Today is "Take your blog reader to work" day.
Since one of my jobs is that of church musician, I thought I'd give you some idea of what goes on in the environs of Faith UMC on a Sunday morning, since I'm there for much of it. Come along....
It's about 7:05. I've just arrived. I'm a little cross at myself for being late--I wanted to get here at seven. But I'm also looking forward to the challenge of the day, expectant but ready for a long and energy using session. I may also be groggy. It depends on the morning. When I enter the sanctuary it is empty and quiet. With luck, the stained glass catches the sunlight and there are reflections on the church pews creating a little Aurora Borealis. This is my only chance to practice on my own, so if I've got something I need to go over, or just warm up for, I'd better do it now. That's why I'm here early.
7:20 The ushers wander in; we exchange pleasantries. Now the anthem singer for the first service is here, too. At one time the pastor came for his short rehearsal at this time (we had a brief experiment with the Psalter but that's stopped happening.) The rest of the morning will not be my own, hence the practice earlier. Now it is time to rehearse with the 8 o'clock version of the choir, who is usually one very dedicated soloist who has gotten up early. Sometimes it is a student from the university, often it is someone from the church choir, and often it is the same wonderful soul!
Singing at 8 can't be easy. Sometimes a singer has a touch of a frog--that can be interesting. A while back one of the students liked to sing everything a key or two lower at the 8 o'clock service so I transposed everything. My mind isn't very agile this early, either, but it works. Usually. Once I had a piece of music that I knew in one key written in a different key and the soloist asked me to put it in yet another key. That was a little confusing!
We go over the anthem once, and then I have to hurry across the hall. The band is waiting for me. They are rehearsing for the 9 o'clock service. They start at 7:30, more or less. Doug asks me which of the six or seven pieces are piano heavy so we can do those while I am with them. I won't make the entire rehearsal, which takes place in our Worship and Life Center, one of three worship spaces in this church. It is the most recent (2006). While we rehearse, I'll keep an eye on my phone and at 7:59, whether we are in the middle of a song or not, I'll run back over to the North Sanctuary for the start of the 8 o'clock service. The band keeps going without me. We have two guitars, a bass, drums, keyboards (that's me) and usually about three or four singers. Sometimes the song begins with just the piano, though, so we need to get to that one now, and if it is the first thing in the service I'd better not miss the downbeat. So I am constantly watching the clock.
We go over about four songs, usually only once, but occasionally twice if we get lost at some point. Then we stop and talk about it ("I thought we were supposed to repeat the second chorus." "Is this the one with six beats to the bridge?" "I'm not getting my harmony part, sorry." etc.) But we have to be quick. We also rehearsed Thursday, probably, and only for the week to come. Still, putting six or seven songs together on that little rehearsal means we either have to know what we are doing or figure it out fast. Our leader calls us a "musical MASH unit"--stitch a song up, and hope it makes it through the service! Our members are talented. Two of them had gigs with the early REO Speedwagon, a nationally (internationally?) known group in the US which originated in Champaign. Then there's me, the classically trained pianist. But I can fake it pretty well. One member of the 9 o'clock service thinks I sound like Bruce Horsnby. It's not by design; I've barely heard any of his stuff!
7:59. I literally run across the stage, out the door, across the Gathering Area, and to my post at the organ to start the 8 o'clock service. Out pastor is still talking about the Illini. But in mere moments it will be handshake time and the first service will begin.
Next week: part two
Friday, January 16, 2015
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
Off balance
Today's selection is a little Minuet.
This isn't one of the most earth-shattering pieces in the piano literature, exactly. In fact, there are hundreds, nay thousands, of these little movements in the piano corpus. The name is taken from a dance that the rich folks at court liked to dance back in the 18th century. It was, you might say, quite a fad--not that the powers that were necessarily believed in fads. They liked to think of things being eternal, like their own power. In terms of geopolitical alliances and the organization of time and space, you might say they liked to think big. But when it came to the Minuet, they proceeded in baby steps.
That's actually where the word gets its punch. You'll note it is similar to the word "minute" as in small (and if you accidentally stressed the other syllable, as in unit of time, that's pretty small, too--or was until seconds and fractions thereof came along more recently). The minuet is a dance comprising small steps. Only peasants use large ones. Physical exertion is SOOO not cool.
The reason I'm sharing this one with you today, though, is not because it is typical of the times, but because it isn't. There is something odd about this one. Oh, sure, it's got a nice, aristocratic air about it, but something doesn't quite fit. Listen to this less-than-everything-is-going-well phrase.
[listen]
This isn't exactly the sort of phrase you would expect in a minuet; it is not something the nobles would want to hear. It is a downer. And, in fact, in terms of musical coherence, it doesn't need to be there at all, since the phrase before it leads perfectly into the phrase after it, making this strange moment seem harmonically unnecessary. I'm going to play the minuet portion (part one) of this piece for you without that little phrase; notice how you wouldn't miss it.
