This is a good credo, and one that I try to live by ("all Einaudi, all the time" ). I'd rather have a narrow repertoire that I find emotionally fulfilling than be well-rounded yet indifferent to what I'm playing. One of the nice things about being strictly amateur is that I don't get hounded by a lot of requests!

...incidentally, can't wait for your next book to come out! I hope you'll let us know when the official release date comes around.

"I'd rather have a narrow repertoire that I find emotionally fulfilling than be well-rounded yet indifferent to what I'm playing."

Great quote Monica! I also think that the audience would agree.

I will certainly let you know about the book! It's a long stretch between now and next spring, but when the time comes, you'll be the first to know. Thanks.

Ok, it's Monica by a nose; I know when I'm beat, even when it takes a photo-finish to be sure.

However, I'd like to be the second, third and fourth in line to sign up for the advance order. One for me, one for Darlene, one for Stahl.

Have you chosen a title yet? Hal Leonard publishing it again? If you'd like to tell us a little bit about the book, it might tide some of us over until the release date.

Will Humpty Dumpty and the black swans be on the cover?

Thanks, Clef! Working title is Waltz of the Asparagus People, but that may change. Book is a non-fiction collection of stories about making music and raising an American family in Europe. Some of it's funny, some of it is serious. I'm excited about it!

Publishers:
Buecken und Sulzer/German International Print Rights
Bass Lion/ English International Print, Digital, and Audio

xoxo to you, Darlene, and the fabulous Stahl.

Waltz of the Asparagus People--- I like it. Don't let the marketing people twist your arm, this is one of those thunderbolts of intuition, and people will recognize it... intuitively. Ok, maybe it's the heat lightning of intuition. And ok, maybe asparagus is a cool-season vegetable. And as for Marketing, I would put them in the same general category as wedding planners.

My new collection bears the working title, Dragged Through Life by the Pianist. Think it has nothing to do with weddings? I'm not so sure, not so sure at all. Ok, so I don't expect it to be reviewed in Brides Magazine. And ok, so the marketing guys might shrink in horror, and I have no intention of letting the wedding planners get hold of it, them and their clipboards. Maybe I should, after all, entitle it something like Against My Better Judgment; no lightning striking dangerously near, but it's better than explaining the title to one talk show host after another. Especially Letterman; all I could say is, "And who should know better than you?"

"The simplest and perhaps most cynical explanation for your expertise when playing your own compositions is that they don't often wander outside your comfort zone. This is undoubtedly true to some extent. But I suspect there's more. It's always easier to play music you can really "hear"; music that is not a collection of written notes, shapes, fingerings, accents and forced co-ordinations of RH and LH parts, but a coherent sound that you are making as a whole. You play with good technique because you are playing essentially without "technique", you are playing with feel. Keep it up. There's music down that road."

It's true that I play, pretty much, up to the limitations of my technique, and get around it by multi-tracking. The tactic benefits from a keyboard track that doesn't hog all the bandwidth... and I've had thirty years to polish some of these pieces up. That's one reason I'm taking lessons now: I'd like go somewhat beyond what my fingers don't know how to do. It is very illuminating to see how other composers write; the written page and what they do with the hands takes you into their mind more than just hearing a performance. The truth is, they write for players.

It's the funniest thing about composing, though. It is like I "hear" it first; as if I were 'tuning in' to the music, like it was coming from somewhere else. Then I have to learn to play it (sometimes I can't--- another reason for studying now). I'm always surprised at the way it sounds on piano.

Which reminds me--- better get practicing. My teacher moved the lesson up by a day, and I've got to do a little housecleaning, since he comes here. My idea of the minimum hospitality of the house is having a bathroom where you're not afraid to sit down, and a piano lid where you can't write your name in the dust.

On a different (but related) topic: Happy Birthday, Robert Schumann. June 8, 1810. I have the impression that Clara also felt dragged through life by the reproductive organs. Her great enthusiasm for bearing her first child cooled down, enough to have been noted by biographers, for numbers Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, and Seven. Given the known inconveniences of womanhood, I would think the expression might apply even more to the ladies. It’s like the chain drive said to the rollercoaster, up at the very top: “Brakes? What is that?”

Oh, Waltz of the Asparagus People is so much better a title. You know, for one thing, that the action must take place either at a ballroom or a Farmers’ Market.

