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PRODUCING 5,842 HYMNS, by Dr Bert Tosh

When, Mr President, you asked me for a title for this talk and I came up with "Producing 5,842 hymns", I wondered if you were considering there was another Charles Wesley in your midst without your ever having known it. Let me assure you there is not. I make no pretensions to the gifts of a Wesley, or any other hymn writer, for that matter. The word "producing", as I'm sure you've guessed by now, refers to radio production. The 5,842 is far from precise; it could be more and it could be less. It is a very rough, estimate of the number of hymns in programmes I've produced in just over 25 years working for the Religious Broadcasting Department of the ´óÏó´«Ã½ in Belfast.

Hymns for Radio Ulster's Morning Service and Radio 4's Sunday Worship and Daily Service. Hymns for Radio 2's Sunday Half Hour and for Choral Evensong on Radio 3. Hymns sung in great cathedrals to the accompaniment of mighty organs and in small plain buildings to the sound of an electronic instrument showing its age but determined to go down fighting -- particularly with the person playing it. Hymns sung by most Christian denominations: on rare occasions by congregations of a thousand plus singers; more usually in the 200- 300 range; sometimes dropping as low as 40 or 50. I'm tempted to say, "You name it, I've produced it". But prudence forbids, for with this audience, there's every chance of your naming a hymn I've never heard of, let alone produced.

At which point, you might wonder: Well, what is there to producing a hymn for broadcasting? Actually I think there's quite a lot to it and getting it right is very important. I can't be certain just what makes people tune into programmes where hymns are sung. There is a common perception that the ´óÏó´«Ã½ broadcasts worship primarily for those unable to get to church, and I suppose there is something in that. Mind you, I do try to discourage those who are conducting worship from giving a special welcome to those who are old, sick and housebound -- the usual formula -- for if I were sick, old or housebound, then I'd soon get utterly fed up being singled out for particular attention. But I know from anecdotal evidence that those who listen to Morning Service or Sunday Worship can't all be fitted neatly into any of these categories. The audience for Sunday Worship on ´óÏó´«Ã½ Radio 4 is a staggering 1.5 million. On ´óÏó´«Ã½ Radio Ulster we regularly have something in the region of 70-80,000 people which is just about double what it was when I started to work for the ´óÏó´«Ã½. The cynic, I suppose would say, that's only because the population is aging. But I have no doubt that hymns and sacred music are an attraction for many of those who do listen. I also suspect that people will put up with good singing but poor speech and sermons more readily than they'll tolerate competent words but second-rate music.

STANDING, SINGING AND DICTION
Producing hymns isn't just a matter of getting the people to stand up and get on with it. In fact, that is often the first problem: getting them to stand up. For in many congregations and parishes the sequence is as follows: the organ starts to play the introduction, the choir stands up, and, just as the organ finishes, the congregation starts to struggle to their feet with the result the people are ready to start singing half way through the second line of the hymn. To say they give the impression of eagerness would be wide of the mark. So we practise standing up together as soon as the music begins and -- lo! -- they do, and they start singing together as well. At which point the minister, priest or rector usually expresses the hope that they'll do it every Sunday from now on, but I don't tell him that so far as hope's concerned, it's a pretty forlorn one.

Then sometime you have to get them to sing- which sometimes can be difficult and I would have to say, particularly, but not exclusively, in Roman Catholic churches where there has been a traditional tendency to leave it to the choir, where there is one. (Somebody suggested to me that this was due partly at least, to circumstances in the time of the Penal Laws when Mass was often celebrated secretly and people were loath to draw attention to themselves. To which my response was: there's nothing very quiet about a Gaelic match.)

Generally the first sing-through on a Sunday morning before we go on air usually displays a participation rate of about 65 - 70%. It's amazing the number of people who have facial expressions indicating "I've never sung in my life and if this boy from the ´óÏó´«Ã½ thinks ..." So, they get the lecture: which essentially tells them that when people at home hear the first hymn, that's when they form an impression of the sort of church we're visiting and if they think the majority of the congregation is less than enthusiastic, then the audience will soon become less than enthusiastic as well. So they're told they mightn't enjoy coming to church -- especially if the hour of the broadcast is earlier than what they're used to -- but they're going to sound as if they do. It usually, but not invariably, works.

