Wonderful Sublimity and Devilish Hubbub

Nottingham on a typical Saturday night - "The best place in
the country to get p****d" I was advised

I stepped out into the night air and, dodging the traffic that accelerated away from roundabout at the end of Maid Marian Way, crossed Derby Road. I began the short climb up Vernon Street and passing the Strathdon Hotel dodged  the traffic again and made my way along Wollaton Street;  over Clarendon Street then towards Hanley Street. By now, although only a short distance, the gradual climb was starting to take its toll on my breathing. As I approached Hanley Street, silent and almost empty apart from parked cars, two young women staggered towards me. Both wearing very short dresses and tottering along on their very high heels they were clinging to each other. As they drew level one of them sobbed loudly, her friend putting her arm around her trying to cheer her up. They both carried beer bottles and stood there propping each other up, half leaning, half half falling against the wall of an office building. As I hurried past them I caught a glimpse of the black streaks of make up  that ran down the cheeks of the one who was sobbing. As I looked down the street towards the City centre from where these two young women had come I could hear, and almost feel, the night life throbbing away in the distance - a mixture of police sirens, thumping music, the occasional car horn and background noise. I hurried on my way up silent Hanley Street and  passing Wollaton Street car park I could still hear the sobbing girl and the slurred, alcohol fuelled strident voice of her friend. As I reached the top of Hanley Street and crossed Talbot Street I heard behind me the smash of glass - presumably a breaking bottle - and a young woman's voice shouting "f**k". I walked the last few yards into Stanley Place to the Talbot Street Car Park.  By now I was breathing rapidly, the last few hundred yards up the steep hill had taken their toll. As I passed the glass doors of the   Welbeck Hotel four young people - two women and two men - came out, their voices loud and harsh, giggling and laughing, oblivious of the hour and silence of this quiet cul de sac.  The Car Park was silent as I climbed into Pat’s little VW Beetle, sat for a  moment to regain my breath and then drove out onto Talbot Street on my way back to meeting my wife, who I had left at the St Barnabas’ Cathedral.

Yes, I saw lots of this sort of thing as I drove the
one way system

As I drove along the one way system I passed Rock City – a Nottingham back street “institution”. Outside were several hundred youngsters, some, it looked to me, no older than 14 or 15, waiting to get into the club. It was just after 10.30 and I grumbled to myself that they should be in bed by now! Then towards the Royal Centre and past the front of Trent University. At the traffic lights I sat and looked into the windows of the Uni Express Convenience Store, its window posters advertising their late night delivery service for students “We deliver to your door seven days a week till 6 am” it told them and me. The pavements were now thick with youngsters – mostly in large groups, and mostly staggering along the footpaths. Taxis filled the road, spilling out their contents of loud, youths and scantily clad girls. As one taxi pulled away, having deposited its contents, two or three of the youths chased it as it edged into the traffic banging with their fists on its back window and roof until it picked up speed and disappeared. At the end of Talbot Street I watched the queue that stretched as far as the eye could see – youngsters all waiting to gain admittance to The Comedy Club. Another huge queue stood alongside as youngsters waited to withdraw money from the two ATMs that stand there and at the side were the brightly lit windows of Wagamama’s restaurant, every table it seemed full with revelling young diners. In the far distance I could see flashing blue lights and hear police sirens. A group of girls, arms linked, tottered, whooping, laughing and screaming across the road in front of me as I sat at the lights. One of them covered, as far as I could see, in tattoos, her skimpy dress leaving little to the imagination put a bottle to her lips. Then the lights turned green and I edged forward to turn into South Sherwood Street but was momentarily startled as a police car, lights flashing, shot across the road in front of me and disappeared down South Sherwood Street.

Dante's vision of hell - looks a lot like what I drove past 

And so away from the City Centre – left onto Shakespeare Street past the beautiful old Arkwright building that was originally a constituent college and library of University College London but is now part of Trent University. And then, through the vast complex of buildings and halls of residence that now constitute Trent University and at finally back to silent  Clarendon Street filled with once grand Victorian Villas now turned into offices of the University and student accommodation. Then, still  following the one way system, I got back to the Derby Road roundabout to pick up Pat for our journey home. By now the time was nearly 11 o'clock, and as we drove up Derby Road away from the city centre we again saw police cars with their flashing blue lights pass us heading towards the city -  a last reminder of what had seemed to me like modern version of Dante’s vision of hell in his allegorical Divine Comedy . For this is Nottingham – and probably many other English cities - on a Saturday night.

