November, 2001
Volume 17, No. 1

Singing at Ground Zero

Hymns for a Time of Trouble

Chasing the Cheshire Cat

MELODIOUS ACCORD INSTITUTE

The View from Here

Editorial

An Italian Feast for the Eyes (and Ears)

From the Mailbox

SPIRITUALS IN NEW YORK

FESTIVAL OF SPIRITUALS

Dear Friends

Home Page
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October 2001

After the horrible events of September 11, I feel like I'm truly sending you a letter from the front. Chelsea High School is only about a twenty minute walk from the World Trade Center, and Manhattan Community College, where I teach two evenings a week, is only about four blocks from Ground Zero. The school year had only barely begun when all hell broke loose. I think we've all been in a state of shock since, and the police barricades, ID checks, and the awful smell from the still smoldering ruins adds a surreal quality to our lives.

In all this I'm sensing some encouraging developments. My kids at Chelsea High are playing their recorders and singing at least some of "those ol' silly songs" with a little less resistance. One day I asked them to remember a time "before you lost your nerve" and sing what they remembered from, say, elementary school. There were guffaws, but eyes lit up and before long some were calling out song titles. If you're happy and you know it. BINGO. This Ol' Man. I'm playing the Casio keyboard and the kids (a lot of them) are singing. Pretty soon a passing teacher is standing at my door, smiling. "That's nice, Mr. Brown," she whispers.

Last Monday evening at the Community College my chorus was singing songs for their end of term presentation. White Christmas drew tears from more than a few eyes...On my way to the subway after the class, I stopped before entering to look down Chambers Street at the eerily lit scene where 'rescue' workers continue their 24-hour vigil. Something good, I thought, may be rising from those ashes -- and I went home a little less tired.

Charles Brown

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On the evening of September 11, members of our church and community gathered, as did so many others, for prayer and mutual support. I was asked to lead some hymns, and to prepare myself I leafed through our hymnal, noting those that would help us. Here are my categories, and a partial list. (Our hymnal is the Mennonite Hymnal 1969; we sang seven hymns that night.)

Help: O God our help in ages past (St. Anne); My Shepherd will supply my need (Resignation); God moves in a mysterious way (Dunfermline); Hope of the world (Donne secours); Come, ye disconsolate (Consolator); O God of earth and altar (King's Lynn)

Consolation: In heavenly love abiding (Nyland); I to the hills will lift mine eyes (Dundee); Be Thou my vision (Slane); How firm a foundation (Foundation); All praise to Thee, my God, this night (Tallis' Canon)

Prayer: What wondrous love is this (Wondrous Love); Lord, from the depths (Cheshire); Lord, Thou hast searched me (Tender Thought); Dear Lord and Father of mankind (Rest); Teach me the measure of my days (St. Flavian)

Affirmation: Now thank we all our God (Nun danket); Love divine, all loves excelling (Hyfrydol); God of grace and God of glory (Cwm Rhondda); O God, Thou faithful God (O Gott, du frommer Gott); Built on the Rock (Kirken den er et)

Alice Parker

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No one is more disappointed than we that neither of our two new recordings is yet released. We are convinced of the delightful appeal of the men's voices on My Love and I, and the clear visionary poetry of the women represented on Angels and Challengers. But succeeding delays have put us in mind of the Cheshire Cat, whose unattainable grin lingers in the air above us.

There is hope—but we can't put a date on it. Both tapes will be delivered to Newport Recordings in November (their time-line), and we hear that the production process can proceed fairly quickly after that. We can only hope that that is true.

Warm thanks again to all of you who have contributed to these projects, and waited so patiently for your copies. Please don't lose faith in us: we will deliver, on these and future CD's. And you will be the first to know when we finally swing a cat down out of that tree!

[For a video preview made during the recording of Angels and Challengers, visit the Recording Progress page.]

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Based on the philosophy and teaching of Alice Parker, and presenting programs benefiting composers, conductors, church and school musicians, and music lovers, The MELODIOUS ACCORD INSTITUTE unites her educational activities in western Massachusetts. All events are held at the Charlemont Federated Church, Route 2, Charlemont, MA, unless otherwise indicated.

