A Recital for Corpus Christi

Last year an organist friend of mine presented what I somewhat derisively called a "Eucharistic Piety Concert". I suppose he'll take some satisfaction in seeing that I am now doing the same, this upcoming June 2nd (which is the Feast of Corpus Christi, observed). So as not to bore the audience too terribly by playing only organ music, I have invited a very talented soprano friend of mine, a Miss Katie B., to join me for some selections. You are, dear reader, as ever, most heartily invited.

"O Sacred Banquet": A Recital for the Feast of Corpus Christi
4:30pm Sunday, June 2nd
St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Dixon, Illinois

• J.S. Bach (1685-1750): Prelude and Fugue in D Major, BWV 532
  
• Mode V: Adoro te devote
  
• Gerald Near (b. 1942): Prelude and Four Variations on "Adoro te devote"
  
• César Franck (1822-1890): Panis angelicus, Op. 12, Mvt. 5
  
• Olivier Messiaen (1908-1992): Le banquet céleste
  
• Antonín Dvořák (1841-1904): "God Is My Shepherd", Op. 99, No. 4
  
• Harold Darke (1888-1976): Meditation on "Brother James' Air"
  
• Mode V: O sacrum convivium
  
• Louis Vierne (1870-1937): Carillon, Op. 31, No. 21

Attention Anglophile Organists:

The other day an Orgelbauer friend of mine had an excellent idea that I feel compelled to disseminate. We were watching Midsomer Murders and he commented that its theme would make an interesting basis for a chorale prelude (or, rather, a television programme theme music prelude, as it were).

To wit: I humbly suggest that all interested Anglophile organists select theme music from a British television show and compose a chorale prelude upon it. I shall accept all entries, Finale-ize them, make a very pretty title page and table of contents, and send a pdf copy of the compleat collection to anyone who might want it. To any interested dear reader, I entreat you: please feel welcome to forward this prospectus to anyone you know to whom it might appeal. You might leave a comment on this-a-here web-log, if you wish to express interest. Rather than have duplicates, though, I suggest we each claim a particular show's theme. As for me, I have selected the theme from Blackadder.

(I suppose we might open the idea up to all television shows of any origin, not just British ones. But for some reason the prospect of limiting the project a bit appeals to me. You needn't pay me any heed, though.)

Since organists are, in general, busy folks, I therefore suggest this might be a long-term project, lasting, perhaps, years. Oh well. I offer it for your consideration.

A Reformation Sunday Recital

Much like having regular examinations in school, I find that regular recitals provide a certain measure of motivation. (Is this due to a certain lack of self-discipline on my part? Or is self-discipline merely knowing what sorts of tricks to play on one's own mind?) To that end, I will be performing a recital on October 28th in Dixon; it oughtn't be more than an hour, I hope. You are, dear reader, of course invited.

Recital on the Karstens organ at St. Paul Lutheran Church, Dixon
28 October 2012, at 3pm

J.S. Bach (1685-1750):
        Prelude and Fugue in C Major, BWV 547
Hymn: ELW #308 "O Morning Star, How Fair and Bright"
Dieterich Buxtehude (c.1637-1707):
        Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern, BuxWV 223
Hymn: ELW #839 "Now Thank We All Our God"
Sigfrid Karg-Elert (1877-1933):
        Nun danket alle Gott (Marche Triomphale), Op. 65, No. 59
Hymn: ELW #488 "Soul, Adorn Yourself with Gladness"
J.S. Bach:
        Schmücke dich, o liebe Seele, BWV 654
Hymn: ELW #504 "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God"
Cor Kee (1900-1997):
        Een vaste Burgt
Chant: "Te lucis ante terminum" (Mode VIII)
Jehan Alain (1911-1940):
        Postlude pour l’Office de Complies, JA 29
Louis Vierne (1870-1937):
        Symphony No. 1, Op. 14 – VI. Finale

The astute reader will notice that some of these pieces may look familiar. Indeed, I have played many of them over the past fifteen months in Dixon. But most of them warrant a more careful listening (as well as, I should admit, a more careful performance). I wouldn't close with the Vierne, but for the fact that I was deprived of my chance to play it for the Lutherans at Easter. Easter morning I turned the organ at St. Paul on, only to discover that the entire swell and choir divisions were out. If that happens again, I shall take it as a sign that I ought not to play Vierne for Lutherans.

