Huff, Puff, and Blow

It is not a new ruse to adapt easy-to-sing melodies for congregational singing in churches. One of the oldest and most familiar examples of this practice is the Christmas carol “What Child is This?” sung to the tune of “Greensleeves,” the carolers blissfully unaware that the older title refers to a prostitute. At a funeral in a Catholic church in Honduras recently I heard them first sing a well-known hymn to a slowed-down version of “The Sound of Silence” a Paul Simon song about depression, of all things. This was followed a few minutes later by another I had heard previously, to the tune of “Blowin’ in the Wind,” a protest song from Bob Dylan. But minutes later I could barely contain my laughter; I came perilously close to committing a major social blunder as I watched those beatific faces innocently and solemnly intoning a hymn of praise to Peter, Paul, and Mary’s (appropriate names, no?) “Puff the Magic Dragon.” Now I will laugh: ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha HAHAHA!!! Whew, that felt good.

Indulge me while I point out the obvious. Songwriters are constantly raving about self-expression, and even the greatest among them strive to use musical language to enhance, embellish, or outrightly parallel the content of their lyrics (I refer you to Franz Schubert’s “Erlkönig” or Richard Strauss’ tone poems for some of the most successful examples of this), but the fact is that musical language by itself is too abstract to paint specific pictures or narrate specific events in the mind of the listener. Try, for example to make a musical rendition of “Casey at the Bat” without words or a title, and the listener is as likely to imagine Shrek or a visit to the supermarket as they would the baseball legend that is intended. Beethoven loathed poetic subtitles to his music, partly because they limited the audience’s imagination. “Moonlight Sonata” was not his appellation, but was added later, and virtually all modern listeners associate this sublime music with moonlight, unintended by the composer. If the first movement of his Fifth Symphony was telling a story, what story would it be? No two answers to this question would be the same.

It is this “association” that is the key. Throughout the musical history of the Christian church, even though its music inevitably evolved and changed, a constant feature of it was a style that was reserved for worship, so that the very sound of it elicited reverence and spirituality. There is no mistaking what Händel’s “Hallelujah Chorus” is about, and it could never be used properly as a graduation march or deodorant commercial. This phenomenon of melding holy or devotional words with popular music styles is a very recent one, and reveals more than anything the desperation of churches over dwindling congregations. The popularity of “Christian” music, however, has not swelled the pews.

During his own lifetime, the Guardian discouraged artists and musicians to try too consciously to develop distinctly Bahá’í music, but rather produce their finest work, which would presumably eventually become identifiably Bahá’í by the stamp the light of faith that would transform their souls and their art. Therefore it behooves Bahá’í musicians to develop a musical style that is commensurate with the loftiness, majesty, and sublimity of the words or sentiments. In the matter of translating the Bahá’í writings into English, for instance, the Guardian chose the style of King James Version of the Bible in order that any English-speaking person of Christian background would immediately identify these words as holy scripture. He was pressured to simplify them but maintained that we should rise to its level, and not drag it down to ours.

The guidance so far from the Universal House of Justice is to observe dignity; we can certainly argue endlessly as to what that entails, but if we are honest with ourselves, we will often find that our arguments are constructed to justify our own musical tastes. Since the Bahá’í Faith is global, it can be speculated that there may not emerge a single dominant style of musical worship, perhaps rather a canon of work to which many cultures will contribute. But in any case the striving for excellence and refinement will necessarily be the hallmarks of the Bahá’í art that will be worthy of the name.