Verdi’s first attempt at composing the Requiem Mass was in 1868, when he proposed a collaborative work to honor the recently deceased Rossini. A committee was to be established to choose the composers, arrange the performance, and watch over the progress. What could possibly go wrong? Pretty much everything.
Conflict with the committee and ecclesiastical authorities ended with Verdi taking back his contribution and shelving it, seemingly for good. “(Completing the Mass) is a temptation that will pass like so many others,” he wrote. “There are so many, many Requiem Masses!!! It is useless to add one more.”
Six years later he added one more, now honoring author Alessandro Manzoni rather than Rossini. No surprise that Verdi – atheistic, theater-yoked Verdi – delivered a piece that is sui generis. Sacred text matched with an explicitly dramatic sensibility (and then-forbidden female voices!), it is less a Mass than what Francis Toye called a “sacred opera on the subject of the last judgment with Manzoni’s soul as the objective theme.”
Sunday night, the Pacific Chorale and the Pacific Symphony, under the direction of the Chorale’s artistic director John Alexander, brought this wild and unwieldy work to the Renée and Henry Segerstrom Concert Hall before a full house. The concert, marking the Verdi bicentennial, served as the opening performance of the Chorale’s 46th season. Joining the ensembles were soloists Amber Wagner, soprano, Nancy Maultsby, mezzo-soprano, Eric Margiore, tenor, and Eric Halfvarson, bass.
As the Mass straddles the worlds of stage and altar, interpreters have a lot of leeway. Alexander’s reading leaned heavily and understandably to the operatic. It is Verdi, after all. That said, the drama, passion, and emotive content were there, but at the expense of the intimate and personal. This careening voyage down the river Styx was a performance but not so much a communal experience: the difference between reflecting on the mortality of the singers versus one’s own dread appointment.
Alexander had a firm grasp on the work’s architecture, its hairpin turns, its rapid shifts from fire to ice, but the reading needed greater precision and nuance to achieve its full force. What was affecting could have been wrenching.
At its best – the thunderous doom-laden “Dies irae,” trombones playing out of their shoes; the apex of the concluding “Libera me,” Wagner leaning back, full-throated at the top of her range – it was as chilling as one could ask for. Other passages seemed to drag, entrances close but not unified, articulation made but not attacked, eye contact between conductor and soloists minimal.
Also contributing to the weakened impact was the odd lack of cohesion between the soloists, who at times seemed like four strangers surprised to find themselves on stage together. Individually, Wagner’s bright tone and heartfelt expression stood out as did the powerful, utterly commanding Halfvarson . Together, however, the vocal styles and interpretations never quite meshed. Maultsby had intonation trouble and on occasion near invisibility at the lower end, and the otherwise strong, smooth, and stable Margiore sang with straight-faced solemnity .
No surprise, Alexander prepared the Chorale expertly. The “Sanctus” unfurled in a cascade of melodic elegance. Balances were keenly calibrated; . Vowels were pure and unforced. Powerful climaxes filled the house without edging to the overbearing. Robust work from the bass section all night. The orchestra gave ample support throughout, with notable contributions from the woodwinds. Special note to the bassoon work throughout the “Quid sum miser.”
The evening started off with Verdi’s “Ave Maria,” Chorale alone, establishing a meditative and noble spirit that gave way to the drama that followed.