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Communications
Listen Up!
— from Gary Davison, Organist & Choirmaster —
RSCM Concert at Saint Francis Church
Saturday, July 31st, 4:00 pm
On its website, The Royal School of Church Music describes its history, in part, as such:
On the initiative of Sir Sydney Nicholson, then organist of Westminster Abbey, the School of English Church Music (SECM) was inaugurated at a meeting in the Jerusalem Chamber of Westminster Abbey held on 6 December 1927, the feast of St Nicolas. It was to consist of a training college for church musicians (the College of St Nicolas), and an association of affiliated churches who committed themselves to attaining high standards.The School was housed at Buller’s Wood in Chislehurst, Kent. The college opened there in 1929 and continued until closure was forced at the outbreak of war in 1939 when most students were called up for military service. During those first ten years major choral festivals were held triennially in London (1930 at the Royal Albert Hall, 1933 and 1936 at the Crystal Palace) and the number of affiliated churches rose to 1300 worldwide. Throughout the war Sir Sydney continued his itinerant teaching at diocesan and parish level from a base at St Michael’s College, Tenbury, and then from Leamington Spa.In 1945, by command of King George VI, the SECM became the Royal School of Church Music (RSCM). Canterbury Cathedral allowed the school to function within the precincts of the cathedral, and the College of St Nicolas re-opened there in January 1946. By 1952 over 3000 churches were affiliated.In 1954 the RSCM and the College of St Nicolas moved to Addington Palace near Croydon, the former ‘country residence’ of the Archbishops of Canterbury, with Gerald Knight as Director and the Revd Cyril Taylor as Warden responsible for the RSCM’s educational work.In 1973 Gerald Knight was succeeded as Director by Lionel Dakers, and he in turn by Harry Bramma in 1989. The College of St Nicolas was closed in 1974, and the RSCM then concentrated on short courses, and on work in the regions with new structures of voluntary committees. The membership[*] increased, with a peak of almost 10,000 affiliates in 1980.In 1996 the RSCM moved its administrative centre to Cleveland Lodge, near Dorking in Surrey, the former home of the organist Lady Susi Jeans. Professor John Harper was appointed as Director in 1998.The RSCM [then] moved its administrative centre to Salisbury in Summer 2006. Its office is located within Sarum College, a Christian ecumenical college in Salisbury's cathedral close.Professor Harper retired as Director of the RSCM at the end of December 2007, and has been appointed ‘Emeritus Director’. He continues as RSCM Research Professor at Bangor University, and will also remain a Visiting Scholar at Sarum College. Lindsay Gray took up the post of Director of the RSCM on 1 May 2008.
Additionally, RSCM America states:
RSCM America is the branch of the Royal School of Church Music in the United States. Our goal is to uplift the spiritual life of our communities through high quality choral music. We provide musical education to singers through a structured choral music program and summer music courses[*]. We provide support to music directors through an organizational forum, which facilitates the exchange of knowledge and ideas.
*Potomac Parish is one of those member churches and has been since before my arrival fifteen years ago. In addition, Washington DC is host to one of the summer courses, an intense week-long course for Advanced Trebles, which is housed at Saint Alban’s School and National Cathedral.
This year I have been asked to co-manage the course and, as a result, Saint Francis is privileged to have the choir come and offer a concert here on Saturday, July 31st at 4 o’clock in the afternoon. This is an important connection for us and is part of the continuing effort by your staff to maintain a vibrant future for this parish church. You may participate in that effort by your attendance and show of support. There is no admission fee and the concert is open to family and friends. (And it’s late enough in the day to get your golfing and swimming in – or mowing of the lawn and other charming chores – and early enough not to interfere with supper plans.)
The choristers also sing evensong at the National Cathedral on the weekdays of July 27-30 and will sing for their morning services and evensong on Sunday, August 1st. I hope you will avail yourselves to some of those offerings, as well.
I am pleased — and extremely so — that two of our own choristers will be in the ranks of this group: Lisa Johnsen, last year’s Head Chorister and newly appointed Choral Scholar, and Senior Choral Scholar, Nikki Fraser. There also will be an adult contingency with several of our own singers involved, including yours truly and past treble participant, Bryn Whiteley! The music director for the course this year is David Ogden, an energetic and widely respected choral trainer from Bristol (UK). It is no understatement to say this is a golden opportunity for our parish.
I do hope you will join us.
Gary Davison, O-C
March 7, 2010
“Music is the one incorporeal entrance into the higher world of knowledge which comprehends mankind but which mankind cannot comprehend.”
“Let us all do what is right, strive with all our might toward the unattainable, develop as fully as we can the gifts God has given us, and never stop learning.”
“No friend have I. I must live by myself alone; but I know well that God is nearer to me than others in my art, so I will walk fearlessly with Him.”
“Recommend virtue to your children; it alone, not money, can make them happy. I speak from experience.”
“Anyone who tells a lie has not a pure heart, and cannot make a good soup.”
“What you are, you are by accident of birth; what I am, I am by myself. There are and will be a thousand princes; there is only one Beethoven.”
Well, he was right, you know . . . on all accounts! With no slight intended to the likes of Tallis or Byrd, Handel or Bach, Haydn or Mozart, Mendelssohn or Brahms, Ravel or Stravinsky, Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827) expanded the horizons of every form of music he inherited well beyond those before him or those, so far, who have come after. Brahms himself felt the omniscient presence of this musical firebrand so keenly that it caused him to struggle for twenty years just to complete his first of only four symphonies. After all, what could anyone possibly have to say after him?
A harsh disciplinarian, a drunk, and a not-too-illustrious court musician, Beethoven’s father helped set the stage for some of his son’s dysfunction and perhaps his inability to form a family of his own. Endless hours of forced practice were met with physical punishment and psychological abuse. Yet because of his father’s contacts and efforts, the young Ludwig gained immensely useful connections and technical abilities. That dichotomy would haunt him the whole of his life and may be, in part, some of the fodder that instilled such dramatic contrasts in his writing. Ultimately, the total loss of hearing, which began its slow descent upon him in his twenties, caused the greatest frustration and understandable anger. Even God could not escape his tirades, although “Louis” knew full well his immense talent was only by the grace of God, and that given in unheard of abundance (see quote #3). To be sure, he could equal Bach in contrapuntal acrobatics, did supplant his teacher Haydn’s ability in the tender turn of a phrase, and crushed even his favorite composer, Handel, with the sheer force of his expression. He truly became the artist not understood, especially in the string quartets of his last two years. In all fairness, nobody had anything by which to compare this music nor little capacity to do so even if it were available to them. The Große Fuge (opus 133) was considered by no less than the innovative genius, Igor Stravinsky, to be the greatest piece of music ever written. This body of late Beethoven works still presents a monumental challenge to the musical mind.
Beethoven’s music aside, part of what makes him so modern — and perhaps appealing — is that he became the prototype freelance composer. He settled in Vienna around the turn of the 19th century, a musical capital in league with Paris and London. By sheer industry coupled with his God-given talent, and inspired by the events in neighboring France under Napoleon, he eventually shirked the bonds of servitude to the privileged, which he despised (see quote #6). Perhaps irreverently, he went so far as to abandon his powdered wig when in public or the company of his “betters” after the fashion of the trend-setting Parisians. However, and make no mistake, he actively courted their attention and lived among them as a darling and one entitled. In return, his erratic behavior and disorganized conduct was tolerated because of his genius recognized by some, and the egotistical needs of the others vying for his attention.
Recently, I finished a slim volume on the life of Beethoven by Edmund Morris. It gives excellent historic context, avoids the burden of too much technical analysis, and reads with engaging ease. If you want a good overview of Beethoven, this is as good a place to start as any. It is entitled simply Beethoven, a 2005 issue from Harper Collins in their Eminent Lives series.
If you enjoy visual renderings and crave “period” films, you must see Immortal Beloved (1994). Gary Oldman delivers a thrilling performance of the maestro and gives the rare and convincing illusion that he actually is performing the music heard on the soundtrack. Happily, Isabella Rossellini is also in it. I dare say Herr van Beethoven himself would have approved of that!
Finally, it all comes down to the music itself. Because of its famous opening (you know, “Pah-pah-pah-pahm.... pah-pah-pah-pahm”), Symphony #5 in C minor, opus 67, is probably the most widely recognized of Beethoven’s works. The brilliant conductor, Carlos Kleiber, recorded it with the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra for the Deutsche Grammophon label in the mid-1970’s. It is now coupled on CD with my favorite Beethoven symphony, the #7 in A major, opus 92, also directed by Kleiber with the VPO. I am not exaggerating when I say this is the best recording of these two works, by far. It is high on my desert island list and I cannot recommend it too highly. It convinces me that if the voice of God does, in fact, whisper to some, it must have been shouting to the trenchant mind of Beethoven.
