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Communications
Listen Up!
— from Gary Davison, Organist & Choirmaster —
January 17, 2012
Last week I wrote to you concerning a negative review I received at the hands of a certain contemporary English composer in his website blog. With no intent of being defensive nor trying to justify my own compositional style in using traditional tonal harmony, I simply could not let the affront go without offering a positive reply regarding one of the things St Francis Church so admirably supports: the pursuit of artfully crafted aural beauty to adorn its liturgies.
Happily, that sour critique was a singular event in my experience. Nonetheless, his lamentable opinion is not unusual in the larger contemporary classical music circles and it is one often fueled by the misguided notion that striving to be wholly original should be the primary or even the sole focus of a true artiste. That’s a slippery slope at best in all pursuits. One must remember that originality implies change (that is not the case in reverse, mind you). And change for the sake of change is simply naïve, if not dangerous. Even Stravinsky remarked that “the more disciplined I am [i.e. being informed with and building on the established and proven patterns of the past], the freer I am.” And I dare say he remains the most original voice in music since Beethoven!
If you will indulge me just a bit more, I’d like to share an opposite story with you. Ironically enough, the very day I was finishing last week’s article for print, a letter arrived in the mail from the mother of a young cathedral chorister here in Washington. The elegantly handwritten note could not have been at more opposite ends of the spectrum from the vile remarks that had beset me previously. It was deliciously amusing, given the context, and profoundly moving, as you will see. Here, in part, is what she wrote: “The copy of the Saint Francis Canticles, signed by you, is among our most treasured possessions – very happy memories, and so meaningful. Please consider us among your most ardent admirers. Recently, at an evensong, I was happily listening to the [sung] Responses, eyes closed – they were so lovely and I thought to myself, They must be by Gary Davison – and they were! Your music is incredibly uplifting and moving; and in my opinion, among the very finest and most sublime of church music. Endless thanks to you for providing the world with such beautiful music.”
Hers was an unusually kind letter, to be sure, and perhaps just a wee bit overstated. Even so, who wouldn’t be gladdened and encouraged by such glowing words? (I can envision quite vividly my own mother smiling down at this little scenario with a benignly smug satisfaction. How sweet, O how sweet!) As I’ve written on numerous occasions in this column, it is not lost on me that the grace of God and the support of this parish are what have allowed my efforts in matters musical to flourish. I thank God daily for that and bid you to accept my thanks, as well. Let us continually “worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness” and in like manner continue to infuse our worship with the holy beauty of refined sacred music. It is no less than meet and right so to do.
January 10, 2012
Recently, and quite by accident, I came upon a review panning an anthem of mine that had been broadcast by the BBC from an evensong at Wells Cathedral last summer. The review appeared on a personal web blog called “5 against 4 [5:4]” by a contemporary English composer called Simon Cummings. Here, in part, is what he had to say:
He then goes on to write, with varying opinions, about the rest of that service and its new music.It's been a long time since a broadcast of Choral Evensong has been featured on 5:4; today's service from Wells Cathedral—part of the New Music Wells Festival—broke the moribund trend of these broadcasts to celebrate English banalities in aspic, & revelled in a collection of new choral music. It got off to a poor start, however; the American composer Gary Davison's setting of a text by Thomas Ken, “Glory to thee, my God, this night”, does little more than execute the most perfunctory & predictable word-painting; it's an utter waste of a really rather lovely text—do we really need yet more composers incessantly churning out this banal brand of generic guff?
Naturally, I was quite shocked to see such a negative assessment of what I thought was a rather good and lovely setting of a wonderful text. The Choirmaster of Wells and the producers at the BBC thought as much or it most certainly would not have appeared on their broadcast. In addition, I had spent quite a bit of time, energy, and care in bringing that anthem to fruition, paying very close attention to Thomas Ken’s sublime hymn text.
Clearly to my mind, Mr Cummings does not regard nor understand those who have a more respectful and historically connected approach to writing music and to its revered place in the context of worship. Having come to realize this, after much wailing and gnashing of teeth(!), I now simply pity poor Mr Cummings. After all, those “English banalities in aspic” have fed generations of Christians with a veritable feast of inspiring beauty and helped guide multitudes of souls in a right and worshipful praise of God. Because of the BBC’s tireless efforts, I am afforded a seat at that cherished board and find myself with a full and gladdened heart as those before me have.
There is an easy and unswerving answer to the question posed by Mr Cummings, “Do we really need yet more composers incessantly churning out this banal brand of generic guff?” It is a resounding yes. At the risk of justifying my own banal brand of generic guff I say again, yes! Happily, the world of “new music” does include a few of us dinosaurs who still believe in the worth of artful beauty and the importance of insightful texts. Tallis, Byrd, Purcell, Handel, Atwood, Wesley, Parry, Stanford, Vaughan Williams, Howells, Rutter, (etc, etc, etc.) remain as relevant as ever and I take great encouragement from their efforts and example. Thanks be to God for the gift of beauty and our opportunity to make use of that precious gift in our musical offerings.
December 19, 2011
The world of imagery abounds in so many of our beloved Christmas carols: tender-stemmed roses blooming; the moaning frosty winds and snow-on-snows of the bleak mid-winter; shepherds abiding in the fields keeping watch over their flocks by night; angels winging their flights o’er all the earth; harps of gold; conspiring choirs of angels singing in exultation; Sages journeying from distant lands on a mysterious quest; bright shining silent stars; a pure and holy mother clad in blue laying her baby in a humble manger for his bed; echoing mountains; fields and floods, rocks, hills and plains repeating our joyful songs; etc, etc. It’s a long and colorful list to be sure and I’m certain you can think of many more images, as well.
I rather like these images, but I try hard to keep in mind their intention as metaphors for the deeper inner landscapes of just what came to pass some two thousand years ago. Once we make that shift from the literal image to the more abstract meaning, we move closer to unfolding that great mystery of the Incarnation, which John so eloquently described. We also are afforded a better understanding of the many curious references to Easter in some of our carols whilst yet cozied in this “most wonderful time of the year!”
One of my favorite Christmas poems is by Robert Southwell (c.1561-1595), an English poet and martyred Catholic priest. The poem, A Child My Choice, is sublime in its deft word play and abstract imagery. It was through a musical setting by the late Wayne Dirksen of this text that I first encountered it and I strongly commend that anthem to your attention. It has been recorded many times, including by our own Julie Keim on her Christmas album of the same name. Here then is reprinted that poem, and with it I wish you all a very merry Christmas, indeed!
Let folly praise that fancy loves, I praise and love that Child
Whose heart no thought, whose tongue no word, whose hand no deed defiled.
I praise him most, I love him best, all praise and love is his;
While him I love, in him I live, and cannot live amiss.
Love’s sweetest mark, laud’s highest theme, man’s most desired light,
To love him life, to leave him death, to live in him delight.
He mine by gift, I his by debt, thus each to other due,
First friend he was, best friend he is, all times will try him true.
Though young, yet wise, though small, yet strong; though man, yet God he is;
As wise he knows, as strong he can, as God he loves to bliss.
His knowledge rules, his strength defends, his love doth cherish all;
His birth our joy, his life our light, his death our end of thrall.
Alas! He weeps, he sighs, he pants, yet do his angels sing;
Out of his tears, his sighs and throbs, doth bud a joyful spring.
Almighty Babe, whose tender arms can force all foes to fly,
Correct my faults, protect my life, direct me when I die!
November 24, 2011
For as long as I can remember it’s been a muddle. It’s this business of Advent, that peculiar Christian season of preparation leading us to Christmas. The “real world” long has been busy – since before Halloween, for crying out loud – whipping us into a glittered frenzy trying to convince us that a good sale on dry goods and hardware, which we can then wrap and put under a tree, is a far better approach to the annual celebration of the birth of Jesus. I’ll admit there is much enjoyment to be had from the merriment of the secular world, but man, what a let down on 12/25. I mean, good grief, what was THAT all about? And now what? After-sales? That’s definitely my Charlie Brown moment at the wall talking to Linus about how depressing Christmas can be. (I actually encourage you to watch that courageous little animated masterpiece. My spine still tingles when Linus steps forward into the spot light on his school’s stage and gently recites the passage from Luke.)
Despite the ceaseless racket of the commercial world, some of us try and actually guard this sacred time set aside for quiet contemplation of the mysteries about to unfold. One of the ways we attempt that daring feat here at St Francis is through the use of music intended specifically for Advent. It’s not easy to resist all those charming Glorias and Fa-la-la-la-las until their duly appointed time, but in fact that time will come and the underlying meaning of the sweet singing in the choir will have so much more depth. And perhaps, just perhaps, the morning of 12/25 won’t seem quite so bleak and empty after all.
Happily, our annual Advent Festival affords us a wonderful occasion to come together as a parish family and hear once again in Holy Scripture, amplified by works from our rich musical treasury, the story of our disobedience and God’s merciful promise of redemption. It’s not an easy journey and certainly not one we will finish in the span of an hour-long gathering. But it, along with the offerings of our Sunday morning liturgies and weekly study groups during Advent will set us on good solid footing for where we are eventually headed once again with all of this.
So, let me invite and encourage you to come to the Advent Festival of Lessons and Music on 4 December at 5:30 in the parish church. There will be hymns for all to sing, choral music to challenge and uplift our spirits (including my new setting of Adam lay ybounden commissioned by The University of the South at Sewanee), and readings to edify our hearts and minds. A reception follows with the usual elegant Dolan delights. (I’m sure Susan would love some help. Hint, hint!) Childcare will be available for the very young. Please do take this occasion to invite friends and colleagues. Go ahead. Don’t be bashful! They just might even say yes.
