John Bishop is executive director of the Organ Clearing House.
Circumstantial pomp
Music is the stuff of ceremony. For scores of generations our graduations, coronations, installations, and celebrations have been accompanied by musical flourish. Music is with us when we marry and when we die—it marks our personal and public milestones. It expresses our joy, our dissonance, our unity, and our dissidence.
Musicians who work for the church know this as well as anyone. Each liturgical celebration has its particular hymns, anthems, and incidental music. Triumphant ceremonial pieces announce the great festivals of the Church. Contemplative, even mournful music accompanies sacraments and Passions.
It is both the privilege and the bane of the church organist to participate in countless family celebrations, meet with young couples preparing for marriage, and present music for weddings and funerals marking the events in the lives of the families. Families are at their best or their worst during these life experiences, but the thoughtful organist never loses sight of the importance of that music. I recall a year when Valentine’s Day happened to fall on a Sunday. The pastor preached about marriage, and I programmed the most familiar of wedding music for prelude, postlude, solo, and anthem. At the end of the postlude (Mendelssohn, of course), the church was full of people weeping. It took me half an hour to get down the aisle to coffee (and pink cupcakes) in the narthex.
Patriotism as protest
Each Olympic champion stands on a podium in front of a crowd while their country’s anthem is played. It moves me to see how that moves them—how proud and patriotic they are at that high moment of their life. But many of us remember American runner Tommie Smith, winner and world-record setter in the 200-meter race, giving a Black Power salute as America’s national anthem was played in his honor at the 1968 Summer Olympics in Mexico City. Smith was quoted, “If I win, I am American, not a black American. But if I did something bad, then they would say I am a Negro. We are black and we are proud of being black. Black America will understand what we did tonight.”
Alleluia, sing alleluia.
Easter Sunday comes with a boatload of dedicated music. Newspaper columnist and humorist Dave Barry wrote that on Easter Sunday in his home church in Armonk, New York, parishioners had potted hyacinths in their hands, which they held up over their heads for each “alleluia” of that most familiar of Easter hymns—pretty cute. Trumpets and trombones play music of Handel and Gabrieli, lots of organists play Widor. But one of our country’s most singular Easter Sunday musical celebrations occurred on April 9, 1939, when Marian Anderson sang a recital at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C. Ms. Anderson was perhaps the most famous serious singer of the time—star of the international solo and operatic stage. A couple years earlier, her agent Sol Hurok had tried to promote her presenting a recital at Constitution Hall in Washington, stronghold of the Daughters of the American Revolution (DAR). But because Marian Anderson was an African-American, she was denied.
Eleanor Roosevelt, that most spunky of activist women, was outraged by this denial. She resigned from the DAR in protest and joined Secretary of the Interior Harold Ickes to promote Anderson’s appearance at the Lincoln Memorial—not a bad venue for back-up. That was the first time that iconic place was used as a stage for the civil rights movement, paving the way for one of the greatest speeches in the history of the human condition, Martin Luther King’s I have a dream. And it was a serious musical event with seventy-five-thousand people in attendance. Get that? 75,000 people. She sang O, mio Fernando from Donizetti’s La Favorita, and Schubert’s Ave Maria as well as spirituals and other well-known selections.
Civil rights historian Raymond Arsenault has recently published a book about this pivotal musical experience. In The Sound of Freedom: Marian Anderson, the Lincoln Memorial, and the Concert That Awakened America (Bloomsbury, 2009), Arsenault discusses the events that led to the presentation of the concert and the impact it had on the early struggle for civil rights in America. Dwight Garner of the New York Times wrote, “Raymond Arsenault delivers . . . a tightly focused look at the political and cultural events that led up to and came after her famous 1939 concert. It’s a story that’s well worth retelling.” You can find the book at http://search.barnesandnoble.com/The-Sound-of-Freedom/Raymond- Arsenault/e/9781596915787/—or better yet, order it through your local independent bookstore.
Why write about civil rights in The Diapason? I love the idea that a musical event can be identified as an historical turning point. And last week, Easter Sunday 2009, my wife and I attended a special commemorative concert at the Lincoln Memorial. Having left blustery, chilly New England at the height of mud season, we delighted in the balmy sunny weather of April in Washington. But as we were still in winter mode, we foolishly failed to bring the hats and sunglasses appropriate for the absence of shade on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. I once had natural protection against the midday sun, but no more. Driving out of Washington the next day, we were as pink as those cupcakes.
