Reading Dvořák's 8th

Antonín Dvořák (1841-1904) was a Czech composer with an overflowing gift of melody, an ear for elements of the folk music of his part of Europe (which often found their way into his fine-art music), and an all but tireless industry that, in a lifespan similar to that of his friend Brahms, produced over twice as many symphonies as the latter. Several of them are only heard today by studious headcases, like me, who need to experience everything.

This is how I picked up on another noteworthy trait of Dvořák the symphonist: prolixity. He had a natural tendency to water down his musical argument with charming digressions and an overabundance of finicky detail. So when you consider that his second-last symphony - the Eighth in G Major (1889) - is one of his shortest symphonies, clocking in at some 37 minutes, you have to appreciate it for the special effort Dvořák made to keep it tight, direct, and economical. As a result the Eighth, though overshadowed by his too-popular Ninth ("New World") Symphony, can be regarded as one of his greatest accomplishments. At least it is likely to be regarded, one way or the other, because its short duration encourages avid tryers-of-new-things to give it a shot. And then they (you) will find out what a delightful, brilliant piece Dvořák's G Major Symphony is!

Dvořák started writing symphonies in 1865, a decade before Brahms, and when he was still quite a young man. So although some allege that Dvořák merely builds on the work of Brahms, it simply isn't the case. He was already an accomplished and mature symphonist by 1875, the year of his Fifth Symphony (the "first" as far as being widely played and appreciated goes) and the year before Brahms's First. In his early symphonies you can hear Dvořák assimilating the style of Wagner, Bruckner, Schumann, and (yes) Brahms. By the Fifth he had definitely established his own voice. And by the Seventh - written in 1885, the year of Brahms's last symphony - he had honed his craft to the point of writing three of the greatest masterpieces in history. The middle of these three is the shortest, brightest, and most cheerful of the three, so that it shares in the joy it gives.

Movement I opens in G minor with an elegiac melody in the cellos and lower winds. The flute introduces a birdsong-like theme, which assumes dominance as the music accelerates to its primary tempo of Allegro con brio (fast, with spirit) and rises to a high pitch of drama. The gentler second group includes a hesitant string theme, a folk-dancy clarinet tune, and a chorale-like theme, before the codetta transforms the opening cello theme into a brass fanfare. This dies away as the exposition concludes with a remarkable transition back to the slower opening. The expected repeat of the exposition only carries as far as the flute entrance, where the music swerves off into development.

In the development section, Dvořák shows off his seemingly endless gift for inventing new combinations of instrumental colors, moods, and textures. He discovers a variety of uses for his themes, building up to a climax of shattering power. The music calms down to a recapitulation that begins with the flute theme. Then he adds about a minute's worth of exciting coda to wrap up the movement.

Movement II, an Adagio in C minor, begins with a poignant string statement. A dialogue between pairs of flutes and clarinets unfolds next, a dialogue that continues even after the full orchestra takes it up: the "flute" side of the dialogue stubbornly insistent, the "clarinet" side full of passionate longing. About three minutes in, Dvořák introduces a lighter episode with a deeply happy melody spinning out against an accompaniment of descending scales. Just as it reaches a thrilling volume, it falls away into the ending of that first, quiet string theme. The flute-clarinet dialogue returns, but now it develops in a new direction, throbbing with anxiety. As the crisis reaches its peak, the descending scales return along with the contented theme they accompany. The opening string theme returns once more in a stronger, wrapping-up guise, and the insistent "flute" side of the dialogue turns into closing chords.

Movement III, Allegro grazioso, is a silky-smooth dance number in G minor. The first section flows with long-limbed phrases and only subtle hints of the rhythmic contrasts and cross-accents typical of the folk music Dvořák loved. The middle section, with the melody introduced by a flute, shows these traits more strongly; note the "boom, boom, da-boom" accompaniment, first in the low strings, then in timpani and horns. The sense that two completely separate things are going on at the same time, and yet miraculously harmonize with each other, comes out strongly in this section, as in many of Dvořák's other characteristic dances. The movement continues with a repeat of the first section (I think of this as an ABA structure, rather than a scherzo-and-trio), then wraps up with a coda in 2/4 time.

Movement IV, Allegro ma non troppo, opens with a fanfare-like theme stated, for beginners, by the trumpets in unison. A contrastingly contemplative cello theme appears, followed by a variation in the bass and a countermelody above; then the orchestra breaks out in a paroxysm of hysterical joy that frames a variation in which the flute elaborates on the melody. The return of the paroxysm signals a minor-mode passage that combines a loose variation on the cello theme with a kind of thematic development, building up to a thrilling return of the fanfare theme at about 4'30". The excitement subsides, and the cello theme returns as before. This time it is followed by two or three variations that increasingly relax the listener, growing gradually softer and slower. I say "two or three" because the last "variation" kind of falls asleep on itself, inviting your head to nod - and thereby sets you up for a bracing shock as the "paroxysm of hysterical joy" returns, straining the orchestra to its limit. This time, instead of introducing a flute variation, the paroxysm is extended into a noisy coda filled with shouting brass, pounding timpani, and chromatic* running-about.

The first time I heard Dvořák's Eighth, I was left in awe. I admire it to this day. It is an exciting piece full of breathtaking beauties, blazes of joy, and dark shadows filled with pain. It has ribald jokes, noble gestures, and passages of yearning sensitivity. Its structural argument is original and astoundingly clever. It shows a composer who could combine themes effortlessly, a master of orchestral coloration and dramatic shape, a patriot who took inspiration from the music of his people and brought it into the world of art and culture. And it sticks in one's head. The first time you hear it, you will be amazed that you hadn't come to know it sooner; on each subsequent hearing you will be equally amazed by the feeling of being greeted by a friend.

