Flowers, Sunshine and Shadows

The waves were magnificent and the sun was flashing through dark clouds. I had just sprung, alive, from wild, grey green water after an icy January swim. January is not the coldest month to swim in the Irish sea, but it can be the most beautiful, and this day was perfect. One of my fellow swimmers who had also just emerged from the water turned to me and said “I can see now where you get the inspiration for your music – how couldn’t you be inspired by this?”.

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The correct response was that, of course I was inspired by this experience and that my life was a continuous search to feed the ravenous maw of inspiration. But I would have been lying. The truth is that for a short, ice-cold few minutes I became a citizen of the cold, soulless Atlantic. Neither the seductive icy morning nor the wild mane of crashing waves yielded up the fragile flower of inspiration. Not even a scent of one. I hear no sympathetic songs resonating from the lonely cry of a gull or the murmurations of the sea on the grey rocks.

My inspiration to create is rarely born in the wilderness or in splendid solitude. Composition is an ongoing process rooted, for me at least, in the real world, not an artistic ethereal place I have to go to to create. Most often it comes in the kitchen, on a street, cycling in the cold rain or, as in the case of “Flowers, Sunshine and Shadows”, in the back of a bus travelling across the Netherlands with Anúna.

As part of my final visit to Florida Atlantic University, completing my tenure as the Dorothy F. Schmidt Eminent Scholar in Music Residency [2011-2013], I was required to produce a piece that would be performed by the music department. I had many ideas for it, some pretty conservative, some off-the-wall. But I knew that at the core of it would be the choral department where I had spent much of my time working. Over the three years I had made a connection with the staff and students there in a way was unexpected. I wanted to create something that was pretty much immediate, but also very clear in its intent and in the way it needed to be performed.

Back to the bus… well, this piece rose out of a series of conversations with the singers of Anúna, most of whom are around the same age as the singers at Florida Atlantic are. When I outlined my initial ideas for the commission to them, they were pretty surprised. Did I really want to write about real life? Well, I always thought I had been doing just that. The very positive reaction they gave me to some of the ideas was heartening. So I took the plunge.

For this commission I wanted to write a piece about simple aspects of life – a baby, children playing and old age, so the compositional process was all off-paper until the last week before the piece was due for submission. I went back to my Dutch cabin in the woods and wrote the text for “Flowers” that evening.

If you can’t see the Soundcloud links below, as some devices can’t see them, you can hear all of the three movements by clicking HERE.

Flowers

I sing flower,
Pretty flower
Sun, warm, cold water
Rainy shower.

Water trickle
Daddy tickle
Shiny bell ringing,
Mommy singing…

Soft, cool pillow
Curtain billow,
Little star peeping,
Teddy sleeping…

I sing shower,
Pretty flower
Shiny bell ringing,
Mommy singing…

The text is created around my own memories of my children and how they responded to certain things. The piece is gentle, but not trite, playful but also bitter-sweet. The musical language of “Flowers” is simple, with ostinati figures in the piano part and some rather heavy-handed effects of yawning, noisy daddies being too loud and over enthusiastic and, of course, Mommy sings in the kitchen in the morning, as she always does. I’ve wanted to have whistling in my music for a long time, so we end the piece with a whistle. Possibly the least and most profound piece I’ve written, and fun to sing.

Sunshine

Run into the golden sunshine
Run beneath a blue unfurling sky
Run into the bright blue morning
Catch the fleeting shadows as they fly.

Come into the golden sunshine
Run into a great unfolding song
Sail the new-blown dandelion and
Catch a wind to carry you along.

Running through the summer sunshine
Paint a new-born rainbow way on high
Come into the bright blue morning
Catch a fleeting swallow as they fly.

Every stream a river
Every pool the sea
Every hill a mountain
Every dream will be.

Every song to sing
Every tree to climb
Every bell to ring
Every word to rhyme

Sunshine, sunshine.

“Sunshine” explains itself. Joy, running in an endless summer day. I chose to set the vocal lines as expansively as possible, with arching lines. There is also a definite Gospel feel to this, which I hope the singers enjoyed singing as much as I did listening to their efforts. I love the very staccato piano part in this, played on this recording by the brilliant David Rossow. We had some great conversations about how to perform this entire work, and this movement in particular. David is the only composer I have every worked with very closely. He is a very, very fine musician, and his input on this score was always perceptive and intuitive.

