Bernini was an Illuminatus...
at least, so Dan Brown claims. I read Angels & Demons today. I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit that it's the third Dan Brown novel I've read, but at least I haven't paid money for any of them. I'm fascinated by his awfulness, I guess.
On a somewhat related note, I perused a copy of The DaVinci Hoax (Carl Olson and Sandra Miesel, Ignatius Press) in Barnes & Noble yesterday. There's a suggestion in there that either hadn't occurred to me before, or hadn't surfaced in my mind for sometime: what makes us think Mary Magdalene was a young woman? Couldn't she just as well be eighty?
I enjoyed looking at the book, and also Mr. Olson's lecture at GU last spring, but I'm temporarily boycotting Ignatius, because they refused to publish a book by a friend of mine. I'm sure I'll be back buying from them again soon, but I'm a little sore at them just now.
30 July 2004
16 July 2004
A Joke from Northern Ireland
A boy was standing outside a Catholic church, bouncing a ball. As he bounced the ball, he was chanting, "The Protestants have all the houses. The Protestants have all the houses."
The priest, who was praying in the church, heard this. He came outside and said to the boy, "What're you saying that for? Do you want to get us all shot? Can't you say something else?" The boy replied, "What else should I say?"
The priest thought for a moment, and answered, "Say, 'Christ was born in a stable.'"
The boy began bouncing his ball again, and saying, "Christ was born in a stable. Christ was born in a stable." Satisfied that he had averted the problem, the priest went back to his prayers. Fifteen minutes later, having finished his prayers, the priest came outside again. The boy was still bouncing his ball. As he bounced the ball, he was saying, "Christ was born in a stable. Christ was born in a stable, because the Protestants have all the houses."
As told at the session last night by Fr. Charlie Coen, renowned concertina player. It's funnier when he's telling it, I promise. He always tells it before singing a song called, "The Old Orange Flute," which is about a flute that plays only Protestant tunes even after its owner turns Papist, and which is eventually burned at the stake for heresy by the local clergy.
A boy was standing outside a Catholic church, bouncing a ball. As he bounced the ball, he was chanting, "The Protestants have all the houses. The Protestants have all the houses."
The priest, who was praying in the church, heard this. He came outside and said to the boy, "What're you saying that for? Do you want to get us all shot? Can't you say something else?" The boy replied, "What else should I say?"
The priest thought for a moment, and answered, "Say, 'Christ was born in a stable.'"
The boy began bouncing his ball again, and saying, "Christ was born in a stable. Christ was born in a stable." Satisfied that he had averted the problem, the priest went back to his prayers. Fifteen minutes later, having finished his prayers, the priest came outside again. The boy was still bouncing his ball. As he bounced the ball, he was saying, "Christ was born in a stable. Christ was born in a stable, because the Protestants have all the houses."
As told at the session last night by Fr. Charlie Coen, renowned concertina player. It's funnier when he's telling it, I promise. He always tells it before singing a song called, "The Old Orange Flute," which is about a flute that plays only Protestant tunes even after its owner turns Papist, and which is eventually burned at the stake for heresy by the local clergy.
10 July 2004
Elvis and the Old Plank Road
If you are living in the USA, even if you are living under a rock in the USA, you know that though Elvis Presley the man is dead, Elvis Presley the entertainer lives on, mostly in Las Vegas. However, Elvis has his own personal representative in Cairo, NY, in the Catskills Mountains. I was privileged to see Joe Eigo perform last night at Cruise Night in Cairo’s town park. It’s quite a good show, tastefully done as Elvis tributes and impersonations go. The little kids especially loved it when he threw plush hearts while singing “Teddy Bear.” My dad remarked that last night was truly a slice of Americana; a show of classic cars, the smell of grilling burgers in the air, and an Elvis impersonator. I’ll bet you don’t see that in the original Cairo, now do you?
Mr. Eigo’s performance was especially interesting to me because we had been formally introduced by a mutual friend after Mass on Sunday morning. Every Saturday night, Mr. Eigo is the King of Rock and Roll, but on Sunday morning, he becomes (though admittedly bringing his sideburns along for the ride) a humble church organist. He’s quite the character, to say the least.
