Lift Up Your Hearts!

We have so many wonderful Christmas albums, collected for well over half a century, many wonderful, wonderful works reaching from the 21st century back to almost as long as Christmas music has existed.

But the one that most strongly and emotionally says Christmas to me is the Harry Simeone Chorale album, "Sing We Now of Christmas." It was released in 1959 and is my earliest memory of Christmas music. To my great joy, I recently found the album available on YouTube. The cover is a little confusing, because it shows the title as "The Little Drummer Boy," and the image is different. But the songs are the same. This link, Sing We Now of Christmas, will take you to a playlist where you can hear the whole album in order, or return and play your favorites.

I realize that my love of this recording of Christmas songs is wrapped up in the aura of a very happy childhood and all that I loved about the Christmas season, so your mileage may vary. But, as objectively as I can manage, I maintain it's one of the best compilations for telling the story of Christmas coherently through song while including both the old familiar carols and lesser-known songs from more distant times and places.

A modern song based on a 19th-century French novel played in the style of Irish music on a hammered dulcimer! Unfortunately, it's a YouTube Short, and I see no way to embed it here, as I do with their regular videos. But you can add a little brightness to your day if you click on this link.

I publish this here because I know there are people with whom it will resonate, although it apparently runs contrary to the experience of the majority. Why else would they be so anxious to banish silence from our lives?

A prime example is our water aerobics classes at the local community therapeutic pool. The warm-water exercise is worth the struggle for me, but it is indeed a struggle, every time. For some reason the instructors believe that people exercise better when accompanied by loud music and a headache-inducing drum beat. We've managed to find the instructors who will at least keep the volume down to where I no longer have to wear earplugs, but the incessant noise and throbbing beat continue.

To my fellow classmates who may think I am rude, unfriendly, or merely unhappy, I don't mean to be any of the above. But please don't tell me to smile. It takes so much effort to fight the sensory assault that social politeness is often a casualty.

With one exception: All too rarely, we play games with small beach balls: bouncing, hitting, throwing, challenging just ourselves or in competition with others. It's not unkindly competitive—half the fun is figuring out how to include everyone of varying skill and physical ability levels—but it's exciting, and when we're doing that I manage to tune out the music almost completely. I have no idea why. It's the most active of the physical work we do in those classes, and yet it is the only time I feel relaxed and free.

Often I even smile.

I'd never heard of the Church Dog books nor the church that they're associated with, but family is family, and our choir family is so proud of the young daughter of two of our singers. Our director knows a lot that's going on in the Central Florida music, church, and theatrical scenes; he recommended that she audition for the Church Dog music video that's just been released—and she won the solo part! I don't think her parents would mind my mentioning her by name, but I'm not taking any chances. If she becomes famous, I'll link to this in an "I knew her when" post.  

It's not exactly my kind of music, but she's my kind of kid.

It's been quite an emotional day. First, the Bishop of Central Florida came to our church to celebrate 20+ confirmations, which for a church our size is pretty impressive. Naturally there was special music, including the amazing Prayer of Saint Gregory, which will give some of you the hint that we had at least one trumpet (actually, we had two).

We got home just in time to watch the livestream of Charlie Kirk's memorial service at State Farm Stadium in Arizona. One of the advantages of having a pilot in the house is that I was able to confim my suspicion that there would be a no-fly zone around the venue, given the circumstances and all the people at high risk who were there. Probably the president's presence alone would have been enough reason for all the security.

Why did I watch the whole, very long, event—I, who am very jealous of my time, especially on Sunday afternoons? I'm not sure. It took me back to 1968, when I sat in front of our little black and white television, mesmerized by the events around Robert F. Kennedy's assassination. And more recently, watching Queen Elizabeth's funeral.

I think this one was even longer than the queen's. It didn't have nearly as much royalty, dignity, and pomp, but it was remarkable in its own way. It was part worship service, part memorial, part tent revival (complete with altar call), part political rally. In many places it was very powerful, as people shared their memories of Charlie and testified to his brilliance, his wisdom, his character, and his faith. In the past 11 days I have watched more of Charlie's speeches and conversations and encounters than in all my time previously, and the memorial service only confirmed the impression he left on me.