[listen]
But that isn't the way Joe Haydn wrote it. Right as we are about to make a triumphant return to the opening phrase, after the little outbound journey that is the common property of nearly every sonata movement, and the preparation for the return, he sticks in that little phrase you heard first. It not only delays the return by a few measures, it seems a little out of place. For one thing, it is the only place in the entire sonata (including movements one and three) where Haydn uses the minor mode.
Haydn: Sonata Hob. 9 in F: II. Minuet
Oddly, in terms of architecture, the additional phrase seems to restore the balance required by the long outer sections. But psychologically, it takes us where we don't expect to go, and whispers to us brooding things, but only for an instant before the party returns in full force and gaiety returns. Does it now seem forced? The gaiety, I mean.
Maybe I'm making too much of this. Maybe I'm trying to make Haydn sound like Shotakovich.
But I wonder. What made Haydn insert that strange little phrase, and is it going to keep me up at night?
This isn't one of the most earth-shattering pieces in the piano literature, exactly. In fact, there are hundreds, nay thousands, of these little movements in the piano corpus. The name is taken from a dance that the rich folks at court liked to dance back in the 18th century. It was, you might say, quite a fad--not that the powers that were necessarily believed in fads. They liked to think of things being eternal, like their own power. In terms of geopolitical alliances and the organization of time and space, you might say they liked to think big. But when it came to the Minuet, they proceeded in baby steps.
That's actually where the word gets its punch. You'll note it is similar to the word "minute" as in small (and if you accidentally stressed the other syllable, as in unit of time, that's pretty small, too--or was until seconds and fractions thereof came along more recently). The minuet is a dance comprising small steps. Only peasants use large ones. Physical exertion is SOOO not cool.
The reason I'm sharing this one with you today, though, is not because it is typical of the times, but because it isn't. There is something odd about this one. Oh, sure, it's got a nice, aristocratic air about it, but something doesn't quite fit. Listen to this less-than-everything-is-going-well phrase.
[listen]
This isn't exactly the sort of phrase you would expect in a minuet; it is not something the nobles would want to hear. It is a downer. And, in fact, in terms of musical coherence, it doesn't need to be there at all, since the phrase before it leads perfectly into the phrase after it, making this strange moment seem harmonically unnecessary. I'm going to play the minuet portion (part one) of this piece for you without that little phrase; notice how you wouldn't miss it.
[listen]
But that isn't the way Joe Haydn wrote it. Right as we are about to make a triumphant return to the opening phrase, after the little outbound journey that is the common property of nearly every sonata movement, and the preparation for the return, he sticks in that little phrase you heard first. It not only delays the return by a few measures, it seems a little out of place. For one thing, it is the only place in the entire sonata (including movements one and three) where Haydn uses the minor mode.
Haydn: Sonata Hob. 9 in F: II. Minuet
Oddly, in terms of architecture, the additional phrase seems to restore the balance required by the long outer sections. But psychologically, it takes us where we don't expect to go, and whispers to us brooding things, but only for an instant before the party returns in full force and gaiety returns. Does it now seem forced? The gaiety, I mean.
Maybe I'm making too much of this. Maybe I'm trying to make Haydn sound like Shotakovich.
But I wonder. What made Haydn insert that strange little phrase, and is it going to keep me up at night?
Monday, January 12, 2015
Salieri and I
A couple of weeks ago, Salieri and I had something in common. We both wanted to bump off Mozart.
That's because I had managed, mainly by putting links on Facebook (via Twitter), to get over 100 people (each) to listen to about 8 of my Christmas postings--mainly piano improvisations on carols, and a few organ pieces of various mintings, and a little written piano music by my friend Marteau. I was hoping by the end of December to be able to look at my web stats and see all of the top ten as holiday selections. But that darned Mozart kept spoiling it. A few of you (very few, but's it's a very large file, so it packs a wallop) took it into your heads to listen to a set of variations on the tune popularly known as "Twinkle, twinkle" transcribed for organ (by myself) and it wouldn't leave the top ten. Even after Satie and Brahms and a few others had packed their bags and been replaced by Christmas fare, after nearly the entire list was clean of anything that was not Christmas, Herr Mozart's piece-out-of-season kept popping up. I continued putting up carols and other holiday fare, hoping it would go away. But it wouldn't leave. Then Beethoven got involved and I knew it was over.
