Chant Café

Here’s a good rule for cooking. It should be in every basic cookbook, and taught in first year cooking-theory classes:
Do not drizzle melted Velveeta over sushi.

No chef needs a rule book to know that melted Velveeta is not a proper sauce for Sushi, and every chef knows how to make a decent Filet Mignon. Bad teachers and amateurs talk about creative chefs as if they “know the rules and know how to break them.” That’s ridiculous. There are no rules. The great chefs know how food works, and how people work, and how food and people interact with each other. They know that certain foods feel right at certain times of the day, or certain times of the year. They know what they are trying to do with their food. They understand what kind of restaurant they work in. They know what people are expecting, and they know that sometimes people expect too little.

You can’t learn this in a book (though a book isn’t a bad place to start) and you can’t just copy what some other person has done (though that is not a bad place to start, either). It only come from spending time working with food, experiencing it from both sides of the counter, seeking out the best food possible, studying the science of food, studying successful chefs.

Grammar. Music composition. Fashion. Visual arts.

We have been trained in our schools that these fields are governed by strict rules, which we must learn. Only the masters, who really understand the rules, can “break them.”

No.

The rules exist for purely pedagogical reasons- to try to distill the essence of what has already come to be known as good style among those people who are steeped in the tradition and understand the genre. Palestrina didn’t study Fux. Homer didn’t consult Aristotle.

There can be no final rulebook on what is and is not “good sacred music” or “appropriate liturgical music.” Some things obviously are, and some things obviously aren’t. But there can be no catalog of prudish precepts: thou shalt not syncopate, thou shalt not exceed 117 beats per minute, thou shalt eschew secondary dominants.

To look for such rules – “How can I know that such-and-such is appropriate?” – is to abdicate responsibility for the exercising of personal judgement, and (more) to abdicate the responsibility that each of us as church musicians has to conform our minds and our tastes to the tradition that we have received.

What Joe Vitacco has done at Our Lady of Refuge (OLR) in Flatbush, Brooklyn, NY is little short of miraculous and certainly way past amazing.

Here’s the place to go for the full story and then some: Our Lady of Refuge Church Pipe Organ

The following is just to pique your interest:

Our Lady of Refuge is a poor parish with immigrant parishioners whose priorities are more focused on survival and a pastor who has to care for them and keep an aging church building intact.  Not much of a chance for a broken-down pipe organ here, right?

Wrong!  Joe Vitacco heard this 1933 organ as a small child.  In fact, it was the amazing sound of a pipe organ that lead to his developing a company that focused on producing high-quality recordings of great organ music.

Over the years, like many organs, neglect and environmental disasters (aka water) did their work to silence this historic instrument.  When Vitacco approached the pastor, Fr. Perry said, “Do what you can.”  And he did.  And it was more than fixing a few pipes or replacing some leather.  There were major structural issues that turned up as well.

Money was raised through social media, through Vitacco’s connections in the organ world, through parish barbeques, and the traditional “sponsor a pipe.”  A background in sales and marketing didn’t hurt either. Vimeo clips and lots of local press got the word out in every direction.  They raised over $250,000 from more than 1,500 individuals.  And remember this is money being raised in the midst of a global economic recession.  Talk about bull-dog determination!  (Of course, the organ was originally purchased and installed in the Great Depression, so maybe that’s fitting.)

The instrument is back in place and the dedication concert will be played on October 18th by Olivier Latry, the titular organist of Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris.  Recordings and concerts are planned.  And the people of the parish will have an instrument that will enrich Masses and all their sacramental life.

Wow! Read all about it, listen to the clips, make a donation, buy a ticket!

After I became a Latin Rite Catholic, I used to dream of bringing some of the beautiful music I loved into the Western church. The Orthodox Churches have a rich treasury of music and poetry.  However, much of it is so bound to the Liturgies of Sts. John Chrysostom and Basil that it is difficult to “import” it into the Novus Ordo.  (Obviously, since it’s not in Latin, I never worried about the Extraordinary Form.)

Musicians and worshippers often lament the somewhat lackluster offertory section of the Mass.  The Propers aren’t an option in many parishes and even if they are, the offertories that are simplified end rather quickly.  Or should the congregation sing a hymn sitting down, while writing their checks or digging in their wallets?   Or is the choir going to sing an anthem or motet?

