To those who have already read my previous post (about Jimmy Carter and the elections), thank you. I encourage you to take another look, because I have added quite a bit of material overnight.
May God's blessings be with you all.
Saturday, July 30, 2016
Wednesday, July 27, 2016
Jimmy Carter: "Stay engaged. Stay involved."
Jimmy Carter Convention Speech
Tuesday, July 26th, 2016
2016 Democratic National Convention
The full message, pre-recorded by President Carter, is only two-and-a-half minutes, so you might be willing to take the time to listen to all of it. My impression is that hardly anyone in the convention hall was paying the slightest attention. One has to dig around a bit to find any mention of it. President Carter has, on the whole, not been well treated by his party in the years since he was in office. From the first, he was outside of the establishment, and even being elected President was not enough to bring him into the fold, it seems.
Because so few people would have noticed, I think it important to highlight one part of his message, the part that I think was what the former President most wanted to communicate:
The parent site for this link appears to be a good source for those who might wish to listen to any of the convention speeches; they are all here, or will be once they have been presented.
I have heard President Carter, whom I revere. I am not interested in the rest of them.
Not even Senator Sanders.
I am not surprised that the allegations we have made all year about the Democratic National Committee being essentially a branch of the Clinton campaign have proven to be true. And I am not surprised that Senator Sanders is trying to bring his followers into line to support Secretary Clinton. “Democracy is messy,” I think he said.
I cannot bring myself to listen to Sanders' speech, nor that of Senator Warren, whom I used to admire (but no longer).
Nonetheless, on a day when I am angry, and almost in tears over the direction our people have chosen – either Secretary Clinton or Mr. Trump – I repeat what I wrote a few weeks ago, quoting from Robert E. Lee:
I do not see any good way forward for our country. Or rather, I think that (as with the choice between Reagan and Carter) we have been presented with a good choice, and chosen the path of darkness.
I want to tune out, in disgust at the whole sorry mess. I know that many other Sanders supporters want to tune out, especially many of the young people, finding out for the first time how ugly it can be – a lesson I first learned under the tutelage of Richard M. Nixon, with a refresher course under Ronald Reagan.
And I think, again, of Mr. Lincoln sitting in that telegraph office, or late into the night in the White House. And of Lt. Col. Faith on Hill 1221 in the freezing cold.
What will this look like?
I recall the young volunteers and paid staff for the Sanders campaign with whom I worked before the Iowa caucuses. What strikes me in retrospect is how different they were from me; it was a cultural divide. They lived via social media; they worked hard, some of them sleeping on the floor of the campaign office in the final weeks.
They believed in progressive ideals, things like gender rights, inter-cultural respect, a guaranteed minimum wage, single-payer health care, breaking up the Wall Street banks. I share these beliefs. But they believed they could actually do something about them.
Most of them absolutely loathed Mrs. Clinton, and I suspect that they still do. They recognized that she embodies the Status Quo. Four (or eight) more years of things exactly as they are, but a little worse every year. And the alternative -- Mr. Donald Trump, with a filibuster-proof majority in the Senate, firm control of all three branches of the Federal government, and Republicans controlling most of the states as well -- might be even worse.
What now?
Perhaps it might be working for "down-ticket" candidates, such as the two people on a "Sanders ticket" that will be on the ballot this fall for our local County Commission. Perhaps it might mean running for office yourself.
To any young adults (and older ones, too) who have every right to feel discouraged: "Stay engaged. Stay involved." It is going to be a hard and long fight. Senator Sanders is not likely to live long enough to see the things he believes in come to pass. You might not, either, even if you are an idealistic eighteen-year-old in your first election.
Today (as I update this post on Saturday) is the Feast of William Wilberforce, M.P.
Read about him; he is a reminder of what can happen, with God's help.
From the bio by James Kiefer (linked above):
Tuesday, July 26th, 2016
2016 Democratic National Convention
The full message, pre-recorded by President Carter, is only two-and-a-half minutes, so you might be willing to take the time to listen to all of it. My impression is that hardly anyone in the convention hall was paying the slightest attention. One has to dig around a bit to find any mention of it. President Carter has, on the whole, not been well treated by his party in the years since he was in office. From the first, he was outside of the establishment, and even being elected President was not enough to bring him into the fold, it seems.
Because so few people would have noticed, I think it important to highlight one part of his message, the part that I think was what the former President most wanted to communicate:
I thank Senator Sanders for energizing and bringing so many young people into the electoral process. To all of you young Americans, I say:
Stay engaged. Stay involved. And be sure to vote this November.
The parent site for this link appears to be a good source for those who might wish to listen to any of the convention speeches; they are all here, or will be once they have been presented.
I have heard President Carter, whom I revere. I am not interested in the rest of them.
Not even Senator Sanders.
I am not surprised that the allegations we have made all year about the Democratic National Committee being essentially a branch of the Clinton campaign have proven to be true. And I am not surprised that Senator Sanders is trying to bring his followers into line to support Secretary Clinton. “Democracy is messy,” I think he said.
I cannot bring myself to listen to Sanders' speech, nor that of Senator Warren, whom I used to admire (but no longer).
Nonetheless, on a day when I am angry, and almost in tears over the direction our people have chosen – either Secretary Clinton or Mr. Trump – I repeat what I wrote a few weeks ago, quoting from Robert E. Lee:
I think it is the duty of every citizen, in the present condition of the Country, to do all in his power to aid in the restoration of peace and harmony. It is particularly incumbent upon those charged with the instruction of the young to set them an example.
I do not see any good way forward for our country. Or rather, I think that (as with the choice between Reagan and Carter) we have been presented with a good choice, and chosen the path of darkness.
I want to tune out, in disgust at the whole sorry mess. I know that many other Sanders supporters want to tune out, especially many of the young people, finding out for the first time how ugly it can be – a lesson I first learned under the tutelage of Richard M. Nixon, with a refresher course under Ronald Reagan.
And I think, again, of Mr. Lincoln sitting in that telegraph office, or late into the night in the White House. And of Lt. Col. Faith on Hill 1221 in the freezing cold.
