On arrangement

I have, as of today, finished an arrangement of The First Nowell that I've been commissioned to write for a concert in December. It's a rather unusual scoring; two flutes, two oboes, three trumpets, timps, harp, organ and strings (and chorus) - basically the baroque orchestra that will play in the Bach Magnificat earlier on. The inclusion of the harp, and indeed the arrangement, is explained by Finzi's In Terra Pax being in the concert, a piece that quotes the carol, albeit tentatively. Admittedly a slightly odd ensemble to write for, one saving grace is that the absence of the bottom half of the the wind section, horns and heavy brass is made up for by the large modern organ in the church where the arrangement will be performed. This instrument is more than capable of filling in the weight these instruments would otherwise provide (and playing quietly when needed), and in any case such a small string section would be overwhelmed by too much sound from the back of the stage.

As with arranging folk songs, the obvious problem of having a strophic melody-and-accompaniment carol is that it really only has the words to provide any ready-made variance. The arranger must pull out every trick available to keep the tune sounding as fresh as possible, the difficulty of which increases exponentially with the number of verses. Often the text is the most useful starting point to creating contrast, as that the arranger can highlight the significance of certain lyrics or verses in the ancient art known as word-painting. Thus in the second verse of Nowell, which describes the star moving towards a certain stable in central Palestine, the loud full-ensemble texture of the first verse is replaced by the chorus in harmony, solo violin, solo flutes, and harp, with the strings entering softly at the chorus. Likewise, the third verse uses the trumpets, oboes and a reedy registration on the organ to suggest the exotic origins of the wise men (the carol perpetuates the perennial idea that there were three of them, despite there being no confirmation of the number in any of the Gospels) as well as little turns and arabesques which I hope, remain the sensible side of cliche.

However, where the arranger can really inject their individual stamp is in the last verse. This is usually, in the church music tradition, sung with the voices in unison, allowing the organist, or whatever other accompaniment is playing, to provide an 'alternative' harmonisation for the verse. As the choir and congregation are all singing the tune (one hopes at roughly the same key/place/words) there is no obligation to follow the bass line or the rest of the four-part harmony that will be found written out in the hymn book and thus pretty much 'anything goes' in the harmony. Obviously the aim is usually to make the thing sound spectacular (and wake the neighbours/shatter windows/cause seismograph needles to jump with the force of the sound) whilst not being so 'way out' that the congregation cease to follow the tune and disaster ensues. In the case in hand, I have instructed the organist to draw as many stops as grabbable before jumping simultaneously on two pedals both tuned to the note D natural, making a noise like Brian Blessed blowing through a ship's hooter; and then play as series of mildly dissonant ascending chords aided by the strings playing tremolo (moving the bow back and forth so fast it's a blur). At the second stanza the harmony starts taking excursions into all sorts of exotic key areas, with harp and strings playing arpeggios - there's little point making them compete for the melody in their lower register with all the other noise going on. Finally, the last chorus appears in more conventional harmony (high descant doubled by flutes, great upward scales in the strings), big slow down; then organ, drums and trumpets into overdrive for a high-volume frenzy of D major in the coda. Bang-crash-wallop. Bosh. Mahler never even came close.

The above description is probably very confusing and peppered with muso jargon. A simpler explanation for the layman is that it will sound good and be very loud. Both of which are commendable aims in composition.