Guerrieri: ¡Alégrense! (2016) (PDF, 49Kb)
One of the side benefits of a church-music gig is that you get to spend a fair amount of time living in the future. For instance, we’re only halfway through November; but, thanks to preparation needs and Thanksgiving eating a rehearsal whole, I’m already well into Advent. Here’s this year’s introit: a bright, feisty 35-second riposte to 2016. Kick it to the curb! There’s work to do.
Guerrieri: Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob (2016) (PDF, 45 Kb)
New program year, new introit. This one recombines a gradually-unveiled 12-tone row into triads and near-triads, which then more or less skip down their own evolutionary path. I always like writing this way: you get cadences that are the harmonic equivalent of handbrake parallel parking. Sure, you could play the organ part on two different coupled manuals, but I kind of like having the hands crowding each other out. We’ll give this one a run tomorrow morning. Seatbelts fastened? OK, then.
It seems that this space is destined to be updated only in transit. The last post (five months ago?! yikes) was written in the midst of a change of abode, and now we are preparing to move Soho the Dog HQ yet again. It’s like our own Year of the Three Kings, except, instead of monarchs, it’s places to live. Which means we’re about to start living in the residential equivalent of… Richard III? I think that analogy ran off the rails somewhere.
At any rate: as proof that I have not been completely idle, the list of Score columns over on the sidebar there has been finally brought up to date. That’s 141 installments (and counting) of oblique musicological speculation for your summer reading entertainment. I should also link to this article that Molly coaxed out of me for NewMusicBox, which ended up with a pleasant amount of break on its curve, I thought. Plus, there was this Messiaen introduction for Red Bull Music Academy Daily, which led me down the garden path of echoes between Messiaen’s idiosyncratic theology and that of the Flemish mystic Jan van Ruusbroec.
Oh, yeah, and this went down, which at least resulted in some flattering sympathies from smart and nice people—thank you! Like I’ve said before: I have a knack for getting into careers in their categorical twilight. On the other hand, it does leave more time for composing:
Guerrieri: Shining Throne (Prelude on “Jesus Loves Me”) (2016) (PDF, 48 Kb)
And a low-fidelity phone recording:
The registration is only a suggestion, i.e., what happens to work on my particular church organ. (I am, now and forever, a sucker for a good—or even not-so-good—celeste stop.)
And with that, it’s northern-hemisphere summer. Whatever critical scrapes I manage to get myself into will be duly noted here. Or not—I picked up some Apuleius for a dollar at a library sale today, and, I have to say, it’s a better-looking prospect than a lot else that’s going on out there. But Apuleius probably always is.
Guerrieri: Sonos in Aere (I Love to Hear the Story) (PDF, 46 Kb)
This year’s Christmas carol was supposed to be one of two: I wrote a sweet one and a not-so-sweet one, but the text permission for the not-so-sweet one has yet to come through. (Coal in your stocking this year, U.S. copyright law.) So here’s the sweet one, at least—it was bumped from my Christmas Eve service, so now it is yours. I have a sneaking, cynical suspicion that the not-so-sweet one will still be pertinent next year.
That said: Happy Holidays! However tenuous your relationship to the season, you can still frolic and play the Adelaide Keen way:
arr. Guerrieri: The Wexford Carol (PDF, 99Kb)
Happy holidays from everyone at Soho the Dog HQ! Here’s a carol arrangement to cleanse your aural palate in between walls of indiscriminate seasonal noise. Honestly, this has been one of those years when I think Christmas might be better off as, say, a quadrennial affair, like the World Cup. You know how the World Cup comes along, and people with no previous interest in the sport are straightaway really into it, to an unprecedented degree? Imagine if you could pull that off with platitudinous Christmas sentiments. (“Peace on earth? Goodwill to all? I suddenly find these notions INTRIGUINGLY COMPELLING” *strokes chin as eyes widen and flash*) Comfort and/or joy to everyone out there.
BONUS STOCKING STUFFER
“Hark! the Herald Angels Sing” (descant and harmonization by me, 2014) (PDF, 57 Kb)
The same thing in a lower key (PDF, 57 Kb)
A characteristically nutty descant I wrote for an otherwise beloved carol. I like my angels heralding in screaming bright G major, but that might be just a bit high for the end of a full lessons-and-carols service, and a half-century of Presbyterian hymnals have insisted on F, so take your pick.
Guerrieri: Zeal and Patience (2013) (PDF, 73 Kb)
Hey, Matthew, did you pencil in a new Advent introit for this year and then forget to write it until the last possible minute?
Of course nooooeeeeeh, maybe.
To be sure, we hadn’t been doing the last one for a while, and even the really-for-Lent substitution was getting a little musty, so out with the old, &c. I figured I’d put it up here for anyone whose church-music planning is as behindhand as mine.
