poëzie en inspiratie

2011-06-08T09:46:00.000-07:00

The glorious instrument inside the rebuilt Frauenkirche in Dresden. Built by Daniel Kern, the organ possesses reconstructed stops from the original Gottfried Silbermann organ design as well as the addition of a fourth manual and stops suitable for 19th century symphonic literature.

2011-06-08T09:41:00.000-07:00

The best thing I ate while abroad: a Schaumrolle from the (rightfully!) famous Demel bakery in Vienna.

Eastern European choir tour

2011-06-08T09:32:00.000-07:00

Needless to say, it has been an insane semester, as evidenced by my deafening silence. Here is a juicy tidbit, not as an apology, but as the beginning of an explanation. I took this photograph on the Pest side of Budapest, on the second day of my Eastern European choir tour (more to follow).

Ave Maria

2010-12-21T19:43:00.000-08:00

Words? completely insufficient. Music has a sublime ability to take us beyond mere human language . . .

. . . to dust

2010-10-15T19:51:00.000-07:00

earnest narrative before the Throne,

yearnings rife and verdant,

verve and laughter, faith and dreams:

waxed inarticulate, disenchanted grown,

night-bed murmurs now 'most abjured,

fallen leaves, burning tears.

Liszt on Chopin

2010-08-25T19:26:00.001-07:00

There you have it in the title: all the information you need to know that whatever comes next will be flowery, superfluous, and exhibitionist. Or will it?

Below is a quote from Liszt's biography on Chopin, aptly titled The Life of Chopin. Of course, this quote is a translation, but I think that much of the original panache was retained. It can't be doubted that Liszt had a flair for notes and for words. (Side note: if you think this bit contains rather Romanticized language, read the rest of the book first.)

However, what Liszt says here is not superfluous at all, and in fact, remains relevant to the state of "art music" in the classical world today, or to any new music for that matter. Even beyond that, any new Art at all often requires both a present push for acceptance and a simultaneous patience for time to reveal any lasting worth.

So, without caving to the need to say too much, and thus without insulting your ability to read between the lines (and I am not referring to staff lines), here it is.

"With the musical art it must of necessity be the case that the introduction of unaccustomed forms will present an obstacle to the immediate comprehension of a new work. The impressions it makes will be new, and new impressions, by their very novelty, produce surprise, and even weariness; and that very surprise and fatigue will, to many, make the new work sound like a message written in a language they do not understand, and which, on that very account, they will be likely to pronounce barbarous and uncouth. The ear will not without effort grow accustomed to the new language, and many will not study it because they will not go to the necessary trouble. The new work must win its way through the medium of the younger and more vivid imaginations, which are less under the thrall of habit, and of those more ardent souls which are at first attracted by curiosity and then filled with restless zeal for the new idiom. Through these channels it will finally penetrate to the obdurate crowd, which will then finally apprehend its meaning, its aim and its construction, and be able to appreciate the beauties which it offers. Composers who do not confine themselves within the narrous bounds of conventional routine have therefore more necessity to wait for the verdict of time."

Germany Goodness

2010-08-09T13:24:00.000-07:00

I just realized that out of the five pictures I have ever posted, this is the second featuring an organ. But that doesn't give you grounds to grumble and bumble about my predilection for posting pipe panoramas. I mean, I'm an organist, after all. What did you expect? That's only a 2/5ths occurrence rate . . .

This picture is just a taste of my 2006 travel adventures with my sister. We attended a service at the Jesuitenkirche on a Sunday and then (gasp! sacré bleu!) took covert pictures of the phenomenal interior. The church boasts to be the largest and finest Baroque church in southwest Germany. Mozart, who lived in Mannheim for a year, praised the church for its ambiance and acoustics. Built between 1733 and 1760, it was damaged during WWII (like much of the city) but has been completely restored to its original condition. The morning service rites were formal and impressive, as expected--as was the skill of the organist.

The organ case is primarily by an anonymous artist but includes 16 registers from the post-war Paul Egell case. The current four-manual instrument was installed in 1965 by Johannes Klais and acoustically optimized in 2004. My only regret is that I didn't have a chance to play it. Maybe next time?

Chopin Nocturne No. 20 in c sharp minor (Posthumous)

2010-07-23T18:49:00.000-07:00

I just realized that I have yet to include an audio file on this blog. So here is the remedy- an exquisite gem from a pianist's composer.

Side note: since this work was published posthumously, there are probably as many different versions in print as there are versions in performance practice. Everyone seems to pick and choose whatever suits them at each of the divergence points. This particular performance uses the [second published] edition that juxtaposes 3/4 against 4/4 in the second section of the nocturne. The other editions place both hands in 4/4, which can result in a more rigid sound and approach.

