Something for the weekend. Louis Armstrong gives an unforgettable rendition of Go Down Moses. A Negro spiritual dating from Virginia in 1853, the song is a tribute to the imperishable desire for freedom planted by the hand of God in each human soul.
We bide our chance,
Unhappy, and make terms with Fate
A little more to let us wait;
He leads for aye the advance,
Hope’s forlorn-hopes that plant the desperate good
For nobler Earths and days of manlier mood;
James Russell Lowell, Memoriae Positum
Selections from the score of the movie Glory (1989), the story of the 54th Massachusetts, one of the first Union black regiments, up to their valiant assault on Fort Wagner in 1863. A prime example of historical movies should be made, Glory performs the epic feat of bringing to life again the days of the Civil War when the fate of the nation was decided.
Something for the weekend. Guy Lombardo and his Royal Canadians playing Auld Lang Syne. The first year I spent on this globe was in 1957. The above is the New Year’s Eve broadcast on CBS by Guy Lombardo and his Royal Canadians on December 31, 1957. Born in Canada, Lombardo became a naturalized American citizen in 1938. For 48 years, until his death in 1977, Guy Lombardo and his band ushered in the New Year with broadcasts, first on CBS radio and then on CBS television. The first televised broadcast was in 1956. Guy Lombardo and his band managed the feat of remaining popular, and highly profitable, for half a century, a difficult feat in as fickle an enterprise as the entertainment industry. Lombardo was the heart and soul of the operation, his band surviving his death only by two years.
The culmination of the Advent portions of Handel’s Advent Messiah. Go here to listen to the earlier portions.
Handel heralds the coming of Christ with the immortal words of Isaiah Chapter 9, verse 6:
For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.
Therefore the Lord himself shall give you a sign. Behold a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and his name shall be called Emmanuel.
Something for the weekend. Lo How a Rose E’er Blooming. Written by the ever prolific composer Anonymous in 16th century Germany, it quickly became a favorite hymn of both Catholics and Protestants in that time and land of religious strife, and that is a good message for Christmas. Continue reading
Something for the weekend before Christmas. Veni, Veni Emmanuel. The words of this magnificent hymn are from the 9th century and the melody is from 15th century France. It is more familiar these days in its English translation. Below is a powerful version that has great meaning for me. After the death of my son Larry on Pentecost Sunday 2013 I found it of immense comfort. Christ is Our Way, Our Truth and Our Everlasting Life.
Something for the weekend. Turkey in the Straw seems appropriate for the weekend before Thanksgiving. The spirited rendition above is by the Skillet Lickers, a Georgia band of the twenties and thirties of the last century. Part time musicians, they made up in enthusiasm and faithfulness to the traditional music they played, what they may have lacked in technical skill.
Something for the weekend. A rousing rendition of Southern Soldier by the 2nd South Carolina String Band, a group dedicated to bringing to modern audiences Civil War music played on period instruments. Southern Soldier was immensely popular among Confederate troops during the latter part of the War and was one of their favorite marching tunes. Continue reading
Something for the weekend. Salve Regina. Christopher Columbus was nearing the end of his voyage across the Atlantic 523 years ago. He had a deep devotion to the Virgin Mary. Each night he would assemble the crew on his ship to sing the Salve Regina. The hymn was written in the eleventh century by Blessed Hermann the Cripple, a truly fascinating figure.
Born on July 18, 1013, he was a son of Wolverad II, Earl of Altshausen. He entered this world with maladies that would be considered overwhelming in our time and in the eleventh century entirely beyond hope: a cleft palate and cerebral palsy and spina bifida, or perhaps Lou Gehrig’s disease or spinal muscular atrophy. In any event he could barely move, and could hardly speak. He was placed in a monastery at age 7, no doubt his parents fearing that all that would occur for their son for the remainder of his time in this vale of tears was that he would be made as comfortable as possible until his afflicted life came to an end.
Among the monks he flourished. At twenty he took his vows as a Benedictine monk. He spent most of his life at the Abbey of Reichenau. He quickly demonstrated that a keen mind, as well as a beautiful soul, inhabited his wreck of a body. He mastered several languages including Latin, Arabic and Greek. His genius was catholic in its scope: he wrote a treatise on the science of music, several works on geometry, mathematics and astronomy, a chronicle of events from the Crucifixion to his time and composed religious poetry. He built musical instruments and astronomical devices. Students flocked to him throughout Europe, drawn not only by his learning but also by his sweet demeanor. It is impossible to overstate the importance of his role in the scientific renaissance sweeping through Europe in the eleventh century.
Going blind in his later years, he became a noted composer of hymns, including the Salve Regina. Dying in 1054 at age 40, he was beatified by Pio Nono in 1863. Continue reading
Something for the weekend. I am in a disgusted mood at the papal events of this week, and when I am in such a mood it is time for a little Irish rebel music, and nothing fits the bill better than The Rising of the Moon. The song, written around 1865, celebrates the Irish rising of 1798, when Protestant and Catholic Irishmen, with the help of a small French invasion force, launched a rebellion, probably the largest and most hard fought revolt against English rule in the history of Ireland. Like all such Irish revolts, except for the last one, it was defeated and drowned in blood. However, the Irish have ever celebrated their defeats even more than their victories, and The Rising of the Moon is a fitting tribute.
