Ian Pomerantz & Byron Schenkman: Art Songs of the Jewish Diaspora
Acis

Resplendently performed by bass-baritone Ian Pomerantz, pianist Byron Schenkman, and, on selected pieces, cellist Sarah Freiberg, Art Songs of the Jewish Diaspora presents an eclectic programme of nineteen works written by ten composers, living and dead. The release subverts expectations: yes, songs are sung in Yiddish but in five other languages too. And while the fifty-one-minute recording concentrates on vocal performances, there are also instrumentals. Complementing songs by representative figures such as Joel Engel and Lazar Weiner, respectively considered the father of modern Jewish art music and Yiddish Art Song, are works by Dutch composer Henriëtte Bosmans, French composer Darius Milhaud, and contemporary American composer Lori Laitman. The release is, in other words, filled with surprises and all the more rewarding for being so.

Absorbing the detailed liner notes (biographical details, commentaries, lyrics and translations) in conjunction with the music makes for an illuminating experience. The album opens with a work by Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesc, an Italian composer of Sephardic heritage who fled Mussolini's Italy for the United States. Composed in 1949, Three Sephardic Songs beautifully showcases Pomerantz's voice and his sensitive rendering of its oft-romantic material. Ably supported by Schenkman, the work moves from the heartfelt longing of “Montañas altas” (High Mountains) to the lively “Ven y veras” (Come and See) and jaunty “Una noche” (One Night). Two pieces from Rabbi Léon Algazi's song cycle Six chansons populaires appear, the first, “Hinné ma tov!” (Behold, how good), as quintessential a Jewish song as could be imagined.

From the singer Sidor Belarsky, who enjoyed a successful operatic career in Russia, comes “Papir iz dokh vays” (Paper is white, and ink is black), a Yiddish love song packaged as a slow waltz. Sung in English in a confessional and hopeful manner is “Psalm 119” by Yehudi Wyner, the son of Lazar Weiner and the 2006 recipient of the Pulitzer Prize for his Piano Concerto. Lazar—that's him, incidentally, on the album cover as a boy holding the tuning fork (he could also easily pass for a young Kafka)—is represented by the despairing “Es brent, briderlech, es brent!” (It's Burning, Brothers, it's Burning!), in which the agitated piano part evokes the flames of a burning shtetl, and the lyrical though unsettled lullaby “Unter dayne vayse shtern” (Beneath Your Pale Stars). Instantly endearing are Milhaud's spellcasting “Chant de Sion” (Song of Zion) and “Chant Hassidique” (Hassidic Song) from Poèmes Juifs, Op. 34 and Six Chants Populaires Hébraïques, Op. 86, respectively.

After eight vocal-and-piano songs, the album's first instrumental appears, the first of two solo piano settings by Engel. “Nigun,” the first of his Five Pieces for Piano, Op. 19, beguiles with traditional Jewish melodies adopted for the recital hall stage. "Mazurka in F-sharp Minor” is the second in his Three Pieces for Piano, Op. 12 and exudes a Western European romantic flavour. Later, Freiberg steps to the forefront to partner with Schenkman for a dreamy treatment of “Nuit Calme,” the enchanting central movement of Bosmans' Trois Impressions.

The fourth of five songs from The Seed of Dream, Laitman's “Beneath the Whiteness of Your Stars” is one of the album's most striking pieces for its unusual harmonic character and structural design. The work blends Laitman's own music with material Abraham Brudno created in 1943 for Abraham Sutzkever's first-person account of life in the Vilna Ghetto during WWII. To express the sense of exhaustion described in the text's opening lines, she opted for a sparse intro that couples voice with a slow cello part whose habanera-like lilt naturally recalls Bizet's Carmen. After the pain and horror recounted by Sutzkever is contrasted with the beauty of the natural world, a Brudno melody surfaces in the first instrumental interlude. Melodies arrestingly intertwine thereafter until the final rendition of his tune appears, sung in the original Yiddish. While only four-and-a-half minutes long, the piece progresses through multiple episodes and challenges the performers in having them adapt to rapidly changing scenery.

The album concludes with a particularly chilling pair of songs by Ilse Weber, who was transported in 1942 with her family to Theresienstadt where she composed lyrics and music during internment. “Ich wandre durch Theresienstadt” (I Wander Through Theresienstadt) finds the composer coping as best she can with with the losses of freedom and home and fluctuates between despair and optimism. In an arrangement for cello and voice created by the musicians for this recording, it's the haunting “Wiegala” (Lullaby), however, that's most affecting. Written to comfort children, Weber is said to have sung the song to her son on their way to the gas chamber.

In Schenkman's words, “Like so many Jews in diaspora, I was taught from an early age to hide, or at least downplay, my Jewish identity. Now it is a joy and an honour to celebrate not only my own heritage but the rich diversity of Jewish experience.” It would be hard to imagine anyone coming away from this release unchanged and without a newfound appreciation for the significance and artistry of these Jewish songs.

June 2024