Before Marian Anderson passed away in 1993 at the age of 96 (she must have taken good care of her voice), she presented mezzo-soprano Denyce Graves with the Marian Anderson Award. Ms. Graves was the headliner at last week’s concert, wearing a gown that had been given to her by Ms. Anderson. Accompanied by pianist Warren Jones, she repeated Marian Anderson’s performances of Donizetti and Schubert. (I was amused by the guy with the Steinway & Sons sweatshirt who drew the duty to tune that sun-baked piano.) Ms. Graves was joined by Sweet Honey in the Rock, an acclaimed a cappella group of five singers and a signer specializing in gospel songs and spirituals, and by the Chicago Children’s Choir, an energetic group of high-school kids who form the senior ensemble of a program that serves “2800 children ages 8–18 through choirs in forty-five schools, after-school programs in eight Chicago neighborhoods and the internationally acclaimed Concert Choir.”1 The choir is directed by the eloquent and dynamic Josephine Lee, who must be a fantastic influence for those young musicians. The cast was filled out by “The President’s Own,” the U.S. Marine Band. Holy cow!
After an hour-and-a-half of music, General Colin Powell presided over the swearing-in of 200 new American citizens. It was quite an afternoon. And what was the postlude? The Stars and Stripes Forever played by the Marine Band—how’s that for ceremonial music—and let me tell you, that group (formerly conducted by John Philip Sousa) knows how to send that tune.
And by the way, on the last page of the concert program we read:
DAR Honors Marian Anderson
The National Society Daughters of the American Revolution is truly honored to celebrate the life and legacy of Marian Anderson. On the 70th anniversary of her historic Lincoln Memorial Concert, the DAR deeply regrets that Marian Anderson was not given the opportunity to perform at Constitution Hall in 1939, but today we join with all Americans to honor her memory and commemorate a pivotal event in the struggle for racial equality . . .
A gunnery guitar
Where in American music would a guitarist hold the title “Gunnery Sergeant?”
About ten years ago, Wendy and I attended another function in Washington. One of her colleagues was receiving an arts award from President Clinton and we were on the guest list. A huge crowd gathered under a tent on the White House lawn for a ceremony and concert (Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue). The assembled throng stood to sing The National Anthem and we were astonished by a majestic voice across the aisle—Metropolitan Opera star bass-baritone Samuel Ramey, a devil of a Mephistopheles, was a fellow audience member.
Arriving at a White House event is something of a production, even in the days before 9-11. There were dogs sniffing in trunks, mirrors looking under cars, and lots of sturdy serious people making sure you’re walking in the right direction. We walked along carpets across the lawn passing little musical ensembles. There was a harpist and flute, a string quartet, a pianist—all in formal red-and-black Marine uniforms festooned with gold braid and shiny buttons—members of the United States Marine Band. Before that night, I had no idea there was a harpist in the Marine Band. Today the incumbent is Master Sergeant Karen Grimsy who holds degrees from Indiana University and the Manhattan School of Music.
It’s hard to imagine a musical ensemble more involved in ceremonial music than the U.S. Marine Band. I’ll bet that the members are as familiar with Hail to the Chief or The Stars and Stripes Forever as the local parish organist is with Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring or The Pachelbel Canon (is it a composer or a title?).
As I write I’m flipping through the website of the Marine Band, www.marineband.usmc.mil. I find descriptions of the various ensembles (Chamber Orchestra, Chamber Ensembles, Concert Band, etc.). I find a huge calendar of upcoming performances—it looks as though among the various ensembles they do about 150 concerts a year, both at home and on tour. There are about 130 members and five officers (conductors), and the website has photos and bios of all of them, including cellist Master Sergeant Diana Fish, pianist Master Gunnery Sergeant Robert Boguslaw, and what must be the job of all jobs, piccolo player (I guess we don’t say piccolist) Master Gunnery Sergeant Cynthia Rugolo. I bet she knows the obbligato from Stars and Stripes Forever from memory.
Colonel Michael J. Colburn is the director of the Marine Band. The website tells us that
as Director of “The President’s Own,” Col. Colburn is music adviser to the White House. He regularly conducts the Marine Band at the Executive Mansion and at all Presidential Inaugurations. He also serves as music director of Washington, D.C.’s prestigious Gridiron Club, a position held by every Marine Band Director since John Philip Sousa, and is a member of the Alfalfa Club and the American Bandmaster’s Association.