LENTEN LECTURES
A series of informal discussions of great seasonal music, this year's focus is on the Brahms Requiem. Study scores are provided: we look at the text and the music, then sing and listen. Open to all: you don't have to be able to read music to enjoy these six quiet, centered Monday evenings.

Feb. 18, 25, Mar. 4, 11, 18, 25 7:30-9 p.m. Free

SINGS
Alice Parker's SINGS attract a growing number of people from the four-state area who enjoy her lively and unconventional approach to group singing. People of all ages and abilities are welcome. There will be different repertoire at each session. All are Free.

Sunday, December 30, 2001 Carol SING 4:00 p.m.
Friday, May 17 Folk Songs 7:30-9 p.m.
Friday, June 14 Hymns and Folk Songs 7:30-9 p.m.

MELODIOUS ACCORD FELLOWSHIP PROGRAMS: "SPRING IN THE BERKSHIRES"
These programs are open to mid-career professional composers, conductors, performers, church musicians and others passionate about choral music. They are in their thirteenth season, and have been described as ‘post-doctoral study for those who do not wish to specialize'. The classes are held at Ms. Parker's studio in Hawley. Write for further information about requirements, registration and fees. (96 Middle Rd, Hawley, MA 01339)

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Today is overcast, cloudy, noticeably cooler, Fall is well on its way. The colors are muted so far: greens filled with hazy gray tints, enlivened by the brighter gold of birch, the red of burning bush and the almost-black of the evergreens. August was a picture-perfect month: one beautiful day after another, with clear nights and enough dew to keep the plants growing in spite of a dearth of rain. Children lived in the dam all day, their bronzed bodies flashing in the sun, catching frogs and pollywogs, endlessly exploring the banks and the bushes, jumping off the bridge, stopping to play a bit of ball, or enjoy the daily picnics. Down in the valley, people lost their lawns and complained of the incessant muggy heat: here, a bit higher and more shaded, it was perfect.

Rain didn't come until well into September – it was good to hear the brook singing again, and to enjoy a quiet day inside. But those days have been few – we're still riding this crest. There's never been such a wealth of tomatoes, of green and root vegetables, and now the peaches and melons! The apple trees are laden – even our unsprayed, unpruned ones, which yield the makings for such great pies and sauce. So we should be happy.

But September 11th intruded here, as it did everywhere. One of the great ironies was the weather: this incredible clear sky, out of which such destruction fell. Here, ‘ground zero' and the surreal images and reports demanding our attention seemed light-years away. We felt guilty for the serenity of our view; lost at the thought of such evil; devastated by the pain and suffering; longing for comfort, for company. So we met, and prayed, and sang, and told each other our fears. I've rarely heard such singing. There was no doubt that it came from the heart, and served a function: uniting, strengthening, releasing, affirming.

Now we must live with the aftermath. Still we are singing and praying, hoping against hope for justice and peace, working to send out into the world enough vibrations of love and sympathy and affirmation that a crucial balance can be regained against the forces of hate. Still the sun shines and the maple trees begin to blaze, and the year yields its harvest – and we must join with our Thanksgiving. Alice Parker #Remembering Eudora Welty

Those eyes – huge, blue, candid and sharp at the same time – could look into your innermost soul. And the voice – the soft, southern lilt was not a southern accent, her fellow Mississippians proclaimed (implying that this is the way English should be spoken.) As she read her own stories there was often the hint of a smile, of suppressed amusement at the outlandish goings-on in her created worlds. But the voice, too, could be sharp in puncturing sham, correcting injustice, or lambasting academic pretension.

I worked with her for several weeks in the spring and summer of 1982. At her suggestion the New Stage Theatre mounted the premiere production of my opera The Ponder Heart, based on her short novel. I prepared the libretto myself, searching the story again and again for just the right phrases to describe each character and scene. "There's not a word in it that isn't mine," she wrote in giving her approval.

