“Nimrod” is from Elgar’s well-known “Enigma Variations.” It is often played for memorial services. For church, it would be a good prelude for the Sunday on Memorial Day weekend.   

Below is a free PDF file. You will need Adobe Acrobat to open it.

http://www.electronicfiles.net/files/10359/Organ%20Music/Nimrod.pdf

Below is a free PDF file. You will need Adobe Acrobat to open it.

http://www.electronicfiles.net/files/10359/Organ%20Music/Nimrod.pdf

Numbers 6:24-26

24 The Lord bless thee, and keep thee:

25 The Lord make his face shine thee, and be gracious unto thee:

26 The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.

Psalm 121

7 The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul.

8 The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.

Try this Book of Psalms quiz

http://www.speraindeo.org/quiz7/popquiz.htm

Famous benedictions set to music

Nobody writes benediction anthems better than John Rutter. Click on links below.

“The Lord Bless you and Keep you” 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A8QcpfiU3YA

“A Gaelic Blessing”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3VYZKjG_Des&feature=related

My Rating: 

This is an article by the LDS organist James Welch. He gives some background about the composer and his music, and the history of "O Divine Redeemer." He includes a literal translation of the original French, and ends with some comments on how it has been used in the LDS church.

http://www.welchorganist.com/pages/redeemer.html

That it is good and God pleasing to sing hymns is, I think, known to every Christian; for everyone is aware not only of the example of the prophets and kings in the Old Testament who praised God with song and sound, with poetry and psaltery, but also of the common and ancient custom of the Christian church to sing Psalms. St. Paul himself instituted this in 1 Cor. 14[:15] and exhorted the Colossians [3:16] to sing spiritual songs and psalms heartily unto the Lord so that God’s Word and Christian teaching might be instilled and implanted in many ways.

Therefore I, too, in order to make a start and to give an incentive to those who can do better, have with the help of others compiled several hymns, so that the holy Gospel which now by the grace of God has risen anew may be noised and spread abroad.

Like Moses in his song [Ex. 15:2], we may now boast that Christ is our praise and song and say with St. Paul, 1 Cor. 2[:2], that we should know nothing to sing or say, save Jesus Christ our Savior.^[1]

^{http://www.goodshepherdinstitute.org/musical-heritage/volume/7/hymnody_reformation.php}

^----

In the sixteenth century, it was no longer the practice of congregations to sing hymns. Martin Luther was determined to bring this ancient tradition back. He understood the importance of congregational hymn singing. His work in hymnody was his way of giving people the chance to practice their religion, just as his German translation of the Bible made it possible for them to read and study the scriptures. Luther’s German translation of the Bible is considered one of the great monuments in German literature. His hymn “A Mighty Fortress” is one of the great Christian hymns. I once heard the hymnodist Eric Routley say that Martin Luther was one of the only people who was successful in writing both the text and tune of a first-rate hymn. Most of the great hymns are written by two different people, one writing the text and the other the tune.

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Vocabulary booster

Hymnody: The composition or singing of hymns

Hymnology: The study of religious hymns.

I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys.

  2 As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters.

Song of Solomon 2:1-2

27 Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.

Luke 12:27

Below is a youtube video of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing “Consider the Lilies” by Roger Hoffman, along with the text.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ne178Ms2SFw

May Oliver’s poem “Lilies” touches on this scripture:  

But if I were a lily

I think I would wait all day

for the green face

of the hummingbird

to touch me.

What I mean is,

could I forget myself

The calla lily is a symbol of funerals, because of its relationship to the Winter solstice, and weddings, because it is a symbol of purity. The lily of the valley is a symbol of  humility in religious painting. Here it is in a triptych at The Cloisters, a museum of Christian art.

http://www.metmuseum.org/works_of_art/collection_database/the_cloisters/The_Annunciation_Triptych/viewObject.aspx?&OID=70010727&PgSz=1