I always make an exception for the person who has the second worst voice in the world. The second worst because I have the worst -- or so a colleague of mine, who is much more musically versed than I am, assures me. She's even blunter. She tells me I simply cannot sing and there's little hope for me now.

It also helps if they look as if they believe what they're singing. Presbyterians, for example, tend to think the worship of God is a pretty solemn, not to say, serious business. So when they sing "Praise my soul the King of Heaven . . . who like me his praise should sing", they often sing it with faces that look as if they've just received the worst of bad news and that nothing more terrible could ever happen to them. And it can sound like it. So you actually have to try to get them to smile. One of the complaints I've heard over the years about editions of Songs of Praise from Northern Ireland is that while the singing is usually good, on many occasions, there isn't a smile to be seen. Which seems to bear out the remark that people going to church look as if they're on the way to their dentist and when they come out of church they look as if they've been.

And then the words. It's fairly obvious that if I know the words of a hymn, my brain can probably supply them, irrespective of what sound I'm hearing. But if it's an unfamiliar hymn, then I'm completely dependent on what I'm hearing. If all I'm hearing is an odd snatched word in an indefinable sea of sound, then I'm in bother.

Now I suspect that, as a rule, singers or choirs give less attention and devote less preparation to the words compared to the music, which is only but fair I suppose, except when the words are all but neglected. But the words shouldn't be neglected, especially as the words we're familiar with may not be the ones that are actually used in the book. Sometimes, I rely on memory and find myself uttering different words to everyone else who is following the book religiously.

Diction isn't just a matter of enunciating your consonants precisely. It also helps if you actually think about what you are singing -- and to get your nose out of the hymn book and sing out to the microphone. (No matter how aesthetically displeasing screens may be, they can help the singing.)

But words -- diction -- would be the one area where I can come into conflict with the highly competent sound engineers of the ´óÏó´«Ã½. I'm often saying, "Move the mic closer, I can't hear the words." So they move it about 6 inches or whatever the equivalent is in centimetres. And I still can't hear the words. Further appeals to move the mic nearer are usually met with the complaint, "But we'll lose the atmosphere of the Church" or, even more threateningly, "You'll start to hear individual voices". That leads me on to what is perhaps the biggest challenge of all.

THE VOICE
Every parish and congregation- and not a few choirs have The Voice. If you're particularly unlucky, maybe two or -- and at this point retirement seems a desirable option -- three. The Voice is usually, but not inevitably, female. It always manages to get itself directly in front of a microphone. It isn't necessarily a bad voice. It can be true and tuneful with full rich tones, but has become so used to singing solo in the local choral society that over the years the possibility of singing with anything less than full volume has somehow disappeared.

Usually, however, The Voice is not a good voice. At times, to be fair, one can recognise that it might have been once. But now the note isn't achieved easily or it's not achieved at all. It may indeed be the best part of semitone below everybody else's, and it often has a rather unattractive and wide vibrato. The Voice can have another irritating habit: it keeps very quiet during rehearsals, but as soon as we go on air, top gear is immediately engaged. The sound engineer may soon pull off his headphones, turn white and whisper, "What is that?"

I dread it when a choir director sidles up to me before the rehearsal and says, "Bert, I have to warn you . . . " For I know what's coming and, what's worse, he or she seems to think I carry the solution around in my brief case.

So, what to do? I'm very conscious that I'm not working with a professional choir. I'm aware that the person with The Voice may have been singing in that choir for 40 or 50 years and it has become a huge part of his or her life. I have no desire to single someone out and cause embarrassment. I'm also conscious that I'm a bird of passage -- present for less than two days -- and I don't want to leave a trail of destruction. And I know that it's a Christian Church I'm working in. I sometimes remark that one of the similarities between the two organisations I know best -- the ´óÏó´«Ã½ and the Church -- is that both can be cockpits of pettiness and whispering and disputes, with the Church usually worse than the ´óÏó´«Ã½. But because it is a Church I don't believe that people should be made to feel small; I'm afraid there's rather too much of that in many churches to begin with.