In my apostatical way, I’ve always thought that Advent is the church-calendar equivalent of a cult movie. Most people just want to cruise right past it into Christmas, but there is a hardy band that’s all “seriously, this is some of Carl Weathers’ best work” (or whatever the theological equivalent of Carl Weathers is) and watches everybody else jump to yuletide conclusions with a kind of benevolent pity. But honestly, with Christmas colonizing more and more of the calendar—even as I was assembling Hallowe’en supplies this year, most stores already had Christmas displays—Advent is taking on the aspect of some weird temporal origami: a kind of of Marvel-comics-like pocket dimension, a pleasantly disconnected parallel limbo to the normal time-space continuum of conspicuous consumption.
arr. Guerrieri: The Angels Changed My Name (2013) (PDF, 213 Kb)
Sometimes, you (and, by you, I mean I) want to color in an otherwise nice spiritual arrangement with every crayon in the chromatic box. In spite of myself, I think this one is not bad. I actually wrote it back in September, but gave it the benefit of two months of edits via rehearsal and, this past Sunday, performance (by this faithful crew). Which went well! Except for the recording, which is why there is a computer-realized placeholder until a) I get a good recording, or b) I tweak the realization so it’s less clunky. (Unsurprisingly, neither is likely in the near-term.)
This tune has, itself, after a fashion, changed its name a fair amount. I used the version in J. B. T. Marsh’s The Story of the Jubilee Singers (1880), which I think is the earliest version in print. (Marsh’s book is a really interesting document of the push-pull of trying to write about the African-American experience for white 19th-century readers—the story is told pretty much exclusively through the eyes of white observers, but then Marsh includes biographical sketches of each of the Jubilee Singers, which is by far the most fascinating part of the book.) Probably working from Marsh’s version, Samuel Coleridge-Taylor included an arrangement of “The Angels Changed My Name” in his Twenty-Four Negro Melodies, published in 1905; when Coleridge-Taylor sent a copy to his former teacher, Irish composer Charles Villiers Stanford, Stanford replied that the tune was, in his estimation, almost certainly Irish in origin. In 1939, Harry T. Burleigh reworked the tune into the hymn tune “McKee,” altering the contour to fit the words “In Christ There Is No East or West,” by English writer William Arthur Dunkerley. For his part, Dunkerley, too, enjoyed changing his name—he also wrote journalism under the name Julian Ross, and poetry and fiction under the name John Oxenham—a surname Dunkerley’s daughter Elsie, a successful writer of children’s books, also adopted.
arr. Guerrieri: Still, Still, Still (2012) (PDF, 191 Kb)
This year’s holiday card is a two-voice-and-piano arrangement of one of my favorite carols. Seriously, if I had to make out an intellectual Christmas list, “the chance to repeatedly harmonize an arpeggiated triad in increasingly odd fashion” would rank somewhere near the top. It’s the simple things, really.
In the meantime, I am considering ringing in the new year with this concoction, courtesy of Jennie June’s American Cookery Book (1866):
OXFORD SWIG
Put into a bowl a pound of sugar, pour on it a pint of warm beer, grated nutmeg, and some ginger, also grated; add four glasses of sherry and five pints of beer, stir it well, and if not sweet enough, add more sugar, and let it stand covered up four hours, and it is fit for use. Sometimes add a few lumps of sugar rubbed on a lemon to extract the flavor, and some lemon juice. If the lemon rind is pared very thin, without any of the white skin left, it answers better, by giving a stronger flavor of the lemon.
Bottle this mixture, and in a few days it will be in a state of effervescence. When served in a bowl fresh made, add some bread toasted very crisp, cut in narrow strips.
Guerrieri: Overchoice Rag (2011) (PDF, 4 pages, 153 Kb)
Ethan was giving me a deserved hard time for letting the rag-a-month project from a couple years ago drift off into a senescent fog after a mere four installments. The lesson: be careful what you wish for! This one is reasonably classically-proportioned, it just can’t decide what key it wants to be in. Equal temperament, you disorientingly large-inventoried emporium, you.
No MIDI, since my usual computer is in the shop, and I’ve been magically transported back in time to a golden age of slower, far less powerful operating systems. Instead, here’s me playing, wrong notes and all. Be careful what you wish for, &c., &c.
Last week, the church that has provided me with much of my gainful employment for the past decade, The Presbyterian Church in Sudbury, celebrated its 50th anniversary, so I wrote an anthem for the occasion. Score below, where also, behind some ambient Presbyterian noise, you can hear the premiere (thanks to Doug Nicholls for the recording).
We Love the Place (2011), SATB chorus and organ (PDF, 170Kb)
The words are by William Bullock, Anglican missionary to Newfoundland and Nova Scotia. Numerous versions of Bullock’s poem were already floating around by the end of the 19th century; I mixed and matched stanzas I liked. Supposedly, when asked why there wasn’t a stanza of “We Love the Place” devoted to the church’s pulpit, Bullock replied that he would have been compelled to write:
We love thy pulpit Lord,
For there the word of man
Lulls the worshiper to sleep
As only sermons can.