Honest Work

... et operam detis ut quieti sitis, et ut vestrum negotium agatis, et operemini manibus vestris, sicut praecepimus vobis.

I.Th 4:11

There's something immensely satisfying about having a real job, one where you work with your hands, build things, see tangible improvements. I realize this, now, because I recently obtained such a job (in addition to my church-organist duties): I have been hired to help install a 1904 Verney tracker organ in a local performance venue. Much of organ-buildery is carpentry, which, as my boss has noted, is not my métier. But there are also all sorts of fiddly-work (especially considering this is a tracker instrument), which I find surprisingly rewarding. And I appreciate very much the opportunity to learn how pipe organs actually work. (Perhaps organists can be forgiven some measure of ignorance about their instruments, as the things are just so deucedly complicated. But I think a deeper knowledge of the mechanism by which we produce our art can only improve our production.)

Shortly after beginning this new job (only three days ago), it became quite apparent that it fulfills a need of mine that I had not before recognized: the need to do actual work. Academe and the arts, the only fields in which I have real experience, leave me endlessly questioning whether I have, in fact, done my job well. That way lies madness. How does one know if one's scholarship or musicianship are actually good? One can only listen to the other inmates in the asylum. To build something of value, however, is to obtain concrete justification for one's endeavor.

Mark Your Calendars:

One must keep busy, you know. To that end, I will be performing a recital in Elkhart, Indiana on Sunday, 15 July, at 7:00pm. It shouldn't be terribly long; it's about fifty minutes of music. You, dear reader, are of course invited.

Recital on the Fowler organ, Op. 28, at St. Vincent de Paul Roman Catholic Church, Elkhart

Dieterich Buxtehude (c.1637-1707):
        Praeludium in G minor, BuxWV 149
Jehan Alain (1911-1940):
        Variations sur un thème de Clément Janequin, JA 118
        Litanies, JA 119
Johann Valentin Görner (1702-1762):
        Chaconne in B minor
Dieterich Buxtehude:
        Erhalt uns, Herr, bei deinem Wort, BuxWV 185
Louis Vierne (1870-1937):
        Berceuse (sur les paroles classiques), Op. 31, No. 19
Samuel Scheidt (1587-1654):
        Ballo del Granduca
Edward Elgar (1857-1934), arr. William Henry Harris (1883-1973):
        Nimrod (from the Enigma Variations, Op. 36)
J.S. Bach (1685-1750):
        Prelude and Fugue in G Major, BWV 541

Nothing much out of the ordinary, as you can see. There is actually more variety than I would prefer, as the instrument, being an American eclectic one, is designed to play all things equally poorly. But I am optimistic that great literature is still worthwhile, even on less-than-ideal instruments.

Oh, and for you pedants out there, a note on the Scheidt: many still attribute the variations on Ballo del Granduca to J.P. Sweelinck, as they are ascribed to him in the only surviving manuscript. But I think Pieter Dirksen makes a convincing case that they are by Scheidt, who studied with Sweelinck in Amsterdam in his early twenties. (There is some infelicitous voice leading that makes much more sense coming from the pen of the young Scheidt than from the mature Sweelinck.)

