Like any career field, the world of musicians contains many different types of people. It’s easy to focus on and revel in the glory of the superstars of composition or performance. That being said, equally important is the work of the average working musician – the ones who are doing the grunt work, toiling in the fields (so to speak) and bringing music directly into people’s lives. I’m talking about the music educators, the local church/synagogue musicians, the music therapists, the local choirs, bands & orchestras, whether professional or volunteer.

I’m one of these people – a church musician. We are just as much artists as the superstars, but we don’t get all the glory; a generous portion of the work we do is not fun. But while we may not often get a chance to be center stage, we do get to see regular people transformed by the work we do in a way that the superstars don’t. A superstar might release a stellar CD, but that CD can’t uplift a person the same way joining a choir can. A superstar might astound a crowd of thousands with a great performance, but I think we “lesser” musicians are far more likely to prevent a suicide. A superstar might compose a masterpiece, but often a choir takes ownership of a simpler piece which speaks to them.

Continuing with the celebration of Rosh Hashanah, here is a sacred gem by Max Janowski, who was not a superstar. Like me, he was “just” a music director at his congregation. Like me (I hope), and the millions of other “lesser” musicians throughout the world, Janowski’s work has enriched, and will continue to enrich humanity.

Today marks the Jewish new year, Rosh Hashanah, and the beginning of the High Holy Days. This festival comes from a biblical command God gave to Moses:

In the seventh month, on the first day of the month, you shall observe a day of complete rest, a holy convocation commemorated with trumpet blasts.

Trumpet blasts? Sounds good to me. How about Leonard Bernstein‘s Chichester Psalms? Bernstein only wrote a handful of religious works; you could argue that his Kadish Symphony and Mass are better described as anti-religious. The Chichester Psalms is unique in his repertoire as having a positive spin on religion, even if it isn’t backed by any belief on his part. The piece bears an English name because it was commissioned by Chichester Cathedral. It is often performed in a slightly strange reduced instrumentation – organ, percussion, and harp. Though they are often found in synagogues, the organ here perhaps acts as a symbol for Christianity, while the harp and percussion call to mind the ancient Hebrew psalms. In the first movement (today’s piece) they sing from Psalm 108:

Awake, O harp and lyre! I will awake the dawn.

With the synthesis of Jewish and Christian instruments, the Hebrew text, and an Anglican Cathedral’s name on the piece, makes me want to see this work as a symbol of healing between the two religions.

Nothing is quite as inspiring as a dirty piece of poetry.

Well, that’s how it all began. Stéphane Mallarmé wrote a sexy poem called “The Afternoon of a Faun“, in which a faun dreamily describes some intimate experiences he had with some nymphs that morning. The poem is highly effective at creating an erotic mood, and is considered one of the finest ever written in French. Enter Claude Debussy, who found the poem and set it to music as a “tone poem“. To be clear, he did not set the text of Mallarme’s poem to be sung by a singer or choir; instead, instruments alone were used to paint the evocative mood with erotic, chromatic melody and lush harmony that was truly groundbreaking when it was written. Mallarme at first was worried that the natural “music” of the poetry would be destroyed by a composer’s music. Debussy invited him to premiere; Mallarme’s fears were assuaged, and he wrote the composer a nice letter praising the piece. Later, one of the most influential ballet dancers of the 20th century, Vaslav Nijinsky, would create a ballet using the music.

This goes to show that when powerful minds are at work, even a lazy afternoon can change the world.