Music that seems most appropriate:
Under the Sun – Variation 2
composed by Karlis Auzans
from the film Under the Sun, directed by Vitaly Mansky
posted with permission of (and thanks to) Karlis Auzans
— posted by Roger W. Smith
April 2020
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Maurerische Trauermusik (Masonic Funeral Music), K. 477 (1785)
— posted by Roger W. Smith
April 2020
Samuel Barber, Adagio for Strings (1936)
— posted by Roger W. Smith
April 2020
Domine Deus
from Stabat Mater, RV 589, by Antonio Vivaldi
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Domine Deus, Rex coelestis,
Deus Pater omnipotens.
— posted by Roger W. Smith
April 2020
I have been looking for consoling music to listen to during this time of crisis.
Most music is too intense for me right now.
I find — and always have — the composer Alan Hovhaness’s “Ave Maria,” Opus 100, no. 1a, for women’s chorus and instrumental accompaniment, which was composed in 1955, to be a beautiful piece that is just right right now. “Ave Maria” is part of a three-part work of the composer entitled Triptych.
My father, Alan W. Smith, had a nodding acquaintance with Hovhaness when both were in their adolescence. He and Hovhaness grew up in the same town (Arlington, Massachusetts) and had the same piano teacher.
— Roger W. Smith
April 2020
“Sing on! you gray-brown bird”
movement eight from When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d: A Requiem for those we love
composed by Paul Hindemith.
text from Walt Whitman’s poem of the same name
Words and music fitting for our present time.
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Sing on, sing on you gray-brown bird,
Sing from the swamps, the recesses, pour your chant from the
bushes,
Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines.
Sing on dearest brother, warble your reedy song,
Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe.
O liquid and free and tender!
O wild and loose to my soul—O wondrous singer!
You only I hear—yet the star holds me, (but will soon depart,)
Yet the lilac with mastering odor holds me.
Now while I sat in the day and look’d forth,
In the close of the day with its light and the fields of spring, and
the farmers preparing their crops,
In the large unconscious scenery of my land with its lakes and
forests,
In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb’d winds and the
storms,)
Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the
voices of children and women,
The many-moving sea-tides, and I saw the ships how they
sail’d,
And the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy
with labor,
And the infinite separate houses, how they all went on, each with
its meals and minutia of daily usages,
And the streets how their throbbings throbb’d, and the cities pent
—lo, then and there,
Falling upon them all and among them all, enveloping me with the
rest,
Appear’d the cloud, appear’d the long black trail,
And I knew death, its thought, and the sacred knowledge of
death.
Then with the knowledge of death as walking one side of me,
And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me,
And I in the middle as with companions, and as holding the
hands of companions,
I fled forth to the hiding receiving night that talks not,
Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp in the
dimness,
To the solemn shadowy cedars and ghostly pines so still.
And the singer so shy to the rest receiv’d me,
The gray-brown bird I know receiv’d us comrades three,
And he sang the carol of death, and a verse for him I love.
From deep secluded recesses,
From the fragrant cedars and the ghostly pines so still,
Came the carol of the bird.
And the charm of the carol rapt me,
As I held as if by their hands my comrades in the night,
And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird.
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“I will try to remain calm. I will try to concentrate my attention on the sound of the wind and the buzzing of the bees outside my window, the scent of the hoya blossom, … and the sight of the cherry trees in bloom.” — Ella Rutledge, March 30, 2020
— posted by Roger W. Smith
April 2020
In some British film that I was watching with my wife last night, there was a scene with a young woman playing the piano: Beethoven, Chopin, and another piece.
“I know that piece,” I said to my wife. Then, after a moment or two of concentration, I said, “It’s Schubert. One of his impromptus.”
Here it is. I find Schubert very appropriate for these incredibly sad times.
Also posted above is Liszt’s piano transcription of a song from Schubert’s song cycle Winterreise (Winter’s Journey): namely, “Wasserflut” (“Flood”).
— posted by Roger W. Smith
March 22, 2020
Last night, I heard Beethoven’s short piece Meeresstille und glückliche Fahrt (Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage), Op. 112. performed at Carnegie Hall. It is a setting of two poems by Goethe.
The words enchanted me.
Beethoven, as in the Pastorale Symphony — and also in the Choral Fantasy and Ode To Joy — could write outstanding music (as, say, Stravinsky really couldn’t in this respect, despite the supposed primal quality of The Rite of Spring) that captures the elemental human expression of nature and human emotions.
Goethe’s beautiful words follow.
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Meerestille
Tiefe Stille herrscht im Wasser,
Ohne Regung ruht das Meer,
Und bekümmert sieht der Schiffer
Glatte Fläche ringsumher.
Keine Luft von keiner Seite!
Todesstille fürchterlich!
In der ungeheuern Weite
Reget keine Welle sich.
Glückliche Fahrt
Die Nebel zerreißen,
Der Himmel ist helle,
Und Äolus löset
Das ängstliche Band.
Es säuseln die Winde,
Es rührt sich der Schiffer.
