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
Faure'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 an 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 Brahm's 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 remember this day: Lord
   make them pass from death to life. As tThou 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 Libre 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 Quathoff 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 doe 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.

Apologies for the length of this post.  Recognizing that this is probably
a pretty unorthodox interpretation of the War Requiem, I wll put on my
flame-retardant cloak and prepare to be educated by any comments or
recommedations that come my way.

Ed Zubrow <[log in to unmask]>