from now on - tim reader's blog

I was at Nick Park’s 50th birthday party at the weekend, singing with Partsong, a close-harmony group who occasionally land some high profile gigs.

What began as an artistically deflating experience – singing to a hall-full of people talking, anyone more than 10 yards from us unable to hear a note – culminated in a choir-best performance and a hauntingly moving moment.

Nick, true to his courteous and mild-mannered reputation, was reluctant to tell his guests to quieten down and listen to the short bursts of live music — even though that’s what he wanted — so the background noise continued and we sang to a small, if receptive, audience of partisan faithfuls.

So far, so (all too) familiar.

But by our third set — with the benefit of having just given a brief speech — he was able to beseech the audience for a bit of quiet; “pray silence for Hallelujah“. And silence there was — and prayer, even. For the duration there was silence, palpable enjoyment and and you-could-hear-a-pin-drop stillness; not merely to appease the host, either.

The Leonard Cohen song, popularised by Jeff Buckley and (it pains me to say) Shrek, is a song about love, sex,  blind faith, tragedy and hope — taking a biblical metaphor and overlaying it thickly with sexual imagery. But whatever the interpretation it’s impossible to divorce it from the sacred implication of its title, and for the casual listener it is surely a “God” tune.

So towards the end of our performance, following several minutes of undivided hush, we suddenly became aware of guests joining in — at first one voice, then a few and then damn hear the whole room, chanting in chorus the bittersweet “hallelujah, hallelujah…”.

Quite unexpected, and, for me, highly thought-provoking. You see, as someone in constant flux of his spiritual and religious beliefs, I find this time of year particularly intriguing.

The weeks leading up to Christmas remind me that most people love music, and see it as something that can add light, meaning and reflection to the drudgery of daily life (even if they themselves don’t recognise it as such). Contrary to the Cohen lyric: “you do care for music dontcha?”.

Furthermore I often think, despite the inescapable secularism and commercialism, this time of year reflects just how many people – far more than the meagre Sunday-by-Sunday church attendance reflects (my views on that for another post) — are thirsty for spirituality and identify with the same values held by the major religions preach — peace, community, sharing, giving thanks and so on.

And that seems exemplified by that moment — which lasted less than a minute — on Saturday.

A moment that at its simplest, was a spontaneous musical communion that warmed the heart; at best a bizarre and unlikely admission from a room full of people, that maybe, just maybe, “maybe there’s a God above“.

It’s stayed with me for days.