*That is, moving up and down by half-steps. IMAGES: Photos and a portrait of Antonín Dvořák, with apologies to Corbis and Superstock.

EDIT: In the video below, somebody named Dane Lam conducts the first movement of this symphony.

Reading Brahms's 4th

Though he may now be considered one of the great masters of the Romantic symphony, Johannes Brahms (1833-97) wrote surprisingly little in the genre. His earliest efforts as a symphonist resulted eventually in the Piano Concerto No. 1; he fussed over his first real symphony for fifteen years, completing it in 1876 when he was well into his forties; and after completing his Fourth Symphony in 1885 (not even ten years later!), he never wrote another. During the last decade of his life, Brahms wrote increasingly intimate works for chamber ensemble, solo voice, and keyboard - pieces treasured by lovers of his music - but it does lead one to wonder what might have become of Brahms's Fifth Symphony. Alas, we have to enjoy his Symphony No. 4 in E minor while knowing it was his last.

What did music lovers of Brahms's time think of it? One critic declared that a four-hand piano arrangement of the work gave him "the feeling that two enormously clever people were cudgeling one another." Many of the composer's contemporaries took a similar first impression of this symphony, a reaction of shock and incomprehension; and this included not only the followers of Wagner (who could never condemn Brahms enough), but even many of his friends. Nevertheless Clara Schumann wrote that the Fourth "created a beautiful hour for me, captivating me through its richness in colour and its beauty otherwise." Joseph Joachim, who conducted an 1886 performance of the piece (Brahms himself having conducted the premiere) wrote: "The gripping character of the whole, the density of invention, the wonderfully intertwined growth of the motifs, even more than the richness and the beauty of single parts, I like very much, so that I almost believe the E minor is my favorite among the four symphonies."

Movement I begins at a whisper, its opening theme entering so suddenly and gently that a first-time hearer might be surprised to find it already in progress. Though this sonata movement has the traditional two themes, both themes are based on the same motive: the interval of a falling third, or its alter ego, the rising sixth. The first theme is built out of two-note sighs in the violins, each one echoed in a contrasting rhythm by the woodwinds. The more dramatic second theme - a reversal of the sonata-form convention of making the first theme more assertive than the second - is introduced by the woodwinds in unison. A wealth of contrasting moods and ideas spin out of this material, building to a strident climax before a soft codetta based on the opening theme.

After cleverly feinting at a repeat of the exposition, Brahms veers into a development section. First he teases the opening theme apart and reweaves it in a brusque, contrapuntal texture. Then, he muses over fragments of the second theme, at first softly and mysteriously, then violently. A fresh elaboration of the first theme grows out of this, dying away to a super-soft, fragmentary dialogue between woodwinds and strings. The development section concludes with a moment of low-key poignancy in which Brahms seems to hesitate, reluctant to go on to the recapitulation. This he finally does, reviewing the wealth of material we last heard before the development, and cauterizing the end with a long, fiery coda.

Movement II, "Andante moderato," opens with a horn-call with hints of archaic modes. Brahms then puts this musical idea through numerous transformations. Even what seems, to the inattentive ear, to be contrasting material is really based on this horn call - including a cello theme that seems to embrace you with romantic devotion. After softly returning to the opening theme, Brahms subjects it to a dramatic, sonata-like development. Then the cello theme comes back for its own reworking, rising to a peak of passion before giving way to a mood of uncertainty which only the final return of the horn call can dispel.

Movement III, "Allegro giocoso," written later than the other movements, shows Brahms in a most uncharacteristically bright and humorous mood. The levity includes loud fanfares that attack by surprise, a hearty theme that flips itself upside down, a secondary theme of almost flippant lightness, and the tinkling of a triangle (used only in this movement). Even so there are passages of relatively serious character and techniques, such as counterpoint and thematic development. A slower passange in the middle creates a contrastingly restful moment. The movement concludes in excited jubilation.

For his finale, Brahms ingeniously transforms the eighteenth-century musical form called chaconne - variations on a continuously repeated bass pattern - into a final summation of all his symphonic artistry. Over 32 variations on that initial theme (inspired by a passacaglia in one of J. S. Bach's cantatas) Brahms superimposes something recognizably akin to sonata form. At the same time, he groups his variations into groups like the four movements of a symphony: the opening strong variations, followed by slower and more softly poignant ones, then a contrasting set full of a scherzo's wild rhythmic energy, followed by an amplified return of the opening and a triumphant conclusion.

According to no less an expert than Arnold Schoenberg, the opening motive of the first movement is subtly woven into the end of this movement. His admiration shows that this symphony has a lot more going for it than pure, romantic lushness. It is a tour-de-force of a musician's structural imagination, looking back to the beloved composers of the past (Brahms especially admired Bach, Mozart, and Haydn), employing sophisticated thematic and contrapuntal techniques, and combining new and old forms in a forward-looking way. But don't let that scare you off. Listen for yourself and see if Brahms's last symphony doesn't fascinate you with its mysteries, thrill you with its drama, touch you with its gentle spirit, and delight you with its sense of humor. See if, after all, you don't find it beautiful, powerful, and capable of sparking challenging new thoughts in your mind!

