The Organ Chronicles of Herbert Sebastian Crotch. Chapter 1

Hello fellow music lover and keepers of truth and sanity. I have decided, after much sweating in the garden, (my bathroom) and for the sake of my growing ulcer, to chronicle the demise of the music program at our Church. I have been...(pronounced b-ea-n as in "wean the infant from your teat") the church organist for going on 15 years. Recently our Music "Pastor" (oh how I wish he had the gentle hand of a shepherd in such a time) has succumbed to the worldly pleasure of the tragic pounding of the crude and primal kick drum, the wretched and shameful screeching of the electronic guitar and the asinine jumbo projector-screen as if we have all gone blind and our arms too limp and wimpy to hold the hymnal. To hold the hymnal now might as well be considered to be synonymous with elderly-erectile dysfunction and/or pure "spiritual" depravity. The Holy "Spirit" can now only be communicated via Jumbo Letters. I digress.

Alas our "Music" "Minister," out of sheer pity and fear of the rich-and-elderly, (and not to mention a healthy fear of my own wrath, no doubt due in part to my impressive and robust size) has decided to keep me at my noble and righteous post as organist, (Oh endangered muse of beauty!,) for the time being. I have decided to chronicle the deterioration of art in our church for the noble purpose of saving further generations from such a fate as mine. You will be glad to know that I will be going down with my burning ship, my beloved organ, and will hopefully be remembered as the patron saints of large organs and their virtuosi. I hesitate to fantasize, for fear of an assault by pride, of the various saintly statues that could be erected in my honor someday. Only the finest of marble and sculpture should be dedicated to such a task. There I go! Down you shameful pride! Leave sweet David his place of honor!

So "Here I Stand" my fellow "Anthemites" as you shall be henceforth called. I will be posting regularly, Mondays and Wednesday evenings describing the musical debauchery that is taking place at my own Sanctuary. I would post Sundays but I fear that I may be exhausted from the battle and in desperate need of the Luby's Lou Anne platter, followed by a war-wearied rest. (It is also the day that I catch up on those detestable reality shows and chronicle, by means of a tape recorder, my hatred for their profane displays of putrid debauchery.) This blog shall be my Wittenberg door.

Be forewarned! I fear this story will not be for the frail of heart. For in the name of St. Augustine I come baring the mightiest of arms: my skillful and cunning pen. Come and read, knowing that the verbal lashing will not be pretty. For my ball-point cat-of-nine-tails can be merciless. But I must tell the tale, for God, for my fellow Anthemites and my beloved organ. That great, magnificent wooden beast I so lovingly ride like a skillful medieval knight on his trusty steed, and stroke with all ten fingers like an Egyptian seamstress to her rug, as much as I can, every week until I drown in the deadly myre of P & W music. The very penning of that foul abbreviation cramps my noble hand and causes my upper-lip to break sweat. But take heart lion-tamer paw!

So here and now Anthemites, I entreat you. Come with me, the last true Spartan, on this journey. If you dare...

To quote a long-passed colleague and father of all endangered muses, J.S. Bach, "Soli Deo Gloria."

Stay tuned my beloved new freinds...

Your Herbert S. C.

P.S. Unfortunately, we live in a world where “looks” matter. As many of you will wonder about my appearance, I shall offer you only this: A picture of a man that I have been told by my X-fiancé that I resemble. Even though it came from my X-fiancé, (that wretched she-cat, that scarlet-harlot of the Harpsichord and viola da gamba) I take pride in this resemblance and I have been investigating a possible link in the lineage. However, climbing the Crotch family tree is mysterious, and at times, scandalous business indeed. Until then, speculations of this kind are welcome.