Pioneer Day has come and gone. We sang the hymn “Come, Come Ye Saints” in sacrament meeting Sunday. This hymn has always had special meaning to me, as I am the descendant of Mormon pioneers. I have sung this hymn all my life, but last Sunday it had a special resonance. Within the past two months I had three eye surgeries: two not such a big deal, and one that was a big deal. My visual trials could fill volumes, but the good news is it is all fixable. While I was waiting for my surgery last Wednesday, I noticed that some of the other patients were quite agitated. Although I had been scared out of my mind in the weeks before, when it came to the big day I was completely calm. I believe this was because I was held up by all the people who were praying for me. When we sang “Come, Come, Ye Saints” Sunday I was particularly struck by the second verse: “Why should we mourn or think our lot is hard? ‘Tis not so; all is right. Why should we think to earn a great reward If we now shun the fight? Gird up your loins; fresh courage take. Our God will never us forsake; And soon we’ll have this tale to tell—All us well! All is well!

1. Play and/or sing a hymn every morning before starting your day. You can sing the same hymn every day, start at the beginning of the hymn book and sing a different one every day, or anything in between.
2. If you have primary age children, sing a primary song with them every day before sending them to school.
3.  Open your hymnal to one of the hymns that was sung at a recent church meeting, and look up the scriptures listed next to the hymn. This is a great way to study the scriptures.
4. Choose a hymn and ponder the meaning of the words. Write down your thoughts. I occasionally post hymn meditations on this blog when a hymn we sang in sacrament meeting had a special resonance for me.
5. Join your ward choir! If you are a choir director, have your choir sing a hymn at the beginning of each rehearsal.
6. Have a hymn testimony meeting  (Relief Society, fireside, etc.) where members can request their favorite hymns and then everybody sings them.
7. If you are a music teacher, have your students learn to play hymns as part of their studies.
8. Put together a small group (or volunteer to sing in one) to sing one of the hymns as a special number for sacrament meeting.
9. Memorize the words of one of the hymns.
10. Sing before you pray.

We get nearer to the Lord through music than perhaps through any other thing except prayer." -- President J. Reuben Clark Jr., in Conference Report, Oct. 1936, 111

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fpV4kmMlSzw

Vocabulary booster

The word “soul” as it applies to music.

One of the definitions of the word “soul” in the Webster dictionary is “a strong positive feeling (as of intense sensitivity and emotional fervor) conveyed especially by black American performers.”

My father liked to use the word “soul” in music to describe a quality that is difficult to define. It is a performance, of any type of music (his preference was classical) that conveys something beyond bare emotional fervor. To him it was much more subtle, something that goes more deeply into the heart of the music.  All I can say is that I know it when I hear it. It seems to me that there can be a quality that goes beyond the technique, musicianship, and emotion of the performer into something holy, something that seems impossible without a connection to a higher power. Perhaps it is akin to what the woman felt when she touched the hem of Christ’s robe.

http://www.sibeliusmusic.com/cgi-bin/show_score.pl?scoreid=126620

This hymn anthem is based on one of the great hymns of the Restoration, and was included in the very first LDS hymnal. The accompaniment sounds best on organ, but I wrote it so that it could also be played on piano. It uses three hymn tunes: DULCIMER, ST. ANN, and ANTIOCH. When I perform this, I usually invite the congregation to join the choir in the last two verses.

Vocabulary Booster:

FYI: In the wonderful world of hymnody,  the word "hymn" is used to refer to the words, and "hymn tune" to refer to the melody. The names of hymn tunes are traditionally written in all caps. Hymn texts can and have been set to more than one tune. In popular parlance the word "hymn" can mean both the words and the tune. The hymn tune refers to only the melody. The arranger is the person who set the tune to four-part harmony, such as we find in our hymn books. Another type of arranger is the person who uses both hymn and hymn tune to create a choir anthem in which the choir harmony may or may not be the same as in the hymnal, and the accompaniment is usually newly composed.

My musings on translating ancient religious poetry

Debbie Mayhew Zufall

Poetry translation is complicated, because a poem in a second language is often so different from the original, that it can be considered a new poem. This is not necessarily a bad thing. Some of the most successful translations of religious poetry into English are found in the 1611”Authorized Version” of the Holy Bible, also commonly called “The King James Version.” The poetic books, especially The Book of Psalms, shine especially brightly in the KJV, a translation that is generally considered one of the great landmarks in the history of the English language.

