Laurel Massé

Still Christmas, so...

Ten years ago, or perhaps eleven, I was part of a "Lessons and Carols" evening service with John Kirk and Trish Miller at Christ Church Ballston Spa, in upstate NY. The evening was recorded, which I had forgotten. But this morning I remembered, and so here is my favorite carol for you. Right now, it's still Christmas, and it will be until the Feast of the Epiphany on January 6. If we are heartily sick of Christmas by Christmas Day, it may be because we skip Advent and put the tree up too soon. Which is certainly what our culture screams at us to do. In my fairly solitary life, I can stick my fingers in my ears and walk past the stores with Christmas displays blaring pop carols at me. My heart aches for those of you who have to remain fully engaged with the hustle bustle even if you don't want to. And I admire you for making Christmas anyway. This is for you most of all.

03 Wexford Carol Christ Church Ballston Spa NY

One more thing: my new website is almost complete, and this blog - the whole thing! - will be moving there shortly. By "there" I mean at www.laurelmasse.com. The herding dog in me will be well pleased to have all my work in one enclosure.

 

 

 

And it is good

Happy Easter! Yes, still! Easter lasts fifty days in the church calendar, and will not end this year until (counts on fingers) June 8th! 

I re-enter the world of bloggery with this offering to you all. Draw sweet water from the well, make yourself a cup of tea, and settle in to listen to some extraordinary music. I want - I fervently desire! - to sing in a performance of this work. Watch the video, and you'll hear and see why.

 

Vespers for St. Hildegard was created by British composer Stevie Wishart, who wove in passages from Hildegard of Bingen's music. I especially love the groundedness - as in both feet firmly planted on God's green earth - of the singing. I long ago grew weary of celestial fluttering soprano renditions of Hildegard's music, even though they were often beautiful. Hildegard was a mystic, yes, a nun, a writer, and composer and painter... and an herbalist who had had her hands in the dirt caring for plants and soil. It is that side of her that I've been longing for. Here are highly skilled yet unmannered, low-pitched, strong voices of women with real bodies. I am in earthy bliss.

Thank you, Terri Windling, for introducing me to this music. If I could draw like you can, I would send you a picture of me with mud on my feet, and a smile on my face and musical notes swirling all around me.

 

Have a beer with St. Brigid and God!

 Brid agus Muire dhuit!

Today is the feast day of St. Brigid of Kildare, to whom I have a special devotion. Patron saint of poets and brewers, of healers and midwives (and, along with Patrick and Columba, of Ireland itself), she was strong and gentle, prayerful and practical. St. Brigid worked miracles: my favorite is the healing of a blind Sister so that she could see the beauty of a sunset. To ease the thirst of lepers, she once turned a tub of bathwater into a tub of excellent beer. She was called Mary's Nurse, meaning that she helped Mary with the infant Jesus (a Time Lord!). Like so many of the great saints, she was as earthy and real as soil and water, and as wild as fire and air.

The following 10th century poem has been attributed to her:

I'd like to give a lake of beer to God.
I'd love the heavenly
Host to be tippling there
For all eternity.

I'd love the men of Heaven to live with me,
To dance and sing.
If they wanted, I'd put at their disposal
Vats of suffering.

White cups of love I'd give them
With a heart and a half;
Sweet pitchers of mercy I'd offer
To every man.

I'd make Heaven a cheerful spot
Because the happy heart is true.
I'd make the men contented for their own sake.
I'd like Jesus to love me too.

I'd like the people of heaven to gather
From all the parishes around.
I'd give a special welcome to the women,
The three Marys of great renown.

I'd sit with the men, the women and God
There by the lake of beer.
We'd be drinking good health forever
And every drop would be a prayer.

 

In my mind's ear, I can hear this woman laughing, and singing, her voice husky, her eyes shining. How could I keep from loving her?

For my solo album, Feather and Bone, I adapted traditional prayers collected by Alexander Carmichael in Scotland in the 1800s and composed Radiant Flame of Gold, a prayer to Brigid. Here is the track, with the sorely-missed Layne Redmond, and Tommy B on frame drums. I pray it in my times of trouble, and for others in theirs: Download 09 Radiant Flame of Gold

I am under the shielding of good Brigid each day,

I am under the shielding of good Brigid each night.