Roll over, indeed!
February 28, 2010
Born a little less than a month apart in the same year, George Frideric Handel (b. 23 Feb 1685) and Johann Sebastian Bach (b. 21 March 1685) never met. They knew of each other and greatly admired each other’s work and although attempts were made several times to arrange a meeting — even a playing contest! — alas, it never happened.
Although both German by birth and commanding giants in the entire history of classical music, their careers could not have been farther apart. Handel studied formally in Italy and eventually settled in England becoming a British citizen. He enjoyed great international success commercially and was adored by the throngs, from tradesman to the Crown. His popularity is likened to a “rock star” of today, although I dare say legitimate talent and industry earned his reputation and all without the aid of electronically amplified and manipulated processing and flashy visuals inflicted on us in the current age. Much of his life was spent in the world of secular music, especially in opera, but it must be noted he was a vestryman of his London church, Saint George’s, Hanover Square, and his greatest musical achievement was a rather well-known oratorio about Jesus called Messiah.
Bach, on the other hand, never ventured past the borders of Germany. Orphaned at the age of ten, he was educated by family members mostly. While he did secure a few court appointments, for the most part his career was as a church musician. There is no doubt he was a devout Lutheran with a formidable knowledge of theology, which greatly influenced his work; copious notes jotted in his own books attest to that. But Bach was destined for a rather provincial life in the end. Unlike the bachelor Handel, Bach married twice and fathered 20 children (10 surviving to adulthood). Although regarded as one of the greatest organists and composers ever, even in his own day, he never achieved the same fame or fortune as did Handel. Further, it took the 1829 revival by Mendelssohn of Saint Matthew Passion, now widely regarded as the pinnacle of Christian music, to put Bach back on the musical map, unlike Handel whose works have never faded from popularity (even Ludwig van Beethoven claimed Handel as his favorite composer).
In a generalized nutshell, the difference in their writing styles can be described as follows: Handel was very much the Italianate melodist of great clarity and Bach the Germanic contrapuntist of rich texture. Each was certainly capable of the other style and so demonstrated in their respective compositions, but the basic difference in approach is clear once you’ve got the hang of it.
You may recall that in the last Listen Up! we gave a nod to Antonio Vivaldi and his set of concerti called The Four Seasons. Handel and Bach both knew his music and studied it as a model for their own work. Handel wrote quite a number of concerti in this style, including a set featuring the organ as the solo instrument, perhaps the first to do so. We’ll have to wait for another time to consider these elegant works more fully but I encourage you to seek them out if you don’t know them.
Bach’s set of six concerti, referred to as the Brandenburg Concertos (due to their dedication to Christian Ludwig, then Margrave of Brandenburg-Schwedt), took the form to dizzying new heights. His orchestration brought together instruments of unusual combinations and the deftness of his technique stretched all boundaries of conventional expectation. Although the first concerto has an added set of Menuet and Trio movements, all six follow the overall three movement structure of the Italian model: Fast – Slow – Fast. The invention, variety, and multi-layering magic, however, are nothing short of astounding and groundbreaking for the early 18th century. A new recording just issued by the English Baroque Soloists (SDG 707) directed by John Eliot Gardiner delivers the most riveting performance of these works my ears have ever heard. It is a thrilling rollercoaster ride of expressiveness from heartbreaking subtlety and finesse to blazing (almost terrifying) pedal-to-the-metal allegro passages. This one is a MUST! It would make an excellent gift and most of the concertos are 10" - 15" long, making each a manageable listen even for young ears. So, turn off the TV and Listen Up!
January 26, 2010
I love the seasons, all four of them. Each can invoke strong images, emotions, and provide context for a flood of memories. Who can resist the lure of spring as flowers freshly sprung redress the austerity of old man winter? One of my sweetest spring memories is foraging the front yard of our home in Tulsa for four-leaf clovers. I still have one residing at Psalm 100 in the Bible I received at confirmation over forty years ago.
High summer brings leisure to many with holiday excursions, welcome warm breezes and a slower pace hearkening us back to gentler days. What could be better than to grab the inner tube, throw on some flip-flops, and head down to the nearest swimmin’ hole?
With its snap in the air and dazzling color to the eye, autumn quickens awareness and pulls at the heart-strings with a sort of exquisite melancholy. I suppose almost all of us relate it to returning to school as children, a not altogether unpleasant prospect at Elliot Elementary School just a block away from that clover-laden front yard of ours.
And I remember well the excitement at winter’s first snowfall, especially those rare ones of my boyhood homes in the Southwest. Maybe even no school would come of it – quick, grab the sled and head to the steepest hill!
Now before this picture gets too rosy, let’s balance it with the reality that winter brings flu bugs, black ice, heating bills, and certain depression for many. Spring, despite its beauty, gives the allergy-prone cause for pure misery and taunts those of us confined to indoor work. Bee stings, sunburns, and suspicious church supper Jello salads can spoil any pleasant summer somnolence. Likewise, fall schedule crunches, deadlines, and more blessings for allergy sufferers can blanket autumn with a scratchy cover of tribulations.
The seasons, in all their guises, are described and used as powerful simile and metaphor throughout the scriptures. I have come to appreciate our marking the Incarnation during the season reminiscent of our own unwilling wintry hearts, even if the birth of Jesus did not occur in the bleak midwinter. In turn, Easter in the springtime, that "queen of seasons, bright" aids our dull and stubborn minds by giving vivid visual and visceral glimpses, if only dimly, of just how great a gift our Lord’s resurrection is.
The most popular music portrayal of the four seasons is by Blessed Francis’s fellow countryman and cleric, Antonio Vivaldi (1678 – 1741). His musical depiction of the seasons was written in 1723 in the form of four concerti for violin and string orchestra. The violin part is terribly virtuosic, perhaps tailored to Vivaldi’s own prowess as a violinist. The works are archetypes of the baroque concerto, each in three movements (fast-slow-fast) pitting a solo player, or small group, against the fuller accompanying ensemble. In the baroque era, orchestral works always included a ‘continuo,’ comprised of an instrument capable of filling in harmony, such as a harpsichord or the lute-like theorbo, and a gamba or ‘cello, which plays the foundational bass line. Composers did not write out the continuo part except for the bass line with a series of shorthand numbers indicating the desired harmony at any given point. As a result, the inventiveness of the player can often put the distinctive stamp on a performance for better or for worse.
There are many wonderful recordings of The Four Seasons, but I’m going to recommend one because of the continuo playing. Originally issued in 1970 on the Argo label, it’s available now as an MP3 download at Amazon.com. The violinist is Alan Loveday, whose elegant brilliant playing is enough reason to buy this recording. The continuo player is Simon Preston, then organist of Christ Church, Oxford, and former chorister and organ scholar at King’s College Chapel, Cambridge. His ability to provide harmonic ‘realization’ and rhythmic drive while adding telling tucks and turns is nothing short of thrilling. While the sound quality is not up to par with more recent digital issues, the performance is unbeatably delicious! Sir Neville Marriner deftly directs the incomparable Academy of St Martin-in-the-Fields, which he founded in 1959. By all means, get a copy and Listen Up!
December 20, 2009
Thirty years ago this December, I was a most privileged college undergraduate to find myself sitting in the chapel of King’s College, Cambridge, attending the world renowned Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols. It is a moment I will cherish as long as I live and for which I shall never lose gratitude. A very wise mentor and most treasured friend saw to it that I made that trip, which ushered me into that paradise of sound, the King’s College Choir of Men and Boys singing in their own iconic chapel. The impact of that visit in no small way helped guide my own destiny as a musician. Every year as I listen to the BBC broadcast, I recall my great fortune and the debt I owe to those who made it possible.
My friend and I flew to London where we stayed a few days. We then made our way to Cambridge where in the wee morning hours on the Eve of the Nativity 1979 we arose, dressed warmly and walked to King’s Parade to “queue up” for entry that afternoon. A considerable line had already formed but we were assured we were early enough to acquire good seats, which happily we did. As we each took turns fetching hot coffee and sandwiches in an attempt to ward off the cold a light snow began to fall on perfect cue just around midday. The bucolic setting of that splendid limestone building amid the winter snow was simply overwhelming. The stage and the hook were set! I’ve never been the same since.
