The Influence of The Negro Spiritual on the Cello Music of African American Composers" (Guest Lecture-Recital, Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, Louisville, KY, 24 February 2009)...

Guest Lecture-Recital: "The Negro Spiritual as “Evolved Through The Oral Tradition”

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.  This evening’s program is a unique “exercise” in performance, written and lectured discussion of the music of African-American composers using the Negro spiritual as artistic “raw material”.  My doctoral dissertation at The University of Michigan was a series of three public recitals dedicated to the cello music of African-American composers. The third recital was originally conceived as a lecture-recital on the cello music of African-American composers using the Negro spiritual as artistic “inspiration”; however, other programming concerns prevented that plan from germinating to complete fruition. Fortunately twelve years later, this evening’s program serves to provide due “address” to this proposed lecture and performance topic.  My “lecture” might best open with a recited reference made to poetry, the poem “Yet Do I Marvel” of Countee Cullen, one of the poet laureates of the Harlem Renaissance: 

I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind,
And did He stoop to quibble could tell why
The little buried mole continues blind,
Why flesh that mirrors Him must some day die,
Make plain the reason tortured Tantalus
Is baited by the fickle fruit, declare
If merely brute caprice dooms Sisyphus
To struggle up a never-ending stair.

Inscrutable His ways are, and immune
To catechism by a mind too strewn
With petty cares to slightly understand
What awful brain compels His awful hand.

Yet do I marvel at this curious thing:

To make a poet black, and bid him sing!  

In this poem the “undoubtable goodness” and “inscrutable ways” of God are given 

compact ponderance in the form of a sonnet.  The figures of Joseph or certainly Job 

might be nominally implied within this line of questions, which strangely appear in 

text without the expected marking of punctuation, but still contain the ironic word of 

inquisition--“why”.  Cullen calls upon more than just Biblical imagery to illustrate the 

“marvelous thing” that he is pondering.  He also includes the Greek mythological 

“deographies” of Tantalus and Sisyphus, who command notorious places in the anti-

pantheon of Olympian ne’er-do-wells!!  Tantalus was king of Lydia and son of Zeus, 

ruler of the gods. Tantalus was honored above all other mortals by the gods. He ate at

their table on Olympus, and once they even came to dine at his palace. To test their 

omniscience, Tantalus killed his only son, Pelops, boiled him in a cauldron, and served 

him at the banquet. The gods, however, realized the nature of the food. They restored

Pelops to life and devised a terrible punishment for Tantalus. He was hung forever from a 

tree in Tartarus and afflicted with tormenting thirst and hunger. Under him was a pool of 

water, but when he stooped to drink, the pool would sink from sight. The tree above him 

was laden with pears, apples, figs, ripe olives, and pomegranates, but when he reached 

for them the wind blew the laden branches away. The word tantalize is derived from this 

story. Such “immortal retribution”, while not of fire and brimstone, sounds ironically 

fitting for those who put God to the test by destroying what comes from God just to see 

what will happen as a result.  Sisyphus was king of Corinth--the son of Aeolus, king of 

Thessaly. Sisyphus saw the god Zeus carry off the beautiful maiden Aegina and told her 

father what he had witnessed. Enraged with Sisyphus, Zeus condemned him to Tartarus, 

where he was compelled for eternity to roll to the top of a steep hill a stone that always 

rolled down again.  This myth speaks of “Zeus venting his rage, with some humor thrown 

in for seasoning”.  While Tantalus was punished for “serving boiled Pelops”, Sisyphus 

was strangely whacked in Mafia-style Olympian retribution—just for being an 

informant!!  At least Aegina was a cute maiden; and obviously being condemned to 

Tartarus was the equivalent of being incarcerated at Alcatraz, Attica, Shawshank or Sing 

Sing!!  Humor aside, Cullen uses these presumably familiar figures in the American cultural 

imagination to personify the struggles of a heterogeneous people whose collective 

ancestors had arrived in what was to become the United States of America two centuries 

before he penned these words.  Due to the fact that sonnets do not traditionally attempt to 

recount detailed history as the saga would do, Cullen saves the true dilemma of his 

contemplation for the closing lines of this sonnet: the God would make a poet black (of 

all the colors of the “racial rainbow”) and make him to sing.

In her paper “O Black and Unknown Bards: The Influence of the Spiritual on American Poetry”, the poet Dee Galloway has written: “Whether referred to as Negro spirituals, black spiritualsor simply the spirituals, the legacy of these simple church songs and folk melodies, passed down from enslaved Africans in North America to their descendents, have had an unprecedented affect on every facet of African American life. Proliferating in the southern United States during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the use of these "sacred" songs was not limited to ritual worship, they served many functions within the slave community – from storytelling to battle cry – they have always been central in black America's struggle for freedom. Today through the work of such musical historians as Bernice Johnson Reagon, Horace Clarence Boyer and Arthur C. Jones, and the dynamic performances if such groups as Sweet Honey in the Rock and The Spirituals Project Choir, the spirituals continue to "speak" to American literature across time.  Poetry and song are essentially two sides of the same coin. They each utilize a kind of compressed language that relies heavily on the connotative and denotative meanings of words, and they each combine this language and imagery in unique ways to elicit or express particular ideas and feelings. 

