Bulletin 311 Volume 23 No06 Spring 2022
The Hymn Society Bulletin
Spring 2022
Cover Photography: Joan Thackray Credit – © Joan Thackray
Contents
Text and Tune: Some new perspectives by Joan Thackray
Introduction
Hymn singing 1700-1850
Hymns and texts of the twentieth century
Technical issues in contemporary worship
More technical issues
Diminished and half-diminished sevenths
Twentieth-century hymnody
Caring for music: A personal reflection on writing hymns by Brian Hoare
1. It must be congregationally singable
2. It must be textually sensitive
3. It must be musically interesting
4. It must be stylistically varied
5. It must be culturally appropriate
A Noble Theme, a Skillful Writer; Gray, S., Music, D.W.
Opinions expressed in the Bulletin are not necessarily those of the Society or the Editor
Editorial
This Bulletin includes the second item in our ‘Caring for Music’ series. I hope you find these explorations intriguing. I anticipate more will be forthcoming. I wonder if a mirror series related to text writing could be equally fascinating? What do you think?
At the time of a second Bulletin into the New Year I had thought that our conversations and plans might be returning to something approximating a ‘new normal’. As I write this editorial I am experiencing the effects of COVID and war rumbles in what would once have seemed the distance, now all too near.
I’m conscious that the mood in my own denomination in relation to hymnody in the late 1920s and early 1930s was almost as mixed as I sense ours is now. Older people looked back to the Halcyon days of Victorian England. “Those less touched by the Great War found the mood of the twenties was one of ‘frenzied partying’, which Noel Coward questioned in a contemporary song, ‘Poor Little Rich Girl’: In lives of leisure the craze for pleasure ‘Steadily grows. Cocktails and laughter, but what comes after? Nobody knows’”.[1]
And we wait for an uncertain future to unfold.
I wonder how your experience of worship and the vehicle of hymnody is acting? Is it a resource for faithful memory, a salve for present uncertainty allowing some escape, perhaps, into grounded praise, or as a repository of hope for the future?
What are you singing now?
And what do we need to sing to maintain faith and engender hope?
Andrew
Tune and text: Some new perspectives by Joan Thackray
Introduction
Introducing his book The Sacred in Music, Professor Albert L. Blackwell (Emeritus Professor of Religion, Furman University, US) notes a curious discrepancy ‘between the centrality of music in religious experience and the peripheral attention given to music in the academic study of religion’.[2] Some years before this, Professor Blackwell attended a conference in Washington D.C. organised jointly by the American Academy of Religion and the Society of Biblical Literature, but found himself unprepared for an unexpected bias against the relevance of music in religious worship: Out of more than seven hundred sessions, ‘only three bore any relation to music,’ he recalled.
Reasons for neglect of the study of musical content in relation to the Christian religion (both as a cultural system of worship and, in theology, as a critical study of the nature of the divine) are, on the face of it, unclear, although the two elements have been studied extensively as separate entities – both through the lens of academia and through the practical perspective of church worship. Blackwell himself suggests that such neglect arises from the complexity of each domain, religious and musical: ‘Join the two domains and the complexity increases exponentially’, he observes.[3]
This topic is particularly relevant to the genre of the hymn and to those who are enthusiastic about singing hymns. The two elements (characterised here as ‘tune’ and ‘text’) can work together in the arena of congregational worship and fellowship, as well as from an academic and technical point of view, but any hymn researcher in the twenty-first century endeavouring to trace the origins, adaptations, arrangements, transcriptions and movement of texts and tunes (over a period that spans nearly three centuries) will find it a complex and intriguing business. Andrew Gant summarises: ‘The idea that the words and music of hymns were fixed in the pairings and versions we know today is wrong. The tradition was far more flexible, creative and interesting than that.’[4]
To put the matter in clearer terms, there is evidence that words and music can, under certain conditions and over a period of time, combine symbiotically to create a persuasive and transformative flow of emotion. Text and tune align to contribute directly to an experience known as ‘worshipping God in the spirit’. This, of course, carries the caveat that such an experience clearly cannot be described in factual, objective terms, although we can comment on ‘what happens’ and ‘how it is done’. We can, however, discuss how composers and writers alike have sought, through the centuries, to harness together the mighty power of melody and words, so affirming that ‘Whoever sings [to God in worship] – as we are commanded – prays twice.’[5] The many and varied methods by which they have accomplished this have, over the centuries, provided us with an accumulation of interesting dross mixed with unexpected treasures of great value.
Some scholars have been careful to avoid exploring what might be described as the interaction of the supernatural (that which is beyond us) with the rational (that which we can reason out). Even as these defy being explained in precise terms beyond physical or other realms, they present considerably more of a challenge if one defines them in tandem. By their nature, the mystery of some truths lies beyond easy definition, and this leaves plenty of room for differences of opinion about what might be transcendent or supernatural or what is simply meaningless sentiment. Yet for both listeners and participants, the singing of hymns, especially in church services, can evoke profound emotion. Churchgoers can experience a particular depth of feeling when they sing together, even if it is not fully ‘spirit led’.
Following the exhortations of David and the other Psalmists to ‘sing praises to the Lord’ (Psalm 30:4) and to ‘make a joyful noise to God’ (Psalm 66:1), centuries of tradition have combined singing and prayer during worship, these being the main constituent parts of any vocal piece of a religious nature, short or long. But which of these two (text or tune) drives the experience of ‘worshipping God in the spirit’, if either? If we opt for the former, this can also constitute an outward expression of the innermost feelings that hymn singing can arouse. Indeed, public worship and private meditation are generally guided by text, mostly based on biblical and/or theological sources. In considering whether the latter (the tune) drives the experience, one immediately encounters the difficulties associated with composing a tune without any textual or literary frame of reference. Almost all music, even when obliged to take a lead from the text, remains distinctly autonomous, possessing its own theory and precedents and conforming to conventions of its own, as we shall see later.
According to the Bible, the role of the Holy Spirit is to be present at any Christian gathering, large or small, formal or otherwise (see Matthew 18:20). But human nature may here be mistakenly set upon what is expected (or hoped) that the Spirit might achieve, which in turn is often attributed (at least in part) to human desire. We can compare mutual qualities of transcendence in both religion and music, but the extent of the value of either to the individual is questionable, unless there is a genuine belief in the ‘Spirit’ as the third (and equal) member of the Trinity. Music resonates on a deeper level of thought beyond the commonplace, and musicians have the power to enable the mind to surpass ‘normal’ levels of existence to a state beyond: to a magical realm, as it were, reaching out both individually and collectively. Music takes us beyond ‘normality’ and as we sing with others, profound emotion and compelling desires can lift souls heavenwards. Music provides supernatural sustenance to the genuine seeker after truth. It has the capacity to divide or unite and to function as an instrument through which we claim help in spiritual matters.
How then do we balance the obvious primacy of the literary text against the musical dominance of the tune, and how can symbiosis emerge? Are we to say that a piece only makes full sense if the two elements are equally responsive to and appreciate each other? Many hymnal commentators prefer to accentuate either the words or the melody, but not both. Others take the biblical teaching as it is interpreted and openly demean the musical element. For some, it is a matter of deliberately conscious neglect. Others admit their own knowledge is limited. Bernard Manning writes, ‘I lay claim at once to every kind of musical ignorance, doubting sometimes if I can go even as far as Dr Johnson in calling music the least unpleasant of noises.’[6]Manning’s Informal Papers on the Hymns of Wesley and Watts, which explore these hymns in depth, comprise 147 pages in which the word ‘music’ occurs just once.
