Abstract
Muriel’s Songs (for mezzo-soprano and eleven in instruments) does not incorporate recordings like many of my earlier pieces have. The opportunities for layers of musical reference are, therefore, different. I have taken a more traditional, and exposed, approach this time. The piece is scored for mezzo-soprano soloist and eleven instruments and traverses the tumult of Twentieth-Century America from the very personal, intimate and, primarily domestic perspective of my grandmother. Each song inhabits its own musical world with stylistic points of departure from Baroque to Tin Pan Alley, The Beatles, Latin Jazz and Disco to Milton Babbitt. Finding the right balance of reference and new creation, as always, was both enjoyable and challenging. It felt especially risky to have used so many musical styles as points of departure. It feels even more risky to strip those sources naked here, though I am not about to tell it all.
Muriel’s Songs – text adapted from Years of Understanding, by Muriel Chasalow
1913
When she was ten, my grandmother, Muriel lived for the summer with her mother’s mother, who spoke no English and spent the days engaged in Jewish rituals. The experience was a stark contrast to what she knew at home. Her father had been born in Brooklyn and they lived a very secular life. The ensemble begins and ends with an energetic tutti that settles into something more folk-like as the voice enters.
My mother’s mother was orthodox
So very religious, she only spoke Yiddish The summer that I turned ten years old and my Zadie died, suddenly, I, as the eldest, was sent to stay For a while to keep her company. When I washed my hands, we said a prayer With every meal, we said a prayer Before going to bed, we said a prayer. I found this all very new And so very exciting. But for her it was Just the way that Every day had always been And always would be. But my parents were completely different. My father was a Tammany Hall Democrat And above all, worshiped The Brooklyn Dodgers.
1916
The second song centers on an anecdote of Muriel’s that I love. It really captures something about being very young and wanting something very badly only to get it and realize it is not quite what you thought it would be. The song melds two different bits of piano music from a time when upward mobility was defined by having a piano in your parlor – so of course, the accompaniment is piano-centric. In the transition from the first song (there is no pause between the two), and again at the end, there are refracted eighth notes sounding somewhat like a Hanon exercise. In between, I’ve woven a reference to the Irving Berlin hit, I Love a Piano.
Oh how I envied every other girl Walking down along Fulton Street carrying a roll of piano music under her arm. I begged my parents for lessons too. They were very expensive Relying as we did, on father’s salary Selling shoes in the Store below our apartment. At first, I was determined And I continued to practice diligently But soon, it became more and more of a chore Until one day I placed the novel that I was reading over the music. I guess it sounded odd Because my mother came Quickly into the room And that was the end of my music lessons.
1919
In a few of her stories, Muriel writes about how she felt being Jewish in a “mixed neighborhood” in Brooklyn, including the grammar school. The line about cringing when they sang “Onward Christian Soldiers” is entirely hers, as is the reference her teacher made to Helen Hayes. It all reminded me a bit of the song, General William Booth Enters Into Heaven by Charles Ives – a march that became my point of departure.
I cringed so when they sang “Onward Christian Soldiers” But I always joined in on “America the Beautiful” Then, they rolled the doors shut And classes began. Oh, that Helen Hayes! She should be going places.
1934
Muriel Gellert marries Sam Chasalow and they move to an apartment in Newark, NJ. The couple starts to make a life together in the Weequahic neighborhood, full of Jewish life as captured a few years later by Philip Roth, an older schoolmate of their daughter Renee. The music starts out angular and strange, metaphorically becoming more settled and conjunct toward the end.
The mother across the hall in Newark earned her living as a prostitute But we felt it didn’t Really affect us in any way. One day, in a straight line, coming across the hall into our apartment, a line of cockroaches. What should I do? I placed a small begonia on our window sill and it became a very large plant. Sam said, Let’s go down to Prince Street and pick up some pastrami sandwiches at Sidney’s.
1938
My father, Ivan always told this story and my grandfather, Sam would respond with a smile and no more than a word or two. I have moved the perspective to that of my grandmother, who never mentioned it. Allegedly, during the 30’s, my grandfather joined with other Jewish men to “confront” the local German American Bund – a group of Nazi sympathizers. It is also likely that Sam and his buddies were supported in their efforts by the Jewish mob, as documented in several sources on the time. In another story, they show up the next morning with some watermelons to share with the family. The accompaniment, a variation of the material in the first song, consists entirely of a transparent line of eighth-notes resonant of a Bach suite movement. The connection would be more apparent if this music appeared in the keyboard, but I have intentionally avoided that.