Shadows

Shadow fall, Shadows calling.
Shadows call, shadows falling.

A song is ending, a failing melody
Scented wine of summer now a memory.
Golden leaves fall, echoing the autumn sun.
Cold winds call, their silent song begun.

Shadow call. Shadows calling.
Winter shadows dark and deep.

And the great wave will always weep upon the shore
And a cold wind caress the sea
And the white bird will one day sleep forever more
And her pale song will fade with me.

This movement has a very strong medieval flavour to it, using lots of false relations and modal colour. I had forgotten how much I love writing for the piano and David played the part without milking the obvious out of it, always using restraint and sensitivity.

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The position of Eminent Scholar has been a hugely educational process for me, and hopefully FAU too. I wanted to write something that reflected the energy and vitality of both staff and students. Much of my output in recent decades has reflected the career-path of my choir Anúna, and I’ve been somewhat restricted by that. Creating this work just at a time when I needed to look carefully at the trajectory I wanted to travel for the future has been an invaluable experience. This opportunity to write for, and work with, such an immensely talented and dedicated group of people will stay with me forever.

I can’t leave this without thanking a few people. Thank you so much to Dean Heather Coltman and Professor Rebecca Lautar for their support, advice and good humour. Thank you to the brilliant Professor Patricia Fleitas. All I can say is that I wish I had had a guiding hand like hers through my degrees. Her passion for her work is balanced perfectly with a sincere compassion for the students. Her musicianship and commitment to her art has been a revelation to me.

IMG_8465maStacie Lee Rossow [Pic. Marian Dolan]

Thank you to my friend Dr. Stacie Lee Rossow, conductor of the ensembles featured in the Soundcloud clips above. Stacie is a wonderful conductor, an inspiring leader of young musicians and was a huge influence on the tone I adopted during my time at FAU. I can’t begin to say how much it has meant to me to have worked with her so closely over these years. The work is dedicated to her.

Finally – thank you to the staff and students who crossed my path during this time. I will miss you all. To the students I have to say that you inspired me so, so much – and I envy you your teachers. You made me feel welcome, always a part of the myriad of things that were constantly evolving and being created around me. Until we meet again…

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Soundcloud clips

“Flowers, Sunshine and Shadows” for SSAATB Choir and Piano. Text and Music by Michael McGlynn.

Premiere date- April 20, 2013 by FAU Choral Organizations (FAU Chamber Singers, Patricia P. Fleitas, conductor and Krisztina Kover, pianist and FAU Women’s Chorus, Stacie Lee Rossow, conductor and David P. Rossow, pianist)
Premiere conducted by Dr. Stacie Lee Rossow with David P. Rossow, piano
As part of the Dorothy F. Schmidt Eminent Scholar in Music Residency

New York Polyphony & John Tavener

In 1990 I didn’t consider myself to be a proper composer. I sometimes dreamed that I would one day be able to have my works performed by groups other than my own, but I was also pretty realistic about my music. It didn’t appear to speak in the same language as my Irish contemporary music colleagues being seen as too tonal and accessible. Yet even at that early stage I was acutely aware that I was doing something quite different to other composers. Not better, just different.

I couldn’t work out whether it was sheer stubbornness or just lack of flexibility that kept me exploring the same ideas over and over – modality, melodic structure, cascading rhythms and drones. That year remains with me as a very important one. I submitted a piece called “Dirgidh bhar Sleagha Sealga” to the Séan O Riada Memorial Trophy competition in choral composition at that year’s Cork Choral Festival. I won, very unexpectedly, as the work was unlike anything else being written in the contemporary Irish music field and I had assumed that the adjudicators were my peers. I was wrong. One of them  was none other than John Tavener.

Being brash and young I sought him out as he wandered around Cork, surrounded by an entourage. I asked him if he had any comment to make on the work. Any feedback, good or bad, would be massively valuable. He was silent. He mused, he pondered. Then he said one word – “primordial” and walked on. Its amazing how one word can colour your views of what you do so profoundly. It literally means “existing at or from the beginning of time”, something I would have said about much of his own output.

I had begun to feel that some of what I write wasn’t written by me at all. I often didn’t know why all the bits ended up together on the page, and I could always clearly tell when I was, and am, forcing them together rather than letting them flow naturally into structures and forms. While I still explore the same ideas, I have learned to take it slower – put less ideas on the page and develop what I do put down further. Which brings me to “O pia virgo”.

