I will start out this post by quoting myself (how’s that for arrogance?) from what I wrote about the William Agee poem “This Shining Night” from a previous Christmas concert: “Poetry isn’t supposed to be an art form that can be reduced to simple explanations; otherwise, why write the poem at all? Just explain what you’re trying to say in a clear, concise paragraph and forget the versifying.” You can enjoy the imagery and wit in these four short lyrics without having any explanation or context. But if you’re like me, you’ll appreciate the words much more if you have some sort of context for them. I was very fortunate to find an article from The Guardian newspaper in its “poem of the week” column that makes various meanings clear without trying to take out all the mystery. I’d highly recommend reading it. (You can also read the poems in their entirety there. They are of course copyrighted, so I am including only short extracts below with the kind permission of the author, Gwyneth Lewis, and her publisher, Bloodaxe Books. Wouldn’t you just love to know how they came up with the name of that publisher? I don’t see any explanation on their website.)
Why Is Mary Treated So Badly in “Téir Abhaile Riú”? Or . . . Is She?
The translation of the title means “Go away home” or “home you’ll go.” A girl named Mary is told in no uncertain terms that she’d better “go away home and stay there because your (marriage) contract Is made.” It doesn’t matter whether or not she’s the one who made the contract; it’s done, and that’s it. Or, as the notes on one version of the sheet music say, “The girl, Mary, having been forced into an arranged marriage with a piper, is advised to go home and accept it.” Seems a little harsh, doesn’t it? And not the mood that would fit the rousing music. That meaning would mesh better with some kind of melancholy ballad, with perhaps the unhappy girl drowning herself at the end.
But I think this interpretation is mistaken. The website SongsInIrish.com says, “This traditional song teases the girl ‘Máire’ about her possible relationship with the piper at the dance. The singer and Máire argue back and forth about whether her ‘match is made.’”
What Do Tattoos and Tongue-Wagging Have to Do . . .
. . . with the adoption of the Welsh national anthem?Well, you’re going to have to use your imagination on this one. Take a look at the picture. Do you see any skin decorations or anyone sticking out his tongue? Thought not. (Actually, if you look very closely, you can see that the blond guy in the back, just to the left of the center, does indeed have his tongue out. That’s it as far as I can tell, though.) And yet this is purported to be the New Zealand All-Blacks rugby team doing a Maori war dance and song called the tongue-wagging “haka” before their 1905 match against the Wales national team. (I’m going to “find explanations in charity” and assume this picture was snapped before the guys had really gotten going. Surely they did something a little more impressive than this! Since they’re all Caucasian, they wouldn’t have had the traditional Maori tattoos, so that is indeed a missing authentic detail.)
Several of Your Most Pressing Questions Answered about Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
First of all, the burning question:
Did the original Rudolph live at the North Pole?
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.)
Why is the joyful “Carol of the Bells,” written in a minor key? Aren’t minor keys supposed to sound sad?
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.
Eric Whitacre’s Sweet Seal Lullaby
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.)
The Music of the Angels On Christmas Eve 1913
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.
A Devilish Serenade
Note to readers: This post isn’t actually about choral music but about an operatic aria. If you like Gounod’s Faust, though, I think you’ll enjoy reading the following:
The Faust of the title appears in many legends about this whole idea that it’s possible to make a bargain with the Prince of Darkness to have unlimited happiness on earth, but there always comes a day when the price has to be paid. In most of the legends the so-called happiness that’s supposed to come begins to sour long before the end comes; this souring has certainly happened by the time of the aria. Faust has gained youth, wealth, and the love of Marguerite, but now he stands fearfully outside her house where she lives as an outcast from the village after bearing his child. He is with Mephistopheles, the demon who has carried out the contract negotiations and become his companion in worldly and depraved pleasures. (The word “mephistopheles” itself is most likely from the Hebrew words “mephitz” meaning “destroyer” and “tophel,” meaning “liar.”) It’s night, but there is a light in Marguerite’s window. The following dialogue comes immediately before Mephistophele’s aria:
A Litany of Sad Lives–but with a Prayer for Hope and Peace
I first had the opportunity to sing Franz Schubert’s lovely “Litanei auf das Fest Aller Seelen” (Litany for the Feast of All Souls) in a concert with a Hallowe’en theme. Weird, huh? Well, actually not. I’m going to take a little time here to explain this Roman Catholic holiday, an occasion that’s not at all well known today. There are actually three holidays in a row right at the beginning of winter: Halloween, or “All Hallows’ Eve,” “All Hallows’ (or “All Saints'”) Day,” Nov. 1, and then “All Souls’ Day,” Nov. 2. These three days together form “Hallowmas Season.” I’d encourage you to follow the link above to my other article if you want more information. Basically, though, what it boils down to is that the Roman Catholic church, and to some extent other denominations, took advantage of existing traditions in pagan cultures and put a Christianized spin on them. As winter approached it was natural to think of the death of loved ones as the year itself was dying. The saints (those who, according to RC doctrine, were especially holy) got their day first on Nov. 1, and then everyone else (“all souls”) came in on Nov. 2.
Monsters at the Concert
Back in October 2015 my choir gave a concert titled “BOO!” We had so much fun with doing a Halloween-themed program. Here are three short essays about songs we sang that include some kind of monster theme.