Previous Seasons

Accapella Masterpieces

 

Program Notes

This concert was built on a simple idea. I decided to canvas my mentors, the folks who have influenced me in my musical life, and ask each of them for a couple of favorite a cappella choral pieces. I expected to be able to come up with a new and exciting program of wonderful pieces. Instead, as the suggestions came in, I realized that much of the music my mentors love and respect, Octarium has already sung. When I program for Octarium I look for new things, certainly, but equally as often, I program music I love, most of which I learned under one of my many teachers and mentors. And I program my favorite music for purely selfish reasons: I want to hear how this amazing ensemble will bring new life to music that means something to me and touches my soul. I actually have a term for what they do; I call it “Octari-izing.” When these fine singers and good friends have learned the notes, and rhythms, and dynamics, and, and, and, eventually, they let go of the musical detritus and just sing. They tune in to each other and begin to read minds. And when you HEAR that happening, for the first time and all the times after that first time, it is one of the most transcendent experiences on this planet.

So what this has ended up being, in many ways, is a concert of OUR favorite pieces; music that Octarium has grown to love through singing and discovering (or rediscovering) it together. There are new pieces suggested by many of our mentors, but the bulk of the program will be, for us, like visiting old friends.

 

I asked the singers to weigh in with their stories and loves and opinions. Some of them did, but some of them could not quite verbalize their feelings and ideas about their favorite music. But you’ll know how they feel about a piece when you hear them sing it. I promise.

 

But because some of them did contribute vignettes, these will be about the strangest program notes you’ve ever read. There is not much intellectual edification within these notes. What you’ll get instead is real feelings about why the music touches us and speaks to us. You’ll also get a lot of funny stories. It is much like we’ve invited you to a post-rehearsal nosh session, during which we all sit around with good food and good drink and chat about what we love and why we love it. There is lots of laughter, sometimes tears, and many, many jokes.

 

So indulge us as we share with you the music we love. And be sure to enjoy the concert with the knowledge that we might very well be enjoying ourselves much more than you are.

 

 

O vos omnes • Tomás Luis de Victoria (1548-1611)

I learned this piece with Ronald Shirey, who was my choir director at Texas Christian University. There are so many “Shirey-isms” attached to music I learned with him and this piece is no different. In speaking of the terraced entrances of the voice parts at the beginning of the piece, he said something like, “It is like a large set of tires on an eighteen-wheeler going at a snail’s pace. They slowly turn, gently carrying the weight of the world smoothly on top of them. Although if you were caught underneath the tires as they rolled over you, the sound THAT would make would be quite similar to what I just heard from you people.”

What Ron Shirey has to say about this piece:

 

This is one of the great Renaissance motets and well deserves its reputation as a masterpiece. I recorded this in France in 1989 with Robert Shaw, and I well recall his emotion at the beauty of it once during a rehearsal. It was a memorable occasion as he was NOT prone to showing such emotionality, about anything, publicly. The recording has recently been released by Telarc, because of Shaw's death, but it does not begin to touch the music we made on that rehearsal occasion, which brought tears to Shaw’s eyes.

 

What Ben has to say about this piece:

 

This is my favorite Victoria motet. The dissonances and subsequent resolutions, which occur throughout the piece, only build the tension, focused specifically on the text, "Is there any sorrow like My sorrow?" The text painting, though perhaps obvious, is no less profound and impacting.

 

What Leah has to say about this piece:

 

The first time I sang this was with Octarium at the Gold Dome Cathedral in downtown Kansas City last year. This beautiful song is one of many that we wait to rehearse until the night before, due to the fact that everyone knows it from singing it in years past. Of course, with this piece, “everyone” did not include me. I kept thinking “Synergy, Leah, synergy. Just listen and you’ll be fine.” Well… let’s just say I know it now.