Usually if one gently says to the person, without commenting on the quality of their singing, "Your voice is quite dominant: could you just sing a wee bit more quietly?", the message is received and acted upon -- until they come to the last verse of their favourite hymn and all restraint is cast aside. Or you can try telling the altos or sopranos, "That's very good, but maybe some of you are just making a bit too much effort -- a wee bit more gently perhaps?" That's usually met with knowing smiles and it sometimes works.

Or you can try moving The Voice. You sidle up and say, "Maybe, because your voice is dominant, perhaps you would move a wee bit further from the microphone?" Only once has someone walked out on me after that suggestion. One of the first services I ever produced had a bad case of The Voice. In this case, a bass, or actually someone who sang the melody in a deep and loud growl which tried to go down an octave at the end of each line. Well, I moved him further from the mic but the more I moved him, the louder he seemed to get. In despair, I turned to the highly experienced sound engineer: "What can I do?" The answer came: "Well, you could try putting him in the graveyard."

And the moving tactic failed ingloriously on another occasion when we had Two Voices, both soprano. The organist and the sound engineer and I came up with the ploy -- because there were very few men in the choir, of moving the tenors and basses forward and moving sopranos back. When I explained what we were about to do, one Voice said to the other, "We'll just stay where we are, dear."

The real problem is that radio totally exposes musical faults. I remember donkeys years ago going to Evensong in Devon. The choir was made up of six children and seven or eight adults who could have been the kids' grandparents or possibly even their great-grandparents. The sound was not great. But when I looked at them and saw the earnest concentration on their faces, I thought, you know, that's not too bad at all. Had I simply heard them on the radio, I fear my conclusion might have been radically different.

So, I always say to choirmasters, "Do the simple thing superbly. It's better than doing the difficult thing less than well". You can be sure that if the choir doesn't quite reach that difficult top note in the descant to the last verse of the hymn, that is the single note the audience will remember, not the others that were sung perfectly.

ORGANISTS
If The Voice can be something of a challenge, so can the organist. The architectural arrangement of some churches means that the organ is placed directly in front of the main microphone for choir and congregation, with the result that when the singing starts you get about 70% organ to 30% singing. Short of reordering the building, the only option is to start negotiating with the organist and you already know the difference between an organist and a terrorist.

"But I always play like this," is the frequent opening gambit. It's impossible to avoid the impression that some organists are scared to change registration or are incapable of it. The fact is that, generally, on a broadcast we can do with less organ and most organists will accept this, albeit reluctantly. Most organists, but not all. The worst experience was with one who had the reputation for being, shall we say, somewhat awkward. He was notorious for keeping a book at the console and, as soon as the sermon started, would retrieve it and ostentatiously read it while the preaching went on. After some fruitless negotiation, he pushed in every draw stop and said, in a voice full of a sense of persecution, "Would that satisfy you?" "Fine," I said, "but the announcement after the Service will say, "The organist was _____, but he refused to play." He resigned the following week and the minister sent me a letter thanking me for my unwitting part in his downfall.

WHAT'S SUNG
I've been working for the ´óÏó´«Ã½ for just over 25 years. When I was asked to speak to you, I thought it might be interesting to compare and contrast what was being sung when I started with what is being sung now -- not only to give some idea of changing patterns and tastes, but also because I have a very strong personal interest in liturgy.

So I took myself down to the bowels of Broadcasting House in Belfast and asked if they could dig out for me the PasBs for Morning Service for a year from June 1984. PasB? With the ´óÏó´«Ã½'s great fondness for acronyms, PasB stands for Programme As Broadcast and, theoretically at least, there should be one for every programme broadcast since the Corporation came into being. But not in this case. Despite searches in various places, the relevant papers never turned up, which means, there'll probably be an email waiting to the effect they were found yesterday. Alas, too late.

