March 23, 2015
Our congregation have been guinea-pigs again, and they seem to have come out of it extremely well.
The experiment concerned the Lenten Gospel acclamations which replace the usual Alleluia. There are four different texts for the people to sing, all of which appear in no apparent sequence in missals and Mass sheets during Lent. No doubt there is a liturgical reason for so many variants to replace the single Alleluia of the rest of the year. It can’t just be a form of Lenten penance, surely?
However, you don’t have to stick to what is in the missal for any particular week. It is acceptable to select another of the four instead, and in the heady but confusing times following Vatican II, many parishes took the easy way out and adopted the custom of singing the same Gospel Acclamation – music and words – all the way through Lent. The most popular choice for this purpose was an acclamation which had originated in Glasgow shortly after Vatican II, but soon became known everywhere. Priests especially liked it, because it was easy to lead the people with when there wasn’t an organ.
It is still widely used, and our parish tended to go in for it quite a bit. But this year, parish priest Father Paul Kelly demanded a change. He was very precise about it. He wanted a chant, which the popular tune wasn’t. He knew which chant he wanted:
and he wanted it used for the cantor’s versicle as well.
I welcomed this as an opportunity to address something that had always bothered me: the fact that if the same acclamation was used for every week in Lent, there was only a one in four chance of the words in the people’s hands coinciding with those which they would actually sing. So I offered to arrange each acclamation, as it arose, to fit Father Kelly’s chant. This I’ve done over the past five weeks.
At first, the people were a bit wary, but by about Week 3 they had got the idea. We introduced it as we do the psalm response: organ, followed by cantor, then everyone. That way they knew how the words would fit in. Here’s what we sang yesterday:
After Easter, I’ll smarten things up with some sort of accompaniment and put the chants on the Forth in Praise Resources and Downloads page. You never know, someone just might be interested in trying the idea out for themselves.
Must stop now, as Holy Week looms yet again, and the pressure is already starting to build …
March 7, 2015
Following the previous post, I’ve been asked what I’ve got against the Sibelius music type-setting program, which is used by many musicians.
Sibelius is indeed popular – almost the music equivalent of Microsoft Word – and a few years ago I decided I ought to buy the current version, then Sibelius 3. Latterly I upgraded to Sibelius 6, but I’ve never been able to come to terms with the program.
I have lots of gripes about Sibelius, some more important than others. For example, not so important but highly annoying is the way the manual talks down to you, starting with a ‘stern warning’ on page 8 (Sibelius 3 manual). And did you know that putting page numbers in the centre, top or bottom, is ‘not in good taste’ (page 397)?
Common eyesight problems can often be helped by adjusting the text size in the computer screen resolution section of Control Panel. But Sibelius doesn’t seem to realise that some people need to do this. Before I can read the important dialog box which they call ‘engraving rules’, I have to change the text size of my entire computer back to the manufacturer’s default, and then change it back again afterwards. Both operations involve logging off the computer and on again. If I don’t do this, the dialog box is truncated top and bottom and for some reason cannot be scrolled, appearing like this:
||instead of this:
I also have difficulty with the teeny-weeny little menu bar buttons in version 6 for important functions such as sound mixing and properties. Their icons give little clue as to their purpose:
But what really drives me up the wall is the regimentation imposed by a program which believes that a basic rhythm is all-important and should be in place from the start. Bar lines are governed by the time-signature and can’t be moved at will. You must have a time-signature – if you don’t put one in at the start the piece will default to 4/4 – and you are just not allowed to enter anything that doesn’t fit it; Sibelius will enforce obedience by adding rests or chopping off notes. If you are a composer who prefers to work with a fluid, changeable outline which gradually develops into something more definite, and you want to do this while type-setting, then Sibelius is infinitely frustrating.
And what if you have a penchant for irregular and frequently-changing rhythms? Or maybe you just want to render a non-mensural chant in staff notation? Sibelius doesn’t like that sort of thing at all. You are told to create a template in advance – a lot of empty bars, that is, with all the time-signatures in place. Then you can add the notes and they will stay put. In practice this means that you are expected to finalise your composition in manuscript before you start any type-setting at all.
Perhaps I am not being fair. Sibelius has many complicated nooks and crannies, as well as quite a tricky manual to negotiate. I haven’t had time to investigate all of its depths, and it’s possible that some answers to my problems are buried there.
And the program does have some good points, such as the ease of fitting words under notes, and the straightforward way chords can be built up using interval numbers. Sibelius is used in schools a lot, where its strict time-keeping will have educational value. And those whose job it is to type-set other people’s completed manuscripts will find the program very useful indeed.
But I always finish a Sibelius session with a headache, eye strain and in a bad temper.
Unless I’ve been setting a march or a waltz.
February 26, 2015
Blog has been quiet lately because after finishing the last two organ pieces in Australia with the help of my pre-loved keyboard (below), I’ve had to get the whole set into their final form for publication in March. This has meant transferring them to Sibelius, which I don’t get on with at all, but it’s worth it when it gets to the proof-reading stage. Proofs are now done, too, and I’ve had time to see what photographs are in my camera and phone.
I forgot I had taken a picture of old pre-loved.
I’ve also found two pictures taken in the Melbourne supermarket which we frequented. It was very like our shops at home, except that the self-service machines spoke with an Australian accent, and were a lot friendlier than the Tesco ‘unexpected item in the bagging area’ lady.
