Remembering Jean Ritchie, 12/8/22-6/1/15

Tags

Daily Kos, Jean Ritchie, Long Island Hall of Fame, NPR, NY Times

Jean Ritchie with her sons, Peter (L) and Jon Pickow

Jean Ritchie, the wonderful folksinger who was born in Appalachia and brought the dulcimer to a much wider audience, died on Monday at the age of 92.

Harp on the willow tree, now it is hung.
One man, one faith, one God, to them I clung.
Sweet were the songs of life, now they are sung.
Harp on the willow tree, now it is hung.

– Jean Ritchie (from Epitaph for Myself)
from Jon Pickow’s Facebook page

I had the pleasure of meeting Jean at a Christmas party at her home in Port Washington, Long Island.  Her son Jon had invited the entire Norman Luboff Choir.  We were on break from a tour.

Meeting Jean and being at the party was such a delightful experience, one I shall always remember.

My impression, on hearing the guests, all folksingers, share songs in turn:

Six or eight songs had been sung, and now it was Jean’s turn.  She was standing with her back to the room, washing dishes.  Had that been me, I may have asked others to sing, delaying my contribution until I had finished what I was doing.  Not Jean.  She continued washing dishes and sang beautifully!

Isn’t that wonderful? It wasn’t a show. She had no need to change a thing: she didn’t turn to face the audience, didn’t put on more makeup or change clothes. She didn’t ask for more light. There was no printed program. She just sang. Singing wasn’t something different. It’s who she was. I have always admired that.

You can find more about my impressions of the party and the wonderful folksinging guests here:

Authenticity in Performing

New York Times obituary by Margalit Fox:
http://nyti.ms/1AOebha
Be sure to scroll down to watch a video of Jean singing “Shady Grove” while accompanying herself on the dulcimer.

from NPR:
http://n.pr/1RI8kOE

The Wall Street Journal
http://on.wsj.com/1QcmvOS

Lexington (KY) Herald-Ledger editorial:
Jean Ritchie, a righteous voice of Kentucky

The Courier-Journal:
http://cjky.it/1GpeL7p

Jean Ritchie’s Induction into the Long Island Hall of Fame:
http://nyti.ms/1EYlOwL

from AMP, Alternate Music Press:
http://alternatemusicpress.com/features/jeanritchie.html
includes discography and books by Jean Ritchie

from The Mudcat Café:
http://bit.ly/1APmU2O
featuring an exhaustive list of related links

from DailyKos.com:
http://bit.ly/1QabRbh
More videos!

Jean Ritchie’s memoir:
Singing Family of the Cumberlands

DVD:
Mountain Born:  The Jean Ritchie Story
KET Teacher’s Guide

Memorial donations:
http://www.appalachianvoices.org/

Rest in peace, Jean.  We will miss you greatly.

If your think your friends/network would find this useful, please share it with them — I would greatly appreciate it. 

Back to top

Mi Addy: the back story

These are my new plates!

Since I haven’t driven for such a long time (since graduate school!), and since I now have a beautiful Fiat, I wanted to honor the experience with something special.

So I began daydreaming about names.

My VW bug was named Hansel, but just in my head.  No fancy plates.

This time around, a fond memory surfaced.  Several years ago, I lived in an apartment on Cabrini Blvd. in New York (near the Cloisters) with a single mother and her baby boy, Joseph.  We decided before I moved in that we would trade piano noise for baby noise.  I got a whole lot of nothing done during my 11 months there, because I played with him so much.  He was extremely cute, intelligent, and curious.  I witnessed him learning to walk!

He used to scratch things and listen to the sound.  The cushions, arms, and back of the couch; the end table, coffee table, lampshade and its base; and, most interesting to me, a tiny steel manufacturer’s tag on the corner of a filing cabinet!  The tag had raised dots and letters, so the surface was varied.

Joseph talked all the time, using his voice to experiment with sound.  When I would look him in the eye and repeat a string of sounds he had just made up, he would have an astonished look on his face, as if to say, “Oh!  Someone finally gets it!”

