The Unity Light – RPC Music Notes, Sun 19 Jan 2020

The Amen from Bach’s Advent Cantata BWV 61 “Now come, saviour of the nations” is based not on that tune, but on the Epiphany Hymn “How brightly shines the Morning Star.”

It is no coincidence that, around the world, festivals of light like Christmas, Hanukkah, Divali, Kwanzaa (and many more) cluster around the time of the winter solstice – the emerging return of light to a world that has descended into darkness.

Epiphany, both the 6th of January and the following season, ends the classical twelve days of Christmas. Along with its traditional focus on the learned Magi from eastern lands who seek a newborn king in Palestine, another icon has emerged in the themography and music of Christian Worship – the star that led them on their journey, and more broadly the image of light as antidote not just to darkness, but to a host of other woes (including, but not limited to, evil, ignorance, paganism and atheism).

Epiphany, the beginning of Jesus’ mortal ministry, like the Day of Pentecost that ends it, represents the expansion of the faith of Israel into the broader world. The star’s emergence in heathen lands has long been employed as a symbol of evangelism. Ironically our December Christmas is likely because of a world already celebrating the light of winter solstice (rather than newly receiving the Light of Christ) at this time.

A musical incarnation of this we see today at RPC is Bach’s choice to end his Advent Cantata BWV 61 “Nun komm der Heiden Heiland” with a beautiful Amen based on the Lutheran chorale “Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern,” prominent throughout today’s service. In the title of the Cantata’s foundational hymn Jesus is identified as “Saviour of the Nations” (in older translations it goes so far as to say “Saviour of the Heathen”), and so the connection to the arrival of the Magi at Jesus’ birth is unmistakable, as Bach, a devout Lutheran, sought musical symbolism to accompany text settings in all of his church music, and the Cantatas in particular.

Viewing all this it also seems no coincidence that the International Week of Prayer for Christian Unity also falls in the Epiphany Season. First proposed in 1908 but really emerging on the international stage in 1948 with the founding of the World Council of Churches in the aftermath of World War II, it gathers notoriously divided Christians in the service of an annual theme of prayer and action. As we observe this remarkable occasion, let’s remember the growing light shining down upon, not just upon us hopefully united Christians, but also upon those of many other faiths in this holy season.

-CD

In dulci jubilo & 1st person – RPC Music Notes, 12 Jan 2020

In dulci jubilo arr. Pearsall/Jacques
Choir of King’s College, Cambridge under the late Stephen Cleobury

One of the most ignored factors in the culture of song is voice. When lyrical content is considered by the average listener (or singer, or critic), the significance of just who is understood to be speaking, and to whom, is often ignored.

An anthem entitled something like “Oppression shall be overcome” might have helped in the 1960s struggle for civil rights, but would it have been the same rallying cry as the self-implicating “WE shall overcome”? Or would a hymn entitled “Jesus loves us, this we know,” have represented the same comfort and security to millions as one sung in their personal voice (1st person singular), “Jesus loves me, this I know?”

Let’s consider a medieval Germanic carol melody prominent in today’s service, whose original Latin text “In dulci jubilo” has in English long given way to a different text, “Good Christians all, rejoice,” (BOP #141) composed in the imperative voice, that is, an autonomous voice giving to someone else an exhortation or command.

“Now give heed to what WE say:”

“Now YOU hear of endless bliss:”

“Calls YOU one and calls YOU all,
To gain His everlasting hall.”

For whom are we proxy in our singing of these words, and to whom are we addressing them? Is it us, the ‘Good’ Christians, addressing others we hope are, or wish were, likewise?

Now look back at the original Latin text (shown here in a common macaronic English translation), written entirely in the first person, both singular and plural:

In dulci jubilo [‘in sweetest joy’], let US OUR homage show:

OUR heart’s joy reclineth in praesepio [‘in a cradle’].

MY prayer, let it reach Thee,
O princeps gloriae! [‘Prince of glory’]
Trahe me post te! [‘draw ME unto thee’]

The purpose here is not to judge or critique choices in authorship, translation and ecclesiology – but rather to draw attention to the role of voice in the words we sing and to engage with their meaning, for those who hear, AND for we who sing. In a sense we grant words an awesome responsibility when we choose to enliven and empower them by the addition of music in our own singing – so such questions are not trivial.

-CD

How Music says Home – RPC Music Notes, Sun 22 Dec 2019

The Road Home – Stephen Paulus
Conspirare under the direction of Craig Hella Johnson

In one of our anthems this morning, which I reserve each year for what we call here at Rosedale Presbyterian Church “Homecoming Sunday,” the late Stephen Paulus brought an American folk hymn tune ‘Prospect’ (appearing first, it is thought, in Southern Harmony (1835) under the title “The Lone White Bird”) to writer Michael Dennis Browne, who wrote three beautiful stanzas on the idea of coming home after a time of wandering. Paulus’ setting of Browne’s words has proved very popular, but while those words are surely key to its emotional purchase with conductors, choristers and audiences, let’s set them aside and look at Paulus’ setting of the music.

