A performance with great emotional impact, directed by Alexander Vedernikov
TRIESTE. In front of the TV, in the living room, one might perhaps side with the inescapable charm epitomized by Horace's "dulce et decorum est pro patria mori," but, when put to the test, given the horror of the testimonies and the experience of the futility of every conflict, one must agree with Wilfred Owen: "War is a hellish, immense outrage to humanity, a violation of Christianity." Benjamin Britten believed the poet, killed as a young man on the front in November 1918, a few days before the armistice, when he composed the music for the consecration of the new Coventry Cathedral, razed to the ground by the Luftwaffe in 1940; without giving in to the rhetoric of patriotism, without singing, even while boasting of titles, "what the soldiers did gloriously," to propose "what they were forced to do to others and to suffer."
Thus was born the "War Requiem," a Requiem more "against" than "of" war, a work of protest, as well as of piety and poetry; ignoring the boundaries between tradition and experimentalism, it stands alone and is fundamental to the way it reflects current events, resolving its existence in the world, with the intuition, proper to art, of definitively reaching out to the former enemy.
By including this masterpiece in its annals for the first time, the Teatro Verdi fills a gap and warns, on the eve of a season of celebrations, that music is not always an escape and that, with the worst lurking, it is best to reflect every now and then. It requires a vast ensemble and employs many artifices.
The first requirement was addressed without particularly visually striking interventions, which would not have been amiss: by adding to the usual artistic masses, a chamber orchestra in the stalls beneath the two key soloists, and relegating the treble voices to the pigeonhole for a more supported diffusion.
The artificiality creeps in from the first "What passing bells," a baroque declamation from the tenor, inadequate for the abysmal nature of Owen's text, and continues, and not only in the "Dies irae," with rhythmic scansions "à la Carmina Burana."
But Britten's genius is not long in coming and unfolds in the liberating catharsis of the "Lacrimosa" at the Agnus Dei, in the transition between drama and emotion of the "Libera me," and in the impressive suspensions of the choral interventions. Thanks to a worthy performance, the Requiem achieved its deserved emotional impact, and the high commitment of the Orchestra and the equally impeccable Choir, directed by Ine Meisters, were crucial, as was the imperturbable and clear contribution of the "Boys' Choir" directed by Maria Susovski.
Leading the "Requiem" would be enough to impart a sense of unity to such heterogeneity, a task that Alexander Vedernikov accomplished by going beyond, carefully calculating many details and managing to infuse vitality into the ensemble. He shared the dense and repeated applause with the masses and with the soloists, the generous and confident Tatiana Pavlovskaya, the expert Brittenian tenor Maldwin Davies, and Ron Peo, with his expressive baritone vocals.
Source.
TRIESTE. In front of the TV, in the living room, one might perhaps side with the inescapable charm epitomized by Horace's "dulce et decorum est pro patria mori," but, when put to the test, given the horror of the testimonies and the experience of the futility of every conflict, one must agree with Wilfred Owen: "War is a hellish, immense outrage to humanity, a violation of Christianity." Benjamin Britten believed the poet, killed as a young man on the front in November 1918, a few days before the armistice, when he composed the music for the consecration of the new Coventry Cathedral, razed to the ground by the Luftwaffe in 1940; without giving in to the rhetoric of patriotism, without singing, even while boasting of titles, "what the soldiers did gloriously," to propose "what they were forced to do to others and to suffer."
Thus was born the "War Requiem," a Requiem more "against" than "of" war, a work of protest, as well as of piety and poetry; ignoring the boundaries between tradition and experimentalism, it stands alone and is fundamental to the way it reflects current events, resolving its existence in the world, with the intuition, proper to art, of definitively reaching out to the former enemy.
By including this masterpiece in its annals for the first time, the Teatro Verdi fills a gap and warns, on the eve of a season of celebrations, that music is not always an escape and that, with the worst lurking, it is best to reflect every now and then. It requires a vast ensemble and employs many artifices.
The first requirement was addressed without particularly visually striking interventions, which would not have been amiss: by adding to the usual artistic masses, a chamber orchestra in the stalls beneath the two key soloists, and relegating the treble voices to the pigeonhole for a more supported diffusion.
The artificiality creeps in from the first "What passing bells," a baroque declamation from the tenor, inadequate for the abysmal nature of Owen's text, and continues, and not only in the "Dies irae," with rhythmic scansions "à la Carmina Burana."
But Britten's genius is not long in coming and unfolds in the liberating catharsis of the "Lacrimosa" at the Agnus Dei, in the transition between drama and emotion of the "Libera me," and in the impressive suspensions of the choral interventions. Thanks to a worthy performance, the Requiem achieved its deserved emotional impact, and the high commitment of the Orchestra and the equally impeccable Choir, directed by Ine Meisters, were crucial, as was the imperturbable and clear contribution of the "Boys' Choir" directed by Maria Susovski.
Leading the "Requiem" would be enough to impart a sense of unity to such heterogeneity, a task that Alexander Vedernikov accomplished by going beyond, carefully calculating many details and managing to infuse vitality into the ensemble. He shared the dense and repeated applause with the masses and with the soloists, the generous and confident Tatiana Pavlovskaya, the expert Brittenian tenor Maldwin Davies, and Ron Peo, with his expressive baritone vocals.
Source.
Benjamin Britten's masterpiece closed the symphony season at the Teatro Verdi. Requiem Against Wars
Claudio GHERBITZ, Il Piccolo di Trieste del 2004-10-29