Vienna

Greetings, dear reader, from Vienna! We arrived here late last night, after a full day of travel. "Life is a journey", it is said, tritely. People say this to remind us that it is not so much the destination that matters as what happens along the way. I do not entirely agree with this. The destination matters quite a bit. In our case the travel was far less pleasant than the arrival. After a transatlantic flight, we had a layover of six hours in Copenhagen's Kasterup Airport. The Danish are an exceptionally attractive people who speak a barbaric tongue not fit to be understood by man or beast. While Kasterup is pleasant, as airports go (it has a sort of streamlined Scandinavian aesthetic), six hours in an aiport is about five-and-a-half hours more than I wish to spend in an airport. We finally reached Vienna around ten, after a much shorter (albeit delayed) flight. (We flew over Germany's Baltic coast, but couldn't see most of the country due to heavy clouds beneath us. Fortunately, it's fairer weather down here.) At the airport I managed very efficiently to get us lost, having to rely on the worst sort of German: discomfited American tourist German. ("Bitte, wo ist der Zug?") We did finally find the CAT (City Air Train), making it to Landstraße-Wien Mitte, and thence to the Kolpinghaus, finally getting to bed after midnight.

Today we first walked around the Ring a bit, making it into Stadtpark, over past Café Prückel (which I am resolved to visit tomorrow), and from the Stubentor stop on the U3 over to the Zentralfriedhof. I'd been there already, the last time I was here, but it's a much more pleasant place to visit in the summer. I noted with some satisfaction that more flowers were placed on Brahms's grave than on Schubert's, though Beethoven had them both beat. Schoenberg, rather unfairly, had none. (No accounting for taste, I suppose.)

Back in the city, we went to Doblinger's, where I purchased several books of chorale preludes by obscure Viennese composers. (My rationale is that I should purchase things published by the Doblinger press, as they're a local product and I may not find them elsewhere.) I had Schnitzel-King for lunch, and it was glorious beyond words. And yet, just as no man steps in the same river twice, no man eats the same Döner sandwich twice. I don't remember there being cucumbers in it before, but I think they make a fine addition.

Rückkehr nach Wien

It is now fifty-four days until I will be leaving for Europe. As of now the itinerary includes several days in Vienna, then Prague, Erfurt, Tröchtelborn (a tiny town outside Erfurt where an organist friend of mine will give a recital), Halle, Leipzig, Magdeburg, Hannover, Norden (another small town, but home to perhaps the greatest Arp Schnitger instrument in the world), Hamburg, Roskilde, Copenhagen, and Stockholm. (I am also optimistic that we may be able to visit Lövstabruk and Östhammar, towns north of Stockholm, each with fantastic organs of their own.)

The organ-tour portion of the trip (basically everything from Erfurt onwards) will be a lot of fun, I don't doubt — I am attempting to reäcquaint myself with all of my North German repertoire that has proven less-than-ideal in Dixon — but at the moment I am especially excited to return to Vienna. Though by now I have surely forgotten nearly everything I learned about how to survive in that city, I remember it fondly. I am resolved that I shall catch a concert at the Musikverein, eat a Hot-Dog at my favorite stand in the Naschmarkt and some Döner at Schnitzel King (whose proprietor, though his brain is surely addled by a multitude of plum schnapps shots taken with visiting American students, is a very pleasant fellow), and visit the Kunsthistorisches Museum. (Holbein awaits!) Perhaps the only downside is that I will be horribly jet-lagged all the days that I am in Vienna, for we'll only be there three days and I am quite sensitive to such things. (Even the one-hour switch to South Bend time throws me off.) But no matter: it is Vienna. It will be glorious. And even if the weather is miserable — as it was for more than half the time, last time I was there — I will enjoy simply being back there. At the very least, it will give me an opportunity to write about it in my Vienna travel log.

The American Guild of Organists

This evening I attended my first AGO meeting. I am pleased to report that it went reasonably well. The theme for pieces was "things based on hymn-tunes"; I performed that bombastic Karg-Elert Nun danket alle Gott setting, and, to atone for that, also BWV 645. The membership of the local chapter is quite tolerable: the only instances in which I found it necessary to bite my tongue were when I heard praise of Allen instruments. (One must bear in mind that many — far too many — organists out here in the provinces have never played a tracker, and thus may be forgiven for their misguided tastes.)