Music and poetry were always commingled in African culture, and the early slaves brought this tradition with them. In the words of Olaudah Equiano, one of the first West African slaves to write the narrative of his own life: "We are almost a nation of dancers, musicians, and poets (Gates and McKay 143)." In West African culture, each village or tribal clan has its griot, a clan member who is both storyteller and historian. Before the written word, the griot memorized all of a village's significant events such as births, death, marriages, hunts and wars, ensuring the continuity of the collective heritage and culture of the clan. Often accompanied by drummers or the handclapping of the villagers, a griot could speak for hours, even days, drawing upon a practiced and memorized history, passed on from griot to griot for generations. It is said that "when a griot dies, it is as if a library has burned to the ground."[1]

She later writes in the same vein of discussion: “African American poets have always 

drawn from the vast well of material provided by the vernacular tradition. James Weldon 

Johnson, among many things a prolific writer and gifted poet, found his models in 

folklore, particularly in the spirituals and the folk sermons of the black church.” 

Here the varieties of “function” within the whole of the spiritual repertoire should be 

outlined, mainly to avoid the misconceived notion that all Negro spirituals were intended 

solely for use in worship. It should be stressed that the first singers that would form the 

now-legendary Fisk Jubilee Singers were former slaves, and the “sorrow songs” they 

would ultimately sing to the world were the hidden “code” songs that their ancestors used 

as signals for potential movement of fugitive slaves via the Underground Railroad

northward to freedom. Those same songs were certainly also the “collective property of 

the invisible church”, which held services and fed a dispersed and uprooted “flock” as 

they struggled to “sing the songs of Zion in a strange land”.  (Please refer to Psalm 137:4 

when considering this statement.)  Therefore, the varieties of “song-function” within the 

Negro spiritual tradition are the following: the work song, play song, teaching song, 

worship or sermon song, protest song, and of course, the “code song”.  In order for a 

spiritual to be used for manual labor, the only musical element that was a prerequisite 

was an even, singing or marching metrical structure [cf. “Every Time I Think About 

Jesus”, or Calvary”]. Play songs and teaching songs were intended for use with and 

among children.  The most fascinating thing about the recreational and teaching song is 

that they were so inventively deceptive in their structure and presentation (cf. “Oh, What 

A Beautiful City”, “Children, Go Where I Send Thee”—just like the “12 Days of 

Christmas”).  In this song, the dimensions of New Jerusalem are discussed, but that isn’t 

the “only” information being taught!!  Mathematics—multiplication and division and 

maybe some higher math as well are contained within the “twelve gates to the City—

Allelu!!” While most colonial “states” would make the teaching of a slave to read illegal, 

the spirituals occasionally served to supplant such “mal-legislative” intentions.  While 

many period memoirs of accounts with slaves described them as “childlike” and “happy 

when singing and dancing”, we are wise to remember that these descriptions are 

subjective measurements of the exception within this phenomenon of human behavior 

called chattel slavery--and not the rule.  The rule was the will of the slave-driver; and if 

the slave owner was not able to be on hand at all times, it fell to the “driver” to exact a 

Draconian control and vengeance against any and all slaves who disobeyed his orders in 

the fields, the slave cabins and every place else in between.  Songs of socialization and 

accountability were taught and perpetuated among the slave community [cf. “You Better 

Mind How You Walk/Talk”, and “Scandalize My Name”], of watching one’s attitude and 

action, and the avoidance of bearing false witness and keeping confidential information 

confidential.  The “code songs” were numerous--loosely fitted to suit the need of 

“classified message”: “Steal Away”, “I Couldn’t Nobody Pray”, “Follow the Drinking 

Gourd” (which also teaches astronomy!!), “Deep River, “Didn’t My Lord Deliver 

Daniel”, “Go Down, Moses”, etc.  The worship or sermon songs are the best known, and 

also appear to speak of an additional interesting tendency: the graduated degree of 

literacy among the preachers and teacher-composers moving amongst the slaves.  Some 

spirituals read and flow in close textual congruence with hymns of the Wesleyan 

tradition, implying that some of these spirituals may have been “communally composed” 

--as all of them are—but with the leading or aid of professionally-trained ministers 

having consummate skills in verse and Scriptural exegesis.  The best-known examples of 

this type of song would be: “There is a Balm in Gilead”, “Deep River”, “My Soul’s Been 

Anchored in the Lord”, etc. Other spirituals that may come from a tradition less-

connected to professional ministry: “In dat great getting’ up mornin’ (Fare Ye Well)”,  

“The crucified My Lord (an’ He never said a mumblin’ word”).

