Wow. That was incredible. So incredible that it became the first concert that I went to hear a second time. There have been a number of great concerts recently that have made me toy with the idea of returning on Sunday afternoon to hear it again, but this was the first one that actually compelled me to do so.
Giuseppe Verdi's Requiem Mass is one of the great masterworks of the classical repertoire. It has the severity of the religious mass, the scope of a romantic symphony and the drama of an opera. It truly is a magnificent work, and the Seattle Symphony and the Seattle Symphony Chorale, under the leadership of Ludovic Morlot, in presenting this work gave the best performance I have yet heard from them. Special mention must be made of Joseph Crnko of course, who is the director of the Seattle Symphony Chorale, and who worked with them to bring their level of performance close to perfection for these concerts.
Yesterday evening me and my girlfriend sat at the front end of the right side of the tier, where you can practically reach your arm over the railing and touch the heads of the musicians. The sound was crisp and immediate from there. I've realized that the issue of acoustics isn't really relevant in seats like that, because you're right there next to the orchestra, so you don't need any architectural genius to carry the sound to you.
After all of the orchestra was seated, the choir took their seats at the back of the stage. Then the four solo singers came on followed by Morlot. When they had taken their seats and Morlot had settled on the podium, he queued the lower strings to begin the quiet opening of the piece. From there the spectacle unfolded with a sweeping drama and irresistible inevitability that I will never forget. The higher strings in their hushed openings were like a fog over a still lake, and the first halting entrances of the choir were like ghosts. As the piece reached a louder dynamic, it was like a glorious monster was set loose. The power of the choir was breathtaking, and the exuberance, clarity and expression in the orchestral playing was unmatched.
As the opening movement drew to a close my heart was pounding, anticipating the coming Dies Irae. Under Morlot's captivating and inspiring leadership it exploded forth from the stage like a blazing inferno, an unrelenting cataclysm of earth shattering explosions and searing flames. The sound of the strings was as though their bows were on fire.
This truly was the best performance I have yet observed by these ensembles. Perhaps it was the nature of the music, or of the excitement of the musicians to play it, but whatever it was, something extraordinary happened on the Benaroya Hall stage this weekend.
The drama wound on and on with such a perfect coherence and seamless drive forward that it is impossible for me to really describe it here. It is solely an auditory and emotional experience, not a literary one.
The four soloists were soprano Joyce El-Khoury, mezzo-soprano Tamara Mumford, tenor René Barbera and bass Jordan Bisch. The weakest of the four was undoubtedly Jordan Bisch, whose expression and mannerisms seemed to betray an ego exactly as strong as his singing was weak. The local conductor Alan Futterman, who I have had the pleasure of playing under several times, once said "the worse the player, the larger the ego." Bisch reminded me of that. Joyce El-Khoury was a solid soprano, albeit with a bit too much vibrato, and Tamara Mumford, also a very solid singer, nevertheless lacked a richness to her voice that I've come to expect from great altos and mezzo-sopranos. The shining star of the four was tenor René Barbera, who was clearly a world class singer, hot on the heels of the likes of Plácido Domingo, José Carreras, etc.
The Tuba Mirum, immediately following the Dies Irae, employed trumpets positioned at the back sides of the third tier of the auditorium. Given the relative slowness of the speed of sound, this was evidently very difficult to pull off, but it was extremely successful, and aside from the split second delay caused by the sound having to travel from the back of the hall, it was completely in sync and had a chilling and glorious effect.
Several solo singing sections follow the Tuba Mirum, and the singing was mostly very good. These sections are reminiscent of arias from Verdi's famous opera Aïda, composed during the same time period. After not too long the piece bursts into the Rex Tremendae, one of my personal favorite movements of the work. Atypical for 'favorite sections,' this one did not disappoint me in the slightest. It was utterly divine. It's one of the most epic, soaring sections of the entire piece, and orchestra, chorus and soloists moved, sang and played as one, creating an almost overwhelming level of drama. My only quibble was that I wish Morlot had taken more of a ritardando during the lead in to the second massive outburst in the movement, but this is a minor detail.
More solo sections follow, utilizing the text of the mass between the Rex Tremendae and the Confutatis, which is the next section that consists of a buildup and a dramatic output upon its arrival. Jordan Bisch was again not the greatest in his solo in the Confutatis, but he was adequate. His solo leads back into a reprise (the second one actually) of the Dies Irae, which takes a different, darker turn this time and ends up in the Lacrymosa, the saddest part of the Requiem Mass. Tamara Mumford was a little disappointing here. I wished her voice had been smoother acoustically, and moving more as one with the accompanying strings. As more voices joined her, including eventually the chorus, it again took on the shape of a first rate performance, and came to a very effective closing at the end of the 'Dies Irae' portion of the mass.