 

What Ashley has to say about this piece:

 

I first sang O vos omnes when I was a senior in high school in New Mexico All State Concert Choir (with Ronald Shirey, actually). It was my first experience with Renaissance music, and I instantly fell in love with it. At the time I lacked the appropriate vocabulary to describe what it was that made me like it. I just thought it was cool. Since then I have spent many years in school gathering that necessary vocabulary, and now I can explain, in scholarly fashion, why I like the piece. But I shall not bore you with a dissertation. I have come back to this piece several times since, and it was in singing it with Octarium that both the innocent love of the music, born years ago, and the musicological appreciation, garnered more recently, came together. That being said, I shall explain in extremely subjective terms what O vos omnes is like for me (and this is especially for Renee); Imagine a really good margarita that is only made even more exquisite by adding 150-year-old Gran Marnier. The margarita was great and all, but age and knowledge is what really makes you say "Zowie!!"

 

Ave Verum Corpus • William Byrd (c. 1539 – 1623)

 

This piece was suggested to us by composer Steven Stucky. He said, when asked for a couple of his favorite acappella choral works, “What comes to my mind immediately will not exactly be news to anyone in the choral business: Byrd, Victoria, Dowland, Purcell and Britten. The Byrd Ave verum corpus has resonated through more or less all my life (a fact that will be obvious to anybody who has heard Chanticleer sing my piece Whispers.”

 

 

If Ye Love Me • Thomas Tallis (1505-1585)

 

I first did this piece with Mark Dunn, who was the Choirmaster at the Episcopal church in Fort Worth where I sang during most of my college years. We were a small group, one to a part, and it was with Mark that I discovered how great small ensemble singing could be. I sight-read this particular piece during communion at one of my first services at St. John’s. It was one of the most profound experiences of my life, as I had never paid so much attention to the other parts as I did during those moments, inspired by my wish to make music with the much more prepared and experienced voices that surrounded me.

What Michael has to say about this piece:

 

My fondest memory of this piece was formed in 1994 while on tour in the U.K. I have known If ye love me for many years and have performed it with many fine choirs, but it was only when I heard it at an evensong at Christ’s Church, King’s College Cambridge that I understood how truly beautiful it could be. The ritual of evensong does something for British choirs that can be elusive for their American counterparts. The closeness that arises from singing daily with the same people causes a unity that transcends mere commonality of tone, concord of vowels and the like. What I heard that evening was almost familial; a one-ness. It was a sound that I have rarely heard since. That is, until recently. My familial relationship with Octarium harkens back to that evening eleven years ago. This is what makes our music work. This is what makes us crave the work we do together. This is, in my opinion, what people hear in our sound that makes us different.This piece reminds me of why we do what we do, and why we just can’t get enough.

 

 

What Renee has to say about this piece:

I’m a sucker for Thomas Tallis, and this piece is a favorite of mine. It’s so simple, which mirrors the simplicity of the text’s message. If Ye Love Me is widely performed and a popular piece for recording, but it seems that lately I’ve heard all male choruses singing it. Though the male countertenor voice is amazing, I appreciate the richness that the female voice can lend Tallis’ work.

 

Wondrous Love • arr. Alice Parker (b. 1925) /Robert Shaw (1916-1999)

 

This is another piece I learned with Shirey at TCU. Although I’ve sung it numerous times since, Shirey’s reading is the one that informs the way Octarium performs it.

What Shirey has to say about this piece:

 

The “wondrousness” of this piece is so obvious that nothing I could say could add to its natural beauty, really.

 

What Ashley has to say about this piece:

 

If you want to make me happy, sing an Appalachian tune. When a piece like this one is sung well, the simplicity and visceral nature of modality can really connect with one’s innermost being. My favorite phrase is “When from death I’m free, I’ll sing on.” No matter what trials one faces, one can sing on. That isn’t a bad way to live.

