When all our dreams come true

If anyone could have been said to burn his candle at both ends, it would be Shane MacGowan. He started drinking alcohol at age five and spent large chunks of his life in rehab and psychiatric hospitals as a result of his drug use. So it seems kind of a gift that he lived as long as he did—he’d have turned 66 on Christmas Day, but died from complications of pneumonia on 30 November.

Born in Kent, England, to Irish parents, MacGowan was a songwriter, singer, musician and poet. His extraordinary talent pretty much made the success of The Pogues, where he fused punk with Celtic folk music. His songs spoke to the Irish experience with both love and fury, and they resonated with the Irish at home and in diaspora.

As the news broke last month of his death, people all over Dublin, in pubs and on the streets, sang what may be his most iconic song, “Fairytale of New York.” (It’s set in a New York City drunk tank on Christmas Eve. Very seasonal. But you'll also see the weaving of Irish themes into the melody.) They sang it again as his horse-drawn hearse began the final journey from Dublin to his funeral in Tipperary on Friday. And they sang it again at the funeral, as members of his family danced.

I’m giving you two versions of it—the first from A Very Murray Christmas.

The schtick is that on Christmas Eve, Murray’s in his hotel in Manhattan, waiting to broadcast a live show (hello? Scrooged?), which he needs to do for the money. But a blizzard of Biblical proportions strikes, screwing everything up. He can’t cancel, but…well, a whole lot happens (including a power failure) and he, his crew, a wedding party, and miscellaneous flotsam and jetsam end up in the hotel bar, doing what you might expect in a Manhattan bar during a blizzard on Christmas Eve.

There’s drinking, crying, fighting and singing. All the usual elements of holiday festivities.

There’s something about this ensemble’s cover of “Fairytale” that I just love. Pro tip: watch it to the very Murray end.

But I’m also giving you this performance from MacGowan’s funeral—Glen Hansard and Lisa O’Neill leading, as MacGowan’s family dance.

Note: the Very Murray Christmas version cuts a couple of verses whose lyrics are pretty rough. But that's the way MacGowan wrote—rough and true.

 

 

Gratitude Monday: You'll fall asleep

 

Today’s Advent song is about gratitude, which is appropriate for Gratitude Monday. It’s not specifically a Christmas or Advent piece, but it was featured in a Christmas movie, and written by Irving Berlin, which is good enough for me.

“CounYour Blessings” reminds us that we do much better to remember how much in our lives is good, and to do that especially when the not-good seems to overwhelm us. It’s why I have made the practice of gratitude a conscious part of my daily life, and I’ve found (as have had a whole bunch of studies) that it really does help.

For example: Saturday's laundry/cleaning day for me, and most of my focus is inside. But right around 1700, as I was about to toss out one final handful of seed for the ground feeding birds, I saw this in the sky. It was glorious, and definitely a blessing. An unexpected grace. And I am big-time grateful for it.

This time of year in particular, with all the holiday winding up, all the focus on closing out the fiscal year, all the high, impossible expectations of what should be…pulling back and naming all the graces in our lives brings real peace and joy. And maybe a good night’s sleep.

So, here’s Diana Krall singing “Count Your Blessings.”

 

Make straight the way

The second Sunday in Advent is focused on preparation. (You’d think that would be the theme of the first one, but no.) So our song today is “On Jordan’s Bank the Baptist’s Cry.”

The lyrics to this hymn are not specifically about Christmas, but they do urge us to get our ducks in a row because the Messiah’s on his way. The Baptist referenced is John the Baptist, whose role in the Christ tale was to go around Judea and literally tell people to prepare the way of the Lord. That would be 30-ish years on from the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem, but it’s never too early to think about preparations.

The text was written by a Frenchman, Charles Coffin, around 1727, originally in Latin. It’s a mainstay of the Lutheran hymnal.

You most frequently hear “On Jordan’s Bank” set to the tune Winchester New, but I prefer Puer nobis nascitum, which predates the 15^th Century manuscript that first documented it. It was difficult to find a really good recording of this combination; this one by the Chandel Choir of the First United Methodist Church in Dallas, was the best I could do.

