Emerging from the bleary mist and fog, as if from a trance, ascending stairs in the dark, through massive doors I enter into a warm, stately, cathedral-like edifice, and then down along the marble corridor with footsteps echoing along the hall until one reaches near where the concert is to be held. A long corridor with portraits hung of older, serious-minded folk, each projecting looks of somber hope, grim alacrity, austere joy. The large rectangular windows are eye-catching as well, but in a different way, with geometrically precise patterns of tinted glass, a more festive aura shedding beams of green, red and yellow light. At the end of this strange corridor, a vestibule, with alcoves and side rooms lit by flickering candles. In one of these cordial voices can be heard reminiscing... Here gather the guests and loyal devotees of the much-venerated Johannes Chorister, teacher, visionary, virtuoso, musical progenitor of life-altering approaches to melody and counterpoint....The receding set of panel doors leads into this grand lobby where a cadre of serious-minded followers have gathered, humming familiar tunes from the Chorister catalog. I make note of their faces - humble, respectable, unsophisticated - everyday, salt-of-the-earth people ...The sign near the table reads - please sign in and join our gathering before partaking of tonight's concert. Embarrassed by the unexpected protocol, I search out the least conspicuous "corner" along the wall, but to no avail. Despite my best attempts at small talk, the stiff upper-body language betrays a stubborn aloofness. How did you hear about our concert? And have you studied the works of Chorister before? I nod affirmatively not wanting to state the obvious. Who of my age and description had not been immersed in Chorister music, lore and general conformity? And have you traveled far to reach us here? Do you play an instrument yourself? - Yes more than one, piano, organ, some trumpet here and there... And do you sing? - Not well, but I have studied music for many years. -And I have sung in choir...
United they are, it seems, by a secret pride at keeping "real music" alive, music with a long history, an august tradition, a maze of ritual and pageantry surrounding it, while others fall prey to shallow trendy sound-scapes, lustfully arrange mechanized percussion binges, therapeutic noise, elevator muzak and other false idols... I am as yet unable to inform them of my patchwork of day jobs, as erstwhile musicologist, piano tuner, make-shift journalist, concerned friend, amateur private investigator ... made curious by their ostensible obsession with a rarified strand of music, cognizant as to the attrition rate that plagues their lot. The heartfelt testimonials blur within memory.
- Chorister's melodies have taught me the true meaning of music...
- His hymns have changed my outlook entirely..
- It has been six years now since first I heard the joyous "Prelude in E major" of blessed Chorister...
- How different my life became since ....
- I was wandering aimlessly, despairingly for many years, a wretched prisoner of my own dim routine until...
Such heartfelt testimony... How predictable such anecdotes come to sound after a while. But perhaps I am too much a cynic. The glib anecdotes of "visions" and "revelations" - simple answers to life's great ills falling from the sky as it were...instant cures - for pain, for grief, disappointment, despair - how soon they forget that such "solutions" are nowadays a dime a dozen - one choice among many possible options...The feeling of "serenity" that descends...the "clarity of purpose" that only this music can supply... the magic, enchanted, joyous atmosphere that surrounds one, that guides one's choices step by step... And yet on a certain level I understand this need, this unquenchable craving for something to fall back upon...a buffet from the harshness and cruelty of existence - I can hear the staunchest defenders and their rejoinders: What would you suggest then? What do you have to offer us? If not this sublime music, what is there... to live for? ...Perhaps this is not the time to get cheeky with my replies...Don't some people collect paintings or climb mountains...? Don't others amass fortunes...or pursue ill-fated romances... invest in their children's futures or in some fleeting glimmer of fame...? ***Why do I seek to disrupt this quaint gathering - watching as the elder folk sip at their hot chocolate? Who would believe me if I announced as my mission some obscure musicologist's quest for clarification on a thorny issue involving dissonance, half-notes, chord progression, and the theory of harmonic spacings? The mere mention of music, of an interest in music per se would appear to place me in good graces with my hosts - and yet - as has been witnessed so often before - I can anticipate their reactions if I deviate from certain answers when mentioning specific works and composers...It is frustrating to say the least at hitting such walls of narrowness and provinciality on a subject seemingly so universal. It is such rigidity that transforms their "love of music" into a more burdensome passion. And here I hit upon what is perhaps really bothering me under the surface given all my past experiences- and those a few kindred spirits who have fallen away from the pack so to speak if not at all from the true spirit of music...I reflect in particular here upon the case of a promising cellist driven to despair amid such ostensibly cheerful surroundings... And yet for all this, I see that a real bond has been built up over time among these old people - and their trust in the music is solid, their love of hymns, of song. Is it their sheer complacency that i resist, that on some level I envy? This need for truth at all costs which has been my scourge in life; do I seek to pass on this virus to these happy few - those who do not spend time over maddening riddles or tragic irreversible mishaps? I am also made aware down the hall of a younger crowd of zealots who seem on some mission to redeem the lost glory of prior ages when Chorister's name was it seemed on every lip... No doubt they will be intent on replying in kind to mockers and skeptics - those who come to fleer and scorn at this solemnity... They will have much to complain about enemies and adversaries, those who have fallen away and those who wander through life aimlessly without the sustenance provided by a Chorister's melody....