Invite the cherubim!  Of course, they are already there, but the Cherubic Hymn joins the voices of the choir to that invisible host of angels that wait to welcome the Lord.  Here’s the text:

You don’t need a masterful choir that can sing the Rachmaninoff Vespers.  Most Russian Orthodox churches have modest choirs and there is a wealth of arrangements of this work.  In the Orthodox liturgy, the hymn is interrupted by the Great Entrance.  In a Latin Rite context (or in concert), there is no interruption.

Where do you find this?  Well, more on that next time.  And in the meantime, why not enjoy this?  An English choir singing in Poland.

On the penultimate line of each verse of Holy God, We Praise Thy Name, Catholics around the US habitually ornament the melody in a way that is not customary in many Protestant churches, and which is not found in most hymnals.

Holy God, We Praise Thy Name is a vernacular version of the Te Deum, and as such is important to the devotional life of the English-speaking church. It had occurred to me that the ornamentation was possibly simply a sung tradition rather than a printed tradition.

However, I recently discovered that there is a printed tradition, going back at least to the late 19th century.

The Episcopal Diocese of Texas publishes a quarterly magazine, and the current issue is about music in liturgy. I contributed an article about Gregorian Chant which continues my general theme of “stop making chant so freaking boring all the time.”

Ancient chants were anything but solemn and mannered. They were sung unaccompanied, quickly, and with gusto. Documented complaints from Archbishops reveal how the chants were too emotional, too ecstatic, too unrefined. They were sung to inspire soldiers on the battlefield, and comfort the dying in hospitals. They had the power, so the medievals believed, to dispel demons and conjure visions of the dead, who sang the songs along with the living.

I am, of course, highly indebted to the Page Book for providing this perspective on the culture wherein Gregorian Chant grew up.

You can find the full article in the September edition of The Diolog.

Kathy Pluth’s article from yesterday sparked some thoughts of mine own which I posted in a comment there. I thought it was worthwhile to bring those thoughts into their own post here.

FCAP (or is it FACP?), that is – Participation which is full, conscious, and active (and actual, thank you very much) – is one of those weird shibboleth topics among those of us who argue about liturgical matters. It is my opinion that the reason for the arguing is mostly that everyone is right when they describe what FACP is, but wrong when they describe what is isn’t.

And of course, most people get hung up on one little piece of an explanation or idea. For 40 years now we’ve been told it means “congregational singing” and, by extension “congregational physical and vocal activity.” In reaction to this, of late, many people are claiming that not only does it not mean those things exclusively (which is true) but that it doesn’t include those things at all (which is ludicrous). Unfortunately, this sort of thing happens all the time in life, in history, and in liturgical matters- extremes are countered not by sane moderation, but opposite extremes. (And sometimes, with some subjects, sane moderation is seen as extremism by all the crazy people on either side. Sigh.)

So, anyway – and without further ado – I thought it might be helpful to lay out – in as clear language as possible – ten propositions about participation which communicate at least my own thinking on the matter.

1. Full, Active, and Conscious Participation by the faithful in the liturgy is very much to be desired and cultivated.
2. FACP includes singing at the proper times, listening at the proper times, responding at the proper times, kneeling at the proper times, and so forth. It also includes a “right disposition” and a spirit of prayer. That is to say- it is both physical AND mental AND spiritual AND emotional. (cf: Luke 10:27)
3. Anyone who says that FACP specifically DOES NOT MEAN actually singing and otherwise being active in a conventional sense is wrong.
4. Anyone who says that FACP specifically ONLY MEANS actually singing and otherwise being active in a conventional sense is also wrong.
5. Singing stuff that is not really part of the liturgy does not enhance FACP. That is to say: Singing some random non-liturgical song at Mass does not qualify. Whatever it is that is being actively participated in is not the liturgy in that case.
6. Singing/speaking/doing things that are not part of the liturgy are likewise not FACP. The dancers, the twirlers, the puppeteers, and the feather-hatted Knights* are NOT FACPing, because what they are engaged in is not part of the liturgy.
7. Singing/speaking/doing things that are a part of the liturgy but are not proper to the person doing them is also not FACP. If I go to Mass, I am not FACPing if I say the Words of Institution along with the priest.
8. On a purely practical level: Many of the songs and general styles of music that have been created and promoted in order to facilitate FACP do no such thing. This is sometimes because they function as extraneous material which is not part of the liturgy. More often, it is simply because the music is too difficult for congregations to really sing well.**
9. In terms of that part of FACP which includes congregations singing the parts of the Mass which are proper to them, I am of the opinion that the most effective types of music in terms of encouraging participation are the simpler traditional styles and genres: syllabic chants, simple psalm tones, “square” hymns, and other similar pieces.
10. The encouragement of FACP must be a lifelong process and take into consideration not only the immediate community, but where those people might be in the future. For this reason, I highly encourage the use of Latin Ordinary settings. Encouraging a universality within the Universal Church allows for our increasingly global and mobile faithful to participate fully wherever they go.***