This would be the place where an intermission would have happened if there was going to be one, but fortunately the performance continued after a short pause for everyone to catch their breath.
The beginning of the Offertorio, in every Requiem that I've heard, always takes on a tone of being in some kind of post-event phase. All this drama has happened, and the great Dies Irae hymn has come to an end with an 'amen', and now we're in this outskirt territory of the mass. Verdi begins it with a rising line played by the cellos, which is answered by a simple trio of wind instruments. After not too long though, rich, gorgeous music returns, and the ensuing solo ensembles are again reminiscent of the greatest moments of Verdi's operas.
The performance maintained its utterly extraordinary level throughout the rest of the piece. Aside from one place where the choir began a fugue and wasn't quite together at the beginning, there were scarcely even any technical quibbles I could point to. Technically and musically it was an immense success.
Upon the conclusion of the final note, Morlot kept his baton held up for at least fifteen seconds, and amazingly, a silence was actually held and prolonged in the hall. In Seattle it is difficult to make that happen. As soon as applause began I immediately stood up, the first time I have ever done that. I was surprised by how long it took for the whole audience to stand up, and there were scarcely any shouts or 'bravi' compared to some other concerts.
I really didn't want it to end, and I knew almost immediately that I would inevitably have to return the next afternoon. The last time this work was performed here was in 2005, and who knows how long it will be until it's performed again. So this afternoon I headed back to Benaroya Hall, and I traded in one of my tickets from a concert on June 14th in exchange for one ticket for this afternoon's performance.
This time I sat in Box C on the opposite side of the hall, a couple boxes from the front. I had a better view of the soloists from there, and a more straight-on view of everything, but otherwise I liked the sound and the view better from the seats that are right up next to the orchestra. There was one bass singer in the choir who I particularly noticed on Saturday evening because he was getting really into the drama and making facial expressions that were reflecting the text he was singing, and I watched for him this afternoon again, but his face was significantly less detailed from where I sat today.
One key observation that I made during the performance today was that Morlot's tempi are reminiscent of early-20th century performances, and they are a refreshing return back from the exaggerated, drawn out, slow tempi that were taken in the latter half of the 20th century. Another aspect of the Lacrymosa that I didn't like on Saturday was the relatively quick tempo, but today I began to appreciate it because it was honest and direct, much the way Toscanini would have conducted it.
A couple interesting events from this afternoon are worth noting. Speight Jenkins, the general director of the Seattle Opera, was at the concert. This concert was actually a tribute to him, so I assume he may have been there on Thursday and Saturday as well, but I'm not sure. In any case, he was sitting in Box E, which I have now figured out is the VIP box. I had for a while been trying to find out which pair of seats were given by Gerard Schwarz to Jack and Rebecca Benaroya back in 1998 when the symphony moved to Benaroya Hall, and I'm almost certain now that they are somewhere in Box E. I know that Rebecca Benaroya often sits there, and it's where Speight Jenkins was sitting this afternoon. Personally I like to be really close to the stage, so I actually wouldn't pick seats there as my first choice.
Shortly after the concert began this afternoon, a cell phone went off in Box D right behind me. I'm sure it was really embarrassing for the poor old lady. She took time to fumble around and try to find it in her purse, then she dropped it, and the clunk of it landing on the box floor was added to the sound of it ringing, and then finally she got it to stop. Later on during a quiet part of the piece, another phone went off somewhere towards the back of the floor. I suspect the reduced dedication to turning cell phones off had something to do with the fact that it was a Sunday afternoon. The orchestra was dressed in suits and ties instead of tails, and the dress code in the audience (myself included) was also downgraded one level. Everything was just a bit more casual. I don't know if this is related, but right after the loud and abrupt ending of the Tuba Mirum, one person in the audience clapped quietly twice, before realizing their error. I'm sure they were embarrassed as well.
Jordan Bisch sounded the same as last night for the most part, except for his solo entrance during the Lacrymosa, where he literally seemed to hover about a quarter tone below pitch for several measures. It was pretty bad. But the fugue that had started out not together in the choir last night was fixed today.
All in all the performance today was the same as yesterday, as excellent in every way. My approach in listening to it today was based in the idea of simply sitting there and seeing what happens. I wasn't expecting it to be great because of the previous night, I just decided to sit there and listen, as though I were listening to a recording. Taking that perspective allowed me to discern with more clarity the true nature of the performance and whether it really was as great as it seemed the night before. I would say that it definitely was. But I do prefer to be right up there where I feel like I'm in it; I think that does intensify the experience.
In any case, these performances of the Verdi Requiem are definitely the highlight of this season so far, and they may remain that way for some time. Now I have a break of performances for a few weeks before Handel's Messiah in late December. See you then!
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