Professor Watson acknowledges his lack of musical expertise, observing simply that ‘I have quite enough to do in examining the words of hymns.’[7] Brian Wren comments that ‘[the] autonomous power of music makes it necessary to examine the relationship between tunes and lyrics’,[8] but he adds that for himself ‘[a] technical discussion is beyond my scope, and is best done with tune books in hand and a music professional at the keyboard.’ He does, however, tease out interesting criteria or metaphors for a ‘perfect’ partnership. For example, ‘Does the music color [sic], illuminate or overshadow the words? Does it marinate the lyric, embrace it, or undermine it?’[9] When turning to composition, tunesmiths could do well to bear in mind such aesthetic guidelines.
In other commentaries, current and from times long past, music is referenced mostly as a subordinate element which informs discussion on a hymn’s cultural, historical and social background. Sometimes, pretty much everything about the music may be included except for the nature of the music itself. James Lightwood provided numerous contributions from the social history of the time, memorable snippets of musical gossip together with colours and tints from local sources of knowledge that divulge intriguing accounts of how texts and tunes evolved into the partnerships we know today. Light relief mainly tends to come via musical rather than literary anecdotes,[10] as it does for Ian Bradley, whose objective is to draw out equal interest in the music and words in his book about Victorian hymns.[11]
Trevor Beeson admits that, in writing about church musicians,‘I have been deeply conscious of my amateur status in the field of church music and also of my aim to engage with other amateurs and general readers.’[12] Meanwhile Gant sets out to write ‘a history not just of the music itself, but of the people who made it. It is the story of the part that church music has played in ordinary lives, and the way it reflects those lives back to us. It’s the biography of a tradition, a book about people …’[13]
Hymn singing 1700-1850Parish church music and congregational hymn singing during this period was diverse and varied. The paragraph that follows is therefore only of a general nature, providing a ‘flavour’ of the state of congregational worship in England. The scriptural mainstay of traditional Sunday worship (of all persuasions) remained stable over the period without too much innovation, each congregation possessing their own collection of psalm tune-books to partner and supplement their own stock of familiar texts to which new sets of words or verses, if they appealed, could be matched. Each congregation continued likewise, using its own tune-books with established material simple enough for elementary musicians, common to all and universally adaptable according to metre and rhythm.
With no degree of certainty could it be said that these were inspiring, even though they remained the bulk of each church’s regular repertoire. They continued to be sung, week by week, decade by decade, led by the minister or the choirmaster who knew the musical accompaniment by heart. Noticeably different, though, from the middle of the nineteenth century onwards, was the growing number of hymnals containing words and music printed on the same/opposite page, clearly designed to be sung and played together and to encourage all who did not ‘conform’ to the beliefs, the tenets, the musical settings and the other significant ecclesiastical differences claimed by those who called themselves Anglican – in other words those who ‘dissented’. Hymns Ancient & Modern was not the first hymnal to be published (in 1861) in this format, nor was it the finest, but it became a standard-bearer for continuity and consistency as more new hymns augmented the collections. Those who dissented[14] held strong, if diverse, doctrinal and ecclesiastical views depending upon their backgrounds, and attracted new worshippers to the Wesleyan meetings, as did the prolific and high-quality input of John and Charles Wesley and the collaboration between John Newton and William Cowper in Olney Hymns.[15] This was a time of transition which led to the maturity of Victorian hymnody.
Brief mention must be made here of Samuel Sebastian Wesley (1801-1876). Samuel’s prominence in Anglican church musical history is attributable more to his work as a composer of anthems, cantatas and pieces for organ, but his contribution to the newer repertoire of hymns comprised a number of tunes, some still sung today. His HAREWOOD (1839) (‘Christ is our cornerstone’) and AURELIA (1864) (‘The Church’s one foundation’) are markedly direct and dynamic, even allowing for the slow-paced single-crotchet/minim rhythm in all parts. His HEREFORD, in contrast, well-partnered with Samuel’s grandfather’s fervent phrases in ‘O Thou who camest from above’, is quite different, beautifully crafted and memorable, particularly the setting of the second verse.
Hymns and texts of the twentieth centurySeveral decades later, another British composer played a pivotal role in the evolution of the hymn tune. Known for his adaptations of folk songs and admired for his many settings and arrangements of English poets (amongst them Tennyson, Rossetti, Coleridge and Robert Louis Stevenson), Ralph Vaughan Williams was appointed musical editor of The English Hymnal (1904-1906) and later joint musical editor of Songs of Praise, published in 1925. October 2022 marks the 150th anniversary of the birth of this most versatile of English composers, his output comprising a diverse range of works from small to large in genre and in style. His nine symphonies, folk song arrangements, and concert works such as The Lark Ascending and Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis, are well-known and loved by audiences worldwide. But Vaughan Williams’s candid assessment of the contemporary state of musical knowledge and interest among congregations and audiences at that time was formed by what he considered to be an excess of ardour and passion, ‘specially composed tunes’ and an over-indulgence of sentimentality. To combat these tendencies he selected more austere tunes for the hymnals over which he did have influence, and included some of his own music with a more formal escort: DOWN AMPNEY, for instance, for the sixteenthcentury text ‘Come down, O Love divine’, and SINE NOMINE (‘without name’), paired with the more robust ‘For all the saints’.
Vaughan Williams’s opinion was shared by other musical critics of the day, who expressed some repugnance towards the outpourings of Victorian musical sentimentality. Yet despite Vaughan Williams’s insistence that this was a moral rather than a musical issue, the case of the Victorian hymn (as it commonly came to be known, and vilified for all its faults and maudlin idiosyncrasies) demonstrates that good music can make a profound impact when paired with the right text. For there is no doubt about it; the Victorian hymn, emotional, heartfelt, full of sentiment, did embody the musical spirit of the age. At the same time, it was not incompatible with the cool ‘English’ hallmark of musical expression approved by Vaughan Williams, for in ensuing decades the modern vibrant tunes – often paired with new uplifting words – nurtured and sustained the personal faith of many believers worldwide. It is striking, though, that again, not many (as we might have supposed) have chosen to write about the technical aspects that have made these particular hymns so memorable; nor about the alignment which lifts a ‘good tune’ or a rousing text; nor about the many other factors that contribute to a deeper sense of worship and at a level that encourages congregations to worship ‘in spirit’.
Upon reaching the near-conclusion of the twentieth-century, we note two opposing perspectives. First, the ready acceptance and use of hymn books containing the best pairings of all that was available as aids to worship. In many cases, these had a long life and were justifiably in regular usage throughout the mid-twentieth century, especially various editions of Hymns Ancient and Modern. Secondly, the unaccountable ‘disappearance’ of these self-same volumes in favour of alternative models for worship, essentially performance- driven, for new styles of singing, and the gradual fading away of these much-loved Victorian hymns in the twentieth-century: the very best of John Bacchus Dykes (1823-76) of HOLLINGSIDE repute, of ST CUTHBERT and NICAEA; of Henry John Gauntlett (1805-76), writer of tunes sung to ‘Once in royal David’s city’ (IRBY) and ‘Jesus lives! Thy terrors now/Can no more, O death, appal us’ (ST ALBINUS). William Henry Monk’s EVENTIDE (with H. F. Lyte’s ‘Abide with me’) is one hymn that has successfully made its escape from church premises and enjoys a wide reputation in other venues.
As hymns were becoming alien to many people, Christians included, they had the potential to estrange visitors to church services rather than engage them. The congregational singing of hymns, once a fruitful part of Christian life and worship in Britain, was practised less and less – as indeed was the learning of Bible texts from which they derived. David Watson (1934-1984), evangelical Anglican clergyman, vicar of St Michael-le-Belfry, York, for seventeen years, and leader of a vibrant praise ministry in the UK, echoed the feeling of many ministers and his colleagues of the time: ‘It is a sad commentary on the life of the church in this country today that worship is often sterile and dull, and at the same time the level of faith to be found in many congregations is dismally low.’[16]
Technical issues in contemporary worshipWhen it comes to examination of contemporary sung worship, there are numerous other technical yardsticks we might engage to understand the complexities of the text/tune combination. The development of the tonal ‘conventional’ western musical system to which we have become accustomed is one of only several models of musical systems in the world. Of these, some require less conventional approaches to analysis and explanation in view of their more complex and unfamiliar concepts of harmony and composition. During the recent 2021 London ‘BBC Proms’ series,[17] audiences were offered practical new ways to listen to the music they had come to hear. Demonstrations given by individual orchestral instrumentalists, techniques of composition (major and minor tonalities), scales, triads, diminished sevenths and tritones, showed how they fitted in situ and how they conformed (or not) to existing demands. My feeling is that such technical elements have in the past rarely been explained in such clear and precise terms for amateurs and audiences; experts have, I suggest, sought to avoid confusing theoretical terminology with the mystery and beauty of sound.
