This article first appeared in the St. Louis Beacon, Jan. 19, 2011 - It is coincidence of course, the performing of Johannes Brahms's "A German Requiem" at Powell Hall this weekend (Jan. 21-22) almost two weeks after the horror of the shooting rampage in Tucson.
Had the orchestra not scheduled long ago the playing and singing of this eloquent, solemn, awe-inspiring masterwork, one might make a case persuasively for quickly summoning instrumentalists and singers to the hall to bring it forth in an effort to provide some succor. It has, after all, the capacity to provide a means of managing the inexplicable and furnish some light to confront the darkness that seems at times to be so pervasive.
Symphony musicians in the past have shown themselves ready to act on empathy. In 1996, the orchestra landed in Osaka mere days after the big earthquake in Kobe. The morning after landing there, the musicians headed for Kobe where they gave one of the most beautiful, most emotional concerts ever, playing, among other music, Samuel Barber's "Adagio for Strings." Proceeds were given over for earthquake relief.
But art does not exist primarily to act either as balm or stimulant, although often it serves those purposes. Some works that resemble art -- sentimental poetry, for example, and patriotic songs such as "La Marseillaise" -- don't make the cut. While they may comfort us or send us to the barricades, when you compare them to something as noble and satisfying as "A German Requiem," you see them pale and move to the margins of cultural accomplishment.
"Ein deutsches Requiem, nach Worten der heiligen Schrift" -- "A German Requiem in the Words of the Holy Scripture" -- is one of Brahms's most noble accomplishments. Although called a requiem, it is not a funeral Mass for departed Germans but a requiem whose lyrics are written in German, specifically in the language of the Luther Bible, the great protestant's translation of the Bible into the vernacular, first printed in 1534.
Brahms's use of the German-language text and his departure from tradition, both linguistically and formally, separates this requiem from Rome. The tradition, of course, dictates following the progress of the Latin mass through Kyrie, Gloria, Sanctus, Benedictus and so forth; "A German Requiem" has neither such form nor the language of it. Indeed, "A German Requiem" is not a ritual but an assembling of biblical texts to create an extended, very beautiful and most absorbing poem.
The concentration is on a Divinity who is compassionate and forgiving, and on the sure hope of salvation. It begins with and concludes with the word "Selig" -- blessed. Words matter, and they help to elevate "Requiem," but it is the music -- so consistently, splendidly, serenely uplifting -- that takes it not only to the realm of genius but also positions it as an avenue to redemption from emotional suffering.
Brahms's personal history is a story of triumph over physical and psychological abuse and keenly felt personal losses, and his victory was achieved principally through his accomplishments as an artist. In this "Requiem" he offers the benefits of his liberation to the listener.
For several years after his first go at the Requiem, it continued to be a work in progress; Brahms added movements and a soprano to the mix. The first performance of the complete, seven-movement requiem was performed in 1869 at Leipzig. As completed, it is the lengthiest work in the composer's repertory. (Its first performance in this country was in New York in 1877. Its place in the American repertory was secure in the early 20th century, and has remained so since.)
It is elegiac. Brahms's mother, Christiane, died in 1865, and Robert Schumann, to whom Brahms was devoted, died in 1856 after years of confinement in a mental institution. Brahms was also close to Schumann's wife, the composer Clara Schumann, and was attentive to her after Robert Schumann's death. Although the idea of a requiem germinated in Brahms's mind in the mid-1850s, the two deaths, one in the 1850s and the other in the mid-60s can be regarded as important in its organization and completion.
For those who mourn losses of any sort, be they big picture, as in the tragedy in Tucson, or the intensely personal, such as the death of a parent or colleague and friend, "A German Requiem" comes to offer hope and a sense of possibility, of courage.
We go to this music humbled by its magnificence, and with a sense of gratitude for its promises, and we understand that while our orchestra is playing "Ein deutsches Requiem" at this moment in our national life is serendipitous, it is also very fortunate, and praiseworthy indeed.