Modern Sacred Music in the 20th Century, Part II: Messiaen & Britten

To read Part I, click here.

Olivier Messiaen (1908-1992)

Olivier Messiaen (1908-1992) may aptly be described as one of the most idiosyncratic composers of the twentieth century. Rather than adhering to a particular school or style, he preferred to create his own unique musical voice through the combination of influences including birdsong, eastern rhythms, his own modes of limited transposition, and his religious beliefs. Although he did not come from a religious family, Messiaen was a devoted Roman Catholic whose faith and interest in mysticism deeply impacted his compositional output. Like Duruflé, he also served as a church musician for almost his entire career and believed that Gregorian chant was the true native music of the Roman Catholic liturgy. Perhaps this explains why his motet O Sacrum Convivium serves as his only work (outside of specific solo organ compositions) designated for liturgical use. Composed in 1937 for SATB a cappella choir, his motet appears relatively early in his ouvre, which perhaps partially explains its reserved musical language. The text, in keeping with Messiaen’s preference for mystical subjects, consists of a meditation on the mystery of the Eucharist written by St. Thomas Aquinas. The motet’s restrained dissonances and muted colors resemble those of late 19th and early 20th century composers such as Fauré and Poulenc, though they sound remarkably conservative when compared to the majority of Messiaen’s work. The rhythmic values, combined into groups of two or three eighth notes, bear the marks of the Solesmes monks interpretation of Gregorian chant (a trait also found in the chant-based works of Duruflé). The texture is primarily homophonic, drawing attention to the lilting, almost ethereal melody in the soprano line. Rather than reciting the text verbatim, Messiaen rearranges the text to create a dramatic arch within the piece. The choir sings through the first three phrases of the text at a pianissimo, crescendoing slightly at “the mind is filled with grace,” then diminishing as it reverently repeats the words “O sacrum.”  There is a slight pause, then he reiterates the opening material, steadily building to a majestic forte as the melody soars up to an A on “futurae gloriae.” As the chorus sings “Alleluia,” the soprano line languidly descends, the texture softening into a pianissimo. The motet concludes with a sonorous major chord in the lower parts, the melody rocking gently to and fro on a subtle dissonance as gentle as a lullaby.

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Benjamin Britten (1913-1976)

Benjamin Britten (1913-1976) in some ways appears as a bit of an anomaly among the composers included in this discussion. Messiaen and Duruflé were fervent Catholics. Pärt is a member of the Russian Orthodox faith. By contrast, Britten preferred to distance himself from organized religion for the majority of his life. Nevertheless, he wrote a number of choral works for use in worship, Protestant as well as Catholic. These works have earned a permanent place in the choral repertoire due to Britten's ability to combine inventive and modern styles with accessibility to both the tastes of average congregations and the abilities of amateur -- albeit trained -- church choirs. Although perhaps it was not as influential as in the cases of the aforementioned composers, Britten was certainly well acquainted with plainsong and made considerable use of it as seen in works such as the Ceremony of Carols, the Hymn to Saint Peter, the church parable Curlew River, and the cantata Saint Nicolas. 

Britten composed his Hymn to the Virgin when he was sixteen while laid up in the school sanatorium, taking the text from his copy of The Oxford Book of English Verse, 1200-1900, a book he had won as a prize. The text dates from the 14th century and serves as a devotional rather than liturgical prayer, combining Latin and Middle English texts to create a prayer in which the church militant meditate upon the Blessed Mother and ask her intercession. Composed for double choir, the four-part homophonic texture lends the work a beautiful clarity akin to that of hymnody, while the melismas on the Latin words imitate harmonized plainsong. The harmonic language appears to draw from the early English music revival, a revival which originated in the late 19th century and characterized by a renewed interest in the music of William Byrd and other English polyphonic composers. It also included the tradition of English folk song. Composers not only studied this music but also sought to imitate it in new compositions. Britten would later reject this trend, but the modal harmonies of the Hymn do just the opposite, complimenting the medieval text. Though the harmony and texture are simple, Britten imbues the piece with drama by having the two choruses present the text antiphonally: one choir sings in English while the other comments on or completes the thought in Latin. The choirs sing separately in the first two verses, the drama building in the second verse. Then both forces join together in verse three, the soprano of Choir I and all of Choir II singing the melody while the lower voices of Choir I ascend in largely stepwise motion, climaxing on the phrase,“Lady, queen of paradise.” The hymn concludes in mystical tranquility, ending with the familiar lilting melisma from the previous verses.

