Verdi's Requiem
Lance Sparrow
Tonight's program includes Requiem, by Verdi.* If there is one piece that will call you to contemplate the very depth of your existence in some far off manner, this is it. This claim, arguably absurd because it singles out Requiem from countless other pieces written centuries earlier--99% of which I have not heard--with some unique ability to induce such intoxication. That said, Mr. Verdi has produced this mind-altering drug, and we shall find ourselves surrounded in it.
Any requiem is a mass for the dead. In Verdi's case, Requiem was written in honor of the Italian author Alessandro Manzoni, author of 'I promessi sposi' (which Verdi read at a precocious 16 years and found in it 'the truth – as true as truth itself') and which led him to some greater understanding of humanity (1). Verdi was a 19th century composer (a fact that I discovered only last night) and a fact that surprised me a good bit. The opening of the 2nd movement in Requiem reminds this novice of Carmina Burana, from the 13th century.
I had the good fortune of first exposure to Requiem at the Glasgow Opera House in April, 2000. I was invited by a friend and member of the Glasgow choir to attend a rehearsal of Requiem, scheduled for the upcoming weekend. This performance left an indelible mark on me. I sat essentially alone in the center of the auditorium. The power of the opening of the second movement – 'Dies Irae' – during which I witnessed 100 or so choir members move the air from silence to thunder in less than a second, resonates with me until today.
I sat alone in the center of that theatre auditorium and watched my friend's mouth move, and his mouth moved with his face, all the energy coming from his expanding, contracting chest and rising, falling shoulders – which moved in unison with his mouth, face and shoulders and the mouths, faces, shoulders and chests of each of the other 100 or so singers. One did not hear the music coming from any individual 'mouth', or person; in fact, I was startled by my observation that it appeared as if no sound came from any individual mouth – even though there was the obvious expenditure of effort on the part of 100 or so vocalists. It was as though there was a tremendous lip-sync, and the sound from each mouth had migrated to a focal point some good distance between the choir and me, which given proper acoustic engineering is, I believe, the desired effect.
The first movement, called 'Requiem', instills the melancholy that not only leads to far off reflection, but more specifically, led me to consider the image on the front cover of the CD that I impulsively purchased on a cold, wet, grey morning in downtown Glasgow, the day after the rehearsal. That image is no less than one of Christ carrying the cross. The relevance of that image to the content of the Requiem I know not. I would hope, and imagine that there is, some. What I do know is that the continuous presentation of these types of images, over the centuries, leads to the acceptance of the 'image as truth'. It may have been this (truth by image) that Verdi seeked to escape, when he uncovered from Manzoni 'truth as true as truth itself). This is admittedly a stretch – but it makes the connection between the subsequent deficiently limited presentation of truth, and the Requiem.
One may, then, find oneself in some part of the world where that image has not been presented, perhaps even for the reason that the 'truth' presented by that image is not accepted (as truth) - in that region. To transition from 'truth' to 'un-truth' is, when brought up in the model of 'truth', not done smoothly. In most of the Middle East, where I live, there is an alternative 'truth' presented. Verdi's Requiem called me, once again, to examine the transitions between these alternative 'truths'.
31 January, 2005
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* The reader should note that this writer finds himself in the not too enviable position of reviewing a classic opera, with an absence of sufficient opera lexicon. One could argue that given this alarming deficiency, there is a 'better man for the job', and 'he shouldn't even go there'. But fools rush in, and words such as 'singers', 'movement', 'opening' were used, when in fact there are likely more accurate or descriptive alternatives.
References:
(1) CD notes – from 'Verdi: Requiem. Quattro Pezzi Sacri'. London Records.
 Loafer's #6, Spring 1996
Sans serif issue. Andrew Clason's Loafitorial on becoming a writer; John Schilling interviews God; letters from Robert James Waller, Mix D. Mixford, Ag Aafel, Bert Bigby, Garrison Keillor, Todd, Eric, Holly Day, William Jefferson Clinton, and others; Ritch Branstrom's crayon drawing of a late nite; John Lund sez: "Bean"; Sasquatch revisited by Steve Willis; a personal checks catalog (incl. ENOS! A Celebration, Legends of Arena Football, and the lost Norman Rockwell Pornography), by Mr. Goodell; Andy begins his search for Joeseph Anthony Naudziunas; Todd Clason poems; weirdo sketch by Sherrod Blankner; Zen Koans and Insults; new archy poems; Urshgur declares: "We Are All Lumpen!"; Tom Loretto's "Trip"; the flying dog-monks of Steve Willis; doodles by the usual crew. Cover art of the three dead kings by John Schilling.
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