welcome to PIANONOISE!
if you push my buttons I
will play music for you
above: from a concert
in Sedona, Arizona in 2010. The one on the left
is from a concert in 2013 in Champaign,
Illinois, and shows Norm LaDuke directing his
Summer Ensemble. See this week's column, below
for details. The banner photo at
the top is from this summer at Westminster
Presbyterian church near Pittsburgh, where
another organ recital took place the same week
as the church's Vacation Bible School, with the
result that I got a lovely stage setting for
practice! (they removed most of the decorations
for the actual concert).
This Week's Featured Recording: for Friday, September
24 One of the many fascinating
sonatas by a Baroque master we know so little
about. The satisfied little tune that opens the
work very quickly heads for deep water, and an
epic journey awaits us, all in the span of four
minutes!
This is a particularly fine
sonata to illustrate one of
Scarlatti's great gifts: of
being about to change moods so
rapidly, to go from formality to
frivolity, from melancholy to
mayhem, in the space of a few
measures.
It so happens that this week I
have just heard of the death of
a Chorale friend, and am
preparing to celebrate the
wedding of a Pittsburgh friend.
The contrast, opposite poles in
the ordinary business of life
(and death) seems a fit
companion for Scarlatti's
discourse, even though I
selected this recording to
feature several days ago.
Brothers,
Sing On! September 24,
2021
The archives for this
website have gotten rather large, and
various. If I need reminding in the
midst of a hectic week, month, or
year, what kinds of good memories I've
been making I only need visit them.
Just the morning I stumbled upon a few
pictures that date from a concert in
Arizona in 2010. And then this
evening, I found out that we've lost
another friend, the one who initiated
that concert. Maybe I was looking at
the pictures as he was drawing his
last mortal breath. I don't know.
Norm LaDuke is singing in the
celestial choir. Well, heck, maybe he
is directing it. Some portion of it,
anyway. They have sectionals up there,
don't they?
I don't remember when I first met
Norm, but it probably had something to
do with the Summer Ensemble. This
group met every June and July,
rehearsing for about 90 minutes once a
week. Then they'd have a few
performances at the end. One was
usually at our church, and one or two
others would happen that afternoon at
a retirement community or two. Norm
wasn't all that particular about the
performances, though. He liked to say
that "a performance is just an excuse
for another rehearsal." The point was
to get together and sing. And maybe to
visit Jarlings afterward.
(Jarlings was/is the epicenter of the
frozen yogurt universe in downstate
Illinois.)
It wasn't generally the most strenuous
literature anyhow. Most of it
consisted of post-war pop, some more
modern (a Billy Joel tune comes to
mind), and some things you might sing
in church. But every concert had to
open with a rousing rendition of
"Brothers, Sing On!" which was written
by Edward Grieg.
We weren't all brothers. There were a
few women in the group. At first we
were the Men's Summer Ensemble. He
wasn't trying to be sexist, it's just
that there is a special sound, and
literature, for tenors and basses (as
there is for sopranos and altos) and
that was what Norm specialized in.
After a year or two, he dropped the
"men's" part on account of the ladies.
Of course, most of those men (and
women) belonged to a larger choir, a
community chorus known as The Chorale.
Its pool of around 60 or more members
formed the backbone of the smaller
"summer ensemble." Norm himself sang
in The Chorale. The Chorale's
director, Julie Beyler, was not
necessarily thrilled that Norm was
getting his choir members from her
choir, though since The Chorale didn't
sing in the summer it doesn't seem to
have created too many problems,
usually. Eventually Norm retired to
Arizona but returned every summer to
conduct us and to feed his Jarlings
habit.
Before I get to the concert in Arizona
I have to mention the rehearsal in
which lightning struck the church
while we were in it and we all hit the
deck! Also the evening that Norm
announced he would have to go back to
Arizona because of health issues. We'd
buried our cat earlier that evening so
it wasn't a good day! I closed out the
season directing the group for him,
and when it turned out to be kidney
stones, he was back the next season.
In the spring of 2010, Norm wanted to
try getting some of the Illinois
Summer Ensemble people together with
some of the members of the choir at
his new church in Sedona to sing a
concert. Since the concert was built
around our spring break I figured I
could go. I was in staff meeting
looking at the calendar when I
realized I had made a large mistake.