The performer is Claudio Arrau, an old-school (earlier 20th century) musician. He plays the work with much more freedom than a contemporary conservatory student would. Something of a shame really, this modern fad of working so hard for "authentic" performances. Who is/was closer to the actual composer (and thus might be more authentic)?

Barenboim's performance runs a close second.

A Parisian Chanson

2010-06-30T10:32:00.000-07:00

Summer school. The very words imply drudgery, long hours of being lectured to death, way too much homework, and a quiz every day. I'd say I have it rather easy.

I am a little over the middle hump of my summer course, Renaissance Music History with Dr. McFarland. We took the midterm last week, and I could easily brag about my grade, but I won't on the pretense of humility. Other than that dreaded exam, there is a cumulative final and two moderate essays, one of which is turned in, the other of which is due Tuesday after the long 4th of July weekend. My last essay was on Edinburgh and St. Andrews during the Renaissance. Not too bad for a topic. My upcoming essay is on the Missa Maria zart by Obrecht, a behemoth mass with way too much coolness for five pages. It's going to be a sardine-squish extraordinaire.

All of this to say that today I was sitting in class (again! really!) and trying to focus when a Parisian chanson jolted me awake. Chanson, shmanson, I know. There are about as many Renaissance chanson varieties as there are ways to eat an Oreo, and apart from diligently memorizing composers and song titles for the final, I'm really not a huge fan. Not the Twilight kind, anyway. But this chanson was different--while exemplifying the Parisian brand's lyric characteristics (think post-Josquin, first half of the 16th century, with a humanist-influenced emphasis on clear declamation of the text, simple counterpoint, an almost pervasive homorhythm, and tuneful melodic lines), it also managed to stand out from the roiling, bustling crowd. This was accomplished through an absolutely genius text. Parisian poets at this time were creating highly popular, textually subtle mini-masterpieces. Since anything I might say about this particular text will probably dull the finish, let's leave it untouched and unsmudged. I'll include the text both in the French and in an English translation done by Susan Jackson. Oh, and the composer is Claudin de Sermisy.

Je n'ay point plus d'affection
Je n’ay point plus d’affection,
Que ce qu’il me plaist d’en avoir,
Et si ne porte passion,
S’il ne me plaist la recepvoir.
J’ay gaigné sur moy tel pouvoir,
Tel credit et auctorité,
Que je commande a mon vouloir,
Rien n’y peult la fragilité.

I No Longer Have any Feelings
I no longer have any feelings,
except for those I wish to have;
and thus I have no passion,
if I do not wish to have such.
I have gained such power over myself,
such credit and authority,
that whatever I command to my own power,
fragility cannot overcome.

Ok, I can't help myself. One post scriptum: the idea that passion can be driven out from the self, although rather Vulcan, is fascinating. And the last line, "fragility cannot be overcome", is covered with layers of subtlety and potential. What do you think? Is the poet equating the previously-mentioned "passion" with "fragility"?

Passion

2010-06-05T12:22:00.000-07:00

What is passion? I'm sure if pressed, I could write an exposé long enough to cover all the paper in the world. I could . . . and you ask why? Why talk about something so intrinsic to human nature, so nitty-gritty, if you will, in such seemingly esoteric terms? But is talk only esoteric, removed, or is there some drop of innate passion in every syllable we speak?

Passion is life, second nature, human nature. It is in all of us: sleeping, waiting, wanted, feared. It rears its head at the most inopportune moments, lacing our being with terror and sometimes wonder. Passion provides color in our grey existence, fire to our love, and zeal for our faith.

Passion often follows in Muse's footsteps. At the supreme moment, they are bound irrevocably. Muse is the source; Passion the impetus. The tools are almost irrelevant. The product/offspring--Art--speaks volumes about its parent/s. Without Passion, Muse produces cold, hard, intelligent, impotent, calculating things, material yet inanimate representations. Without Muse, Passion is dumb, blind, hot, weak minded, incorporeal, fleeting.

Passion is the source of our highest joy, our sharpest pain--and our deepest folly. Passionate people easily fall in love and often, just as easily fall out. They feel too deeply, take things too much to heart, regret too much after they hate. They fear passion's wane, often loose themselves in the moment, loose the light, forget pain, desire pain, remember every pain ever experienced, find themselves after darkness. They argue, agree, kiss, abuse, gasp in awe, help the helpless, hate life, love life, embrace good, desire evil, and in essence, live.

People who are not passionate, sleep. They cannot love completely, cannot loose completely, cannot feel completely. Without passion, we would be hollow men. Ghosts of shadows.

Of course, passion hurts us beyond reason. At times, we feel like dumb beasts, falling beneath the blows of a cruel master. The thought of throwing off all feeling lures us like a cold siren's call. Without passion, we could achieve a state of perfect equilibrium. Wars would cease. Crime would drop. Lovers might be content. But would this be Truth? Good? What would be left, without passion?