Being away from school, even for only these few months, has taught me how important the company of one's peers is. It is, of course, a bit of a stretch to call my fellow AGO members peers — they are, after all, predominantly women who could charitably be called "post-middle-aged" — but it is nice to have people who understand the vicissitudes of a career in church music. In every profession one needs people to whom one can complain about one's job; I suspect this is the true origin of the great medieval guilds.

Thoughts from Concordia

Thoughts that have occurred to me whilst attending the 2011 Lectures in Church Music Conference (at Concordia University, Chicago):

• Good music is, inevitably, about addressing issues, solving problems. The issue/problem may be one about musical form, or color (e.g. instrumentation, texture), or compositional process (canons, fugues), or, in vocal music, text, or other things. Bad music, when it refuses to acknowledge a problem, is saccharine; when it fails to adequately address a problem, it is unsatisfying.
  
• Most defects of musicianship can be fixed, but I suspect that a poor interior sense of rhythm is irremediable. How can you learn something that ought to be inborn? (Well, technically, a sense of rhythm is acquired, but this takes place so early in childhood that it's like original sin: probably not inborn, but as good as.)
  
• Fr Anthony Ruff, whom I admire more and more, gave a presentation on the implementation of the new translation of the Roman Missal, with special emphasis on ecumenism (since this is, after all, a mostly-Lutheran conference). It is hard not to be disgusted with how Rome has bungled the new translation. It's not only that it is fundamentally flawed — after all, the current translation is deeply flawed, albeit in a different way — but far worse is the autocratic way Rome has handled things. From time to time, when utterly frustrated with the follies of Protestants, I find solace in the fact that at least we don't have to put up with the Roman Catholic hierarchy. If "by their fruits shall ye know them", then I fear we know the hierarchy all too well.
  
• Last night we had a concert of seventeenth-century Lutheran music (mostly Schütz, Schein, and Scheidt; no Praetorius, unfortunately). I've said it before: it's too bad that we hear this repertoire so rarely nowadays. One of these days, when I've got an early music consort at my disposal, I shall endeavor to do some of it.
  

Oh, and today is St. Luke's Day, the titular feast (heh) at my Episcopal parish in Dixon. We shall have some good hymns, I think. (I've had the tune Westminster Abbey stuck in my head for several days, now; I'm planning a rather grandiose introduction with the chamades, which should wake people up, if nothing else.)

The 2011 American Alain Festival

Greetings, dear reader, from Lawrence, Kansas, where I am staying the night after two-and-a-half days in Wichita at the 2011 American Alain Festival. Jehan Alain, for those of you with limited knowledge of 20th-century French organ composers, was quite possibly the most original voice of his generation, with a prodigious output (considering his brief twenty-nine years on this earth). Moreover he had a generous soul and a fervid imagination. This year marks Alain's hundredth birthday, and we celebrated his life and work with a series of lectures and performances. Our guest of honor was Aurélie Decourt, the composer's niece (and daughter of Marie-Claire Alain, who during her career was unquestionably the foremost expert on her brother's works). Other guests included many of Marie-Claire's American students (of whom many are bigwigs at various universities and larger churches). All in all it's been quite worthwhile. The world of professional organists is a relatively small one, and it has been interesting to observe professional organists en masse: though some are prone to cattiness (a common trait in all of academe, I fear), many are agreeable enough. Most could fairly be called eccentric, in one way or another.

I fear it may not interest you for me to go into much detail about what we covered at the conference. Suffice it to say we examined Alain's biography, instruments, and influences. There is also the issue of the various editions of Alain's works, which have differed in many registrations and other markings. Indeed, there was a major controversy about twenty years ago when a musicologist raised questions about the integrity of Marie-Claire's work. This led to much bickering back-and-forth, and it was quite obvious that there is still much bitterness over the whole episode. Such are the petty affairs of academia, I suppose.

See also:
Alain's Postlude for the Office of Compline
(a past entry on this-a-here web-log)

Fructus Laborum

It is important to have things to do. A day or two of bone-idleness is enough: any more than that and you'll probably end up sitting on the sofa eating bon-bons and watching soap opera (which, it should be observed, is not nearly as interesting as real opera. When's the last time a soap opera character rode her horse onto a funeral pyre, immolating herself and destroying the world?).