The Southern Harmony hymn tune is ‘pentatonic,’ that is, it employs just five of the seven notes traditional major scale (specifically the ones we we sometimes call do, re, mi, so, la, omitting fa and ti – Fraulein Maria taught you, I and the Von Trapp kids about these in The Sound of Music). The omission of the ‘unstable’ notes (fa which longs to fall to mi, and ti which longs to rise to do) conveys an incredible stability or groundedness. One simple way to explore this unique sound is to play only the black notes on the piano: interestingly it is the foundational harmonic system of many world musics, most famously those of China, Japan and other Asian cultures. To accompany this basic system of harmony Paulus employs a familiar sound from 20th and 21st century choral music, ‘added harmony’ – that is, despite the melody’s harmonic simplicity, the choral harmony is often enriched by added mild dissonant notes from within the scale, but again, in a stable sort of way that more colours the moving chords, than tells them where they need to go. Critically, the idea of home in music has a sound that is both stable and beautiful.

“Rise up, follow me, come away, is the call,
With the love in your heart as the only song;
There is no such beauty as where you belong:
Rise up, follow me, I will lead you home.”

In perhaps the anthem’s most compelling feature, just after Browne’s second stanza alludes to the existence of a ‘Voice’ that will lead the wanderer home, Paulus adds a new element, a soprano descant over the hymn tune to personify that Voice. The implication to some persons of faith, a loving God calling sinners home, is self-evident, and had Browne been not a 20th century writer, but rather the 18th or 19th century writer of an original text attached to this melody, that would be the whole story here.

But the notion that ‘home’ is not so much an abstract place of our ordered and perhaps irresistible return – perhaps like other species like salmon or monarch butterflies; rather, what we understand about home is a deeply human idea, and the addition of a solo voice to the until then exclusively plural choral texture tends, for me at least, to seal the deal.

I write this as one who has always enjoyed the privilege to discern, and to mostly choose a meaning to attach to Browne’s phrase quoted above, “where you belong” – and I acknowledge that this concept that many of us idealise and take for granted has it has often been, and continues to be used by people that look like me to control others.

Welcome home to RPC if you have returned from your wandering this Christmas season; enjoy your unique version of home, be it a place, people, evocative music such as the carols you hear and sing – or all of the above. Or if you lack home in any sense this Christmas, may God’s comfort and music’s balm both rest upon you.

-CD

Cantata – RPC music notes, Sun 8 Dec 2019

Classic Choral Society & Orchestra, Artistic Director: Janiece Kohler
United Church of Christ, Blooming Grove, NY Dec 2016

Over and over as we regard history, things we might have supposed to be older turn out to have fairly recent causes, and one such example is the tradition in Protestant Churches of “Special Music” and at this time of the year, that special instance of Special Music, the ‘Christmas Cantata.’

The Italian term ‘Sonata’ describes a multi-movement work for instruments. Its root ‘Sona-‘ comes from sound: it is music to be heard. The related term ‘Cantata’ describes a work similar in most ways, except that it incorporates voices, and comes from ‘Canta-‘: it is music to be sung. The seemingly parallel terms Sonata and Cantata are in fact not parallel, though – the former describes how the piece is received (through sound), whereas the latter describes how it is offered (by singing). Presumably Cantatas, also received through sound, should just be a special case of ‘Sonata’, right?

Wrong. In the Biblical context singing, as opposed to other sorts of music making, seems to have a special imperative all its own. True, the Psalms and a handful of other biblical stories mention instruments, but instances and explicit exhortations to singing, perhaps the most intimate and personal way of making music, far outnumber them.

So much so, that when in Reformation times our denomination’s Calvinist precursors were ‘cleaning house’ of various corrupt and non- or dubiously-scriptural practices, instruments (including the organ) were summarily removed from worship, while singing remained. Along with selling indulgences (essentially ‘salvation paid for in cash’) and the instruments went the elaborate ritual practices and sublime choral music of the Catholic tradition. Ah, you say, but what about the Lutherans and the great Cantata tradition of Bach? Yes, on this point (as well as others) Lutherans and Calvinists appear to have differed, and Lutheran worship retained, at least in principal churches, a place for elaborate music.