That title is quite a mouthful and you missed the opportunity to use one of the best sounding words in the German language. Did you consider "Waltz mit spargel"

for some reason i am reminded of the watermelon boiling Germans in the 'Accordian Tales'.

Ha! I'm laughing and in pain at the same time. I truly think weddings are some of the most stressful gigs on the planet.

Here's my scorcher - I was approached by a bride who had a stack of classical music for me. It was a bit intimidating, but I thought "Hey, I'll get paid to practice". This lady was of the "A++ type" personality and decided she wanted to audition me every week to see how I was doing. Again, a bit of a stresser, but the challenge was intriguing.

4 months later (!) the big day came and I was running late for the wedding. By the way, this happened back in my college days, so I was even later to events than I am now. Also, I was a poor college boy, so my car was a pitiful 1964 Toyota Crown (anyone heard of that one?)

I was flying pedal to the metal trying to get to the church on time when my shift linkage broke. Now I only had 4th gear.

Mentally, I went through the upcoming intersections and decided that if I kept rolling, I could make it in 4th gear.

Lug... lug... lug... my poor car was bucking like rodeo horse, but I made it to the church just in time.

As I walk in the side door, the bride tells me "The Organ is right over there".

"Organ? What?!!! I don't play the organ!" I replied.

She went from a stressful bride to a murderous looking woman and tried to get me to play the organ. I guess she thought if you can play classical music on the piano, you can just as easily play it on the organ.

I told her that I'd play all of the prelude music on the piano and then play the recessional on the organ. She had to agree - it was time to begin.

I played the prelude music - I think I did a rather good job. Then, after the ceremony began, I snuck around to the organ. Here's where the real trouble began.

I had no idea how which knobs to select. All I could remember was that when I was a young kid messing around after church on the organ, it always sounded great when I turned on everything. (ha)

So I turned on everything. What I didn't know is that I was turning on chimes, bell sounds, and everything else this beast could produce.

The ceremony dragged on....

With a bit of time to kill, I noticed that the organ had pedals, and thought "why not?". So I silently practiced what I thought would sound good.

Unfortunately, I didn't know that organ pedals will only produce one note at a time. If you press two, the sound will oscillate wildly, kind of like a bucking rodeo horse. Kind of like my car.

My big moment came, and when I hit those famous chords, the organ did begin to buck, bringing most of the church with it.

I got dagger eyes from the bride all the way down the isle. Haaa!! It's still funny.

Unfortunately again, I had no idea why the organ sounded like a broken ship engine, so I played on.

As soon as I could, I snuck out the side door.

Unfortunately for the third time, the bride and groom had exited the church and were making their reception line right in front of my 1964 Toyota Crown.

I tried to get in my car without her seeing me, but no luck. Dagger eyes looking in my car!! Yikes.

I then remembered that I only had 4th gear.

Yep, you know what happened. The bucking keyboard player lurched and bucked away from the church in front of everyone. Bang, crash, buck.

Very funny.

I don't do weddings anymore.

Well. That bride (Wilma von Weasel makes a return appearance) deserved the Sci-Fi organ sounds for forcing you to rehearse for her every week to "see how you were doing." She must have been extremely evil, that bride. Wonder where she is now? We could send her a "Let's Talk Weddings" group greeting card for her anniversary.

Funny, isn't it (or maybe not) how many civilians assume a pianist can play an organ.

Thanks for posting this story here, David. It's a wonderful tale, especially the Toyota Crown part. I always say that getting to the gig is the hard part. For me, this was extra-true when I lived in New York City, where a ten minute trip could take two hours. Anyone here ever try to get crosstown while the Puerto Rican Day parade was happening?

There are NO weddings going on in Germany right now. World Cup madness has taken over. It seems even the most determined bride is no match for a soccer ball.

Some of these brides have watched more "Bridezilla" episodes than is good for them. Why, just last week one pitched the biggest snit because her sister tipped a beautician (behind the bride's back) because she didn't pluck the bride's eyebrows to suit her.

The bride had never heard of the saying, "You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear," nor had she heard of Jenny Craig. Pluck as you may, it's not going to take 75 pounds off.

The Waltz of the Asparagus People has made me rethink the title of my own collection. Though it may have less of a "jump off the shelf" impact, I'm liking the lower-key title, A Pocket Full of Awry.