So I've confined myself to looking at the hymns sung on ´óÏó´«Ã½ Radio Ulster's Morning Service over the 18 months from January 2008 until June 2009. I disregarded the six or seven acts of worship which, for various reasons, we broadcast from the studio each year, and looked, briefly, at nearly seventy Outside Broadcasts. Nine or ten of these were also transmitted as Sunday Worship on ´óÏó´«Ã½ Radio 4.

The bulk of the services were from Roman Catholic, Church of Ireland and Presbyterian venues, but they included a range of other denominations. I counted only hymns and songs sung, or intended to be sung, by the congregations, including the choir where there was one.

Over the 18 months, 183 hymns were used. Of these, 43 were sung more than once and, when all the repetitions are included, that gives us 255 items of singing. 23 hymns were used twice and 15 were used three times. Two hymns were each used four times: "God is here as we his people meet to offer praise and prayer" and "To God be the Glory, great things he has done". Two were used five times (and I'm very tempted to ask for your guesses). "The Lord's my shepherd" was one (although not always to the same tune) and the other was "Thine be the Glory", or, if you must, "Glory to Jesus, Risen Conquering Son". The period under review did include two Easter seasons.

But the winner was: "In Christ alone my hope is found" by Keith Getty and Stuart Townend, which was sung no fewer than six times -- which I admit is too frequent, but it probably reflects the fact that it's been described as the most popular worship song ever. Personally, I think it's a fine hymn to a fine tune although I do have a serious hesitation in 5th and 6th lines of the second verse, where the death of Christ is described as satisfying the wrath of God. Part of the reason for its frequent use may, of course, be that Keith Getty grew up a Presbyterian in Lisburn, about 30 miles from here, and continues to have a high public profile in the north of Ireland.

I then looked at the dates when the 183 hymns were written, and here I'm referring to the words only. 85 hymns (46.5 %) were written before 1900, the bulk coming from the 18th and 19th centuries. 14 (8%) came from the first 60 years of the 20th century. And no fewer than 66 (36%) were written in the period since 1960.

(If the more numerate among you have already calculated that these figures don't' add up to 100%, that's because there were 15 hymns about whose date, even with the aid of Bishop Darling's excellent Companion to the Church Hymnal, I couldn't be certain, although I suspect the majority would be post-1960.)

At which point, I rather suspect that a health warning is necessary to the effect that this is far from being a scientific survey. The hymns chosen for broadcast services may not, for various reasons, be altogether typical of what is sung every Sunday. So I'd be reluctant to draw any strong conclusions. Impressions, yes; conclusions, no.

IMPRESSIONS
The 66 post-1960 items represent considerable variety in style and approach. Bishop Timothy Dudley Smith and Graham Kendrick are both well represented. Most of the items are, in fact, traditional in format. Eight of them might more accurately be called choruses and there are a number of worship songs. I'm not entirely sure what makes a worship song, as opposed to a hymn. Sometimes I think that if I feel comfortable singing (or in my case attempting to sing) something, I consider it a hymn. If I feel less than comfortable, then it's a song.

The number of post-1960 items makes it clear, if evidence were needed, that there has been something of a hymn explosion. It's obvious that, had I managed to retrieve the data from the 1980s, it would show that there are a great many more contemporary items being sung. Indeed, much of the material used hadn't even been written in 1984. And, while the older hymn has certainly not disappeared, the proportion used has inevitably diminished.

I didn't have the opportunity to analyse every service minutely, but it did seem clear that while the proportion of contemporary material varied considerably from service to service, there were some services where all the items sung were either traditional or contemporary. And when the latter happens, I can be sure there will be letters from some irate listeners complaining about the lack of proper hymns; there would be few letters when every hymn is old.

My impression is that most worshippers are relatively happy with a mixture of the old and the new. Some are certainly unhappy at singing anything written after 1899, just as there are those who are dismissive of everything written before the 1960s.

