“Ein Deutsches Requiem, Op. 45″April 24, 2003There are those moments in life where one is certain that the everydayminutiae that worries one so is as insubstantial as smoke. The hands weuse for mundane activities, the breath scarcely noticed as it enters andexits the body, the eye that is witness to countless images. . .
all theseinstruments lay idle until music animates them. Requiem, such a paradoxical body of music – it is the ephemeral handof death yet vibrating with power, life and beauty. Like a perpetual tidalwave crashing on the shores of Paradise, it consumes the senses andintoxicates every fiber of the body until death seems altogether a dream. And yet, destruction hovers at the fringes of every phrase, rounding a tonehere and cutting another one; cleaving the uncertainty from those who woulddisbelieve until one almost feels compelled to follow those magnificentvoices down into the valley of death simply because one does not wish themto stop. The stage could barely contain the host that was required to performthis dirge. There came the Concert Choir followed by the Chamber Choir,then the University Chorus and finally, the NIU Philharmonic.
The stagewas awash in black and white, faces turned upward, ready and expectant. Instruments guided by their players tuned their voices and preparedthemselves for the massive undertaking of one Johannes Brahms and his “EinDeutsches Requiem, Op. 45. “There is a proven relationship between objects that travel through airat great velocities and or magnitudes. They can be seen at slower speedsto actually bend air before them and push it outward in a cone. Just asthe stage could barely contain the performers, the concert hall couldbarely contain their music, both instrumental and vocal.
When the firstpassage was begun, I have every confidence that could time have beenslowed, there would have been a visible wave that pushed the audience back;and thus was Brahms come to Northern Illinois University. The University’s Philharmonic was truly a talented group ofindividuals, but in light of the material presented that evening, they weremerely the lines upon which the words had been written; the glory belongedto those magnificent voices. As the first selection began, I was comfortedby light sopranos and clear male tenors as they assured me that “. . .
blessedare they that mourn; for they shall be comforted. “These gentle assurances were chased doggedly by such power anddamnation that goose bumps ran slowly up my spine and gently pushed thehairs up at the base of my neck. “For all flesh is as grass, and all theglory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flowerthereof falleth away. ” I was being cautioned by this flood of choruses;cautioned that my days were predetermined and that accomplishment was asfleeting as the life that had attained them.
Momentary peace returned as they readied themselves for the nextselection; and then there was longing. Such a palpable longing, it hungthick as vapor in the air and left me feeling incomplete and not quite surewhy. They cried out for peace and hope, trying to draw it around themforcibly as they would a cloak, grasping at the material and finding itlacking to provide the warmth they sought. Suddenly, there was a woman’s voice.
It was a full soprano, vibratingwith an offer of that previously sought peace. She was the voice of allmothers, the voice of the Virgin Mary, and as a mother would comfort asmall child, she gave comfort – “As one whom his mother comforteth, so willI comfort you. . .
“Again, peace descended on the stage and I waited expectantly for whatwas to follow. I promise you, the next two selections that were to followwould have made the most respected and accomplished man shrink into hisshoulders and become as unsure as the boy who had clung to his mother’sknee. Then suddenly, the wave descended. There was such determination inthose voices, so much reckoning for an entire life compressed into theseshort, clipped phrases that not a body moved in that concert hall save theones sustaining that tide of perseverance as it rode the backs of powerfulchords and melodies; beating them before it like leaves before a storm. A pause enveloped the stage and then, slowly and with muchdeliberation, we were all set free of this bond of frustration and sense oflonging.
Soft and gentle voices, clear and almost melodic, lulled us allwith sweet assurances that all was well. They pushed firmly against us,pressing us into that final sleep; angelic sopranos and male tenors weavingtogether a pre-cognitive cocoon and sealing us into it with the mosthaunting of phrases. “Blessed are the dead. . . .
blessed are thedead. . . . blessed are the dead. “As a lover of Requiems, (my personal favorite happens to be Mozart’s K626; the Kyrie) I would absolutely welcome the opportunity to see anotherwork by this body of performers.
I was pleasantly surprised by the levelof professionalism as well as the level of talent possessed by these youngmen and women. NIU is, I would hope, extremely proud of her music andchoral departments as they add such a wonderful color and sense of beautyto the university as a whole. Formal Concert Paper #2School of Music -presents-Johannes Brahms”Ein Deutsches Requiem, Op. 45″April 24, 2003