IMAGES: Two photos of Brahms (that product placement must be worth something!); the opening page of the autograph score of the Fourth Symphony; an instrument that figures prominently in the third movement.

EDIT: Here is a video of Carlos Kleiber and the Bavarian State Orchestra performing the finale of Brahms's Fourth.

Horse Tale

I had paused on my way home from work for a pork tenderloin sandwich at Dave & Jacquie's in Defiance, MO - a small-town pub that knows a thing or two about pork tenderloin sandwiches - when I overheard the following confession, related in a loud voice by someone in the bar-room:

"The last time I rode a horse, I almost got killed."

"You don't say."

"It's true. The ornery thing threw me and kept right on going, with my foot caught in the stirrup - "

"That'll do for you, all right."

" - And I had just about given myself up when the manager came out of the Wal-Mart and pulled the plug."

Then, more loudly, over the groans and laughter: "That there was a quarterhorse. And I asked for my quarter back!"

Johann Crüger

Here's a "control specimen" to balance against my study of tackiness in hymnody. Johann Crüger (1598-1662) is one of the all-time greatest hymn tune composers. In 1640 he published his first hymnal, which introduced the genre of hymns for the home, or private devotional use. He collaborated extensively with Paul Gerhardt and Johann Heermann. His 1647 Praxis pietatis melica became the most significant hymnal of its time, going through dozens of editions.

Crüger left behind 70 chorale melodies, "distinguished by their fusion of simplicity suited to the congregation with expressive declamation and rhythmic flexibility, the latter being due largely to the incorporation of Calvinist models" (Robert L. Marshall/Robin A. Leaver in Grove Music Online). In other words, his chorales are easy enough for an average congregation and its organist to learn and perform; they speak a musical language accessible to us, firmly rooted in the modern major-minor tonal system; and each one, within the limits of its miniature form, makes a musical argument that delights the mind (beauty) and the heart (sensitivity).

The melodies of Crüger have found a significant place in Anglophone Lutheran hymnals, often linked to translations of the Gerhardt and Heermann hymns with which they were originally linked. His tunes also influenced later composers, forming the basis of works by J. S. Bach and other masters of sacred choral and instrumental music. Here are the Crüger tunes English-speaking Lutherans have sung in the past century:

Auf, auf, mein HerzThis tune is firmly wedded to Paul Gerhardt's Easter hymn "Awake, my heart, with gladness." It takes a good deal of energy to sing it, but it gives energy too: a hymn full of noble triumph, suggesting a dance of joy while, at the same time, standing in awe of the incomprehensible mystery of Christ's resurrection. With its use of the pronoun "I," Gerhardt's text may (strictly speaking) be better suited to private devotions than congregational use. But we also use the pronoun "I" in the creed. This hymn's confession is as beneficial for all as for one.

Du, o schönes WeltgebäudeTo my knowledge, the only Anglophone hymnal to use this tune is the Evangelical Lutheran Hymnary (Ev. Luth. Synod, 1996). The text given with it is "Of my life the life, O Jesus," Richard Massie's translation of the E. C. Homburg passion hymn which, in Catherine Winkworth's more familiar version, begins: "Christ, the life of all the living"; which, in turn, is usually sung to the tune Jesu, meines Lebens Leben. The ELHy actually has both versions in it. The contrast makes for an interesting study. The Winkworth version, with its major-key tune, accents the benefits we reap and the gratitude we return, while the Massie/Crüger version portrays Christ's suffering in a more somber, penitent mood. I like both versions, and I believe this tune deserves to be better known.

Fröhlich soll mein HerzeThe Gerhardt Christmas hymn "All my heart this night rejoices" goes with this tune in most Lutheran hymnals. Sometimes identified as All my heart this night and Christmas Joy, this tune is a fine example of a hymn that uses the nativity of Jesus to offer comfort to the suffering, assurance of forgiveness to fearful sinners, and a strong testimony to God's grace. J. G. Ebeling's tune Warum sollt ich mich is similar in meter, rhythm, and melodic shape. Both are lovely, affecting tunes; but this one mounts ever higher in its joyful praise, building steadily to an ecstatic climax.

Herr, ich habe missgehandeltSt. NicholasThis tune epitomizes Crüger's genius: serious enough to handle texts about sin, repentance, and sacrifice; yet objective enough to be used as a doxological hymn. Alternately known as Aaberg and Deep and Glorious, and similar enough to the tune St. Nicholas to be considered one and the same, I have found it set to the hymns "Deep and glorious, Word victorious"; "Glory be to God the Father"; "Jesus, who for my transgression"; and "Though we long, in sin-wrought blindness." Most hymnals, however, pair this hymn with Johann Franck's penitential hymn "Lord, to Thee I make confession."

Herr, wie langeAustralian Lutherans have sung this tune to the Kaspar Neumann hymn "God, from all eternity." It is a serious, handsome, strongly built melody that deserves to be revived.

Herzliebster JesuAlso known as Father, most holy and Suffering Savior, this is yet another Crüger triumph, appearing in almost every Lutheran hymnal since 1640, and probably many besides - particularly in conjunction with Heermann's long passion hymn "O dearest Jesus, what law hast Thou broken." It is one of the best-known tunes in its meter (11.11.11.5.), so it has also gained more or less currency with such hymns as "Christ, Thou the champion," "Father, most holy," "Lord of our life and God of our salvation," "O Lord, our Father, shall we be confounded," and "Turn, Lord, Thy wrath away." Although I associate some of these hymns with other tunes, the only pairing I consider unfortunate in the above is "Christ, Thou the Champion," whose meter requires a series of slurred phrase-endings, a feminizing effect that favors neither the text nor this stern, mournful tune.