Fast-forward to the 20th century, when scholars of both music and liturgy became deeply interested in returning to both the works and the ‘authentic’ practices of earlier times. The Calvinist streams of Protestantism had by then re-introduced instruments and non-scriptural sung texts (i.e. ‘hymns’). And a society placing some emphasis on music in education and public life was producing fine musicians to lead public worship, who felt drawn to the riches of the Cantata tradition, then re-emerging mostly on the concert stage. The accomplished and aspirational church musician sought occasional special musical goals for their church choirs and other ensembles, and found in history (or created brand-new in history’s honour) – the Cantata.

So, music from an earlier tradition is restored (as we do at RPC this morning with masterpieces of the German Baroque before Bach), and a new repertoire of Christmas, Lenten and Easter Cantatas emerges, mostly in the English west – not every week as in the impressive practice of Bach at Leipzig – but rather on special occasions and in special seasons.

The Church Cantata today reminds us of the unique role of singing in worship throughout God’s church, of the aspirations of choirs like other ministry teams working in service, and the compelling ability of artistic beauty to offer us a window upon a Gospel of truth.

-CD

Revealing the Kingdom – RPC Music Notes, Sun 1 Dec 2019

E’en so, Lord Jesus, quickly come – Paul and Ruth Manz

As the new church year dawns this Advent Sunday, at RPC we have been thinking about a new kingdom. The annual observance of Reign of Christ Sunday followed immediately by Advent expectation of that kingdom is no coincidence.

But as we implied last week, with our varied musical conceptions of Jesus’ kingship, it is no conventional or even mythical kingship we await. The Kingdom, when it comes, dwells not in fortresses and palaces – it dwells in us – our choral music today explores this idea from three angles.

American Lutheran pastor and musician Paul Manz and his wife Ruth Manz wrote “E’en So, Lord Jesus, Quickly Come” in 1953 during a time when their three-year-old son John was critically ill. Reflecting on the time, Ruth Manz reported, “I think we’d reached the point where we felt that time was certainly running out so we committed it to the Lord and said, ‘Lord Jesus quickly come'”. During this time, she had prepared some text for Paul for a composition based on the Book of Revelation. While at his son’s bedside, Paul began drafting the composition, which later became the current piece. Their son did recover, which the couple attributed to the power of prayer.

Elizabeth Poston’s sole contribution to the sacred repertoire, the beautiful “Jesus Christ the Apple Tree” is a deeply personal affirmation of the balm of Jesus’ indwelling that grows from a single voice to full higher voices, to full SATB choir, and then returns.

The French carol known as the hymn-tune Picardy has since the early 19th century been associated with the awe-filled Communion hymn “Let all mortal flesh keep silence”, rich in conventional kingly imagery. Today’s setting is by the late Sir Stephen Cleobury, longtime Director of the Chapel Choir at King’s College, Cambridge, who left this earth a week ago last Friday on St Cecilia’s Day, adding extra poignancy to our sharing it today.

If you noticed the prominence of Revelation imagery in today’s choral texts, this too is no coincidence: if a new kingdom is to be ours, it is to be revealed, rather than calamitously imposed. And as in the case of the author of the poem “Jesus Christ the Apple Tree”, and the invitation and answered prayer from Ruth and Paul Manz for healing of their little son, it is to visit and dwell among us in deeply personal ways, rather than “lord” over us from afar.

-CD

“To boldly go” – IAM for Fri 15 Nov 2019

Fanfare for the Common Man (1943) – Aaron Copland
members of the Philadelphia Orchestra under Eugene Ormandy

Why does this iconic music for brass and percussion, created at the request of Eugene Goossens, conductor of the Cincinatti Orchestra on the USA’s entry into WWII in 1943, make not just the creators of the video above, but also all of the rest of us, think about space?

Over the past two months, as accompanist to the Orpheus Choir of Toronto, I had the privilege of helping it prepare a program dedicated to the 50th anniversary of the first manned moon landing on 20th July 1969, and among its beautiful offerings of choral music interspersed with audio from NASA, Carl Sagan, the late President John F Kennedy and others, the Canadian premiere of Tawnie Olson’s That’s One Small Step.

Olson freely admits to evoking Copland in the work’s second movement Longer Strides while setting John F Kennedy’s famous speech exhorting his country to support the space program. But what exactly did she do to reference this most quintessential of American composers, or more broadly to capture that spirit of endeavour so important to American identity at the time?

It would be at best difficult, and at worst delusional to consider the cultural history of the moon landing without reference to the Cold War – this is a topic about which much has been written, and I won’t address it here (although Olson certainly does in her composition). No, I am seeing a simpler musical connection from Tawnie Olson back to Aaron Copland and also – wait for it – the Star Trek “Original Series”, which debuted in 1966, and Stanley Kubrick’s 2001, A Space Odyssey, which premiered in 1968.