The service in the chapel begins with an extended organ prelude prior to the broadcast. As many of you know, the opening carol that follows is Once in royal David’s city, which commences with a single boy singing the first stanza unaccompanied. Nobody knows who that boy will be except the Music Director. At the moment the BBC engineer gives the signal that they are “on air,” the Music Director identifies that chorister who then steps forward to sing, right then, right there, no net! It makes me queasy just to think about it. But, O! what an exquisite moment for the rest of us.
In this case, the room is as important as the choir itself. King Henry VI (1421-1471) laid the foundation stone in 1446 and chartered the choir. The chapel was to be the north side of his ‘College roial of Oure Lady and Seynt Nicholas.’ It took over a century to finish and was the only thing completed of the king’s grand design of his Cambridge court. But what a legacy and, thanks be to God, it remains an active house of worship. The late Gothic (Perpendicular) style of the building with its soaring height, the use of limestone as the primary building material, and the fan vault ceiling (the largest in the world) produce what may well be the most favorable acoustic of any building on earth for choral music. The effort to sing is much easier in an environment such as that where sound is not absorbed quickly. Thus sound quite literally floats and gives us the fairest glimpse of God’s beauty revealed to us in music. All else pales in comparison, most especially our feeble attempts to replicate that gorgeous sound with modern electronic amplification in the living room aesthetic of many modern churches.
I recently read a recollection of a fellow musician who reminded me of something I had almost forgotten from that journey. Those men and boys are not finished with their term duties with that service. They remain to sing on Christmas Day. There is no queue in which to wait. There is no television or radio production. The shops along the way are closed. The streets are void of traffic. And yet in that same place that buzzed the day before with the enthusiastic throng from around the world, a small gathering of the faithful come to worship Christ the newborn King led in music by those talented and dedicated young people. With the same shining adornments of singing heard the previous afternoon, the true purpose of their existence becomes crystal clear to those with ears to hear. Gloria in excelsis Deo!
ADDENDUM
Many people over the years have asked me what my favorite Christmas music is. There are so many wonderful pieces from which to choose that it is difficult to say. However, here is a brief list of some that come to mind. There are multiple recordings of each available and you will not go wrong with any from the choral establishments in Cambridge or Oxford. In addition, I’ve listed a handful of my favorite recordings.
CAROLS
A babe is born (William Mathias)
A Child my Choice (Richard Wayne Dirksen)
A Spotless Rose (Herbert Howells)
All my heart this night rejoices (Johann Ebeling)
Angelus ad virginem (Irish traditional)
Es ist ein Ros' entsprungen (Michael Praetorius)
I sing of a maiden (Patrick Hadley)
In the bleak midwinter (Harold Darke)
Myn lyking (Sir Richard R. Terry)
Of the Father’s love begotten (anonymous)
Once in royal David’s city (Gauntlett / Mann)
See amid the winter snow (Sir John Goss)
Sussex Carol (English, arr. Sir Philip Ledger)
The Infant King (Basque, arr. Edgar Pettman)
EXTENDED WORKS
A Ceremony of Carols (Benjamin Britten)
Hodie (Ralph Vaughan Williams)
L’enfance du Christ (Hector Berlioz)
Magnificat (Antonio Vivaldi)
Messe de Minuit pour Noël (Marc Charpentier)
Oratorio de Noël (Camille Saint-Saëns)
Weihnachts-Oratorium (Johann Sebastian Bach)
RECORDINGS
A Charlie Brown Christmas
(Vince Guaraldi) [Webmaster note: !]
A Child my Choice
(Julie Keim, soprano & Eric Sabatino, harp)
A Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols
(King’s College, Cambridge, Stephen Cleobury)
A Renaissance Christmas
(The Boston Camerata, Joel Cohen)
Carols from Clare
(Clare College, Cambridge, John Rutter)
The Carol Album
(Taverner Consort, Andrew Parrott)
December 6, 2009
Last issue I considered the first of two recent comments that have nettled me. The first, as you may recall, pegged me as “truly old-fashioned,” to which I readily laid claim if, among other things, it means embracing the best of our inheritance, using one’s brain, and observing Sunday as the first day of the week on which Christians attend church!
So now....
The second comment: Unfortunately, this one I’ve heard in several places since I was young. But I did not expect to hear it from within our own dedicated ranks at St Francis Church. It was in reaction to an anthem that briefly flew awry. A contributing party was overheard to say, “Oh well, it’s just a church choir.”
Pregnant pause. Widening of eyes.
Flaring of nostrils. Long, slow breath in.
Voice in head: “Thou shalt do no murder!”
Breathe out slowly. Walk away quietly.
Suffice it to say, I was aghast and perturbed. I’d like to think it was but a careless utterance propelled by guilt. Otherwise, by extension, that implies it’s just church and that all we who work to do our best before God is of little or no consequence whether things go well or not. Now that’s just not acceptable!
In our predominately secular and popular contemporary culture where so much is a crafty manipulated sound bite and the slouching posture of image outweighs any substance, why should we be surprised at such a comment? We are enthralled and so inundated by the quick-and-easy perfection of modern production that we often are deflated by our own limitations, deaf to substance, and become dismissive of what truly matters.
Rest assured, I don’t believe most of us are naïve enough to think everything’s going to go perfectly all the time. It rarely does in “real life,” if ever! We know that. Even the most august of places have their little foibles. On my most recent visit to England a few years back, I attended a great number of splendid cathedral services in which a chorister may have made an early entrance or the organist slipped a note or the lector stumbled on a passage or the Choirmaster’s cotta was a bit mussed, all in spite of meticulous preparations. So what? The overall effort was still one of proper intention filled with great beauty offered on behalf of all of us who had gathered for those services. I came away consistently moved and inspired despite the unintended minor glitches. This was not a state achieved by sentimental means but by disciplined and centuries-old tried and true ritual well executed – perhaps more evidence of my truly old-fashioned nature. Furthermore, while music played a prominent role in those liturgies – indeed, it drew many of us more readily to them – that was not what was being served. God was being served. And it was only by the grace of God that we were privileged to receive “glimpses of [his] beauty” through that venerable art adorning those articulated moments.
Sadly, I’m afraid that’s the essence of what was lost on this poor glib soul. While we do not possess a cathedral’s soaring acoustic, magnificent organ, or rigorous rehearsal schedule, we do attempt every time we gather for worship, our very raison d'être, to “get it right.” My hope is we will all join in that effort and fulfill better our high calling. Nothing else is as important; it’s just that simple!
November 22, 2009
Recently, two unrelated comments have fouled my mood and conspired to put me on the defensive. In keeping with my original promise not to whine in this column, I shall take the opportunity to consider these utterances with you instead. (Lucky you!) Like a good scherzo I’ll try to be deft and not without a nice seasoning of witty sarcasm.
The first comment: In it, I officially have been dubbed “truly old-fashioned.” I suppose in my heart of hearts I knew it was true all along. After all, I still hold doors for others, especially women and the elderly, I try and use thank you and please liberally, the Golden Rule actually means something to me, I believe that an honest day’s work is of great merit no matter what you do, I don’t think “dumbing down” is an option, I strive to be a helpful but unobtrusive neighbor, and I hold fast to the tradition that for Christians Sunday morning is time for church and nothing else – any other choice, and I emphasize choice, sends the unmistakable message that church is of secondary importance to you. My well-honed sense of cynicism leads me to wonder if those who choose otherwise will be surprised if the favor eventually is returned.
Now please understand this is not an exercise in self-righteousness nor is it really about me per se, but rather about the discipline and values instilled in me by others who set their sights on a better life for me and for the world in which I am taking part. God bless their old-fashioned souls, every one of them!
So, here’s the context of this first comment, naturally with the customary changing of names to protect the ignorant ... er ... innocent. It involves a commission from a church in another state for a choral anthem celebrating an anniversary year. I was asked to submit examples of my work along with the usual jumping through the hoops before being commissioned. I got the green light. Excellent! Next step, choice of text. I decided on none other than Christopher Smart (1722-1771), one of the most creative Christian minds of the 18th century. You can read this text for yourself at #386 (vss. 1, 3-4) in our Hymnal 1982. It struck me as quite modern in its style, festive in its content, general enough to use more than once (a practical consideration, I thought), and very ripe with possibilities for a strong and exciting musical setting.
