... Paul Festa's "Apparition of the Eternal Church" ...

I have been thinking a lot lately about the sheer size of classical music's catalog. Think, for a moment, of just the established and canonical repertoire... for a completist like myself - "I like this guy! I want to read everything he's ever written about everything, and I want to read it all right now!" - the number of a heavyweight composer's traditionally revered works, not to mention his or her entire oeuvre, can seem discouraging to say the least. I often feel behind the curve when I admit, sheepishly, that I've never heard a famous, game-changing work. In fact, it can be an obstacle even to this humble blog of mine; how can I have anything important to say upon hearing a piece that's completely new to me while it's impossibly entrenched in the ears of any listener worth his weight in records?

Paul Festa's documentary Apparition of the Eternal Church, screened yesterday at the beautiful St. James Cathedral, offers a unique answer to that question while throwing a number of other questions, conundrums and meanderings into the mix along the way.

The idea is astonishingly simple. Festa sits 31 people down, throws some earphones on their head and presses play. They don't know what they're about to hear, they're just asked to talk about it while they're listening. The piece? Messiaen's wall of organ(ic) dissonance, Apparition of the Eternal Church.

Few of the listeners are musicians, most are artists and eccentrics. There are a few famous names - Justin Bond, James Cameron Mitchell, Harold Bloom, Albert Fuller - but just as many folks that left me scratching my head in trying to figure out whether I've seen them on tv somewhere. And so they talk. There are childhood stories of church, memories of family relationships, musical analyses, vivid dream-like images, and one long intoxicated recounting of a funeral procession.

The secret to the film's success may be found in how little Festa appears to interfere in their conversation. Aside from the occasional request for a listener to expound more on something they just said, Festa is on the sidelines. The interviewee is left, then, with a great deal of room to just open their mouth. The results are often hilarious, equally insightful, at times quite quippable and, in the end, real. The underlying consequence is a brilliant subtext on religion and the world, the sacred and the profane, and the mystery of the ineffable. When we recall that all of this is taking place in the shadow of Messiaen's Apparition, a full and curious poignancy seems unavoidable.

As the film came to its conclusion, Bruce Barber took attendees on a wild ride through the piece on St. James Cathedral's breathtaking organ. Perhaps Festa understood the need to soothe the wracked nerves of audience members: after the last long chord of the Apparition finished resonating, Barber delivered a slower, sweeter Celestial Banquet.

In its short length of an hour, the film issues an important reminder to the novice and the experienced listener alike: music really is meant to be listened to. Yes, we hear music differently as our listening accumulates and our experience ripens, and no one wants to stay a novice forever. But that experience can certainly be a hindrance as well. Would anyone ever really want to be in the position to say, I've heard it all? The force of music is in its effect and the response we issue forth. Thank you, Mr. Festa, for taking the time to remind us to listen and respond.

--------------

Andrew Patner has a nice review of the film on his blog. Chicagoans have one more opportunity to check it out downtown on Sunday, October 14th, at 1 pm. Details, and showings in other cities, can be found here. The Messiaen fest has performances all weekend; its schedule is here.

And of course, the Apparition: