A Star in the East

In the early 1990’s I had the great, good fortune of playing with Voices of the Golden Age, a straight-ahead early music group. We performed a lot of 17th century Italian vocal music and frequently my bass line was exactly the same as the one sung by Larry Vote, our baritone. The three singers in the group were extraordinary. They had the technique to accomplish anything they set out to do, they were all passionate about the genre - and passion was the subject much of the time. In those years, I learned to play the viola da gamba in Italian, to articulate the vowels and consonants exactly as the singers did, to treasure the text, and feel the relationship between words and music.

Last year, when we were assembling the music for this CD, we took existing pieces and reimagined them, composed new tunes, and chose some favorites - looking not to cheer the world, but rather to honor and celebrate the everything that Christmas can be, and the unexpected ways that it has been transformed.

One cannot listen to this recording without hearing the words. Whether it’s Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, or Good King Wenceslas, they are ever present. We carry with us every Christmas that has come before. The winters of our childhood, the arc of parenthood present buying, with its attending successes and epic failures, the Christmas days with everyone gathered around, and then there was Christmas 2020.

In 1943, Hugh Martin and Ralph Blane wrote Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, for the film Meet Me in St. Louis. In this scene, Judy Garland sings to her sister, who is bereft because they are leaving their hometown.

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas
Let your heart be light
Next year all our troubles will be out of sight

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas
Make the yuletide gay
Next year all our troubles will be miles away 

Once again as in olden days
Happy golden days of yore
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Will be near to us once more

Someday soon we all will be together
If the fates allow
Until then we'll have to muddle through somehow

So Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas now

Her performance is imbued with the longing for what had been, and what was not to be.

For all of us, these words meant something very different last year. The fates did not allow us to gather in 2020. And yet, in the song there is a kind of optimistic looking forward, a quiet acceptance, acknowledging what is to come.

The poetry of James Agee’s Descriptions of Elysium, excerpted for Sure on this Shining Night, is one of the most beautiful texts set to music that I have ever had the opportunity to play.

Sure on this shining night
Of starmade shadows round,
Kindness must watch for me
This side the ground.

The late year lies down the north.
All is healed, all is health.
High summer holds the earth.
Hearts all whole.

Sure on this shining night I weep for wonder wandering far alone
Of shadows on the stars.

The way that Samuel Barber composed the song and its accompaniment creates an entire world of night, stars, and wonder. There is silence, stillness, grace. It could not be otherwise.

Lully, Lullay was first published as part of a 16th century English mystery play, The Pageant of the Shearers and Tailors about the slaughter of the innocents.  It is lullaby, sung by mothers before their children are taken away. How extraordinarily intense a subject, how different the song becomes when the context is known. For hundreds of years, the celebration of Christmas did not shrink from death. Indeed the long winter’s night was embedded in the celebration that came to represent both darkness and the light.

Letters from my Swedish immigrant great-grandmother, always started with “My dearest Mizzie Mine and family.” My most beloved memories of Christmas are from my grandparent’s house. There’s not a detail that does not resonate, from the well-worn copy of “The Night Before Christmas” with a tab that could move the reindeer across the page, to the traditional decorations on the tree. There was love, a roast leg of lamb, sweet rolls, and joy in that house, and my memories are full of longing for those days, and a recognition of the sweet sorrow for the end of childhood.

Ronn’s Christmas Morning perfectly describes the anticipation, joy, and delight of seeing the tree with presents underneath. He captured that moment when we, as children, experienced the excitement, as our parents looked on.

I did not know of The Snowman, an English short film from 1982. When Ronn brought Walking in the Air to our rehearsal, I fell in love with its complicated emotional landscape. Then I saw the film. Of course Ronn loves it. There is a place where we all live sometimes, a place where our dreams come alive, and yet we know that morning will come. There, we experience a suspension of worry and the notion of infinite possibility – and we know that place is not forever. It seemed only fitting to pair it with Wondrous Love, a hymn of gratitude, and of freedom.

To God and to the Lamb I will sing, I will sing,
to God and to the Lamb I will sing,
to God and to the Lamb who is the great I Am,
while millions join the theme, I will sing, I will sing,
while millions join the theme, I will sing.

And when from death I’m free I’ll sing on, I’ll sing on,
and when from death I’m free, I’ll sing on,
and when from death I’m free, I’ll sing and joyful be,
and through eternity I’ll sing on, I’ll sing on,
and through eternity I’ll sing on.

