Just catching up on some items of interest while I’ve been away for the past month, and I could not pass up mentioning this interesting story reported by Scott Sayare in the New York Times a few weeks ago. Subject: The “Madonna of the Bikers” festival in Porcaro, France. Something on the order of ten thousand came to have their motorcycles blessed at this annual event. Sayare highlights the fascinating crossover of “sacred” and “profane” that the “pilgrimage” represents.

Here is a video of the blessing of the bikes this year that I found on YouTube. (Sorry, no credit is given for whomever filmed it — but thank you.)

My first thought was of the medieval European feasts, described well recently in Charles Taylor’s A Secular Age, in which cultural permission is given for a specified amount of time for the normal social-religious rules to be inverted. (This is also the association that Rev. Rachel Mann recently made to metal concerts.) This came to mind due to the display of socially transgressive behavior in the midst of a routinized religious space. (Although one difference from the medieval feasts would be the seeming lack of explicitly irreligious or antireligious sending up.) As Sayare reports, “Many came to pray, many to carouse, a surprising number to do both.”

As an event at which two open-air masses are held, and holy water is sprinkled on rumbling Harleys on a weekend featuring the musical sensibilities of AC/DC and a tendency toward body modification and robust partying, Sayare also links to this French bishops’ conference report about the festival, which is a tantalizing indication of its recognition by Catholic officialdom.

The presiding (and self-described) “biker-priest,” Jean-Francois Audrain, is quoted as saying something quite subtle: “No one should leave here without having gotten what he really wanted out of it.” I take such a statement as at once a pastorally wise spaciousness about the multiple motivations for attending such an event, and at the same time a theological claim about worthy desires presenting themselves precisely in those multiple motivations, desires known or unknown to the bikers themselves, but not separate from what the bikers really want. It reminds me of the important motif in Ignatius Loyola’s Spiritual Exercises, regarding the courage to ask God for what one desires. According to some interpretations of this aspect of the Exercises, what one “really wants” spiritually is precisely what should leave one unsatisfied until one has experienced “having gotten” it. I think that in this story there are analogies to rock scenes and their theological investigation.

Tom Beaudoin

Hastings-on-Hudson, New York

A friend sent me this provocative article from the Telegraph (United Kingdom), about an Anglican priest who is recommending that Christians consider what metal music has to offer spiritually. The Rev. Rachel Mann has some interesting things to say in this story. Unfortunately, in this kind of a venue, it’s going to be difficult for them to get a fair hearing. Why? Because the bent toward the expirational and the momentary on the web, and especially on news sites, and more especially when reporting on such an unusual convergence as the “secular” world of metal and the “sacred” world of the church, is nearly overdetermined to give itself for consideration with a less-than-sober patina.

Yet despite the discursive tilt toward reading this as something of a “lifestyle” piece, or simply as further evidence of the decline of the Church of England and its clergy, it sounds like Rev. Mann has got some deeper ideas at work.

She speaks of a “liberative theology of darkness” in metal, and the value of confronting nihilism, as well as “death, violence, and destruction.” This very thematic is part of what makes the metal scene, she says, so accepting of others. This is not cheap stuff being put forward. Paul Tillich, among other modern theologians, famously urged theology to take seriously the destructive and disturbing as rendered in art, testifying to the complex depths of human alienation and searching, which (as I read him, especially in the works on theology and culture) are propaedeutic for any meaningful theological talk of salvation or healing in modernity. Marcella Althaus-Reid argued that the desire to fence off “obscenities” from being given theological attention was the effect of a more truly obscene theology, one that wanted people to divide their lives up into acceptable and shameful behaviors before they could take their own spiritual inventories of their own “queerness.” Rev. Mann seems to be moving theologically in these waters.

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The theme of the annual convention of the Catholic Theological Society of America this weekend in Cleveland is “Theology’s Prophetic Commitments,” and it speaks to what contemporary theology frequently understands to be one of the most important motivations for and outcomes of theological work: freedom. In what freedom consists, whence it comes, and how theological life becomes a free life — these are all contested matters. Even freedom itself is not accepted by many theologians as holding such a central place in theology. Those who defend freedom’s centrality, as I would, often argue that freedom is an “integral” phenomenon, and this is the language often used in Catholic thought. Freedom as “integral” means that spiritual freedom is bound up with material freedom, and social with individual. The human being uniquely (so far as we know, anyway), and “all creation” as well (with many conversations about differentiating and defining what counts as created, sentient, dignified), has a “right” to live in a world wherein we can both be ourselves and invent ourselves, where we can live sane lives, subjects in and subject to the world in non-exploitative ways.

