by Connor Parks
He called it a “hollow square”. The man leading the singing called us into our choral positions and I sat straight up, eagerly awaiting what was to come. As two dozen or so geriatrics around me eagerly shuffled into formation in the cozy Presbyterian sanctuary, I felt both in and out of my element. I was comfortable sight reading choral music, sure, but what lay on the page in front of me was like nothing I’d ever sung. As UK’s Dr. Ron Pen (standing in front of me in full steamboat-captain garb) put it, this was something much more special: a 300+ year old form of “heavy death metal folk” experiencing a rapid surge in popularity across the globe. Some are drawn to its pre-modern form, others have been enticed by the element of community building. Regardless, it was time to face the music and sing some Sacred Harp.
Somewhere in the boredom of this summer, I got way too interested in the old Southern art of Sacred Harp, or shapenote singing. At its core, it’s a centuries-old a cappella choral practice dating back to 18th century England and Scotland and popularised in Appalachia. Singers form a square with 4 voice sections led by any member of the congregation standing in the middle. The notes are first sung in a shortened solfege (notes as “do-re-mi”, etc.) before lyrics are introduced. I had been listening casually to old Alan Lomax recordings for a few months when, arriving back for my junior year, a thought occurred to me: what if I could participate in a community singing of this art style I’d come to love? A quick 2 A.M. Google search later led me to the Appalachian Association of Sacred Harp Singers, and a community singing class they’d be hosting in Lexington in late September. I was thrilled, and signed up immediately.
The “Sacred Harp” that the style is so often associated with stems from the idea that the human voice is the “sacred harp to God”, which inspired the title of the initial book in 1844. Various books exist, including the brand-new 2025 Sacred Harp published just weeks before our singing, yet the 1991 edition tends to be the most used in modern singings. Notes are divided into a simplified movable solfege- notes with circular heads are “sols”, square heads are “las”, triangles are “fas”, and diamonds are “mis”, with some wild cards popping up every once in a while. Gathered in the Lexington First Presbyterian sanctuary were about 40 of us, mostly older, but a few middle aged folks as well. Many were shapenote veterans, but some, fulfilling the class’s purpose, were complete novices (including myself). We started off slowly with a recognisable tune- something I knew as “Amazing Grace”, yet titled in the book as “New Britain”. After flipping through the pages, it seemed lots of the songs were oddly named like this: jaunty old hymns named after various towns, such as “Newburgh”, “Mullins”, and “Pittsford”, just to name a few. Dr. Pen’s explanation for this was simple, but surprising: unlike I’d always believed, most Sacred Harp tunes were actually originally British drinking songs, with the religious lyrics and titles simply used as placeholders in order to chorally legitimise them. Another hallmark of the tradition quickly jarred my existing musical training: the first round of singing is always done in solfege, with the key signature being decided by the leader and often vastly different from what’s written on the page. A set of easy lyrics in C major would be randomly moved up to solfege and shapenotes in E-flat major, and here I was, along for the ride and desperately trying to keep up.
Gradually, though, it began to make sense. The simplified solfege began to click in my mind as we gradually sped up on tunes such as “Hallelujah” and “Wondrous Love”, each rigidly beat chord slowly imprinting into my mind. Something about it felt inexplicably primal. Despite the modern setting, I couldn’t help but feel that just participating briefly in this tradition had whisked me back to its inception as far back as the nation’s founding. Indeed, this analogue, collective feeling of traditional music making has been arguably the most important factor to its global spread in the past few years. People want what makes them feel like they’ve entered a simpler time, and Sacred Harp, with its focus on community-building through Appalachian song, accomplishes just that. “Phones make music portable, but not powerful”, said Dr. Pen in a journalist’s dream of a quotable moment. I guess this echoes my sentiments about the art entirely: combining catchy old melodies and getting to know others in one’s community, it’s a fantastic way of engaging with Appalachia’s choral and cultural history. Branching out to an unfamiliar new hobby or art form in the company of others can seem daunting, but I promise it’s always worth it. Kentucky is a wonderful state with a vibrant arts culture rivalling any other worldwide, and be it Sacred Harp, Appalachian folk art, or any one of thousands of media, there’s something to explore for everyone. All that’s left now is for you to find your own!