Music theory is often seen by many as an occupation to be avoided, and knowledge of how music is ‘put together’ demands tried and tested methods of analysis. The first step – ‘the progression of sound’ – typically depends upon the synchronistic blending of harmonic dissonance (‘tension’) and harmonic consonance (‘release’ of tension). These two functions of harmony and structure are intimately related in terms of the framework upon which the melody rests. When translated into notes (or pitches of the major or minor scale), chords based on the first pitch (the triad built upon the lowest pitch of the scale), the fourth pitch (the subdominant) and the fifth pitch (the dominant) comprise the basic building blocks of harmony, the scaffolding upon which a melody (major or minor) is constructed. One other triad, the sixth (VI), provides a minor inflection.
The combinations that can be coaxed from these three triads in any inversion (i.e. with the first, third or fifth of the triad as the lowest note in the chord) provide endless variations and possibilities of harmonic expression, evoking sadness, weariness, praise, glory, and other ineffable emotions. Simple and effective models, these triads act as a base, as a regulator, or they provide colour. (The scientific mechanics by which music works to evoke emotion through brain activity lie outside the scope of this study, of course, which is concerned solely with the inter-relation of tune and text.)
Composers have indicated their preferences by using such templates as structural contrivances (‘events’) rather than simply as a means of colour and emotion. This is clear from the way that, in most cases, such harmonic/structural activity occurs regularly in the hymn tune at identical or at near-identical positions in each verse, regardless of the text assigned to it. ‘Events’ (changes of direction or harmony) are typically movement from tonic to dominant, tonic to sub-dominant (either full or part-modulation) or incomplete tonic major to the dominant in the form of an imperfect cadence (I to V). Generally these occur at the half-way stage of a tune (sometimes at the quarter-stage or the three-quarter-stage) and they are always – or nearly always – succeeded by a return to the tonic, the home key, on the following line.
Modulation from the major to the related minor (V to VI) may not always be complete; it is often only hinted at by this V to VI interrupted cadence, immediately after which the music reverts to the tonic key without disruption. Again, these events can occur at the quarter-stage or the three-quarter-stage. Some hymn tunes have more than one ‘event’ of this kind (such as variations on a theme). Most have one or two; some none at all.
Virtually all hymn tunes bear such structural imprints, regardless of whether the music is an appropriate match for the text assigned. The early tune TALLIS’ CAnOn (1567) is unusual in that it has a very simple canonic design with little movement and no harmonic modulations. Not many tunes follow this template, the closest type being one which contains either a complete modulation to the dominant (V to I or I to V) or a simple imperfect (unfinished) cadence (I to V) at the half-way stage. Scholefield’s ST CLEMENT (to John Ellerton’s ‘The day Thou gavest, Lord, is ended’) and Reinagle’s ST PETER (to John Newton’s ‘How sweet the name of Jesus sounds’) are examples, as are Monk’s EVENTIDE (H. F. Lyte’s ‘Abide with me’) and H. P. Smith’s MARYTON (‘Jesu, thou joy of loving hearts’). All return to the home key immediately after the event.
There are many variants: those hymns with longer stanzas can often accommodate two what I have called ‘events’ or changes of key within the whole; MELITA, Dykes’ tune for William Whiting’s ‘Eternal Father, strong to save’, is one such, beginning in C Major, moving to G major, then E Minor with chromatic infill on the penultimate line before concluding in C major). Joseph Parry’s ABERYSTWYTH, usually paired with Wesley’s ‘Jesu, lover of my soul’, divides neatly into three harmonic sections: E minor, G major/B minor, E minor. Robert Bridges’ ‘All my hope on God is founded’ has an irregular metric outline (87.87.33.7) but is well-paired with Herbert Howells’s popular tune MICHAEL, written in memory of the composer’s son who died aged nine. Beginning and ending in F major, the seven-line stanzas move swiftly through G major to C major, thence to G minor, before concluding in the home key, F major.
Returning to Professor Blackwell’s introductory remark, which highlights the lack of interest heretofore paid to music in the academic study of Christian religion (theology, in a broad sense), we have considered ‘tune’ and ‘text’ as shorthand for music and religious study. They can be regarded as separate entities for enquiry, yet few have investigated the difficulties encountered by composers, theologians, lay people and others as they unite. Where a pairing is successful, we feel instinctively that the partnership ‘fits’. To understand fully the reasons that lie behind such instinctive judgments demands a closer investigation of the way in which language operates with or against musical patterns. This again lies outside the scope of the present essay, but I can offer some pointers.
More technical issuesThe strophic form (in which the tune repeats but the words move on) is one in which text and tune typically diverge, sometimes successfully, sometimes not. Its appearances are well embedded in almost all genres of music from pre-Renaissance times. We find composers using the strophic form, often with little regard to the content matter. But, as with the following example, when a successful partnership does emerge, the words and meaning of a text are capable of evoking great emotion. John Greenleaf Whittier’s ‘Dear Lord and Father of mankind’, to REPTON,[18] is perhaps one of the most sublime instances where melody and words perfectly mirror each other throughout the ascending musical line of increased intensity. Here, in ‘Re-clothe us in our rightful mind; / In purer lives Thy service find, / In deeper reverence, praise.’ we find the ultimate partnership of words and music. We can see plainly, too, that this pattern is not exclusive to the opening verse but follows the same thread present in several of the subsequent stanzas.
Nevertheless, we must conclude that no matter how acute and penetrating a composer’s imagination might be, how skilfully the composer tailors subsequent verses, there will inevitably be considerable restraints in setting a repeating tune.
Among effective pairings is Charles Vincent’s tune ST JUDE, partnered with Theodore Monod’s ‘O the bitter shame and sorrow’ (1874). If one is content with the rather archaic idiom, this is arguably one of the finest hymns of the nineteenth century. The first half of each verse is set in a major key, the second half mostly in its related minor. For a touch of colour, a diminished seventh chord appears on three occasions in each verse. It is, moreover, partnered with a very distinctive text. The final lines of each verse have been updated (see below), but the meaning is still clear and much pleasure can be gained even with the original words as follows:
Verse one – ‘All of self, and none of Thee’, becomes ‘None of You, and all of me!’
Verse two – ‘Some of self, and some of Thee’, becomes ‘Some of You, and some of me.’
Verse three -‘Less of self, and more of Thee’, becomes ‘More of You, and less of me.’
Verse four – ‘None of self, and all of Thee’, becomes ‘All of You, and none of me!’
Another underrated partnership is that of Joseph Barnby’s tune CLOISTERS with Philip Pusey’s translation and adaptation of ‘Lord of our life’ from a seventeenth-century German text. Here, tune and text pair well in an unusual metre of 11.11.11.5. The key structure is also unusual, although not impractical, moving through E flat major[19]/C minor/G minor/C minor, thence to close in E flat major for the final brief line. Here, too, strong words are matched with strong harmony, most noticeably on the first beat of the second bar where the decisive change to C minor occurs after three E flat major chords. The impact is forceful and, as if to emphasise the strength of the text, the sequence is repeated with different harmony on the second line of each verse. Besides all these elements, the music is a fine example of moving modulation, combining precise rhyming and a melody that soars.