November 13, 2011
Once again my sharp-witted friend and colleague, Rob Lehmann, is up to his usual acerbic observations. This time he has turned his attention to the use of traditional language in church, especially in light of the 400th anniversary of the issue of the 1611 Authorized Version of the Bible. The November issue of The Journal of the Association of Anglican Musicians features an article entitled “Words of Worship” by our dear Dr Lehmann. With his permission, please allow me to share some of it with you. I will make copies of the full article available on the desk just outside of the parish office.
Rob writes, “....the fact that English does not possess a gender-neutral personal pronoun has caused our language to become stilted, awkward, and clumsy: “God said to God’s people,” or worse still, “And blessed be God’s kingdom.” Now there’s an inconsistency!
In our consumer-driven “me” church where liturgy is crafted around our own feelings and sensitivities, there is inherent danger in imposing our own interpretation of language, reflective of our political and social sensibilities, upon the historical texts of the church. Sometimes I wonder: would we really need inclusive or expansive language if we concerned ourselves only with God’s hearing and not with how we perceive what we are saying? All too often we forget – or ignore – the simple primary fact that worship is not about us! While I think it is fair to say that planners of liturgy make an effort to ensure that it reflects thoughtfulness, intellect, excellence, beauty, and fidelity to our Anglican heritage, the beauty of language seems all too often sacrificed on the altar of political correctness. Aristotle said, “We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.”
As the Church marks the 400th anniversary of the King James translation of the Bible, it seems to be an appropriate time to consider the words we hear and say and sing in our worship and to reflect on the depth of meaning that the Jacobean English contributes to our liturgy and devotion. The work of many companies of men, The KJ Bible is the fruit of an extraordinary bureaucratic process stretching over almost ten years, yet it is probably the most beautiful compendium of prose ever assembled. What many do not realize is that this translation was not written in the English vernacular of the day. Rather, the translators carefully drew from the depths of the English language to select the most musical, beautiful, and colorful words in the English vocabulary. The KJ Bible is a book that wants to be heard and, as such, the grueling selection of words was paramount to the process.
Yet, even though linguistic perfection has virtually been achieved in this Bible, persistent modernization of biblical texts continues to take place. I, for one, cannot embrace the neutralization and dilution of the language. My baby Jesus will forever be wrapped in “swaddling clothes” and never in “bands of cloth!”
As church musicians we often end up being stewards of this language, something that comes with a weighty responsibility. While our liturgical texts are ever growing and richly fed by a variety of sources, we must not lose the beauty of this language! We must strive to preserve this element of beauty in a church torn apart by narcissistic commercialism and the feel-good mentality. Our high calling demands nothing less.”
November 6, 2011
This coming weekend, God willing, The Rev’d Mariann Edgar Budde, will be consecrated and seated as the ninth Bishop of Washington. She steps into a vast political arena here in our nation’s capital and she will be faced with many challenges on Mount Saint Alban at home, as well as the divisive issues currently besetting the Episcopal Church nationally and the wider Anglican Communion globally. And if that’s not enough, one of her primary duties as a diocesan bishop is to shepherd the churches of this region and encourage its various clergy and congregations. Even in the best of circumstances that’s tantamount to herding a bunch of crazed cats.... er, I mean stubborn sheep! This is no easy task and if you’ve ever been around the literal kind of stubborn silly sheep, you’ll know exactly what I mean!
Hopefully, no matter where we stand on any of the issues buzzing about (theology aside for my purposes here, please), we all wish Dr Budde well. That’s certainly the decent thing to do if for no other reason than the respect of the office in which she soon will find herself and for the high calling to which she has responded. In this spirit of goodwill, I’m happy to report I received and accepted a commission from our cathedral to compose a festal anthem of thanksgiving on the occasion of her consecration. Over 300 singers from member choirs of the diocese will perform the new work, including three of our very own dedicated choristers: Lisa Johnsen, Katherine Kuckelman, and Andy Robart. The cathedral’s music director, Michael McCarthy, will conduct.
I won’t deny that it’s very flattering to have been entrusted with such a task, and quite humbling to see my own name listed with the likes of Sir Hubert Parry and John Rutter, whose music they also are singing. Do let me hasten to add that my feelings include a continuing and ever-mindful gratitude for the support and encouragement I receive from St Francis Church for this part of my musical endeavors and for my ministry to and through this parish.
Since most of us are unable to attend the consecration service on the 12th, our choirs will offer this new anthem here at home on the following Sunday morning as part of our own worship and as a means of joining ourselves to the goodwill of this transition. The text was chosen from the lectionary for the Feast of Saint Peter and Saint Paul. Not surprisingly, images abound as to the role of a shepherd in both the Old and New Testament lessons appointed. Here then are the passages I set to music under the title of The True Shepherd:
Jesus said, “Feed my lambs, tend my sheep.” For thus says the Lord GOD: I myself will search for my sheep and I will seek them out. As shepherds seek out their flocks when they are among their scattered sheep, so I will seek out my sheep. I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep and I will make them lie down, says the Lord GOD.
The first line comes from the 21st chapter of Saint John’s gospel; the rest of the text is from Ezekiel 34. I liked the notion of being reminded God is our True Shepherd, and that through the Good Shepherd Jesus’ words we are given to care for others, following his example and command (id est not our own). I’ve attempted to portray this succession, if you will, by layering these passages in the musical texture of the anthem, a device unique to music’s ability to conjoin ideas simultaneously and harmoniously. On that note, he that hath ears to hear, let him hear.
October 25, 2011
Regarding All Saints Evensong, Sunday, November 6, 2011 at 5:30
[For more about the feast of All Saints, read the rector's column.]
Upon my arrival at St Francis Church in early 1995, we instituted a music series called Music at Eventide. The name suggests exactly what it is: a series of musical events offered in the evening. Primarily, the series consists of various worship services, such as evensong, in which the choir sings from the refined treasury of church music, offering a unique expression of worship on behalf of all gathered. It has been a gratifying part of my endeavors over the years here and, I dare say, a strong component of our music ministry. These occasions also give the choir a chance to spread their musical wings a bit and sing some works of greater length and challenge than is possible on a week-to-week basis for Sunday morning liturgies.
This will be true of our All Saints’ evensong coming up on 6 November at 5:30 in the parish church. The featured anthem is a polyphonic setting in five voices of O quam gloriosum by William Byrd (1540-1623). The intricate lines of this gem are woven like an aural lace of exquisite beauty on the Latin text that translates thusly: O how glorious is the kingdom
in which all the saints rejoice with Christ. Clad in robes of white
they follow the Lamb wherever he goes.
It is nothing less than a great privilege that we are able to use Byrd’s artistry in our own day and a true blessing that we are given that opportunity within the context of divine worship for which its use was intended. If you would like to hear this anthem prior to All Saints’, I recommend a recording by The Choir of Trinity College, Cambridge, under the direction of Richard Marlow called Byrd: Cantiones Sacrae (tracks 20 and 21).
As many of you know, the two canticles appointed for evensong are the Magnificat (the song of Mary), which follows the first lesson, and the Nunc dimittis (the song of Simeon), which follows the second. These venerable “songs” have proven very fertile ground for composers over a very long period of time. The oldest settings we have date back more than a millennium and it’s almost certain that numerous earlier settings were known that have not survived in manuscript form.
The most recent settings include one from my own pen. Happily, I was asked to write a new set for the Exon Singers this past summer for their late July festival in Tavistock and it is these newly crafted works we will offer during our All Saints’ evensong for the first time here at home. (By the way, “Exon” is in reference to the city of Exeter in Devon, which is where the Exon Singers were founded forty-five years ago.)
I composed the Exon Service while staying in the beautiful market city of Wells in Somerset during the weeks leading up to the festival. I drew inspiration from the great supporting central “scissors arches” of their cathedral. They are portrayed in the convergence and crossing of ascending and descending lines in the organ part which, like the arches to the building, support the structure of the vocal parts.
We hope you will join us for this service as we commemorate the saints in light and those in the circle of our parish family who have died over the course of the past year. There will be a reception following in St Francis Hall to which everyone is invited. Please encourage a guest to come with you. You may want to consider sharing this article with them as a means of inviting them.
As promised, an excerpt from Rob Lehman’s recent article in The Journal of The Association of Anglican Musicians. Reprinted with permission of the author. Brace yourself....
It’s Good Enough: It’s Just a Church Choir
(Some thoughts – a rant, actually – on the assertion of a vocation of church music and liturgical leadership.)
Our mandate as church musicians is to lead our congregations up to that thin veil that separates us from the heavenly choirs of cherubim and seraphim; to offer them a glimpse – a foretaste – of a heavenly eternity and Messianic banquet. It is a very high calling indeed and one that we could not fulfill without those dedicated individuals who understand that their role as a chorister is pivotal in this undertaking. I do not refer to just non-paid singers here, but to all those who sing in our choirs in the service of the Church.
The “modern church” is built on the conviction that the church is a place where you come to get something. One need only turn on a television set to find a preacher at one of today’s mega-churches prattling on about the power of positive thinking and the ability each of us possesses to turn our lives around. We exist in a place where all are made to feel good about themselves, where kudos and warm fuzzies are freely bestowed to one and all in great abundance. We uphold everyone – all sorts and conditions of men – as a “winner” lest we bruise delicate egos, damage one’s self-esteem or, heaven forbid, call attention to the fact that people are different and each possesses varying gifts. This is a culture of taking from the Church with no cultivation of the spirit of giving to the Church. Where is Jesus in this mode of thinking? Where is our debt of gratitude to the One who breathed life into us and drew his last breath for us?