This comes to mind as I was reading two articles about rock culture recently, both in the New York Times. One, reported by Ben Sisario, describes how rock concert ticket pricing has changed dramatically over the last decade, with expensive “packages” increasingly the norm, wherein fans can pay high prices for great seats, “meet-and-greets,” swag (band-related paraphernalia), and general VIP treatment.  A good number of North American rock fans can pay these high prices, and they don’t want anything less than a “premium” concert experience, turning a rock show into a mini-vacation or kind of spa event. I have rued and lamented this development ever since I saw it first introduced about fifteen years ago, with “golden circle” seating, backstage access packages, and dollar signs attached to proximity to the band. The decline in album sales in an age of illicit downloading, and the monopolization of the concert scene by Ticketmaster/Live Nation, has only encouraged more bands to go this route. It is slightly uncouth to say this, but rock shows are different now that so many wealthy middle-aged men can buy up the good seats.

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Apparently, this news is several months old, but Cesare Bonizzi has decided to leave rock. He is the 60-something Catholic friar who made global music news by fronting an Italian rock band, Fratello Metallo. His stated reason? To combat the devil. See his “final interview” here:

Several times, I have featured Bonizzi here at R&T –  for two reasons: [1] His Catholic theology of engagement with secular culture is refreshing, radical, and subtle. As he stated it in an interview: “I am religious and I am a priest. I believe in it and I put my whole life into it. But I don’t play to draw people closer to Christ, to the church or to religion. I do it to convert people to life, to understand life, to grab hold of life, to savor life, to experience life and enjoy it, full stop.” I wager that this is not only a theology occasioned by finding himself playing in a rock band for secular audiences, but the fruit of decades of prayer and service in religious life. [2] He models the experimental attitude that ought to characterize the Catholic engagement with secularity in contemporary Western life.

Now, that “devil” piece is quite interesting, and I would like to hear more about it. In the interview above, he presents a fully-formed nugget about how he thinks the devil was at work in his success, dividing him from his music and his religious companions. He parses “devil” as “divider”, and if that is his way of using traditional language but with a contemporary (”demythologized”) meaning, it’s a further example of his experimenting theologically in a secular age. In other words, theologically speaking, whatever singular force is pulling him apart from his band, his manager, and other monks, is not likely worthy of his own recognition/assent to a divine claim on his life. That’s how I would put what he said.

But even as he goes out swinging, he proclaims with gusto, and again with Catholic provocation: “Metal is the real brother!”

Tom Beaudoin

Hastings-on-Hudson, New York, United States

This goes under the heading “News-items-of-interest-to-this-blog.” The New York Times’ Aidan Levy has this report on Rabbi Greg Wall, a jazz musician and now senior rabbi at the Sixth Street Community Synagogue. In the story, there is a photo of Rabbi Wall playing the saxophone. I wonder how it would go over if there were a photo of a Christian minister, especially in the more liturgically-committed traditions, playing an electric guitar, bass, or drums.

Which reminds me that the recent article by Brian Robinette and myself in America magazine that argued for a Catholic theological comprehension of rock was read by more than a few as a call for rock music in Roman Catholic liturgy. Such a call, however, is never mentioned in our article. The (understandable) assumption of many who might read this blog would be to think of the concept of “rock and theology” as a more or less veiled but nevertheless pious cry for a renewed Christian rock, inside or outside of the churches. Such is not my perspective, anyway, nor has it yet been advocated on this blog. On the question of appropriate musics for worship (in synagogue or church, or beyond), I think it is best to keep an open mind theologically, curious about what contributes to a worshipful atmosphere, and more specifically what coheres with the theological traditions of the people who could be there to worship, and what coheres with the theological traditions of the place curating the worship.

(Eight years ago America magazine published an article of mine, “Liturgy in Media Culture,” on possibilities for secular music in liturgy which can be found here. It stands for my thinking at that time, though my 2009 entries on this blog better reflect my current sense of the problematic.)

I find the contributions of liturgical theologians often helpful on these questions, in the ways that they show the history and complexity of liturgical experience; I sometimes find such contributions, however, too invested in a particular advocacy for certain musical forms in a way that does not consciously factor in their own “fandom” of musical genres, periods, or styles. So the conversation continues on these matters, hopefully on Rock and Theology.

Tom Beaudoin

New York City, New York, United States

This morning I heard a program on the local radio station WNYC about bloggers who are (overtly or covertly) sponsored by corporate entities that provide gifts or money in (explicit or implicit) exchange for reviews of their products.

Of course, I immediately thought of our practices here at R&T. And just wanted to let you know that we are still “brought to you by” none other than the publisher Liturgical Press, as we have been since our debut in January.

Despite our frequent reviews of shows, artists or scholars, or commendations of songs, books or other publications, there are no other sponsors, and we receive no benefit from any purchase made on click-throughs from this site.

Tom Beaudoin

New York City, New York, United States

My note below on U2 as public theologians was attempting to tie three pieces together in short shrift: their concert personae to public theology to their gargantuan attraction to everyday rock listeners. Now comes the news that U2 set a record for their recent performance at Giants stadium, more than 84,000 people, drawing even better than John Paul II. I can already hear all the cultural and theological critics chanting odes to the low tastes of the masses, who don’t understand U2’s early prophecy, long since abandoned, or who mistake the band for Jesus. But Holy Mother of God,

that is a ton of people. And they’re doing this after more than thirty years of making music.

