May God’s peace and blessings be with the members of the Red Army Choir, the Alexandrov Ensemble, who died in the airplane crash over the Black Sea on Christmas Day. They were doing their duty: flying to a Russian military base in Syria to sing for the troops on deployment there.
One of my friends, who I think still reads these posts, does similar work as a musician in the U.S. military. It is important work, and not sufficiently respected in parts of the civilian musical world. Well, all of the military musicians of our country, and other countries, have my respect for what it is worth.
There are several video tributes to the Alexandrov Ensemble on YouTube. Here is a brief one, from what I think is a Russian television network. They are singing a patriotic song, "The Red Army is the strongest” with video of what I suppose is a May Day military parade in Moscow, followed by what is probably a folksong, “The Road.” Lest some find it jingoistic, it is simply part of what such an ensemble does, much like the Army band playing "The Stars and Stripes Forever" at a White House event, or the military band playing the National Anthem in front of Buckingham Palace for the Queen's Christmas Message last weekend.
For a fuller sense of the choir’s work, here is their final concert, at the Bolshoi Theatre with instrumental ensemble and folk dancers. This is very fine choral singing, as one would find from equivalent U.S. choirs. Listen especially to the somewhat quieter songs starting at about 13’50” into the recording; it is a good way to remember these choristers.
It is my hope that President Trump might find a way to build peace between our nation and Russia. We have much in common, and many common interests in the world.
However that turns out, I hope that I might meet some of these choristers someday on the other side of Jordan, and that perhaps we might all sing together at the last, all of our divisions put aside forever.
Saturday, December 31, 2016
Wednesday, December 28, 2016
Angels and the Song
In his discussion of the birth of Christ, Benedict XVI quotes St. Luke 2:12-14, the angels appearing to the shepherds. Of these verses he writes:
In another context, I wrote elsewhere that the angels help us sing; it works both ways, for we help them sing, too. Without our very human song – and, for that matter, the songs of birds, the great whales, and all other forms of song from every living creature in its proper manner – it would be incomplete, the “glory of the great joy” would be diminished.
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I love this little book by the Holy Father, Pope Benedict, the third of three volumes he wrote on Jesus of Nazareth.
On another topic which arose here in a previous essay concerning the Fourth Sunday of Advent, Benedict writes of the Virgin Birth. After discussion of the “extensive exegetical debate” (p. 46) concerning Isaiah 7:14 and St. Matthew 1:22-23, he concludes:
According to the evangelist, the angels “said” this [v. 12]. But Christianity has always understood that the speech of angels is actually song, in which all the glory of the great joy that they proclaim becomes tangibly present. And so, from that moment, the angels’ song of praise has never gone silent. It continues down the centuries in constantly new forms and it resounds ever anew at the celebration of Jesus’ birth. It is only natural that simple believers would then hear the shepherds singing too, and to this day they join in their caroling on the Holy Night, proclaiming in song the great joy that, from then until the end of time, is bestowed on all people. (Joseph Ratzinger [Pope Benedict XVI], Jesus of Nazareth: the Infancy Narratives, p. 73-74)“The speech of angels is actually song…” what a wonderful description!
In another context, I wrote elsewhere that the angels help us sing; it works both ways, for we help them sing, too. Without our very human song – and, for that matter, the songs of birds, the great whales, and all other forms of song from every living creature in its proper manner – it would be incomplete, the “glory of the great joy” would be diminished.
----------
I love this little book by the Holy Father, Pope Benedict, the third of three volumes he wrote on Jesus of Nazareth.
On another topic which arose here in a previous essay concerning the Fourth Sunday of Advent, Benedict writes of the Virgin Birth. After discussion of the “extensive exegetical debate” (p. 46) concerning Isaiah 7:14 and St. Matthew 1:22-23, he concludes:
Is what we profess in the Creed true, then?—“I believe in one Lord Jesus Christ, the only begotten Son of God… [who] by the Holy Spirit was incarnate of the Virgin Mary?”
The answer is an unequivocal yes. Karl Barth pointed out that there are two moments in the story of Jesus when God intervenes directly in the material world: the virgin birth and the resurrection from the tomb, in which Jesus did not remain, nor see corruption. These two moments are a scandal to the modern spirit. God is “allowed” to act in ideas and thoughts, in the spiritual domain—but not in the material. That is shocking. He does not belong there. But that is precisely the point: God is God and he does not operate merely on the level of ideas….
Naturally we may not ascribe to God anything nonsensical or irrational, or anything that contradicts his creation. But here we are not dealing with the irrational or contradictory, but precisely with the positive—with God’s creative power, embracing the whole of being. In that sense these two moments—the virgin birth and the real resurrection from the tomb—are the cornerstones of faith. If God does not also have power over matter, then he simply is not God. But he does have this power, and through the conception and resurrection of Jesus Christ he has ushered in a new creation. So as the Creator he is also our Redeemer. Hence the conception and birth of Jesus from the Virgin Mary is a fundamental element of our faith and a radiant sign of hope. (ibid., p. 56-57)
Sunday, December 25, 2016
Chronicles of Advent, Part Two
Thursday: a Sabbath of Rest
From my arrival home on Wednesday, shortly after midnight, to arising on Friday morning at 3:30 is a bit more than twenty-seven hours. I sleep for twenty-three of them, arising only for two meals and the Daily Office.
It is not enough.
But it is a start, and I am grateful that on the Sabbath, there is no shame in sleeping all day. It is harder every December to get through it. And it is to some degree my own fault. Last week, I desecrated the Sabbath by working; I had to cover for the rehearsal of a children’s choir for its concert, staying until they were done and securing the church, and in turn I stayed up late for said concert on Friday, around 10 pm before I left for home. I did have a day off on Monday, but as I wrote in the previous essay, it was entirely devoted to errands, grocery shopping, and cooking – and again a late night, so that I could serve a proper dinner to my wife when she completed a hard shift at her job.
It is never a good idea to desecrate the Sabbath.
Friday: Crunch time
I am in the darkened church by 6:30; it is not at all clear to me how I can squeeze in sufficient practice today and tomorrow.
I hesitate; there is no time for the piano. Not with all of that Bach staring me in the face. But I remove the cover from the Steinway, raise the lid, and begin. Just twenty minutes today, but it is good that I begin in this manner; as it did on Wednesday, it sets the spiritual context for the day’s work. And it is time to be working toward tomorrow’s early service.
Some years, there is time for a short piano prelude before the 5 pm Christmas Eve, the service with the largest attendance of the year in this parish, with youth choir and children’s pageant. Some years, I am scrambling around until the last moment and there is no prelude. And in any event, no one listens; it is typically a large, talkative crowd. For the years in which I have played, I have never prepared anything. This year, I will give at least a little thought to it:
D major, the dominant of the opening hymn, and based on it – “O come, all ye faithful,” Adeste fidelis. I make a beginning… then comes Stille Nacht – still with wrong notes in the tune. As a coda, a quiet first line of Antioch, “Joy to the world.” I am in tears.
Over to the organ. I work on the Bach Variations until the 10:00 pageant rehearsal, and for another hour in the afternoon before the 3:00 liturgical rehearsal. It is not enough.
Christmas Eve: Something old, something new
Very likely, Old Bach could improvise two-voice counterpoint as easily as most of us play scales. He could surely weave it around a chorale tune in the pedals. Probably, he could improvise something like the First Variation: the chorale in the pedals, a delightful little canon at the octave in the manuals.
But even Bach probably could not improvise something like the Fifth Variation – an augmentation canon. The two voices begin together and are identical, except one goes half the speed of the other, and of course the chorale is there, too, in the pedals.
I wrote somewhere that in his mature organ works, there is hardly any virtuosity for its own sake. But he was proud of his contrapuntal skill – rightfully, for no one before or since has matched it. In this sense, the Fifth Variation, quiet and beautiful as it is, is a place where Bach is showing off.
But when he was young, Bach reveled in his keyboard virtuosity. I am learning his youthful setting of “In dulci jubilo” (BWV 729), written when he was at Arnstadt and in his late teens or early twenties. It is an interesting pairing with the Variations, which were written near the end of his life; “In dulci jubilo” is exuberant, full of energy and delight.
It will be even more interesting if I can actually play it. I fingered it last Sunday after the youth caroling, and worked on it at the piano at odd moments through the week; its first proper workout at the organ is today, 2:30 pm on Christmas Eve. I work at it a little too long, and the choristers are arriving for their 4:15 rehearsal before I have set up the choir room for them.
There is time for a piano prelude, almost ten minutes of it; I play, not well at all. At least no one is listening, so far as I can tell. The liturgy goes well; the youth choir does very well, especially with their two movements from the Ceremony of Carols (though afterwards, a parishioner compares us unfavorably with the recording he listens to every year by a well-known British boy choir. He is right; we are not at that level. But we are here, and that other choir isn't.) I put things away, and it is back on the bench; a second workout on “In dulci jubilo,” plus the hymnody for the Midnight Mass, and the fourth and fifth Variations.
And it is time for another service; the adult choristers begin arriving for their 10 pm rehearsal. Many years we barely can field a choir for Midnight Mass so I have learned to select easy music for the service; this year, there are fifteen choristers.
Jean was at the earlier service, singing with the youth choir and assisting; she returns for the late service and turns pages for the Bach Variations. There are places that do not go well, but it is not for lack of preparation – the mistakes are “new” ones, all of them at places that had been trouble-free all week, and the difficult Third Variation goes very well. The mistakes are possibly from fatigue, for I have been on the bench a long time today, since 8:00 this morning with two half-hour breaks for meals. That is too much to expect to be fresh and play well at the end of it.
But the choir sings well, the hymnody goes well, and the “In dulci jubilo” postlude mostly goes well – in that case, the one place where I went astray was indeed due to lack of preparation.
And it is done; Advent is over.
If the Lord wills, I hope to play the “In dulci jubilo” again, perhaps next Christmas. And I would love to play the Canonic Variations again; I had hoped that this second playing, two years after the first, would be better than it turned out. It is great music, some of the best that we have from this greatest of composers, and I do not think that it is often played, especially with the congregational singing of the chorale. It was good to live with it this week.
Afterword: Know the Tune
Bach is always a teacher. Even in the most abstract of his late works -- and the Canonic Variations belong in this group, alongside the Musical Offering and the Art of Fugue -- he is always pointing the way, for those who somehow make it this far up the path. Beethoven, for one; it would be hard to imagine the Grosse Fugue for string quartet, or for that matter the great fugal passages from the Ode to Joy and certain passages in the late piano sonatas, without Bach's Art of Fugue.
The context of the Variations as they come to us in Bach's revision is what we now call the Leipzig Chorales, his last exploration of how an organist (or any musician) is to approach the Tunes of the church. Many of the chorales are set multiple times, as if to say "here is one way to play this Tune, and here is another" (for example, Komm, heiliger Geist, with two very different settings at the beginning of the collection).
Or in the terms I have used in this blog: Know the Tune.
We are now far beyond the levels I am exploring in my work, such as the basics of simply controlling the notes in Stille Nacht, or struggling to put one's ideas into a form. And, I think, even beyond T. Monk's advice to play the Tune for two hours without losing the groove, though I think he was pointing in the same direction as Bach in this matter.
Perhaps Bach is saying "This is how to use the contrapuntal tools to reach the theological center of the Tune." In the first Variation, it is still a child's tune, which is how Luther conceived it, writing the hymn for his children. Thus, we have such stanzas as the one I quoted the other day:
And, with these Variations, we are almost at the end. In the Leipzig Chorales, they are the next-to-last item, following seventeen large-scale chorale preludes. After the Variations, only one remains: Vor deinen Thron tret' ich.
Soli Deo gloria.
From my arrival home on Wednesday, shortly after midnight, to arising on Friday morning at 3:30 is a bit more than twenty-seven hours. I sleep for twenty-three of them, arising only for two meals and the Daily Office.
It is not enough.
But it is a start, and I am grateful that on the Sabbath, there is no shame in sleeping all day. It is harder every December to get through it. And it is to some degree my own fault. Last week, I desecrated the Sabbath by working; I had to cover for the rehearsal of a children’s choir for its concert, staying until they were done and securing the church, and in turn I stayed up late for said concert on Friday, around 10 pm before I left for home. I did have a day off on Monday, but as I wrote in the previous essay, it was entirely devoted to errands, grocery shopping, and cooking – and again a late night, so that I could serve a proper dinner to my wife when she completed a hard shift at her job.
It is never a good idea to desecrate the Sabbath.
Friday: Crunch time
I am in the darkened church by 6:30; it is not at all clear to me how I can squeeze in sufficient practice today and tomorrow.
I hesitate; there is no time for the piano. Not with all of that Bach staring me in the face. But I remove the cover from the Steinway, raise the lid, and begin. Just twenty minutes today, but it is good that I begin in this manner; as it did on Wednesday, it sets the spiritual context for the day’s work. And it is time to be working toward tomorrow’s early service.
Some years, there is time for a short piano prelude before the 5 pm Christmas Eve, the service with the largest attendance of the year in this parish, with youth choir and children’s pageant. Some years, I am scrambling around until the last moment and there is no prelude. And in any event, no one listens; it is typically a large, talkative crowd. For the years in which I have played, I have never prepared anything. This year, I will give at least a little thought to it:
D major, the dominant of the opening hymn, and based on it – “O come, all ye faithful,” Adeste fidelis. I make a beginning… then comes Stille Nacht – still with wrong notes in the tune. As a coda, a quiet first line of Antioch, “Joy to the world.” I am in tears.
Over to the organ. I work on the Bach Variations until the 10:00 pageant rehearsal, and for another hour in the afternoon before the 3:00 liturgical rehearsal. It is not enough.
Christmas Eve: Something old, something new
Very likely, Old Bach could improvise two-voice counterpoint as easily as most of us play scales. He could surely weave it around a chorale tune in the pedals. Probably, he could improvise something like the First Variation: the chorale in the pedals, a delightful little canon at the octave in the manuals.
But even Bach probably could not improvise something like the Fifth Variation – an augmentation canon. The two voices begin together and are identical, except one goes half the speed of the other, and of course the chorale is there, too, in the pedals.
I wrote somewhere that in his mature organ works, there is hardly any virtuosity for its own sake. But he was proud of his contrapuntal skill – rightfully, for no one before or since has matched it. In this sense, the Fifth Variation, quiet and beautiful as it is, is a place where Bach is showing off.
But when he was young, Bach reveled in his keyboard virtuosity. I am learning his youthful setting of “In dulci jubilo” (BWV 729), written when he was at Arnstadt and in his late teens or early twenties. It is an interesting pairing with the Variations, which were written near the end of his life; “In dulci jubilo” is exuberant, full of energy and delight.
It will be even more interesting if I can actually play it. I fingered it last Sunday after the youth caroling, and worked on it at the piano at odd moments through the week; its first proper workout at the organ is today, 2:30 pm on Christmas Eve. I work at it a little too long, and the choristers are arriving for their 4:15 rehearsal before I have set up the choir room for them.
