Our recent summer holiday included a couple of occasions where I revealed myself to be a singer or at least someone knowledgeable about music. We were in SW France near the border with Spain, and in fact both occasions were over the border. Or sort of, in the first instance. Llívia is an enclave and exclave surrounded by French territory, which goes some way to explaining what happened when I went to Mass in the church there – in Catalan with a bit of congregational singing, not done with much enthusiasm. I couldn’t really sing or say the words as there weren’t Mass books and I don’t know the language. Until that is we got to the Alleluia at the Gospel. I recognised the tune as being from O Filii et Filiæ and joined in. After the last Alleluia the rather chatty priest looked in my direction and said Merci, clearly taking me for a stray Frenchwoman who’d infiltrated his service.
Choral columns
Later on we went to Barcelona for the day and I booked on to an English-language tour of the Palau de la Música Catalana. This magnificant Art Nouveau building was designed very much with the needs of the choir it was built for in mind – there is a lift to take them up to the stage and a terrace with columns adorned with flowers and foliage, to give a restful sight to singers who spent their days in factories or offices. Would that more concert halls were so choir-centred in their design! It has a special place in musical history for me, I found out later, as it was the venue for the premiere of Berg’s violin concerto. At the end of the tour there was a short recital on the organ – a nice little earner for local organists. We were asked to guess how many pipes in the organ. My guess was much the largest, and although still some way short of the true value, the closest to the correct answer. I felt obliged to admit that I do hang out with organists.