About 15 years ago, I produced a service, from a Presbyterian Church, where everything sung was contemporary, few of them traditional in form. It was obvious that choir and congregation were less than comfortable. I casually asked the minister if they never used older hymns. His response: "They'll just have to get used to it". In another service, there was a praise band with associated singers alongside a choir singing a Charles Wood anthem. The atmosphere was cuttable with a knife and the praise band staged a walk-out to pray for guidance as to whether they should continue with the enterprise.

But I fancy that worship wars, while certainly not unknown, have eased somewhat in intensity. I suspect that the excitement of having so much new material has eased, that there is recognition of the value of many older hymns and that the protagonists on each side of the debate have become rather more tolerant and display more of the Christian values of love and patience and self control that weren't always evident earlier.

One other thing that emerges from looking at the items sung over the past 18 months is the virtual disappearance of the metrical psalm -- or at least the metrical psalm from the 1650 Scottish Psalter, as revised by the Irish Presbyterian Church in 1880. Yes, there were a number of hymns based on the psalms, but apart from "The Lord's my shepherd" and "All people that on earth do dwell" -- neither of which is the preserve of Presbyterians -- there were no traditional metrical psalms, so long considered a distinctive feature of Presbyterian worship.

In 1984, nearly every Presbyterian service would have had a metrical psalm, so it looks like they have been squeezed out, and that is the general impression I also have from attending and conducting worship.

It would have to be admitted that metrical Psalms aren't always things of beauty, but I rather regret their disappearance. Not simply because I regret the disappearance of what has been part of the Presbyterian liturgical heritage, but because we are losing the psalms -- in whatever form they are used -- from worship, if not totally, then to a great extent. Part of the reason is that large parts of them are that bit raw, dealing with the sort of emotions that can cause embarrassment, or even theologically difficult -- the sort of emotion that some saccharine songs carefully avoid. The words of the great defender of Christian orthodoxy in the 4th century, St. Athanasius, are still important: "the Psalter is a book that includes the whole life of man, all conditions of the mind and all movements of thought."

I might mention in passing the practice of the Reformed Presbyterian Church, one of Ireland's smaller denominations with about 3,000 members. They're sometimes known as Covenanters, which suggests their Scots antecendence. What is distinctive about their worship is that they sing metrical psalms only and without accompaniment, like some of the smaller Scottish Presbyterian churches. They have broadened their repertoire from the 1650 Psalter, but what has struck me when I've produced one of their services (there weren't any in the period I've been looking at) is that you get a congregation of all ages from eight to eighty singing their psalms tunefully and enthusiastically in four-part harmony. I look around and I think, this shouldn't be happening: teenagers singing 350 year old words to very four-square tunes. But it is, and I appreciate that there are sociological reasons for the commitment of their singing as well as theological ones.

I also sometimes detect a desire to play safe where the choice of hymns is concerned. This may arise from the fact that the service is being broadcast but my other experiences of worship would indicate a sort of reluctance to sing some modern hymns which may be unusual in their imagery or challenging in what they say. There's also the consideration that, so far as some choirs and organists are concerned, the fact that they don't know a hymn means that they'll never be prepared to learn it. There can be a sort of musical conservatism which restricts a fuller exploration of the riches of hymnody.

CHOIRS AND PRAISE BANDS
Which brings me to what's probably the other main change I've noted over my time in the ´óÏó´«Ã½: the decline, in many churches, of the choir. Twenty five years ago, I could be sure of a fair number of churches where there were good choirs, capable of singing quite challenging anthems or settings of the canticles and giving a strong lead to the congregation in the singing of the hymns. This is simply no longer the case. The choirs are still there in many of the places, but they are considerably smaller and the members are all 25 years older, with few apparent replacements for those no longer able to sing. The sad thing in some cases is that they're still trying to do the sort of thing they were attempting 25 years ago, but now with very different results.

