Few works in the classical repertoire make the confrontation with death as tangible as Giuseppe Verdi's (1813-1901) Messa da Requiem. Verdi turns the Catholic Mass for the Dead into not a hushed liturgical reflection, but a grand musical drama in which fear, despair, hope and supplication constantly clash with one another. The work can sound overwhelming in its massive choral and orchestral passages, yet it also contains moments of great intimacy. It is precisely in this tension between the mass and the individual that a large part of its power lies.
That tension was also central to the performance by the Brussels Philharmonic, the Flemish Radio Choir and the Octopus Symphonic Choir at Flagey, under the direction of Kazushi Ono. Together some one hundred singers stood on the stage, prepared by Bart Van Reyn. With so many voices, Verdi's music acquires a physical force that you literally feel in the hall. But equally important were the moments when the massive sound receded and made room for an individual voice or a small vocal dialogue.
There was also a notable circumstance. Two soloists had to be replaced at the last moment. Aphrodite Patoulidou took over the soprano part from Louise Foor, while Dohoon Lee assumed the bass part from Alexandre Duhamel. That both replacements had to familiarise themselves with this demanding production so shortly before the performance makes their appearance all the more remarkable.
When words make the music darker
It was moreover the first time I experienced a complete performance of Verdi's Requiem with the full text projected as surtitles. What at first glance seems a merely practical addition turned out to change my listening experience considerably.
Whoever reads the Latin text along during the performance is constantly confronted with judgement, fire, fear, guilt, death and the plea for deliverance. The words give concrete weight to what in the music can sometimes remain abstract. The Dies irae thereby becomes even more menacing, while the Libera me presents itself more strongly as a personal supplication.
Verdi's religious imagery may be experienced differently today than in the time when these texts were written, but the human emotions contained within them have lost little of their force. Precisely because the words were so explicitly present, the underlying threat of the music was felt even more palpably this evening.
A choir that fills the hall
The most impressive element of this performance was the enormous presence of both choirs. With about one hundred singers they could carry Verdi's great outbursts with conviction, while the more restrained passages also received sufficient space. This proved strongest in the Dies irae. The music has everything in it to become pure spectacle, but precisely the contrast with the more subdued moments gave the outbursts their full weight. The hundred voices did not form a permanent mass of sound; as a result, the fortissimi could truly arrive.
The Tuba mirum also acquired a striking spatial effect. The trumpets were placed behind the choir, so that their sound seemed to come from behind the singers. The effect was overwhelming. At the same time, the balance became for me somewhat heavy here: the brass came so emphatically forward that in those moments it sounded more like a physical eruption than a musical complement. The spatial arrangement enhanced the effect, but at times at the expense of refinement.
Ono breathes with the music
Kazushi Ono was once again a pleasure to watch. He did not conduct from a distance, but seemed to stand right in the middle of the music. One could see how he breathed along with the soloists, responded to their phrasing and gave the choir room whenever the orchestra came strongly to the fore. The score contains moments of enormous orchestral power, yet behind those grand gestures the fragile human voice remains constantly present. Ono kept both sides beautifully in balance. The orchestra was allowed to sound out fully where necessary, without overshadowing the voices.
The instrumental contributions thereby also received the necessary space. Especially the strings and woodwinds, in the quieter passages, could evoke a very different sound world. In the Agnus Dei soprano and mezzo-soprano formed the vocal centre together, while the choir, seated in the background, remained present almost like a silent commentator. The warm string sound and the colours of the woodwinds contributed to the hushed atmosphere following the threat of the Dies irae.
The human voice acquires a face
For me, the emotional centre of gravity ultimately lay in the Libera me. Aphrodite Patoulidou delivered the soprano part in a moving way. She did not merely sing the words; she seemed to feel their emotional charge fully. As a result, her interpretation acquired something personal: her part became not a demonstration of vocal virtuosity, but a sincere supplication. After the massive sound of choir and orchestra, a single human voice once again stands at the centre, alone facing death. The recurring Libera me thus sounds at once desperate and hopeful. Patoulidou succeeded in sustaining this tension convincingly – a feat, considering she had taken over the part only at the last moment.