My recently-concluded project, with which I occupied myself after the end of classes, was to transcribe about two-dozen Michael Praetorius scores. (I had access to both Praetorius and Finale — the score-writing program — at Notre Dame's library. It is now a four-hour commute away, which is a bit too far to justify further such endeavors there.) I did this because I someday hope to avail myself of the pieces: they're terribly practical, being based on chorales, and he wrote them for all sorts of combinations of voice parts. For the benefit of others (oh, how generous, I!) I put the scores up on the Choral Public Domain Library.

Regarding Children

Do you recall the accompanist job at an elementary school I mentioned a few months ago? This week I concluded my duties there. I must say it has been a surprisingly good experience.

Chief among its benefits is that I no longer view children as an annoyance. They can be annoying, to be sure, but I now realize that this is not their default state. C.S.L. observes that it is the stupidest children who are most childish, just as it is the stupidest grown-ups who are the most grown-up. I am inclined to agree. Childish children can at least be improved; there is little hope for the incorrigibly adult. The best thing about working with the young is that it keeps one honest. (Or, at least it should.) Children are like animals in that they are acutely sensitive to — though not, usually, consciously aware of — a person's mood. They recognize mendacity, unlike so many adults, because they have not yet become inured to it. They almost always respond to kindness and enthusiasm.

For any of my readers who dislike children, I'll say this: you probably don't dislike them as much as you think. They're not all so irritating as those you see in public. (Young children are worst-behaved when with their parents, and adolescents are worst-behaved when with their peers. These are exactly the people one generally sees them with in public.)

I can say without exaggeration that this job has been a blessing. Of course, it's easy for me to say that: I experienced all the best things about teaching (seeing progress, nurturing what will become life-long interests, receiving the guileless admiration of children) without any of the bad things (disciplining children, dealing with ignorant or unreasonable parents). But in any case, I can now understand why people get such satisfaction from teaching young children.

Mark Your Calendars:

An ORGAN RECITAL
Reyes Organ & Choral Hall, DeBartolo Performing Arts Center, Notre Dame
7:00pm, 30 April 2011
The program will feature both the Paul Fritts Opus 24 and our 17th-century Neapolitan instrument (by an anonymous builder, restored by Martin Pasi). A small schola will perform a chorale as well as plainchant from the office of compline.

Program:
1. J.S. Bach (1685-1750): Prelude & Fugue in G Major, BWV 541
   
2. Paul Hindemith (1895-1963): Organ Sonata No. 2
   
3. Domenico Zipoli (1688-1726): selections from Intavolatura per Organo e Cimbalo, Part I
   
4. Johann Adam Reincken (1643-1722): Chorale Fantasia on An Wasserflüssen Babylon
   
5. J.S. Bach: Prelude & Fugue in A Major, BWV 536
   
6. Jehan Alain (1911-1940): Postlude pour l'Office des Complies, AWV 13

Absentmindedness

This past weekend I served as a calcant for several hours. A calcant (non-organists can be forgiven for not knowing the terminology), from the Latin calcare, "to tread", is the unfortunate fellow whose job it is to pump the bellows to supply wind pressure to an organ's pipes. It is a dull task that is at the same time quite unforgiving of lapses in concentration, for if the wind lags everyone in the audience will hear it. In former times, I suppose, it was the duty of every apprentice-organist to pump the bellows; perhaps it is only fitting I should have to do it. Bach surely served as calcant for his teacher Böhm, don't you think?

Calcants' minds wander. Indeed, my mind has been elsewhere much of the time these past few weeks. There is the past: on Monday the weather reminded me so much of early spring in Vienna that I experienced the first palpable longing for that city I've felt in more than a year. When will I walk 'round the Ringstraße again; when shall I climb Kahlenberg; when shall I eat at Schnitzel King or Café Prückel? I want to go back before I forget how to use the subway or order a Hot-Dog.