*Someone in a comment on the earlier post attempted to make a claim that feather-hatted Knights have a legitimate liturgical function. Outside of specific circumstances, I strongly disagree. Without going into a rant that would surely become insulting I can only say: extraneous liturgical goofiness is no less extraneous or goofy when perpetrated by people who think of themselves as “traditionalists.”

**This right here is my biggest problem with contemporary church music.

***Please see my article A Firm Foundation.

In the comments on a thread below, David Haas raised an important and topical question.

…Is it really the case that you are going to knock the principle of ‘full, conscious, and active participation?’ This full participation should be “exalted” above all else! Read the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy again, friends, and tell me that this principle of participation is not primary. It is not the “easy road.” It is THE road that the Constitution lines out. And then to knock it in favor of “beauty?” Is not the sound of a full throated assembly singing a “beautiful” thing? Do you think it is an ugly sound? And it keeps coming: “above prayer.” Are you saying that when the gathered assembly is participating, it is not prayer? Hello….

It is absolutely correct to say that the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy said, abundantly, that the reform of the Liturgy should above all seek to engage the People of God in active participation. Examples of this exact sentiment in the document abound. The Council Fathers were well aware that in the decades before the Council, the ordinary way of attending Mass was “hearing” a spoken Mass, often enough with responses provided by the servers. They were evidently concerned that people must not only pray at Mass, but must pray the Mass.

Therefore, David is right to say that participation was the highest principle governing the reform. However, it is incorrect to suggest that participation–at least participation of a certain type–is the highest principle governing the liturgy. Participation is a richer concept than mere activity, and the Liturgy is a richer concept than participation.

Since the Council, our liturgical context has changed quite dramatically. Participation in one sense is at an all-time high. Almost every Sunday Ordinary Form Mass now contains congregational singing (although not many would qualify as sung Masses). Responses are always said by the people, and never, in my experience of the Ordinary Form, by servers alone. Lay people distributing Communion regularly outnumber the ordinary ministers. “Active” participation in this sense is no longer a problem. Reform in this sense has now succeeded. The mandate of the Council, in this sense and this style of active participation, has been accomplished–and then some. Or rather, it will be accomplished once some of the excesses have faded away (hopefully with the same weary inattention that caused the demise of felt banners), and once the dialogues of the priest and people have received their rightful attention.

However, the work of fostering FULL, CONSCIOUS participation has hardly begun. How can it possibly begin, until congregations are made aware of and have an opportunity to sing all of the texts that pertain to them? The people are regularly denied any contact whatsoever with some of the antiphons–the proper antiphons–that SC said they had a right to in paragraph 30, the paragraph which is the intradocumental touchstone of congregational participation. (Note that the paragraph did not say that the people must sing motets.)

And how can FULL, CONSCIOUS participation be achieved until the music that cantillates the Ordinary of the Mass heightens the words, instead of obscuring them?

And how can FULL, CONSCIOUS participation be achieved when the celebration of Sunday Mass is in most places said in a hurried and casual way, full of distractions, and with consistent disregard for the precepts of the Church? The Council Fathers rather insisted “that the faithful come to [the Liturgy] with proper dispositions, that their minds should be attuned to their voices, and that they should cooperate with divine grace lest they receive it in vain.”

According to the Council, the Sacred Liturgy “is an exercise of the priestly office of Jesus Christ, Head and members,” and to the extent to which the members are not engaged in the work of their own salvation, they are not participating in the Liturgy. It is almost completely inadequate to just show up and sing along with whatever song is being offered. There is an interior work to be done, and the post-Conciliar reform has barely begun to address this.