Also reconsidered: the 'jiggler on the roof' can go on the cover of Greg's book. I see a cartoon for Asparagus, along the lines of the original jacket of Suite for Flute and Jazz Piano--- still in print (and even on the shelves) thirty years after its release.

I confess I'm a little surprised at the lack of weddings. Many brides might be oblivious, others might take advantage to snap up a bargain or to squeeze themselves into a long-booked month, where cancellations are granted only when there are no vital signs.

CLEF: I was wrong. There were several weddings at the castle last night. Three very small parties were in the lobby having cocktails during my regular Saturday night set. The joint was jumping, much to my surprise. Usually a bride can't stand having another bride around, but lasts night's groups were civilized. Nice people. I played all original material, people listened and applauded politely, and one of the brides sent me champagne. I was out of there at 8:30 and able to make the second set of a wonderful classical concert at the Kultur Zentrum in our village.

Jiggler on the Roof is a riot! A Packet Full of Awry is way too hip for the room, which means it's a perfect title for a book penned by you.

My husband John (who was in his twenties at the time) did a huge tour with Claude Bolling in the late seventies to publicize Suite for Flute and Jazz Piano. My mother-in-law still thinks that tour was the high point of John's career, because he got to be on the Tonight Show and Johnny Carson introduced him. I have a video of that somewhere--you've inspired me to dig it out!

Tonight we are going hear Lang-Lang in concert at the Ruhr-Rhein Klavier Festival. How's that for a spectacular way to conclude the weekend?

I'm relieved to learn that brides are not letting June go to waste at the Castle. I was about to examine the Earth, to see if it was still spinning on its axis.

Not that it's any further comfort, but yesterday was the anniversary of Trisha Nixon's White House wedding, later satirized in a movie that did for Trisha what Tina Fey has done for Sarah Palin (or more).

Alice Roosevelt Longworth also had a White House wedding. The Wiki article on her life was very spicy and worth a look, but I was not able to discover if hers was a June wedding. Some of her quips (as well as her glamorous and free-spirited public image) would have given Mae West a warm glow, including the scene of her cussing out the television set as she watched Richard Nixon's farewell address (which featured 'inspiring quotes' from her own father's private letters). So much for Trisha! I am glad to learn that this June's crop of brides' deportment has been seemly and gracious. After awhile, one starts to wonder.

I may have seen your husband's performance with Bolling and Rampal, at the Greek Theatre in Berkeley. So long ago, but still memorable. All the musicians were the best--- there's no other word for it. I still remember the bassist (each instrumentalist did a solo turn during the concert)--- a happy man with a million-dollar smile. Does that sound like John?

Further evidence that musicians, even those without the advantage of late-night well-lubricated clientele, have the best stories.

I've only got a couple of brief gig notes. We played a retirement community dance last Saturday evening. I use the word "evening" deliberately; the gig went from 7-10 pm. We probably could have gotten a club gig in afterwards. There were energetic early retirees, a sizeable walker contingent and everything in-between.

The posters advertising the affair made the genre of music clear. Old Time Rock 'n' Roll. It was sponsored by the "American Bandstand Club". In addition, we've played there before, two or three times before. These people know us. Nevertheless, there was the obligatory person who felt he had to make his grievance known. We were just too damned loud, even through the Safety Orange Ear-Protecting Headphones he brought with him. I'll bet all the people who were cheering after every song were too loud as well.

One more minor chuckle. There were posters around the Club House advertising upcoming events. One was a bit of participatory Dinner Theatre, "Tony Soprano's Retirement Party". There was a cautionary note: "For Mature Audiences Only".

organs can be stressful and i've experienced the bell thing. on an unfamiliar organ, it is difficult to ascertain which stop needs to go (ha ha) when you are sightreading. kudos to you David, for playing 2 pedals at once without practice.

and i reiterate, brides are the most difficult of people to please.. they are so INTO micromanagement.

Oh, I love, love love the guy with the orange earphones.

A musician friend of mine was playing in a cruise ship band that specialized in oldies but goodies. A geriatric guest had a heart attack while on the dance floor (it's strenuous to do "The Mashed Potato" with a walker), and died right there in front of the band.