There is time for a piano prelude, almost ten minutes of it; I play, not well at all. At least no one is listening, so far as I can tell. The liturgy goes well; the youth choir does very well, especially with their two movements from the Ceremony of Carols (though afterwards, a parishioner compares us unfavorably with the recording he listens to every year by a well-known British boy choir. He is right; we are not at that level. But we are here, and that other choir isn't.) I put things away, and it is back on the bench; a second workout on “In dulci jubilo,” plus the hymnody for the Midnight Mass, and the fourth and fifth Variations.
And it is time for another service; the adult choristers begin arriving for their 10 pm rehearsal. Many years we barely can field a choir for Midnight Mass so I have learned to select easy music for the service; this year, there are fifteen choristers.
Jean was at the earlier service, singing with the youth choir and assisting; she returns for the late service and turns pages for the Bach Variations. There are places that do not go well, but it is not for lack of preparation – the mistakes are “new” ones, all of them at places that had been trouble-free all week, and the difficult Third Variation goes very well. The mistakes are possibly from fatigue, for I have been on the bench a long time today, since 8:00 this morning with two half-hour breaks for meals. That is too much to expect to be fresh and play well at the end of it.
But the choir sings well, the hymnody goes well, and the “In dulci jubilo” postlude mostly goes well – in that case, the one place where I went astray was indeed due to lack of preparation.
And it is done; Advent is over.
If the Lord wills, I hope to play the “In dulci jubilo” again, perhaps next Christmas. And I would love to play the Canonic Variations again; I had hoped that this second playing, two years after the first, would be better than it turned out. It is great music, some of the best that we have from this greatest of composers, and I do not think that it is often played, especially with the congregational singing of the chorale. It was good to live with it this week.
O dearest Jesus, holy child,
Prepare a bed, soft, undefiled,
A holy shrine, within my heart,
That you and I need never part.
My heart for very joy now leaps;
My voice no longer silence keeps;
I too must join the angel-throng
To sing with joy his cradle-song:
Afterword: Know the Tune
Bach is always a teacher. Even in the most abstract of his late works -- and the Canonic Variations belong in this group, alongside the Musical Offering and the Art of Fugue -- he is always pointing the way, for those who somehow make it this far up the path. Beethoven, for one; it would be hard to imagine the Grosse Fugue for string quartet, or for that matter the great fugal passages from the Ode to Joy and certain passages in the late piano sonatas, without Bach's Art of Fugue.
The context of the Variations as they come to us in Bach's revision is what we now call the Leipzig Chorales, his last exploration of how an organist (or any musician) is to approach the Tunes of the church. Many of the chorales are set multiple times, as if to say "here is one way to play this Tune, and here is another" (for example, Komm, heiliger Geist, with two very different settings at the beginning of the collection).
Or in the terms I have used in this blog: Know the Tune.
We are now far beyond the levels I am exploring in my work, such as the basics of simply controlling the notes in Stille Nacht, or struggling to put one's ideas into a form. And, I think, even beyond T. Monk's advice to play the Tune for two hours without losing the groove, though I think he was pointing in the same direction as Bach in this matter.
Perhaps Bach is saying "This is how to use the contrapuntal tools to reach the theological center of the Tune." In the first Variation, it is still a child's tune, which is how Luther conceived it, writing the hymn for his children. Thus, we have such stanzas as the one I quoted the other day:
Look, look, dear friends, look over there!By the Fourth and Fifth Variations in the arrangement in which Bach put them in this final version, we are much deeper into the theology of the Incarnation -- yet, still with childlike innocence.
What lies within that manger bare?
Who is that lovely little one?
The baby Jesus, God’s dear Son.
And, with these Variations, we are almost at the end. In the Leipzig Chorales, they are the next-to-last item, following seventeen large-scale chorale preludes. After the Variations, only one remains: Vor deinen Thron tret' ich.
Soli Deo gloria.
Wednesday, December 21, 2016
Chronicles of Advent
The Fourth Sunday of Advent
And so it is; on this day, we sing. Days later as I write this, it rings in my heart.
Like the rest of Messiah, this aria and chorus are amazing. My opinion is that Handel wrote this piece in a burst of what was genuinely Divine Inspiration – how else could it have come into being, and in the breakneck speed in which he wrote it? The deeper one studies it, the more miraculous it is.
And the little recitative that begins it, the Scriptural tie to this day… less than thirty seconds, and absolutely perfect, right down to the tag line at the end: “God with us,” then the V-I cadence. We struggled with this in rehearsal, and had to sing it several times in the warmup; in the service, it was perfect. As with all that we sing, I want these words, this music, to take root in the hearts of our choristers.
I worried about the text. I could envision one of our twelve-year old boys raising his hand in rehearsal and asking “What is a virgin?” I asked my fellow-laborer in Christ (Nora) what to do; she was not encouraging. In essence, she advised me to dodge the question. Tell them to ask their parents at home, then call the parents of the child who raised the issue and tell them.
It did not come up. In a way, I wish it had, though I do not know how I could have addressed it in a rehearsal.
The virginity of St. Mary is one of the great Secrets of God, equal in stature to the other one: the bodily Resurrection of Christ from the dead. Both are thoroughly attested by Scripture, part of the central bedrock of Christian belief in all times and places -- until recently. The first is perhaps more scandalous than the last. It is so thoroughly unscientific. It is a rehash of legends from pagan mythology. It is, like the Resurrection, a pious fable tacked on generations later to suit the needs of the emerging church.
Or so they say.
And, like the Resurrection, it is absolutely true, whether the liberal theologians and clergy like it or not. Without it, there is no Incarnation; he is not Emmanuel, God with us, but just another teacher -- exactly as Gabriel explains to St. Mary at the Annunciation: "That holy thing which shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of God" (St. Luke 1:35). For something that is as readily knowable as these doctrines, it is amazing how they remain a secret. Without faith, they are as invisible as if they were buried on the back side of the moon.
Our young people are not going to hear about this doctrine in our parish, and probably not anywhere in the Episcopal Church, where neither Virgin Birth nor Resurrection are widely believed. But perhaps they will someday remember singing this little recitative and wonder what it means.
Tuesday: Bulletin Crazy Day
As expected, much of today is committed to the service bulletins for the coming weekend. The day is further complicated by the Christmas luncheon for staff and volunteers – close to two hours. Many of the volunteers are retired, and perfectly happy to while away the afternoon. I am chomping at the bit, restlessly longing to get onto the bench and to my proper duty. But there is more bulletin work, and (of course) more e-mails. And I am tired, worn out from a Monday filled with errands, grocery shopping, cooking and dishwashing.
I finally get around to practice around 3 pm, and I had to postpone my young student’s lesson to another day in order to get any practicing at all. I begin with piano improvisation, working with the chorale Es ist ein Ros’. That goes well enough, so I try Stille Nacht. And I discover that I do not Know the Tune. Worse still, others are at work in the church, hearing me mangle it. I cannot control the third phrase of this wide-ranging tune and repeatedly miss notes in any key other than B flat major, even playing it in unison. It is thoroughly embarrassing; I have been a church musician for upwards of forty years and I cannot play “Silent Night?”
The people who are at work move on to one of their tasks: testing the sound system. One of the clergy has complained about the wireless microphone. It is clear that my attempts at music are disturbing them as they test it and that they likewise think that they are disturbing me, so I close the lid, replace the cover, and bow out.
Some time later, my friend John comes downstairs and tells me that they are done. I go to the organ, and make a beginning with the Third Variation on Vom Himmel hoch. It is the hardest part of the set: "Some canonic variations on the Christmas hymn" as Bach calls it. And it was for this that I cancelled H’s lesson; I knew that if I did not make a start on it today, I could not play it on Saturday night.
I do a First Workout of the latter half of the variation, ninety minutes on about two and a half pages. It is a start.
[I wrote about the Canonic Variations here, when I played them two years ago, and my recording is here.]
The Feast of St. Thomas, Apostle
I am determined to learn Stille Nacht, and give it a good forty minutes at the piano, first thing after I hang up my overcoat, playing it right up until Matins. As I described the other day in “Knowing the Tune,” it continues to be ugly for quite a while, with many times that I cannot even keep the groove going for all of the wrong notes in the tune – and then, about twenty minutes into my work, it suddenly becomes very good indeed. I wish I had recorded it.
From that: straight into Matins, the church still in semidarkness on this shortest day of the year. It is all I can do to sing the appointed Psalms – the twenty-third, the one hundred and twenty-first (“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills…”). How is it that St. Thomas rates these loveliest of Psalms for the Matins of his Feast? And the lessons from the end of Job and the beginning of First Peter? Oh beloved Thomas, Apostle to India, friend of those who long for it to be true: pray for us.
Please, dear Lord: may this work that we do, even when it is the stumbling over the simplest of things like a beginner, be “found unto praise and honor and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ.”
One of my street friends comes in and listens for a while. He prays for me after I pray for him: “Help Cassie to play well this week and make good music.” I treasure this support, for God listens to the prayers of the poor. The prayers of people like me – perhaps not so much.
The choral rehearsals go well. The youth choir is singing two movements from “Ceremony of Carols,” and they have the potential to be quite good. We conclude the rehearsal with our annual rendition of “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” which grows more memorable every year.
More than half of the adult choir rehearsal is devoted to first beginnings on music for the spring, including a set of Responses for the May evensong; Kenneth Leighton, and it will take us that long to learn them. But we are ready for Christmas Eve; the choir sounds terrific.
[to be continued]
Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son; and thou shalt call his name Emmanuel (Isaiah 7:14 and St. Matthew 1:23)When I was planning the choir season and saw this for the First Lesson and Gospel of this day, my heart leaped. We can sing the Handel! Recitative and Aria from Messiah, “O thou that tellest good tidings to Zion.” And for what is probably the only year, the alto aria fits the youth choir to perfection. Our three young men are more tenors now than altos, but they can still sing in this range, along with the trebles. We can bring in a violinist (Leonardo Perez, a doctoral student at the university who is a delight to work with), and two young men of our parish on violoncello and bass for the continuo line, along with my friend Jean at the organ. The adult choir can join for the SATB ending.
And so it is; on this day, we sing. Days later as I write this, it rings in my heart.
Like the rest of Messiah, this aria and chorus are amazing. My opinion is that Handel wrote this piece in a burst of what was genuinely Divine Inspiration – how else could it have come into being, and in the breakneck speed in which he wrote it? The deeper one studies it, the more miraculous it is.
And the little recitative that begins it, the Scriptural tie to this day… less than thirty seconds, and absolutely perfect, right down to the tag line at the end: “God with us,” then the V-I cadence. We struggled with this in rehearsal, and had to sing it several times in the warmup; in the service, it was perfect. As with all that we sing, I want these words, this music, to take root in the hearts of our choristers.
I worried about the text. I could envision one of our twelve-year old boys raising his hand in rehearsal and asking “What is a virgin?” I asked my fellow-laborer in Christ (Nora) what to do; she was not encouraging. In essence, she advised me to dodge the question. Tell them to ask their parents at home, then call the parents of the child who raised the issue and tell them.
It did not come up. In a way, I wish it had, though I do not know how I could have addressed it in a rehearsal.
The virginity of St. Mary is one of the great Secrets of God, equal in stature to the other one: the bodily Resurrection of Christ from the dead. Both are thoroughly attested by Scripture, part of the central bedrock of Christian belief in all times and places -- until recently. The first is perhaps more scandalous than the last. It is so thoroughly unscientific. It is a rehash of legends from pagan mythology. It is, like the Resurrection, a pious fable tacked on generations later to suit the needs of the emerging church.
Or so they say.
And, like the Resurrection, it is absolutely true, whether the liberal theologians and clergy like it or not. Without it, there is no Incarnation; he is not Emmanuel, God with us, but just another teacher -- exactly as Gabriel explains to St. Mary at the Annunciation: "That holy thing which shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of God" (St. Luke 1:35). For something that is as readily knowable as these doctrines, it is amazing how they remain a secret. Without faith, they are as invisible as if they were buried on the back side of the moon.
Our young people are not going to hear about this doctrine in our parish, and probably not anywhere in the Episcopal Church, where neither Virgin Birth nor Resurrection are widely believed. But perhaps they will someday remember singing this little recitative and wonder what it means.
Tuesday: Bulletin Crazy Day
As expected, much of today is committed to the service bulletins for the coming weekend. The day is further complicated by the Christmas luncheon for staff and volunteers – close to two hours. Many of the volunteers are retired, and perfectly happy to while away the afternoon. I am chomping at the bit, restlessly longing to get onto the bench and to my proper duty. But there is more bulletin work, and (of course) more e-mails. And I am tired, worn out from a Monday filled with errands, grocery shopping, cooking and dishwashing.
I finally get around to practice around 3 pm, and I had to postpone my young student’s lesson to another day in order to get any practicing at all. I begin with piano improvisation, working with the chorale Es ist ein Ros’. That goes well enough, so I try Stille Nacht. And I discover that I do not Know the Tune. Worse still, others are at work in the church, hearing me mangle it. I cannot control the third phrase of this wide-ranging tune and repeatedly miss notes in any key other than B flat major, even playing it in unison. It is thoroughly embarrassing; I have been a church musician for upwards of forty years and I cannot play “Silent Night?”
The people who are at work move on to one of their tasks: testing the sound system. One of the clergy has complained about the wireless microphone. It is clear that my attempts at music are disturbing them as they test it and that they likewise think that they are disturbing me, so I close the lid, replace the cover, and bow out.
Some time later, my friend John comes downstairs and tells me that they are done. I go to the organ, and make a beginning with the Third Variation on Vom Himmel hoch. It is the hardest part of the set: "Some canonic variations on the Christmas hymn" as Bach calls it. And it was for this that I cancelled H’s lesson; I knew that if I did not make a start on it today, I could not play it on Saturday night.
I do a First Workout of the latter half of the variation, ninety minutes on about two and a half pages. It is a start.
[I wrote about the Canonic Variations here, when I played them two years ago, and my recording is here.]
The Feast of St. Thomas, Apostle
I am determined to learn Stille Nacht, and give it a good forty minutes at the piano, first thing after I hang up my overcoat, playing it right up until Matins. As I described the other day in “Knowing the Tune,” it continues to be ugly for quite a while, with many times that I cannot even keep the groove going for all of the wrong notes in the tune – and then, about twenty minutes into my work, it suddenly becomes very good indeed. I wish I had recorded it.
From that: straight into Matins, the church still in semidarkness on this shortest day of the year. It is all I can do to sing the appointed Psalms – the twenty-third, the one hundred and twenty-first (“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills…”). How is it that St. Thomas rates these loveliest of Psalms for the Matins of his Feast? And the lessons from the end of Job and the beginning of First Peter? Oh beloved Thomas, Apostle to India, friend of those who long for it to be true: pray for us.
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which according to his abundant mercy hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead…The part that struck me today was from verses six and seven:
… though now for a season, if need be, ye are in heaviness through manifold temptations: that the trial of your faith, being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honor and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ…Making hash of Stille Nacht is not much for “manifold temptations,” nor even Bulletin Crazy Day in its semiannual appearance (we have a reprise early in Holy Week). But, small as these things are, they are indeed this week a trial of my faith. They are what Pressfield calls “Resistance,” for on a day like yesterday when I barely make it to the piano and then sound horrible when I do, it would be very easy to quit. Or when I tangle with the Third Variation, and find it every bit as challenging as I remember from two years ago – the thought arises “Why am I doing this?”
