Herr, wenn ich nur dich hab
Warmest greetings from (not that) cold Truckee! We're up here for a four-day getaway.
Bongo saw snow yesterday for the first time. Talk about in her element!--they don't call her a Labrador for nothing. After a period of what I can only describe as extreme wonder, she began cavorting about, sticking her nose in the new white element, and catching snowballs in her mouth--these last hurled by two tiny kids who were equally in a state of wonder.
If you wanna forget about your worries and be in the present moment, take your dog to the snow!
So, anyway: Thinking back to Wednesday's post about Heinrich Schütz's 'Musikalische Exequien': One of the many texts which he incorporated into the first movement--the omnibus of biblical and chorale texts dear to the heart of the departed prince--was 'Herr, wenn ich nur dich hab' (Psalm 73: 25-26). I am going to give the translation in its entirety here; you can find it also in a side-by-side format with the German attached:
Lord, if I have only you, then I ask for nothing else in heaven nor upon earth.
And even if my body and my soul shall fail, you remain, truly, God:
In all times my heart's comfort, a part of me.
Most of you know of me--I don't exactly hide it--that I am a (very) lapsed Christian--raised in the Episcopal Church, but in the swirl of the 60's and of rationalism and of secularism carried away from the tide of Christianity and indeed from any organized religion. I expect that some of you are likely in the same boat, or at any rate are beset at times by doubt and confusion, as am I. Even for those who practice a religion, I guess that it can be hard to keep its comforts always in your heart, especially in difficult times like these and through the inevitable difficulties and losses which occur in the course of a life.
And yet: I find the passage above immensely powerful and comforting. It's not that I necessarily believe the words literally. Part of me actually would love so to do, but I can't seem to achieve that. Nevertheless the passage makes me feel less existentially alone, and makes me more conscious of the many ways in which I am actually not alone--from Margaret to Bongo to my family and friends and all of you. Further, at times anyway, I'm able to understand the passage as inspiring a connection to that still, inner voice, to the eternal verities of the cosmos, to such truths as the conservation of energy, which I imagine to result in a kind of eternal transmogrification in which nothing is truly ever lost.
One of the amazing things about music is the way in which it can heighten and enrich a text--especially a text which is concerned with things difficult to express in words. It's almost as though the composer adds a gloss--marginal notes in an ineffable language which can bring home to our hearts the true deeper meaning of a collection of words.
In the first movement of the 'Musicalische Exequien', Schütz sets the passage above as part of a sequence of solo sections. Beginning with a single tenor--a reflection of the first-person narrative of the psalm, and of the personal nature of the protagonist's awareness of the immanence of God--the section continues with a quartet of the lowest voices in the ensemble, first expressively portraying the idea of loss of body and soul, and then countering that with an animated setting of the negation of such loss: 'You truly remain, God...a part of me'. If you listen to the passage with all this in mind, I think you'll agree that Schütz has packed a lot into a small space.
But Schütz had more to say. In the second movement of the piece, he sets the selfsame passage once again, this time for an eight-part double-choir. Here he expands upon the core thoughts in the psalm passage, with more vertical and horizontal and temporal space at his disposal. This movement is often performed vigorously, as a sort of triumph over sadness and adversity. But I especially love the interpretation given to it by the Schütz-Academie. The director Howard Arman has re-cast the rather grand texture of the piece into a slower tempo and a softer dynamic. It's amazing to me how this setting for many parts brings out the personal aspect of these psalm verses, and their message--that we are not alone--seems to strike home like an arrow to our hearts.
The third musical interpretation of this text I'd like to share with you is by Dieterich Buxtehude. It will be part of our 'World of Wonder' concert in November, 2021. Buxtehude set the verses over a six-bar repeating bass/harmonic structure: a 'ciacona'. It's scored for a solo soprano, two violins and basso continuo, and it's one of my all-time favorite solo pieces.
Don't wait a moment--listen to this wonderful piece! The soprano sounds so entirely free, able to soar alone or to weave with the violins above the strong, ever-present, I-will-not-forsake-you bass pattern. Her joy--and the music's joy--in her knowledge that we rest in God's hands is entirely palpable, and (for me anyway) stirs joy and security and comfort in my own heart. When she commences on the final, confident 'Alleluia', strong and mighty in the face of whatever adversity the world holds, I pretty much lose it. I hope you like it!