I am under the keeping of the nurse of Mary

Each early and late, every dawn, every light.

 

To learn more about St. Brigid, start here. To purchase Feather and Bone, send me a Facebook message here.

 

Still bustling the hedgerow

I just love this, love everything about it.

And it touches my personal history. Let me see... singing Zeppelin tunes in a band in high school in 1969, check. Met Robert Plant at a party in the mid-70s, and had a pleasant chat about singing harmony, affirmative. Loved Heart from the very first listen, and watched them blow The Eagles off the stage somewhere in California in 1980, yea and verily.

Finally, one must never underestimate the power of a great big stealth choir.

Enjoy!

 

One united theory

If any, if even one, of my science teachers in elementary school had been able to communicate their delight in science, to show there is joy and beauty in science, and that gravity is not grave...

Well, then. Who knows?

Thank you, Tim Blais, for giving us this A Capella Science video. Viewers, watch past the end to see links to Tim's other projects. And thanks, Canada!

 

                          

 

Summer, sweet summerrrrrr...

Writer Henry James said the two most beausiful words in the English language are summer afternoon, and lovely they are, evocative, leaves rustling in a soft breeze.

But I am partial to James Joyce's riverrun, all vowels and voiced consonants. In fact, river is one of my favorite words to sing, along with forever. Why? Because, blithely ignoring conventional choral tradition, I think R's are beautiful in the mouth.

And why is that? Because I had the very good fortune to attend Fred Waring's Youth Choral Workshop one summer, when I was fourteen. There, I was taught how to pronounce words naturally and clearly, so that the audience could understand them. I've used what I learned there in every line I've ever sung.

I balk when choir directors tell their singers to drop the final r - in "father", for instance - because "it's an ugly sound" - insisting it's better to sing "fawthuh", because a musical tradition born in England in the 1600s should sound English. I'll do it, because the director is the director. But I don't mean it.

In fact, research suggests that the English we hear today on the BBC is quite different from that of the 17th century. I have heard Shakespearean verse spoken in a way that is closer to how it would have been spoken when new, and let me tell you, it is o'erbrimming with Rs. Big, rich, juicy Rs. Fat, piratical Rs. And they sound delicious, and quite like some of our American regional Rs.

This, and other differences between the English accents in the Renaissance and today's received pronunciation, reveal rhymes that have been lost. Loved and moved and proved used to rhyme. So, when Willie (I call him that because I love him sooooooo much that he makes me howl like a wolf) used some combination of love/move or love/prove as the final rhymes in Sonnets 25, 32, and (most famously) 116, he hadn't suddenly decided, "oh to heck with it, close enough!" They did rhyme. Then.

In Sonnet 61, he juxtaposes -where and near. In 66, gone and alone. So these words, too, may once have rhymed.

Why does this matter so much to me? Two reasons. FIrst, because there is no point to put on, for the sake of "tradition", the fake English accents I hear in some choirs, especially in the Episcopal Church, if the tradition isn't accurate. Second, rhyme scheme is part of how I remember a lyric (the overall story of the song being the other part. That will be another post). I am accutely aware of a missing rhyme where there should have been one. If, when I'm grabbing a Johnny Mercer lyric off the internet, the established rhyme pattern suddenly disappears for a line, for no reason, and then returns, something's wrong.

I wanted to post a YouTube clip that illustrates what I am talking about, but an evil cabal of choir directors is interfering with my internet connection today, and my eight-year-old laptop has jettisoned its Flash drive in its confused dotage. I therefore can't watch video clips any more, and am flying blind on this. But here are two links that should take you there...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bt7OynPUIY8

and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gPlpphT7n9s&feature=related

If they don't work, let me know. If they fail, go to YouTube and look for ... oh, try Shakespeare authentic pronunciation.

Rare bird sighting in Riverdale

                                                                                                        Photo by Chris Cafiero

I am singing a cabaret concert this Saturday, February 18th, at 7:30 PM, at Christ Church Riverdale, located at 5030  Henry Hudson Parkway, Bronx, NY 10471. Tickets are available at the door are $20 for adults, $15 for students and seniors, and light refreshments are included. Parking is usually easy in this neighborhood. For more information, go to [email protected] or call 718‐543‐1011.