Yesterday afternoon, I had made a stop at a store called “Guaranteed Irish” to see what could be had. I checked out their enormous CD collection (many of which I already own) and the tiny, new DVD section. Among things like “Aerial Views of County Clare” and “50 Great Irish Songs Played on Accordion,” I found a treasure: The Chieftains in Concert in Nashville: Down the Old Plank Road.” If you love the Chieftains, or if you love bluegrass, find this DVD or at least the two-volume album out of which the live concert sprang. The legendary gentleman perform with many big-name Americans like Alison Krauss, Ricky Skaggs, Emmylou Harris, Earl Scruggs, and Martina McBride. They’ve also got Irish dancers, square dancers, and two brothers from Ottowa dancing in the Ottowa style—sort of Irish, sort of clogging, and maybe a little bit French. (I didn’t know Ottowa had its own style—learn something new every day!) We watched the DVD tonight, and it was fantastic. Alison Krauss, by the way, does Irish-style song ornamentation perfectly. She really makes me want to learn the song she sang for this show, “Molly Ban.” There are a lot of sad songs in the Irish repertoire, but this, to me, is one of the saddest and most beautiful; in the twilight along a deserted road, a man shoots what he thinks is a swan, but it turns out to be the woman he loves, who had her white apron wrapped around her.
The real treat for me was watching my idol, Derek Bell, in what must have been one of his last recorded performances. He died in 2002, which I believe is the year this concert happened. He was a talented harpist and pianist, a quiet-looking little man with a quirky sense of humor who forever left his mark on the Irish music community. He has a piano solo in the last song of the concert, which is brilliantly out-of-place in style and yet transitions respectably back to the refrain. While he plays, the other Chieftains look around in mock-disbelief (or maybe it’s real), and shake their heads. Evidently, this is a trademark of his humor. On a live-recorded solo CD of his, a guest artist asks him, “Are you enjoying the audience tonight, Derek?” to which he replies, “No, not very much, but I think later on I’ll cook them for dinner.” It’s the sort of remark that makes you wonder a bit about a man’s sanity, but if you’re like me, you’ll decide he was as sane as the rest of us and probably saner—just funnier, that’s all.
If you are living in the USA, even if you are living under a rock in the USA, you know that though Elvis Presley the man is dead, Elvis Presley the entertainer lives on, mostly in Las Vegas. However, Elvis has his own personal representative in Cairo, NY, in the Catskills Mountains. I was privileged to see Joe Eigo perform last night at Cruise Night in Cairo’s town park. It’s quite a good show, tastefully done as Elvis tributes and impersonations go. The little kids especially loved it when he threw plush hearts while singing “Teddy Bear.” My dad remarked that last night was truly a slice of Americana; a show of classic cars, the smell of grilling burgers in the air, and an Elvis impersonator. I’ll bet you don’t see that in the original Cairo, now do you?
Mr. Eigo’s performance was especially interesting to me because we had been formally introduced by a mutual friend after Mass on Sunday morning. Every Saturday night, Mr. Eigo is the King of Rock and Roll, but on Sunday morning, he becomes (though admittedly bringing his sideburns along for the ride) a humble church organist. He’s quite the character, to say the least.
Yesterday afternoon, I had made a stop at a store called “Guaranteed Irish” to see what could be had. I checked out their enormous CD collection (many of which I already own) and the tiny, new DVD section. Among things like “Aerial Views of County Clare” and “50 Great Irish Songs Played on Accordion,” I found a treasure: The Chieftains in Concert in Nashville: Down the Old Plank Road.” If you love the Chieftains, or if you love bluegrass, find this DVD or at least the two-volume album out of which the live concert sprang. The legendary gentleman perform with many big-name Americans like Alison Krauss, Ricky Skaggs, Emmylou Harris, Earl Scruggs, and Martina McBride. They’ve also got Irish dancers, square dancers, and two brothers from Ottowa dancing in the Ottowa style—sort of Irish, sort of clogging, and maybe a little bit French. (I didn’t know Ottowa had its own style—learn something new every day!) We watched the DVD tonight, and it was fantastic. Alison Krauss, by the way, does Irish-style song ornamentation perfectly. She really makes me want to learn the song she sang for this show, “Molly Ban.” There are a lot of sad songs in the Irish repertoire, but this, to me, is one of the saddest and most beautiful; in the twilight along a deserted road, a man shoots what he thinks is a swan, but it turns out to be the woman he loves, who had her white apron wrapped around her.
