The Fredösphere

Today's post is later than usual because I attended a funeral for Ruth Sutton, the accompanist for the Ann Arbor Cantata Singers during the time I sang with them.  I'll always be grateful to Ruth because she slogged through some really tough piano writing that I imposed on her when the Cantata Singers premiered my setting of God's Judgment on a Wicked Bishop.  Revisiting that score lately made me ask myself, "wasn't there some way I could have achieved the effect with fewer notes?"

In a eulogy, a choir director described a time when Ruth accompanied a choir in a European Cathedral.  The choir sang in a tiny balcony, and the organ was located in a kind of enclosed pit.  No eye contact was possible between the director and Ruth, but he was able to communicate with her by standing behind her and tapping his foot against her backside.  As the tempos increased, his tapping became more energetic, to the point of pain.  For the sake of the music, Ruth said nothing and continued to play.  Afterward, she told him, "finally, I've learned what it means to turn the other cheek."

Wow.  I really wasn't expect to hear that kind of vulgar humor at the Presbyterian church on a somber Friday afternoon.  I suppose it means that, like the Catholic church, they've made a few ... changes.