Wie treu sind deine Blätter

When I was a kid, this was the Saturday when we finally could bring the Christmas tree inside, set it up in the bay window of the living room and decorate it. Dad hung the lights (including bubble lights, which no one else in the neighborhood had), and Mom strung the tinsel garland around. Then we offspring could hang the ornaments, some of which had had their color worn off from so many years of use. When the tree went up, we were officially on our way to Christmas.

Technically, “O Tannenbaum” is not about Christmas trees. A Tannenbaum is a fir tree, and the song is about the evergreen as a symbol of constancy and faithfulness. So, it’s not so much of a stretch to include it in the songs of the season.

The lyrics date from 1824 and the melody is an old Silesian folk tune that was known as far back as the 16^th Century. It’s interesting (to me), that when I was searching for a version of “O Tannenbaum” that didn’t make me throw up in my mouth, one of the results that popped up was this propaganda piece from World War II:

Looking at all the happy merry folk wrapping gifts and such, the first thoughts that popped into my head was all the perfume, wine and other luxuries that the Occupation troops in France were sending home to their loved ones. That and, “Hey—no footage of Stalingrad? ‘Cuz that one’s got less than two months to go belly up.”

But that’s just me.

With the appropriation of “O Tannenbaum” to the actual, decorated Christmas tree, it always strikes me that it should be sung by a children’s choir. So here it is from the granddaddy of all boys’ choirs:

A great song from Heaven

Y’all know how much I love watching birds in my backyard. I mean, put out a little birdseed and I’m in for the day. And it’s occurred to me that, generally speaking, all the publicity during this season goes to the large animals—your camels, your sheep, your oxen and your asses. I guess it’s down to the fact that birds seem to be hunkered down in the winter, not as visible and not

So I think we should have something for the, uh, feathered friends. ”El cant dels ocells” (“Carol of the Birds”) is a Catalan carol that became widely known outside Catalonia because of Pablo Casals’ instrumental version on the cello. Casals went into exile after 1939, when the fascist dictator Franco secured his death grip on all of Spain. As a kind of musical “…and the horse you rode in on”, at the end of every concert, Casals played “El cant dels ocells”.

Anyhow, the lyrics are all about how excited the birds are at the birth of Christ, how all their voices are raised. From imperial eagle to sparrow, linnet, owl, canary, woodlark, blackbird, nightingale, greenfinch; they all sing their joy.

I’ll give you two versions of this one. This first was performed by the Escolania de Montserrat here in the District They Call Columbia last summer as part of the celebration of the centenary of John F. Kennedy (Casals had played "El cant dels ocells" at the White House when Jackie invited him to give a concert). The soloist looks pretty uncomfortable, but it’s still an interesting rendition.

The first time I ever heard “Carol of the Birds”, it was this recording, so I’ll leave it with you:

Wind on the water

If anyone has a lock on modern Anglican music, it’s John Rutter. You can’t get through pretty much any church concert without something by him. So let’s bow to the inevitable and hear “Candlelight Carol”.

I have to say that I find it a little airy-fairy, especially the refrain. I mean, “Candlelight, angel light, firelight and star-glow”? Meh. But it's a nice, serviceable little piece about a mother's love, so I'll be charitable. 

There are a lot of recordings of this out there, including one by Neil Diamond, which I was frankly afraid to listen to. But see what you think of this:

Little miracles

Since today is the feast day of Saint Nicholas, let’s talk about him a bit.

It’s actually hard to see past the rotund Jolly Old Saint Nick that we’ve had in our minds ever since C. Clement Moore’s “A Visit from Saint Nicholas”, and the Coca Cola adverts from the 40s. The historic Saint Nicholas was a third-century bishop of Myra in Asia Minor (now in Turkey). Nicholas was reputed to have performed a number of miracles, including restoring three murdered and dismembered boys to life, and secretly tossing purses of gold through the window of a poor man who couldn’t afford dowries for his three daughters and was about to sell them into prostitution. He’s also known for bargaining with sailors for a portion of their shipment of grain (needed for a time of famine)—they were reluctant to give away any part of their consignment, but he promised they wouldn’t lose by helping those in need. When they arrived at their destination, the weight of their shipment was exactly what it had been before they met Nicholas, and the wheat given him was enough to last Myra for two years.

Nicholas is the patron of sailors, fishermen and merchants (tied to that last miracle); children, brewers and coopers (the dismembered boys had been put into a barrel to be brined); pharmacists, archers and pawnbrokers; broadcasters and the falsely accused (this would be a single group these days); and repentant thieves. He also is patron of Russia, Greece, Liverpool, Moscow, Amsterdam and Aberdeen (among other places).

We of course associate him with gift giving these days. Some traditions receive presents on Saint Nicholas Day, rather than Christmas, but this largesse does not come without a down side. The good saint is typically accompanied by a demon—called Krampus in some places and Zwarte Piet in others—who hands out punishment to the bad children, while the saint gives the goodies.

As Santa Claus (morphed from the Dutch Sinterklaas—Saint Nicholas), he’s the embodiment of our contemporary Christmas machine: we tell kids he has a toy workshop at the North Pole, staffed by elves and with transportation courtesy of reindeer. He holds court at every mall and most department stores in the country, and presides over countless holiday parties where people overindulge in pretty much everything.

In Québec last Sunday I came across a different iteration of him. This guy was parked on a throne in a street with his two dogs and a basket in front full of Canadian five-dollar bills:

  

Saint Nick was open for photo ops:

An hour or two later I happened by again and watched him head home, where I’m thinking he banked a haul that was well into three figures.