Jesu, meine FreudeRarely identified as Gaudeo, this magnificent melodic jewel is inextricably welded to Johann Franck's classic hymn "Jesus, priceless treasure" - a pairing found in almost every hymnal I have studied. Some books of a Scandinavian persuasion do substitute L. M. Lindeman's Gud skal alting mage, itself a lovely melody that deserves a wider audience. But I would never give up this tune or the many keyboard and choral masterpieces it has inspired.

Jesus, meine ZuversichtThis tune first came to light in the 1653 edition of Praxis pietatis melica, which is as close to being attributed to Crüger as it needs to be. Today it can be found under a variety of titles, including Brandenburg, Ratisbon, Why art thou cast down, and Jesus Christ, my sure Defense. This last title is taken from the hymn by Otto von Schwerin with which it is most closely linked; I stopped counting when I found this pairing in 11 hymnals. It has also proved most versatile, pinch-hitting for such hymns as "Go, my soul to Calvary," "Heavenward still our pathway tends," "Jesus, Master, at Thy Word," "Jesus sinners doth receive," "Light of light, enlighten me," "O how holy is this place," "Rise, O Salem, rise and shine," "Tender Shepherd, Thou hast stilled," "Why art thou cast down, my soul," and "Wilt Thou not, my Shepherd true," and in at least half a dozen hymnals, Gellert's Easter hymn "Jesus lives! the victory's won." It is from this last-named hymn that I have learned to associate the last phrase of this tune with the words "This shall be my confidence," a sentiment that sums up the character of this deservedly celebrated tune.

Lob sei dem allmächtigen GottAlso known as Ryden, this is a simple, appealing, perfectly structured tune, though it lacks somewhat of musical interest. Having found several different versions (including two different endings) of this tune, I wonder if there isn't an original, "rhythmic" version buried somewhere. Nevertheless, three American Lutheran hymnals have made use of this tune, pairing it with "Great God, a blessing from your throne," "How blessed is this place, O Lord," "Not always on the mount may we," and "O Paschal feast, what joy is thine."

Lobet den Herren, alleOne Australian book pairs this tune with the hymn "O Lord, our Father, shall we be confounded." One American book pairs it with "O God, be with us, for the night is falling." A handsome, confident tune in the same meter as Herzliebster Jesu, but with a considerably brighter profile, I believe this piece could a very useful.

MarburgIn setting the Isaac Watts hymn "When I survey the wondrous cross" to this tune, the old Ev. Luth. Hymn-Book says it was adapted from Crüger by Herman Ilse, 1910. It is a serious, energetic, prayerful tune. I don't know how much credit Ilse deserves for its effectiveness: perhaps as much as Lowell Mason deserves for Hamburg, a tune adapted from the First Gregorian Tone and more often paired with this hymn.

Nicht so traurigNot to be confused with a tune by J. G. Ebeling by the same name (which ELHB sets to "Every morning mercies new"), this seems to be the Australian tune-of-choice for "Go to dark Gethsemane." Somber, tender, movingly bittersweet, it seems closely related to Herr, ich habe missgehandelt; possibly an abbreviated version of it.

Nun danket all’ und bringet EhrImpossible to confuse with J. G. C. Störl's obscure tune by the same name (which, confusingly, is also known by two other names and appears in both a rhythmic and an isometric form), this chorale may also be found under the titles Crüger and Thanksgiving. As an energetic, cheerful melody in the Common Meter (CM), it gets shoved together with a lot of different texts: "All ye who on this earth do dwell"; "Arise, the kingdom is at hand"; "Come, let us join our cheerful songs"; "Father of glory, to Thy name"; "Let children hear the mighty deeds"; "Lord, while for all mankind we pray"; "Majestic sweetness sits enthroned"; "O Lord, I sing with mouth and heart"; "Rejoice, my heart, be glad and sing"; "Songs of immortal praise belong"; "There is a name I love to hear"; "This is the day the Lord hath made"; "To God be glory, peace on earth"; "Welcome, Thou Victor in the strife"; and "While shepherds watched their flocks by night." Bottom line: everybody sings it.

Nun danket alle Gott (rhythmic)(isometric)If you are wondering what I meant earlier when I distinguished between the "rhythmic" and the "isometric" version of a hymn tune, check this out. The original version has more rhythmic variety, and isn't afraid of phrases that don't fit into a steady 4/4 pattern. Don't be fooled by a misconception; however. Isometric versions of the old chorales were not introduced because the rhythmic versions were too hard for people to sing; nor did they come in because of Pietism and its disdain for objective beauty and elaborate ceremony. In fact, composers like Bach used isometric versions chiefly because they planned to weave them into intricate, contrapuntal textures and color them with rich, dramatic harmonies; so they needed to strip the tunes down to their musical essence.

Rhythmic or otherwise, this tune is most closely associated with Martin Rinckart's hymn "Now thank we all our God," as at least a dozen Lutheran hymnals of my acquaintance can attest. Besides that, it has also been set to "Lord God, we worship Thee" (by Johann Franck); "O Lord, we welcome Thee" (Caspar Ziegler's Christmas hymn); "O seek the Lord today"; "The Lord, my God, be praised" (by Johann Olearius); "To Thee, eternal God"; and "To Thee, O God, we raise."

