Tag Archives: music

Funeral Play List for an Older Saint

Posted on by
2

 

On the last day of the year, I played for a funeral for a dear woman whose Christmas present was waking up in heaven. She and her husband left a legacy of faith, family and service.

Though there were tears and hugs and sniffles, it was predominantly a joyful time admiring the imprint of her love on those she knew. The grief of the family and friends was clean grief, unsplattered by regrets, remorse, resentment or reproach. It’s fun to go to funerals and discover stuff you never knew. I didn’t know she was such a fisherwoman, so competitive in games and sports, and rode a zip-line not that long ago!

In my experience, In the Garden is the favorite hymn of her generation. My friend sang this solo beautifully. Can one of my readers explain the third verse? (I discovered the hymn is an Easter hymn written in from the perspective of Mary Magdalene. Still, it doesn’t make sense to me.)  Another favorite is How Great Thou Art, which the congregation sang along with What a Friend We Have in Jesus.

I retrieved the hymnal I grew up with, Choice Hymns of the Faith, and made a play list for the prelude and postlude.

When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder

Trust and Obey

Sweet By and By

Softly and Tenderly

Abide with Me

All the Way My Savior Leads Me

Beneath the Cross of Jesus

Great Is Thy Faithfulness

Come Thou Fount

He Leadeth Me

I Need Thee Every Hour

I Will Sing of My Redeemer

Praise Him! Praise Him!

Standing on the Promises

Amazing Grace

Glory to His Name

Are You Washed in the Blood?

Blessed Be the Name

Jesus, I Am Resting

Lord Jesus, I Love Thee

Make Me a Blessing

Savior, Like a Shepherd Lead Me

My Faith Has Found a Resting Place

There Is a Name I Love to Hear

Immaneul’s Land

Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus

Leaning on the Everlasting Arms

It Is Well with My Soul

Sweeter as the Years Go By

 

My favorite re-discovery is a hymn called God In Heaven Hath a Treasure. Here is the “long-play” version.

God in heaven hath a treasure,
Riches none may count or tell;
Hath a deep eternal pleasure,
Christ, the Son, He loveth well.
God hath here on earth a treasure,
None but He its price may know—
Deep, unfathomable pleasure,
Christ revealed in saints below.

Christ, the Light that fills the heavens,
Shining forth on earth beneath,
Through His Spirit freely given,
Light of life ’midst shades of death.
Down from heav’n’s unclouded glory
God Himself the treasure brought,
Closing thus His love’s sweet story
With His sweetest, deepest thought.

God in tongues of fire descending,
Chosen vessels thus to fill
With the treasure never ending,
Ever spent—unfailing still.
Still unwasted, undiminished,
Though the days of dearth wear on,
Store eternally unfinished,
Fresh, as if but now begun.

Earthen vessels, marred, unsightly,
But the treasure as of old,
Fresh from glory, gleaming brightly,
Heav’n’s undimmed, unchanging gold.
God’s own hand the vessel filling
From the glory far above,
Longing hearts forever stilling
With those riches of His love.

Thus, through earthen vessels only,
Shining forth in ceaseless grace,
Reaching weary hearts and lonely,
Beams the light in Jesus’ face.
Vessels worthless, broken, bearing
Through the hungry ages on,
Riches giv’n with hand unsparing,
God’s great gift, His precious Son.

Thus though worn, and tried, and tempted,
Glorious calling, saint, is thine;
Let the Lord but find thee emptied,
Living branch in Christ the Vine!
Vessels of the world’s despising,
Vessels weak, and poor, and base;
Bearing wealth God’s heart is prizing,
Glory from Christ’s blessed face.

Oh, to be but emptier, lowlier,
Mean, unnoticed, and unknown,
And to God a vessel holier,
Filled with Christ, and Christ alone!
Naught of earth to cloud the glory,
Naught of self the light to dim,
Telling forth His wondrous story,
Emptied—to be filled with Him.

There is a decent piano version here. I don’t care for (read: I’m unfamiliar with) the extra beat at the end of the bridge section.

If you were choosing funeral songs for a grandma, what would you pick?

My New Favorite Christmas CD

Posted on by
1

 

 

Stephanie Seefeldt’s Cradle & Cross is the best antidote for the jangling, jarring, holly-jolliness blaring through the speakers at the mall.  Seefeldt’s dulcet tones sooth and calm; they focus on Emmanuel, God with us. Her music invites us to come and worship.

Picture snow falling, soup simmering, bread rising, candles flickering. Cradle & Cross is the soundtrack for the sacred season of Advent. When you feel frazzled and fragmented, hostage to your To Do list, put this album on.  Stephanie’s music is an infusion of peace; it will orient you towards high thanksgivings and unwearied praises. 