 

Everlasting light

“O Little Town of Bethlehem” is one of the staples of school Christmas pageants. Or it was in the days when they had school Christmas pageants. I have to say that I was never enthusiastic about it because it always sounded to me like the people singing it were drunk.

However, it turns out that there’s an alternative melody for the one we sing in the US (which is “St. Louis”, by the collaborator of Phillips Brooks, the Episcopal priest who wrote the lyrics in 1868). That would be “Forest Green”, and it’s the one they sing in Great Britain. This version does not sound like the choir just spilled out of the pub at closing time, and I like it.

Here's the choir of King’s College, Cambridge, singing it. Sober as judges.

 

 

Join the chorus

Today’s Advent tune comes to us from a Welsh folk song, dating back to the 16^th Century. The English lyrics about decking the hall(s) were added (by a Scotsman) in 1862. You will no doubt hear it several hundred times this month, but if you for some unaccountable reason do not actually know the words to the first verse, you at least can join in on the chorus, which consists of “fa”, followed by about 42,736 “las”.

Easy-peasy, although it helps if you've been nipping at the nog.

Who better to sing it for us than John Denver and the Muppets.

 

 

 

The peacemakers' time

Tonight marks the first night of Hanukkah, the eight-day commemoration of the successful conclusion of the Jewish revolt against the Seleucids in 165 BCE. The revolt was led by Judah, known as Judah Maccabee, “Judah the Hammer”, a brilliant military leader who employed the kinds of tactics we’re seeing the Ukrainian defense forces deploy against the invading Russians, of whom it is said that at the beginning of last year that they were the second best army in the world, and now they’re the second best in Ukraine.

This year, of course, we have another kinetic war, right in the home of the Maccabees, between Israel and Hamas, with a whole lot of destruction and death. More than either the Maccabees or Seleucids could have imagined. Yay, eh?

Victory against the Seleucids included rededicating the Temple in Jerusalem, which had been desecrated under the occupation forces. In order to perform the cleansing ritual, the Jews needed to burn pure, unadulterated olive oil in the Temple’s menorah every night. After all the turmoil of revolution, there was only enough of the kosher oil to last a single night, and it would take much longer than a day to lay in a supply to fulfill this requirement.

However, the lamp was lighted and the oil lasted for eight nights, until new oil could be brought in. Hanukkah is the celebration of this event, combining triumph at the overthrow of tyranny with joy at the miracle of the oil. Eight nights of light in the temple, eight candles (and the shamash, the servant candle that lights all the others) on the hanukkiyah. It’s one of those holidays that rejoices at the triumph of light over darkness (freedom over oppression, good over evil), and I don’t think we can have too many of these.

This year I think the symbolism of Hanukkah, and especially the miracle of the lamps, is more important than perhaps any time in the past 80 years. Especially in the land of the Maccabees, the Israelis and the Palestinians. The world needs to believe that there will be light in the darkness, hope amid the horrors and good that rises above evil.

TBH, the people of the world also need to do a better job of ensuring that the light breaks through the darkness. 

My song for Hanukkah this year was written by Peter Yarrow, of Peter, Paul & Mary, in 1983 against the backdrop of the war in Lebanon. It seems particularly apt now. The folk group performs "Light One Candle" at their 1988 holiday concert. The visuals are as strong as the music.

The song children sing

Today is Saint Nicholas Day, the day when we commemorate the 4^th-Century bishop of Myra, one of the participants of the Council of Nicaea. This is actually the day he died, which doesn’t get mentioned much in our seasonal commemoration.

(Interestingly, about 600 years after Nicholas died, Italian merchants robbed his grave in Myra and took his body to Bari. I’m not touching the issues around what possesses a group of people to do that kind of stuff and expect to remain in God’s favor.)

He’s the patron of Russia, Greece, sailors, merchants, archers, repentant thieves, children, brewers, pawnbrokers and students. I’m trying to think of what commonalities connect those groups, but without luck.

We of course have conflated Saint Nicholas with major gift giving (which might explain the children, merchants and pawnbrokers; possibly the repentant thieves, too), via the Dutch version of his name, Sinterklaas. And today is the day (instead of the 25^th) when children in a number of countries get their gifts (if they’ve been good; if they’ve been naughty, they get coal or switches, depending on the local custom; you might even be eaten by a giant cat).

