The "Old Style", Then and Now

In the early 1700s, when composers such as Handel, Boyce and Greene were writing music for the great cathedral choirs, the music in regular churches had fallen into decline. Most of the congregation couldn't read, so they relied on a clerk to sing out each line for them to repeat back. Because there were no accompanying instruments, the songs got slower and slower over time, and often the actual rhythm would disappear.

The "old style" is still used in some American churches today.

It got so bad that the educated members of the congregation would not even bother joining in. Eventually the church authorities decided reform was imperative, and with the gradual introduction of instruments and trained singers, the West Gallery style was born.

"Hark the Herald Angels Sing" in the West Gallery tradition.

The practice known as the “old style” went on for so long mainly because of the belief that good music wasn't important in worshipping God – only the worshippers' intentions. If they were sincere and wholehearted in their praise, what did it matter if the music was terrible? This attitude is also present in many of today's churches. I grew up in a Pentecostal church, and as I grew older, the standard of music took a sharp downward turn. But when I complained about it, I would often be shouted down with, “the music doesn't matter; our hearts matter!”

A factor in both eras is the fear of making an idol out of music. An idol is anything we prioritize over God – this can be money, time, an interest, a person – anything. Idolatry of music was, I'm certain, a big problem in the cathedrals. A lot of people would have gone to church primarily for the music. We see this now with regards to Christian bands; a lot of fans are more interested in fawning over the singers than actually listening to their message. In turning away from this, the smaller churches went to the other extreme and made music completely unimportant.

Another reason the churches shied away from improving the music was because they didn't want to make it too hard for the congregation to sing. It had to be accessible to everyone, so instead of encouraging better singing, they dumbed down the music more and more. It's a valid point – the cathedral music was sung by trained choirs, not the ordinary people.

This is definitely relevant now as well, as the low quality of popular music means that many people cannot sing properly. The church has always taken in influences from secular culture, and this is especially the case with music. In an attempt to stay “relevant” to young people, many churches imitate the current popular music in worship – shoddy vocals, overpowering percussion, banal melodies and all.

So much for the excuses. But they aren't justifications at all. It's entirely possible to focus on writing good music without putting it above God. Yes, the danger will always be there, but if we avoided anything that could possibly lead us the slightest bit astray...well, we may as well become hermits. Likewise, it doesn't have to be overly complex – with a bit of practice, the West Gallery songs were within the ability of the ordinary parishioner; or for a current example, my favourite worship song:

Shout to the Lord

And as for enthusiasm being the only thing that matters...Yes, that is true. God cares most about what's in our hearts, not what we sound like to others. The worst singer in the world could worship in song and He would be glad. But He gave us gifts to use to serve Him, and music is one of these. A songwriter serves God when she creates the best songs she possibly can – writing rubbishy songs is an insult to Him. A clerk in an 18th-century church should be encouraging the congregation to sing as well as they can. Enthusiasm is not just a feeling, but it's how we go about doing things.

But in the early 1700s, churches were completely ignoring any musical abilities among the congregation. Few, if any, would have had musical training, but the church authorities didn't even bother seeking out those with potential. If it seems odd to us, we have to remember that the opportunities we take for granted simply didn't exist three centuries ago, and most people struggled just to get by – they probably didn't have the time or energy to worry about skill that wouldn't put food on the table.

The situation today is similar, in a way. Music isn't sidelined in the church anymore, and those with musical gifts are encouraged to use them. However, often we have people writing songs or singing up the front when they really have no business doing so. In my old church, the worship leader is an amazing guitarist and singer. But he is a terrible songwriter. Yet week after week, the worship team play his songs! Again, it's putting enthusiasm above skill, and shoehorning someone into a role they clearly aren't called to fill. In both eras, musical gifts are not used as they should be, to the detriment of worship.

In writing in defence of quality worship music, I've focused on points that concern musicians, composers and songwriters. But what about the congregation? Does it matter for them what music is played? I think that it does.

Imagine you're an parishioner at the turn of the 18^th century. Off you go to church on a Sunday morning, ready to praise God. And then the music starts...it drags, it's dreary, people are singing out of tune...you're ready to claw out your ears. How can you possibly get into the mood? Unless you're singing of sackcloth and ashes, perhaps.