Apart from perhaps four cathedrals and a few parish churches which have made a big effort to maintain the tradition, boy choristers seem to have largely disappeared in Northern Ireland. You can trace the decline in the choir by looking at photographs in choir vestries: observe the reduction in numbers and the increase in average age. Not, I should say, that the picture is all bleak. For example, Nigel McClintock, who's conducting the Hymn Festival this evening, has done a wonderful job in developing the Schola in St Peter's Catholic Cathedral in Belfast. Indeed, they're taking part this evening as well. He's had huge support from the Cathedral authorities and, in particular, its Administrator, Father Hugh Kennedy.

But, in general, there has been decline and there are others much more competent than myself to trace the reasons for this. No doubt, there are many causes: a general decline in church going in the north of Ireland, reluctance on the part of many to join anything, a proliferation of activities that the traditional Ulster Sabbath would have made impermissible 20 years ago. (Paradoxically enough, the standard of singing in schools seems to have increased enormously over the past twenty years.)

Not everyone would agree that this decline has necessarily been a bad thing. In some clerical quarters there has been a strong anti-choir movement. So far as I can gather, this seems to arise from a perception that choirs had developed too high an opinion of themselves and could actually damage congregational singing. Some clergy seem also seem to have developed what can only be described as an irrational hatred of four-part harmony. So there has been, in some places at least, a conscious attempt to downgrade the choir or to get rid of it altogether.

I would have to acknowledge that I have worked in one or two places where the organist and choir master had taken on all the attributes of the despot and saw the broadcast, and perhaps every service, simply as an opportunity to showcase the excellence of the choir, which is far from ideal. I was in a church not so long which, when I was last there six or seven years previously, had a reasonable choir. No longer. The minister told me they were actually getting in the way of worship and so had to go. What has replaced them: a praise band with three soloists, none of them particularly talented, with microphones.

When I began producing, accompaniment other than by the organ was unusual. You might have found an occasional trumpet or flute or piano, but that was about it. Then, suddenly, as if from nowhere, emerged the praise band -- or, as it was known rather more pretentiously in some places, the praise orchestra. Its first manifestations were at times frankly embarrassing with children, not long started to learn the clarinet, violin or flute, stuttering their way through the melody. Sound engineers in the ´óÏó´«Ã½ generally pride themselves on getting a fine musical balance. They would arrive with a microphone for every instrument and get ready to work their magic. Almost inevitably, they would pull back the clarinet mic, because it was a quite a bit out of tune, and then the flute mic and then the strings mic . . . Eventually, we would find ourselves saying, "Let's just get them on the main mic and some of the indiscretions will be lost in the wash."

Hard perhaps, but it's the point I made earlier: radio exposes. The young clarinet player may have only been playing the instrument for just six months, but that can't be clarified across the airwaves. To be very fair, I would have to say there has been a vast improvement in the standard of playing in bands or orchestras. Where there is a competent musical director who is capable of finding or providing arrangements appropriate for the forces at his or her disposal, the result can be quite pleasing.

But hymns, I would argue, are there primarily to be sung. When you get complicated introductions, and bridges between verses leaving the congregation uncertain about when to come in, there is a danger of forgetting that. Sometimes I detect a desire to show off the musical abilities of the instrumentalists.

I was preaching one evening in a Church of Ireland Cathedral which boasts a rather good praise band. At one point its leader put his hand up and the congregation stopped singing while the band played through the verse and chorus on its own. I imagined the reaction if an organist did that, and had played a verse of the organ. He or she might have been in danger of being lynched.

Presbyterian ministers have a reputation -- not thoroughly underserved, I fear -- of being unable to stop when we've finished. Well, I've nearly finished and am about to stop. For 25 years I've been producing hymns for the ´óÏó´«Ã½ and I've enjoyed it and will continue to enjoy it. It's been enriching and, at times, frustrating. It has certainly broadened my knowledge and experience of the vast resources of hymnody still to be quarried for use in the worship of God. It has also increased and broadened my experience of human nature. I've seen considerable change, both in what is sung and in how it's sung and accompanied. That change will continue and it is right that it should so that the people of God will continue give God praise that is worthy of the name.