Conclusion

 Throughout the 20th century, the Catholic Church encouraged the composition of modern forms of sacred music. On November 22, 2003, the anniversary of the promulgation of St. Pius X’s motu proprio Tra Le Sollecitudini, St. John Paul II wrote, “This does not mean copying Gregorian chant, but rather seeing to it that new compositions be pervaded by the same spirit that gave rise to and so molded that chant. Only an artist profoundly immersed in the sensus Ecclesiae may try to perceive and translate into melody the truth of the Mystery that is celebrated in the Liturgy.”

How could the traditional language of sacred music be reconciled with the new musical languages of Debussy and Ravel, the serialist techniques of Schoenberg, and other modern trends? The 20th century produced a significant number of composers of religious and sacred music capable of meeting this challenge. These four composers were able to integrate elements of the past with elements of the present to create a musical language of their own. French composers Duruflé and Messiaen combined the colorful harmonies of the French school with various elements of Gregorian chant, ranging from direct quotation and variation to rhythmic inspiration hearkening to the Solesmes interpretation. Duruflé also incorporated 19th century elements as seen in the romantic melodies in the middle section of the Gloria and in the Benedictus. Arvo Pärt engineered his tintinnabuli style from the foundations of tonality (such as the triad), elements of plainsong and Renaissance polyphony, and certain aspects of 20th century serialism. In his Hymn to the Virgin, Britten likewise incorporates traditional elements of English modality and hymnody into a new mystical and dynamic language. All of these composers manage to use elements of the old to create something new in keeping with the spirit of the liturgy without sounding antiquarian.

The music of Messiaen, Britten, Duruflé, and Pärt prove that it is possible to compose new sacred music in keeping with the spirit of the liturgy. The integration of the old traditions of sacred music with the dynamic creativity of these four composers did not result in the archaic survival of a dead culture but rather served as the instigator for new innovations in sacred music. Their compositions breath the spirit of ancient religious chant, but the overall idiom is decidedly modern. They prove that the model of plainsong, far from limiting the composer, instructs him in the qualities of true art in keeping with the sacramental nature of liturgical music. It is in this way that cultural innovation gives birth to new forms of expression, new forms which serve as worthy successors of the timeless masterpieces of the past.

Modern Sacred Music in the 20th Century (or What It Should Have Sounded Like), Part I: Duruflé & Pärt

The Catholic Church was once responsible for some of the most beautiful art and music ever made. If one needs proof of this, one only has to recall the splendid ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, the glory and terror of Mozart’s Requiem, and the brilliance of the Sainte-Chapelle in Paris.

Rouen Cathedral in France

The Last Judgement, Michelangelo. Detail.

Although the Catholic Church was once a patron of the arts, she would certainly have a difficult time supporting such a claim today. In fact, the typical art and music one finds in most Catholic churches is not only “not beautiful” but is actually some of the most ugly, banal, and uninspiring art that mankind is producing.

 

 

But is this what the Church intended for the art of the 20th century? What was modern sacred music supposed to sound like?

First, a little about the role of music in Catholic liturgy, otherwise known as sacred music. According to Church teaching, sacred music is meant to give glory to God and to inspire its listeners to live the teachings of the faith. Because the Catholic liturgy is supposed to be the divine meeting of heaven and earth through the person of Christ, the music which is used within its context must not sound like the normal music one might hear in  everyday life, such as on the radio or even in the concert hall. For this reason, a jazz mass or a polka mass would be extremely problematic at best. This principle can also be demonstrated in the origins of stained glass windows.  The light of the outside world was “sanctified” through the colors of the stained glass, purifying it so it might enter into the sacred space.

