Awake, awake to love and work

Two music clips this week:

J. S. Bach: Allein Gott in der Höh sei Ehr (BWV 664)
Artwork:
Jesus as a boy with Globe (Albrecht Dürer, 1493)
The adoration of the Name of Jesus (El Greco, c. 1580)

Bach wrote three settings of the tune Allein Gott in the Eighteen Leipzig Chorales, plus three more in the Clavierübung, and four other miscellaneous settings – and (with various texts) in several Cantatas (BWV 85, 104, 112, 128, and BWV 260, a fragment from one of the many lost Cantatas). Here is a summary, including the organ chorales and a great deal of material about the chorale itself. The parent website www.bach-cantatas.com is an excellent resource, which I commend to you.

This setting, which I played this morning, is from the Leipzig Chorales; it is in the form of a trio in A major, which dances along for many pages before finally introducing the Tune – the first phrase only, in long notes in the pedal. I chose the Dürer painting because the mischievous little boy Jesus holding the globe seems to fit the trio. All glory be to God on high!

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Improvisation on Healing Grace and Morning Song
Artwork:
Jesus healing the hemorrhaging woman (Ivan Rutkovych, 1699, from the Zhovkva Iconostasis)

Today's Gospel was St. Mark 5:21-43, wherein Jesus raises the daughter of Jairus from the dead. Along the way, a woman finds healing by touching the hem of his garment. A crowd pressed around him, but only she brought faith, and that made all the difference.

There is a fine hymn by Thomas Troeger, with tune by Carol Doran, that springs from this text: “The scantest touch of grace can heal,” with tune name “Healing Grace.” It is in their little volume “New Hymns for the Lectionary: To Glorify the Maker's Name” (Oxford University Press, 1986). It is an especially useful volume this year, for they work through Year B of the three year Eucharistic Lectionary, with a hymn for each Sunday.

At the middle service, my improvisation was based on this tune, alongside the shape-note tune “Morning Song,” which is often paired with the text “Awake, awake to love and work.” I aimed for a sonata form:

-- “Healing Grace” in the tonic, E minor
-- “Morning Song” in A minor
-- Development – mostly “Morning Song,” with a lengthy excursion into major keys because it was needed for contrast
-- Recapitulation: the two tunes in E minor
-- Short Coda.

The Troeger text is copyright, so I cannot give it to you. Here is the Hymnary.org listing for the Troeger/Doran hymn. It has not made it into any hymnal, and so far as I can tell appears only in the little book where it was first published. Sadly, few if any of these fine hymns have achieved much use. They deserve better.

And here is the listing for “Awake, awake to love and work.” In the Episcopal Hymnal 1982, it is number 9, with the title “Not here for high and holy things” and three stanzas before “Awake, awake,” where most other hymnals begin. This listing includes the text, and the information that the tune (with other texts) is from the famous and important early American source “Wyeth's Repository” (1813) and also the early shape-note book “Kentucky Harmony” (1816).

It has been an interesting week (both here at the church and in my life, and in the wider events of the world), and I wish I had the time and energy to write more. But I do not.

Blessings be with you all.

Laudato si

1. “LAUDATO SI’, mi’ Signore” – “Praise be to you, my Lord”. In the words of this beautiful canticle, Saint Francis of Assisi reminds us that our common home is like a sister with whom we share our life and a beautiful mother who opens her arms to embrace us. “Praise be to you, my Lord, through our Sister, Mother Earth, who sustains and governs us, and who produces various fruit with coloured flowers and herbs”.

2. This sister now cries out to us because of the harm we have inflicted on her by our irresponsible use and abuse of the goods with which God has endowed her. We have come to see ourselves as her lords and masters, entitled to plunder her at will.

Thus begins the encyclical letter of Pope Francis, just released.
Here is a link to the text. And here is a link to the PDF (184 pages) for those who prefer to read offline.

Some of the Republican candidates who are Roman Catholics (not naming any names here) have previously commented that the Pope's "political opinions" on such matters as economic inequality and the environment can and should be ignored; they are no more than one person's opinions.

An encyclical letter is, for a Roman Catholic, something else altogether. From Wikipedia s.v. "Encyclical Letter", a quote from Pius XII:

It is not to be thought that what is set down in Encyclical letters does not demand assent in itself, because in this the popes do not exercise the supreme power of their magisterium. For these matters are taught by the ordinary magisterium, regarding which the following is pertinent: “He who heareth you, heareth Me.” (Luke 10:16); and usually what is set forth and inculcated in Encyclical Letters, already pertains to Catholic doctrine. But if the Supreme Pontiffs in their acts, after due consideration, express an opinion on a hitherto controversial matter, it is clear to all that this matter, according to the mind and will of the same Pontiffs, cannot any longer be considered a question of free discussion among theologians.