The answer is clear when we intimately know the passions involved in God's story of salvation for mankind. In the face of perverted passion, that lust that drew the human head to desire "the knowledge of good and evil," the absolute passion of justice required recompense for sin. Just as impure passion was present at the fall, so was pristine passion present at our redemption. Christ hung on the cross, not for some esoteric ideal, or out of fear, or because He had no choice. Rather, He bore our sins because of His sinless passion: His passionate love for us, and His perfect, passionate desire to obey and glorify the Father.

The response, then, is not to eliminate passion. Properly ruled, it is one of our greatest weapons. Passion takes life, but it also creates it. Passion enables us to speak when we ought to be afraid, helps us stand before mighty men, and gives us fire for the battle. Passion, ruled by the knowledge of God, is power. When we are passionate rightly, Satan fears us. The world fears us. And when we are passionate righteously, we are a physical, emotional, spiritual, political, historical, spatial, temporal blinding light, a passionately blinding light that leads to the Father.

Ringold

2010-02-02T18:55:00.001-08:00

Need I say anything else?

Muse

2009-12-15T06:19:00.000-08:00

Yes, a poem. But with a caveat. I know I'm not Lord Byron...otherwise I'd be famous already. But I still enjoy a thought-provoking poem as much as the next literature-phile. So, in spite of the groans my meter elicits, I've penned a few lines on this mysterious subject.

Muse: what exactly is it? The concept has eluded me over my Fall semester, and I keep returning to it. At its most simplistic, muse is a gift from God that allows mere men a glimpse into the eternal. The eternal is there (in some form) at the creation of the painting, the composition, the blueprint, the poem; I think those that are doing the creating catch the brightest glimpse, but those who observe, listen, or read, can also sense it. It's a transfiguration (if I may use that term without offending anyone) of the ordinary, ugly, or hopeless into something greater than itself: a translucent medium through which one can almost see something beyond mortality and transience.

On Muse

Wingéd inspiration,
flighty, fickle, fabled,
carrying the breath of
art-love, beauty, madness.

Living on in famine,
war, destruction, ever
Phoenix, myth, a hope-dove,
rising from the ashes.

Rumi (13th c. Persian Poet)

2009-12-14T12:02:00.000-08:00

"Heartsick, heartbroken--
to know love is to know pain.
What could be more common?
Even so, each broken heart
is so singular
that with it we probe the divine."

At last

2009-10-05T19:14:00.000-07:00

This has been some time in coming...but most good things require a fermentation period...

Remains

You smiled.
Chatter and coffee
flowed easily; a
golden light danced in your eyes.

The gentle
drone, whisper, allure,
warmth, drew me in to
my death like a siren's call.

Assurances!
...false, but given,
mounted my ramparts,
barricades, over night dissipated.

But nothing
for the surrender--
white flag soiled, pain-wrought
silence. Conquered, then deserted.

Destroyed,
I stumbled to
find my feet, confused, void,
promise-bereft and faded,

solitary
once again: cacoon
shriveled, doubts dauntingly
doubled, hope my greatest folly!

And why?
Like Alexander,
must you conquer, continue?
Is it courage, fear, disgust...cowardice?

No matter:
the cold remains;
my rampart stands, staked,
ironed, moated, sealed, caged, broken, barred, in flames.

History of Music Theory

2009-09-28T18:46:00.000-07:00

You may be thinking, just as I did when I first gazed upon the obscure title of this infamously-dreaded course, 'history of theory? really? seriously? did people really write about such things in 500 A.D.? did they even know anything about music?'
It is now approximately twenty hours short of five weeks [later] filled with sludging, translations, grimaces, letters written to monks, letter written by monks, shared hysterical laughter, scales that aren't scales, tears, incredulity, ratios, super multiple partients, and thoughts of 'that was cool, now let's forget it'...and after all that, I can tell you, they did know something.

We began with Boethius (480-525), the first notable music scholar whose philosophical heritage--or at least, influence--is documented in stone [er, papyrus] and can be traced to the Latin Middle Ages, and eventually, to present-day Western musical practice. I have to admit, the early philosophical-mathematical musicians weren't completely verrückt...although some of the statements may tempt a modern Joe Schmoe to think so. For example, Isadore of Seville (560-636), claimed that "unless sounds are remembered by man, they perish, for they cannot be written down". Apparently, he never joined his third grade band (sorry, Izzy). On the other hand, Boethius propounded the idea that sound is made not of a single wave, but of many small, recurring, interacting waves that are loudest at the source and fade away in the distance (or "dissolve, as the translator took it). How on earth did he know that?
My favorite quote so far comes from a Boethius contemporary named Cassiodorus (490-583). His treatise, The Fundamentals of Sacred and Secular Learning, is divided into two books; the first is concerned with religious studious, while the second is divided into seven parts, one for each of the seven liberal arts. The section on music contains the quote that has remained with me ever since I first read it (chapter 2, first paragraph):
"The discipline of music is diffused through all the actions of our life...Music is indeed the knowledge of proper measurement. If we live virtuously, we are constantly proved to be under its discipline, but when we commit injustice, we are without music. " [emphasis mine] And thus, we are without proper measurement.

