by Fred Moleck
Yes, But What Did You Play
Nothing pleases a writer more than when a reader responds or reacts to something that was written by that writer.
Last week I reveled in the nuptials of two friends who were married in Atlanta. I played the organ. Included in the guest list were four other couples at whose weddings I had also played the organ.
They are all kin.
A couple of readers asked, “What did you play?” Almost embarrassingly I responded, “You know. The general stuff.”
“Jesu, Joy.” Handel’s “Water Music.” Handel’s “Royal Fireworks Music.” Psalm 128 of Marty Haugen. Joncas’s “Not for Tongues of Heaven’s Angels.”
It was pretty much de rigueur stuff for Catholic weddings.
Then I stopped. What was missing was the Pachelbel “Canon,” the Widor “Toccata” from Symphony V, Schubert’s “Ave Maria,” and “Trumpet Voluntary in D” by Jeremiah Clarke.
The wedding marches of Mendelssohn and Wagner were missing because they were never there.
Pondering the variants in last week’s description, I wondered why. One reason is that the couple had but one request, “Jesu, Joy.” That would be the processional.
They would leave the rest up to me—words an organist just loves to here.
With the help of an exquisite cantor and a virtuoso flutist, what transpired was some of the most choice repertory any “out-of-town-dude organist” could ever encounter.
For example, the flutist had an arrangement of a Mozart flute solo with accompaniment I had never heard of. Not only was it gorgeous, it was fresh. What he supplied were all fresh and lovely items—and played incredibly well.
The cantor sang Ralph Vaughan Williams’s “The Call” from the Five Mystical Songs. She breathed new life into James Moore’s “Taste and See” that provided a rare opportunity for me to improvise a white-man’s understanding of “gospel” piano style.
I swear that woman could cause rocks to sing. Why? She possesses a wonderful talent, and is completely bereft of diva leanings. For this, the Church and I are grateful.
The resident musician at the church did all the contact work for me and hosted me with what northerners might call Southern hospitality. I wanted for nothing. He understands hospitality.
I am sure such graciousness exists in other parts of the United States and Canada. It is not regional. It is spiritual.
The parish’s music director is a fixture in Atlanta’s Catholic music scene, which explains his broad contact list. He takes his ministry seriously but doesn’t take himself seriously.
Under his wings, the three of us—cantor, flutist, me—gained security and were borne up with his grace and the grace of the parish.
The sincerity of his care made our singing and playing grace-filled. Not only was it beautiful, it was transformational. It was grace working on nature.
Of course, I am grateful. I am always egregiously thankful to anyone who makes me look good. A little transcendence goes a long way.
Even “Jesu, Joy” was a graced moment. Now, that’s transformational.
You can reach Fred Moleck via email at fmoleck@earthlink.net