It's amazing to me how they managed to pull off such an enormous event—the stadium can hold over 70,000 people and it was packed; I have no idea how many people filled the overflow area where they watched on screens. The security alone must have been a nightmare.

Some of you will recognize the name of the man who led the worship part of the service: Chris Tomlin.

My one criticism is that it was too long, with too many speakers. By far the majority of them—from Charlie's wife to his pastor to the president of Hillsdale College to Tucker Carlson to a large number of high-level political figures—were excellent and their stories very moving. But there were a few they could have done without. Many of the Turning Point staff naturally wanted a chance to memorialize their leader, but a couple of them, well, let's just say they're very young and need some more maturity and life experience. They were understandably angry and grieving, but their somewhat hot-headed triumphalism made me cringe.

Overall, I'd call it worth watching, especially if you want to understand a little more why Charlie Kirk's death has affected so many people so deeply.  I think it could be made manageable by watching at higher speed and with a fast-forward button in your hand. But no testimonial can replace actually listening to what Charlie had to say, in context. He was a remarkable human being.

Okay, so there's a lot I could post (and plan to) that's more important than this, but having visited New Zealand and our lovely Kiwi friends (nearly 25 years ago now) the country, and the Maori, have a special place in my heart. Said heart was especially warmed today when I saw this video of a group of Maori performing a Haka dance at a London vigil for Charlie Kirk. I'm sorry I can't embed it here; I hope you can see it. Not that it will mean much if you haven't been to New Zealand, but maybe you can appreciate the tribute, anyway.

You can learn a bit more about Haka from the Wikipedia article.

Haka includes various forms serving different ceremonial purposes. These functions include: [emphasis mine]

• welcoming guests (haka pōwhiri)
• fare-welling and mourning the deceased (waiata tangi)
• giving advice or instructions (waiata tohutohu)
• restoring self-respect (pātere)
• intimidating adversaries (peruperu – war dance)
• and transmitting social and political messages (haka taparahi, ngeri)

Many years ago, when Inspector Morse first aired on PBS, we watched several episodes, and have since enjoyed the whole series, plus the spin-offs Lewis (aka Inspector Lewis) and Endeavour. The stories, especially the more recent ones, often reflect objectionably "Hollywood" values, and there's a tinge of darkness that might not make them good fare for one who is already depressed. But it's hard to have police shows and murder mysteries without darkness, and the series are so very well crafted and acted that even the depressing parts are more like the spices that add depth and flavor to a stew.

And I love the music by composer Barrington Pheloung.

Here's the Morse theme:

The theme for Lewis (aka Inspector Lewis) I didn't find as moving as that for Morse and Endeavour, but it fits the show, which might be my favorite of the three due to Lewis' sidekick James Hathaway (played by Laurence Fox) and their interactions.

Endeavour brings back a variation on the original theme. I love those horns!

Sandwiched between 3:14 (Pi Day) and 3:17 (St. Patrick's Day) is

3:16 (Greatest Love Day)

John 3:16, that is.

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

In honor of which I present this beautiful anthem, John Stainer's God So Loved the World. No, that's not our choir. But Porter and I have sung this many times and it's one of our favorites.

I rarely post the music that our choir sings in church, because our sound system, which works well enough for sermons, is absolutely horrible for music. I have no idea why; Noah, who knows quite about about sound boards, says that ours is fine, better than what he has worked with in his home church. But something is so wrong I rarely can find the strength to listen to our recorded services, much less share them.

Yesterday, when our choir sang Ola Gjeilo's Lux Beata Trinitas, Noah played the oboe part on his clarinet, and recorded the audio on his phone, producing a much better recording, which I am pleased to share. We have sung a few of Gjeilo's choral works, and they are beautiful. Also, on our Viking cruise of the Baltic, we were pleased to discover a number of his instrumental works on the music channel in our stateroom—perhaps because he is Norwegian.

We sang the anthem during Communion. It was sort of a practice run, as we were missing some key choir members, but I think we did pretty well even so! We certainly enjoyed ourselves, and it seemed to be fitting as Communion music.

You were expecting maybe Happy New Year?