 

 

 

My Shepherd Will Supply My Need • arr. Virgil Thomson (1896-1989)

 

This is one of those pieces that we discovered together, rather accidentally. I had never sung it, or even heard it, when I programmed it during my first year at Saint Andrew’s. It was Good Shepherd Sunday, an occasion that happens once a year in the Episcopal church when all the readings outline God as the Shepherd. I was desperate for “shepherd” music and began to scan the titles in the music library. In box number 16, I saw this title, pulled it out, quickly glanced at the words, scanned it to make sure it didn’t divide too much, and pronounced it programmed without even playing through it. All I can say is I’m glad this piece was in box 16 and not in box 842, or I might never have found it.

What Renee has to say about this piece:

 

My Shepherd has become an Octarium anthem of sorts. We first performed it long ago at St. Andrew’s before we had become Octarium but we were so moved by it, its magic for us has endured. The piece has become especially personal for me as it was the very first piece I sang after I came back from having thyroid surgery. Krista wouldn’t let me sing soprano in case my throat exploded, so I sang alto. This became the tradition for this piece, but sadly, tonight I’ll be singing the soprano line. The melody is simple and unassuming. The text is awesome … note especially the last two lines.

 

What Leah has to say about this piece:

 

My Shepherd brings me peace because of its simplicity. It also brings me laughter because of its “musical chairs” background. Not only does Renee know the alto part but I know the tenor part. One Sunday morning, Michael was unexpectedly absent and Andrew was out of town. Andrew had gotten a substitute to cover for him, but the poor sub was sick too. So, I got to be a tenor for a brief, but bright and shining moment. I don’t think that Andrew’s substitute enjoyed it nearly as much as I did.

 

What Ashley has to say about this piece:

 

I realized that Octarium could be something truly unique and special when we first sang My Shepherd Will Supply My Need. As a group, without discussing it first, we just “let go," and boy did it soar. And did our emotions buzz. We sang from the transept at St. Andrew’s, with sunshine pouring through the stained glass behind us, and the synergy that defines Octarium was born. We literally couldn't have been more in synch and connected if we had been holding hands. The music just floated off the page, and it was a moment of realization for me that I do what I do for moments like that.

 

 

Pilgrim’s Hymn • Stephen Paulus (b. 1949)

 

This piece was suggested by Z. Randall Stroope, composer and choral director. I worked with Stroope while I was living in Omaha, Nebraska, singing as a section leader in the Nebraska Choral Arts Society Masterworks chorus. Stroope gave me the opportunity to do some of my most fulfilling singing. Ever. We were preparing the Mozart Grand Mass in C, to be performed with the Omaha Chamber Orchestra. I auditioned for the mezzo-soprano solos, never dreaming that I’d ever get them. But he gave them to me. No idea why, to this day. The soprano for those performances was soprano Maria Kanyova, a bonafide opera star these days (of course, she was Mary Jane Kania then) and the music we all made together, orchestra, choir and soloists, is one of my fondest memories.

What Stroope has to say about this piece:

 

This work is from an opera titled The Three Hermits and is powerful in its subtlety. Paulus uses straightforward harmonic progressions and melodic writing in such a deft way as to point the listener not to the notes and rhythms but to the intent and message of the piece. This is one of the most stunningly effective (and affective) pieces that I know.

 

What Ashley has to say about this piece:

 

I’ve never sung this setting before preparations for this concert, but it is quickly becoming one of my favorites. It seems as though it was written for us; it is a piece that screams “Octari-ize me!” Bar lines go away, the beat is intuitively felt, not measured, and glorious choral unity is achieved.