The real treat for me was watching my idol, Derek Bell, in what must have been one of his last recorded performances. He died in 2002, which I believe is the year this concert happened. He was a talented harpist and pianist, a quiet-looking little man with a quirky sense of humor who forever left his mark on the Irish music community. He has a piano solo in the last song of the concert, which is brilliantly out-of-place in style and yet transitions respectably back to the refrain. While he plays, the other Chieftains look around in mock-disbelief (or maybe it’s real), and shake their heads. Evidently, this is a trademark of his humor. On a live-recorded solo CD of his, a guest artist asks him, “Are you enjoying the audience tonight, Derek?” to which he replies, “No, not very much, but I think later on I’ll cook them for dinner.” It’s the sort of remark that makes you wonder a bit about a man’s sanity, but if you’re like me, you’ll decide he was as sane as the rest of us and probably saner—just funnier, that’s all.
05 July 2004
Owl Post
According to J. K. Rowling's fascinating website, The title of Harry Potter Book Six is Harry Potter and the HalfBlood Prince. Supposedly, it'll be available in 4 or 5 months. Ms. Rowling has already said that the Prince is neither Harry nor He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It could, of course, be a character we haven't met, but wouldn't it be interesting if he were one of Harry's classmates? Imagine Draco Malfoy as a HalfBlood! That could get him away from the Death Eaters. Any guesses?
According to J. K. Rowling's fascinating website, The title of Harry Potter Book Six is Harry Potter and the HalfBlood Prince. Supposedly, it'll be available in 4 or 5 months. Ms. Rowling has already said that the Prince is neither Harry nor He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It could, of course, be a character we haven't met, but wouldn't it be interesting if he were one of Harry's classmates? Imagine Draco Malfoy as a HalfBlood! That could get him away from the Death Eaters. Any guesses?
13 June 2004
Feast of Corpus Christi
I'm sure you all know that, but if it hadn't been a Sunday, today would have been the feast of St. Anthony of Padua. You know, the guy you always call on when you've lost something. I've been told by a friend of his that St. Anthony likes having his feet tickled. Not sure if this is true or not, but the next time you come across a likeness of him and no one is watching, you might try it.
I'm sure you all know that, but if it hadn't been a Sunday, today would have been the feast of St. Anthony of Padua. You know, the guy you always call on when you've lost something. I've been told by a friend of his that St. Anthony likes having his feet tickled. Not sure if this is true or not, but the next time you come across a likeness of him and no one is watching, you might try it.
Choirs in France III
After an enjoyable night in Laval, the choir and schola packed up for another day on the bus. After driving for an hour or so, we stopped in a charming town to purchase supplies for a picnic lunch. There was a wonderful boulangerie/patisserie, but to our great disappointment, the town had no fromagerie. Anyone who wanted cheese had to make do with the selections from the supermarket, which weren’t too bad. I bought a baguette, some cheese which had an English name, but was made in France, and an apple. Other people had various kinds of meats and sweets and drinks, but I’ve always felt that bread, cheese, and fruit was a wonderful lunch.
We didn’t eat our lunch right away. Our lunch would be in the plaza outside the church at which we were going to attend Mass at noon. That church, our destination, is one which surely must occupy the dreams of everyone who is obsessed with chant. We were going to Mass at l’Abbaye Saint-Pierre de Solesmes.
I’m not sure that many of our choirmates understood the significance of this unassuming monastery, set in a tiny, quiet town off the main road. For those of you who may not be familiar with it, Solesmes was the seat of the chant revival of the 19th Century, and consequently important in the late 19th-and early 20th Century liturgical movement. The monastery is very old, but the monks were driven out and returned after the French Revolution (or, as our tour guide pointed out, "The most famous of our revolutions. We’ve had a lot of them"). If you want to know more about the monastery’s history, please visit their website.
We were a little confused at first, as we followed our director off the bus, because we thought he was passing the church. He explained to us that the church at which we would attend Mass was the abbey church, inside the walls, which the monks permit lay people to attend. The church outside the walls, the one visible from the street, is the parish church of St. Pierre, of which one of the priests of the abbey has charge.