Please, dear Lord: may this work that we do, even when it is the stumbling over the simplest of things like a beginner, be “found unto praise and honor and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ.”
How glad we’ll be to find it so!I work hard at the organ today, all of it on the Variations. It goes well, but by the end of the day I have worked through only two of the five variations. It leaves a lot of work for Friday and Saturday.
Then with the shepherds let us go
To see what God for us has done
In sending us his own dear Son.
One of my street friends comes in and listens for a while. He prays for me after I pray for him: “Help Cassie to play well this week and make good music.” I treasure this support, for God listens to the prayers of the poor. The prayers of people like me – perhaps not so much.
The choral rehearsals go well. The youth choir is singing two movements from “Ceremony of Carols,” and they have the potential to be quite good. We conclude the rehearsal with our annual rendition of “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” which grows more memorable every year.
More than half of the adult choir rehearsal is devoted to first beginnings on music for the spring, including a set of Responses for the May evensong; Kenneth Leighton, and it will take us that long to learn them. But we are ready for Christmas Eve; the choir sounds terrific.
Look, look, dear friends, look over there!
What lies within that manger bare?
Who is that lovely little one?
The baby Jesus, God’s dear Son.
Welcome to earth, O noble Guest,
Through whom this sinful world is blest!
You turned not from our needs away!
How can our thanks such love repay?
[to be continued]
Sunday, December 18, 2016
Veni Emmanuel
As mentioned in the previous essay, I have been working on some of the concepts in the Mike Garson masterclass, and giving it higher priority – not so much more time from the week, but better time, first thing in the day when I am fresh. I had been feeling a little “stuck” in my improvisatory work, and I think that this work has gotten me out of the ditch.
Here is this morning’s improvisation. It is based on the three songs from the service, mostly the first:
- O come, O come, Emmanuel (Veni Emmanuel)
- Mary, when the angel’s word (Tempus adest floridum)
- Creator of the stars of night (Conditor Alme)
Garson talks about his “now” music, where he has no preconception before he starts playing. I am trying to move a little in that direction, and to be less concerned about formal structure. But not entirely unconcerned, and neither is Garson; I think that he is trusting his subconscious to keep the unity of the piece. I am not there yet.
For one thing, I think it important to begin and end in the home key, in this case B minor/major. In between, I planned to go to the relative major (D) for “Tempus adest floridum” (best known as the tune for “Good King Wenceslaus,” but here with a modern text), and did so, having played around some during the week on a transition into it from the plainsong, and out of it.
I did not preconceive a key for “Conditor Alme.” As it happened, it was mostly in G major, moving to C major (about as far from the home key of B as possible). Nor did I plan what to do after that, beyond getting back to tonic.
And I think it turned out pretty well. I can hear many things that showed up during the week’s practice, but I had no idea which of them would show up today, or in what context, and none of it is exactly like anything I did through the week. For those who might be interested, there is a Serious Mistake at 4:16 – having moved in a direction that was a bit unexpected, I tripped over a note and lost the rhythmic “groove” for a moment. Yuck. “You can play any notes, but stay with the groove.”
But one must get past the fear of such things. To paraphrase another master (William Porter, organist) – we miss notes in our repertoire; what’s the difference when we miss them in an improvisation?
The whole thing is rather spacious – lots of long notes, lots of quiet. That comes partly from the two plainsongs, but partly from the day – clear and very cold, the sunshine streaming in the south window, just a handful of people at the service – four, when I started. It felt like the music needed to be gentle, reflective, so I sought to go in that direction.
From 8:45 onward feels like a coda. I did not find the photographs for the YouTube clip until this afternoon, but the coda fits them well. Both photos (from the Hubble Space Telescope) are of the “Creator of the stars of night” in his workshop – they are areas where new stars are being made.
------------
Some of this work with improvisation filters into my hymn accompaniment. Certainly, when it is the same tune (like the three in this one, all played later in the service), I have much more freedom with the accompaniment than I would had I not spent the time to “know the tune.” But it carries over into my organ playing, too. I do not think that I improvise well at the organ (I hope to, someday), but I am getting better at playing the hymns.
These are from last week’s choral service: Five Advent Hymns. Numbers are from the Episcopal Hymnal 1982.
- 65: Prepare the way, O Zion
- “People, look East” (from the supplement Wonder, Love and Praise)
- 72: Hark, the glad sound, the Savior comes
- 60: Creator of the stars of night
- 444: Blest be the God of Israel
They are from the organist’s point of view – that is, the microphone is close to the instrument and one hears much more organ sound than the congregation would hear out in the room. I post them as an example of what I aim to do with the hymns.
I could not have played this way five years ago, perhaps not even one year ago; I would have been tied much closer to the page. And I emphasize that such progress as I am making is not coming from explicit work with the hymn accompaniments; it is carry-over from that half-hour or so at the piano every morning. I do of course practice the hymns, but no more than I have for years, and perhaps a bit less these days.
The final hymn, however, is an important caution to the improviser. It is a “big” English tune, with a fully-written out accompaniment by its composer, Basil Harwood. When presented with such a hymn, the organist should play exactly what is on the page, and that is what I do, perhaps filling in a chord here and there.
There are times when improvisation is not a good idea. Just play the notes.
The photos are of our beloved little Pilcher, taken on a sunny winter day much like today.
Here is this morning’s improvisation. It is based on the three songs from the service, mostly the first:
- O come, O come, Emmanuel (Veni Emmanuel)
- Mary, when the angel’s word (Tempus adest floridum)
- Creator of the stars of night (Conditor Alme)
Garson talks about his “now” music, where he has no preconception before he starts playing. I am trying to move a little in that direction, and to be less concerned about formal structure. But not entirely unconcerned, and neither is Garson; I think that he is trusting his subconscious to keep the unity of the piece. I am not there yet.
For one thing, I think it important to begin and end in the home key, in this case B minor/major. In between, I planned to go to the relative major (D) for “Tempus adest floridum” (best known as the tune for “Good King Wenceslaus,” but here with a modern text), and did so, having played around some during the week on a transition into it from the plainsong, and out of it.
I did not preconceive a key for “Conditor Alme.” As it happened, it was mostly in G major, moving to C major (about as far from the home key of B as possible). Nor did I plan what to do after that, beyond getting back to tonic.
And I think it turned out pretty well. I can hear many things that showed up during the week’s practice, but I had no idea which of them would show up today, or in what context, and none of it is exactly like anything I did through the week. For those who might be interested, there is a Serious Mistake at 4:16 – having moved in a direction that was a bit unexpected, I tripped over a note and lost the rhythmic “groove” for a moment. Yuck. “You can play any notes, but stay with the groove.”
But one must get past the fear of such things. To paraphrase another master (William Porter, organist) – we miss notes in our repertoire; what’s the difference when we miss them in an improvisation?
The whole thing is rather spacious – lots of long notes, lots of quiet. That comes partly from the two plainsongs, but partly from the day – clear and very cold, the sunshine streaming in the south window, just a handful of people at the service – four, when I started. It felt like the music needed to be gentle, reflective, so I sought to go in that direction.
From 8:45 onward feels like a coda. I did not find the photographs for the YouTube clip until this afternoon, but the coda fits them well. Both photos (from the Hubble Space Telescope) are of the “Creator of the stars of night” in his workshop – they are areas where new stars are being made.
------------
Some of this work with improvisation filters into my hymn accompaniment. Certainly, when it is the same tune (like the three in this one, all played later in the service), I have much more freedom with the accompaniment than I would had I not spent the time to “know the tune.” But it carries over into my organ playing, too. I do not think that I improvise well at the organ (I hope to, someday), but I am getting better at playing the hymns.
These are from last week’s choral service: Five Advent Hymns. Numbers are from the Episcopal Hymnal 1982.
- 65: Prepare the way, O Zion
- “People, look East” (from the supplement Wonder, Love and Praise)
- 72: Hark, the glad sound, the Savior comes
- 60: Creator of the stars of night
- 444: Blest be the God of Israel
They are from the organist’s point of view – that is, the microphone is close to the instrument and one hears much more organ sound than the congregation would hear out in the room. I post them as an example of what I aim to do with the hymns.
I could not have played this way five years ago, perhaps not even one year ago; I would have been tied much closer to the page. And I emphasize that such progress as I am making is not coming from explicit work with the hymn accompaniments; it is carry-over from that half-hour or so at the piano every morning. I do of course practice the hymns, but no more than I have for years, and perhaps a bit less these days.
The final hymn, however, is an important caution to the improviser. It is a “big” English tune, with a fully-written out accompaniment by its composer, Basil Harwood. When presented with such a hymn, the organist should play exactly what is on the page, and that is what I do, perhaps filling in a chord here and there.
There are times when improvisation is not a good idea. Just play the notes.
The photos are of our beloved little Pilcher, taken on a sunny winter day much like today.
Thursday, December 15, 2016
Know the Tune, revisited
“Know the Tune” is one of the foundations of improvisation, alongside “Speak the Language.”
I continue working with the Mike Garson online masterclass, mentioned a few weeks ago. One of his ideas takes “Know the Tune” to a higher level. He quotes the jazz pianist Thelonious Monk: take one tune. Set the metronome (he suggests setting it to play on beats two and four of the measure, and if you are new to this, set a fairly slow tempo), and play the tune. For two hours. You can play whatever notes may happen; you certainly should vary it, add chords or countermelodies, move it to different keys, whatever occurs to you. But don’t lose the groove; stay with that click. For two hours.
It is often good to take the same tune again the next day: he had one of his students play “Autumn Leaves” in this manner for two weeks, two hours a day. One thinks of the disciplines of the Desert Fathers or the Zen masters.
The virtues are many:
• After two hours, you will definitely know the tune, especially if you have played it in both hands (and the pedals, if you are at the organ), in a variety of keys, and perhaps different modes (such as Minor or Dorian instead of Major).
• You learn to Keep Going, another cardinal virtue of improvisation. It doesn’t have to sound good; it can sound positively awful (you are practicing, after all). But it has got to stay with the groove. You will learn that keeping the rhythm going is more important than what notes you play. You will learn, also, to take “wrong” notes (even in the tune) and turn them into “right” notes by what follows – it is probably an unexpected dissonance, so you can resolve it, use it as a pivot into an unexpected new key, repeat it so that it becomes an “ornament” to the tune or part of the form, or even an essential motive. A first step is to see if you can repeat it, make it a “variation” instead of a “mistake.”
• Most of all, as Garson explains, you will use up all of your “licks” in the first twenty minutes or so. Then there will be a while where it is not so good. And after that… you will begin to play as you never have before. You will find sonorities, approaches to the tune, that would not have occurred to you.
• And, best of all, it is fun. The only “pressure” is to stay with the groove; otherwise, anything goes.
Upon reflection, this is much of what I did when I was beginning to improvise at the organ and had finally gotten beyond harmonizing scales. I would sit at the organ on Fridays and Saturdays and play around with the Tune for a long time, very often an hour and sometimes two. And the “good” stuff wouldn’t start happening until well along into that time, exactly as Garson says. I would try to remember what I did (a tape recorder or similar device helps, and a pencil with some staff paper) and use it as the basis for Sunday’s improvisation.
Nowadays, it goes more quickly, especially if I have already worked with the Tune. This happens more and more with the middle service improvisations, for I have made it around the liturgical year a couple of times with improvising a prelude every Sunday. But in some respects it is even more important with a Tune that I know well; I have to get all of the stuff that I have already done with it out of my system in order to find something new to say about it. The ultimate example for this (as with almost anything else musical) is Bach; consider the chorales that he set multiple times for the organ, and how differently he approached it the second (or third, or fourth) time.
I have been working at the piano in this manner, with adaptation to my circumstances, for a couple of weeks.
For one thing, my encounter with the Yamaha and Casio hybrid pianos had already caused me to change my work day, putting higher value on playing the Steinway in the church. I go upstairs, take the cover off the piano, raise the lid, say the prayer, and play for at least a half-hour, no matter how much other work I must do. Not two hours; I cannot justify that. But a half hour at the least, sometimes forty-five minutes or so. Before, if I had a lot of organ practicing and other work to do, I would often go many days without playing the piano, then scramble to catch up on Friday and Saturday. And I would just push the piano cover back, leaving the lid down, because I was always in a hurry.
No. For the time that remains to me, I am going to enjoy playing this piano. I am going to luxuriate in the visual beauty of the strings and plate and soundboard, the immediacy of the sound, the fabulous acoustic, the surroundings, the divine Presence in the tabernacle, its candle flickering.
I think that this attitude helps my music. It makes me more aware that it is all Gift.
It is not to be despised, or taken for granted.
----------
I begin with the unison tune, in the key that I intend for Sunday’s improvisation – typically a fifth above the key of the first hymn. I use the same one or two or three tunes all week, the ones that will be in the Sunday service. I sing along with the solfege syllables, especially if I am less familiar with the tune. As the Tune attains a comfort level, I add things, let it take me where it wants to go.
I do not often use the metronome, because I want to have the opportunity to change tempo between variations. But I do keep the “groove” – the meter and rhythm and general feel - going. And I do not stop; if it is one tune, I aim for it to be a continuous set of variations. There might be what sounds like a stop – a whole note chord, perhaps several whole notes tied. Or rests. But underneath these long notes and rests, the pulse continues. Thus, when the music moves on, it continues to feel like the same composition.
If my intent is to work with multiple tunes, I might move to the second tune in the dominant or other related key, as if I were building a sonata form, and I might continue in that manner, with development of one or both tunes and a recapitulation – and then, if there is time, continue with more variations. If a two-tune improvisation is my goal, it often seems to work better to work with just one tune the first day, the second tune the second day (so that it is thoroughly worked out and “known”), and both tunes from then on.
When it is time to stop, I make my best effort to bring the piece to a convincing conclusion, for that is something I must practice doing. If the first attempt is not so good, I might stretch it on into a little coda so that I can make another attempt.
There is a final benefit: Later in the day, I will hopefully make it over to the Pilcher. I open its fallboard, sit down, turn on the music lamp, say another prayer, and dig into my work on the repertoire and the hymns, often challenging, hard work that pushes me to the limit.
And I find that this, too, is Gift. It is not to be despised, or taken for granted.
-----------
Footnote: Here (again) is the link to the Mike Garson masterclass.
I have now listened to the four parts – roughly two hours – twice through, parts of it more than that. I may share a few more ideas in future essays, but I do not want to say too much; it is his work, copyrighted, and I hope he makes some money on it.
In one sense, there is hardly anything in it that is practical. Mostly, he sits at his piano and talks, occasionally demonstrating things. There is not much “nuts and bolts” information about jazz scales, or harmonies, or anything that one might expect in a master class: “I teach by inspiration,” he says in one of the videos. But there is a lot that has made me think about my playing, and I consider this all the more valuable, more so than any amount of “nuts and bolts,” and more applicable to what I do, which differs in important ways from what he does.
And there are nuggets of pure gold, such as the one I have here described from Mr. Monk. There is excellent advice on Slow Practice and working on details, one measure or a half measure at a time. There is a lot about the spiritual nature of what we are doing, of listening to the Higher Self, and seeking to find that in one’s students. And healing: for oneself, other people, and the world.