We live in a time where promises, covenants, oaths and vows seem meaningless. The integrity needed in the keeping of a promise seems to be conspicuously absent from our post-modern American culture. The great ineffable truths once fashioned by artisans in medieval stone and universally understood and accepted today receive little more than glib lip service. Apparently they no longer apply. Why do clergy gather to renew their ordination vows annually? Was their original ordination vow not an irrevocable covenant between the Ordinand, the Church, and God? Do these vows expire? (Don’t even get me started on the clergy’s ordination promise to be “loyal to the doctrine, discipline, and worship of Christ as this Church has received them.”) The Baptismal rite asks us pointedly if we will “do all in [our] power to support these persons in their life in Christ.” When is the last time your parish’s CE director tried to find a Sunday School teacher or someone willing to help to bring a child along in the faith of the Church? Oh, I would do it, but we often go out of town on the weekends…
My point is this: today it seems that a promise is easily made but is kept only when it suits the person making the promise to do so or so long as it remains convenient to do so. This brings me to the topic of our choirs and the commitment that they are asked to make and the commitment they actually fulfill. In my experience, the commitment made is seldom the commitment honored. By way of example, I offer this dialogue I had with a singer earlier this season at a post-Evensong cocktail party:
Singer: Tom and I have decided to go out of town for two weekends in May. Also, I’ll be late for Lessons and Carols on Sunday. Oh, and we’ve decided to go to a show Tuesday of Holy Week, so I’ll miss the Easter Rehearsal with brass. I’ll email you with all of the other new dates I will be missing.
Me: (Count slowly to ten.) But Joan, these are very important services and rehearsals to which you committed yourself when you signed your contract several months ago. My initial response is that I’m afraid I can’t let you sing Lessons and Carols or Easter Day; it would set a bad precedent and put me in the position of upholding a double standard. That isn’t fair to anyone in the group.
Singer: But you need me! I can come in and just read it off perfectly. People in this parish want to see me up there in the choir! I’m an excellent musician!
Me: (No you aren’t.) We don’t need you so badly that I can sanction a double standard and allow you to flaunt that you enjoy special entitlements that others don’t.
Singer: But you can’t prevent me from singing. It is my vocation, my calling!
Me: Well, if that is truly the case, I question your calling and think that you need to question whether your vocation doesn’t deserve more than you seem to be willing to give it. If it is your calling, then shouldn’t it get first priority?
Singer: You know, there are lots of singers in this town that won’t sing for you. You have a “reputation!”
Me: (So do you.) If you refer to the reputation that I insist on my singers’ being accountable for their promises made to this parish and its music program, then I’m happy to have it and will wear it proudly.
At that point I left this impromptu interview, thanked the host, and departed from the party. I was not moved to discuss this further and I had better gin at home anyway. There is so much flawed thinking exhibited in this singer’s attitude that it leaves me searching for words with which to respond.
A vocation requires sacrifice. If one is called to some facet of ministry, it is done at the expense of other things, other activities, other desires. Did not Peter, Andrew, James and John drop everything and abandon their fishing enterprise when called to follow Jesus? Do we not sometimes have to miss tempting opportunities because we have to practice, or we have a rehearsal of some kind? Have you ever called a bride to tell her that you had decided to go out of town the coming weekend so there would be no music at her wedding? (I didn’t think so.) I am not suggesting that any of our singers should quit their day job or give up their social schedule, or not be permitted to miss a rehearsal occasionally, but I know that we all arrange our rehearsal schedules to make them as convenient as possible for those involved, yet the choir rarely takes first place on the singers’ list of priorities. I also know all too well that we cannot control the dates of major feasts of the Church – the Church has already fought that battle – and that Christmas, Easter, All Saints, etc. are invariable dates duly noted in the almanac of public knowledge.
I herewith boldly advance the belief that singers know exactly what they are agreeing to take on when they join our choirs and when controllable conflicts arise, a singer’s obligation to their choir must come first. Of course I have lost singers because of this attitude. But, interestingly, I have seen the formation of serious, dedicated Christians come about as a result of my policy – many more than have ever quit because of the “unreasonable” strictures placed upon them. It is through the liturgy and the regular on-going repetition of the prayers that one is spiritually fed. To those who are truly called to a vocation of church music, it will always be their first priority.
A choir is an integral component and leader in liturgy but can only sing as well as the least-prepared member is capable of doing. Better preparation is a result of excellent attendance and making the choir a very high priority. You need to have the same people rehearsing the music as actually sing it on Sunday! Does not our God deserve the very best we can possibly offer, and should not that offering be at the very top of our priority list?
Thanks for listening. I feel better now.
[Copies of the complete article are on the desk outside the parish office. GD]
September 11, 2011
Long have I resisted the temptation to make a proclamation on the intrusion of sports on church and her programs. Until now.
I like sports. I grew up in Dallas, Texas where sports is a major part of the fabric of life. My high school football team always made it to the state playoffs and several times won the championship. Tom Landry came to church at Highland Park Methodist where I was the Assistant Organist during my high school years. I saw the former Texas Stadium built. Several of my buddies and I would attend soccer games played by the Dallas Tornado when the incredible Kyle Rote, Jr played for them. Prior to Highland Park, I attended a private school with Bob Lilly’s son. My older brother, Steven, played on the varsity football team there as a much-feared defensive tackle. “Stick ‘em” was heard resounding across the field every time Steven stopped a runner in his tracks, which earned him a small decal to add to his already cluttered helmet. And when I was a boy living in Tulsa, many were the Saturdays we’d pile in the car for a day trip to Fayetteville to see the Razorbacks play at home. (My father played in the college marching band at the University of Arkansas while at university and his allegiance to the “Piggies” remains unwavering to this day.)
I was surrounded by sports and enjoyed it immensely. But one thing never happened. Games were not played on a Sunday morning. Maybe it was the part of the country where I grew up, maybe it was the “times.” Certainly our parents were not prone to negotiating with their four willful sons. It would not have mattered to them if the Super Bowl had been played on the lowest Sunday morning of the year. We were going to church! Right worship is a Christian duty.
Fortunately, that conflict did not present itself to us in those days. But it does now. And it’s not right. It’s especially not right to infringe on a time that has long been sacrosanct and to put folks like you and me in the uncomfortable position of competing, especially for our children’s time and attention when it’s not necessary.
From a program standpoint such as our music ministry, it makes building a strong and cohesive choir almost impossible anymore. We ask only an hour, more or less, during the week to gather for rehearsals and a commitment of 2 hours on a Sunday morning. From my conversations with choir kids over the past few years, it is not unusual for sports to require 4 or 5 practices per week of several hours each.
We’re all trying to build “teams” involving cooperation with one another, the discipline of perfecting certain skills, and a sense of commitment and dedication to a purpose. I submit that our purpose as Christians is far more important than that of sports. That may fly in the face of many. But please be assured it’s not a slam on sports. It’s a reaction to the “low priority” church holds for so many now. That’s not a term of my own invention; I borrowed it from a choir parent who told me that to my face recently. I’ve also been told that 3 hours on a Sunday morning for rehearsal, participating in a service, and then going to Sunday School was just too much time for church. I was stunned and remain so.
However, in keeping with my intention of educating and encouraging through this column, I would like to send out a call to arms. Play sports, and play hard. But for God’s sake, quite literally, let’s commit ourselves to church on Sunday and to the programs she offers. The opportunities here are many and worthy of your time.
May 25, 2011
In my last column, I promised a look at Stanford and Parry, the two I regard as the “Godfathers” of 20th century Anglican choral music. But before we delve into their significant contributions, please permit me to take a quick detour that has a timely element to it and some relevance to our current topic.
On Thursday, June 2nd at 8:00 pm in the parish church, we will observe the Feast of the Ascension using the liturgy called Compline, which is in our current Book of Common Prayer on page 127. Among the works the choir will sing, is a choral setting of the Rev’d John Ellerton’s brilliant hymn text, Sing, ye faithful, sing with gladness. We sang this hymn just this past Sunday to a wonderful tune by a former organist of St Paul’s Cathedral in London, Christopher Dearnley (1930-2000). You can find the hymn at #492 in our current hymnal and I highly commend it to your study.
The late Richard Wayne Dirksen (1921-2003) set this text on a commission from All Saints Church in Beverley Hills, California and it is this setting we will sing on June 2nd. It was one of the very last pieces he wrote and that after he declared retirement from writing. Thanks be to God he reneged on that promise because he bequeathed us a masterful setting of a masterful text, a winning combination if there ever was one. You may recall that the Saint Francis Choir had the great honor of singing this anthem during an All Saints’ evensong here in the presence of the composer shortly before his death.
Dirksen was born three years prior to the death of Stanford and the latter’s musical sensibilities certainly informed the former’s. They were both teachers of renown who shaped the musical careers of many. However, one major difference was a theme I will pick up on in future columns on the 20th century. Dirksen’s career was planted firmly in church music, most notably as the Organist & Choirmaster of our cathedral here in Washington. Stanford’s was primarily in academia where he taught an impressive array of British composers at The Royal College of Music in London and at Cambridge University. (Just a note of interest: Stanford’s ashes are buried in Westminster Abbey next to Henry Purcell, the great early baroque composer who almost singlehandedly put Great Britain as a major player on the worldwide musical map. We will be singing an anthem by Purcell, as well, during Compline on June 2nd.)
