Snow on snow

It’s the Winter Solstice today—the longest night and shortest day of the year in the Northern Hemisphere. Humans have been marking the turning back of night around this time for millennia—celebrating the resurgence of light and hope over darkness and despair. Because no matter how black and cold it might seem at this moment, they know that the seasons will revolve; spring will follow winter; there is life beneath the frosted landscape.

Advent is very much a period of banking the fires, focusing inward and holding out through the dark time, knowing that light will return, good will bloom and hope provides the continuo.

The English poet Christina Rossetti wrote “In the Bleak Midwinter” in 1872, although it wasn’t published until 1904. The imagery of the first stanza just makes you shiver—earth hard as iron; moaning, frosty wind; water like stone; snow piled deep on itself. It’s a frozen world, an absolutely perfect description of the Winter Solstice. As Rossetti goes on to describe the mother and child, the stable beasts and the angels, you can just about see their breaths billowing misty into the night air.

I’m giving two versions of this one, both performed by the choir of Kings College, Cambridge. The first set to music by Gustav Holst:

This one’s by Harold Darke:

They’re not markedly dissimilar. With both versions done by the Kings College choir, this is like A/B testing. You can decide on your preference to help you through the longest night.

On the way to Bethlehem

The English composer John Rutter has pretty much got a lock on modern “classical” Christmas music. I am not a fan, but he certainly doesn’t miss me. Seems like every concert in the world has at least one of his carols, or arrangement of an existing carol.

Rutter composed “The Shepherd’s Pipe” while a student at Clare College, Cambridge. He was 18. Maybe that accounts for the lyrics not even rhyming, I dunno. (Frankly, I got tired of the "On the way to Bethlehem" schtick.) But here are the Batavia Madrigal Singers with Macau Orchestra performing it. I told you everyone in the world puts on his stuff at Christmas.

As an aside, when I went searching for this, Google kept trying to serve up shepherd’s pie. That old algorithm knows what I like.

Give us peace

The focus of today’s post isn’t really Advent or Christmas related, but the subject certainly is.

“Dona Nobis Pacem” comes from the part of the Roman Catholic Mass (or Episcopalian or Lutheran service) where congregants ask Christ to be merciful and bestow peace.

Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis.

Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis.

Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona nobis pacem.

Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us.

Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us.

Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world, grant us peace.

The song is a canon—a single line of melody, where different voices join in at a different duration of time, thus forming a polyphony of sorts. “Dona Nobis Pacem” is a repeating canon, so it’s a round. Like you used to sing at camp. In fact, you may well have sung this at camp, because it’s not Christmas-specific.

A friend of mine performs in the Washington Revels most Decembers. Revels are put on in several cities in the US, each year the local group decides on a theme. I went last year, when it was a French-Canadian story, with a flying canoe and everything. During the show, there are a few pieces that invite audience participation, and “Dona Nobis Pacem” is one of them. The audience was divided into three parts and we sang the round, each led by a section of the cast.

Here I’m giving you a rendition by a children’s choir that may or may not be called “Funny Voices” of the Children’s Exemplary Choral Studio “Kamerton”, of Saint Petersburg, Russia. (Google Translate was not my best friend on this.)

But I’m also giving you a version sung by some happy campers. It’s a little rougher, but that’s the beauty of the piece: it’s very forgiving.

In my opinion, we can all do with some divine peace.

Let nothing you dismay

“God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” dates back at least to the 16^th Century. It’s pretty straightforward. The “merry” doesn’t really refer to merry-making or excess; it’s reminding people that their burdens are about to be lightened, so they should likewise lighten up. You know, don't be so worried.

Here’s a rather different take on the old standard, from Barenaked Ladies, with guest Sarah MacLachlan. See what you think.

A friend to us all

You know, I don’t think in all the years I’ve been doing music posts for Advent that I’ve had anything from Africa. I don’t know why that is, but it’s changing today.

I confess that I don’t know anything about this piece, “Bethlehem”, and only marginally more about MozuluArt. They’re a group of three African guys generally accompanied by a pianist, who fuse African traditions with classical music. Zulu meets Mozart, see? Seems appropriate, somehow, for the day we believe Ludwig van Beethoven was born, to pay tribute to expanding the parameters of music.