Without dwelling on the matter of song-categories for too long, I should also comment on 

a few interesting matters present among some of the spirituals as both song and “sung 

Biblical truth”:  Some spirituals provide mirror-like “insight” into the everyday issues of 

slave life.  The song “Shout all over God’s Heaven” is best known for its verse “I got 

shoes…”, which sounds palatable until one remembers that in Rev. 21:21, Heaven will 

have streets paved in gold so pure that it shines like transparent glass!!  I’d walk down 

such a street as that barefoot!!  It is known that in warmer annual climates (depending on 

the economic and personal provisions of the slave-owner, many slaves of working age 

went barefoot, and the younger slave children occasionally went naked.  The reality of 

“food and raiment” supercedes Biblical narrative in importance here for the slave.  

Therefore, the line “I got shoes, you got shoes, all God’s chillun’ got shoes…” makes a 

bit more sense than walking on glass, even if it does happen to be pure gold.  The 

opening line of the spiritual “Peter, go ring dem bells” sounds quite festive--but the 

gospel accounts contain no references to Peter going to any belfries or carillons to “ring 

dem bells”!!  And the phrase “Peter, go outrun John getting to the Tomb of Jesus” 

doesn’t make a good lyric!! Therefore, our communal composers occasionally took 

matters of some artistic and capricious license with the exact Biblical account (a largely 

oral account, mind you) while developing this large body of song repertoire.  It should 

also be borne in mind that the songs we still recognize may only be half of what would be 

were all the variants and obscure versions of these songs to survive.  

The next matter of my discussion here is the “metamorphosis” of the Negro spiritual, 

from a solo and communal folk song that of the choral anthem, solo art song and 

instrumental setting. The solo song (“sorrow song”) became communal when the song 

moved from individual to group utterance, often in work settings or worship settings.  

The communal song became an anthem when the spiritual moved from the free 

expressions of the “invisible church” into the material forms of organized Black 

denominational worship (cf. “Wade in the Water”, commentary the decline of the praise 

house traditions of the South Carolina Sea Islands).  This metamorphosis extends even 

further when we consider in terms of acculturation--what takes place when the various 

melodic and harmonic tendencies of Wesleyan hymnody meet the wide variety of 

melodic ideas coming from the “sound-cultures” of various regions of the African 

continent from which the imported slaves had been brought.  The spirituals heard this 

evening have been given the “aesthetic garb of western art-music”; obviously their style 

and manner still work very well in performance, and the beauty of the melody and the 

pathos of the words aren’t lost with audiences merely because the harmonization is added 

or changed to reflect a different artistic culture.  A list of composers of African descent 

(save one, who was Australian) numbers over thirty, and this list is by no means complete 

nor does it claim total accuracy: Harry T. Burleigh, Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, Robert 

Nathaniel Dett, William Dawson, Clarence Cameron White, Florence Price, Hall 

Johnson, William Grant Still, Edward Boatner, John W. Work, Arthur Benjamin*, 

Undine Smith Moore, Margaret Bonds, Thomas H. Kerr, Jr., Julia Perry, Zenobia Powell 

Perry, Hale Smith, Betty Jackson King, Barbara Cooke; Lena McLin; Jacqueline 

Hairston; John Coates; Moses Hogan, Frederick Hall, Edward Margetson, Nora Holt, 

Lettie Beckon Alston, Stephen M. Newby, William C. Banfield, Frederick Tillis, 

Coleridge-Taylor Perkinson, T. J. Anderson, Adolphus Hailstork, Mark A. Lomax, 

Marian Harrison, Trevor Weston--and the list always goes on and on!!  

The third and final use of the Negro spiritual as “natural resource material” for the 

developed art music tradition of African-American composers, in both vocal and 

instrumental traditions. This tradition is largely an artistic response to the now-legendary 

quote of Bohemian composer Antonin Dvorak, who stated that the seeds of a “great 

national school” could be found in the Negro spirituals that he learned from his close 

friendship with Harry T. Burleigh, one of his students at the National Conservatory of 

Music in New York City. The Lawrence Brown set, and the Barbara Cooke pair are 

examples of arrangements within the spiritual tradition extending to touch the “imported” 

Euro-American art-music tradition.  Yet they move and operate on a similar aesthetic 

wavelength as the vocal tradition of including spirituals on Classical recital programs.  

The difference that will be heard here is twofold: the idea of the “song without words” 

(chant sans parole or Lied ohne Worte) functions automatically, and the element of 

improvisation will play a role within and between the songs that will provide some 

measure of balance in the absence of conveyed message by sung words.

I close this lecture with the reading of the poem provided in your program, “O Black and 

Unknown Bards” by James Weldon Johnson, followed by the remainder of this evening’s 

program.

O black and unknown bards of long ago,

How came your lips to touch the sacred fire?

