(Nov. 18, 2010) - One of the most operatic pieces in all of classical music isn’t an opera at all—it’s Verdi’s Requiem, in all of its multi-faceted glory. By turns dramatic and thunderous to fragile and tender, this Mass for the dead also represents one of Verdi’s greatest achievements, and is much a showcase for orchestra and chorus as it is for its four soloists.
Verdi’s Requiem stemmed from a previous, failed collaborative effort. In 1868, he was devastated by the death of Rossini, whom Verdi had revered. As he wrote, “A great name has disappeared from the world…[Rossini's] was the most extensive, the most popular reputation of our time, and it was an Italian glory!” He continued on a something of a prescient note, referring to another artist he adored, the novelist Alessandro Manzoni: “When the other who still lives is no more, what will we have left?”
To commemorate Rossini, Verdi had the idea of inviting a dozen other then well known, but now nearly entirely forgotten, Italian composers to contribute movements for a collaborative Requiem; he himself would contribute the “Libera me.” However, this hybridic pastiche was never performed in Verdi’s lifetime, and it lay dormant until 1988, when noted choral conductor Helmuth Rilling resurrected it for a live recording--and it remains more of a scholarly curiosity than a compelling artistic statement.
However, the seed of “Libera me” eventually bore fruit. When twelve years later in 1873, Verdi’s beloved author Manzoni did pass away, Verdi finally saw fit to write a complete Requiem, which he hoped to complete and premiere in time for the first anniversary of Manzoni’s death on May 22, 1874. The work was given its debut at Milan’s Church of San Marco, with Verdi himself conducting. Though the fluidity of its nature was not universally popular—“opera in church vestments,” sneered conductor and pianist Hans von Bulow (who was also Liszt’s former son-in-law)--the work became immediately popular; not only was it performed in Paris and in London at the newly built Albert Hall and in Venice (where genre lines were even further blurred with the commissioning of special ecclesiastical decor) but enterprising musicians, seizing upon the piece’s frankly great tunes, quickly made alternative arrangements of the piece that ranged from a four-piano version to one for brass band.
In the ensuing hundred-plus years, this Requiem has become one of the most popular of all large-scale choral works, and there’s no shortage of recordings. This year alone has seen newly issued interpretations led by Nikolaus Harnoncourt, Helmuth Rilling, Jesus Lopez-Cobos, Yuri Temirkanov, and Riccardo Muti.
Amidst this overabundance, there are several must-hear recordings. Perhaps none of them is a clear-cut first choice; rather, you’ll almost undoubtedly savor certain elements of each interpretation.
For example, the classic 1963 EMI recording conducted by Carlo Maria Giulini offers some stupendous solo performances; for example, the otherworldly trio “Quid sum miser,” in which desolation has never sounded so sweet or innocent as it does with Elizabeth Schwarzkopf, Christa Ludwig, and Nikolai Gedda. However, the engineering works against this recording; the effect of the loudest and tutti passages are blunted terribly by a flattened-out, fuzzy top end.
For big-boned, sweeping drama that will rock you out of your seat, it’s hard to beat another classic: Georg Solti’s 1977 recording with the Vienna Philharmonic and Vienna State Opera Choir with an unbelievable set of soloists: Joan Sutherland, Marilyn Horne, a very young Luciano Pavarotti, and Martti Talvela. This isn’t a recording for every taste; either you'll love its torrential outpourings, or you'll find the bombast just too overwrought. Another iconic version is from 1960 on Decca. Helmed by Fritz Reiner, it offers an astonishing Leontyne Price in all of her full Verdian glory--a performance that is enough to warrant a firm recommendation--along with Jussi Bjorling (who died later that year), Rosalind Elias, and Giorgio Tozzi.
If you’re looking for a more modern recording, however, one of the most persuasive is the new one from the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, led by their new music director, Riccardo Muti, and released on the CSO’s own label. While the soloists are not uniformly commendable, Muti perceives Verdi’s mission as an epic wrestling with the divine, and the performance crackles with an otherworldly, fiery energy. That feeling is compounded by brilliant engineering of this live performance—every last note is present, powerful, and utterly vibrant, making for one of the most memorable albums to be released in 2010.
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by Anastasia Tsioulcas
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