In contrast to these two strong partnerships, the pairing of Monk’s ST ETHELWALD with Charles Wesley’s ‘Soldiers of Christ, arise’ is weak. Monk’s tune is pleasant enough, but its ‘wishy-washy’, ‘stop-start’ manner works poorly with Wesley’s robust description of the Christian equipped in readiness for the spiritual battle in God’s name. Edward Naylor’s later tune FROM STRENGTH TO STRENGTH is more forceful, and therefore preferable as a match for the resilience of the text. Its musical setting neatly combines pairs of verses in a coherent manner, providing the impetus that Monk’s tune fails to do.
This leads us to ask whether, in general, a text that manifests joy will always work best with a tune in a major (cheerful) tonality. Should words match mood? And should hymn texts that evoke a sense of contrition and anguish depend wholly or even partly on music written in a minor mode?
Surprisingly, no. The church’s hymnals are full of verses of personal entreaty, deep contrition, intimate confession, laments of the soul, and expressions of anguish – yet many of these are sung to major tunes. Even the most deeply personal words of prayer and submission are often accompanied by buoyant rather than melancholy tunes. ‘Just as I am, without one plea’ is an intensely personal text from Charlotte Elliott (1789-1871), one of the finest (and arguably the most popular) written. Historic and current tunes for this hymn (WOODWORTH, SAFFRON WALDEN and, on occasion, Henry Smart’s MISERICORDIA) are, apart from a diminished seventh chord, entirely major throughout.
Similarly, Monk’s VIGILATE has long been matched with Elliott’s personal call upon God, who replies: ‘Christian, seek not yet repose’. Beginning and ending in a major key, the brief minor inflection with ‘Hear thy gracious Saviour say’ leads to the memorable injunction ‘Watch and pray!’ in the final line. Frances Ridley Havergal (1836-1879) wrote much in a similar idiom. Today, we still sing her words ‘Lord, speak to me, that I may speak’ and ‘Take my life, and let it be’ to major tunes such as WHITBURN and NOTTINGHAM.
Diminished and half-diminished seventhsSome musical ‘devices‘, for want of a better word, are designed wholly to produce particular effects and these can be heightened by specific words or phrasing, often if a match or pattern is present. This is relevant in a hymn tune where a falling cadence or a suspension requires careful setting to avoid a sense of cloying sentimentality. In this context, the diminished and/or half-diminished seventh chords are a useful group of pitches that add harmonic colour, and much more, to all music. As a complex area of harmony, it is well worth investigating.
Terminology here may be a little hard to grasp. In general, chords typically comprise two to four notes played simultaneously. The diminished seventh chord is relatively straightforward in construction and recognition, described alternately as a chord of four equally spaced minor thirds (e.g. A flat, B, D, F) or two interlocking tritones of [A flat to D] and [B to F]. The tritone divides every octave precisely in half, in whatever key is chosen, and was known as the ‘Devil’s Interval’ in the Middle Ages because of its unsettling chromatic sound. In any changes of key, arrivals at and departures from this new key via a diminished seventh will be identical in intervallic terms.
The half-diminished seventh is more complex in its properties but has one semitone difference from the full diminished variety. This time, calculating each interval from root position, the pitches would be (C) root, (E flat) minor third, (G flat) diminished fifth, and (B flat) minor seventh. The value of both these diminished chords lies ultimately in their potential to convey a rather plangent, bittersweet quality more than to create structure. In hymn tunes, use of the chords tends to follow the same pattern, occurring en passant in the final line, for instance, in J. B. Dykes’ BEATITUDO (‘Spirit divine, attend our prayers’ etc.), in James Mountain’s WYE VALLEY (‘Like a river glorious’) and in James Langran’s ST AGNES (‘Here, O my Lord, I see Thee face to face’).
Most effective is David J. Mansell in his song ‘Jesus is Lord’, for which he wrote both words and music. Here, the diminished chord is placed firmly on the first beat of the second bar to match the word ‘Lord’. Each verse begins in the same manner. This symbiosis of tune and text has a powerful and unsettling effect, communicating – whether consciously or not – that faith is a journey in which certainty and doubt are troublingly blended.
Some academics have characterised the Victorian era of hymn writing as one of sentimentality. Composers and writers of this period did try, with varying degrees of success, to express their inner personal feelings through their music and texts. Today, society has become more diverse, complex and polarised; some religions and sects oppose music entirely in worship; many people, however, still fervently believe in the power of music to move hearts. The best hymn tunes, paired with the best texts, can by-pass facts and reasoning to evoke deep and mysterious feelings which we might variously experience and name as love, tenderness, sadness, nostalgia and joy, although questions remain at many levels about how exactly this process of evocation occurs.
Twentieth-century hymnodyBy examining the hymn ‘explosion’[20] which preceded the birth of the modern ‘worship song’ in the early 1980s, it is possible to understand a little better the extent of the development of the hymn over the previous century and to examine how infrequent and precious have been successful pairings of text and tune.
In the UK, church attendance continued to decline throughout the twentieth-century, with intermittent respites of local revival which were short-lived. From across the Atlantic, Moody and Sankey’s involvement with churches in the UK had flourished for a while in the late nineteenth century, then took a step backwards when they returned to their US base as both suffered ill-health. The crusades of Billy Graham in the 1950s (to over 100 countries including the UK) had a very decided effect upon those who made a commitment to Christianity at that time and their influence continued for many years. My mother, one of many young Christians, travelled in a group in one of the hundreds of special coaches laid on from the north of England to Billy Graham’s Crusade at London’s Harringay stadium in 1954. Her decision that evening has had a profound effect on her family for three generations.
Since the Second World War, huge societal changes – including economic challenges, scientific advances and, most recently, the digital revolution – have increased a sense of individualism and opportunities for choice of belief. For many, this has weakened the certainties that an earlier generation took for granted, rooted in their readings of the psalms; latterly, however, it has been the new ‘songs’ of Graham Kendrick, Stuart Townend, Keith Getty and others such as Matt Redman that have helped to align sung worship with a modern-day Christian approach to life.
These newer songs are an eclectic mix. Their scores reveal relaxed compositional outlines, former four-square structures becoming less rigid, with refrains expropriating a larger part of the overall structure. Often there is a short ‘bridge’ section. Some syncopation, chromaticism and ostinato (repetitive notes, frequently in the bass as in Kendrick’s ‘Lord, the light of Your love’) give a modern harmonic flavour. So do composite (major/minor) chords, flowing melodies (Sebastian Temple’s ‘Make me a channel of your peace’), triplets, rising sequences, instrumental preludes, interludes and postludes.
During the 1980s, worship songs were a relatively new musical phenomenon, marking the end (or the beginning) of a new musical era. Moving on to the twenty-first century, these often comprise the main form of worship in many UK churches, having earned the approval of more than one generation of churchgoers. Nevertheless, there is still a paucity of good new tunes for hymns written in twenty-first century language. But even allowing for different musical techniques, the most popular songs seem to be those that bear more than a passing resemblance to the old hymns. These contain either a strong beat or an octave bass-line: they have a similar harmonic template comprising a climactic melodic peak or a rising melodic outlook. Some examples are Patrick Appleford’s ‘Living Lord’, Wendy Churchill’s ‘Jesus is King’ and Michael Saward’s/Michael Baughen’s collaboration on ‘Christ Triumphant’. The words and the music of the former two, having been put together by individuals with ability to maintain a coherence of musical form in matching texts and tunes together, have proven popular and enduring in many different types of church service and look to remain so.
That said, some have obvious shortcomings. Modulation to different or related keys occurs infrequently, and tunes often remain in the home-key for the entirety. Some would argue that the deliberate repetition of both words and music creates the emotional lever needed to open a gateway to deeper worship; others feel such repetition suggests a paucity of imagination and invention. Some consider simplicity and repetition in song can aid worship, but others want something more satisfying: a generational idiosyncrasy, perhaps.