Here are a few of my favorite tracks:

Of the Father’s Love Begotten :: This ancient hymn is rich in incarnational truth. Stephanie’s phrasing of the medieval plainsong is exquisite.

Emmanuel, God is With Us ::  The essence of Christmas wrapped in a simple tune that a three-year old could master. Sing your kids to sleep; sing a loved one into eternity. 

Emmanuel, God is with us.
Emmanuel, we’re not alone.
Emmanuel, God is with us.
We love you, Emmanuel.

Lay Them Down :: A challenge to imitate the humility of Christ. The lyrics based on Philippians 2 call us to give away—to lay down—our rights. 

In the First Light :: Stephanie’s arrangement of Bob Kauflin’s modern classic blends her voice, a viola, and a cello. Minimal, unadorned, glorious.

Quelle est Cette Odeur Agreable/Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming medley ::   Evocative, sensitive piano solo that pairs two traditional carols.

Angels from the Realms of Glory :: Have you ever gone to the wedding of a flibbertigibbet bride? And then been shocked when a serene beauty walked down the aisle? It’s amazing what a dress can do. When this traditional carol, that formerly galloped and sometimes screeched, is clothed with a new dress the beauty and radiance of the lyrics shine. Familiar words become fresh. Stephanie’s melody brings dignity and grace to an old standard. 

You can listen to samples and purchase MP3 downloads at Amazon  and iTunes. There is no better purpose for $0.99 than to buy Angels from the Realms of Glory. If you like Fernando Ortega, George Winston, or Liz Story, you will like Stephanie Seefeldt. You can purchase CDs at stephanieseefeldt.com. 

For All the (Online) Saints

Posted on by
9

 

Stephanie (middle) and I met in the comments sections of Donna’s (right) blog, Quiet Life. We had many “you, too?” moments when we discovered that we both loved music, particularly hymns, specifically Ralph Vaughan Williams, and what about this phrase in For All the Saints. 

Kindred was a word Steph and I kept using to describe our relationship. We both had moments, those capsules of time where everything outside the moment turns all fuzzy and bokeh, when the overwhelming beauty of words—usually expressed musically—envelops you. “Repeat” is a necessary function when we can’t get enough of a new song, even after twenty listens. We know what it is to play the piano (and organ, for Steph) through tears of sheer joy. One of Steph’s favorite lines is lost in wonder, love, and praise.

It’s inexplicable, isn’t it, how music extracts deep pockets of pain and sharp piercings of joy and distills them into beauty. How tendrils of music reach deep into the soul and loosen the packed-together clumps. How a tune can both move and paralyze you. How an unexpected chord progression makes all your muscles go slack in amazement. How sound waves can physically alter your body. (I speak here of goosebumps.)

So my sister Dorothy and I drove three hours through autumnal wonder to share three hours with Steph, Donna, and Donna’s daughter Katie. Lunch at the the local Mexican restaurant was a minuet of conversation, stories and laughter. It must’ve taken us a half hour to get to the point where we could look at menus and order. After lunch we went to Stephanie’s church, Trinity Episcopal, where a pipe digital organ was recently installed. I can say with conviction that I have never seen a more beautiful small church. It is, from this day, my picture of Lord’s Chapel when I read Jan Karon’s Mitford books.

 

   

The first long hug, the shared meal, the photos outside—all these were a delightful prelude. But when I heard my current favorite hymn, Only Begotten, on a pipe organ played by a friend who has music threaded throughout her DNA, I took deep drinks of truth, goodness, and beauty. Because it was not a formal concert, I could squeal when she moved from one key to another (modulation in musicspeak) with a gorgeous sequence of chords. Stop! How did you do that? And she translated.

My current definition of heaven is this: a gifted and beloved friend playing my requests on the pipe digital-but-sounds-like-pipe organ.

I cried…joyful tears.

I hurt…because beauty is sharp and shining.

I sang…because how could I keep from singing?

Steph moved to the keyboard and the magic continued. She weaves O, the Deep, Deep Love of Jesus in a way that you hear the ocean currents. As we sang and listened there were undercurrents of understanding, unspoken connections. We sang Donna’s favorite, How Great Thou Art. Before we could quite catch a breath, our time was over, and I was wondering if it was a dream or for reals. 

Today, November 1st, Stephanie’s Christmas CD, Cradle & Cross, is released. You can sample and purchase it for download at Amazon or iTunes. Or you can order CD’s here.

Donna blogged about our meeting, with fabulous pictures, here.

 

::          ::          ::

 

 May I add a bit about Katie?
Inside my head, I call some people BIO-[insert name].
Katie is BIO-Katie.
Beautiful, inside and out.

