by Ed Zubrow
To prepare for attending the Boston Symphony's performance of Britten's War Requiem, I listened to a variety of CDs from my collection. Some were Requiems and some was relevant instrumental music. I hoped to find commonalities among these works from different times and cultures and, by so doing, to see how Britten's work might fit in.
My efforts were rewarded. We saw a magnificent performance -- which I will report on in due time. Equally important, as a result of looking at the War Requiem via the reflection of other works, I feel I developed a better understanding of a piece that has been difficult for me.
To begin, I listened to important, "standard" Requiems like Mozart's and Fauré's. This illustrated the not surprising awareness that the words of the Mass can be set in an idiom and style of differing times and cultures. This was particularly vivid in listening to Donizetti's Requiem. In parts, if one didn't know the meaning of the Latin text, one might think he was listening to arias, duets and ensembles from a bel canto opera.
A more revealing case came from a short piece called Requiem Ebraico (Hebrew Requiem) by Eric Ziesl (1909-1959). Its sound is unique, using modes and phrasing that both evoke Jewish tradition and modern music. But its intent is consistent with the traditional works mentioned above: consolation and a prayer to a higher power Whose wisdom will be revealed to us in the fullness of time. The composer insisted on calling it a Requiem, and dedicates it to the memory of his father and others who were killed by the Nazis. He writes, "...with a heart full of tears they hold on to God and do not cease to thank Him and do not cease to hope." (The piece can be found on London 289-460211 paired with Waxman's The Song of Terezin.)
Not having access to the Latin Mass, Ziesl sets the text of the 92nd Psalm. In so doing he illustrates that there is more to be found in these Requiems than "simply" a setting of the Mass. Indeed, they can become a powerful vehicle for self expression. As the Brahms' German Requiem also shows, they can deviate from the Latin text without sacrificing their essence as requiems. As both Brahms' and Verdi's (Latin text) show, one does not even have to be a serious believer to use the Requiem to express powerful ideas about death.
Indeed, one does not even have to use any text at all to write a powerful requiem. I listened to Elgar's Cello Concerto which was composed in memory of the dead of WWI. While closer to Britten in both culture and musical style then to the others, the "message" of this profoundly moving, purely instrumental work is closer to them than to the War Requiem.
Another near contemporary of Britten's is Vaughan Williams, who uses a phrase form the Angus Dei of the Ordinary Mass as the title and frame for his wonderful cantata, Dona Nobis Pacem. I included this piece in my preparation because of his proximity to Britten and because of the fact that it, too, deals with martial subject matter and sets both biblical and non-biblical texts. (The use of the phrase in the War requiem is discussed below.)
Finally, perhaps feeling whimsical, I listened to Wynton Marsalis' "The Death of Jazz" and "Oh, But on the Third Day (Happy Feet Blues)." These pieces represent a New Orleans jazz funeral with a dirge playing on the way to the cemetary and joyous music playing on the return parade. (They can be found on The Majesty of the Blues, CK 4901.)
As often happens for me with jazz, the piece actually provided a key to understanding the classical works and, in this instance, the uniqueness of the War Requiem. Whether Italian, German or French (or Hebrew), classical in form or contemporary, like the jazz, all of them are about acceptance of the mystery of death. Even the nonbelievers use the text (and/or music) to provide comfort . It may be expressed as resignation, the promise of something better to come or, as in the case of the New Orleans' groups, joy at the life we have left.
At its core Britten's War Requiem is not about any of this. It is a pacifist's cry of anger and disbelief. It is dripping with irony. It is truly a modern piece and, as such, provides neither redemption nor comfort.
We settle in to a traditional beginning, including a prayer of praise from a boys' choir. But this is soon interrupted by the first line of the first of Wilfred Owen's poems. Without accompaniment, the tenor sings a discordant, wailing question: "What passing bells for these who die as cattle?" The last word is fairly spit out. Thus, the stage is set: this Mass will be operatic, but it will be as different from Donizetti as Billy Budd is from The Elixer of Love. the plot is about nothing less than conflict between God and man. And it confronts the weakness of God.
For the rest of the work the chorus will represent conventionality: conventional thought, conventional people and established institutions. Its music is beautiful, but at each turn it is interrupted, commented on, and mocked by the soloists. I think in a way the chorus plays the same role that the townspeople do in Peter Grimes or that Captain Vere (Captain Truth?) plays in Billy Budd.
In short, the establishment is trapped. Trapped by its assumptions and its rituals. Unable to see the humanity in the "other" -- whether Grimes, Billy or the Germans. So too in the mass: words of consolation but, in the end, no help or solace for the dead soldiers who, after all, are victims not of an existential mystery but of man's folly.