Stay engaged. Stay involved.
What will this look like?
I recall the young volunteers and paid staff for the Sanders campaign with whom I worked before the Iowa caucuses. What strikes me in retrospect is how different they were from me; it was a cultural divide. They lived via social media; they worked hard, some of them sleeping on the floor of the campaign office in the final weeks.
They believed in progressive ideals, things like gender rights, inter-cultural respect, a guaranteed minimum wage, single-payer health care, breaking up the Wall Street banks. I share these beliefs. But they believed they could actually do something about them.
Most of them absolutely loathed Mrs. Clinton, and I suspect that they still do. They recognized that she embodies the Status Quo. Four (or eight) more years of things exactly as they are, but a little worse every year. And the alternative -- Mr. Donald Trump, with a filibuster-proof majority in the Senate, firm control of all three branches of the Federal government, and Republicans controlling most of the states as well -- might be even worse.
What now?
Perhaps it might be working for "down-ticket" candidates, such as the two people on a "Sanders ticket" that will be on the ballot this fall for our local County Commission. Perhaps it might mean running for office yourself.
Here is a cold, hard fact that must be addressed. Since 2009, some 900 legislative seats have been lost to Republicans in state after state throughout this country. In fact, the Republican Party now controls 31 state legislatures and controls both the governors’ mansions and statehouses in 23 states. That is unacceptable.
We need to start engaging at the local and state level in an unprecedented way. Hundreds of thousands of volunteers helped us make political history during the last year. These are people deeply concerned about the future of our country and their own communities. Now we need many of them to start running for school boards, city councils, county commissions, state legislatures and governorships. State and local governments make enormously important decisions and we cannot allow right-wing Republicans to increasingly control them.
I hope very much that many of you listening tonight are prepared to engage at that level.... I have no doubt that with the energy and enthusiasm our campaign has shown that we can win significant numbers of local and state elections if people are prepared to become involved. I also hope people will give serious thought to running for statewide offices and the U.S. Congress. (Sen. Bernie Sanders, in a speech on June 16, 2016 at Burlington, Vermont)
To any young adults (and older ones, too) who have every right to feel discouraged: "Stay engaged. Stay involved." It is going to be a hard and long fight. Senator Sanders is not likely to live long enough to see the things he believes in come to pass. You might not, either, even if you are an idealistic eighteen-year-old in your first election.
Today (as I update this post on Saturday) is the Feast of William Wilberforce, M.P.
Read about him; he is a reminder of what can happen, with God's help.
From the bio by James Kiefer (linked above):
[Wilberforce] introduced his first anti-slavery motion in the House of Commons in 1788, in a three-and-a-half hour oration that concluded: "Sir, when we think of eternity and the future consequence of all human conduct, what is there in this life that shall make any man contradict the dictates of his conscience, the principles of justice and the law of God!" The motion was defeated. Wilberforce brought it up again every year for eighteen years, until the slave trade was finally abolished on 25 March 1806. He continued the campaign against slavery itself, and the bill for the abolition of all slavery in British territories passed its crucial vote just four days before his death on 29 July 1833. A year later, on 31 July 1834, 800,000 slaves, chiefly in the British West Indies, were set free.
Tuesday, July 26, 2016
RSCM Report: I was glad when they said unto me
Part Three: Liturgy, and Concluding Thoughts
Mr. Neswick chose a different approach; we launched immediately into our “big” piece for the Basilica, a setting by Leo Sowerby of Psalm 122. The organ begins with majesty, growing ever greater; the choir sings the opening words; we feel what it is like to make Music together in such a space.
It was overwhelming.
“The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom.” This experience of majesty, something Music can open, is a part of it. The Roman Catholics can do this very well in their liturgies, when they take a notion. Which they did on Sunday morning: Solemn Pontifical Mass with the Cardinal Archbishop as Celebrant and Preacher. As the procession came down the aisle, incense floating in a cloud through the huge space, Neswick played the opening hymn: “Christ is made the sure foundation,” to the tune Westminster Abbey. We sang, the trebles and tenors soaring into a descant (which I think was composed for this occasion by Mr. Neswick). The clergy ascended to the High Altar, censed it, kissed it, the incense filling the church. Gloria in excelsis Deo.
My favorite service of most RSCM Courses is not the one at the Basilica, nor the Evensong the night before at the Presbyterian church. It is the Thursday night Choral Evensong at the Chapel of Saint Cecilia, on the grounds of the Todd Hall Retreat Center.
We have worked together this week. We have sung, laughed, played, perhaps wept, eaten, sung some more, prayed, worshipped in community, rested (not enough, for most of us), and (again) sung some more. It was a lot; I wish it were more. I wish we could keep having these daily rehearsals, keep improving, keep singing together.
We have come far. On Monday, it was clear that we would have to step it up. I was thinking then of my own choristers, and not sufficiently of myself, for as an alto, I had to step it up quite a bit to keep up with the group as they developed through the week. The adult and teen tenors and basses were excellent from the outset; some of these men have considerable experience as Choirmen in top-notch cathedral and parish choirs.
I could not be more proud of the two young men who sang beside me, Charles and Charlie, and the other young altos. But most of all, I admire the trebles. Without any one or two choristers taking the lead, the entire section grew from a group that sounded like young children to a strong, confident team that could, I think, do anything. By Thursday night, they sing with rich, vibrant tone, and more than that, intelligence and connection. Mr. Neswick certainly helped, by prodding us up the path and showing us how it could be done, but it was in the end the trebles themselves that did it.
[Edited to add: here is a link to a recording from the Saturday evensong, on Dropbox, with grateful thanks to Brian Hunt, who made the recording. There are other tracks from the evensong on the main page, here.]
The penultimate anthem at the Evensong is a setting of “Sing ye faithful, sing with gladness” by Richard Wayne Dirksen. It is for the most part a rollicking dancelike piece, enjoyable to sing. Even the two middle stanzas about the Crucifixion retain a sense of fun in the background.
