident in the way he honours the integrity of the songs in their originating form; at the same time, he isn't shy about embellishing the arrangements with striking touches. To illustrate, consider the bell strikes that help distinguish “A la femminisca,” a Sicilian prayer for the safety of a sailor at sea, and the country fiddler-like quality of Sherman's viola in “Black is the color.” A traditional Armenian love song to the moon, “Loosin yelav” is tender, its heartfelt tone conveyed memorably by O'Rourke. The naturalnesss of her delivery is also accentuated by renderings of the Auvergne songs that are markedly different from the approach of classical singers such as Frederica von Stade and Kiri te Kanawa.

August 2022