O Jesu Christ, dein KrippleinEnglish-speaking Lutherans may associate this tune with either, or both, of two Christmas hymns: Caspar Füger's "We Christians may rejoice today," and more generally Paul Gerhardt's "O Jesus Christ, Thy manger is." Also known as Manger, this tune is warm, gentle, sweet, and lyrical. It catches both the ear and the heart, unforgettably. Nevertheless, I don't think these hymns are widely used these days. This can and should change.

O wie seligBoth Crüger and J. G. Stötzel composed a tune by this name for the hymn "O how blest are ye whose toils are ended." Stötzel's wonderful tune seems to have the advantage over this one, which I have found in only two Anglophone hymnals. Nevertheless, Crüger's version is a gorgeous, graceful, gentle, consoling melody that ought, at least, to be offered as an alternate tune. 8 out of 10 congregations may choose to sing the other tune, but the remaining 2 know what they are missing.

Schmücke dichThe fact that there are so few good Communion hymns perhaps accounts for the fact that, in all likelihood, this is Johann Crüger's most widely known tune. Everybody sings it to Johann Franck's "Soul, adorn thyself with gladness" (a.k.a. "Deck thyself, my soul, with gladness"), a personal, devotional meditation on the Lord's Supper. This haunting tune has done much to make it a favorite hymn: reverent, tender, full of intense feeling and a touch of pathos, yet without falling prey to sentimentality. The chorale has also inspired many musical tributes, including a magnificent prelude by no less a composer than Brahms. It has also made friends with several other hymn texts: "By Thy cross, O Christ, and passion"; "Feed Thy Children, God most holy"; "God be with you now and ever"; and "Now we join in celebration."

Von Gott will ich nicht lassenThis is probably less well-known than the tune by the same name (also known as Gerhardt), which most of us associate with Ludwig Helmbold's hymn "From God shall naught divide me." Both tunes, confusingly, have been sung to the hymn "O enter, Lord, Thy temple," on which see Zeuch ein below. Crüger's tune has also been paired with "Lo, God to heaven ascendeth." Out of some 20 hymnals published on two continents, I found this tune in only two books, used one time each, with different texts and with such noteworthy differences in the melodic shape that I am compelled to show it here in both versions. I consider version A (from the Australian Lutheran Hymnal) a more credible representation of Crüger's work than B (from ELHB). It is a charming, assertive, tragically overlooked tune with a slight, superficial resemblance to So nimm denn meine Hände. As a tune for "Lo, God to heaven ascendeth" I think it holds much promise, particularly as the tune more often used (Aus meines Herzens Grunde) is somewhat overused.

Wach auf, mein GeistThe 1930 American Lutheran Hymnal divides its attribution of this tune between Crüger (1653) and Johann Schop (1642). I'm not sure what this means: perhaps that it was first published in the 1653 edition of Crüger's hymnal; or perhaps Crüger's version was a significant improvement on a previously published tune by Schop. ALH paired this tune with the hymn "Behold, by grace and grace alone." Its structural weaknesses (e.g. the tonic cadence at the repeat sign) may explain why this tune doesn't get out more often, though something about it sticks in one's head. Note the similarity of this tune to the 17th century Czech melody Judah's Lion:The Lutheran Hymnal (1941) set the Czech Easter hymn "Lo, Judah's Lion wins the strife" to this tune. You may have to hum through it to spot the (possible) relationship. Or have I spent so much time humming hymn tunes that I'm hearing things?

Wie soll ich dich empfangenThis beautiful tune, full of unstrained, natural, deep emotion, is chiefly linked to Paul Gerhardt's Advent hymn "O Lord, how shall I meet Thee," also translated as "O how shall I receive Thee." Many of us are more accustomed to singing this hymn to Valet will ich dir geben, an atrociously overused tune that TLH offers as an alternate. I think Crüger's original, with its touchingly ardent spirit, is a better match for this hymn. The editors of at least 7 Anglophone hymnals thought it was a good match. Plus, "Light of the Gentile nations" and "Today Thy mercy calls us" have also been set to this tune. Which is better: version A or B? Alas, I can't decide; they both have their fine points!

Zeuch einI find it sadly curious that only two American hymnals - TLH and its predecessor ELHB - offer this tune along with Gerhardt's Pentecost hymn "O enter, Lord, Thy temple." It is such an underrated masterpiece, one of Lutheranism's strongest Pentecost hymns! Joyful, beautiful, well-written, touching, its only drawback seems to be that it isn't by either Luther or Rhabanus Maurus, whose hymns own Pentecost and most other occasions when red vestments are used. My heart aches to think how many Lutherans have never felt the kind touch of this melody and the spiritual poem it accompanies. What can be done about it? Teach it to the choir, the children, the youth, and have them sing it to the congregation. Perhaps its value will be more widely seen.

MISCELLANEOUS: Here are a handful of additional tunes by that I found in non-English Lutheran hymnals. This is only scratching the surface; I haven't really done much looking. But if you know where I live, and you are in funds, I would be delighted to receive a facsimile (a microfilm printout would do) of the 1647 edition of Praxis pietatis melica.

Ach, wie flüchtigAgain, this tune's attribution is split between Michael Franck (1652) and Johann Crüger (1661). I consider it a sister to Ach, was soll ich Sünder machen, the tune to which one may have sung "O how great is Thy compassion."