The hymn text completed, Dirksen reduces the texture for a coda. A solo group of four, which includes Lucy and Caleigh from our Iowa choir, sings a repeated Alleluia based on the “Queen’s Change.” The rest of the trebles and altos sustain these notes as if it were a carillon playing them; the lower voices sing one last bit of the head motive and text.
It is very much as if we were in heaven.
For me, hearing Caleigh’s and Lucy’s voices in the solo, clear and strong, made it even more powerful. I have known these girls since they were quite small and they are important to me, as are all of our choristers (the ones at home as well as the ones at the Course). When we repeated the anthem in Saturday’s evensong, I was quite overcome, unable to sing my part of it for a while.
But I have already done my part. I have been one of many who have taught these girls and boys, and brought them to this day. I hope that I was useful in the alto section; I think that I was for the first part of the week. By the end of the week, especially when the altos were joined by Kristin and Debbie, the section was fine without me. Of this I am glad.
For my days will soon be done. It is these young people, and those like them in every land, every culture, who must carry the Song forward into what may be dark and uncertain times.
On the fringes of our week: the Republican National Convention. Some of the adults (most decidedly not me) were following bits of it on Twitter and similar online sources, and it came up in the conversations at meals more often than I would have liked. The Democrats are this week, and in my opinion not one whit better or more virtuous than the Republicans.
The Song is never in a vacuum; the Light shines not in light, but darkness. Not just the Alleluias at the end of the Dirksen, but the whole week of the Course was in many respects a taste of heaven. It must not stop there; it must, somehow, ring outward into the world even as our sounds rang through the Basilica. It is given us as musicians to be a sign of Hope. And it is needed, desperately. What we have in our voices, our intelligence, our working together, our playing of instruments, our Song – this is part of what the world needs for its healing and reconciliation. This is an important part of what we can give to it.
The connection between the Course and “back home” is, I think, in the Daily Office. It pleased me that some of our choristers joined us for daily Morning Prayer in the chapel even when they did not have to. It may be that they “get it.” I hope so.
On the face of it, the Officium, especially as led by a Benedictine (that is, Brother Vincent Ignatius, OSB, my friend) has a certain pedestrian quality to it. There is no excitement. None. Especially in the middle of Ordinary Time. There are no external reasons to be carried up into the heavenly places, as I was in the Dirksen Alleluias.
What one finds instead is Stability. And over time, Conversion of Life. The psalms, the lessons, the prayers… day after day. A rhythm like that of the sun and moon, rising and setting. A river flowing, quiet and calm but irresistible: “On this rock I will build my Church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.”
-----------
When I returned to my parish church for this day (Tuesday, July 26: the Feast of Joachim and Anna, parents of the Blessed Virgin Mary), somewhat in dread of the morning’s impending staff meeting, and what might lie in wait for me in the e-mail in-box, I began, as is my custom and duty, with Matins (Morning Prayer). Most days it is just me. I took my books into the church’s courtyard and began:
When one sings or says the Officium, one is never alone. Not least, when I sing Matins and Evensong here in the parish courtyard or church, I renew my connection to the Evensongs at Todd Hall, from this Course and all the Courses of the last score (almost) of years – and all the Courses yet to come, and our monthly Evensongs here in the parish church. I renew my connection to those with whom I have sung, not a few of them now in that greater Light, where the Song is heard undimmed by mortal frailty.
To those of my young friends who may someday read these pages: I commend to you the daily practice of Morning and Evening Prayer. You already know how to do it; it is simply Choral Evensong without the choir. If you wish, you may speak it, as we did in the daily Morning Prayer at Todd Hall. I will observe that it is better if you sing it, and better still to do it outdoors when you can. And better still if you can find a community, however small, to do it with you. That makes the connection to the wider Church more readily visible, as it did last week at the Course. For a few of you, the Officium might become part of a life’s Vocation, as it has for Brother Vincent. But the path is open to all, whatever their state of life.
For the usage of the Episcopal Church, everything you need is in the Book of Common Prayer, a Bible, the Hymnal 1982, and perhaps a Psalter such as the big red Plainsong Psalters on the shelf in our choir room. You can also find most of this in various online sources. There is no special place or time to start; the river began to flow thousands of years ago. Or rather, there is a special place and time to start: Here. Now.
Remember that it will not be exciting. After a while, it will be quite ordinary, like breathing. But remember also before whom you stand, and with whom you are singing and praying. You may not see them or hear them, not in the way that is possible when we are in a Course, but they are there.
“On this rock I will build my Church…”
I was glad when they said unto meSome years ago, one of our music directors, it may have been Simon Lole, introduced the choristers to the acoustics of the Cathedral Basilica of Saint Louis by having the trebles sing a simple triad: Sol, Mi, Do, release. The tones blended into a chord, which hung in the air for many seconds.
Let us go into the house of the LORD.
Mr. Neswick chose a different approach; we launched immediately into our “big” piece for the Basilica, a setting by Leo Sowerby of Psalm 122. The organ begins with majesty, growing ever greater; the choir sings the opening words; we feel what it is like to make Music together in such a space.
It was overwhelming.
“The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom.” This experience of majesty, something Music can open, is a part of it. The Roman Catholics can do this very well in their liturgies, when they take a notion. Which they did on Sunday morning: Solemn Pontifical Mass with the Cardinal Archbishop as Celebrant and Preacher. As the procession came down the aisle, incense floating in a cloud through the huge space, Neswick played the opening hymn: “Christ is made the sure foundation,” to the tune Westminster Abbey. We sang, the trebles and tenors soaring into a descant (which I think was composed for this occasion by Mr. Neswick). The clergy ascended to the High Altar, censed it, kissed it, the incense filling the church. Gloria in excelsis Deo.
Behold, our feet are standing
Within thy gates, O Jerusalem.
My favorite service of most RSCM Courses is not the one at the Basilica, nor the Evensong the night before at the Presbyterian church. It is the Thursday night Choral Evensong at the Chapel of Saint Cecilia, on the grounds of the Todd Hall Retreat Center.