There is also the future to distract me. I come from a long line of worriers, and I have begun to wonder about the sort of job I'll get after I am an accredited Master of Sacred Music. My natural inclination — one not yet dulled by the unquestioned assumptions of an incurably mobile society — is to go home. Ah, but I wonder what it will be like, trying to make good music and good liturgy in a place where ignorance and poor taste are so entrenched. I am willing to teach, of course, but one cannot change a culture singlehandedly.

In any case, I acknowledge I really ought to be thinking about the present. All shall be well, and all that.

On Translating Borges

For what amounts to years, now, I have been attempting to translate a lecture given by Jorge Luis Borges on the Book of Job. (He's got some interesting ideas about it, as it so happens.) Every time I near completion, however, I find myself dissatisfied with the result. It is invariably either unfaithful to the original or awkward-sounding in English. (One will note that often Borges used Spanish words to unusual effect. But the English-speaking reader is not aware of this and will likely attribute it to poor translation.) Consider, if you will, the opening paragraph — insofar as an oral lecture can be divided into paragraphs:

A pesar de la hospitalidad que siento en ustedes me considero un poco intruso. Pero hay dos razones que me hacen mitigar esa impresión. Una de las razones es que yo he sido criado dentro de la fe cristiana y la cultura occidental; la cristiandad, más allá de nuestras convicciones o de nuestras dudas personales, es una malgama de dos naciones que me parecen esenciales para el mundo occidental. Esas son: Israel (el cristianismo procede de Israel) y Grecia. Más allá de las vicisitudes de nuestra sangre, de nuestra múltiple sangre, ya que tenemos dos padres, cuatro abuelos, etc. — en progresión geométrica — y ya que Roma fue una suerte de extensión del helenismo, creo que todos, por el mero hecho de pertener a la cultura occidental, somos hebreos y griegos. De modo que algún derecho me asiste hoy al hablar sobre el Libro de Job, aunque ignore la lengua hebrea y aunque no he podido leer el texto original y los comentarios Rabínicos.

And here is my attempt at a translation:

Despite the hospitality I sense in all of you, I consider myself rather intrusive. But there are two reasons that mitigate this impression of mine. One of them is that I have been raised in the Christian faith and in western culture; Christianity, notwithstanding our personal beliefs or doubts, is an amalgam of two nations that seem to me essential to the western world. They are: Israel (Christianity arose out of Israel) and Greece. Regardless of the vicissitudes of our blood, out of our multiple heritages, since we have two parents, four grandparents, etc. — in a geometrical progression — and since Rome was a sort of extension of Hellenism, I believe that all of us, by the mere fact of belonging to western culture, are Hebrews and Greeks. As a result, I have a certain right to speak today about the Book of Job, though I know no Hebrew and though I have not been able to read the original text nor its Rabbinical commentaries.

What is one to do? Part of the problem is that spoken sentences can be far longer than their written counterparts before becoming excessive; one can nest parentheticals (as I am wont to do) without too badly breaking up the flow of a spoken idea, but when written this becomes tiresome after a while, unless you read lots of James and must therefore enjoy endless sentences.

The chief problem, I suppose, is that Borges's style is deliberately obscure. In a review of five new Borges anthologies, Martin Schifino (interesting surname, that) explains this well:

[Alfred] MacAdam describes Borges's early style as "tortuous" and his vocabulary as "rarefied". [Suzanne] Levine calls the writing of his essays "radical" and even "bizarre to those who read him in Spanish today". Both are right in general. But it is a matter of detail in which way Borges "replays the Latinate prose of the Baroque era", and perhaps the best way to convey this might not be to "improvise a rococo English" – an intention declared, but fortunately never carried out, by Levine. The baroque influence can be felt, sure enough, in Borges's inkhorn terms, but his rhetorical habits are much closer to home: plain Edwardian. He sounds a little like Kipling, and a lot like Chesterton. His essays are full of Chestertonian throat-clearing and oratorical flourishes. Part of the challenge for translators may be to make new an existing manner that has fallen out of favour. In any case, more resources from the English tradition will need mining if Borges's big voice is to be fully energized.