How, in your darkness, did you come to know

The power and beauty of the minstrel’s lyre?

Who first from midst his bonds lifted his eyes?

Who first from out the still watch, lone and long,

Feeling the ancient faith of prophets rise

Within his dark-kept soul, burst into song?

Heart of what slave poured out such melody

As “Steal away to Jesus”? On its strains

His spirit must have nightly floated free,

Though still about his hands he felt his chains.

Who heard great “Jordan roll”? Whose starward eye

Saw chariot “swing low”? And who was he

That breathed that comforting, melodic sigh,

“Nobody knows de trouble I see”?

What merely living clod, what captive thing,

Could up toward God through all its darkness grope,

And find within its deadened heart to sing

These songs of sorrow, love and faith, and hope?

How did it catch that subtle undertone,

That note in music heard not with the ears?

How sound the elusive reed so seldom blown,

Which stirs the soul or melts the heart to tears.

Not that great German master in his dream

Of harmonies that thundered amongst the stars

At the creation, ever heard a theme

Nobler than “Go down, Moses.” Mark its bars

How like a mighty trumpet-call they stir

The blood. Such are the notes that men have sung

Going to valorous deeds; such tones there were

That helped make history when Time was young.

There is a wide, wide wonder in it all,

That from degraded rest and servile toil

The fiery spirit of the seer should call

These simple children of the sun and soil.

O black slave singers, gone, forgot, unfamed,

You—you alone, of all the long, long line

Of those who’ve sung untaught, unknown, unnamed,

Have stretched out upward, seeking the divine.

You sang not deeds of heroes or of kings;

No chant of bloody war, no exulting paean

Of arms-won triumphs; but your humble strings

You touched in chord with music empyrean.

You sang far better than you knew; the songs

That for your listeners’ hungry hearts sufficed

Still live,—but more than this to you belongs:

You sang a race from wood and stone to Christ.

---

[1]I heard this phrase often while growing up, usually spoken by or about someone in the church who had died.  It wasn't until I was in my thirties that I took the time to find out what a griot was.

Bucket List Recitals and Flowers Bestowed In Vita...Program Notes Given Thereunto (2 March 2018)...

Faculty Recital Program Notes, 2 March 2018

Aulis Sallinen can be justly regarded as the natural successor to the greatest Finnish composer Jean Sibelius. After early experimentation with serialism, Sallinen adopted a clear, diatonic syle that often evokes the cold expanse of Finnish landscapes. With a strong sense of national identity, Finnish traditional melodies often appear in Sallinen’s works, and the subject matter of several of his six operas draw upon native history and folklore, such as The Red Line (set against the backdrop of the first Finnish national election), or Kullervo (based on the Finnish national epic, the Kalevala.  In the same manner of “diatonic expanse” as Sibelius, Sallinen’s Metamorfora reflects a similar expressive disposition as Sibelius’s work for cello and piano, Malinconia, Opus 20 (which is cast in the key of d minor, a whole tone lower than this evening’s opening work, which is in the key of e minor). It was awarded First Prize in the Turku Musical Arts Society Composition Contest in 1974.

Suzanne U. Polak provides an interesting account of the origin of the Three Songs for Cello and Piano: “When I began composition lessons during my undergraduate years at Duquesne University, I simply wrote down whatever themes crossed my mind at any given time.  I also adored the sound of the cello (who doesn’t??), so I fully developed two of the themes and wrote out the piano part as well as the sketches. But I never finished them and they languished away in my notebook. Moving ahead eight years (“in fast forward”), I had three amazingly gifted young cellists in one class at the Pittsburgh High School For The Creative and Performing Arts who are the respective dedicatees of each song—Richard Dannenberg, Michael DePasquale and Peter Levine.  I accompanied them in various competitions and recitals, and they knew that I was a composer and encouraged me to write something for the cello.  I remembered my poor themes from eight years back, and they gradually became this set of songs.  The main themes in Songs I & II have a youthful quality to them, but Song III is more pensive--reflective of my own developing artistic maturity. However, I still find them to be simply what I wanted from the moment I wrote them in their original sketch form: vocal-esque pieces that show the beautiful resonance of the cello that continually calls out to all composers.” Suzanne U. Polak is an alumna of Duquesne University (PA), and also taught at Point Park University. She is a doctoral student in piano accompanying and chamber music at The University of North Carolina at Greensboro.