Each language has its own distinctive color and beauty. When I listen to the Psalms in Hebrew, I have a different feeling than when I read them in my King James Bible, or listen to metrical versions in French by Goudimel or Bourgeois. They are all beautiful, each in their own way. Similarly, when I read a secular poem in a dual language book, I can appreciate the beauty of the original language (which I can usually pronounce better than I can understand) while using the English as a crutch.

There are many different kinds of translations. There are literal translations that you would find, for example, in an interlinear Greek/English New Testament. Most good, idiomatic translations do not sound like translations, and can stand alone as separate poems. The translation business represents a continuum, from conservative to liberal. Most, but not, all Bible translations, tend to err on the side of conservatism. On the opposite end are translators, like Robert Bly, whose own voice frequently interacts with the original poet so much that it seems as if they are singing a duet.  My experience with Bly’s translations is that I either love them or hate them, depending on the poem. It was while pulling my hair out over his translations of a poem from Rilke’s Das Buch der Bilder that I undertook my first poetry translation.

It was a laborious work, as it had been many years since I had studied German in college, but with the original text, together with a German dictionary and Bly’s translation, I was able to create an English version that reflected my own understanding of the poem. What I discovered, is that the best way to read a poem in a foreign language is to translate it yourself. Great poetry, by its nature, is not the stuff of speed-reading, and the longer you take with a poem, the more it yields. As each poem is open to multiple interpretations (and there is no one “correct” one) you can read the same poem repeatedly, and hear something new each time.

Notes on my translations from St. Hildegard

My translations of poetry by Hildegard Van Bingen are based on the literal translations by Barbara Newman, published in her book Hildegard of Bingen Symphonia. Ms. Newman also provides poetic translations as well, but she is a musicologist, not a poet, and I decided to translate a few of them, aiming for a more poetic English version. My translations are close to the original text, which is written in Hildegard’s peculiar version of twelfth century Latin.

St. Hildegard was a German Abbess of phenomenal talent. She was a first rate composer, poet, and artist, theologian, and healer. She was famous in her day, published volumes of her own distinctive theology, as well as medical treatises, concerning the medicinal uses of herbs. She was also a visionary, who believed that her music came from a celestial source. The three antiphons I translated are from her set of sixty-five chants called “Symphony of the Harmony of Celestial Revelations.” This symphony begins with the words “O strength of eternity” and ends with “come into the palace of the King.”

Hildegard’s poetry is unique, and reflects her personal understanding of spiritual maters. Her music is monophonic, which means that it is one single melody, and is considered to be in the category of Gregorian chant.  Her melodies are wondrously complex, original, and timeless. As all ancient poetry was sung, reading the words without the music is leaves half the poem behind. Still, I believe that, just as the poetry in the Bible, Hildegard’s poetry is good enough to stand on its own, without the music.

Notes on my meditations from the Old Testament

My poetry translations from Psalm 4 and Job 23 are more meditations than translations. It is an example of a new way to read the scriptures, delving deeper each time into their bottomless source of inspiration. I wrote these four years ago. Perhaps if I were writing them now, I would write entirely different poems, as ones understanding of holy write tends to change and develop over time.  

The Book of Psalms has long been one of my favorite books, a place where I have gone countless times for consolation, so I am not surprised that I wrote, “Safe in God’s lullaby” at the end of the poem based on Psalm 4:6-8. I am surprised that I wrote “I am afraid because he has blinded me/ and I can still see in the dark” at the end of the Job 23 translation. I did not know at the time I wrote this that I might eventually go blind. Fortunately, my disease is very slow moving, and there are surgical options at the end of the tunnel. At one time or another, we are all forced to contemplate the “why to bad things happen to good people” question. Here, when Job bewails the injustice intrinsic in the human condition, we already know what God’s response will be in Job 38:4, “Where wast thou when I laid the foundations on the earth? Declare, if thou hast understanding.” We cannot bargain with God, or second-guess him. In Job 23, Job is trying to think logically an illogical situation. This is why, although he can see in the dark (his understanding is superior to that of his wife and friends) he is blind to the ways of God, because they are so far above human comprehension.