Well, of course I wish you that as well.

But in our house, Christmas lasts 12 days. Here are some 8th Day of Christmas treats from our second-oldest grandson, who is playing all parts.

This where-are-they-now? post is particularly for our children, and any others who played in the Florida Symphony Youth Orchestra with John Dupuis. John made a big splash in those days with his composing, including writing a piece that was recorded by the Seattle Symphony Orchestra and used at the Islands of Adventure theme park opening in Orlando. This was exciting for all of us, and I wish I could feature his Atlantis here, as it remains one of my favorite pieces of music. With a beginning like that, I fully expected to start seeing John's name on movie credits, as the music he composed back then had a distinct movie soundtrack feel to them.

But most of us grow up and get regular jobs. John certainly has done well, even if working in the school system is not as exciting as working in Hollywood. And he continues to compose. Recently he alerted me to one of his new works, called "Melodia Perpetua." Written for string orchestra students, it doesn't have the complexity of the works he wrote for the FSYO, but you can still hear the distinctive Dupuis sound, which was a joy to hear and brought back such good memories.

I actually wouldn't wish a Hollywood life on anyone. But I was told by another composer that the advantage of writing for shows is that you don't actually have to be there; composers were working remotely long before it became de rigueur. So I'll keep hoping you're secretly working on that movie music dream, John! I'd even go see the film, and I almost never do such a thing....

Yes, I do have at least two bagpipe players among my readers!

I haven't seen The Crown, but that doesn't stop me from enjoying Charles Cornell's analysis of what the composer did with the bagpipe sound for that movie.

For those of you who enjoyed Charles Cornell's analysis of the writing of the Pirates of the Caribbean music, and/or Grace's family's production of the same, here's another Cornell video, and not coincidentally another Daley production, this time for The Lord of the Rings.

I have mixed feelings about those movies, which to my mind do a grave injustice to J.R.R. Tolkien's creation, but they have their good moments, and the score is incredible. I'm a devoted "classical" music fan with little patience for so-called popular genres, but modern art music has veered off into such strange directions that I'm more than half certain that all the good composers have deserted to movie music. And I say, more power to them!

The Daley version was created two years ago this month, a year earlier than their Pirates production. Grace's contribution comes at the end of the credits.  (I was disappointed that there was no 2024 family musical production, but there was this small matter of Grace's cancer consuming every spare moment of their lives.  Maybe in 2025!)

Mark Schweizer's Liturgical Mysteries (St. James Music Press)

The Alto Wore Tweed (2002), The Baritone Wore Chiffon (2004), The Tenor Wore Tapshoes (2005), The Soprano Wore Falsettos (2006), The Bass Wore Scales (2006), The Mezzo Wore Mink (2008), The Diva Wore Diamonds (2010), The Organist Wore Pumps (2010), The Countertenor Wore Garlic (2011), The Christmas Cantata (2011), The Treble Wore Trouble (2012), The Cantor Wore Crinolines (2013), The Maestro Wore Mohair (2015), The Choir Director Wore Out (2018)

Back in 2000, I read and reviewed the first book in this series, The Alto Wore Tweed. I don't know what took me so long to get to the rest of it, but once I restarted, I couldn't stop. Four years ago, I said, "This book is just for fun. If there is something of redeeming social value about it, I didn't notice, but I laughed longer and harder than I have over a book in a long time." Our choir director introduced me to the series—we get some of our anthems from St. James Press, and are currently singing one by Mark Schweizer himself. Yes, he knows whereof he speaks when he writes about being a church musician!

Hayden Konig is the chief of police in St. Germaine, a small town in the mountains of North Carolina. He's also the organist and choir director of St. Barnabas Episcopal Church, across the street from the police station, and a would-be writer of "hard-boiled" detective fiction. St. Germaine could be Jan Karon's Mitford....except for all the murders.

