scoring music on a PDA

I recently posted this request to an email list and may as well make it here too. Meanwhile, I think I’ve been invited to sing in two concerts in the first week of July (Chandos Singers/Exultate Singers) but am trying to sort out which I’m doing!

My trusty Psion 3c is giving up the ghost in various ways and is in any case hopelessly dated. I’d like to get a Palm or other kind of PDA to replace it as a personal organiser.

One of the applications I regularly use is called ‘Composer’. It allows you to notate a single line of music on a stave. If the note values add up you can get the Psion to play it back to you, though I can read scores well enough not to need this. But I find it useful for noting down melodies such as new Anglican chants (please don’t laugh). A musical equivalent of the Notepad.

So, my question: are there applications around for PDAs which do this? It would help me to choose between the various models available, or at least ensure that when I do take the plunge I can get the new gadget to do all that the old one did.

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Which Russian composer are you?

For a bit of fun I recommend the Dead Russian Composer Personality Test. I took it and came out as a Stravinsky, while my husband was a Shostakovich, which seemed right somehow. A few friends sat the test, producing more Stravinskies and a Rachmaninov; fortunately none of them was Mussorgsky. I notice that the same site also offers tests to associate you with a stringed instrument or with one of the friends of Elgar commemorated in the Enigma Variations.

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encountering the ringtone

A couple of years ago I finally got a mobile phone, which allowed programmable ringtones of a rather limited kind (monophonic, and with equal note values). I set it up to play the principal tone-row from Lulu, and have used this ever since. As it happens I haven’t heard any music from the opera since then, so I approached last Friday’s performance at the Coliseum with some concern. Would I find myself reaching for my phone all the time? Conversely, if anyone rang me up afterwards, would I interpret the sound as a memory of the opera rattling around in my head and ignore it?
In fact neither of these things happened, and I wasn’t much aware of this form of the row in performance. Either it is for the most part well buried in the score, as often with serial works, or my ear isn’t as good as I thought.

The Guardian‘s reviewer felt that the production had gone off the boil a bit in revival, though I thought it stood up well. This may be because in the meantime I’d been to a rather eccentric production in Wedekind’s home town of Hannover. I’m beginning to get used to Richard Jones’ liking for the 1950s – with in this case some nods to more recent popular culture.

I still feel the translator missed a trick with the name of the company whose shares crash and bankrupt the entire cast in Act 3; this was left as the Jungfrau Railway when it should of course have been ‘Virgin Trains’. Perhaps they feared a writ from Mr. Branson.

It was my first visit to the Coliseum since the building was refurbished. I haven’t been to ENO enough for the changes really to leap out at me, but it looked splendid.

This is my 100th posting to this blog. The Bath Festival starts on Friday and I hope to get to two or three concerts, which I’ll write about.

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the wheels on the bus

[I see that a lot of people have found their way to this page looking for guitar chords for ‘The Wheels on the Bus’. Here is a simple harmonisation of the version I know (there is a different one in an American book ‘Kids’ Songs 2′ which we have).
2 bars G – 1 bar A minor – 1 bar D
2 bars G – 1/2 bar A minor – 1/2 bar D – 1 bar G
This is in G – it could also be sung in F but anything lower is in my opinion too low (see my comments below).
Now read on … ]

My favourite among the tapes of children’s songs that we have is the BBC’s ‘The Wheels on the Bus’. It has the merit of being accompanied (as far as I can tell) mostly by real instruments, not a synthesiser, and the accompaniments are subtly varied in rhythm and instrumentation from verse to verse so that, subliminally, the listener’s interest is retained. The only longueur is a song called ‘I jump out of bed’, which I’ve never encountered elsewhere, in which the singer enumerates incrementally the first ten things they do in the morning, each of which is mentioned three times: ‘I brush my teeth, brush my teeth, brush my teeth….’. The children greet this with a shout of ‘It’s the boring one!’.

Another popular tape is one we bought in France, ‘Petites chansons pour tous les jours’ which accompanies a book of the same name. Here some of the songs are sung by children. The arrangements have a rather more sophisticated feel compared to the busking-style instrumentation on ‘The Wheels on the Bus’; one almost expects Jane Birkin and Serge Gainsbourg to start crooning at any moment.

The book of ‘Petites chansons’ contains the melody line of the songs as well as the words, which shows up most English equivalents. Wishing to expose the children to musical notation at an early age, I scoured Blackwell’s children’s bookshop in Oxford to find a book of nursery rhymes which included music. The only one I could find was The Oxford Nursery Songbook, an updated edition of a work first published in the 1930’s, and I’m not sure that wasn’t in their music shop rather than the children’s bookshop. Comparison with bookshops overseas shows that music is included more routinely in French and German books of nursery songs.