Tom Beaudoin

Hastings-on-Hudson, New York

As if to acknowledge that rock can be a way of being trained for a spiritual orientation with immanent materials, a new festival called Wanderlust linked up yoga with rock this summer. See Melena Ryzik’s report here. For the kind of Christian spiritual and theological attitude I’ve found most persuasive, and have tried to set out regularly on this blog, I find “wanderlust” to be a splendid term. There will be those who blanch at endorsing the “lust” part, but to me the whole word suggests a restless and searching attention that nicely holds the ambiguity of the “lust” (German, “die Lust”: desire, wanting to, pleasure in) that necessitates nomadism, on the one hand, and the lust for nomadism itself, on the other.

Wanderlust is also the name of one my favorite ‘non-theological’ books that taught me about thinking carefully about what it means to move under one’s own power through places (which I take to be full of clues about how to conduct oneself theologically); in other words, to see theology as a way of walking through different kinds of places. The book is Wanderlust: A History of Walking (Penguin, 2000) by Rebecca Solnit.

I began to read that book while attending a ministry conference outside Chicago in 2001, and I now interpret the decision to read Solnit then as a way of trying to deal with the ways that the wanderlusts of young adult Catholics (the putative occasion for the conference) were being gently but firmly laid to one side, so that the real project of Catholic identity could move forward.

Finally, wanderlust is, to my mind, the key lyrical theme in what I take to be the anthem for my generation, if I may still speak of generations as such and of mine in particular. That anthem, showing no signs of age, is “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.” The wisest of ministers and theologians today have space in their work for this song.

Tom Beaudoin

Hastings-on-Hudson, New York

I have been thinking about Seth Schiesel’s recent review in the New York Times of the Rock Band video game featuring the Beatles. He argues that it is a harbinger of a generational change in the experience of rock music, and in the meaning of the Beatles as founders of that music.

There is a tendency in writing in secular music and theology to “essentialize” almost everything associated with the music, such that alt-rock means W or metal means X, or the Beatles mean Y and the Stones mean Z. (Often enough the essentialism is indiscriminate, however, affecting also the presentation of the Christianity from which the theology is supposed to be drawn.)

For myself, one way to keep working at the intersection of rock and theology in the midst of these analytical problems is to make practice a central category for the analysis: the practices of those involved in rock cultures, and the practices of those involved in theological cultures (who are the typical analyzers in the first place). One needs a healthy patience for and interest in the rhetorics of mysteries of both rock and theology.

I bring this up because we have so very little work on theologies of video games, and we are going to need it if we want to know what it might mean theologically for rock to be experienced by so many younger people today through their video games. A bias in my own writing tends to be toward the forms of experiencing rock with which I am most familiar: the open-air festival, the dark arena, the noisy club, the stale-smelling rehearsal space, the singular moments living inside headphones. All of these contexts are still relevant not only in the USA but also globally. Still, there are new and important ones, like video games, which have quickly become some of the most important ways that rock artists make music commercially accessible.

A theologian may want to (and to my mind, should) raise questions about some aspects of this new practice, but we also have a duty to learn. In my case, this means paying attention to how my students (and my daughter and her peers, as they grow up) are being exposed to rock cultures. (Not to mention theological cultures — but that is part of my job.) It is not as if video games are foreign to me; I grew up playing them intensively with the dawn of Atari and still make time once in a while for an old-school game I enjoy. But gaming is almost totally separate from my musical practices, and in that I know I risk not only becoming an old fogey at age 40, but more important, lacking in the necessary theological nuance for today.

Tom Beaudoin

Hastings-on-Hudson, New York

Recently, journalist David Browne wrote a feature for the New York Times on the possible emergence of (in the words of a concert promoter) a new “classic rock for the next generation.” This rock, Browne’s article suggests, consists in the popular musics that constituted the media soundtrack for the adolescence of “Generation Y,” those born in the 1980s and 1990s. That would explain the constellation of music suddenly generating concert and album sales: Eminem, Creed, Blink-182, Limp Bizkit, and Britney Spears.

These artists, it should be noted, were among the last to play in a mediascape in which the shaping of a cultural soundtrack was possible before the rapid “fragmentation” of popular music introduced by the Internet on the scale on which we have it today. Will it be possible, in twenty years, for a cohort to have its own “soundtrack”? No doubt not in the ways in which such generational soundtracks existed in the past. But this reminds us that we should always take care with such concepts as a musical or cultural “generation” and, likewise, “classic rock.”

It is worth noting how much such concepts function to sustain specific ways of talking about musical influence (measured, as in Browne’s article, essentially by market share). I do think that there remain useful ways of talking about generational soundtracks, but the concept needs to be given more careful handling than ever, especially if one would like to – as I once did and might now hesitate much more to do – take the spiritual temperature of a cohort by what music becomes popular within it. So, yes, let’s have a new generation of classic rock, and let’s also rock these classic conceptions of generations and classic rock itself.

Tom Beaudoin

New York City

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