It is already indisputable that Dirksen made a lasting contribution to Anglican church music. He is one of the very few Americans to do so and as such stands as a beacon of encourage-ment to those of us still “in the trenches” fighting for the cause of refined music to adorn our corporate worship of God. He personally encouraged me through a number of letters and by attending the premiere of my large choral work, Flowers in the Snow. That was the last time I saw this “gentle giant,” still a powerful force of encouragement even in the frail twilight of his earthly life.
Please do join us for Compline as we commemorate the glorious ascension of our Lord and Savior. This is a golden opportunity to bring a guest or three as we meet in the candlelit beauty of our parish church and to introduce them to our community of faith. A reception follows in St Francis Hall to which all are invited.
May 2, 2011
Like many of you, I watched the recent wedding of Prince William to Kate Middleton, now the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge. A nearly flawless service of such grandeur and beauty is to be given its particular due, especially in this day of media production glitz and technical wizardry. The “players” were very much real and they brought this ceremonial spectacular off very much in real time – no retakes or edits. I would not have missed it, and I was not disappointed, to say the least. Not that that matters in and of itself nor to anyone else, admittedly, but me. However, I did take from it something that matters immensely to all of us, a theme that Mr Shand has sounded time and again for us here at Potomac Parish: Encouragement.
Economic woes, weather calamities, war, international strife, pretentious political posturing, celebrity shenanigans (including sports), and just the stresses of everyday life constantly pull at us and distract us. Indeed, it becomes almost impossible to find any sort of encouragement in the ensuing fray. The noisy media frenzies that occur around the above list – and so much more – are enough to discourage even the most resolute at heart. God save the Queen, indeed.... and the rest of us, too, from at least that!
Yes, the dress was dazzling and the bride radiant, the gallant prince made for a dashing groom, the beloved Queen stood absolutely regal and stalwart in her golden array, the solemn processions proved profoundly stirring, the splendid sea of hats (some worthy of the fertile imagination of the late Dr Seuss) wowed the eye, and the music – oh, the glorious music – resounded heavenly in that historic church. But even beyond all that visual and aural richness steeped and connect so beautifully to its heritage and tradition was a momentary glimpse of that slow and inevitable transition of knowledge and duty being passed from “one generation to another.” I find that terribly moving and, indeed, encouraging. And as Christians, that process is a joyful essential to our very existence here on earth and for the life to come.
Unfortunately, as we all know and see all too often, it is remarkably easy to get off the tracks, those paths that have the weight of truth and the proof of time. It is in our willful nature to “make our own road,” or to “re-invent the wheel,” or simply to “do what feels good!” Here in Washington we get a constant earful of just how things are going to change! Really? And, speaking of change, the Episcopal Church is so taken with crafting experimental liturgies these days, it makes one’s head spin. Sadly, for many of us, it has had the reverse effect of “broadening” our identity or strengthening our understanding.
Now, naturally, we don’t get it right all of the time, perhaps most of the time, even in some of the long-standing traditions to which we sometimes so desperately cling. Nobody does. But when we do get it right, it is to those examples we should fix firmly our eyes and on which we should steadfastly pattern our behavior and learning. And change for the good is not to be eschewed. After all, Jesus certainly changed things in a BIG way.
Now before I go too far down the slippery slope here, let me turn to a realm of which I know at least a little. The music William and Kate chose for their wedding was planted firmly in the tradition of a refined and solemn music, as it should have been for such an occasion. The great Anglican composer Sir Charles Hubert Hastings Parry (1848-1918) was omni-present in the lineup. Parry, along with Sir Charles Villiers Stanford (1852-1924), can be seen as the prototypes to the great “Anglican Revival” of the 20th century, which I’ve begun addressing recently. In the next few issues, I am going to take some time to consider these musical giants and see why it is they set a new pattern for refined music embraced by the church and, happily, how they carried forward that tradition with feet firmly planted in the proven past and with eyes fixed firmly on the future. I am convinced that they truly “got it,” this business of one generation to another.
Both, but notably Stanford, taught a great number of the musicians who found their way into many of the lofts of England’s collegiate chapels and great cathedrals. Arguably, Stanford’s greatest pupil was none other than Ralph Vaughan Williams of whom I’ve written much in the past month or so. The most remarkable thing about all three of these men – at least through the lens of the church and its music – is that none of them pursued a career in church music, as such. That is a profound shift, indeed, worthy of our study and I shall endeavor in coming issues to consider that change and its impact on us.
April 18, 2011
Not surprisingly, one of the most eloquent expressions regarding the resurrection came from the pen of the great metaphysical poet and Anglican priest, George Herbert (1593-1633). Under the simple but unambiguous title of Easter, he crafted a most expressive poem in which music is given a noble metaphorical place of honor in celebrating “this most high day.”
Easter
Rise, heart; thy Lord is risen. Sing his praise
Without delayes,
Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise
With him may’st rise:
That, as his death calcinèd thee to dust,
His life may make thee gold, and much more, just.
Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part
With all thy art.
The crosse taught all wood to resound his name
Who bore the same.
His stretchèd sinews taught all strings, what key
Is best to celebrate this most high day.
Consort both heart and lute, and twist a song
Pleasant and long:
Or since all music is but three parts vied,
And multiplied;
O let thy blessèd Spirit bear a part,
And make up our defects with his sweet art.
Without delayes,
Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise
With him may’st rise:
That, as his death calcinèd thee to dust,
His life may make thee gold, and much more, just.
Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part
With all thy art.
The crosse taught all wood to resound his name
Who bore the same.
His stretchèd sinews taught all strings, what key
Is best to celebrate this most high day.
Consort both heart and lute, and twist a song
Pleasant and long:
Or since all music is but three parts vied,
And multiplied;
O let thy blessèd Spirit bear a part,
And make up our defects with his sweet art.
Stanza 1: Within the very first line, our hearts are prompted to sing in response to the Lord’s arising from the dead. Herbert wastes no time in getting to that point. He also makes brief reference to alchemy (“calcined thee to dust”), but with an expanded result that takes us far beyond mere gold, that of being “just.”
Stanza 2: Herbert here gives ample evidence of his familiarity with the physics of music and his profound theological insight. He chooses the lute, a wooden plucked-string instrument not dissimilar to a guitar and of great popularity in the Renaissance and Baroque eras, to demonstrate. The lute was used primarily as an accompanying instrument to vocal music, i.e. that which is sung, such as Herbert suggests the heart do in stanza one. Made of wood – as was the cross (and consider the resonance of that!) – with a flat top and pronounced rounded back, the lute’s strings are amplified, if you will, by the resonance created by the wood and captured within the enclosed space with the egress of sound coming through a round, oft-ornate opening on the flat topboard of the instrument. Perhaps a bit gory, but absolutely brilliant, is Christ’s “stretchèd sinews” giving clue to the strings of “what key is best.” One would have to know – and be able to articulate – that strings must be stretched and put under a fair amount of tension to achieve the proper state for vibrating a steady pitch, a requisite in creating music. Herbert wisely refrains from stating a specific “key.”
Stanza 3: Finally, heart and instrument are brought together to “twist a song pleasant and long.” That consorting is magnified by the astute observation that music, as Herbert knew it in the 17th century – or more specifically, a “key” to which he refers in stanza 2 – is defined fully by a minimum of three pitches (“three parts vied”) with the ability to expand (“And multiplied”) such as one might find in the more elaborate works by Byrd and Tallis. The latter’s forty-voice motet Spem in alium comes quickly to mind. How’s that for “multiplied”?
On this Easter Day, during the ministration of communion, our treble choristers will give the first performance of a setting of this poem by yours truly. This anthem is the result of a commission I offered to the Silent Auction of the 2010 Potomac Country House Tour. The winning bid came from Karen Brinkmann and Fred Johnsen and the work is dedicated to the glory of God and in memory of their dear Katherine. In addition, I’ve scored the piece with a viola part for Katie’s younger sister, Lisa, last year’s Head Chorister and one of our current Choral Scholars.
Setting this text was easy enough given Herbert’s clarity of structure and use of musical metaphor. The first stanza is given to the chorus who represent the singing heart. The viola (the lute’s proxy) makes its entrance at stanza two where the lute is beckoned to awaken and play its part. Then in stanza three, I make brief use of a medieval device called hocket, a sort of quick back-and-forth of parts, on the words “Consort” and “twist” to represent the interplay of heart and lute. “Pleasant and long” suggest its own treatment, as well as “three parts vied, And multiplied,” which led me to multiple divisi of the chorus. And finally, where the Spirit is invoked to join in, the music reaches its dramatic summit, then wends its way to a quiet ending with the viola having the last say with an ascending line representing our risen Lord. (Also, listen for the crunchy chord in the piano at the word “defects” and the choral resolution on “with his sweet art.”)
What was not so easy was in crafting a piece worthy of Herbert’s poem. I’ve tried my best and only time will tell if, in fact, it’s a fair match. In addition, our Listen Up! subject-of-late, Ralph Vaughan Williams, bothered to set this text as the first of his majestic Five Mystical Songs. RVW’s setting is for baritone solo, chorus, and orchestra. It’s one of my favorite works of his. With that looming over my shoulder, there was a certain pressure in the process of composing my own setting. But I decided to treat my piece as an homage to that musical titan and infused my writing with hints of his particular use of parallel harmony. Indeed, heart, time will tell.