Dank sei Gott in der HöheAgain, the attribution of this tune is splite between J. H. Schein (1627) and Crüger (1640, the year he published his first hymnal). It has a deeply serious tone, and sounds archaic compared to Crüger's most characteristic work. Knowing him, and considering that Schein specialized in polyphony, I imagine Crüger's contribution was to bring this melody down to a hymnal level of simplicity.

Lobet den Herren und dankt ihmHere is yet another sister to Herzliebster Jesu. For once, Crüger gets sole credit for it.

Schwing dich aufThis is quite different from J. G. Ebeling's tune by the same name, a bright major-key number which TLH sets to "Come, ye faithful, raise the strain," and an Australian hymnal to "With the Lord begin thy task." Crüger's version, in contrast, is in a minor mode and filled with rhythmic surprises. Perhaps this accounts for why it hasn't crossed the Atlantic.

Sei Lob und EhrCrüger (1653) shares credit for this tune with Guillame Franc (1543) in what is certainly a case of adaptation: for it is readily apparent that this tune is a simplified cousin of the one known to us as Rendez à Dieu, or sometimes as Navarre (see TLH 100, "Christians, sing out with exultation"; LSB 792, "New songs of celebration render"). Compare for yourselves:

Tackiness, Norwegian Style

When I survey the sheer number of tacky hymns in the Ambassador Hymnal, that 1994 product of pietistic, Norwegian-American Lutherans, I feel an overwhelming sense of discouragement. If I could narrow my life's work to a single task, it would be to fight against the encroachment of pietistic spirituality, and to help restore the heritage of excellent hymns that powerfully confess the whole, Bible-based, Christ-centered, Lutheran faith in all its Gospel comfort.

The enemies I see ranged against me in the Ambassador Hymnal are numerous: a rogue band of doctrinally unclear, spiritually misleading hymns, and every one of them tacky beyond belief. I feel powerless to deal with them individually. So forgive me if I dump them all in one pile, though the stench that rises from it may be overwhelming.

Hymn 14: "Now Jesus at the door is knocking," a hymn by the Norwegian poet Landstad which perpetuates a synergistic misinterpretation of Revelation 3:20 ("Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him, and will dine with him, and he with Me"). The AH editors cherry-picked their favorite parts of three translations. This, in my opinion, compounds the dishonesty of taking a text where Christ reproves erring Christians and twisting it to teach that unbelievers must invite Christ into their heart. This shows how the fundamental assumption of "revival"-based churchmanship (the decision for Christ) conflicts with the faith taught by Christ, Scripture, and Lutheranism. The presence of such a hymn shows which side of this conflict the Association of Free Lutheran Congregations comes down on. As to whether it's a fluke, read on.

Hymn 24: "It came upon a midnight clear," the product of a 19th-century Unitarian minister which has somehow gained currency as a Christmas carol. Not content with denying the Trinity, author Edmund Sears uses the story of the angels announcing Christ's birth not to tell the wonder of the incarnation or the comfort of God's saving love, but to draw a sentimental picture of the angels' song echoing through the ages and heralding a golden age of peace. I'm not sure whether this means some kind of man-made paradise on earth, a millennial reign of Christ, or what - it lies open to any interpretation except a specifically Christian one. Folks of an Anglican persuasion tend to sing this song to a nice, English traditional tune called Noel, which makes it easier to pass off as a traditional carol; but everyone else (including the AFLC) sings it to Richard Willis' warm, fuzzy, sentimental tune Carol, which should give the fraud away. And yet more and more Lutheran hymnals are buying this snake oil. My awe knows no bounds.

Hymn 31: "Thou didst leave Thy throne and Thy kingly crown," Emily Steele Elliott's 19th-century anthem to the humiliation of God's Son, with the refrain: "O come to my heart, Lord Jesus: There is room in my heart for Thee." Timothy R. Matthews' tune Margaret adds just the right tint of nauseating sentimentality to this prayer, which thoughtlessly (?) neglects to mention any means by which Jesus is to enter us, such as Word, sacrament, etc.

Hymn 48: "Shout the glad tidings, exultantly sing." William Muhlenberg's Christmas text is all right, but I stand by what I said earlier about John Goss's tune Glad Tidings.

Hymn 62: "Beneath the cross of Jesus I fain would take my stand." This does for Mary Magdalene at the foot of the cross what "In the Garden" does for ditto at the empty tomb. The word "fain" in the second line should serve as a warning of what is to come. Elizabeth Clephane wrote both the text and the tune, St. Christopher, which is about as smarmy as they come.

Hymn 71: "Jesus, keep me near the Cross," a mourner's-bench ballad with words by Fanny Crosby and music by William Doane. The refrain croons: "In the Cross, in the Cross, Be my glory ever; Till my raptured soul shall find Rest beyond the river." Just what the church needs: a hymn that locates the benefits of Jesus' death in our own pious imagination.

Hymn 72: "What wondrous love is this, O my soul!" Actually I think this is a lovely document of early American religious art. As an hour-of-worship hymn, however, it leaves much to be desired. For all the time it takes to sing, precious little content is delivered. Its four stanzas employ much repetition, and the tempo is fairly slow. It's the kind of song that makes me want to yell: "Get to the point already!"