In 2013 I connected with the group New York Polyphony. I’d managed to miss their one concert in Dublin many years ago and had been so disgusted with myself that I vowed that I would take the first opportunity to properly introduce myself. I was pretty familiar with their performances of the sublime motets of composer Andrew Smith but there is no substitute for hearing performers live. When I contacted them I was rather flattered that I appeared to be pushing an open door and we decided to make something happen, so I began work on a new motet for them for a new album project and for inclusion in their live repertoire.

New York Polyphony press photos, November, 2011.New York Polyphony [photo copyright Chris Owyoung]

New York Polyphony have a visceral sound capable of intense virtuosity. It is a dark, masculine timbre, trained vastly but also very unaffected. This gives them a powerful and rich tone which instantly appeals. Its unsurprising that their last disc Times Go By Turns has just been nominated for a Grammy Award. While time was very tight it was just enough to create something that was sympathetic to what this amazing group of singers do so naturally. Sometimes it is very hard to let go of something that I compose, but I knew that this one is in safe hands.

I never met John Tavener again, and now never will. He was a unique composer, a special artist and he uttered the right word into the ear of a young man who just needed something at that moment. Without doubt this piece was influenced by his own music that mattered so much to so many people. Sadly he is gone from us now and when he hears the song of the angels, it won’t be an altogether unfamiliar sound.

You can hear the piece below (may not be available in all territories).

“O pia virgo” was premiered at the SWACDA conference in Little Rock by NYP on March 19th 2014 and featured on the Grammy-nominated album “Sing Thee Nowell” by NYP in 2015.

Available as sheet music from HERE.

Dedicated to the Memory of Laura Kostyra Plimpton

 

“Omnis” and Riverdance, 1995-96.

This week sees the arrival of the new artwork for Anúna’s third/fourth album Omnis. The CD has had no less than five, yes, five separate covers and three released versions. You can see the original artwork at the bottom of this article. You may justifiably ask why have a sixth cover?

This new cover was actually intended to be the first one, and despite being pretty off-the-wall now, at the time it fitted into my own view of what Anúna was. In 1995 we were pretty cool, so creating an image such as this would have fitted very much into the ethos that I had created. Anything was possible. I can’t remember why I didn’t include it as I had planned, but I suspect it was because Omnis was created when Anúna were involved in Riverdance.

Omnis-New Master

We had an ever increasing following in Ireland, building steadily for seven years when Riverdance catapulted the group forward onto an international stage in an unprecedented manner with all the commercial trappings attached. We migrated from audiences of 3-400 to 4000 seater venues performing as part the hottest show on the planet at the time in just a few months. In the middle of all this I hung doggedly to my own music, creating Omnis to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground. It was also created in a somewhat futile effort to bind the singers together.

Dúlamán and Geantraí were originally one single song, but the necessity for another up tempo number forced me to split it in half. Some of the material was way off the beaten track – O Viridissima was a cascade of falling silvery voices and Tenebrae III sounded like it had fallen off the soundtrack of a video game. For some reason the album worked very well. The 1995 release was very successful at home mainly on the back of massive over exposure the previous year. Its mix of traditional Irish songs on the same disc as works by Hildegard of Bingen was oddly persuasive too.

Anúna realistically couldn’t compete with the trappings of Riverdance so when the time came to take the choir association out of  the show most of the singers stayed with it. A handful of them tried to remain as part of both for a short while, but life is not about going backwards. They eventually went their own ways and new singers joined us. So Anúna was reborn, albeit tainted by a two edged celebrity status in Ireland, something I managed to shake off everywhere else except home.

The influx of new blood in 1996 resulted in what is arguably one of our finest recordings Deep Dead Blue, but at the time it was pretty hard going for me. By the time Omnis was hot off the presses it was a historical note, not a new album. I remember my mother saying to me after she first heard it that she couldn’t believe something so beautiful had been born out of so much trouble. In retrospect I can’t either. The beauty of it is in the music rather than the performances I believe. I am still proud of the compositions on that record. Dúlamán has become a choral mega-hit all over the world thanks to my friends in Chanticleer who included it on their album Wondrous Love in 1997.

The image was photographed by the photographer Nigel Brand who had taken many pictures of the first lineup of Anúna (circa 1991-3). I remember discussing the album with him, and giving him free reign to create a picture with an impact rather than something out of the “Celtic Mysts of Ancient Tyme” ethos.

