Piano World Home Page Forums Our Most Popular Forums Pianist Corner - Non Classical Let's Talk Weddings

If ever a sentence demanded an accompanying photo, this one surely does!

[...and now I'm wondering how on earth you manage to pedal in high heels? ]

Since we have long since abandoned any discernible boundary around this thread, I feel no shame about the following:

"Limbo" also has a theological meaning, which makes me think of Purgatory, which in turn reminds me of our drummer (many drummers, actually). The connection in his brain between thought and speech is frequently unfiltered and instantaneous.

To wit: We were playing at a dinner-dance in a Catholic Church cafegymatorium. It was the dead of winter, if memory serves. The load-in area was covered in a sheet of ice that was at once lumpy and as smooth as glass. One wrong move carrying a trap case and a drummer might be off to meet his maker. Perhaps that was on his mind.

The parish priest came over to our table during a break. He was the true Central Casting article, with the map of Donegal practically drawn on his face. He told us we were doing a good job and asked if there was anything he could do for us.

"Could you get them to re-open Purgatory Father?", asked the drummer, "I was really counting on that."

I have since looked it up. I'm not sure where he got the idea that the Church had abandoned the idea of Purgatory, but it was as clear a window as you could ask for into his personality nonetheless.

So there you have it: Limbo, Purgatory, Drummer, Priest, Google, with Piano World thrown in for good measure. That's not even an ellipse, is it?

Music has an entirely different effect on us when it's played live. I'm sure that I had either grimaced or rolled my eyes whenever I accidentally landed on Oom-Pah style music on the car radio. But seeing bands much as you describe at the Munich Oktoberfest gave me an entirely new perspective. The enormous beer hall whose translucent roof was painted with fluffy clouds, dirndl-clad waitresses of generous proportions handling 4 glass steins in each hand, a whole ox on a spit, the lederhosen even; all of it contributed to a new understanding. This is fun. Polkas were obviously written with enjoyment as the driving force.

Now I can even hear the "fun" on recordings. Travel is good for that.

I guess I should order some of your CDs to get a better idea, lest I stray beyond all bounds (assuming I enjoy the charity of still being on the right side). Barnes lists one only: An NPR Christmas Collection with Marian McPartland and Friends, with only one number out of the three-disc box set, performed by Robin. It is Magic in the Night. But, sometimes they "forget" works that are still in release. Some of the technical books on piano, for example, can only be ordered direct from the publisher. Or try finding a bio on Scriabin.

If we wanted to order Going Rogue, however... we could get it by the crate.

Thanks anyway to that one; I'm still working my way through Bach's On the True Art, and Famous Pianists and Their Technique. And a few about Chopin.

Naturally, I applaud anyone who takes the stage in leopard pumps. "Accessories make the ensemble," they say, "or break it." I hardly need say, no one can "do" Eartha; she was strictly a limited edition--- "is," I should say. Though I believe she's retired from performing, there's still plenty of sizzle in her recordings.

Maybe Madonna's pallid cover of Santa Baby amounts to a cautionary tale for other performers, and even she didn't dare touch I Want to Be Evil, I Want to be Bad. That knack of being sultry, and yet comical, is very rare.

Anyway, I'm sure a performer who can go on with the show despite "a major problem with wasps" doesn't need my help to choose material that works.

My CDs (physical copies) are all at Amazon, Jeff. Or maybe your nearest funeral home gift shop.

I am still amazed that "Magic in the Night" landed on Marian McPartland's Xmas recording. The producer had me record it at the end of the session we did for my show with her. I would have preferred to play one of my minor key Celtic dirges, but she already had too many of those and asked for something light and fast. Magic in the Night is from a children's holiday fairy play (with a giant rabbit) that I wrote for German public radio. It is being produced live this season, at, you guessed it, the castle where I play regularly. Fairies, brides, giant rabbits, we have it all there.

That, I would like to see. Maybe not all in the same event though.

Little Bunny Foo Foo suddenly comes to mind!

that is too funny.