Passing through the gate and the courtyard, we went into the abbey church. It is a small church, not as small as a chapel, perhaps, but quite narrow. There were two columns of pews, each of which only sat four or five across. The aisle was almost as wide as the pews were long. Six or seven townspeople came in, and about three men came and went through the gate in the communion rail and sat closer to the sanctuary. Almost immediately, we heard chanting. I really couldn’t see anything of the Mass, but the sounds of it were beautiful.
Mass was chanted in Latin, except for the readings, which were spoken in French. Dr. Schaefer explained to us afterwards that, when the monks were deciding how to implement the changes of the Second Vatican Council, they decided to have readings in the vernacular. However, their refined liturgical sensibilities would not allow them to chant in French. It didn’t seem right. So, it is the only part of the Mass which is spoken. After the monks had received Communion, one of the priests came forward to the rail and offered Communion to us.
(Here, I must insert an aside: if you are ever so lucky as to attend a Mass in this abbey church, be aware that this Mass is for the monks. Others are welcome to attend and will be offered Communion, but the practice of the outsiders who go to Mass there is not to make responses aloud. Also, it is a conventual Mass, that is, before Mass begins they sing the appropriate part of the Liturgy of the Hours.)
The chanting of the monks was beautiful. It wasn’t quite on the professional level of our schola or some others that I have heard, because most of these men are not professional musicians. But it was the sound of pure devotion to God in the Mass, and was more beautiful than I think anyone with less devotion to God could offer.
After Mass, we sang a little in the church. The acoustics were nice. The choir sang Palestrina’s Exsultate Deo, among other pieces, and the schola sang the chants Rorate coeli and Tollite portas, and the hymn Salve Mater, which was written by one of Solesmes’ own. (In a weird twist of fate, a week after this excursion, I found myself watching an episode of the television series “ER” in which this hymn was featured. For the record, I’m not a regular watcher of this series.) The abbey’s choir director and a few other monks (one of whom is an American by birth) stayed to watch and listen. The choir director gave our director quite a compliment: “Maybe someday my choir will sing as well as yours.” Dr. Schafer blushed, which he doesn’t do often.
We ate our lunch in the plaza and piled back onto the bus, but now without stopping in the bookstore. One girl who works as a cantor bought a copy of the organ accompaniments to the Liber Cantualis, Lizzy bought a Bible in French, and I purchased some blank cards with illuminated chants on the front; two of Requiem aeternam for sad occasions, and two of Gaudete for happier ones. Back on the bus, Dr. Schaefer admitted to me that while he hoped people had enjoyed the stop, going to Solesmes was mostly for himself. He visits there at least once a year, and I suppose he wanted to show us off. Whatever the purpose, we can all now brag that we have been to the center of the Gregorian chant universe.
After an enjoyable night in Laval, the choir and schola packed up for another day on the bus. After driving for an hour or so, we stopped in a charming town to purchase supplies for a picnic lunch. There was a wonderful boulangerie/patisserie, but to our great disappointment, the town had no fromagerie. Anyone who wanted cheese had to make do with the selections from the supermarket, which weren’t too bad. I bought a baguette, some cheese which had an English name, but was made in France, and an apple. Other people had various kinds of meats and sweets and drinks, but I’ve always felt that bread, cheese, and fruit was a wonderful lunch.
We didn’t eat our lunch right away. Our lunch would be in the plaza outside the church at which we were going to attend Mass at noon. That church, our destination, is one which surely must occupy the dreams of everyone who is obsessed with chant. We were going to Mass at l’Abbaye Saint-Pierre de Solesmes.
I’m not sure that many of our choirmates understood the significance of this unassuming monastery, set in a tiny, quiet town off the main road. For those of you who may not be familiar with it, Solesmes was the seat of the chant revival of the 19th Century, and consequently important in the late 19th-and early 20th Century liturgical movement. The monastery is very old, but the monks were driven out and returned after the French Revolution (or, as our tour guide pointed out, "The most famous of our revolutions. We’ve had a lot of them"). If you want to know more about the monastery’s history, please visit their website.
We were a little confused at first, as we followed our director off the bus, because we thought he was passing the church. He explained to us that the church at which we would attend Mass was the abbey church, inside the walls, which the monks permit lay people to attend. The church outside the walls, the one visible from the street, is the parish church of St. Pierre, of which one of the priests of the abbey has charge.
