ADDING comments to the previous post, I came upon these truly wonderful versions of three songs by Stephen Foster: Old Black Joe, Some Folks Do, and Beautiful Dreamer. The Roger Wagner Chorale sings. The alternation of male and female voices is a particularly nice touch, but in general these singers are outstanding. Here is what the choral leader Roger Wagner (1914-1992) said of his singers:

“Following one of our performances with the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra, a well-known local critic asked me, “What is this hypnotic power you wield over your singers? And why did you form the Chorale?” The first question is indeed flattering; however, just the opposite is true. Singers hypnotize me, especially when they are good. The second question can best be answered, I think, by telling something about the Chorale. Every Monday evening 200 singers converge on the Chorale studios to do one thing…sing.

They sing choral masterworks, large and small, and find the experience good. School teachers, salesmen, housewives, executives, factory workers, students, professional musicians and others from all walks of life and from distances up to a hundred miles, come with one aim of trying to produce fine choral singing. Each has had some musical training, can read music and loves to sing. To them the Chorale is an ideal, as it is to me, and they dedicate themselves to it with an almost unbelievable devotion. (source)

(He then went onto make the obligatory “creeds and races don’t matter” statement, which is of course absurd. For one, the statement “creeds and races don’t matter” is itself a belief. Therefore creeds must matter. But also it doesn’t make sense. Would the chorale sing songs written by Satanists or shamans? If the entire group became Asian, would it make no difference to its sound and style? That said, good music is a universal force.)

Here are the words to Old Black Joe, for which Foster was reportedly accused of being filled with hatred.

Old Black Joe

1.
Gone are the days when my heart was young and gay,
Gone are my friends from the cotton fields away,
Gone from the earth to a better land I know,
I hear their gentle voices calling “Old Black Joe”.

Chorus
I’m coming, I’m coming, for my head is bending low:
I hear those gentle voices calling, “Old Black Joe”.

2.
Why do I weep when my heart should feel no pain
Why do I sigh that my friends come not again,
Grieving for forms now departed long ago.
I hear their gentle voices calling “Old Black Joe”.
Chorus

3.
Where are the hearts once so happy and so free?
The children so dear that I held upon my knee,
Gone to the shore where my soul has longed to go.
I hear their gentle voices calling “Old Black Joe”.
Chorus

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