These two items show up all over the place in Christmas music. This verse from the modern carol “In the Silence” by Craig Courtney with words incorporating an Appalachian folk song is particularly pointed, as it includes the symbolism quite plainly:
Have you ever in the silence wondered at the thought
Of how it came to pass the Wise Men chose the gifts they brought?
Frankincense for holy ones, and gold for kings, but myrrh? Why a gift for tombs they brought on this, the Savior’s birth?
The choir to which I belong performed this piece only two years after its 2015 premier. The composer, Philip Biedenbender, was a senior at St. Olaf College at the time and a member of the famous choir attached to the school. He’s gone on to build a career, with many other works to his credit. You can visit his website here. Such a great joy to present works by young, up-and-coming artists!
One of the joys of writing the material on this site is that I have an excuse to dive into the meanings of Christmas songs that I’ve been hearing all my life and always vaguely wondered about. “The Little Drummer Boy” certainly falls into that category. I sort of assumed that it fell into the genre of stories about gifts brought to the Christ child, and indeed it does, but there’s a surprising amount to say about it beyond that general idea. Let’s start with its origin. (As I’m writing this post I’m listening to the Pentatonix version; you can access the video below.) The song was written in 1941 by a woman named Katherine K. Davis, an American composer and music teacher. Out of her 600+ compositions she is known today only for this one piece. When first published, the heading included the words “Czech Carol freely transcribed by K.K.D.” However, the original carol has never been found, although there is apparently a Czech traditional lullaby that is sometimes listed as the source even though it doesn’t really resemble the carol. Who knows? And I don’t read Czech, so even if I could find it I wouldn’t be able to tell you what it means!
“The Visitation” by Philippe de Champaigne, public domain
This is another one of those posts where I may get completely carried away. I’ll try to rein myself in. I want to start out with some info about the composer of the setting I have sung, David N. Childs. He sounds like an extremely busy composer with lots of irons in the fire. I would encourage you to take a look at his professional website, River Avon Productions, just to get a taste of what he’s up to. Interesting little note: he’s married to a laryngologist. Isn’t that like, so cool? Somebody in one of his choirs is having vocal problems? No prob! He can call in his wife to diagnose the case.
When the choir to which I belong performed this piece in our Christmas 2017 concert, we had the opportunity as we have so many times before to publicize the work of a living composer. It’s so great to be able to do this! You don’t just look the artist up on Wikipedia; you get to see what he/she is up to right now. I’m a little tickled to see that Childs is more than happy to fulfill commissions for “video gaming.”
Image from the Library of Congress, Storer, Florence Edith, artist created circa 1912
The original title of this poem is “Christmas Eve,” and it was published in a book of poems and short stories by Eugene Field called Christmas Tales and Christmas Verse. So those facts would seem to end the matter. It’s a lullaby being sung by a mother to her child at Christmas, with stars and angels in the mix. It must be Mary singing to the baby Jesus, right? Well, I don’t think so.
Why not? First of all, look at the illustration that goes with the poem. It’s of an early 1900’s mother and child—and note the “child” part, as it’s not a baby. Secondly, consider the title: “Christmas Eve,” not “Christmas Night.” Nit-picky to the max, I know, but still! It’s taking place the night before Christmas. I will also take a little credit myself here and say that I found the words of the song to be puzzling the first time I heard it, even before I knew the original title, because there seemed to be a muddle about who’s being addressed. The child who is being sung to sleep is told to “hear the Master calling” and reminded that “the Shepherd calls his little lambs.” It seems clear that the Master and Shepherd titles refer to someone other than the child, right? That’s the way I read it, anyway.
Yes. A full performance of the entire special service in the Russian Orthodox Church can indeed last pretty much all night, but be aware that the time is filled with much more than music–litanies (petitions and responses), Scripture readings, prayers, etc. A composer wouldn’t have to come up with hours and hours of music. Also, the service is often/usually cut, with the full version being performed very rarely.
I ran across a fascinating article describing a 1911 performance that reproduced the long form. It lasted from 6:00 PM to 1:50 AM the following morning, so almost eight hours. If certain parts of the service had been performed in an even earlier form, it would have lasted three or four more hours. Here’s a little snippet from the article:
I always thought that, didn’t you? Rudolph was hanging around Santa’s workshop, bullied and left out, until the night when he was in the right place at the right time. Those other reindeer who wouldn’t play with him were the well-known Germanic-sounding troupe including Donder and Blitzen. Weren’t they? Well, no. Not in the story as initially written. For that, we have to go back to 1939, as the Great Depression waned, and visit the Chicago branch of Montgomery Ward, a member of that great department store chain whose catalogs provided so much reading material to lonely housewives out on the lone prair-ee. (The chain, often fondly called “Monkey Ward,” is alas no more, but I will proudly point out that my little portable sewing machine was bought at the Denver store more years ago than I care to think about. It’s still going strong, I’m happy to say.)
Now bear with me here. I’m not a music theorist, so you musicians reading this may wince a little in places. This post will be very much of a layperson’s view of the whole major/minor issue and its relationship to the mood of a piece. I’m probably spelling out more than I need to in places; no intention is meant to insult anyone’s musical intelligence!
Where to begin? I guess with the question of what makes a key minor. Hoo boy. That question opens up a real kettle of fish of a different color. In modern tuning there are 7 major keys using sharps and 7 using flats (with some overlap, but I’m not going to get into that). There is also one key, C major, which has no flats or sharps. If you want to find the minor key that has the same key signature, that is, the same number of flats or sharps, as the major, then you count down three half steps and that’s the starting point for your relative minor scale. Even if you don’t play an instrument you probably have access to a keyboard of some sort. So start on middle C and play just the white keys up to the next C. There’s your C major scale.
Note to readers: This post originally was originally written in reference to a Christmas concert by my own choir; thus the holiday reference.
Why are we singing a lullaby to a seal? Are seals somehow part of the Christmas story?
Let’s get the connection between seals (the animals) and Christmas out of the way first. There isn’t one. So that’s settled. (There are Christmas seals of another type,, though—remember those? The little stamps with holiday themes that you’d stick on the envelope flap of your Christmas cards? They’re issued by the American Lung Association and have been around since 1907, when the main push was to find a cure for tuberculosis. As I revise this post in the fall of 2020 they’ve shifted focus to COVID-19. You can still order them and also post them digitally to Facebook, etc.)
What is the significance of the year 1913 in “Noël: Christmas Eve, 1913”?
At first I vaguely thought that the year must be a historical reference, possibly to World War I. But of course WWI didn’t start until 1914, so that idea was a non-starter, although Europe, particularly the Balkans, was in the middle of a spate of smaller conflicts in the years immediately preceding the outbreak of the Great War. There is no information about the original poem in any of the biographical information I’ve come across on its author, Robert Bridges. He’s a fascinating character, though, who was England’s poet laureate from 1913-1930 but whose early career was as a doctor. He became a recognized poet only late in life but had always been interested in writing; he originally planned to retire from medicine at age 40 to devote himself to that pursuit. Life intervened, as it usually does, and he was actually forced to retire at age 38 because of lung disease. He lived until 85, though, so he had a good long time to write and produced volumes of poetry, verse dramas, hymns, and literary criticism. His deep Christian faith is reflected in many of his poems.