The word "tradition" – especially if it's in the same sentence as "religion" – has become deeply suspect, but the other-worldly beauty of sacred choral music can inspire us as we face an uncertain future, writes ARMINTA WALLACE
CHRISTMAS. If you had to describe it to a vertically challenged Martian visitor, you might say something along the lines of: “frenzied festive preparations”. Or “lights and tinsel and glittery things”. Or – if you’re one of the luckier and more energetic earthlings – “runaway socialising”. But one item which seems to be on everyone’s seasonal wishlist, from the moment November recedes into the rear-view mirror until the big day itself finally dawns, is a generous helping of choral – and therefore, to all intents and purposes, sacred – music.
How else can one explain the sudden blossoming of choral concerts, most of which finish up with a triumphant round of community carol-singing, on the December musical calendar? How account for the crowds who squeeze into crammed Services of Nine Lessons and Carols in the run-up to Christmas – in merry disregard of the fact that, as a somewhat waspish city-centre cathedral chorus master once pointed out to this writer, “we sing a choral evensong every day of every week, all year round, and people aren’t exactly beating down the doors to get in”. Music has of course been central to Christian liturgical celebrations for centuries, from the outgoing brand of gospel music purveyed by contemporary evangelical groups through unaccompanied monastic plainchant to the lusty congregational hymn-singing beloved of the Anglican tradition. But even in our increasingly secular society, it seems that come Christmas we’re happy to set aside whatever spiritual and/or philosophical reservations we might have for the rest of the year, and grab a corner of the hymn-sheet.
In many parish churches around the country, tomorrow will see the candles lit and every available surface decorated with evergreen boughs as people gather to celebrate in their various musical fashions. Milltown Parish Church on Dublin’s Milltown Road is no exception – though it is, musically speaking, exceptionally lucky. As Fr Tom Stack puts it in an article for this month’s parish magazine, “We are blessed with three choral groups here at Milltown. Two of these are local and composed of volunteers directed by Mary O’ Flaherty and Paula Jennings, together with organist Andrew Synott. These two choirs, incidentally, are always happy (as are all choirs everywhere!) to welcome additional members.
"In addition to the above we are singularly privileged in our parish by the presence of our third choral group, who sing each Saturday at the 6pm mass. This is our Milltown Chamber Choir, which is composed of nine professional choristers, both women and men, directed by Orla Flanagan with Fergal Caulfield at the organ." In a country where choral music has always been driven by personal dedication and often starved of adequate funding, a professional parish choir is indeed the exception rather than the rule. This one exists thanks to the sponsorship of one Bill Whelan – of Riverdancefame – who apparently does a huge amount to sponsor music and musicians in Ireland, though he rarely speaks about it and would really be much happier if his name was never mentioned.
Tom Stack has now retired from active ministry, but was instrumental in getting Milltown Chamber Choir started in 2001. But why, you may be asking, does a church need a professional choir? Isn’t it a liturgical luxury? Not according to Fr Stack, who quotes the Vatican – no less – to support his contention that first-rate sacred music isn’t just the icing on the liturgical cake: it is, in fact, part of the cake itself. “The Second Vatican Council,” he writes, “devotes a whole chapter to this dimension of our worship, in its teaching on the liturgy.” The council document says that “the musical tradition of the universal Church is a treasure of immeasurable value, greater even than that of any other art . . . The treasure of sacred music is to be preserved and fostered with very great care.”
The current custodian of this particular choral treasure is Milltown Chamber Choir's conductor, Orla Flanagan. She is full of ideas about how to expand the choir's sphere of influence; she hopes, in the New Year, to begin a series of workshops which would bring young, talented singers into close contact with these professional singers. "There's lot of talent around Dublin, but if you're not singing regularly with a choir, whether a regular choir or a cathedral choir, it's difficult to come by the training you need," she says. "We're hoping to offer a starting-point for singers aged 15 to 18; they would do a workshop, then rehearse with the choir and sing something together." Meanwhile, for choir and congregation alike, the Christmas Eve Mass is an annual musical and spiritual high point. "There's always a beautiful atmosphere at that Mass," she says. "It's magical. I always feel there's a sense of expectancy – but also a quiet, almost contemplative feeling as well as the joy at the coming of Jesus. That's my personal feeling about Christmas Eve, anyway, and I suppose I would try and capture that in the music for the service." From 8.30pm onwards, as the congregation assembles in the church, the choir will sing a selection of traditional carols: Once in Royal David's City; O Holy Night; O Come, All Ye Faithfuland others. The Mass itself begins at 9pm.
"The setting we're doing this year, in honour of the night that's in it, is the Haydn Missa Sancti Nicolai," says Flanagan. "It's very joyful, celebratory music, in the bright mood of G major, with lots of opportunities for both solo and full choir singing." As a young woman with contemporary tastes and wide-ranging musical ideas, Flanagan may not appear to fit the established image of a conductor of sacred music. Her credentials are, however, impeccable. She studied for two years at the Kodaly Institute in Budapest – which, she says, was a kind of musical revelation. "It was a life-changing experience for me, actually. It opened my eyes and ears to all sorts of – well, to music in general. Kodaly's idea was that music is for everybody, that every child should have access to music, and that the way you learn about music is through doing it. The human voice is the instrument that's common to everyone, so singing is used as the medium through which everything is taught.
“Basically, I was singing 24-seven while I was over there – from first thing in the morning until last thing at night. And through that I developed all sorts of skills. Not just singing skills but my ear became much more aware, more sharp.”
Flanagan is currently completing a doctoral thesis in choral conducting with her teacher from Budapest, Péter Erdei. "I think one of the main things I took from Peter was how to rehearse a choir," she says. "The conductor is, in a way, a mirror of the choir – what you show to the choir is what you get back. So for that reason, you have to project a confident approach." Watching her in action at rehearsal, she certainly doesn't waste time on preliminaries. There are no warm-ups or pep talks. Fergal Caulfield sits at the organ, an 1885 Telford Telford instrument which was found in pieces in a convent in Navan and whose pipes have been beaten out and revoiced. A single note, a simple upbeat, and the choir is off, flooding the church's bright, triangular interior with sound. Minutes in, Flanagan stops them in mid-flow. "I want a radiant fortissimothere," she says. "Not forced at all – just nice and open." A few bars further on, she's asking them notto put so much emphasis on the text.
“Sing it in a more contemplative way – almost as if it were plainchant,” she directs. They repeat the passage – and as the notes soar heavenwards, it’s hard to keep one’s heart, and maybe even soul, from soaring with them. The recent reports on clerical sexual abuse, with their ringing denunciation of the Catholic hierarchy’s failure to listen to the voices of children and their families when they were raised – often pitifully – in protest, have engendered unprecedented anger among Irish people of all faiths and of none. Rightly, perhaps, the word “tradition” – especially if it’s in the same sentence as “religion” – has become deeply suspect.
But sacred choral music is also part of the tradition. As we tune in to Christmas music this year, in whatever form and at whatever level we can, maybe – if we listen carefully – its other-worldly beauty might give us some clues as to how the human species can face, with dignity and compassion, a future which seems at best uncertain. It will undoubtedly – if we listen carefully – give us plenty of food for spiritual thought.