I should mention at this point that web stats are pretty harmless. A few people I've mentioned web stats to in casual conversation get pretty freaked out about privacy and I should stress that I can't see you in your underwear. All I can tell about my listeners and lookers is how many pages they accessed, or files, or how much memory was taken up, and what the IP address of my most avid "fans" are. In most cases this is just a string of numbers that don't tell me anything. In a few cases, the cable company or the internet provider includes the names of the locality in the address so I know what city that anonymous user is from. "Oh, that's nice" I'll think. "A local." I can tell if somebody from Champaign, for example, listened to about a gigabyte worth of music (no telling what) yesterday. That's about it. And I can tell which pieces of music made the top ten in terms of number of requests, and how much memory was taken (i.e., whether most listeners listened to the whole thing or just a bit of it) but not who did the listening.
Are we good? ok.
As it happens, I count it as one of the successes of the season that so many people listened to so many of my pieces. I can't know if anyone enjoyed them, but at least I can tell they were listening. Thanks.
That's because I had managed, mainly by putting links on Facebook (via Twitter), to get over 100 people (each) to listen to about 8 of my Christmas postings--mainly piano improvisations on carols, and a few organ pieces of various mintings, and a little written piano music by my friend Marteau. I was hoping by the end of December to be able to look at my web stats and see all of the top ten as holiday selections. But that darned Mozart kept spoiling it. A few of you (very few, but's it's a very large file, so it packs a wallop) took it into your heads to listen to a set of variations on the tune popularly known as "Twinkle, twinkle" transcribed for organ (by myself) and it wouldn't leave the top ten. Even after Satie and Brahms and a few others had packed their bags and been replaced by Christmas fare, after nearly the entire list was clean of anything that was not Christmas, Herr Mozart's piece-out-of-season kept popping up. I continued putting up carols and other holiday fare, hoping it would go away. But it wouldn't leave. Then Beethoven got involved and I knew it was over.
I should mention at this point that web stats are pretty harmless. A few people I've mentioned web stats to in casual conversation get pretty freaked out about privacy and I should stress that I can't see you in your underwear. All I can tell about my listeners and lookers is how many pages they accessed, or files, or how much memory was taken up, and what the IP address of my most avid "fans" are. In most cases this is just a string of numbers that don't tell me anything. In a few cases, the cable company or the internet provider includes the names of the locality in the address so I know what city that anonymous user is from. "Oh, that's nice" I'll think. "A local." I can tell if somebody from Champaign, for example, listened to about a gigabyte worth of music (no telling what) yesterday. That's about it. And I can tell which pieces of music made the top ten in terms of number of requests, and how much memory was taken (i.e., whether most listeners listened to the whole thing or just a bit of it) but not who did the listening.
Are we good? ok.
As it happens, I count it as one of the successes of the season that so many people listened to so many of my pieces. I can't know if anyone enjoyed them, but at least I can tell they were listening. Thanks.
Friday, January 9, 2015
Now that I've called you all here...
There's an old Peanuts cartoon in which Linus does a very peculiar thing. In the first panel you can see him making a snowball. Then that snowball turns into a snowman. But he makes another. And another. Pretty soon you can see he's got quite a collection of snowmen, all of them in a grid, facing the same direction. In the last panel, he's built himself a podium, and, standing at it, he addresses the snowpeople by saying "I suppose you're wondering why I called you all here today...."
Linus addressing a phalanx of inanimate snowpersons is not all that unlike posting things on the internet. You have no idea much of the time whom you are addressing, and most of the time they don't answer. Occasionally you'll get a comment or an email from someone, and then it is almost like having a regular conversation. But the real fun comes from checking your webstats and discovering the searches people did to find you. What questions did they want answers to, and were they likely to find them? The quotes below are actual search strings that people typed into their web browsers which brought them to pianonoise.
I've already written about this phenomenon here and here. But for the latest installment of mailbag, hang on to your seats, because here it is. Remember, these are letters people didn't actually write, so if I don't actually answer some of them, we're even:
"A major quote by a professional pianist that is very helpful"
This leaves plenty of room, doesn't it? So long as you don't ask for a definition of 'helpful.' What was the inquirer seeking, I wonder? Inspiration to practice? Insight into the musical process? A cure for cancer? Of just something to post on the bulletin board of your 6th grade music classroom?
I don't know what this person found, though I do recall typing the phrase "that didn't seem very helpful....but when a professional says something"--I think that's from my article on Bach's quote about playing the organ. Just a guess.
"ability to listen to music in head"
ok, I've written about that one here, if you're curious.
"Beethoven had trouble paying attention"
I have to wonder about the motivation of the interlocutor. Was this person looking for justification? It seems as if it might be the musical equivalent of "Einstein failed Algebra," which once furnished lots of little Einsteins with superior retorts to their parental units. I mean, if Beethoven had ADD, how bad is it if I have it, too? Not so much, right? It also reminds me of a story I read in childhood about some genius composer who was trudging through his piano exercises when suddenly, looking out the window, his fingers began to create a glorious improvisation based on how he felt about the great outdoors. Exercises be darned, this kid was expressing himself from the heart, and sincerely, meaning without practice. This is a pretty good example of how non-musical geniuses often see the process of creation, which is one part true and six parts without-a-clue-how-it-really-happens. Anyhow, I think the story may have been about Beethoven. And, naturally, it's the only part of the book I can remember, and it probably was completely made up by the author.
