As I wrote several posts back, many events are rounding off my Richmond experience meaningfully and connecting back to my arrival in town or to my arrival at Woodland Heights.
Yesterday, I turned in my keys at UR, which was a little sad. Then I did some research in the Virginia Baptist Historical Society library on campus. There I ran into Dr. Slatton who took Kathy and me out to lunch after church when we visited River Road Church when we first got into town.
Last night, Kathy and I went to a Richmond Braves game with our friend from the neighborhood, Diane. The Braves lost to the Durham Bulls which is what I think happened at the first game we attended when we first moved to Richmond.
Tomorrow is our last Sunday at Woodland Heights Baptist Church. I'm playing the Mark Hayes arrangement of the Doxology tune. I think that wasthe first thing I played at Woodland Heights.
At Woodland Heights I have tried to develop the idea of a church musician's work being a larger work than a single hymn or the events of a single Sunday. Musical and improvisatory themes or approaches can be developed over a season such as Advent or over years of music ministry. So I think it's appropriate from an artistic standpoint to end my time here as I started it. This encapsulates my presence and praise over these several years in this place.
One problem with this approach is that one seldom knows how long one will be serving in a particular church or what direction the life of the church and its music might go. Thus, long-range artistic planning of this overall work maybe be complicated in terms of consciously inflecting structure. (Maybe this also makes the work more like improvising than composing on both long-range and local levels.) But the ebb and flow of the cycles of the church year provide climaxes and other shapes to be articulated. And I think it makes sense that the liturgical calendar would supercede an individual's trajectory in terms of corporate worship.
Part of the appeal of playing for church services is that the musician gets to return again and again to the same group of listeners. At times I have found this very liberating. It frees the musician to provide what is best suited for the moment and the day without feeling the pressure to try to demonstrate everything you can do one any one occasion. People get to relate to many facets of the musician's gifts over a sustained period of time, and I like to think that gives them a richer experience.
I think I didn't play the printed ending of the Doxology arrangement the first time arond at Woodland Heights. I substituted something a little more calming so as not to disrupt the flow of worship by drawing the congregation into the mood to comment on my playing by applauding. Tomorrow I will probably play the printed ending as it is our farewell Sunday and that might give a sense of resolution from that very first time as well as feeling more complete so as to convey that our work here is done.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Sunday, June 10, 2007
More on Spoleto
Lest anyone misread my remarks about serious music in the last post, hearing an orchestra full of brilliant and enthusiastic young performers under the baton of an uncompromising conductor in works like Strauss Till Eulenspiegel and Dukas Sorcerer's Apprentice was great fun. Hearing them make the sounds they were making, and with just the right attitude, was, simply put, a great time.
On another topic, but also fun, I noticed that in both the Verdi Requiem and in Dukas there are moments in which the physical actions demanded of the performers to play their music illustrate what the music is about - a sort of visual onomatopoeia or text painting (which term sounds visual but isn't!)
I've noticed this phenomena in a number of piano pieces such as Liszt's Mazeppa, in which the pianist looks like a galloping horse or a man tied to a running horse as in the piece's story. An even more extreme example might be seen in a live performance of Henry Cowell's Tiger, in which the pianist looks like a tiger pouncing on its prey as the pianist performs violent and unrelenting tone clusters with his or her forearms.
In Verdi, the moment is the playing of the two bass drums during the Dies Irae. The Physical effort required to produce the desired sounds at the precise off-beat times, never fails to give the percussionist the appearance of frantic physicality. I say it in this way because it is not an expression on the face that conveys that mood - I was sitting too far away to see facial expressions. It's the dramatic and rapid movement of the entire body that gives a sense of the wrenching and ultimate drama of judgement being portrayed in the music.
In Dukas, the various seesawing bowings of the violinists and violists picture the rising water of the story unexpectedly and exquisitely.
On another topic, but also fun, I noticed that in both the Verdi Requiem and in Dukas there are moments in which the physical actions demanded of the performers to play their music illustrate what the music is about - a sort of visual onomatopoeia or text painting (which term sounds visual but isn't!)
I've noticed this phenomena in a number of piano pieces such as Liszt's Mazeppa, in which the pianist looks like a galloping horse or a man tied to a running horse as in the piece's story. An even more extreme example might be seen in a live performance of Henry Cowell's Tiger, in which the pianist looks like a tiger pouncing on its prey as the pianist performs violent and unrelenting tone clusters with his or her forearms.
In Verdi, the moment is the playing of the two bass drums during the Dies Irae. The Physical effort required to produce the desired sounds at the precise off-beat times, never fails to give the percussionist the appearance of frantic physicality. I say it in this way because it is not an expression on the face that conveys that mood - I was sitting too far away to see facial expressions. It's the dramatic and rapid movement of the entire body that gives a sense of the wrenching and ultimate drama of judgement being portrayed in the music.
