Berlioz: Grande Messe des morts. Bror Magnus Tødenes,
tenor; Choir of Collegiûm Mûsicûm, Edvard Grieg Kor, Royal Northern College of
Music Chorus, Bergen Philharmonic Choir, Eikanger-Bjørsvik Musikklag, musicians
from Bergen Philharmonic Youth Orchestra and Crescendo, and Bergen Philharmonic
Orchestra conducted by Edward Gardner. Chandos. $18.99 (SACD).
Hector Berlioz had a penchant for excess,
and it is especially evident in his Requiem, for which the name “Requiem” did
not suffice – no, for Berlioz this was the Grande
Messe des morts, emphasis on “grand.” First performed in 1837, when Berlioz
was 34, this unprecedentedly large-scale version of the familiar Latin mass for
the dead produced at its première one of the many anecdotes that made Berlioz
seem the quintessential Romantic composer: when conductor François-Antoine
Habeneck put down his baton momentarily to take a pinch of snuff, doing so at
the extremely inopportune moment when the Tuba
mirum was about to start, Berlioz himself interceded, jumping to the stage
and assuming control of the orchestra to ensure that the new tempo of the
upcoming section was set correctly and maintained.
Berlioz’ Grande Messe des morts is certainly not the only such work to
indulge in some over-the-top scoring and intensity – Verdi’s Requiem of 1874 comes immediately to
mind as another such – but Berlioz was the first composer to treat the mass for
the dead with operatic splendor and to demand gigantic forces, both vocal and
instrumental, to communicate the meaning of the words. The way to Mahler’s
Eighth Symphony, the “Symphony of a Thousand,” was paved by Berlioz’ Grande Messe des morts and the 400-plus
people needed to perform it.
It is reasonable to wonder whether the
true meaning of the Latin Requiem gets lost beneath all the intensity and
splendid scoring: Berlioz was a master orchestrator, never more clearly so than
here. There is a foundational simplicity to the Latin text, from its opening
plea to God to grant the dead eternal rest (at least until the Last Judgment),
to the final Agnus dei, in which the
same request is given even more plaintively and hopefully. The rising scales at
the opening of Berlioz’ Grande Messe des
morts seem clearly to represent prayer rising to Heaven, a technique later
employed more extensively by Arrigo Boito in Mefistofele, which was first performed a year before Berlioz’
death. The conclusion of Berlioz’ work, with its long-held chords, also seems
to have a clear intent, of producing a feeling of peace and bringing back
elements originally heard earlier in the work so they may be, in a musical
sense, laid to rest.
It is what happens between the opening and
concluding sections of the Grande Messe
des morts, however, that brings the work most of its attention. There are
the four offstage brass ensembles sounding the knell for Judgment Day, and the
16 timpani, two bass drums and four tam-tams that soon join in to produce great
gouts of splendid sound. There is the reappearance of the brass groups in the Rex tremendae. There is the splendidly
calculated gradual accretion of brass and percussion in the Lacrimosa, the only sonata-form movement
in the Grande Messe des morts. There
is the fugue in the Offertory, and
the only appearance of the solo tenor, in the Sanctus – one of the few elements of the work about which Berlioz
may not have been 100% certain, since at one point he suggested that the solo
part could be sung by 10 tenors. And there are the numerous felicities of
orchestration throughout – to cite just one example, the setting of Quid sum miser for tenors, basses, and
eight bassoons, plus two cors anglais, cellos, and double basses, resulting in
an exceptionally effective musical depiction of the lowest depths to which the
sinner’s soul has sunk, from which only the mercy of God can rescue it.
Excessive the Grande Messe des morts may be, but it is also magnificent, and it
is a rare performance that does not produce at least the occasional
breathtaking moment. The new Chandos recording of a live performance conducted
by Edward Gardner has more than its share of those. It is a moderately paced
version of the Grande Messe des morts,
which can last as long as 90 minutes but here comes in at 81 (on a single,
excellently recorded SACD). French choral works, like French operas, require
careful attention to the balance of vocal and instrumental elements, and
Gardner is especially sensitive to this: both the sung and instrumental
materials get their full due, and when the massed chorus and orchestra perform
together, the attention to detail is remarkable (aided by the nature of SACD
recording, but clear even when the disc is played as a standard CD). Bror
Magnus Tødenes has a clear, well-balanced voice for his solo passages, and the
various choruses cooperate smoothly and evenly throughout. The Bergen
Philharmonic Orchestra plays the music with sensitivity as well as fine
sectional balance, and if the overall effect is somewhat more grandiose than
warm and intimate, that is an understandable approach to this music. Certainly
there is beauty here when it is called for, and if the more-dramatic sections
of this performance of the Grande Messe
des morts stay with listeners to a greater extent than do the quiet,
introspective ones, the audience will be justified in attributing that reality
as much to Berlioz as to Gardner and these performers. By any measure, Berlioz’
Grande Messe des morts is a musical spectacle,
even when heard rather than seen. Gardner’s excellent handling of the material
shows more of its power than of its humanity and humility – but it is certainly
arguable that that is exactly what Berlioz wanted on display in his setting.
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