He must be a pretty dependable performer, used to playing under pressure.
The Marine Band may be a world away from the lives of most readers of The Diapason, but it sure is a proficient ensemble with an undisputed ceremonial edge. (And they have a couple very snazzy buses!)
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On April 29, 1962, President John F. Kennedy hosted a dinner at the White House for Western Hemisphere winners of the Nobel Prize. Addressing the guests, the President famously quipped, “I think this is the most extraordinary collection of talent, of human knowledge, that has ever been gathered together at the White House, with the possible exception of when Thomas Jefferson dined alone.”
Last week, driving our sunburns out of Washington, we went on to Monticello, the home of Thomas Jefferson. Here is a magnificent homestead, beautifully preserved and presented, allowing us a glimpse into the life of a brilliant American. Jefferson was a statesman, politician, architect, musician, botanist, and who knows what else. Most fascinating was the presentation of the relatively recent (DNA-substantiated) revelation that Sally Hemings, one of Jefferson’s slaves, was also his mistress, and that he fathered children by her. (When you’re at the bookstore, ask for a copy of The Hemingses of Monticello: An American Family by Annette Gordon-Reed, winner of the 2009 Pulitzer Prize for History and the 2008 National Book Award for non-fiction.) We thought the tour guide who showed us through the house was uncomfortable having to talk about that.
Jefferson seems to have been a consummate control-freak. He designed every detail of the buildings and grounds—plenty of his architectural drawings are on display. On one, I read in his hand that the height of a Greek-inspired pediment was to be two-ninths its width. The vegetable garden, carpenter’s shops, sawmill, nailery, even the kitchen were built according to his exacting specifications. He developed cisterns to collect rainwater by the ton, protecting household life against the dry Virginia climate, and an ice house that could store thousands of pounds of ice harvested from neighboring ponds during the winter, ice that lasted through the summer.
We lived for a while in Lexington, Massachusetts, the home of the American Revolution. As you might expect, the town is very history-conscious, and while living there I got interested in noting the parallels and differences between American colonial life and the concurrent life of society in Europe—while Mozart was prancing around Vienna in a powdered wig, the Minutemen were slinking along behind stone walls taking pot-shots at British troops. I though I’d close by comparing the life of Thomas Jefferson to the development of the music we love so much:
1743: Thomas Jefferson and Luigi Boccherini were born and Francesco Stradivari died. Handel’s Samson received its first performance at Covent Garden. J. S. Bach was 58 years old.
1760: Jefferson entered the College of William and Mary, Luigi Cherubini was born, and Franz Joseph Haydn wrote his symphonies 2–5.
1770: Jefferson took up residence at Monticello, Beethoven was born, and Handel’s Messiah was performed in New York for the first time.
1776: Jefferson drafted the Declaration of Independence, Charles Burney published History of Music, and Mozart composed Serenade in D Major, K. 250 (Haffner).
1779: Jefferson was elected governor of Virginia, and William Boyce died.
1784: Jefferson began diplomatic service in France, and Wilhelm Friedemann Bach died.
1791: Mozart died, Carl Czerny was born, and Beethoven became Haydn’s pupil.
1796: Jefferson was elected Vice-President of the United States under John Adams.
1801: Jefferson was elected third President of the United States, and Haydn completed his oratorio, The Seasons.
1803: Jefferson commissioned the Lewis & Clark expedition and completed the Louisiana Purchase (paying about $15 million for 828,800 square miles, roughly a third of the modern United States), and Adolphe Adam (O Holy Night) and Hector Berlioz were born.
1809: Jefferson retired to Monticello, Beethoven composed Piano Concerto No. 5 in E-Flat Major (The Emperor), Haydn died, and Mendelssohn was born.
1817: Jefferson designed and planned an “Academical Village” in Charlottesville, Virginia, the inception of the University of Virginia, and Rossini composed La Cenerentola.
1826: Thomas Jefferson died on July 4, extraordinarily coincidentally the 50th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, Mendelssohn composed Incidental Music to A Midsummernight’s Dream, and Carl Maria von Weber died.
1827: Beethoven died.
So Thomas Jefferson’s life at the gracious home at Monticello spanned the life of Beethoven almost exactly. Interesting.