I did see another book of such songs with music recently, but was horrified that the song on the cover went down to an A below middle C, with the high note being the C above middle C. Why is it thought desirable to force children’s naturally high voices to sing so low? The French book assumes a range of middle C to the second F above middle C, as does our Reclam edition of Kinderlieder, though the latter only goes above D for special effect. The Oxford Nursery Songbook has a similar range to these, though the modern edition adds guitar chords which are optionally in lower keys.

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back in the saddle

I hadn’t done any singing since Magnus was born apart from joining in hymns, but I got an appeal to be part of the choir for a special service; ‘I’ve written an Ave Maria for the curate’s final service … could you sing the top line … rehearsal Friday … Sibelius-ed copy will follow …’.

So I was back in action again. I have always found it harder getting back into singing after a birth than singing in the months immediately beforehand; something perhaps to do with not being sure where the relevant muscles have got to. This time it wasn’t too difficult and I hope to be singing as normal relatively quickly.

Other music for the service included bits of Darke in E which makes a change from Darke in F (we also do Darke in A minor, for some reason only on Easter Sunday). And a rare chance to sing a triple chant (not that I mind doing them rarely, as I’m not very keen on them. A well-placed single chant on the other hand can be most effective).

Meanwhile I have to fix the Cathedral Chamber Choir’s week in 2007, which I started negotiating months ago! Durham Cathedral never replied to any emails. I had more success with a couple of other Cathedrals, one of which is now in possession of a CD of the choir, but they both seem to have stopped answering emails too, so it may be time to pick up the phone.

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Dalton’s Weekly

One of the most useful reference works for music that we have is a 1985 edition of The Concise Oxford Dictionary of Music, edited by Michael Kennedy. This manages to pack a huge amount of information into a paperback of 700-odd pages, especially when it comes to listing works by major composers. (To say nothing of entries on individual compositions, performers, instruments, organisations, terminology and so on). It achieves this by using abbreviations as much as possible without becoming unintelligible, for example ‘Comp. 2 vn. concs., str. qt., vc. sonata, etc.’ – hence our nickname for it*.

It has its idiosyncrasies too. In the composers’ biographies, it is regarded as almost essential to list the years in which they visited Britain (if they weren’t British already). On a more macabre note, the cause of death is usually given, when it’s known. But it doesn’t give precise dates of birth or death or reveal their embarrassing middle names, unlike one of the other musical dictionaries that we have.

A longer review would comment on surprising omissions. Allowing for the date of the volume (some composers or works have come into favour since, or simply weren’t around at all) I’ve found few and will cite only one here: no separate entry for Peter Grimes! (Eleven of Britten’s other operas have their own entries). But we wouldn’t be without this volume and it is particularly useful for settling discussions about when a particular work was composed: ‘Look it up in Dalton’s Weekly!’ is the refrain.

* Note for readers outside Britain: Dalton’s Weekly is a small-ads newspaper, where advertisers pay by the line. As a result the advertisements in it are heavily abbreviated in order to take up as few lines as possible.

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music for labour

Despite the market in Mozart for Mothers-to-be and the like I’m not sure anyone has produced any discs for labour and birth (and if they had, I suspect my choice of music might be very different from their suggestions!). Actually I did listen to some Mozart – early symphonies – a few hours before Magnus was born. I hadn’t tried to select any music in advance, but after the Mozart I decided one of the Priory Records CDs of evening canticles was what I wanted to hear. My husband carefully selected one without too much music by Sumsion or other composers whom he knew I didn’t care for, so we listened to the one performed by Bristol Cathedral Choir. As a result there are several canticle settings which are never going to seem quite the same again: Noble in B minor, Jackson in G, Leighton Second Service and Howells in G (with the ‘Star Trek’ Gloria to the Magnificat). There was also a ‘local’ setting by Raymond Warren (whose daughter I used to know in my Cambridge days), one by Morley (the midwives’ favourite) and a plainchant one. While I’m not a great plainchant fan the last was what I most appreciated in the circumstances. We played the CD twice through (no time to choose a different one!) and Magnus was born about half an hour after it ended. ‘Still talking about music’ is one of the comments part way through the midwife’s notes.

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through the night

We’re now rediscovering Radio 3’s Through the Night programming, now that we get woken in the small hours by Magnus (born Thursday March 24th). We listened to the programme regularly during the infancies of our older children so it will be interesting to find out whether the content has changed much. Is the most frequently occurring piece still the overture to Ruslan and Ludmila? Are certain other other pieces such as Richard Strauss’ First Horn Concerto, which came round more often than you’d expect, still regularly played? Are a disproportionate number of the performers still Canadian? And what about the composers who used to turn up week after week but whom you rarely encountered elsewhere, such as Clérambault and Hellendaal? (A little unfair. I have performed music by Clérambault; as for Hellendaal, he is buried in the churchyard of the church I used to attend and where we got married! Their music doesn’t get broadcast except in the middle of the night though.) I will report back in a future contribution.