Somebody was looking for some sheet music for a piece by Yanni. Good luck finding that around here! Someone else was looking for a "church piano standard repertoire list." I might compile one of those some day but it wouldn't be very conventional. I'm not a big fan of the standard "church" repertoire for a number of reasons which I'll complain about in a future installment.
I'm really curious as to what the "bwv 543 Bach science project" is. The piece in question is Bach's Prelude (and fugue) in A Minor, catalogue number 543. What that has to do with a science project I don't know. I'll have to put that on my "when I'm bored here are some things to google" list.
Somebody wishing to send a question to my question-and-answers page here might want to know "good questions to ask piano players." I wish I had a list. You get asked a lot of the same questions, and people are obviously trying to make a connection after concerts and at parties but don't really know what to say. I wish I could tell them, although a simple sure-fire question probably doesn't get at the nature of the beast. If you know enough to ask informed questions you wouldn't need such a list, and they probably wouldn't work in all situations anyway. Here's an idea: follow my blog. Questions will come. You can even send them via the internet!
"How do pianists memorize so many notes?" I've written about that before. But it really is the wrong question. It is like asking how a Shakespearian actor can memorize so many letters. Letters form words, phrases, convey meaning. That's how you memorize. Figure out what those little bits add up to. And then spend a lot of time working hard at mastering the material.
"is transposing a good habit should one learn all the keys" I get a lot of questions asked out of context. That is, I have no idea about the experience or experiences of the person who asked the question, what their goals are, or their abilities, or their work habits. In different situations I would answer these questions differently. In a vacuum the answer would be yes. But there is quite a difference between preparing for an international competition and playing for fun in your own living room. Is taking the trouble to learn the patterns of all the major and minor keys worth it? It is for me. It helps me to understand the big picture. It helps me improvise, sight-read easily in any key, move a piece down to where a singer feels comfortable. It's about agility, and understanding. But it might be too much wasted time for a pianist who can't get there or just doesn't want to.
A lot of life's questions can't be answered on the internet for that very reason. Such casual and incidental contact between persons seems to rarely yield much value until time is spent in understanding and recognizing. And, eventually, maybe it will be. In the meantime, though, some of those questions can be pretty entertaining.
Linus addressing a phalanx of inanimate snowpersons is not all that unlike posting things on the internet. You have no idea much of the time whom you are addressing, and most of the time they don't answer. Occasionally you'll get a comment or an email from someone, and then it is almost like having a regular conversation. But the real fun comes from checking your webstats and discovering the searches people did to find you. What questions did they want answers to, and were they likely to find them? The quotes below are actual search strings that people typed into their web browsers which brought them to pianonoise.
I've already written about this phenomenon here and here. But for the latest installment of mailbag, hang on to your seats, because here it is. Remember, these are letters people didn't actually write, so if I don't actually answer some of them, we're even:
"A major quote by a professional pianist that is very helpful"
This leaves plenty of room, doesn't it? So long as you don't ask for a definition of 'helpful.' What was the inquirer seeking, I wonder? Inspiration to practice? Insight into the musical process? A cure for cancer? Of just something to post on the bulletin board of your 6th grade music classroom?
I don't know what this person found, though I do recall typing the phrase "that didn't seem very helpful....but when a professional says something"--I think that's from my article on Bach's quote about playing the organ. Just a guess.
"ability to listen to music in head"
ok, I've written about that one here, if you're curious.
"Beethoven had trouble paying attention"
I have to wonder about the motivation of the interlocutor. Was this person looking for justification? It seems as if it might be the musical equivalent of "Einstein failed Algebra," which once furnished lots of little Einsteins with superior retorts to their parental units. I mean, if Beethoven had ADD, how bad is it if I have it, too? Not so much, right? It also reminds me of a story I read in childhood about some genius composer who was trudging through his piano exercises when suddenly, looking out the window, his fingers began to create a glorious improvisation based on how he felt about the great outdoors. Exercises be darned, this kid was expressing himself from the heart, and sincerely, meaning without practice. This is a pretty good example of how non-musical geniuses often see the process of creation, which is one part true and six parts without-a-clue-how-it-really-happens. Anyhow, I think the story may have been about Beethoven. And, naturally, it's the only part of the book I can remember, and it probably was completely made up by the author.
Somebody was looking for some sheet music for a piece by Yanni. Good luck finding that around here! Someone else was looking for a "church piano standard repertoire list." I might compile one of those some day but it wouldn't be very conventional. I'm not a big fan of the standard "church" repertoire for a number of reasons which I'll complain about in a future installment.
