As It Fades

 When, or if, I finish the "Gloria" to this Mass with which I've been struggling, I'll put it aside and work on something else — maybe. It appears that my once insatiable love of music just seems to fade a little each day. I find it harder and harder to even listen to the music I once loved, knowing that what insignificant contribution I may have evinced has dimmed to near darkness. As the sunset years of my life drift from cupreous to more umbrageous hues the futility of my life as a musician becomes more and more evident. Yet, somehow, somewhere for some inscrutable reason I still try to create, even as the lust gradually pejorates to ennui.

Still hurts

  I wish I could say that I’m over the loss of playing the organ, and that I’m no longer bitter about having the rug pulled out from beneath             me again by some one who I thought was a good person — again; that person being  a clergyman — again; but, I’m not.   I suppose that knowing that this was the last of numerous times over the years, in which I’ve been denied access to the only musical instrument I’ve ever wanted to play, has made me take stock of  what can only be considered as a monumental exercise in futility.  I realise, as the sunset gradually turns to dusk, I will never play the organ again — ever.  And it hurts, it hurts a lot.  I suppose I’ve always sensed this to be my fate.  I just didn’t want to accept it.  It’s like falling in love with some one who leads you on just enough to convince you that that person may actually love you, but then pulls away just as things start to feel good and right.  Yet somehow you’re convinced again, only to be disappointed again.  I happens over and over until finally it’s too late, and you end up alone, spurned one last time.

Yes, it hurts. I try to compensate by composing; but, it isn’t enough.  The organ, improvising on the organ was one of my best  resources for the incentive to compose. Sitting at the console, when it was learning a piece of music, or improvising for hours, would give me peace, a tranquility that I couldn’t find anywhere else.  Now I can’t bear to listen the instrument.  It just hurts too much.  In fact (as I stated before) I can barely stand to listen to classical music — which is another story altogether.  

Au revoir à la orgue

      I’m having a difficult time composing or actually doing anything creative musically.  They say one truly doesn’t appreciate what one has until it’s lost or taken away.  Well, in my case I know all too well what it’s like having had one organ after another essentially yanked from me over the years.  This last time was especially pernicious, having been deceived (again) by clergy.  I suppose it’s my fault for actually putting my faith in a clergyman.  As a church musician (being an organist) I’ve worked with and known a considerable number of clergy of different denominations, liturgical and non-liturgical; and, of all these clergy persons only one turned out to be a truly sincere and trustworthy  person; i. e., some one who is not a hypocrite. I guess because of this one pastor with whom I worked and got to know, whose sincerity and honesty are above reproach,  I allowed myself to be duped into thinking that maybe other church officials — namely clergy, but also church musicians —  can actually be veracious individuals.  Silly me.  

Without going into the litany of the times I thought I had finally found an organ on which I could be able to practise and learn the repertoire I had always wanted to play, only to be thwarted for some reason or another, I should have realised at least forty years ago that being an organist was a very, very lamentable life choice.  Finally this last time, at Christ Church Episcopal in Quincy, MA it happened one last time.  Again my naïveté, my actually thinking that this rector was different for the other clergy (with one major exception) and musicians with whom I had dealt, came back to smack me in the face again.  And to add bitter icing on the cake this clergyman has the same name as my favourite jazz trumpeter.

The parallels between the other aspects of my personal life and my problematic relationship with music are somewhat intriguing if not particularly compelling.  But, more on that some other time. 

Notwithstanding, this last act of my evulsion from an organ (inasmuch as my having become singularly fond of this particular instrument) was particularly demoralising, so much so that I find it harder to concentrate on the one thing that had always been my principle motivating factor in my life — music.  Being able to play an organ had always given me the sense of purpose and energy that spurred my interest in other things —  notably in other art forms.  The organ was my wellspring.  It was my interest in the organ that inspired me to compose, roused my desire toward conducting, and interest toward everything musical.  Now I feel as if  part of my soul has been torn from my being.  As I look at my life, where I am in my sunset years,  the effect on me is immeasurable. It’s become so problematic for me that I can barely stand to listen to classical music anymore  — especially organ music.  It didn’t help that my relationship with the organ and organ music was  — shall we say — iconoclastic.  But, that’s another story.

