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.

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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.

On Drink, and Drunks

I have decided that I am willing to give Riesling another try. (Heretofore my opinion of it was much the same as my opinion of diesel, the taste of which I had not considered dissimilar.) My next step, I suppose, is to obtain some unobjectionable examples of said wine. I therefore ask your advice, dear reader: if you happen to have particular Riesling preferences, I would like to know them.

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As a college student I have learned far more about drunks than I ever intended. It had never occurred to me, however, to create a taxonomy of drunks. It did occur to Thomas Nashe, who includes one in Pierce Penilesse his Supplication to the Divell. I present it here, without commentary and with only the slightest editing; one hopes you can manage the Elizabethan spelling.

Nor haue we one or two kinde of drunkards onely, but eight kindes:

(1) The first is ape drunke; and he leapes, and singes, and hollowes, and daunceth for the heauens.
(2) The second is lion drunke; and he flinges the pots about the house, calls his hostesse whore, breakes the glasse windowes with his dagger, and is apt to quarell with anie man that speaks to him.
(3) The third is swine drunke; heauie, lumpish, and sleepie, and cries for a little more drinke, and a few more cloathes.
(4) The fourth is sheepe drunke; wise in his own conceipt, when he cannot bring foorth a right word.
(5) The fifth is mawdlen drunke; when a fellowe will weepe for kindnes in the midst of his ale, and kisse you, saying, "By God, captaine, I loue thee. Goe thy wayes; thou dost not thinke so often of me as I doo of thee; I would (if it pleased God) I could not loue thee so well as I doo;" and then he puts his finger in his eye, and cryes.
(6) The sixt is Martin drunke; when a man is drunke, and drinkes himselfe sober ere he stirre.
(7) The seuenth is goate drunke; when, in his drunkennes, he hath no minde but on lecherie.
(8) The eighth is fox drunke — when he is craftie drunke, as manie of the Dutchmen bee, that will neuer bargaine but when they are drunke.

All these species, and more, haue I seen practiced in one companie at one sitting, when I haue been permitted to remayne sober amongst them, onely to note their seuerall humours.

(Yes, of course, Nashe, you were only there to observe...)

Opinions; Home

It is the singular misfortune of conciliatory, or cowardly, men—and honesty compels me to include myself among their ranks—to be paralyzed in most matters of opinion. This is not to say that we are devoid of opinions; no, indeed. But to strongly voice almost any opinion is enough to make enemies with someone, and the coward seeks to avoid this. Among the irreligious, therefore, one opts not to voice any excess of spiritual conviction; among the liberally-minded one cannot risk being perceived as reäctionary; among the Lutherans it is wise to downplay Catholic sympathies. But the reverse is also true: mention not your doubts among the devout, nor your questions among the conservative, nor your Lutheran tendencies among the Papists. Perhaps it would be an easier matter if I were fundamentally on one side or t'other. It's safe enough, I suppose, in either opposing camp, but dangerous to venture in the no-man's-land between them. Now, here I thought adulthood was a time for solidifying one's prejudices; perhaps that means I'm not an adult yet.

Ah, but perhaps there is one issue where I'm content to be disagreed with. Allow me to elucidate. For a young person my age, with college education (and mind you, I am inclined to put the word "education" in quotation marks), the inevitable topics of conversation with people I haven't seen for a good while are What I Have Been Doing With Myself and What I Plan to Do With Myself. The answers, of course, are that only a year ago I received a degree in music, and that I intend to complete my masters in sacred music. Inevitably next in the conversation comes the question of where I intend to move away to in order to find work. I'm quite tired of this assumption. (Interestingly, it is perhaps most prevalent in rural communities, where the permanent leaving of the educated young is more regular than the return of the swallows to Capistrano.) Let it be known henceforth, then, that I do not subscribe to the idea that I need to move away in order to make something of myself. I disagree, yes, I disagree with this notion, and I wish to disabuse people of it. I want to stay home. Home, in this sense, is not my parents' house—which would drive me to madness, if not parricide—but rather the area I've known all my life: patria mea.

The difficult thing about unpopular convictions, besides the alienating effect they have on those with differing (that is, wrong) ideas, is that they must be reflected in one's own life, lest one be branded a hypocrite. I can only hope this staying-at-home thing works out, eh?

"The Wish to be Generous", Wendell Berry

All that I serve will die, all my delights,
the flesh kindled from my flesh, garden and field,
the silent lilies standing in the woods,
the woods, the hill, the whole earth, all
will burn in man's evil, or dwindle
in its own age. Let the world bring on me
the sleep of darkness without stars, so I may know
my little light taken from me into the seed
of the beginning and the end, so I may bow
to mystery, and take my stand on the earth
like a tree in a field, passing without haste
or regret toward what will be, my life
a patient willing descent into the grass.