A wedding story unlike any other:

An Italian Catholic service organist/cantor, Luigi, who is both a friend and a colleague, has a very far-flung network of contacts and frequently asks me to sub for him when he has more in a day than he can handle. Italians, by the way, are quite devoted to their departed family members, and usually ask that a memorial Mass be offered for one or another of their deceased, especially the month after the funeral, and annually thereafter, if not more frequently. Music is not compulsory, but is most often requested.

Such was the case, one Friday night last summer. Luigi had me go to a church for a 7:30 memorial Mass, to be sung in Italian. As usual, I went to the sacristy, where the priest vests for Mass, to speak with him to confirm last-minute details. No change from the arrangements with Luigi. Fine by me.

I went to the back of the church and up to the choir loft, set up my microphone and turned on the organ and sound system. I had decided to use a new-to-me hymn for the first time, so, while awaiting the bell that announces the beginning of the Mass, I looked through the words to make my pronunciation more secure. I had done memorial Masses in this church many times before, and I was completely at ease with the priest and with what was expected of me.

Several years earlier, having seen a photocopy, I had obtained from its Italian publisher an original printing of a Mass for the Dead, which I use for both funeral Masses and memorial Masses. It begins with an antiphon before and after a brief exerpt from a psalm. The antiphon, roughly translated, goes like this:

"Eternal rest give to them, Lord:
and [let] shine on them everlasting light."

Exactly what one would expect to begin a Mass for the Dead.

The bell rang and I played and sang the antiphon and psalm, in Italian, as usual, during the entrance procession of the priest and servers. When I conclude this music, the priest has reached his place at the altar and begins the Mass. However, instead of starting the Mass in Italian as I expected, he switched to English and welcomed the congregation to the marriage of two of the parishoners, which was to be celebrated at this Mass.

You have no idea how I felt at that moment, having just finished the music to begin the Mass for the Dead. Completely startled, I looked down into the church and saw that, between the time I had left the priest in the sacristy at the front of the church, and the ringing of the bell to start the Mass, there had been put in place two prie-dieus and chairs for the man and the woman who were now situated at the head of the main aisle, and who, now obviously, were about to marry. They were dressed in very ordinary casual street clothes -- no bridal gown, no suit on the groom, let alone a tux, and not even a tie. And the bride was very obviously pregnant. Well, I thought, that explains that.

I hadn't brought my wedding music book with me. I was able to switch to English readily enough for the standard parts of the Mass (e.g., Kyrie, Sanctus, Agnus Dei). I went diving into a cupboard and came up with an old hymnal with which I was familiar, and was able to sing a psalm and Gospel acclamation suitable for the occasion.

After the Gospel is read at a wedding Mass, the wedding ceremony proper takes place. The priest began by apologizing to the couple and to the entire congregation for not having informed the organist that this was to be a wedding Mass. It turns out that their wedding Mass was originally to have been at 8:15, but at the very last moment they asked if they could celebrate their marriage within the 7:30 Mass.

During the Offertory, the old hymnal provided me with a good wedding prayer/hymn for the newly married couple, and a good Communion hymn. I chose a fairly martial-type hymn for the recessional, and that was that.

Afterwards, I sought out the couple to extend my own apologies, but they were both rather bemused by the whole thing, and told me not to worry about it. The next day, I called Luigi, and when he got past his incredulity, we had quite a good laugh together.

I doubt I shall ever again begin a wedding Mass with a prayer from the Mass for the Dead, but for these two at least, it might not have been all that inappropriate a prayer for the beginning of their married life.

Wonderful story, Brian! I'm wondering if the other way around might have been worse. What if you played wedding music for a funeral?

I am in the middle of three completely different projects right now: a children's musical (in German), a comedy Piano Girl show (in English), and a serious solo piano concert (two language narration), and I keep having nightmares that I confuse one with the other—that I play the rabbit-fairy music for the serious candlelight concert, or that I'm playing a serious concert for a room for of kids (who start throwing stuff at me) or that I tell jokes in English and the German audience stares at me like I have a lettuce leaf on my head.