The next day, I kid you not, the life insurance company for the Poor Man, sent a rep to the ship to determine if the band's volume had caused the heart attack. Really, the rep showed up with audio equipment and everything, and then tried to blame the drummer and the bass player.

I completely ripped off this story for a scene in Rhythm (my novel). It was just too ridiculous not to use it.

I hope they have a couple of ambulances standing by for Tony Soprano's Retirement Party.

Hey, did I ever tell you about the Murder Mystery theater company that showed up at the castle? They were hired for a corporate event. It was one of those deals where actors were "planted" among the unsuspecting hotel guests. Plan was, one by one, the actors would be "murdered." The guests would then have to figure out who was the murderer.

Okay. Fine. Problem was everyone on the staff knew about this, except for me. Nobody ever tells the piano player anything. I showed up for my gig a few minutes late and sat down at the piano. I was thinking, "wow, there are some eccentric looking people here tonight. Even more than usual." Then, THERE WAS GUNFIRE, and then a body fell down the steps. I flipped out and started screaming for an ambulance. An ambulance did come, but it was a fake ambulance, along with fake Polizei. Holy friggin dinner theater, Batman!

I had to be yanked out of the lobby by the valet, who told me what was going on. Meanwhile, the actors thought I was just playing along with them. The head of the troop offered me a job based on my realistic performance, but they were off to do a murder mystery in Slovenia and I had to be home to make lunch for my kids. So I declined.

I loved that chapter in Rhythm, Robin. Funny to think that it was based on real life!

...but you definitely need to work the mystery dinner story into your next (or some future) book. What a story!! Of course, it's hilariously funny for everybody who didn't actually have to go through the experience of thinking they had just witnessed a murder (= everybody but you!).

Hi Monica! That story isn't in my outline for the new book, but outlines are made to be tampered with. I hadn't thought of that episode in years. This forum is wonderful for jogging the middle-aged memory of this young-at-heart cocktail pianist.

Who, I wonder, will make the 500th post here?

"A musician friend of mine was playing in a cruise ship band... A geriatric guest had a heart attack while on the dance floor... and died right there in front of the band.

"The next day... the life insurance company for the Poor Man, sent a rep to the ship to determine if the band's volume had caused the heart attack. ... audio equipment and everything, and then tried to blame the drummer and the bass player."

It is not widely advertized, but cruise ships carry on board at least four or five coffins. They have learned by experience that many of their passengers are, well, old. The insurer who came out on the wrong side of the actuaries might better have sued the tempting buffet spread, the skimpy bikinis, the racy floor show, or the bingo tables--- they give more heart attacks than the bands.

As it happens, I know someone who passed away on his annual Caribbean vacation cruise. It happened very gently and naturally--- and he loved those cruises. Not such a bad way to go out. (There was no house band involved, by the way.) One suspects that the hospital cartel may have sicced the insurer on the cruise ship band, displeased that the insured dropped dead in his tracks from booty-shaking rather than enjoying an expensive hospital stay.

Well, blaming the drums and bass gives the rep at least a little bit of scientific credibility.

One of the shorter versions of the classic joke:

A scientific expedition disembarks from its plane at the final outpost of civilization in the deepest Amazon rain forest. They immediately notice the ceaseless thrumming of native drums. As they venture further into the bush, the drums never stop, day or night, for weeks.

The lead scientist asks one of the natives about this, and the native's only reply is "Drums good. Drums never stop. Very BAD if drums stop."

The drumming continues, night and day, until one night, six weeks into the trip, when the jungle is suddenly silent. Immediately the natives run screaming from their huts, covering their ears. The scientists grab one boy and demand "What is it? The drums have stopped!"

The terror-stricken youth replies "Yes! Drums stop! VERY BAD!"

The scientists ask "Why? Why? What will happen?"

Wild-eyed, the boy shrieks as he runs away,

" . . . bass solo!!!" -

I recall that there was a woman who decided to spend her final years on the QEII, because it was not that much more expensive than a good nursing home, and the care was at least as good. When they retired the ship, they moved her to the new one.

A friend of mine who is a guitar player was telling me about how he was once playing in a bar when someone was shot. I asked him "what did you do?" and he said "We kept on playing - what else would you do".

I'd say that either your friend is a lot tougher than I am, or he's full of crap. What else would I do? I can think of a pretty long list, mostly involving maneuvers like ducking under, diving behind and finding (or creating) the nearest exit.