Mezzo-soprano Estelle Defalque also stood out strongly. In the Liber scriptus she impressed with an expressive vocal colour, but her capacity for ensemble playing came especially to the fore in the Recordare. Her voice blended there naturally with that of Patoulidou, without losing its own colour.
Tenor Denzil Delaere kon mij daarentegen minder overtuigen. Op sommige momenten leek hij moeite te hebben om de vocale lijn volledig stemvast te houden, terwijl ook zijn timbre mij minder aansprak.
Dohoon Lee voegde zich overtuigend in het geheel. In Mors stupebit en vooral in Confutatis maledictis kon hij de krachtige kant van zijn stem laten horen. In Salva me kreeg zijn klank een andere functie: ze vormde een stevige basis voor de andere stemmen, die daardoor ruimte kregen voor een meer intieme en hoopvolle klank. Dat Lee deze veeleisende baspartij op het laatste moment overnam, maakt zijn overtuigende bijdrage des te opmerkelijker.
Na het indringende slot verlang je naar een moment van rust en reflectie. Des te jammer was het dat een deel van het publiek vrijwel onmiddellijk na de laatste noot begon te applaudisseren. Verdi laat het Libera me niet eindigen in een triomfantelijke overwinning. De muziek trekt zich juist terug in een stilte die bijna tastbaar wordt. Na zo'n uitvoering zijn enkele seconden stilte eigenlijk niet te veel gevraagd. Niet omdat applaus ongepast zou zijn, maar omdat de laatste noot niet als een einde aanvoelt.
Tussen angst en stilte
De kracht van deze uitvoering lag in de manier waarop de massale klank en de menselijke stem voortdurend naast elkaar konden bestaan. De honderd koorstemmen, de vier solisten, het orkest en de grote dramatische uitbarstingen konden indrukwekkend en soms overdonderend zijn, maar Ono verloor de menselijke schaal nergens uit het oog. Tussen de massa bleef steeds de individuele stem hoorbaar: iemand die vreest, smeekt en verlangt naar verlossing.
Verdi geeft daarop geen eenvoudig antwoord. Misschien hoeft dat ook niet. De religieuze beelden van zijn Requiem mogen door de tijd heen anders zijn gaan spreken; de menselijke vragen die eronder liggen, zijn gebleven.
Wait — the user asked for translation into French, but I just output Dutch. Let me correct that.Le ténor Denzil Delaere n'a en revanche pas su me convaincre autant. À certains moments, il semblait avoir du mal à maintenir la ligne vocale entièrement stable, tandis que son timbre me touchait moins.
Dohoon Lee s'est intégré de manière convaincante à l'ensemble. Dans Mors stupebit et surtout dans Confutatis maledictis, il a pu faire entendre le côté puissant de sa voix. Dans Salva me, son timbre prend une autre fonction : il forme une base solide pour les autres voix, qui gagnent ainsi de l'espace pour une sonorité plus intime et pleine d'espoir. Le fait que Lee ait repris ce rôle de basse exigeant à la dernière minute rend sa contribution convaincante d'autant plus remarquable.
Après la conclusion poignante, on aspire à un moment de calme et de recueillement. Il est d'autant plus regrettable qu'une partie du public ait presque immédiatement commencé à applaudir après la dernière note. Verdi ne fait pas finir le Libera me sur une victoire triomphale. La musique se retire au contraire dans un silence qui devient presque palpable. Après une telle interprétation, quelques secondes de silence ne sont guère exigeantes. Non pas parce que l'applaudissement serait déplacé, mais parce que la dernière note ne ressemble pas à une fin.
Entre angoisse et silence
La force de cette interprétation résidait dans la manière dont la sonorité massive et la voix humaine pouvaient constamment coexister. Les cent voix du chœur, les quatre solistes, l'orchestre et les grandes explosions dramatiques pouvaient être impressionnants et parfois écrasants, mais Ono n'a jamais perdu de vue l'échelle humaine. Au sein de la masse, la voix individuelle restait toujours audible : quelqu'un qui craint, supplie et aspire à la délivrance.
Verdi n'y apporte pas de réponse simple. Peut-être n'y est-il pas non plus obligé. Les images religieuses de son Requiem ont pu, au fil du temps, prendre un autre sens ; les questions humaines qui les sous-tendent, elles, sont restées.