Amazing Grace Part II: How did a hymn written by a former slave trader become an icon of the civil rights movement?

 

JohnNewtonColour.jpg
Contemporary portrait of Newton; image source Wikipedia.

We left John Newton on the way back to England after having been rescued from slavery to the African Princess Peye. Be sure to go back and read Part I if you haven’t done so already to find out how he got himself into this pickle to begin with. The ship ran into a severe storm off the coast of Ireland and almost sank. At this point of crisis Newton turned to God, praying for mercy. The storm died down and the ship was able to reach port. For the rest of his life Newton marked the anniversary of this event: March 10, 1748. However, he didn’t give up participation in the slave trade, signing on with a slave ship after he got back to England and making several more voyages. He did not leave active participation in this horrible business until he suffered a stroke in 1754, when he stopped going to sea but continued to invest in others’ efforts. It isn’t clear to me exactly when he gave up even that support of slavery. Here’s a good summary from Wikipedia, however:

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Is It Better to Take the High Road or the Low Road?

View of loch lomond
View of Loch Lomond; Image accessed via Wikimedia Commons

They’re both sad, but for one road the person is dead and for the other the person is grieved/bereaved. Which is which depends on the interpretation of the song you prefer.

Let me start by warning you that the history behind this innocuous-sounding song is right in my wheelhouse, or up my alley, or whatever expression you want to use. I’ll try to rein myself in, but it’s going to be hard. So hang in there with me to find out more than you thought possible about a song you’ve probably heard many times but never questioned. Let me just quote the chorus before we get started:

O you take the high road, and I’ll take the low road,
And I’ll be in Scotland afore ye,
But me and me true love will never meet again,
On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.

 The person who takes the low road is going to get to Scotland first but won’t ever see his or her true love again. So who’s speaking, and what’s going on?

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So, What’s Up with the Celts, Anyway?

 

Image by Dianne from Pixabay

Celtic crosses, Celtic love knot jewelry, Celtic dancing, Celtic music . . . it’s an industry. Since my own choir, the Cherry Creek Chorale, does a Celtic-themed concert every other year, I wanted to find out more about the history of this term. Turns out that, as is usual when you try to reconstruct the past, especially the ancient past, it ain’t all that easy to nail things down. We’re used to thinking in terms of clear-cut events and eras when we look at history, but those divisions are often more for the sake of convenience than reflections of actual reality.

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A Christmas Lagniappe

Hello Friends! Here’s a little something to listen to as you wrap up your Christmas preparations, or whatever holiday you may celebrate–or perhaps you can put in your earbuds and put your feet up while you drink a nice hot toddy–or a nice wassail cup:

Wassail, Wassailing, and the 16th Century Songs to Sing

I was extremely honored to be invited onto the podcast That Shakespeare Life to talk about the traditions associated with wassailing with the host Cassidy Cash. She tracked me down because of this post that I had written several years ago:

The Wild and Wacky World of Wassailing

I’ll be back in January with posts about Celtic music. See you then!

What does macaroni have to do with the carol “In Dulci Jubilo”?

Image by Dorothée QUENNESSON from Pixabay–note the correct use of

Picture this: You eat a plate of macaroni and cheese, followed by a macaron cookie, all the while listening to music with a macaronic text and wearing the costume of a macaroni. Have I finally gone completely over the edge, and what on earth does all this have to do with the Christmas carol “In Dulci Jubilo”?

Well, I’ll tell you. No, I haven’t lost it, because all of these macaronical words are related and come, at least indirectly, from the Sicilian word maccarruni, which refers to foods made from some type of paste, either flour based or almond based. (The word “pasta” in and of itself simply means “paste.”) There’s a long, long trail a-windin’ here, with Arabic influences in Sicily resulting in the melding of many North African foods with Italian ones. Here’s a summary from an excellent article in Slate:

The pasta and the almond-pastry traditions merged in Sicily, resulting in foods with characteristics of both. Early pastas were often sweet, and could be fried or baked as well as boiled. Many recipes from this period exist in both a savory cheese version and a sweet almond-paste version that was suitable for Lent, when neither meat nor cheese could be eaten. . . . Out of this culinary morass arises, circa 1279, the word maccarruni, the Sicilian ancestor of our modern words macaroni, macaroon, and macaroni.1

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The Birds that Sing in Christmas Carols

Image by nathalieburblis from Pixabay

I would challenge you to find any animals in the actual nativity story of the Gospels with the exception of the “flocks” over which the shepherds are watching in the fields. We usually assume that these were flocks of sheep, but there could have been goats too. Other than that, I regret to inform you that those cleaned-up, prettified little animals that show up in manger scenes almost certainly weren’t there—with the exception, perhaps, of some ewes and newborn lambs. So when the little drummer boy says that “the ox and lamb kept time” while he played his drum for the Christ child, we can be quite sure that this is a later interpolation into the story, at least as far as the oxen are concerned.

Regardless of any scriptural basis for animals in attendance, there are surprisingly many carols that include animals, and not just as window dressing. Below is a selection of carols that include birds. (My own choir, the Cherry Creek Chorale, is singing a couple of them for our December 2024 concert. Follow the link if you live in the Denver area to get your tickets!)

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Why isn’t the miracle of the oil mentioned in the Hanukkah prayer “Al Hanissim”?

From the website MyJewishLearning. The hard-to-read text at the bottom of the image says “Illustration in an 1880 newspaper of a Hanukkah celebration at the Young Men’s Hebrew Association at the Academy of Music in New York City. (U.S. Library of Congress)” Isn’t that, like, totally cool?