I have kept playing through insect swarms, rain, fog, wind, shouting matches, fistfights, a wedding cake dropping and smashing to pieces, a hurricane (OK, a mild one, but we were in a tent) and a fat naked man climbing a roof, but I draw the line at gunfire. Left with no other option, there'd be a Greg-shaped hole in the wall like in the cartoons.

Do you notice how casually Greg scarcely mentions that tale of the wedding cake mishap? People would read through a whole book just to get to a story like that.

I see an imaginary image of the guests lapping their way across the floor (and still praising the delicious wedding cake)... unlikely perhaps, but less unlikely than that any bride would let such an incident pass. Maybe this was the hurricane in the tent...?

It's been a while since I heard the story - said guitar player got deported back to England from the US several years ago for being in the country without a valid visa. I don't remember if he said that they finished the song or the set, probably the song. The story sounded plausible though, some of the bars that have live music are kind of on the rough side and the part about someone getting shot did not seem so unlikely. I can also see how if you were in the middle of a song the best way to avoid drawing attention to yourself would be to finish the song and then casually announce that you were taking a break and walk slowly off stage.

RE: Playing through gunshots, fat naked guys on rooftops, and dropped cakes. I thought this excerpt from Piano Girl would be appropriate. xoxo R

There's a Small Hotel
©2005 Robin Meloy Goldsby
Piano Girl
Excerpt provided by Backbeat Books

The Marriott Marquis hovers over Times Square like a giant spaceship, but when I enter the ground-floor level there isn’t much to see. Oh, there is the standard marble floor (where do the hotels in New York City get all that marble, anyway?), and there are little men in fancy uniforms with fringe on the shoulders. They hold open the doors and say welcome to the Marriott Marquis have a nice day with thick outer-borough accents. But the lobby? Nowhere to be seen. The clever designers have placed the lobby on the eighth floor, a practical scheme for keeping the street people out of the lounge area—a feature that does not go unappreciated by me. After my episode with Reginald, I’m relieved to have the piano far away from the street.

In order to access the lobby, you must pass the scrutiny of the Highly Trained Security Team situated on the ground floor. Well, that’s good. The Highly Trained Security Team looks very official with their bordeaux jackets, secret-service-type earpieces, and multiple television monitors. Once you’re past the Highly Trained Security Team, you have to wait forever for an elevator. Or you can ride the escalator, winding and climbing up through the bowels of the hotel, past the Broadway theater and floors of ballrooms, convention halls, and administrative areas, until you arrive—plop—in lobby-land. And what a lobby it is—a spectacular expanse of metal and leather and empty space that soars so high it makes you dizzy to look up.

The Marquis boasts five restaurants and two lounges. Two of these outlets are revolving. If you live in New York, what you want, at the end of the day, is to sit still—I enjoy a good sunset as much as the next guy, just not when I’m spinning around. But I’ve underestimated the appeal of the ever-changing panoramic view, especially to tourists. Harlan has promised me that I will not be playing in the revolving Broadway Lounge on the eighth floor, or in The View restaurant on the top floor. He knows I have a problem with motion sickness and has assured me that I will be sitting perfectly still at the piano in the Atrium Lounge, on the eighth floor.

The piano, a Yamaha conservatory grand, stands off to the side of the atrium, surrounded by ficus trees and huge beds of white flowers that are already starting to turn brown around the edges. I introduce myself to the waitresses, most of whom are miserable because of the unfortunate uniforms they’ve been forced to wear—full-length black skirts slit up to the hoo-ha, white polyester sleeveless tops cut down to you know where, black belts and gloves trimmed with rhinestones, and, as if that isn’t enough, a little black hat that looks like something you’d see on an organ grinder’s monkey. I’ve read somewhere that the Marriotts are practicing Mormons, but after I see these outfits, I begin to wonder. Marie Osmond wouldn’t be caught dead dressed like this.

The ceiling of the atrium stretches up to the sky, fifty floors above the lounge. The glass elevators zoom up and down, and the passengers’ faces press up against the windows as they streak, Jetson-like, through the atrium. The Marriott surprises visitors not with its design—which isn’t unique—but with the audacity of its location, right in the middle of Times Square. Looking at the absurd amount of open space, it’s easy to forget this is a Manhattan hotel. In spite of the Marquis Broadway theater downstairs, the catchy New York names on the menus, and the droves of unemployed actors working as waiters and waitresses, I feel like I’m somewhere else, in another city’s fantasy of New York. The gentrification of Times Square is in the early planning stages, and the Marriotts are foot soldiers in the battle to turn the area into a family entertainment mecca. Sitting there at the Yamaha, I’m on the front line.


