Again a weekend filled with music. On Saturday I sang a carol concert in the Old Catholic Church in Haarlem. We had quite a number of new carols on our repertoire, which was a joy and a challenge. And we sang The Lamb, by Taverner, which still beats me. It is wonderful, and when I am singing it at home, alone, it is fine. But once in the choir, I feel no longer sure of the notes.
This is how it should be sung!
We are a mixed choir, but I do not think that is what makes the difference. They just are more sure of the notes in this piece!
On Sunday the church choir in The Hague sang the service of Lessons and Carols. Our choir was much bigger than usual for the occasion, and the church much fuller. Our choirmaster, Christina Edelen, wrote a lovely lullaby for this service, which the congregation greatly appreciated. What I enjoyed most of all was In Dulci Jubilo by Buxtehude. The instrumental parts were played by two violins and a cello, by professionals who enjoyed doing this. And so did I although I understand that German music, Bach, Buxtehude, Walter, is not everybody's cup of tea. I was raised on those composers, and they wrote great organ pieces as well. But many English choristers, or choir members in our Anglican church choir, were raised in a different tradition and do not like the mathematical music of these German composers. Whereas In Dulci Jubilo is such joyful music, as is its text. But perhaps German is not a language most English people speak and understand. And their musical tradition developed independently from the Continental tradition. Which is odd, considering Händel is the most British composer there is. And other German composers lived and worked in England. Nevertheless, their church music has followed a different path.
In Dulci Jubilo, the version sung by our choir
A rare recording of the organ version of In Dulci Jubilo. Usually one hears this music played on large German Baroque organs. This is something different, played on a small Italian organ
This is a very happy time of year. As a child I loved December, Christmas, the music, the celebrations. The church services, the singing, the book beautifully bound which I would be given at the Christmas celebration of the Sunday school, the tangerine with its pungent smell and the beaker of delicious, piping hot chocolate. Decorating the house, the candlelight, the smell of baking bread and cookies. My father throwing the dough onto the kitchen table and beating it so that the yeast would do its work properly. The anticipation of the services, the festive atmosphere. In Holland presents were always given on December 5th, so Christmas was just a religious feast, and a time for family get togethers and celebrations. I still love the music, the anticipation , the singing. But now there is this veil drawn over it. It is not a good time of year if one is living alone. Why decorate, bake, make an effort if one is just on one's own? Gradually Christmas has become bleaker. Losing first a husband, and now a father, there is no one to make Christmas special for or with. As a child I dreamt of having this big family of my own, with lots of children making music together. Life has turned out differently, and this is felt most around Christmas, when everybody seems to turn his or her back on the world and just concentrates on the close family circle. There are always holidays to escape from Christmas, friends perhaps, even friends one is very sure of and who will always welcome me. Or one could invite other single female friends which I once did. But it is not the same, although we had a very good time with far too much food and a lot of laughter and gossip. I could make myself useful in one of the many places where people far less fortunate than I am, are given shelter at Christmas. I know I am selfish that I am not volunteering for any of that. Anyway, December will come and go. And come January 2nd, life will return to normal. There might be frost, we might have snow, we might skate or just hide away from a miserable, typically wet and cold Dutch winter, but people will come out of their Christmas cocoons and look at the world again. It is just a matter of holding one's breath, diving under and emerging again in January.
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