Authorized fire?

I figured if I looked hard enough I could find it. But not yet.

Somewhere in the Old Testament I am pretty sure there is a passage which describes a man who brings an offering to the Lord. And not just any offering, but an animal he has raised himself from birth. The kind of home-made, time-intensive, give of yourself kind of offering you would think God would prefer over the sort of I'll-just-pay-for-this-one-over-here ready made kind that didn't take much time or thought. But it's just the opposite. God rejects the offering because it didn't come from within the temple. Apparently you weren't allowed to bring your own animals into the temple long before you couldn't bring your own food into the stadium.

Am I remembering that right?

When I tried to look up the reference I was beset with a number of contradictory references to offerings. Many of them were indeed concerned with when and where; stern reminders abounded that God would punish persons who failed to make the appropriate offering at the appointed time; one rival Israelite tribe managed to avoid internecine strife (ie., slaughter) by agreeing not to use a competing place of offering so that the one in Jerusalem could remain the only legitimate one.

Then of course there are the prophets who question whether burnt sacrifices are necessary at all; maybe God would much rather we behave ourselves for a change, or show mercy to others rather than wiping them out because they aren't doing things to our liking.

But those are the prophets. The priests, who control the church, also control the sacrifices. And there are rules. Oh there are rules. Aaron's own sons got killed, not because they didn't offer anything to God, but because they did it with unauthorized fire. Whatever that means--probably they did it on their own without consulting the proper chain of command. Throughout the Bible, and throughout the history of the church as well, there is a definite anxiety to make sure that the authorities have control over the rites of the offering. As David Plotz observes in "Good Book," the Bible clearly comes down on the side of the minority control of religion. When the Korahites want to know why everybody can't be priests, why Moses gets to be in charge, they are put in their place (killed).

And for the last 2000 years the Catholic Church has taught that there is "no salvation outside the church." Martin Luther notwithstanding. Especially him! And if you thought that spiritual copyright claim had lapsed with time and a little ecumenical understanding, recall that a few Advents ago, when the church changed the Mass a little (horror!) they made clear that the passage "peace to men of good will" meant you had to be Catholic to be of good will.

And on it goes. Protestants have plenty of strict regulations too, much of the time, and often will find ways to assert that you have to be a member of their particular brand or it doesn't count: you aren't saved. The very word religion means "to bind" and it doesn't really matter if that concept bothered Jesus not a little; we do it in His name anyhow.

I bring all this up because I think it might be the solution to the mystery I posed in the bulletin last week as I played an offertory by Francois Couperin. His "Mass for the Parishes" is one of only two large organ masses he wrote, but he is still regarded as a major composer for the organ. I've been working my way through this little epic. It is patterned like other French organ masses of the period. I suspect that is because, in order for it to be used in the mass at all, it had to follow the stipulations of the church at that time and place.

The organ portion of the mass here has five kyries, nine glorias, nothing at all from the credo, one offertory, a couple of sanctus verses, two from the agnus dei, a benedictus a deo gratias (thanks be to God).

The only piece that seems to get regular play from organists is the offertory. And, strangely, that is the longest piece in the mass. I mentioned that in my notes to the congregation. Since it was stewardship Sunday this seemed like a good time to emphasize the offertory. The pastor joked afterward that we could have passed the plates twice!

But why is the offertory the longest piece in the set? In the mass, it is the credo that is by far the longest; a thorough statement of beliefs that many composers have made much music over (not always the best music) and which often stretches to incredible lengths, particularly if you make an entire piece out of each clause.

And yet, in Couperin's mass, the organ is silent. This is apparently because the organ was not permitted to alternate with the sung portions of the mass here. In other sections of the mass it gave the chanters a break to breathe, to meditate, and the organist could provide contrast and majesty of a more voluminous kind to balance the serenity (or boredom) of unrelieved plainchant.

And then, just as the Gloria is suppressed during Advent, or the Alleluia during Lent, the organ is released from its 'season of penance' and given a chance to speak fully during the offertory. Apparently, this is why Couperin lavished the bulk of his art on this part of the mass. Because he was allowed. It was authorized.

It took me a bit of online searching to find anybody who wanted to take up this question. Most organists just play the piece because it is a great piece and don't wonder about things like this, and I don't know the musicological literature well enough. But I did ask. And, fortunately, my offering last week in church was authorized. I am lucky to have supportive pastors who did not assume I am trying merely to show off by playing a long offertory. Besides, I'm not sure my congregation enjoyed it as much as I did anyhow--which is just as well. Some weeks I would prefer not to have everyone speak well of me (but that's another biblical reference for another time).