The Fantasy, Elegy and Caprice of Adolphus Hailstork is both an “old and new” work: the Elegy is the creative nexus from which the entire triptych germinates. The Elegy is a brief musical gem written in 1980 for the African American cellist James Herbison (1947-2008), the assistant principal cellist of the Virginia Symphony Orchestra, and a member of the NOVA Trio. He also taught, conducted and coached chamber music at The College of William and Mary, Christopher Newport University, Norfolk State University and the York River Symphony Orchestra. As a work of memorial disposition, its understated bluesy nobility touched me profoundly. I’ve performed it on recital programs as a companion piece to the well-known Elegie of Gabriel Faure (1845-1924).  Over the years I’d occasionally suggest to Adolphus that the Elegy would be wonderful as an inner movement to a projected suite for cello and piano. Years later (and two ‘solo cello works in between!!), this past July I received the following email message with a substantial attachment as a most pleasant surprise:

Dear Tim, It is my understanding that you have recently tied the matrimonial knot.  That means you are making someone happy. As a composer someone whose happiness you have benefited, allow me to congratulate you.  One way to say thanks for the encouragement is to send this piece.  The Elegy is the one you already had, I think. Now there are supporting movements to go with it.  I thank you for your support through the years, and wish you well in your marriage. Sincerely, Adolphus

The opening Fantasy uses three chords to introduce the cello as the solitary figure, whose reflective brooding character of melody and expression might recall the dramatic character of Troy Maxson, the central figure of August Wilson’s play, Fences. The same chords also usher the listener from the Fantasy into the Elegy, but the chords are distilled into three single pitches that gradually grow in interval range to reveal an unfolding series of major-key tonalities mixed with the blues influence. The melody clearly recalls the “farewell motive” used in Beethoven’s Piano Sonata in E flat, Opus 81a (“Les adieux”), but the similarity of quotation is quickly transformed from classical music to the blues through those uniquely placed single pitches. While the Elegy bears markings of blues encounter, the closing Caprice bears the markings of neoclassical parody and American folksong. A brief note in the score reveals this movement to have the nickname: “Doorbell”, on account of the consistently descending minor 3rds in its opening melody. This evening’s performance is a premiere.

When Langston Hughes arrived in Harlem in 1921, his poem “The Negro Speaks Of Rivers” had recently garnered the national recognition via Crisis Magazine’s poetry competition sponsored by the NAACP. In the span of a seventy years, three African American composers--Howard Swanson (1907-1978), Margaret Bonds (1913-1972) and Richard Thompson, respectively, have made landmark, benchmark and hallmark settings of this poem—each achieving some of the finest combinations of words and musical text painting in the current whole of African American artistic tradition. One point of both interest and aesthetic exception is the apparent audible speech-rhythm in the Hughes poetry and the familiarity of its rhythmic flow and dramatic contour. The reclaimed aesthetic spirit of the New Negro Movement and its dedication to racial uplift and protest against race violence inspired William Grant Still to use the poetry of Paul Laurence Dunbar in epigraphic fashion alongside of each movement of the Afro-American Symphony.  The Hughes poetry serves a parallel expressive function in this performance. While such treatment assumes a highly abstract quality (as does most instrumental music), the listener will have the musical setting—and the poetry unsung—to “serve as both guide and escort.”

Regarding the final work of this program, it is necessary to pose a rhetorical question first: in the creative process leading to a product, is growth presumptuously germinative and then emotional?? Or vice versa?? The answer to questions of presumed growth, inherent emotion and the understanding of that growth stands at the center of the Sonata for Violoncello and Piano of Frank Bridge. It is a fascinating work of consummate artistry and craftsmanship, marked by organic unity, symmetrical structure and expressive potency. The unusual challenge of hearing this work in performance is strangely mired in the intensity reflected in its terse organic development. The unfolding of the sonata formal process in its opening movement will leave the listener most intrigued as to how intricately the melody and its development can be so organically related and flowing one to the other so effectively.

The second movement flows as an unusual continuation of the first, and the contrast of mood will give the listener immediate pause as to what this movement is attempting to express in terms of mood and larger structural intent. The most helpful insight in regard to the melodic and structural oddity of this work can be found in a reminiscence of the British cellist Antonia Butler, who gave the French premiere of the Sonata in 1928: During the period 1915 until the completion of the Sonata, Bridge was “in utter despair over the futility of World War One and the state of the world, and would walk round Kensington in the early hours of the morning unable to get any rest or sleep”. This movement unfolds and mirrors the reality of that reminiscence: Bridge’s emotional despair, the international turmoil, carnage and stagnation of the ‘Great War, and the gradual denouement of it all. The Great War would end the year after this work was completed, but the “war to end all wars”--did not do so. The political map of the world changed, empires disappeared, nations changed names, governments rose and fell, the results of which our generation now recognizes presently--and continues to witness even further change.  Yet that tormented human spirit within still endures and even dares to rise and soar. The closing music of the Coda gives a unique personal, national and human voice to this tenacious commitment. TWH

The Negro Speaks Of Rivers (1921)

I've known rivers:
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
      flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln  
     went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy
     bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.            --James Mercer Langston Hughes (1902-1967)

Langston Hughes

Aulis Sallinen

Suzanne Polak

Adolphus Hailstork

Richard Thompson

Frank Bridge (with an extra large viola…or perhaps a violoncello, “small bass”)

Richard Thompson, Darryl Taylor, "The Negro Speaks Of Rivers"
www.youtube.com/watch?v=cchA13YBPFU 

"Hospice Music: A View From The Scroll, Singing and Playing and Walking Through The Valley"...