It is significant that this letter is titled not in Latin, as they have always been (using the first words of the document), but in the Italian of St. Francis. In fact, I cannot locate a link to a Latin text of the document on the Vatican website. I find this remarkable.

Read it. Share it with others. I certainly will.

on Chamber Music

For a number of years, our parish has hosted the community's principal chamber music event, a week-long summer festival with three or four concerts plus side events (lectures/panel discussions, a children's concert at the library). It is a significant part of the city's cultural life.

This is the week. The musicians arrived over the weekend and set to work yesterday with rehearsals from mid-morning until after 9:00 in the evening. Today has been similar, and the first concert is tomorrow night.

As I worked in my office yesterday evening, listening to several hours of rehearsal on the Dvorak string quartet as they worked in the choir room just outside my door, it hit me: this is their RSCM week.

These musicians are all young professionals in their late twenties and thirties; they teach at colleges and universities across the country, play in orchestras, sing in operas (for one of them is a soprano). The core of the group returns here summer after summer for the festival; this week is the one time of the year that they can be together and make music.

With that perspective, I enjoyed listening to them even more – their obvious enjoyment of working together, the laughter, their departure from the church at the end of the evening for a late dinner – together, after having worked together all day. Yes, this is what I know very well from RSCM.

Notably, it is not just that they enjoy being together; it is the music, as it is for us at Todd Hall. And the hard work, the many hours of rehearsal. Other shared activities can build similar bonds, but there is something special about making music together.

For how many generations has it been that musicians have gathered whenever they could – on a particular front porch up in a Kentucky holler with guitar and fiddle on a summer evening after a long hot day in the fields... in an “upper room” somewhere in the city with saxophone and clarinet and a beat-up old piano... teenagers in the garage with guitars and amps and drums... in a prison camp, learning a Quartet for the End of Time... in old Vienna, or Paris, or Milan, or Prague, or modern-day Beijing and Tokyo and Singapore, with violin and viola and violoncello -- or clarinet and oboe, flute, horn and bassoon... Haydn and Mozart played together in such a string quartet purely for their own satisfaction. Schubert met almost every evening with some friends for a “Schubertiade,” often bringing a new song that he had composed that morning, shivering in bed under the blankets because he could not afford coal or wood for heat. And these gatherings were perhaps the most important thing in their lives, or so it must have seemed on many days. No matter how badly things had gone at work or school or out in the fields, no matter how hungry or tired or cold they were, there was the Music. And the making of Music together.

All of us who attend the RSCM Course sing in choirs at home, often multiple choirs. But back home, the choirs are only a part of the day, perhaps only one or two rehearsals a week. At RSCM, it is all, and that makes it somehow more special, more powerful.

So it is for these chamber musicians, here again in the choir room this evening as I write, this time working on a Janacek quartet while the soprano and pianist work upstairs in the church on Barber's song cycle "Knoxville: Summer of 1915". Back home they play in ensembles and orchestras, sing in a variety of settings both solo and ensemble, but much of their days are filled with lessons and faculty meetings and e-mails and family commitments and rush hour traffic. Here, they can make music all day, and as far into the evening as they wish.

Yes, there is responsibility; starting tomorrow night there will be a large audience, a church-full of people who bring their own hunger and need for Music, hoping for a glimpse of Eternity. And these players are indeed professionals; they understand that, and they will do a fine job. But I think that the rehearsals are what they will remember when they get on their flights to go home this weekend.

My part in all of this? I welcome them, help them feel comfortable, help to ensure that the concerts go smoothly. This year it is a complicated week at the church. We have an ordination this Sunday and a Harry Potter-themed Vacation Bible School starting Monday.

Thus, the choir room/quartet practice room has been transformed into the Potions Classroom at Hogwarts, deep in the lowest dungeon, complete with spiderwebs and a giant spider hanging from the ceiling, flasks and beakers of mysterious substances. The musicians all have experienced Harry Potter, so all four of them giggled the first time they walked in. I think they will for many years remember rehearsing in such a space, with three skeletons looking on from the corner.

And they will remember playing in the church. Without exception, these chamber musicians over the years – like the university students who play and sing here – have praised the acoustics, telling me that it is one of the finest chamber music venues they have experienced. That is why they choose to play here rather than several other venues where they could, and where the large audience would fit more comfortably.