Accompanied by Tex Arnold on piano (a very nice Steinway!) and Jon Burr on bass, I shall be a happy songbird indeed.

The "cabaret" designation for this concert brings up something that's been on my mind for a while. I know jazz singers who are quite scornful of cabaret. I know cabaret singers who feel the same about jazz. It's all silly really, as there is - or should be - considerable overlap in the genres. I think the performance styles that have become common in the two forms are the problems. Jazz seems to be all about the sound. Cabaret seems to be all about the sense. Some jazz singers seem to emphasize connection with the other musicians, with little attention left over for the audience. Some cabaret singers ditch musicality, connecting with the audience rather than the musicians.

I think either/or oppositions are largely false and fruitless. Ideally, a singer can pay attention to the musicians while connecting with the audience and singing in tune and in time, with intelligence and emotional honesty. One is always going to be better at one aspect of this than another, but I do believe it all can be learned and improved (if I didn't, there's be no point in teaching).

For presenters, though, the distinction lies in where you place the derrieres of the clientele. Cabaret (or nightclub) seating = on chairs grouped around tables. Concert (or theater) seating = on seats in rows, facing a stage, or at least facing an area. That's the only either/or that really does have to be one or t'other. And it's good news for those who may have been dreading church pews.

You'll hear quite a few tunes from my soon-to-be-released CD, and something a capella, and perhaps we'll all sing to Mrs. Peel, on the occasion of her first birthday, a stirring, purring rendition of That Blasted Song, in Ailurin.

Please note: the concert is in Riverdale, not Rivendell. That booking is still pending.

 

 

 

La lune

The moon was full a few days ago, and I caught glimpses between buildings as it rose in the sky. It was beautiful, and my heart sang a little song.

But once upon a time, I lived where a winter night's full moon looks like this...

Moonlight in the Adirondacks, by Rockwell Kent

... and shines so loudly that you can hear the light whispering to the snow, and the moon singing her own song.

It is a hard place to live, especially in winter, but you can see why one would try.

Cool school

This is wonderful on many levels. It's a great story about jazz and the culture of jazz, a story about being, and trying to be, cool, and, most wonderfully, a story that can teach you how to tell a story.

 

The Manhattan Transfer opened for Mr. Cosby at the Las Vegas Hilton in - oh, what was it? - 1975? Maybe. It was an amazing experience, and not just because of Cosby. James Moody was in the house orchestra! Which was very cool.

Gaga din

I have always been a Beatles fan. Always. I remember the first time I heard them, and from that moment on, as far as I was concerned, they were The Ones.

But I had friends, tin-eared and delusional, who thought the Rolling Stones were The Ones. Poor dears! Their sonic worlds were clearly different from mine, and they were clearly wrong. 

One thing was certain: nobody liked both. In fact, it was tacitly understood that one was not allowed to like both.

Which meant that I deprived myself, on principle, of the raucous splendor of the Stones music for many years. I still like the Beatles best, and probably always will. But I know now that there are times when only Keith Richards' guitar tones will do.

Over the years, I watched heated arguments over whether Kiss was categorically better than Alice Cooper, jazz better than rock, fusion indisputably better than swing, countertenors better than female altos. Yikes! Either/or, either/or. Choose or lose! Yes,  it's necessary, to a certain extent. But it's also choose and lose. The best musicians I know listen to everything, and borrow from everything. Both and all would seem to be their motto, and I think this is the best way to be.

I bring this up today because I am tired of hearing wonderful musicians and singers (including me) complain about Lady Gaga. I think we should stop doing that. Most of us can't do what she does, and there are a lot of folks who really love what she does. Fair enough. Her music and performance style are not to my taste, and so they're not part of my daily life. What does seem to be part of my life is the ceaseless growl of negative comments made by some of the artists I do like.

Most of us are old enough to know better. I think we can do better, if only when in front of other people.

Let's lighten up on each other. Let's speak with a greater measure of grace and dignity, and stop flaying the girls in the meat dresses and the short dresses and no dresses at all. Let's stop muttering about J.K. Rowling's wealth, too (you know who you are). Success does not ensure a trouble-free life. Things can happen. The Wheel of Fortune can turn very quickly. Believe me. I know this very well.

Benjamin Disraeli is credited with having said, "Never complain, and never explain." I'm going to try that, at least for the rest of the afternoon.