From the very beginning of the 20th c., the Church expressed great concern for the state of music in Catholic worship. In 1903, Pope Pius X composed a personal letter to the Catholic Church titled Tra le Sollecitudini in which he called for the restoration of sacred music, the teaching and singing of chant and sacred polyphony in parishes, and the composition of modern music possessing an ecclesiastical and sacred character.

Specifically, “Gregorian chant has always been regarded as the supreme model for sacred music, so that it is fully legitimate to lay down the following rule: the more closely a composition for church approaches in its movement, inspiration and savor the Gregorian form, the more sacred and liturgical it becomes; and the more out of harmony it is with that supreme model, the less worthy it is of the temple.”

Thanks to Pius X and the chant restoration undertaken by the Benedictine monks of Solesmes Abbey, Gregorian chant underwent a renaissance in France between 1903 and 1963. It was used in sacred and secular compositions by numerous composers and taught in choir schools such as Rouen Cathedral, where children were trained in the singing of chant and polyphony ranging from the works of Palestrina and Victoria to Haydn and Fauré. 

Maurice Duruflé, 1902-1986.

Among these students was future composer and organist, Maurice Duruflé (1902-1986). As a boy chorister, Duruflé was immersed in a world of solemn Catholic liturgy and aesthetic spirituality which formed the foundation for his artistic endeavors for his entire career. As he went on to complete his musical studies at the Paris Conservatory, he synthesized his childhood schooling in the ancient melodies of plainsong with the harmonies of contemporary composers such as Debussy and Ravel to create a modern style of sacred music.

In 1963, the Second Vatican Council promulgated the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy, reiterating the primacy of chant and sacred polyphony in the liturgy and encouraging new forms of sacred music organically derived from these traditional models. Composed in 1966, it is speculated that Duruflé may have written the Messe “Cum jubilo,” Op. 11 to demonstrate the potential within the Council’s instruction and prove the compatibility and relevance of plainsong with (at least initially) modern harmony. 

Dedicated to his wife Marie-Madelaine Chevalier Duruflé, the title “Cum jubilo” comes from the chant mass on which the work is based. Also known as Mass IX, it is designated for feasts of the Blessed Virgin. The overarching tone of the original mass is one of joyful serenity, a tone which the composer both adopts and subverts over the course of the work. As one might expect, Duruflé borrows heavily from the chant melodies on which the Messe is based. While not all of the melodies are derived from the source material, the melodies which are original to the work are certainly chant-inspired. The Kyrie serves as a prime example, opening with the original chant melody in the first violins and clothed in luscious harmonies, harmonies which have lead many to label Duruflé as an impressionist. The men’s chorus enter the texture with a newly-composed melody so imitative of chant that it is hard to distinguish between the original chant and that of Duruflé. This method continues for the duration of the Messe, the composer quoting or varying the original chant melodies while sewing in his own material, weaving a tapestry of the old and the new.

Pius X stipulated in his motu proprio that new sacred music had to be “good art, holy, and possess the quality of universality,” qualities that are all found in various forms of plainsong across cultural boundaries.  As seen in the Messe, Duruflé was able to blend the modern harmonies of Debussy and Ravel with the ancient melodies of plainsong to create a modern style of sacred music, proving the compatibility of chant and (at least initially) modern harmony while shunning the “profane theatricality of the past.” He combined the sacred and secular in a manner appropriate for the liturgy, respectful of the tradition but also progressive.

Pius X’s letter gave Duruflé the motivation to persist in his musical style well into the 1960s, after which his works were thought old-fashioned, cast aside by a new call for “musical relevance” in the church.

The Second Vatican Council’s Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy was meant as the successor to Pius X’s letter. However, though the document was sound in principle, its application proved disastrous for sacred music.  Though it insisted on the primacy of chant and polyphony in the liturgy, its permission of vernacular languages and music effectively spelled the end of Latin-texted chant, and thus, the abandonment of chant in the liturgy in favor of more popular tunes and styles.
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Arvo Pärt, b. 1935.