She was gracious when I said, upon meeting her,
“I feel like I know you, Katie!”
All her mom’s fans say that.
Note to self: next time say something more original.

She was engaged, thoughtful, and articulate,
contributing to our conversations.

Clearly, she is cherished.
It shows.
Her presence added to an already special day.

It was great to meet you, Katie.

 

Eric Bibb Again

Posted on by
4
   


Eric doing a sound check

This was my third Eric Bibb concert.
It’s beginning to feel like we’re old friends.

Eric Bibb is a reader.
When I asked him what he’s reading,
he pulled a few books out of his backpack and showed me.

It’s still a thrill.
An internationally acclaimed musician,
in the lovely place we call The Shire.

Family friendly, oh yes!

The Joseph canyon as our backdrop

“There are places I play that are My Kind of Place…as opposed to just a gig.
This is definitely My Kind of Place.”

“Playing outdoors is a whole nother thing.
Nature has perfect EQ.”

Eric brought a friend along.
Grant Dermody is an exceptionally talented harmonica player.

Matthew, a younger harmonica player, is recording a song.

A charming repartee developed between Eric and the audience.
“We having us a good time,” Eric laughed.
“Even the Squares are having a ball!” someone yelled.
Eric instantly perked up.
“Thank you. That’s the title of my next song!”

“I like to write new songs brewed on old vapors.”

Dusk descended, shrouding us in an indigo glow.

    Eric Bibb’s version of Wayfaring Stranger is deep, rich, compelling.
“The great songs last.”


What Eric Bibb brings with his music is passion;
he is fully engaged in every piece he plays.

He promised to come back. And.
He promised to play my favorite song about reading:
Turning Pages

::     ::     ::

   In 2007 I first discovered Eric Bibb.

In 2008 we traveled six hours—through an epic blizzard—to see him.

In 2009, Eric came to us!

Major and Minor

Posted on by
8



Introducing the idea: I’m having too many “if I were teaching (insert subject), I would use (insert example) to explain (insert principle)” moments. But my teaching days are on the left hand side of the timeline. It’s a bit deflating to find something so usable and yet have no way to use it. So I blog.

Background: Today (6/28) is Tau Day. What?  Tau (τ) is the circumference of a circle divided by the radius, approximately 6.28.  [Pi Day was 3/14, celebrating π, the circumference of a circle divided by the diameter.]  Michael John Blake has put Tau, the infinite number, to music on this video. The tune is the wistfully mysterious; for me it also captures the order and structure and design in something as elementary as a circle.

Getting closer to the point: I am a sucker for the sidebar.  After I watched the Tau video I noticed a video posted by the same musician/guy: Carol of the Bells (major key).

Bring it home: The familiar Carol of the Bells is, of course, written in a minor key.  [If you were sitting next to me, we’d hum it together.]  The carol has such a different mood played in a major key.  Raising or lowering the third, the middle note in a chord, greatly alters a tune.  This video would be a perfect way to teach major/minor keys to piano students. I have this urge to round up the street urchins and explain it to them. 

Winding down: When I play the piano, I often take a familiar song written in a major key, say Great is Thy Faithfulness or even The Star Spangled Banner, and play a middle verse in the minor key. Because life is sometimes that way. In a minor key. And the music captures that sense of struggle and strain and difficulty.  The video above, however, goes in a different direction: the minor to the major.

Concluding question: Minor keys make a lot of people gag. They complain, “What is with the dirge?”  I’m quite fond of minor key tunes.  But that is a topic for another time. Which version of Carol of the Bells do you prefer: major or minor?

 

My Rock Star Drum-Playing Sister

Posted on by
1

The room was the size of a small gymnasium. The audience grew as the residents were wheeled in by caregivers. The band set up, plugging in cords, playing chords, adjusting levels.  Several clients took delight in the sound check, chirping “check, check” in an unintended call and response.  The pre-concert buzz was nonexistent.  Most folks stared stoically at the wheelchair ahead of them.

The magic was palpable when the music began.  The Front Porch Band–a guitarist named Moon, a drummer, bass player and harmonica/lead singer–plays country, gospel and bluegrass. The set had songs that looked back on better times like Tennessee Waltz and King of the Road and tunes like I’ll Fly Away and Never Grow Old that held a future hope. The lady on my left kept her eyes closed but sang her heart out. A handsome gentleman in front of me repeatedly jabbed his index finger in the air whenever the lyrics resonated with him.  After I’ve Got a Mansion Just Over the Hilltop one white-haired woman pumped the air with fists upraised. Yep, passion still resides in these residents.