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three works I hope not to sing again

For reasons that will become clear I probably won’t be posting here an account of a performance of any of the following in future Holy Weeks:

a) Maunder, Olivet to Calvary. I sang this at a local church a few years ago and cannot remember anything much about the music, except that it didn’t impress me at all!

b) Malcolm Williamson, Procession of Palms. The only time I came across this was when I sang it a long time ago in a church in Reading. It was an odd piece in a mish-mash of styles, including a token modernist passage which stuck out a mile. (An internet search reveals an item about the piece in Ship of Fools, which confirms my impression of it).

c) Charles Wood’s St. Mark Passion. This was a Manchester favourite, in which I once sang one of the soprano arias, but I remained as immune to it as I am to just about all of Wood’s music. There’s one beautiful melody in it; however it’s not by Wood but lifted from Tallis for one of the hymns! Someone tried to convince me at the time that it was a standard piece in the repertoire of King’s College Choir, not realising that I’d recently spent six years in Cambridge and knew better ….

After recalling these I realise that Stainer’s Crucifixion has its merits and is certainly worth singing every few years (as I find myself doing), despite its cornier moments as regards music and text (anyone who’s familiar with the piece will know what these are).

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All Souls’ Day at St Mary Magdalene

Every year there is a performance with orchestra of a French setting of the Requiem Mass at St. Mary Magdalene, Paddington, at the High Mass on All Souls’ Day. This isn’t of course very topical, but I’ve been reminded of it by a couple of things recently.

I sang at this Mass several times in the 1990’s, in performances conducted by Nicholas Kaye. In the last few years I’ve fallen off the postal mailing list (they’ve never as far as I know used an email list to recruit singers), or the invitation has come too late for me to accept it; I hoped to take part a couple of years ago, but the date of the service was changed a few weeks beforehand which made it impossible. Once I was invited to sing at another service there. I felt flattered that I’d been asked to come all the way over from Cambridge, until I was told the reason: because I wasn’t a London-based singer I didn’t have to be paid!

A couple of times I sang the Duruflé Requiem, as it was a rare opportunity to perform the work with full orchestra. Otherwise I’d try to turn out for some of the more obscure settings I’d probably never sing otherwise. One year it was the Bruneau Requiem, in what was believed to be its fourth ever performance (two of the previous three being in Paris in the 1890’s, the third in Paddington a few years previously). The orchestra were playing from the original parts, a century old! I can’t say that this work was really overdue for revival, though I was happy to sing it once, and I did subsequently hear another choir perform it on Radio 3 so it didn’t sink back into total obscurity. I recall various bits which were clearly ripped off from Verdi’s setting, especially the Agnus Dei (right down to the flute obbligato!).

The last Requiem setting I sang there was the one by Saint-Saëns, not a favourite composer of mine. However, this piece, written after the death of one of the composer’s children, had more depth to it than I find in much of his music and I’d sing it again (provided that I didn’t have to invest too much time!). The orchestration is notable for requiring four harps.

There are other settings they do, such as those by Ropartz, Desenclos and Inghelbrecht. This year the Requiem is by Henri Tomasi, of whom I haven’t previously heard; I don’t know yet whether I’ll try to sing in it.

[I eventually gave up this fixture when the date was changed one year at short notice to the nearest Sunday; fortunately I hadn’t bought a rail ticket. The postal invitations also dried up.]

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Places where I’ve sung: Corpus, Cambridge

For a few years until I moved to Manchester in the early 90’s I was a resident member of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, where I did a PhD. degree. Part of the reason for continuing my studies at Cambridge were the positive reports I’d heard about the lively choir scene there, and these proved to be well founded. Here I’ll just write about what I did with chapel choirs.

There was a well-recognised hierarchy of College chapel choirs. This was impressed on singers even before they arrived, since a table in the undergraduate prospectus indicated which ones did broadcasts/recordings/foreign tours etc. and how many choral awards each choir offered. At the top end of the mixed-voice choirs were those of Clare and Trinity, which were for example the only ones which did evensong broadcasts (nowadays one would add Caius).

Behind them were a number of well-resourced choirs, generally with a professional if part-time director of music. I suppose this was my natural level, since I sang for a year in one such choir (Christ’s) and was at various times approached by three others (St. Catharine’s, Selwyn and the Jesus mixed-voice choir). People sang in choirs other than that of their own College for all sorts of reasons and poaching of singers was frequent when a choir was short of a particular voice.

