About that Choir
|
Currently in their 13th season, THAT CHOIR is one of Toronto’s most exciting a cappella ensembles, combining high-calibre performance with storytelling through choral music. Founded in 2008 by Artistic Director Craig Pike, That Choir now draws together twenty auditioned singers with diverse backgrounds in culture, work and study.
Recent appearances include the Toronto AIDS Candlelight Vigil, the City Carol Sing at Yorkminster Park Baptist Church, sharing the stage with Sir Christopher Plummer and Louise Pitre as a featured performer at the Shakespeare Globe Centre of Canada’s 25th Anniversary Gala at Casa Loma, a featured performance in Barrie, Ontario with the Georgian Music Series, and feature choir with international touring concerts: Game of Thrones Live Concert Experience, Hans Zimmer Live on Tour 2017 (both at the Air Canada Centre), and The Legend of Zelda Symphony of the Goddesses at the Sony Centre for the Performing Arts. Additionally, the choir had their first ever national tour in July 2018, travelling to Newfoundland to participate in Podium, Canada's national choral festival and conference. In May of 2019, they were also featured as guest artists in Ottawa at MusicFest Canada. It is That Choir's goal to share our passion for choral music with the arts community and to inspire audiences both young and young at heart. We endeavour to reach not only the established choral community in Toronto, but to encourage new audiences to experience the art of a cappella choral singing. We look forward to sharing our music with you! |
Meet Craig Pike
Now, in his 13th season as founding Artistic Director and conductor of That Choir, CRAIG PIKE has led the a cappella chamber choir to take second place in the ACCC National Competition for Canadian Amateur Choirs, numerous first place awards with the Kiwanis Festival, a successful tour and school workshop in Barrie, the recording of their self-titled debut album, a national tour to Newfoundland to attend Podium, and a featured guest appearance at MusicFest Canada.
Craig began his relationship with choral music while singing with the choirs of Holy Heart of Mary High School in St. John’s, Newfoundland under the direction of his mentor Susan Quinn. He would go on to sing with the Memorial University of Newfoundland Chamber Choir and the internationally-acclaimed Quintessential Vocal Ensemble.
In 1996, Craig joined the folk choir at St. Theresa’s Church in St. John’s and by age fifteen had become assistant conductor. In 2002, after studying choral conducting with Dr. Doug Dunsmore at Memorial University, he moved to Halifax where he assumed the position of music director at Canadian Martyrs Church.
Craig’s curiosity in the arts, and specifically acting eventually brought him to his studies at George Brown Theatre School in Toronto. Since graduating in 2007, he has been music director/composer for both the Classical Theatre Project and Gairbraid Theatre Company. His work as an actor has brought him to the Shaw Festival of Canada, Neptune Theatre in Halifax, and Tarragon Theatre in Toronto. His love of text, passion for choral singing, and relationships cultivated through the theatre is what inspired the formation of That Choir.
Craig began his relationship with choral music while singing with the choirs of Holy Heart of Mary High School in St. John’s, Newfoundland under the direction of his mentor Susan Quinn. He would go on to sing with the Memorial University of Newfoundland Chamber Choir and the internationally-acclaimed Quintessential Vocal Ensemble.
In 1996, Craig joined the folk choir at St. Theresa’s Church in St. John’s and by age fifteen had become assistant conductor. In 2002, after studying choral conducting with Dr. Doug Dunsmore at Memorial University, he moved to Halifax where he assumed the position of music director at Canadian Martyrs Church.
Craig’s curiosity in the arts, and specifically acting eventually brought him to his studies at George Brown Theatre School in Toronto. Since graduating in 2007, he has been music director/composer for both the Classical Theatre Project and Gairbraid Theatre Company. His work as an actor has brought him to the Shaw Festival of Canada, Neptune Theatre in Halifax, and Tarragon Theatre in Toronto. His love of text, passion for choral singing, and relationships cultivated through the theatre is what inspired the formation of That Choir.