In Dukas, the various seesawing bowings of the violinists and violists picture the rising water of the story unexpectedly and exquisitely.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Serious Music
We returned from Spoleto in Charleston today. Last night we heard a concert that included Mahler Fourth Symphony.
Hearing that concert and another of Verdi Requiem the night before got me thinking about orchestral music and some important points regarding my experience of it.
1. It is serious music. I think this term is often misunderstood in our contemporary culture. The term is not meant to compare the music with other musics in such a way as to say symphonic music is serious and other musics are silly. I think the term means that the nature of classical symphonic repertoire is serious. Its themes involve serious issues of the self, life and death, myth, and ultimate reality. Its modes of developing these themes are also characterized by rigorous rhetoric and imagination. Its greatness is that it is not a smooth presentation calculated for quick response. Instead, it is a complex and profound argument that proceeds with significance. It is plumbing discussion as opposed to the sound bite. It is a sun or a moon that continues to rise in the hours following the concert.
2. It is mysteriously grand. After hearing the Mahler Symphony, I knew that the music was bigger than my thoughts about it, or than any thoughts I've read about it. To really engage with the work is to grapple with Mahler's worldview as best we can know it. But more than this - even when we think we know some ideas the music is about, we are still to digest the eloquent things Mahler is saying about his subjects and the beautiful, multi-faceted way in which he says those things. Even beyond this (or before this), hearing the symphony is a profound human experience in an of itself. The life and richness of its depths become more apparent as we realize that we don't know all that the work is saying.
3. It is needed. So many aesthetic experiences today are packaged in such a way as to narrowly direct our thoughts and shorten our attention span. The symphonic works of Mahler and others challenge us to take a serious look at our selves, our beliefs, and our world. Added to this, the opportunity to hear live symphony performances is only taken advantage of by a small percentage of the population in most American cities with orchestras. And in many parts of the country, live orchestral music may only be available two or three times a year at best. It is a different experience from listening to the orchestra on recording, and I believe more people could feel more rooted if they regularly attended orchestra concerts.
Depth is what I think the symphony has to offer - knowing yourself and the human condition. The symphony may seem foreign, but that may be because of the way our culture has conditioned us, not because of who we are deep inside. Maybe the symphony is boring, but I'm wondering if "boring" is sometimes code for serious, and we just aren't always so well-equipped to deal with the value of serious experiences. It may seem impolitic to suggest that this music lifts people, but its culture and composers may have designed it to do so. The case for such a view has been made from history.
Hearing that concert and another of Verdi Requiem the night before got me thinking about orchestral music and some important points regarding my experience of it.
1. It is serious music. I think this term is often misunderstood in our contemporary culture. The term is not meant to compare the music with other musics in such a way as to say symphonic music is serious and other musics are silly. I think the term means that the nature of classical symphonic repertoire is serious. Its themes involve serious issues of the self, life and death, myth, and ultimate reality. Its modes of developing these themes are also characterized by rigorous rhetoric and imagination. Its greatness is that it is not a smooth presentation calculated for quick response. Instead, it is a complex and profound argument that proceeds with significance. It is plumbing discussion as opposed to the sound bite. It is a sun or a moon that continues to rise in the hours following the concert.
2. It is mysteriously grand. After hearing the Mahler Symphony, I knew that the music was bigger than my thoughts about it, or than any thoughts I've read about it. To really engage with the work is to grapple with Mahler's worldview as best we can know it. But more than this - even when we think we know some ideas the music is about, we are still to digest the eloquent things Mahler is saying about his subjects and the beautiful, multi-faceted way in which he says those things. Even beyond this (or before this), hearing the symphony is a profound human experience in an of itself. The life and richness of its depths become more apparent as we realize that we don't know all that the work is saying.
3. It is needed. So many aesthetic experiences today are packaged in such a way as to narrowly direct our thoughts and shorten our attention span. The symphonic works of Mahler and others challenge us to take a serious look at our selves, our beliefs, and our world. Added to this, the opportunity to hear live symphony performances is only taken advantage of by a small percentage of the population in most American cities with orchestras. And in many parts of the country, live orchestral music may only be available two or three times a year at best. It is a different experience from listening to the orchestra on recording, and I believe more people could feel more rooted if they regularly attended orchestra concerts.
Depth is what I think the symphony has to offer - knowing yourself and the human condition. The symphony may seem foreign, but that may be because of the way our culture has conditioned us, not because of who we are deep inside. Maybe the symphony is boring, but I'm wondering if "boring" is sometimes code for serious, and we just aren't always so well-equipped to deal with the value of serious experiences. It may seem impolitic to suggest that this music lifts people, but its culture and composers may have designed it to do so. The case for such a view has been made from history.
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