Your story is living proof that this can indeed happen.

Thanks for sharing this with us. BTW, you're an excellent writer!

I have certainly experienced the actuality of sneaking a wedding into what was presented to me as a Mass for the Dead. The other way around? -- how could you sneak a funeral into a wedding? (I'm not anxious to find out, really....) I think I would just take out a box of Smith Brothers and stop the coffin.

We played a wedding of sorts last night; actually a 50th anniversary with a renewal of vows. The couple appeared to be happy and in good health. Nice, but little story fodder.

The place is worthy of mention, though. It's a yacht club. Does that paint a picture for you? An imposing Victorian building with a widow's walk, perhaps? 40 foot twin-engine pleasure crafts and cigarette boats? We've played at places like that, but in our experience, "yacht club" is a title that can cover a wide range of possibilities. All of them are near water, to be sure, and all have a number of floating vessels tied up nearby. Beyond that, almost any configuration is possible.

The place last night was surely built in stages. My best guess in that the first stage was an equipment box with a rusty padlock. Then a shed, then a bar, etc. It's a small place, one story with a party room, a bar and a kitchen. Different parts of the building are at slightly different levels, requiring small ramps. The "yachts" would be more accurately called "boats".

The people are friendly. It's a decent gig. But even in a small island neighborhood of modest houses, this is a very low-profile place. Which brings me, of course, to a story.

Several of our guys had trouble finding this small, poorly lit yacht club the first time we played there. To make matters worse, there's an ornate behemoth of a building practically next door. It's four stories tall and festooned with gables on all sides.

I gave that building a long look myself that first time, considering whether or not to pull into the semi-circular driveway. Something just didn't look right. I continued on, eventually finding a local walking a dog. She took me to the club.

Our guitarist did pull into the driveway. He grabbed a couple of things from his car and walked up the front staircase. As luck would have it, some sort of delivery person was coming out as he got to the door. Our guitarist held the door and walked in. He was a few steps into the grand hall inside when a young woman in a nightgown came out of another room, holding a baby.

"Er... is this the yacht club?"

"No. Next door."

That was several years ago. We've played there a half-dozen times since. Sensitive fellows that we are, we never miss an opportunity to remind him about it.

This weekend I'm performing HERE COMES THAT BRIDE from Piano Girl, here in Germany. The piece was translated into German. I work with a German actress—I play myself (and the piano) and she plays all the other parts. Anyway, at rehearsal this morning—as I was banging out a ridiculous version of MY WAY and playing bullfight music for the bride's entrance, I found myself thinking of my colleagues here at PW and how much fun you all would have with this! Sometimes I think we're all working for the same bride. This show will be ridiculously funny—I just hope the audience gets it. There should be quite a few musicians in the audience, so that will help.

Greg, Yacht Clubs can be very scary. I used to play at the Nantucket Yacht Club. You can only imagine that scene.

I like those vow renewal weddings. Seems like people get it right the second time around. Love is lovelier, and so on.

I have never actually been to a yacht club, but I have taken some very scary ladies to one in my cab; yuppie social climbers. Yes, they were climbing the social ladder trying to become yuppies on the back of their business: selling antique (or just old) telephones.

No editorial comment is necessary.

I will say a splashy wedding probably featured in their fantasies of the future. Mrs. Yacht Club Yuppie.

Well, it was bound to happen. I just read in the International Musician newspaper that Anne Roos (a Celtic harpist, no less) has written a book called The Musician's Guide to Brides. From the descriptions I read on-line, it sounds like an actual how-to, written from a serious perspective. Here's the publisher's blurb:

"Professional harpist Anne Roos draws upon her years of experience working with wedding planners and brides to guide the reader every step of the way to becoming a successful wedding musician. Readers will also get insider advice from internationally recognized wedding planning professionals, comprehensive worksheets, and checklists that provide all they need to know to plan their business and performances, and even sheet music arrangements of traditional wedding music. This is a must-have book for musicians and bands who want to keep their calendar full with high-paying wedding ceremonies and receptions."

