Arvo Pärt: Passio

Arvo Pärt: Passio Domini nostri Jesu Christi secundum Joannem
(The Gospel of John, chapters 18-19)
This — the internets, that is — is just about the worst medium for a piece like Pärt's St. John Passion. The work is worth remembering, though. Here is some context: [1] [2] [3]

Organ Preludes and Postludes through Whitsunday

7 April (Easter Vigil):
Louis Vierne: Symphony No. 1, Op. 14 – VI. Finale
8 April (Easter Sunday):
Georg Böhm: Christ lag in Todesbanden
Louis Vierne: Symphony No. 1, Op. 14 – VI. Finale (reprised!)
15 April (1st Sunday after Easter, Quasimodo):
Healey Willan: Prelude on O filii et filiae
Flor Peeters: Hymn Prelude on Gelobt sei Gott
22 April (2nd Sunday after Easter, Misericordia):
Michael Praetorius: Vita sanctorum
Jean-François Dandrieu: Fugue sur l’hymne des Apôtres «Exultet»
29 April (3rd Sunday after Easter, Jubilate):
Edward Elgar (arr. W.H. Harris): Nimrod (from the Enigma Variations, Op. 36)
Ernst Pepping: Sonne der Gerechtigkeit
6 May (4th Sunday after Easter, Cantate):
J.S. Bach: Schmücke dich, o liebe Seele, BWV 654
Max Reger: Lobe den Herren, Op. 135a, No. 15
13 May (5th Sunday after Easter, Vocem Jucunditatis):
Joseph Jongen: Chant de mai, Op. 53, No. 1
Hermann Schroeder: Allegretto, Op. 9, No. 4
17 May (Ascension):
J.S. Bach: Prelude in D Major, BWV 532a
François Couperin: Messe des Paroisses - VII. Petite fugue sur le chromhorne
20 May (6th Sunday after Easter, Exaudi):
J.S. Bach: Fugue in D Major, BWV 532b
Max Reger: Jesus, meine Zuversicht, Op. 135a, No. 13
27 May (Pentecost):
Dieterich Buxtehude: Te Deum, BuxWV 218
J.S. Bach: Komm, Gott Schöpfer, Heiliger Geist, BWV 631

Bach; Grief

My latest project is a transcription of BWV 12, "Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen, Zagen". Granted, there are already scans of it online, from both the Bach-Gesellschaft Ausgabe and Bach's original autograph, but neither of these is practical for performance. (Then again, if your singers and instrumentalists are used to the original clefs, then perhaps they don't mind reading from the full score either.)

The cantata is an early one, written while Bach was still at Weimar. (A second viola part would be unusual in later works; there's a joke to be made about violists here, but I figure they receive enough abuse as it is.) It is dispiriting, perhaps, to recall that he wrote it while still in his twenties. How is it that such a young man could produce a work of such perfection? The answer lies partly in Bach's immense genius, of course, but also in the culture that produced him. Musicians and theologians were cultivated then in the way we cultivate athletes today. We have an efficient system for recognizing athletic talent at a young age and encouraging it; Bach was the end result of generations of musicians teaching their children the art and livelihood of music. He grew up living and breathing harmony and counterpoint, Lutheran chorales, and instrumental technique, absorbing all musical styles he encountered. We will never produce another Bach, or Shakespeare, because our priorities as a culture as so different (read: much worse).

BWV 12 was first performed on April 22nd, 1714, which, as it happened that year, was the third Sunday after Easter, Jubilate. (I think these old names for Sundays in the church year are worth keeping.) The cantata, however, is not particularly jubilant. Consider its titular chorus:

Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen, Zagen Angst und Not Sind der Christen Tränenbrot, Die das Zeichen Jesu tragen.

Weeping, lamentation, worry, apprehension, anxiety and distress are the bread of tears of Christians who bear the mark of Jesus.

It is not hyperbole to say that Bach's cantatas, taken as a group, represent the full range of human emotion. This is distinctly at odds with church music as it is commonly conceived nowadays. We have become unable to recognize grief and suffering as an integral part of the Christian life. Consider nearly every new piece of church music written in the last half-century: how many even attempt to deal with grief, let alone in a theologically and intellectually honest manner? (My complaint, here, is directed at the "new" "music" of Haugen, Haas, et al. that has wormed its way into Evangelical Lutheran Worship and other such hymnals. Let us not discuss the even-less-disciplined approach of "Praise" music.) We are afraid to recognize sadness because doing so would remind us that religion is about more than a constant endorphin high; seeking to stay on the heights at all times, we ignore the depths the psalmist was talking about. If the Christian religion is worth retaining, we must endeavor to regain the integrity of grief, honestly considered and addressed. An excellent way to begin this process is with our music.