It’s hard to find music about Saint Nicholas—Google it and you get 3,478,622 hits on “Jolly Old Saint Nicholas.” No; just no.

What I’m going with is the Dutch song “Sinterklaas Kapoentj”, which featured in one of my favorite Christmas movies. I vastly prefer Miracle on 34^th Street over It’s a Wonderful Life, and this is one of the seminal scenes:

If that’s not enough, here’s a different version, by a trio of Dutch puppets; a bird, a mole and what looks like a worm:

Through his own redeeming love

Today’s piece is a staple of the “Lessons and Carols” service that Anglican churches (and some others) put on this time of year.

I can remember driving up to New Jersey from Williamsburg one year, and listening via NPR stations to the broadcast of this service from Kings College, Cambridge, which seems to be the big dog in Lessons and Carols services. As we drove away from one station’s signal, we’d pick the broadcast up on another one.

The format for “Once in Royal David’s City” is standard: single boy soprano sings the first verse solo and acapella, then the choir/congregation join in. Finally, the big blowout final verse, with descant. In my opinion, it don’t get much better than this. Youse’ll want to crank up the volume.

When all the birds had fled

Let’s have one more from Canada for today’s Advent music. What we know as “The Huron Carol” was written by Jean de Brébeuf, a Jesuit missionary to the Huron/Wendat people, in 1642. Since its Wendat title translates as “Jesus, he is born”, it’s not, technically, an Advent carol. But since I am, technically, in Québec, I’m slotting it in here.

The version I’m giving you is sung by Heather Dale, a Canadian Celtic musician, in Wendat, French and English.

Gratitude Monday: en compagnie de tous saints

A few weeks ago, I woke up and decided I wanted to step away. From work, from going to-and-from, from my life, basically. As of this week, I’ve been at my job two years, and I’ve taken a grand total of seven days off; two of those were to go house hunting and three more were to move house. The world has been closing in around me, and I felt like I should give it a good shove.

Seeing as to how I got my Global Entry status last month, I thought I ought to take it for a ride. This meant, at a minimum, that I would have to get on a plane, preferably to somewhere not in the United States. (This was a way of preventing me from just staying at home, sleeping in and mooching around. Doing that would not help WRT pushing back the world.) I didn’t feel up to a trans-Atlantic flight, but Canada I could handle. I used to work for a company headquartered outside of Ottawa, so I’d been there, and to Toronto, but never to Francophone Canada. Ergo Québec City.

To get there from The District They Call Columbia, I had to take two flights, the second on a teeny prop plane. I speak French, but I was reminded of an expression one of my professors used about impure pronunciation: il parle comme une vache espagnole. It makes sense: Québecois:Français::American:UK English. But as I eavesdropped on my fellow passengers I thought to myself: man—québecois: je suis croque madame.

Still, people do appreciate that one makes the effort, and surrounding myself with a species of French helped with the stepping away. I had constant reminders of my mission, walking along rue Saint-Pierre, rue Saint-Joseph, rue Saint-Roch, rue Saint-Antoine; I was surrounded by saints. Also, the fact that the temperatures hovered on either side of 0ºC, with snow on the ground did, too.

I won’t bore you with all the details here, and I’ll spread out the photos, too. But let me say: mission accomplished. I left behind the idiocy of US politics, work and quotidian struggles, breathed totally different air, drank bowls of café au lait with my breakfast and wandered where I liked, when I liked. I’m grateful for having the opportunity and the wherewithal—and for screwing my courage to the sticking place—to do it.

Oh, alright, then—just one photo.

I was able to get a little Christmas shopping done.

Venez, venez, venez

Huh. It’s That Time again.

Yep, it’s Advent, so you know what that means—seasonal music. For the season of preparation and reflection. And since I’m currently in Québec City, let’s start this off with something en français.

“Venez, divin Messie” was written by abbé Simon-Joseph Pellegrin in the late 17^th Century, with a melody that dates from about that time. It appears in many anglophone hymnbooks as “O Come, Divine Messiah”, and it fits in with the seasonal theme of preparing for the Saviour’s birth. It’s got quite a lively, almost jolly, feel to it. I picture it as something you might listen to while cleaning your house for holiday visitors, cranking up the volume so you can hear it over your vacuum cleaner.

It’s got five verses plus the refrain, so I’ll only give you a bit of the French.

Venez, divin Messie

Sauvez nos jours infortunés,

Venez source de Vie

Venez, venez, venez!

Ah! Descendez, hâtez vos pas;

Sauvez les hommes du trépas,

Secourez-nous, ne tardez pas.

Dans une peine extreme,

Gémissent nos coeurs affligés.

Venez Bonté Suprême,

Venez, venez, venez!

You’ll notice the repeated “venez”—come! The singer is so eager to welcome the Messiah, s/he just can’t wait.

Here’s that bit as it appears in English hymnbooks:

O come, divine Messiah!

The world in silence waits the day

When hope shall sing its triumph,

And sadness flee away.

Dear Savior haste;

Come, come to earth,

Dispel the night and show your face,

And bid us hail the dawn of grace.

TBH, the English text looks like it’s just a whole different thing. Here’s how I’d translate:

O come, divine Messiah

Rescue us from our unhappiness.

O come, source of life

Come, come, come.

Come down, hurry your steps,

Save mankind from death.

Help us, don’t delay

Our afflicted hearts

Groan in extreme pain

Come, Supreme Good

Come, come, come.

Well, I get it—hard to fit an exact translation into a good tune. So just have a listen. With or without the vacuum cleaner.