Category Archives: Music

Music, Religion

‘Good King Wenceslas’

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Tonight’s Christmas carol ushers us into a historical period in which I’m more or less at home (the early 10th Century, in which my current Work In Progress is set), though not so much as far as the turf is concerned. I’ve always assumed that Good King Wenceslas was a medieval English Christmas song, passed down through generations.

And that’s just what its author intended. The lyrics were in fact written in 1853 by an Englishman named John Mason Neale. This insidious semi-papist was a member of the Oxford Group, that Victorian and Edwardian movement that sought to turn the Anglican Church away from Pietism, back to its Roman Catholic roots. He set out to write a song that would honor a saint, sound medieval, and sing well. The tune he chose was “Tempus adest floridum,” (The Blooming Time Is Here), a 13th Century Latin hymn to spring. It worked brilliantly, and became a classic. I’m fond of it.

So what about the real King Wenceslas (full disclosure – I’m getting all this from Wikipedia. You could do as well yourself, but I’m putting it all in one place for you)? Well, first of all, Duke Wenceslas I of Bohemia (ca. 907-935) was not a king in his lifetime, though the title was bestowed on him posthumously by the Holy Roman Emperor. In spite of all the illustrations you’ve seen showing him as an old man with a white beard, he in fact died very young – before he was thirty, as you’ll see from his biography dates.

Wenceslas’ grandparents were the first Christian rulers of Bohemia. His mother, Drahomira, accepted baptism to marry his father, but apparently her heart wasn’t in it. After his father’s death, his grandmother Ludmila served as regent – until she was murdered by Drahomira, who then went on to persecute Christians. Wenceslas was brought to power in a coup against her.

He spent his short reign struggling against various enemies. The Magyars attacked from the east, and on the West, the Franks, the Saxons, and the Bavarians gave him trouble. He made it a policy to ally his Bohemian church more with Rome than Constantinople.

In September 935, Wenceslas was treacherously murdered by assassins paid by his brother Boleslav “the Cruel,” who had invited him to a feast. Boleslav is said to have delivered the killing blow himself. After Wenceslas’ death, legends of his sanctity spread, and he became patron saint of the Bohemians and Czechs, as he is today. (Saint Olaf of Norway would later follow a similar script.)

One of the Wenceslas legends says that it was his practice to leave the palace every night, accompanied by just one of his chamberlains, and go out, barefoot, to distribute charity to the poor. The carol immortalizes a variation of that story in which they set out on the feast of St. Stephen (Dec. 26) in heavy snow. The chamberlain (“page” in the song) complains that he hasn’t the strength to plow through the drifts any longer (I don’t know if he was allowed to wear shoes on these errands or not), and Wenceslas tells him to just walk in his tracks – and behold, it’s warm enough in those spots to melt the snow, enabling him to proceed in comfort.

“Wherefore, Christian men, be sure – wealth or rank possessing – ye who now will bless the poor  Shall yourselves find blessing!”

Which, when delivered by a Christmas caroler, was an obvious hint that it’s cold out here and some hot food – or, even better a hot drink – would be welcomed and pleasing to God.

Music, Religion

‘Away in a Manger’

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Tonight, “Away in a Manger.” It’s a Christmas hymn I tend to overlook – because it’s expressly for children and not very sophisticated. In my own personal history, it was the first Christmas carol I ever memorized. I remember (probably erroneously) singing it to my grandmother and an aunt or two (using the melody in the clip above) while riding in a car at night at Christmastime. But I moved on to songs that had more going on under the surface.

When I was a kid, I often heard “Away in a Manger” referred to as “Luther’s Cradle Hymn.” Everybody knew it was a translation from Luther. Turns out it wasn’t, though. Luther did write a Christmas hymn for his children, but it’s called “From Heaven Above To Earth I Come,” and can be found in any Lutheran hymnal. Nothing in his works resembles “AIAM” at all. It is, as someone has pointed out, not his kind of thing. If he’d written it, he’d have thrown in more theology. He was not a man to let a chance to catechize people go to waste. Sentimental he was not.

The origins of “AIAM” are in fact quite mysterious. According to Wikipedia, its earliest known appearance was on March 2, 1882 in the “Children’s Corner” of an anti-Masonic paper called The Christian Cynosure. Within a few months it had appeared in a couple other publications, always identified as “Luther’s Cradle Song.” This is rather perplexing. Somebody actually wrote the thing, but they gave credit to the Reformer. Why?