I will not work in this manner forever; there is much else that I should do, such as contrapuntal work, additional work with forms, and technical development – things like scales, arpeggios, exercises drawn from repertoire.
And imitation of the masters: that must wait for another essay.
[Added Feb. 2017: Here is a later essay, related to this one, and a YouTube example of a practice session using the ideas described above.]
I continue working with the Mike Garson online masterclass, mentioned a few weeks ago. One of his ideas takes “Know the Tune” to a higher level. He quotes the jazz pianist Thelonious Monk: take one tune. Set the metronome (he suggests setting it to play on beats two and four of the measure, and if you are new to this, set a fairly slow tempo), and play the tune. For two hours. You can play whatever notes may happen; you certainly should vary it, add chords or countermelodies, move it to different keys, whatever occurs to you. But don’t lose the groove; stay with that click. For two hours.
It is often good to take the same tune again the next day: he had one of his students play “Autumn Leaves” in this manner for two weeks, two hours a day. One thinks of the disciplines of the Desert Fathers or the Zen masters.
The virtues are many:
• After two hours, you will definitely know the tune, especially if you have played it in both hands (and the pedals, if you are at the organ), in a variety of keys, and perhaps different modes (such as Minor or Dorian instead of Major).
• You learn to Keep Going, another cardinal virtue of improvisation. It doesn’t have to sound good; it can sound positively awful (you are practicing, after all). But it has got to stay with the groove. You will learn that keeping the rhythm going is more important than what notes you play. You will learn, also, to take “wrong” notes (even in the tune) and turn them into “right” notes by what follows – it is probably an unexpected dissonance, so you can resolve it, use it as a pivot into an unexpected new key, repeat it so that it becomes an “ornament” to the tune or part of the form, or even an essential motive. A first step is to see if you can repeat it, make it a “variation” instead of a “mistake.”
• Most of all, as Garson explains, you will use up all of your “licks” in the first twenty minutes or so. Then there will be a while where it is not so good. And after that… you will begin to play as you never have before. You will find sonorities, approaches to the tune, that would not have occurred to you.
• And, best of all, it is fun. The only “pressure” is to stay with the groove; otherwise, anything goes.
Upon reflection, this is much of what I did when I was beginning to improvise at the organ and had finally gotten beyond harmonizing scales. I would sit at the organ on Fridays and Saturdays and play around with the Tune for a long time, very often an hour and sometimes two. And the “good” stuff wouldn’t start happening until well along into that time, exactly as Garson says. I would try to remember what I did (a tape recorder or similar device helps, and a pencil with some staff paper) and use it as the basis for Sunday’s improvisation.
Nowadays, it goes more quickly, especially if I have already worked with the Tune. This happens more and more with the middle service improvisations, for I have made it around the liturgical year a couple of times with improvising a prelude every Sunday. But in some respects it is even more important with a Tune that I know well; I have to get all of the stuff that I have already done with it out of my system in order to find something new to say about it. The ultimate example for this (as with almost anything else musical) is Bach; consider the chorales that he set multiple times for the organ, and how differently he approached it the second (or third, or fourth) time.
I have been working at the piano in this manner, with adaptation to my circumstances, for a couple of weeks.
For one thing, my encounter with the Yamaha and Casio hybrid pianos had already caused me to change my work day, putting higher value on playing the Steinway in the church. I go upstairs, take the cover off the piano, raise the lid, say the prayer, and play for at least a half-hour, no matter how much other work I must do. Not two hours; I cannot justify that. But a half hour at the least, sometimes forty-five minutes or so. Before, if I had a lot of organ practicing and other work to do, I would often go many days without playing the piano, then scramble to catch up on Friday and Saturday. And I would just push the piano cover back, leaving the lid down, because I was always in a hurry.
No. For the time that remains to me, I am going to enjoy playing this piano. I am going to luxuriate in the visual beauty of the strings and plate and soundboard, the immediacy of the sound, the fabulous acoustic, the surroundings, the divine Presence in the tabernacle, its candle flickering.
I think that this attitude helps my music. It makes me more aware that it is all Gift.
It is not to be despised, or taken for granted.
----------
I begin with the unison tune, in the key that I intend for Sunday’s improvisation – typically a fifth above the key of the first hymn. I use the same one or two or three tunes all week, the ones that will be in the Sunday service. I sing along with the solfege syllables, especially if I am less familiar with the tune. As the Tune attains a comfort level, I add things, let it take me where it wants to go.
I do not often use the metronome, because I want to have the opportunity to change tempo between variations. But I do keep the “groove” – the meter and rhythm and general feel - going. And I do not stop; if it is one tune, I aim for it to be a continuous set of variations. There might be what sounds like a stop – a whole note chord, perhaps several whole notes tied. Or rests. But underneath these long notes and rests, the pulse continues. Thus, when the music moves on, it continues to feel like the same composition.
If my intent is to work with multiple tunes, I might move to the second tune in the dominant or other related key, as if I were building a sonata form, and I might continue in that manner, with development of one or both tunes and a recapitulation – and then, if there is time, continue with more variations. If a two-tune improvisation is my goal, it often seems to work better to work with just one tune the first day, the second tune the second day (so that it is thoroughly worked out and “known”), and both tunes from then on.
When it is time to stop, I make my best effort to bring the piece to a convincing conclusion, for that is something I must practice doing. If the first attempt is not so good, I might stretch it on into a little coda so that I can make another attempt.
There is a final benefit: Later in the day, I will hopefully make it over to the Pilcher. I open its fallboard, sit down, turn on the music lamp, say another prayer, and dig into my work on the repertoire and the hymns, often challenging, hard work that pushes me to the limit.
And I find that this, too, is Gift. It is not to be despised, or taken for granted.
-----------
Footnote: Here (again) is the link to the Mike Garson masterclass.
I have now listened to the four parts – roughly two hours – twice through, parts of it more than that. I may share a few more ideas in future essays, but I do not want to say too much; it is his work, copyrighted, and I hope he makes some money on it.
In one sense, there is hardly anything in it that is practical. Mostly, he sits at his piano and talks, occasionally demonstrating things. There is not much “nuts and bolts” information about jazz scales, or harmonies, or anything that one might expect in a master class: “I teach by inspiration,” he says in one of the videos. But there is a lot that has made me think about my playing, and I consider this all the more valuable, more so than any amount of “nuts and bolts,” and more applicable to what I do, which differs in important ways from what he does.
And there are nuggets of pure gold, such as the one I have here described from Mr. Monk. There is excellent advice on Slow Practice and working on details, one measure or a half measure at a time. There is a lot about the spiritual nature of what we are doing, of listening to the Higher Self, and seeking to find that in one’s students. And healing: for oneself, other people, and the world.
I will not work in this manner forever; there is much else that I should do, such as contrapuntal work, additional work with forms, and technical development – things like scales, arpeggios, exercises drawn from repertoire.
And imitation of the masters: that must wait for another essay.
[Added Feb. 2017: Here is a later essay, related to this one, and a YouTube example of a practice session using the ideas described above.]
Tuesday, December 6, 2016
The Feast of Nicholas
December 6, 2016
As it says in the Episcopal “Lesser Feasts and Fasts,” little is known for sure about St. Nicholas. He was a bishop; he was tortured and imprisoned for his faith during the persecution of Diocletian. He was perhaps at the Council of Nicaea.
But the many legends about him surely have some basis in fact. It seems clear that he was a friend of sailors, and of the poor. And most of all, children. He is their patron saint, and thus the Patron of the Royal School of Church Music. For those who have earned an RSCM Ribbon, the guy on the medal is Nicholas, dressed as a bishop.
On this Feast of Nicholas, I was visited by the two men that I have helped for years, about an hour apart. One of them needed fuel for his “new” car (a beat-up wreck of an old rusted-out Plymouth). He asked for $5; to his surprise, I rode with him to the gas station and treated him to a full tank.
The other showed up with a young friend, perhaps in her twenties or thirties. I have heard of this person for several years, and had not until now met her. She was very cautious and did not speak for a good twenty minutes; she listened to the other two of us talk. She wandered over to the youth choir bulletin board and finally spoke; in a quiet voice she asked me about the Lent Madness bracket chart from last spring, there on the board, and the “trading cards” for the previous winners of the Golden Halo, starting with C. S. Lewis. She seemed comfortable with the idea of Saints, but not comfortable at all about being inside a church building. I can’t blame her; churches are often thoroughly unfriendly to those who live on the edge, as I suspect she does. And it is not unknown for churches and those who work in them to do positive harm to people, harm that is sufficient to scare them away from church for the rest of their life.
I think that Nicholas would be a friend to people like these. I am honored that on this day, I was granted opportunity to do the same.
Both of my friends expressed concern for this country and its future. With each of them, we talked about that for a good while. They are both convicted felons and in this state will never be permitted to vote. But they still care, and their premonition is like mine; we are in for some hard times. Perhaps not right away, and definitely not just because of the election of Mr. Trump – the three of us agree that Mrs. Clinton would have been just as bad if not worse. But sooner rather than later. One of them views it through apocalyptic lenses; the End is near, and the return of our Lord Jesus Christ. The other is just scared, worried about what it will be like for a poor old veteran in bad health – a sailor, no less, veteran of the U.S. Navy - in and out of drug addiction and sometimes out on the street. Like my other friend, he also spoke of the Day of Doom: "When He comes, I don't look forward to standing before him. I've got a lot to answer for." I quoted the verse from Malachi: "For who may abide the day of His coming? And who shall stand when He appeareth?" - there is not a one of us who can do anything except fall on our knees before Him when He sits on the throne of judgement.
It struck me afterwards that I was able to speak freely with them on these topics, in a manner in which I cannot with the church people, where I feel that I am walking on eggshells when politics comes up, to say nothing of eschatology. It struck me also that these two men (and the young lady) have a much better idea what “hard times” can be like than I do, or most of my middle-class friends. And they are worried.
Nicholas, pray for us.
As it says in the Episcopal “Lesser Feasts and Fasts,” little is known for sure about St. Nicholas. He was a bishop; he was tortured and imprisoned for his faith during the persecution of Diocletian. He was perhaps at the Council of Nicaea.
But the many legends about him surely have some basis in fact. It seems clear that he was a friend of sailors, and of the poor. And most of all, children. He is their patron saint, and thus the Patron of the Royal School of Church Music. For those who have earned an RSCM Ribbon, the guy on the medal is Nicholas, dressed as a bishop.
On this Feast of Nicholas, I was visited by the two men that I have helped for years, about an hour apart. One of them needed fuel for his “new” car (a beat-up wreck of an old rusted-out Plymouth). He asked for $5; to his surprise, I rode with him to the gas station and treated him to a full tank.
The other showed up with a young friend, perhaps in her twenties or thirties. I have heard of this person for several years, and had not until now met her. She was very cautious and did not speak for a good twenty minutes; she listened to the other two of us talk. She wandered over to the youth choir bulletin board and finally spoke; in a quiet voice she asked me about the Lent Madness bracket chart from last spring, there on the board, and the “trading cards” for the previous winners of the Golden Halo, starting with C. S. Lewis. She seemed comfortable with the idea of Saints, but not comfortable at all about being inside a church building. I can’t blame her; churches are often thoroughly unfriendly to those who live on the edge, as I suspect she does. And it is not unknown for churches and those who work in them to do positive harm to people, harm that is sufficient to scare them away from church for the rest of their life.
I think that Nicholas would be a friend to people like these. I am honored that on this day, I was granted opportunity to do the same.
Both of my friends expressed concern for this country and its future. With each of them, we talked about that for a good while. They are both convicted felons and in this state will never be permitted to vote. But they still care, and their premonition is like mine; we are in for some hard times. Perhaps not right away, and definitely not just because of the election of Mr. Trump – the three of us agree that Mrs. Clinton would have been just as bad if not worse. But sooner rather than later. One of them views it through apocalyptic lenses; the End is near, and the return of our Lord Jesus Christ. The other is just scared, worried about what it will be like for a poor old veteran in bad health – a sailor, no less, veteran of the U.S. Navy - in and out of drug addiction and sometimes out on the street. Like my other friend, he also spoke of the Day of Doom: "When He comes, I don't look forward to standing before him. I've got a lot to answer for." I quoted the verse from Malachi: "For who may abide the day of His coming? And who shall stand when He appeareth?" - there is not a one of us who can do anything except fall on our knees before Him when He sits on the throne of judgement.
It struck me afterwards that I was able to speak freely with them on these topics, in a manner in which I cannot with the church people, where I feel that I am walking on eggshells when politics comes up, to say nothing of eschatology. It struck me also that these two men (and the young lady) have a much better idea what “hard times” can be like than I do, or most of my middle-class friends. And they are worried.
Nicholas, pray for us.
Sunday, November 27, 2016
I will sing with the Spirit
I will sing with the Spirit, and I will sing with the understanding also (I Corinthians 14:15)Our choir sang John Rutter’s setting of this text, the motto of the Royal School of Church Music, at the November Evensong. In deciding whether to post it, I scanned YouTube, which claims “about 10,700 results” for this title. There is the version by Rutter’s own choir, the Cambridge Singers, another by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, and what must be hundreds or thousands more from every part of the world, choirs large and small, professional and amateur. Here are a few that I enjoyed from the first couple of pages of results :
A girls’ choir from Jatipon, West Java, Indonesia.
Another girls’ choir (with nine members), from Ontario, Canada.
And yet another girls’ choir, this one in a performance that appears to be part of what won the choir a gold medal at a choral festival. It is a place that I cannot figure out where it is, or even what language is on the banner behind them. In many respects, this is my favorite version, even more than our own choir.
On a much larger scale, this performance is with a large festival choir and orchestra, I think in South Africa. It is a place named Kapstadt, and there is a city by that name there, and the wonderful ethnic mix of choir and orchestra could be South African. Thanks be to God; I remember the days when such a choir would have been impossible in that country. “Hope changes everything.”
The above performances are all in English; here is one in the language Malagasy, from the island of Madagascar, in a gorgeous church.
What these five choirs from around the world have in common is the beautiful and intense Connection with which they sing.
I think that we also sang with Connection, and I don’t find anything quite like our version, which is posted here, although (as usual) it is audio only; the photo is of our combined choirs from last year.
I write this essay as a reminder that what we do in our little corner of the Midwest is a very small part of the Song. It is sung everywhere, and unites us across cultures, ethnic backgrounds, language, and time. It is thus a sign of hope. Things will not always be as they are now; someday "they will beat their swords into plowshares," as we heard in the Advent lessons this morning.
Sunday, November 20, 2016
Hope changes everything
From the song “Sing, People, Sing,” by Pat Humphries and Sandy Opatow, as arranged by Jean Littlejohn:
From Russ Feingold, former Senator from Wisconsin who lost a bid in the recent election to return to the Senate: in an e-mail to his supporters after the election, he wrote “… something is happening in our country. I don't understand it completely. I don't think anybody does. But we as Americans have to do the best we can to deal with the pain in this country and get people to come together.”