We have worked together this week. We have sung, laughed, played, perhaps wept, eaten, sung some more, prayed, worshipped in community, rested (not enough, for most of us), and (again) sung some more. It was a lot; I wish it were more. I wish we could keep having these daily rehearsals, keep improving, keep singing together.
We have come far. On Monday, it was clear that we would have to step it up. I was thinking then of my own choristers, and not sufficiently of myself, for as an alto, I had to step it up quite a bit to keep up with the group as they developed through the week. The adult and teen tenors and basses were excellent from the outset; some of these men have considerable experience as Choirmen in top-notch cathedral and parish choirs.
I could not be more proud of the two young men who sang beside me, Charles and Charlie, and the other young altos. But most of all, I admire the trebles. Without any one or two choristers taking the lead, the entire section grew from a group that sounded like young children to a strong, confident team that could, I think, do anything. By Thursday night, they sing with rich, vibrant tone, and more than that, intelligence and connection. Mr. Neswick certainly helped, by prodding us up the path and showing us how it could be done, but it was in the end the trebles themselves that did it.
[Edited to add: here is a link to a recording from the Saturday evensong, on Dropbox, with grateful thanks to Brian Hunt, who made the recording. There are other tracks from the evensong on the main page, here.]
The penultimate anthem at the Evensong is a setting of “Sing ye faithful, sing with gladness” by Richard Wayne Dirksen. It is for the most part a rollicking dancelike piece, enjoyable to sing. Even the two middle stanzas about the Crucifixion retain a sense of fun in the background.
The hymn text completed, Dirksen reduces the texture for a coda. A solo group of four, which includes Lucy and Caleigh from our Iowa choir, sings a repeated Alleluia based on the “Queen’s Change.” The rest of the trebles and altos sustain these notes as if it were a carillon playing them; the lower voices sing one last bit of the head motive and text.
It is very much as if we were in heaven.
For me, hearing Caleigh’s and Lucy’s voices in the solo, clear and strong, made it even more powerful. I have known these girls since they were quite small and they are important to me, as are all of our choristers (the ones at home as well as the ones at the Course). When we repeated the anthem in Saturday’s evensong, I was quite overcome, unable to sing my part of it for a while.
But I have already done my part. I have been one of many who have taught these girls and boys, and brought them to this day. I hope that I was useful in the alto section; I think that I was for the first part of the week. By the end of the week, especially when the altos were joined by Kristin and Debbie, the section was fine without me. Of this I am glad.
For my days will soon be done. It is these young people, and those like them in every land, every culture, who must carry the Song forward into what may be dark and uncertain times.
On the fringes of our week: the Republican National Convention. Some of the adults (most decidedly not me) were following bits of it on Twitter and similar online sources, and it came up in the conversations at meals more often than I would have liked. The Democrats are this week, and in my opinion not one whit better or more virtuous than the Republicans.
The Song is never in a vacuum; the Light shines not in light, but darkness. Not just the Alleluias at the end of the Dirksen, but the whole week of the Course was in many respects a taste of heaven. It must not stop there; it must, somehow, ring outward into the world even as our sounds rang through the Basilica. It is given us as musicians to be a sign of Hope. And it is needed, desperately. What we have in our voices, our intelligence, our working together, our playing of instruments, our Song – this is part of what the world needs for its healing and reconciliation. This is an important part of what we can give to it.
The connection between the Course and “back home” is, I think, in the Daily Office. It pleased me that some of our choristers joined us for daily Morning Prayer in the chapel even when they did not have to. It may be that they “get it.” I hope so.
On the face of it, the Officium, especially as led by a Benedictine (that is, Brother Vincent Ignatius, OSB, my friend) has a certain pedestrian quality to it. There is no excitement. None. Especially in the middle of Ordinary Time. There are no external reasons to be carried up into the heavenly places, as I was in the Dirksen Alleluias.
What one finds instead is Stability. And over time, Conversion of Life. The psalms, the lessons, the prayers… day after day. A rhythm like that of the sun and moon, rising and setting. A river flowing, quiet and calm but irresistible: “On this rock I will build my Church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.”
-----------
When I returned to my parish church for this day (Tuesday, July 26: the Feast of Joachim and Anna, parents of the Blessed Virgin Mary), somewhat in dread of the morning’s impending staff meeting, and what might lie in wait for me in the e-mail in-box, I began, as is my custom and duty, with Matins (Morning Prayer). Most days it is just me. I took my books into the church’s courtyard and began:
I was glad when they said to me: Let us go into the house of the Lord….We sang these words back at Todd Hall. We rehearsed them with diligence, we sang them in the liturgy. It may appear that I was alone this morning in the courtyard, under a half moon in a clear blue sky, singing the Psalms, reading the Lessons, singing the Creed, the Suffrages, the Collects, in the company of a pair of goldfinches flurrying about, and a dove – a yearling, whose mother hatched him this spring from an egg in the tree right here, outside the Sacristy window.
O Lord, open thou our lips:
And our mouth shall shew forth thy praise….
When one sings or says the Officium, one is never alone. Not least, when I sing Matins and Evensong here in the parish courtyard or church, I renew my connection to the Evensongs at Todd Hall, from this Course and all the Courses of the last score (almost) of years – and all the Courses yet to come, and our monthly Evensongs here in the parish church. I renew my connection to those with whom I have sung, not a few of them now in that greater Light, where the Song is heard undimmed by mortal frailty.
To those of my young friends who may someday read these pages: I commend to you the daily practice of Morning and Evening Prayer. You already know how to do it; it is simply Choral Evensong without the choir. If you wish, you may speak it, as we did in the daily Morning Prayer at Todd Hall. I will observe that it is better if you sing it, and better still to do it outdoors when you can. And better still if you can find a community, however small, to do it with you. That makes the connection to the wider Church more readily visible, as it did last week at the Course. For a few of you, the Officium might become part of a life’s Vocation, as it has for Brother Vincent. But the path is open to all, whatever their state of life.