Definitely city centre Nottingham on Saturday

I noticed recently that the area through which I had walked and driven on Saturday night is described on tourist information leaflets for my home town as “vibrant”. Mmmmmm – no matter how much I try I cannot help but think that is a very liberal use of the word and being incredibly economical with the truth. As we drove over Abbey Bridge and through the Lenton area of Nottingham  the silhouette of the Queens Medical Centre with the lights of the hospital wards pinpricking night loomed out of the darkness. I knew the A&E department in the hospital  would already be stacking up with the victims of the night’s city centre revelries.  Idly my mind went back to an interview that I conducted some years ago when involved with interviews for trainee teachers at Trent University. A young man entered the room for his interview with me. There was and is a desperate shortage of men applicants for primary teaching courses so he had a distinct chance of acceptance.  He was smartly dressed and his references and academic record were excellent. He was a strong candidate for admission. Near the end of the successful interview, as I mentally prepared to add him to the list of candidates who should be offered places, I asked him the final question.  I was required to ask him (as of all candidates) why he had chosen Trent University as a place to do his training. I expected him to refer to the excellent reputation of the University, or the suitably interesting course etc. But, no, he staggered me when he smiled and said in his broad Geordie accent: “Oh, it’s a no brainer man, my brother came to Nottingham Uni two years back and he says it’s the best place in the country, except for Newcastle, to get pissed every night of the week” . I was utterly lost for words at both his reason and his unashamed willingness to share this in an interview situation. As I sat lost for words at his candour (and, I think, his lack of judgement) I was initially unsure how to respond so I simply thanked him, shook his hand and showed him the door. I then put a question mark at the side of his application and left it for others to decide whether he should be offered a place. When I wrote up the notes from the interview I commented upon his obvious academic potential but also suggested that should he be offered a place I would not be prepared to host him in my school as a trainee teacher nor would I offer him a job should he ever apply to me. I explained that in my view his maturity, his judgement and his personal and professional understanding of the role of  a teacher were seriously lacking. My comments did not go down well with "the powers that be" - they were deemed "an unacceptable reason for refusal" but I rather took this as a sign of the way we are declining in our expectations. I lost no sleep over it but, having said that, I think my experience on Saturday night was, perhaps, unfortunate proof of what he said.

The last rehearsal for the concert

And then we were joining the Nottingham Ring Road at the Lenton traffic island. We picked up speed - me still in grumpy old man mode muttering that “No one should ever tell me that the young are short of money or that students are having a hard time” and in the darkness of the car I'm sure that I detected Pat raising her eyes to heaven as I grumbled “I'm sure that the fathers of those girls don’t know they’re going go out dressed like that!”  But, as we sped away from the city, other thoughts gradually entered our minds and conversation. Both of us thought and spoke of where we had been and what we had seen and heard – something that was a very far cry from my walk and drive through Nottingham’s “vibrant” streets. What we had heard, seen and enjoyed in St. Barnabas’ Cathedral was not the modern vision of Dante’s Inferno that prevailed on Nottingham’s city centre streets but rather, and to use the programme notes, something “sublime”, almost one might say heavenly. We had sat humbled, spellbound and overawed as we saw and heard  Bach’s mighty B Minor Mass. Surely one of the greatest creations of mankind.

Albert Schweitzer

“The salient quality of the Mass in B Minor is its wonderful sublimity. The first chord of the Kyrie takes us into the world of great and profound emotions: we do not leave it until the final Dona nobis pacem”.  So said theologian, musician, philosopher, physician, missionary and Nobel Prize winner Albert Schweitzer. He was not wrong. Not only is the B Minor one of the very greatest of Bach’s works but stands amongst those at the very peak of the world’s  greatest works – some may say it is indeed the greatest. And although the performance that Pat and I had just enjoyed was an amateur performance with no great orchestra, stars or expensive tickets it was outstanding and bore comparison with any of the other performances we have seen or CDs we have played. As Schweitzer said, it really did take us, and judging by the applause and response the rest of the audience as well, to a “world of great and profound emotions”.

