The Music Musicians Hear

This week the Alabama Symphony Orchestra will perform Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. I sing in the Birmingham Concert Chorale, the chorus who performs with the ASO when they schedule choral/orchestral pieces. This popular work, which everyone knows from the tune "Ode to Joy", has been made more legendary by the well-known fact that Beethoven was deaf when he composed it and conducted its premiere.

In his book "Beethoven's Hair," Russell Martin explains how scientific testing has been done on a lock of hair cut from Beethoven's head and verifiably preserved . The testing solved the mystery of Beethoven's deafness and growing blindness, as well as his abdominal discomfort and generally sour disposition. He had lead poisoning.

Non-musicians find it odd that a composer could compose without hearing. Musicians understand, I think, that music plays in our minds whether or not it is audible.

A few days ago I conducted Mendelssohn's "Elijah." It is a two-hour (plus) masterpiece, full of beautiful singing and orchestral playing. Every year I conduct a major work in the spring as a part of the effort to raise scholarship funds in memory of our organist, Betty Sue Shepherd. Mentally and physically it is the most challenging weekend of the year, and it has taken a few days to process mentally and recover physically.

One of the interesting things that has been said by choir members as we have reflected on the concert has been, "I try to go to sleep and that melody keeps playing in my head." I have experienced the same thing, after learning such a large score. Sometimes I have to start at the beginning and play the entire piece in my mind before I can really settle down and go to sleep.

Music is such a mental exercise that I think the real musical instrument that we all play is our mind. It is assisted by the trumpets, violins, vocal chords and pianos we manipulate. It is reassuring to know that music can't really ever be taken from us as long as our minds are strong. And I have visited elderly patients whose minds were past the point of normal communication or expression, but who showed signs of memory and recognition when familiar hymns were played or sung.

Music is too great to be momentary. We must savor great music, and play it over and over to realize its potential for enriching us. As we sing Beethoven's Ninth this week, we will reach a point where we tire of rehearsing it. But we won't be able to stop it from playing over and over in our minds after rehearsal. In that way we will finally commune with Beethoven, and experience the music the way he did.

Why do we sing?

When I got married in Massachusetts in 1988, a family with whom I was very close traveled from Georgia to attend. The son, Jeff, was a groomsman, and the daughter, Stacy, was in the wedding choir. Stacy was a fine singer, and interested in theatre. Jeff was an athlete, and a superb golfer. So when they planned their family vacation around traveling to the wedding, Stacy planned an outing for them all in New York City. The highlight for her was attending "Les Miserables" on Broadway. When they arrived in Cape Cod I asked Jeff what he had done in New York. He replied, "I saw 'I Am Miserable.'"

Needless to say, we don't all have the same taste or tolerance for singing. Nevertheless, there seems to be singing everywhere you look. Baseball season just started, and every game begins with the singing of the National Anthem. That's not so remarkable, but every game also includes the entire audience singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" together. It's a silly song, sung in an excruciating way, but it's an indispensable part of the Great American Passtime.

We sing to welcome seasons, to express our love for schools we attend, to bury our loved ones, to worship God, to express our love of our country, and many more reasons. Our singing improves our thinking and learning, and brightens our disposition. The most popular television program highlights aspiring singers. And every corner of every town has a church choir, whose members are also likely to sing in community and school choruses.

I think the answer to my earlier question lies in the fact that we are all pre-disposed to sing. It's in our DNA just like speech. We learn it from our earliest source of love, a mother who thinks no one is listening, and sings from her heart. We need to express our humanity, and artistic expression, regardless how primitive, allows us to do so.

Working for a living is part of adult life, and I'm grateful for work. But I'm far more grateful for the fact that my work involves the daily pursuit of better singing.

Back to "Les Mis"... Have you seen the clip that's taking "Youtube" by storm? It's a 47-year-old British woman appearing on the British version of our number one show, American Idol. She is derided by the audience when she takes the stage. She appears frumpy and unattractive, and makes poor jokes poorly. And then she begins to sing. She performs "I Had a Dream," from "Les Miserables." It is so thoroughly captivating that the audience turns so adoring as to drown her out a couple of times. The judges are completely effusive in their congratulations.

Everyone can sing. That's what makes it ubiquitous. Some sing only in their car, completely embarrassed if someone hears them. Others make their living as singers. But everyone with a voice can sing, and needs to sing from time to time. The lesson is, express yourself. Don't be afraid. Sing!

Quick, what's my name?

I've been thinking about a little boy I taught nearly 30 years ago. I was a senior in Music Education, and it was time for my internship. I was fortunate to be allowed to intern with a choral teacher named Joe Tisdale in the little town of Opp, Alabama. I had known this outstanding teacher for a few years, as he was attending graduate classes during the summers, and we had struck up a friendship.