MEET THE SINGERS
SOPRANO
Corinne Chapman
Alexandra Mealia
Erin Smythe
Lynne Smythe
Katie Thurman
Corinne Chapman
Alexandra Mealia
Erin Smythe
Lynne Smythe
Katie Thurman
ALTO
Bridget Lenehan
Melissa Peters
Melissa Renshaw
Tracey Soman
Margaret Thompson
Bridget Lenehan
Melissa Peters
Melissa Renshaw
Tracey Soman
Margaret Thompson
TENOR
Joe Donahue
Colin Frotten
Don Pyper
Joe Donahue
Colin Frotten
Don Pyper
BASS
Geoffrey Arseneau
Mark Lee
Dale Miller
Ryan Moilliet
Ben Wright
Geoffrey Arseneau
Mark Lee
Dale Miller
Ryan Moilliet
Ben Wright
May 14 & 15, 2022- Concert Programme
- click each title to read song text -
- click each title to read song text -
There is a solitude of space - Luke Howard
( text: Emily Dickinson )
There is a solitude of space
A solitude of sea
A solitude of death, but these
Society shall be
Compared with that profounder site
That polar privacy
A soul admitted to itself--
Finite infinity.
There is a solitude of space
A solitude of sea
A solitude of death, but these
Society shall be
Compared with that profounder site
That polar privacy
A soul admitted to itself--
Finite infinity.
the moons glow once lit - sarah mccallum
"Why do I stay here?" she called to her lover
Lapping on rocks that are covered in clay that seaped down from rocks,
Entwined into wasteland, caverns for buildings mans hands have made
I look down to you through my blossoms of fire,
As treasured as children that lay in my arms.
I see the onlookers that rise in the morning,
To watch the sun kiss you and make you turn red as the yatchs grace your bed.
So stay! Stay with me!
Stay with me lover!
The air has adopted the taste of love's lips
Crochet your shadows that lie on my skin,
In exchange a smudged painting the moons glow once lit.
Lapping on rocks that are covered in clay that seaped down from rocks,
Entwined into wasteland, caverns for buildings mans hands have made
I look down to you through my blossoms of fire,
As treasured as children that lay in my arms.
I see the onlookers that rise in the morning,
To watch the sun kiss you and make you turn red as the yatchs grace your bed.
So stay! Stay with me!
Stay with me lover!
The air has adopted the taste of love's lips
Crochet your shadows that lie on my skin,
In exchange a smudged painting the moons glow once lit.
Why the caged bird sings - jake runestad
( text: Paul Laurence Dunbar )
I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals--
I know what the caged bird feels!
I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting--
I know why he beats his wing!
I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,--
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings--
I know why the caged bird sings!
I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals--
I know what the caged bird feels!
I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting--
I know why he beats his wing!
I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,--
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings--
I know why the caged bird sings!
I. searston beach (from the al pittman suite) - kathleen allan
( text: Al Pittman)
Now in the middle of winter with the wind sweeping drifts around our back door,
I think of the beach at Searston
Where last summer we ran hurdles over the waves.
And watched how they'd roll all the way to the old dead tree
Before going back to take another run at it.
And how we'd sit off shore and let the surf tumble us up the beach
Like bundles of tired seawood where we'd lie spent like lovers
Leaving our limbed impressions in the sand.
And watched how they'd roll all the way to the old dead tree
Before going back to take another run at it.
While the surf regathered itself to come again
Smoothing away all signs of our easy summer pleasures.
Now in the middle of winter with the wind sweeping drifts around our back door,
I think of the beach at Searston
Where last summer we ran hurdles over the waves.
And watched how they'd roll all the way to the old dead tree
Before going back to take another run at it.
And how we'd sit off shore and let the surf tumble us up the beach
Like bundles of tired seawood where we'd lie spent like lovers
Leaving our limbed impressions in the sand.
And watched how they'd roll all the way to the old dead tree
Before going back to take another run at it.
