8 Psalms

Whole courses have been taught on the Psalms alone. Whole books can be written just on how one particular psalm has been given different musical treatments. But by the time it was published, it would already be obsolete, as new settings would have appeared in the interim—not that any book on even just one psalm would manage to be comprehensive. We have had the occasion to mention the Psalms repeatedly throughout this book already. They are important among the earliest evidence related to music in the biblical tradition, even though there may be yet older texts and references to music embedded here and there in the Torah. The early chapters of this book highlighted their importance in Jewish liturgy, in Orthodox and Catholic liturgy and monastic practice, and when arranged metrically and thereby turned into hymns in Protestantism.^[1] Still more can be said and—more importantly in this context—listened to.

Richard Taruskin writes in The Oxford History of Western Music,

Composers have set the Psalms for liturgical use as well as simply as expressions of their own musicality. The Milken Archive has examples with commentary from a young Leonard Bernstein (Psalm 148) and from contemporary composer Ofer Ben-Amots (Psalm 81). You may also wish to listen now to the Psalm settings by Lili Boulanger in chapter 29.

While often the entirety of a psalm has been set to music, sometimes parts are left out. This may be done for any number of reasons, but whatever the motivation, the resulting song and its lyrics deserve to be considered not only as a “setting” of the text but also as a new composition heard both on its own terms and with consideration of what has been omitted. An excellent example is Psalm 137. Many know it as a reggae or pop song (depending on whether their musical tastes incline them more toward the Melodians, Boney M, or Sublime). That version understandably omits the mention of dashing Babylonian infants against rocks. The reggae version also has some differences in wording that reflect the Rastafarian context in which the song was written. Other settings, such as Pelham Humfrey’s from the seventeenth century, keep the words, as does Mario Davidovsky’s Biblical Songs, which includes this psalm along with settings of other biblical texts.^[3] In this latter instance, it is interesting that the composer chose small portions of other texts yet included the entirety of this psalm, switching to Hebrew in the middle and then back to English again.

Among the Psalms, one finds some of the most accessible and familiar parts of the Bible and some that may seem particularly troubling. Imprecatory psalms—that is, psalms that curse or wish ill upon enemies—can be difficult for some who come to the Bible expecting it to be divine words rather than human ones. When we recognize that the psalmist behind Psalm 137 had lost his or her own children in the Babylonian siege of Jerusalem, we understand the raw emotion expressed in this lament in a new light. It is not merely wishing others harm but a desire for those who caused pain to be made to feel that pain themselves. In some cases, the expression of the desire in this way may lead one to pull back and resist the urge to repay in kind. Complaining is embraced in some traditions as an important aspect of biblical piety, while in others its psychological and spiritual benefits are liable to remain unexplored, at least in formal religious settings.

Sometimes a composer opts to set just a portion of a psalm, perhaps even a small one. Herbert Howells has set Psalm 42:1–3, Psalm 84:9–10, and Psalm 118:24. Issachar Miron’s Psalms of Israel features small portions of several psalms set in the original Hebrew. In these cases, listeners should reflect on how the meaning of the words changes not only through the addition of music but through the omission of words. So too when a composer sets more than one psalm as part of a larger work, the question of what meaning emerges not only from the interplay of music and text but from the juxtaposition of multiple texts deserves reflection. One famous example that you should listen to is Igor Stravinsky’s Symphony of Psalms. Here is a performance by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, with the Chicago Symphony Chorus and Glen Ellyn Children’s Chorus, conducted by Sir Georg Solti.^[4]

In places, Stravinsky sets the words in a way that goes against the grain of the natural rhythms of the text or connectedness of words, allowing his musical goals to predominate. While Stravinsky created a symphony from parts of several psalms, some composers have made a single psalm the focus of a symphony. Both Carlos Riesco and Archibald James Potter have composed works titled Sinfonia “De Profundis.” That is the Latin title of a great many settings of Psalm 130, including those by Lili Boulanger and Arnold Schoenberg mentioned elsewhere in the book (John Rutter’s Requiem also includes a setting of this psalm in English as one of its movements). It might be possible to miss that certain works are settings of psalms or other Scripture—for instance, if one did not translate the Latin title of G. F. Handel’s Dixit Dominus (Psalm 110, “The Lord Said”). Whole projects dedicated to setting and recording the Psalms continue to appear. Individual artists such as Poor Bishop Hooper have set out to write and record a song setting of every psalm. Contemporary composers like Tamás Beischer-Matyó have set multiple psalms. Having set out to create a setting of every psalm, Beischer-Matyó found after several that his compositional interests had shifted in a different direction (although he may one day return to the Psalms and even complete the project at some point). After setting Psalm 1 and Psalm 23, Beischer-Matyó found when working on Psalm 6 that his entire approach to composition shifted as a result of his engagement with the biblical text and the act of interpreting it musically.^[5] In other chapters, we find something similar in the lives of other composers—how the process of setting a particular text was associated with a major change of direction in their musical style as well.^[6]

One could spend a lot of time just comparing two relatively recent settings of Psalm 84, such as those by Victoria Bond and the Philippines-based Jesuit group Himig Heswita. Bond’s decision to set this particular psalm was influenced by the way it features prominently in Brahms’s Requiem (which is discussed elsewhere in this book). On her website, Bond describes the way she decided to allow the Hebrew text and a range of possible English translations interact among the voices in her composition. She writes, “Counterpoint forms the basis of my musical language in this setting, it being a traditional technique favored by Baroque composers. Counterpoint was also a useful tool to express the multiplicity of translations, perspectives and moods I wanted to illuminate. The voices unify only during the communal prayer-like settings of the opening text.”^[7] Have a listen.^[8]

One can also spend extended amounts of time comparing what the same composer has done with two different psalms, such as (in addition to several already mentioned) Cyrillus Kreek’s settings of Psalm 22 and Psalm 137—both laments with many resonances with and connections to other parts of the Bible. Consider also David Hurd’s settings of Psalm 51 (“Miserere Mei, Deus”) and Psalm 100, which feel very different in keeping with the different moods of the words.^[9]

There are interviews with Dr. David Hurd that will introduce you to more of his music as well as aspects of his life and work as a composer, and they are highly recommended.

In this chapter, more than perhaps any other, hopefully it will be clear that your exploration may begin here, with the Psalms and/or with this book, but if it ends here, it will miss a lot that is beautiful and fascinating. To further explore how the Psalms have found expression in a wide variety of styles and genres, have a listen to U2’s song “40,” Dr. Nathan M. Carter’s several Psalm settings, Ian White’s several albums, Steve Reich’s “Tehillim,” Kim Hill’s song “Psalm 1,” Jah Woosh’s reggae setting of Psalm 121, one of Brazilian gospel artist Diante do Trono’s versions of the Psalms, and any of the many rap versions of the Psalms (which have important characteristics that bring us closer to ancient chanting practices than other musical approaches do).^[10] All are contemporary and together illustrate how different the results can be when the words of the Psalms from ancient Israel are conjoined to music of another age, allowing them to be heard and sung in a fresh way. They provide an opportunity to reflect on whether and to what extent these varied songs may allow today’s listener to get a slight inkling of what the Psalms were like for those who first wrote, sang, and heard them thousands of years ago.