In the middle of these, my roaming thoughts, a young man with flashing red hair and an awkward, ecstatic energy about him sees fit to grasp both of my hands leading my down the hallways saying: Please join us...Friend, you have a curious look about you as though, like the rest of us, you also were searching for something ... as if you too were alarmed at what is happening to music, chagrined at young people giving in to all manner of noise, perhaps you seek to help us to preserve this joyous heritage, to prevent it all from passing out of existence entirely...May I...May I simply share with you a line for that famous passage from the Chorister diaries, volume 1, chapter 7, verse 18... when Chorister, beset by worries, in the midst of composing his most spectacular B minor symphony, observes: "on your next walk, look for the simplest twig, enfold it within your safe hands, and carry it back through snow and sleet, lay it upon thy table at home and cover it in warm dry cloth. Make it into your strongest element." How oft I have pondered those amazing words! - Do you not hear the remarkable wisdom hidden in those simple lines? Only someone in touch with the deepest mysteries could utter such words as this! Brother - I know you have been led here for good reason... And is it only to hear the concert or do you wish to join our communion?
Politely, I stand back, slowly explaining my humble agenda, paying homage to Chorister's reputation as a composer of compellingly simple, elusive melodies that have acquainted themselves with me since my earliest youth; I recount my obsession with classical music, with the standard ensembles, trios, quartets, choirs, etc. along with my compulsive habit of frequenting the meager concerts that find a hungry, if diminishing audience. I share my curiosity as to the spectacle that has grown up over several decades attaching itself to Chorister and his music. From humble beginnings the movement had for a time caught fire with the popular imagination embedding themselves into the yearly calendar with feasts and processions and groups of adoring pilgrims migrating from one venue to the next, only to find in recent years, a precipitous falling off of enthusiasm...people for various reasons distracted away from Chorister chorales, from music in general, for that matter, toward what some might see as shallower pursuits: fascination with more plastic arts, more tangible pleasures and gadgetry of all kinds. Even as I stare at this rag-tag remnant of some former glory, it occurs to me that they have been drawn here as much by an aversion to more worldly pursuits as by the sheer sensuality of this music, a sensuality they would deny themselves in every other respect. A good part of me shares perhaps their desperate obsessional need to escape from the chaos of the world outside, to find a sense of order and even predictable morality amid these ritualistic gatherings - to huddle next to other, like-minded misfits, those bearing scars of cruelty and neglect, for whom other outlets of connection seem overshadowed by sinister worldly interests and self-destructive habits. (I can myself recite at least one famous passage from the Chorister journals: "Consider this, brethren, the very essence of music: deliverance from all fears, fear of pain, fear of death...") Among his acolytes, Chorister, has remained that often-invoked name, like Rembrandt or Shakespeare - a figure so associated in their minds with the word perfection, a word so rarely attached to human endeavor, a tenaciously idealized descriptor used to separate him from other illustrious composers of note; behold his perfect tenor voice, his perfect ear, his perfect technique, his illustrious teaching method, his unmatched humility, etc. etc. This quixotic quest of theirs, somewhat ridiculous in the earnestness of a shared secret wisdom that to outsiders must appear inane, tedious or else completely redundant... is for them a crazily plausible lost cause worth fighting for. And yet, even early on I admit to a feeling of being overwhelmed by these somewhat loopy strangers, accosted and exhausted by the onslaught of well-wishes, their incessant repetition of helpful admonitions, oft-quoted verses, and welcoming gestures - which I fear may turn less auspicious [a provisional form of acceptance based on the expediency of growth...]