Eckhard sent this fascinating insight into the Bach Chorus, Glory be to God, which we were singing yesterday evening.  It is well worth reading.

Here is what I was trying to say yesterday, but not everyone was able to hear.  In the opening chorus of Part V there is an insight from the original German lyrics that I think has been lost in translation.

The chorus opens
Ehre sei dir Gott, Ehre sei dir Gott,  Ehre sei dir Gott, gesungen,
Glory be to God, Glory be to God,  Glory be to God, Almighty.

On first impressions that is a reasonably good translation, with only the last word being different.  Gesungen vs Almighty.  Sung vs Almighty.

Moving on to the fugue.
Dir sei Lob und Dank bereit.
Glory, thanks and praise be giv’n

The word Bereit is about preparing, preparation, or readiness.
(for you, be praise and thanks prepared would be a better translation).
So in this passage we are singing about preparing the praise that is to be sung to God Most High.  How lovely is that.  Finally, a chorus about choir practice!

Immediately the fugue launches into a light warm-up on scales.  God is not here yet, so we can relax and play and practice these beautiful, light, follow the leader scales and intervals until we are full of confidence and with smiling eyes and tuneful voices we are ready to sing the music that we are preparing to sing to God.

Ehre sei dir Gott, Ehre sei dir Gott,  Ehre sei dir Gott, gesungen,
Glory be to God, Glory be to God,  Glory be to God, Almighty.

Now doesn’t that make a difference!

Thank you, Eckhard!!

Who was J S Bach?

Singing The Christmas Oratorio, and ABC Classic holding a poll to judge whether its composer is “overrated”  (and the answer, thankfully, is that 60% of listeners think he is not overrated), are sufficient stimuli to muse on the issue of who this world famous man was.

Or perhaps, on who he might have been.  It is typical that, over the years, legends and stories arise, some of which form the popular view, and some of which re-inforce the traditions with ornamentation and embellishment.

We can be certain that J S Bach came from a musical family, and that he admired the work of many composers of his day, including the renowned organist, Buxtehude.  We know that in the course of two marriages, he produced twenty two children, some of whom also became musicians.

We also know that Bach was the third choice for the position of Cantor at Leipzig Cathedral, the position he occupied, along with several others demanding roles, while his musical creativity was at its peak.

The seemingly endless stream of music, including cantatas, settings of the Passions, Masses, orchestral suites and concertos, organ voluntaries and inventions, solo violin and cello works, is hugely impressive for its scale alone, never mind the beauty of form and style in each piece.

Simon Tedschi, in a recent article for the ACO, writes about the chain of events involving some of Bach’s sons and some of Felix Mendelssohn’s immediate ancestors, which led to Bach’s music re-emerging in the 19^th century, after a hundred years of the scores sitting in musty trunks in cheerless attics and cellars.  It is amazing to think that, should any of the co-incidences in that chain have been broken, we might never have heard Bach’s music again.

Of course, it is unlikely that we will ever know any more about Bach than is already documented.   Maybe we should settle for enjoying listening to, and for us in the Choir, performing, his music – revelling in its astonishing structures, soaring melodies, rich harmony, luscious textures, and life affirming meaning.

Yesterday saw another of those curious coincidences which brighten up our lives from time to time.

Maybe the compiler of the yesterday’s Sydney Morning Herald Cryptic Crossword had been in collusion with Carlos.  I doubt it, and suspect that what happened was simply a happy coincidence.

The clue for 13 Down had me stumped for a while.  “Place oboe part aurally, and play for the first time,” it read.  Only the appearance of a few letters from answers to other clues enabled me to figure out the answer.  A place is a site, and an oboe part is a reed.  Site followed by reed, which sounds like………

………sight read.

And that is exactly what we did last night to this beautiful piece by Gustav Holst, Christmas Day.  Overall, we sight read it pretty well, thanks to Carlos’ patient coaxing, and Jim’s skillful reading of the accompaniment.

It’s a lovely piece.  The carols blend together so well that you do not realise what is happening.  They merge seamlessly and effortlessly from peaceful moments to strong climaxes and back.  The final few bars were described so aptly by Pam when she said that it was like the carollers disappearing into the distance, still singing.