Well, much to my chagrin this proposed text was greeted with a chorus of concerned comments from their committee members, including my favorite that read, “This choice of text is why I had [him] at the bottom of my choices [as composer] – truly old fashioned. And that's something, coming from a dinosaur like me.” Ouch! Another observed, “I noted that there is some gender-specific language, and in 2009 I don't see how we can endorse that.” Uh, rrright. And yet another offered, “It's all about ‘We sing of God’ rather than ‘We sing of church’, or community, or faith, or something more church related.” Huh? Seriously? More church related than God? Alrighty then.... Note to self: Never compose for a committee ever, ever again. EVER.
It may amuse you to know that under a colorful nom de plume I simply penned a text myself sure to tickle their modern and reconciling sensibilities. If Smart wasn’t good enough for them, certainly others to whom I would turn would suffer the same or worse condemnation. Thus, armed with fuzzy buzzwords and a PC pen, I took the plunge to produce a lesser but more acceptable text. Forgive me, Christopher.... and Isaac, and Charles, and Percy, and Frances, and Robert, and Catherine....!
So what’s my point here? It’s simply this: How very fortunate Potomac Parish is to have the courageous leadership of a Rector and bold support from a congregation who understand and embrace the breadth and richness of the English language and what it can convey so eloquently in the hands of a brilliant Christian mind. We would not have The Book of Common Prayer if it were not so. Nor would we have the hymns of John and Charles Wesley who railed at the reviled revisionists of their day intent on changing words to suit their political and commercial needs. Obviously, the list goes on and on well beyond these few. As Mr Shand is wont to say, “Our brand of inclusiveness includes the 16th century.” Thanks be to God for those in this and every generation who have been given grace to lift us to the nearer presence of God and offer us a fuller understanding of our faith as Christians through the power and expressive beauty of language.
Old-fashioned, indeed!
The second comment: Oh, it’s a doozy. We’ll take it for a spin next issue.
October 19, 2009
Evensong.
The name itself is lyrical and evocative. It’s been used repeatedly as a novel, poem, and CD title (including our latest release in honor of Saint Clare of Assisi). And I don’t know an Anglican musician anywhere that doesn’t count offering evensong as one of their favorite duties.
The latter, of course, is what our interest is here. Evensong is, plain and simple, the sung form of our Evening Prayer liturgy. When presented in this manner, almost everything is sung with the exception of the confession (and in some places the creed), the appointed lessons, and, perhaps, a few of the prayers. I dare say that since the Reformation there are more musical settings for the components of evensong than for any other liturgy currently in use. My own catalogue of works includes three settings, so far, of the canticles, at least eight settings of the various responses, and several dozen Anglican chants for the delivery of psalms, one of the primary focuses of Evening (and Morning) Prayer.
As a writer, I’m always interested in the form of things. Just as a building must have a solid foundation on which to stand properly, so must a work of literature, a sports team, a movie, a theory, a fine meal, and, yes, even a liturgy. Evensong has just that with a clear and well-balanced architecture of three primary sections:
1. The Psalms
2. The Lessons (and Canticles)
3. The Prayers
This structure has stood the test of time since Thomas Cranmer (1489-1556) penned it in the 16th century for the first Book of Common Prayer. He took as his models Vespers and Compline, combining elements from both of these evening liturgies from the monastic tradition. It is a highly practical and very elegant expressive tool for our corporate worship life. Each section is able to amplify the others and even within its seemingly rigid structure the overall form offers an endless variety for topic and musical settings.
The psalms follow an appointed sequence, which is intended to present all the psalms over a period of time. The Canticles, which follow the appointed lessons, are fixed: Magnificat and Nunc dimittis. Those lessons along with certain prayers follow a lectionary, and yet all three can be adapted easily to special occasions and feast days.
Such will be the case here on November 1st, when the Saint Francis Choir will offer a 5:30 evensong for The Feast of All Saints. In one way or another, some obvious and some more subtle, everything will point us to the saints in light as we remember those who have gone before us in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection that we hold dear and fast as Christians. Musically, you will hear settings from every century since the 1500’s. Very few experiences allow for this kind of breadth and richness, especially where relevance is concerned, something that seems to be an obsession these days. Well, here’s a golden opportunity – step right up! And while you’re at it, bring someone with you.
If my observations and invitation aren’t enough, consider some thoughts from Professor Edward Higginbottom of Oxford University, the internationally renowned Director of Music at New College Oxford since 1976.
I see evensong as an unusually enabling liturgical environment within the contemporary Church: without confrontation, without the demands of affiliation — rather an engagement with the world of the spirit, and an encouragement to seek Truth at an individual’s own pace, in his or her own way..... If there is a self-sufficiency of music within worship, from it flows the necessity of excellence. This should not be an embarrassment to the musician .... [who] is enabling us to join in the song of creation, an activity requiring no further justification. St Francis understood this..... Whatever our state, our access to choral evensong is an extraordinary feature of the modern church, clearly telling us that there is more to life than the word: there is also the Music of the Word. [The Church Music Quarterly, September 2009.]
September 6, 2009
IV. The Anglican Revival
Charles Wesley’s very talented grandson, Samuel Sebastian Wesley (1810-1876), stood as a beacon of excellence in 19th century English church music amidst a growing tide of mediocrity. He helped light the way to what has become known as the “Anglican Revival” of the 20th century.
SS Wesley became organist of Hereford Cathedral at the tender age of 22 and subsequently served at Exeter Cathedral, Leeds Parish Church, Winchester Cathedral and finally Gloucester Cathedral during the last decade of his life. It is interesting to note he was a boy chorister at none other than the Chapel Royal, a place of no small musical consequence since the time of Tallis and King Henry VIII from whence we began this little sojourn in the world of English church music.
Much of what was being written during the reign of Queen Victoria (1819-1901 – ascended the throne in 1837) had become quite chromatic and with leanings of overly sentimental or dramatic expression more akin to opera and symphonic stages than to the solemnity of church liturgy. Wesley’s own work reflects a certain refinement reminiscent of an earlier age and yet with a freshness and clarity that set the pace for the next century in Anglican sacred music. That’s not to say he was incapable of writing expressively. In fact, his rather rhapsodic anthem, Blessed be the God and Father, is a real stunner. It begins with a solemn statement by the choir alone and is followed by lyric sections featuring a treble soloist (something akin to a Schubert lieder perhaps) and unison recitative-styled passages strikingly set for the entire tenor and bass sections. Finally, the full chorus and organ burst forth with a vigorous ending of great fanfare. It still holds a well-deserved place in the standard repertory of cathedrals and parish churches with capable choirs. There are many fine recordings of the anthem and I encourage you to procure a copy.
Sadly, Wesley is one of the last great practicing Anglican church musicians who also composed consistently at a very high standard where quality, intention and practicality all meet. Since then, there have been many along the way from within who have made minor – and sometimes not insignificant – contributions to the wealth of refined church music. However, what really jumps out at me in surveying the last 100-125 years is the vast amount of truly wonderful pieces written for the church but from composers working outside her keep.
In my mind it begins with the teacher extraordinaire, Sir Charles Villiers Stanford (1852-1924) whose students included, among others, Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958), Gustav Holst (1874-1934), John Ireland (1879-1962 – Ireland became one of Benjamin Britten’s (1913-1976) composition teachers), and the inimitable Herbert Howells (1892-1983). Many others followed who did not pursue a career in the Church and yet wrote some of their best music for it. I’ve already addressed Vaughan Williams and Herbert Howells and I will be addressing some of the others in future Listen Up! articles, so I will not pursue details any further here. What I will do here is list ten anthems I consider a fair representation of the “Anglican Revival” and duly encourage you to listen.... and listen again.... and again. What you will find is a rich, broad harmonic palette that is connected to its past without being overly derivative.
As I’ve encouraged you in previous issues, quite literally for the love of God, share it with young people. You are denying them a birthright if you don’t. And if you were denied that inheritance, then here is your chance to reclaim it. Please come in and Listen Up!
SS Wesley Blessed be the God and Father; CV Stanford Beati quorum via; R Vaughan Williams Lord, thou hast been our refuge; H Balfour Gardiner Evening Hymn; J Ireland Greater love hath no man; WH Harris Faire is the heaven; H Howells Take him, earth, for cherishing; B Britten Rejoice in the Lamb; Gerald Finzi Lo, the full, final sacrifice; John Rutter Requiem
Stay tuned.
August 17, 2009
III. William Byrd
One of the strongest bonds of affection in the experience of many, including myself, is that between teacher and student. The power of knowledge is remarkable and the process of conveyance, no less. There is a sense of continuity, a connection to the past and to the future running both ways through the present. It truly is, to use a word from the late 16th century, awesome.