The Beginning – An Uaithne to Anúna

Twenty five years of clutter. A quarter of a century of analogue VHS cassettes, silently gathering dust and deliberately avoided. I knew that hidden in the decades of material were things that I simply didn’t need to remember, but there were also things I had forgotten that maybe should be rediscovered. The cassettes were deteriorating too, so despite my reservations I decided to use this small gap in my Autumn schedule to complete the vast task of digitising the Anúna sound archive.

1991AnUaithnesm

A couple of things became apparent pretty quickly. From about 1991 until 1994 there are multiple appearances on panel discussions, reviews, opinion pieces and analysis. This was prior to Anúna’s appearance in Riverdance at the 1994 Eurovision Song Contest. Indeed many of the interviews directly after that mention it only in passing as we were already well known to most of the journalists for our work prior to then.

A few years ago Dr Stacie Rossow of Florida Atlantic University wrote her doctoral thesis on my work, and she insisted on interviewing me extensively. I thought that these interviews were full of fresh perspectives and insights that I had never expressed before publicly. Listening to these twenty year old cassettes proves me wrong. I had said most of what I wanted to say about choral music and my compositions by 1994. I’m amazed that I have actually stayed on message consistently for so long despite the decades and experiences that intervened.

Another feature of the interviews was how clear I was about Anúna’s direction. I wanted to define an Irish form of choral music. In the late 1980s and early ’90s, I had been putting together some eclectic concert programmes – Henry Purcell, Benjamin Britten mixed with Clannad, traditional Irish and medieval song combined with contemporary classical music. Out of this grew the eclectic repertoire of the group today.

I just listened back to our performances at the Cork Choral Festival of 1991. At the gala performance that year we sang three songs that really shone out – “Gól na dTrí Muire”, “Deus Meus” and “A Stór mo Chroí”. I had forgotten the silence that descended on the audience during the performance, and how the music held them so enthralled. I remember now that some of the international singers came up to me as we left the stage. They had been deeply effected by what they had heard. They described it as something they had never expected, something very different. The choir had grabbed a large audience for the first time and held it spellbound.

As I type I am listening to a performance we gave a year later in the Project Arts Centre in Dublin – what a concert! Medieval Irish songs [“Media Vita” and “Christus Resurgens”] combined with contemporary Irish works by various composers with effects that included screaming and whispering. There were movement pieces with tape and dry ice created around my arrangements. Our guests were a extraordinary group of musicians and included Aylish Kerrigan [mezzo],  Anne-Marie O Farrell [virtuoso Irish harp] mingled with the uileann pipes of Declan Masterson and the virtuosic percussion of Noel Eccles. I loved our performances of Seoirse Bodley‘s two works “Nocturne of the Self-Evident Presence” and “Homage to Marcel Proust”, an Irish classic of contemporary choral music.

There sitting in the middle of it is the end of An Uaithne and the start of Anúna.

I can now hear two types of singer on the recording. There are large, plummy voices favoured by the classically trained singers I had gathered around me for An Uaithne, sounding much older vocally than they were physically. I can hear other types of voice now – Early music singers, traditional singers and untrained singers. The performances are rough, but hugely energetic. Many of the performers are stuck to the inadequately learned sheet music, but some are singing without music and without affectation. And there at the end of the night is the first version of The Rising of the Sun – wow! It was specially commissioned for the Project’s 25th Anniversary and it is something else. Then the night was over. I remember my brother John, in his first year with the choir, asking for quiet in the dressing room and thanking me for giving him the opportunity to perform all this amazing music. There was silence in the dressing room, broken only by a few smirks from some of the singers, and then one group dies and another came into being.

So the archive hasn’t been so painful to transfer after all.

Requiem for the Lost Souls of the Titanic

Last year Belfast composer Philip Hammond was in a coffee shop in Belfast with me. He told me about this amazing piece he was writing. The title would be “Requiem for the Lost Souls of the Titanic” written in memory of those fallen to the dark depths of the ice cold ocean. His passion was infectious, so I jumped in and offered Anúna for whatever he wanted simply because the idea was so inspiring and so appropriate to the centennial of the loss of that great ship.

I am a composer, and Philip is one of the very few that I have any contact with on this island, and is the only one I ever talk about music and composing with. Indeed it was Philip who recommended me to the Ulster Orchestra as a composer way back in the mid 1990s. The recommendation eventually led to a commission and an album “Behind the Closed Eye”. He is a very modest man, a deep thinker with a wicked sense of humour and many genuine friends. So many of them were involved in this project.