One day, he woke up ast 5:00 a.m. saying only one word, “Addy, addy, addy,” over and over.  He repeated it until he went to daycare at 8:30.  When he came home at 5:30, he was still saying it.  And that was the word of the day until he went to sleep around 10.

I rather liked it!

CT vanity plates can have up to seven characters, including one period.  “ADDY” seemed too plain.  “MY ADDY,” with 2 “Y’s,” looked too symmetrical.  So I went with “MI,” since I have an Italian car.

The CT DMV website has a page where you can try out your choice to see if it’s available.  So I tried it out, adding a variety of  backgrounds at the same time.  The plain background didn’t work for me.  I like lighthouses, so there you go.

In honor of Joseph and the Italians, here it is.

Now the old plates have to be mailed back to the CT DMV.  And the MA title?  I’m still waiting for the MA RMV (that’s the Registry, not the Department) to cash my check and send me the duplicate.  The deadline for sending it to the CT DMV was October 15th.  Fortunately, they use the date as a motivator.  There is no late fee.

 

 

My Addy and The National Holiday

Tags

Chicago, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Family, holidays, Iowa, New York

Not everyone is aware of this, but June 23rd is The National Holiday.  My father made the designation in honor of his birthday one year.  From that time on, he would remind us on the 23rd of each month, beginning in January.

The significance of this, this year, is that I am hoping to pick up my new car on that day. It feels appropriate, and would make me very happy.

Let me tell you why.

Dad bought me my first car, a VW bug.  I had a church job at the time, but no car.  My college roommate drove me to choir rehearsals and church on Sunday mornings, and picked me up afterwards.  Dad wanted me to keep the job, but didn’t want my roommate to have to drive me around.

As it happened, I went shopping for a piano 11 years later.  I found a Baldwin at the Baldwin dealer when I lived in New York.  Dad knew I had been looking. Shortly after I had paid the down-payment and arranged for financing, he called.  Upon asking what the balance was, he offered to pay it!

This was in December, a year after graduate school.  He wanted the piano to be in my apartment for Christmas.  He had his heart set on it. Baldwin did the best they could, given their delivery schedule in the city.  I had the piano two days after Christmas. My dad was quite disappointed, and had trouble with the idea for the rest of his life.  I tried to make sure he knew how happy I was, and told him that I would not have practiced on Christmas Day anyway.

He lived in Iowa.  Although he attended seminary in Chicago, he just wasn’t a city person. So the demands of a New York delivery schedule at a large company didn’t make an impression.

In my hometown, the store owner would have closed early on Christmas Eve, loaded the piano onto his truck with a big red bow around it, and delivered it right on time.

“My Addy” is the name I’m giving my new car.  For 11 months, I lived in a beautiful apartment on Cabrini Blvd. in New York with a single mother and her baby, Joseph.  We traded piano noise for baby noise, and I loved every minute.

Joseph talked all the time.  He invented words.  Sometimes, when he would come out with a string of gibberish, I would just look him in the eye and repeat what he had said. The look on his face was priceless:  “Wow!  Somebody gets it!”

For one entire day, the word he repeated constantly was “addy.”  He started the minute he woke up at 5:00 or 5:30.  Around 8:30, he went to daycare.  When he came home at 5:30, it was still “addy, addy, addy,” and he kept saying it until he went to sleep around 10:00.

If it works out for me to pick up My Addy on my father’s birthday, that would feel special. He passed away in 1991, but I’d like to think I could send him some happiness in that way.

Back to top

Remembering my mother

Tags

Carthage, Carthage College, Friesland, Mother, Ohio River, Superman

Caroline Elise Moorman Saathoff

Since I am thinking about my mother this week and next, I thought I would repost this profile from last year.

Name: Caroline Elise Moorman Saathoff.  She had one or two more middle names which I no longer remember.  Her birth certificate lists only Elise.  Her brother Bill spelled their last name “Moormann,” with 2 “n’s,” while my mother stuck to using one.