But then there was this on the meat counter:
And this overhead sign:
It turns out that ‘manchester’ in Australia means bedding and household linen. Don’t know why, but possibly in their distant past, they imported this stuff from the mills in the north of England. As someone has said, it’s a bit like the way we call crockery ‘china’.
Little things like this remind you that you’re in a foreign country, even though the language is a friendly English and they drive on the left.
February 8, 2015
I’m currently working on a set of easy organ pieces for publication by Fagus Music in March. When I first realised that we were going to spend almost a month in Melbourne, a bit of a panic set in, as I wouldn’t have access to an instrument for that time. Our son offered to hire a keyboard for the duration, and started sending me links. That was how I learned about ‘pre-loved':
Other instruments were given as ‘new’, so ‘pre-loved’ had to mean second-hand. But what a nice way of putting it.
The piano which we finally hired was pre-loved. It did strike me that we didn’t know how many pre-lovers it had had, but it was certainly in good condition, and did the job nicely. And I gave it some love, too.
I haven’t yet got a title for the set of organ pieces. I did wonder about ‘Pre-loved Pieces’. It had a nice ring to it, but translated as ‘Second-hand Pieces’ – not so good.
Will let you know before March, just in case someone feels like buying …
January 31, 2015
We left for Australia on Christmas Day. I had played on Christmas Eve in my church, but didn’t hang around afterwards. Next day, it felt very strange, travelling to the airport while everyone else was preparing Christmas dinner.
But finally there we were, on a very comfortable plane, soaring into the air. We changed planes at Dubai, and had another stop at Kuala Lumpur, all the while with the feeling that we were flying away from Christmas. So when we arrived in Melbourne at 3 am and heard ‘Silent Night’ playing over the loud-speakers, it was quite a touching moment. Almost like coming home.
Next day, when the intense heat hit us, we realised that Christmas time in Australia was nothing like coming home. Lovely! we thought, as we shopped for the essential hats and sun cream.
Now we are indeed home, and as I write I am looking out at my snow-covered car and thinking of emigrating.
January 24, 2015
Wet and cold in Glasgow yesterday, after our long journey back from the Australian summer. Main reason for visit was baptism of new grandson, but there was a chance to explore liturgy and organ-playing as well.
More when jet-lag wears off. Yawn …
December 23, 2014
As we work up to Midnight Mass or an earlier evening equivalent, can I just wish everyone all the best for the festive season. The blog is taking a break over the next few weeks, but will return sometime in January.
Merry Christmas! And a Happy New Year when it comes!
December 16, 2014
The Mass seemed to be going faster than usual. We were nearly at the final blessing, and my book of exit voluntaries, beside me on the bench, was still underneath the three hymn books and a missal that I had been juggling with for the last hour. Carefully, I pulled the voluntary book out from under the others, opened it at an eighteenth-century trumpet piece, and laid it on top of the pile. Alas, my action destabilised the pile, and the voluntary book slid away and disappeared, landing with a clatter down beside the pedals, just out of reach.
No time to leave the bench to retrieve it. The dismissal was upon us, and I had to launch into the final hymn.
What do I do? I thought as I played the hymn. Should I BUSK a final voluntary? A fast and furious improvisation on nothing in particular?
I tend to improvise quite a bit before and during Mass, because it makes it easier to keep an eye on the action being covered. But at these times quiet background music is all that is needed, with tempo no more than andante. A ‘playing-them-out’ piece is something else again. One has to be thinking ahead when improvising, and I wasn’t sure if I could think fast enough for this situation. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I had a go.
It wasn’t the most inspiring of exit voluntaries, as I was playing safe both rhythmically and harmonically. But it was cheerful enough, and helped greatly by the lovely tone of the organ and the resonant acoustic. I’m fairly sure most people don’t listen anyway.
But the experience has got me thinking. This is surely an area where one can improve with a bit of practice. After all, look what the French can do …
Will try it again sometime. And next time, it will be deliberate.
December 6, 2014
Well, well, it’s all happening now. My Christmas Carol Mass has been officially approved in time for Christmas, which is very nice indeed. You may remember it was rejected last time because it needed all three Memorial Acclamations rather than the single one I gave it. There were some missing slurs as well.
Anyway, it now has three acclamations, slurs in place and one or two other minor points sorted, and can be found here.
November 28, 2014
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Last Sunday at the organ I was not myself. I kept coughing and needing drinks of water. I was irritable with the choir, and my playing was pretty substandard. In fact I had to abandon the final voluntary after the first two bars went pear-shaped, and continue it as an improvisation in the same style – the usual coward’s way out for us buskers. The result wasn’t inspiring but at least it was reasonably respectable and not the obvious mess-up it would have been if I’d tried to carry on with the music.
Some of the choir were rather cool as they left; others hugged me and said to calm down. In the afternoon I sent a terse text message to them all cancelling Tuesday’s practice. Some cool acknowledgements to that.
By Monday the family had to call the doctor.
I was flat out with the current November lurgy, a chesty coughing-and-wheezing bug needing, in my case at least, antibiotic treatment.
Now, on Friday, things are improving, and I’m wondering about the best way to get back the goodwill of the choir. Also, I have doubts about my fitness for Sunday coming.
So today I rang our priest to discuss this Sunday, only to discover that he, too, is down with the same lurgy. I had noticed him coughing during Mass last week, but hadn’t put two and two together.
I don’t know how infectious this horrible bug is, but I’m getting a bit worried about those nice people in the choir who hugged me …