From their website, the lyrics translate to:

Jesus Christ is born in Bethlehem

He lies in a manger

He is a friend to us all

And he has come here to give us salvation

On this particular piece, they’re accompanied by the Ambassade String Quartet. Not a lot to tell you about this, but I love it, and I love them. Here’s how much: I’ve just ordered their African Christmas CD, which includes this, from Amazon, and I’m paying $3.99 for incredibly slow shipping, because this seems to be the only option.

Gratitude Monday: Getting it done

Last Monday I took a day off work just because I had a lot of stuff to do. And by God, I did it: by 1130 I’d mailed two packages at the Post Office (got there 15 minutes before it opened; by the time they did open, there were 15 people behind me in line); gone to Costco and ordered two pairs of computer glasses (sorely, sorely needed) and picked up a few bits and bobs (they moved the unsalted butter, the toerags, and I wouldn’t have found it except a guy who was snapping pix of prices caught me as I was leaving the chiller area to say he’d found it (yes, I buy butter four pounds at a time; you got a problem with that?); exchanged my empty Sodastream cannister at Bed, Bath and Beyond; and picked up some more bits and bobs.

Back at home I did some vacuuming and other stuff, and it was a great, great day off.

Well, despite the Costco optical guy telling me that it would probably be two weeks before my glasses were ready, on Friday I got a text saying that one pair was waiting for me. I shuddered—going to Costco on a Saturday in December is not for the weak. But I really, really need those computer glasses.

So, I screwed my courage to the sticking place and by 1145 I’d picked up both pairs of glasses (I cannot recommend Costco Optical too much—everyone I’ve spoken there is professional, knowledgeable and candid. Dinh, who helped me pick out the glasses on Monday, steered me away from a $169 pair of Burberry frames—“Too round!”—and showed me a number of lower-priced but still stylish frames. Anthony, who helped me on Saturday, was completely thorough in fitting the glasses to my head) and bought the zip-loc sandwich bags I should have got on Monday; filled up my car at the Costco petrol station; did my grocery shop at Wegman’s; dropped my holiday tip off at my newspaper carrier’s house (this guy never misses a delivery and double bags the paper on days of inclement weather; I would go with digital-only except that I want this fellow to keep his job); and picked up a prescription (which my new insurance throttled; I suspect for 90-day scrips they want me to use their mail-order service; I hate them all). And I did it in Saturday morning’s rain.

So, here’s what I’m grateful for today: after years of feeling incapable of doing more than one or two errands at a time, I’ve rediscovered that I can mow these errands down like Saint Augustine grass when I focus on it. May not seem like much to you, but this is huge for me.

Let the skies pour down righteousness

Today’s Advent piece originated with plainsong back in the mists of Christianity, so: Latin. The opening lines of “Rorate Caeli” translate to “Drop down dew, ye heavens, from above, and let the clouds rain the just. Let the earth be opened and send forth a Saviour.”

The chant featured in regular Advent services devoted to Mary, known as the Rorate Mass. I don’t recall ever having attended one (they were weekday/Saturday masses, and kinda got sidelined during the Second Vatican Council), but I would like to. They used to be held in the early morning, which seems to me to be a good way to start out a workday during Advent.

In the Anglican tradition, the opening lines translate to “Drop down, ye heavens from above, and let the skies pour down righteousness.” I believe we could use some of that these days.

Anyway, seems appropriate to have a version sung by Maîtrise Notre Dame de Paris, which is a music school in Paris. Notre Dame meaning Our Lady.

If you’d like something closer to the original, here’s one (cannot tell who the group is):

With truth and grace

Today is Gaudete Sunday. Since Advent is meant to be a period of preparation, reflection and quiet (hahahahahahaha—no, really, that’s what it was for centuries, but we’ve totally blown past that in the past hundred years or so), the third Sunday is the break from all that. You add a pink candle to the two purple ones you’ve lighted already, and you focus on rejoicing.

I can think of no better entry for today than Aretha Franklin singing “Joy to the World” at Rockefeller Center. Turn up the volume and rejoice.