Today is Herbert Howells's birthday. Somewhere back in about 1967, I acquired an Argo recording of the composer's music, and that was the beginning of everything. I wore record player grooves deep into the disc, particularly the Collegium Regale "Te Deum." (You can listen to the exact recording, complete with old-fashioned scratches, here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ScGeISIp4Fg.
Why does this piece, and all of HH's music, resonate? First of all, it is astonishingly beautiful. It is bittersweet, hard to sing, break-your-heart-even-more-than-it-already-is stunning. At eleven or twelve, I'd sit in my room, playing it (and recordings of Anglican chant) over and over until I memorized it. I played it in my Smith College room when my roommate wasn't around. I played it in my hippie décor Upper West Side New York apartment when those roommates weren't around. I play it still, as I did this morning in HH's honor. Part of the bittersweetness that left me in tears (by "Oh Lord, in Thee have I trusted, let me never be confounded") was, of course, the realization that as a woman I was unlikely ever to sing the piece. Although I don't remember whether I ever have sung the "Te Deum," I did on several occasions sing some of his other works at Royal Holloway and elsewhere, and it is profoundly satisfying that these opportunities are now more available to girls and women, particularly in the UK. And I eventually wrote two published articles about the composer.
I had this insight this morning that this piece of music has been, in effect, my touchstone for beauty. And by being that, it has been the touchstone for my whole life. Everything I genuinely love resonates at approximately the same beauty wavelength as this piece, and frankly, anything not on that wavelength, I find extremely challenging to walk through. (Most of my life has not, in fact, been remotely easy. Our contemporary social and economic "reality" was apparently not set in motion by a composer of HH's talents!) At this precarious and frankly frightening moment in history, it is sometimes hard to make a case for beauty: creating it, experiencing it, enjoying it, sharing it, appreciating it, whether in "manmade" or natural form. How can beauty possibly matter when our human rights are under threat, when our environment is eroding, when other people are being unspeakably cruel to fellow humans?
Yet in recent days, I've come to understand that the beauty of my personal touchstone is my life. It is who I am. My "resistance" can only come in the form of fully embracing what I find beautiful, and creating even more beauty (written, musical or artistic). Life's trials may have made a post-Christian feminist of me, but the thread of HH's music remains my lifeline, my touchstone, and my joy. I don't know if he would be appalled, amused, or honored by that last sentence, but it matters not: I'm out in the sun now, and have the freedom to say it.
Happy Birthday, Herbert Howells.