City of birth: Metropolis, IL, all the way down on the southern border.  Yes, THAT Metropolis, home of Superman.   My mother grew up outside of town, and it’s pretty small (pop. 6,482 as of the year 2000 census).

Metropolis is across the Ohio River from Paducah, KY.

College: Carthage College, Carthage, IL
Music Education major, sang in college choir, where she met my father.  The college later moved to Kenosha, WI.

How she left home: my mother was the only one in her family to go to college.  She left home with $8 in her pocket, found a job, and sent home for her trunk.

Most distinguishing characteristic: her hair!  She had the same hair as mine.  Many people from Friesland, where my ancestors are from, have very finely textured blonde hair.  It’s slightly wavy, but the second the wind blows, it goes completely straight.

Most unusual word: cattywampus (means ”kitty corner,” and it’s not in the dictionary).  The only other person I’ve heard say this is from Lexington, KY.

Best spelling: M-I-crooked letter-crooked letter-I-crooked letter-crooked letter-I-humpback-humpback-I.  (Get it?  That spells “Mississippi.”)

Funny thing she did: She loved to write silly poems on family birthday cards.  They were really bad, eliciting groans every time.  And she knew they were bad.  But I know she had fun writing them.

How she got me to vacuum the furniture: by hiding change under the couch cushions!  I thought for a long time that people had lost change from their pockets.

When I was sick: whenever I had a fever, she would make orange-flavored slivered ice.  I still don’t know how she did it.  It was so good.

Favorite activity: riding her bike to the park and back with her friends Ellie and Edith.  On the final afternoon of her life, she was on her bike after school (she taught kindergarten), on the way to meet her friends.

Favorite food: tomatoes!  She was still eating entire platefuls in August, long after everyone else had tired of them.

Favorite flower: dogwood.

What I admired most: her unwavering integrity and incredible determination.

I miss you, Mom.  43 years is a long time.

Remembering Kirk Birrell

Tags

church choir, Kirk Birrell, tenor, tribute

The bells at Christ Northampton.  Designer:  Kirk Birrell.  (Photo credit:  Christ Northampton’s Facebook page)

We first met a little over a year ago.  Kirk was 82.  His greeting was, “I’m your tenor.
I have two volumes; on and off.”

This being my first Sunday at a new church job, I wondered what I had gotten myself into.  In previous choirs, though, the tenors each had their own take on how to sing.  One made up his own part, and one had a fondness for sliding whenever possible and a wobble in his voice.

My plan was to be friendly and engage in conversation.  I wanted to find out what was in there.

After two or three Sundays, I realized that Kirk wanted his opinions to be heard, but often, further discussion was not necessary.  So I listened and got on with the rehearsal.

The brief conversations had been going well.  Then, one Sunday after church, Kirk approached me to give me a heads up about operating the lights behind the organ.  They were tricky.  And when I am there by myself, knowing how to work the lights is important.  I was surprised by the overture.

About two weeks later, he offered me a ride to the bus stop!  He had no plans to travel in that direction, since his house was on the opposite side of Northampton.  So I was surprised once more.

But that was not all.  We crossed the parking area to his car and got into a Chevy Volt!  Somehow, that didn’t fit the personality profile I had constructed in my mind for him.

The anthem one Sunday was “Children of the Heavenly Father.”  I asked the choir to enter one voice part at a time, S A T B, every 2 measures.  The first two entrances went well, and then Kirk came in.  If this had been a solo entrance in a large hall, it would have been perfect!  However, the tenor part joined the other two in a unison to be sung piano.  It was the complete opposite of a solo entrance.

When I asked Kirk to enter softly, he didn’t think he could.  My hunch was that no one had ever shown him how.  So I suggested that he use less air, and demonstrated doing that.

He did it!  He was happy, and I think everyone else was, too.

After his health began to decline, he sang with the choir one more time.  He opted to remain seated while everyone else stood.  After the choir members in front moved out of the way, he could see me.  I was glad he could be there, and the anthem went well.  I think he enjoyed it.