While the surf regathered itself to come again
Smoothing away all signs of our easy summer pleasures.
II. ANGELS (From the al pittman suite) - kathleen allan
( text: Al Pittman )
What if I went out right now and made angels in the snow.
Would people think I've gone mad or would they see the truth of it?
That it's a game we used to share once
When angels were so real.
They'd (once we made them) take flight out of the snow
And hover all over the back yard,
Their white wings beating so fast
They'd shower feathers for us to chase and catch,
Laughing, on our tongues.
What if I went out right now and made angels in the snow.
Would people think I've gone mad or would they see the truth of it?
That it's a game we used to share once
When angels were so real.
They'd (once we made them) take flight out of the snow
And hover all over the back yard,
Their white wings beating so fast
They'd shower feathers for us to chase and catch,
Laughing, on our tongues.
III. Dance of the mayflies (from the al pittman suite) - kathleen allan
( text: Al Pittman)
We who have known
and yet long for lasting love
cannot ascend to that space
wherein the mayflies
dance their dance and die.
We may lament the brevity
of their agile joy, their consummation
in the shallow altitudes of the air.
We may envy them the choreography
of their airborne ballet, their winged
copulation in the summer sun.
But they aren’t odes or rhymes
on wings. They aren’t symbols
of beauty or emblems of ecstasy.
They are insects who are born
to dance one dance and die.
Because our destinies
are less defined than theirs
we need to know there’ll always be
a morning after and always
another night to stumble, lame
and wingless, into darkness.
Unlike the mayflies (but maybe not)
we need to live in, living in love
beyond the limits of our own
mortality. We have to keep on dying
day after day, night after night.
Dying again and again, over
and over, for the next, only,
and always one more dance.
We who have known
and yet long for lasting love
cannot ascend to that space
wherein the mayflies
dance their dance and die.
We may lament the brevity
of their agile joy, their consummation
in the shallow altitudes of the air.
We may envy them the choreography
of their airborne ballet, their winged
copulation in the summer sun.
But they aren’t odes or rhymes
on wings. They aren’t symbols
of beauty or emblems of ecstasy.
They are insects who are born
to dance one dance and die.
Because our destinies
are less defined than theirs
we need to know there’ll always be
a morning after and always
another night to stumble, lame
and wingless, into darkness.
Unlike the mayflies (but maybe not)
we need to live in, living in love
beyond the limits of our own
mortality. We have to keep on dying
day after day, night after night.
Dying again and again, over
and over, for the next, only,
and always one more dance.
Water night - eric whitacre
( original Spanish text: Octavio Paz )
( translation: Muriel Rukeyser )
Night with the eyes of a horse that trembles in the night,
night with eyes of water in the field asleep
is in your eyes, a horse that trembles,
is in your eyes of secret water.
Eyes of shadow-water,
eyes of well-water,
eyes of dream-water.
Silence and solitude,
two little animals moon-led,
drink in your eyes,
drink in those waters.
If you open your eyes,
night opens, doors of musk,
the secret kingdom of the water opens
flowing from the center of night.
And if you close your eyes,
a river, a silent and beautiful current,
fills you from within,
flows forward, darkens you,
night brings its wetness to beaches
in your soul.
( translation: Muriel Rukeyser )
Night with the eyes of a horse that trembles in the night,
night with eyes of water in the field asleep
is in your eyes, a horse that trembles,
is in your eyes of secret water.
Eyes of shadow-water,
eyes of well-water,
eyes of dream-water.
Silence and solitude,
two little animals moon-led,
drink in your eyes,
drink in those waters.
If you open your eyes,
night opens, doors of musk,
the secret kingdom of the water opens
flowing from the center of night.
And if you close your eyes,
a river, a silent and beautiful current,
fills you from within,
flows forward, darkens you,
night brings its wetness to beaches
in your soul.
only in sleep - eriks esenvalds
( text: Sara Teasdale )
Only in sleep I see their faces,
Children I played with when I was a child,
Louise comes back with her brown hair braided,
Annie with ringlets warm and wild.
