Review
Attention
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Music
5 min read

James MacMillan’s music of tranquility and discord

The composer’s music contends both the secular and sacred.

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

A conductor leans in toward an unseen orchestra with a raised hand.
MacMillan conducting.
Hans van der Woerd, Intermusica.

Sir James MacMillan is one of today’s most successful composers, as is evidenced by his achievements in 2024. This year alone has seen the premiere of a new work for choir ‘Ordo Virtutum’ (January), the UK premiere of his cantata ‘Fiat Lux’ (March), the premiere of his new version of Robert Burns’ song ‘Composed in August’ (March), the premiere of his ‘Concerto for Orchestra’ (September), and the premiere of his ‘Duet for Horn and Piano’ (November).  

Back in March he also became the 26th Fellow of The Ivors Academy, joining a rollcall of extraordinary composers and songwriters, including John Rutter, John Adams, Sir Elton John, Sir Paul McCartney, Dame Judith Weir and Sting. While, in September, he accepted the Sky Arts Classical Music Award 2024 on behalf of The Cumnock Tryst, the annual music festival he founded in his hometown, which brings together many local community groups on stage alongside some of the world’s most acclaimed musicians. 

His music, which is notable for its energy and emotion, is imbued with influences from his Scottish heritage, Catholic faith, social conscience and close connection with Celtic folk music, blended with influences from Far Eastern, Scandinavian and Eastern European music. Accordingly, Tom Gray, Chair of The Ivors Academy, describes MacMillan as “a titan of music, generous in his creativity and craft” and “a foremost proponent of the power of music to communicate and forge bonds”.  

He first became internationally recognised after the extraordinary success of ‘The Confession of Isobel Gowdie’ at the BBC Proms in 1990. Since then, his prolific output has been performed and broadcast around the world with his major works including his most performed work the percussion concerto ‘Veni, Veni, Emmanuel’ (1992), a cello concerto for Mstislav Rostropovich (1996), an opera ‘The Sacrifice’ (2007), the ‘St John Passion’ (2008), and five symphonies. For his services to music, he was awarded a CBE in 2004 and a knighthood in 2015. 

“In this age of unbelief, the search for the sacred in art and music hasn’t gone away”. 

 

James MacMillan 

As will be clear from the titles of works cited thus far, many of his works, such as ‘Ordo Virtutum’, a setting of a sacred music drama by Hildegard of Bingen concerned with the struggle for the human soul in a battle between good and evil, and ‘Fiat Lux’, a celebration of the divine gift of light, directly express his Catholic faith. David Clayton writes that, “Aside from being one of the greatest living composers and conductors of classical music, Sir James is a Catholic whose faith informs all his work”. Clayton also describes him as “a deep thinker who communicates clearly the nature of the creative process when one seeks to create beauty to bring Glory to God”.  

MacMillan believes that “Far from being a "spent force", religion has proved to be a vibrant, animating principle in modern music and continues to promise much for the future.” When he speaks about music and the idea of the sacred, as he did most recently at The Sheldonian Theatre in Oxford in October, he emphasises that music seems to be “the most spiritual of the arts, and composers have always seemed to be on a search for the sacred in their work”. He notes that “In this age of unbelief, the search for the sacred in art and music hasn’t gone away”. 

In brief, he sees himself as standing in a modernist tradition that includes: Stravinsky, who “was as conservative in his religion as he was revolutionary in his musical imagination”; Schoenberg, “a mystic who reconverted to practising Judaism after the Holocaust”; John Cage, who explored “the spiritual connections between music and silence”; Olivier Messiaen, who “was famously Catholic” with “every note of his unique contribution to music” being “shaped by a deep religious conviction”; Jonathan Harvey, “who has allowed eastern mysticism and his own Anglicanism to adorn his searchingly original scores”; John Tavener, whose conversion to Orthodoxy “had a dramatic impact on his style and aesthetic”; and the “intriguing and disturbing religious shadings of musical modernity” to be found in the post-Shostakovich generation from eastern Europe - Henryk Górecki (Poland), Arvo Pärt (Estonia) Giya Kancheli (Georgia), Galina Ustvolskaya, Alfred Schnittke and Sofia Gubaidulina (Russia). 