The logo - Pat has one in the back window of her Beetle

The Mass had been performed by a local east midland choir – the East of England Singers and their accompanying orchestra the New Classic Players. The singers and players are two of the many music making groups that comprise the Nottingham based music and music education organisation Music for Everyone  founded by Angela Kay thirty years ago this year. The performance of the B Minor was part of the celebrations of this thirtieth anniversary year. Angela, by profession a teacher, wanted to create an organisation which would offer music making opportunities to people of all ages and abilities. The only criterion for participation was and still is, enthusiasm. She wanted to enable singers of all kinds to enjoy together the breadth of the choral repertoire – those who could not read music singing alongside those who could; and those who had never sung in a choir alongside the experienced choral member. During the last thirty years Angela Kay’s ideas have grown and today offer music opportunities across the full musical spectrum: concerts, workshops, choral, jazz, instrumental, adult, youth groups, children’s opportunities, sold out concerts like the one we attended, quiet choral weekends where participants come and learn works and sing them just for the pleasure rather than for an audience. As well advertised and stand alone concerts there are groups – “Daytime Voices “- that meet in various areas of Nottingham to provide regular, weekly musical opportunities at a local level. Similarly, there are events such as the one entitled “Blow the dust of your instrument” – aimed at encouraging those who might have once enjoyed making music to get back into the habit. Later this summer there is to be a choral weekend where singers come and rehearse with a choir for much of Saturday and Sunday and then perform a concert (this one is singing Leonard Bernstein’s Chichester Psalms) for an audience on the Sunday evening. Pat has taken part in this sort of venture on numerous occasions.

Angela Kay

No stone of the musical world is left unturned and a look at the web site will show the breadth and depth of what is on offer. And, throughout the thirty years the original criterion has held firm – enthusiasm and love of music are the entry points. Music for Everyone choirs and orchestras have performed in established concert venues like the Royal Concert Hall here in Nottingham as well as in schools, colleges and churches throughout the area. Angela Kay has stayed at the helm and often, as on Saturday night, is the conductor of the choir and orchestra. But finally and most importantly, it must be said that although Angela and her organisation have remained true to her first guiding principle of universal participation, this has not been at the cost of quality – every concert, every event is first class, enjoyable, exhilarating and above all excellent.

The view from our seats

In 2014 Angela Kay was rightly awarded the MBE for her services to music and music education  within the region and as she turned to receive the audience’s applause and shouts of “more” on Saturday night I think that everyone who had seen and heard the performance felt the same; not only had they enjoyed a very memorable event but they were aware that Angela Kay must have been exhausted so much had she put into getting the very best out of her singers, her orchestra and indeed Bach. The audience clapped and cheered – partly for the wonderful music that we had heard - but also for what Angela Kay had given on Saturday night and over the thirty years of her organisation’s life.

One of the children's music making
activities run by Music for Everyone

It is not wrong to use the word monumental when describing the B Minor and like all Bach’s music the Mass is taxing. As the programme notes reminded us, virtually every section, every movement, every orchestral accompaniment is a concerto in its own right. Additionally, in its 2 hour length, there are precious few moments when choir, soloists, orchestra or conductor can coast, switch off or hide. It is physically demanding as well as musically taxing. It is not a piece for the faint hearted. But, as with all Bach, it is glorious. Its 27 sections range from the most serene and sublime to the truly spiritual and the magnificent and grand. Its sheer scale and grandeur make it both musically and spiritually an awe inspiring work; within this vast piece there is great pathos, unadulterated joy, magnificent splendour, extreme emotion, wonderful melody, exquisite beauty and breathtaking brilliance. Quite simply, it is why Bach is so revered and why conductor and Bach scholar John Eliot Gardiner refers to the music of Bach as “music from the castle of heaven”.

