Madison Symphony Orchestra
Program Notes
April 3-4-5, 2020
94th Season / Subscription Concert No.7
Michael Allsen
We devote this entire program to a monumental
choral work—our
first performance of Dvořák’s great Requiem.
His version of the Latin Mass for the Dead is one of the largest
of all
settings of these traditional texts, and his vision is uniquely
lyrical—unified
musically by the mystical passage heard at the beginning. Four
distinguished
vocal soloists join the orchestra and the Madison Symphony
Chorus to present
this powerful work: soprano Ann Toomey, mezzo-soprano Julie
Miller, tenor Eric
Barry, and bass-baritone Tyler Simpson.
Antonín Dvořák
(1841-1904)
Requiem,
Op.89
Dvořák composed this work between December 31, 1889 and
October 31, 1890. He
conducted the premiere in Birmingham on October 7, 1891. This
is the first
performance the work at these concerts. Duration: 90:00.
By the later 1880s Dvořák was widely
recognized as one of
Europe’s greatest composers. He was of course the leading
musician in his
native Bohemia, but his music was perhaps even more popular in
England. In
early 1884, he visited England for the first time at the
invitation of the
Birmingham Choral Festival, where he conducted the first British
performance of
his Stabat Mater.
Later that year, he
conducted the same work at the Worcester Festival. Dvořák would
eventually
visit England eight times, and his English connections would
become a valuable
source of commissions. His Symphony No.7
of 1885 (played at our opening concert this season) was the
first of several
large works written for English orchestras or festivals. His
large choral
works, previously little known outside of Bohemia, proved to be
particularly
popular in England, where they were frequently programmed at the
great British
choral festivals. The history of his Requiem
began in 1885, when he returned to the Birmingham Festival to
conduct the
premiere of his cantata The
Spectre’s
Bride. The managers of the festival responded almost
immediately with a second
commission for a large choral work that they hoped will be ready
in time for
the 1888 festival. Several other projects intervened, including
a previous
commission for the oratorio St. Ludmila
(1886) written for the Leeds Choral Festival, his opera The Jacobin (1887-88), and the Symphony
No.8 (1889). Dvořák also seems to have taken his time
searching for a
proper libretto for the Birmingham piece—he considered, but
abandoned The Dream of
Gerontius—which would be
set in a tremendously successful oratorio by a young Edward
Elgar several years
later. In May 1889, his London publisher Alfred Littleton wrote
to him
suggesting that he might try a Requiem.
The Latin Requiem
is a daunting choice for any composer, both in the challenge of
the texts
themselves, and in the idea of stepping into a venerable
tradition. The first polyphonic
settings of the text were composed in
the 15th century, and there is an unbroken tradition of Requiem settings that continues down to our own
day: there are hundreds
of settings of the complete Mass for the Dead, or its
individual movements. In
the 19th century, there were of course the titanic versions by
Berlioz and
Verdi, but one Requiem
that may have
been more influential on Dvořák was the 1816 Requiem in C minor by Luigi Cherubini. Though it
is seldom heard
today, this setting was one of the most popular choral works of
the 19th
century, and Dvořák seems to taken it as a model in laying out
his own setting
of the Requiem. For
Dvořák, who was a
devout Catholic and deeply respectful of the texts and
associated ritual, the
more reserved and classical approach of Cherubini, was more
attractive than the
theatrical—and even bombastic—settings of Berlioz and
Verdi. However, given that this was to be a concert work, he
felt free to
slightly rearrange and occasionally combine the traditional Requiem texts in a
way that suited his
personal vision
Dvořák would devote the first ten months of
1890 to the
work—by mid-January, he wrote to a friend that “I
thought you might be interested to learn that I am currently
working on a great
Requiem which is to be performed in
Birmingham in 1891.
The first part, then the Dies irae and
the
Tuba
mirum as far as Quid
sum miser are already completed. If God
permits and things
carry on in this way, it should really be something.” It
turned out to be
“really something” indeed. Dvořák completed the
work in July, and finished
the orchestration in late October. The premiere a year later in
Birmingham was
a stunning success, and additional performances in England and
Bohemia quickly
followed. A review of the Prague premiere in 1892 is typical of
the response:
“The Requiem exceeded even our most audacious
expectations. We can only
use superlatives to describe a product of this caliber. He
[Dvořák] who
witnessed the atmosphere this work generated even during the
orchestral
rehearsals at the theatre, he who sensed the fervor among the
performers
themselves during the awe-inspiring, breathtaking Dies irae, could not resist the magic through
which this prayer
incarnate, this epic of somber mysticism, besieges the soul.
Only he whom music
has permitted to glimpse the innermost maze of the human heart,
he who,
instinctively or unconsciously, is guided by his inspiration to
create
something beautiful and precious; only he can speak the language
of music with
such conviction.”