I have two clear memories of our first meeting in 1980. I had worked on the music for two years, and three possible performances had materialized and then disappeared. I'd given up hope of a production when I wrote, asking if she would be kind enough to listen to my music if I played it for her. (In my innocence, I couldn't imagine that she wouldn't enjoy her characters in their new guise.) In her kindness she consented, meeting me herself at the airport in a wrinkled cotton dress and canvas shoes. And that first read-through was made that evening in a friend's home with several close friends, and literally oceans of boiled shrimp served with three sauces, and newspapers strewn on the floor of the living room to receive the shells. What lovely informality!

Throughout the backer's audition in March and the hot summer weeks of rehearsal she was a constant presence, calm, reassuring, helpful – and fierce when she felt we had moved away from the ‘tone' of the story. She was always right, musically and dramatically. I remember clearly one moment in her living room, discussing some seemingly intractable problem, when I burst out "I just want so much for it to be right," and her soft rejoinder "We all do."

I treasure those conversations, those memories, the people I met, the production itself, and all the lessons I learned. Most of all I treasure Eudora Welty as a rare, creative spirit who lived a life centered in home, family and community, untouched by the cult of celebrity. She was herself, wherever she was: in the tile-floored coffee shop downtown where she could overhear wonderful snippets of conversation; at the Natchez Trace, teaching me history on a cool visit one hot afternoon; driving her sporty car; in the empty theater, listening; telling of her work habits. (First let the story flow, then snip it apart with sewing scissors and re-assemble it with common pins and the eagle-eyed discipline of a newspaper editor, or a dedicated quilter.) Now, what's left are her stories and the example of a life fully lived, serving both art and humanity. It can be done. Thank you, Eudora, for making it plain.

Alice Parker

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An Associated Press article in today's newspaper cites a scientific study that proves that ‘some people have a powerful emotional response to music'. How amazing! How prescient we are to have known this all along – and where were the disbelievers? It goes on to say that ‘melodies can stimulate the same parts of the brain as food and sex.' Aha! Another of my cherished beliefs. I knew that food and song were intimately connected (food in, song out), but the addition of the third component provides a gratifying (literally) bonus. Evidently the parts of our brain which experience ‘euphoria' do not distinguish between the sources of the stimuli. So, the scientists go on to conclude, ‘some people may react to rock ‘n' roll in the same way that others are affected by Beethoven'. Whoa! Wait a moment! What's going on here?

I can concede that the nerve pathways that convey sensation to the brain are activated by local stimuli. And presumably the stimuli are pleasant – i. e., the experience is a seduction, not a rape. Further, the stimuli are culturally learned, not inherent: ‘what we're exposed to has meaning for us'. Yeeeeesss – if I hear people talking to me from the time I'm a baby, then that's the language I speak. The sounds I'm surrounded by are those that I respond to. And some ‘give me the chills' and others don't.

But let's widen the context a bit. Is there really no difference between rock ‘n' roll and Beethoven? The purpose of rock ‘n' roll seems to be to surround the listener with walls of repetitive sound that induce physical response and limit intellectual activity. Beethoven, on the other hand (I'm in hot water here), speaks to us on physical, emotional, intellectual and spiritual levels. His music stretches us, en-nobles us. The brain waves measurable by CAT scan may be the same, but the effect on the whole human being is opposite. To quote Dorothy Sayers: "The amusement art [is] the enjoyment of the emotions that usually accompany experience without having had the experience...The spell-binding kind of art . . seeks to produce the behavior without the experience...Pseudo art does not really communicate power to; it merely exerts power over us." (For her thoughts on true art, read The Mind of the Maker, Greenwood Press, Westport, CT.)

Get back to the chills for a moment. Someone wrote "I know I've read a real poem when the hairs rise on my head." And is it possible that the visual artist, the cook (Remember that food!), the wine taster, the actor, the dancer – that all creative folk experience at some moments that same sensation? May there not be many more paths to that reaction than these researchers posit?

The article ends with the comment that food and sex are necessary for the survival of the species, but, Dr. Blood asserts, "music did not develop strictly for survival purposes."

