Concert Review: The Long Reliever

The Boston Symphony Orchestra plays Beethoven's Missa Solemnis.

by Paul Pelkonen

From the bullpen: conductor John Oliver poses in Symphony Hall

The Boston Symphony Orchestra has had problems with conductors staying healthy. Its most recent music director, James Levine, had to step down after a series of cancellations and absenteeism. Former maestro Seiji Ozawa recently announced that he is taking a year's sabbatical for health reasons. The latest victim: Kurt Masur, who, at 83 has been looking frail in his recent appearances. Mr. Masur cancelled all of his planned appearances with the orchestra on Feb. 23, citing "physical" issues. 

This left the BSO with a massive choral work to perform, and the search for a conductor to lead it. The choice: John Oliver, who founded the Tanglewood Festival Chorus in 1970 and has led it ever since. Mr. Oliver is an acclaimed expert in the field of choral music, but most of his work is done in rehearsals, working with singers before the scheduled conductor leads the performance.

To make matters more difficult, the Missa Solemnis is a monster among Beethoven's works, an 85-minute marathon for four singers, chorus and orchestra that has some of the same inherent problems as the composer's Ninth Symphony. A choral setting of the Catholic liturgy, it is that was simply too big in scope for any church. (It might even be too big for the concert stage, but that's where the work is usually heard.) It points the way forward to the choral excesses of the 19th and 20th century, being an ancestor to Berlioz' Requiem, Mahler's Resurrection Symphony and Schoenberg's Gurrelieder.

Tuesday night's performance at Carnegie Hall was the opening of the BSO's three night stand in New York this week. The performance featured the orchestra,  Tanglewood Festival Chorus and an all-star team of soloists: soprano Christine Brewer, mezzo Michelle DeYoung, tenor Simon O'Neill, and bass Eric Owens. And at the head of this little army: Mr. Oliver, who seemed unbowed by the musical challenge ahead. 

The one-two punch of the opening Kyrie and Gloria was tightly played and sung, all the more impressive since Beethoven's vocal writing is not always flattering to singers. Ms. Brewer's soprano grazed the plaster of Carnegie Hall, while Ms. DeYoung declaimed her text with richness and warmth. Mr. Oliver was firmly in command, and the chorus, working without the usual sheet music books, responded ably to his leadership. This is powerful writing, with each movement capable of standing on its own merits.  

Beethoven's setting of the Credo is the center of this ceremony, a blow-by-blow interpretation of the Nicene Creed that stands somewhere between Bach's St. Matthew Passion and Mahler's Resurrection Symphony. It also has the greatest degree of difficulty for singers, with fine details of the ritual picked out in the orchestral and vocal writing. These range from the sharp stabs of sound to accompany the nailing of Christ to the cross to the glowing textures of affirmation that accompany the profession of faith in the light of the world to come.

The Sanctus is the slow movement of this work, building from a deceptively gentle beginning to a steady march of faith and determination. Mr. O'Neill displayed range in these sensitive pages, his voice intertwining with the concert-master in a kind of double concerto. The chorus provided hushed, celestial commentary in the most beautiful section of the performance.

Mr. Oliver is a skilled choral conductor, but he ran into problems with the closing Agnus Dei. This long setting of the prayer to the Lamb of God and the following Benedictus had Beethoven mining unknown musical territory with a mix of celestial harmonies, a contrapuntal fugato and a series of martial figures for trumpets and drums that reflects the war-torn state of Europe in the early 19th century.

The opening of the movement was led off by Mr. Owens, whose stentorian bass presaged the struggle to come. The problems started with the fugato, which seemed to meander around the orchestra. The brass figures were curiously muted, with the trumpets sounding somewhat timid. Although the soloists and chorus finished with a strong statement of Dona nobis pacem, the big finale didn't quite match the awesome movements that had come before.

Concert Review: The Struggle Within

The LSO conquers Beethoven's toughest work.

Sir Colin Davis leading the LSO.
Photo © 2010 London Symphony Orchestra.

When Ludwig van Beethoven wrote the Missa Solemnis, the idea of playing a Roman Catholic Mass as concert music was a completely new one. On Friday night, Sir Colin Davis led the London Symphony Orchestra and Chorus in a powerful, sometimes wrenching performance that shed light on the titanic forces at play in the pages of challenging choral work.

This was the second of three appearances by the LSO, at Lincoln Center this week, and the last under the baton of this brilliant 84-year-old maestro. It also marked the first major event of the three week White Light Festival. Now in its second year, White Light is a Lincoln Center event that seeks to bring listeners to contemplate their own lives through the experience of music, art, theater and dance.

At first approach, the Missa Solemnis seems to sprawl, shifting wildly in instrumentation and style over the course of five movements. The choral singing is central here, with the great shout of "Kyrie!" that opens the work. Two long movements: the Gloria and Credo are fervent expressions of rock-solid faith. These featured impressive solo singing from the four soloists: soprano Helena Juntunen, mezzo Sarah Connolly, tenor Paul Groves and bass Matthew Rose. Beethoven would use the same vocal arrangement in his Ninth Symphony.

Mentioning the Ninth at this point is relevant, as the complex choral structures found in the Missa Solemnis act like sketches for the much more famous final movement, the Ode to Joy. In both works, Beethoven calls for massive tuttis, a military march, and even a mighty double fugue (on the words "In vitam venturi") at the end of the Credo. Also, both works are taxing to the performers, the product of a composer who had lost his hearing completely and was now writing music that ordinary mortals would have to struggle to perform.

Those mortals were up to the task, particularly the LSO chorus under Sir Colin's sure baton. They created real religious mystery in the slow, wondering phrases that open the Sanctus. This led to the Benedictus, with an eloquent solo violin part played by LSO concertmaster Gordan Nikolitch. The Agnus Dei whipsawed between peace and a belligerent, martial stance with its drum-rolls and trumpet fanfares. Beethoven clearly favored a God willing to kick some ass in this mortal coil.

Sir Colin Davis has always had a reputation as a singer's conductor, and he assembled a good team of soloists for this performance. Tenor Paul Groves and mezzo Sarah Connolly are familiar to New York audiences from the stage of the Metropolitan Opera. Soprano Helena Juntunen is a talented singer whose clear sweet tone sometimes struggled to be heard over orchestra, chorus, and her fellow singers. Matthew Rose was an impressive bass.

In the final movement, the chorus were the real stars. Even as the orchestra thundered and brandished its brassy weapons upon Beethoven's apocalyptic landscape. the massed singers turned Dona nobis pacem into a cry for peace and a mighty shout of humanity. The brew of strong choral singing with the powerful, flexible orchestra made this finale a heady experience. This is music from a troubled time in history. It speaks volumes to today's war and terror-torn world.