It looks to me like we are in for hard times. I have said it before: under the label “national calamity” in the sidebar to the left, I see that I have said it in one way or another twenty-one times in this blog. Here is part of one such essay, from 2013:
Well, no I don’t. Instead, I must redouble my efforts to play better, to be a better choral director and church musician.
One part of what I must do - what all musicians must do, young and old – is sing together. My friend Jean has a big role in this, here in our community. In a different way, I have a role, too: there are specific things – true things - that we can sing in a church choir and in a Christian congregation that a community group cannot, and things that I can share through the music of Bach and Messiaen and others, and our work as choral singers, and in my own creations, that are my particular responsibility.
There are times when Music is one of the few ways that we can find hope.
There are times when Music binds up the wounds of the soul and body.
There are times when the Song is what holds us together.
There are times when the only way we can come together is by singing.
It seems insignificant. Impractical. Powerless.
No more than a mustard seed, or yeast in the dough.
But it is what I am called to do. So is Jean, so are countless others around the world, and not just musicians: poets, authors, dancers, artists, anyone who creates. We must put our best stuff out there, and keep on doing it, no matter what. Why? “Hope changes everything.”
I cannot see how it can change anything at all; that is why it is Hope, for it is not based on what we can see.
But “we are saved by hope.” (Romans 8:24)
From this morning's liturgy:
To thy heavenly banquet (Alexis Lvov)
O hear the banjo ringJean’s choir, the Family Folk Machine, sang this in their concert this afternoon.
Hear the people sing
Hope changes everything
Sing, people, sing.
From Russ Feingold, former Senator from Wisconsin who lost a bid in the recent election to return to the Senate: in an e-mail to his supporters after the election, he wrote “… something is happening in our country. I don't understand it completely. I don't think anybody does. But we as Americans have to do the best we can to deal with the pain in this country and get people to come together.”
It looks to me like we are in for hard times. I have said it before: under the label “national calamity” in the sidebar to the left, I see that I have said it in one way or another twenty-one times in this blog. Here is part of one such essay, from 2013:
The final hymn festival, the closing event of the [Hymn Society] conference, was titled "New shoots and buds: new directions in congregational song," led (mostly) by Tony Alonso and Hilary Seraph Donaldson with lots of other musicians -- almost all of them under the age of thirty (Hilary's father Andrew, a long-time Hymn Society leader, was one of the exceptions; it was great to see father and daughter together among the musicians.)I was taken to task by a commenter after the election because of my hardness of heart and lack of political activism. I was told that I need to get off of my organ bench and live up to my “loudly proclaimed discipleship.”
I learned that the organizers had not met in person before the conference. The planning, extending over a year, was done entirely through meetings on Skype and through other forms of electronic communication.
And they see what I see in the world. The penultimate hymn was a call to eschatological hope, which is central to the witness of the Church -- a hymn that they said was hard for them to find. It was sung to the strong shape-note tune "Morning Trumpet," with lines like this:
“Let the banker and the president beware the trumpet's call,
And beat swords of greed and commerce into equal shares for all.
Let the teachers speak in wisdom, let the music-makers play,
Let the weavers weave the tent where we shall gather on that day.
“Lowly eyes shall be lifted, while the tyrants taste their fear,
For that sound is both a gospel and a warning...”
("The trumpet in the morning," by Rory Cooney)
I sang, we all sang, with tears in our eyes, longing for that day when all shall be made right.
Later that day as I drove west through the Alleghenies into one last mist-shrouded mountain sunset, I thought of these brave words and those who sang them. Will they -- will we -- have the strength to stand when the drone attacks and "peacekeepers" kill our friends, spies and informers are everywhere, and all is darkness -- as it already is in parts of the world?
Well, no I don’t. Instead, I must redouble my efforts to play better, to be a better choral director and church musician.
One part of what I must do - what all musicians must do, young and old – is sing together. My friend Jean has a big role in this, here in our community. In a different way, I have a role, too: there are specific things – true things - that we can sing in a church choir and in a Christian congregation that a community group cannot, and things that I can share through the music of Bach and Messiaen and others, and our work as choral singers, and in my own creations, that are my particular responsibility.
There are times when Music is one of the few ways that we can find hope.
There are times when Music binds up the wounds of the soul and body.
There are times when the Song is what holds us together.
There are times when the only way we can come together is by singing.
It seems insignificant. Impractical. Powerless.
No more than a mustard seed, or yeast in the dough.
But it is what I am called to do. So is Jean, so are countless others around the world, and not just musicians: poets, authors, dancers, artists, anyone who creates. We must put our best stuff out there, and keep on doing it, no matter what. Why? “Hope changes everything.”
I cannot see how it can change anything at all; that is why it is Hope, for it is not based on what we can see.
But “we are saved by hope.” (Romans 8:24)
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
(Emily Dickinson)
From this morning's liturgy:
To thy heavenly banquet (Alexis Lvov)
Tuesday, November 15, 2016
… if written down, it would appear as a well-thought-out work.
It has always been known that the greatest pianoforte players were also the greatest composers; but how did they play? Not like the pianists of today, who prance up and down the keyboard with passages which they have practiced—putsch, putsch, putsch;—what does that mean? Nothing! When true pianoforte virtuosi played it was always something homogeneous, an entity; if written down, it would appear as a well-thought-out work. That is pianoforte playing; the other thing is nothing. (Ludwig van Beethoven, as recalled by Wenzel Tomaschek – see the footnote)
Recently, I subscribed to the journal “International Piano.” having learned to my dismay that the old “Piano Quarterly” which I read for years is defunct.
In the current issue (pages 16-17), one of the columnists discusses a recent list of the “twenty-five greatest pianists” of all time, prepared by a UK classical music station. The columnist points out that such lists are always highly subjective, no more than “light entertainment.” He complains that the list includes pianists who died before the age of recordings, about whom we can go only on hearsay – Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin, Liszt, Clara Schumann. Then he claims that none of these could stand up against the current generation of virtuosi. “Beethoven would have made the Top 25 in 1800. But in 1900—let alone 2016? No way. Even Liszt, acknowledged as the greatest pianist of the nineteenth century by most of his peers, would struggle against the talents of today.”
I don’t think so.
Not in the terms described by Beethoven. I would much rather hear him play – wrong notes, broken strings and hammers, deafness and all – than any of the modern players, “prancing up and down the keyboard” with their carefully manicured repertoire. “From the heart—may it return to the heart,” Beethoven said of the Missa Solemnis, and there is no doubt that this characterized all of his playing. Mozart, Chopin, Liszt, Schumann – it was the same with them.
But that is beside my point.
“… it was always something homogeneous, an entity; if written down it would appear as a well-thought-out work. That is pianoforte playing; the other thing is nothing.”
A “well-thought-out work.” That is how I want to play. That is why the constant struggle to improvise inside of a form rather than just “noodling” is so important.
At the suggestion of a friend, I listened to some recordings by a well-known New Age pianist (whom I will not here name). He succeeded in what I think was his aim – music that is intentionally bland. All mezzo-forte so that it can serve as background at home or in the workplace – no pianos that would disappear behind background noise, no fortes that would draw attention to themselves. The typical piece is (to my way of thinking) a mere fragment – two or perhaps three chords carefully chosen so as to never resolve in a cadence, in a simple and repeated left-hand figuration, with bits of melody and a few gentle jazz riffs in the right hand. To put it in the best light, it is relaxing, so long as one does not listen too closely.
That is what I want to avoid.
A convoluted path led me to the work of Mike Garson, a pianist who is best known for his work with the rock musician David Bowie, plus the bands “Nine Inch Nails” and “Smashing Pumpkins.” Not music to which I have until now paid any attention – I knew the name “David Bowie” (may he rest in peace) but had never listened to so much as one of his songs until the other day. For an example of Garson’s work in this context, I would recommend the song “Aladdin Sane.” Garson has a classical piano background, plus a lot of experience in jazz. And he has sought to find his own way of playing. It is a far cry from the New Age pianist who carefully stays in the background.
I can learn from this man. A good introduction to Garson’s way of thinking, which is highly spiritual in its ethos, can be found in this interview. His work is so different from anything I have done as to be extremely valuable for me. Thus, I shelled out $50 for his video “master class.” I am not very far into it as yet, but there are many ideas here. He describes his “Now Music” (his term for solo improvisation), and his beginning with it – a discipline of improvising little “etudes” – at first, just fifteen seconds or so, working at a specific figuration or other musical element. He says that he did more than three thousand of these.
That is a terrific idea for someone who wants to learn to improvise; it is not far from Gerre Hancock’s suggestion to harmonize scales in many different musical styles – those too are a form of little “etude,” or “study.”
But that begs the question: what direction should I go? I have been reading about Beethoven; I could extract interesting bits from his sonatas and make them into etudes, with the goal of making these things my own. Or Chopin – another of Garson’s projects as he developed his “Now Music” was to improvise a Nocturne in every key. Or I could go back to Fux and the Gradus ad Parnassum – this is how to deal with the Gradus as an improviser, and perhaps the key to it I have been seeking – improvise a little phrase in species counterpoint, play it back and check for parallel fifths and other violations, try it again. I never made it past two-part counterpoint; what would happen if I ventured into three-part and beyond?
I cannot do all of these things, and the direction I choose will change the manner in which I will play. For now, I will continue with the Garson masterclass, and my work Sunday by Sunday. That is the context which must guide my work; though I can learn from Garson, I cannot play like him because I must begin the Gathering of the Holy Eucharist. My music must remain linked to the tunes that will be used in the service, and it cannot be so “in your face” as to draw undue attention to itself. But neither can it be bland background music which would imply that what is to follow is without significance.
*******
Footnote: The Beethoven quote is from the biography “Beethoven: Anguish and Triumph” by Jan Swafford, pg. 644. Swafford adds: “What Beethoven was talking about was not playing from score but rather improvisation. [Carl] Czerny noted that Beethoven’s more formal improvisations sounded like a published piece, just as Beethoven here said they should.” Swafford also adds in an endnote (p. 1026) that Tomaschek wrote his recollection many years after his visit to Beethoven, so it might have been distorted by time and memory.
I have been reading the Beethoven biography for several months. It has made me like Beethoven considerably less. But (and I think this is part of Swafford’s point) it is all the more amazing that his music could come into being when his mundane life was such a shambles.
Seid umschlungen, Millionen!
Diesen Küß der ganzen Welt!
Wednesday, November 9, 2016
Sanders for President, Part Two
At the outset, I must say that I am delighted that Queen Hillary got her comeuppance, alongside the Democratic National Committee and the mainstream media.
I have not forgiven her for the manner in which she illegally torpedoed the Sanders campaign, using the supposedly impartial Democratic National Committee as an arm of her campaign and the news media as mouthpieces for her campaign propaganda.
I have not forgiven her for calling my people “deplorables.” It was a defining moment for me when I realized that it is precisely what she would have thought of my parents and virtually everyone that I grew up with.
I have not forgiven her for being in bed with the Wall Street bankers, for being obviously more comfortable with the Goldman Sachs executives than with unemployed coal miners or people at a food bank in Kimball, West Virginia.
I wish that Donald Trump could have lost the election, too. I suspect that his supporters (I am not one of them) will soon discover that, like Clinton, he has both “public” positions and private positions on every issue. I suspect that his views are even more subject to the winds of expediency than Mrs. Clinton’s, and that is saying a lot. I suspect that his anti-establishment talk is no more than that – empty words. He is likely to give an even larger share to the 1% and the corporations in tax breaks, at the ultimate expense of those who will someday, in one way or another, be presented with the bill. These are likely to be the children who sing in my choir and their peers, coming of age in the 2030’s and beyond. I grieve for them.
I suspect that the United States will be a darker, more divided, and more dangerous place in three or four years, most of all for people who are not of white European descent.
Senator Sanders (born 1941) is not young; he will be pushing eighty by the 2020 campaign. Six months ago, I would have said Senator Elizabeth Warren would have been an acceptable second choice as a progressive candidate, but not after her shamefully enthusiastic endorsement of Clinton, when an endorsement of Sanders might have made a difference. “We trusted you,” hecklers cried during her speech at the Democratic convention; I hope that none of us will ever again trust Senator Warren.
But, whoever it might be, I think the stage is set for a genuinely progressive candidate to run against President Trump. By 2020, we will have a good idea what a Trump presidency is like, complete with Republican control of House and Senate and probably the Supreme Court. And I think a great many people by then will be ready for some genuine change.
The trouble is, there are more directions for change than one. The stage may also be set for a more effective candidate from the far right, perhaps a charismatic Iraq/Afghanistan war veteran with a fondness for armbands and torchlight parades. Mr. Trump’s campaign provided a model for how such a person could win an election in the United States. I suspect there are young adults who have been paying attention.
[Edited Nov. 15 to add: I received an anonymous comment on this post, and deleted it. Upon reflection it deserves better than that, and the person raises valid questions which serve as a counterpoise to what I wrote. I continue to maintain, as I did after the Democratic Convention, that I would never vote for Mrs. Clinton even if my vote handed the election to Mr. Trump. I remain comfortable with that decision and consider it thoroughly congruent with my Christian faith. I note that I did take action: I volunteered for the Sanders campaign and gave it financial support, partly because he would have easily defeated Mr. Trump. I gratefully accept this person's prayers for my hardness of heart.
Because there is no way to un-delete a comment, here it is, pasted from the notification e-mail:]
I have not forgiven her for the manner in which she illegally torpedoed the Sanders campaign, using the supposedly impartial Democratic National Committee as an arm of her campaign and the news media as mouthpieces for her campaign propaganda.
I have not forgiven her for calling my people “deplorables.” It was a defining moment for me when I realized that it is precisely what she would have thought of my parents and virtually everyone that I grew up with.
I have not forgiven her for being in bed with the Wall Street bankers, for being obviously more comfortable with the Goldman Sachs executives than with unemployed coal miners or people at a food bank in Kimball, West Virginia.
I wish that Donald Trump could have lost the election, too. I suspect that his supporters (I am not one of them) will soon discover that, like Clinton, he has both “public” positions and private positions on every issue. I suspect that his views are even more subject to the winds of expediency than Mrs. Clinton’s, and that is saying a lot. I suspect that his anti-establishment talk is no more than that – empty words. He is likely to give an even larger share to the 1% and the corporations in tax breaks, at the ultimate expense of those who will someday, in one way or another, be presented with the bill. These are likely to be the children who sing in my choir and their peers, coming of age in the 2030’s and beyond. I grieve for them.
I suspect that the United States will be a darker, more divided, and more dangerous place in three or four years, most of all for people who are not of white European descent.
Senator Sanders (born 1941) is not young; he will be pushing eighty by the 2020 campaign. Six months ago, I would have said Senator Elizabeth Warren would have been an acceptable second choice as a progressive candidate, but not after her shamefully enthusiastic endorsement of Clinton, when an endorsement of Sanders might have made a difference. “We trusted you,” hecklers cried during her speech at the Democratic convention; I hope that none of us will ever again trust Senator Warren.
But, whoever it might be, I think the stage is set for a genuinely progressive candidate to run against President Trump. By 2020, we will have a good idea what a Trump presidency is like, complete with Republican control of House and Senate and probably the Supreme Court. And I think a great many people by then will be ready for some genuine change.
