Eternal Rest Grant Unto Him, O Lord: Robin Williams, 1951-2014

Robin Williams as John Keating, Dead Poets' Society, 1989.

In honor of Robin Williams, I chose to read Walt Whitman’s “O Captain, My Captain” while listening to the second movement of Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto (featured in The Dead Poets’ Society) in the evening twilight. We shall always cherish your memory, Robin Williams, and we miss you dearly!

"O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up— for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle’ trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths — for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning:

Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck You’ve fallen cold and dead.”

That being said, in the words of my friend Aimee, depression sucks. I pray for the repose of the soul of Robin Williams tonight, as well as for his family, but please know that if you need help, there is no shame in asking. Being tough doesn’t mean you never ask for help, it’s knowing when you need help and having the courage to ask for it.

In the words of Walt Whitman, 

"O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; 

of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; 

what good amid these, O me, O life?' 

Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; 

that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse."

How to Bring Beauty Back into the Church

This post is inspired by a lecture recently given by Barbara Nicolosi titled "Why Hollywood Matters" in which she discusses the problems in modern Christian and Catholic art, especially film, and ways to counteract these problems. To put it plainly, if one takes a look at the art, storytelling, and music that is in use in most Christian and Catholic churches and subcultures today, in the words of Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI, "We have to conclude that the people of God are afflicted with the cult of the banal." (quote is taken from P. Benedict XVI's The Spirit of the Liturgy)

The Catholic Church used to be known as one of the chief patrons of the arts, leading to the creation of some of the most beautiful art and music that the world has ever seen. Nowadays, Catholic/Christian art is something pagans sneer at, and with good reason. Say what you want about Hollywood and the atheists and the pagans, but they appreciate the beautiful and they know it when they see it (and when they don't). Why else is it that beautiful stories like Brideshead Revisited, Anna Karenina, The Lord of the Rings, and Crime and Punishment are just as admired by pagans as they are by Catholics? Why does the majesty of St. Peter's Basilica continue to take people's breath away, regardless of their nationality or belief?

Maybe Catholics have the message right (hopefully), but if we take a look at the craftsmanship of the majority of recent Catholic/Christian stories, films, music, and art, and compare it to that being produced by the pagans, it's little wonder that people don't take us seriously when it comes to art and storytelling.

So how do we fix this? According to Barbara Nicolosi, here are a few ways to bring beauty back into our lives and into our churches:

1. Learn about art -- learn how to do it. Learn how to evaluate it.

Take a class in sculpting or painting. Go to a poetry workshop. Read books on creative writing. Read the Church documents on sacred music and sacred art, e.g. Pope Pius XII's encyclical Musica Sacra or St. John Paul II's Letter to Artists. Take lessons in piano or voice. Read about art history or music history. If you find a composer, writer, or artist that you especially like, find out more about that person! You don't have to become a pro -- unless you discover you do have a talent for something, and with that talent may come responsibility to hone that talent and become an artist!

2. Say "No" to banal art and music. No more lame, cheap, ugly, embarrassing art. 

Entrance to the Village of Vetheuil in Winter, Monet. 1879

Night Before Christmas, Thomas Kinkade

This comes from learning how to evaluate art: learning how to distinguish between beauty and cheapness, politics, or propaganda : learning what makes Monet better than Thomas Kinkade, why Maurice Duruflé's Ubi Caritas is more compelling than David Haas' You Are Mine; why Michelangelo's Pietà is more beautiful than the political-agenda-inspired multiracial/multicultural/unisex Our Lady of the Angels' statue outside the Los Angeles Cathedral. Beauty doesn't have an agenda. It is just there; it tells the truth without trying. It isn't forced down your throat. It awakens but it does not violate.

 Saying "No" to bad art also means acknowledging that just because something is labelled Catholic/Christian or is made by Catholics/Christians does not necessarily make it good. There are many books, movies, and songs written by Christian artists that circulate with ease in our little subcultures but are an embarrassment in public/pagan circles. We are not going to gain converts by circulating poorly crafted, cheap novels and films in our own churches and friend groups -- this is just talking amongst ourselves. We win converts by going out into the world and infusing our art with our faith, not as propaganda but as truth and beauty that is meant for all people.