In this 'obedience' of listening and following, we are stretched and deepened, physically challenged as performers, imaginatively as listeners. 

He argues that while, for a time, a post-War reaction led many modernist composers to opt for a primarily abstract style and eschew the stirring up of emotions through music, in more recent years, composers have increasingly re-embraced emotion and, thereby, also spirituality. He also notes significant connections between the music of antiquity and that the modern world. The influence of plainsong and Gregorian chant on modern music, for example, demonstrates a continuing relationship between faith and the arts.  

He has suggested that God's power “is presence as absence; absence as presence” and that this is also “precisely what music is”. So, “The umbilical cord between silence and music is the umbilical cord between heaven and earth”. As a result, “the war against silence is a war against ourselves and against our interior life”. He is in agreement with the Scottish Jesuit John McDade, who wrote that "Music may be the closest human analogue to the mystery of the direct and effective communication of grace". MacMillan suggests, therefore, “that music is a phenomenon connected to the work of God in the way it touches something deep in our souls and releases a divine force”. 

In similar vein, he also quotes Rowan Williams who, in a sermon some years ago for the Three Choirs Festival, said: "To listen seriously to music and to perform it are among our most potent ways of learning what it is to live with and before God, learning a service that is a perfect freedom... In this 'obedience' of listening and following, we are stretched and deepened, physically challenged as performers, imaginatively as listeners. The time we have renounced, given up, is given back to us as a time in which we have become more human, more real, even when we can't say what we have learned, only that we have changed." 

Being stretched and deepened in this way is certainly our experience as listeners of MacMillan’s works. Michael Capps suggests that MacMillan knows that “music dealing openly and honestly with the Christian tradition will not always be pleasing, safe, or tame”. His music “contends” in that it “produces arguments and embodies alternatives, not only to its many secular substitutes, but also to allegedly Christian options that lack the tang and piquancy of Christian particularity.” As a result, “MacMillan’s music also reveals: it shows us a world of both tranquility and discord that we readily recognize, and allows us to better appreciate that world’s fleeting harmonies”. 

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Podcast
Culture
S&U interviews
5 min read

My conversation with... Marilynne Robinson

Re-Enchanting the human story. Belle Tindall reflects on the nature of her conversation with Pulitzer Prize winning author Marilynne Robinson for Seen and Unseen’s ‘Re-Enchanting’ podcast.

Belle is the staff writer at Seen & Unseen and co-host of its Re-enchanting podcast.

A woman talks while tilting her head to one side.

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Professor Marilynne Robinson was a guest that I felt utterly underqualified to interview. And with Barack Obama among her list of previous interviewers, I don’t think such a feeling was unjustified. But, nevertheless, there I was - talking to a Pulitzer Prize winning force of nature - all the while, hoping she could neither sense my terror, nor hear my neighbours rowing through the thin walls of my tiny, terraced house.  

It was a surreal moment, to say the least.  

Marilynne Robinson, if you are not yet acquainted, is the author of best-selling novels such as Housekeeping, Gilead, Home, and Lila and Jack. Each one a masterpiece. She has also written plenty of non-fiction, continuing to be generous with her genius.  

Just before we began recording our episode over Zoom, my co-host, Justin, asked Marilynne whether she was able to somehow block the light streaming in from the windows behind her (needless to say he is the practical maestro behind Re-Enchanting), to which Marilynne simply replied: ‘many windows, no curtains.’ Oh gosh, I thought. This lady oozes philosophy.  

How would I ever keep up?  

I was always three steps behind Marilynne; partly because I imagine most people are, but mostly because it is a truly enchanting place to find oneself. 