It is strange to think that Holst is really only known for The Planets.  If this piece is anything to go by, there must be many other delightful pieces by him which are worthy of being in the regular repertoire.

They say that good things come in threes, and last week was no exception.  After several weeks of no concert-going, I went to three events in the space of five days.  the first included a musical representation of the lives of convicts under British rule in England and in Australia; the second, very different, was Carlos and the RHHSO’s exciting and exuberant program of music from South America.  The third was very different again.

This was an extraordinary concert.  The Yorta Yorta singer and composer Deborah Cheetham-Fraillon has written a War Requiem for Peace as her response to the frontier wars around Eumeralla in what is now Victoria.

It’s the sort of piece which really should not work.  The Roman Catholic Requiem Mass was first re-written in English to transpose it into the spiritual framework of the Dreamtime, based on a Creator Spirit and Ancestral Spirits.  It was then translated into the Gunditjmara language, and Deborah CF (I trust she does not mind being thus abbreviated) set these words to music on a grand scale – a huge orchestra, a large chorus and a children’s choir.  Indigenous artist Tom Day has produced artwork for each of the nineteen movements, which was displayed on a huge screen behind the orchestra.

But it does work.  It works very well.  Clearly its main perspective is that of seeking eternal rest for the spirits of the Gunditjmara people, but the spirits of the settlers involved are not forgotten.  There are heart-rending moments of intense agony, spell-binding moments of quiet reflection, and settling times when the music floats effortlessly throughout the auditorium.

The music is well suited to the large space which is the Concert Hall.  All the players and singers, conducted by Benjamin Northey, performed with conviction, and the soloists’ voices, especially that of Deborah CF herself, managed to soar above the combined forces with ease.  The only downside was an over-enthusiastic audience applauding at the most poignant moments, thereby spoiling some of the piece’s magic.

A festoon of microphones implies that the performance was recorded, possibly to be broadcast by the ABC.  Keep an ear out for the inevitable promo!

Deborah CF is a member of the stolen generation.  Her adoptive parents nurtured and encouraged her prodigious musical talents and her boundless energy to make her the musical tour de force that she is today.  It must feel very strange to be a success in a culture which is not your birth culture.

I like to think that every performance of this work is another step, however incrementally small, in bringing a spirit of respect and reconciliation between people who have their historic differences, but who are facing the future hand in hand.

I do not know what it is that has prompted me to put fingers to keyboard this morning.

Maybe it was the kind encouragement of a couple of choristers at last night’s rehearsal.

Maybe it is starting to prepare the same music which the Choir was rehearsing when I joined eighteen years ago.

Or maybe it was the article in the current edition of Peninsula Living, espousing the benefits of singing in a community choir.

The latter item refers to the usual mix of “scientific” studies which supposedly prove the claimed benefits of singing.  I have never needed convincing.  Having sung in choirs for most of my life, I simply know that singing in a choir is good for you.

Perhaps most tellingly, there was a time when I had a particularly stressful job, and setting off for choir practice (a round trip of 60km in an English winter, possibly through rain, hail, snow, black ice and fog or any combination of these) was the very last thing I wanted to do after dinner on a Tuesday evening.  But I always went.  I had to go, as I was transport for one of those most valuable of commodities, a First Tenor, who did not drive.  I figured that if it ever came to auditions, they would have to pass me, as if they did not, they would also lose a First Tenor.  Whatever the motivation, without fail I always felt better on the return journey, buoyed up and positive for the rest of the week.

Last week I was part of a conversation about individualism versus collaboration.  Which produces the better society?  There are arguments both ways.  The competitiveness of individualism often drives invention and economic progress.  But collaboration produces social cohesion, a common purpose and sense of looking after each other.  That is what singing in a choir engenders above all else.  We all know our own part, but we are also aware of what everyone around us is doing, and we work together to produce the best possible result.

For my money, singing in a choir is a microcosm of a better life, and as such it’s worth its weight in gold.