Music, as in many disciplines, demands at certain stages a constancy of work and an unavoidable intimacy of pursuit through its multitude of mysteries. For all the years of my collegiate training, I had the privilege of meeting on a daily basis with my primary teacher, Max Miller, to explore the seemingly endless aspects of refined music. And now, at this stage of my life, I find an increasing satisfaction in the act of teaching our young choristers and to watch their lanterns of learning grow brighter.
One of the more notable relations of this sort in the history of music occurred in the last half of the 16th century between Thomas Tallis (c. 1505-1585) and his student, William Byrd (1543-1623). This was the golden age of the English Renaissance under the long reign of Henry VIII’s daughter, Elizabeth I. While we do not know the full details of the relationship between Tallis and Byrd, we do know they are connected inextricably through the Chapel Royal, where Byrd was “bred up under Tallis,” and later shared duties as organist while serving as Gentlemen of the Chapel Royal. In the mid-1570’s, Queen Elizabeth granted them a 21-year monopoly in publishing, thus bringing them together as business partners, as well as musicians serving the crown. The esteem in which Byrd held his mentor and colleague is reflected in his musical elegy using this text:
Ye sacred Muses, race of Jove,
whom Music's lore delighteth,
Come down from crystal heav'ns above
to earth where sorrow dwelleth,
In mourning weeds, with tears in eyes:
Tallis is dead, and Music dies.
In my last issue we spent time with Tallis and considered his quintessential English anthem, If ye love me. Mr Byrd, equally prolific and equally long-lived, produced polyphony of the most sublime nature, but acquiesced to the new demands of the Reformation when writing for the church. It appears that Byrd held firm to the Roman Catholic Church in his personal life, yet proved a keen survivor through adaptability and diplomacy, not unlike his famous mentor.
Byrd was a teenager at the time Elizabeth I ascended to the throne. And it was his great fortune to serve a monarch richly versed in the musical arts and with a broad tolerance for a diversity of styles, including the use of Latin! There is so much for which to be thankful as a result of that great lady, not the least of which is a treasury of Anglican music as beautiful and divine as any in the world.
So, this was good news for Mr Byrd the composer, but he must have struggled his whole life long privately and I would like to suggest that we see a glimpse of that in one of his most telling anthems, Bow thine ear, O Lord. (There is a Latin counterpart called Civitas sancti tui.) Its form is, more or less, ABA’. What makes it a subtle yet powerful statement is that the A section, to the text “Bow thine ear, O Lord, and hear us: Let thine anger cease from us,” uses the older polyphonic style; the B section, linked to the words, “Sion is wasted and brought low,” is in the simpler homophonic style demanded by the reformers. Byrd returns to a slightly less ornate polyphony, perhaps a symbolic compromise, to conclude the work on the last line, “Jerusalem desolate and void.” It is, in my mind, a lament in which he expresses his own deeply held feelings and yet produces a work of stunning beauty and music with a practical use. That is genius! This anthem is available on one of my favorite CD’s from the Cambridge Singers called Faire is the heaven. It also contains a number of anthems we’ll explore in this miniseries.
One more anthem worth our look here is, Teach me, O Lord. The reason is that it represents a new form particular to Anglican church music, the so-called Verse Anthem. It involves a simple back-and-forth delivery between a solo line and a choral response, probably an extension of the parlor songs of the day. Although not exclusive to psalm texts (look at This is the record of John by Orlando Gibbons, for instance), the form lends itself to the divided verses of psalmody perfectly. That is, the soloist delivers the first half of the verse and the choir responds with the second half. It is a useful and attractive form and still in use. In fact, I used this very form in a commissioned anthem from a few years back called My song shall be alway of the loving-kindness of the Lord (from Psalm 89). I’m afraid my work is not yet recorded, but there is a fine rendition of Mr Byrd’s verse anthem on a CD called Matins for the Feast of Saint Francis of Assisi (our adult choir’s first recording) and available in our church office, oddly enough. Don’t let your inheritance escape you. Come on in and listen up!
Stay tuned.
July 26, 2009
II. Thomas Tallis
“As he did live, so also did he die, / In mild and quiet sort, O happy man!” Such is the epitaph of the man who, in his will, bequeathed his soul unto “Jesus Christ, the only Redeemer of the world.” Thomas Tallis (c.1508-1585), it seems, was a man of humility and deep faith. Whether that faith found final context in the Roman Catholic Church into which he was born or in the new church of the English Reformation that ensued is impossible to say. Either way, his faith in God remained central to his work and his humility seems to have served him well in the realization of a long life.
Almost nothing is known of the early life of young Thomas or even the exact year of his birth. He did marry but only in middle age (1552), after he was financially stable. There is no evidence he had children. His first appointment was as organist of Dover Priory in 1530-31. Mind you, it was only a year later that Henry VIII broke with Rome after failing to get papal approval for the annulment of his marriage to Catherine of Aragon in order to marry Anne Boleyn. The king went so far as to dissolve the monasteries, declaring himself Supreme Head of the Church of England. This, in turn, had a direct impact on Tallis who was in the service of the Augustinian Abbey of Holy Cross in Waltham, Essex, which was dissolved by the end of that decade. By 1541, we find our wandering minstrel singing at Canterbury Cathedral and only two years later he is appointed a “Gentleman” (or singer) of the Chapel Royal and remains in its employ for the rest of his life. That puts Tallis in the rare position of serving four reigning monarchs of the Tudor dynasty, composing and performing for each in turn: Henry VIII, his son Edward VI, and his daughters Mary I (“Bloody Mary”) and Elizabeth I.
In my last article I made a very long leap from plainsong to polyphony. Due to the lack of time and space, that jump is necessary in getting to our subject of Anglican church music, that is to say, music of the Church of England as it developed from the time of Henry’s break with Rome. This leap in no way reflects a lack of riches to be found in the five hundred years between the first preserved manuscripts and the appearance of our dear Mr Tallis. Indeed, without that fertile soil of musical development through the Middle Ages, we would not have the abundant harvest of the English Renaissance as we know it.
For our purposes here, suffice it to say that the embellishment of plainchant led the way to the flowering of elaborate polyphony, an art that arguable reached its zenith in the 16th century. Part of the legacy of the English Reformation is the simplification of that musical style into an expression more comprehensible to the lay ear, especially where the delivery of text is concerned. That is the primary demand that has informed Anglican choral music ever since. In short, every word or syllable was to be paired with one or only a few notes. This simple, accessible style usurped the long and elegant melismatic layerings where text had become subservient to the music. This is where Tallis really shows himself the supreme master of his craft. While never completely abandoning the polyphony of his inheritance nor the use of familiar Latin, he ably adapts to the new parameters set forth and creates a body of work set to English poetry and the vernacular scripture translations available that set the gold standard for England’s new church.
If I had to boil all of this down to one piece and give the quintessential example of what I mean by Anglican church music it would be the deftly crafted anthem in four voices, If ye love me, probably written in the 1540’s by Tallis. It is only 26 measures long with the last 13 measures repeated to extend the structure to an ABB form, a commonly used template by Tallis and his contemporaries. Recordings are numerous and easily available, but I recommend the 2-CD set, The Tallis Scholars sing Thomas Tallis (Gimell UK #B00026W65E) which contains a wealth of music in both polyphonic and homophonic styles. As members of the Anglican Communion, these are your musical roots. So, listen up!
Stay tuned.
July 5, 2009 Part I of a series on Anglican music.