I'm really curious as to what the "bwv 543 Bach science project" is. The piece in question is Bach's Prelude (and fugue) in A Minor, catalogue number 543. What that has to do with a science project I don't know. I'll have to put that on my "when I'm bored here are some things to google" list.
Somebody wishing to send a question to my question-and-answers page here might want to know "good questions to ask piano players." I wish I had a list. You get asked a lot of the same questions, and people are obviously trying to make a connection after concerts and at parties but don't really know what to say. I wish I could tell them, although a simple sure-fire question probably doesn't get at the nature of the beast. If you know enough to ask informed questions you wouldn't need such a list, and they probably wouldn't work in all situations anyway. Here's an idea: follow my blog. Questions will come. You can even send them via the internet!
"How do pianists memorize so many notes?" I've written about that before. But it really is the wrong question. It is like asking how a Shakespearian actor can memorize so many letters. Letters form words, phrases, convey meaning. That's how you memorize. Figure out what those little bits add up to. And then spend a lot of time working hard at mastering the material.
"is transposing a good habit should one learn all the keys" I get a lot of questions asked out of context. That is, I have no idea about the experience or experiences of the person who asked the question, what their goals are, or their abilities, or their work habits. In different situations I would answer these questions differently. In a vacuum the answer would be yes. But there is quite a difference between preparing for an international competition and playing for fun in your own living room. Is taking the trouble to learn the patterns of all the major and minor keys worth it? It is for me. It helps me to understand the big picture. It helps me improvise, sight-read easily in any key, move a piece down to where a singer feels comfortable. It's about agility, and understanding. But it might be too much wasted time for a pianist who can't get there or just doesn't want to.
A lot of life's questions can't be answered on the internet for that very reason. Such casual and incidental contact between persons seems to rarely yield much value until time is spent in understanding and recognizing. And, eventually, maybe it will be. In the meantime, though, some of those questions can be pretty entertaining.
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
And a number of partridges in a grove of trees, too
I pose a question of no consequence to anyone as I lie here resting and recalibrating...how many pieces of music did I play during the month of December?
It is bound to be a very inexact count since I don't have all the artifacts necessary for the reconstruction. But let's try, shall we?
Now in a regular weekend at church I play four services. The Saturday evening service only has a prelude, postlude, four hymns (all chosen by the congregation at the time) and a doxology. Seven pieces. Sunday morning at 8am features a prelude, opening hymn, meditation improvisation, solo anthem, prayer response, offertory, closing hymn, and postlude. That's eight more. None of these pieces is likely to be the same as any for Saturday night. Then there is the 9 o'clock service. Usually this consists of about six praise songs (with the band). At 10:30 we have the same line up as 8, except with a full choir and an additional middle hymn (nine more). So, 7+8+6+9=30 pieces, more or less. Not including any rehearsals (which probably means I played at least 8 of those pieces at least twice.)
Ok, 30 a morning times four. 120 pieces of music at church. Don't forget Christmas Eve, now!
I need the bulletins for that one. Well, I can take a wild guess. I'll spare you the calculations.
5pm service:10
7pm service: 11
11pm service:8
I'm not going to break it down into soloists, band, choir, congregational hymns, organ solo pieces, and so on.
However, I just realized that two of those Sundays were special music Sundays. On one of them, at the 10:30 service, the choir sang seven anthems. (Let's add five pieces to our total; take away a couple for no organ offertory and maybe one fewer hymns--I don't think so now, but I'll be conservative anyway.) And the 9am service the following week was a musical with 17 musical cues (I had to know that as I played for all of them), at least 10 of which count as full pieces, and the others represent smaller bits of pieces. Let's say 12, so we'll add six more to that week's count. So, 120+5+6+----Christmas eve=29 total from church services=160
Now we move into the concerts. Children's Chorus Winter Concert: ----15
They sang with the symphony, too, but I was replaced by an orchestra (imagine!). They sang at the country club; I played (a mere five pieces, there.) Also played a short gig for the Rotary Club; the Chorale sang (three pieces) and, to make up the balance of the time, I played a couple of carols for singing and improvised a piece at the instigation of the impresario. Six more. total, 26.
Mind you, we aren't including rehearsals here. This is just stage time in front of an audience or before a congregation. If we add the rehearsals, we can easily double, if not triple, the total. I'm not adding any parties, either. There weren't so many this year, but it still adds up.
I must be leaving out a gig or two....
Finally, the New Year's Eve concert at the Virginia, which involved The Chorale singing 14 pieces of music. I also played (memory don't fail me now) 6 pieces on the Mighty Wurlitzer before the show and during intermission, also three more for the sing-along, plus Auld Lang Syne at the end. That's 10 on the organ, so a total of 24 pieces for the concert. I think that's a record low, actually. I didn't play for the other act of the evening, an unaccompanied barbershop quartet (they were quite good).