March 25, 2011
In 2006, one century after the English Hymnal was issued, I made a pilgrimage to the little village of Down Ampney in the beautiful Gloucestershire countryside on the south edge of the Cotswolds. It was here the music editor of that great volume, Ralph Vaughan Williams, was born, the son of the local vicar. The modest parish of All Saints in his father’s keep was and is a charming structure with a peaceful cemetery surrounding it. It is that quintessential idyllic setting of the English country church, which can so enthrall.
Absolutely nobody was around the day of my visit but, thankfully, the door was unlocked. So, in I went. Not surprisingly, I headed straight for the organ, which resides in the tiny choir loft up front. On the console was an old copy of RVW’s hymn tune, DOWN AMPNEY, most probably from the first run plates of 1906 (at least that’s what my sentimental side wanted to believe). It was a sweet sight and reinforced for me the truth that from the most modest streams can run the mightiest rivers – and that in some places that is not forgotten! Although I was unable to turn the organ blowers on, I sat at the slightly dusty console and played through the hymn in silence, only my quiet singing voice, the clacking of the key action, and the creaky old bench invading that silence. It was a strange and wondrous experience.
Arguably, this is RVW’s finest hymn, named for his native village, and penned for Richard Littledale’s translation of that sublime hymn text, Come down, O Love divine, by the Italian priest and poet, Bianco da Siena (d.1434). It appears in our hymnal at #516, and has been included in almost every denominational hymnbook of the 20th century. It is hard to imagine a better wedding of lyric to music, a coupling almost 500 years in the making, no less (with a little help from our good Mr Littledale, of course)!
The syllabic structure of the text is unusual: two short lines of 6 followed by a longer line of 11. This pattern is repeated to complete a full verse, as RVW set it, thus giving it the designation 66.11.D (D=double). If you look at the bottom right hand side of the page for #516 in the hymnal you will see this code. That is what those numbers and/or letters designate: the syllabic structure of the hymn. That is why certain texts can be sung to several differing tunes and vice versa. (Take for example our singing the Doxology at 9 o’clock Morning Prayer to various tunes according to liturgical season.)
What RVW accomplishes here is masterful. He found a way to represent in music this eloquent plea for the Comforter to “come down” and visit “this soul of mine.” The obvious, of course, would be to start the hymn from a high note and let the melody descend. However, he begins on the low note and ascends, as if the plea must begin from below and ascend. It’s not until the second half (D) of the 66.11 structure (“O Comforter, draw near”) that we start on high and gradually work our way down to the concluding cadence. This great sound arch both grounds the hymn and allows it to soar, not unlike the supporting stone arches of a grand cathedral.
There are two discs I would like to recommend with this hymn. The first is called A Vaughan Williams Hymnal from the Choir of Trinity College, Cambridge under the direction of Richard Marlow. Issued by Conifer Classics, it packs in 24 tracks to provide a wonderful overview of RVW’s great contribution to Christian hymnody. If that seems like more Vaughan Williams than you can take (don’t let me know that!), then please look into Best Loved Hymns from King’s College, Cambridge, led by Stephen Cleobury. This is an EMI Classics issue with 18 tracks, including DOWN AMPNEY and a stirring performance of RVW’s arrangement of the OLD 100th, which concludes the disc. I consider this recording a must-have for any good library. Other best-loved hymns included are: All my hope on God is founded; Praise, my soul, the King of heaven; A mighty fortress is our God; My song is love unknown; and Be thou my vision, amongst others.
March 15, 2011
In our continuing journey of exploring the contributions of Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958) to 20th century church music, I’d like to turn our attention to another hymn. The tune name is FOREST GREEN, so-called after the village in Gloucestershire, where RVW first heard this folk tune in 1903. He first included it in The English Hymnal of 1906, which he edited. In our current hymnal, three texts are coupled with his adaptation of it: Phillips Brooks’ beloved Christmas text, O little town of Bethlehem (#78), Isaac Watts’ splendid I sing the almighty power of God (#398), and a newer entry, As those of old their first fruits brought, by Frank von Christierson (#705).
Hopefully, you will recall the brief study on SINE NOMINE (For all the saints) from my last article. That was an original tune written for a specific text. Here we have an English folk melody (usually known as The Ploughboy’s Dream) adapted by RVW and capable of being paired with numerous texts. Like SINE NOMINE, FOREST GREEN can be analyzed objectively. It has a limited and comfortable vocal range, it is logical – and quite simple – in its harmonic progression, and contains four equal phrases with an even structure of AABA.
Once again, RVW utilized some nice artistic nuances in order to elevate the music to a more refined state. Even if you are unable to read music, it is easy to see that the bass line moves in contrary motion to the melody at almost all times. That is, when the melody is ascending, the bass line is descending, and vice versa. That is a very powerful and stabilizing force in music, which has been employed in composition since at least the late 13th century. In our present example, the two middle voices round out the four-part harmony and are given interesting lines, as well. Very often in the hands of a lesser talent the middle voices are functional but not terribly interesting. Not so with RVW. At worse, his style can be quirky, but never dull. At best, which is most often the case, it is absolutely spot on.
One small detail that is typical of RVW’s keen way of providing interest is in the “pick up” note of the last phrase. He makes it into a half note (two beats) instead of the quarter note (one beat) of the first two phrases. A subtle point, to be sure, but nonetheless a significant touch. Unfortunately, a number of American hymn editors have seen fit to “smooth” that out by altering the last line to match the first two. Ho hum, dullards!
Another folk melody in our hymnal of which I am particularly fond is MONK’S GATE. This tune (to the song Valiant or Welcome Sailor) was collected by RVW from Mrs Harriet Verrall in the tiny hamlet of Monk’s Gate in West Sussex. (She was also the source of what is now called the Sussex Carol, which is the tune for On Christmas night all Christians sing.) RVW adapted this tune also for the 1906 English Hymnal, pairing it with Percy Dearmer’s adaptation of John Bunyan’s text, He who would valiant be (see #565 in our hymnal). Again, this melody offers a comfortable vocal range, is given a straightforward harmonic progression, and is divided into four equal phrases (AABC, in this case). What is quite unique is the uneven rhythmic underlay of the first two lines and that of the fourth, which is in itself a variant of the first two. One could argue this is a case of the “quirky” Vaughan Williams, but surely in its best sense. It also is paired with another text, Jesus, our mighty Lord (#478), demonstrating its strong flexibility, as well.
Hymns such as these easily support the notion that popular folk music can be put to good use for sacred purposes. However, let me hasten to add that it is due to the careful adaptations crafted by a master artist that they are worthy of our attention and preservation. RVW brought this sort of music into realms where he expected a well-prepared and refined rendering by church musicians and congregations. His was not of the world of guitar strumming and amplified vocal belting so prevalent in today’s church music.
Thanks be to God!
February 23, 2011
Last installment, I left you with a list of hymns by Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958) with the promise of surveying a few of them to see what makes them so successful musically. RVW proved himself immensely capable of producing memorable original tunes and useful adaptations of folk melodies, which have become staples in almost every traditional Christian hymnal. His impact on 20th century hymnody cannot be equaled in the musical realms and there is no doubt in my mind that he will remain one of the all-time giants of this genre…. world without end. Amen.
So, what does make a “good” hymn, particularly for a congregation to sing? Admittedly, one would be hard pressed to come up with a more subjective question than that. But there are some fairly objective musical observations we can make in identifying a successful setting. And for the sake of our discussion here, let us agree that a text theologically sound and poetically beautiful is a given.
Such is the case with HYMN 287, For all the saints, arguably one of the finest hymns of the entire 20th century. Can anyone now imagine the first Sunday of November (when we mark the Feast of All Saints’ Day) not singing this great hymn? I dare say the objections to its omission would be louder than the “Alleluia, alleluia!” that concludes each verse.
RVW wrote his tune specifically for this processional hymn text by 19th century Anglican Bishop, William How (1823-1897). It was crafted for inclusion in the new English Hymnal of 1906, which RVW edited. This tune replaced an older setting by none other than Sir Joseph Barnby (1838-1896), one time chorister at York Minster and later precentor and director of music at Eton College. One might well hear grumblings at such an act as this. But then again, it’s doubtful there are any worthy of RVW’s great mantle in our present day to pull off such an audacity.
The name of the tune (not the text) is SINE NOMINE, which simply means “without name.” That is in reference to the Feast to which it is tied, All Saints’ (emphasis on All). The objective factors are these: a tune with a comfortable compass of a 9th (an octave plus one note); a logical harmonic progression with straightforward forays to the dominant and subdominant (trust me on that one!); and an unerring rhythmic drive with four even phrases of four measures each. Those are the measurable qualities and are all classic parameters of a good congregational hymn tune.
Now, let’s look at what elevates it to the status of great. Right from the beginning, RVW puts a nice artistic touch in the simple use of a rest on the first beat. The organ articulates the tonic (home key) note of ‘G’, which has the wonderful sensation of “launching” us into the first line, as though we were taking flight. The first line’s shape falls then rises. The entire second line has a downward shape and remains in the lower part of the vocal range followed by an upward tendency of the entire third line, which remains in the upper part of the range. Thereby, RVW achieves a certain irregularity within the confines of a very regular structure. The fourth line mirrors the first with an upward gesture and then a downward “settling” final cadence, giving us a very satisfying sense of balance and completeness.
