Sunday, June 15, 2008

The Song of Simeon

I'm almost done with the Nunc Dimittis, at least in terms of sketching out the music. But I promised I would write a blurb on Simeon, the old man who approaches Jesus when he's a few days (weeks?) old and praises this occurrence... mostly so he can die in peace. Boy, I tell ya, that baby musta been something. ...kidding, really. In all seriousness, though, the complete faith that he had demonstrates a true rarity. I mean, he'd waited his whole life for the so-called "salvation child" to arrive... except to Simeon it wasn't "so-called"; it was the real thing.

It's kind of funny, like Simeon I sometimes do feel old. Maybe not like pre-baby-boomers generation old, but I've seen enough in my life that I have that sense of what "the good old days" (for my generation, anyway) were like, as well as a slight feeling of yearning for them. I'm not going to lie; there are a few things (OK, maybe a lot of things) that I would like to do over again. Much of it had to do with the whole inner growth (which I'm still developing), and how this process stacks up against times when I wish I could have taken opportunities, etc. There's that "when we were" tingling in my head sometimes, and there are times when I wish I could go back and either change them or enjoy them. I don't run and skip steps while going downstairs like I used to all the time during middle and high school. My body still feels young, which is a good thing, but my brain feels older, in some spots anyway.


I do wonder why Mary's song lasts nine verses while Simeon's lasts only three. They're both pretty important sets of texts, but it poses an interesting challenge to create two pieces of different lengths (or distribution of texts) while creating a similar overarching affect throughout the whole cycle. At least with sacred verses I don't have to work so hard to please the audience like I do with just about everything else.

Sunday, June 8, 2008

The Song of Mary

Now this is what being filled with the Spirit is all about. I mean, why else would a pregnant woman explain her utter excitement (which has to be there first) about said pregnancy in such a poetic language? Then again, it isn't every day a complete virgin randomly (or not-so-randomly) conceives a baby.

I'm finally writing a Magnificat (the Nunc Dimittis will follow once I have finished the first) for the first time in about five years. Over the previous years I probably wrote about ten of these sacred song pairs, but for some reason I completely stopped. But now I'm back, and it's kind of amazing to try and get a new angle on the words to express them as it seems fit.

Growing up Episcopalian (and currently "still" wandering somewhere liturgically left of it) I only barely got a sniff of the significance of singing these evening services. After all, it's just a young woman and an old guy speaking some words that somehow gets set to music. But it's clearly more than that. The Roman Catholic Church does revere many of the human figures involved in pioneering and revolutionizing Christendom in its early days after Christ's time on earth was done. I mean, you've got the apostles and all sorts of saints, but Mary ends up being such an influential figure largely because she was called to be Jesus' mother. I don't want to say anything rash, because clearly my church experiences didn't stress her as such a figure as other places might, but I do wonder how such a big deal can be made over everything she does.

I am curious as to how and why the words of her excitement (from Luke 1:46-55) are repeated for every evening prayer. I understand the significance (she's spreading the news that she is pregnant with Jesus), but how does it stack against, say, the actual birth, Jesus' teachings, and other such acts during his time and all time. I mean, there's a reason other choral composers (esp. in the Anglican church) take this text and set it to music, because that's what I'm doing right now, and I'd like to understand even more why I am doing the same as these other guys who've put their names into the history books for the very same reasons.


I guess I'll muse (vent? ponder?) about the old guy (Simeon) some other time. ;-)