Add in a couple of funerals and a wedding that week also, and you have the month of December.
(let's say about 18 more for those, ball park)
So I'm coming up with....228 different pieces of music (including different arrangements of the same tune) and some repetition in the church services (in which I think I left out all those doxologies...oh well)
It's a low number, and in no way represents the frenzy of activity that was actually experienced at the time (remember those rehearsals? Heck, let's just double the number) and does not include any practice time on my part, or the pieces I recorded for pianonoise.com. Most of the improvised piano pieces, by the way, were recorded in October. Sorry. It's why they exist, though.
I could also break them down by category, as in number of accompaniments, solo pieces, number of singers, instrumentalists, and instruments I played, but I'm not an accountant and this post has already reached sufficient ridicularity. If we totaled up every time I played any piece of music during the month for any purpose whatever, including repetitions, I'm sure we'd be up over 600. But that's just a wild guess.
Let's just say I played a lot of music last month and my fingers are tired.
-----
By the way, this year's recipient of the Most Annoying Carol Award goes to "Have Yourself a Merry little Christmas" which I heard 6 times before Thanksgiving, mostly at the grocery store.
Also, the record for most verses of Silent Night played during a 24 hour period still stands at 25, from the year before the coming of the Worship and Life Center in 2006, when we had four Christmas Eve Services, and Christmas Day was a Sunday. (This doesn't count any rehearsal verses either.)*
*We actually sang Silent Night on Christmas Day, too. I have no idea what our pastor was thinking.
It is bound to be a very inexact count since I don't have all the artifacts necessary for the reconstruction. But let's try, shall we?
Now in a regular weekend at church I play four services. The Saturday evening service only has a prelude, postlude, four hymns (all chosen by the congregation at the time) and a doxology. Seven pieces. Sunday morning at 8am features a prelude, opening hymn, meditation improvisation, solo anthem, prayer response, offertory, closing hymn, and postlude. That's eight more. None of these pieces is likely to be the same as any for Saturday night. Then there is the 9 o'clock service. Usually this consists of about six praise songs (with the band). At 10:30 we have the same line up as 8, except with a full choir and an additional middle hymn (nine more). So, 7+8+6+9=30 pieces, more or less. Not including any rehearsals (which probably means I played at least 8 of those pieces at least twice.)
Ok, 30 a morning times four. 120 pieces of music at church. Don't forget Christmas Eve, now!
I need the bulletins for that one. Well, I can take a wild guess. I'll spare you the calculations.
5pm service:10
7pm service: 11
11pm service:8
I'm not going to break it down into soloists, band, choir, congregational hymns, organ solo pieces, and so on.
However, I just realized that two of those Sundays were special music Sundays. On one of them, at the 10:30 service, the choir sang seven anthems. (Let's add five pieces to our total; take away a couple for no organ offertory and maybe one fewer hymns--I don't think so now, but I'll be conservative anyway.) And the 9am service the following week was a musical with 17 musical cues (I had to know that as I played for all of them), at least 10 of which count as full pieces, and the others represent smaller bits of pieces. Let's say 12, so we'll add six more to that week's count. So, 120+5+6+----Christmas eve=29 total from church services=160
Now we move into the concerts. Children's Chorus Winter Concert: ----15
They sang with the symphony, too, but I was replaced by an orchestra (imagine!). They sang at the country club; I played (a mere five pieces, there.) Also played a short gig for the Rotary Club; the Chorale sang (three pieces) and, to make up the balance of the time, I played a couple of carols for singing and improvised a piece at the instigation of the impresario. Six more. total, 26.
Mind you, we aren't including rehearsals here. This is just stage time in front of an audience or before a congregation. If we add the rehearsals, we can easily double, if not triple, the total. I'm not adding any parties, either. There weren't so many this year, but it still adds up.
I must be leaving out a gig or two....
Finally, the New Year's Eve concert at the Virginia, which involved The Chorale singing 14 pieces of music. I also played (memory don't fail me now) 6 pieces on the Mighty Wurlitzer before the show and during intermission, also three more for the sing-along, plus Auld Lang Syne at the end. That's 10 on the organ, so a total of 24 pieces for the concert. I think that's a record low, actually. I didn't play for the other act of the evening, an unaccompanied barbershop quartet (they were quite good).
Add in a couple of funerals and a wedding that week also, and you have the month of December.
(let's say about 18 more for those, ball park)
So I'm coming up with....228 different pieces of music (including different arrangements of the same tune) and some repetition in the church services (in which I think I left out all those doxologies...oh well)
It's a low number, and in no way represents the frenzy of activity that was actually experienced at the time (remember those rehearsals? Heck, let's just double the number) and does not include any practice time on my part, or the pieces I recorded for pianonoise.com. Most of the improvised piano pieces, by the way, were recorded in October. Sorry. It's why they exist, though.