I was at this nursing home gig because the drummer/back up singer is my rock star sister-in-law. As she approached sixty, Karyl Lynn wanted to do something. What to do? When she told my brother she had always wanted to play the drums, he encouraged her to pursue her desire. She found a drum teacher in the classifieds, posted a notice on a radio station–Grandma taking drum lessons, needs drum–, installed her new used drum set in the corner of the parlor, next to the grand piano.  A few years later, when The Front Porch Band asked Karyl Lynn’s drum instructor to play in their band, he recommended my sister-in-law.

They play Monday morning gigs at nursing homes. Jim’s song introductions have perfect pitch: straight-forward, moderately upbeat, genuine. When the bass player sang a solo, Jim coached the audience to say, “Good job, Bob.”

Music is magic. It travels up hairline fissures of our emotions and reaches places we had forgotten about. Here are people with cirrhosis of the soul reduced to tears by a familiar tune. The sight of music stirring people moved me. After her first gig, Karyl Lynn said, “While I was fulfilling my dream, I looked into the eyes of people who had lost theirs.” When this gig ended the band members worked the room, shaking hands, looking into eyes, thanking residents for their attention. Playing the drums for an hour sapped the energy from Karyl Lynn, but facing the fatigued and diminished spirits of people was even more draining. Yet in giving folks a respite from their cares, she takes great joy.  

No wonder this new avocation is so satisfying: it provides a challenge, an avenue to explore a new skill, a team to belong to, and the fulfillment of serving others. It makes me immensely proud of my rock star, drum-playing sister.
  

Wooden Spoons That Make You Sing

Posted on by
1

 

My kids/grandsons gave me a set of wooden spoons for Mother’s Day.
Yay! I love wooden spoons.




  Spoons with style!




Drumsticks on the end!
Hooray!
Now you can stir your Puttanesca sauce,
flip the spoons, and lay down a cadence as
you merrily fling Puttanesca all over your ceiling.



I love my Fred Mix Stix.

Synchronicity, you make make heart beat!
My husband’s words matched the kids’ gift.

Your joy pushes us onward,
expecting and anticipating more blessings up ahead.
Keep singing your song
and telling your story.
We are honored to be included
in your harmony and script.

The Music Pushed Me Over

Posted on by
3
“The problem with you is that you are a two buttock player.
You should be a one buttock player.”

“We have a B.
And next to it is a C.
It is the job of the C to make the B sad.”

Not since Robert Greenberg of The Teaching Company (How to Listen to and Understand Great Music) have I enjoyed such a passionate appeal to the power of music.

Of course, “the choir” will gladly listen.  But.  If you have this idea that classical music is just not your thing, you are precisely the person for this video. Benjamin Zander will make you care. 

Don’t Mess With My Carols

Posted on by
19

(from the archives)

 

I had a hissy fit on Christmas Eve.  In  the candlelight service.  Fortunately, my husband was the only observer and he managed to keep me under control.

We were at our folks’ church, singing from their hymnal, the New and Improved one.  I was already mildly miffed at the alterations in the lyrics when we started singing O Come All Ye Faithful.  When the second verse began “Highest of highest” instead of “God of God” I just stopped singing, now indignant. 

Someone had ruined my favorite verse!  I started jabbing at the hymnal, thumping the spot where in tiny letters were the letters alt.  My husband, who missed my meaning but understood my emotion, shrugged and in a sign of solidarity started poking his finger at the hymnal too, but not in the right places. Which made me snort but didn’t diminish my disgust. 

“Alt!” I hissed. 

“Alt.”  he echoed.  Whatever alt. meant, he was together with me on it. He didn’t ask “Alt?”.  He firmly said Alt. but the required passion was missing; there was no corresponding hiss.

“They ALTERED the text.” I further hissed. “It’s as if Athanasius never lived.”   

“Ahhh.” 

We went back to singing choirs of angels.

At the next carol, he jabbed the alt. before the organ had finished the introduction. Good Christian Men were not rejoicing; Good Christian Friends Rejoice.  In protest, I cheerfully sang “Good Christian men“, all three verses.  I have no patience with gender neutral humankind nonsense.  Please.

With each new carol it became a race between us to see who would thump the alt. first.

We heard the tune of Lo, How a Rose Eer Blooming, without noticing the title was, Lo, How a Rose is Growing. 

This was no alt.: this was a completely new translation. 

I’m sure that Gracia Grindal’s translation has much to recommend it, but you know–you know!– how hard it is to sing or recite a verse in a different translation than the one you memorized as a child, the one firmly lodged in your brain.  There was a sense of disorientation.

Away in the Manger came through unscathed: evidently the Little Lord Jesus (my nephew–decades ago–said Yittle Yord Yesus) could sleep on his bed.  We ended with lovely unaltered carols Silent Night and Joy to the World.