Passing through the gate and the courtyard, we went into the abbey church. It is a small church, not as small as a chapel, perhaps, but quite narrow. There were two columns of pews, each of which only sat four or five across. The aisle was almost as wide as the pews were long. Six or seven townspeople came in, and about three men came and went through the gate in the communion rail and sat closer to the sanctuary. Almost immediately, we heard chanting. I really couldn’t see anything of the Mass, but the sounds of it were beautiful.
Mass was chanted in Latin, except for the readings, which were spoken in French. Dr. Schaefer explained to us afterwards that, when the monks were deciding how to implement the changes of the Second Vatican Council, they decided to have readings in the vernacular. However, their refined liturgical sensibilities would not allow them to chant in French. It didn’t seem right. So, it is the only part of the Mass which is spoken. After the monks had received Communion, one of the priests came forward to the rail and offered Communion to us.
(Here, I must insert an aside: if you are ever so lucky as to attend a Mass in this abbey church, be aware that this Mass is for the monks. Others are welcome to attend and will be offered Communion, but the practice of the outsiders who go to Mass there is not to make responses aloud. Also, it is a conventual Mass, that is, before Mass begins they sing the appropriate part of the Liturgy of the Hours.)
The chanting of the monks was beautiful. It wasn’t quite on the professional level of our schola or some others that I have heard, because most of these men are not professional musicians. But it was the sound of pure devotion to God in the Mass, and was more beautiful than I think anyone with less devotion to God could offer.
After Mass, we sang a little in the church. The acoustics were nice. The choir sang Palestrina’s Exsultate Deo, among other pieces, and the schola sang the chants Rorate coeli and Tollite portas, and the hymn Salve Mater, which was written by one of Solesmes’ own. (In a weird twist of fate, a week after this excursion, I found myself watching an episode of the television series “ER” in which this hymn was featured. For the record, I’m not a regular watcher of this series.) The abbey’s choir director and a few other monks (one of whom is an American by birth) stayed to watch and listen. The choir director gave our director quite a compliment: “Maybe someday my choir will sing as well as yours.” Dr. Schafer blushed, which he doesn’t do often.
We ate our lunch in the plaza and piled back onto the bus, but now without stopping in the bookstore. One girl who works as a cantor bought a copy of the organ accompaniments to the Liber Cantualis, Lizzy bought a Bible in French, and I purchased some blank cards with illuminated chants on the front; two of Requiem aeternam for sad occasions, and two of Gaudete for happier ones. Back on the bus, Dr. Schaefer admitted to me that while he hoped people had enjoyed the stop, going to Solesmes was mostly for himself. He visits there at least once a year, and I suppose he wanted to show us off. Whatever the purpose, we can all now brag that we have been to the center of the Gregorian chant universe.
12 June 2004
08 June 2004
Apologies
I'm sorry blogging has been so light, especially after I promised exciting posts about the trip to France. But both Lizzy and I have summer jobs which probably take up more time than our college classes. My job involves about 5 hours a day of typing, and frankly that's the last thing I want to do when I get home. But, the promised posts have not completely left our consciousness, and they'll toddle onto the page someday, late but there.
I'm sorry blogging has been so light, especially after I promised exciting posts about the trip to France. But both Lizzy and I have summer jobs which probably take up more time than our college classes. My job involves about 5 hours a day of typing, and frankly that's the last thing I want to do when I get home. But, the promised posts have not completely left our consciousness, and they'll toddle onto the page someday, late but there.
01 June 2004
The Glory(????) of the Human Voice
This is a CD by lionized soprano Florence Foster Jenkins. Beloved by audiences everywhere, Madame Jenkins' raw chords struck a nerve with-- I mean, her raw nerve struck a chord with listeners' hearts. The site includes her amazing rendition of the Queen of the Night's Aria from The Magic Flute.
I should, of course, add that this site also has recordings of The Shaggs and that Leonard Nimoy classic (*cringe*) "The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins," which will help get a clearer grasp on the type of singer Madame Jenkins was.
This is a CD by lionized soprano Florence Foster Jenkins. Beloved by audiences everywhere, Madame Jenkins' raw chords struck a nerve with-- I mean, her raw nerve struck a chord with listeners' hearts. The site includes her amazing rendition of the Queen of the Night's Aria from The Magic Flute.
I should, of course, add that this site also has recordings of The Shaggs and that Leonard Nimoy classic (*cringe*) "The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins," which will help get a clearer grasp on the type of singer Madame Jenkins was.
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