Structurally, the Offertorium occurring near the middle of the drama provdes the turning point for the plot. God is asked to fulfill his promise to spare Abraham's son Isaac despite Abraham's willingness to sacrifice him. In the War Requiem, Britten has his tenor and baritone tell the story of Abraham on the mountain in a remarkable duet. With the youth bound and the old man Abraham lifting his knife, an angel calls out to him from heaven, telling him to spare the youth and sacrifce a ram caught in a nearby thicket instead. Presumably God is willing. But He is unable.
They close the duet:
"But the old man would not do so, but slew his son, -- And half the seed of Europe one by one."
And now, in an incredible display of irony, which is only heightened by the innocence of the children's voices singing it:
"Lord, in praise we offer to Thee sacrifices and prayers, do Thou receive them for the souls of those whom we remeber this day: Lord make them pass from death to life. As Thou didst promise Abraham and his seed."
Which is followed by the Sanctus.
Following this climax, the Sanctus sounds hollow and, fogive me, conventional. We now know that consolation will not be found in the words of the Mass; the Lord's weakness has been exposed. The soprano pleads one more time, but from here on the bass and tenor, representing a German and an English soldier, take over the action. They are on their own now, and we watch to see how their drama will be resolved.
We learn that one has killed the other, though both are now dead. They see from down a "profound dull tunnel," that their deaths are essentially meaningless. Despite the pieties of the Mass, the truth remains: "untold/The pity of war, the pity war distilled./Now men will go content with what we spoiled./ None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress."
As I mentioned earlier, typically, a Mass ends with the words: "Grant us peace." A Requiem, including this one, ends with: "May they rest in peace." In this instance, at the end of the Angus Dei, the tenor sings his only Latin words of the work: "Dona Nobis Pacem." It goes ignored by the chorus which launchs into the Libera Me.
However, it is the soldiers, reconciled now, who have the true last word. They simply sing in unison: "Let us sleep now..." The choruses and the soprano go on praying -- for deliverance to Paradise, for perpetual light, and for eternal rest. But the soloists seek only sleep.
Michael Steinberg in his notes quotes Peter Pears on the ending. "It isn't the end, we haven't escaped, we must still think about it, we are not allowed to end in a peaceful dream."
I don't have a score, but I would be interested to know the harmony of the final amen. I'm pretty certain it is not a standard cadence.
Did anything I heard in my preparation selections prepare me for this? Well, did anything in history prepare the West for the "end of the world" brought about by WWI, or the catastrophe of the holocaust, or the dropping of the atomic bomb? (Britten had worked on, but never finished, an oratorio called Mea Culpa about the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.) This is a revolutionary piece. Certainly many other modern requiems (like Ziesl's) will not take the same uncompromising view as Britten's, and one does not have to share his beliefs to find this a powerful, provocative work.
As for the performance: magnificent. Though marred by some extraneous noises from the Tanglewood grounds, the piece was also, in a way, enhanced by its setting.The sound of the wind in the trees and a passing shower provided a natural ostinato for a while. At the start of the Libera Me, when this listener had concluded that Britten will offer us no redemption, some squawking geese flew overhead. It was a touch Mahler might have appreciated had he heard the work.
Seeing Thomas Quasthoff was a real thrill, akin to going to a baseball game and seeing Pedro Martinez and Nomar Garciaparra. (Sorry, I'm a Red Sox fan. There is no redemption for us either!) In person, Quasthoff appears far more comfortable in his body than many who are not "disabled," and I truly hope he will eventually allow us to hear (and see) him in some of the great operatic bass-baritone parts.
Christine Goerke sang the soprano part convincingly. The only recording I have heard of this work is Britten's own on London with Galina Vishnevskaya. In my opinion she detracts from the recording with a very strident sound. Ms Goerke's warmer, richer tone pleased me greatly.
Anthony Dean Griffey sang the tenor part written for Peter Pears, Britten's life companion. While not distinctive like Pears, he was certainly competent and more. He is quite a "hunk," but even in the large shed was careful not to overwhelm Mr Quasthoff. One more reason I am confident that Quasthoff would be effective in a well staged opera.
However, for me, the surprise star of the performance was the Tanglewood Festival Chorus, under the direction of John Oliver. I've already described my view of the role of the chorus in this work: beautiful music but, as a character in the drama, a foil to the tenor and baritone who represent modern man in a disillusioned age. Though the shed muffled them a little bit, their control was impressive in the softer music and, in the louder parts, there was no strain at all.
I am not qualified to critique conducting. However, it seems to me that in pulling off such a convincing performance Mr. Ozawa must have done many, many things very well. At the end there was an apparently heartfelt tribute to Marylou Speaker Churchill, retiring as principal second violinsist of the BSO.