 

 

Shenandoah • arr. James Erb (b. 1927)

 

I’ve sung this piece with about every conductor with whom I’ve sung. I’ve sung pretty much every voice part, too. I’ve heard recordings and sat through concerts where this piece is sung. It seemed that, everywhere I went, this piece was there. I loved it, but I was so done with it. It had, in my opinion, become so terribly overdone and over-rated that I baldly refused to program it. Refused. Until one day when, as we were contemplating becoming Octarium, we were chatting about pieces we could record for inclusion on a sampler CD. Being a group that was born out of a church job, we had only sacred repertoire, and I thought we needed a couple of secular tunes to balance the sampler demo. We were looking for things to record that we could lay down quickly and without much preparation, and everyone except the Winters knew this arrangement of Shenandoah. So we recorded it. And now the singers pretty much only want to sing this piece. They suggest it for all occasions, with altered text if need be: as an encore to our Holiday concert (“Oh Christmas tree, you are so pretty, with your lights and hanging tchotchke.”); as an encore to our Saints and Angels concert (“Oh saints and angels are so lovely, and we just sang some songs about them.”); even at weddings (“Oh these two folk are getting married, and we like to sing at weddings.”).

What Renee has to say about this piece:

 

This is Wayne Stanley’s favorite song … EVER. If he is here tonight, this piece is why. I can’t say I blame him. The first chord after the two opening unison lines … THE BEST. It makes me melt every time and reaffirms my love for this group. We want to sing Shenandoah for every encore every concert. It drives Krista insane. And we like to drive Krista insane.

 

What Ashley has to say about this piece:

 

Every time we sing this, I get jealous of the audience. I wish that, just once, I could somehow step out of the ensemble and hear us sing live, although that might be dangerous, as the first time I heard our recording of this, I couldn’t help but weep. It completely freaked Renee and I out, because even we couldn’t tell our voices apart in the round section. A super cool moment. We all love Shenandoah and are always looking for ways to sing it. Always.

 

What Andrew has to say about this piece:

 

I cannot sing this without becoming emotional; especially if my parents are in the room. I do not know exactly what it is about that piece, but it gets to me every time. I know that I am not the only Octari-ite who is overcome by this piece (Renee...)

 

What Ben has to say about this piece:

 

This setting, as I found out seconds after introducing it as the encore after one of our first concerts, is in fact NOT by Robert Shaw. Nor was it arranged for the Robert Shaw chorale. It has no connection whatsoever to that famous ensemble. When I introduced it as the "Robert Shaw Arrangement" I received naught but confused stares from my beloved colleagues on the stage. I have since learned that the arrangement is by James Erb. And I like it a lot.

 

 

Hymn to St. Cecilia • Benjamin Britten (1913-1976)

 

I discovered this piece during my freshman year at TCU. A big-wig, fancy-pants British organist was coming to TCU, and the Concert Chorale was preparing this piece to perform on a program with him, along with Britten’s Rejoice in the Lamb. We learned both pieces lickety-split, starting preparation in mid-September and performing them in early October. We did not do Hymn to Saint Cecilia much justice, and I remember the look of only slightly masked disdain on the face of the fancy-pants visiting organist. But, despite our less-than-up-to-snuff performance, I fell in love with the piece. When I was preparing Octarium’s first season, I centered our first concert around it. I do remember, rather vividly, the deer-in-the-headlights look when I gave it to them. “You think WE can do THIS?” “Yep,” I replied. And I was right. Sooooo right.

What Andrew has to say about this piece:

 

I adore the music of Benjamin Britten and this sure doesn't disappoint (except for that one tri-tone in the third movement that is really hard to hear.) The music is beautiful, the text is meaningful, especially to musicians, which I happen to be, and performing it successfully gives me a feeling of accomplishment.

 

What Ben has to say about this piece:

 

Never has this group taken on so bold a challenge as it did when we decided to perform this piece. A monument of the choral literature, Hymn to St. Cecilia would in succession challenge, frustrate, overwhelm, reward and, finally, bless each singer. This is a work that you truly must live with for an extended period of time in order to grasp, both musically and emotionally. We were lucky to have started working on it early enough to have time to understand it. Our memorable performances of this work at ACDA in Los Angeles last February were among the most rewarding musical experiences I've ever had.

