What’s in a name?

Who will ever be able to forget the small time criminal Beezow Doo-Doo Zopittybop-Bop-Bop? Or perhaps the overly-long names of composers such as César-Auguste-Jean-Guillaume-Hubert Franck or Sir Charles Hubert Hastings Parry. Clearly, Exceptional people often are given exceptional names.

Enter Joseph Balogne, Chevalier de Saint-Georges, also known as “The Black Mozart.” Born in the Antilles to a plantation owner and a slave, Bologne became and expert fencer and violinist (because of course, those two disciplines go hand in hand) among many other things. John Adams himself wrote of Saint-Georges: “He is the most accomplished Man in Europe in Riding, Running, Shooting, Fencing, Dancing, Musick. He will hit the Button, any Button on the Coat or Waistcoat of the greatest Masters. He will hit a Crown Piece in the Air with a Pistoll Ball.”

He lived a life worthy of the protagonist of a Rafael Sabatini novel – political revolutions, military service, scandals, with strings quartets and operas to accompany. There is even speculation that the German Mozart and the Black Mozart had a little tiff which ended with the German creating an evil opera character based on Saint-Georges. Whether or not that is true, it is impossible to ignore Saint-Georges was a musical force to be reckoned with. He might have been adept at “Riding, Running, Shooting, Fencing, Dancing,” but it is for his Musick that we remember him.

I was daydreaming through some of my favorite musical memories and “stumbled” (if you will) on a piece which has a special place in my heart.

I envy Benjamin Britten because he has written a lot of church music that sounds very un-churchy. I too have written music for use in church, and usually anything that pushes any boundary gets panned (or banned) as too weird to be used or downright ugly. Somehow he was able to be creative in his composition, and still got played. When his cantata St. Nicholas was first performed, it was hailed as “pious frivolity”. And it is indeed both pious and frivolous – and also creative while fitting the tight-fitting form of church music.

First of all, this ain’t no Santy Claus musical. This is about the legendary St. Nicholas of Myra who punched heretics at the first council of Nicaea. And like so many saints of the church, the stories about him are utterly ridiculous – so wacky they wouldn’t even make it into a SpongeBob episode. So from the getgo, it’s hard to take this too seriously. But at the same time, there’s a sort of reverence in the work that elevates a historical figure that time and legend have blurred into a superhero. There’s even a chorus that directly asks what the heck are we modern people supposed to make of these looney stories? We learn what we can from them, dismiss what is outrageous, and try to make sense of our own looney times.

So what’s so looney? My favorite number is “The Pickled Boys”. Yes, you read that correctly. During a famine, a butcher killed three boys and pickled their bodies to sell as pork (side note – many suggest that some religions forbid pork because it is supposedly similar in taste to human flesh. Barf.) Nicholas calls out the butcher on his sins, and then proceeds to call the boys forth – which of course they do. Their bodies reassemble in the pickle barrel, and the boys respond by singing Alleluias.

Well that’s good and fun, but now let me tell you about my personal experience performing this work. I was conducting this – full choirs and orchestra – on a hot June day in a church with no air conditioning. We were dripping in sweat. We finally began the closing chorus of the cantata – first a Nunc Dimittis while Nicholas breathes his last, followed by an awkwardly angular anglican hymn (London New, for those who care).

The organ finally opens up to fortissimo during the final verse: “Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take; the clouds ye so much dread are big with mercy and shall break in blessings on your head.” At the moment of “clouds … shall break blessings” the skies opened up and utterly drenched the church in cool rain. Right after the final cadence (organ thundering along with the actual thunder), my choristers ran outside afterwards and stood in the rain, soaking themselves. It was about as hilariously joyful as a church cantata could be. The whole place was full of pious frivolity.

Which is more valuable: being able to read music or being able to play by ear?

Maybe you’ve had some good armchair arguments on this subject. Team Aural (ear) will point at the multitude of musicians who couldn’t read a note (and no, not all of the musically illiterate were popular or jazz musicians), and were unhindered by this supposed deficiency. Team Literacy*** usually concedes to this, but points out how foolish it is to purposefully not learn something that would be hugely beneficial. The negative stereotypes would be the ear-only rock musician who can only play three chords and a handful of tunes, or the stuffy, classical music reader who merely translates dots on a page into notes, playing without any feeling, and not connecting with the audience.

The truth, naturally, is that both literacy and ear are hugely important. A child can learn stories and life lessons aurally, but it would be ridiculous to use that as an excuse to not teach reading and writing; it is equally ridiculous to reject musical literacy. And just as we teach reading comprehension, musicians must learn to do more than reproduce the printed dots into sound. I need not go into any more detail here – you get the idea.

So when you think about it, the legend of Beethoven‘s Third Piano Concerto isn’t as amazing as it may seem. When it was first performed, the composer himself performed the solo piano part – which had yet to be written down! We have this tidbit from his page turner:

*** I say “Literacy” as opposed to “Eye” because there are many blind musicians who are musically literate – just as braille text books exist, so do braille scores!