Our daily routine included several classes at both the High School and the Middle School. While the High School classes tended to be fairly selective in their enrollment, the Middle School tended to put almost any student in the chorus, because they knew there never tended to be any discipline referrals from that class.

So we would drive up to the Middle School around lunch time, and our room would fill with 100 or so students ranging from over-achievers to special needs kids. It was impossible for me, as an inexperienced intern, to learn their names. I became especially concerned about maintaining order in such a large class, and knew that my supervising teacher would be coming shortly to observe.

One particular little boy seemed to have extreme emotional problems. He came from a special needs class, and sat with his hooded jacket pulled over his head and face. He mostly rocked, but if provoked would throw the nearest textbook or other object at a classmate. His name was Chris, and I became convinced that I needed a strategy to deal with him. Meanwhile, I was trying to learn the names of the other kids, and noticed that there were two boys named Tim. Joe just called them "Tim 1" and "Tim 2", so I adopted the same names for them. Everyone found those names to be funny, and the boys took pride in their numbers.

One day I was seated at the piano accompanying the rehearsal while Joe directed, and I invited Chris to sit with me on the piano bench. I explained that he could be a big help if he would turn the pages of the music. Of course, I had the simple piece memorized, so that it didn't really matter when he turned the page. Although suspicious at first, Chris liked the idea of having a job no one else could do, and getting my individual attention. He happily sat and followed the music, which necessitated his coming up out of his heavy jacket. Within a few days I could hear a beautiful soprano voice emerging, and saw that Chris knew the song and was engaging in it for the first time.

Chris started arriving at the door as soon as the bell rang, and hanging around us in the yard or the lunch room. Joe was also a photographer, so he took and developed a picture of Chris and me standing outside the choral room, and when I visited a year later I saw Chris and he still had the folded photograph stuffed in the hood of his jacket.

Well, the funny ending is that one day a new boy moved to the school and was assigned to the chorus class. And his name was Chris. So my little buddy Chris came running excitedly when Joe and I drove into the school yard that day. When he caught his breath he asked, "Now that there are two boys named Chris, are you going to call us Tim 1 and Tim 2?"

I guess the point of this story is that our individual interaction with singers matters a lot. We tend to see them as a group since they belong to an ensemble. But sometimes their identity has to be established individually before their group membership can take effect. Chris had found the first episode in his short life in which he felt special, and he couldn't get enough of it. It would have never been enough to just know his name. That was different than knowing who he really was.

Thirty years later I will be rehearsing tonight with a great group of adults, most of whom lead nondescript normal lives. But if I look closely I will see a person who has recently received great medical news, and another who faithfully and lovingly tends a garden of a spouse, who slips a little farther into Altzheimer's Disease every day. I will see a singer who I first directed when she was in elementary school and who now teaches athletes at a local university. I willl see singers who are choir members out of habit, and others who come because it's the first episode in their life in which they feel special.

I must know them and affirm their identities and gifts, if the music we share is ever to have its greatest effect on them.

"That Word"

In January of 1990, having just turned 30, I accepted a job as Minister of Music in a large church. The reason I was offered the job was the pastor, who had decided to take a chance on me in spite of my youth. I worked alongside him for the next ten years.

If you have read the last few posts, you know that I have been among a large group of friends who are lamenting the life-threatening disease that has overwhelmed a close friend. That close friend is the pastor who hired me at 30, and who became a colleague I admired, a pastor I trusted and a friend I loved. Less than a year ago he found a suspicious lump under his arm. It turned out to be metastatic melanoma, the same thing that took the life of his mother when she was only 50.

For the last several days I have tried to put my thoughts in order. I think I'm ready now to speak about my friend, and this blog is my best choice for a forum in which to do so. I can't speak verbally for the lump that comes into my throat. It's better that I write. And I want to tell you some specific instances in my experience with this pastor that will give you a glimpse into why he is so dearly loved by his friends and family.

Philip Wise grew up in Andalusia, Alabama. His intellect quickly became his calling card. He excelled, and not just at his favorite subjects. He excelled at anything he thought about. His wasn't a memorizing intellect, suitable for attaining high test scores. His was an understanding, analyzing, digesting intellect. And it was coupled with a strong competitive streak that was displayed on the basketball court.

As a student in high school and at Samford University Philip experienced a growing sense that he desired to serve God, and that God desired for him to be a minister. He pursued the study of theology, becoming well-known for his keen understanding, and eventually traveling to Oxford University for three years of intense study.

A return to south Alabama and the pastorate led to the convergence of our paths at the First Baptist Church of Dothan, Alabama. Here are some specific instances I remember from that time.