Websites of interest

 Psalms in Hebrew with melodies from the masoretic text

http://www.rakkav.com/kdhinc/index2.htm

 Metrical psalms in French

 http://www.smithcreekmusic.com/Hymnology/Metrical.Psalmody/metricalpsalmody.outline.html

  Hildegard von Bingen

 http://www.healingchants.com/hvb_links.html


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   Poetry Translations of Hildegard von Bingen 

 Three Antiphons from Symphonia

Everlasting God          

Everlasting God

of burning love,

please mold us

into the limbs of Christ,

the body you fashioned from love

in the first dawn before creation.

For the sake of your son,

Lift our burdens, our human needs,

and lead us to salvation's joy. 

The Redeemer 

Pouring blood that cried to the heavens,

when all the elements

folded themselves into sorrow’s voice

with trembling from the touch

of the blood of their creator.

Anoint us.

Heal our wounds.

Holy Spirit  

Holy Spirit, life giving life,

animating all that is,

from where all creatures spring

and all impurities are washed away,

cleansing guilt,

and anointing wounds.

Thus you are luminous and praiseworthy, life,

awakening and renewing all.

  
Poetry Meditations 

After Psalm 4:6-8     

Eternal light

shine on me.

I feast on the spirit,

then slumber

safe in God's lullaby. 

After Job 23
     

God might as well have filled my pockets with rocks

and thrown me into the sea

with no rescuer in sight.           

I want my day in court

to argue for myself.

The scales of justice are in my favor.           

God is too powerful to argue.

but he would listen to reason,

and then I would be free.           

I search everywhere and cannot find him.

My compass must be broken.

Where is he? He already knows that I will pass the test.           

My feet have followed the path he set before me.

His laws have been my food and drink, my breath even.

So why am I drowning?           

His will is solid granite and I am turning to rock.

I am afraid because he has blinded me,

and I can still see in the dark.

“Away in a Manger" Vocal Solo with piano accompaniment.

http://www.sibeliusmusic.com/cgi-bin/show_score.pl?scoreid=114117

“Manger King/The First Noel”  For SATB choir, piano, and optional flute

http://www.sibeliusmusic.com/cgi-bin/show_score.pl?scoreid=111848

“Mary’s Song” Two part women’s choir or duet

http://www.sibeliusmusic.com/cgi-bin/show_score.pl?scoreid=58647

General

"How Wondrous and Great"

http://www.sibeliusmusic.com/cgi-bin/show_score.pl?scoreid=126617

My fictional story about a conducting student’s worst nightmare. Or is it a dream come true?

            This class was supposed to be my easy A. Now I was the human sacrifice, and had no idea how to protect myself. I am not the fighting type.  I was probably the only boy in the neighborhood who made it to eighteen without so much as a towel snap in the boy’s locker room. Aside from an unhappy encounter with a feral dog, I had always managed to stay away from trouble. So when Dr. Spinacker (a.k.a. Spinach) asked me to pick up a dagger and bring it home, I knew I was a dead man.

            I blame Stravinsky for the whole thing. It all started when Spinach assigned me to conduct the final movement of Igor Stravinsky’s Symphony of Psalms—eleven minutes and twenty-one seconds of torture. Who but Stravinsky would think of setting Psalm 150 as a funeral dirge? And all those syncopated beats; they made me nearly loose my lunch.

            I stood in front of a class of twenty-two students and began to conduct. Spinach hovered over the piano keyboard, while the students moaned, “lau-da-te, lau-da(boom)te.” After a few bars, Spinach stopped playing.

            “You should be feeling a sense of heaviness. Think of Atlas carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.”

            I must have looked perplexed, because he asked me if I knew who Atlas was.

            “No sir.”

            “Well, then think of Marley’s ghost. Surely, you know Dickens. No? Then the ghost of Hamlet’s father. Any ghost will do. He is scary. He has unfinished business. Someone is going to die.”

            I raised my hands and tried again. I could not imagine what being a ghost would feel like, so I pretended I was wearing wrist weights and carrying a heavy backpack.

            “More!” Spinach called from the piano bench. “Feel those chains pulling you down!”