I. Plainsong and the Rise of Polyphony
| Many moons ago I was a teenager, or as my father was wont to say, a "creepager." Other than the odd fact that I was already on a clear track to be a professional classical musician, I was typical in my susceptibilities to the merriment, dramas, and pranks — given and received — of that fair age. By now, however, I'm afraid that grey, girth and gravity all give evidence I'm no longer in that lamentable condition. And I'm certain my mother left this world knowing she'd done what she could to help me acquire a demonstrable maturity that could prove the same. However, I want to be clear that my current state is not without many sweet spoils from those perplexing days; some of those prizes I treasure still. One such gem, naturally for me, is in the realm of music. It was in my teen years that I was introduced to plainsong, that melodious and transcendent music of the Roman Catholic Church that flourished during the Middle Ages a millennium and more ago. My exposure came in the 1970’s in the Southwestern United States in a Methodist Church. (Now how’s that for a mind-bender?) The chant dearest to me to this day is in the form of our Christmas hymn (#82), Divinum mysterium to the poem, “Of the Father’s love begotten.” The melody is from the 11th century — a mere youngster compared to the text, which dates from the 4th century. It is, for me, the “arrival of Christmas” when we sing this hymn as the Fraction Anthem on Christmas Eve. It moves me viscerally and many have been the occasions when the score becomes difficult to read through welling eyes. And, as if that weren’t enough, on Easter Day we sing as the Fraction Anthem the venerable Victimae Paschali laudes (#183) — text and melody both by Wipo of Burgundy (d. 1050?). Goose bumps and tingling spine abound every year. That these still have relevance and are useable tools in our divine worship is nothing short of miraculous. Thanks be to God, indeed, for the vision of these artists, known and unknown! It is no overstatement to say plainsong continues to inform refined composition | to this very day. Just listen to the 1947 Requiem and the Four Motets on Gregorian Themes written in 1960 by the great French organist, teacher, and composer Maurice Duruflé (1902 – 1986), to see what I mean. Okay, I know these works are not Anglican. Nonetheless, they are very high on my “desert island list” and worth your precious time, I can assure you. Since there is little in the way of original manuscripts prior to the 9th or 10th centuries — and even those present interpretation challenges since they bear little resemblance to our modern notational system — it’s hard to say just how far back this music goes or where along the way it became more formalized than its antecedence in Hebrew liturgical music. However, in a nutshell, the development of this sublime monophonic music led directly to the elaborate polyphony of the Renaissance. That is, musicians began adding a second melody to adorn the single-note melody of a given chant. And if two, then why not three parts? And so on. At first, the added notes tended to be of a longer value and simply created an accompanying “harmony” to the existing tune. As time and resistance to these added flourishes gave way, the embellishments became much more elaborate and rendered the original chant melody almost unrecognizable. It was not uncommon for an entire Mass setting, for example, to be based on a plainsong, which had become completely subservient to these added musical adornments. (Now mind you, unlike our day and age, this change was a slow process.) It was into this musical world that Thomas Tallis (1508? – 1585) was born. He is the obvious first step in examining music that can be identified specifically as Anglican given that his long life spanned the turbulent years of the English Reformation and given the prodigious and diverse compositional output bequeathed us. That is where we shall begin next time. Stay tuned. |
April 26, 2009
|
"He is the greatest composer that ever lived. I
would uncover my head and kneel before his tomb.” Thus was the esteem in which
Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827) held him. “He understands effect better than
any of us -- when he chooses, he strikes like a thunderbolt” observed Wolfgang
Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791). “His work will continue to engage the admiration of
judicious hearers as long as the love of harmony shall exist” was the
prediction — so far proven — of the music writer, Sir John Hawkins (1719-1789),
an 18th century contemporary. Who is the subject of such unabashed admiration? It is George Frideric Handel (1685-1759). It was Tuesday of Easter Week this year — April 14 — we marked the 250th anniversary of his death. Georg Friedrich Händel (note the original spelling compared to the English adaptation above) was born the son of a doctor in Halle, in eastern Germany. Dr Händel had hoped his son would pursue law as a career. However, thanks to the enthusiasm of the Duke of Saxe-Weissenfels upon hearing the ten-year-old GFH play the organ, a change of course was made and nearly three centuries of uninterrupted and duly deserved fame resulted. A half dozen “Listen Up!” articles ago, I addressed The Messiah, Handel’s most enduring work. Amazingly, that work is an important but small yarn in the rich fabric of his output. His prolific prowess was renowned then and is staggering to this day. His oeuvre includes dozens of operas, oratorios, concerti, solo keyboard works, and church music of various types. He contributed significantly to nearly every musical genre of his day. Unlike his fellow musical countryman, Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750, born the same year as GFH), “the great and good Mr Handel” was a cosmopolitan man of the world. He lived and studied in Italy for a time and thereafter resided in London, becoming an English citizen. His compositions were known throughout Europe and his public fame has never waned in nearly three centuries. The
| same cannot be said of Herr Bach who slipped into relative obscurity for the better part of a century until Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (1809-1847) revived his monumental Saint Matthew Passion — a subject for another article. Mr Handel was also a very savvy businessman. He rode waves of success, suffered the ever-changing tastes of a fickle public, and yet rebounded by adapting and supplying what was demanded. At his death, Handel had amassed the equivalent of about four million dollars, most of which he left to charity. Now, it's not enough simply to translate that amount into today's currency. The educated population base was much smaller and class divisions much deeper, so achieving that amount of wealth as an artiest is all the more impressive, to my mind. One of the more amusing aspects of Handel's life to me is that he regularly attended church at Saint George's, Hanover Square, and served as a Vestryman there. That's not the amusing part, of course. It's just that from my perspective, I can't help but imagine how the poor parish organist felt! (I do get a small notion, however, whenever Bill Neil, organist for the National Symphony, attends services here. His wife Charlotte, and their daughter, Maggie, are both section leaders in our choir, as you may know.) At any rate, that London parish supported good music from its beginnings in the early 18th century and no less than Thomas Roseingrave and John Keble served as organists at the time Handel attended. Both are regard still as great English musicians of the 18th century. If there is one choral piece that represents Handel best, I would venture to say it is the anthem (one from a set of four) Zadok the Priest, written for the coronation of King George II in 1727. It has been sung at every subsequent British coronation, a truly remarkable feat! Many recordings are available, and I hope you will procure one and see what all the fuss is about. It's got all the bells and whistles and should delight everyone! |
Archives
April 4, 2009
The title of this series takes its name from a particular moment I experienced on a visit to my parents in northern Vermont a few years ago. My father was serving as a layreader in their parish church of St John the Baptist in Hardwick and my father introduced the lesson thusly, “Listen up! and hear the Word of the Lord.” Now I suppose there were those around me who thought it unusual and perhaps even a bit rude that I should chuckle audibly at this. However, his declamation did achieve its purpose in getting our corporate attention (including a nodding retired Naval officer at whom it was directed) and if you know my father you’ll know it was said with a gentle mischievous twinkle in his eye but without a hint of irreverence. And, of course, my mother was relishing all that unfolded in that brief moment. I will never forget it and cherish its memory.
As I write this article I am flooded with memories such as this. I am sitting in room #6 of Copley Hospital in Morrisville, VT waiting for dad’s wife of fifty-two years—my mother—to die. She suffered a series of strokes, lies comatose, and orders have been given not to resuscitate. It’s only a matter of time as, indeed, it is for all of us.
Now for some, this may sound somewhat detached and my writing this as a way of coping. Maybe it is. But I cannot escape the feeling of the calm in this moment being rather pleasant, despite the depth of loss surrounding us. It is born of gratitude to God for a worthy life and a mother who raised, despite our foibles and faults, four decent and productive sons. She was also of the ilk, like many of us, that criticism was hers by right within the family but, by God, those on the outside had better hold their peace. On the other hand, those in her family had better be accountable for themselves and doing their part to make the world a better place—non-negotiable. I suppose it would be dubbed tough love these days.
I’m not naïve enough to think that all was so well defined and dutifully executed. All of us stumbled along our various ways and we all bear our honors and our scars from the heat of battles won and lost. However, the war (read “life”) is almost won for my mother. Through death she will be born to eternal life and will “see face to face.” I have no doubt she will be received into the arms of Love and join that happy throng of the saints in light.
As the inevitable approaches, there is one piece that keeps coming to my mind, a masterpiece of English sacred choral music. It is a work I’ve known most of my life, although I’ve conducted it only twice, the second time here at St Francis Church for a recent All Saints’ evensong. (Don’t forget it is my mother who is responsible primarily for my early exposure to great sacred choral music. She also is the one who recognized my talent first and saw to it that I stayed the course, whether I liked it or not!)
The composition is a stunning setting for double choir by Sir William H. Harris (1883-1973) of Edmund Spenser’s Faire is the Heaven. It has been recorded numerous times, including by the Cambridge Singers on a recording of the same name. Here is the text (from An Hymne of Heavenly Beautie, 1596). I encourage you to seek out and embrace this priceless musical gem.
Faire is the heaven, where happy soules have place,
In full enjoyment of felicitie,
Whence they doe still behold the glorious face
Of the divine eternall Majestie.
Yet farre more faire be those bright Cherubins,
Which all with golden wings are overdight,
And those eternall burning Seraphins,
Which from their faces dart out fiery light:
Yet fairer than they both, and much more bright
Be th’Angels and Archangels, which attend
On Gods owne person, without rest or end.