That's not an issue with modern churches. The everlasting drumbeat perks up even the most boring songs. Syncopation covers a multitude of sins! But the emphasis on upbeat, exciting songs can become rather one-sided. Jumping and down and yahooing isn't the only way to connect with God. One of the more ridiculous incidents I remember was at an evening service, when the flashing disco lights were out and everyone was jumping around in the “mosh pit”. The senior pastor came up the front and exclaimed, “I can still see people standing in their seats! You're not getting into it! Come up here and join in!” Ah no, I can worship quietly if I want, thank you!

The music used in church services should enable people to praise God in all kinds of different ways. Peacefully, cheerfully, repentantly, gratefully...But in both periods, a single dominant style of singing – dreary or hyper – forms a barrier to this.

So while the ideas behind the “old style” and modern church music are well-intentioned, they aren't quite theologically sound. Not only that, but sticking with only one style of music actually is a hindrance to worship. I've been wanting to get this rant out for years!

Handel's "Saul" and the Divine Right of Kings

Many of Handel’s oratorios were written with the political situation of the time in mind.  Saul is one of them.  In 1685, King James II came to power, but he was a Catholic, and the English were afraid he would force the country into Catholicism.  They urged William of Orange to take the throne instead, and James was forced to flee.  The debate still raged on three decades later, over whether it was right to usurp the throne of a king, as kings were supposedly appointed by God.

 

Handel's "Saul"

The concept of the divine right of kings comes from the Old Testament.  Not content with the judges who led them, the Israelites pestered God for an earthly king.  God chose Saul, and the prophet Samuel anointed him with oil to signify that he had been given authority by God to reign as His representative.

But the power conferred on Saul did not really belong to him.  He was merely God’s agent, so to speak; he couldn’t just do what he wanted.  Just as the Israelites were subject to him, so he was subject to God.  His position was a responsibility far more than a privilege.

If he didn’t fulfil his responsibilities, he could be replaced as king.  And that’s exactly what happened.  When the Israelites went to war against the Amalekites, God commanded Saul to destroy every person and animal.  But Saul disobeyed and kept some of the best livestock, and also spared the life of their king Agag.  God removed the kingship from Saul’s line and named David as the next king.  Saul did stay on as king, but he no longer had any divine authority.

The Christians of the 18^th century believed that a monarch was untouchable; that to act against him was to act against God.  They had forgotten – or chosen to ignore – that a king is not the ultimate authority; that he is accountable to God; that he is never infallible.  But they put him in the place of God – and that’s idolatry.

This is still a failing in Christanity today – often we place leaders of churches on pedestals, and claim that to criticize them amounts to speaking against God.  For example, the recent events in America – last year it came to light that Bill Gothard, a famous American minister, had been molesting teenage girls who worked for him.  He was placed on indefinite leave and ended up resigning.  But it had been going on for years, and people had been ignoring their suspicions – because Gothard was God’s anointed, and he wouldn’t do anything like that!

But most of this is irrelevant in a modern-day context.  Kings (or politicians) are no longer divinely appointed.  God gives spiritual authority to all Christians – some as pastors, others as prophets or Sunday School teachers – and all of us as messengers of His Word.  There is no need any more for an intermediary between us and God.

This is made pretty clear in the New Testament, leading to the question of why the people of Handel’s time were so hung up on this idea.  One reason is power, of course.  It’s much easier to keep your subjects from rebelling if they think you’ve been put there by God Himself.  Throughout history, churches and governments have twisted Scripture to back up unbiblical ideas.  But I don’t think that is the only reason.

One of the reasons that the Israelites wanted a king is that they believed it would make them a stronger nation.  But they were already a force to be reckoned with; they had conquered much of the Promised Land, and God would lead them to further victories.  The problem was that they didn’t have enough faith in God; they wanted a human king to lead them.  Likewise, the 18^th-century Christians put their faith first and foremost in the king.

My last reason is about the Church of England itself.  Christianity in England had always been different from Roman Catholicism, due to their relative isolation from the continent, and the influence of Celtic tradition.  They were united with Rome, though, until Henry VIII threw a tantrum over not being allowed to divorce his wife, and separated entirely from Rome.  Until then, the Church had still been under the Pope’s jurisdiction.  Now, though, Henry styled himself, and all subsequent monarchs, head of the church.

It’s obvious from even a cursory reading of the related texts that the divine right of kings was NOT absolute; moreover, that it was in fact an Old Testament custom and had no place in the Christian era.

A Tale of Two Te Deums

There was a dancing king and an Italian composer in the court of Versailles; and a foreign king and a German composer in the city of London.  In both cities it was clearer than crystal to the patrons of the arts, that the music they heard was the greatest in Europe...