It’s been suggested (again, I get this from Wikipedia) that it may have originated in a forgotten children’s Christmas play, in which Luther sings the song for his children. Maybe somebody took the script literally, and reprinted it cutting the play’s author out. Nobody seems to have sued for copyright infringement, in any case.

The immortal author Lars Walker refers to “AIAM” in his novel Troll Valley, complaining that, because the song describes “the little Lord Jesus asleep in the hay,” many people draw the erroneous conclusion that hay is stuff for animals to sleep on. This is wrong, because a manger is a feed trough, and hay is for eating and belongs there. What animals sleep on is straw, another agricultural product altogether.

Music, Religion

‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’: not a secret code

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Above, a fine rendition of “The Twelve Days of Christmas” done by Hayley Westenra and some guys I never heard of.

I was thinking about Christmas music today. I’ve posted a number of Christmas hymns here over the years, but not a lot of secular carols. I thought, “I should post a fun, secular Christmas song, and talk about it.” Then I asked, “What is my favorite secular Christmas song?” And I realized I have no idea.

I don’t think of the secular Christmas songbook the same way I think of the hymns. Aside from a couple that I hate (like “Little Drummer Boy,” which I’ve denounced here before), I like them all pretty equally, as familiar, mostly interchangeable elements of the season’s background music. The songs have pleasant associations. I’d date them, but I don’t want to marry any of them.

There’s a story that keeps going around (I haven’t seen it yet on Facebook this year, but I expect it’ll show up) that says the song was originally a super-secret, underground memory aid to help Catholics in teaching their children the catechism, back when Catholicism was illegal in England. This story is completely false, and won’t sustain even a few seconds of dispassionate interrogation, let alone a persecutor’s thumbscrews. (I’m not denying the persecution, though. I can sympathize, even as a Lutheran.)

Let me say this clearly: Two random numbered lists don’t assist each other in any way. Mnemonics mostly rely on matching first letters – as in repeating “Good Boys Do Fine Always” to help one remember the whole notes in the treble clef (or something. I remember the mnemonic, but I’ve forgotten what it’s supposed to remind me of). The gifts in the “Twelve Days” bear no resemblance to the theological points they’re supposed to recall. It’s like saying, “Here’s a list of Holy Roman Emperors to help you remember the state capitols of the US. See, here’s Number One, Charlemagne – he corresponds to Montgomery, Alabama.”

“The Twelve Days of Christmas” is an example of what’s called a “cumulative song” according to Wikipedia (and since this isn’t about politics, I figure I can trust them here). Cumulative songs are songs played as games, where people sit in a ring (ideally) and each person in turn repeats what the previous singers have sung, and then adds an item of their own. The next singer has to do the same, adding yet another item to the list. When someone forgets, they usually have to pay a forfeit, such as being kissed or taking a drink.

Such games used to be popular in the days before electronic entertainment, and I myself am old enough to remember playing such a game (though I forget its title; need a mnemonic here) on a long bus ride to Bible camp in North Dakota.

Such feats of memory no doubt will astonish future generations – and probably a generation or two that’s around now.

Have I mentioned that I used to be able to recite “The Cremation of Sam McGee”?

Music, Religion

Bach’s latest hit, and discipleship

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At that very time He rejoiced greatly in the Holy Spirit, and said, “I praise You, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that You have hidden these things from the wise and intelligent and have revealed them to infants. Yes, Father, for this way was well-pleasing in Your sight. “All things have been handed over to Me by My Father, and no one knows who the Son is except the Father, and who the Father is except the Son, and anyone to whom the Son wills to reveal Him.”

 Turning to the disciples, He said privately, “Blessed are the eyes which see the things you see, for I say to you, that many prophets and kings wished to see the things which you see, and did not see them, and to hear the things which you hear, and did not hear them.” (Luke 10:21-24, NASB 1995)

The music at the top is one of the recently discovered pieces that are thought to have been composed by Johan Sebastian Bach, whom I once heard Dr. Oswald C. J. Hoffman describe as “the second greatest Lutheran in history.” I guess there’s some dispute about authorship, but I’ll give it the benefit of the doubt. Bach’s whole ouvre could have been forged by Mendelssohn, and how would I know?