One other nuance I particularly like is that each line ends on a different note, thus providing a subtle yet powerful sense of movement. But the pièce de résistance is the second note of the concluding “alleluias.” RVW has waited until the last line – and not unimportantly at the utterance of “alleluia” – to introduce the highest note of the tune and that only once. So simple yet so divine! Finally, a very strong element of the whole (not printed in the pew version of the hymnal) is the “walking bass” of the organ part. Composers from the 17th century baroque era to the greats of the early 20th century jazz age have used this device to give that sense of strong forward momentum. How clever of RVW to have used it in a processional hymn!
Next time we’ll look at some folk melodies.
February 9, 2011
To begin any sort of survey on refined Anglican church music of the twentieth century, it is impossible to escape the towering presence of Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958). We commemorated the fiftieth anniversary of his death in 2008 and I think it worthwhile to reprint my Listen Up! article from August of that year to get us started.
This past Tuesday, August 26th, marked the 50th anniversary of the death of Ralph Vaughan Williams, arguably the most influential – and best-loved – English composer of the twentieth century. The obituary in the London Times read, “The world of music mourns his passing, yet one is glad and grateful that he was able to live so long and so full a life; one, moreover, that was so rich in achievement.” In that same article, Sir Adrian Boult sums up his thoughts by stating, “A great creator, who has done more for the reputation of our country, something that can be measured by the debt we owe to William Shakespeare.” RVW’s output was tremendous and covered almost every genre in Western classical music, including nine film scores. While never intending to do so, he earned for himself the reputation as the quintessential “English voice” in music. And he enjoyed the admiration of fellow composers even as far afield as Bartók and Rachmaninov, the latter who was brought to tears at the 1938 premiere of the sublime Serenade to Music.The son of Down Ampney’s parish Vicar and later a student of the great C. V. Stanford, RVW was never far from the reaches of church music (though he described himself as a “determined atheist”). He was chief editor of The English Hymnal beginning in 1904, and our current Episcopal hymnal includes no less than 24 of his hymns and arrangements, the most of any individual composer. He remained true to music’s tonal idiom in the midst of the great changes and turmoil that swept through Western classical music during the first half of the twentieth century. That’s not to say he was not a unique voice. He was that and more. But a quip to a student who had brought in a new work, written in an “advanced” idiom, seems telling enough. RVW remarked, “Very clever young man – if a tune should ever occur to you, don’t hesitate to write it down!”There is so much to explore in the vast RVW catalogue. Four of my favorites from the choral and church music genres I recommend for your listening are: 1) Serenade to Music, 2) Five Mystical Songs, 3) Lord, thou hast been our refuge, and 4) Mass in G minor. I guarantee your life will be enriched if you take the time to search these out and listen to them. And, as always, introduce these works to someone you love. Give them a recording as a gift, sit down and listen with them instead of watching TV one evening (heaven forbid!), and please don’t hesitate to give me a call if I can help you in your endeavors to make this a better world through exploring the mystery and beauty of great church music.
You will note, I made reference to the two dozen entries in our current Hymnal 1982. Let me emphasize that most of these are not only familiar, they are absolute staples of every good modern hymnbook. Here are several by their text title and tune name as examples:
At the Name of Jesus KING’S WESTONAll creatures of our God and King LASST UNS ERFREUENCome down, O Love divine DOWN AMPNEYFor all the saints SINE NOMINEHail thee, festival day! SALVE FESTA DIESI sing the almighty power of God FOREST GREENJesus, our mighty Lord MONK’S GATEWhen Jesus left his Father’s throne KINGSFOLD
Next time we’ll look in more detail at some of these, both original tunes and adaptations of traditional melodies, to see what makes them so successful and why they have had such a lasting impact on our corporate worship life.
January 19, 2011
Last issue, with tongue firmly embedded in cheek, I referred to the auspicious occasion of my fiftieth birthday, which, in fact, did occur this past week. With the sage wisdom of my now considerable years (tongue still in cheek), I concluded that article with a promise of a series on church music in the twentieth century, a sort of follow-up to my mini-series on the nineteenth century Victorian era. So, let’s begin.... tongue now removed from cheek!
In my very first article called Listen Up! I wrote, “All of us living today grew up with the recording industry in one form or another. Whether it’s over the airwaves of radio, on a vintage 78, a vinyl 45 or LP, the cassette or dreaded 8-track tape, a Compact Disc, or digital MP3 files on an iPod, we surround ourselves with music at every turn.” I will add further that the advent of television and now the worldwide web (www) has ratcheted up the volume to near deafening levels. For better or worse, Information Technology (IT), I submit, has an absolute stranglehold on us. And the Church is not immune by any means.
There is no doubt in my mind that the development of this technology in the twentieth century has been the major contributing factor to the vast secularization of our modern day society. The massive flood of what I’ll term as “egocentric us—oriented material” filling the airwaves is staggering, although admittedly, not altogether unpleasant at many turns. (The seeds for this tendency were planted during the so-called Age of Enlightenment in eighteenth-century Europe, which I’ll address in more detail presently since it relates directly to refined music).
This influence on us in church music can be felt — or more specifically, heard — in the abundance of “pop”-style music being published and performed. A wide array of religious institutions seem to think that by aping the secular popular culture, that somehow will translate into more numbers and a deeper “religious experience,” especially where younger people are concerned. Well, maybe for awhile it might. However, I contend that in the long run it will do exactly the opposite. The superficial nature of pop music and the trite, raw emotion of mundane lyrics simply hold no comparison to the profound depths of refined musical and poetical arts. That shiny outer layer of the former soon wears thin, whereas the enduring substance of the latter can give endless insights and inspiration over the course of one’s entire lifetime. Granted, one does have to exercise some attention and thought; it’s certainly not intended as a passive respite.
But before I wander too much farther into that mine field, let me make one other observation of the twentieth century, which will be important in our considerations during this series. It’s not unrelated to the IT issues I’ve put forth inasmuch as there is a persuasive influence from composers outside the Church upon Church music itself. In fact, the Church has looked to the “outside” world in refined realms just as much as in the pop domain. This has been fueled, in part, by the ready availability of recordings — again, for better or worse. And there’s a sense that “real” composers are somehow not to be found in the Church. (Given what many parishes ask of their music programs, I’m not surprised, I must say.)
Thankfully, there is, in fact, a body of refined sacred music from the twentieth century — from within and without the walls of the Church — that firmly has established itself into the wider music treasury. Next time, we’ll revisit Ralph Vaughan Williams, whose influence cannot be overestimated on the modern era of church music. In the view of many, he is the most compelling of musicians who contributed to the Church in the last century. He was a proponent of exploring and utilizing folk music for sacred purposes. But, as we shall see, it is how he developed that genre and expected it to be performed that lifted it to the worthy ranks of edifying worship material.
January 12, 2011
For some reason, I’ve never objected to telling my age. No doubt, when I was a boy there were moments I wished to be older, at least three years older so I could equal my eldest brother! And recently, the temptation to long for a younger self has begun imposing its presence in my mind.... and most certainly for more than just three measly years younger. But, for the most part, I’ve been at peace with the number of my years and, God willing, will continue to be so.
The approaching anniversary of my birth will mark a half-century of earthly life. I suspect a fair number of the Sounds readership will chuckle and think, “Oh, he’s just a lad.” Others may incline toward a rather curt, “join the club.” Perhaps a few, such as my dear choristers, will be astonished that Mr Davison is so old! Whatever the case, I do find myself giving more thought lately to the context of my years, and to what I have “done and left undone.” I’m afraid I’d have to confess plenty of both if push came to shove.
Right, then. Some basic historic context: In 1961, the year of my birth, the cost of a first class stamp was 4¢. Regular gas was 31¢ per gallon. The Berlin Wall was erected by East Germany to halt the flood of refugees fleeing to the West. The Soviets became the first to orbit planet Earth. Diana, Princess of Wales, Eddie Murphy, Wynton Marsalis, Wayne Gretzky, and President Barak Obama were born. Sam Rayburn, Ty Cobb, Ernest Hemingway, Gary Cooper, Carl Jung and Sir Thomas Beecham died. The Pulitzer Prize in music was awarded to Walter Piston (1894-1976) for his Symphony #7, and in fiction to Harper Lee (b.1926) for her landmark novel, To Kill a Mockingbird. The Beatles performed for the first time at the Cavern Club in Liverpool, the Peace Corp was established by President Kennedy, and the twenty-third amendment to the Constitution was ratified, giving residents of DC the right to vote in presidential elections. In the UK, Songs of Praise, one of the longest-running shows in television history, – and, indeed, still on the air – was first broadcast on the BBC. (Imagine that, a show based around Christian hymnody. Take that, all you Idol fans!)
John F. Kennedy and his young family moved in to the White House only days after I became the third son of Sue Anne and David Davison. The refined arts held a more prominent place in the broader culture then, which is reflected in the excerpts from a few of JFK’s eloquent speeches inscribed on The Kennedy Center’s outer walls – I encourage you to go and look for yourself next time you’re there. The esteemed Herbert Howells (1892-1983) wrote his choral masterpiece, Take him earth for cherishing, “to the honoured memory of John Fitzgerald Kennedy, President of the United States of America” shortly after Kennedy’s assassination. That work was premiered right here in Washington in 1964.