I can imagine a lot of religious traditions where what Couperin wrote would not be welcome. A French overture, concluding with a gigue, in a church! Too dancelike, or too grave, or both! And too French! We all seem to have rules--preferences that we often ascribe to the Divine--for what is and is not authorized as an offering. And then we often say the best gift is ourselves, but as we've seen, often that falls afoul of religious regulation as well. Our species has a long history of that--rejecting each other's offerings, often claiming that God has rejected them, too. I wonder what He thinks of Mr. Couperin.

I mentioned that Couperin only wrote two masses, one for the parish churches, and one for the convents. Both of these were published when he was twenty. He doesn't seem to have had much interest in religious music after that, at least for the organ. Do you suppose it was all those rules? Or was religious music just not fashionable enough to sustain Mr. Couperin's interest? I'll have to do some reading. In any case, he was organist for 55 years, and never published another piece of religious music for organ. Hmmm.


Couperin: Mass for the Parishes -- Offertory 

Enjoy!

Permission Granted

listen to this.

It's a passage from Cesar Franck's Organ Choral number 2 in b minor. It's beautiful, solemn, evocative of a slowly unfolding drama, makes me want to learn the rest of it!

But it's Wednesday, the day when I address fellow musicians of all stripes, and the reason I brought it to your attention is actually for a picky technical reason. You can't hear it, but you can see the awful transgression staring you right in the face the moment you open the score. Franck doubles the pedal with the left hand! (I should link to a bruising harmonic outburst here but you can take a hint)

If you are wondering what the fuss is all about I should mention that as an organist with practically no organ lessons, even I heard pretty early on that it was a sin to play the pedal and the bass notes in the left hand in unison. The feet and the hands are supposed to be gloriously independent of each other. Whole books have been written for organists to gain--painfully, in some cases--complete independence of the two appendages. Exercises in which the left hand goes one way and the pedal the other are the stuff of nightmares, and good organ technique (in that order). When you play hymns in church you aren't supposed to cheat by playing the bass part with the pedal and the hands simultaneously.

And then Cesar Franck goes and does it in the middle of one of the pillars of the organ literature, written by a guy many regard as the most important organ composer since Bach. I mean....I guess if he does it...but is it really allowed, even then?

That's the point of tonight's effusion. When are rules rules, and if your teacher told you to do something and you see some paragon of the music world violating said rule, what does it mean?

It's an interesting dynamic. One of the most important things a renowned musician can do to get scared students to relax is to remind them in a casual, friendly way that some rules were made to be broken. To give them permission to do things they didn't know they were allowed to do. It loosens them up and unlocks some of the passion and musicality inside that wouldn't come out because the students were afraid of being wrong. I learned this observing several masterclasses in my days at the conservatory. I remember something  Leon Fleisher said about the use of the "soft" pedal in the piano. On a grand piano, the pedal on the left shifts the hammers over to the right and instead of each hammer striking three strings it only strikes one. Its technical name, "una corda" (one string) comes from this. It therefore makes the sound quieter. But it also changes the sound, like a mute. Many pianists are told not to use the pedal just to make things softer for this reason. Fleisher said. "there are many pianists who think that the use of the una corda pedal is cheating, and I go to them for confession every Sunday."

Well, if he uses it....I mean....

There are successful musicians with unorthodox techniques. People who didn't take lessons. People who aren't doing all sorts of things the "right" way. I once had to field an uncomfortable question from a young lady as to why I was looking at my hands when I was supposed to be looking at the music (actually, it was a lead sheet and I had it memorized and was improvising).

Of course, on the other side of this there are the legions of people who make excuses for their unorthodox laziness as easily as they breathe oxygen. The ones who like to remind their parents that Einstein failed math, too. Or, if you are a musician, that Scriabin flunked music theory. Who needs it then?

That's the other side of the question. Which side are most people likely to be on? Can you trust your own judgement anyway?

One thing I would offer up. When it comes to matters of composition and theory, it helps to understand the prohibitions, not just as a series of Thou Shalt Nots, but to realize what they are there for and why most composers have treated them that way. It also helps to understand the larger issues and when breaking one "rule" reinforces another. Brahms actually collected a series of examples of composers who used the forbidden "parallel fifths" in an effort to understand why great composers of his past would do what they did. That's a long way from using an approach like so-and-so broke this rule so I don't need to bother with it. That's using so-and-so's unorthodoxy as a learning tool.

When it comes to performing, results make a difference. If you are Horowitz and your pinkie finger is tucked in the way teachers say it shouldn't be but you are winning competitions and get concerts, maybe you know what you are doing. If everybody says it is wrong and you aren't getting any positive feedback from anybody based on the way you play, maybe they are right.

Still, at the end of the day, it sometimes helps to throw out a rule or two once in a while if it is tripping you up and experience life without sweating the small stuff. It may be important small stuff, actually, but sometimes a little lack of discipline can be liberating and lead to new discoveries.

But don't tell your teacher I said that!