Dozens of giant ficus trees—rumored to have cost tens of thousands of dollars apiece—form a green umbrella over the Atrium Lounge. New York isn’t a ficus tree kind of place. The trees agree: two weeks after we open, they begin shedding leaves. Autumn in New York. The falling leaves drift by my piano and they aren’t red and gold. They’re brown and dusty and they land in the piano and crunch when they bounce on the strings. It’s quite a predicament—a spanking-new hotel lobby that looks like it needs a good raking. Management appoints housekeeping workers to stay on top of the crisis, twenty-four hours a day.

“Shitty leaves,” mutters Carolyne as she coasts by the piano. Carolyne wears the standard Marriott housekeeping uniform—a variation on the French maid theme—and big white fluffy slippers. I don’t know if the slippers are a fashion accessory or a medical necessity, but either way, she has a nice gliding motion on the marble floor. She looks like she’s skating. She carries a giant broom and dustpan. What she needs is a leaf blower.

“This is the thirteenth time I’ve been around this lobby in the last hour,” says Carolyn as she coasts by the piano with a nifty little crossover step. “Shit. Whose idea was it to buy these shitty trees?” She stuffs the last of the leaves into her trash bag. Then she looks over her shoulder as more dead leaves begin to fall. “Shitty leaves. They oughta just chop down the shitty trees.” And off she skates, broom in hand. This goes on for weeks until the trees are completely bald. The hotel hires a new firm to replace the old branches with artificial ones. Another ficus crisis averted.

The sound of the music in the Marriott is marvelous. With all that empty space above me, I can play and play, full-out, no holding back, no managers giving me the international sign for keep it down. What a joy! In the lounge itself, listeners sit close to the piano. People who want to talk with friends or review quarterly sales reports sit far away. It’s an immense area with deep leather chairs and sofas.

Hotel guests report that they can hear the piano, clear as a bell, all the way up on the top floors. The balconies around each floor open onto the atrium; reasonably high railings planted with philodendron prevent people from falling over. Occasionally guests lean out stories above me, and I can see their little heads silhouetted against the midday light that pours through the windows. They wave or sing from high above. Some of them, teenagers probably, throw ice cubes or paper airplanes.

One weekday afternoon when I arrive for work, one side of the lobby has been cordoned off and covered with black drapes. Several of the waitresses, monkey hats akimbo, cluster in the corner and sob. The manager on duty hustles me to the piano, where I’m instructed to play so that the guests don’t notice the dead body behind the black curtains. A traumatized waitress tells me that some poor soul has thrown himself from one of the sky-high balconies into the pit of shedding ficus. Thank God I wasn’t playing at the time of the jump. Playing after the incident is bad enough. I look around at the people reading newspapers, chatting with each other, and sipping cappuccinos. Do they know what has happened? Do they care?

What do I play in a situation like this? Nothing is appropriate. Choking priests, heart attacks, fistfights, suicides—all lounge musicians, sooner or later, will be expected to play the soundtrack for some kind of disaster. Look at those poor guys playing in the Titanic band. Better to have tunes ready that no one knows. At least then the customers won’t sing along.

sigh..

i haven't experienced any thing more traumatic than 'my alzheimer's affected tenor' pulling my wig off as he walked past the organ, the first time I wore it.... a moment visible to perhaps 1/4 of the church, and the audible gasps drew everyone else's attention. I am glad my hair is back and he is still 'my tenor'.

today i play the Ave Maria with my blind friend. I have taught her piano and she is studying opera. She has a fantastic voice but the challenges of sightlessness affect her singing. We won't have a chance to rehearse. .. this is at my own dear mother's wake. i'm sure my mother will be delighted.

nice to catch up on my favorite thread and i ponder that musicians are used to the drama of life's largest events.

The band on the Titanic played Nearer My God to Thee.