 

What Ashley has to say about this piece:

 

Friday, February 4, 2005. We walk into a huge, and I mean HUGE, cathedral, and I, of all people, become intimidated. And I am not one to be intimidated. I thought there was no way that the eight of us could possibly fill this space with enough sound to make it worth singing here. We sang our warm up and realized that we could probably get through it, but just barely. We ate some lunch and then sat around in an empty, cold room and discovered our propensity, or lack thereof, to remain completely quiet for 60 consecutive seconds (it’s really hard). We then walked across the courtyard and walked back into the cathedral and there we faced close to a 1,000 (that's ONE THOUSAND) people. Intimidation reared its ugly head again, but then, suddenly, we were singing. Fear, excitement, anticipation, adrenaline and a whole lot of "yikes" turned it into the most amazing musical moments I've ever had in my life! After we were done we literally ran off the stage and back out into the courtyard where we fell into a circle and all of us burst into tears. It was just us, our voices and, most of all, our love for each other. St Cecilia was truly with us that afternoon.

 

What Renee has to say about this piece:

 

Beginning the moment it finally sunk in that we were flying out to L.A. to sing for the ACDA National Convention, I assumed that I would be super nervous to perform when we got there. As it turned out, I was feeling completely prepared and more excited than anything else before our first performance. Then we went to the Cathedral of our Lady of the Angels. We rehearsed. It wasn’t a perfect space for us by any means because it was absolutely HUGE. But we could hear pretty well with the shell behind us, so it was okay. Then we had lunch and played the “not-so-quiet game” Ashley mentioned. During the game, one of the ACDA worker-bee student people walked in and asked us, in all seriousness, “So how do y’all ‘prepare’ for a concert of this magnitude?” which tickled us so thoroughly that it made our game much, much harder. When we walked into the Cathedral, I was still feeling pretty relaxed. Then I saw the crowd. All I remember was just staring into space and thinking, “Whoa.” Leah and Mike even turned to look at me and asked me if I was okay and fixed my hair a little. “Am I okay?” I thought to myself. We walked onto the stage and sang a concert that I will NEVER forget. I didn’t feel my legs once through the whole thing. It felt like the 8 of us against the whole world. And we won. It rocked.

 

What Leah has to say about this piece:

 

Los Angeles, 1,000 choral nerds, a giant cathedral, and Octarium = the most thrilling musical moment of my life thus far.

 

 

Intermission

 

O Taste and See • Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958)

 

I sang the soprano solo in this piece when I was in high school and had just gotten my first section leader church job, at Good Shepherd Episcopal in Corpus Christi, Texas, under the direction of James Buonemani. I was so very nervous the Sunday I sang it that I inadvertently sang the lyrics that we always sang in jest, “O Tasty Sea…” but I caught myself before the next line, which would have been unfortunately noticeable, “…how salty the brine is…” This piece is, hands down, one of my favorite choral works; Vaughan Williams needs only two pages to make a lasting musical and textual point. Profound because of its brevity, not despite it.

What Renee has to say about this piece:

 

When I first started working for Krista at St. Andrew’s, this was one of the first solos I sang there, and MAN, did I hate solo singing. Actually, I still hate solo singing, but I’ve gotten past the “I think I’m going to pass out I hate this so much” point. So when I look at this little opening solo and think about how freaked out I was to sing it in front of “all those people,” I have to giggle a little. Experience has extinguished a lot of that fear.

 

Ubi Caritas • Maurice Duruflé (1902-1986)

 

This is another piece I learned under Buonemani during my tender teen years. Here I was, a section leader in a choir filled with the best music educators in town, taking home a paycheck for one of the best, most educational and valuable experiences I could have possibly had as a budding musician. I sang soprano back then, but Buonemani had me sing with the altos at the beginning, and I remember the first time my voice joined with the gorgeous timbre of that alto section. Singing those opening phrases helped me understand how to sing “organically,” and I cannot hear this piece sung any other way.