3. Figure out whether you are an artist or a praiser, and then do that with commitment.

Being an artist requires two things: talent and hard work. Not everyone has a talent for music or for painting, and that's okay. Just because someone doesn't have a talent for art, it doesn't mean he/she can't appreciate it, or do it for his/her own enjoyment. Does that mean that we should let them decorate our churches or make music for our liturgies? No. Sacred art is not for everyone to make. It requires a lot of talent, and it requires a lot more hard work and dedication.
But the good news is that artists need support just as much as the rest of the world needs artists. Artists need us to employ them, to challenge them, and to give them commissions. Not only do they need help financially, but they also need moral/spiritual support, someone to appreciate their efforts -- their hours of isolation, painting or practicing or both; their obsession with perfecting their art, often resulting in being emotionally and/or pyschologically unstable. They need us to remind them what it means to be human beings that need to eat, sleep, have friends, take care of themselves physically and emotionally, and get outside of their isolation just as much as we need them to remind us what beauty is. Why do we (humanity) need artists? To misquote John Keating from The Dead Poets' Society, "We make art because we are members of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering -- these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, movies, stories, music, art, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for."
So if you are an artist, make great art. Work hard at honing your craft. Practice, practice, practice, read, study, eat, sleep, make friends, have a life outside of your art, and so forth.
If you are a praiser, learn about art and what distinguishes good art from bad art (not everything is subjective), and then find the good artists and commission them to make something beautiful. Artists need to be embraced by a loving Church that supports them through their issues of borderline addiction, insanity, depression, to name a few. Find these people and support them!

Saint Movies Should Be More Like A Man for All Seasons

Hello, all! I have been away from my blog for far too long I'm afraid, between school, graduation (whee!), and summer work and summer projects. But that doesn't mean I haven't been thinking of things to write about and post on here! I've got a couple of posts I've been mulling over but I am having difficulty organizing my thoughts so I am procrastinating until I'm ready to write them.  In the meantime, I have been doing a lot of summer reading which has been wonderful! I rely heavily on my summers for reading since I am often too tired to pick up a book for pleasure when I am in the middle of school.  I used to read a lot, but when I started college, that quickly fell to the side, so over the past two years I have been trying to rework the habit back into my life.

I've read some amazing books this past summer that were what I would call life-changing, the first being Leo Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, which was absolutely brilliant and should be required reading for any human being (along with Evelyn Waugh's Brideshead Revisited). I also finally got around to reading Robert Bolt's A Man for All Seasons, which is technically a play, not a novel. I had seen the film version of the play starring Paul Scofield several years ago so I was already familiar with the story, and while watching the play/film is ultimately the better way to experience this work, I was glad to have read the play alone. The film version is largely true to the story save for the omission of a couple scenes (though they included all of the right ones).

Paul Scofield as St. Thomas More in Robert Bolt's A Man for All Seasons

One of my favorite things about this work is that A Man for All Seasons is a beautifully crafted story of a saint written by a man who admits he is far from a devout Christian. The thing is, Robert Bolt wasn't trying to write a story of a "Catholic" martyr -- he was simply telling the truth about a man who was true to himself and to his beliefs. I fear that if a Catholic company tried to tell the story of St. Thomas More, it would be a disaster. While they might have good intentions, far too often the "form" (the script, the acting, the production...) is sacrificed because they believe the content matter will suffice, resulting in another cheap movie that we maybe watch once to learn a little about the saint but would never say, "Now THAT was a GREAT movie!" Sad, but true. Why can't more saint movies be like A Man for All Seasons? If Catholics want to convert pagans to the truth, they need to make their faith attractive to them. If Catholics want to inspire people to be like the saints, they need to tell their stories beautifully.

It Is Not The Critic Who Counts

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” 

Theodore Roosevelt

from a speech given at the Sorbonne in Paris on April 23, 1910.

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.
__

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.

A Little Van Gogh

I long so much to make beautiful things. But beautiful things require effort and disappointment and perseverance.

Vincent Van Gogh (1853-1890)

"Starry Night over the Rhone" by Vincent Van Gogh

Popular vs. Classical Music : A Matter of Criteria

Originally written as a reflection on Start Making Sense! Musicology Wrestles with Rock by Dr. Susan McClary and Robert Walser.