For the usage of the Episcopal Church, everything you need is in the Book of Common Prayer, a Bible, the Hymnal 1982, and perhaps a Psalter such as the big red Plainsong Psalters on the shelf in our choir room. You can also find most of this in various online sources. There is no special place or time to start; the river began to flow thousands of years ago. Or rather, there is a special place and time to start: Here. Now.
Remember that it will not be exciting. After a while, it will be quite ordinary, like breathing. But remember also before whom you stand, and with whom you are singing and praying. You may not see them or hear them, not in the way that is possible when we are in a Course, but they are there.
“On this rock I will build my Church…”
Sunday, July 24, 2016
RSCM Report: Him let all your music honor
Sing, ye faithful, sing with gladness,
wake your noblest, sweetest strain,
with the praises of your Savior
let his house resound again;
Him let all your music honor,
and your songs exalt his reign
(John Ellerton, 1870)
Part Two: Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday
Bruce Neswick is the music director for the week. He is one of the leading church musicians in the U.S. and, I suppose, the world. Among the work he has done: founding the Girls’ Choir at the Washington National Cathedral in the late 1990’s, serving with distinction as cathedral organist at Buffalo, Lexington (Kentucky), Atlanta, St. John the Divine in NYC, and now Trinity Cathedral, Portland. He and I are of similar age, and (as I learned) both of us vegetarians, having become so upon reading “Diet for a Small Planet” while college students in the 1970’s.
His work with the choir is in the grand Cathedral Tradition, what I often consider the “big leagues” of choral music – the choirs of men and boys (and, thanks in part to Bruce, girls) who rehearse daily and sing evensong several times a week. They work hard and intensively, and at their best, the young people in such choirs make some of the finest music in the world.
I know “educators” who would say that it is asking too much to expect children or teens to stay focused for anything beyond five minutes, much less an hour or more at a time through a challenging rehearsal. And that is what we had – plenty of fun and light-hearted humor (for which Mr. Neswick is a master), but steady, serious, detailed work. I am a professional musician, and I have been doing this sort of thing for a long time – and there was one morning when I was near panic, thinking “I can’t do this.” He was asking a level of perfection that seemed beyond me – and, by staying with it, I attained it, doing some things vocally that surpassed anything I had done before. I became a better musician this week.
And there were little fourth-graders at their first Course, doing the same thing. No one told them that they couldn’t be this good, that they couldn’t do serious and important work at the same level as adult professionals.
If they can do this, they can do a great many other things.
We sing: Neswick stops us, we focus on one detail in what we have sung; we stay with it until it is right, or at least improved. As we return to the same music in later rehearsals, we attend to smaller details that he had allowed to pass in the earlier singings, and make the phrases, the overall sweep of the anthems and canticles and psalms, better and more focused.
He is a master of framing his comments positively. Not once did he say “that’s wrong.” More likely responses would be “Almost,” or “Maybe that C sharp could be a little higher.” If a treble had tried a phrase as a solo (which is a constant part of the rehearsals) and missed it, Neswick would have one or two more join to try it again, and praise them when they get it right. If there was a note or other detail that the choir missed the first time, he often called on an experienced chorister to demonstrate how it should go. This is old-school, straight out of the RSCM Chorister Training Scheme materials of forty or fifty years ago. And it still works.
Increasingly, Caleigh and Lucy from our Iowa choir are among those on whom he calls. It may be that he came only gradually to recognize their solid musicianship. Clio and Sloane, both of them strong high school musicians, are also among those to whom Neswick turns when he needs a good example. The two of them sing the solo on the anthem “Prayer of the Venerable Bede” (Richard Proulx) – long, unaccompanied, and challenging. At the final evensong, they sing it from the rear gallery of the church; it is magical.
Duncan and Iain are among the boy trebles who are leaders. One of my young friends from previous courses was the tenor to whom Neswick would look: Saul, here from Texas with two younger brothers. It was not so long ago that he was a first-year treble; now, he has a gorgeous tenor voice and first-class musicianship, both as a singer and a violinist. He and his brother Diego demonstrated the latter with a violin duet at the talent show, drawing a standing ovation led by Mr. Neswick. I got to know Saul three years ago when I sang between him and his friend Mario, both of them (that year) brand-new tenors, much as I am this year with Charles and Charlie.
I am proud of all the Iowa choristers. The girls I have mentioned, but I must say more about Alice and Lily. They were not often called upon for solos or examples, but both of them were solid and reliable choristers all week long, fully engaged with the Song. And it is Lily who, back home, is always on time for every rehearsal (along with her younger brother), allowing nothing to take precedence over the choir and its work.
Mike and Tom are across the way, side by side in the bass section, with Mike doubling as proctor and Tom as junior proctor. I suspect that it is a special time for them to sing together, something they cannot often do in a choir nowadays. My friend Judith is in front of me: without her commitment to the Course, it would be difficult or impossible for our group to attend. Beside her is Max in the tenor section, focused and hard-working all week. Beside me is Charles, who became an alto this spring and is attending his first Course. He is a fine and intelligent young man, and it is a delight to sing with him.
I believe that all of us have become better musicians this week. And the treble Sound arrives. At first, there are occasional notes where Mr. Neswick has them sing it several times, working for a “red-hot” sound. Then, more steadily. By Friday, they are singing with a strong ringing tone almost all of the time – and when there is a note that is lacking support and focus, Neswick corrects them and they get it right.
How can I take this home?
Every year, I seek to bring what I have learned to my own work with the choirs in our parish. Most of the time, I fail. I try things, and they don’t work at home.
For one thing, I love Mr. Neswick’s pacing, which is breakneck. That is part of why we can work so well; there is no time to do anything other than work at our highest level. If I were to try this in our adult choir at home, there are a few singers who would be absolutely lost. They would not be able to keep up. I must respect that.
With the trebles, I must likewise respect that not all of them will be outstanding, highly focused choristers. Some of them do indeed have difficulty focusing on anything for more than a couple of minutes. And over the years, I have driven a few singers off by making the rehearsals more challenging than they could manage. I regret this, deeply.