It was Palm Sunday that weekend! I
think our choir director has forgiven
me for taking the week off (though I'm
less sure about myself). At that point
the tickets had been purchased and we
were off.
There were three of us. Mark, Woodie
and I thought we'd visit the grand
Canyon. When we told Julie about our
plans she told me I'd better not fall
in. She didn't want to lose her
accompanist! (I'm not sure if Mark or
Woodie got similar expressions of
concern!) When we got to the canyon
Mark snapped a picture of me looking
over the edge. We wanted to send it to
Julie with the caption, "this is the
last we saw of Michael!"
Norm hadn't thought we'd enjoy the
Grand Canyon. It's just a big hole, he
sniffed. You'll get out of the car,
look around for five seconds, turn
around and drive the two hours back to
Sedona. He was wrong about the Canyon.
We spent hours marveling over the rock
formations. We'd drive a few hundred
yards, get out and look some more.
About 600 photographs later, we
returned home. At the gift shop was a
book detailing all the people who had
fallen into the Canyon. Now that I
think about it, that would have been a
great souvenir for Julie! (oh well,
hindsight).
But the local scenery in Sedona was
spectacular as well. We went hiking
among the "red rocks" that Norm kept
touting with pride. His back yard was
up against an amazing golf course. It
was quite an experience.
Then of course, there was a concert.
The ensemble sang, I played some solo
piano pieces, people seemed to enjoy
it. After a week that was much too
short, back to the airport (two hours
to Phoenix through the early dawn
hours and the cacti and the red
rocks). I could just get back in time
for the Sunday evening Chorale
rehearsal if the plane wasn't very
late. If you weren't a Chorale member
you may not be aware that rehearsals
on Sunday nights were sacrosanct, and
occurred without fail even on Easter,
Superbowl Sunday, and any other Sunday
that began with Sun and ended with
Day. If you were the Chorale's music
director you knew that there were
never enough rehearsals before the
next concert. I explained the
tightness in scheduling my return trip
and how, optimistically, I hoped not
to be late the following week. Unless
the plane was. "In that case" said our
fearless director "I will have a talk
with Mr. LaDuke." I replied "I think
you should take it up with American
Airlines!"
The plane was late. But not very. I
managed to get home, grab a quick bite
and get to rehearsal on time. ("Whist,
anyone?*")
Norm returned to Illinois for a few
more summers, and as recently as 2019
for the Chorale's final festival
concert, with his wife Jan (on whom be
heaped much credit for Norm's success,
huzzah huzzah).
I know there will be many appreciative
choral singers thinking about his
legacy this week, and the memories we
shared.
*inquiring about getting up a game of
Whist is what Phileas Fogg says at the
end of Jules Verne's novel "Around the
World in 80 days." He has just manged
to circumnavigate the globe in the
allotted time and thus win a bet.
blasts from the past....
I'm about to have a busy, potentially
exhausting, weekend. I'm sure I'll enjoy it, but
I expect to be tired on Monday, much like in the
blog below. And since I also happen to have just
recorded another Scarlatti sonata, just like in
this entry from 2014, well...enjoy!
Me, I'm exhausted. I'm probably
lying in bed right now aching, and
in no hurry to get up. I'll catch
up with you around noon, maybe.
The reason for that might have
something to do with my weekend.
Saturday night I had a concert
with one organization. Sunday
afternoon was a concert with
another group. In between I had
the usual four weekend church
services, also a dress rehearsal
on Friday night for group one, and
then on Sunday, after three
services and a concert, another
(three hour) rehearsal for another
thing group one is doing. Group
two had their dress Thursday and
is now finished for the season.
So I'm probably a little less
chipper than my usual Monday
morning self. I say probably
because I wrote this entry on
Thursday night and I'm having it
posted automatically at 8 a.m.
Monday while I'm likely still in
bed, dead to the world, because
I'm a musician and I work
weekends, but not necessarily
Monday mornings.
Now one of the terrific things
about recordings is they can
capture a moment and play it back
for us much later. The recording
I'm going to play for you, of a
sonata by Domenico Scarlatti, was
made about a week ago, and I gave
it a very vigorous, energetic
playing, which is likely the very
opposite of what I am feeling
right now.