Well, our Advent piece today is “Personent hodie”, which first appeared in a 1582 Finnish book of songs. It’s probably based on a 12^th Century song dedicated to Saint Nicholas. The first verse translates to:

On this day Earth shall ring
With the song children sing
To the Lord, Christ our King,
Born on Earth to save us
Him the Father gave us.

Here we have the Ely Cathedral choir singing it. Naturally, it’s arranged by John Rutter.

 

Here below

A friend of mine plays trombone in a local band. I think it’s a concert band—no marching, but they’ve greeted veterans coming into local airports on Honor Flights, performed summer concerts and played oom-pa-pa at Octoberfest events, as well as other things.

(She’s from Wisconsin, in case you’re wondering.)

And since many Christmas carols seem to lend themselves well to brass ensembles, today’s Advent piece honors her and her band; it’s “Dong Dong Merrily on High,” performed by the President’s Own Marine Band. Just like in the White House.

(If you want to hear the words, here you are.)

 

Your heart, unlock it

The season of Advent is a good time to focus on gratitude. I mean—it’s part of the preparation for the birth of Christ to do some spiritual housecleaning, and nothing clears the cobwebs from the quotidian like conscious thankfulness.

The thing about gratitude is that it opens things up—you find that there’s room in your heart for kindness, generosity (of spirit and otherwise), joy, forgiveness and grace. You’re able to find sparks of beauty that you missed before, things that make you smile, perhaps things that make you pause and grow calm. We need this at the end-of-year frenetic days.

Today I’m grateful for Run D.M.C’s “Christmas Is”, which gives me a different take on the seasonal tradition. But it also reminds us to give thought to those who are missing out on what so many of us take for granted. It also advises us not to mistake humbleness and kindness for timidity, which I especially appreciate. (Yes, it does talk a lot about consumerism, but dig deeper, folks.)

Because the baby born in humble circumstances grew up to preach kindness, but in no way could be considered timid.

 

Here's my heart

Well, here we are: fourth Sunday before Christmas, so it must be Advent. Time for seasonal music as we prepare for the celebration of Christ’s birth.

It’s hard for non-Christians (and even for a lot of self-proclaimed Christians; looking at you, evangelicals) sometimes to understand that Advent is meant to be a quiet period of reflection and contemplation, not a frenzy of mandatory jollity, festive frivolities and conspicuous consumption.

Yeah, good luck with that—we’re swimming against the tide here. But every year I do my best to pull back some, slow down (ha!) and try to consider quietude as an option.

This, of course, does not include music, so let’s strap in and get ready for 25 days of Christmas and other seasonal music. (You know I’m Catholic, not parochial.)

The theme of Advent I is hope—anticipating the arrival of the Messiah, who will flood the world with light.

(I finally burned through the Advent candles I had for a couple of decades, so starting out with a new set this year.)

Light was a big deal for people whose lives were pretty much circumscribed by the rising and falling of the sun. Many of the traditions that have become part of Advent and Christmas revolve around pre-Christian customs of defying the darkness and cold of winter by burning things, making noise to wake up sleeping Nature and singing rather bolshy songs about various types of beverages. Well get to all that later.

The piece that’s going to kick off Advent 2023 for us is “Come Thou, Fount of Every Blessing,” written by Robert Robinson, an 18^th Century Englishman. Robinson underwent a conversion experience when he attended an evangelical meeting to heckle the speakers but instead was overcome by awe and joined up after struggling with the call for three years. He danced for a while with the Methodists and Independents before settling with the Baptists. While preparing a sermon for his church in Norfolk, England, he wrote the words to “Come Thou, Fount”, which was set to the tune Nettleton (composer unknown). 

The words describe Robinson's awakening (not too dissimilar from the words of "Amazing Grace"); they are filled with joy, which is a good way to start off on the Advent journey.

Here we have the Atlanta Master Chorale and the Morehouse College Glee Club singing it.

Crank up the volume for Advent.