The trouble is, there are more directions for change than one. The stage may also be set for a more effective candidate from the far right, perhaps a charismatic Iraq/Afghanistan war veteran with a fondness for armbands and torchlight parades. Mr. Trump’s campaign provided a model for how such a person could win an election in the United States. I suspect there are young adults who have been paying attention.
[Edited Nov. 15 to add: I received an anonymous comment on this post, and deleted it. Upon reflection it deserves better than that, and the person raises valid questions which serve as a counterpoise to what I wrote. I continue to maintain, as I did after the Democratic Convention, that I would never vote for Mrs. Clinton even if my vote handed the election to Mr. Trump. I remain comfortable with that decision and consider it thoroughly congruent with my Christian faith. I note that I did take action: I volunteered for the Sanders campaign and gave it financial support, partly because he would have easily defeated Mr. Trump. I gratefully accept this person's prayers for my hardness of heart.
Because there is no way to un-delete a comment, here it is, pasted from the notification e-mail:]
You write: "for calling my people deplorables." I hear that you were personally affronted and that your pride on behalf of your family and old friends was wounded. But, please, help me track both your logic and the juxtaposition with your professed Christian faith.
I have read the statement made by Secretary Clinton to which you refer, along with her apology for that statement. Secretary Clinton called out some Trump supporters for racism, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia, and islamaphobia. The days since the election have offered more than 200 episodes of harassment and violence committed in President-Elect Trump's name and verified by the SPLC and ACLU. It would appear that some followers and supporters of P-E Trump do indeed feel lifted up, validated, and emboldened to pursue acts of racism, sexism, homophobia, and islamaphobia.
Questions for your reflection:
1. Did you engage with Secretary Clinton's apology for the comments that personally offended you and your family? And if you did, how? And if you did not, why not? And what does your response illuminate about your faith and discipleship?
2. Having withheld your vote from Senator Clinton, how will you reconcile your conscience with the harms now visited upon women, people of color, LGBTQ people, immigrants, refugees, and our brothers and sisters who are Muslim and Jewish? You, as a white man, hold a privileged and protected status on the streets our our nation that none of the groups just named are able to enjoy. You have contributed to the burdens heaped upon their shoulders. I do hope you will be somewhere besides your organ bench when it comes to offering tangible protection to those groups. Your loudly proclaimed discipleship calls you to nothing else.
I lament and pray for your hardness of heart.
Saturday, November 5, 2016
Amazing grace
This was a hymn for last Sunday, and I have posted three new YouTube settings from those services:
Improvisation on Amazing Grace (New Britain)
Some may wish to compare this with my improvisation on the same tune from a year ago. One of the things I liked about that version was that I incorporated a bit of Howells, for that was the Sunday we sang the Collegium Regale Te Deum.
This year’s version is just “New Britain.” I sought to establish a contrast between a solemn version in the low tenor, in A flat, with a bit of scherzetto in the upper register in C major, leading to a dialogue between the two. But I think last year’s version was better, and perhaps one of the best I have done.
Peter Schickele is a well-known musicologist, the world’s leading scholar in the music of P.D.Q. Bach. But he is also a composer. This setting of Amazing Grace for choir has nothing to do with P.D.Q. Bach; it is a fine, serious piece. I am especially proud of the adult choir, who on this day numbered seven singers. Unlike some small Episcopal choirs, we do not have paid singers; all of them are volunteers, who over the course of a year give a lot of time and energy to the choir.
Here is an organ setting by Kenton Coe, one of six settings of early American hymn tunes.
I could write more about “Amazing Grace,” but instead I refer you to Bill Moyers. Some years ago, he prepared a documentary which can be found here.
A Documentary: Amazing Grace (Bill Moyers, for PBS)
The video quality is poor – someone recorded it on their home VCR. The sound quality is nonetheless pretty good. And the content is amazing. It runs an hour and twenty minutes; save it for a time when you can sit down and listen with attention. At the very least, watch the first half hour or so.
If you would prefer a version with better sound and video quality, many libraries will have the DVD, or it can be purchased. If you do that, please don’t buy it (or anything) from Amazon; get it here, from the PBS online store.
Improvisation on Amazing Grace (New Britain)
Some may wish to compare this with my improvisation on the same tune from a year ago. One of the things I liked about that version was that I incorporated a bit of Howells, for that was the Sunday we sang the Collegium Regale Te Deum.
This year’s version is just “New Britain.” I sought to establish a contrast between a solemn version in the low tenor, in A flat, with a bit of scherzetto in the upper register in C major, leading to a dialogue between the two. But I think last year’s version was better, and perhaps one of the best I have done.
Peter Schickele is a well-known musicologist, the world’s leading scholar in the music of P.D.Q. Bach. But he is also a composer. This setting of Amazing Grace for choir has nothing to do with P.D.Q. Bach; it is a fine, serious piece. I am especially proud of the adult choir, who on this day numbered seven singers. Unlike some small Episcopal choirs, we do not have paid singers; all of them are volunteers, who over the course of a year give a lot of time and energy to the choir.
Here is an organ setting by Kenton Coe, one of six settings of early American hymn tunes.
I could write more about “Amazing Grace,” but instead I refer you to Bill Moyers. Some years ago, he prepared a documentary which can be found here.
A Documentary: Amazing Grace (Bill Moyers, for PBS)
The video quality is poor – someone recorded it on their home VCR. The sound quality is nonetheless pretty good. And the content is amazing. It runs an hour and twenty minutes; save it for a time when you can sit down and listen with attention. At the very least, watch the first half hour or so.
If you would prefer a version with better sound and video quality, many libraries will have the DVD, or it can be purchased. If you do that, please don’t buy it (or anything) from Amazon; get it here, from the PBS online store.
Tuesday, November 1, 2016
Free Leonard Peltier
As of this writing, Native American activists and supporters are engaged in peaceful protest at the Standing Rock Indian Reservation in North Dakota.
Over the weekend, they were attacked by a heavily militarized force of police and national guards from several states, in action reminiscent of the old-time union-busting work of Pinkertons, FBI agents, state police, and the U.S. Army in the Appalachian coal fields (examples: the Battle of Matewan, the Battle of Blair Mountain). It is also very much in the spirit of the “Peacekeepers” from the Hunger Games books.
It also recalls the American Indian Movement and the 71-day siege of their encampment at Wounded Knee on the Pine Ridge Reservation in 1973, an event that is now hardly a footnote in the history books.
As a part of the aftermath of this “incident,” the activist Leonard Peltier was framed for the 1975 murder of two FBI agents. In a highly irregular trial, he was sentenced to two life terms and remains in prison, over forty years later. Among those calling for Peltier’s release over this period: Amnesty International (which considers him a prisoner of conscience), the U.N. Commission on Human Rights, Archbishop Desmond Tutu, Nelson Mandela.
Several presidents have failed to pardon him, most notably Bill Clinton, who instead on his final day as president pardoned his buddy Marc Rich, reportedly in return for $1 million in gifts to Clinton-related groups, such as Hillary’s campaign for the U.S. Senate and the Clinton Library Foundation. Peltier had no rich friends to match such an “offer.”
Our presiding bishop, Michael Curry, has visited the Standing Rock encampment. He has called this standoff “another Selma.” But that was in the middle of a movement where a great many people, black and white, cared what happened, and the scenes of police dogs, tear gas, and brutality inflicted on the marchers did much to change public opinion. The Native Americans are a much smaller minority group, and I often think that most people in the mainstream culture simply do not care what happens to them. They are essentially invisible.
They have been trampled by the U.S. government from the beginning of this nation. It looks very much like it is going to happen again at Standing Rock. Yes, there may be public outcry for a while – as there was during and after the Wounded Knee incident. And yes, most people will forget and move on.
And, more than likely, there will be one or more Native American scapegoats to join Leonard Peltier in federal prison.
Lord, have mercy upon us.
Christ, have mercy upon us.
Lord, have mercy upon us.
****
Today is the Feast of All Saints.
I am not at all saying that Mr. Peltier is a saint; I have no idea.
And I am not saying that all of the people encamped at Standing Rock are saints.
But there are quite a few of them -- including at least one of my friends, a priest who reads this blog -- that are out there in the desert because of their faith, whether they see it as faith in the Christian God or by some other path.
Some of them may become martyrs before all is done.
Martyrdom or not, the path to sainthood can take you to places like Standing Rock, and to situations where it is not at all clear whether you will walk away whole in body, or at all.
The fruit of these days and weeks, however it turns out, may lie dormant for a long time, as it did after Blair Mountain, when it looked like the United Mine Workers of America was dead and gone. It was many years before they again became strong, and the memory of Blair Mountain and Matewan was a part of that.
Over the weekend, they were attacked by a heavily militarized force of police and national guards from several states, in action reminiscent of the old-time union-busting work of Pinkertons, FBI agents, state police, and the U.S. Army in the Appalachian coal fields (examples: the Battle of Matewan, the Battle of Blair Mountain). It is also very much in the spirit of the “Peacekeepers” from the Hunger Games books.
It also recalls the American Indian Movement and the 71-day siege of their encampment at Wounded Knee on the Pine Ridge Reservation in 1973, an event that is now hardly a footnote in the history books.
As a part of the aftermath of this “incident,” the activist Leonard Peltier was framed for the 1975 murder of two FBI agents. In a highly irregular trial, he was sentenced to two life terms and remains in prison, over forty years later. Among those calling for Peltier’s release over this period: Amnesty International (which considers him a prisoner of conscience), the U.N. Commission on Human Rights, Archbishop Desmond Tutu, Nelson Mandela.
Several presidents have failed to pardon him, most notably Bill Clinton, who instead on his final day as president pardoned his buddy Marc Rich, reportedly in return for $1 million in gifts to Clinton-related groups, such as Hillary’s campaign for the U.S. Senate and the Clinton Library Foundation. Peltier had no rich friends to match such an “offer.”
Our presiding bishop, Michael Curry, has visited the Standing Rock encampment. He has called this standoff “another Selma.” But that was in the middle of a movement where a great many people, black and white, cared what happened, and the scenes of police dogs, tear gas, and brutality inflicted on the marchers did much to change public opinion. The Native Americans are a much smaller minority group, and I often think that most people in the mainstream culture simply do not care what happens to them. They are essentially invisible.
They have been trampled by the U.S. government from the beginning of this nation. It looks very much like it is going to happen again at Standing Rock. Yes, there may be public outcry for a while – as there was during and after the Wounded Knee incident. And yes, most people will forget and move on.
And, more than likely, there will be one or more Native American scapegoats to join Leonard Peltier in federal prison.
Lord, have mercy upon us.
Christ, have mercy upon us.
Lord, have mercy upon us.
****
Today is the Feast of All Saints.
I am not at all saying that Mr. Peltier is a saint; I have no idea.
And I am not saying that all of the people encamped at Standing Rock are saints.
But there are quite a few of them -- including at least one of my friends, a priest who reads this blog -- that are out there in the desert because of their faith, whether they see it as faith in the Christian God or by some other path.
Some of them may become martyrs before all is done.
Martyrdom or not, the path to sainthood can take you to places like Standing Rock, and to situations where it is not at all clear whether you will walk away whole in body, or at all.
The fruit of these days and weeks, however it turns out, may lie dormant for a long time, as it did after Blair Mountain, when it looked like the United Mine Workers of America was dead and gone. It was many years before they again became strong, and the memory of Blair Mountain and Matewan was a part of that.
Friday, October 28, 2016
Part Three: "A first step"
[With the Celviano hybrid piano], we have developed something entirely new… which is a first step. (From the CEO of the Bechstein piano company in this video.)
What are the long-term prospects for the flagship pianos: the nine-foot Steinway D concert grand (list price: about $150,000), the Yamaha CFX ($180,000), the Bösendorfer Imperial ($250,000)?
What are the prospects for the somewhat smaller 6’11” Steinway B and its cousins of various sizes from Steinway and other builders? Will this be the “next step?” for the hybrid builders?
The answer may turn on the function of such instruments. The concert grands are almost always purchased by institutions, and such a piano on the main stage is a statement that “we are important.” But $150,000 (and up) is a lot of money, and music is a low priority for most schools. When will some budget-strapped college take the leap and put a Yamaha N3 on stage?
More to the point: Can the best of the hybrids be the solo instrument for a piano concerto with the top-level orchestras of the world, and the top concert artists? Can they do the job for chamber music, again with world-class performers? Can they satisfy pianists whose career is on the line, and their fellow musicians, collaborators in music such as Schubert’s song cycle Winterreise, the Brahms violin sonatas, Messiaen’s Quartet for the End of Time?
Here, I draw on my experience in church music and organ. The “king of instruments” has for decades faced the challenge of electronic substitutes, starting with the Hammond. Pipe organs are an order of magnitude more expensive than even the flagship pianos. They make large demands on the architecture of any space they will occupy – and sometimes dominate, visually and aurally. They are immobile. Many of them are as much at the mercy of electronic component failures as the lowliest electric “keyboard.” The electronic builders, such as Allen, are reaping the benefits of computer technology just like the makers of electronic and hybrid pianos. And they are doing good work, but their best customized work is almost as expensive as a similar pipe organ. Despite the disadvantages and expense of pipe organs, the electronics have not driven them from the field and there is no evidence that this will change anytime soon.
One reason that the pipe organs have maintained their place is this: I have yet to hear an electronic organ that supports congregational singing as well as even a modest-sized pipe organ, such as our Pilcher – if it is a quality instrument. This last is important, for there are many pipe organs that are not much good, especially from some of the “factory” builders of the mid-twentieth century, and I would take an Allen over such an organ any day. And there are many acoustic pianos that are not much good, including quite a few grand pianos. I have been comparing the Yamaha and Casio hybrids to the best of the grand pianos and finding it a tossup. Given the choice between the hybrid and a used (or new) piano that was never of high quality, the choice would be obvious: go with the better sound, the better action feel, and that would be with the hybrids.
There seems to be something about the sound that comes from a good pipe organ that blends with the human voice in a way that the electronic sounds from speakers – even the large arrays of speakers scattered through the room that one finds in top-level electronic installations – cannot match.
That makes me wonder how a hybrid piano would sound with, say, the Cleveland Orchestra. I would be very interested in the answer to that. [Edited in August 2018 to add: Hybrid pianos revisited]
My closest personal experience for comparison would be from graduate school, when our choir sang with the New York Philharmonic. On one occasion we sang in Carnegie Hall, a space that does not have a pipe organ (neither does their “home,” Avery Fisher Hall – now “David Geffen Hall,” after they sold the name to the highest bidder in 2014: price tag, $100 million). The program began with the Berlioz Te Deum, which has a large and important organ part. Leonard Raver on an Allen electronic did his best (and, given the setting, the Allen people surely did their best as well), but in passages such as the beginning of that piece, where organ and orchestra trade off fortissimo chords, the Allen was clearly the loser. It was sufficiently loud, but sounded cheap and tinny in comparison with the orchestra, and in the tuttis, the organ sound, loud as it was, entirely disappeared under the orchestra and chorus [“Cheap and tinny” does not apply to this performance from King’s College, Cambridge, but it shows how important the organ part is to the piece.]