Rowan Williams, Admired

Perhaps you've heard of the Archbishop of Canterbury's resignation; I wish him all the best. While reading up on the topic I happened upon an article over at The Atlantic from a few years ago; though its author's biases are obvious, it's worth reading, if only to better understand Dr Williams's motivations. A particular passage caught my attention:

[Williams] came to the threshold to preach to two dozen of us on Paul's remarks in the First Epistle to the Corinthians "concerning the unmarried" — the passage in which the saint first advises people, married or unmarried, to hold to the state they are in, and then in the next breath tells them to disregard the bond of marriage after all, for the world is passing away.

I couldn't help but hear Williams's description of the saint as a description of himself, a man saved from his contradictoriness by his obvious integrity. "That's a hard text to preach on," he began. "Paul is thinking on his feet: 'Of course on the other hand,' he says, and 'Well, that is true, but however...' But Paul, for all his hemming and hawing, has a clear point to make. This is not it. Capital letters. I.T. Whatever you’re doing — your job, your passion — there is something more."

However well or poorly you think Dr Williams has done in his post as Archbishop, it's pretty clear that he is indeed a man of integrity. More than any recent religious thinker I can name, he reminds us that Truth and ambiguïty are not always mutually exclusive. It takes a certain intellectual honesty to recognize this. It is unfortunate we do not expect such honesty from our religious and political leaders more often.

Weather, Unseasonable

Summer weather is upon us, inexplicably, here in mid-March. (Well, that's not entirely fair: a goodly number of scientists have a reasonable explanation for why the climate appears to be changing.) The heat provokes both passionate intensity — mostly in the worst sorts — and an idle listlessness in the rest of us. It is perhaps the worst sort of weather for Lent, for he who loves not Lent, as Herbert reminds us, "loves not Temperance, or Authoritie, / But is compos'd of passion." Such heat encourages a sanguine humour in even the sanest fellow.

The past few days I assisted in the tuning of the (ludicrously oversized) organ at St. Luke's. While the organ-tuner was up in the chamber doing the actual work, I sat at the console, doing what is called "holding keys" — that is, playing a single note until told to play the next note. It is another one of those jobs, like organ calcant, that requires very little thought but constant attention. To call it torture would be hyperbole, but it was not pleasant, being stuck inside for the better part of two days while outside spring had arrived. It brought back memories of grade school — do you remember the feeling? — of being imprisoned in a poorly ventilated space doing nothing particularly rewarding. (I do not miss grade school.) At least, now, the organ is mostly in tune, barring any violent changes in weather. Holy Week will quickly be upon us, and I have, shall we say, plans.

The Lutheran Insulter

An esteemed correspondent has shared with me the Lutheran Insulter, which is not a tool for insulting Lutherans (unfortunately?) but rather a compilation of the many and varied insults Luther hurled at people in his writings. He was a rather combative fellow, after all. Anyone who argues that public discourse has become less civil these days should have a look-see at tracts from Luther's day.

Upon Nearly Finishing a Translation

Spurred by the music of Ástor Piazzolla (I made a Pandora station), I have decided once more to try my hand at a translation of that Borges essay on Job I've been attempting to translate for almost five years, now. Again it is worth remembering Eco's dictum that "translation is the art of failure".

Nevertheless, I feel more optimistic this time around. I've managed to root out a few embarrassing errors. (Naïve younger-me glossed los caldeos han atacado su tierra as "droughts have attacked his land", assuming a link between caldeo and caldear, when in fact it is the word for "Chaldean". Well, I told you it was embarrassing.) And I've had more luck in finding some of Borges's more obscure citations, especially in Quevedo (who, it should be observed, is stylistically superior to Góngora). After some peer review and once I've nailed down some last few mysterious references, the translation should be as done as I'll ever get it. I am resolved that I shall never be entirely happy with it, but it is satisfying enough to decipher some of Borges's dizzying erudition. (In a relatively brief lecture on the Book of Job he offhandedly mentions Ezequiel Martínez Estrada, the Authorised Version, Fray Luis de León, Quevedo (many times), Ernest Renan, James Anthony Froude, Milton, Vergil, Leibniz, Max Brod, Huxley, Coleridge, Jung, Aristotle, and Plato. No doubt there are other citations, as I am surely missing some of them.) I'll let you know, dear reader, when I am finally finished.

