Mozart and his Requiem

I respect Mozart and his influence on western music as much as the next consumer of classical music, but I have always been more drawn to the emotionally charged pieces of the romantic period and the intellectual depth of modernism. Mozart’s works are technically flawless, but there is something about many of them that just doesn’t connect with me personally. The Requiem is different. It’s so full of textures and emotion. At times it is tender, and at other times it is fiery. At its core, it is a profound piece of music that masterfully combines a beautiful orchestra with a powerful choir and soloists. To see it performed by the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra in the Strathmore on March 7th was a joy for the eyes and ears.

Before delving into the history of the piece, one is first struck by the technical aspects. This is a big piece of music - literally. Strings and brass and vocal soloists, and a massive choir bring this piece to life. Watching this piece unfurl, I thought to myself how difficult it must be to keep something this grand together. I love watching conductors, seeing how they control the environment with subtle or gargantuan gesticulations, so seeing conductor Jun Märkl sweeping the air so grandly as to be seen by the last row of the choir was a thing to behold. I would also be a traitor to my instrument if I did not point out that this is one of the first times that the trombone is seen in such a prominent position. The fact that low brass even had a spot in a classical piece is notable, not to mention some beautiful solo parts.

The true allure of this piece is the mystery that has surrounded it since its composition in 1791 (you could even say it started even before composition, as Mozart was so unclear of the identity of the man that came to him to commission it). I have always been captivated by stories behind the music, and how fate and circumstance molded the modern perception that we have of a piece of music, and Mozart’s Requiem, a piece written for the powerful circumstance of death, takes the cake in this respect. The story is so compelling that it has been retold as a short play by Pushkin, an opera by Rimsky-Korsakov, and a play by Peter Shaffer which was later adapted into 1984’s Best Picture of the Year – Amadeus. As the story (I apologize for abridging it so) goes, that Mozart did not know the gentleman who had commissioned this piece, and with his health diminishing as he wrote the piece, he mistakenly embraced the logic that the death mass must be for him. This belief must have fueled him to work on the piece with a special dedication, even as his death became imminent. The Lacrimosa section was the last music that Mozart ever wrote, leaving his pupils to finish the Requiem.

It’s a sad story, but, in an odd way, it seems morbidly appropriate for a man who gave so much to our musical tradition. Psychologists (as well as experience and common sense) tell us how the fear of death and the desire to leave a legacy are powerful drivers of our actions here on earth. Mozart saw both in this piece. This confluence of emotion and talent in composition is something remarkable and desperately uncommon. Although the Requiem might not have been intended for him, it is his. In listening to it, you can see and hear a genius searching for his place in this world and the next.