In the 1800s, large choral societies were a favourite form of music making in Europe, Britain and North America. As a result, many works were composed for these large amateur choirs by composers great and not-so-great. This was particularly true of Britain, where large choral festivals took place yearly up and down the country and needed a continual stream of new works to feed the flame of the choristers' passion for music. Much of this choral music has now disappeared from use, as large choirs have become much less common.
That's a pity. The combination of a large chorus and the Romantic orchestra creates a uniquely powerful sound that certainly stirs my blood whenever I have a chance to hear such a work!
One composer who made his mark in this way was the Czech Antonin Dvořák. His first major choral-orchestral work, the Stabat Mater, made a huge impression in England and was very frequently performed there. This led to several more works for English festivals from Dvořák's pen, culminating in his majestic Requiem of 1891.
In recent years, the Stabat Mater has still seen performance. It can be done readily with a reduced ensemble of strings, a few winds, and organ, and thus lies within the range of many larger church choirs. But the Requiem requires the full orchestral forces, and is much more sophisticated and complicated music in a way that demands professional players, soloists and conductor.
Other than that fact, I've never understood why the Dvořák Requiem has remained so little heard. Its last performance in Toronto was in the early 1970s under the noted Czech conductor Karel Ancerl, then music director of the Toronto Symphony!
That's about to change -- tomorrow to be precise -- and I will definitely be there, and writing about the performance on my other blog, Large Stage Live.
But here are some observations about the music itself. This Requiem was definitely written as an oratorio for concert use, not as a liturgical Mass. The composer's thinking is primarily symphonic, and his use of themes through the work reflects that fact. Words are often repeated, sometimes even cut up and rearranged, to suit the musical lines.
The Requiem opens with a haunting figure of F-G flat-E-F -- up a semitone, down a minor third, and up a semitone to return to the opening note. This motif generates musical consequences of all kinds, and is treated as a motto theme throughout the entire work. The music flows freely between chorus and soloists, rather than being strictly divided into choral and solo numbers.
The Dies Irae opens with another striking figure, an agitated ostinato repeating minor thirds down-up-down. This figure is almost an exact crib of a similar ostinato in the long opening movement of Dvorak's first symphony, written several decades earlier. By the time he wrote the Requiem, the score of the symphony was long lost, and I can't help wondering if the crib was intentional or simply an intuitive choice that suited the setting.
Then comes the Tuba mirum, the passage announcing the last trumpet and the end of the world. This is where such composers as Berlioz and Verdi let themselves go thoroughly with extra brass bands, rolling timpani, thunderous sounds roaring forth into the void. Dvořák goes to the exact opposite pole. The strings actually put on their mutes, and a single trumpet pianissimo plays a quiet fanfare form of the original motto figure.
The Recordare is a beautiful flowing movement for the solo quartet, a nice point of repose before the build-up through the Confutatis maledictis to the Lacrymosa which brings the first part of the work to a dramatic conclusion -- following a huge climactic cry of despair the orchestra gradually descends along the same opening motto to a quiet ending.
The Offertorium opens in a much sunnier mood, and leads into the by-now-traditional fugue on Quam olim Abrahae promisti. By the way, Verdi only pretended to write a fugue here but dropped it as soon as the four soloists had each taken a short entry! But Dvořák's fugue is the full show, and a very hearty and robust one too. The succeeding Hostias is much quieter, more subdued, with the soloists singing lyrically above quiet insertions from the chorus. The Quam olim Abrahae fugue is then repeated.
The Sanctus and Benedictus flow in an easy triple time, with soloists alternating with chorus, and ending with fanfare figures on the brass underlying the final Osanna in excelsis. Then comes the achingly beautiful Pie Jesu, for choir with a lovely lyrical interlude from the solo quartet. This text is strictly not part of the liturgy at this point, but is repeated here from the end of the Dies irae sequence to wonderful effect. This is music that is steeped in sorrow, but all the more lovely for that.
The final Agnus Dei opens in a more dramatic mood. Once again the motto theme underlies the prayers for peace, at first sombre, then growing brighter until the final Dona eis requiem is floated in the air by the sopranos. Then the soprano soloist enters to a new rising theme for Lux aeterna luceat eis. In two short sequences she quickly leads the chorus to the work's resplendent climax, with the full choir and orchestra, and tenor and soprano soloists ringing out over the body on a high A-flat (shades of Verdi again!). As this climax resolves itself, the music gradually quietens down. A last crescendo accompanies the final repetition of the words Lux aeterna luceat eis and the orchestra then dies away, the motto theme closing the work in the same dark, quiet realm where it first appeared.
Whenever I listen to one of the two recordings I have of this work, it totally envelops me. No, it's not as gigantic as Berlioz nor is it as dramatic as Verdi -- those being the two Romantic composers whose Requiems are still widely known. But Dvořák was a skilled composer at the height of his powers, knew exactly what he was doing, and the result is well worthy to be named alongside the two others I have mentioned.
Recordings: there are a number of them available, but by all accounts I have read (and I agree with them) the one to go for is Karel Ancerl's version from 1959. It was made as a co-production between Deutsche Grammophon and the Artia record company of Prague (now known as Supraphon). Soloists were Maria Stader, Sieglinde Wagner, Ernst Haefliger, and Kim Borg, all splendid singers of the time. It has been re-released in CD form on several occasions by both companies, and copies can still be found.
In second place, I would put the Decca recording made by Istvan Kertesz in London. This was laid down in 1969, a few years after his recording of the first-ever complete cycle of the Dvořák symphonies for the same company. His soprano is Pilar Lorengar, and her big dramatic voice outshines Stader in that magnificent final climax, firmly supported by the deep pedals of the Kingsway Hall organ, which were not nearly as audible on LP as they are in the CD reissue.
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