These then in faire each other farre excelling,
As to the Hightest they approach more neare,
Yet is that Highest farre beyond all telling,
Fairer than all the rest which there appeare,
Though all their beauties joynd together were;
How then can mortalle tongue hope to expresse
The image of such endlesse perfectnesse?
March 15, 2009
The following is a portion of a letter I received from Madeleine Bahar's grandfather, and Laurel's father, Robert Shone, concerning Maddie's funeral service last month. Mr. Shone is an esteemed colleague of mine and served as O-C [Organist/Choirmaster] for many years at Ascension and Saint Agnes in Northwest Washington. I share this with you because I respect his experience and considered opinion. He wrote:
Dear Gary, I wanted to tell you that your splendid playing of the Bach was uplifting. I have always thought that Bach was the most difficult music to bring off successfully, requiring intense concentration. Your O Lamm Gottes, unschuldig alone was a tour de force. I also have always thought that it was one of the master's most unusual flights of fancy, if you will, with the startling chromaticism at the ending.
"In my humble opinion, a liturgy like the one for Maddie is so much more healing than the ones we often hear today with the tearful eulogies and those given by friends. In keeping with that, the powerful presence of so many of Maddie's friends, family and others of all walks of her short, but dynamic life, truly was breathtaking. Many thanks for a wonderful tribute.
I want you to know that I accept Mr. Shone's compliments with humble gratitude, but I also accept them on behalf of a parish that supports the best we have to offer in divine worship. It has been my practice throughout my career to include organ compositions by Johann Sebastian Bach (1685 – 1750) for most funerals I play, and for Maddie's I chose to play nothing but settings by the master. Very few works even come close to the artistic caliber and deeply held sacred intention than anything by Bach. When he wrote S. D. G. (Soli Deo Gloria) on his manuscripts, he meant it!
Now this installment of Listen Up! will appear in the Sounds issue dated March 15th, the day of my mother's funeral in Hardwick, Vermont. I have been asked to play for at least a portion of that service. As much as I do not want to do that (I'd rather sit with my father and brothers, and it quickly gets crowded on an organ bench), it is an opportunity to honor my mother in a meaningful way as we commend her sweet Christian soul to God. So, with the encouraging words from the grandfather of our dear Maddie still ringing in my ears, I will turn once again to the music of Bach. My beloved wife, Julie Keim, will sing, and together we will perform my all-time favorite Bach piece, the aria "Schlummert ein" from his cantata, Ich habe genug. The text is a paraphrase of a brief passage from the Nunc dimittis: "Sleep now, thou weary eyes; Softly and blissfully close."
It was the custom of the more cultured era of Bach's time for members of musical families to keep a "Notebook" of favorite pieces, exercises, and even their own compositions, all written out in their own hand. Bach's wife, Anna Magdalena, was no exception and it is in her Notebook we find her arrangement of her husband's sublime aria. (Anyone who wrongly accuses Bach of not having written a beautiful melody should listen and repent immediately and profoundly!)
What brings this close to home and makes it downright amusing is that Anna transposed it from the original setting for bass solo to a key more suitable for her beautiful soprano voice (as testified to by no less than JSB) and dispensed with the bothersome orchestral interludes, apparently not necessary when sung by a soprano! I can just imagine how the ensuing discussions might have gone in the Bach music parlor or at the dinner table. Oh, to be the fly on that wall....
I will write much more about this giant genius in future issues. But this is where I want us to start, a place of intimate beauty and serene majesty. I'll cite one other note from a very young chorister who sent me a sympathy card in which she wrote, "I felt really bad that your Mom died. I hope you feel better soon. My Mom says chocolate makes everyone feel better!" A dark chocolate bar accompanied those precious words and, you know, I DO feel better already. So, may I recommend you download this exquisite aria, get some good chocolate, and commence feeling better at once. Maddie and Sue Anne would concur, I'm certain.
December 14, 2008
Recently, a dear friend treated me to an event at Congressional Cemetery. I’m sure the choice of the verb “treated” seems contrary to any visit involving a graveyard. However, it serves well here since we were headed to a celebration of the anniversary of the birth of Washington, DC’s own John Philip Sousa (1854-1932), who is buried there. Direct descendants were on hand, speeches were made, a birthday cake was served, and, best of all, the US Marine Band marched in and played several Sousa compositions right there at his grave, including Stars and Stripes Forever. What a commemoration!
It was clear we were among a small but appreciative gathering, not the least of which was a group of young school-aged children. They were gathered in a few rows and seated on the grass at the foot of the gravesite. I was standing directly behind them with an unobstructed view of the band, Sousa’s resting place, and the antics of this merry band of youngsters. Their reaction to the music was animated and genuine. It was sheer delight!
Flashback 40+ years.... When I was a boy growing up in Tulsa, Oklahoma, my parents would take my
three brothers and me to open-air concerts every summer featuring wind ensembles, such as marching bands. Sousa was a regular on those programs and he was my father’s particular favorite. I can still recall with crystal clarity the dissipating heat of the day as the stars began to appear and a welcome evening breeze came up. There was always the smell of a freshly lit cigarette, cigar, or pipe, which I confess I rather liked in that outdoor setting. The murmur of conversations and greetings of friends blended with the crickets and cicadas and served as a prelude to the main event. And then came the music -- live, happening-in-front-of-your-eyes-and-ears, music. Sweet bliss!
Now, as delicious as those evenings were for me, this was not the first place or time I encountered “live” music. You guessed it; it was in church. I’m not sure it’s true any longer, but at one time church was the likeliest place you would encounter classical music being performed live and probably the place you would hear it most often. “The playing of the merry organ, sweet singing in the choir,” as that beloved English carol puts it, has been the staple of church music for centuries in places large and small, urban and rural. God willing, it will continue to hold a place of prominence amidst the invasion of less refined expressions of music. But that will take courage and support in the face of pressures from the secular, popular culture in which we dwell and as the busy world insists on pushing us to the brink of our daily limitations. So, please be of courage!
As we approach Christmas, the musical offerings at services and concerts within and without the church are abundant. Potomac Parish is no exception and we will offer a 30-minute prelude prior to our Christmas Eve services at 5:30 and 10:00 -- 5:00 and 9:30 prelude start times. There is nothing that can come close to the energy of a live performance and I hope you will take the opportunity of engaging these encounters with a renewed focus and a keen ear. What a gift we have been given through the refined musical arts and what a blessing to be able to render that gift so useful in the context of our divine worship. Thanks be to God!
December 7, 2008
One of the great things about classical church music is that it has such strong context. Hymns, anthems, canticles, psalms and service settings can all reflect and expand upon the themes and readings from the lectionary and for special feast days and particular seasons. In addition, it adorns and imbues liturgies with a mystery and beauty only attainable through refined music well performed.
Advent, the season in which we find ourselves at present, is a great example of a sacred time in which some of the finest choral music ever written finds a contextual home. All I need to cite is the countless array of settings composers have made of the Magnificat, the sublime song Mary sings upon the news she is to bear the Son of God. Just last week during our Advent Festival of Lessons and Music, the Saint Francis Choir sang the deeply moving setting by Herbert Howells from his Gloucester Service. Of course, there are the glorious larger-scaled and multi-movement renderings by Antonio Vivaldi and Sebastian Bach, which should be in everyone’s library.
Back in the 1990’s, the Choir of Saint John’s College, Cambridge, under director 
Christopher Robinson, issued two Advent recordings on compact disc that deserve attention. The first is simply called Advent Carols from Saint John’s and was issued by Nimbus Records in 1994. It is a service of Lessons and Carols and is the model for our own Advent Festival. In fact, the very Howells setting mentioned above is one of the tracks. Other highlights for me include Britten’s early composition A Hymn to the Virgin, the very striking Drop down ye heavens by Richard Lloyd, and a thrilling performance of the hymn, Lo, he comes with clouds descending, that will make the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. I recommend seatbelts for that one!
Also on Nimbus Records is their release entitled Fear and Rejoice, O People (Music for Advent and Christmas). This pushes us a bit farther into Christmas, but the collection contains one of my all-time favorite Advent pieces, John Rutter’s ravishing setting of the 15th century Marian text, There is a flower, by John Audelay. This carol was written for the Choir of Saint John’s College and premiered by them during their 1986 Advent Service. The CD also contains the gem, Jesus Christ the apple tree, by Elisabeth Poston and other carols old and new. Please be encouraged to delve into some Advent music and duly mark this season without the headlong rush into Christmas upon which the secular world insists. You may find the twelve days of Christmas more rewarding—rather than it being a void left after the commercial frenzy has stopped—by simply taking the time to mark Advent. Music can help and you should use it liberally to do just that.
