John Paul II liked to turn the volume up to 11, but Pope Benedict XVI has proven something of a party pooper, writes Shane Hegarty
In the decades-old debate about whether Bob Dylan should have gone electric, we now know on which side Pope Benedict XVI came down. He was unimpressed when Pope John Paul II invited the musical legend to play at the Italian National Eucharistic Congress, Bologna, in 1997. Nor did he approve when the Pope used Dylan's lyrics in his sermon ("You say the answer is blowing in the wind, my friend. So it is: but it is not the wind that blows things away, it is the breath and life of the Holy Spirit.") In his book, My Beloved Predecessor, Benedict writes: "The Pope arrived tired, worn out. Just at that moment Bob Dylan, the 'star' of the young, and others whose names I do not recall, turned up. They had a message completely different from that to which the Pope was committed. There was reason to be sceptical - which I was, and in a certain sense still am - to doubt whether it was really right to involve 'prophets' of this type." Perhaps it was he who famously shouted "Judas" at Dylan in 1966.
Dylan's long-standing fans will certainly be flattered to hear him described as a "star of the young". And that Benedict can't remember other acts on the day is surprising given that they included the Harlem Gospel Singers and tenor Andrea Bocelli. These weren't just the runners-up in Italy's X-Factor.
However, Benedict has never been one to hide his distaste for modern music, and his retrospective of his predecessor's career has allowed him to sneer at the Church's weakness for coming over all Father Trendy.
He's always preferred Bach to Bachman-Turner Overdrive. In 2000 he claimed that rock music "is the expression of elemental passions" and that rock festivals are cultic and at odds with Christian worship. "People are, so to speak, released from themselves by the experience of being part of a crowd and by the emotional shock of rhythm, noise, and special lighting effects. However, in the ecstasy of having all their defences torn down, the participants sink, as it were, beneath the elemental force of the universe." Sounds like a great gig.
Since his election in 2005, he has proven something of a party pooper. Last year he cancelled the fundraising Christmas pop concert at the Vatican, which under John Paul II had run for 13 years. He may have wanted to avoid previous problems, such as at the 2003 event, when singer Lauryn Hill asked that the Church "repent" for clerical abuses. Before the 2005 show, Brazilian singer Daniela Mercury was dropped from the bill and told it was because she advocated the use of condoms in the fight against Aids.
Perhaps irritated by hearing string quartets play Wind Beneath My Wings at every wedding he attended, Benedict has also demanded an end to the use of electric guitars at mass. "It is possible to modernise holy music," the Pope said. "But it should not happen outside the traditional path of Gregorian chants or sacred polyphonic choral music." The newspaper La Stampa compared him with Pope Pius X, who in 1903 spoke out against gimmicky classical and baroque compositions and reinstated Gregorian chants.
Benedict's war on popular culture is in contrast to his predecessor, a Pope who liked to turn the volume up to 11.
In his time, John Paul II hosted a variety of pop singers and rock bands. BB King gave him a guitar, and he was also entertained by Ricky Martin, Jewel and British pop "star" Cleopatra.
Benedict's problem is that he risks coming across like a replacement singer in a rock band, less popular with the fans and too keen to point out when his predecessor sang out of tune. But he will at least avoid some of the more embarrassing moments that can come with trying to appeal to the youth of today. The sight of Polish breakdancers doing knee drops and head spins during a visit the Vatican in 2004 remains one of the most piquant examples of two worlds that should never collide.
Although that is a model of refinement compared to the time in 1999 when John Paul II was granted an audience with Bono and donned a pair of the U2 frontman's wrap-around shades. "He's one of the great showmen of the 20th century," Bono said. He then called him "the first funky pontiff".
Benedict, we can be sure, would not go in for such frippery. His name is Pope. He is not funky.