Well, if I’m being honest, I didn’t. When the conversation turned to the quantum realm, I was indescribably glad that Justin was there. My mind was still pondering the possible analogous depths of curtain-less windows. But I have since decided that I’m not ashamed to admit that I was always three steps behind Marilynne; partly because I imagine most people are, but mostly because it is a truly enchanting place to find oneself.  

To trail behind someone so thoughtful means that while they may be onto their next thought or point of conversation, you are able to savour what has already been said, free to pick up and ponder the magnificent breadcrumbs that they have left in their wake. And when it comes to Marilynne Robinson, there are an awful lot of breadcrumbs. If you have ever read a line of a book that has struck you to the point of not being able to read on, even if only for a moment, then you are familiar with the sensation to which I am referring.  

When you come to listen to the episode of Re-Enchanting, I do hope that you’ll hit the pause button as often as you need to in order to truly soak Marilynne in. I only wish that my real-time conversation with her had that on offer. 

Nevertheless, here is what the view looks like from three steps behind Marilynne Robinson: it resembles a mysterious and wholistic fascination with, and (if I may be so romantic) a love for humanity. That is, both my own humanity and humanity in general. Mind, body, and soul (terms which, in themselves, are full of mystery and nuance) – the whole thing.  

Marilynne defines herself as a Christian Humanist. What may sound like somewhat of an oxymoron at first, begins to make profound sense when humanism is stripped of its (rather recent) atheist connotations. Afterall, the intrinsic value every person holds just because they are a person is a profoundly spiritual and biblical concept. As Tom Holland suggests, humanism, whether one likes it or not, is rooted in, and therefore utterly dependent upon, Christian perceptions of reality. When engaging with Marilynne, whether that be through conversation or through her work, it becomes clear that her Christianity enchants her view of humanity, which in turn, has re-enchanted my own.  

It is evident in the care and complexity with which she creates her characters, giving notable time and space to the intricate inner-workings of their consciousness, amplifying their inner-monologue, and focusing attention on their interior rejuvenations, how their sense of self responds to their shifting exterior contexts. It is just as obvious when you are privileged enough to observe her gently marvel over the beautiful capacities of the human mind, the innate mysteries of the human soul; the endless nuances of all that is seen and unseen when it comes to the human-being.  

Goodness seems to be Marilynne’s preferred start-line. Undergirding any humanism that she may adhere to is the notion that human beings were designed and created... 

It should be noted that such an admiration is not born out of an avoidance of the brokenness that human-beings are so prone to displaying. Indeed, this world does not offer any of us such a luxury. The evidence of the imperfection of humanity is easier to find than the evidence of any innate goodness. And yet, that goodness seems to be Marilynne’s preferred start-line. Undergirding any humanism that she may adhere to is the notion that human beings were designed and created, that there is an intimate creator / creation dynamic at play in the cosmos; one that is ultimately fuelled by the care of the creator for the created. There is, to borrow a phrase, a ‘givenness’ to all things.  

If we, like Marilynne, choose to use the givenness of things as a lens through which we perceive reality, there is utter delight to be found. 

It is an admittedly cosmic-sized enchantment, but the implications of it trickle all the way down to the detail of the every-day, the ordinary, the (so-called) mundane. If we, like Marilynne, choose to use the givenness of things as a lens through which we perceive reality, there is utter delight to be found in our streams of thought, in our capacity to collaborate with what is beyond our control. There is a deep enchantment to be found in our very existence, our presence in both space and time.  

As a disclaimer, I feel that I must admit to merely scratching the surface of the conversation that we had with Marilynne Robinson here, to read this piece and not listen to her episode (or read her work, for that matter) is to settle for a minute fraction of her thoughts. Trust me when I say - you want the whole thing.  

Here I am, three days on and still admittedly three steps behind Marilynne as I mentally re-trace the trajectory of our conversation. But that is quite alright with me, I’m still enjoying picking up each of the breadcrumbs that she left along the way.