            I glanced at the cute girl in the front row with the bright eyes. She tugged at her braid and mouthed, “Marley’s ghost in A Christmas Carol.” By the time I made the connection, it was too late. We were already in the fast part, and I was tripping all over myself trying to get the beat right. I accidentally smacked myself in the shoulder. 

          "You are supposed to be beating the music, not let it beat you,” Spinach said. “Stab! Stab! Bring that dagger home!”     

            Dagger, what dagger? I thought we were talking about ghosts. I lost the beat again.

            That is when Spinach decided to teach us how to kill. Because I had been conducting at the time, he chose me to slay the human sacrifice.

            “Pick up an imaginary dagger. That’s right. Now raise it in the air, and stab.”

            I made several weak jabs at the air.

            “Mr. Pritchard, this is not nursery school. Bring the dagger home.”

            I tried again, but I kept stopping just before the full thrust. My heart was not in it.

            “Miss Liverwort, would you please come over and show Mr. Prichard how it’s done?”

            The bright-eyed girl who knew Dickens stood up, and without hesitation made several meaty thrusts.

            “Let’s all stand up and follow Miss Liverwort. One, two three, stab!”

            The class thrust their daggers. They were all better than me. My stabs were so puny, that I felt like tiny monkey in a group of lowland gorillas.

            “Mr. Prichard, perhaps it would help if you screamed while you thrust your dagger.”

            My scream came out as a grunt. Miss Liverwort was the only one who did not laugh. 

            Finally, Spinach left me alone, and went on to torture his text victim. For the rest of the class, I slipped lower and lower in my seat. It was clear that being able to mimic a homicide was a requirement for passing this class, for being a good conductor, and for being a person that deserved to breathe. My music career was at stake, not to mention my manhood. I realized that, if I were unable to bring the dagger home, I would be incapable of conducting any serious music, especially Stravinsky, whose first performance of The Rite of Spring Ballet nearly caused a riot in a Paris theatre.

            By the end of the next class, Spinach had discovered each student’s vulnerability, and so had assigned everyone music to conduct that would make them look like fools. He also made us commit imaginary homicide again, and this time he used me for target practice. At six feet six, I towered over Spinach, who was just over five feet, old, emaciated, and looked like he was being held together by flour paste and willpower alone. He seemed no more likely to have mastered the primal scream than a rabbit. Yet there he was, screaming louder than anyone, and thrusting his dagger towards the center of my heart. He was so convincing that I held my breath, imagining that if I moved even a centimeter I would feel the cold, hard steel on my chest.

            -----

I almost did not go to the third class, but Miss. Liverwort saw me skulking around the student center, and invited me to walk with her to the music building.

“I noticed your Southern accent. Where are you from? She asked.

“Gaffney, South Carolina. I’m sure you’ve never heard of it.”

“I’m from a town in Idaho so small I don’t think it’s even on the map.”

I grinned. She grinned back, and told me that her name was Jill. She had that wholesome, high pro glow that I associate with small town girls, at least the ones my mother would approve of.

I was still staring at her when she grabbed my arm, and steered me around a tree root.

“Thanks. You have fast reflexes.”

“I have to. I grew up with five brothers who were always fighting. I didn’t want to get caught in the cross fire.”

“So I bet you’re not afraid of our maniac teacher.”

“Spinacker?” She looked thoughtful. “I guess he knows what he’s doing, although the music he assigned us is more grad level stuff.”

“So it’s not supposed to be this hard?”

“Of course not. It’s supposed to be fun.”  

            Obviously, Jill liked the class, because she was the first to volunteer to conduct. She marched to the front, pinned her braid on top of her head, and stared us down until every eye was upon her, vocal chords ready to vibrate.

            Tell us the name of the piece you are conducting, Miss Liverworts.

            It’s a  Debussy Chanson called “Dieu, qu’il la fait bon regarder.” 

            Spinach corrected her mangled French. When he rolled the r in regarder in the back of his throat, it sounded like he was trying to cough up phlegm. Then he drilled us on the pronunciation of the entire text. "Mon Dieu, lips out more,” he said. “It’s pourrait. Puuuray. Pretend you are kissing a watermelon.” The women giggled. Several men made smooching sounds. Spinach seemed so enamored of the French language, that I expected him to lead us in the Marseillaise, his own slender baritone singing happily through the bloody flag and slit throats.