One Sunday when he wasn’t feeling well, he asked me what we would be singing the following week.  I gave him a copy of the anthem, thinking that maybe he wanted to take it home.  Then I walked away to take care of something else.  When I returned, Kirk was seated on a bench, looking at the music!  I was touched by his commitment, looking at the music while not feeling well.  He told me that it didn’t look too hard.

My take on Kirk’s voice is that he could have been an opera singer, had his family’s circumstances been different when he was younger.  His voice was even throughout his range, and there was no wobble whatsoever.  And I never heard him slide.  

I am grateful to have known him, and for all the ways in which his life touched mine.  My prayers are with Natalie, his lovely wife of 62 years, and his family.

Rest in peace, Kirk.

Obituary

Back to top

“For All the Saints”: a story

Tags

For All the Saints, Hymn, Ralph Vaughan Williams

Russian Icon of the Second Coming used for All Saints Sunday, c. 1700. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“For All the Saints,” by Ralph Vaughan Williams, is one of my favorite hymns.

We sang this as the first hymn on Sunday, November 4^th, designated as All Saints Sunday.  The actual day is on November 1^st each year.

Every time I hear this hymn, I think of my grandfather.  He passed away when I was a high school senior.

My sister, a superb organist, played for his funeral in Litchfield, Illinois.  She thought she would be OK, but cried so much she could barely see the music.  Her playing was wonderful, regardless.

At the conclusion of the service, the minister began reciting the 23^rd Psalm as he followed the casket down the aisle and out of the church.

This is how things proceeded:

“The Lord is my Shepherd…”

FOR ALL THE SAINTS

“I SHALL NOT WANT…”

WHO FROM THEIR LABORS REST…

The minister and my sister had not discussed what would happen at the end of the service.  My sister lit into the hymn at full volume from the organ console in the balcony.  Thereafter, the minister declaimed the rest of the psalm!

The result was high drama.  I loved it, and thought it was very effective.

Please share your thoughts in the comment section below!

Back to top

Remembering Charles Schisler

Tags

Westminster Choir College

Williamson Hall, Westminster Choir College ~ Image via Wikipedia

Dr. Charles Schisler was Dean of Westminster Choir College when I was a graduate student.  He was the best Dean on the planet!  Always so encouraging, attending nearly every recital and master class.

You can read about his many contributions to the college here.

The obituary appears here.

Dr. Schisler preferred to sit in the front row.  Although that could have felt intimidating, it wasn’t.  We all knew he was rooting for us.

When I auditioned for Westminster, he was there with other faculty, seated in the front row as usual.  Most of the proceedings went well.  And then he put some music in front of me to sight read.  Somehow, the piece happened to be the one thing I have the most trouble playing at sight ~ the slow movement of a Mozart violin sonata.  This one featured double-dotted long notes followed by 32nds.  Hard enough to count when not nervous.

So I played it.  After a page and 1/2, something clicked in my brain.  I suddenly realized the piece was in 2, and I had been playing in 3 the whole time.  So I switched!

Dr. Schisler rose from his chair, walked slowly to the piano, looked over my shoulder at the score, and said, “May we hear the first page again, please?”

Thanks for everything, and rest in peace.  All who knew you will miss you a great deal.

If my father had a Facebook page

Tags

Carthage, construction, David and Goliath, hospital calls, IL, Litchfield, male quartet, Maywood, radio, seminary

First National Bank of Litchfield ~ Image by myoldpostcards via Flickr

My father’s birthday is today.

He would have been 99!

If he had a Facebook profile, it might look like this:

Name:  Gilbert Allen.  Nickname:  Sawdi.

City of birth:  Litchfield, IL (pop. 6,815 as of the year 2000 census).

College:  Carthage College, Carthage, IL
Sang in college choir, where he met my mother.  Sang bass in a male quartet, which toured churches.

After college:  Did construction work in CO while deciding what to do with his life.

Seminary:  Maywood, Chicago, IL.  The seminary was moved.  A park was built at the original site which later became Wrigley Field!