Only in sleep Time is forgotten --
What may have come to them, who can know?
Yet we played last night as long ago,
And the doll-house stood at the turn of the stair.
The years had not sharpened their smooth round faces,
I met their eyes and found them mild --
Do they, too, dream of me, I wonder,
And for them am I too a child?
Only in sleep I see their faces,
Children I played with when I was a child,
Louise comes back with her brown hair braided,
Annie with ringlets warm and wild.
Only in sleep Time is forgotten --
What may have come to them, who can know?
Yet we played last night as long ago,
And the doll-house stood at the turn of the stair.
The years had not sharpened their smooth round faces,
I met their eyes and found them mild --
Do they, too, dream of me, I wonder,
And for them am I too a child?
Rise up, my love, my fair one - healey willan
( text: from Song of Solomon 2: 10-13 )
Rise up my love, my fair one,
and come away.
For, lo, the winter is past
the rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth;
the time of the singing of birds is come,
and the voice of the turtle
is heard in our land.
The fig tree putteth forth her green figs,
and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell.
Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
Rise up my love, my fair one,
and come away.
For, lo, the winter is past
the rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth;
the time of the singing of birds is come,
and the voice of the turtle
is heard in our land.
The fig tree putteth forth her green figs,
and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell.
Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
Danny Boy - ARR. joshua pacey
Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side.
The summer's gone, and all the roses falling,
It's you, It's you must go and I must bide.
But come ye back when summer's in the meadow,
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow,
It's I'll be there in sunshine or in shadow,--
Oh, Danny boy, Oh Danny boy, I love you so!
But when ye come, and all the flowers are dying,
If I am dead, as dead I well may be,
Ye'll come and find the place where I am lying,
And kneel and say an Avé there for me.
And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me,
And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be,
For you will bend and tell me that you love me,
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me!
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side.
The summer's gone, and all the roses falling,
It's you, It's you must go and I must bide.
But come ye back when summer's in the meadow,
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow,
It's I'll be there in sunshine or in shadow,--
Oh, Danny boy, Oh Danny boy, I love you so!
But when ye come, and all the flowers are dying,
If I am dead, as dead I well may be,
Ye'll come and find the place where I am lying,
And kneel and say an Avé there for me.
And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me,
And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be,
For you will bend and tell me that you love me,
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me!
this is my song (finlandia) - arr. blake morgan
( text: Verses 1 & 2 - Lloyd Stone, Verse 3 - Blake Morgan )
This is my song, O God of all the nations,
A song of peace for lands afar and mine.
This is my home, the country where my heart is,
Here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine.
But other hearts in other lands are beating,
With hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.
My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean,
And sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine.
But other lands have sunlight too, and clover,
And skies are everywhere as blue as mine.
*This is my song, O God of all the nations,
A song of peace for their land and for mine.
So let us raise this melody together,
Beneath the stars that guide us through the night;
If we choose love, each storm we’ll learn to weather,
Until true peace and harmony we find.
This is our song, a hymn we raise together;
A dream of peace, uniting humankind.
* modified from Stone’s original poetry
This is my song, O God of all the nations,
A song of peace for lands afar and mine.
This is my home, the country where my heart is,
Here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine.
But other hearts in other lands are beating,
With hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.
My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean,
And sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine.
But other lands have sunlight too, and clover,
And skies are everywhere as blue as mine.
*This is my song, O God of all the nations,
A song of peace for their land and for mine.
So let us raise this melody together,
Beneath the stars that guide us through the night;
If we choose love, each storm we’ll learn to weather,
Until true peace and harmony we find.
This is our song, a hymn we raise together;
A dream of peace, uniting humankind.
* modified from Stone’s original poetry
Thank you for joining us at That Choir SILENCE AND SOLITUDE