While sacred music in Catholic liturgy began to unravel in the 1960’s, Arvo Pärt (b. 1935) was emerging on the modern music scene in Estonia, a republic of the Soviet Union. After suffering persecution from the government for the use of serialism and religious texts in his early compositions, Pärt fell silent for several years and turned to the study of Gregorian chant and Renaissance polyphony. Out of this silence emerged a new style of music which Pärt called Tintinnabuli, a style that is meant to replicate the pealing of bells, their “complex but rich sonorous mass of overtones ... the idea of a sound that is simultaneously static and in flux.”

Pärt described his musical journey in his own words, “The numbers of serial music were dead for me ... With Gregorian chant that was not the case. Its lines had a soul.” He added, “Gregorian chant has taught me what a cosmic secret is hidden in the art of combining two, three notes. That’s something twelve-tone composers have not known at all.”

Pärt's Berliner Messe for chorus or soloists and string orchestra was commissioned for the 90th German Catholic Day in Berlin, 1990. In the traditional Catholic liturgy, the Credo functions as the proclamation of the core beliefs of the Christian faith. Pärt’s setting of this text serves as a prime example of his tintinnabuli style. Though decidedly more reserved in tone and orchestration when compared to the romanticism of the Gloria from Duruflé's Messe "Cum jubilo", it is equally jubilant in character. Imitating the composers of the early Renaissance, Pärt’s writing emphasizes the horizontal, focusing on melodic lines rather than vertical harmonies. The essence of tintinnabuli is the pitting of a scalar chant line, which revolves stepwise around a central pitch, against a second line, which outlines an arpeggiated single triad and thus creating a harmonic or tonal center. The second line is called the tintinnabuli voice due to the bell-like tones which are created when it collides with its counterpart, though both lines tend to follow the same general contour. The emphasis of the single triad ultimately eliminates the possibility of harmonic progression. However, the music is still in motion! Instead of deriving the forward motion from the harmony, the music is propelled by the tension and release created by the collision and resolution of the two core lines, by the use of imitative counterpoint borrowing aspects of 20th century serialism, and by the rhythmic drive of the sung text, which is set according to its natural syllabic rhythm in the style of plainchant. The harmonic stasis draws attention to the chant line, refocusing the listener’s attention to the fundamentals of melody, harmony, and language-- the “cosmic secret” in combining two, three notes.

Unlike Duruflé, Pärt has yet to write music specifically intended for the Catholic liturgy. But Pärt's music can certainly be viewed as sacred music. Due to their total immersion in the world of chant and polyphony, the music of Duruflé and Pärt “breathes the spirit of ancient religious chant and yet the overall idiom, particularly the harmonic language, is thoroughly modern,” proving that it is possible to compose modern sacred music that is both in keeping with the spirit of the Catholic liturgy and also awakening -- in short, worthy successors of the universal masterpieces of the past.

Why Singing Sacred Music is Like A Magical Wardrobe

The transition from studying sacred music at a solid Catholic university to studying music at a secular conservatory has certainly been an interesting one. One of the keenest differences is obviously the change from a predominantly Christian atmosphere to one where there is seldom any outward expression of religious belief of any kind. Although my fellow organ students and I are certainly exposed to many religious compositions through our internships at various Christian denominations -- presbyterian, episcopalian, catholic, etc. -- I would say the vibes of the studio overall are also largely secular.

By now you're probably thinking, "Well, of course, it's going to be secular! It's a school full of liberal musicians!" 

Haha, yes, I was aware of that even before Day #1. So why am I bringing this up? 

St. Mark's Basilica, Venice, Italy

I was recently placed in an interesting scenario that struck me as particularly disjunct from my previous musical experiences in undergrad. This semester I have been working with an ensemble of early music singers who are performing a great deal of music by Italian composer Giovanni Gabrieli. Gabrieli was the principal organist at Saint Mark's Basilica in Venice and wrote a great deal of sacred choral works as well as secular instrumental works. Many of the pieces which this ensemble is singing are sacred works, such as his setting of "Miserere Mei Deus," which is also known as Psalm 51.

What is Psalm 51? It is a prayer, a cry to God which King David wrote when he was at one of the lowest moments of his life. He committed adultery with Bethsheba, he murdered her husband, and he had lost a son because of his sins. In this particular psalm he is asking God to forgive him.