Summer Work

South Bend, three quarters of the year, is a generally unpleasant place to live, what with the near-constant cloudiness and not-too-great traffic and general urban decay. But in the summer, oh, the summer, South Bend is a veritable nice place to live. This is no doubt due to the weather, which is as sunny as the rest of the year is cloudy, the time zone, which means the sun sets here at nearly ten in the evening, and the lack of Notre Dame students, who made roads and Fiddler's Hearth altogether too crowded. Yes, life is good, for the moment, in South Bend. I'm keeping busy, what with five hours of classes daily and cantoring for evening prayer in the Ladychapel nightly. Indeed, there aren't enough hours in the day to really finish all of my homework. Spirits are high, though: I am too busy to be unhappy.

I wonder about this. Industriousness is to be praised, innit? The saying is that "hell is full of the talented, but heaven is full of the hard-working". But I wonder whether all this work is a distraction, eh? Well, let's hope not. In any case, I don't have time to think much about such things, anyway.

Worship as Idolatry

The Ten Commandments give an admirable sense of the priorities of ancient Jewry. The first (or first and second, depending on your reckoning; I am inclined to use the numbering of Lutherans and Papists) is that we are to have no gods before God, nor shall we make graven images. In many ways this commandment sums up the set: God is to be our chief desire.

The great danger to religious sorts (and I hope it is fair to include myself among those of a religious bent) is that one's vocation, or theological dispute, or worship itself, can become an idol, supplanting God from God's rightful place at the Center of Things. I may maintain, in my correct opinion, that Thomas Tallis is vastly superior to Marty Haugen, and that the Roman Catholics' attempts at translation pale in comparison to the peerless language of Cranmer, and that, all things considered, ad orientem is probably a better way of celebrating a Mass, but the moment that any of these opinions distracts me from the Charity which is the heart of God, I have committed idolatry. We forget, in our attempts to perform good music for the rite, that the rite itself is no substitute for God.

Recently I've been reading C.S. Lewis's quite sensible (though not particularly scholarly) essays on the Psalms. While I'll recommend the whole book to you, I'll only quote a relevant passage:

[N]o sooner is it possible to distinguish the rite from the vision of God than there is a danger of the rite becoming a substitute for, and a rival to, God Himself. Once it can be thought of separately, it will; and it may take on a rebellious, cancerous life of its own. ... Worse still, [rituals] may be regarded as the only thing [God] wants, so that their punctual performance will satisfy Him without obedience to His demands for mercy, "judgement", and truth. To the priests themselves the whole system will seem important simply because it is both their art and their livelihood; all their pedantry, all their pride, all their economic position, is bound up with it.

The frightening thing for a church musician, of course, is that we are just as susceptible as priests to this sort of distortion. It's enough to make one wonder whether we really need professional church musicians at all.

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In other news: Praetorius! | Prakticello!

Yes He Kahane

I sometimes whether wonder I've heard enough music. That is, I wonder whether any new discoveries I make are merely further distractions, when indeed I have heard more music than anyone can really appreciate in a lifetime. And then I find something new. (Novelty is a seductive mistress, though short-lived.)

The latest discovery is Gabriel Kahane, who was born in the same decade as I, and who writes what I believe is called "chamber pop" music, inflected with influences ranging from Bach to Appalachian folk to Schoenberg. Here's a gadget by which you can listen to his self-titled album:

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?

Catafalque:

About an hour ago, prompted by a friend, I was perusing a sermon on the inter-net for my edification when, all of a sudden, the word CATAFALQUE appeared to me. This was curious, because that word was nowhere to be found on the page, nor did I see any adjacent words that could easily be jumbled and arranged to spell it. (Nonetheless that is my theory, that I saw enough constituënt letters of the word that my brain somehow assembled it.) What was more curious is that, though I had probably seen the word somewhere before, I could not define it. Upon looking up "catafalque", I was intrigued to find that it is a synonym of "bier", or "hearse". One does wonder whether this is some sort of omen. In any case, it is an interesting word.

Corpus Christi (Observed)

Today is the celebration of the Body of Christ. (Or rather, Thursday was the celebration of the Body of Christ, but it's more convenient to do the celebrating today.) The term has two senses, both of which are absurd. The first is that from the Gospel, where Jesus institutes Holy Communion with a piece of bread and the words "this is my body". I'll let Miss O'Connor speak for that:

"Well, toward morning the conversation turned on the Eucharist, which I, being the Catholic, was obviously supposed to defend. [Mary McCarthy] said when she was a child and received the Host, she thought of it as the Holy Ghost, He being the 'most portable' person of the Trinity; now she thought of it as a symbol and implied that it was a pretty good one. I then said, in a very shaky voice, 'Well, if it's a symbol, to hell with it.' That was all the defense I was capable of but I realize now that this is all I will ever be able to say about it, outside of a story, except that it is the center of existence for me; all the rest of life is expendable."

The second sense is from Paul's letters: here it is the mystical union of all believers under the headship of Christ. Like Christ's earthly body, it is broken and wounded: it gives every impression of being done for. Christians have failed, and continue to fail, at that whole "unity" business, just as we have failed at that "charity" thing. I'm not exactly sure how we're supposed to remedy our shortcomings in embodying the second meaning of "Body of Christ". Perhaps it has something to do with the first meaning.