That night you were Running very late The children were hungry So I fed them When you finally returned with a watermelon under each arm You did not mention Where they came from Or the German sympathizers Though I read about what had happened to them The next morning In the Newark papers Over coffee While our children Enjoyed that sweet Pink fruit
1942
This song grounds the cycle in perhaps the defining experience of the century for my grandparents’ generation. At the start of World War II, my grandfather, deemed too old to serve, abandoned his job selling trucks to work for the war effort. The family moved “down the shore” to Bradley Beach. Grandma took on the role of neighborhood air-raid warden. One of the details she often mentioned from that time seemed odd, but stuck with me. There were “summer carpets” and “winter carpets” and she was constantly sweeping the sand out the door, a handy metaphor. Monumental events create sense of suspended time that changes our relationships to each other and to world at large. We are at once more connected and more isolated and hyperaware of mortality. With this in mind, I have written a direct parody (in the oldest sense of that word) on Purcell’s, When I am Laid in Earth, from Dido and Aeneas.
We suffered the shortages We learned first aid We suffered the fear of air raids. We lowered the shades We sat and listened Every moment was a new threat We suffered the fear We worried the night through We suffered the loss of loved ones We were resolved Then, somehow, it was all over I swept the sand off of the summer carpet and out the door, But we would never Ever be the same again.
1959
Following a monumental effort, due to the post-war housing boom, my grandparents moved to West Orange. Grandpa returned to truck sales, founding Greater GMC truck sales, in Newark. The family was moving up. While the company was totally legitimate and became very successful under Sam’s leadership, it had been bankrolled by the mob and eventually in the 60’s, some gangster’s kid needed a job and Grandpa was forced out. A notorious boss of the Jewish mob, Longie Zwillman, was an associate and did live less than a mile away. The music for this song was inspired by my experience with the angular, dramatic vocal writing of one of my “associates”, Milton Babbitt.
After the war We moved to a nice Part of West Orange Not the best, but very nice One day Longie, who lived Just two-minutes away, But in a more exclusive neighborhood Was found by his wife In his own basement, hanged. You had known him In younger years - A business acquaintance Back when he dated Jean Harlow And bought her that Diamond bracelet and A red Cadillac We did not attend The funeral Though almost two-thousand people did, with an open casket and an abundance of flowers which really was surprising for a Jewish service though we heard later that no one, not even the rabbi, had been at all surprised. Many years after that, Along with our grown children, We were invited to his daughter’s wedding to a millionaire at the Plaza Hotel in New York City. We declined.
1960
Newly affluent post war Jewish couples had an appetite for travel beyond the typical Catskills vacation. On one such trip – a Caribbean cruise, Sam and Muriel encounter some difficulties that she memorialized years later in one of her stories. The song floats a bit aimless, like the story, accompanied by a Latin Jazz groove.
The islands The cocktail parties The cigars The casinos, faded and worn The blue polyester pantsuit That I wore for this special occasion Made me look quite smart, I thought. A boat ride to a private island Was a prize that you had won for being the most successful salesman But by some stroke of bad luck Instead, we were set adrift In our best attire With only a thin wire to hold to. It seemed to be attached to the sails But in reality, it was quite useless And so, we drifted On and on and on and on…
1967
I was obsessed with the music of Beatles, like so many of my generation. When Sgt. Pepper’s was released, I wore the vinyl out, playing it over and over alone up in my room. One evening, my grandmother came in to say good night just as When I’m Sixty-four was playing. She stopped, listened and told me just what she thought. With a story like this one, there is only one possible musical source.
Goodnight Eric Sweet dreams. What is that they are singing about? Who’s getting older? I’m sixty-four, and And I don’t feel older And I am still definitely Not feeling ready to sit by The fireside anytime soon!
1970
Vietnam defined a lot of our experience living through the 60’s and 70’s. The rhythm of family life was colored by that threatening and seemingly endless war that we all viewed through the lens of graphic, nightly television reports. A stark musical contrast characterizes this song, but to be more specific here would be too much of a spoiler.
Every evening At dinner time We leave on our old Black and white set And so, the incessant, Ominous static Of morbid statistics Is always there In the background Droning on through the Whole meal, Intoning, with our soup an endless number of helicopter flights Then fire fights With the chicken And always finishing with an ever more difficult to swallow body count
1980
The texture of the 1980’s was an uncomfortable cultural and social turning point. Even the staid, middleclass suburbs were not immune. A kind of violent disco frames a stripped down, internal blankness.
To get back to Lois, Who is tall And attractive In her mid-forties, She is the busy wife Of a dentist, and Has three grown children Of her own But cocaine Changes everything Life is just like that
1985
Toward the end of her book of stories, Muriel takes stock of what matters to her and realizes that the small interactions and daily accomplishments really count.
After being busy In the role of wife and partner For fifty-six years, Suddenly I am alone I never tell anyone How pleased I am When they ask me to mend a sweater Or show me a picture And ask, “don’t you think This would look well on me?” Just the other day I was extremely Satisfied that I was able to reset all of the clocks myself. Copyright 2023 Eric Chasalow DBA Suspicious Motives Music (ASCAP)