The Palette of Autumn

Greetings, Guidonian Singers!

Autumn is icumen in....finally! I do realize that today may still be a bit of a tease, but I think summer may finally be fading in earnest.

This past week was sort of unbelievably busy in my world...many of you may know that I have recently added a gig with the Center for British and Irish Studies at CU-Boulder to my battery of activities, and this week, we had our first major event: a talk by the author Frank Delaney. Mr. Delaney and his wife, Diane Meier, arrived on Wednesday afternoon and were the most delightful and engaging of guests...the sort of people who are almost unbelievably interesting, but also endlessly gracious, so that after speaking with them, one is left feeling more interesting themselves (possibly that sentence makes NO sense, but maybe gives you the gist). The talk itself was fantastic...I wish it had been more well-attended, but attendance really wasn't bad, considering it was our first event. And, all this has turned my mind towards things literary and British/Irish and autumnally beautiful.

Rising Level 2's

Listen to the following recordings:

Linden Lea (Vaughan Williams)

Whither Must I Wander (Vaughan Williams)

The Road Home (Paulus)

Try your hand (or your ear, I suppose) at solmizing the melodies of each of these, then choose one (or more) and transcribe it....just the melody is plenty. Notice that each of these tunes has a strophic form, so you hear the melody more than once, which hopefully helps.

Rising Level 3's

Listen to the following recordings:

'Tis the Last Rose of Summer (arr. Flotow) (I looked for the Britten setting and couldn't find a good recording....if you can, use that one)

Sound the Trumpet (Purcell)

Dido's Lament (Purcell)

Follow the same instructions as the the rising level 2's.

Rising Level 4's

Listen to the following recordings:

Hymn to St. Cecilia (Britten) (possibly my favorite piece of choral music...it'd be worth your while to buy a recording of this one -- the Shaw recording is pretty nice) - about 6 minutes in, there's a soprano solo, which is the part I'd like you to solmize/transcribe.

Procession from Ceremony of Carols (Britten)

Balulalow from Ceremony of Carols (Britten) -- you're after the soprano solo.

Follow the same instructions as the rising level 2's.

All Levels:

Read the following poem, courtesy of my talented little bro, Stephen Dietrich:

Wind rustling through the tree’s coat of many colors
whispering secrets of the season.
They are all set ablaze
in vibrant shades,
that is
all
but the evergreens; the steadfast
figures never yielding
to passionate crimsons,
glimmering golds,
or withering browns.
No
the evergreens clutch their hue until the end.
They defy nature’s mood
and mock their deciduous brethren
for complying
with the change of seasons.

The sylvan flamboyance set forth
by fall, shall eventually
fade the brilliant foliage into
a pallid grave. Little lives
strangled into brittle corpses
each one of them
a hope
a dream
an aspiration
to be unmet.
They shall be trampled underfoot by the very souls
who once sought their shelter.

The dreamer shall
be left naked and bare
before the world. Subject to
every cruel eye’s scrutiny and slander.
They shall feel the chill
of the winter winds while
the evergreens stand unscathed
from any tremble of frost.
They shall never have to know
the pain of being stripped down
before the world. Every shred of them
to feel the wretched pangs
of a bitter winter, nor will they know
the chaos of the unknown
that the future shadows in omens.
They will hold their emerald shades,
and maintain their poise
until their end. Nothing shall taint
their world,

but

their world
is all they will ever know.
A lone facet of reality
to be the only memento
they claim.
Whatever fails
to fall within their limited spectrum
shall never be known. The price
of security
is seclusion from the sublime, for
to live without feeling
is to live without wisdom.
The evergreens loom over the world
in arrogant cowardice.
Their poise cripples
their freedom. They will never know
the reverie
of spring’s revival,
nor feel the beauty
of a new summer’s bloom.
No,
all they have
is their poise.
They were born in this coffin,
and shall greet death
in this cradle.

Their greatest tragedy is
that on the day they
finally break free
from their monochrome prison
they will meet their end, for all
they have known is gone.
They aren’t strong enough
to be weak,
or brave enough
to be scared.
They only know how to stand poised
and feel

nothing.