Our PW Wedding Thread book would tell a different story; Limbo! (imagine that on Celtic harp) Classical music nervous breakdowns! Burger King theme songs! Warted people! Dancing dogs!

Congrats to Ms. Roos! I'm sure this book will provide a great service to those hoping to break into the wedding music field.

Hmmmm.... Robin, I think you need to get cracking on "The Musician's Guide to Bridezillas." The world doesn't need yet another serious wedding guide... but a book-length treatment of the stories being told in this thread would be a gift to anybody needing a laugh.

Don't leave out the "Misadventure of the Wasp Nest" and the "Omen of the Service for the Dead" (Performed by Mistake, while the Preacher Pretended Not to Notice and the Bride Broke Out in a Rash).

Oh yes, "Omen of the Service for the Dead" is one of my favorites.

Hey, I just saw we passed the 10,000 hits mark!

Hmmm.

I'm sure that Ms. Roos has tried to be comprehensive, but "all they need to know" is much too optimistic a promise. The theme underlying practically all of these posts is that however prepared you may think you are, the unexpected is to be expected at these gigs.

I can't help but feel that as a harp player Ms. Roos may have a somewhat sanitized perspective. Great Aunt Concetta doesn't wince on every note and tell the harp player to "turn it down". No one asks the harp player for "I Will Survive" (a cheery wedding sentiment, if ever there was one) or "Love Shack". Very few people have an inebriated uncle or an allegedly precocious nine-year-old who plays the harp and "simply must" perform for the guests. Wannabe musicians don't pester the harp player about whether the harp is "Pre-CBS" or what brand of strings she uses. The harpist probably fits in the space she is asked to play in, and doesn't need electricity, or at least not enough to present a problem.

The harpist most certainly did not have to drag her harp up the icy outdoor steps of Antun's Old Country Manor every third Tuesday night to compete (unpaid) against three other harpists to get the gig in the first place. She doesn't have to read 22 multisyllabic names written on a Post-It Note at a Polish/Greek wedding. As she is most likely playing the ceremony, rather than the reception, she will generally be dealing with a less "lubricated" clientele, and may never see the inside of the kitchen.

This is not to say that she would be entirely insulated from the lunacy that accompanies a wedding -- it's much too pervasive a phenomenon -- but I'll bet she occupies a notably different world than I do.

"The harpist most certainly did not have to drag her harp up the icy outdoor steps of Antun's Old Country Manor every third Tuesday night to compete (unpaid) against three other harpists to get the gig in the first place. She doesn't have to read 22 multisyllabic names written on a Post-It Note at a Polish/Greek wedding. As she is most likely playing the ceremony, rather than the reception, she will generally be dealing with a less "lubricated" clientele, and may never see the inside of the kitchen."

Greg, that's a really funny paragraph.

I suspect my world of weddings is more like Ms. Roos's than yours, but even though we wear ball gowns and sit in the corner doing the tinka-tinka thing we still have to deal with all kinds of wedding nonsense. Different, but equally crazy, I would say. Without the sound system and the stage and the other band members, acoustic soloists are unarmed, working without a net, facing the wedding planner and an army of mauve lace with nothing but a repertoire of quiet music to get us through some very long hours.

I'm thinking of working in a cocktail piano version of I WILL SURVIVE. That could be our group theme song, don't you think? It could even work on celtic harp.

Truth is generally funnier than fiction, especially when filtered by selective memory. I'm sure I climbed those thirty steel steps dozens of times and in every season of the year, but I really cannot remember doing it in good weather. It could be a crystal blue day in June, but as my car approached the parking lot the sky would darken, the Earth's axis would tilt and a bolt of arctic air would rocket toward the catering hall, carrying sleet, ice and the odd penguin.

Right there I detect a difference. Only one guy in the band ever wore a dress, and he was gone before I joined.

I have to admit, I do appreciate being a sideman. When someone is bearing down on me with that almost-unhinged look, it's nice to be able to reply "Who's in charge? Why, that guy over there...".