Two important Christian celebrations happen at the beginning of November, and are linked with Halloween. All Saints’ Day is November 1st, All Souls’ Day (AKA the Day of the Dead) is the 2nd. Most churches today celebrate these two days together on the first Sunday in November; the resulting combination includes elements of both holidays – the work of the saints are celebrated, and the dead are remembered.

For me, the beginning of November and these celebrations remind me of a young boy I knew who died of a brain tumor before his third birthday. My first child was roughly the same age as the boy, so the events of that year hit me. He became ill around the beginning of November, and his funeral (for which I played the organ) was in June. It was by far the most difficult service I’ve ever had to play.

Ever since then, I’ve played this piece by Louis Vierne on All Saints’ Sunday. “Stele pour un enfant defunt” (memorial for a dead child) tries to emotionally capture the peace that parents seek when they lose a child. Vierne dedicated the piece “to the memory of my little friend”. The sweet, high melody searches for resolution, but the twisted harmony keeps wrenching it away. At the end, the harmony tries to break the melody’s resolution, but fails; peace is attained at last.

Vierne was a marvelous composer who kept late romanticism alive long after it had gone out of style. This was the final piece he played, before he himself died, sitting on the organ bench.

All Souls’ Day marks the end of Allhallowtide, the second of two Christian celebrations related to Halloween (the first being yesterday, All Saints’ Day.)

All Souls’ is a celebration that commemorates the dead. Not surprisingly, there are loads of great pieces linked with death – our own or that of a loved one. One of my favorites is “Bring Us, O Lord God”, a setting of a prayer for a peaceful death by the poet and priest John Donne, composed by the English cathedral musician William H. Harris.

Fate can be a meany mean jerk-face sometimes! Poor Carl Orff  had an established career as a composer and was well known for his work with children’s music education. When he was 40, he composed his great oratorio Carmina Burana, and after it became so popular, he asked his publisher to destroy all his previous work, so that Carmina would mark the beginning of his career.

Nope. Sorry. Your fate has already been decided. You will only be known for this one composition.

But what a composition it is! It’s everywhere – you can find it in movies, video games, commercials, sports events, and flash mobs (I was there!) It’s an awesome romp through the carnal pleasures of life – some of the poems are quite erotic, some philosophical, some are brutal mockery, some are just plain weird, and yes, there are even fart jokes.

But since we’re ramping up to Halloween … let’s pass on those and stick to scary old fate.

English translation from Carl Orff himself:

O Fortune, like the moon of ever changing state, you are always waxing or waning; hateful life now is brutal, now pampers our feelings with its game; poverty, power, it melts them like ice.

Fate, savage and empty, you are a turning wheel, your position is uncertain, your favour is idle and always likely to disappear; covered in shadows and veiled you bear upon me too; now my back is naked through the sport of your wickedness.

The chance of prosperity and of virtue is not now mine; whether willing or not, a man is always liable for Fortune’s service. At this hour without delay touch the strings! Because through luck she lays low the brave, all join with me in lamentation!

I mourn the blows of Fortune with flowing eyes, because her gifts she has treacherously taken back from me. Opportunity is rightly described as having hair on her forehead, but there usually follows the bald patch at the back.

On the throne of Fortune I had sat elated, crowned with the gay flower of prosperity; however much I flourished, happy and blessed, now I have fallen from the pinnacle, deprived of my glory.

The wheel of Fortune turns; I sink, debased; another is raised up; lifted too high, a king sits on the top; let him beware of ruin! Under the axle we read, Queen Hecuba.