I’ll let Philip introduce the piece himself :

Anúna’s contribution amounted to the Sanctus/Benedictus and a fantastical section at the end of the Lux Aeterna in Hebrew invoking the four Archangels. You can find a very good article about the performance here.

There were two performances – the first on the night of the 14th of April. Both concert was a spectacular success. St Anne’s Cathedral was beautiful, and the event became almost ritualistic. There was a bit of a media scrum to photograph Anúna entering with candles mid-way through the work, and I have to say that despite the unintentional humour generated by a camera being fired off six inches from my face while I was singing, we helped add to the overall drama and atmosphere of the night very fittingly.

The Titanic sank at 2am so after the performance we processed through the streets of a deserted city to Belfast City Hall where we we bowed our heads in silence for a moment to remember those who passed away in such terror. The atmospheric readings by Glenn Patterson, all related to the Titanic event, in combination with excellent playing by the Fidelio Piano Trio were very appropriate even inserted into the huge choral sections of the Requiem. However, the true stars of the night were the voices of the combined choirs – The Belfast Philharmonic Society, the Schola Cantorum of St Peter’s Cathedral and Cappella Caeciliana – and the brass ensemble The Downshire Brass Band.

Rehearsing in St Anne’s Cathedral
Anúna with Philip Hammond, centre

The next day we were involved in the insertion of the Requiem into a Roman Catholic service at St Peter’s Cathedral off the Falls Road. Some of the highlights for me, besides the magnificent score, were the amazing combined choral and brass effects of the three other choirs. The boys of St. Peter’s Cathedral provided beautiful singing – spine-tingling is the appropriate description and we shared a very crowded balcony. I only regret that the size of the forces needed prohibits many repeated performances, but to actually perform the music as part of a Mass was both powerful and moving for all the performers involved.

The boys of St Peter’s Cathedral in St Peter’s.

The Belfast-born, now New York-based, mezzo soprano Jacqueline Horner-Kwiatek was nothing short of spectacularly good in both perforamnces. Many of you may be familiar with her work with Anonymous 4, but nothing prepared me for the level of virtuosity that she exhibited for her very difficult solos. Jacqueline is a very elegant lady, and I very much hope the our paths cross again professionally in the near future!

Jacqueline, Philip and myself

I speak for all of Anúna when I say that we had a memorable weekend. It was particularly poignant for the seven members of our choir who come from Northern Ireland. Thank you Philip for giving us the opportunity to be part of this monumental and wonderful event. Your music was truly inspired.

For a very limited time you can hear the opening section of the Requiem streamed on the BBC website – you have 5 days left to listen HERE!

The Choir, the Violinist and True Love in Sweden

Sometimes my job can be simply magical. Maybe it is something to do with the music, or maybe it is the ambiance generated by the performance. Or maybe life is full of magic, and I have simply been lucky to see it more often than most people.

Yes. Thats it.

Last November Anúna gave two very special performances in Sweden. We have only performed once in Stockholm, so I was anxious to sing there again [our last visit being in 1996]. This time we had a very special friend with us, the violinist Linda Lampenius. Linda and I are friends since around 2007 when she recorded and toured with us as part of Celtic Origins.

She is a superlative musician. Her celebrity status in Finland is so great that she was a judge for The X Factor in 2010 where she invited me to help her with her adjudication. A memorable experience indeed.

That cold November night she looked radiant and played beautifully, as always. The next night was Annedalkyrka, Gothenburg one of my favourite places to perform in the world. My younger brother Tom lived there in the 1980s and my own attachment to the country is deep.

Anuna-5

Anúna perform in Sofia Kyrka, Stockholm with Linda Lampenius [pic. Tommy Wiberg]

In October a young man by the name of Kristian wrote to me to ask me for a favour. I’m usually not great at deviating off the focus of a performance I have to admit, but this was a very special request for a special person. The performance was technically so complex that I had put Kristian far to the back of my mind so, as I read down the programme, I noticed that there was one odd piece on it. Suddenly all that occupied my mind was Kristian… the song was “The Flower of Maherally”, one I don’t sing very often anymore, but I had been asked for a special love song.

