Guilt and Gold: The Catholic Aesthetic in Modern Music

By Catriona Martin

Catholics are infamous for many things – some less horrifying than others – including a tendency towards excess. The phrase ‘Catholic aesthetic’ may conjure images of gold, pearls, and lavishly painted chapel ceilings. And this extravagance isn’t restricted to buildings – families are encouraged to give gold jewellery at Catholic christenings (although I certainly didn’t get any). As someone who grew up going to church every Sunday in a (relatively) progressive environment, I have an undeniable nostalgia for the experience, but complicated feelings concerning actual belief. I remember the weight of guilt before confession, the haunting beauty of the hymns, and the theatre of it all with a romanticised fondness.I’m not the only one - musicians over the past few decades have increasingly referenced Catholic imagery - Lady Gaga’s ‘Judas’ comes to mind as a prominent example. It occurred to me; following the release of Florence + the Machine’s album Dance Fever last May; that the reason musicians are drawn to evocations of Catholicism is because the themes associated (accurately or not) with Catholic imagery are so deeply human and dramatic. We might love too deeply, succumb to vices, be consumed by guilt, and ask for forgiveness - all of which make great fuel for music.

Florence Welch’s exploration of Catholic themes and imagery is nothing new. Concerning Florence + The Machine’s sophomore album Ceremonials, Welch said to USA Today in a 2011 interview, “I’m moving toward the intensity and passion of heaven and hell, revelation, and retribution”. She’s spoken openly about her Catholic upbringing and her attraction to the aesthetic, which exhibits itself in a multitude of ways. In Dance Fever’s ‘Girls Against God’, Welch expresses anger against God for the pandemic that took away the live performances which Welch regards as a heavenly space for her and her fans. Earlier work contains plentiful references to the Devil and the struggle with temptation (Welch has been sober since 2014), but also to how a romantic love can feel as all-encompassing and awe-inducing as God’s love is supposed to feel. These references aren’t meaningless decoration; they fit perfectly within Florence + The Machine’s indulgently layered soundscapes, twinkling melodies, and overwhelming bass. Welch’s hunger for love, jubilation, and meaning are central to her music.

Ultimately, themes like sex, guilt, love, death, and wrath are not exclusive to the Catholic aesthetic, but they are central to it. Even in communities historically marginalised by the church, references to Catholic imagery remain. Queer pop artist Zolita’s ‘Holy’, from her debut Immaculate Conception, is an unapologetic expression of queer sexuality in the face of religious shame. While not a queer man himself, Hozier’s debut single ‘Take Me To Church’ sparked outrage and adoration when its music video – a critique of Russian anti LGBTQ+ policy – was released (although the song itself is also not explicitly gay). Hozier has often spoken about how he was inspired by the hymns he grew up hearing in church, and he often uses Catholic imagery to explore sex and desire. It is these appeals to base humanity that makes the music so compelling. Catholic or not, we all hunger for something, and there’s an irresistible irony to using the language of Catholicism and biblical metaphors to tell the kind of stories that would make the average church goer clutch their pearls.