There are concert evenings that possess an almost inevitable tension even before the first note sounds. The performance of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's (1756-1791) Grosse Messe KV 427 by the Flemish Radio Choir at Flagey on Saturday, May 30th was precisely such an evening. Not only because of the intrinsic monumentality of the work itself, but especially because of the intelligent confrontation with Ludwig van Beethoven's (1770-1827) Fifth Symphony: two compositions in C minor in which human unrest is transformed into music that transcends the merely aesthetic.
Beethoven as an Existential Prelude
That Beethoven's Fifth preceded the Mass proved to be a particularly strong dramaturgical choice. Bart Van Reyn approached the symphony not as a canonized monument, but as a work that still possesses its revolutionary power. From the very first measures, he steered the interpretation pointedly toward tension and inner pressure, rather than toward overt grandeur. With evident relish, the conductor and musicians gave the symphony a fresh, spontaneous character without diminishing its dramatic edge. Thanks to the transparent sound of the period instruments, there emerged not a Romantic swelling monumentality, but a continuous charged momentum, characterized by rhythmic nervousness and a tension that barely subsides.
The Orchestra of the Eighteenth Century confirmed this interpretation in its very sound: less saturated strings and sharply articulating winds produced a transparent yet tense sonic image in which the motoric energy of the score remained undiminished. The historical instruments added not only color but also a raw directness that further sharpened the dramatic impact.
Precisely in this combination of control and unrest did the symphony function as an ideal prelude to Mozart's Grosse Messe. Where Beethoven builds tension purposefully toward a gesture of triumph, he simultaneously opens a space of existential pressure that in Mozart does not culminate in linear tension, but in a continually shifting field between threat, stillness, reconciliation, and contemplation.
Mozart's Unfinished Masterpiece
In January 1783 Mozart wrote to his father that "the score of a half mass is still lying here waiting to be completed"—a reference to the work he had promised to write after his wife Constanze recovered from a serious illness. She recovered, but the Mass remained unfinished. Why Mozart ultimately abandoned the work after composing the Kyrie, Gloria, Credo, the sublime Et incarnatus est, Sanctus, and Benedictus remains unclear to this day. What survived belongs among the most intriguing and layered works he wrote for choir, orchestra, and soloists.
Bart Van Reyn approached this Grand Mass not as a monument to be tackled with weighty solemnity, but as living music. His interpretation breathed tension, transparency, and natural musical phrasing. Even in the monumental choral passages, the texture remained clear and fluid. The unmistakable influence of Bach and Händel rang through, especially in the impressive double-choir passages of the Thou that takest away and the great fugue of the With the Holy Spirit.
The Flemish Radio Choir was one of the great assets of the evening. The choral sound combined warmth, homogeneity, and precision, while the diction remained exemplarily clear even in the most complex contrapuntal passages. The heartfelt quality of the singing made a particularly strong impression. The choir moved between grandeur and intimacy while maintaining a tension that ran through the entire score.
The Orchestra of the Eighteenth Century also confirmed its exceptional class. The orchestral brilliance that had already convinced in Beethoven was effortlessly carried over to Mozart. The characteristic sound of the historical instruments lent the score color, transparency, and elegance here as well. The ensemble combined a historically informed performance practice with a striking sonic richness and precision that gave the music great vitality.
Mozart at His Most Human
The true heart of this performance, however, lay in the contemplative moments. The And was incarnate became not a virtuosic showcase, but a moment of almost unsettling intimacy. A particularly successful touch was the positioning of soprano Ilse Eerens among the obbligato woodwinds rather than in front of the orchestra. This created an exceptionally tight dialogue between voice and instruments, further intensifying the intimate, vulnerable atmosphere of this section. The result was music of almost ineffable beauty, which in this performance took on an almost transcendent quality.
Ilse Eerens possessed precisely the right resources for this task. Her soprano lacks showy volume, but has that rare combination of clarity and fragility that Mozart demands. The Belgian soprano knows this repertoire inside and out, and that familiarity with the work was constantly palpable. Her pianissimi had the quality of something on the verge of disappearing, while the obligato parts for flute, oboe, and bassoon around her sounded less like decorative framing and more like an intimate embrace.
The other soloists performing in the mass also fit well within the overall conception. Barbara Kozelj brought a warm, dark timbre, though in the ensemble balance it didn't always fully blossom. James Way kept his tenor line remarkably restrained and stylistically pure, without the often forced heroics with which this repertoire is sometimes approached. François Heraud gave the bass lines a quiet authority that reinforced the collective character of the interpretation without dominating.
Two works, one idea
With the Orchestra of the Eighteenth Century and the Flemish Radio Choir, Van Reyn had musicians who didn't polish this music with Romanticism, but made its sharpness in the score audible. Through this, the connection between Beethoven and Mozart wasn't explained but became naturally clear in the performance itself. Not in similarity, but in the difference between two ways of handling tension: Beethoven building it toward a release, Mozart leaving it open and letting it breathe further.
In that difference, the program found its own logic. What tends toward closure in Beethoven remains underway in Mozart—and that's precisely what held the evening together.
This dramaturgical arc was all the more powerful because the audience, despite threatening storms, oppressive heat, and the simultaneous final of the Queen Elisabeth Competition, turned up in remarkable numbers. The warm reception afterward underscored how deeply this combination of Beethoven and Mozart had resonated.