Yet while much of this newer music has thrown off the structural rigidity of former decades and ‘come alive’ to the beauties that can be achieved in music within the genre, conversely the ‘worship’ texts have indubitably lost the depth and vitality they once possessed. Though some believe simplicity is key to creating an experience of worship, others see the language as shockingly banal, failing to capture any of the wonder of biblical truths. Moreover, texts considered outdated and incomprehensible are in many cases replaced by those that are repetitious, trivial and simplistic.
Compare, for example, these ancient perplexing words: ‘For Judah’s Lion burst his chains / and crushed the serpent’s head; / he cries aloud through death’s domains / to wake the imprisoned dead.’ with this chorus: ‘Sing alleluia to the Lord, / sing alleluia to the Lord, / sing alleluia, sing alleluia, / sing alleluia to the Lord!’ The former is full of vigour, though of its time. The latter, even if rousing in the hands of a good worship leader, becomes tedious without the touch of a Mozart or a Handel. As with the old, so with the new; standards vary.
Returning to my opening paragraphs, few writers (of music or text) have examined the technical aspects which contribute to a deeper sense of worship – the alignment or symbiosis which conjoins and lifts a good tune and rousing words. Besides the ‘technicalities’, we have not considered other aspects of performance: tempi, rhythm, ‘context’, ‘acoustics’; the intention or inspiration of the composer; the quality or professionalism of the choir; the singing of the participants, amateur experienced singers, singers who can sing in parts, descants and colourful instrumental groups, use of microphones.
All the more reason, therefore, to identify and put to full use those hymns which have been shown to succeed in combining ‘text’ and ‘tune’ well: many of these have demonstrated that they are able to unite worshippers throughout generations and engage them in a deeper level of worship ‘in the spirit’.
Joan Thackray
Select Bibliography (excluding items noted or footnoted above) Cooke, Deryck, The Language of Music, OUP, London, 1959. Dunsby, Jonathan M., Making
Dunsby, Jonathan M. and Whittall, Arnold, Music Analysis in Theory and Practice, Faber, London, 1988.
Habgood, John, Faith and Uncertainty, Darton, Longman & Todd, London, 1997.
Lippman, Edward A., The Philosophy and Aesthetics of Music, University of Nebraska Press, Lincoln, 1999.
Temperley, Nicholas, The Music of the English Parish Church, CUP, Cambridge, 1979.
Caring for music: A personal reflection on writing hymns by Brian Hoare
If the poet John Milton was right when he wrote, ‘The childhood shews the man, as morning shews the day’, then one must look to one’s earliest days to glimpse something of what was to come. One of my earliest childhood memories is of a blind great-aunt who, much to my astonished admiration, could sit at the piano and play by ear (or perhaps from memory?) all manner of different pieces. Ours was quite a musical family and sometimes on a Sunday evening we would gather round the piano with our copies of The Methodist Hymn Book and sing through some favourite hymns in four parts – my mother and sister singing soprano, my younger brother singing alto, dad singing tenor and me on the bass line.
I started piano lessons quite early on and wrote my first short two-verse song at the age of eight, subsequently hearing it sung at the Sunday School Anniversary (no doubt only because my father happened to be the Sunday School superintendent!). In my early teens I wrote an anthem based on a few verses from Psalm 34, and before I left secondary school had added to my musical output a new tune for our church Youth Fellowship’s adopted hymn ‘O God our Father, who dost make us one’, settings of the Lord’s Prayer and the Aaronic Blessing, and a further anthem using Henry Buckoll’s hymn text ‘Lord, behold us with thy blessing / once again assembled here’ – and all of this with only a basic O-level knowledge of musical theory. As I look back at my output of those early years it is no surprise that none of it was of any real quality, but I recount all this simply to illustrate the fact that I have always had an interest in music and an innate urge to write my own.
It was only when I went to Westminster College, London for teacher training and specialised in music under the tutelage of Dr George Brockless, then also organist at Westminster Central Hall, that my grasp of musical theory was further developed and my writing began to mature. Even then I still had a lot to learn. Having written settings of the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis to submit in place of a dissertation for my finals, I later decided to send them to the
Rev Dr Francis Westbrook, then Secretary of the Methodist Church Music Society and Principal of the Williams School of Church Music, for his comments. His response properly brought me down to earth:
Technically the work is, on the whole, accurate. From an artistic point of view I have distinct reservations… It seems to lack character. The phrases don’t appear to say anything really arresting. They move along somewhat after the style of the mid-Victorians when they are at their most obvious. I am afraid that does not sound very polite. Please forgive me. Someone else might see something in the music that eludes me but for my part I am left untouched.
The ensuing years and helpful contact with a wide variety of other church musicians have taught me much. There are many better musicians than I in the Hymn Society, but I venture the following as an outline of the way I now approach the writing of music for hymns, whether to my own texts or those of others:
1. It must be congregationally singableI agree wholeheartedly with John Ferguson (now Emeritus Professor of Organ and Church Music, St Olaf College, USA) when he describes what he calls ‘the primary choir’ in any church as ‘the entire congregation’.[21] The place of what might be termed ‘performance music’ by organised choirs or worship bands is a question beyond the scope of this article, but what we term ‘hymns’ (whether in traditional or contemporary style) are essentially congregational worship whose music must facilitate everyone’s participation. The same principle should apply to contemporary worship songs, which I recall that Bernard Braley (formerly Managing Director of Stainer & Bell) always insisted on calling ‘congregational songs’. They must therefore not be over-complicated musically, and relatively easy to pick up after only a few hearings. There is a distinction to be drawn between simplicity and predictability which means that hymn tunes need not be devoid of interest or surprise. They do not always have to go where you think they are going! But too many surprises, either in the melody or the ‘geography’ of a tune (where it goes next, particularly if it has repeats and a refrain or a ‘bridge’ passage), can dishearten a congregation and leave them floundering. I have always tried to write tunes that are easily accessible but without being too obviously predictable.
Back in the 1960s, Betty Pulkingham (of the Fisherfolk, and compiler of Sound of Living Waters: Songs of Renewal) wrote a book entitled Sing God a Simple Song in which she drew a distinction between what she called ‘Folk art’ and ‘Fine art’, pointing out that the vast majority of our hymn tunes are written, not by well known composers, but by largely unknown musicians who wrote for the common people.[22] . She quotes Erik Routley who wrote, ‘It should be one of the marks of the church’s special genius that its music can be satisfying both to the musician of fastidious standards and to the nonmusical worshipper.’[23] A ‘simple’ melody need not be musically simplistic, but it does need to be melodically memorable.
2. It must be textually sensitiveIt goes without saying that the whole purpose of a hymn tune is to enable the words to be sung, and the tune must therefore be sensitive to the mood and the meaning of the text. The Council of Trent made this clear way back in 1562 with its concern that the words of the liturgy were clear and the music was reverent in tone, stipulating that nothing was to interfere with the easy intelligibility of the text. Words carry a natural accent of their own, just as rhythmic patterns do in music, and I have found it helpful to read a text aloud as a prelude to setting it to music, marking the stronger syllables. Some words have the stress on the first syllable (‘happy’, ‘mountain’); in others we would accentuate a later syllable (‘disciple’, ‘resurrection’, ‘renew’). A careful study of the words we are setting to music will inform the sort of tune we write.
A musician needs first to pay attention to the metre of the hymn: how many lines does it have and how many syllables and stresses in each line? Perhaps surprisingly, I have found hymns in shorter metres more difficult to write than those in longer ones since there is less scope for a tune to develop in an interesting way. A particular challenge was when Fred Pratt Green’s short text ‘After darkness, light’ (with only five syllables in each line) first appeared in The Methodist Recorder back in the 1970s with a footnote saying, ‘Tune wanted’; but I was encouraged to hear from him that, of the tunes submitted, he preferred my tune RIDGEWAY (subsequently used in Partners in Praise, Hymns and Psalms and Singing the Faith).