            Finally, the French lesson was over, and Jill lifted her arms to give the upbeat. I was too busy trying to remember the pronunciation and sight-read the notes in the tenor part to pay much attention to her. I had the vague impression of two strong arms beating up and down, as if doing calisthenics. It must have been bad, because when it was over Spinach held his head in his hands, and shook it back and forth.

            “Miss Liverworts, this is a love song. It is more than that; it is about the dream of being in love. And do you know what the poet is in love with?”

            "No."

            “He is in love with beauty.”

            She blushed.

            “Would you like to try it again?”

            She glanced at me, and blushed even brighter.

            “I’ll try.” After the words escaped my mouth, I looked around to see if I had an evil twin I had forgotten about.    

            “Mr. Prichard, you may come up and conduct this chanson. We could use Miss Liverwort’s voice in the soprano section. They are still struggling to find their notes between all the text messaging.”

            A girl with braces and dark, red hair quickly put her cell phone back in her pocket.  

            “This song requires a light touch,” Spinach warned.

            I stared at my hands, which had suddenly grown as big as bear paws. I managed to heave them up while Spinach gave the student choir their pitches. As I muddled my way through the song, my hands seemed to get smaller and lighter, until they felt like pet finches that had suddenly escaped their cages. It was fun. The students found more of the notes this time, and managed to glance my way now and then.

            “Do you think you could conduct it like that?” Spinach asked Jill.

            “I don’t know.”

            “Think of all that Romantic love poetry, Keats, Shelley, Byron: ‘She walks in Beauty like the night, Of cloudless climes and stormy skies.’ This chanson is a beautiful song about a beautiful woman.”

            Jill came back up and raised her arms.

            “One arm will do.”

            “Pritchard used both arms.”

            “Try it with one, and see what happens. With some music, less is more.”  

            She studied her left arm, and then hid it behind her back. Unfortunately, she did just as good a job of beating the music to death with one arm than she had with two. Her ham-handed, muscle-bound conducting was as useful for conducting Debussy as was borscht and vodka for a French pastry chef.

            After class, Jill asked me if I would trade conducting assignments with her.  

 “I’d like to, but Spinach would never allow it. He wants us to fail.” 

“You’re too hard on him; he’s just trying to teach us. Maybe we could work together, you know, I could help you with Stravinsky and you could help me with my Debussy.”

“Do you think you could teach me the primal scream?”

“Yes, and bring the dagger home.”

We both laughed. “Where did you learn to stab like that?” I asked.

“I grew up on a pig farm.”

 “So you’ve actually, ah, slaughtered a pig?”

“Yes.” She looked at me quizzically as if slaughtering pigs was something that everybody learns to do as a kid, along with remembering to zip up their pants before coming out of the bathroom.

“So, later then?” She grinned.

“It’s worth a try. I can’t get any worse.” I grinned back, wondering if we were always smiling because we came from people who smiled all the time, or because we liked each other.

-----

In the practice room, Jill played the piano with the strength of a lumberjack. It was so loud, I expected to see Spinach peering in, his forehead plastered against the window. Fear rose in my throat and nearly choked me.  

She stopped. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s a little loud.”

“Why don’t you play and I conduct?”

I took her place at the piano. The score looked impossible. “It sounds so easy when Spinach plays it.”

“Just play the choral parts,” Jill said, before I could make a fool of myself.

Halfway through I stopped her. “There is not enough primal in your scream.”

“I’m the one who’s supposed to know how to conduct Stravinsky.” She looked hurt.

“How about I help you with your Debussy first?” I regretted it as soon as I said it,  sure that by the end of the practice session she would have either beaten me over the head or, even worse, refused to ever speak to me again.

I played the Debussy, and she beat the music instead of me. “What’s wrong, am I that bad? You’re scowling,” Jill said.

Her smile was contagious, and my scowl immediately turned back into to a happy face. When I met her bright blue eyes, I suddenly had an idea.

“Watch my hands.” I hummed the melody and conducted myself singing.