But I can, and should, take home the most important parts of what Mr. Neswick does: Connection to the music, which he leads by his own example of total immersion in what we are doing. A renewed commitment to solfege. Love for the choristers, which grows increasingly clear as the week progresses, most of all in our farewells at the end when he was in tears (another way in which he and I are alike; if my choristers were to give me a card as they did him, I would be an emotional wreck). One detail at a time, staying with it until it has improved. Work where the choir is – as they improve, raise the bar.
[To be continued]
RSCM Report: Sing ye faithful, sing with gladness
Part One: Monday
Fifteen years ago, I brought my first choristers to the St. Louis RSCM Course. One of them, Jennifer, stayed with it. A child of nine or ten years (I think), she and her father Eric and later her brother Mark became regulars at the Course.
For the first time, none of their family are here. They and others of their generation are now adults with commitments elsewhere, though Jennifer drove several hours out of her way in returning from such a commitment to drop in on the Course for a few hours one afternoon.
But there are many others here, many new people old and young. There are so many tenors and basses that I am needed more as an alto, to help secure a section consisting of as many middle-school boys as adult women. I hope to be an example that it is all right for men to sing alto, even if the adult housemaster (my friend Debbie) sometimes refers to the section as “Ladies.” For most of the week’s rehearsals I am between two of the boys: Charles, one of the choristers from my choir; and Charlie, youngest child of my friend Kristin. I well remember her wheeling him around the grounds of Todd Hall in a stroller. Now he is singing alto, and doing very well at it. He is more accurate than I, especially for the first few days (I suspect he was better prepared, which would not take much). Throughout the rehearsals, he sits and stands with good posture, keeps his pencil at the ready, and marks his scores with the efficiency of a pro. In some of the rehearsals, Kristin (herself a fine alto) has the pleasure of singing alongside her son, with her daughter two rows ahead in the trebles.
There are many fine choristers here, and the level of musicianship is high. But in the first rehearsal, the “Sound” is not there – the unique sound of strong, experienced treble boys and girls, ringing in the air. They sound young, tentative. The senior girls who anchored the trebles for years, such as Kyle and Meara, Natalie and Bryn, are gone. Of that group, only Jenna is here, but she is now an alto, seated two places to my right. She and Mike are among the senior proctors, and do excellent work in that regard all through the week.
I look around and realize that the four girls from our choir, all of them entering the seventh or eighth grade this fall – Lily, Alice, Caleigh, Lucy – will have to be among the leaders.
They will need to step it up.
Related: RSCM Report 2010:
Fifteen years ago, I brought my first choristers to the St. Louis RSCM Course. One of them, Jennifer, stayed with it. A child of nine or ten years (I think), she and her father Eric and later her brother Mark became regulars at the Course.
For the first time, none of their family are here. They and others of their generation are now adults with commitments elsewhere, though Jennifer drove several hours out of her way in returning from such a commitment to drop in on the Course for a few hours one afternoon.
But there are many others here, many new people old and young. There are so many tenors and basses that I am needed more as an alto, to help secure a section consisting of as many middle-school boys as adult women. I hope to be an example that it is all right for men to sing alto, even if the adult housemaster (my friend Debbie) sometimes refers to the section as “Ladies.” For most of the week’s rehearsals I am between two of the boys: Charles, one of the choristers from my choir; and Charlie, youngest child of my friend Kristin. I well remember her wheeling him around the grounds of Todd Hall in a stroller. Now he is singing alto, and doing very well at it. He is more accurate than I, especially for the first few days (I suspect he was better prepared, which would not take much). Throughout the rehearsals, he sits and stands with good posture, keeps his pencil at the ready, and marks his scores with the efficiency of a pro. In some of the rehearsals, Kristin (herself a fine alto) has the pleasure of singing alongside her son, with her daughter two rows ahead in the trebles.
There are many fine choristers here, and the level of musicianship is high. But in the first rehearsal, the “Sound” is not there – the unique sound of strong, experienced treble boys and girls, ringing in the air. They sound young, tentative. The senior girls who anchored the trebles for years, such as Kyle and Meara, Natalie and Bryn, are gone. Of that group, only Jenna is here, but she is now an alto, seated two places to my right. She and Mike are among the senior proctors, and do excellent work in that regard all through the week.
I look around and realize that the four girls from our choir, all of them entering the seventh or eighth grade this fall – Lily, Alice, Caleigh, Lucy – will have to be among the leaders.
They will need to step it up.
Related: RSCM Report 2010:
In front of me during the full rehearsals were two little girls, Bryn [edit: this would be the same Bryn who became such a strong leader over the next few years] and Lauren. Both were irrepressible, with answers for every question, including quite a few that had not been asked. They were terrific. Across the way in Decani were Tom [ed: by 2016 a second bass, one of the tallest men in the choir, and a fine singer] and Killian, whom I had the privilege of driving around St. Louis when we went offsite to the Basilica and the Science Center. They made me feel young again with their boundless energy, jokes, and non-stop chatter. There were many others, including not only the outgoing ones I have described, but the quiet ones who said little, but saw and experienced much. In a sense, the whole Course is for these children. It is for the moment when they hear That Sound for the first time in rehearsals, the sound I vainly tried to describe a few days ago. It is for the confidence they gain when they realize that they can do the job, as overwhelming as it always seems at first; they can hold their own with the teens and adults and be part of a top-notch choir.
Tuesday, July 12, 2016
thought for the day
"This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly, than ever before." - Leonard Bernstein
(thanks to fellow organist Jan Kraybill for posting this quote on her Facebook page.)
I think the Bernstein quote was in the context of the late 1960's, another troubled time in many respects. For a fuller response from Bernstein to one part of that time, here is a YouTube of his "Kaddish Symphony," written after the assassination of J. F. Kennedy. The Kaddish is the Jewish prayer of mourning.
(thanks to fellow organist Jan Kraybill for posting this quote on her Facebook page.)