But the winds of change were already blowing and the rebellious popular culture of the second half of the twentieth century stormed in with overwhelming force. I certainly was not immune to the lure of those changes and admit to still feeling a certain tinge of boyish glee hearing Elvis Presley (also a January baby) sing “Jailhouse Rock” and “Heartbreak Hotel,” or John Lennon’s opening guitar riff to “I Feel Fine” released by the Beatles the same year as Howells’ above-mentioned anthem, ironically enough. My own infamous “record collection” included everything the Fab Four ever recorded, which amused me with the complete Beethoven symphonies on the shelf right next to them. And I was certain to be one of the first in line to acquire the latest Elton John LP. I wore out many a stylus listening to Sir Elton, “Little” Stevie Wonder, Rod “the Mod” Stewart, the ubiquitous Simon and Garfunkel, and the soulful Ray Charles, just to name a few.
Fortunately for me however, under the disciplined umbrella of my parent’s upbringing and my mentors’ encouragements, (those who understood the value of the refined arts, I mean to say) I managed to weather my childhood and dreaded adolescent years more or less intact, and was guided – truth be told, pushed at some points – to pursue a career in the refined musical arts. Now most people might think a career in classical music is a little crazy. I still do! Fraught with long tedious hours of practice, study, reading, and yet more practice, most musical fledglings are destined to endure endless rejections from competitions and auditions, and pretend to chalk it up to “good experience.” Then one must apply for the few dismal job opportunities available at any given time. (Most plum positions in any field, as we all know, are negotiated behind the scenes, even though public advertisements often are placed, as required by law.) And then, at long last, one actually gets that first gig, that first big break, that most exciting moment of your life, and shazam.... it’s hardly enough to knock out even a meager living. Wow! All of that for this? (I know, I know.... boohoo! And I can just hear my father saying yet again, “Life’s not fair; get used to it!”)
Well, as I am discovering, the years do roll on and one begins to appreciate the often-unseen rewards and to gain the perspective that only living can give. And God bless those brave nurturing souls you thought such dolts as you struggled to become your own little man in your own little way! Care to share a slice of humble pie, anyone?
And so, on this auspicious occasion, I would like to offer a series with some thoughts on music and the Church in more recent times. We’ll look at some of the important twentieth-century composers who have written for the Church and look at the influence the secular world has had on the sacred arts. This series will not have a terribly scientific approach and I can assure you my considered opinions will not be censored. It will be informed by many years in the trenches by yours truly, and shaped by numerous minor and major failures and successes by the same. God willing, it will at least give us the opportunity to consider our place – and responsibility, I dare say – in the long and sometimes colorful succession of the worship patterns of our Christian faith.
December 14, 2010
Last installment, we considered Sir John Stainer (1840-1901) Organist and Master of the Choristers at Saint Paul’s Cathedral, London from 1872 until his retirement in 1888, the same year he was knighted by Queen Victoria for his great service and contribution to England’s musical life.
Stainer’s immediate predecessor at St Paul’s also stands under the banner of Victorian musicians, although some consider him more the last of the “old wine” from the previous era. He certainly is a link to that previous time and as such serves as a bridge from the so-called high Classical period to the heyday of the Romantic age. His teacher and predecessor at St Paul’s, Thomas Attwood (1765-1838), was, in fact, a favored student of Mozart’s.
The musician to whom I am referring now is Sir John Goss (1800-1880), by all accounts a kind, generous, and modest man. His father was the highly regarded parish organist in his hometown of Fareham, Hampshire. Young John showed early promise and by the age of eleven was a chorister at the Chapel Royal in London where he joined his uncle, a counter-tenor (male alto), who also sang at Westminster Abbey and St Paul’s. Succeeding Attwood in 1838, Goss’s thirty-four year tenure at St Paul’s concluded upon his retirement in 1872. It was that same year he was knighted, just as Stainer would be sixteen years later.
It’s very difficult for us now to comprehend just how dire the situation was in English cathedral music circles for much of the 19th century, even at venerable old Saint Paul’s. The current standards are absolutely superior and we have stacks of recordings that bear witness to that. I surmise that the 20th century recording and broadcast industries played a significant role in the overall improvement of musical standards in English cathedrals throughout the 20th century. (The latter day fall-out propelled by those same industries is a topic for later consideration…. Talent, indeed!)
When Goss took the helm at St Paul’s, he inherited a mere six vicars choral and eight boy choristers; don’t forget we’re talking about a massive building here. On the other hand, a long list of clerical appointments existed, which were “freehold offices,” that is, you held that position until your death whether you were still capable of functioning or not. In addition, there was little accountability or oversight and absenteeism was rampant. Music often was considered of little merit or importance and so received relatively little funding. These were not ripe conditions for good music to flourish, to say the least.
However, despite the constraints he endured, Goss managed to raise the standards at St Paul’s to a much higher level than most other cathedrals of his day. He also wrote a good bit of music for the church. Sadly, much of it has fallen out of favor over the past half-century or so, even though it is of an elegant and highly tuneful nature. We have one hymn of his in our current hymnal at #410, which many of you will recognize and, indeed, is a favorite of a majority of church musicians I know. The tune is called “Lauda anima” to which is wedded the text Praise, my soul, the King of heaven by Henry Francis Lyte (1793-1847). Three of Goss’s fine chants also made it in to our hymnal. The one most familiar to us is #S-184, to which we sing the Benedictus es, Domine at Morning Prayer.
We should strive mightily to remember Goss and his 19th century colleagues and to thank God for their valiant efforts and not insignificant contributions to Anglican music. And during the coming days of Christmas, pay close attention to the number of beloved hymns and carols that were gifted us straight out of the Victorian era. It will begin on Christmas Eve with the strains of Once in royal David’s city to a tune by Henry John Gauntlett (1805-1876) and take us all the way to the arrival of the wise men as described in The first Nowell, which we will sing to Stainer’s incomparable harmonization. And along the way the choir will sing one of my seasonal favorites, Edward Caswall’s (1814-1878) See amid the winter’s snow as set by none other than John Goss. Listen up and you may just hear the faint whispers of the angels singing.
December 1, 2010
Much of what is labeled mistakenly as Victorian music was written under the reign of Victoria’s son, King Edward VII (r. 1901-1910) and his son, – her grandson – King George V (r. 1910-1936). However, defining the ever-shifting styles of music does not necessarily fall neatly into such tidy little time compartments, as we might like. And composers born during Victoria’s reign who lived into the early 20th century were not likely to change their habits suddenly with a change of the monarch. After all, one would not likely lose one’s head if the new King or Queen did not care for your music or it did not comply with a sovereign edict. That was a burden of another time, fortunately for them.
So, for the sake of argument, we shall stick with the nomenclature Victorian and apply it to the composers who began flourishing during her reign even if they lived past her death in 1901. Therefore, it is not incorrect to claim Sir C. Hubert H. Parry (1848-1918), Sir Charles Villiers Stanford (1852-1924), and Sir Edward Elgar (1857-1934) as Victorian composers. Most would agree they constitute the “Big Three” coming out of this era and all contributed significantly to the refined Anglican choral repertoire. We shall explore more of them presently.
For now, I would like to focus on one English musician who is exactly Victorian, Sir John Stainer (1840-1901). He was born three years after Victoria’s enthronement and died only three months after her death. He is likely to be the primary target of those disparaging musicians at one of those dinner parties, which I described in my last article. If you don’t believe me – or if your party needs a little riling up – just casually drop his name into the conversation and see what happens. But I warn you, stand clear of musicians with a mouthful of eggnog when you “drop the bomb!”
Stainer was born of a modest family in Southwark, London. They were a music-loving family, especially his schoolteacher father, William, who apparently was proficient on the piano, organ, and the flute. John showed much promise and was accepted as a probationer at Saint Paul’s Cathedral just across the River Thames in 1848. Only a year later he became a full-fledged chorister there. He also received private lessons in organ. In 1856, upon a visit to St Paul’s, Sir Frederick Ousley heard the young Stainer performing on the cathedral organ and was so impressed that he offered him the post at his recently established Tenbury College. This college was founded as a boys school to provide a new model for good church music. (Unfortunately, it closed its doors in 1985 due to financial difficulties.)
Subsequently, at the tender age of 20, Stainer became organist of Magdalen College, Oxford, and in 1872 he returned to St Paul’s Cathedral in London as organist. In 1888, none other than Queen Victoria knighted him for his significant contributions to English music. The following year, he was appointed professor at Oxford University where he worked hard toward a more comprehensive musical education for its students. His profound influence as a gifted performer, choir trainer, teacher, musicologist, and composer, are still influential to this day. That cannot and should not be underestimated.
His 1887 oratorio, The Crucifixion, remains his best-known composition. A movement from that work, “God so loved the world,” is a mainstay anthem in the repertoire of church choirs worldwide, including here at Potomac Parish. We shall make use of just that gem this Advent. It is a succinct model of direct and tasteful anthem writing of the 19th century comparable (I dare say!) to Thomas Tallis’s If ye love me of the 16th century. Listen and judge for yourself.
We will have the chance soon to sing the seasonal favorite hymns The first Nowell and What Child is this, both of which are his accompaniment settings. Additionally, in the spring, we will sing Cross of Jesus, cross of sorrow, a sublime setting of William Sparrow-Simpson’s Lenten hymn (also extracted from The Crucifixion).
Another cup of eggnog, if you please!
November 15, 2010
During this most wonderful time of the year, many of my music colleagues will erect and decorate a Christmas tree in their homes. They will send cards (paper and electronic) with images and sentiments of the season. They will enjoy grand feasts with families and friends. They will exchange gifts. They may even deign to participate in – or, dare I say, lead – a merry band of carolers. It really will be “just like a picture print by Currier and Ives.” And in the midst of all of this, they may well be involved in one of those sometimes-heady discussions about music in which only musicians consort … or should I say, contort. And then it will happen. They will blurt out a malignant and oft-proclaimed slur: “Oh, that’s so Victorian,” to which there will be a general grumble of agreement. Believe me, I’ve heard it with my own two musical ears!