"Have mercy on me, O God, according to your great mercy. ... For I know my iniquity, and my sin is always before me. Against you, you alone, have I sinned, and have done evil in your sight ... You shall sprinkle me with hyssop, and I shall be cleansed: you shall wash me, and I shall be made whiter than snow. ... Create in me a clean heart, O God: and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from your face; and take not your Holy Spirit from me." 

Sitting in on the rehearsals behind my little continuo organ watching these students and fellow musicians sing this piece, it struck me as odd that for a significant number of these singers, it was quite possible that the words made little difference to them. Yes, they cared about the inflection and the strong-weak syllables, the pronunciation, the musical notation, etc. in short *how* the text was set.  But I wonder how much consideration they put into the meaning of the words: that what they are singing is also a timeless prayer, a cry of love, remorse. It's not just music, singing, it can be an expression of something so much deeper! 

Lucy and Mr. Tumnus from
The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe
By C.S. Lewis

This scenario seemed ironic to me.  When one is singing sacred music, there is certainly a level of beauty that is readily apparent, in this case the music which Gabrieli composed to adorn the text. This music, this type of beauty, could be said to be a universal language -- most human beings, even atheists, will admit that they are moved by such beautiful music. It speaks to them in a way that is more easily understood.

But there is another type of beauty that was already there, that of an honest plea to God, which the Holy Spirit inspired King David to utter in his hour of darkness. It is a sacred text, timeless, inspired by God. And even though the musical setting is indeed wonderful, the words are what inspired the composer. The text and its Author are what make the music sacred in the first place. They transcend the musical adornment. This kind of beauty is not readily apparent to the casual listener/singer.  There is a level of religious devotion -- shall I call it love? -- a disposition of the heart which the singer needs in order to appreciate this level of beauty. 

It so happens that while I was mulling this all over in my head, I was in the middle of a Chronicles of Narnia kick (I go through these from time to time, now I'm on Harry Potter)-- listening to the music, reading quotes, posting C.S. Lewis and the like all over my tumblr, etc. And somehow, these two came together in what I though was a fascinating analogy. 

Lucy Pevensie, played by Georgie Henley in
Disney's The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe

Do you remember the scene in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe in which Lucy Pevensie encounters the wardrobe and she first walks through to the land of Narnia, full of magical landscapes, fauns, and tea parties?  Later in the story, she tries to show this world to her older siblings, but all they see is the back of a wardrobe.  I would pose that singing sacred music is like encountering this magical wardrobe. Some musicians sing Psalm 51, Mass texts, chant, Palestrina, etc. and find themselves in Narnia -- not literally, of course, but because their hearts and minds are disposed through love to prayer, they experience the musical settings of these sacred texts on a far more intimate level. Other musicians sing these pieces and, while they admire the manner in which the piece has been composed, all they see is the wooden back of a wardrobe.

So is it better to be a Christian and sing sacred choral music? I would venture that, while it may not always be the case, it most definitely can be!

Happy Feast of the Annunciation!

"The Angel of the Lord appeared unto Mary, and she conceived of the Holy Spirit...

Behold the Handmaid of the Lord, be it done to me according to Thy Word..."

"... And the Word Became Flesh and dwelt among us."

Wishing you a Happy Feast of the Annunciation with music 

and a beautiful meditation from St. Bernard of Clairvaux!

Above is a video of my beloved alma mater's Schola Cantorum Franciscana singing part of the chant version of "Ave Maris Stella," then part of Josquin's setting of the same chant hymn, definitely well worth a listen! The Schola sang this at the Vespers of the Blessed Virgin Spring 2011, while I was studying abroad in Austria. The hymn begins, "Hail Star of the Sea ..."

In the second verse, the hymn sings of the Annunciation: "Receiving that 'Ave' from the mouth of Gabriel, establishing us in peace, transforming the name of 'Eva.'"

