N SPITE OF the witty charm of this blog’s title, Views from the Choir Loft, one could argue that this is a misnomer—for in so many ways this blog expresses views not from the heights, but from the trenches. The practicing church musician cannot dwell in the safe remove of an ivory tower, but must instead be prepared to circumvent various political landmines in a “boots on the ground” manner. While many of my colleagues have written at length on various political or ecclesiastical obstacles to the thriving of Sacred Music, I would like to focus on a pitfall that seems woven into the fabric of contemporary thought on the fine arts. This pitfall is the common belief that providing excellent music for the liturgy represents a sort of musical elitism.
Well-Meaning Advice • Several years ago, when I was a student, I was advised by a mentor to “avoid playing too much Bach” in the context of worship, as doing so might give the impression that I am merely targeting a sort of elite class. Although I am certain that this advice was well-intended, its content has not once been corroborated by any of my personal experiences. As a matter of fact, I found in that if once were to level any accusation against the music of Bach, it was not that it was elitist, but perhaps populist!
Public Too Dumb? • If there be an elite attitude surrounding the music of Johann Sebastian Bach, the culprit lies not in the music itself, but rather in the posture of those who believe that a certain subset of society lacks the ability to understand or appreciate it. If one thinks of the beautiful Air from Bach’s Orchestral Suite No. 3—so often heard at weddings—or the sunny disposition of the six Brandenburg Concertos, it becomes clear that formal musical training is by no means a prerequisite for loving these works.
Parallel Example • Lest you think that my intent in writing this entry is simply to defend the immediate appeal of Johann Sebastian Bach’s music, I will now pivot and explore a parallel situation in which this same dynamic unfolds. It is no secret to the readership of this blog that the preeminent music of the Universal Church, Gregorian Chant, has been routinely politicized and polemicized. While I have largely worked in situations where the clergy and other church leadership have been wonderfully supportive of the inclusion of Gregorian Chant, I’ve heard from many of my, shall we say, more seasoned (not old!) colleagues that the singing of these ancient melodies was met with a derision similar to what I described with Bach. Some have stated that it is “simply not what people connect with.” Of course, these critiques were not made by “everyday people” but often by priests, religious, theologians, liturgists, or other ecclesiastical cognoscenti. In my own interactions with “everyday people,” Gregorian Chant has been met with exceptionally warm enthusiasm.
My Own Experience • With that said, I will admit that, for many listeners, an appreciation of this music is something of an acquired taste. In fact, that was the case for me, as a sophomore in college when I first seriously listened to Gregorian Chant within a survey course on the history of music in the Western World. Though I had a deep appreciation for music of the Western Classical Tradition, I initially found something wanting to me in the austerity of these strange unaccompanied, unmetered, modal melodies. Mind you, I even liked the idea of Gregorian Chant and respected the Church’s esteem for this great corpus of music. However, if I am to phrase this in Freudian terms, my superego’s embrace of this music could not initially mask the reality that this music did not appeal to my id.
Regarding Time Machines • Though Gregorian Chant is something of an acquired taste for many people, I would posit that it is neither due to a lack of sophistication or intelligence on behalf of the listening subject, nor is it an objective defect found within the music itself. I might posit that the challenge is largely contextual. Consider discrepancy between life in the 9th century and life in the 21st century. I think it is fairly safe to say that, if someone from the 9th century could travel in time instantaneously to our own age, this individual might be profoundly terrified to drive a car on an urban interstate or fly on an airplane. However, what I sometimes fail to appreciate is the converse reality that, were I transported to the 9th century, I would be extremely uneasy with the silence and tranquility. In the 21st century, we are sonically bombarded with different music piped through speakers in cafes, our cars, our workplaces, our neighborhoods, and our homes. We also hear the constant hum or roar of airplanes, cars, firetrucks, lawnmowers, and other machinery. The busyness of our daily soundscape stands in stark contrast to the nakedness of the ancient Gregorian melodies. However, in my experience, as time passed, I became less and less focused on the lack of harmony and metered rhythm, and I became more and more enamored of the superabundant richness of these melodies. Additionally, once I heard these melodies in their proper liturgical context, they made sense to me in a way that they previously hadn’t.
Waking What’s Dormant • As a good mother, the Church continues to esteem Gregorian Chant as her proper music in our own day. This is not because the church is an elitist organization that wishes to aesthetically frustrate us, but rather because she is keenly aware of the urgency with which we moderns need to be steeped in its transcendent and contemplative ethos. Sacred Music, by nature of being “sacred”, should represent a discernable contrast to the quotidian sounds of our everyday lives. While this may initially be a shock to our sensibilities at times, it is not beyond the power of our intellects to develop an appreciation of it. Certainly, this music is not intended to offend anyone’s sensibilities, but rather to awaken a dormant part of them.
The “Jaded” PhD • With all of this said, let us recall that the transcendental quality of beauty speaks oftentimes with great immediacy even without any prior exposure or education. (In fact, one who has been surrounded by beautiful art or music even runs the risk of growing numb to it.) One might argue that the visceral effect of awe felt by the uneducated peasant upon visiting the Sistine Chapel far outweighs that of the art historian with a PhD who beholds the same spectacle. The church prizes beauty as an evangelical precursor to goodness and truth precisely because of its immediacy.
Actual Elitism • Whether a piece of great sacred music has an immediate appeal or is more of an acquired taste, let us not deny it to the faithful on the grounds of a supposed elitism. To share great works of art with a broad spectrum is not elitist—it is generous. On the contrary, if we assume that the faithful are largely simpletons and choose to withhold these great works from them and offer cheap substitutes, we are practicing elitism in its finest form.
Watch Your Tone! • I close with a practical note for those of us that are practitioners of Sacred Music and other forms of beauty in the liturgy. While I have said above that the desire to share great music does not represent elitism, we must be mindful that other aspects of our conduct or demeanor do not hint at it. If we, in the positions we hold, embody a tone of condescension or superiority, that can cause the faithful to have negative associations with the great music of the church, and that is exactly the opposite of what we want to do. We must remember that, above all, the advocacy of beauty in the liturgy is a form of charity aimed at God and neighbor.
“After this I saw a great multitude, which no man could number, of all nations, and tribes, and peoples, and tongues, standing before the throne, and in sight of the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms in their hands: And they cried with a loud voice, saying: Salvation to our God, who sitteth upon the throne, and to the Lamb.” -Apocalypse 7:9-10
You just read Dr. Backman’s first article for CCW.
