GMCD 7302

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***Sound Clips**
BRAHMS
Ein deutsches Requiem
Geistliches Lied
 

Vasari Singers
conducted by
Jeremy Backhouse

Claire Seaton

soprano

Colin Campbell

baritone

Jeremy Filsell & Roderick Chadwick

piano duet

www.jeremyfilsell.com

 


Contents:

1

I. Chorus: ‘Selig sind, die da Leid tragen’

8:19

2

II. Chorus: ‘Denn alles Fleisch, es ist wie Gras’

12:51

3

III. Solo Baritone & Chorus: ‘Herr, lehre doch mich’

8:16

4

IV. Chorus: ‘Wie lieblich sind deine Wohnungen, Herr Zeboath!’

4:35

5

V. Solo Soprano & Chorus: ‘Ihr habt nun Traurigkeit’

6:25

6

VI. Solo Baritone & Chorus: ‘Denn wir haben keine bleibende Statt’

9:41

7

VII. Chorus: ‘Selig sind die Toten, die in dem Herrn sterben’

9:25

8

Geistliches Lied, Op. 30 (1856)

4:36


DDD 64:39  - Recorded: St Jude’s, Hampstead, London NW1, 24-26 October 2003


TLThe Inspiration for the German Requiem of Brahms is sometimes taken to be the death of the composer’s mother in 1865, a year before the work was completed. But in fact the origins of the work go much further back, and Brahms’s mother’s death cannot be said to have influenced any of the work except perhaps the fifth movement „Ihr habt nun Traurigkeit“ (soprano solo), which was added several years later. As direct inspiration, a much more convincing case can be made for the death of Schumann: Brahms lived with Robert and Clara in 1855—56 and Brahms continued to spend time with Clara after the composer’s death in 1856 — indeed the Requiem was completed in her house in Baden Baden ten years later. And the music of the second movement („Denn alles Fleisch“) began life in 1855 as a slow ‘scherzo’ in a sonata for two pianos, the rest of which eventually became the D minor Piano Concerto Op.15, and which was conceived shortly after Schumann’s suicide attempt in 1854.

The performance history of the piece is interesting. The first three movements were heard in Vienna on 1 December 1867, conducted by Johann Herbeck, when the fugue was apparently marred by some over-vigorous timpani playing. The first performance of the complete piece, minus the soprano solo movement, was given in Bremen Cathedral on Good Friday, 10 April 1868, conducted by Reinthaler with the baritone soloist Otto Schleper, and repeated on 27 April. The work was published later the same year. The added fifth movement was heard for the first time in a private performance in Zurich, and included in a complete performance conducted by Reinecke at the Leipzig Gewandhaus on 18 February 1869. Before the first recorded public performance in England, which took place at St James’s Hall on 2 April 1873 under the auspices of the Philharmonic Society, there were two private performances. One of these was given by students at the Royal Academy of Music. But the real first English performance took place on 7 July 1871 at the house of Sir Henry Thompson, a distinguished surgeon, conducted by Julius Stockhausen. Because of lack of space, the accompaniment on this occasion was played on two pianos by Lady Thompson — the celebrated pianist Kate Loder — and the octogenarian Cipriani Potter, first Principal of the Royal Academy of Music. The arrangement, which is being used in this recording, was made by Brahms himself, intended for use (without choir) by amateur music-lovers wishing to get to know the work at home.

Why a German requiem, with religious but non-liturgical texts? Schubert’s Deutsche Messe, which the title might recall, is a liturgical work in the vernacular, but there are several precedents for Brahms’s piece: Bach’s so-called Actus tragicus, the cantata Gottes Zeit ist die allerbeste Zeit BWV 106, sets texts on human mortality; Schütz’s Musikalische Exequien of 1636 is a ‘concerto in the form of a German burial mass’ and includes a setting of „Selig sind die Toten“; Schumann, in his „Projektbuch“ (a sort of sketchbook in which he jotted down ideas for works), included an idea for a German requiem. Whether or not Brahms knew, or knew of, these is however uncertain. He was drawn throughout his life to death and mourning, and he was passionately humanist rather than conventionally religious (he indicated that the work could equally have been called ‘A Human [„Menschen“] Requiem’). Seeming to counter the non-religious argument, much has been made of the composer’s reference to a chorale melody as being the basis of the music. It has been suggested that this is „Vater unser“, but a more likely candidate is „Wer nur den lieben Gott läßt walten“, whose tune bears some similarity to that of „Denn alles Fleisch“. The lack of any overt reference to Christ was balanced in the Bremen Cathedral performance by the inclusion in the middle of the work of Handel’s “I know that my Redeemer liveth”.

Of profound significance for this work is Brahms’s symphonic way of thinking, which creates from the disparate texts a cohesive structure built on a rising key-scheme. The form revolves around the two central movements („Wie lieblich“, the original mid-point, and „Ihr habt nun Traurigkeit“), encompassing two massive fugues (the end of No.3 at „Der gerechten Seelen“ and the end of No.6 at „Herr, Du bist wurdig“), leading to a recapitulation of the opening music in the final chorus. It is also a strenuously choral work. Although the soloists take significant roles, and their music has the kind of communicative lyricism that Brahms draws on in his Lieder, it is principally in the choral writing that the character of the work resides. Often difficult, it is nonetheless highly effective, reminding us that Brahms was an experienced choral conductor, and in the version with two pianos the energy of this aspect of the work is even more apparent than in performances where the weight of Brahms’s orchestral writing can make the music something of an endurance test for the singers.

Brahms, like Beethoven before him and Bruckner after him, was intrigued by contrapuntal technique and spent time honing his skills in this regard. The composer and his violinist friend Joachim sent each other compositional exercises for criticism during the early years of their friendship. The Geistliches Lied Op.30 started life as one of these exercises, dating from 1856. No dry-as-dust academic struggling here, however, despite the highly structured double canon at the ninth in the voice parts (soprano—tenor, alto—bass) and an accompaniment (for organ or piano, three or four hands) bristling with canonic imitation as well. It is a highly expressive setting of words by the 17th-century writer Paul Fleming, following an A-B-A pattern, plus a final flowing Amen.                                                © David Bray 2005

                                                                                 

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