The best way to translate Borges, then? Read more Chesterton. Borges was famously fond of him, anyway.

What, another recital?

Dear reader (I would write "dear readers", but that would be presuming I have more than one): you are cordially invited to my organ recital tomorrow, to be held at Christ Church Cathedral, in Indianapolis, following the noon Eucharist. It will be an all-Buxtehude concert, played on the fine Taylor & Boody gallery organ there, with these works:

Praeludium in C Major, BuxWV 137
Nun bitten wir den heiligen Geist, BuxWV 208
Praeludium in G Minor, BuxWV 149
Wir danken dir, Herr Jesu Christ, BuxWV 224
Te Deum Laudamus, BuxWV 218

The recital ought to last between thirty-five and forty minutes. Bring all your friends!

Regarding New Acquaintances

Well, school is about to start again here at Notre Dame. The bevy of preparatory activities includes several events designed to help the sacred music students better get to know each other. (It being only a two-year program, we lose half the people we knew last year and must acquaint ourselves with the newbies. That is the technical term, "newbies", correct?)

I find meeting new people to be an intimidating prospect. People you know are at least used to your foibles; with established acquaintances there is the illusion of knowing each other. With new people there's no set of attributes you can comfortably attribute to them (easily, or fairly, anyway). I am, of course, pessimistic that any two people can really know each other in a deep sense, but it is disarming nonetheless to not have even the impression of knowing someone. There is some consolation in the fact that organists tend to be good-natured (if eccentric) types.

* * *
In other news, it seems Sufjan Stevens has released a new EP in a sneaky manner: he hadn't announced he was working on it or anything. You may give it a listen (or even purchase it) here. I rather wish Mr Stevens would move away from all those artsy types in Brooklyn and move back to the Midwest. Need one live a bohemian lifestyle to produce art? I certainly hope not.

Indianapolis

Greetings from Indianapolis, capital of Indiana, seat of several dioceses, city of broad streets, numerous beggars, limited green space and, at least on the Fourth of July, lots and lots of traffic. I was here to play a wedding (it went well enough). Yesterday I attended church with the Episcopalians downtown, which was pleasant: excellent instrument, choir (all-male! one doesn't hear that sound much anymore), and sermon.

Indianapolis is a nice enough place to visit, but I wouldn't live here. It's too big: urban areas of a certain size inspire me with neuroses. Modern life in these United States, and urban life in particular, requires a profound amount of trust in people one does not know: architects, elevator-builders, policemen, food safety standard-setters and inspectors of many sorts, motorists, even fellow pedestrians. In the city one must count on everyone else not to be crazy. This confidence is sometimes misplaced.

At the same time, I think it's important that the Church is present in the city. There's enough emphasis in the Bible on helping the poor that it is more than negligent to avoid them. (Are you ever bothered by thoughts of your sins of omission? I certainly am. I'm banking on the idea that this "God" fellow is the merciful sort.) I had planned to attend a Lutheran church yesterday, but there is not a single Lutheran congregation, ELCA or LCMS, in downtown Indianapolis: they've all moved to the suburbs. Where would Jesus live, I wonder?

Oyez, Oyez, Oyez!

See that, there? That is an advertisement, of sorts, for an upcoming musical event of great import. (Isn't that font great? I got it here, in case you were wondering. Typography is one of those things that people simply don't appreciate enough, if you ask me.) You may click the image to view it in fuller splendour.

I post this partly as a reminder, and partly as an excuse: if'n I won't be a-postin' as frequently as usual, it's because I have this-a-here recital to be practicin' fer.

Elsewhere:

In other news, there is yet another web-log on the internet, one which happens to be a collaboration on the part of myself and acquaintance Aaron. Why not give it a visit? It promises to have something resembling dialog, which is sorely lacking here.