I hope you can see the outrageous if not the downright humorous nature of this scenario. All of those jolly activities in which most of us will participate are just that, Victorian. They sprang up or came to full bloom during the second half of the 19th century, the time of Queen Victoria’s long and historic reign over the British Empire (1837-1901). Even the New York print shop of Currier and Ives to which the song alludes opened its doors just three years prior to her enthronement and closed just six years after her death (1834-1907).
So, why is it that music from this era is lambasted so often? (No doubt, I’m charting a course here over the subjective river and through the opinionated woods, but here we go.) In short, I think it’s because there is a perceived overly sentimental nature to much of the serious writing of that age. It tends to have very strong contrasting dramatic elements and the harmonic palette was expanded in the direction of more chromaticism, that is to say far more employment of the notes outside the given scale of any key. For whatever reason, to our mind’s “ear,” that tends to come across as somewhat saccharine.
However, as with any preceding era and most assuredly with all ensuing time spans, the vast majority of what is produced will fall into oblivion, thanks be to God! Fortunately, the cream does tend to rise to the top. That is, what is worth preserving will somehow survive. Not all of it will, of course, and maybe only a small amount. After all, look at the music of Bach. It wasn’t until almost a century after his death that a wider circle other than highly learned musicians began to know and appreciate the enormity of his genius. And it is certain much of his writing is simply lost forever due to neglect, decay, fire or other disastrous or unintentional means. But he did survive!
However, back to our little venture here in the 19th century. Printed music became much less expensive as the industrial revolution brought about new technological developments. And the piano-forte was within the reach of many households, as well. It held a primary place, indeed, in the social fabric of family and friends. With no television (praise be!) or texting devices, one would turn to the piano for light and serious entertainment. One could learn of the latest cultural offerings in realms musical. Brahms’s latest symphony, for instance, could be explored in a four-hand version for piano since downloading a recording was hardly an option.
Church music in what we now call the Anglican choral tradition did suffer a great decline in this era, to be sure. And what was composed did tend to reflect the trends of the more dramatic and chromatic styles of music being written in the secular world. Even so, there is much treasure to be found on these shelves and we will continue to explore this in more detail in the coming weeks.
In fact, if you attend our Advent Festival of Lessons and Music on the 5th of December, you will hear no less than four shining examples of anthems and carols associated with the Victorian age. You also will sing a beloved hymn tune by William Henry Monk (1823-1889) of great merit called Merton. It is in our hymnal at #59 with the text, “Hark! A thrilling voice is sounding.” I suspect more than a few of my colleagues would have to grumble in agreement that this is worthy of even their lofty standards.
September 12, 2010
Mr Kennedy was an elegant man in that slightly rumpled professorial way. A bright twinkle in his eye and a jaunty step secured his air of confidence whenever he entered the classroom. His white hair, black-rimmed glasses, bowtie and blazer, all adorned his ample build just as though he had been born that way. Perhaps he was! Well, at least that’s my memory and shall remain how I choose to recall that all-too-brief time I knew him.
What makes me think of Mr Kennedy is the issue of elocution. He taught speech and was among many treasured teachers my two older brothers and I had at Eliot Elementary School in Tulsa. I’ll admit I don’t know if such a thing as a speech teacher exists anymore, but judging by the parlance of many students today, I’m like, you know, um, just like…. so…. um, doubtful. Hey, I’m just sayin’. Peace out. LOL.
Language, of course, is always evolving. It waxes and wanes in a manner of speaking. Sadly, I’m afraid we’re in a waning phase at present. And how ironic that is given we have an unprecedented array of means to communicate with one another through language. Maybe the overload has pushed us, in a general sort of way, to develop a “shorthand lingo” in order to keep pace and simply to cope with the sheer volume. Our societal casualness certainly shapes our vocabulary toward a debased chatter, including a major contribution from the world of popular music. Closer to home, the aping of idiomatic expression in the newer rites of the church, ostensibly to be relevant, has failed to capture the “higher ground,” – in beauty if not in theology – which is what mind, heart, and soul should seek, especially in the maelstrom that is our secular society. Yes, I dare to use the “s” word (i.e. should); why, after all, would we dare offer anything less when it comes to divine worship?!
As a Choirmaster, it is my job to help our choirs work toward clarity of meaning in the various texts they sing. Clear enunciation of words is vital, as is overall understanding of words, sentences and larger constructs. How much more exciting for everybody, singers and listeners alike, when the meaning of a well-written text, heightened by music, is made crystal clear in its delivery by accuracy of elocution.
We are privileged to inherit for our use a vast treasury of refined choral music, which links itself to equally fine poetry and prose expressing aspects of our Christian faith. However, there is also something quite powerful in reciting corporately our many liturgical texts such as the creeds, confessions, and prayers found in The Book of Common Prayer. Many of these have been said by innumerable generations of believers prior to us and, God willing, many more following us will do the same.
Let’s consider the Nicene Creed (BCP, p. 326). We strive for a unified delivery that will not distract nor undermine the essential truths we are proclaiming. Very often you will hear one or two persons racing ahead making you think they are so proud to know these words and that you need to know that they know…. ya know? On the other hand, there are those stragglers who you wish had had that second cup of coffee before coming to church. (Keep up, love!) For me, however, the largest potential distraction is the carelessness with which we finish phrases or clump words together in a pseudo-Teutonic mumble-jumble. Here are two of my favorites from the creed:
“begótnnotmade,” and “ferthufergívnis.”
And, of course, there’s the tripping comma we encounter in “of all that i[s, s]een and unseen.”
Okay, here’s how to fix it. Without overdue affectation, simply shape each word carefully giving it time and due attention. In the case where one word ends with a letter with which the next word begins and they are separated by a comma, articulate both. For example, “all that is, ’ seen and unseen,” and “begotten, ’ not made.” “For the forgiveness” relies on making sure each “f-o-r” is clearly articulated. Go ahead, say it out loud. Easy does it. There will be a test on Sunday!
Mr Kennedy, I’m certain, would be so very pleased. No doubt, so will the ear of God.
August 6, 2010
If I had a nickel for every time an adult has told me how sorry they were to have given up their childhood piano lessons or the opportunity to sing in their church choir, I would not be rich. But my piggy bank certainly would be a good bit heavier. It’s a comment to which I have never known how to respond. I suppose, “yeah, that’s a shame,” is about as good as any.
The fact is we know full well that it is too late to recapture bygone years. And I am not always convinced of the sincerity of these laments. Mind you, it is not that I want to suggest any one of them is mendacious. However, if one could go back, as it were, would one really make good on the desire to stick with it? I have my doubts.
Perhaps the undercoat of my jaded side is showing here. My tenure in church music began three and a half decades ago, after all, first as an apprentice and soon thereafter assistant organist of the 14,000-member Highland Park United Methodist Church in Dallas, Texas. BIG church! BIG program! No doubt, I’ve seen a lot since early on. Given that experience, I can tell you honestly that in many respects our more modest-sized Potomac Parish is no different where the challenges of meaningful long-term dedication to the church and a refined music ministry are concerned. We face the same deterring “usual suspects”: work demands, family pulls, sports enticements, social pressures, financial stresses, etc., etc. Somehow music can move quickly to the bottom of the priority list in such daunting company. It truly is a shame that something that contributes so positively to our cultural and spiritual lives – and can be nurtured over the course of a lifetime – is abandoned, seemingly, so readily.
As numbers have declined in our own beloved parish, it intensifies my concern of just where we will be in another 10 or 20 years. Mr Shand will not be here. Mr Thai will not be here. Mrs Mitchell will not be here. I doubt I will be here just as many of you will not be here. Who will be left and who will take our places? What will our liturgy look and sound like?
Well, let me direct your attention to some good news by considering just two of our young musicians who have made a major impact on our corporate life together and have shown what true dedication looks like. I have written about others in the past and I will write about still others in the future. But right here, right now, two stand out. They are glimpses of what the future, hopefully, can and will look like.
Lauren Heywood began singing here, along with her sister, Lexi, as a young chorister. She came up through the ranks of the girl choir achieving status as Head Chorister and a subsequent appointment as Choral Scholar in the adult choir. Recently, she added to her responsibilities by singing with the Assisi Chamber Singers and serving as an assistant with the girl and boy choirs. Somehow, she managed to stay involved with her family, was active in the youth group, participated in sports, and enjoyed a lively social life. She graduated with high honors from St Andrew’s this year and is headed to Dartmouth College early next month. Now don’t ask me how she did it. Ask her! And talk to her parents…. I’m sure they just might have had something to do with it.
Lisa Johnsen is a rising high school sophomore. She, too, began early in the choirs of Potomac Parish and just completed her year as Head Chorister. Just last week she participated in the RSCM’s course for Advanced Trebles here in DC. She represented us with great honor and dignity. Lisa now joins the adult choir as a Choral Scholar. In addition, she will serve as our new assistant to the girl and boy choirs, a duty about which she approached me. That kind of initiative is absolutely thrilling, I must say. Let me encourage you to talk to her parents, as well. There is no substitute for the support given from home.
I’ll conclude this article and begin my next article with that very theme. Do you truly consider St Francis your parish home? I sincerely hope the answer is yes. And if it is yes, ask what are you going to do to help maintain it? Musically, I can assist, but it will involve your help and dedication.
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! |
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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!