Article
Culture
Mental Health
Music
5 min read

Dark, sweet and subtle: recovered music orientates us

The alt-folk music seeking inspiration from forgotten hymns.

Jonathan is Team Rector for Wickford and Runwell. He is co-author of The Secret Chord, and writes on the arts.

A woman stand at a mixing desk playing a small keyboard.
Lleuwen Steffan plays.

In 2012, musician Lleuwen Steffan first came across a trove of lost Welsh folk hymns preserved in the sound archive of St Fagan’s Museum. Knowing they were not in current hymn books, she undertook further research and discovered they had been excluded from earlier hymn books by the then all-male hymn book committees of their time. Instead, they had been passed on orally, and, although recorded for St Fagan’s by the historian Robin Gwyndaf, had become lost with time and secularization. 

Steffan was particularly attracted to these hymns as many dealt with the dark side of the psyche including addiction and mental distress. She has said that many of these hymns, some of which date back to the eighteenth century, are “conversational and the lyrics feel so current”. She is currently taking these hymns back to where they were born through a tour of 50 chapels in Wales but this is not an exercise in nostalgia as her focus is on their contemporary resonance: “Musically, I’m not interested in recreating something from the past. That’s missing the point. Yes, the words are old but the message is always new. The music is free form.” 

Although the subject matter of these hymns will have been part of the reason for their exclusion from the hymn books of their day, that same subject matter has been part of worship songs from the time of the Psalms to the present. The Psalms are the worship songs of the people of Israel as recorded in the Old Testament and are the first occasion in ancient literature where the voice of victims is heard and valued.  

The Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann in his book Spirituality of the Psalms provides an insightful and structured overview of the Psalms using three categories: orientation, disorientation, and new orientation. Orientation is the establishment of structure and order. Disorientation is a place of imbalance and nonsense, which is potentially unjust. New orientation is moving forward away from what was and toward new possibilities. As a result, the Psalms provide us with expressions of suffering and hope in the seasons of everyday life. In his book, Brueggemann explains how Psalms of negativity, cries for vengeance, and profound penitence are foundational to a life of faith, and establishes that the reality of deep loss and amazing gifts are held together in a powerful tension. 

“This eerie, intriguing and enchanting music... is infused with echoes of the past two centuries’ beliefs and threads of spirituality and song.”

Rupert Loydell 

With such a collection of worship songs as the foundation of worship in churches, and with plainsong in Western churches providing a means by which to chant the Psalms on a daily basis, it should not be surprising that later hymns, such as those being reimagined by Steffan, tap into the dark side of the psyche. The success of albums such as Officium by saxophonist Jan Garbarek and The Hilliard Ensemble, together with Steffan’s own collaboration with pianist Huw Warren and saxophonist Mark Lockheart on Welsh hymns Duw A Wyr (God Only Knows) which is in a similar vein, show how such music can be made relevant to contemporary audiences.  

Ghostwriter’s latest album, Tremulant, inhabits similar sonic territory to Steffan’s current Tafod Arian (Silver Tongue) music. Created over several years by Mark Brend, Suzy Mangion, Andrew Rumsey and Michael Weston King, this album has also been borne out of a shared love of antique evangelical hymns and spiritual songs. Using English, Welsh, Scottish and American source material from the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the quartet pieced together their reconstructed hymnal through remote collaboration – creating an album that sounds both ancient and modern. 

In his review of Tremulant, Rupert Loydell says it is “a strange ambient gospel album, where what used to be called spirituals and hymns are subverted by echo, wheezing organ and spacious musical interludes, which recontextualise, reimagine, stretch and mutate the very idea of song”.  This, he says, “is eerie, intriguing and enchanting music” with “echoes of classic Nico (the cold beauty of Desertshore)”. It's ”declamatory poetry, alt-folk, noise and gentle discord” combined with “calm vocals” is “infused with echoes of the past two centuries’ beliefs and threads of spirituality and song”. As such, it's not what you’ll hear the local worship band playing, more’s the pity! 

“Something kept bringing me back. That something has always been there. For that I am extremely thankful and am listening to it more and more.” 

Lleuwen Steffan 

Like buses, other revisiting’s and reimagining’s of old hymns and gospel songs are also coming along together. Hymn Time In The Land Of Abandon by Over the Rhine is “Music that we grew up singing, music as present in our formative years as the air we breathed”. Their recordings of hymns have been described as “spare, sweet and subtle renderings that transform the familiar into something fresh and new”.  

The musical reimaging involved in Over the Rhine’s reinterpretations of hymns takes them into the space that Brueggemann defines as new orientation, while the sounds and, in some cases, content of the hymns chosen by Steffan and Ghostwriter are more in the realm of his disorientation category. The music making of Lleuwen Steffan, Ghostwriter and Over the Rhine takes us to places not commonly accessed by the music used in many church services. As is indicated by the story of hymn book committees omitting hymns that tap into the dark side of the psyche, much of the music used in church services can be located firmly in either the orientation or, sometimes, the new orientation categories.  

Given that the arc of Christ’s life, death and resurrection takes us on a similar journey to that which Brueggemann sees occurring in the Book of Psalms, when our music and liturgy fail to go on a similar journey, we are only encountering part of the meaning and message of faith. The recent music of Lleuwen Steffan, Ghostwriter, and Over the Rhine is therefore profoundly helpful in beginning to redress that loss of balance in worship by taking us back to a fuller appreciation for the original songbook of the faithful, the Book of Psalms.  

