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You are originally from Syracuse, NY. How did you come to be part of the Cathedral choir?

A convoluted story. I came to New York to pursue a singing career, and did some moonlighting in church choirs. In early 1998, St. Patrick's was planning a concert. Because the Cathedral's music director had died the previous year, the bass soloist, John Calvin West, was directing the music. As he'd be conducting rather than singing, he realized that he needed a guest soloist; someone recommended me; I had the shortest audition of my life (six bars of music, I recall); and that was that. Soon after the concert, he asked me to join the choir as a full-time member. I've been there ever since.

What drew you to writing about the musical history of St. Patrick's Cathedral? How did you go about doing research for FIFTH AVENUE FAMOUS?

In 2004, St. Patrick's was celebrating its 125th anniversary and planning a concert that would feature the works of previous Cathedral music directors. I was asked to write some program notes for the concert — and that research was so interesting that it seemed only logical to do a full-length history of the Cathedral's music.

Easier said than done. The Archdiocesan archives had only been formally organized in the 1990s, and there were huge gaps in the coverage. I started looking everywhere else: old periodicals, other libraries, online sources, private scrapbooks. I found some amazing information. And best of all were the people who contributed the oral histories that filled in the blanks.

What is the most surprising thing you learned about the Cathedral's musical history?

From the moment I first started researching the project, the thing that kept hitting me in the head was the way in which the Cathedral’s musical history reflected so much of the city’s own history. It became obvious that it wouldn’t do merely to give a dry list of facts and people; that approach wouldn’t serve a story in which the ongoing lives of St. Patrick’s and New York City were continually intertwining and influencing each other — a situation that probably hasn’t happened to this extent in any other church in America.

The other surprise had to do with the role of the music itself. When I came to New York in 1979, the music establishment didn't pay serious attention to church music. So it was a surprise to discover that there was a time when church choirs were as prestigious as opera and symphony, and that St. Patrick's had once been held up as an example for music programs all across America.

It was also a great shock to learn that women had sung in Catholic churches until 1903, when they were banned; that the whole world focused on St. Patrick's for its reactions to the ban; and that this had been headline news for an entire year. And it was fascinating to see the ways in which liturgical music did, and didn't, change along with the gigantic disruptions of the 20th century.

Was there one specific "golden era" of music at St. Patrick’s, in your estimation?

I'd say there were two golden eras. The first one began with the Cathedral's opening in 1879. In those years, New York church music was big stuff, with orchestras, crackerjack choirs, and soloists known as “stars.” People flocked to hear that music, the press reported on it in detail, and everyone agreed that music at St. Patrick's was not only beautiful, but exciting. That lasted until 1903, when Pope Pius X decided that liturgical music should be more “appropriate” to worship . . . and that women shouldn't be involved in it at all. That was a major upheaval, and the interest in the music dwindled.

The interest returned with a vengeance in 1927, when Pietro Yon came to St. Patrick's. A world-class organist and composer — and a media genius — he turned St. Patrick's into a real musical center. Sunday Masses drew huge crowds, concert events created near-riots on Fifth Avenue, Cathedral soloists were always in the papers, and music from St. Patrick's was featured on national broadcasts. But Yon died of a stroke in 1943. After that, things were never the same.

It is safe to say that the Cathedral is a quintessentially New York landmark and cultural institution, in addition to being a house of worship. At what point would you say it took on that role?

At what point? Before it was completely built.

St. Patrick's had begun construction in the 1850s, when New York wasn't taken quite seriously as a major city, and the location at Fifth Avenue and 50th Street was far out in the suburbs. By 1879, New York was a world capital, the city had expanded to take in the location — and boom, one of the largest cathedrals in the world was opening in midtown. New Yorkers immediately fell in love with the place. And from the opening day, any cultural event taking place in St. Patrick's would have an instant stamp of approval from many. (And an instant thumbs-down from others. People are like that.)

Is there an overall theme or message about music in FIFTH AVENUE FAMOUS?

There are a few messages. Oddly enough, they have nothing to do with music. I've found:

that a musical organization, a religious one, a renowned one, is subject to exactly the same triumphs and frustrations and intrigues and politics (especially politics!) as any other job, anywhere in the world.
that fame often has nothing to do with talent: and that the pursuit of fame is something that nourishes some people, while it destroys others.
and that the “unique” experiences in our own lives have already happened to others . . . twenty years ago, fifty years ago, a hundred and ten years ago . . .

What is your favorite memory from your experience as a choir member at St. Patrick’s?

I'd like to think there are occasions at which the Cathedral musicians were making a genuine contribution. Not all memories are joyous: Five years after 9/11, St. Patrick's hosted a memorial for members of the New York Fire Department. We sang the funeral chant In paradisum (“May the angels lead you into paradise . . . ”). As it is, the music is emotionally charged, and this time it was punctuated by Fire Department members ringing their Ceremonial Bell in memory of their fallen comrades. The choir was positioned at the altar; I happened to be standing right next to that bell. It was an honor to sing that day. It was also very, very hard to sing without completely breaking down.

On the other hand, the choir sang last August for the wedding of our music director, Jennifer Pascual. That was a happy day; probably the most music-filled wedding ceremony in decades, with half a dozen organists, something like twenty priests, extra choristers . . . and plenty of celebratory chocolate in the music office. (Dr. Pascual knows her musicians well, she does.)

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