My devotions this morning were on the passage printed at the top of this text. What struck me was how different this speech is from a lot of what the Lord says about discipleship. (Or at least how I perceive what He says.) I tend to go the same way as Jordan Peterson, who is a legalist and is always discussing it in a cautionary way. “Have you really thought about what that means, ‘taking up your cross’?” Peterson asks. “It means suffering. It means dying. Are we really prepared to do that?”

Which is fair enough; He’s quoting the Lord Himself.

But Christ is in an entirely different mode in this passage. He’s looking at these guys He’s chosen – guys He’s chosen for suffering and ostracism and death – and He’s telling them how lucky they are. He’s given (and is giving) them something that outweighs all that suffering and death to such a degree that they’re not even worth considering.

I certainly believe we should talk about – even stress – the cost of discipleship.

But I’m pretty sure I under-stress the joy of the knowledge of Christ. Which is not surprising, considering my personality.

But I need to work on it.

Music

Sunday Singing: A Glory Gilds the Sacred Page

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Today’s hymn is another one of English poet William Cowper’s verses. It has been published in only a few hymnals, according to hymnary.org. May your Sunday be brighter for the light of the Scripture.

1 A glory gilds the sacred page,
Majestic like the sun;
It gives a light to every age;
It gives, but borrows none.

2 The Hand that gave it still supplies
The gracious light and heat;
His truths upon the nations rise;
They rise, but never set.

3 Let everlasting thanks be Thine
For such a bright display,
As makes a world of darkness shine
With beams of heavenly day.

4 My soul rejoices to pursue
The steps of Him I love,
Till glory break upon my view
In brighter worlds above.

Goofing, Music

‘Brush Up Your Shakespeare’

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I have no real excuse for posting something fun and trivial tonight, except…

  • First of all, I don’t have a book finished for review;
  • Secondly, everything’s so sad today, and this clip amused me.

Above, a show-stopping number from the musical, “Kiss Me Kate.” The production, in its various manifestations, is a meta-narrative – a musical about a musical. It deals with a fictional musical production of a version of Shakespeare’s “The Taming Of the Shrew.” The producer and star is Fred Graham, played here by Howard Keel. The female lead is Lilli Vanessi, played by Kathryn Grayson. They are divorced, but still cherish suppressed feelings for one another, though each is now involved with someone else. Lilli’s guy is another actor in the play, who owes a large sum of money to a gangster, and has deviously signed Frank’s name to his IOU. The gangster sends two minions to collect from Frank; here they’re played by two of the great character actors of the 20th Century – Keenan Wynn and James Whitmore. Who knew they could dance like that?

(By the way, I have never seen “Kiss Me Kate” in any of its forms, and I get this information from the Wikipedia article. But I’ve long been familiar with the song.)

The lyrics are by Cole Porter, better than which you do not get.

The movie altered the plot somewhat from the stage version, so I don’t entirely understand what excuse they made for having the two goons encourage Frank with this number in the back alley. In the original play, they find themselves onstage alone before the audience, and improvise it.

Does quoting Shakespeare to women actually make a man interesting to them?

Not in my experience.

Music, Religion

Psalms on a day of sadness

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A dark day in Minneapolis. I used to live not far from where the atrocity happened. I could say a lot of bitter, partisan, thoughtless things, but best to keep my big mouth shut while people are grieving.

A friend alerted me to the clip above. I know nothing about Holy Groove, but it grabbed me right away. This (in my opinion) just works.

People who know me, know I don’t care much for contemporary Christian music. Based on how the controversy over CCM tends to run, I suppose they assume I don’t like new styles of music.

Nothing could be further from the truth. I have no problem with guitars in the sanctuary. I have no problem with drums in the sanctuary. Saxophones and electronic synthesizers are cool as far as I’m concerned.

My objection is to bland, repetitive lyrics.

May my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth if I ever object to the Psalms. And the blues are so flexible that they adjust to the text with smoothness and elegance.

Maybe there’s comfort here for someone today…

Music, Religion

Friday hymn: ‘Built on a Rock the Church Shall Stand’

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Health update: I still feel lousy.

