MacMillan: Seven Last Words from the Cross

This Music Note was originally written April 2006, but is here posted to All Manner of Thing for the first time.

MacMillan: Seven Last Words from the Cross
Polyphony, Britten Sinfonia, Stephen Layton
(Hyperion CDA67460; 67:47)

Given that the Western world in the twentieth century was growing progressively more secular, and that this trend was particularly pronounced in the arts, it is perhaps surprising that so much first-rate sacred music was written.  Igor Stravinsky and Benjamin Britten, two of the very finest composers of the past hundred years, both made substantial contributions to the sacred music tradition, as did many others.  Moreover, in the last forty years the number of composers devoting their talents to sacred music seems to have been increasing, prominent among them the so-called “holy minimalists”: Arvo Pärt, Henryk Górecki, and (the distractingly pompous) John Tavener.  These men have tended to write music that is accessible and beautiful, but also fairly solemn, slow, and austere.

Into the picture steps the young Scottish composer James MacMillan.  His music, too, is rooted in personal devotion — he is a lay Dominican — but there is nothing sentimental or gentle about it.  His musical language is aggressive, frequently dissonant, and the fruit of an incisive musical intelligence.  This is not to say that his music is not approachable, because it certainly is, but it is not comfortable, and will not appeal to those who take their music like warm milk.

Take, for example, the opening section of his terrific cycle Seven Last Words from the Cross.  The orchestra begins quietly in layered chords and, gradually increasing in volume, a fugal counterpoint in women’s voices arises out of the texture: Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.  As this interplay soars higher, an agitated men’s chorus enters with a Latin text from the Palm Sunday liturgy, rising to a dissonant exclamation: Rex Israel! The orchestral foundation, grown louder, spawns a wild sawtooth solo violin line that cuts jaggedly through the texture, now accompanied by the women’s voices rapidly intoning a Tenebrae text for Good Friday.  At its climax the music is a well-controlled chaos of colour, rhythm, and language.  The air slowly clears, the strings swelling sweetly, until all that remains is the patter of the women’s voices in monotone: They placed me in a wasteland of desolation, and all the earth mourned for me.  It’s a bracing, thrilling piece of music.

This opening to Seven Last Words sets the stage for what is to follow.  In general, the music is an explosive mixture of sharp orchestral attacks, bold dissonance, and soaring soprano voices, with interludes of lyrical beauty.  Though the texts center around the seven sayings of Jesus on the cross, Macmillan has embellished them with texts from the Holy Week liturgy.  Behind it all is the voice of an unmistakeably passionate and prodigiously talented composer.

Seven Last Words lasts about three-quarters of an hour in performance.  The disc is filled out by two lesser works, a motet On the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin and a setting of Te Deum, both written quite recently.  They are fine works, but can’t compete with the main event.  The choir is top-notch, coping admirably with their frequently challenging parts, and the sound is excellent.  This is a really superb disc.

**

Listen to the opening section of Seven Last Words:

More clips from the Hyperion Records website.