East of  England Singers, orchestra and conductor

Bach composed his Mass around 1748–49, a year or so before his death in 1750. He didn't even give the work a name, and it originally only existed as a collection of itinerant manuscripts written over many years. Indeed, this is largely what it was, a piece of music the composer had been building up to for the whole of his life; it is, therefore, a reflection of Bach’s musical life. The first part was written 1733 and other parts have their origins even earlier, but it was not finally put together until the very last years of Bach's life, when he had already gone blind. It was probably the last major project he involved himself in. Sadly, he never heard the work performed in its entirety – he died in 1750.  As part of his requirement as Cantor at the Thomaskirche in Leipzig Bach had spent much of his life churning out a vast quantity of choral works, works that many would argue are the greatest choral music ever written. But these were for performance as part of the religious life of both the Thomaskirche and the town. The B Minor Mass is different; it was written for no specific occasion in the church or in Leipzig’s year and it stands among those supreme works which occupied Bach’s final years and which seem almost to be a planned summation of his great life. The Art of the Fugue, The Goldberg Variations, The Well  Tempered Clavier and The Musical Offering. Each of these with the Mass are not simply pieces of music or even great pieces of music – they are works that have defined our western  music.. Quite simply  the Mass, the Goldberg, the Art of the Fugue  and the Well Tempered Clavier  and are at the root of all music that we hear today.

Blow the dust off your instrument....!

To listen to the B Minor is to hear something very close to perfection. It touches one at every level – musically, emotionally and spiritually. It crosses boundaries. Conductor and Bach scholar Robert Shaw wrote: “....Bach’s Mass in B Minor holds a unique position in the minds and hearts of men and women of all faiths – and no faith at all – [it speaks of] the oneness of humankind with the universe, and the responsibility of human life to seek beauty and to do good..... Bach’s Mass in B Minor has become, some two hundred and fifty years after he bound its 27 movements together, the most remarkable musical allegory of human existence – [with all] its pain, aspiration and promises.”  The musicologist and Buddhist Yoshitake Kobayashi  commented that:  “The universal spirit of Bach which manifests itself in the B-Minor Mass produces the great paradox that this, the most Christian works in all of sacred music, transcends and dissolves its confessional limits, serving instead the whole of humanity – non-Christians included.......It may seem odd that as a Buddhist I have theologically come to terms with one of the most Christian works of European music history but the spirit which manifests itself in this work nevertheless encouraged me to do so”. I have absolutely no doubt that every member of Saturday night’s audience - whether they be of a Christian faith, an non-Christian faith or no faith at all - would agree with those words.

One of Bach's original pages of
manuscript for the Mass

The German writer and philosopher Goethe described himself as "not anti-Christian, nor un-Christian, but most decidedly non-Christian," and listed the symbol of the cross among the four things that he most disliked yet he also said this of the Mass 'It is as though eternal harmony were conversing with itself, as it may have happened in God's bosom shortly before He created the world.'  And, finally one of the many other tributes paid to the B Minor is that of modern minimalist composer Michael Torke who simply commented “Why waste money on psychotherapy when you can listen to the B Minor Mass?”. Why indeed? - as one who frequently turns to the Mass before I put out the light to go to sleep or when I’m feeling down or stressed I know Torke to be exactly right.

How can such sublime work have been 

produced by a man who seems so ordinary, 

so opaque - and occasionally so intemperate?

But perhaps the best and most telling comment comes from Bach himself. Not about the Mass in particular but about all the music that he wrote: “The aim and final reason of all music should be none else but the glory of God and refreshing the soul. Where this is not observed there will be no music, but only a devilish hubbub.”  When I think of the sublime and uplifting two hours that Pat, I and the audience had spent in the beautiful St Barnabas’ Cathedral and where we had experienced  a “world of great and profound emotions”  I’m sure that I was not alone in knowing that Bach’s glorious music and the wonderful playing and singing and conducting  did indeed glorify God  and refresh the soul.  It was a powerful reminder that it is not all the “devilish hubbub”, or the vision of hell that that I had witnessed only a few hundred yards away in Nottingham city centre on Saturday night but rather, a  recognition that there is still, in this world,  the good, the profound, the exquisite, the spiritual, the sublime, the serene and the truly great and magnificent.