Handel, like many Baroque composers, wrote several settings of the Te Deum, his first in 1717.  Lully wrote his much earlier, in 1664.  Both works caused significant changes to the careers of their composers – Handel’s got him fired from the German court, and Lully’s earned him the dubious honour of being the only person to have suffered “death by conducting” during a performance two decades later.

                                                                     Lully's Te Deum, composed 1664

 

                                                                     Handel's Te Deum, composed 1717

Lully’s Te Deum is composed in sections divided by “symphonies”, i.e. orchestral interludes.  The sections aren’t markedly different from one another, and there’s no break between them, so the effect is of one long, overarching movement.

Lully achieves variety within his work by contrasting different combinations of voices.  Often the petit choeur will sing a phrase, and then the grand choeur joins in for several more, and they continue on like this for a while.  At other times, the two choirs alternate in a call-and-response pattern, or a combination of solo voices alternates with the main choir.  It’s an effective way of sustaining interest, but it has its limitations – there are only so many different combinations you can use, and the work ends up sounding a bit same-y by the time you get to the end.

 

Handel’s, on the other hand, is divided clearly into ten movements, and the longer ones are divided further into separate choruses and solos, each with a different section of the text.  In comparison to Lully, each section has its own character.  Listen to the sixth movement (at 14:36), which builds up from solo bass voice to full choir, with the orchestra keeping up a detached quaver-rhythm accompaniment.  The next movement uses the opening two-bar motif as the basis for the whole chorus, and the sprightly rhythms accentuate the text “Day by day, we magnify thee”.  You can skip forward ten minutes in Lully’s setting and not notice much of a change, but not here.

The two works differ in the use of harmony as well.  Lully’s harmony is very basic – the first section, for instance, moves between C major and G major, passing briefly through a few other closely related keys.  The harmonic rhythm is slow, too, usually changing only once per bar.  In fact, there are many places where the choir is just singing block chords.  There is more harmonic interest in the solo and orchestral parts; even so, it’s remarkably unadventurous, and the work sits solidly in C major overall.

Handel’s setting modulates frequently, seldom hanging around in one key for too long.  Where Lully will move back frequently to the original key, Handel will go on a journey and end up in a key unrelated to the first one.  He also uses dissonance, such as in the second movement, which builds up a lot of tension throughout, both in the orchestra and the choir.  The impression you get from his use of harmony is constant movement – it’s never staying still, but always changing.

In fact, constant movement is a key part of Handel’s Te Deum.  The orchestral accompaniment is rhythmic and continuously drives the music forward, even in most of the slower movements.  The use of polyphony is also a factor.  Handel doesn't use much homophony; when he does, it’s for specific effect, such as in the third movement at 5:03, with the strong proclamation of “Holy!  Holy!”  The slower rhythm and homophonic block chords reinforce the majesty of the text.

Lully’s Te Deum is mostly homophonic, and lacks that driving force that Handel’s has.  When polyphony is used, it’s quite simple, with no more than three parts at once, and they usually start and end together.  On the other hand, Handel has as many as five parts singing different lines, entering at different times, and tossing the melody back and forth between them.

There is also far more rhythmic and melodic variation in Handel’s setting.  Lully uses very simple rhythms, mostly minims, crotchets and quavers, and basic dotted rhythms.  There is very little syncopation, whereas Handel uses it widely, often obscuring the strong beat.  In Lully's work, though, the regular beat is very strong.  I found this strange, as French Baroque music is normally fluid with regards to metre.  There are a few recitative-like sections, such as at 13:28, but they are for solo voice.  I suppose it would be very difficult to write like that for full choir, not to mention keeping time.

Lully’s melodies are nothing to write home about; in fact, I’m not sure if I would call them melodies at all.  Taken out of context, they look like my first harmony exercises, with scalic quaver passages for a bit of variety.  Well, I’m overgeneralizing – there are some interesting ones – but on the whole, they’re quite forgettable.  Handel’s melodies have contour and variety, they’re developed as the movement progresses; they use different kinds of non-chord tones, and don’t just follow the scale up and down.  You could leave the concert hall humming them.

Reading this back, it’s looks like a whole lot of Lully-bashing.  I did enjoy his work though – there’s a lot of good stuff in it, but it just goes on...and on...I definitely prefer Handel’s setting, and would love to sing it some day.