Tonight, another Scandinavian hymn. It was written by N. F. S. Grundtvig (1783-1872), a controversial Danish pastor who adjusted his theology several times over his career, but rarely lowered his voice. (I think he believed – wrongly – that the origin of the Creeds preceded the writing of the New Testament and therefore they had greater authority. My Haugean forebears always considered him a dangerous thinker.) He also had the delusion that the ancient Vikings were some kind of proto-Protestants, and invented the term “Asatru” (popular among reenactors today) for worshipers of the old gods. You may remember a mention of him in Catherine Marshall’s novel Christy, which praises his development of the Folk High School movement in Scandinavia – one of the roots, I believe, of modern alternative education systems.

His followers were known as “the Glad Danes,” while the Pietists were called “the Sad Danes.”

What we have here is a hymn I remember well from childhood (we may have suspected Grundtvig’s theology in my home church, but we were fine with his hymns): “Built on a Rock the Church Shall Stand.” The original Danish text says “The Church, It Is an Ancient House.”

Music

‘My Grandfather’s Clock’

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It’s more than a week since my landmark birthday (which will remain terra incognito, because I’m not telling you the number), and this morning I finally hit on the song I wanted to post to mark the occasion. On the day itself, I was looking for something traditional, but relating to the passage of time and the brief span of our lives. I ended up posting a Sissel song, because I couldn’t find what I wanted. But now I know just the piece, and I’ve posted it above. It’s called “My Grandfather’s Clock.” You may have heard it, at least if you’re old. I’ve been familiar with it all my life, but had no idea it was as old as it is.

“My Grandfather’s Clock” was published I 1876, the year of the American Centennial, Custer’s Last Stand, and Wild Bill Hickok’s murder in Deadwood. Its composer was Henry Clay Work (1832-1884), a prominent songwriter of the day, especially remembered for his Civil War songs.

He was born in Middletown, Connecticut, into a strongly Abolitionist family, participants in the Underground Railroad. He became a printer, and worked at that trade in Chicago, while also writing songs for minstrel shows.

The Civil War brought him his greatest success. He wrote “Marching Through Georgia,” which you’ve probably heard if you have any interest in the war at all. He also wrote a song called “Kingdom Coming,” which is less well remembered as such, but you’ve probably heard the melody, a standard upbeat number often used in political campaigns to this day.

His star waned during Reconstruction, though he turned his attention to the next big moral crusade, Prohibition. But his sentimental song, “My Grandfather’s Clock” was a big hit, and is still heard today here and there.

Give it a listen. It still works, in its way, if you’re able to relax your sophistication.

Music, Poetry

‘Solveig’s Song’

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It’s Friday and I have neither a book to review nor a useful thought in my head. Therefore, I shall post a Sissel song.

(And there was great rejoicing.)

Yesterday, I might mention, was my birthday – and one of the big milestone ones. I won’t say which one, of course. Suffice it to say that I’ve outlived 3 of my grandparents, and one of my parents. The meditations this fact arouses in me are not, generally, comforting.

I pondered what kind of song would be suitable to commemorate my oldness and fullness of days. Nothing really commended itself, so I finally figured, well, just post a Sissel piece. What haven’t I done yet?

And I realized I’d never posted “Solveig’s Song.”

(I think. Checking would be too much trouble.)

Even if you’re not Norwegian (unlikely as that is), you’ve probably heard this melody somewhere before. It’s one of the classics from Edvard Grieg – part of the incidental music he wrote for Henrik Ibsen’s controversial, experimental play, “Peer Gynt.”

I will confess – I’ve never read “Peer Gynt.” It appeals to me more than most of Ibsen’s works (I’m not a fan), but from all I hear, it’s a “challenging” and obscure work, about a man who seems to be – like Ibsen himself – obstinately difficult and antisocial. He kidnaps a bride from her wedding, abandons her, and then is joined by Solveig (the Solveig of the song), the daughter of Haugean pietists (my people). He runs away from her too, in order to spend his life in foreign parts, seeking wealth, which he loses in the end. In the last act, he returns to Solveig, who has remained faithful to him, and tells him that he has committed no sin. Then she (probably) dies (the script isn’t clear).

Anyway, “Solveig’s Song” is a solo earlier in the play, in which Solveig expresses her faithful (I might say stupid) love. I suppose Solveig is meant to represent the mercy of God in some way, though (lumpkin that I am) I don’t really see it.

But Sissel sure sings it beautifully.

Have a good weekend.