She joined in. She had a sweet, bell-like voice. Apparently, my evil twin was back, because I invited her to put her hands on top of mine. We had just started conducting together in perfect harmony, when she took her hands away.

 “Wait a minute.” Jill took out an MP3 player, where she had saved a sound file of the chanson. “Now show me again.” Our hands danced to the music, while our mouths accidentally touched now and then. By the end of the fourth run through, we were in full smooch.            “I think I have the hang of it now,” Jill said, her eyelashes fluttering. She was right. I had no doubt that she could conduct the Debussy as well as anyone. But my Stravinsky was still not fit for the hogs.

-----

Spinach’s skeletal fingers tapped on his desk, as he peered at me with eyes the color of dried seaweed. “Mr. Pritchard.”

            “Yes Mr. Spinach. I mean Spinacker.” I stared down at my lap.

            “That’s quite all right Mr. Pritchard. Students have been calling me “Spinach” since before you were born.

            “I’m sorry sir.”

            “You do not need to call me sir. You are not in South Carolina anymore.”

            “Okay Sir. I mean Professor Spinacker.”

            He waved the words away. “How did you and Miss Liverwort do with your practice session?”

            I looked at the wall, the ceiling, wiped my sweaty hands on my pants, and sank lower in my chair. “I don’t know. I guess okay.”

            “Do not be so wishy washy. Did you accomplish your goal?”

            “No.”

            “Why?”

            “Because we stink. I mean I stink. Miss Liverwort got a lot better.”

            I looked up from the choking silence to see Spinach smiling, although by the standards of my hometown it was more of a grimace.

“You smile like I conduct Stravinsky.” It was out before I could help myself, and I slapped my hand over my mouth. That was when Spinach began to laugh. It began as a giggle, and proceeded to a series of honking noises, accompanied by table slapping, and general stomping that shook his whole body, from fallen arches to loose dentures.

            Spinach gained control of himself with difficulty, and then smacked his lips. By the look he gave me, I realized that he had just caught me in his butterfly net and was about to pin me to a piece of cardboard. “I’ll teach you how to conduct the Stravinsky, and you are not required to stab anyone or scream.”

            “I’m not?”

            “No. All you have to do is think of the worst thing is that has ever happened to you.” He handed me a piano reduction of The Rite of Spring and turned to the Sacrificial Dance.

            “What about the Symphony of Psalms?”

            “You need stronger medicine. This is an orchestra piece, so you should use a baton.” Spinach rummaged around in his desk drawer and handed me a baton, then put an ancient record on an even more ancient turntable. Several times, he put the needle down and picked it back up, searching for the right place.

            Spinach had mentioned The Rite of Spring the first day of class, but I had never heard the music. I asked him what it was about.

            “Primitive mating rituals. Feel free to jump in at any time.” He found the spot and dropped the needle 

            The jagged rhythms made me dizzy. I stumbled to the music stand.

            “Oh, this part is about human sacrifice,” he added.

            I tripped and grabbed the music stand, which came crashing down on top of me.

            With surprising dexterity, Spinach pulled the stand off me, and helped me up. I fumbled with the score, and by the time I found the right page the music was over.

            “Are you finally ready?”

             I nodded. Spinach dropped the needle again, and I raised the baton. Almost immediately, Spinach began to yell. “Where’s your pain? What is the worst thing that ever happened to you?”

            What was the worst thing that ever happened? There was something about a dog, but that was a long time ago. I gritted my teeth and kept on conducting.  

             “You’re conducting like a wind-up toy. I’ll bet you’re still a virgin.”

            My face grew hot, and I began to sweat.

            “Stop conducting the beat. Conduct the music.”

            Nothing he said helped.  I began to curse under my breath. I bit my lip and accidentally hit my elbow on the music stand.

            Like a snarling Doberman tearing my clothes to pieces, Spinach kept yelling insults. Then I smelled dog breath, and I was five years old again. When I tried to kick the dog away, he dug his teeth into my leg. I charged into the music, using the baton as a weapon.  I kept beating him in time to the music. I hit him over and over again, on the back, shoulders, head. The dog ran away, but he was still in the music, churning, kicking up dust.

            The music was so much a part of me, that I could feel it all the way from toes to teeth. I was disappointed when it was over. 