The unimaginable generosity of God shown in the Annunciation and Incarnation required one thing: Mary’s assent. Reflecting on this mystery, St. Bernard of Clairvaux imagined the tension that creation felt in waiting for Mary’s response to the plan that the angel announced:

“If you consent, we shall immediately be set free. We all have been made in the eternal Word of God, and look, we are dying. In your brief reply we shall be restored and so brought back to life… My lady, say this word which earth and hell and heaven itself are waiting for. The very King and Lord of all, he who has so desired your beauty, is waiting anxiously for your answer and assent, by which he proposes to save the world. Him whom you pleased by your silence, you will please now even more by your word. If you let him hear your voice, then, he will let you see our salvation.”

Exultet for Easter Vigil

The Resurrection by Fra Angelico

Professor Cassady chanted the Exultet tonight for the Easter Vigil here in Gaming. His chanting was lovely! I loved the text of it, so I included a passage of it here. Happy Easter to all! He is Risen!


This is the night
when first you saved our fathers:
you freed the people of Israel from their slavery
and led them dry-shod through the sea. 
This is the night

when the pillar of fire destroyed the darkness of sin!

This is the night
when Christians everywhere,
washed clean of sin and freed from all defilement,
are restored to grace and grow together in holiness.

This is the night
when Jesus Christ broke the chains of death
and rose triumphant from the grave.

What good would life have been to us,
had Christ not come as our Redeemer?
Father, how wonderful your care for us!
How boundless your merciful love!
To ransom a slave you gave away your Son.

O happy fault,
O necessary sin of Adam,
which gained for us so great a Redeemer!

Most blessed of all nights,
chosen by God to see Christ rising from the dead!

Of this night scripture says:
"The night will be as clear as day:
it will become my light, my joy."

The power of this holy night dispels all evil,
washes guilt away, restores lost innocence,
brings mourners joy;
it casts out hatred, brings us peace,
and humbles earthly pride.

Night truly blessed when heaven is wedded to earth
and man is reconciled with God!

Therefore, heavenly Father,
in the joy of this night,
receive our evening sacrifice of praise,
your Church's solemn offering.

Dominican Garrigou-Lagrange on Chant

Some quotes on chant from Dominican writer up for beatification, Garrigou-Lagrange.


"The chant, which prepares so admirably for Mass and which follows it, is one of the greatest means by which the theologian, as well as others, may rise far above reasoning to contemplation, to the simple gaze on God and to divine union."


"The chant thus understood is the holy repose which souls need after all the fatigues, agitations, and complications of the world. It is rest in God, rest that is full of life, rest which from afar resembles that of God, who possesses His interminable life tota simul, in the single instant which never passes, and which at the same time measures supreme action and supreme rest, quies in bono amato."


"Mental prayer finds in liturgical prayer an abundant source of contemplation and an objective rule against individual illusions. The Divine Office cures sentimentality by continually recalling the great truths in the very language of Scripture; it reminds presumptuous souls of the greatness and severity of divine justice, and it also reminds fearful souls of infinite mercy and the value of the passion of Christ. It makes sentimental souls live on the heights of true faith and charity, far above sensibility."


"The chant, which prepares so admirably for Mass and which follows it, is one of the greatest means by which the theologian, as well as others, may rise far above reasoning to contemplation, to the simple gaze on God and to divine union." 

Beata - A Song from Heaven

God reveals himself through music in so many ways, from the magnificence of Mozart's Requiem or a Bach Cantata to the still, soothing melodies of chant. I'm just beginning to discover what a vast treasury of beautiful music the Church holds, especially for the season of Advent. 

Take, for example, the Gregorian chant Beata Viscera Mariae Virginis, so appropriate for the coming of the Lord on Christmas (read the Latin, then see the translation below). This particular chant, when sung by the skilled voices of the a capella choir, Chanticleer, is a gem among gems. This is, undoubtedly, one of the most beautiful things I have ever heard and will ever hear this side of eternity. Please take the time to listen to the link that I have posted below: to be still, and to know that He is God.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TNAtLo5-ZSM

Chanticleer, Beata (Plainsong).
Can be found on the album Chanticleer: Sound in Spirit released 2005.


Text:


Beata viscera Mariae Virginis,
quae portaverunt aeterni Patris filium.


Translation:


Blessed is the womb of the Virgin Mary
that bore the Son of the everlasting Father.