Although I’ve come to focus more on composing, the inspiration comes harder.  I used to improvise for hours at the console, and would be a source in inspiration and ideas.  I no longer have that.  I have a piano; but, for me it’s not the same or nearly enough. So, to help ease the pain I’ve divorced myself from the organ.  I’ve quit most of my organ groups and pages on Facebook (with the notable exception of the Virgil Fox group); I’ve removed my name from the AGO substitute list, and will let my membership expire.*  I may continue to write for the instrument and may even continue to write sacred music (for some curiously anomalous reason). 

For a pathetic touch of irony, whilst I was still active as an organist I couldn’t get arrested as a substitute; but, since I made the conscious decision that the organ was no longer to be a part of my life, I’ve received more calls than ever to substitute or interim at various churches.  Go figger.

*This is no real great loss since the AGO is still obsessed with the traditional church, which is dying, and has consistently refused to seriously consider the organ as a concert instrument; which to me is it’s only future.

Just Keep Pushing That Rock

     It seems that every morning lately I awaken with this depressing sensation that no matter what I do only contributes my increasing sense of futility.  Ever since it became apparent that I was no longer an organist — much less a decent one —  I thought that if I devoted my time to composition I might find renewed inspiration and finish a number of works I began at various times which have been sitting around waiting for my brilliant and visionary creative prowess:  that I would find new purpose — new meaning — to these final years to my life.  Well, maybe not so much.  I find it more and more burdensome to find even ounce of creativity.  Maybe it's the Mass I've been trying to write, knowing 1) there isn't a choir in the world who will sing it (not that it really matters anymore), and 2) my agnosticism seems to have put a bit of a damper on everything: not just music, everything.  It leaves me in even greater of awe of RVW's ability to write some of the most gorgeous church music whilst as a bonafide agnostic. 

But, it's not just la musique du chœur with which I struggle; it's pretty much music in general.  For so long music has/had been the central point of my life; even when I wasn't directly involved in the art form I always managed to keep one foot in the water, as it were, as either a music director or a substitute organist a some church somewhere, notwithstanding the mindlessly simplistic and pharisaical theology of most (not all, but most) clergy and the gratuitous hypocrisy of their congregations.  Now, I can barely stand to listen to music, especially newer music, especially newer church music.  I listen to contemporary composers, people who are considered important, highly respected —prize winners, etc. — and I think what the hell has happened to the craft of composition?  It seems that with orchestral and instrumental music it's either: 1) the still irritatingly nondirectional, atonal nonsense continually perpetrated by academics preoccupied by their obsession for complexity and peer indulgence, or 2) it's the mind numbing minimalism by moronic composers who have no sense of melody or line, or worse, are too dame lazy to care.  With choral and vocal music, in lieu of the nonsensical repetitive haze of gurgling and swirling keyboards or various instruments over static harmonies, you have initially pleasing, moderately dissonant harmonies, but ultimately stupefacient stasis which ends up leaving one wanting something more.  

So, as I sit here pondering what to do with myself, I look as Blaze who's lying in his old bed with his head hanging out onto the floor, and is perfectly happy to hang out, just to be with his Daddy today(other days he's with Mommy upstairs when she's working); and, I think of my beloved Rosemary, who for some inscrutable reason, loves me as much as I adore her; and I realise how fortunate I am.  Otherwise I'd either be living on some street in Philadelphia, or dead on some street in Philadelphia.

And yet, I am anything but fulfilled.  As a musician I am, and have been since WCC, obviously an unqualified failure, not having achieved a single musical goal:  not as an organist, not as a conductor, not as a composer, not even as a sheet music store owner.  And the worst part about it is I have no one else to blame but myself and the incalculable number of bad decisions I've made, many so as to accommodate others, thinking that eventually it will all pay off. Rationalisation, delusion, through acquiescence is artistic suicide.  Unfortunately it's too late for me to learn that.

So what do I do?  Well, that's an easy question:  I just keep composing whilst trying to learn French (another dreadful mistake I made at WCC, for which I will never forgive Frau Silz).  When I finish the Gloria to the mass I'm writing, I'll put the thing aside and work on something completely new. Hmm maybe I'll write a communion service for non-liturgical Protestants (Presbyterians, Methodist, Congregationalists, etc.) who once a month do a simplified or modified version the eucharist.  Who knows maybe this will be my ticket to getting published or performed (at the very least).  And so, the rationalising, the delusional thinking goes on.