I need little projects such as this. I have found life outside of a college campus to be rewarding in some ways, but not especially intellectually stimulating. (Perhaps, pace Republicans, there's nothing wrong with a college education.)

John Donne, for Ash Wednesday:

At the round earth's imagined corners blow
Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise
From death, you numberless infinities
Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go;
All whom the flood did, and fire shall o'erthrow,
All whom war, dea[r]th, age, agues, tyrannies,
Despair, law, chance hath slain, and you, whose eyes
Shall behold God, and never taste death's woe.
But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space;
For, if above all these my sins abound,
'Tis late to ask abundance of Thy grace,
When we are there. Here on this lowly ground,
Teach me how to repent, for that's as good
As if Thou hadst seal'd my pardon with Thy blood.

— John Donne, Holy Sonnets, VII. (Westmoreland numbering)

Organ Preludes and Postludes through Lent

22 February (Ash Wednesday):
Jan Pieterszoon Sweelinck: Erbarm dich mein, o Herre Gott
Samuel Scheidt: Modus ludendi pleno organo pedaliter, SSWV 157
26 February (Lent I, Invocavit):
Louis Vierne: Berceuse (sur les paroles classiques), Op. 31, No. 19
César Franck: Poco allegro, in C minor (from L'Organiste)
4 March (Lent II, Reminiscere):
Johann Adam Reincken: An Wasserflüssen Babylon
Heinrich Scheidemann: Praeambulum in D minor, WV 32
11 March (Lent III, Oculi):
J.S. Bach: O Mensch, bewein dein Sünde groß, BWV 622
J.S. Bach (arr. Edwin Arthur Kraft): Komm, süßer Tod, BWV 478
18 March (Lent IV, Laetare):
Tiburtio Massaino (tablature by Bernhard Schmid): Laetare Jerusalem
Friedrich Wilhelm Zachau: Mit Fried und Freud ich fahr dahin, LV 9
25 March (Lent V, Judica; Annunciation):
Marcel Dupré: How Fair and how Pleasant art Thou, Op. 18, No. 5
Dieterich Buxtehude: Herr Christ, der einig Gottes Sohn, BuxWV 192
1 April (Palm Sunday):
Jeanne Demessieux: Hosanna filio David, Op. 8, No. 6
Jehan Alain: Litanies, JA 119
5 April (Maundy Thursday):
Olivier Messiaen: Le banquet céleste

As a matter of fact, only my Lutherans will be hearing preludes; for the Episcopalians we will be omitting the prelude and instead singing the proper introit for each Sunday from the Liber.

Book as Sacrament

I grow increasingly tired of incorporeal worship. Scripture and music are good, and all — of course they are; would I be a church musician if I didn't think church music was important? — but I don't get much out of a church service without sacrament. I almost added "and without ritual", there, but of course a sacrament is by its nature an act of ritual. The really sustaining thing about sacrament is the thrill of the tangible — and I use the word here according to its root: tangere, "to touch". It is remarkable that we should be made aware of God's mercies by means of things as simple as water, bread and wine. It helps remind us that we cannot dwell entirely within abstractions; that is to say, it goes some way towards rescuïng us from gnosticism.

It is for similar reasons that I cannot abide e-books (among other e- things; I grudgingly use e-mail, but that completes the list of e-nouns and e-verbs I employ. No doubt some wag will point out the irony that I am writing this on a web-log. My only response is to sigh). The experience of reading a book is a tangible pleasure. Bibliophiles will tell you how pleasant is the crispness of new pages, the smell of the ink, the heft of a weighty tome in one's hands. These things I could take or leave, but they are certainly preferable to the antiseptic experience of staring at a screen.

More important is the notion of book ownership, something that is only possible so long as books remain physical items and not a series of zeroes and ones in a hard drive. (Indeed, the notion of ownership is an ephemeral one on this series of tubes: when we are dead, who shall inherit the mp3 files that replaced our records? The Word documents that replaced our manuscripts? Those jpegs that have replaced our family albums?) I am a habitué of used-book shops, so perhaps I am more aware than some that a book ought to outlast its reader. Moreover, it is an gratifying experience to be lent a book, or, better (though indeed, worse), to inherit one. The book becomes more than an object: it is the signifier of a bond between us and those who have shared with us this collection of characters, locations, ideas. If the secondhand book has annotations in someone else's handwriting, so much the better. The tangible object that points us to a greater reality: that is what we are truly losing if we switch to e-readers.