That was thirty-five years ago, but even then the electronic builders were claiming their instruments were equal to the best pipe organs. When played solo, they sounded pretty good; it was only in a situation such as that poor outclassed instrument in Carnegie Hall, or a church organ with a vigorous congregation singing, that their limitations became obvious.
Pipe organ (and traditional piano) technology have not changed much since then while the electronics have made great strides, thanks most of all to massively improved computing power for sampling and signal processing. But I would bet that an electronic organ in Carnegie Hall would still disappear under an orchestral tutti.
I would guess – and it is no more than that – that compared to any of the “flagship” concert grands that I named, the Yamaha N3 hybrid would likewise fall short in a pianistic equivalent such as the beginning of Beethoven’s “Emperor” concerto.
But not by much.
The best I could tell, with the volume turned all the way up the N3 and Casio hybrids have exactly the same loudness as a large grand piano, vigorously played – and that is enough to balance a symphony orchestra. I think that the sound quality would be close enough to fool most of a concert audience. The visuals of the pianist sitting at what is hardly twice the size of a little spinet – as opposed to a nine-foot black ebony piano, its lid up – would be dismaying, and that alone might be enough to keep the hybrids at bay. For now.
The lockdown of “Steinway Artists” is also a factor. Most of the concert pianists in America are on that list, and they are bound by contract to play only Steinway pianos. But there are plenty of Yamaha Artists, especially in Asia. One of them might give it a try – perhaps at first in concert with a lower-tier orchestra in a hall without a quality piano. Again, I would very much like to hear the result.
Quality mid-sized grands like the Steinway B will continue to be demanded by piano faculty for their teaching studios and for school auditoriums and other venues where a full-scale concert grand would be a bit much. One example would be our parish church. I lead our weekly “middle” service from our Steinway Model L. It does not support congregational singing in the same manner as the Pilcher organ across the way, but when played with intelligence it does a good job in its own way. Would the N3 hybrid do as well? Again, I do not know.
My guess would be that again, it would fall short of our Steinway, but not by much. I am confident that it would surpass the large majority of church pianos in this role – probably ninety percent or more of them, from my experience -- and I would encourage a church that is seeking a piano to give the hybrids a serious look and listen, perhaps a “test-drive” if that can be arranged.
For a church, one factor that would favor an acoustic piano is the longer view. In the previous posting, I noted that I will not be playing the piano in fifty or sixty years. But at the church, I would hope that someone is. I doubted whether the hybrid pianos would still be usable that far down the road; our Steinway is over a century old, and there is no reason why it will not be viable when it is two centuries old, if it is cared for properly and rebuilt a couple of times along the way. The same goes for mechanical action pipe organs, whose enemies in the long run are most often war, fires and other natural disasters, and change of fashion – not irreparable breakdown of the instrument on its own account. The potential longevity of pianos and organs of traditional construction – and other instruments, such as quality violins, many of them centuries old – is a significant incentive for a church to purchase the best instruments and then take care of them. In the long run, that is good stewardship, better than buying something new every few decades. For a piano in the main worship space, I would counsel: Save up the money, seek donations over whatever length of years that it takes, and buy a Steinway or Yamaha acoustic grand, of a size suitable to the worship space. Or consider a quality rebuilt piano, such as the ones sold by Tom Zasadny, who did the renovation on our Steinway. If chosen carefully, such a piano is every bit as good as a brand-new Steinway, and less expensive. If it is clear that it will take a long time to gather the funds, one of the hybrid pianos would be a fine interim instrument, with the plan of eventually moving it to another space in the church, such as a choir room or chapel.
But what about my more humble purpose: a home piano? A mid-sized grand would be a worthy expenditure for a professional pianist who needs a top-quality instrument, especially if she also teaches at home and rehearses with chamber ensembles or singers. For a retired church organist? Not so much.
A used piano is a possibility. I am a piano technician, so I could do quite a bit of renovation work myself: things like hammer and damper replacement and regulation. I have restrung pianos, including two quality grands back in the 1990’s, and I could do it, but it is hard work, and requires either a large workshop or turning one’s music room or living room into a workshop for several months. And I am not so confident in my skills as I would have been twenty years ago; there would probably be some work that I would have to do a second (or third) time to get it right. So, unless it were a used piano needing only relatively minor renovation, I don’t think that I should consider it.
And there remains the issue of disturbing neighbors and spouse. For me, that would be the deciding factor. If I were to retire today, I would like to go with the Yamaha N3, but it would be hard to justify the $15,000 to $20,000 price, either to my wife or to God. That leaves the lower-priced Yamaha N2 or N1 and the Casio Celviano GP-500 and its lower-priced siblings. They are all good, and within this group it appears to me that “you get what you pay for” – the higher-priced instruments are incrementally better, but even the lowest-price instrument, the Celviano GP-300, would suffice. I would worry a little about long-term reliability – in essence, a race as to who breaks down first, me or the piano – but would otherwise be thoroughly content with any of these pianos.
***
Again, if this is “a first step,” where might it go? The piano has had periods of rapid development, especially from around 1800 to 1860. Since 1900, it has remained pretty much the same – there is little difference between our century-old Steinway at church and the brand-new ones in the showroom. Might the hybrids move beyond imitation of the finest acoustic pianos to lead the way toward a different kind of professional instrument, as different from the current piano as the piano of our time is from the eighteenth century fortepianos?
Afterword: Why not an organ?
I am, after all, an Organist. Why choose a piano instead of an electronic organ?
Price. An entry-level Allen electronic “Historique” organ (their home-line of instruments) starts at around $17,000. For a two-manual instrument with lots of limitations, an instrument with which I would be thoroughly dissatisfied.
I played an Allen for several years, and gave the dedicatory recital for an Allen at another parish in the area. They are acceptable instruments. But I would not want to live with one of them for the rest of my life. There are other electronic builders, each claiming superiority, but they would all be similar. For me, an electronic home organ would always feel and sound like a cheap imitation of a pipe organ, and I would long for the real thing every time I played it. It is telling, in this context, to compare that with my experience of the hybrid pianos.
It is possible to put a mechanical-action pipe organ in a home; many contemporary builders would be happy to make one to my specifications. It would be a small and limited instrument, it would disturb the neighbors even more than a piano, and it would be very expensive.
Versatility. On the piano, one can do a lot of the practicing that is needed to continue as an organist – essentially, everything except pedaling and passagework that demands two manuals. It does not work the other way; playing an electronic organ at home does not prepare one to play Beethoven or Chopin on a piano.
Versatility is another advantage of the hybrids over the acoustic pianos. They are MIDI instruments which can be connected to the electronic world. For relatively little money I could add a used computer plus Hauptwerk software with organ sounds, playable from the hybrid piano keyboard and listenable either through headphones, computer speakers, or external amp and speaker. The result would be akin to a one-manual organ with no pedals. It would be exceedingly strange at first to play “organ” with the feel of a piano keyboard, but I think that I would prefer that to the feel of an Allen organ, or for that matter any pipe organ with a non-mechanical action.
Stage of Life. I have played the organ for a long time; forty years and counting. I am a Fellow of the Guild. I have played a lot of wonderful organ literature and performed recitals, including a few “on the road,” enough to give me a small taste of “Concert Artist.” I have been mostly fortunate in my instruments -- I was part of the fundraising and installation for one of Randall Dyer’s signature three-manual instruments and then played it for more than a decade. It remains the finest organ I have played regularly. [A personal note: the first photo on the linked page from the OHS database, an exterior view of the church, was the view from our kitchen window, for we lived across the street from the church. I would see it every time I washed dishes.] I have now played our Pilcher mechanical action organ for many years, and in its way, it is an equally satisfying instrument.
It has been a terrific life – and I have not here mentioned the joys of working with choral singers young and old, nor selecting and playing the hymns.
There are many aspects of my work that I love, as readers of these pages will know. But there is a lot of it, and I have less energy for it every year, especially around Christmas and Holy Week. Readers of these pages will know about that, too. It is a demanding life. That is not just me; every church musician who takes it seriously finds it so.
For now, I think that my playing is the best it has been, and I continue (with ups and downs) to learn and improve. I am not ready to hang up my shoes, not yet.
But all things come to an end.
Solve senescentem mature sanus equum, ne Peccet ad extremum ridendus. (Horace, as quoted by Samuel Johnson at the head of No. 207, “The Rambler,” March 10, 1752, which would be the penultimate number. ) Johnson concludes his essay with these words:
He that is himself weary will soon weary the publick. Let him therefore lay down his employment, whatever it be, who can no longer exert his former activity or attention; let him not endeavor to struggle with censure, or obstinately infest the stage till a general hiss commands him to depart.
Wednesday, October 26, 2016
Pianos, Part Two
On Monday, I returned to the music store. The Steinway event had ended, but many of the pianos remained, several of them with “Sold” flags on them. I was correct in assuming it would be a quiet day. The store’s piano person, Nelda Wittig, patiently endured me for about two hours (in which I was the only customer in the store), and was very helpful. I started with the Yamaha hybrid piano, the Model N3 AvantGrand, improvising for forty minutes or so. I was entranced.
Regretfully, I left the N3, walking to the Steinway B across the room. It is still the best. And still four or five times as expensive: list price: $93,000 and up. I tried a mid-sized Yamaha acoustic grand, the Model C3X, a fine piano, very clean-sounding and beautiful, a joy to play. It is a 6’1” grand, listing for about $55,000. I went back to the N3 hybrid. And back to the C3X. It was uncanny; the actions were absolutely the same. The sound? Almost the same. It might be simply that the hybrid’s sound is based not on the mid-sized Yamaha grand, but their concert grand, Model CFX. To a person sitting at the keyboard, the sound and feel of the two pianos is very close, amazingly close. In a “blindfold” test, I would not be able to distinguish the actions by feel and response, including the damper pedal mechanism. I would have to think carefully about the sound, and if I did not know the N3 was a digital piano, I would not label it as one.
I tried a mid-sized Boston grand (I think it was the 5’10” Model GP-178). The Boston, from Steinway’s “second level” brand, was perfectly fine, with a list price of about $30,000. I would call it a toss-up between the Boston and the Yamaha N3. Were I in a situation where an acoustic grand would be acceptable – for example, retiring to a country farmhouse with no nearby neighbors and a heated outbuilding or garage which I could occupy as a music room without disturbing anyone, I would give the Boston serious consideration, though its price would be a stretch. But the N3 hybrid is so close to it in quality as to be a virtual toss-up, at half the price. And it has headphones and a volume knob.
Casio is also making a hybrid piano, the Celviano GP-500. It was nearby, so I sat down to give it a try, not expecting much.
It was the surprise of the day.
For keyboard musicians, Casio has some history. We tend to think of the company in terms of $100 battery-powered keyboard toys to pick up at Target or WalMart for a child, such as the ML-1 of the 1990's, a two-octave portable with illuminated keys – though some creative pop and alternative musicians have taken the very cheesiness of such instruments as the basis for good work, almost always tongue-in-cheek. More than that, people of my generation remember when “Made in Japan” was a synonym for “Cheap Junk,” and Casio was part of that era with a variety of inexpensive products. That was before Toyota and others – including Yamaha – made it their mission to turn it around and make “Made in Japan” a badge of quality, the finest in the world. Casio has been part of that, too, seeking especially to bring increasing quality to the lower-priced end of their markets. Their wristwatches, for example, are highly regarded, and they produced the first pocket calculator, and the first inkjet printer. They have been making electronic keyboards since 1980 (mostly portables, including instruments for stage use), and introduced the Celviano line of digital pianos in 1991 as a competitor to Yamaha's Clavinova, and the Privia line in 2003. Their website speaks of the goal of one of their founders in 1946, Toshio Kashio, to eventually "create electronic musical instruments that were also affordable for hobby musicians," and to "allow amateurs to participate in the big music business – without having to spend the equivalent of a new car."
I realized quickly that, despite my prejudice against it, this was a Serious Piano. Casio has partnered with the German piano builder Bechstein to develop the instrument, with Bechstein’s flagship piano sound and action feel -- the epitome of a German piano, as Mendelssohn and the Schumanns and Liszt played. It is not quite the acoustic grand piano action in the manner that the Yamaha instrument uses, but Casio and Bechstein have made it equally accurate in feel, and in some respects it might be an improvement. The best I can tell, the whippen, jack, and repetition lever of an acoustic grand action have been replaced with less complex – and less likely to need repair or adjustment – components, balanced and weighted to feel like the Bechstein action. The sound is terrific. Or rather, sounds. Besides the “Berlin Grand” that is the Bechstein, there is a “Hamburg Grand” (read: Steinway imitation) and “Vienna Grand” (Bösendorfer imitation), both exceedingly fine. Plus harpsichord and various other sounds. [The Yamaha also has multiple sounds, most notably their equivalent of the “Vienna Grand” – with sound samples from the Bösendorfer, which is owned by Yamaha. I was so entranced with their default sound, based on sampled sounds from the Yamaha CFX concert grand, that I did not even try the Vienna sound.]
After fifteen minutes or so, I found Ms. Wittig at her desk. “Tell me about that Casio,” I said. She did, explaining much of what I just wrote, and telling me that her jaw-dropping reaction was similar to mine when it first arrived in the store this spring. Most jaw-dropping of all is the price: $6,500. One-third of the Yamaha N3’s list price. Less than one-tenth of a big-time Steinway’s list price. And there is a similar model, the GP-300, that lists for $4,000, and (I gather) a GP-400 that is somewhere in between. I went from the GP-500 back to the Steinway B. There is precious little difference in sound or feel for an order of magnitude of price difference.
Upon a few days’ reflection, I recognize that the Yamaha N3 is more refined than the Casio. But (again) it is three times as expensive. And the GP-500 is definitely not a toy. I think that Toshio K. would be very pleased.
[Edited Nov. 11, 2016 to add: Kawai, a long-time builder of acoustic pianos and competitor with Yamaha in this field, also has a line of hybrid pianos introduced in 2015; details can be found at their website here. In some respects, they appear to be similar to the Yamaha and Casio hybrids; their unique feature is using a wooden soundboard as sort of a "subwoofer" speaker. Prices appear to be around $6000 and up. There are likely to be many other such instruments in the coming years.]
Some thoughts:
The spinet piano, the type of piano on which I learned to play, has been dead for a generation. For that matter, the traditional acoustic studio upright might be dead. It is as expensive as the Casio and the Yamaha N1 hybrids (certainly the NU-1, an entry-level version of the hybrid based on the Yamaha upright piano action, listing at $6,500. I played this for a while, and it is a delightful little piano), and the musical experience of playing anything short of the best uprights is decidedly inferior to playing a grand.
There has never been much reason for a musician to consider “baby” grands with their small soundboards and short bass strings; they are sonically inferior to a quality upright. And (again) they are at least as expensive as the Casio and Yamaha hybrids. The baby grand might hang on to a market niche as an expensive furnishing for a large living room or hotel lobby.
The practice room upright? That jury is still deliberating. By light-years, I would prefer to play either of the hybrids over any piano that I have encountered in a practice room, and the potential for headphones is a huge plus for practicing in tight quarters. The question will be how well the hybrids hold up to years of heavy and occasionally abusive playing. The Yamaha should be fine, for its action has been proven in such situations; the Casio is an open question, though it is clear that they have gone to considerable lengths to build an equally durable action.