Now, they are almost done for the day. Again, they plan for a leisurely (and late) supper, on this night in the Summer of 2015. But not just yet; they are sitting around, talking. It reminds me very much of some Friday evenings at Todd Hall, outside in the parking lot under a starry sky.

An die Musik
Franz Schubert, D. 547 (1817)
Text: Franz von Schober (1798-1882)

Du holde Kunst, in wieviel grauen Stunden,
Wo mich des Lebens wilder Kreis umstrickt,
Hast du mein Herz zu warmer Lieb entzunden,
Hast mich in eine beßre Welt entrückt!

Oft hat ein Seufzer, deiner Harf entflossen,
Ein süßer, heiliger Akkord von dir
Den Himmel beßrer Zeiten mir erschlossen,
Du holde Kunst, ich danke dir dafür!

Thou gracious art, in many a gray hour,
When life's wild swirl held me ensnared,
Hast thou enflamed my heart to ardent love,
Hast borne me off to a better world!

Oft has a sigh, outflowing from thine harp,
One dulcet, sacred consonance from thee,
Unlocked for me the heav'n of better times,
Thou gracious art, I give thee thanks for this!

(Copyright © Philipp Naegele, Marlboro School of Music, Inc. See German Vocal Texts in Translation, linked in the sidebar among my favorites)

G. K. Chesterton (1874-1936)

Chesterton (or "GKC") is commemorated in the Episcopal calendar today. Here is an appreciation of him from Kiefer's Bios (or more properly, James Kiefer's website “Biographical Sketches of Memorable Christians of the Past.”) The site is linked in the sidebar to the left as one of my online favorites, and I encourage you to make it one of yours.

Kiefer mentions several of GKC's books, most of which I have not read as of yet. But two that I have read are important to me, and I commend them to you:

Orthodoxy
The Ballad of the White Horse (a long poem about Alfred the Great)

It is fascinating to note that, as Kiefer says, GKC was good friends with H. G. Wells and Bernard Shaw, despite sharp philosophical differences with them. Our generation could learn much from their example.

Many of his books are freely available at Project Gutenberg (another of my favorite sites on the Net, linked in the sidebar). Drawing partly from Kiefer, I have compiled a short list of several that I will try to read in the next year. I encourage you to do likewise.

folk songs from Appalachia and Africa, Bach, and worries about Work

“I suppose you will have some time off now,” a parishioner said this morning. “It is summer, and things will slow down.”

That would be nice. I count on the summer to plan the next season, because there is no time to think beyond the next Wednesday and Sunday from mid-August through at least the Sunday of the Resurrection. And this year, a complicated funeral on Saturday of Easter Week chewed up such time as I have sometimes had that week to start planning. Then, we were into student concert season, as I have recounted: the university students, then the studios of local teachers with their younger musicians in late May. That concluded with two recitals on the afternoon of Trinity Sunday, a week ago. Along the way, I attended to music for the three Principal Feasts that I described in last Sunday's essay.

So here I am, June 7, with no hymns selected beyond next Sunday, June 14. I have contemplated this day all week with hopes of finally pressing onward, but it was not to be. I got caught up in a long after-church conversation that was necessary, but took most of an hour. Then (after dinner) I had to cut and paste a lot of music into the middle service bulletin for June 14 – that was another ninety minutes, plus a half-hour for work on the other two June 14 bulletins.

After that, I spent most of two hours copying fingerings for the Bach prelude that I hope to play a fortnight from now, the magnificent Adagio setting of Allein Gott in der Höh sei Ehr (BWV 662, in the Leipzig Chorales). It is one of the many pieces that I play from what I call the “Blue Dover,” that publisher's inexpensive one-volume collection of many of the important Bach chorale preludes. The copy that was my first purchased organ music and from which I worked through the Orgelbüchlein has fallen to pieces. I bought a replacement copy from Eble Music before they went under, and have been transferring fingerings from old to new as needed. It takes time.

And I worked at my IN box. Not so long ago, I cleared it to the bottom. But yesterday's AGO board meeting dumped a depressingly large pile of materials into it, to go with the two boxes of archival materials that came to me as chapter secretary within the last fortnight. I stayed with the task until it was almost too dark to pray Evensong outdoors in the courtyard – as it was, I could barely read the collects by the end of the service. It was just me and the lightning bugs, sotto voce. As I have described here, I love to sing the Offices. But I contracted a cold some three weeks ago which took away my voice. The cold is mostly gone, but my voice is not really back, not enough to get through the service. It is a helpful reminder that even music is optional; it is the thoughts and intents of the heart to which God mostly attends.

