PROGRAM NOTES

The consequences of a reckless state of mind, of using religion and its symbols for selfish purpose, and of greed, pride and self-exaltation imperil us in the year 2006, no less than they threatened Babylon in 539 B.C., when its leader Belshazzar ignored the wisdom of his forebears–Nebuchadnezzar, who ultimately learned humility, and Nitocris, whose compassion and dignity guided her even at the most troubling times–and the mighty walled city fell.

MENE MENE TEKE UPHARSIN

Numbered – Numbered – Weighed – Divided

The prophet Daniel, who had guided Nebuchadnezzar away from arrogance but whom Belshazzar, panicking in the face of the terrifyingly inexplicable, first ignored in favor of sycophants, soothsayers and magicians, was the one who could explain: Belshazzar's days were numbered – the distance between his actions and God's law would be weighed – the kingdom was to be divided.

No quaint tale told by Daniel or by the Greek historian Herodotus, or then captured by George Frideric Handel and Charles Jennens in 1744 (or by Rembrandt in 1655, or Walton in 1931), Belshazzar's feast and fall have sparked the penetrating imaginations of writers, artists and musicians for centuries. And with good reason. The implications of the story have never faded.

Handel's own response to the story and its message was unusually eager, and his very concentrated and rapid work on Charles Jennens' rich libretto took but one month. Anxious to compose the music, Handel wrote some sections before ever receiving the corresponding installments of Jennens' text, and he simply revised the music as necessary when the new material did arrive. The resulting three-act oratorio is one of extraordinary dramatic unity, one absent any unnecessary note, parenthetical sub-plot or love interest, or diverting aria designed to spotlight a singer's wares. Flowing at once with undeterred directness and with confident spaciousness, Belshazzar is perhaps Handel's most perfectly crafted oratorio, and is as compelling as any more well known ones, including Saul, Jephtha, and Messiah.

It is the conflict of the characters' and nations' ignorant self-assurance, and the conflict of ideas, more than internal moral struggle (such as drive Saul and Jephtha ) that energizes the drama. To that end, Handel paints the five principals with crystal clarity–Belshazzar, an indulgent, overconfident and arrogant oaf; Nitocris, possessing wisdom undeterred by the pain she feels while watching Belshazzar self-destruct and destroy; Gobryas, his seething temper mitigated only by his years; Cyrus, leading with compassion, dignity and clarity; and Daniel, existing in his own frame from which he observes and understands the calamity around him. Even the three peoples are distinct: the Babylonians, like their leader, are riotously crude; the cryptic Jews are impassioned in their structure and logic; and the Persians, full of optimism and unencumbered by troubled thought, discover in themselves a vision (at the close of the second part) that lifts the already powerful story to an altogether higher level.

Belshazzar' s vivid action aches for the stage, complete with costumes, lights and sets, and a concert performance trusts each listener's willingness to conjure up images as clear as those that inspired the music. In the manner peculiar to music, and in some ways, unique to Handel, Belshazzar marries theatrical fever and philosophic calm, and in soaring to the height of metaphor, challenges our view of this troubled world. Regardless of anyone's interpretation of the protagonist's brash and imperious actions, and of those terrifying words on the wall, Belshazzar 's dark messages loom larger with each day.

– David Hoose