Oh! then tell me, Shawn O’Ferrall, Tell me why you hurry so?”
“Hush ma bouchal, hush and listen”, And his cheeks were all a-glow.
“I bear ordhers from the captain, Get you ready quick and soon,
For the pikes must be together At the risin’ of the moon”.
At the risin’ of the moon, at the risin’ of the moon,
For the pikes must be together at the risin’ of the moon.
“Oh! then tell me, Shawn O’Ferrall, Where the gatherin’ is to be?”
“In the ould spot by the river, Right well known to you and me.
One word more—for signal token Whistle up the marchin’ tune,
With your pike upon your shoulder, By the risin’ of the moon”.
By the risin’ of the moon, by the risin’ of the moon,
With your pike upon your shoulder, by the risin’ of the moon.
Out from many a mudwall cabin Eyes were watching thro’ that night,
Many a manly chest was throbbing For the blessed warning light.
Murmurs passed along the valleys Like the banshee’s lonely croon,
And a thousand blades were flashing At the risin’ of the moon.
At the risin’ of the moon, at the risin’ of the moon,
And a thousand blades were flashing at the risin’ of the moon.
There beside the singing river That dark mass of men was seen,
Far above the shining weapons Hung their own beloved green.
“Death to ev’ry foe and traitor! Forward! strike the marchin’ tune,
And hurrah, my boys, for freedom! ‘T is the risin’ of the moon”.
‘T is the risin’ of the moon, ‘t is the risin’ of the moon,
And hurrah my boys for freedom! ‘t is the risin’ of the moon.
Well they fought for poor old Ireland, And full bitter was their fate
(Oh! what glorious pride and sorrow Fill the name of Ninety-Eight).
Yet, thank God, e’en still are beating Hearts in manhood’s burning noon,
Who would follow in their footsteps, At the risin’ of the moon!
At the rising of the moon, at the risin’ of the moon,
Who would follow in their footsteps, at the risin’ of the moon. Continue reading
Something for the weekend. Heia Safari!. The lyrics were written in 1916 by noted German painter of African wild life Hans Aschenborn, and became immensely popular. When Paul Emil von Lettow Vorbeck wrote his memoirs, he entitled the book Heia Safari (Hurray Safari).
Paul Emil von Lettow-Vorbeck doubtless would have died an obscure retired German colonel but for the outbreak of World War I. Taking command of the troops of German East Africa he made up his mind that he would help the German war effort by holding down as many Allied troops in Africa as possible. This seemed like a large task for a man who commanded 2,600 German nationals and 2,472 African soldiers in fourteen Askari field companies. The other German colonies in Africa were conquered swiftly by the Allies, but von Lettow-Vorbeck had a deep streak of military genius in him that had hitherto been unrecognized.
He defeated the initial Allied attempts to take the colony and expended to 14,000 his mostly native force. He declared that “We are all Africans here.” and lived up to that claim by appointing native officers, mastering their language and treating his troops fairly, without loosening the strict discipline he applied to Germans and natives alike. He proved a master of guerrilla war and improvisation, often arming, clothing and feeding his men from the stores of defeated Allied forces sent against him. The Allies would pour 250,000 troops into a campaign that lasted the entire war. He became a hero in Germany as news of his exploits spread, and the British grew to respect and admire a man who fought successfully against very long odds.
He ended the war undefeated, he and his men in northern Rhodesia, the only undefeated German force of the War. He and his officers were given a tumultuous parade in Berlin in 1919. Deeply conservative, he entered German politics after he retired from the Army in 1928 and served as a member of the Reichstag. He fought against the rise of the Nazis and Hitler, who he despised. When Hitler offered him the ambassadorship to Great Britain, knowing in what esteem the British held their old foe, the old soldier allegedly told Hitler to perform an anatomically impossible act. (After World War II a nephew confirmed this in substance, but mentioned to his British inquirer that he had heard that his uncle had not been quite that polite to Corporal Hitler.) Continue reading
Something for the weekend: The Ship That Never Returned. Written in 1865 by Henry Work, who the same year wrote Marching Through Georgia, it enjoyed immense popularity. I can’t help but imagine that many of the listeners at the time were thinking of all the ships and men lost in the maelstrom of war in the preceding four years. The song is sung by Tom Roush who has developed quite a following on YouTube with his heart felt renditions of 19th century songs.
Something for the weekend. The Internationale being sung in Spanish in Havana. This is dedicated to Cardinal Jaime Ortega, and the Babalu Blog, the go to blog for all activities in Castro’s island gulag, tells us why:
Diplomacy does not seem to be Cardinal Jaime Ortega’s strongpoint. The archbishop of Havana behaved badly to a group of anti-Castro activists who were distributing a statement on a proposed amnesty law for political prisoners to diplomats attending 4th of July ceremonies at the home of Jeffrey DeLaurentis, head of the US Interests Section in Havana.