For nearly three years now, I have been a "volunteer musician" at an area home care and hospice facility.  

My first and only previous experience was to visit and witness the awarding of a lifetime achievement award to a longtime colleague. I got a hurried call about his transfer to the hospice and the impending award presentation, and the urgency of his terminal condition that forced its presentation.  I remember the day and occasion so well because it was my birthday and I had been up late reading and grading semester final exams.

I got to the facility just in time for the presentation and played briefly for the family members gathered (quite a few, as he was from a large family). Needless to say, the rush and varieties of emotion in that space were thick enough to cut with a butter knife, but the time was very special. As I was leaving the facility, one of the nurses at the main desk asked me if I volunteered very much at facilities like the hospice. I said that I had not, even though my experiences playing at churches, schools, community centers, hospitals and various special gatherings over the years are so many that I can only remember the most unusual ones!!  (My colleague made his transition three days later.)

At any rate, I went away affected in such a way that I couldn't have anticipated in terms of profound discovery about myself, what I do as a musician, and the rare space that music fills when played in a hospice (NOT hostage!!) situation. 

What follows is a listing of thoughts I have journaled over the past two years of volunteer music making (NOT performing!!):

I. "Perspective" 
My mantra, always uttered silently as I open the front door and step into the main lobby: "I will NOT leave this building in the same shape as I walk in".

Sound tends to "garrison" a space; music informs, reforms and transforms its resonant space in ways only the space itself and the receptive humans beings listening within it can fully appreciate. Every place of permissible access can be or become a place to play when the need arises "to catch and caress the moment"...a hallway, extra room or lobby.  The experience of visiting and playing is without a consistent description of duties: I can honor a patient who has died alone--by playing for the nurses who prepare the body and necessary paperwork for the morticians; I can play for families who linger by the bedsides of their loved ones; I can play for those patients, whom through the prevenient grace of God can wiggle their feet, toes and fingers, moan along, blink and flutter their eyes. Most of the patients I meet and/or play for...on a one-time basis.  Some patients get the honor and pleasure of a repeat visit, but those who do are a very small minority.  While it may appear that my volunteer performances are primarily done for the patients, they also serve an indescribably valuable therapeutic purpose and function for the nursing and counseling staff.

I played for a gentleman whose outlook on his terminal illness was one of such "defiant optimism" that he began doing sit-ups in bed while I played for him!!

One woman I played for was a patient "on respite status", meaning that she was able to get out of bed on her own, even though the nurses generally advised against her doing so. I played two selections for her...unaware of her unique self-ambulatory status. When she tried to get out of bed, I stopped playing and reached forward to try and help her. Thankfully one of the resident nurses noticed and rushed in to help get her back in bed.  Needless to say, my brief bedside performance was brought to an end all too soon!! (Reminder to self and future volunteers: patients who are bedridden...don't need to wear too many layers of clothing in bed!! 'Just sayin'...)

II. "Getting Thrown Out" (Well, not in the sense of heated argument and altercation!!)...
One afternoon I was playing for a woman, who appeared to be listening with silent but apparent non-interest.  I usually play an average of two (2) selections; I had made it through the first selection, and was midway through the second when she called out to me quite abruptly: "STOP!! I DON''T WANT TO HEAR ANYMORE"!!  Needless to say, I was rather startled (and slightly frightened) to hear her call out like that; I quietly stood up, bid her a pleasant evening and left the room. As I stepped into the hallway, there were two young ladies standing nearby. Their grandfather was in another room down the hall. He was a man of the Buddhist faith, and he too was "nearing the end of his earthly shift"; his family and visitors chanted prayer chants for him around the clock. Some of the shift nurses told me later that they too had learned some of the chants themselves on account of the ritual's endless repetition.  The young ladies were taking a break (from the chanting) and had been listening to my playing "prior to receiving the patient's order to cease and desist"!!  They both complimented me warmly for my playing: "Sir, that was so lovely; your music was so beautiful". Honestly, I had been thrown into "blushing mode" by then because I'd had neither the time nor the "cushion of opportunity" to process the bluntness of the first woman's command!!  Wiping the perspiration from my brow, I (humbly) accepted their compliment and quietly replied, "thank you".  What had felt like a near-insult in one moment had turned into a glowing, almost angelic intervention of speech, otherworldly comfort and encouragement. (Note: I neither saw nor ever got a second chance to visit or play for that woman again.)

III. On another afternoon, I was requested to play for the family of a female patient, her children and grandchildren: The following information I discovered afterward and wrote down...and then went home...

