Church Music

J.S. Bach got in trouble in the 1700s for showing an unchaperoned young lady the pipe organ in the choir loft. I didn’t get in trouble when a young church organist showed me the Allen organ in the choir loft Tuesday evening, but I did get a bit winded from climbing three flights of stairs.

            Nicodemus and I, finding ourselves without a Christmas gig for the first time in memory, volunteered to play for caroling at our church in San Francisco.

            Music at Holy Trinity Greek Orthodox is almost exclusively Byzantine chant, as it is in almost all Orthodox churches. A number of Russian composers have made beautiful settings of the liturgy’s 11^th-century words, but church choirs find the music daunting and mostly stick to the ancient modal chants. Some Orthodox churches still use the primitive notation called neumes, music writing which looks a little like some kind of pasta.

            The choir accompanist is the only organist we hear at church, so I met the wedding organist for the first time when he came over while we were playing to see if there was a way to open up the little Rippen piano to get more sound (there wasn’t.)

            After the carols and the treats—you can imagine the spread a Greek church calls snacks--we got to talking about organs and the young man, George, said he had selected the instrumental sounds for the church’s organ, an Allen, when it was being built. Organists usually sound a little apologetic when they speak of electronic organs (as opposed to pipe organs,) though the serious electric ones have a wonderful sound and don’t depend on hard-to-find pipe repairmen.

            “Would you like to see it?” he asked.

            “Oh, yes,” I said. I have never been in the choir loft, which has its own beautiful mosaics of Saint Kassiani and other hymn composers.

            “Oh, it’s just like the one our local orchestra used for the Saint-Saëns organ concerto a little while back,” I said, still a little out of breath.

            “Oh, wow,” the organist said, and immediately launched into the famous theme on full organ with every pedal stop depressed, hands and feet moving happily, drowning out the taped chanting which goes on downstairs all the time and probably terrifying a few sleeping pigeons on the roof.

            “Oh, my goodness,” I said,  overwhelmed. Saint-Saëns was a universe—and ten centuries—away from the five-note Kyrie Eleisons we usually hear in church.

            “What does your trumpet sound like?” I asked.

            He whipped out a computer card, did some sleight-of-hand, and played the Jeremiah Clarke Trumpet Voluntary, full organ, pedals. I reached over his right hand and joined the fun up on the high notes.

             I got all the way home before I remembered that there’s a closed circuit TV camera on all the time at church so that people can look at their computers to see the mosaics and listen to the chanting if they need a quiet moment. I do it myself from time to time when I can’t sleep.

            If anybody was watching Tuesday evening, they wouldn’t have seen anything different, but they would have heard a lot of organ music which was anything but Byzantine.

The Music Mystique

 I have been searching in vain for a music theory book which would be good for a couple of bright young instrumentalists who want to know more about the architecture of music but who don't yet need college-level theory and harmony. The next several blogs are what resulted. We had to write our own book, the kids and I. It is called

The Music Mystique

Basic Music Theory

Did you know that musical rhythm is based on your own heartbeat and breathing rate? Or that the scale, the basic building block of music, is actually based on the physics of sound? Did you know that every human being has these musical elements built in, and that this fact can be proven? That some people believe the Big Bang which started the universe was actually a dissonant chord? That everything in creation from the atom to Jupiter vibrates and thus has a sound?

The Nineteenth Century composer Robert Schumann called music a bridge to the unknown. Music theory shows the construction of that bridge. Because it encompasses history, anthropology, physics, mathematics and languages, knowing something about music theory reinforces all these other fields. Understanding basic theory, you can learn the rudiments of reading music in less than an hour, can play three chords and a melody...all it takes for some folks to be country music performers or rock stars!           

There are hundreds of music theory books in print, many of them college-level books which include music history and advanced analysis. There is a Music Theory for Dummies which, despite its unfortunate title, may tell you more than you really wanted to know about music theory. The theory books which accompany instrumental method series mostly refer to applied theory.

You probably already know a lot of music theory intuitively, since you have been listening to music all your life. My primary goal in teaching music theory is to provide a vocabulary and to demonstrate the elegance of  the traditional customs which lie behind the music you know and love. This little book is intended for the music student who has played an instrument for several years and is interested in learning more about the order behind the music he or she is playing.

There are several good on-line sources for basic theory information: Music Theory Pro, an application for iPhone and iPad, lets you test yourself in various areas of theory. An invaluable web site, updated daily, which tells you everything you wanted to know about music theory is found at http://www.teoria.com/index.php.

The neuroscientist Daniel J. Levin is among those who have used magnetic imaging to show the positive way music affects the brain. In his book This Is Your Brain On Music, Levin says “By better understanding what music is and where it comes from,, we may be able to better understand our motives, fears, desires, memories, and even communication in the broadest sense.” The neurologist and music lover Oliver Sacks’ book Musicophilia says that all people are hard-wired to love music and that the ability to sing or play an instrument creates positive physical changes which last a lifetime.

Music Guilt

Do my old piano students hide when they see me coming down the street? I am convinced that they do. Why else would I live in a community of 30,000 and hardly ever see one of the thousands who have sat at my piano and said “I played it better at home”?

When I made my excuses for not practicing enough, my piano teacher would say “I’m so sorry” and then give me an unforgettable lesson on some aspect of my assignment which did not involve much playing on my part.

At some point in my 50-year teaching career, I got the idea of the graceful exit. I had already made myself the student’s ally in situations where clearly it was time for the lessons to end.

“Pleasing your parents is a legitimate reason to take some lessons, but I can see you aren’t enjoying it very much.”

“Would you like me to get you out of this?”

“We can still be friends. You can come to see me without having to play piano.”

“You have accomplished quite a lot during this time, so you should feel good about that rather than feeling bad that we’re stopping here.”

On one occasion, I presented a teen-ager who was quitting lessons with a certificate of accomplishment, a prize ribbon and pin, a list of her repertoire, and suggestions for pieces she might enjoy playing on her own. I never heard from her or saw her or her parents again, though they live in my neighborhood.

Piano teachers become attached to their students, and occasionally the attachment goes both ways. I am still in touch with a few of my former students. But for the most part, once they quit lessons, they are gone. I have only discontinued lessons a few times without being asked to do so by parents or students, once because of persistent rudeness and the other times because of persistent absenteeism. So I think I am dealing with music guilt most of the time.

Of course they should have practiced more, and so should I. I hate to think what my poor mother went through to get me to practice. The final incentive was the threat to end the lessons if I didn’t practice, and that one always got me to the piano. I am not a very good example when it comes to practice, but if I total up all the hours I have spent at the piano, it certainly would surpass the 10,000 hours the experts now say it takes to really learn a skill. (Notice that I do not say “master” a skill.)

I left my teacher only when he moved to a rest home which had no piano. At my last lesson, he couldn’t even remember my name, but he remembered that we were fond of each other, and he remembered all the page turns in the Chopin Scherzo I was studying. He got up from his chair across the room and turned the pages for me.

It is possible that my students’ lessons were not all that important to them, that they were just one more activity, that they were like a sixth grade English class or something, where you would go on your way and never feel the need to stay in touch. But piano lessons are one-to-one, not one-to-thirty. Piano teachers and their students know a lot about each other. They might still have something to say to each other even after the lessons are over.

(The Seal of Approval, above, appears on all my students' assignment sheets.)