The cardinal’s harsh comments came shortly after a musical group — clad in colorful Prussian blue uniforms with white caps — had finished playing the last notes of the national anthems of Cuba and the United States on their wind instruments and after a brief welcome by Mr. DeLaurentis.
Relaxed officials and accredited diplomats working in Havana were chatting with dissidents, musicians and Cuban intellectuals — they had been invited to Independence Day celebrations — as waiters served red wine, beer, fruit juice and canapés.
Activists Egberto Escobedo and Jose Diaz Silva approached Ortega, who was chatting with a group of bishops, to hand him a list of fifty-one political prisoners whose release the Forum for Rights and Liberties — a group led by Antonio Rodiles, Angel Moya and Berta Soler — had been requesting every Sunday for twelve weeks in the face of intense harassment by police.
“I don’t want you handing me another list. Send it to the ’worms’* broadcasting on the radio from Miami. If you keep bothering me, I’ll have them call the police,” responded Ortega angrily.
Diplomats, guests and foreign journalists were taken aback. His outburst was the talk of the evening.
“He seemed more like a Stalinist commissar than a compassionate agent of the Lord. We assumed the Catholic church was supposed to welcome all of us. But for some time now there has been a faction of the Cuban church that has not only turned its back on dissidents but has attacked us nearly as forcefully as the government,” said Victor Manuel Dominguez, a poet and freelance journalist.
An official from a western embassy, speaking on condition of anonymity, expressed the opinion of his mission that “all that is being asked of Ortega is that he at least listen to a person’s demands, even if he does not agree with them.”
The Cuban archbishop’s verbal hostility stems from statements he made on June 5 to Cadena Ser, a Spanish radio station, in which he said that there are no longer political prisoners in Cuba.
This statement provoked a harsh response from activist Jose Luis Garcia Perez, known as Antunez. Antunez and other activists — including Rodiles, Guillermo Fariñas, Angel Moya and Berta Soler — were present during the cardinal’s tantrum.
“This is what one would expect from a society in which religious institutions that supposedly welcome all believers turns its back on dissidents. But this is what is happening. Intellectuals and a certain segment of the clergy remain suspiciously silent in the face of Sunday assaults on activists and the Ladies in White,” said Rodiles. Continue reading
I have always thought `Dixie’ one of the best tunes I have ever heard. Our adversaries over the way attempted to appropriate it, but I insisted yesterday that we fairly captured it. [Applause.] I presented the question to the Attorney General, and he gave it as his legal opinion that it is our lawful prize. [Laughter and applause.] I now request the band to favor me with its performance.’”
Abraham Lincoln, requesting the playing of Dixie when a crowd came to the White House after Lee’s Surrender.
Something for the weekend. Well, after the Confederate flag madness of this week, the only appropriate song is Dixie. One of Abraham Lincoln’s favorite songs, it now may become an anthem of a new movement against the suffocating political correctness that is threatening the freedom of our land. Bob Dylan’s rendition of Dixie prior to the world going crazy:
Something for the weekend. In honor of the Green Encyclical, a bit of Tom Lehrer. Living through the Sixties when I was a kid was bad enough. Little did I know that I would have the “joy” of reliving the Sixties in my fifties. The only thing that Marx, Karl not Groucho, got right was that history frequently does repeat itself: the first time as tragedy, the second time as farce.
Something for the weekend: Battle Hymn of the Republic. Doubtless many men who fought in the Civil War thought, and dreaded, that the War might go on forever. Now, however, it had ended with Union victory. Some European powers speculated that the United States would now use its vast armies to take foreign territory: perhaps French occupied Mexico, maybe settle old scores by taking Canada from Great Britain, Cuba, held by moribund Spain was certainly a tempting target. But no, the armies had been raised for the purpose of preserving the Union. Now the men in the ranks were eager to get home, and the nation was just as eager to enjoy peace.
One last duty remained however: an immense victory parade in Washington. On May 23, 1865, the 80,000 strong Army of the Potomac marched happily through the streets of Washington on a glorious spring day. For six hours they passed the reviewing stand, where President Johnson, the cabinet, General Grant and assorted civilian and military high brass, received the salutes of, and saluted, the men who had saved the Union. Most of the men had hated the Army, and were overjoyed to be going home, but for the rest of their lives they would remember this day and how all the death and suffering they had endured over the past four years had not been in vain after all. Almost all of them were very young men now, and many of them would live to old age, future generations then having a hard time picturing them as they were now: lean, battle-hardened and the victors of the bloodiest war in the history of their nation. When they died iron stars would be put by their graves, and each Decoration Day, eventually called Memorial Day, flags would be planted by their graves, as if to recall a huge banner draped over the Capitol on this day of days:
“The Only National Debt We Can Never Pay, Is The Debt We Owe To Our Victorious Soldiers.” Continue reading
Something for the weekend: The Judge’s Song from Gilbert and Sullivan’s Trial by Jury. Any relation between this judge and any that you may encounter is no doubt purely coincidental.