It is a dark and stormy night

I'm writing this on a night when the weather is most fowl, dark, and Novemberish, with more than a hint of gloom; wet, and cold. Fit for contemplation from a distance.

Fit for tales from the beyond.

Here's one I like to bring out for Halloween--a musical tale. It was written by someone long dead, and unidentified, intended to be played on the organ, that thunderous instrument that inspires terror in so many who dare not approach any building in which it may be housed, awe in those who do. Be prepared for the former reaction.

Reduentes in La (anon.; from the Buxheimer Orgelbuch, 15th, century)

Its connection with Halloween is tenuous; I mostly put it there because the opening note sounds like another, more famous composition also associated with the spooky occasion (and also speciously). And, it is old. Very old.

We often find old things to be frightening.

Whoever wrote this piece is long dead. Their bones may be lying in the ground somewhere, all the flesh long eaten away. What they thought, and how they lived and whom they loved and what they did with their spare time if they had any, and what they thought of the king and how they died, is all a mystery that they carried to their grave.

But such speculation may be overshooting the mark a little. Most of us probably find old things frightening simply because they are unfamiliar.

I spend much of my time these days in the French, Gothic building pictured above. That photograph is a little dramatic: taken from an angle certain to make things intimidating, and of a part of the architecture that frowns more than some parts of the building; nevertheless, I fear it not. But then, it is part of my regular rounds. I don't fear the sounds of the organ, either, though an occasional thrill still runs through me during the performance of some compositions, no matter how often I play them. I should probably try one of them on Halloween with the lights off.

I might have lost something back there, before I became too well acquainted with history, and architecture, and the plots of scary movies that are actually fairly predictable much of the time, and have lost the thrill of the unfamiliar. But I hear the strains from that piece from so long ago and can't help thinking about the Black Death. Is that too pedestrian because it is real? I'm sure it frightened many persons in its day. It could again.

Maybe our mystery composer was among them.

I wonder what that person experienced. Was the church cold? Was the ink runny? Was there an interruption between measure three and four, and 14 and 15, or did the work flow pleasantly on a warm spring afternoon by the churchyard. In solitude or harassed by parishioners demanding things constantly? Were there cares at home? Were they proud of their work? Was it borne of inspiration, perspiration, some of both?

Which is more frightening: that we will never know the answer to any of these questions, or that the vast bulk of humanity really doesn't care in the least. We are all too busy hurrying to our own graves to care about someone we'll never meet who inconsiderately beat us to it.

Sleep well, my friends. It is a dark and stormy night.

Be very afraid....

Tonight is my subtly named "Scary Organ Concert." I plan to give my audience a scary experience. About time I turned the tables, isn't it?

I mean, preparing a recital is often a scary experience for the artist. There is a deadline, there is a lot of music to prepare, there are often scads of details to take care of that have nothing to do with the music...

I don't want to give anything away before the concert tonight, so I'll just obliquely suggest that there will be a few surprises.

Sometimes those details are what make the concert for some folks. I could, after all, just come out and play the organ, bow and leave, and that would already require preparation, but, usually, when I give a concert there are other dimensions. That's probably why we had a pretty full house for an organ concert last year and why I'm anticipating another one. It doesn't mean I compromise the music, though. Tonight's concert is all original organ music--no transcriptions, no theater organ--and some of it is Bach. It will be an occasional challenge to the ears, unless you happen to be a Bach lover or a classical music expert. On the other hand, there will be moments of near-Vaudeville, too, and I'll do plenty of talking. This time-honored mix of high and low art is something I learned from Shakespeare, so you know it's got quite a pedigree.

In any event, I've had a real adventure getting everything ready on time (or trying) so I'll keep this blog short and just let you know that over the next week I'll be telling you all about it as well as posting video and/or audio of the live event as soon as I can get things ready. You'll have to give me a few days, though, since it is also All Saint's Day Sunday (four services) and I have a Halloween party to play Saturday with my band, and a lengthy choir rehearsal Sunday for the following week's concert. I am planning to be a bit tired on Monday morning.

Happy Halloween!

Taking on a cliche

When I mentioned that I was going to play an organ recital last year at this time, people wanted to know if I was going to play the piece. You know, the FAMOUS one. The one that goes....

DADADAAAAAAA!!!!! deedeedeedee DUH! DAAAAAAAAA!!!!

In other words, the entirety of the known organ literature!

It can be tough to be an organist, or at least lonely. I've read that only about one in every two hundred people regularly attend classical music concerts. Of these, I'm betting that only about one in a hundred know or are interested in the pipe organ. That's a pretty small group, limited to mostly other organists.

On the other hand, it leaves quite a bit of virgin territory for those with missionary zeal, like a young John Wesley, who thought it would be a grand idea to leave England and go preach the gospel to the Indians on a continent he didn't know among a people he didn't know to bring them a religion they'd never heard of. Because why bother trying to convert your next door neighbor? That would be boring! He would have made a great organist (aside from not liking instrumental music). As it is, he will probably be rolling over in his grave a week from Friday, when I give my next organ concert.

Last year, having just refurbished the console of our organ at Faith to fix some longstanding issues with the relay system and some very outmoded parts, and having added a few bells and whistles into the bargain, we moved the console out onto the floor (the first time that was possible) and I invited the entire church and a large chunk of the community to come celebrate this exciting instrument in all of its relieved post-operative glory.

It's an organ recital, remember? Wasn't likely to have people knocking each other down to get in like a Black Friday sale at Walmart. We advertised how much fun it was going to be. I did my best to convince people that organ recitals really weren't that scary. And a large chunk of the community actually showed up, practically filling the sanctuary (upwards of 250?). It was the first time I'd seen that many people at an organ recital in this town. Not that I've been to more than a handful, but it's usually 30 to 50 people. And that enthusiastic throng was on their feet at the end, demanding an encore. I hadn't prepared one so it is a good thing I can improvise! Somebody called out a hymn and I gave them an energetic rendition of "I'll Fly Away!"

That concert was right before Halloween and people kept asking if I was going to play scary organ music. Part of me found this annoying. After all, why does the organ always have to be associated with the Phantom of the Opera and haunted houses? People who attend our "traditional" services know that it speaks with many voices. It can be majestic, consoling, humorous, full of vigor and enthusiasm, somber, melancholy--only the strength of our imaginations limit the possibilities.

On the other hand, I thought, the organ does scary pretty darn well. Better than any other instrument, in fact. So if people want scary, well, let them have it. And while I'm at it, I can mention that none of the pieces on the program were actually written for Halloween and what it is about the organ that has always provoked such a thrill and a shudder in its hearers, and what a pagan holiday like Halloween is even still doing in a (post) Christian world. I'm making this concert sound like a symposium, aren't I?

Well, it won't be. Just like last year, it will be a blend of erudition and slapstick; entertainment and thought provocation, and a variety of music from several times and places, with a few tricks up my sleeve. Unlike last year there will not be ensemble pieces but I do have a small cast of helpers. And the lights will be a lot lower. Also the concert is on Friday evening this time, because there is nothing at all scary about Sunday afternoon.

By taking on a cliché, I get to explore it, and to have some fun with it. Besides, there is still that kid in me that enjoyed the thrill of the Toccata and Fugue which I played as a teenager. And what organist doesn't enjoy the sound of the pedal reeds and the manuals on full, the organ blazing away at the finale of the Passacaglia in c minor?

I think we'll all have a scary good time. Stay tuned.