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Proms 2014: Commemorating the outbreak of WWI with John Tavener and the Tallis Scholars

100 years after British foreign secretary Edward Grey said that “the lamps are going out all over Europe; we shall not see them lit again in our lifetime”, a programme of John Tavener’s music provided the perfect soundtrack for quiet remembrance.

Peter Phillips, the Tallis Scholars and members of the Heath Quartet at the Proms. Photo: Chris Christodoulou

Peter Phillips, the Tallis Scholars and members of the Heath
Quartet at the Proms. Photo: Chris Christodoulou

“The lamps are going out all over Europe; we shall not see them lit again in our lifetime.” The words of foreign secretary Edward Grey, spoken as Britain’s ultimatum to Germany expired at midnight Berlin time on 4 August 1914, have echoed down the decades. Amid all the wreath-laying and speech-making we’ve had to mark the centenary of the war’s outbreak, just hearing this phrase and seeing a candle blown out can have great power to evoke the events we are commemorating.  

As I’ve written already, the Proms has made some very interesting and unusual choices when it comes to remembering the First World War in musical terms. Chief among these was the programming of last night’s Late Night Prom, intended to span the moment a hundred years ago when Grey’s words were first spoken. Rather than early twentieth century pomp, we got John Tavener at his most soulful and pensive. Arguably, no composer ever wrote better music for solemn reflection – the kind of silence that his work is capable of producing is like no other. He told Bloomberg in 2007 that:

The most important thing about music is not what one writes down... It is what is left out. One should move towards silence.”  

This trajectory is easy to sense in Ikon of Light, the work that kicked off the programme last night. It was composed in 1984 for the Tallis Scholars, and 30 years later, Peter Phillips’ choir is still bringing a beautiful sort of lustre to the piece. The string trio enters each time with a single note that builds up to a sustained chord, but always returns to unison, focusing your mind on that one point, the place where music ends and silence begins. The calm, restrained majesty of it does funny things to your sense of time – the piece takes about 40 minutes, but when you surface from it, you feel as though hours has passed and yet you have barely shifted in your seat.

Prommers light candles to commemorate the start of WWI. Photo: Chris Christodoulou

Prommers light candles to commemorate the start of WWI.
Photo: Chris Christodoulou

Shortly before he died, Tavener wrote a new piece for the Tallis Scholars, Requiem Fragments, which received its world premiere last night. Hearing it alongside Ikon of Light, the two separated by 30 years, it was easy to hear how he developed as a composer over the course of his life. The first half of the piece has some stunning harmonies, and pulls the traditional western requiem structure around (Tavener leaves parts out, and adds Hindu acclamations instead). The addition of trombones to the strings provided by the Heath Quartet was slightly surprising, although their marked, detached chords beneath the vocal lines provided an interesting tonal contrast.

Peter Phillips explained to the audience that he first met the composer 35 years ago when Tavener contacted him wanting to find out more about the work of his namesake, the Tudor composer John Taverner. The latter’s influence lingers in the second half of Requiem Fragments, a 17-part polyphonic triumph with a soprano solo soaring over the top. Carolyn Sampson provided the latter last night, perched up by the Royal Albert Hall organ, an ethereal presence in the dark.

Afterwards, the lights went out, and prommers standing in the central arena of the hall lit their candles. The actor Samuel West read “Anthem for Doomed Youth” by Wilfred Owen, and the Tallis Scholars sang one of Tavener’s most famous short pieces, his setting of William Blake’s “The Lamb”. Then the candles were blown out, and we sat in the dark to think ourselves back in time.

Now read: John Tavener and the search for the music of God

Caroline Crampton is assistant editor of the New Statesman. She writes a weekly podcast column.

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In the name of the father: Patricia Lockwood on sex, centaurs and Catholicism

The author of the viral poem “Rape Joke” talks about growing up with her gun-toting Catholic “priestdaddy”.

“Oh my fricking God. It’s a centaur.” The American poet Patricia Lockwood and I are in the lobby of a Whitehall hotel and she is finding the quantity of equine art distracting. I have already been skipped along a corridor to examine the bizarrely detailed rendering of a horse’s anus in a Napoleonic painting (“They made a point of doing him straight up the butt”) that turns out to be a copy of Théodore Géricault’s Charging Chasseur. Now a statue on the mantelpiece has caught her eye, prompting a reverie on what she saw at the British Museum a couple of days ago: “A wonderful statue of a man kneeing a centaur in the balls. It’s the most important thing to me there. It’s so beautiful.”