            “Ah, we have an audience,” Spinach said. “Miss Liverwort, please join us.”

            I wondered how long Jill had been standing in the doorway watching me.

            “Our young man is improving, is he not?”

            “Oh yes.” She grinned at me. I grinned back. We could not help ourselves.

The first file is available in two different file formats, PDF or Sibelius. For PDF you need to have Adobe Acrobat on you computer. For Sibelius you will need the SCORCH plug-in, which is available on the Sibelius site. This allows you to both listen to and print the files. Also, the printing quality may be better than PDF.

"All Creatures of our God and King"

http://www.electronicfiles.net/files/10359/Piano%20Music/allcreatures0001.pdf

http://www.sibeliusmusic.com/cgi-bin/show_score.pl?scoreid=123042

Simplified version of Debussy’s Clair de Lune

http://www.sibeliusmusic.com/cgi-bin/show_score.pl?scoreid=48116

Duet: Handel's  "Air and Variation"

http://www.sibeliusmusic.com/cgi-bin/show_score.pl?scoreid=51342

http://www.sibeliusmusic.com/cgi-bin/show_score.pl?scoreid=57610

Prelude on Kingsfold (If you Could Hie to Kolab)

http://www.sibeliusmusic.com/cgi-bin/show_score.pl?scoreid=48231

For Christmas "The Holly and the Ivy"

http://www.sibeliusmusic.com/cgi-bin/show_score.pl?scoreid=48237

Fantasy on “He is Risen”

http://www.sibeliusmusic.com/cgi-bin/show_score.pl?scoreid=124889

“Hymn of Praise”

http://www.sibeliusmusic.com/cgi-bin/show_score.pl?scoreid=124890

Prayer of Thanksgiving

http://www.sibeliusmusic.com/cgi-bin/show_score.pl?scoreid=125143

Prelude on “Christ the Lord is Risen Today”

http://www.sibeliusmusic.com/cgi-bin/show_score.pl?scoreid=125142

http://www.sibeliusmusic.com/cgi-bin/show_score.pl?scoreid=123045

http://www.electronicfiles.net/files/10359/Organ%20Music/Brahms101.pdf

"Abide with me ‘tis Eventide"

http://www.sibeliusmusic.com/cgi-bin/show_score.pl?scoreid=111246

Variations on “All Through the Night”

http://www.sibeliusmusic.com/cgi-bin/show_score.pl?scoreid=47286

http://www.sibeliusmusic.com/cgi-bin/show_score.pl?scoreid=123044

http://www.electronicfiles.net/files/10359/Organ%20Music/Mozart0001.pdf

Noel Nouvelet (For Easter)

http://www.sibeliusmusic.com/cgi-bin/show_score.pl?scoreid=123043

http://www.electronicfiles.net/files/10359/Organ%20Music/Noel0001.pdf

Debbie Mayhew Zufall

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PJ8qMd8u-lo

Poulenc is well-known by players of wind instruments, as he wrote quite a lot of chamber music for piano with various wind instruments. I remember playing the piano part of his flute/piano sonata with my best friend in high school. One of my favorite pieces is his sonata for piano, oboe and bassoon. Below is a video from the Oberlin Conservatory of Music. (Otherwise known as "the con.") I like the slide show, with views of the college. I have spent quite a lot of time in Oberlin, and have never been disappointed in any concert I attended there.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QzGJ3_dDpQE

What really impresses me is the fact that Poulenc wrote a harpsichord concerto. You would think that an orchestra would drown a harpsichord out. He solved this problem by using a smaller orchestra, and doing a lot of alternating between harpsichord and orchestra. All the loud, bombastic parts are played by the orchestra alone, and when the harpsichord comes in the orchestra plays more quietly, and without all the instruments. It works, and is a charming piece. This is sometimes played by piano instead of harpsichord.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RexTbgKqGRI

For pianists, here is a video of Poulenc’s “Trois Movements Perpetuels”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K3PWxYejetQ

Here you can look at famous Gothic architecture while listening to the "Domine Deus" from Poulenc’s famous “Gloria.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O5Z1gxGhRQQ

Gotta love ‘em.