. Here again I am brought back to the strange elaborate ceremonial brocade that had come to surround the simple music-making that once had characterized the original students of Chorister's music. Complaints had been heard again and again about the obsessive fervor and over-wrought sensibilities of the more recent adherents...and for so very long I had made excuses on their behalf until a series of incidents made me question this level of devotion to a music whose very significance in the grand scheme of things was slipping from my grasp...it had almost been a necessary step for me to let go of this established ancient paradigm of melody in order to expand my understanding of music in general - to re-ask a set of simple questions involving melody, harmony, rhythm, instrumentation and all the rest of it....And then - almost as an after-thought, he time comes for the actual concert...We enter the hall together, sitting in endless rows with wooden chairs, our attention drawn forward to the vast stage that seemed to float and rise before us, and upward, noticing mural with musical notations at every turn and the massive wood beams above us and the high, majestic ceiling. The full sensual appeal of it all was brought back to me by such a setting.
But within minutes, almost oblivious to the people still entering the chamber, the concert has already commenced, without fanfare. the music simply begins perfunctorily out of nowhere with one (?), two (?), three (?) soothingly slow, soaring, piercing orchestral pieces followed by an omnipresent choir singing all-too-familiar Chorister songs and cantatas - and with audience members invited to join in at certain places, some of whom chose to sing or hum along with the entire production. A goodly number held spellbound by the mesmerizing spectacle, others approaching it with a sort of business-like stoicism. Afterwards during another reception, people mill about chatting. The conversation is more subdued than before but more than a little predictable - with most alluding to the superiority of the Chorister melodies when compared to contemporary trends dismissed as either painfully out-of-touch "elitist-composer noise" or the "purposeful therapeutic elevator music" - cloying, sickly-sweet, prepackaged sound manipulations - the working of ads-men, hucksters, manipulators of enlightened opinion. I find occasion then to strike up conversation with a few about the actual music itself, with references to time and key signatures - Choristers seeming preference Eb and F#, Gmin and Cdim chords - but to my surprise almost everyone seemed offended by my intentions - as if to discuss these matters were a subtle way of poking fun or stumbling upon dangerous lines of inquiry.
Afterwards, a goodly number of folk stream out into the cold; many are tempted to linger, to greet and recruit the stragglers such as myself... It has dawned on them now that I have a reason for being there other than mere concert-going. Am I a potential devotee of this music that I seem already so familiar with ...Understandably they are suspicious of my motives. Am I a typical "nay-sayer" - another disenchanted soul come to mock and fleer at their solemnity...? The small talk turns every now and then to such mistrust of outside nefarious forces - the media and others doing their utmost to discredit, to ridicule the antiquated aspects of their approach - if not to music per se - then to the arts in general... My host - the ebullient greeter - is most intent upon discerning my connection to the composer and his work. I inform him of my musical background, my interest in theory - western harmony, counterpoint, etc. - and the controversies swirling around Chorister and his use of the "jarring discords..." - strange unexpected disruptions sewn amid otherwise simple and accessible chord progressions - especially in the larger orchestral works. - Ah yes - you and everyone else these days seems fixated on that thorny subject, but really you should not let that be your stumbling block. - And along with that - I persisted - the question of the original editions of particular scores - the debates over which version of Chorister is to be performed and in what manner - Yes, my friend and this two perhaps relates to what people call the discords... And of course the famous diaries...From behind his smile, i could begin to discern no small amount of annoyance... It is clear to me, friend, forgive for sounding cynical, but your standoffishness suggests that you are either a scoffer, someone who hath come "to fleer and scorn at our solemnity" or else you are a journalist here to sniff out a scandal. It is the latter option i admit, somewhat sheepishly - you have found me out.
