In Andrew Lloyd Webber’s hit musical Jesus Christ Superstar, the song “Gethsemane” represents the first time we really view the actions of the show from the viewpoint of Jesus. Before this point, most of the songs are sung mostly by characters like Judas, Mary Magdalene, or even Pontius Pilate. In doing this, Webber lifts the veil on which interpretation of Jesus he uses in his musical, and makes some other subtle Biblical references.

So as a bit of groundwork, the four main gospels in the New Testament, for those who are unaware, are written by Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John, and deal with Jesus in four relatively nuanced ways. In the case of this show, we learn through “Gethsemane” that we are watching an interpretation of Mark’s Jesus. We know this for a couple reasons, and to understand these, we have to understand who Mark was writing for and how this paints Jesus. Mark wrote his gospel for the Jewish and Christian people in Rome who were being punished for their beliefs, and to get this message across he showed Jesus in a sort of “suffering servant” fashion. In his account of the Gethsemane event, he shows Jesus truly struggling with the task he had been given, as opposed to Luke, who gave Jesus divine courage in the form of an angel. We hear this very clearly in “Gethsemane,” as the entire message of the song is Jesus pleading with God the Father about why he must die, and asking if “this cup” could be taken from him, an almost word for word recreation of the passage (Mark 14: 35-37). He even expresses doubt at the plan given to him, saying that God is “far too keen on where and how, but not so hot on why,” wondering if “the things he’d said and done [would] matter anymore,” and if he’d be “more

noticed than he ever was before.”

This idea of Jesus being much more human than in typical depictions is a very large part of the musical, as evidenced by this song, and “The Temple,” which shows Jesus in his righteous indignation at the money-changers. Much like a thesis statement in an essay or speech gives an overview of the rest of the work and is the main connective thought, “Gethsemane” is the figurative thesis for this musical. It highlights Jesus’s vulnerability and hesitation to die for a cause he himself is not even as sure about, which paints him in a much more relatable way than most sermons make him out to be. This tactic also aids in the comparison between Jesus and a rockstar, where we have elevated them to superstardom, despite the fact that in essence they are still just people (That’s a heresy in Catholic teaching actually but that’s another story).

In the new Broadway musical Hadestown, the character of Hades (currently played by Patrick Page) closes Act 1 with the song “Why We Build the Wall,” a thought-provoking piece that illustrates Hades’ motives and illuminates the conditions of the underworld. Some close listeners may also spot a parallel to the campaign of Donald Trump, who promised a similar wall. These connections can be seen in other moments in the show, but this song is definitely the most apparent. Unlike previous posts, this song contains words, so in this post a lyrical analysis will be given.

The setup of this song is a call-and-response. In the first response, we learn that we build the wall “to keep us free.” This is a common tactic by leaders, to equate freedom with safety, despite the fact that putting up restrictions on movement actually makes us less free. The second chorus elucidates how exactly this wall would keep us free, and that is by “keeping out the enemy.” This line contains two tactics used by leaders: separating “us” and “them,” and saying that we are free when we keep certain groups away from us. This is the most potent parallel to Donald Trump, where Hades is speaking of those who are not working for him, Trump is referring to the people of Central and South America, and he separates them from us by referring to them as “illegals,” “aliens,” etc. The next chorus tells us explicitly who the “enemy” is, and we learn that it is “poverty.” We then learn that it is because “we have and they have not,” which is an obvious connection to the idea that we, as America, are this shining city on a hill and we have money and resources that poorer countries do not. While some of this is true, the next lines make this point clearer, in asking “What do we have that they should want?” and that “We have a wall to work upon.” This connects to Trump’s promise to bring back jobs, and how those jobs would be for the “hard-working Americans, not for the illegal immigrants.”

The idea that there are people who want to come into our communities, do us harm, and replace us, is a common rhetorical strategy used by leaders to rule us with fear, and the similarities between our own country and the world of Hadestown run deep, perhaps leading to the current popularity of the show. However, this show was written and performed originally in 2006, far before Trump’s wall was a national talking point. Perhaps this speaks to a repetition of history, but if we do not familiarize ourselves with it now, we are doomed to repeat it ourselves.

Camille Saint-Saëns was a French composer who lived in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, and was a Romantic era pianist. Besides performing on the piano, he was a composer as well; some famous works that he created include the opera Samson et Delilah, La Carnival des Animaux, and a piece known as Danse Macabre, a haunting piece as one can glean from the name, but also one that does have a bit of a narrative if one takes a close listen.

The piece itself is based on an old French myth about Death. As we go through the sections, we learn more about what actually happens, so let us consider this piece in three parts: the beginning, middle, and end. To start, we hear twelve of the name note in a row, which is meant to represent the clock striking midnight. This is when Death comes out (on Halloween at least). We then hear a solo violin play what is going to become the refrain of the piece. This is Death’s signal to the dead that it’s time for them to rise from their graves and begin the dance, which is how we transition to the next section. For much of the song, we hear xylophones and violins, both of which are meant to represent the dead and Death partying the night away. These specific instruments were chosen for a reason: the xylophone gives a similar sound as rattling bones while the violins represent Death’s fiddle. As the piece is ramping up in energy, and as the dead spend more and more time partying, the dawn eventually comes, and it is time for the skeletons to retreat to their tombs. We are signaled of this change by an oboe, which is meant to represent a rooster’s call, a symbol synonymous with morning and dawn.

While one can tell that a song named Danse Macabre will obviously be rather spooky, especially when written in a minor key, it is not until the history behind such a piece is examined that one knows why it was written, and how the audience of the piece (for Camille, educated French people, who would absolutely know such a myth) affect the choices made. In such a way, writing a piece of music is similar to giving a speech in that rhetorical context must be taken into account.

In Gustav Holst’s suite, The Planets, the seven pieces represent the planets of our solar system (Earth and Pluto are not included). However, he has also given the planets specific personalities, which can be traced back to the etymology of their names as Roman deities. For example, Mars is known as “The Bringer of War,” while Mercury is called “The Winged Messenger.” These names and personalities are very obvious once the pieces are listened to, but how exactly does Holst achieve this?

To demonstrate, let us look at the first piece, “Mars, the Bringer of War.” Upon hearing this piece, one immediately thinks of “The Imperial March” from Star Wars or any other similarly imposing pieces of music. Holst is able to achieve this menacing tone by using three of the most basic parts of composition: Volume, rhythm, and instrument choice. As the piece begins, we hear it very quietly, almost as if from a distance. The intensity stays the same throughout, but as time goes on, it gradually gets louder and louder, until the climax of the piece right at the end, where we can almost feel the entire planet right on top of us. We are able to feel bits and pieces of this finale throughout, but only in short bursts, giving us the feeling almost of being stalked or hunted. In a similar manner, the rhythm of the piece adds to its character. A majority of this selection is written in 5/4 time, allowing for Holst to write in some truly bizarre passages; the most dominant and recognizable of these being the triplet-quarter-quarter-eighth notes. This back beat not only gives the piece its military feel, but also aids the other sections in keeping time in an odd time signature. Finally, the instruments chosen to take the leads here add the final bit of character. By giving the trumpets the melody, and the snare and bass drums the main aspect of rhythm, we get a sort of regal fanfare, establishing the fact that Mars is not only the bringer of war, but truly war itself. Add some bass voices for texture in the middle and this piece is complete.

In the case that you would like to listen to “Mars, the Bringer of War,” here is a link to a very good recording on Spotify. Let me know if you agree with my assessment!