Hymn 76: "The hour in dark Gethsemane," whose text by Edward Hammond concludes with the refrain "Gethsemane, Gethsemane, I must remember thee, Where God's eternal Son I saw In pray'r on bended knee." The tune In Dark Gethsemane, by Asa Hull is unspeakably tedious; the refrain, for example, goes to the same notes as the verses. That means not 4 but 8 repetitions of the same pale, flaccid music. And again, it places the believer on the scene of Christ's passion, "in spirit gazing around." Which is to say, it places the work of Christ in our suggestible imagination and our changeable feelings. This is not how God operates.

Hymn 77: "He was wounded for our transgressions." Actually, I think this could be all right as a choir piece, though Merrill Dunlop's tune (named after himself) orbits at the outer limit of touchy-feeliness. The text by Thomas Chisholm is a fairly straightforward versification of Isaiah's "suffering servant" prophecy of Christ. But would I have the congregation sing this? Never. In fact, it so strongly suggests a soloist with a trembling voice that I'm not even sure how a choir version of this music would jive with the musical context of a Lutheran worship service.

Hymn 78: "The Old Rugged Cross," words and music by George Bennard. I will let Wiki speak for me on this one. I merely want to mention a funny thing that happened to me at a funeral. During the visitation I was playing selections out of The Lutheran Hymnal on a soft registration, when a relative of the departed approached me and sniffed, "I hope that at the funeral tomorrow you will play some Lutheran music." I asked her for an example of what she meant by "Lutheran music," and this hymn is the example she gave me. Now that is depressing.

Hymn 83: "Were you there," an African-American spiritual which, in four successive stanzas, repeatedly asks (3 times each) whether you were there when they crucified my Lord, when they nailed Him to the tree, when they laid Him in the tomb, and when God rose up from the grave. The refrain - the only part of the text that isn't a question - offers the following profound observation: "Oh, oh, oh, oh! Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble." That's all this "hymn" gives you, and three-fourths of it is a total downer. Its limitations are obvious. Good Friday is the only day of the year when it could be considered remotely appropriate. And yet, when I was a parish pastor, I once had to be quite firm with a church choir that wanted to sing this song on Easter Sunday.

Hymn 84: "'Man of Sorrows!' what a name," also known by its title (also its refrain) "Hallelujah, what a Savior!" Of the words and music by Philip Bliss the best I can say is that they are brief. Theologically the five, three-line stanzas are OK, but the refrain should sufficiently illustrate the hymn's want of style.

Hymn 85: "'Tis midnight, and on Olive's Brow," which in contrast to No. 84 has more style that it strictly needs. William B. Tappan's description of Jesus' suffering in Gethsemane drips poetic diction and oozes emotion. As for William Bradbury's tune Olive's Brow, just wait. One of these days I am going to devote a blog post to this hymn tune composer of transcendent smarminess.

Hymn 90: "O come and mourn with me awhile," Frederick W. Faber's turn at using Christ's crucifixion to toy with our emotions. I have already blogged on John B. Dykes, whose tune St. Cross is used here.

Hymn 111: "Low in the grave He lay," words and music by Robert Lowry. The music is one of those harmonically bland part-songs where the lower parts often furnish an echo effect. The verses are simplistic, while the somewhat faster refrain is marchlike: "Up from the grave He arose (He arose), With a mighty triumph o'er His foes (He arose)..." It goes on and on.

Hymn 120: "Golden harps are sounding," an Ascension hymn with words and music by Frances Havergal, to whom I also need to devote an entire post sometime. Like No. 111 and so many others in this book, this hymn and its creator are 19th century products through and through. The impulse to preserve that heritage is symptomatic of a misguided conservatism that chooses an unfortunate moment of church history to repristinate. Had they picked a time when Luther's doctrine still lived, perhaps they would be more Lutheran.

Hymn 121: "There's a Kingdom fair and gently looming," Oscar Overby's hymn set to his arrangement of a traditional melody which this book called Herre Gud, but which I have elsewhere come to know as Deus fortis. Overby betrays his Reformed leanings by emphasizing the monarchy of God, even as far as using the word "sov'reignty."

Hymn 124: "Open my eyes, that I may see," a Pentecost hymn with words and music by Clara Scott. One's immediate impression of this hymn will be based on its music, which has more in common with the theatre of its day (again, the late 19th century) than with any church I know. The refrain says: "Silently now, I wait for Thee, Ready my God, Thy will to see; ...illumine me, Spirit divine!" Are we Quakers now? Shall we sit quietly and wait for the Holy Spirit to zap us?

Hymn 130: "Holy Spirit, faithful Guide," words and music by Marcus Wells, with the refrain "Whisp'ring softly, 'Wand'rer come! Follow Me, I'll guide thee home.'" Again, a bland part-song, typical for its era, with hackneyed rhymes such as "fear/drear" and "sore/o'er." If I had to go to a church that sang this type of song, I would die of boredom. Spiritually, at least.

Hymn 142: "Faith of our fathers, living still," an anthem to a vague sense of religious conservatism by Frederick Faber, suggested every time the tune St. Catherine plays on the church carillon system in your neighborhood.

Hymn 156: "One day when heaven was filled with His praises," an End Times hymn by Wilbur Chapman (words) and Charles Marsh (music). The text is a passable summary of the Second Article of the Creed, albeit with an annoying persistence of the phrase "one day." The tune is another one of those bland part-songs that threaten to make the church sound like a mediocre vaudeville act.

Hymn 159: "It may be at morn," also known by the title "Christ Returneth." H. L Turner's lyrics have a little-by-means-of-much prolixity typical of their time (guess which century), giving an unintened irony to the refrain's "how long, how long." James McGranahan's tune is simply, unspeakably awful.