Most distinguishing characteristic:  his speaking voice.  He was also very good looking.  (You know, tall dark and handsome.  6’4″, dark wavy hair, blue-gray eyes (same as mine).  When he would make hospital calls to see members of the congregation, the patient’s roommate would often say hello, having recognized his voice.  “You’re Pastor Saathoff!  I heard you on the radio program!”  He was always pleased at the recognition.

He also had a beautiful singing voice.  With further training, I think he could have been a professional singer.

Most unusual thing he ever did:  When preaching a sermon about David and Goliath, he became inspired and ignored his notes.  He acted out both parts.  I clearly remember him shouting, while channeling Goliath, “HA!  You can’t kill me!!!”  He even pounded on the pulpit!

Favorite activities:  Watching the campfire during summer vacation, swimming, attending the Drake Relays with friends, going to the St. Louis Municipal Opera with family (not that far from Litchfield).

Only time I heard him swear:  When parking the trailer in the mud.  It always got stuck.  I was happy when we got a tent.

Pet peeve:  Answering machines.  When I moved to NY, I bought one.  Every time he called thereafter, even when I picked up the phone before the machine, the first thing he said after he said “Hello” was, “Do you still have that answering machine?”

Favorite food group:  Hot fudge on vanilla ice cream.  Definition:  it has to get hard when it hits the ice cream.  Otherwise it’s chocolate syrup.

Favorite trees:  Gingko and Mimosa.

What I admired most:  his ever-present willingness to answer the phone and  go out on a call at times like 3 and 4 a.m. without complaint, and his unwavering integrity.

Happy Birthday, Dad.  I love you.

Related articles

• If my mother had a Facebook page… (gretchenspianos.wordpress.com)

Recalling a wonderful performance

Tags

Aston Magna, Fortunato Arico, J.S. Bach, Music, performance, Riverside Church, Robert Shaw, St. Matthew Passion, Thomas Pyle, Westminster Choir College

viola da gamba ~ Image via Wikipedia

While including a link in a previous post,
I was thrilled to see that Fortunato (“Freddy”) Arico was one of two cellists
on the recording involved.

Arico’s name led me to recall the first time I heard him play.  He riveted my attention immediately, starting with the very first note.

Scene:  top balcony of The Riverside Church in New York.

Program:  “St. Matthew Passion” of J.S. Bach

Performers:  The Westminster Robert Shaw Summer Choral Workshop, with orchestra

Memorable Soloist:  Thomas Pyle, singing the role of Jesus as a committed, dramatic interpreter.

My housemate and good buddy Margaret and I drove to New York​ for the  performance.  I knew that Shaw was conducting and Tommy was one of the soloists.  We took either Margaret’s way cool blue Saab or my funky orange VW bug, driving back to Amherst the same night.

Freddy played the continuo part on the viola da gamba.  He had a lot of work to do!  His sound was the most beautiful I had ever heard.  The rhythm he projected was incredibly sharp and arresting.  And for that palpable sense of total involvement to reach the second balcony?  That simply doesn’t happen often.

Tom Pyle sang from the pulpit!  Most appropriate, I thought.  And when Jesus spoke to the crowd, Tommy turned to the chorus!  I’d say he paid attention to the words.

He saw the role as a living story.  He was acting the part, not facing the audience at all times as an oratorio soloist normally would.  Members of the audience heard him just fine, and were drawn into the dramatic elements of the performance as well.  His gorgeous baritone voice seemed to roll effortlessly across that enormous space.

Freddy’s gamba playing inspired me to attend several Aston Magna concerts in the Berkshires later.  I am so glad to have been there.

Read more about Aston Magna on the eminent harpsichordist Albert Fuller’s blog.

Have you attended an especially memorable concert?  Please share your experience in the comment section below!

Back to top

“Goal-oriented Practice” has gained many satisfied readers worldwide! Click for great reviews and comments.  Check it out!