I think the Bernstein quote was in the context of the late 1960's, another troubled time in many respects. For a fuller response from Bernstein to one part of that time, here is a YouTube of his "Kaddish Symphony," written after the assassination of J. F. Kennedy. The Kaddish is the Jewish prayer of mourning.
Sunday, July 3, 2016
RSCM and Independence Day
Today, the closing Evensong from the RSCM Carolina Course for Girls was live-streamed here. I do not know if they will later post it on YouTube, nor how long this link will remain active.
The Evensong was at the Chapel of Duke University, a place I once knew well. I had intended to listen to a few minutes of it as I worked in the office. That intention lasted through the organ preludes – two of them, one on each of the big instruments in that room. Then came the procession, to an organ improvisation. Watching the choristers come down the aisle was overwhelming; I was an emotional wreck, and they had not even begun to sing.
For many years, I took girls to this Course when it was at Agnes Scott College in Atlanta with services at St. Phillip’s Cathedral. We would load up in the church’s fifteen-passenger Blue Van, an old Ford that had seen its better days, and off we would go down the highway and over the mountains. Among all of these accomplished choristers (and directors), we felt like country bumpkins, for our little program back in Tennessee was not at the standard of places like St. Phillip’s, or some of the other churches who sent choristers. Many of the churches from those days are represented at this year’s course, though not the place where I served. One of the first acts of my successors was to dismantle the RSCM program and replace it with a more traditional graded-choir program. Nonetheless, three of my girls went to the next summer’s Atlanta course on their own, and sent me a photo. I still have it.
I learned a lot at this Course, and its companion Course for boys at Christ Church, Charlotte. It was in these weeks that I became a real Choirmaster, from the example of the music directors and choristers in their work together. I took copious notes – I still have these, too. I went home with my girls and boys and we all tried to live up to the standard of what we had experienced. Year by year, little by little, we became a better choir.
That remains my experience, and I think that of our choristers here in Iowa. And year by year, little by little, we are becoming a better choir.
Three weeks from now, it is our turn: Choral Evensong at First Presbyterian Church, Kirkwood on Saturday, July 23 and Mass at the Basilica of Saint Louis the next morning.
-----------
Tomorrow is July 4, Independence Day for this country. One year at the Atlanta Course, which has always been pretty much at this time of the summer, Independence Day was near the end of the week. There at Agnes Scott, we had an outdoor barbecue for the occasion. It was relaxed, one of those long summer evenings in Georgia which are like nothing else under the sun. The girls were carrying on like choristers do at every Course, having a great time. One of the teenagers was telling her friends how she had sung the National Anthem at an Atlanta Braves baseball game a few weeks before. She talked about how scared she was, vomiting in the bathroom shortly before she went out to sing, just her by herself in front of all those thousands of people, unaccompanied. “It went like this,” she said, and she started to sing…
It is hard to be patriotic. Most of the time, for most of us, July 4 is little more than a day for a cookout and some fireworks, a day off from work. But there is something more to it. That evening in Atlanta, we all felt it.
Today we had a service of readings and hymns for Independence Day. I was not looking forward to it; coming back from a vacation, I ended up with one day’s preparation, and even for that, I had trouble dragging myself upstairs to the bench to do the work. Worst of all, I had committed to improvising a prelude.
Nothing would come. Partly, it was rustiness from the time off, but partly, my heart was not in it. I did not want to do any of these hymns; I did not want to even show up for church the next day.
But this morning found me on the bench, bright and early. After practicing the hymns, I worked at the organ for an hour or so on the improvisation, searching for ideas. People started to arrive, so I moved downstairs to the piano in the choir room. Still, I had nothing more than a vague plan: “America the beautiful” (which was the opening hymn) in G dorian/minor moving to major. But it was going a little better at the piano than it had at the organ.
It was not until I was upstairs, putting on my organ shoes, that I knew what to do; I went to the piano instead of the organ.
I began to play. And I began to think of what I had seen over the last fortnight -- the places I had visited out East, and in Springfield, Illinois… I thought of Mr. Lincoln, sitting in the telegraph office at the White House brooding over the casualty lists coming in from places like Chickamauga and the Wilderness and Cold Harbor. I thought of Mr. Lee, resting in his tomb down at Lexington. I thought of the soldiers at the Chosin Reservoir that December of 1950, the temperatures more than thirty below zero, outnumbered four to one as the “volunteers” from the People’s Liberation Army came at them in human wave assaults.
Most Americans have forgotten that war, which may be the finest and noblest thing that we have done as a nation, fighting alongside the South Koreans and our United Nations allies -- the British, the Canadians, the Australians, many others -- a brigade from Turkey played a key role at Chosin. But this day, I remembered. This was for them, and for Mr. Lincoln, and Mr. Lee, and all those men of both sides at Chickamauga and the Wilderness and Cold Harbor, and all the others, right down to the present. They cared about this country, and we ought to care a little bit, too.
It is not a great recording; the microphone was positioned by the organ instead of underneath the piano as it usually is for the pieces that I post. But here it is.
I hope that it evidences one of the lessons I learned from RSCM Courses, more from the choristers than the directors and adults – connection. I heard it this afternoon in the singing of the choristers at the Duke Chapel, and I felt it this morning in the improvisation, a lot more than I expected. Connection does not always communicate to the listeners, but a lack of connection certainly will.
One of the photos on the YouTube track is obvious. The other will not be to most: It is Lt. Col. Don Carlos Faith, Jr., commanding the unit RCT-31 in the Chosin Reservoir campaign (after his superior officer had been killed). I like it that after being presented with a Silver Star on the battlefield after days of heavy fighting, he threw it into the snow in disgust upon being ordered to continue the offensive. And then he went on and kept his unit intact though surrounded by six Chinese regiments. He died at Hill 1221, leading an assault on a Chinese position blocking their only possible escape route. But RCT-31 did finally get through, complete with their hundreds of wounded, a point on which Faith was most insistent. He was presented with a posthumous Congressional Medal of Honor.