The opening
movement, which
combines the processional Introit chant Requiem
aeternam and the Kyrie,
begins
with an unsettling motive, chromatic and winding, played
quietly by the
strings. Dvořák used this idea throughout the work as
a unifying idea. The
chorus delivers the opening lines in a mood of hushed reverence,
until a great
outburst on Te decet
hymnus, Deus, in
Sion (“A hymn in Zion befits you, O God”). This text, sung
in a solemn
chant style, is picked up and decorated by the soloists. The
closing Kyrie is sung
first almost sotto voce,
then in a more glorious
style. The second movement sets the Gradual chant Requiem aeternam,
which amplifies
the text of the Introit, in a fervent solo for the soprano. The
chorus
interjects at a few points, and provides a hushed, prayerful
setting of the
final line.
At the center of
the Latin Requiem
is the Sequence chant Dies
irae (“Day of wrath”), which was
written by the 13th-century monastic poet Thomas of Celano.
This text dwells on
the terror of the Day of Judgment foretold in the Book of
Revelations, and
interjects prayers for safety from the Lord’s wrath. Dvořák
divided this
lengthy text into five movements, opening with the stormy Dies irae
itself. This begins with a foreboding trombone note, and the
chorus solemnly
intones the Latin imagery of death and destruction. A solo
trumpet, playing the
unifying motive heralds the Tuba mirum
in a dour opening passage, which gives way to a threatening
string
accompaniment to the mezzo-soprano and baritone. The tenor’s
solo, beginning at
Liber scriptus (“A
written book”)
changes character, as the orchestra makes short responses to
his lines. The
movement ends with a reprise of the terrifying Dies irae and a triumphant setting of Tuba mirum. The supplicating text of Quid sum miser begins with quiet choral music
that subtly
incorporates the opening motive. All four soloists join in
laying out this
text, which reaches its climax with a fierce fugal setting of
the words Rex tremendae
majestatis (“King of
dreadful majesty”). The next section of text, Recordare, is a series of prayers to Jesus
himself, and Dvořák
responded with much more intimate music featuring the four
soloists. His
setting carefully responds to the meaning of the text, referring
to the motive
at a few points, but the overall mood of the movement is
hopeful, concluding in
a beautiful pastoral passage. The chorus responds with the
strident Confutatis,
where the sweeping string
figures clearly portray the flames of Hell. This music
alternates with more
personal prayers for redemption, leading to an optimistic
conclusion. The
sequence’s final section, Lacrimosa,
begins with a series of forlorn lines from the soloists, with
the idea of judgment
highlighted in grand outbursts by the brass and chorus. The mood
changes,
however, in the final, pleading, lines of text, before the
movement ends with a
solemn Amen, and one
last reference
to the Requiem’s
primary motive.
In Part II, the
texts become more
comforting in nature. Dvořák divided the Offertory
into two sections, beginning with Domine
Jesu Christe. This
movement starts with glowing music from the woodwinds before a
brass fanfare
ushers the men’s voices for a chantlike statement of the
opening text. Most of
the text is carried by the soloists in unhurried lyrical lines
with answers
from the chorus. At the mention of St. Michael the Archangel,
the music becomes
more strident, leading to a grand concluding fugue on quam olim Abrahae promisisti (“which you once
promised to
Abraham”). The Hostias
begins with a
dark fanfare that introduces the soloists, who carry the text
with remarkable
choral interjections by the men. The movement ends with a
reprise of the quam
olim Abrahae fugue.
The Sanctus begins with gentle, lilting solo lines,
until the trombones
begin a more forceful version of the opening invocation
(“Holy, holy, holy”). Much
of the movement, however, is quiet and introspective, with the
Requiem motive
subtly worked in—though
each half ends with the exalted Hosanna
music. The short prayer Pie
Jesu is
drawn from the end of the Dies irae
sequence and is not a part of the standard Requiem
text. Here, however, Dvořák seems to have followed
Cherubini in
including it as a separate movement, where it serves as a quiet,
heartfelt
interlude between the weighty Sanctus
and the extended Agnus
Dei. The
concluding movement opens with a reference to the Requiem motive, and a short invocation by the
tenor, before a quiet
choral statement of the words Agnus Dei (“Lamb
of God”)—one of the few distinctly Slavic-sounding moments in
the Requiem—and a
phrase that is used to tie
this last movement together between the solo passages. In a
lengthy concluding section,
Dvořák grafts most of the Requiem’s
closing
Communion chant, Lux
aeterna, on to
the end of the Agnus Dei.
This
celebration of “eternal light” quickly rises to lofty levels,
before subsiding
into a long and reserved conclusion, dominated by
transformations of the Requiem
motive.
________
program
notes ©2019 by J.
Michael Allsen