The stories could stand by themselves as delightful "cozy" mysteries, but what really makes them so amusing to me is Schweizer's highly accurate view of life in the Episcopal church, from a musician's point of view. Allowing for literary license, and concomitant exaggeration and hyperbole, there is so much about the Episcopal Church (and choirs, and other denominations, and small town life) that he just nails. There's plenty of wordplay of the kind I dearly love, and for those in the know, lots of what are known in the computing world as "Easter eggs"—here in Central Florida we call them "Hidden Mickeys." For example, here's one of my favorites:

[Speaking of a tent-revival preacher] The good reverend had an assistant who would be choosing the Gospel passages on which Hogmanay McTavish would preach each and every evening. This assistant was what many politically correct folks might call "Poultry-American." Other folks might call her "dinner." Her name was Binny Hen. Binny Hen the Scripture Chicken.

I'm certain many of Schweizer's gems have gone over my head, but having lived within five miles of Benny Hinn's ministry in Central Florida, I couldn't miss that one.

I said that there was nothing of redeeming social importance in these tales, but the truth is that they contain a good deal of accurate information about both Episcopal Church services and classical choral music. Granted, even in our heyday our thurifer was unable to draw Biblical scenes in smoke; I've never had a choir director who was independently wealthy (that's some wishful thinking on the part of the author, I suspect); and I doubt Tim keeps a pistol in the organ bench (though I've never checked). Thankfully, the rates of crime and moral turpitude among the choir, congregation, and clergy are greatly exaggerated, but for general misbehavior—such as persistent chatting during rehearsal, and whining about the music—it is spot on.

If the "crimes and moral turpitude" are all too human, the language is quite mild for modern writing, the worst I could find being the following passage, in which cleverness covereth a multitude of sins.

Her name was Barbara—Barbara Seville—and she was a mezzo. Some said she slid to the top of the opera world on her husband’s money: that before she married Aristotle bin Laden, she’d been demoted to seamstress and spent most of her time in the wings tucking up the frills instead of on the stage doing the opposite.

Here are some brief passages I particularly enjoyed. Expect further excerpts in subsequent posts. Some are from the mystery itself, and some from the detective fiction Konig writes in his spare time and copies onto the backs of the Psalm copies for the choir to read during the sermon.

"I thought you had given up beer for Lent," Meg said.

"I started to, but then I decided to give up meddling in church politics. In order to do that, I'm going to need the beer."

The following is unfortunately an accurate discription of our own church's sound system.

Our sound system in the church was minimal—just a little amplification for the readers and the priest. Trying to send music through it was akin to listening to a symphony over a CB radio.

I began to suspect that the alto section was trying to forestall the rehearsal of the Harris piece. The alto line had been giving them fits for the last two rehearsals. The soprano section, on the other hand, was sitting quietly and smiling demurely, having already mastered most of the notes in the upcoming anthem. Basses and tenors were, by all indications, asleep.

“You know there’s a handgun in the organ bench?”

“Yeah. That’s mine. It’s a Glock 9mm. Tends to keep the tenors in tune.”

“A new dive just opened up across from St. Gertrude’s. It sounds like our kind of place. Good looking beer-fräuleins in tight shirts, lots of German brews, and Baroque organ music from a three-manual Flentrop with a sixteen-foot heckelphone you can really hang your hat on.”

“Sounds sweet,” I agreed, suddenly interested. “What’s this place called?”

“Buxtehooters.”

"Nancy's off today, Dave's in at noon," I said, and sipped my coffee. "I'm hoping there's no crime wave till tomorrow."

"You're probably okay," said Cynthia. "We've had two murders in two weeks and I heard that yesterday someone tried to bludgeon the bishop to death with his own stick. That should do us for a while."

I sighed. "We've had two unrelated deaths and the bishop just happened to be standing in the way when Humphrey Brownlow decided to attack the video drone with the crozier during a naked baptism."

"Video drone?" said Pete. "Naked baptism? I've got to start going back to church."

"You know," said Cynthia, giggling, "I've heard of other churches that get together to sing hymns of faith, hear a sermon, pray for each other, and then go out to lunch afterward."

"Where's the fun in that?" I said.

I was wondering how I'd get a post out today, in which there is no time for actual writing. Then my grandson handed me this on a platter, which he dubbed, "The real reason I decided not to go to college." (This from one of the most learning-obsessed people I know.) Porter, you will love what he says about Economics.

Also, this is for all of my fellow Gilbert & Sullivan enthusiasts.