I could also break them down by category, as in number of accompaniments, solo pieces, number of singers, instrumentalists, and instruments I played, but I'm not an accountant and this post has already reached sufficient ridicularity. If we totaled up every time I played any piece of music during the month for any purpose whatever, including repetitions, I'm sure we'd be up over 600. But that's just a wild guess.
Let's just say I played a lot of music last month and my fingers are tired.
-----
By the way, this year's recipient of the Most Annoying Carol Award goes to "Have Yourself a Merry little Christmas" which I heard 6 times before Thanksgiving, mostly at the grocery store.
Also, the record for most verses of Silent Night played during a 24 hour period still stands at 25, from the year before the coming of the Worship and Life Center in 2006, when we had four Christmas Eve Services, and Christmas Day was a Sunday. (This doesn't count any rehearsal verses either.)*
*We actually sang Silent Night on Christmas Day, too. I have no idea what our pastor was thinking.
Monday, January 5, 2015
I'm having on off week
In case I didn't spend enough time complaining about the complexity of Christmas in my last two blogs, allow me to pound the point home by collapsing into this chair and writing one of the shortest blog posts in recent memory.
That's because I'm trying to take a break this week from deadlines and pressure and concerts, and just relax for a couple of days. It may involve a bit of practicing--I'm not a purist--but I'll try to lay low and accomplish very little in order to recuperate, regenerate, and all of those other wonderful words that being with re-.
In order to share my mood with you, allow me to play for you something I recorded last August. It's part of a Partita by Bach (no. 4 in D): the Sarabande movement.
I'll talk about the fascinating history of the Sarabande another time; for now, let's just enjoy some peace and quiet together.
Bach: Sarabande from Partita no. 4 in D
That's because I'm trying to take a break this week from deadlines and pressure and concerts, and just relax for a couple of days. It may involve a bit of practicing--I'm not a purist--but I'll try to lay low and accomplish very little in order to recuperate, regenerate, and all of those other wonderful words that being with re-.
In order to share my mood with you, allow me to play for you something I recorded last August. It's part of a Partita by Bach (no. 4 in D): the Sarabande movement.
I'll talk about the fascinating history of the Sarabande another time; for now, let's just enjoy some peace and quiet together.
Bach: Sarabande from Partita no. 4 in D
Friday, January 2, 2015
Much
Please understand, I'm not complaining.
Well, alright, maybe a little. But it's subtle, and in context. Hear me out.
(Strange and interesting things happen the more you use your brain; when you think about things that you aren't encouraged to think about you can come to some unusual conclusions about them.)
Take, for instance, the so-called parable of the talents. A man goes on a journey and leaves three servants in charge of his finances. To the first he gives 10 talents, which is something in the millions of dollars in today's money, to the second, five, and to the last, a mere million or so--two talents.
If you are familiar with the story, you know how it ends. The first two servants invest the money and manage to double it (must have put it in some pretty risky stocks and gotten lucky). The third hides his and does nothing with it. Not even a passbook savings account.
The first two servants are rewarded upon the master's return, and the third is sent packing. And here's the line I thought about. Speaking to the first two servants in turn, the master declares: because you have been faithful in a few things (there's an understatement; remember it's in the millions)--because you have been faithful in a few things I will put you in charge of more things. Enter the joy of the kingdom!
Happy ending, right? Well, is it?
The reward for faithful service is to have to do it again, only now the stakes are higher? No rest for the faithful, is there?
I'm reminded of another quote, this time from the Hebrew Bible: "To those from whom much is given, much will be required." (which in turn reminds me of my 8th grade English teacher's favorite moment from "A Christmas Carol" (one of them, anyhow)--in which Scrooge asks Marley's ghost what he wants of him, and the answer is simply "much!")
Maybe I'm bringing this up because it is nearing the end of the Christmas rush and I'm pretty tired. It's been going on for a month, now. I remember reading a blog from an organist about fun things you could do for your listeners during the Christmas season with the admonition to start preparing now, and being amused because I had just gotten home from one of our big church services--choir Sunday, which came the day after the Children's Chorus had their big concert. In other words, prepare was hardly the word for it--I was already in the middle of it. And that was early December, which was already two weeks into my annual Christmas rush. Now it's nearly a month later and I'm still not finished.
Well, ok, technically the last holiday related event was our New Year's Eve concert at the Virginia Theater with The Chorale. It's a fun and unique event each year. But I'm worn out, and I'm still not able to rest. That's mostly because we have a wedding tomorrow with special organ music and a funeral about 90 minutes after that, then our Saturday evening church service. And I'm having to pull those pieces completely out of my posterior because at this point there just hasn't been any time to practice until today and now I'm also having to really watch my energy level. There will be naps between everything, I think. I'm spending today on the couch because if I stand up too long I get dizzy. And yet I still haven't gotten sick at all this semester. Is it safe to say I've made it for another year?
