A mystery, a cautionary tale, and a little advice
A new “liturgical mystery” from author Mark Schweizer
The Maestro Wore Mohair is the twelfth addition to his rib-tickling series of books featuring Hayden Konig, the doubly employed Episcopal organist-choirmaster and police chief of fictional St. Germaine, North Carolina, abetted by his memorable group of choristers, bizarre townspeople, and the highest per capita number of murder victims of any choir and congregation known to literary history! Joining the riotous series of zany (but compelling) page turners The Alto Wore Tweed, The Baritone Wore Chiffon, The Tenor Wore Tapshoes, The Soprano Wore Falsettos, The Bass Wore Scales, The Mezzo Wore Mink, The Diva Wore Diamonds, The Organist Wore Pumps, The Countertenor Wore Garlic, The Treble Wore Trouble, and The Cantor Wore Crinolines, this latest volume continues the laugh-out-loud-inducing portrayal of contemporary church goings-on and small-town political skullduggery that we have come to expect from the talented Mr. Schweizer. By the time I had perused the first third of the book I had noted accurate references to composers Arthur Baynon, Max Reger, Ralph Vaughan Williams, Henry Purcell, George Frideric Handel, Robert Lehman, and J. S. Bach, and been introduced to the developing “Cuddling Ministry” at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church (with predictable results for
the parish).
Need I write more to whet the appetite for this must-have book? To those of us who are hooked on the series, each new addition is the year’s standout literary event. And should any reader be seeking the perfect Christmas gift(s), forget the partridge-in-a-pear-tree and go for the dead-body-in-St.-Germaine! For those truly special ones on your gift list, why not a set of all twelve? [Or thirteen: the touching, but much shorter, Christmas Cantata (A St.-Germaine Christmas Entertainment)—is only 96 pages as compared to the 200-plus pages comprising each of the twelve liturgical mysteries—but is sometimes included by the author in his numbering of the series.] Published by SJMP Books, and available from St. James Music Press, P. O. Box 249, Tryon, NC 28782 (www.sjmpbooks.com). Not recommended, however, for music committee members, who would almost certainly lobby for a Pirate Eucharist or a staged performance of Elisha and the Two Bears. (Yes, dear reader, printed scores to these, and other madcap liturgical adventures, are available. See the website).
A cautionary tale
In mid-May my former Southern Methodist University (SMU) Artist Certificate organ and harpsichord student Simon Menges (born 1982), now employed as an organist in Arbon, Switzerland, made his first return visit to Dallas since his student days. We had a lovely reunion, but shortly after his return to Europe, I received this quite startling e-mail from Simon. He wrote:
“When one travels to play recitals, there is much to tell! I played a concert in Düsseldorf on Monday evening (June 1). My wife Eun-hye and I traveled there on Sunday afternoon. Before I went to the church to practice, my wife and I plus a school friend went to a restaurant to have dinner together. When I reached for my backpack to retrieve my wallet and pay for the food, I discovered that it [the backpack] was not there anymore. Someone had stolen it. I know that it was done on purpose, because the thief took out my umbrella and left it there for me, which was nice since it rained very hard that night.
“The backpack had my wallet with quite a lot of money, all our passports and bank cards, etc. in it, plus the scores for the concert, my organ shoes, and a recording machine. This meant I could not go to practice on Sunday night.
“I had to replace the music for the concert somehow, a task particularly difficult because this was not a very usual program: William Walton’s Crown Imperial, Karg-Elert’s Valse Mignonne, the Liszt Totentanz, Mystique by Widor, and Brünnhilde’s Immolation from Wagner’s Götterdämmerung. Luckily I was able to get all the scores from friends. One took pictures of the Karg-Elert piece and sent it to me via e-mail. It took three hours to get all the music, but it worked, something I thought would be impossible. It turned out to be a nice experience, having friends from all over the world sending me the music for my own concert!
“The next morning I just had to buy new organ shoes and then I was all set to prepare for the concert. I missed a few hours of practicing and preparing registrations, but I was able to play the concert. I was not in the best condition after the shock of losing such important items, but still I played OK.”
Simon sent me the link to an online forum review of his concert (in German), and he did, indeed, receive high marks for his sensitive and musically rewarding playing of the organ in St. Lambertus Church, Düsseldorf-Altstadt.
I report this frightening story (albeit one with a positive ending) to serve as a reminder for all of us to guard our belongings with the utmost care, especially when we are traveling to a concert engagement. Today’s communication possibilities worked well for Simon, but in the recent past I have also heard from a longtime friend, now retired, who is enjoying quite a lot of traveling. His camera (with irreplaceable pictures of a dying friend) and passport were stolen during a cruise stopover—certainly an unsettling thing to happen to anyone. I have long made it a habit to carry a photocopy of the data page from my passport in a separate bag, or have it filed with a friend when I am traveling abroad.
A “Little” advice
While clearing my SMU office and trying to organize the glut of papers and memorabilia at home, I came across an obituary from The New York Times (August 3, 2008) that had caught my eye. I had never read anything by the deceased writer Stuart W. Little, but from this Times piece I learned that he had written many articles and books about developments in the theatre from the 1950s through the 1970s. However it was obit author Bruce Weber’s short closing paragraph that made me feel the most empathy with the late Mr. Little: “He was proudest of the fact that he never became a critic,” [his son] Christopher Little said. “He wanted to be liked by people.”