However, for most of my time in Cambridge I sang at Corpus, and for some of it held an internal choral award there. Lest I seem to be disparaging my own College by ranking it after the others I have mentioned, I should add that the repertoire and standard there seemed to me to exceed that of any Oxford mixed chapel choir at the time (with one exception) and that of all parish choirs now in almost all places I have direct knowledge of. Indeed, by one rather crude measurement used to rank choirs – how many singers sang in the University’s leading chamber choir – Corpus came out well, since at one point during my time it contained five such singers; and while I was in Manchester I encountered two former members of the choir studying singing at the RNCM.

We sang three services a week, including a 9 a.m. eucharist or matins on Sunday mornings (which may go a long way to explaining why I’m still more willing than most to turn out and sing at this time). There were occasional concerts in College and elsewhere in Cambridge and day trips to sing at churches with a College connexion, or cathedrals; usually in the summer we did a week of services at a Cathedral, though I also sang in two foreign tours.

I’ll say a little about recordings, of which I sang on three. I made a cassette recording of music by S. S. Wesley for Christ’s, which included the first complete recording of the service in E major. The same week (!) I made an LP recording for Corpus which featured amongst other things Britten’s Hymn to St Cecilia and Stanford’s three Latin motets. I don’t think this sold many copies, but it was well reviewed in Choir & Organ, which described it as ‘a recommendable release’.

A year later I went on a choir tour to Canterbury and St. Paul’s Cathedrals with the choir of St. Catharine’s College, at the end of which we made a recording. The programme was built around six motets by Edward Dent which had not been previously recorded. The rest of the programme mostly had a Cambridge connexion, and included music by Robin Holloway and Bernard Rose, those Stanford motets again and the spirituals from A Child of Our Time. This programme was recorded over a couple of days and with a more perfectionist approach than the other two, since it was intended for a wider distribution, but for various reasons the results were never released.

I’ve been back to Corpus for some enjoyable reunions of former members of the chapel choir. These usually culminate in a choral evensong in Chapel, though I suspect the results have sounded rather odd, not just because of a liquid lunch earlier on but also because many of those who accepted the invitation were in the choir before it went mixed and so the sound has been unusually bottom-heavy!

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Ni’r tlodion

On Friday we went to the Wales Millennium Centre in Cardiff to see Welsh National Opera’s new production of Wozzeck. As something of a veteran of productions of this opera, I shan’t comment further on either its degree of musical invention or its emotional power. This is the fourth performance that I’ve been to, and in particular memories of the 2002 production at the Royal Opera House – strong competition – were still fresh in my mind.

In fact it stood up well, both musically and dramatically. If anything I was sufficiently held by the singing not perhaps to give the orchestral playing (I can think of no opera with a higher overall standard of orchestration) the attention it deserved, probably because my senses were a bit fuzzy after a cold. It was good to hear again fine singers such as Peter Hoare whom we’ve come across in previous WNO productions. We weren’t always convinced by the resetting of the opera in a factory rather than a military environment; apart from the frequent clashes of meaning with the libretto, the need to remind the audience of this change occasionally became intrusive. For more detail, see the Guardian‘s review (which appeared on the news pages!). I tend to feel that the central relationship of Wozzeck and Marie should have rather more residual affection in it that was in evidence here, but this is really a question of interpretation and WNO’s was certainly a valid one. (Incidentally, I’d also love to see a staging where the murder weapon wasn’t still in Wozzeck’s hand at the point where the orchestra graphically depicts it falling down and down into the pond!)

It was also an opportunity for the audience (which included other Bathonians) to experience the Wales Millennium Centre as an opera venue. The acoustic from where we were (in the block at the centre right of the stalls) was fine, except perhaps for some slightly harsh woodwind tone at some points. The stage machinery (always taxed by this opera with its frequent scene changes of a length dictated by the music) worked happily for the most part. Rather than leave much of the set visible on stage throughout (as the ROH did, perhaps wisely in view of their problems in this area), the designers had a backdrop cutting off the back of the stage for some scenes, so that the action in them took place in a relatively shallow space. (The score has some precise directions about what to do with the curtain, but I’m not sure that it was meant to rise a little and fall again part way through the D minor interlude!)

Because we have each bought tickets for WNO performances in Bristol in the past, we received his’n’hers letters about the forthcoming performances there in April. And they really were “his and hers” letters! At least, that is how I explain the fact that the one my husband received began with several paragraphs encouraging him to go to Wozzeck, while mine went on at greater length about their revival of La Traviata. Not that I’d be reluctant to hear a performance of Traviata either. On the other hand, WNO’s programme was genuinely informative, including a scene-by-scene guide to musical points of interest which told me several things that I didn’t know. (The ROH’s programme largely duplicated the liner notes in the recording we have).

My postings may get a bit sporadic this month as the baby is due in 2-3 weeks from now. In particular, it will be a couple of months before I’m performing again at all, but I’ll find something else to write about in the meantime.

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