Geschwinde! Geschwinde!
Es teilt sich die Welle,
Es naht sich die Ferne;
Schon seh ich das Land!
Calm Sea
Deep stillness rules the water
The sea lies motionless,
And sadly, the sailor observes
The smooth surfaces all around.
No air from any side!
Deathly, terrible stillness!
In the immense distances
not a single wave stirs.
Prosperous Voyage
The fog is torn,
The sky is bright,
And Aeolus releases
The fearful bindings.
The winds whisper,
The sailor begins to move.
Quickly, quickly!
The waves part,
The distance approaches;
Already, I see the land!
— posted by Roger W. Smith
March 6, 2019
FOR THE MOST HOLY
VIRGIN,
A MASS FOR SIX VOICES
[FOR CHURCH CHOIRS]
AND VESPERS TO BE SUNG
BY SEVERAL VOICES,
WITH SEVERAL SACRED SONGS,
SUITED FOR CHAPELS OR THE CHAMBERS OF PRINCES
THE WORK
OF CLAUDIO MONTEVERDI,
RECENTLY COMPOSED
AND DEDICATED TO THE MOST BLESSED POPE PAUL V.
Venice, by Riccianlo Amadino.
1610.
Monteverdi, Vespers – libretto
Posted here is Claudio Monteverdi’s Vespera della Beata Vergine in the version known as the Vespers of 1610. A complete libretto (Word document) is attached above.
I have known and admired the Vespers for a long time, and finally got to hear them performed live, in an outstanding performance by Tenet Vocal Artists, a Renaissance music choral group, at the Church of Saint Jean Baptiste in Manhattan on January 2, 2020.
— posted by Roger W. Smith
February 2020
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the complete work
Ar ne kuthe ich sorghe non
nu ich mot imane min mon;
karful wel sore ich syche
Geltles ich sholyc muchele schame;
help God, for thin swete name,
kyng of heuene riche.
Jesu crist, sod God sod man,
louerd thu rew upon me,
of prisun thar ich in am
bring me ut and makye fre.
Ich and mine feren sume,
God wot ich ne lyghe noct,
for othre habbet misname
ben in thys prisun ibroct.
Almicti, that wel lictli,
bale is hale and bate, heuenking,
of this woning ut us bringe mote.
Foryef hem, the wykke men,
yhef it is thi wille, for wos gelt
we bed ipelt in thos prisun hille.
Ne hope non to this liue
her ne mai he biliue,
Heghe thegh he astighe
ded hym felled to grunde.
Nu had man wele and blisce,
rathe he shal thar of misse.
worldes wele midywisse
ne lasted buten on stunde.
Maiden that bare the heuen king,
bisech thin sone, that swete thing,
that he habbe of hus rewsing
and bring hus of this woning,
for his muchele milse.
He bring hus ut of this wo,
and hus tache werchen swo
in thos liue, go wusit go
that we moten ey and o
habben the eche blisse.
Previously I knew no sorrow,
now I must give voice to my grief:
full of care I and suffering. I sigh.
Guiltless, I suffer great shame:
help, God, for your sweet name,
Lord of heaven’s kingdom.
Jesus Christ, in truth God, in truth man,
Lord, have pity upon me,
from this prison that I am in
bring me out and make me free.
I and some of my companions,
(God knows that I do not lie)
for other men’s misdeeds
have into this prison been cast.
Almighty, who very easily
is remedy and cure for pain, heaven-king,
from this misery may liberate us.
Forgive them. the wicked men,
God, if it is your will. for whose guilt
we have been thrust into this evil prison.
Have no hope in this life.
for here he may not remain.
High though he ascends,
death will fell him to the ground.
Now man has wealth and bliss,
but soon he shall lose them.
The wealth of the world certainly
lasts not but a moment.
Maiden who bore the Heaven-king,
beseech your son, that sweet thing,
that he have pity on us
and bring us from this misery,
for his great mercy.
May he bring us out of this woe,
and teach us to act
so that in this life, however it may go,
we may forever
have eternal bliss.
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I heard this medieval song performed by soprano Jolle Greenleaf (her voice is incredible and virtually indescribable) in a concert of English medieval music by Tenet Vocal Artists at the Rare Book Room of the Strand Bookstore on February 13, 2020.
Pity the prisoners incarcerated, most of them with no purpose and for no good — I would guess this is true of about ninety-five percent of the prisoners currently incarcerated — by our criminal “justice” system.
— Roger W. Smith
February 2020
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“A common thread throughout medieval English sacred music, both in Latin and in the vernacular, is a devoted love of Mary. The sweetness of so much of English polyphony seems especially appropriate for music to celebrate Christianity’s great mother.
“In ‘Arne kuth ich sorghe non’ the singer, destitute and imprisoned, first calls out to Jesus for help. Finally, in the last stanza she turns to Mary, imploring her to intercede with her son Christ: “beseech thy son to have pity on us and bring us from this great misery.”
— program notes by Robert Mealy
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See also my post
“Ar ne kuth” II