As well as its metre, the mood and ‘feel’ of the text must influence the sort of tune written for it. Try, for example, singing ‘O sacred head sore wounded’ to the tune MORNING LIGHT (‘Stand up, stand up for Jesus’) and you soon discover the importance of a tune suiting the mood of the words! Both hymns and tunes share the same metre, but are vastly different in feel.
Some texts will require a minor, more solemn key; some are best served by a slower, more thoughtful tune; yet others demand something altogether more joyful and upbeat. Some hymns can even appropriately carry a tune in both minor and major keys in the same text, as in Dykes’s tune VOX DILECTI to ‘I heard the voice of Jesus say’, where the more factual statements of the first four lines are in the minor key and the responding four lines of testimony appropriately move into the major.
One sign of a good hymn tune is for it to be so inextricably wedded to its text that it is almost impossible for it to be sung to any other tune. Think, for example, of a hymn like ‘Dear Lord and Father of mankind’ and Hubert Parry’s sublime tune REPTON (despite Whittier’s words having been set to either GEORGIA or REST in the 1933 Methodist Hymn Book). The fact that my own tune CHATSWORTH is so wedded to my hymn ‘Born in song!’, however, is not so much due to the quality of either text or tune but simply that there is no other tune in existence of that metre!
3. It must be musically interestingIn general, the more interesting a tune is, the more memorable it is likely to be. There are a number of different ways to achieve musical interest, the most obvious of which is a tune’s melodic line, and there are several techniques which can be employed to that end. One is repetition, a device used in a great number of hymn tunes and an easy way of helping worshippers to grasp the melody. Think, for example, of tunes like SUSSEX CAROL (‘On Christmas night all Christians sing’), ST DENIO (‘Immortal, invisible, God only wise’) or SKYE BOAT sOnG (‘Spirit of God, unseen as the wind’), all of which repeat the melody of the opening phrase. Repetition can either be complete, as in the above-mentioned tunes, or partial with a slight variant as in tunes like GWALCHMAI (‘King of glory, King of peace’) or BE STILL (‘Be still, for the presence of the Lord’) which have a slightly different ending the second time the phrase is used.
A variant of repetition is what is technically called sequence: that is, repeating a musical phrase but at a higher or lower pitch, or repeating it but with some variation or decoration. An example of this is the Peter Cutts tune BRIDEGROOM (‘As the bridegroom to his chosen’), where lines three and four repeat the first two lines (with only a slight variant), but a tone higher. I have used a similar device in my own tunes AND I LOVE YOU (‘Dear Father, I adore you’), reproduced towards the end of this article, and WARLINGHAM (‘Blessing and honour, glory and power’). The refrain for the latter (‘Blessing and honour, / glory and power are rightly yours, / all-gracious God.’) is included in Singing the Faith (765) as a liturgical setting but the whole hymn, both verses and refrain, is almost entirely a series of musical sequences.
As well as the melodic line, musical interest can also be achieved through harmonic variation – even when the melody itself is not particularly interesting. A striking example of this is found in the 1933 Methodist Hymn Book where the tune MORNA (MHB 399, ‘What shall I render to my God’) repeats the same note no less than nine times! Normally that would be wholly unmelodic and very boring to sing, but it is redeemed by the six changing harmonies beneath the notes of the melody.
Another way of providing musical interest in the harmony of a tune is by using what are called passing notes, literally notes through which a musical phrase passes on its way to the next chord. These normally occur in the under-parts (alto, tenor, or bass) rather than the melody itself, and are particularly useful for sustaining interest under the longer notes in a melody. Good examples of this are found in tunes like WOLVERCOTE (‘O Jesus, I have promised’) and GUITING POWER (‘Christ triumphant, ever reigning’). In my own tune below, COCKNAGE WOOD (‘The Lord is King! He set the stars in space’), I have used passing notes to add interest to what would otherwise have simply been plain block chords.
Yet further harmonic interest in a tune can be achieved using suspensions, where a note belonging to one chord is sustained through the change to the next chord. This can have the effect of adding more depth of emotion to the music and tends to be found more in recent tunes than the earlier classic ones.
Modulation (moving from one key to another) is yet another way of adding interest to a tune, though as far as hymns are concerned it needs to be used sparingly and is more commonly a device used by organists when accompanying hymns (usually moving up a semitone to add excitement to the last verse) than by composers when writing them. An exception in my case was the version of RIDGEWAY mentioned earlier as it appeared in Hymns and Psalms (HP 186), where the final verse moved up from E major to F major, ‘welcoming’ Easter Day.
Singing the Faith dispensed with the modulation, perhaps because it took the melody line up to a top F, deemed too high for contemporary congregations for whom hymns and songs tend to be set lower than in previous generations (although the setting in the later book, a semitone lower, would have avoided that problem).
A variant of this type of modulation (moving up or down to a different key) is modulation to a related key, as in my hymn ‘Sing to the great Creator’s praise!’ set to RUSHDEN (from my musical, New Creation). Here the refrain is in G major but the verse moves into the related key of B flat which I like to think adds considerable interest to the music.
Christian congregations are generally a pretty mixed bunch. When leading music workshops, I have sometimes asked how many people prefer listening to Radio 1, Radio 2, Radio 3, Classic FM, Jazz FM etc. and there have usually been takers for each one (with Radio 2 and Classic FM being much the most popular). The implication is, therefore, that most congregations include people with a wide variety of musical tastes, and I believe the music for our hymnody needs to reflect that fact.
Variety of musical style will partly be dictated by the text of the hymn being set, but it is not unusual for the same text to be published with two very different styles of tune. Many late twentieth-century hymn books, for instance, included ‘At the name of Jesus’ to both the nineteenth-century tune EVELYNS by W. H. Monk, with its bold, foursquare feel, and the more upbeat tune CAMBERWELL by Michael Brierley, a member of the Twentieth Century Church Light Music Group. Again, the text of ‘O Jesus, I have promised’ was set either to a traditional tune like the majestic WOLVERCOTE by W. H. Ferguson, or to the more contemporary HATHEROP CASTLE by Geoffrey Beaumont, also part of the Twentieth Century Church Light Music Group.
I had the privilege of serving on the committee which produced the 1983 book Hymns and Psalms, the introduction to which states that the compilers aimed to produce a hymn book which was ‘rooted firmly in denominational traditions, and which makes available to all Christians the riches of classical, evangelical, catholic, and charismatic hymnody of the past and the present’.
That was a laudable aim, but the truth is that the book was produced almost a generation too early to achieve those aims in a truly satisfying way. The past couple of decades have seen an explosion of worthy material, both texts and tunes, from all four of the above-named traditions, in addition to welcome material from Taize, Iona and the world church, and much of it has been absorbed into the staple diet of congregations of every tradition. We truly do sing each other’s songs, and that fact now ‘gives permission’ to composers to produce congregational music in a wide variety of styles.
We are surrounded today by music from morning to night – on the radio, in the supermarket, by buskers in the street, at the dentist’s, in the restaurant. For the most part the music we hear (or try not to hear!) is of the more ‘popular’ style, and the question rightly arises: how does our Sunday worship reflect the sort of music we encounter throughout the week – if at all? It was partly in response to that sort of question that the last century saw first the rise of composers like the Twentieth Century Church Light Music Group referred to above, and then the ‘contemporary praise and worship’ approach typified the rise of publications like Sound of Living Waters, Youth Praise, Mission Praise, Spring Harvest Praise, The Source and many more. Alongside the emergence of these worship songs has come the development of modern hymnody, not least by the Jubilate group of which I am a member, and my own approach to all this has been eclectic.
Emulating those who are today called ‘crossover artists’, I have attempted to write music in both the ‘hymn’ and ‘song’ idioms – and quite a bit (as below p242) where I’m not sure which category they fit! Nor does it really matter. All this leads on to a final and related principle, which underlies what has been said above.
