Music from heaven

IF it were measured phrase by phrase, it could probably be shown that the greatest music of the Western world, from the time of plainchant onward, has been poured into the Roman Catholic liturgy. The earlier music sang in the quieter, more contemplative expressions of the Passion, but as the apocalypse of our time advanced it became a cry de profundis or, as with the Berlioz Requiem, as an assault on the gates of Heaven. It is of some consequence, therefore, to consider what the liturgy has called forth from those who fell into its musical embrace.

Mozart, an irreverent rascal, could produce a beautiful and soul-wrenching statement like the "Et incarnatus est" of his Great Mass in C. Berlioz, not a particularly pious man, reached heights of emotion beyond his finest utterance. Schubert, whose homosexuality was a continual torture, rose above it in his religious composing. One of the greatest voices in opera, Verdi, anti-clerical and in general dubious of religion, rose above this to create a Messa da Requiem of beauty, passion, and yearning.

The critics, God bless their pointy heads, screamed that the Verdi Requiem was "operatic" -- as if death itself were not operatic enough. Verdi was deeply moved by the passing of Alessandro Manzoni, whose now little-read I Promessi Sposi was then considered the ultimate in Italian prose, and it may be that Verdi's very contemplation of the ritual created the affirmations of his Requiem. Those critics, diving like loons and coming up with their pocket handkerchiefs -- Hazlitt's satiric formulation -- found this or that reference in a Verdi opera to this or that correspondence in the Requiem, which tells us only that Verdi spoke a consistent musical language.

I first came upon the Verdi Requiem in a Beniamino Gigli 78-rpm recording of the "Ingemisco." This is not the most important part of the Mass, but its "Culpa rubet vultus meus" touches a nerve. I later heard the entire Mass with Gigli, Ezio Pinza, Maria Caniglia, and Ebe Stignani -- a magnificent roster -- conducted by Tullio Serafin. It has been reissued on EMI (CDH 7633412). Now EMI has issued another recording of the Messa da Requiem, with soloists Renata Scotto, Agnes Baltsa, Veriano Luchetti, and Evgeny Nesterenko, led by Riccardo Muti -- who has developed into one of today's more versatile and conscientious conductors. Perhaps I am not making a very clear distinction when I say that the Muti version is more dramatic, the Serafin more theatrical. And Luchetti, in the "Ingemisco," my test piece, is very fine indeed and does not intrude with those Italianate tenorisms and operatic sobs to which the great Gigli was given.

It was, of course, ridiculous for the critics to deplore the Verdi Requiem because it is in Verdi's style. No one has ever objected because Bach's religious and liturgical works, as well as his other compositions, bear the imprint of the Baroque. A composer does not turn his apron around because he is addressing another master. Faure's Requiem is cast in his typical gentle velours, as Monteverdi's celebration of the Virgin is written in his own voice. If you are sincerely speaking to God, you do not mouth the accents of another time.

Consider Haydn's Masses. Long forgotten, except for a brief flurry of LP recordings by the Haydn Society in the late 1940s, they have surfaced again in the quiet Haydn revival of the past years. Now Bruno Weil and the excellent Tafelmusik Orchestra and Chorus give us the Paukenmesse (Sony SK 6825), in a performance that is perceptive and stirring. This Mass is in the restrained mode that Haydn brought to fruition, classical to the core, and gives sustenance when the candle gutters.

I have been admonished by Bill Buckley and others for professing that Johann Sebastian Bach is not the be-all and end-all of music and that perhaps a careful look at Monteverdi as a rival to Bach's greatness should not be construed as lcse majeste. Bach was very great indeed, but his B-Minor Mass does not approach in faith, depth, and sheer musical beauty and understanding those of Luis Thomas de Victoria. Still, in that great outpouring of music which we call Baroque, Bach was qualitatively and quantitatively king. Pablo Casals, who devoted his life to the study of Bach's music, said to me that "he was so far ahead of his time that if he returned today, he would be considered a musical revolutionary."

Casals saw Bach as "a volcano" -- and in that I can concur. The cantata is the centerpiece of the Sunday Lutheran service, and Bach wrote more than two hundred cantatas (Teleman wrote one thousand --not one, we are told, matching Bach's). And this does not take into account the St. Matthew Passion, the B-Minor Mass, or the multitude of other works. Three of these cantatas are well chosen by Gustav Leonhardt, the Tolzer Knabenchor, and Baroque Orchestra (Sony SK68 265): "Wer weiss wie nahe mir mein Ende," "O ewiges Feuer," and "Jesu nun sei gepreiset." They are given the foursquare Germanic performance they require.