Then again, there might remain a place for what one of our former choristers calls “The Tank” – the blonde Hamilton upright piano that used to be the choir room piano, and now is used mostly for the annual “Cocoa and Carols” event in the undercroft. The Baldwin company specifically designed those Hamiltons and their twins sold under the Baldwin name as practice room and school pianos – not elegant musically, but extraordinarily durable and easy to repair, even more so than the Yamahas (and a lot more so than the Steinways, which can be finicky. Steinway versus Hamilton is somewhat like comparing a Ferrari with a Toyota Corolla). Our Hamilton is probably fifty or sixty years old and in the prime of its career. It will be interesting to see how the hybrids look and sound at that age. My guess is that by then, the electronics will have broken down. Or the speaker cones might have failed, for they are likely to deteriorate with age. If the speakers cannot be replaced, they can be bypassed via the line out into external amps and speakers, so long as the electronics are viable.
But I am not going to be playing the piano in fifty or sixty years.
The closest current equivalent to our Hamilton is the Baldwin B-243, which they describe as the “best selling studio model of all time.” It retails for just under $9,000, pretty much in the middle of the hybrid price range. Their least expensive piano of any type, the BP-1 console upright, is not much cheaper, clocking in at $8,625. As with all Baldwin pianos since 2008, it is built in China.
to be continued: “A first step”
Regretfully, I left the N3, walking to the Steinway B across the room. It is still the best. And still four or five times as expensive: list price: $93,000 and up. I tried a mid-sized Yamaha acoustic grand, the Model C3X, a fine piano, very clean-sounding and beautiful, a joy to play. It is a 6’1” grand, listing for about $55,000. I went back to the N3 hybrid. And back to the C3X. It was uncanny; the actions were absolutely the same. The sound? Almost the same. It might be simply that the hybrid’s sound is based not on the mid-sized Yamaha grand, but their concert grand, Model CFX. To a person sitting at the keyboard, the sound and feel of the two pianos is very close, amazingly close. In a “blindfold” test, I would not be able to distinguish the actions by feel and response, including the damper pedal mechanism. I would have to think carefully about the sound, and if I did not know the N3 was a digital piano, I would not label it as one.
I tried a mid-sized Boston grand (I think it was the 5’10” Model GP-178). The Boston, from Steinway’s “second level” brand, was perfectly fine, with a list price of about $30,000. I would call it a toss-up between the Boston and the Yamaha N3. Were I in a situation where an acoustic grand would be acceptable – for example, retiring to a country farmhouse with no nearby neighbors and a heated outbuilding or garage which I could occupy as a music room without disturbing anyone, I would give the Boston serious consideration, though its price would be a stretch. But the N3 hybrid is so close to it in quality as to be a virtual toss-up, at half the price. And it has headphones and a volume knob.
Casio is also making a hybrid piano, the Celviano GP-500. It was nearby, so I sat down to give it a try, not expecting much.
It was the surprise of the day.
For keyboard musicians, Casio has some history. We tend to think of the company in terms of $100 battery-powered keyboard toys to pick up at Target or WalMart for a child, such as the ML-1 of the 1990's, a two-octave portable with illuminated keys – though some creative pop and alternative musicians have taken the very cheesiness of such instruments as the basis for good work, almost always tongue-in-cheek. More than that, people of my generation remember when “Made in Japan” was a synonym for “Cheap Junk,” and Casio was part of that era with a variety of inexpensive products. That was before Toyota and others – including Yamaha – made it their mission to turn it around and make “Made in Japan” a badge of quality, the finest in the world. Casio has been part of that, too, seeking especially to bring increasing quality to the lower-priced end of their markets. Their wristwatches, for example, are highly regarded, and they produced the first pocket calculator, and the first inkjet printer. They have been making electronic keyboards since 1980 (mostly portables, including instruments for stage use), and introduced the Celviano line of digital pianos in 1991 as a competitor to Yamaha's Clavinova, and the Privia line in 2003. Their website speaks of the goal of one of their founders in 1946, Toshio Kashio, to eventually "create electronic musical instruments that were also affordable for hobby musicians," and to "allow amateurs to participate in the big music business – without having to spend the equivalent of a new car."
I realized quickly that, despite my prejudice against it, this was a Serious Piano. Casio has partnered with the German piano builder Bechstein to develop the instrument, with Bechstein’s flagship piano sound and action feel -- the epitome of a German piano, as Mendelssohn and the Schumanns and Liszt played. It is not quite the acoustic grand piano action in the manner that the Yamaha instrument uses, but Casio and Bechstein have made it equally accurate in feel, and in some respects it might be an improvement. The best I can tell, the whippen, jack, and repetition lever of an acoustic grand action have been replaced with less complex – and less likely to need repair or adjustment – components, balanced and weighted to feel like the Bechstein action. The sound is terrific. Or rather, sounds. Besides the “Berlin Grand” that is the Bechstein, there is a “Hamburg Grand” (read: Steinway imitation) and “Vienna Grand” (Bösendorfer imitation), both exceedingly fine. Plus harpsichord and various other sounds. [The Yamaha also has multiple sounds, most notably their equivalent of the “Vienna Grand” – with sound samples from the Bösendorfer, which is owned by Yamaha. I was so entranced with their default sound, based on sampled sounds from the Yamaha CFX concert grand, that I did not even try the Vienna sound.]
After fifteen minutes or so, I found Ms. Wittig at her desk. “Tell me about that Casio,” I said. She did, explaining much of what I just wrote, and telling me that her jaw-dropping reaction was similar to mine when it first arrived in the store this spring. Most jaw-dropping of all is the price: $6,500. One-third of the Yamaha N3’s list price. Less than one-tenth of a big-time Steinway’s list price. And there is a similar model, the GP-300, that lists for $4,000, and (I gather) a GP-400 that is somewhere in between. I went from the GP-500 back to the Steinway B. There is precious little difference in sound or feel for an order of magnitude of price difference.
Upon a few days’ reflection, I recognize that the Yamaha N3 is more refined than the Casio. But (again) it is three times as expensive. And the GP-500 is definitely not a toy. I think that Toshio K. would be very pleased.
[Edited Nov. 11, 2016 to add: Kawai, a long-time builder of acoustic pianos and competitor with Yamaha in this field, also has a line of hybrid pianos introduced in 2015; details can be found at their website here. In some respects, they appear to be similar to the Yamaha and Casio hybrids; their unique feature is using a wooden soundboard as sort of a "subwoofer" speaker. Prices appear to be around $6000 and up. There are likely to be many other such instruments in the coming years.]
Some thoughts:
The spinet piano, the type of piano on which I learned to play, has been dead for a generation. For that matter, the traditional acoustic studio upright might be dead. It is as expensive as the Casio and the Yamaha N1 hybrids (certainly the NU-1, an entry-level version of the hybrid based on the Yamaha upright piano action, listing at $6,500. I played this for a while, and it is a delightful little piano), and the musical experience of playing anything short of the best uprights is decidedly inferior to playing a grand.
There has never been much reason for a musician to consider “baby” grands with their small soundboards and short bass strings; they are sonically inferior to a quality upright. And (again) they are at least as expensive as the Casio and Yamaha hybrids. The baby grand might hang on to a market niche as an expensive furnishing for a large living room or hotel lobby.
The practice room upright? That jury is still deliberating. By light-years, I would prefer to play either of the hybrids over any piano that I have encountered in a practice room, and the potential for headphones is a huge plus for practicing in tight quarters. The question will be how well the hybrids hold up to years of heavy and occasionally abusive playing. The Yamaha should be fine, for its action has been proven in such situations; the Casio is an open question, though it is clear that they have gone to considerable lengths to build an equally durable action.
Then again, there might remain a place for what one of our former choristers calls “The Tank” – the blonde Hamilton upright piano that used to be the choir room piano, and now is used mostly for the annual “Cocoa and Carols” event in the undercroft. The Baldwin company specifically designed those Hamiltons and their twins sold under the Baldwin name as practice room and school pianos – not elegant musically, but extraordinarily durable and easy to repair, even more so than the Yamahas (and a lot more so than the Steinways, which can be finicky. Steinway versus Hamilton is somewhat like comparing a Ferrari with a Toyota Corolla). Our Hamilton is probably fifty or sixty years old and in the prime of its career. It will be interesting to see how the hybrids look and sound at that age. My guess is that by then, the electronics will have broken down. Or the speaker cones might have failed, for they are likely to deteriorate with age. If the speakers cannot be replaced, they can be bypassed via the line out into external amps and speakers, so long as the electronics are viable.
But I am not going to be playing the piano in fifty or sixty years.
The closest current equivalent to our Hamilton is the Baldwin B-243, which they describe as the “best selling studio model of all time.” It retails for just under $9,000, pretty much in the middle of the hybrid price range. Their least expensive piano of any type, the BP-1 console upright, is not much cheaper, clocking in at $8,625. As with all Baldwin pianos since 2008, it is built in China.
to be continued: “A first step”
Friday, October 21, 2016
A visit to the piano store
It began with a guitar string. My wife needed one, so the two of us went to the excellent local music store, West Music. We went to the guitar and pop music end of the building, she got her string, and we spent a few minutes in the guitar room, where she tried out an instrument.
That was enough excuse for me to drag her to the far end of the store: the pianos. To my surprise, it was the annual Steinway Extravaganza, when the company ships in many of their higher-end grand pianos for a few days. I happened on this event one time a few years ago. That time, I was thinking in terms of the church and its needs. This time, it is for me; a piano of my very own.
But not a high-end Steinway. For the first time in my life, we could in theory drop $80 or $90 grand on a piano, but that would be from retirement savings and it would be imprudent. I played a few notes on the “Legends Tour” concert grands that had been played by a variety of famous people and moved on to a Steinway Model B for a couple of minutes. It was a terrific piano (as I described in the link above). The store was busy and my wife was itching to go, so that was it. In the car, I mentioned that I would like to have a piano when we retire, a thought which I had never dared voice.
Silence.
I dropped the subject. Several hours later, she brought it up, having had time to think about it. First, she reminded me that we are not going to spend that kind of money on a piano. And that the sound of a piano hurts her ears. Second, I am aware that it would be a large imposition on her for me to practice for hours at home. Her instrument – classical guitar – is much kinder to fellow householders than a piano. My playing would impose on neighbors as well, if we end up in a town-house or apartment, which is likely.
Having hosted the jazz department for eight years at the church, I am aware that it would also be an imposition for me to seek arrangements with a nearby church for any serious amount of daily piano (or organ) practice, if I am not working as their musician. One or two days a week might be possible: every day? Not so much.
But if I am not working, why do I want to practice? That is the part which my wife had not considered; she thought (and probably hoped) that I would never want to play again. I sometimes thought that too until a few months ago. For a funeral, I had to learn a Mozart sonata in the span of a couple of days. I had not played that sort of music for decades, and it awakened a longing – I could return to the piano and play Mozart. And Haydn, and Beethoven. Schubert, whom I especially loved. Chopin. Liszt. The Bach suites, the Well-Tempered Clavier, the Goldberg Variations, which I played in concert half a lifetime ago.
It was the first time I had looked toward retirement with any glimmer of hope or vocation. Would anyone want to hear me play? Probably not. There are already too many pianists in the world. But I think of Messiaen’s statement: “An apple tree makes apples. I make music.” I have known apple trees – including one I planted, decades ago, near what is now an abandoned farm house – whose fruit is ignored, left for the wild animals. That does not stop them from doing what God made them to do.
I understand why my wife might hope that I would close the fallboard and walk away. For thirty-plus years she has followed me through several job-related moves. She has almost never had a weekend with me, not since our honeymoon. We go weeks at a time with our paths crossing briefly with hardly a chance for two sentences. I think she would like to see her husband a little more often. I would like to see her, too; she is my favorite person and best friend. And it is true: for medical reasons, piano and organ music does hurt her ears, along with other loud noises. She has reason to dread having a husband who wants to practice.
Well, then: what to do about an instrument? As we passed through the Steinways, I saw the store’s Yamaha digital grand with its price tag of $14,999 (list price: $20,000). I thought about it: Headphones. Volume control. Still a lot of money, but not an impossible sum.
To be continued…
That was enough excuse for me to drag her to the far end of the store: the pianos. To my surprise, it was the annual Steinway Extravaganza, when the company ships in many of their higher-end grand pianos for a few days. I happened on this event one time a few years ago. That time, I was thinking in terms of the church and its needs. This time, it is for me; a piano of my very own.
But not a high-end Steinway. For the first time in my life, we could in theory drop $80 or $90 grand on a piano, but that would be from retirement savings and it would be imprudent. I played a few notes on the “Legends Tour” concert grands that had been played by a variety of famous people and moved on to a Steinway Model B for a couple of minutes. It was a terrific piano (as I described in the link above). The store was busy and my wife was itching to go, so that was it. In the car, I mentioned that I would like to have a piano when we retire, a thought which I had never dared voice.
Silence.
I dropped the subject. Several hours later, she brought it up, having had time to think about it. First, she reminded me that we are not going to spend that kind of money on a piano. And that the sound of a piano hurts her ears. Second, I am aware that it would be a large imposition on her for me to practice for hours at home. Her instrument – classical guitar – is much kinder to fellow householders than a piano. My playing would impose on neighbors as well, if we end up in a town-house or apartment, which is likely.
Having hosted the jazz department for eight years at the church, I am aware that it would also be an imposition for me to seek arrangements with a nearby church for any serious amount of daily piano (or organ) practice, if I am not working as their musician. One or two days a week might be possible: every day? Not so much.
But if I am not working, why do I want to practice? That is the part which my wife had not considered; she thought (and probably hoped) that I would never want to play again. I sometimes thought that too until a few months ago. For a funeral, I had to learn a Mozart sonata in the span of a couple of days. I had not played that sort of music for decades, and it awakened a longing – I could return to the piano and play Mozart. And Haydn, and Beethoven. Schubert, whom I especially loved. Chopin. Liszt. The Bach suites, the Well-Tempered Clavier, the Goldberg Variations, which I played in concert half a lifetime ago.
It was the first time I had looked toward retirement with any glimmer of hope or vocation. Would anyone want to hear me play? Probably not. There are already too many pianists in the world. But I think of Messiaen’s statement: “An apple tree makes apples. I make music.” I have known apple trees – including one I planted, decades ago, near what is now an abandoned farm house – whose fruit is ignored, left for the wild animals. That does not stop them from doing what God made them to do.
I understand why my wife might hope that I would close the fallboard and walk away. For thirty-plus years she has followed me through several job-related moves. She has almost never had a weekend with me, not since our honeymoon. We go weeks at a time with our paths crossing briefly with hardly a chance for two sentences. I think she would like to see her husband a little more often. I would like to see her, too; she is my favorite person and best friend. And it is true: for medical reasons, piano and organ music does hurt her ears, along with other loud noises. She has reason to dread having a husband who wants to practice.
Well, then: what to do about an instrument? As we passed through the Steinways, I saw the store’s Yamaha digital grand with its price tag of $14,999 (list price: $20,000). I thought about it: Headphones. Volume control. Still a lot of money, but not an impossible sum.
To be continued…
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