What Buonemani has to say about this piece:

 

The mysteries of Gregorian chant — music designed to commune with God on the deepest metaphysical levels — has been an endless source of inspiration for composers down through the ages, and perhaps none more so than in the life and work of Maurice Duruflé. His daily “comings and goings” at his Parisian church were caught up in the ebb and flow of these melodic strains. His setting of “Where charity and love prevails” translates the ethereal beauty of the original melody and words into his devout Parisian experience at the church of St-Étienne du Mont. What results is a work that speaks afresh to our modern ears the ultimate and eternal truths inherent in the original. It is, in my mind, one of the most perfect expressions of chant retold in 20th century language.

 

What Leah has to say about this piece:

 

This song has the most beautiful alto melody ever written. You will notice that it is so beautiful the sopranos can’t help but sing it too.

 

God be in my head • John Rutter (b. 1945)

 

I actually learned this piece during my short stint as a section leader at Saint Andrew’s. It is a poignant prayer, set quite movingly by Rutter, that resonates deeply with me, especially as I machete my way through the jungle of my busy life.

What Renee has to say about this piece:

 

I love John Rutter. Everything he writes. Love him. Period.

 

Rise Up My Love, My Fair One • Healey Willan (1880-1968)

 

I learned this piece with Mark Dunn at St. John’s in Fort Worth and fell instantly in love with it. I practically planned my wedding music around this small masterpiece (thankfully, although the words define the renewing power of love, even old love rekindling, the text is from the Song of Solomon, a biblical book, so the piece was approved for inclusion at a church ceremony … phew … Thank you Shir HaShirim). When this group was in its infancy, as the St. Andrew’s Consort, I started to dream at night of how their voices would bring this piece to life. So I programmed it for the first Easter Sunday I was there. We’ve sung it on Easter ever since. I get chills, literally, every time they sing to the chords on the words “… birds is come.” Perfection.

What Andrew has to say about this piece:

Rise up My Love is a favorite of mine because, in my opinion, the tenor line is quite stunning. I, being a Tenor, love to sing tenor lines. Especially tenor lines that are quite stunning, as this one is.

 

 

 

Love’s Antiphon • Lloyd Pfautsch (1921-2003)

 

This piece was suggested by Rosemary Heffley, a music education guru in the state of Texas. She taught my Field Experience in Music class for a couple of months while our regular professor was ill, and, in that month, I learned how important teachers and mentors are and how often people take for granted that these people really know how much they change lives. Mentors don’t always know that they’ve made a real difference, and, even if they do, it is easy to forget those accomplishments in the heat of battle, so to speak. Since that class I’ve always made it a point to tell people when they’ve inspired me. And I can thank Rosemary Heffley for that awareness. (I should probably tell her that, shouldn’t I?)

What Rosemary Heffley has to say about this piece:

 

This is a unique combination of two love poems, the Burns “My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose,” sung by the men, and “My True Love Hath a Heart,” sung by the women. The writing is rhythmically infused and sonorous. One of my favorite, relatively unknown pieces.

 

Set Me As A Seal • René Clausen (b. 1953)

 

What Ben has to say about this piece:

 

I have sung this anthem so many times that, too often, the profound meaning of the text goes unnoticed. Inevitably, however, just as the piece is coming to its end, I realize what I've been singing. The last line is particularly noteworthy. "For love is strong as death" seems both sad and extreme at the same time. But, on closer inspection, we see that the picture that text paints is not one of sadness, but rather possesses a sense of the eternal, which makes the resolution to the piece a great deal more satisfying.

 

What Andrew has to say about this piece:

 

Set Me as A Seal has held a fond place in my heart since high school. I sang it under a man who is a legend in high school choral conducting, Clark Comley. We called him Sparky...I don't really know why...but we did.

 

What Renee has to say about this piece:

 

It took me about 200 performances to sing the second-soprano part accurately in this song. Fingers crossed that I can get it right tonight.

 

 

 

Alleluia • Randall Thompson (1899-1984)

 

This piece is overdone. Period. But, wow. How can you not program this piece for this group? If you have an answer, be sure to let me know after the concert.