The confluence of violence, sex, orifices, animals and mythology runs throughout Lockwood’s work in wild and witty poems such as “The Whole World Gets Together and Gangbangs a Deer” (inspired by the realisation that “Bambi is a puberty movie”) and “Revealing Nature Photographs” (pastoral verse meets porn spam) – and it also colours her new book, Priestdaddy, a deeply idiosyncratic family memoir in which copulation is a go-to metaphor. Her dad’s frenzied, tuneless playing raises the prospect that he might be “having sex with the guitar”; during Lockwood’s teenage depression, she writes, the only thing she was having sex with “was the intolerable sadness of the human condition, which sucked so much in bed”.

Lockwood (pictured at her First Holy Communion) has dark, cropped hair and elfin features, pearly white nails and sleeping cats on her knees (an effect achieved with decorated tights – “Let this be for the stocking boys,” she says). Her voice is deadpan, frequently dipping into laughter without losing her poise. She is one day off her 35th birthday and has been married since she was 21. Her father, Greg, is a priest and, along with her four siblings in a succession of rectories across the Midwest, she was raised a Catholic – thus ensuring, she says, the permanent sexual warping of her mind.

“We Catholics become perverts because of the way sex is discussed in strictly negative terms. I saw pictures of aborted foetuses before I knew what basic anatomy was.”

As a devout teenager, she attended a youth group called God’s Gang and was given a virginity pledge in the form of a business card. The group leaders had a “very hip and young” approach: “We’re going to tell you every single thing you can do, in explicit terms, and just be like, ‘But don’t do it.’”

The ribald humour of her writing – Lockwood is renowned on Twitter for her surreal “sexts” – often contains a darkness. The poem that made her name, “Rape Joke”, takes her experience of being raped at 19 by a boyfriend and metes it out in discrete, increasingly devastating soundbites and images. It was posted online in 2013 and went viral, leading to a publishing deal for her collection Motherland Fatherland Homelandsexuals.

After the rape, Lockwood was “absolutely insane” for about five years, but it’s not as if she was entirely happy before: at 16, she had attempted suicide by taking a hundred Tylenol tablets. Her memoir recounts, too, being embedded in a church mired in scandal, a claustrophobic situation that hit home when a priest close to her was arrested for having sex with a 14-year-old boy. Such events led to Lockwood abandoning her faith and escaping with Jason, her future husband, whom she met on an online poetry messageboard.

When Patricia was 30, she and Jason ran out of money and moved back to the rectory, allowing her to observe her parents afresh. The resulting portraits in Priestdaddy are larger than life: her mother, Karen, is a hyperactive generator of mad puns and proverbs; her ex-navy father is a self-mythologising, right-wing whirlwind of talk radio, guns and Tom Clancy novels. Married Catholic priests are rare but Greg, previously a Lutheran minister, got the pope’s permission to convert. Usually to be found in his underwear, he wants for no new expensive gadget or guitar, though the family is expected to make sacrifices. In 2001, two weeks before Patricia – who learned to read at three and was writing poetry at seven – was supposed to leave for college, he told her that they couldn’t afford it. He later “changed the story in his mind so that I had said I don’t need to go”.

“Growing up in my household,” she says, “all of these far-right, retrograde ideas of gender roles and the man as patriarch existed from the very beginning. But I didn’t think of my house as a bellwether of what was going to happen.” It came as no surprise to her that Greg and many like him voted for Trump. When she reported on a Trump rally in February 2016, she “moved like a ghost through the crowd. They saw me as one of their own.”

Anger at her father’s selfishness “would be useless”, and Lockwood respects his sense of vocation, which she feels she has inherited. She has believed in her own genius ever since she was writing “mermaids-having-sex-with-Jesus poems” at the age of 19. Jason is her support staff, licking her envelopes and buying her clothes. His offering the previous day was a T-shirt emblazoned with Justin Bieber’s face: it revealed how much she resembles the singer – “a full 90 per cent overlap” – and is definitely not ironic.

“Do you think we only got irony after Christ was crucified?” she wonders, and then spots two black-clad priests in dog collars who have sat down across the room from us. “Ooh,” she exclaims, awed and delighted, and then, in a whisper, ever confident in her powers of creation: “I manifested them.”

“Priestdaddy: A Memoir” is published by Allen Lane. “Motherland Fatherland Homelandsexuals” is published by Penguin

Tom Gatti is Culture Editor of the New Statesman. He previously edited the Saturday Review section of the Times, and can be found on Twitter as @tom_gatti.

 

This article first appeared in the 25 May 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Why Islamic State targets Britain

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