Warmest greetings from (not that) cold Truckee! We're up here for a four-day getaway.
Bongo saw snow yesterday for the first time. Talk about in her element!--they don't call her a Labrador for nothing. After a period of what I can only describe as extreme wonder, she began cavorting about, sticking her nose in the new white element, and catching snowballs in her mouth--these last hurled by two tiny kids who were equally in a state of wonder.
If you wanna forget about your worries and be in the present moment, take your dog to the snow!
So, anyway: Thinking back to Wednesday's post about Heinrich Schütz's 'Musikalische Exequien': One of the many texts which he incorporated into the first movement--the omnibus of biblical and chorale texts dear to the heart of the departed prince--was 'Herr, wenn ich nur dich hab' (Psalm 73: 25-26). I am going to give the translation in its entirety here; you can find it also in a side-by-side format with the German attached:
Lord, if I have only you, then I ask for nothing else in heaven nor upon earth.
And even if my body and my soul shall fail, you remain, truly, God:
In all times my heart's comfort, a part of me.
Most of you know of me--I don't exactly hide it--that I am a (very) lapsed Christian--raised in the Episcopal Church, but in the swirl of the 60's and of rationalism and of secularism carried away from the tide of Christianity and indeed from any organized religion. I expect that some of you are likely in the same boat, or at any rate are beset at times by doubt and confusion, as am I. Even for those who practice a religion, I guess that it can be hard to keep its comforts always in your heart, especially in difficult times like these and through the inevitable difficulties and losses which occur in the course of a life.
And yet: I find the passage above immensely powerful and comforting. It's not that I necessarily believe the words literally. Part of me actually would love so to do, but I can't seem to achieve that. Nevertheless the passage makes me feel less existentially alone, and makes me more conscious of the many ways in which I am actually not alone--from Margaret to Bongo to my family and friends and all of you. Further, at times anyway, I'm able to understand the passage as inspiring a connection to that still, inner voice, to the eternal verities of the cosmos, to such truths as the conservation of energy, which I imagine to result in a kind of eternal transmogrification in which nothing is truly ever lost.
One of the amazing things about music is the way in which it can heighten and enrich a text--especially a text which is concerned with things difficult to express in words. It's almost as though the composer adds a gloss--marginal notes in an ineffable language which can bring home to our hearts the true deeper meaning of a collection of words.
In the first movement of the 'Musicalische Exequien', Schütz sets the passage above as part of a sequence of solo sections. Beginning with a single tenor--a reflection of the first-person narrative of the psalm, and of the personal nature of the protagonist's awareness of the immanence of God--the section continues with a quartet of the lowest voices in the ensemble, first expressively portraying the idea of loss of body and soul, and then countering that with an animated setting of the negation of such loss: 'You truly remain, God...a part of me'. If you listen to the passage with all this in mind, I think you'll agree that Schütz has packed a lot into a small space.
But Schütz had more to say. In the second movement of the piece, he sets the selfsame passage once again, this time for an eight-part double-choir. Here he expands upon the core thoughts in the psalm passage, with more vertical and horizontal and temporal space at his disposal. This movement is often performed vigorously, as a sort of triumph over sadness and adversity. But I especially love the interpretation given to it by the Schütz-Academie. The director Howard Arman has re-cast the rather grand texture of the piece into a slower tempo and a softer dynamic. It's amazing to me how this setting for many parts brings out the personal aspect of these psalm verses, and their message--that we are not alone--seems to strike home like an arrow to our hearts.
The third musical interpretation of this text I'd like to share with you is by Dieterich Buxtehude. It will be part of our 'World of Wonder' concert in November, 2021. Buxtehude set the verses over a six-bar repeating bass/harmonic structure: a 'ciacona'. It's scored for a solo soprano, two violins and basso continuo, and it's one of my all-time favorite solo pieces.
Don't wait a moment--listen to this wonderful piece! The soprano sounds so entirely free, able to soar alone or to weave with the violins above the strong, ever-present, I-will-not-forsake-you bass pattern. Her joy--and the music's joy--in her knowledge that we rest in God's hands is entirely palpable, and (for me anyway) stirs joy and security and comfort in my own heart. When she commences on the final, confident 'Alleluia', strong and mighty in the face of whatever adversity the world holds, I pretty much lose it. I hope you like it!