Roberta Flack and Donny Hathaway made a very good concert number out of another hymn tune, Come Ye Disconsolate--- I was just working on it a little bit yesterday, giving my ears a little break between the Burgmuller studies assigned for my lesson. Tune 1792, from a collection of motets, verse 1816; they could have known it. Then again, Eternal Father, Strong to Save would have served the purpose and is less morbid and frightening in its lyric than Nearer My God. But they would have had to survive another forty years or so to have had Vaughn Williams' reworking of the arrangement--- keeps your mind on heaven and off drowning.

I'm sure, in the moment, they did the best they could.

From Wiki:

"Edward Howard, lyricist: "What was going through my mind... was Donny, because Donny was a very troubled person. I hoped that at some point he would be released from all that he was going through. There was nothing I could do but write something that might be encouraging for him.'"

True for so many of us. We may not grapple with paranoid schizophrenia and depression as Hathaway did--- blinding talent though he was--- but we all have our troubles and the least encouragement can fall on our ears like rain to the flowers.

Back to the reception. "Oh, Sugar, now don't you worry about that cake for a single second... No, the guests loved it! It didn't matter one bit that it got a little bit broken up--- why, we were going to eat it anyway, and... Well, no; it was like one of those parties where the guests play... No, no no no no. It was fun! And you couldn't beat the reception for excitement."

"Well now, your mother-in-law. Yes, yes, I heard what she said. I'm sure she'll cool off; she didn't mean it like that, she was just worried about how her old stick-in-the mud friends would talk. They just get overexcited at a wedding sometimes. And the champagne... well that's just it, honey; when you drink gin, the champagne can sneak up on you. Well, the ambulance came right away, and I'm sure when you get back from your honeymoon she'll be fine.

Now, you just take your husband's cell phone into the airplane lavatory and flush it. Yes, it can ring all it wants in the septic tank.... Well, she can talk to him when he gets home. Next month. Ok?

I had always thought it was Autumn (the popular waltz, of course, not the Episcopal hymn, because lay people recognize the song title or first line, not the name of the tune)

But snopes says you may be right: http://www.snopes.com/history/titanic/lastsong.asp

Though Autumn is not ruled out.

I agree with you about Eternal Father being a good choice. But that's selfish, it's one of the few SATB hymns I can play smoothly without cheating. Hee, hee. Even with all those double thirds.

I noticed Robin's comment about the audience singing along, and I have a recent story. I hope that I haven't shared it already, I sometimes feel Alzheimers creeping in. However if I have, I'm confident I will soon forget the shame.

My child, the shy one, volunteered to sing at the annual church youth service. She found the music to the beautiful Rutter version of For The Beauty of the Earth and talked a soprano into singing with her.

But at Saturday's rehearsal both girls had colds and couldn't hit the high notes. So we dropped back to the old standard For the Beauty, the tune for As With Gladness Men of Old.

And went home to practice. And to my utter astonishment, I could play it. Despite having been the designated church musician, my lack of skills usually require a week on a hymn, if I can play it at all. So my daughter learned the alto part, both with accompaniment and a cappella. (I wear a belt AND suspenders.)

Sunday morning the mikes wouldn't pick up their voices. So we made a third change, drop the piano and just let them sing two part harmony. By this time all the changes have Daddy pretty anxious, but the kids seem to take it in stride. At this point they've had only one runthrough of a song they've both just learned, and will now sing two part harmony without accompaniment.

They started fine, though quietly, and all ears strained to hear. And then......... this sweet old gentleman, who actually does have Alzheimers, thought he should sing along. In a different key. Train wreck, of course, though they stumbled through to the end somehow. Sigh. It was almost SAB harmony. Well not really almost!

Nice to hear from you, Tim. Haven't heard a story quite like that since that unfortunate mix-up with the hand-bells. Between your stories, and Greg's, and Robin's... I'd better hedge my bets; one of you is going to end up winning the Triple Crown. I suppose my old nag will trot across the finish line some time or other.

Thanks for the link to Scope's. It was very moving, and right on the topic of encouragement and how music can help even in the worst case. Why, even at a wedding.

On further thought, I believe that Vaughn Williams' rendering of Eternal Father Strong to Save, to the tune 'Melita' (also by John Dykes, composer of a setting of Nearer My God To Thee, but not 'Bethany')... anyway, it was set for SATB and probably organ. Not a house band on an ocean liner, though surely any sailor would have known it. Anyway, beside the question, good choice or not.