It turns out that The Carol of the Bells is a comfy home for God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen and the L’Homme Arme tune, whose inclusion on this CD is a deep nod to our shared early music roots – a world that was home, where we both lived fully and completely in our younger years. This tune helped bring us to the moment we inhabit now.

In the end, like the three wise men following A Star in the East, we journey. When our producer, Dan Merceruio asked what exactly Ronn’s composition described, I had an answer. Whenever we are headed to a destination unknown, there are a few things to remember. It takes courage to move forward. Sometimes, it’s scary as hell. Bring food and water (or a roast leg of lamb.) We love and have been loved. Christmas is an idea that comes once a year, and it will be different every time, especially as we grow older. And most importantly, darkness is always followed by the dawn.

About the Sessions

This is not our first rodeo. We are not ancient people, but between us we have made music happen for hundreds of years.

Our remarkable executive producer, Lindsey R. Nelson has worked with musicians of all stripes, including the big dogs of jazz and blues, traditional fiddlers, string quartets, and orchestras. He’s managed tours all over the world, put on jazz festivals, and run some of the most prestigious venues in the country.

Dan Merceruio, went straight from the conservatory to Sono Luminus, where he refined both his technique and style, becoming one of the most extraordinary producers in the industry. Ronn and I have worked with him for years, Ronn with Baltimore Consort and Ayreheart, and for me, with Ensemble Galilei, our duo, and on private projects. We trust him implicitly. A meticulous listener, he brings vision, intention, and an unparalleled ability to communicate how to create that mysterious moment when all that exists is the music – even on the seventeenth take.

Brian Doser, our engineer, spent years touring the country with Ensemble Galilei. He stays calm in spite of inherent chaos, works with whatever system is installed in any given concert hall, finds the very best way for music to be experienced by audiences - bringing his prodigious knowledge of technology, his understanding of physics, acoustics, and idiosyncratic rare instruments, and most importantly, his capacity to work tirelessly until the sound is exactly the way it needs to be, to the sessions in Chicago.

Then there’s Madisen. I suggested to Lindsey that we might not need Madisen, after all, there weren’t very many of us to manage, we’re all capable people, and there wasn’t a lot of travel involved. I was so wrong. Madisen Dempsey, Ensemble Galilei’s tour manager, who can function on almost no sleep, and smiles when flights are cancelled and hotels are overbooked, was our goddess of practical life. She made sure we were fed, found the best coffee, unlocked the doors, guided us through the building, called the cabs, and took care of the details of life so that we could be completely engaged in the business at hand.

Ronn, Jackie, and I brought the usual - our instruments, passion, expertise, and courage (people often don’t think of the courage part.) But truly, the recording sessions at WBEZ were different, not because of any one of us – but because of all of us.

We’ve been in studios before. We’ve worked in different cities, with a variety of engineers, musicians, producers, studio managers, record labels, equipment, hotels, different levels of preparation, intention, arrogance, ambition, good humor, patience, humility, insensitivity, and sensitivity. Humans, go figure.

Usually, recording sessions create their own weather. The first day can be fraught. People get impatient, travel can be problematic, practical complications loom large. Then as the week progresses, tempers can flare, differences of opinion arise, exhaustion, both physical and emotional, can take a toll, and it gets harder to be in the moment. Panic can set in. Will there be enough time? Is there enough music? It sounded good in rehearsal but is it good enough?

It was quiet at WBEZ when we arrived there on Tuesday, May 11. Okay, so maybe Ronn and I arrived a little later than we intended, after I woke up the cab driver whose taxi was sitting at the curb parked outside the hotel, who then deposited us at the wrong end of Navy Pier. But Madisen found us wandering around, and led us to the station. Of course she did.

Collin Ashmead-Bobbitt from WBEZ, met us at the door. An engineer’s engineer, he, Brian, and Dan, all spoke the same language of microphones, software, sound bleed, wood surfaces, rugs, curtains, glass, sound reflection, and squeaky chairs (not to mention spiking chairs.) He helped us to feel at home, welcomed, and so very comfortable.

The work of making a recording began. Every project is different. And when we put our many decades of experience together, it is likely that the result will be marvelous. It is not always the case that the process will be transcendent – but in this case it was.

Truly, as we spent day after day in the studio, our sense of shared purpose increased. As musicians, we felt supported and heard. As people we felt cared for and valued. As a team we worked together to create a recording that was so much more than the sum of its parts. And I can hear it. When I listen, I hear beauty. I hear collaboration. I hear those ineffable moments of pure music. And I am deeply grateful for this opportunity, these people, that place, and the shared passion for the work. It was, indeed, miraculous.