November 2, 2008
There is one large-scale musical work for chorus and orchestra in which I have played far more than any other, a claim many musicians can make. It is the oratorio Messiah by George Frideric Handel. The first time I sat at the harpsichord to participate in a performance I was a teenager and wildly excited to be sitting at this strange instrument that a university professor of mine later described as sounding like “two skeletons tussling on a tin roof!” And what a glorious tussle it was with the string sections swirling all around, oboes chattering away, timpani punctuating time, and trumpets offering their fanfares here and there, all in concert with the choir and soloists. And there I was sitting right smack in the middle of it all “jamming” away with the band. Ha-ha!! (Even as you read this, I will be in the middle of a four-concert run of Messiah with the National Symphony Orchestra at The Kennedy Center having an even more gleeful time now with years of experience and a deeper understanding on my side.)
There is no reason to dispute the claim that Messiah is the greatest composition ever written in the English language. It is an absolute masterpiece. The construct is balanced, varied, deftly assembled, and with indelible tunes and dramatic moments. Of course, Handel had Charles Jennens to thank for his contribution as librettist, or more accurately, compiler of the narrative Biblical text (note there are no characters portrayed by any of the soloists). Jennens took from scripture passages that would tell the story of Jesus, the Messiah, from prophesy and nativity to resurrection, ascension and the fulfillment of the Kingdom of God. The whole of the work consists of three sections—a standard feature of baroque Italian opera—and must be understood as a profound Easter piece, NOT a Christmas folly, although that is almost exclusively the time of year it is performed now. This towering work of art, in fact, was premiered on a Tuesday during Holy Week, 13 April 1742, in Dublin, Ireland at the New Musick-Hall on Fishamble Street. The enthusiastic audience numbered around 700, a good 100 more than the venue was designed to accommodate according to Handel himself. In the following performances of that season, women were discouraged from wearing hoop skirts and men from wearing their swords in order that more room might be made available!
All in all, Handel participated in 36 performances of this his most successful work. Naturally, that meant there were revisions along the way, usually to take advantage of particular singers and so, in the quest to obtain a good recording, you will be faced with variant readings. My own preferences run toward the “period instrument” camp and away from the heavier modern orchestra versions, although one must guard against performances that try and recreate that which musicians of the day did not care for themselves, that is, thin minimal forces. That was generally a result of lack of funding—not a stranger to musical organizations of this day!—and the availability of well-trained musicians. So, let me recommend four different recordings and you will have to decide for yourself, or do your own online research.
You won’t go wrong with any of these three: Christopher Hogwood and the Academy of Ancient Music featuring the Choir of Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford on the L’Oiseau-Lyre label; Trevor Pinnock with the English Concert and Choir on Archiv; and Sir Neville Marriner’s first issue with the Academy and Chorus of Saint Martin-in-the-Fields on Decca. (The latter is worth the entire price just for Philip Langridge’s heart-melting rendition of the opening two tenor movements.) The fourth recording is actually on DVD from Columns Classics and provides a beautiful visual aspect to a live performance by the Brandenburg Consort with the Choir of King’s College, Cambridge and their conductor, Stephen Cleobury.
As always, help someone become familiar with this monument of Western culture and telling of the Christian story. Set aside some time to listen together. I know it’s hard, but try.... just try! I would not expect youngsters to be able to sit through the entire piece at first, but they might surprise you with what they can discern fairly quickly. So, pick and choose but stay with it and revisit passages. This IS as good as it gets and it IS worth your valuable time.
October 5, 2008
In my first Listen Up! article I wrote, “Through the work of gifted composers who bother to devote time and energy to writing for the church, we have been enriched and given vehicles for expanding the depth and dimension of our worship beyond measure.” This body of work includes service music, that is to say choral settings of the Mass or Communion Service (Kyrie, Gloria, Credo, Sanctus/Benedictus, Agnus Dei), canticles such as the Magnificat and Nunc dimittis appointed for Evening Prayer, and the dialogue form of the Preces and Responses. It is the latter of these I would like to explore here.
First, I think, there is a question that must be answered: Why do we sing these responses intended for our corporate worship as found in the Book of Common Prayer? For me, it is no different from seeing an object in various shades of light. The object remains the same and imparts the same reason, if you will, for its existence. Yet, when cast in a shadow or thrust into full sunlight, we perceive varying aspects of that existence. Something invariably will catch our eye that we had not seen before—or forgotten—and it is similar to when we hear the same words in differing musical settings.
The Preces, literally “Little Prayers,” is that opening exchange at Morning and Evening Prayer that is said or sung immediately after the Opening Sentences and/or the Confession of Sin (see pages 42 and 63). It also may serve as the opening of the service. Originally these pairs of sentences were combined and then concluded with the Gloria Patri and the response “Praise ye the Lord; the Lord’s Name be praised.” Most settings we use here do just that. For convenience, we print that out in our bulletin as an aid.
Our current BCP has several options for the Responses known as The Suffrages (pages 55 and 67-68). These vary somewhat from the longstanding form in the English BCP, the form that we offer here regularly because of the many settings available (from Tallis and Ayleward, to Howells and Archer). These compositions include the petition for God to “save the Queen” (see Rector’s article in this issue). Published settings of our “A” form are not very numerous and music settings of the “B” options are quite rare. I have penned several arrangements for that reason and we do use those here on occasion both for Matins and for Evensong. The best way to access recordings of all the various settings is to delve into the many compact discs available of Evensong. There is abundance from the venerable English cathedrals and collegiate chapels and we have our very own to offer right here at home. Please be encouraged to buy one through the church office!
I encourage you to keep in mind that when the choirs sing anything on their own, it is not for the congregation’s entertainment. They are expressing a part of our divine worship on behalf of all gathered. If you derive pleasure from that, then all the better! The act itself is enough to make you a participant even if your vocal chords are not vibrating. Hopefully, your mind is engaged and your spirit joined with the body of faithful present. And if in the course of that which is sung you hear something anew or catch a glimpse of meaning not revealed to you before, then simply thank God for that blessing, as always.
September 21, 2008
It’s been a musing of mine for years that girls will save Western classical church music. Well, it’s no longer just musing but is now a reality here. It’s distressing, to say the least, that Potomac Parish has no boys participating in its choirs this year. In addition, even the number of girls has dropped dramatically. It’s a complicated web of reasons why involving schools, media, sports, social pressures, and family priorities. And I’ll not pass up the opportunity to lay blame at the feet of computer generated programs, as well, that, while “producing” easy and quick results to feed our hunger of instant gratification, do no favors where genuine education is concerned.
Now before you’re too quick to point out that I don’t have the worries of raising kids today since I don’t have children, I do want to remind you that I have three brothers and each of us participated in groups such as Boy Scouts, football, marching band, ROTC, school plays, and numerous clubs as we were growing up. My father traveled for much of his career and my mother worked. Somehow, we four little monkeys found ourselves at church every week attending the youth program, singing in the choirs, and taking Bible study courses. It was understood that was a family priority and the answer to the howl of “Why” was always the same, “Because I said so!” I’m certain we didn’t know the reasons then nor could we have understood them had we known them, but I do now. And my gratitude is profound. And it wasn’t just music that I learned in choir. It was how to work as a team, especially where abilities differ, endurance and the benefits of long-term commitment, and overcoming fears of presenting oneself in public and articulating clearly to and interacting intelligently with others.
As I stated back in my first “Listen Up!” article, I’m no longer going to just whine. Instead, I’m going to tell you what I think and try to lead you in a right path of discovery. Okay, so girls it is! The two best all-girl treble choirs I’ve heard were at evensong in Salisbury Cathedral in 1997 and at Wells Cathedral [in this photo, girls & boys] just two years ago. I was blown away and sat there wondering why has this been the domain of boys only for so long. Our own cathedral has a fabulous girl choir that was started within the last decade by our friend, Bruce Neswick. Many recordings are available from these groups and I encourage you to seek them out. One particular recording of an American group I like is from Saint Paul’s Cathedral in Buffalo, New York. It’s entitled “Ex Ore Innocentium” and was issued in 1995 on the Pro Organo label. There are two titles by Ralph Vaughan Williams about whom I wrote in my last article. Highly recommended!
And lastly, if I do say so myself, right here at Saint Francis Church, we have a small but dedicated corps of young women who lead us beautifully in worship with their music-making on a routine basis. “Faire is the heaven,” indeed, and fair also the sweet singing of our girl choristers. Thanks be to God!