I remember a time when a church member who was having a combination of health and professional problems disappeared. He didn't leave any clues, and his family and friends were understandably upset. I was at their house with a large group of people, all trying to help, and all adding a little to the growing hysteria. I remember Philip walking in and assessing the situation. He listened to all the conjecture about what might have happened, each guess getting more extreme. He listened to the family members who were grasping for some idea of what to do. And then, from his great intellect came the right words, in the form of a simple question: "What do we know?" Everyone looked around, and all the crazy conjecture stopped, and he repeated the question. The answer was that we knew our friend was gone, and we wanted to find him. So we all turned around and left the house to find our friend, who turned up a little dazed and confused a few hours later. A lot of people would have loved to have a pastor who empathized to the point of validating the hysteria. But God, in mercy, gave us a pastor whose intellectual ability led him to say the words that turned the situation around.

I remember another time when one of those scandals happened that people love to watch in the church. Another pastor had been caught in a very public morality lapse. And this other pastor was a person to whom Philip had been unfavorably compared by a few detractors. As the press went on their field day, trying to get a comment out of any of us who would speak to them, Philip set the example of not ever speaking an unkind word about the other minister. But I learned later that he had spent the entire previous night with that pastor and his family. He had listened and ministered to them and never said a word about it. There was great profit to be had on the low road, but he and his words stayed on the high road.

And I remember a time of tragedy, when one of Philip's closest college friends who belonged to our church had a massive heart attack and passed away on a Saturday night. When I arrived at work at 7:00 on Sunday morning I found Philip looking pale and upset, and learned that he had been up all night with the family of his friend. The funeral was the largest our church had ever seen, with an overflow crowd who were all so stricken with the grief of the loss of this young, good man. I sat right behind the pulpit, and had a view of the extraordinary effort it took for Philip to deliver the funeral sermon. I saw his white knuckles as he gripped the sides of the pulpit, and his shuffling feet as he nervously shifted his weight, like a prize-fighter with everything on the line. I remember marvelling at his strength. And then I remember the final words of the sermon.

Philip gripped that pulpit and set out to recite the hymn, "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God." I could hear the lump growing in his throat, and see his grip tightening on the pulpit. He relied on the words of Martin Luther to bring truth to an inexplicable situation. And he made it through all four verses. He displayed that intellect and strength that had sustained him through the impossibly difficult task of pastoring. And when he didn't have words of his own that would suffice, he turned to the greatest hymn he knew.

Now we all stand around the bed of our frail, weak friend and don't know what to say. So I say this:

A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing;
Our helper He, amid the flood of mortal ills prevailing:
For still our ancient foe doth seek to work us woe;
His craft and power are great, and, armed with cruel hate,
On earth is not his equal.

Did we in our own strength confide, our striving would be losing;
Were not the right Man on our side, the Man of God’s own choosing:
Dost ask who that may be? Christ Jesus, it is He;
Lord Sabaoth, His Name, from age to age the same,
And He must win the battle.

And though this world, with devils filled, should threaten to undo us,
We will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us:
The Prince of Darkness grim, we tremble not for him;
His rage we can endure, for lo, his doom is sure,
One little WORD shall fell him.

That WORD above all earthly powers, no thanks to them, abideth;
The Spirit and the gifts are ours through Him Who with us sideth:
Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also;
The body they may kill: God’s truth abideth still,
His kingdom is forever.

Philip, your friends are gripping the pulpit, shuffling our feet, and wishing we had a little of your legendary strength. You always had the right words. Because you always had the right Word. As your battle nears its end we wish you peace, and thank God for the way you've strengthened us.

Sorrow

One of the privileges and burdens of life in church music comes when death visits a church family. I've spent a lot of time lately dealing with the dark planning necessary when someone faces the end of a battle with disease.

For me it's easier to work than contemplate. So I am glad to have the job of planning services of remembrance, especially when the person who faces death is a friend.

As I've been thinking through a couple of these services, I've been struck with how bereft our hymnal is of any material that can help us grieve. I think it's a lot to ask the family who has observed the pain and distress of disease to instantly shift into a mode of joyful singing. They need to be able to express themselves at whatever stage of grief they find themselves.

So yesterday I wrote a hymn text. It matches the tune RESTORATION, which most of us know when matched with the words "I Will Arise and Go to Jesus." My new text seeks to voice the honest feelings of mourning while drawing strength from the suffering Christ. Its refrain serves as a reminder of the paradox in Paul's Philippian letter, "For me, living is Christ, and dying is gain." Please sing it to yourself, and let me know what you think of it.

(refrain) In our sorrow, grief and mourning,
Lord be present, share our pain.
Teach us your confounding lesson,
"Life is Christ and death is gain."

1. Journeying thru' death's cold shadow
we are shocked and mystified.
You have walked this path before us,
Lord, in mercy be our guide.

Refrain

2. Anger speaks in ev'ry sentence,
and our sadness overflows.
Help us to recall your suff'ring
as we voice our urgent woe.