You see, Kristian wanted to propose to his girlfriend Marijune who was visiting from the USA. He has been a long-time fan of Anúna and he wanted to ask her to marry him on the stage just after we sang a love song that was dedicated to her. He came on stage, I called her up from the audience and he got down on one knee and proposed. Sheer magic indeed.

Needless to say, the concert and the tour ended on a huge high for all of us.

My short story ends with a postscript. I wrote to Kristian to see if he would mind me posting a note about his proposal. It turned out that he was actually in the USA and that tomorrow, Tuesday April 3rd, Kristian and Marijune will become Mr and Mrs Lejsund. Long life and happiness to you both. Thank you for including us in this wonderful moment of your lives.

On Choral Music in Worship

I was brought up as a Roman Catholic. My parents endeavoured to give me every opportunity to be exposed to a vast range of music, strongly encouraging our explorations, be they rock or classical music. In school the main exposure to singing was musical drama in the form of Gilbert and Sullivan with a few hymns in unison at every church service. It is understandable, therefore, that when my first exposure to sacred choral music at last arrived at age nineteen in University College Dublin Chamber Choir, it was like being hit with a mallet on the head.

I clearly remember my first rehearsal. We sang two songs, “Christus Factus Est” by Anerio and “O Sacrum Convivium” by Messiaen. Suddenly much was made clear to me. Maybe this was why people still spoke fondly of the extinct Latin Mass, with its remote and mysterious ceremony? It also helped explain to me why services were structured as they are. Music wasn’t simply a chance for the congregation to sing together, rather it was a series of sonic sign-posts angled towards illumination of the underlying spiritual truth of the service.

The Latin language, with its soft and non-percussive sound, had a natural affinity to the music that it was carried by. Later I discovered the music of Tallis, Gibbons and Byrd, being struck by the beauty of the harmonic language and the mellifluous use of the less-musical English language. Simple, direct statements of belief were woven into a powerful lattice of spiritual affirmation. Exposure to more recent music written for the Church today plainly showed that composers were acutely aware of their musical ancestry and quite capable of working within the practical constraints of service structures and the capabilities of the performing groups that they composed for. Indeed, the love of singing contemporary music among the better choral groups was a great pleasure to behold, even if much of the music demanded skills that were just on the edge of what the singers were capable of.

With respect to my Roman Catholic upbringing, I had rarely understood how the odd hymn here or there and the simplistic one-line responses and calls in the vernacular could compare to the carefully constructed musical structures that I participated in while singing in my first Church of Ireland services.  It irritated me that much of what was musically beautiful in the pre-Vatican II church had simply been consigned to performance repertoire, rarely heard within its originally conceived context.

Sometimes I felt like a starved man who eats as much as possible very quickly, deputising and singing at the two major Church of Ireland Cathedrals in Dublin, St. Patrick’s and Christ Church Cathedrals as often as I could. I sang for free at weddings, funerals, services – anything I was asked to do simply to experience this music in the context of its original conception.

By this time I was beginning to compose on a regular basis. Although the main thrust of my composition was towards the development of a new form of Irish choral music, I was consistently drawn to spiritual texts. Two early efforts I wrote for competitions organised for use in the Church of Ireland service were “Codhlaim go Súan I’d Chroí” (I Sleep Softly in Your Heart) and the anthem “Come Let us Sing” the former for a competition to find an anthem in the Irish language and the latter a setting of a more traditional Church text. This work eventually gave rise to my “Celtic Mass”, a combination of texts in Latin and Irish on diverse texts. Latterly my spiritual output has included the four “Tenebrae Responsories”, a “Missa Brevis” for St David’s Cathedral in Wales and a diverse collection of individual sacred works that include my “Agnus Dei” which was commissioned by the American choir Chanticleer in 2006 for their five-composer project “And on Earth, Peace: a Chanticleer Mass”.

Despite it being nearly thirty years since I was so profoundly influenced by this music, it continues to be a part of my life. I attend regularly at Saint Bartholomew’s Church in Dublin which has a fine and ambitious musical programme. I believe that the power generated by community singing of good quality has a ripple effect on the entirety of society. This music and literature has survived because it is simultaneously functional and art. It is important to bear in mind that composers who have written this music for over a millennium have done so with a desire to articulate their own spiritual ideas while transmitting genuine and heart-felt insight to a congregation. I now realise why this music has influenced and affected me the way it has. Choral music in worship can bring congregation, singer and composer together in a unique and wonderful way. The power of this should never be underestimated.

This article appears in the magazine Soundboard, Winter 2011