How does she know? If music, food and sex activate the brain in the same way, isn't it possible that music provides some basic function that she hasn't yet guessed at? Isn't she asking the wrong question? Since music seems so important, isn't it doing something that we haven't yet determined, and cannot yet measure? The question transposed is: Why is music so important to the survival of the species? If it is, why are we not educating our children in it, intensively, all through their school years?

Why, now, in the midst of terror and destruction, is America singing? Did I really see the Senate singing on the steps of the Capitol? Why all the church services and national anthems and human gatherings? What brought my small church together that Tuesday night to share our human concerns and sing as though our lives depended on it? Why did a young Juilliard violinist play for ten hours for returning rescue workers at a NYC Armory? Why? Because the sound of a single violin – or a single human song – can pierce through the fog of weariness and despair. Because the singing together affirms our common humanity. Because we strengthen each other with our voices, and express the inexpressible in time-tested phrases. Because we're reminded that there is order, beauty, light and affirmation in the world. No bomb can kill them.

Why are the arts important? Because the artist is looking at ‘that which is' in a way different from, but equal in intensity to, the scientist: the fundamental matter of the universe is our joint concern. We work intuitively to discern the hidden patterns, to discover the language of sound, of light, of motion, of energy. We are constantly sinking into the greater reality of ‘that which endures' – not the daily partisan toil and strife, but the infinite and eternal. The greatest artists are those who submerge themselves the most completely in their medium. This is the opposite of a selfish concern with momentary advantage, or the wish to control or hurt another: this is, at its best in choral music, a working together for the reward of moments of pure exaltation, when we are all transported beyond the confines of space and time. This is creation, as opposed to destruction; affirmation as opposed to negation.

Back to the brain, and choral music. Dr. Blood doesn't even think to ask what happens when four, or sixteen, or forty, or a hundred voices and instruments achieve that ‘chill', that ecstasy, at the same moment – and sustain it for seconds that feel like eternity. Or what happens when an audience is drawn into that same experience. Isn't it possible that ensemble music provides us with a model of what our society is capable of being? That if we practice this skill daily, and share it with our neighbors, respecting all the other cultures that cherish their inheritance (yes, even the rock ‘n' rollers), we have a blue-print for the world as it might be?

Alice Parker

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Last June, the Appleton (Wisconsin) North High School made a concert tour of Italy. While visiting Rome, some of the students decided to try and find the church of San Pietro in Vincoli (St. Peter in Chains), which contains the tomb of Pope Julius II with its magnificent marble sculpture of Moses by Michelangelo. After climbing what seemed like each of the seven hills of Rome, they arrived at the church at 12:25 p.m., just as the gate-keeper was thinking about his lunch. Chaperone Tim Riley used his best Italian schmooze-talk to explain that this was a group of young artists who had traveled all the way from America to see the Michelangelo. The gates were closing as the gatekeeper replied, "no, signore." In desperation, the choir broke into singing I will not Leave you Comfortless by Everett Titcomb. The old man held firm for a few moments, then as the melody worked its magic, he realized that he had been defeated by the power of young people and song ...and opened the gates.

James Heiks

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There's little I can do against specific religious or political ideologies, or against those who act on them in such brutally savage ways, but I can, as a composer and musician, make a difference in the war between good and evil. I can do it by writing and promoting the use of music which lifts hearts, touches spirits, and reminds us all of higher and more noble concerns and aspirations. Here I must stand. Here I must fight. Daniel Gawthrop, Composer

According to Peter Sellars, theatre producer, "Vocal music is an attempt to take the whole human being and project it into space. It is the ultimate gesture of getting out of yourself. You take a part of you that is most private, most personal, most inward, and you hurl it out into space--you project it as far as you can . . .That gesture of opening this whole region of the body results in an enormous spiritual release, and is felt by other people with tremendous impact."

In the course of a year, a stack of perusal octavos about 2 feet deep piles up on my desk. In the summer, I dig for treasure. Of the 20 buried treasures I ordered this year, a third are from your pencil. My flock knows how important you and your music are for me. I also try to give them a balanced diet in our repertoire. This year I find that I have less tolerance for pieces that aren't thoroughly nourishing. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your soul food!

Linda Hanson

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In the belief that Spiritual Songs are among the great melodies of the world,