Dear Father, I adore you;
in worship come before you.
You’re my Maker and my King,
you’re the Lord of everything;
you’re my Shepherd and my Guide,
all that’s needful you provide,
and I love you for all you are to me.
Lord Jesus, I adore you;
in worship come before you.
You’re my Saviour and my Friend,
my Beginning and my End;
you’re the Lamb of God who died,
now in heaven glorified,
and I love you for all you are to me.
O Spirit, I adore you;
in worship come before you.
You’re the gentle heavenly Dove
bringing holiness and love;
you’re the tongue of Living Flame
giving power in Jesus’ name,
and I love you for all you are to me.
Yes, I love you for all you are to me.[24]
John Harper, former Director General of the Royal School of Church Music, describes today’s cultural mixture well when he writes: ‘We may listen to a negro [sic] spiritual in a room fashioned in Japanese style, eating Italian food, and drinking American cola.’ He goes on to say that, wherever it spread, Christianity ‘both adopted local culture and influenced that culture.’[25]
In their own day John and Charles Wesley were flexible enough to encourage the use of music from a wide variety of sources, including even tavern tunes and folk songs. Many of the new hymn tunes to emerge during the Evangelical Revival were written with a different feel to the music, more florid and with a greater sense of passion, although their composers were rarely cultured or trained musicians, usually being leading chapel singers with a gift for writing a good, singable melody. It was truly music of the people. Similarly today, as has been noted above, a glance through the list of composers at the back of any hymnal reveals only a few recognisable names from the wider world of music. Undoubtedly, we need the gifts of those talented musicians whose music has become more widely known and brought blessing to the worshipping life of many congregations; but equally we need the contributions of those who, though unknown beyond their own immediate circle, nevertheless produce music which is ‘of the people’. Some of it will prove ephemeral and soon be forgotten; but some will stand the test of time and be incorporated into the worshipping repertoire of some, or many, churches.
In 1984 my wife and I were invited to represent British Methodism at the annual conference of the Methodist Church in Ghana,and I was particularly interested in one debate about whether they should allow African drumming in their services. There were heated exchanges on both sides: some said it was pagan, others insisted it was just traditionally African. Happily, the latter viewpoint prevailed, so we found ourselves singing Wesley hymns with a rhythmically swaying robed choir, accompanied by a pipe organ and African drums! This was truly worship imported from an alien culture but also rooted in the very different culture of the worshippers.
I believe that we are more fortunate than any previous generation of Christian worshippers in that we have at our disposal all the wealth of the accumulated musical tradition of the Christian Church through the centuries, plus all the variety of contemporary musical expression from a plethora of different sources. And into that mix I am privileged to offer my own modest contribution which aims to be congregationally singable, textually sensitive, musically interesting, stylistically varied and culturally appropriate. How far it succeeds I must leave others to decide, and time alone will tell what becomes of it.
Brian Hoare All the musical illustrations above are © Brian Hoare/Jubilate Hymns Ltd except for RIDGEWAY which is © 1979 Stainer & Bell Ltd and The Trustees for Methodist Church Purposes (UK). All are reprinted by permission.
[1] Coward, N. quoted by Neil Tennant, ‘Arts and Books’, Daily Telegraph, London, 4 April, 1998, p1.
[2] Blackwell, A. L., The Sacred in Music, Lutterworth Press, Cambridge, 1999, p.11
[3] Ibid, p.12
[4] Gant, A., O Sing unto the Lord: A History of English Church Music, Profile Books, London, 2016, p.242
[5] Wren, B., Praying Twice: The Music and Words of Congregational Song, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, US, 2000), p.1
[6] Manning, B. Lord, The Hymns of Wesley and Watts: Five Informal Papers, Epworth Press, London, 1942, p.107
[7] Watson, J.R., The English Hymn: A Critical and Historical Study, OUP, Oxford, 1997, p.viii
[8] Wren, op. cit., p.77
[9] Ibid., p.79
[10] For example, his anecdote (also found elsewhere with slight variations in details) about ‘Blind Billy’, organist of Bolton Parish Church in the early 1800s, who supplemented his low pay by performing (locally) elsewhere ‘in an outstanding manner’ on Saturday evenings. His particular talent was to play four instruments simultaneously – the fiddle, the double drum, the French horn and the triangle, with vocal imitation on the bassoon. Having imbibed too freely one Saturday night, he absent-mindedly treated the Sunday morning congregation to a jig on the organ. He was immediately dismissed. Lightwood, James T., Hymn-Tunes and their Story, Kelly, London, 1905, p.255
[11] Bradley, Ian, Abide with Me: The World of Victorian Hymns, SCM Press, London, 1997
[12] Beeson, Trevor, In Tuneful Accord: The Church Musicians, SCM Press, London, 2009, p.viii.
[13] Gant, op. cit., pp.ix-x
[14] Those who belonged to other denominations than the Church of England.
[15] Olney Hymns, published in 1779, comprised 348 songs. They were personal expressions of faith, the texts mainly by Newton.
[16] Watson, David, Fear No Evil, Hodder & Stoughton, London, 1984, p.60
[17] This may not necessarily be a new feature at other concert series. It may well have been a regular enterprise elsewhere, but I have not experienced it at the Proms until now.
[18] Original tune from Hubert Parry’s oratorio Judith, first performed 1888. Hymn text from Whittier’s poem, ‘The Brewing of Soma’.
[19] The key may not be identical in every published edition.
[20] ‘… though no one would give this a name for some time to come. We now call it, not altogether accurately, “the hymn explosion”.’ Timothy Dudley-Smith, Snakes and Ladders – A Hymn Writer’s Reflections, The Hymn Society of Great Britain and Ireland, Occasional Papers, Series 3 No.1, p.15
[21] Darlington, Stephen and Kreider, Alan (eds), Composing Music for Worship, Canterbury Press, Norwich, 2003, p.150
[22] Pulkingham, Betty, Sing God a Simple Song: Exploring Music in Worship for the Eighties, Marshall Pickering, Basingstoke, 1986
[23] Routley, Erik, Music Leadership in the Church, Abingdon Press, Nashville, 1967, pp.90-91, cited in Pulkingham, op. cit., p.66
[24] Words and music: Brian Hoare/Jubilate Hymns
[25] Darlington and Kreider (eds), op. cit., pp.171-172
Review
A Noble Theme, a Skillful Writer; Gray, S., Music, D.W., Hope Publishing, 2021, p487, $24.95The authors of this book describe Timothy Dudley-Smith as ‘one of the most skilful and extensively influential hymn writers of our time’. This description is entirely apt, as the book demonstrates. The combined skills of Scotty Gray, in the hermeneutics of hymnody, with those of David Music, in hymn tune composition and use, are well fitted to the task. It is not one that has been taken on lightly.
First it must be asked why such a book would be written. Looking at twentieth- and twenty-first-century hymn writers I am not aware of any who have either warranted or commanded such a study. Extensive studies of the historic greats of hymn writing are not uncommon, but to seek something of this scale for a living author is, I think, unique. Neither would such a study be expected at this time when some would see hymn writing, and even hymn singing, to be in decline. Initially, the book seems to be seeking to cover almost too much, involving as it does history, biography (including some pertinent photographs), hymn and music analysis, and the actual process of writing. It is largely down to the skill of the authors, and the interesting subject matter, that the book succeeds. The authors write cooperatively. What could have been a dry academic text moves with pace and interest, while being firmly based in solidly informed research, much from primary sources.
Gray and Music have decided that, while hymns have to stand in isolation and be judged in their own light, to have knowledge of an author can be helpful. They are conscious that such knowledge can sometimes damage our appreciation of a subject. The political persuasions of artists or writers, and the theological stance of hymn writers, can colour the way in which their material is received or accepted. Here the authors have felt that such knowledge is more likely to enable greater understanding and the appreciation, both critically and in worship, of Dudley-Smith’s hymns. The book affirms the rightness of their decision.