The number of concerts or church services or gigs I've taken part in, or more specifically, the number of different talents required to make them all work (from improvisation to sight-reading to skipping beats for singers to schlepping equipment to keeping your head amidst distractions such as when the music falls off the rack) seems overwhelming taken as a whole. They must be experienced in sequence to make them possible--that is, one event at a time, with all that is needed to make it work. I suppose the only reason they happen at all is that because I CAN do all of that I am ASKED to do it. And I like to think that the singers and conductors and actors and pastors who work with me feel secure in having me there to support their efforts as well. It is tiring. But it is a very great privilege. And I am blessed to be able to do it each year. Now as I near the finish line I hope to feel a pleasant sense of exhaustion. And I have received much thanks for it as well.
In fact, the outpouring of thanks and camaraderie I've experienced this holiday season is truly a blessing. And knowing I've been able to use practically every ability I have to make the season brighter for others is the best feeling on earth. And maybe next week, when I've had a chance to process it all, when the rush has finally stopped rushing, I'll get to really enjoy my remembrances of all those things that flew by at the time.
But I seriously need a nap right now!
Well, alright, maybe a little. But it's subtle, and in context. Hear me out.
(Strange and interesting things happen the more you use your brain; when you think about things that you aren't encouraged to think about you can come to some unusual conclusions about them.)
Take, for instance, the so-called parable of the talents. A man goes on a journey and leaves three servants in charge of his finances. To the first he gives 10 talents, which is something in the millions of dollars in today's money, to the second, five, and to the last, a mere million or so--two talents.
If you are familiar with the story, you know how it ends. The first two servants invest the money and manage to double it (must have put it in some pretty risky stocks and gotten lucky). The third hides his and does nothing with it. Not even a passbook savings account.
The first two servants are rewarded upon the master's return, and the third is sent packing. And here's the line I thought about. Speaking to the first two servants in turn, the master declares: because you have been faithful in a few things (there's an understatement; remember it's in the millions)--because you have been faithful in a few things I will put you in charge of more things. Enter the joy of the kingdom!
Happy ending, right? Well, is it?
The reward for faithful service is to have to do it again, only now the stakes are higher? No rest for the faithful, is there?
I'm reminded of another quote, this time from the Hebrew Bible: "To those from whom much is given, much will be required." (which in turn reminds me of my 8th grade English teacher's favorite moment from "A Christmas Carol" (one of them, anyhow)--in which Scrooge asks Marley's ghost what he wants of him, and the answer is simply "much!")
Maybe I'm bringing this up because it is nearing the end of the Christmas rush and I'm pretty tired. It's been going on for a month, now. I remember reading a blog from an organist about fun things you could do for your listeners during the Christmas season with the admonition to start preparing now, and being amused because I had just gotten home from one of our big church services--choir Sunday, which came the day after the Children's Chorus had their big concert. In other words, prepare was hardly the word for it--I was already in the middle of it. And that was early December, which was already two weeks into my annual Christmas rush. Now it's nearly a month later and I'm still not finished.
Well, ok, technically the last holiday related event was our New Year's Eve concert at the Virginia Theater with The Chorale. It's a fun and unique event each year. But I'm worn out, and I'm still not able to rest. That's mostly because we have a wedding tomorrow with special organ music and a funeral about 90 minutes after that, then our Saturday evening church service. And I'm having to pull those pieces completely out of my posterior because at this point there just hasn't been any time to practice until today and now I'm also having to really watch my energy level. There will be naps between everything, I think. I'm spending today on the couch because if I stand up too long I get dizzy. And yet I still haven't gotten sick at all this semester. Is it safe to say I've made it for another year?
The number of concerts or church services or gigs I've taken part in, or more specifically, the number of different talents required to make them all work (from improvisation to sight-reading to skipping beats for singers to schlepping equipment to keeping your head amidst distractions such as when the music falls off the rack) seems overwhelming taken as a whole. They must be experienced in sequence to make them possible--that is, one event at a time, with all that is needed to make it work. I suppose the only reason they happen at all is that because I CAN do all of that I am ASKED to do it. And I like to think that the singers and conductors and actors and pastors who work with me feel secure in having me there to support their efforts as well. It is tiring. But it is a very great privilege. And I am blessed to be able to do it each year. Now as I near the finish line I hope to feel a pleasant sense of exhaustion. And I have received much thanks for it as well.
In fact, the outpouring of thanks and camaraderie I've experienced this holiday season is truly a blessing. And knowing I've been able to use practically every ability I have to make the season brighter for others is the best feeling on earth. And maybe next week, when I've had a chance to process it all, when the rush has finally stopped rushing, I'll get to really enjoy my remembrances of all those things that flew by at the time.
But I seriously need a nap right now!
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