 In this particular article, taken from a compilation of essays on popular music titled On Record: Rock, Pop, and the Written Word, the authors discuss the difficulties musicologists face when wishing to devote their time and energy to the analysis and interpretation of popular music, from rock to heavy metal to the blues.  Popular music is very often at a disadvantage due to the fact that it is traditionally seen as the enemy of classical music.  Musicologists who have a genuine interest and appreciation for rock and pop music typically are presented with a unique dilemma in that, since analysis of popular music according to the typical criteria used in classical music is typically far less insightful, they have to look at the music from a different perspective, drawing up their own criteria. the understanding in traditional musicology of the superiority of Beethoven, Strauss, Mozart, Bach, etc. to popular music has largely been due to the attempts to judge popular music according to the rules and practices of classical music.  For example, classical music is typically analyzed according to tools such as pitch centers, a method which falls flat when applied to most popular music. This is decidedly unfair, calling to mind a quote from Albert Einstein which reads, “Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.” Similarly, if musicologists judge popular music according to its exploration of pitch centers and tonal goals, it’s going to be found wanting. Furthermore, an analysis according to pitch centers is only one way to discuss the content and the value of music.  Popular musical styles can be just as meaningful and complex as Beethoven, Strauss, and Stravinsky, but in different ways.  Musicologists cannot deny the attraction and the emotional impact that this music is able to evoke, whether it is Frank Sinatra, Michael Jackson, the Beatles, Coldplay, or heavy metal.

Down the Abbey Road, The Beatles

McClary and Walser say that this is one of the central aspects of popular music : its ability to move the passions in ways that cannot entirely be explained or controlled, a source of frustration and perhaps even fear for musicologists.  However, just because they are afraid of what they don’t understand doesn’t mean they should avoid engaging it or discussing it.  I find it intriguing that, while both classical music and popular music have the power to illicit an emotional response from its listeners, these emotional responses can come in a variety of forms.  Pianist James Rhodes said that he was emotionally knocked to the floor when he first heard Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto at age seven; the second movement was the first piece of classical music that caused him to weep at its beauty. Then we have historical documents of more violent emotional responses: the premiere of Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring elicited such a violent emotional response that it caused riots in the theater.  Similar violent responses also occur in popular music : moshing has become a common response to live performances of hardcore punk and most styles of metal.

Apollo Belvedere/Pythian Apollo

It is obvious that music has this ability to create this emotional response, but are all emotional responses equal? Are all styles of music equal?  If we cannot judge them according to the traditional criteria used in discussing classical music, then what criteria should we use?  To answer this question, I think one must return to the musical discussions of the Greeks.  In his writings, Plato categorizes music according to two genres which he names Dionysian and Apollonian.  Apollo was typically identified as the god of truth and knowledge, whereas Dionysus was the god of wine, ecstasy, and merry making. Plato describes Dionysian music as a style in which reason is forsaken in a type of emotional intoxication. It advocates a type of anarchy, almost animalistic in its reckless abandonment of the intellect for the sake of revelry in one’s own passions. By contrast, reason remains primary in Apollonian music, ordering our emotional response towards a higher end.  This should not to be misinterpreted as a controlled environment in which emotional responses are allowed to occur. Rather, Apollonian music is a genre which engages man’s intellectual, sensual, and emotional faculties in their proper hierarchy. In the words of playwright Robert Bolt, “God made the angels to show Him splendor, as He made animals for innocence and plants for their simplicity. But Man He made to serve Him wittily, in the tangle of his mind.” (Taken from Bolt's play A Man for All Seasons)

Paul Scofield as St. Thomas More, 1966.

It seems to me that, while all forms of music may have their time and place and are certainly worthy of study and appreciation on multiple levels, not all musical genres are created equal or have the same value.  The highest forms are those which engage the human person on rational, sensual, and emotional levels as these levels were intended.  In C.S. Lewis’ book The Abolition of Man, he describes the image of a man with three faculties : the chest, the stomach, and the head.  The chest represents the heart, the stomach the appetites, and the head the power of reason.  Man fully alive uses all three of these faculties together in their proper ordering.  He states that while it is a gross poverty to raise men “without chests,”  -- meaning they have been figuratively castrated of emotional responses -- it is equally wrong for them to allow their emotions or their passions to rule their actions.  He adds, “No emotion is, in itself, a judgement; in that sense all emotions and sentiments are alogical. But they can be reasonable or unreasonable as they conform to Reason or fail to conform. The heart never takes the place of the head: but it can, and should, obey it.”  Just as man fully alive is made possible through the integration of the head, the heart, and the appetites, so great art and great music is created through the integration of the rational, the sensual, and the spiritual.