Whew. I had no idea that the story of Hanukkah was so complicated. My previous posts about this Jewish holiday have for the most part focused on the eight days that the menorah in the Temple at Jerusalem burned from a flask of oil that should have lasted only one day, with the ensuing symbolism of lights and candles, feasting and celebration. (Latkes, anyone?) But the actual Hebrew prayers, including “Al Hanissim1 recited as part of the celebrations, say nothing about the miracle of the long-lasting oil. Why is that, and when did the oil miracle become part of the story? I will say up front that there are no completely definitive answers to be found here. It’s been fascinating, though, to dig through quite a few sources and see how the subject is handled. Here’s an overview about the holiday as a whole and also what I’ve found out about this particular prayer.2

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What Shall We Give? A Christmas Question

Image accessed via Pixabay

There’s a whole category of Christmas songs/carols that concern the bringing of gifts to the Christ child in Bethlehem. My own choir, the Cherry Creek Chorale, is singing a less-familiar one, “Son of Maria,” but more accurately “Son of the Mother” (“El Noi de la Mare“), which is also sometimes titled “Carol of the Gifts.” It is labeled as a traditional piece from Catalonia, a region of Spain that has seen its fair share of conflict over its periodic attempts to become an independent nation. I was surprised to see the number of carols (14) listed on Wikipedia as having come from this region; we are also singing the “Carol of the Birds,” which I plan to write about later on this blog. Because this is a traditional folk song, there is no “original” version. Instead, the song would have been passed down orally for generations and then finally written down, but these written lyrics vary immensely. Here’s a simple version used in a medley by the great Karl Jenkins; since it’s not being used as a stand-alone piece it needed to be fairly short. I’ll share some additional wording later in this post.

Son of Maria, Son of Maria.
What shall we give to the Son of Maria?
What can we give him that he will enjoy?
Bunches of grapes we will give to the infant,
baskets of figs for the beautiful boy.

Son of Maria.
What can we give to the Son of Maria?
What can we give to the beautiful boy?
Olives and walnuts and raisins and honey,
cherries and figs and some dates to enjoy.

Son of Maria.
Tampatam tam if the figs will not ripen,
what shall we do if the figs are still green?
Tampatam tam when our sins are forgiven,
Lovely ripe figs will at Easter be seen.
Tampatam tam when our sins are forgiven,
lovely ripe figs will at Easter be seen.

The sheet music says “English words by Carol Barratt after a translation from the Spanish”
Barratt is Karl Jenkins’ wife and a music educator in her own right.

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A Compact Masterpiece–Mozart’s Coronation Mass

Interior of Salzburg Cathedral, where the first performance of the Coronation Mass probably took place. Image source: Image by 🌼Christel🌼 from Pixabay

Unemployment is a terrible thing—except when it leads to the composition of a masterpiece. In Mozart’s case he was only 23 years old when he wrote his Coronation Mass in 1779, having reluctantly taken up once again the position of court organist and sacred music composer in Salzburg after having failed to find anything more attractive over 16 months of traveling around Europe. He heartily disliked his birthplace Salzburg, considering it to be a backwater, and he also disliked his employer, Archbishop Hieronymous Colloredo. Mozart’s position lasted only two years, at which time the Archbishop decided he’d had enough of his court composer’s frequent absences and disrespectful behavior. Mozart describes in a letter being “kicked in the backside” by the Archbishop’s steward, an act which ended his career in Salzburg. He’d go on to (some) fame and (less) fortune in Vienna, where he would live for only ten more years.

During his time at the Archbishop’s court he wrote only two masses, one of which is rarely performed and the other is the one labeled “coronation” for reasons that remain somewhat murky. Mozart had written about a dozen masses before returning to his native city, but this would be the first one published, and it was probably first performed on Easter Sunday, April 4, in the Salzburg cathedral. He dated the mass’s completion as March 23, so the choir, soloists and orchestra had less than two weeks to prepare. Yikes! (But they were, after all, paid professionals.)

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The Text of the “Te Deum”

Imagine yourself to have traveled back in time to around 400 A.D. You’re in the Italian city of Milan, standing in the Basilica of Saint Lawrence, at this point a Roman Catholic church but showing definite signs of its early origins in the Roman Empire. Suddenly you hear a choir of monks start to sing a hymn (I almost wrote “an ancient hymn,” but of course to them it’s brand new) starting with the words “Te Deum.” ‘Hmmm,’ you might think. ‘I’ve sung those words myself in October 2024 with the Cherry Creek Chorale, my own wonderful choir. Cool!’  This (now) ancient hymn is usually dated to around 390 and seen as possibly written by either Saint Ambrose or Saint Augustine. Or perhaps someone else, for all we know. Whoever wrote it, however, surely knew what he (or she!) was doing. Some real heavy hitters over the centuries have taken a crack at it, with one of the most famous being Franz Joseph Haydn in around 1800.

Haydn was a tremendously prolific and popular composer. His output is astonishing: this evening I scrolled through the list of his compositions on Wikipedia, and honestly–I think it probably took me longer to do that than it took Haydn to write the piece. He produced a huge range of compositions, from symphonies to oratorios to string quartets to masses to operas to folk song arrangements to everything else you can possibly imagine. (If there had been MOOG synthesizers around back then, be assured that he’d have written a concerto or two using that instrument.) The composer spent 30 years under the patronage of the Hungarian Prince Esterhazy, who was extremely jealous of Haydn’s time. The patronage was therefore both a blessing and a curse: Haydn had an assured income, but he was also limited in his ability to travel and to take on other commissions. The prince was finally persuaded, however, to allow Haydn to fulfill the request from the Austrian Empress Maria Theresa to write her a setting of the “Te Deum.”

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