If.. and the Missa Luba

Courtesy of the free Film Four, I watched Lindsay Anderson's 1968 public school rebellion film If.. a few days ago, and was intrigued by the use of music. Of course, the oppressed boys in the school sing hymns en masse. What was more interesting was the music used at the points at which Malcolm McDowell is most 'free': not the Beatles or the Stones, or any of the 'rebellious' music of the period. Instead, the music that recurs is the Missa Luba: a recording of Congolese children singing the Mass (in this case the Sanctus). Not only does this occur as incidental music, but Mick (McDowell) has a recording of it, which he plays in his room.

I'm intrigued by this, as hitherto I've found no trace of the Missa Luba in any of the literature on church music of the period. Granted, it wasn't published until 1969, and so it couldn't yet be proposed for use in British churches. Nonetheless, I'm still surprised that a piece, integral to a controversial (indeed X-rated) film, and which had a single release in 1965, excited no comment at all, especially given the sheer diversity of experimentation with forms of music for worship at the time.

I realise that there is a substantial body of film criticism about If.., , with which I've yet to engage. I would be very intrigued to know if anyone knows more of the reception of the Mass. Did anyone out there buy it, and what did they think ? At least one person did - whilst in seminary in the 1960s.

Wikipedia, always invaluable for matters like this, has articles both on the film and on the mass. The sleeve notes for the original single release may be found here.

Ursula Vaughan Williams

I note the passing of Ursula Vaughan Williams, poet, and RVW's second wife, aide and biographer. Obituaries have appeared in the Times, Telegraph and Guardian.

Henry Moore's mothers and children at Kew

Have recently been to the excellent exhibition of Henry Moore outdoor works at Kew Gardens, and was struck by the preponderance of the Mother and Child in his work. He described it as one of his ‘inexhaustible subjects’ and there are two examples on show at Kew, both from the 1980s, and splendidly documented in the catalogue. I was reminded of his most explicit piece of religious art, the ‘Madonna and Child’ for Walter Hussey at St. Matthew’s Northampton (1943-4) and a later piece for the church at Claydon in Suffolk.

My thoughts have come to this interaction between ‘secular’ mother-and-child figures and Christianised representations of Christ and Mary whilst preparing an article on war memorials after 1945. Jay Winter usefully pointed out the use of the mother weeping over a fallen (adult) son in memorials after 1918, and the Claydon figure was explicitly glossed at the time (by Hussey) as being a memorial figure. There is also an Epstein mother and son figure, made for the TUC Congress House HQ in London.

Part of my ongoing project on memorials ought probably to look for other examples, as perhaps the very ambiguity of the mother/Madonna relationship made it the most accessible of all the ‘big’ Christian themes for an artist on the fringes of the church to take up. As Moore put it (to Hussey): ‘I think it is only through our art that we artists can come to understand your theology.’ (Hussey, Patron of Art p.24.)

Should anyone be interested, the war memorials article should appear next year in the Forum for Modern Language Studies. Some of Moore’s own thoughts on the difference between a religious and secular mother and child were printed in Wilkinson (ed.), Henry Moore. Writings and Conversations 213, 267-8

Ugliness

Was very struck by two pieces in the October issue of The Ecologist. One feature gathered together a 'Grumpy Old Men' series of comments on all that is ugly in modern life. Some of these were not really aesthetic objections, but more about symbolism - bike lanes as symbolic of wrong-headed transport policy, intensive farming showing that we are ‘a long way from civilisation.’ etc. I was rather more interested in those comments about the battlefield chic of the Hummer, or boxy supermarket buildings, because they seem to me to indicate a connection being made between cultural ‘healthiness’ and beauty/ugliness in the arts and design.
The earlier column in the same issue by ‘Cassandra’ (‘The architecture of life’) made the linkage explicit: beauty is produced when a culture is ‘living in harmony with the purposes for which God evoked the universe.’ He asks then ‘what has died in the human soul that our collective consciousness no longer soars, but wallows in swamps of mediocrity ?’ He recalls the medieval cathedrals as an example of the integration he recommends, and contrasts them with ugly school buildings and chaotic urban design; the products of ‘the first ugly civilization.’
From a historical point of view, I find this particularly interesting, as it seems to be part of a recovery of a much older rhetoric of ‘malfunctioning society = ugly art/architecture’, which was very prevalent in the earlier part of the 20th century. Cassandra mentions William Morris and Ruskin, but the feeling persisted. During the planning for reconstruction after 1945, there was a consciousness, at least among clergy, that unless the reconstruction of society was first and foremost a inward, moral one, then ugly buildings and art would be the inevitable outward result.
Where I think things are less clear, and need more research, is what happened to this integral conception of ‘national spirit’ and culture as the century went on. One contributor notes the problem that to call anything ugly is a value judgment, and thus not ‘politically correct.’ That fracture of shared criteria of artistic judgement must have some bearing, but there remains much work to be done on the subject. When and how did such a loss of confidence in judgement occur ? Did this rhetoric disappear entirely, or was it simply obscured, or channelled in other directions ?

Anthony Padgett vs Tate Modern

I note with interest a case coming before an employment tribunal on November 16th. The artist Anthony Padgett argues that Tate Modern, despite being a publicly funded gallery, predominantly selects work by artists critical of Christianity, and has unfairly refused over a number of years to commission Padgett himself. The Guardian picked up the story last week, and there is substantial material about the case provided on Padgett's own site.

I find this one rather puzzling. It may well be the case that there is a preponderance of anti-religious art being produced. It may also be the case that galleries show more critical work than is proportionate (although it very much remains to be demonstrated). There is certainly a propensity amongst many Christians to see active anti-Christian bias when there is merely indifference to what is a minority faith.
It seems to me, though, that the Tate is charged to select the work which it thinks is most vital, interesting, and "the best" (however that might be determined.) I'm no critic, but it may be that the decision-makers simply don't regard Padgett's work as interesting enough to commission. If it is the case that most of the "best" art is critical of religion, then perhaps that simply represents where our culture is at. Instead of relying on diversity law, perhaps Christian artists need to produce work that is compelling enough to hold attention on its own merits. After all, there is no shortage of "religious" music being commissioned from composers like John Tavener and receiving the attention of the critical establishment on even terms. We don't hear many complaints about systematic anti-religious bias there.