Another Sunday is past, the one day in which I can sometimes make progress on a large project – and the day did not include any planning work. Eleven Sundays remain before the first choral rehearsals in late August. Four of those Sundays are entirely taken up with events of various sorts (an ordination service, the RSCM Course, a trip to visit my sister). The other seven will have to be more productive than today. Jesu, juva.
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At the aforementioned AGO board meeting yesterday, I spoke with one of my Episcopal colleagues. He is at what amounts to our sister parish in a nearby city, similar in size to ours. I am employed full-time by the parish (the only full-time musician in the diocese); he is half-time. I think that he was envious.

Such encounters remind me that my predecessor as organist was likewise part-time, though there was also a graduate student position as children's choir director, and they make me guilty. What justification is there for the parish paying me a full-time salary with benefits?

Well... my predecessor only had one Sunday service to play. I have two. He did nothing on the bulletins, I have done quite a bit. He was onsite Wednesday evenings, Saturdays, and Sunday mornings (he had a Real Job which kept him fully occupied the rest of the time), plus their once-a-month staff meetings (we now meet every Tuesday); I am at the parish about fifty hours a week on average. He did not have the jazz department to deal with, nor did he act as house manager for other peoples' concerts -- in those days, they didn't host student recitals, and I gather that any time the church needed to be open in the evenings for an event, it was the Rector who took care of it, certainly not the part-time organist/choirmaster.

One of the things that has added itself to my work is the regular preparation of preludes for the middle service. With a fifteen-minute change in its start time last fall, there was suddenly enough space that it seemed to demand that I play something. At that service, organ literature would be out of the question; it would not fit the ethos of what the congregation wants or expects. I toyed with the idea of playing piano literature (e.g., Chopin, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven) – that would not fit, either. So, it has become my bounden duty to improvise a prelude every week. I can prepare for it and possibly play well, or not prepare and probably play badly, but either way, I must play something. It is good for me, though it has squeezed my time even further, and it has forced me to improve my skills.

My work flow has settled into a routine of devoting all the time I can spare early in the week to the organ voluntaries and anthem accompaniments for the choral service, followed by a frantic scramble to prepare the improvisation mostly on Saturday and Sunday morning (in a good week, I get some work done with it on Friday, which improves the results); all told, three or maybe four hours of preparation. I have described it elsewhere; the first and essential step is to Know the Tune(s), and such formal structure as the music has most often grows organically from that.

This time, I wanted to play Land of Rest, which we were to sing with the words “Jerusalem, my happy home.” It is an Appalachian tune, collected in Southwest Virginia not far from where I was born and raised, and in part I wanted to play it to honor Jean Ritchie, who passed away this week. (Here is the Wikipedia article about her, and here is a brief homage from my friend Fr. Tim.)


I also wanted to include the South African folk hymn with which the service would begin, Haleluya, Pelo tsa rona. I tried to put it first, with Land of Rest in the middle and Pelo tsa rona returning for an ABA form; it refused to go that way. So at the end of my Saturday work time, I ended up with a simple AB form – Land of Rest, then Pelo tsa rona, with (as it turned out this morning) just a hint of Land of Rest as a coda. Here is the piece.

I learned a useful technique to end a piece or a section from the Arnold Schoenberg book Fundamentals of Musical Composition, which I described here. I forget what he called it, but in essence you take an element from the latter part of the material and “dissolve” it (that may have been his term, now that I think of it) – repeat it with some of the aspects of it going away. Today's improvisation is a good illustration; I “dissolve” the last phrase of Land of Rest down to a six-note fragment, and finally to a two-chord cadence (about 4:34 to 4:53 in the clip), and then finish Pelo tsa rona by quickly dissolving it into its final two-chord cadence – the same two chords that ended Land of Rest (5:55 to 6:04, with the chords echoing a few more times after that).


Also, I have posted the organ piece from the choral service, the large setting of Aus tiefer Not from the Clavierübung of Bach (it is here). It is a six-voice chorale fugue: each phrase of the chorale is treated contrapuntally, with four voices in the hands, a fifth voice in the pedal – and then a sixth voice also in the pedal, as a tenor, in augmentation (note values twice as long as in the other voices). This winds up, and the next phrase receives the same treatment. It is monumentally impressive. And it is a piece where you always wish there were another big pedal stop to make the tune soar out even more. On the Pilcher, I limited the sound in the manuals to the Great plenum uncoupled, and put everything else that the organ has (Swell to pedal, and almost all of the pedal stops) onto the pedal. It is not enough. But I checked a few of the other recordings on YouTube, and I don't like any of their registrations either.

The chorale is Martin Luther's metrical setting of Psalm 130, which was part of this day's liturgy.