The Fine Art of Listening

Nobody understands me …

Well, Berlioz, let’s start with your hair. With a haircut like that, nobody is going to take you seriously!

Forget my hair! The hair is nothing. What I want is for people to understand my music!

Fair enough. So, what sort of music do you have for us today?

Ah, it’s my Damnation of Faust! I just adore this book by Goethe, even though it’s by a wretched German. As soon as I read it, I knew I had to write music for it.

Sounds good! So what did you write? a Faust Symphony like Lizst? an opera like Gounod?

Of course not! It has soloists, a choir, an orchestra …

Ah, so you wrote an oratorio! You know Schumann did that too …

Absolutely not an oratorio! Nobody wants another bloody boring cantata. My audiences made that clear when they first heard my masterpiece.

An opera then?

Well, it’s … eh … sort of … a “dramatic legend.”

Ok. So it’s an oratorio.

No, it is much more than that. My roles are to be acted and lived, not merely sung.

Ok, so let’s make it an opera.

We tried that already. My music is too magnificent to be brought down to the level of mere tomfoolery on a stage with idiotic costumes. *sigh* nobody understands me …

*pause* Well then, let’s talk about ways you might improve your hairstyle.

Whenever you see Olivier Messiaen‘s name in a program, be it a sacred or secular event, his deep Catholic faith will be mentioned. What sets him apart from other religious composers is his mystical approach to writing. It’s common for composers (regardless of their beliefs) to set religious texts to music, or perhaps write dramatic music for a particular religious event. Messiaen, on the other hand, eschewed the traditional texts and instead tried to capture the essence of God in the music he wrote. The result is some truly astounding compositions that sound other-worldly, and, ironically, can’t be used in worship services because many people can’t (or are unwilling to) wrap their brains around them. Those who love Messiaen’s music find a powerful, intense river of joy, often lying beneath a calm, serene texture.

And so, today, on the Feast of Corpus Christi, I give you Messiaen’s only choral motet that is functional in a worship setting: O Sacrum Convivium. Though a traditional Eucharistic text, Messiaen’s music goes way beyond a setting of words – the low, misty beginning, the burning passion that builds the piece, the climatic high point, the serene settling. If you’re only going to write one choral piece, this is the way to do it.

As an organist, people often say to me, “wow, how do you play with your hands and feet at the same time?” Honestly, it’s not so hard. The feet are just like having two extra fingers – clunky, long fingers – but really it’s just a matter of an extra iota of coordination.

However, as an accordionist, I am truly blown away by this performer. He’s taking what I do with ten fingers and two feet, and doing it without the feet, while providing his own air supply. He makes it look easy, but let me assure you, this guy is one in a billion (literally … this is some seriously virtuoso accordioning; there can’t be more than 7 in the world who can play like this.)

this is good, but even more impressive is his rendition of Messiaen’s “Dieu parmi nous“