Now, I somehow assumed the Titanic's deck band must have been a brass ensemble, but no. (The sources below are either abbreviated from Wiki pages or links cited by them.)

***************************************************************************************

Titanic's orchestra

The ship's eight-member orchestra travelled as second-class passengers, and were not on the payroll of the White Star Line. Until the night of sinking, the orchestra performed as two separate entities: a quintet led by the bandleader, Wallace Hartley, that played at teatime, after-dinner concerts, and Sunday services, among other things; and the violin, cello and piano trio of Roger Bricoux, George Krins and Theodore Brailey, that played at the Á La Carte Restaurant and the Café Parisien.[12]

Name↓ Age↓ Class↓ Hometown↓ Boarded↓ Position↓ Lifeboat↓ Body↓
Brailey, Mr. W. Theodore Ronald 24 Second London, England Southampton Pianist -- --
Bricoux, Mr. Roger Marie 20 Second Monte Carlo, Monaco Southampton Cellist -- --
Clarke, Mr. John Frederick Preston 30 Second Liverpool, Lancashire, England Southampton Bassist -- 202MB
Hartley, Mr. Wallace Henry 33 Second Dewsbury, Yorkshire, England Southampton Bandmaster -- 224MB
Hume, Mr. John Law "Jock" 28 Second Dumfries, Scotland Southampton Violinist -- 193MB
Krins, Mr. Georges Alexandré 23 Second London, England Southampton Violist -- --
Taylor, Mr. Percy Cornelius 32 Second London, England Southampton Cellist -- --
Woodward, Mr. John Wesley 32 Second Oxford, England Southampton Cellist -- --

****************************************************************************************

In the United Kingdom, the hymn ["Nearer My God..."] is usually associated with the 1861 hymn tune "Horbury" by John Bacchus Dykes. "Horbury" is named after a village near Wakefield, England, where Dykes had found "peace and comfort".[6] In the rest of the world, the hymn is usually sung to the 1856 tune "Bethany" by Lowell Mason. Methodists prefer the tune "Propior Deo" (Nearer to God), written by Arthur Sullivan (of Gilbert and Sullivan) in 1872. Sullivan also wrote a second setting of the hymn to a tune referred to as "St. Edmund", and there are other versions, including one referred to as "Liverpool" by John Roberts.[7]

RMS Titanic and SS Valencia

"Nearer, My God, to Thee" is associated with the RMS Titanic, as one passenger reported that the ship's band played the hymn as the Titanic sank. The "Bethany" version was used in the 1943 film Titanic and in the Jean Negulesco's 1953 film Titanic, whereas the "Horbury" version was played in Roy Ward Baker's 1958 movie about the sinking, A Night to Remember. The "Bethany" version was again used in James Cameron's 1997 Titanic.[15]

Wallace Hartley, the ship's band leader, who like all the musicians on board went down with the ship, was known to like the song and to wish to have it performed at his funeral. He was British and Methodist, and would have been familiar with both the "Horbury" and "Propior Deo" versions, but not with "Bethany". His father, a Methodist choirmaster, used the "Propior Deo" version at church for over thirty years. His family were certain he would have used the "Propior Deo" version, and it is this tune's opening notes that appear on Hartley's memorial.[16][17]

"Nearer, My God, to Thee" was also sung by the doomed crew and passengers of the SS Valencia as it sank off the Canadian coast in 1905 – indeed it may be the source of the Titanic legend, since the Titanic claim is made by a Canadian passenger who could not have actually heard the band playing.[18]

***************************************************************************************

All young guys, that band: many in their twenties, none over 33. Not a single brass instrument or even a reed; all strings and piano.

The question of the last tune remains ambiguous. One source states that light tunes suitable for keeping spirits up were played, including at least one ragtime number. Weddings again!

Thanks for digging up the info on the "band."

In my head I had always pictured an American style big band, with trumpet trombone and sax sections, and rhythm with drum, bass, and piano. My brother did a cruise ship gig with that type band, though the sections were pretty small, more like a modern Dixie (if modern Dixie isn't too anachronistic.)

The snopes article was dismissive of the band's ability to play a popular piece not found in their arrangement book. But that kind of instrumentation really should have had no trouble with it.

I was way off. This was almost a string quartet.