In speaking about why she has been drawn again and again to church music, Steffan described her teenage experience of drinking with her “mates in Bangor on the Saturday night” then getting “the last bus back home” and rolling “out of bed the following day to go to Sunday School”. She concluded: “That’s a strange paradox but, you see, something kept bringing me back. That something has always been there. For that I am extremely thankful and am listening to it more and more.” It may well be that that something is the arc of orientation, disorientation and new orientation we encounter and experience in the Psalms.  

Review
Culture
Film & TV
Migration
4 min read

What do Moana and Paddington have in common?

Families, destinies, and the voyage between.

Krish is a social entrepreneur partnering across civil society, faith communities, government and philanthropy. He founded The Sanctuary Foundation.

A cartoon still shows a nightscape at sea with a Polynesian style vessel above, with Moana standing on it sailing above a whale illuminated by bioluminescence
Disney.

Watching Moana 2 in a packed cinema filled with little girls giggling with excitement at every slapstick moment in the film was the highlight of my weekend. It was Saturday afternoon and my foster daughter and I found ourselves surrounded by several birthday parties of local children, many dressed up in leis and straw skirts, and exuding the sun-kissed tropical holiday vibe.  

I wasn’t expecting much from this sequel beyond a welcome reunion of characters from the original film, and I was certainly right not to raise my hopes when it came to the songs – they pale into obscurity in comparison to the excellent soundtrack of the first film. However, Moana 2 definitely put the wind in my sails - as well as made me reconsider getting a tattoo.  

Having just seen Paddington in Peru, released two weeks earlier, I couldn’t help but notice the similarities. Two much-loved characters, two long-awaited sequels, and two films about origin story journeys. While the Peruvian bear crosses one ocean following a letter from his Great Aunt Lucy, Polynesian Moana crosses another following a more supernatural call from her ancestors. Both find themselves in small boats on dangerous waters, wondering if they’ll ever find their long-lost family, and what sort of welcome awaits them. 

The quest to discover family roots seems to resonate widely – but for children in foster care it is especially pertinent. There is a very moving moment in Paddington in Peru where he asks himself where he really belongs – the place where he was born, or the place he has come to see as home?  

The tension in Moana is similar - between the home she’s left behind, and the connection she is trying to find with her ancestors. Her quest for identity and purpose lies at the heart of the movie. As Maui sings: “Who are ya? Who are ya? Who are ya gonna be? Come on-a, Moana – go get your destiny.” 

These travellers aren't seen as strange outsiders or potential threats; instead, they're embraced as long-lost family. Their treacherous journeys are honoured, not criticised. 

Both my father and my father-in-law have spent a lot of time documenting our family histories. On my side of the family, I have historical connections with Sri Lanka, India, Ireland, and Malaysia, and cousins who have recently made their homes in Australia and Cambodia. On my wife’s side of the family, there are direct descendants of the Huguenots, who found sanctuary in England after fleeing religious persecution in France in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.  

It is both fascinating and heart-breaking to discover how our lives are part of a history of global people movements, and the struggles that they inevitably bring with them. I grew up hearing stories of my Indian grandmother’s tragic separation from her children after her husband – an English tea plantation owner – was killed in El Alamein in World War Two. I grew up hearing stories of my mother being sent out barefoot to collect water for the orphanage in the Himalayas where she lived. I grew up hearing stories of my father who as a child, 5,000 kilometres away from my mother, was woken at 5am each day to be taken to the temple.  

However difficult it is for me to imagine, their stories are part of my story. And they in turn are part of an even bigger story that offers a wider explanation not only of where we come from but where we are going. Ancestors such as Abraham, Moses, and David call us to reconnect with our family roots – and with God himself.  

Moses puts it like this in a song that was passed down through the generations and recorded in the Psalms:  

Lord, you have been our dwelling place throughout all generations. Before the mountains were born or you brought forth the whole world from everlasting to everlasting you are God. 

For me, the quest to find out who I truly am, where I come from, where I belong, and what my destiny might be, – led me to become a Christian. In searching for identity, meaning, and purpose, I realized that "home" for me meant coming home to God. 

From Abraham's journey to my parents' migration, my family's story has always been one of movement, separation, and finding belonging. Now, in my work with refugees around the world, I feel a deep personal connection not just to my own ancestors' experiences but to all those who share similar stories of displacement and hope. 

That's why I loved the powerful moment in Moana 2 when a fleet of small boats arrive on the shores of a distant land to a rapturous welcome. These travellers aren't seen as strange outsiders or potential threats; instead, they're embraced as long-lost family. Their treacherous journeys are honoured, not criticised or dismissed as we often see in today's responses to migrants.  

Moana is recognized as a master navigator, and, true to Polynesian custom, receives a tattoo to mark her achievement—a symbol of pride, resilience, and belonging.  Her tattoo also possibly indicates that she is being set up as with demi-god powers for the trequel. But we have to wait to see if there will be a Moana 3. In the meantime, I highly recommend the film, especially if you have fostered children in your life, or fancy organising a Polynesian-themed party, or just need a healthy dose of girl-power inspiration. That should cover all of us.  

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