Improvisation on “Materna”
July 3, 2016
Photos: Lincoln Memorial
Lt. Col. Don C. Faith, Jr.
The Evensong was at the Chapel of Duke University, a place I once knew well. I had intended to listen to a few minutes of it as I worked in the office. That intention lasted through the organ preludes – two of them, one on each of the big instruments in that room. Then came the procession, to an organ improvisation. Watching the choristers come down the aisle was overwhelming; I was an emotional wreck, and they had not even begun to sing.
For many years, I took girls to this Course when it was at Agnes Scott College in Atlanta with services at St. Phillip’s Cathedral. We would load up in the church’s fifteen-passenger Blue Van, an old Ford that had seen its better days, and off we would go down the highway and over the mountains. Among all of these accomplished choristers (and directors), we felt like country bumpkins, for our little program back in Tennessee was not at the standard of places like St. Phillip’s, or some of the other churches who sent choristers. Many of the churches from those days are represented at this year’s course, though not the place where I served. One of the first acts of my successors was to dismantle the RSCM program and replace it with a more traditional graded-choir program. Nonetheless, three of my girls went to the next summer’s Atlanta course on their own, and sent me a photo. I still have it.
I learned a lot at this Course, and its companion Course for boys at Christ Church, Charlotte. It was in these weeks that I became a real Choirmaster, from the example of the music directors and choristers in their work together. I took copious notes – I still have these, too. I went home with my girls and boys and we all tried to live up to the standard of what we had experienced. Year by year, little by little, we became a better choir.
That remains my experience, and I think that of our choristers here in Iowa. And year by year, little by little, we are becoming a better choir.
Three weeks from now, it is our turn: Choral Evensong at First Presbyterian Church, Kirkwood on Saturday, July 23 and Mass at the Basilica of Saint Louis the next morning.
-----------
Tomorrow is July 4, Independence Day for this country. One year at the Atlanta Course, which has always been pretty much at this time of the summer, Independence Day was near the end of the week. There at Agnes Scott, we had an outdoor barbecue for the occasion. It was relaxed, one of those long summer evenings in Georgia which are like nothing else under the sun. The girls were carrying on like choristers do at every Course, having a great time. One of the teenagers was telling her friends how she had sung the National Anthem at an Atlanta Braves baseball game a few weeks before. She talked about how scared she was, vomiting in the bathroom shortly before she went out to sing, just her by herself in front of all those thousands of people, unaccompanied. “It went like this,” she said, and she started to sing…
O, say can you seeEveryone became quiet as they realized what was happening, some of us standing up, then all of us. She was no longer simply hanging out with her friends; it was suddenly Real. We all listened as she sang, her clear voice ringing through the courtyard.
By the dawn’s early light…
It is hard to be patriotic. Most of the time, for most of us, July 4 is little more than a day for a cookout and some fireworks, a day off from work. But there is something more to it. That evening in Atlanta, we all felt it.
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?
Today we had a service of readings and hymns for Independence Day. I was not looking forward to it; coming back from a vacation, I ended up with one day’s preparation, and even for that, I had trouble dragging myself upstairs to the bench to do the work. Worst of all, I had committed to improvising a prelude.
Nothing would come. Partly, it was rustiness from the time off, but partly, my heart was not in it. I did not want to do any of these hymns; I did not want to even show up for church the next day.
But this morning found me on the bench, bright and early. After practicing the hymns, I worked at the organ for an hour or so on the improvisation, searching for ideas. People started to arrive, so I moved downstairs to the piano in the choir room. Still, I had nothing more than a vague plan: “America the beautiful” (which was the opening hymn) in G dorian/minor moving to major. But it was going a little better at the piano than it had at the organ.
It was not until I was upstairs, putting on my organ shoes, that I knew what to do; I went to the piano instead of the organ.
I began to play. And I began to think of what I had seen over the last fortnight -- the places I had visited out East, and in Springfield, Illinois… I thought of Mr. Lincoln, sitting in the telegraph office at the White House brooding over the casualty lists coming in from places like Chickamauga and the Wilderness and Cold Harbor. I thought of Mr. Lee, resting in his tomb down at Lexington. I thought of the soldiers at the Chosin Reservoir that December of 1950, the temperatures more than thirty below zero, outnumbered four to one as the “volunteers” from the People’s Liberation Army came at them in human wave assaults.
Most Americans have forgotten that war, which may be the finest and noblest thing that we have done as a nation, fighting alongside the South Koreans and our United Nations allies -- the British, the Canadians, the Australians, many others -- a brigade from Turkey played a key role at Chosin. But this day, I remembered. This was for them, and for Mr. Lincoln, and Mr. Lee, and all those men of both sides at Chickamauga and the Wilderness and Cold Harbor, and all the others, right down to the present. They cared about this country, and we ought to care a little bit, too.
It is not a great recording; the microphone was positioned by the organ instead of underneath the piano as it usually is for the pieces that I post. But here it is.
I hope that it evidences one of the lessons I learned from RSCM Courses, more from the choristers than the directors and adults – connection. I heard it this afternoon in the singing of the choristers at the Duke Chapel, and I felt it this morning in the improvisation, a lot more than I expected. Connection does not always communicate to the listeners, but a lack of connection certainly will.
One of the photos on the YouTube track is obvious. The other will not be to most: It is Lt. Col. Don Carlos Faith, Jr., commanding the unit RCT-31 in the Chosin Reservoir campaign (after his superior officer had been killed). I like it that after being presented with a Silver Star on the battlefield after days of heavy fighting, he threw it into the snow in disgust upon being ordered to continue the offensive. And then he went on and kept his unit intact though surrounded by six Chinese regiments. He died at Hill 1221, leading an assault on a Chinese position blocking their only possible escape route. But RCT-31 did finally get through, complete with their hundreds of wounded, a point on which Faith was most insistent. He was presented with a posthumous Congressional Medal of Honor.
Improvisation on “Materna”
July 3, 2016
Photos: Lincoln Memorial
Lt. Col. Don C. Faith, Jr.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