The Death of the Hymnal

2009-08-16T13:28:00.000-07:00

I just read a fantastic article on the toolbox for evangelical worship, part II. What really grabbed my attention was the section about music and how the modern church has essentially rejected 2,000 years of history by destroying its hymnals. Plain stupid. To top it off, it is not as if we are replacing the hymnals with something richer, but instead, this is usually done in the name of bringing in contemporary Christian worships songs that consist of four words and five lines (sung, of course, for 8 minutes and 27 seconds--and don't forget the slow verses followed by the emotional, electric guitar-aided climax). In contrast, many of the richer hymns with multiple verses are relegated to a tiny portion of the "praise and worship" part of the service (if they are being sung at all, and don't even get me started on p&w), while the text is sliced and diced into a few disparate verses. Horrifying. It's a surgery worthy of Shelley's Frankenstein.

While I don't agree that an entire 2,000 years of church history has been relegated, point blank, to the trash heap (I will admit that many Baptist hymnals, for example, rarely go beyond 100 or 150 years of history, but I do know of a few CREC and Dutch CRC hymnals that do a worthy job of including a historical variety), I do think that the article does a good job of reminding us of how liturgically poor the average evangelical church is. It is true that in general, modern Christians are ignorant of their roots--musical, liturgical, theological. And they are musically ignorant because they want to be, in a sad desperate attempt to be relevant to today's secular music, and thus somehow relevant to today's radically individual youth. But should all music in worship pander to this level? Should we include a rock band, disco lights, and cheap sci-fi smoke in order to be "relevant" to the degeneration of today's culture? Isn't it a shame to throw out all the richness of the hymns "my mother taught me" just because the 20-something music leader doesn't like them?

While on this volatile topice, let me include a few more random thoughts. I am convinced that we should consider revamping our current hymnals in favor of something more historical, more international, more theological, and more contemporary. Musical growth does not extend only into the past. Music included should stretch not only the youth, but also the experienced; it should stretch not only the infant in Christ, but also the Paul.

The revamping of whatever hymnal you choose should include a thoughful consideration of each hymn already included, and each hymn potentially added. A hymn isn't necessarily good just because it is old, and neither is it bad just because I wrote it yesterday. Let's not throw out everything good in our paranoia, but rather, inspect each inclusion, individually, for quality control. And please, let's not include the likes of "In the Garden." (Prepare yourself for an assault if you follow this link. Proceed at your own risk.) Trite Christianity has little place in worship.

So go, make yourself think, meaningfully, about the role of the hymnal, if any, in modern evangelical worship, and the response of a thoughtful Christian to the rampant destruction of our musical heritage. The page is on Internet Monk's blog, here.

2009-08-11T12:01:00.000-07:00

2009-08-04T11:54:00.000-07:00

2009-08-04T11:49:00.000-07:00

Bruised Books and Rilke

2009-08-04T11:23:00.000-07:00

Yes, I succumbed. I admit it. I'd seen his name before, been recommended his poetry, but never took it to heart, not until I had eight minutes to burn. Pre-meeting in downtown Pullman, a wandering spirit took me into Bruised Books where I caved to my desire for all things foreign. A short browse in the language aisle unearthered treasures I couldn't resist: a German-English dictionary, Calvin and Hobbes (in German!), and a volume of Rainer Maria Rilke poetry. I opened the Rilke. One elegy, matched on the opposite page by a masterful English translation, gripped me and wouldn't let go. I was a born-again Rilke fan.

Here is one of my favorites (so far)...translated for all you non-German speakers. If entranced, you might try it in the original language. So much more subtlety, of course, although Stephen Mitchell does fantastically with translation.

The Grownup

All this stood upon her and was the world
and stood upon her with all its fear and grace
as trees stood, growing straight up, imageless
yet wholly image, like the Ark of God,
and solemn, as if imposed upon a race.

And she endured it all: bore up under
the swift-as-flight, the fleeting, the far-gone,
the inconveivably vast, the still-to-learn,
serenely as a woman carrying water
moves with a full jug. Till in the midst of play,
transfiguring and preparing for the future,
the first white veil descended, gliding softly

over her opened face, almost opaque there,
never to be lifted again, and somehow
giving to all her questions just one answer:
In you, who were a child once--in you.