The opening of Richard Strauss’ Also Sprach Zarathustra which in 2001 A Space Odyssey was selected for the moment when the film posits our species’ move from simple threat and posturing of brute force to the more calculated use of weapons against one other. The work was composed in 1896, inspired by Nietzsche’s philosophical novel of the same name, and it was as surely a part of the sonic backdrop to the moon landing as were the iconic stacked fourths of Jerry Goldsmith’s theme from Star Trek‘s popular TV series, a visionary imagination of a diverse America in space.

Copland and other American composers were asked to contribute fanfares to the Cincinnati Orchestra because of a similar program that had solicited British composers to do the same during WWI. What Copland did in 1943, following Strauss’ example in Also Sprach Zarathustra, omitting the third from a conventional fanfare arpeggio, created a kind of ambiguity, a kind of modernity that was not the serial music of the 2nd Viennese School, and not the real or seeming randomness of aleatory and minimalism (all other significant movements in classical music at the time), but something that somehow sounded like America’s aspirations that would ultimately lead it to put men on the moon.

The third of the chord, which had for centuries defined major keys against minor ones suddenly became – passé. As the world looked obsessively towards a post-World War future it needed something that sounded familiar, but that departed from the past with all of the ambiguity that modernity required. And so we built, and continue to build, tonal music based on fourths and fifths – because despite its ambiguity, it sounds like who we are.

So when Tawnie Olson set JFK’s famous words in melodic fourths and later harmonised them using techniques evoking Copland she was drawing upon a sonic axiom that is now deeply embedded in that country’s culture. It speaks, as did Copland’s Fanfare for the Common Man, to a deeply exceptional and aspirational concept of the United States of America.

With some hope, I would wish that the USA, the country of my birth, will remain capable of someday becoming its mythologised, virtuous and noble self within a world that increasingly has to point out that it is not, and really has never yet been, that.

-CD

Posted in IAM.

“Sing for the Morning”- RPC Music Notes, Sun 17 Nov 2019

By relative coincidence my entire musical life in the church can be characterised by the adage “twice on Sundays.” When my education began in organ apprenticeship to an Anglican Cathedral, each Sunday began with either Matins or the Holy Eucharist, and ended with Choral Evensong – a pattern that continued twenty years for me, until I finished 12 years’ service to Toronto’s St James’ Cathedral. Then, as the Georgetown Christian Reformed Church became a home for my growing family I was surprised to discover that it was one of the last in its denomination to worship twice on Sundays, a ritual that had been the norm in my wife’s youth.

Increasingly rare and even anomalous evening worship traces its history back to the monastic liturgy of the hours, which saw monks and nuns rise every three hours, all day and all night to pray and sing – but so too do the morning traditions of Lauds and Matins. There is a body of compositions, both hymns and anthems specifically geared towards the idea of rising and beginning one’s day in worship and praise… and at RPC today the Choir offers two very beautiful and very different ones.

Gabriel Fauré wrote his Cantique de Jean Racine, op.11 at the age of 19 as the winning entry in the 1865 composition competition of the Paris École Niedermeyer church music school, where he studied composition under Camille Saint-Saëns. The text, “Verbe égal au Très-Haut” (“Word, one with the Highest”), is a French paraphrase by Jean Racine of a Latin hymn from the breviary for matins, Consors paterni luminis.

“Word, one with the Highest, the Almighty, our only hope,
Eternal day of the earth and heavens;
We break the silence of the peaceful night,
Divine Saviour, look upon us!”

English translation of Cantique de Jean Racine (excerpt)

Across the Channel and a century later English poet and author Ursula Vaughan Williams’ (the late widow to composer Ralph Vaughan Williams) vivid and touching poetic tribute to Cecilia, Patron Saint of music and musicians, finds gorgeous partnership with the music of Herbert Howells for the Livery Club of The Worshipful Company of Musicians. Saint Cecilia’s Feast Day is November 22nd, so you will often find her music creeping into choral services around that time of year.

“Sing for the morning’s joy, Cecilia, sing
in words of youth, and phrases of the Spring,
Walk the bright colonnades by fountains’ spray,
and sing as sunlight fills the waking day.”

– Ursula Vaughan Williams, A Hymn for St Cecilia (excerpt)

Musical and poetic depictions of the morning have a special power in a beautiful created world such as ours – if the above examples don’t convince you look to the secular theatrical compositions for orchestra Daphnis et Chloe by Ravel and Peer Gynt by Grieg. Mornings signify reawakening, renewal, the defeat of night’s darkness and dawning hope for the day.

As Sunday morning worship remains ubiquitous while worship at other times is increasingly rare, it is worthwhile recalling a time and place where every part of every day was offered to God – and uniquely done so in songs for different times. We close our service today with a favourite hymn of mine that captures this outlook, “Lord of all hopefulness” by Jan Struther.

-CD