I arrived and greeted the family and sat down to begin playing. The patient's oldest daughter had said that she had been unresponsive until then, but as soon I began playing, she lifted her head and started moaning. She was actually singing (in spite of never having had a nice singing voice, according to the daughter), and while doing so began to relax. As she continued "relaxing", one, then two and three nurses were called into the room to attend to her.  No more than 3-5 minutes passed as I continued to play but I could tell that the emotional atmosphere of the room was shifting.  She passed on while I was playing.  I have no explanation of "what" the music did inside her body as her earthly life transitioned into eternity; but I know that it "rendered vehicular service" on a level of which I have but a pedestrian acquaintance at best. I was only there to play a song; what the song did once its tones reached the ears and emotions of that dying woman only the Lord fully knows and can give true essay.  (Here's the kicker: as I spoke briefly with the bereaved family members, I discovered that she didn't want "Amazing Grace" played at her funeral, and what do I sit down and start playing?? Bingo!! I guess I got the tune out of the way for her...as "traveling music"!!)

IV*. "Small World: Two Degrees of Separation...Literally" 

*(This paragraph is written in memory of a colleague whose name I can't use, even though I met her years before. It is but one of several such instances that I can recall.) 

I met this colleague during my "rookie year" in higher education. She worked with new faculty members who setting up their respective optional retirement plans (ORP) with the state university system. Of course when you're just starting out, the most remote concern is the details of one's retirement portfolio (but that quickly changes!!). Her name was on the room list this particular week, so I went to her room to play for her even though I hadn't put all the puzzle pieces of memory together. The puzzle came together within minutes as I greeted and spoke with her husband. I played two movements of solo Bach, and not too long into my visit I could sense that I had played enough. As I closed the door to her room, I caught a glimpse of her husband cupping his tear-streaked face in his hands.  She passed away a week later. Much more time needs to pass before the true power of this hospice reunion manifests itself.

V. "Playing Solo Bach, Playing Practically...And The Music Of The Beyond (Notes Always In Development")...
Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750)....was an immensely gifted musician, organist, composer and "culminate keeper of the flame of High Baroque musical excellence"...was also a Lutheran who infused the articles of his Christian faith into the simple and complex musical structures that seemed to flow from his quill pen "like an apple tree produces apples in season", as Ludwig van Beethoven was quoted as saying.  The music for solo cello is indeed unique for its spinning of a single melodic line daring to emulate a spider spinning a web.  The "human" sound also emulates the tone of voice many fathers have and use, particularly when the emotions of comfort, encouragement, love, acceptance, meekness and kindness are so needed.  Since there is such a longstanding tradition of performing the suites in their entirety, the thought of doing such isn't far from my mind when volunteering.  However, the truth of simply "being" at the bedside of a sleeping (or awake) hospice patient is this: the situation creates the rules.  Playing Bach may work in many situations, but the idea that playing such in ALL visiting situations is presumptuous, and dangerously insensitive and self-serving. Therefore, I try to avoid playing that much Bach as if in a performance mode as much as possible.  Even if pleasant family members in need of a sonic boost ask for a performance, an entire Bach suite isn't what they have in mind!!

VI."Chatter With The Nurses"!!
I learned after about three months of volunteering that there are three groups of folks who are "in residence": 1) the patients, obviously; 2) the families of the patients; 3) the administration and nursing staff. One of the biggest and most endearing "surprise bonuses" of the hospice volunteer experience is the unexpected connection to the nurses that results via the music!!  The standard hospice nursing work shift is twelve (12) hours, and NO two days are exactly alike!!  In those three months I became a strange "resident cushion" for the patients, family members and loved ones in time of need and parting.  I became a "celebrated volunteer"...MUCH faster than I could've anticipated!! (NOT what I'd planned...then again, what does one "plan" in the face of this?)

"Family be's Family, too!!: Occasionally I will be referred to a patient's room crowded with relatives, all welcoming but the kids are in "show and tell therapy mode", too!!  I've learned that asking them the question "who's the boss here"?? goes a LONG way in keeping order!!

"Sleeping Beauty": I played for a patient and visiting family.  One of the visiting sons complimented me on the soothing sound of my cello saying, saying: "it almost put me to sleep"!! So I played one more selection, a Bach minuet (WITH the repeats!!); by the time I was finished, "he who gave said compliment"...was in La-La Land"!! OUT LIKE A LIGHT"!! 

VII. Unexpected Applause... 
While playing for some patients who "appear" to be asleep, I've had a few to awaken and compliment me with applause!! I also occasionally see fluttering eyelids, wiggling toes and moving fingers!! That's the patient's nonverbal translation of saying "I hear, I see and I recognize that"!!

Some days I'm playing as soon as I can get unpacked; on other days it seems like I have time multiplied. One week I played in eight of the twelve rooms...and I was there less than two hours!!  Some visits are barely five minutes, and I've had visits last nearly forty-five minutes...and some mighty fine hymn-sing sessions have "broken forth" as well!!