Related articles

• In Memory of Philipp Naegele (gretchenspianos.wordpress.com)
• Updated: In Memory of Philipp Naegele (gretchenspianos.wordpress.com)
• Philipp, a guest post by Elena Yasinski gretchenspianos.wordpress.com)

Authenticity in Performing

Tags

authenticity, Music, performance

Jean Ritchie ~ Image by Cindy Funk via Flickr

What makes a performance authentic?

By “authenticity,” I mean honesty, heartfelt expression, and respecting the composer’s wishes at all times.

The opposite, which I find unacceptable, is allowing our own quirks to trump the composer’s notated guidelines, and pasting something false on top of the notes.  When that happens, the performer ignores the composer and becomes mired in his/her own importance.

One event some time ago got me thinking about authenticity.  Just before Christmas, Jean Ritchie threw a party.  Many of her singer friends were invited, as was the Norman Luboff Choir.  (Jean’s son Jon Pickow, a wonderful tenor, invited the choir.  I shall be forever grateful.)

During the festivities, the guests took seats along the walls of a very large room.  Then, in turn, each shared a song!

Every style, it seemed, was offered.  There was an early American song followed by a Shaker tune, then an Irish folk song, an Appalachian ballade, an old English carol, a Scottish folk song… everything.

I was in awe, speechless.  The singers were so honest, uninhibited, authentic, and absolutely sang securely in each style.  None had learned how to do that in school.

Every ornament and flourish was right on, as might be learned in school.  But here there was nothing in the way!  The style wasn’t imposed upon the music, it was the music.

I felt like an imposter, to tell the truth.  Everyone was so good!

Can classical performers be authentic?  After all, they learn music from the printed score.

There have been concerts from time to time that, for me and others I spoke to, didn’t make the cut.  These were major concerts presented on large series in major venues:

• a Brahms lieder recital at Tanglewood ~ “der” and “und” (and every other syllable) always super-expressive, no sentences in evidence.  All the tempi were way too sloooooooooow.  The other two vocal fellows and I left at intermission.
• a piano recital at UMass ~ the soloist had been “finding himself,” strolling the beach for two years.  He felt called upon to impose very slow tempi on Schubert.  Extremely boring.  If you’re 1/2 everyone else’s tempo, what does that tell you?  (He probably hadn’t heard anyone else play for two years!)
• piano recitals where the soloist looks to the ceiling.  For what?  Inspiration from the plaster?  Self-indulgent, distracting, unnecessary.
• gyrating performers ~ see previous description.  Is all that movement intended to show how “into” it you are?
• a cello recital where “rubato” meant “do whatever you want” with no rhythmic structure.

These classical musicians and styles are, to me, authentic:

• Jacqueline​ Du Pré
• Dinu Lipatti
• Joseph Fuchs
• Lorraine Hunt Lieberson ~ click to watch “Ich habe genug” on YouTube.  Yes, that’s a hospital gown she’s wearing on stage!
• Béla Bartók
• Zoltan Kodaly
• Olivier Messiaen
• Russian liturgical music
• Gospel
• Soul
• some Country & Western

Of course there are others.  This is meant to facilitate thought, not provide a definitive list.

Please watch this brief video of Pete Seeger and Jean Ritchie.  This is a terrific example of authenticity.  Honesty, heartfelt expression, nothing in the way, nothing quirky imposed upon the music or the listener.  Direct communication.

Odetta was authentic in everything she sang.  She earned a music degree, later saying that “it was a nice little exercise, but it has nothing to do with my life.”  Give her a listen.

“This Little Light of Mine” was a favorite of hers.

Electrifying!  Makes me cry.

Odetta ~ Jericho (old)  Talk about power!

Listen to the way she uses her voice to provide rhythm!

UPDATE:  here are 2 links to related blog posts, shared in the Comments.  Thanks to Gail Fischler and Elaine Fine!

What do you find to be authentic?  What is false?  Please share your thoughts in the comment section below!

Don’t miss out on the book sale!  “Goal-oriented Practice” is 50% off!
You’ll see great reviews and wonderful readers’ comments when you click on the link.

Back to top