I have not even begun to exhaust the tackiness of the Ambassador Hymnal. I've devoted enough time and space to it for today, however. Much more remains for future installments, which will document a Billy Sunday spirituality encroaching on the Lutheran church. If it can happen to the AFLC, it can happen to your church too!

IMAGES: Homer Rodeheaver, William Bradbury, Frances Havergal, and a bunch of other folks.

Tacky Hymns 5

One of the crassest examples of old-time revival music snaking its way into Lutheran worship is Hymn 548 in The Ambassador Hymnal, published in 1994 under the auspices of the Association of Free Lutheran Congregations (successors of a group of Norwegian-American pietists who held themselves aloof from the synodical merger mania of the 1960s). With gorge rising I give you "In the Garden," words and music by C. Austin Miles (1868-1946):

I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses;
And the voice I hear, falling on my ear,
The Son of God discloses.
And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own,
And the joy we share as we tarry there
None other has ever known.

He speaks, and the sound of His voice
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing;
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.
And He walks with me, etc.

I'd stay in the garden with Him
Tho' the night around me be falling;
But He bids me go - through the voice of woe,
His voice to me is calling,
And He walks with me, etc.

All I want to know is: Where did anyone get the idea this was a hymn? Based on Mary Magdalene's encounter with the risen Christ, it doesn't even accurately portray that; and I daresay most people who enjoy this song aren't even conscious of that much.

In what sense are we participants in Mary's alleged experience? How are we meant to relate to the experience described in this hymn? I never heard a voice from heaven while walking alone in a dewy rose-garden. I don't look for it to happen in the future. I wouldn't trust anyone who claimed to have received a direct, unique, verbal revelation from Christ - even if it was such a waffly, vague revelation as the one described here.

So why should this be the congregation's sung confession? Why should it be our message - and what is its message, anyway? What we are saying, as we croon these words, is neither truthful from a narrative standpoint nor faithful from a theological one. We are describing events that never happened and suggesting a form of spirituality that flies in the face of God's will. It's hardly more than a wallow in self-indulgent fantasy, a view of a romantic tête-à-tête blurred by its own rosy effusion. We might as well sing John Masefield's "Sea-Fever," or Rudyard Kipling's "If," either of which brings a catch to my throat every time I recite it, though neither is actually relevant to my life. "In the Garden" is no more a Christian confession than these.

Musically, all I can say is: Eurgh. Tacky! I suppose it's all right when Homer Rodeheaver does it, but what is a Lutheran congregation supposed to do with this music? I'm too rotund to hide under a hassock, but when I hear a churchful of indifferent singers bellowing this tent meetin' aria in unison (accompanied, one often finds, by a Hammond organ con tan vibrato come possibile), I feel an urge to try. The effect is altogether mortifying - and not only to the flesh.

Tacky Hymns 4

Today's ode to tackiness is Hymn 84 in All God's People Sing! - a title which, I gather from the exclamation point, is in the imperative mood; otherwise it would be hard to take seriously. Frankly, the whole book (Concordia Publishing House, 1992) is difficult to take seriously. Nevertheless I have seen it in the pews of LCMS churches. I can only regard this as a sign of the end times.

Here's a hymn called "Circle of Friends," with words and music by David Morstad. The only words that can possibly convey the tackiness of Morstad's music are Morstad's lyrics:

Friends all gather here in a circle.
It has no beginning and it has no end.
Face to face, we all have a place in God's own circle of friends.
Hey there *__! How do you do?
Who's that friend sitting close to you?
Thank the Lord for *__ has a place in the circle too.
Take a look around. Find someone near.
Take him (her) by the hand, say "Glad you're here."
We're together and when we've gone,
God's love like a circle rolls on and on and on.

It's all sung to one long stanza, with a repeat sign at the end (to double your discomfort). The final "on" is held for three whole measures.

Wow. Now that's a hymn that stirs up deeply buried (not to say repressed) memories. Squirm-inducing memories of gatherings from which I wanted to flee. People so friendly and welcoming that they scared me to death. A Pentecostal church that some crazy woman dragged me to (all right, it was my mother), and where, even at age ten, I was so struck by a sense of wrongness that I felt physically ill. Memories like that are among the reasons I never, ever, want to be anything but a Lutheran. And now I can relive them at a Lutheran church near me!

Maybe this is a good time to acknowledge one of the things that makes me such a fat stupid jerk, the type of person likely to be his own "circle of friends": I hate to be pushed around. I especially hate when it is done in a "nice" way. So I am glad Lutheranism found me before Pentecostalism did. If I had been raised in a religious tradition that trades on manipulation, mass emotion, and groupthink, I would probably have ended up hating Christianity. Children's sermons and Sunday school songs were almost more than I could endure, even in the Lutheran church; but at least I could look forward to adulthood when my church would no longer require me to participate in precious little role-play games. I didn't want group therapy. I wanted to hear the Bible's bitter truths and comforting promises frankly explained. And, apart from what the Word itself accomplished in me, I wanted to be left alone.

"Circle of Friends"-type church gatherings may attract some weak-minded and emotionally needy individuals. But how shall a critical thinker be saved? "Circle of Friends"-type songs may make nice ice-breakers at an informal gathering of outgoing, unselfconscious people; but where does that leave the man or woman who believes, as I nearly do, that good taste is next to godliness?