Refrain

3. Teach us, Lord, through your example
death and pain will be destroyed.
Though we walk through nights of darkness,
morning waits with promised joy.

Refrain.

The Secret to Teaching

There is a secret that every teacher who has taught a few years knows. By the time career fatigue sets in, this secret gets you up in the morning. It doesn't come around very often, but sometimes it sneaks up on you, and it's enough to keep you going for a long time.

The secret is successful students who are anxious to share their success with you. When your path has taken a few zig-zags, as mine has, you don't intersect with your students with much frequency. And even though we're all connected to cell phones, email accounts and facebook pages, we still don't seem to stay in touch with people very well.

For some reason, though, I have seen or spoken to several former students lately, and every reunion has been career-affirming.

Terrance has started singing in the Birmingham Chamber Chorus. He is a middle school band director now, and was a student at Troy University when I taught choral music there. He was an instrumental major, but won the Outstanding Choral Student Award due to his consistent hard work and great attitude.

Through Terrance I've been able to speak to Emily, who was his close friend in college and was one of my closest students. She was the best kind of student, always early for class, always completely prepared, always eager to learn. When I left that job she was about to get engaged. I've learned that she and her husband now have two children and a great life.

I attended the National Convention of the American Choral Directors Association last week, and the highlight was the opportunity to see two students. One of them is a close friend, and we stay in close touch. He is very well-known now, and I am honored to even be seen with him at such a meeting. The other, however, came out of the blue. I was standing in the large exhibit hall, where several hundred choral directors were perusing the products of all the vendors, when I heard a vaguely familiar voice say, "Dr. Johnson?" I looked around and saw, about 50 feet away, a former student named Stephen. I had lost track of him about seven years ago, and wondered frequently about him.

Stephen is a highly capable guy, who had returned to college after a few years' hiatus. He was older and more mature than the other undergrads, and we asked him to direct the Gospel Choir. He took it from being an under-achieving student organization to performing as a regular ensemble within the School of Music, with a high performance standard, SRO audiences and very hard-working members. He also took care of aging parents every day and maintained a very stressful church position.

He is now a successful High School choral director, and has recently been asked to also direct the band after a sudden opening in that position. We had a really joyful reunion. He was way too flattering and I was struggling with the lump in my throat. You forget how much these students mean to you, and how validating it is to find them doing well.

All these reunions propel you into the next day's challenges. Maybe it's questionable to wrap your own self-worth in the success of your students. Surely there are really great teachers everywhere who are prevented from receiving this kind of gratification by their subject matter or geographical location. But I confess that these are great feelings, and I feel stronger to face my immediate challenges since being validated by these students.

You other teachers out there, you know what I'm saying, right?

Thank You for Your Support

Have you ever thought about the people who support music from behind the scenes? For every successful choir, band or orchestra, there are people who work as principals, pastors, board chairmen, guidance counselors, boosters and countless others, whose hard work and support make the music possible.

In an earlier post I mentioned Mr. Reyner, the principal of Enterprise High School, whose support enabled that school's chorus to sing twice at Presidential invitation. Mr. Reyner's own children had sung in the chorus, and he knew what it meant to the students, the school and the community. I've had the privilege to speak with Mr. Reyner a few times, and all those conversations revolved around his students and how he could support their efforts.

When I was a college teacher, I was the Director of Choral Activities at Troy University, where the choral director of 30 years had been made Director of the School of Music. It would have been easy and appropriate for him to stand back and watch to see whether I would succeed. But he took another path, forsaking his lunch hour and joining the choir, offering the support of his presence and daily help. No one could doubt his support when we took the stage. His presence made it possible to give the choir my imprint, and his administrative support made it possible to plan for a great future in the choral program.

Over the last few days I've had the chance to think about a person whose support enabled some of the greatest events in my career. In 1990 I accepted a position as a Minister of Music in a church in south Alabama. It was an unlikely place to make classical music happen, and there were many times that we would have probably stopped short, had it not been for the unflagging support of the pastor.

He believed in the value of what we were doing, and frequently assumed a position between me and the naysayers. He would field the complaints and support the funding so that I could do my work. But when the tide turned to support, and the compliments were coming, he would step out of the way and be sure they reached me.

I've been helping a group of his friends to set up a new home for that pastor and his wife. He is quite ill, and is moving to Birmingham to be near those friends and the excellent medical care afforded here. This weekend I unpacked their boxes of cds and videotapes, and set up their stereo. It was wonderful to see several tapes of our concerts and tours among their video mementos. I felt again the feeling I remember when we worked together, the feeling that he valued my work.

I realize that many people work a whole career without having supportive bosses. I'm fortunate to have had the supervisors under whom I've worked. And I plan to tell my former pastor sometime soon that I appreciate his support. In order for valuable work to take place, someone has to value it. Those who do are the heroes of our musical world. We'd be nowhere without them.