VIII. Mo' better unexpected...
I played for and talked at length with one patient for nearly 45 minutes (NOT the routine for most visits on most days!!); he had been brought to the hospice and advised that he would live 24-48 hours after arriving.  He told me that it was his FORTIETH DAY at the hospice!! We both shook our heads at the mystery and magnitude of living, the joy and beauty of music when played informally but still with excellence and sincerity. Our conversation was "molto grazioso", a musical term meaning "overflowing with grace and appreciation".  The quiet and tragic irony that I have grown accustomed to when dealing with most other hospice patients is the "one and done" feeling that is the reality.  His amazing story of "endurance" is both endearing and enduring, but he informed me of his impending transfer back to his home (not in Durham), and the transfer is to happen within the week.  So a pleasant first meeting turned out to be a "veiled farewell" between two people meeting in the most unusual of circumstances.  Profound...and "beyond sad"... 

IX. "Bach, Schubert and Mahler Remixed...in Two Parts"
A. A rare musical moment had playing at hospice yesterday: played solo Bach for a patient and spouse, only to be informed in conversation that said patient had rearranged the mantle photos (of family, friends, etc.)...and placed a picture of Gustav Mahler in the midst of them all!! I managed to "quote and improvise" some of the Songs of A Wayfarer" (which he recognized) and some of the Adagietto from "Five"... I wonder if such coincidentally shared cognizances and experiences could be screened somehow; but I know if they were, that would spoil the magic and profound beauty of the meeting and the moment...

B. I've had three (3) most unusual opportunities to visit and play for the same aforementioned patient and his wife.  The wife is with her husband almost round the clock, and the visits have become a rare and profound encounter with a man who discovered opera and concert music via a homemade radio he built as a youngster.  I've played all the familiar Mahler symphonic melodies that I can manage to fake without embarrassment (even though there is really no such thing as "being embarrassed" in the sharing of music at a hospice); however, I've found a new affinity for the lieder of Franz Schubert, who is also a favorite of the patient for his massive vocal output.  His love of Schubert, Bach and Mahler (in no particular order) appear to have me in a web of expectable attachment through the very act of sharing what I do: none of us know when "that last visit" is to be...and so I just "do what I do", and remember to visit his room to give one of his last and most enduring human faculties some small and yet HUGE comfort and aesthetic "pleasure". The fact of our impending closure was given a jolt one Monday when another patient in the room across the hall passed on in the midst of our visit (I had visited the latter patient briefly the previous week after another lengthy visit with the "Schubertophile"!!).  The more I come to this place, the more profoundly I regard the quality of the time I devote to this act and activity.

X. Barry White, Thelonious Monk and....
When I went to play at the hospice last week, one patient's room had a Barry White CD playing. I quietly slipped into the room and joined the CD Love Unlimited Orchestral Jam!! Those kind of musical "conversations" don't happen often but I relish the uncommon joy of such participation when they do occur!!

XI. Following through on Return Visits...
When at the room of a hospice patient, I always quietly knock and slowly open the door.  Often one or two family members or friends will be visiting quietly, but on this particular occasion one man was sitting in the room beside the patient, who was sitting up in bed watching the television.  When seeing that the door had been opened by my hesitant greeting, the patient announced with a quiet firmness, "Either come in or get out".  At that point I identified myself as a volunteer musician, and assured them that any extraneous musical sounds coming from the other rooms would most likely be me.  The man was speaking to another person via smartphone, and quickly pointed to an earbud in his left ear.  I quickly noticed and sheepishly gestured to both patient and visitor that I would come back later. Ninety minutes later I had packed up after having played in three other rooms (mostly to solitary sleeping patients, but the next to last was my enduring "Schubert/Mahler patient")...and I remembered my promise to come back and check on the patient in aforementioned room, "The Earbud Room").  I paused, thought out loud for a second and re-unpacked for one more visit to the patient in Room Ten.  I knocked and slowly entered, but this time was warmly greeted, both by the patient and the man who'd been talking on the phone, who turned out to be a special therapist on temporary assignment to the patient there. A second male assistant and the shift nurse were also in the room.  A test was about to be administered to the patient, so my return was just in time!!  I quickly sat down on the arm of a couch right by the door, and proceeded to play the Bach Minuet in C that I learned back in the Suzuki cello days as an eleven-year old (!!)...'and I pushed the tempo along so as not to delay that impending test any longer!!  Upon finishing my performance, all present in the room applauded with warm appreciation and laughter, and I went home feeling thankful and satisfied that I had kept my word to people whom I'd met and interacted with for the first time, silently knowing that I may not meet them there ever again..."but that I'd still be coming back to check in on them later".

XII. Epilogue: My "Schubertophile" patient passed away after nearly seventy days in hospice. His loving wife was at his bedside; I played for him "for what became the last time"...two days before he passed.