To enable an understanding of the hymns, Dudley-Smith’s life is outlined. This is not done as an introduction to the book, nor as a thorough-going biography, but in order to set the hymns, their writing, publication and use in context. The book is laid out in sections, beginning with ‘The 1920s-1950s: Formative Years’ and then taking decades in turn. Each section involves some scene setting. This is achieved through access to Dudley-Smith’s own writing and through conversations that Gray and others have had with him over some years. This approach enables the hymns to be set in context. This is not simply the account of a critical historian, but one which notices and reflects on those circumstances that have influenced, interested, formed and informed Dudley-Smith, those things which have interested him at different times in his life.
Each of the first seven chapters offers a selection of texts which are printed in full, then described and analysed from a literary, poetic and hymnological perspective. Alongside this, musical settings are noted and given critical attention. Alternative settings are examined, with strengths and weaknesses noted. In the following chapters Biblical, Theological, Liturgical, Literary, Musical, Historical/Sociocultural and Practical Dimensions of Dudley-Smith’s hymns are addressed with equal skill. The penultimate chapter examines Dudley-Smith’s process of composing hymn texts. This again makes use of his own accounts of writing. It becomes clear that, for Dudley-Smith, writing is a vocation which is, in turn, inspired. Such inspiration does not diminish in any way the need to ensure that every detail of a text is crafted with care, with drafts extensively re-worked until the finished hymn presents itself.
Photographs of some pages of his manuscripts offer insight into some of this process. He is, as the authors state, ‘continually seeking ways to express in an ever finer way the noble themes of the Christian faith’. This requires time, sometimes amounting to years.
People with an interest in twentieth- and early twenty-first- century history will find new insights in this book, as will those who appreciate hymns. For those who study hymns academically it is a soundly grounded examination of the insight and creativity of a hymn writer of whom, in conclusion, the authors state: ‘There is much in the life and works of this skilful writer that can increasingly have a powerful impact on Christians in their private devotions and public worship, discipleship, evangelization, and service to society.’ They have provided more than enough evidence to warrant this assessment.
Andrew Pratt
Obituary
Francis Jackson CBE DMus FRCOThe death of Francis Jackson aged 104, on 10 January 2022, brought to an end his close association with York Minster which spanned more than 90 years. It began when he joined the Minster choir as a Probationer Chorister under Sir Edward Bairstow in 1929. These were undoubtedly formative years. Francis had written:
my horizons were widened and I learned that music was not just an exercise merely to be got through but rather a natural expression of one’s very being… Bairstow.. .made music alive and, above all, enjoyable and fulfilling. And music had to be beautiful.
On leaving the choir, he remained at the Minster throughout his teenage years, studying the organ and assisting Bairstow in playing for services. When the Second World War broke out, he joined the Ninth Lancers, serving in Egypt, North Africa and Italy. Although he played the organ little in these war years, his musical gifts were put to good use entertaining service personnel. ‘Jive with Jackson’, at which he featured on both piano and saxophone, was a popular event. He returned to York at Easter 1946 initially as Sub-Organist and then, on Bairstow’s death just ten days later, was appointed Master of the Music. Jackson held this post, living in the Organist’s house at 1 Minster Court, until his retirement in 1982, when he was appointed Organist Emeritus.
As with many cathedral organists of his generation, Francis juggled a wide portfolio of musical activity. Alongside his daily liturgical responsibilities at the Minster he became well-known as an outstanding organ recitalist and as a composer. Within the City of York, he conducted both the York Musical Society and the York Symphony Orchestra. This spinning of many plates sometimes led to confusion over service music at the Minster. On one occasion, as the music was given out before Evensong, a rather anxious Head Chorister approached the organ loft with the news that this was the first time the boys had seen this particular anthem. ‘Oh, I think you’ll find you’ll enjoy it,’ was the reply!
Francis was a prolific composer, making significant contributions to both organ and choral repertoire. His liturgical work includes numerous service settings, of which the Benedicite and evening canticles in G (always referred to as ‘me in G’) have become staples of the cathedral repertoire. A number of his anthems deserve a particular mention, in particular Audi filia, a fine setting of Psalm 45 written in 1950, and Remember for good, O Father. This latter piece, an original and haunting setting of words compiled by Dean Eric Milner- White for the dedication of York Minster’s Astronomical Clock, has become a valuable contribution to the repertoire for Battle of Britain Sunday. Also of note is his powerful and engaging monodrama Daniel in Babylon, written for the dedication celebrations at Coventry Cathedral in 1962.
His contribution to hymnody consisted of only two tunes. The first, MALTON (named after the place of his birth) was written in the late 1930s for a Diocesan Choirs Festival at York Minster and has not been published. The second, EAST ACKLAM (named after the North Yorkshire village in which he eventually settled) has become widely known. Written in 1957 for the evening hymn ‘God, that madest earth and heaven’, the tune was later paired with Pratt Green’s harvest hymn ‘For the fruits of his [all] creation’ and has passed into the repertoire as one of the finest of English twentieth-century tunes. For most of Francis’ tenure at York, hymnody was not the significant component of cathedral liturgy which it is today. This did not prevent him having strong views about it, and especially the speed at which hymns should be sung! Archive recordings from the 1950s reveal hymns being sung at what, today, would be regarded as exceptionally slow tempi. As in all matters church-musical, Francis stuck to his guns; it was fitting that at his funeral in York Minster, his tempo preferences in this area were followed carefully!
Many of his compositions were the result of personal commissions, and a large number carry personal dedications, bearing witness to the many who regarded him as a friend. Francis is remembered with great affection. His former Choristers speak warmly of his kindness and of the great humanity with which he oversaw the choir at York. In retirement, he continued to attend Old Choristers’ Association functions and was delighted that the Association had established a fund in his name to provide ongoing financial support for Choristers.
Francis continued to play the organ into old age, giving recitals well into his 90s, as well as playing the harmonium for services at East Acklam parish church. He remained creative to the end, both in composition and in cultivating his garden—always well-tended and a riot of colour—and never lost his unique personal blend of graciousness, dry humour and engaging presence.
Francis Alan Jackson was born in Malton on 2 October 2017, and died in York on 10 January 2022. His wife, Priscilla, predeceased him in 2013. He is survived by his three children and his grandchildren.
May he rest in peace and rise in glory.
Peter Moger, Stornoway
Among our contributors
Joan Thackray lives in South Buckinghamshire, teaches music and is a freelance researcher. Her interest in the structure of Debussy’s work led to her PhD in 2007. Her love of hymns has been an essential part of her life for more than sixty years.
Brian Hoare taught music and RE before being ordained as a Methodist minister in 1971. As well as circuit ministry he served as a school chaplain, Cliff College tutor, Connexional Secretary for Evangelism and was President of the Methodist Conference in 1995-96. He has texts and tunes in over thirty hymnbooks in the UK, Australia, Canada and the USA and published a full-length musical, New Creation, in 1995.
The Bulletin of The Hymn Society of Great Britain and Ireland
Honorary President:
The Rt. Rev’d. And Rt. Hon. Baron Williams of Oystermouth
Executive President:
Janet Wooton
Executive Vice-President:
Martin Leckebusch
Honorary Vice-Presidents:
Timothy Dudley-Smith
J. R. Watson
Editor:
Andrew Pratt
Assisted by:
Anne Harrison,
Michael Garland and
Ian Sharp
Secretary:
Robert A. Canham
Treasurer:
Michael Garland
Registered Charity No. 248225
Click on this link to open a searchable PDF that you may download.
Kindly note that this is supplied freely as part of your membership to the Society and as such is not to be made available to others in any shape or form and remains the copyright property of The Hymn Society of Great Britain and Ireland.
© The Hymn Society of Great Britain and Ireland