What Leah has to say about this piece:

 

This is another song I had never sung before and rehearsed only once before Octarium sang it for a performance. I thought that it was so wonderful that first night and imagined how much more wonderful it would be when I learned all the right notes. Now I find this song wonderfully frustrating. It is a difficult piece of music not because of the notes (anymore) but because you lose yourself within it whether you are the one singing or the one listening. It carries you away to another world and brings you back delicately. On a more factual note: the word “Alleluia” is sung 70 times through the duration of the song. Don’t ask me when I counted, because the rector at Saint Andrew’s might take offense at my answer.

 

 

Alleluia • Ralph Manuel (b. 1951)

 

I learned this setting of Alleluia with Mark Dunn, who cites it as one of his favorites, saying, “There is nothing fancy about this piece, but I always listen to it when I need to take a step back and breathe.” I hadn’t visited it in years, but I’m grateful to Mark for reminding me that this wonderful piece is a part of the choral repertoire.

What Ben has to say about this piece:

 

I performed this with the Concert Choir at Wheaton College, my alma mater. We performed it several times, including at our Home Concert (the last of the year), in which we circled the audience in the very large Edman Chapel, lit candles and sang this anthem. It was quite moving, not only for the audience that night, but for the singers as well.

 

What Renee has to say about this piece:

 

I had never sung this prior to rehearsals for this concert, but it has quickly found its way into my heart. I find it delightfully cheesy and very satisfying to sing. Listen for the head banging section … what? Head banging to choral music? That’s right … head banging. If you don’t hear it, just watch me, because I probably won’t be able to keep myself from doing it.

 

 

The Lord Bless you and Keep You • Peter Lutkin (1858-1931)

 

In the state of Texas this is an anthem, of sorts, for choral educators. You can walk into any meeting, any conference, any type of gathering whatsoever of choral music educators and, if you sing the first line of this piece, suddenly you are surrounded, in harmony, with other voices joining you. All of the voices in the room singing together. No music. No conductor. Just voices as one expressing love for music. And, really, that is what Octarium is all about.

 

 

Irish Blessing • Dede Duson (b. 1938)

 

When I was in high school, this was the closer to every choral concert I ever sang. It is simple yet, to me, a powerful reminder of the reason I chose to be a singer and a music educator.

 

 

 

 

Day by Day • from the 1982 Hymnal (Episcopal)

 

Mark Dunn hates this little ditty. Hates it. While I was part of the ensemble at St. John’s I would ask to sing it all the time (much like Octarium begs for Shenandoah). He never would let us sing it. Ample opportunity, of course, since it is such a utilitarian text, but, heavens, he was stubborn. Flash forward a couple of years to my wedding: the ceremony was at St. John’s, and I had planned the music to a tee; every moment. Well, every moment except one. In the Episcopalian marriage liturgy, the wedding party must move from the crossing up to the altar. It is a short jaunt that is often done in silence, which, in a music-heavy ceremony (it was more like a concert, with incidental wedding vows) I thought would be a welcome respite. But as Kendrick and I started to climb the steps up to the chancel, Mark started playing Day by Day on the organ. And I wept. It meant the world to me. Flash forward another couple of years (if twelve years is a couple): it was a Sunday in February, 2004. Kendrick and I were newly home from the hospital with our four-day old son. The eight, or, as I call them, the “kids,” came over after church to meet the first Octari-baby. They came upstairs, because I was strictly bed-ridden, and gathered around my bed to gaze at Cameron. I don’t remember whose idea it was but someone said “Let’s sing to him!” They started Day by Day, but they couldn’t get through it (or, rather, Ashley and Renee, the weepy sopranos, couldn’t get through it.) But it was still a moment to remember: surrounded by eight people I love dearly, listening to them sing (or try to sing through tears) to my new son a hymn that has had such deep meaning in my life. A little moment, which could have been easily dismissed and forgotten, but on which I look back with such intense fondness. And gratefulness. And love. I’m not sure I ever thanked them for that. Well, I guess now I have.