Every once in a while, memory -- "the weakest of all witnesses" -- trips me up. I can't recall if I have mentioned before that I am also working on a book with the same title, and covering the same turf, as this blog: "Off the Beaten Staff". The book and the blog tend to feed each other from time to time. But also this can cause confusion about which works I've covered in the book, and which in the blog!
Last night at dinner, I was mentioning that I had written about the Requiem of Maurice Duruflé in my blog. In fact, I now find that it was in the book manuscript that I had covered this piece. My bad. So here it is now.
Duruflé is one of the lesser-known names in French music, but that's certainly not a reflection of the quality of his works! Rather, it reflects the fact that he was an obsessive perfectionist, a man who destroyed far more than he ever published, and who laboured many long years over a single piece to get the end result just right. In the end, he published only 16 complete original works (not counting the multiple versions of several that he made), as well as a selection of organ transcriptions of works by other hands.
It's important to mention the concept of different versions, because the Requiem actually exists in three separate "orchestrations" (the music remains unchanged apart from the different instruments employed). The smallest version uses only organ. The middle version is for organ and strings, with optional trumpet, harp and timpani parts. The largest version, my particular favourite, is for full orchestra. I prefer this full-orchestra version because of Duruflé's beautiful use of the woodwind instruments in particular. The Requiem was first performed in 1947.
Curiously, for such a modern piece, it has a very ancient, timeless feel to it. This is due to the fact that almost all the melodic substance, whether for voices or instruments, is drawn from Gregorian chant. The use of chant basically dictates the other remarkable feature of the work, which is the very free and flexible approach to rhythm. Gregorian chant long predates our modern notions of musical time moving in neat groups of 2, 3, 4, or more beats, with each group the same length. Phrases in chant can have any number of notes in them, and are usually performed with each note being the same length. Duruflé respects that tradition, and his score flows freely into and out of different time signatures purely according to the length of the chant melody he uses at each point.
Some of the chants are used as long slow chorale-like passages, some as more up-tempo and even vigorous melodies, and some as ostinato accompaniments.
The writing for choir and instruments alike is unfailingly clear, with a serenity and a wise air of acceptance of death very like that of the much earlier Requiem of Gabriel Fauré, which was Duruflé's avowed model. As with the earlier work, Duruflé employs two soloists: a baritone and a mezzo-soprano.
It's hard to single out this or that passage for commentary. Every moment of this clear, lucid score is full of its own beauties. Unlike Fauré, Duruflé allows some heavy-duty drama at the darkest moment of the text, the Dies irae lines in the penultimate Libera me, with the chorus and orchestra rising briefly to a fortississimo climax. The mezzo-soprano's Pie Jesu solo is different in character, darker and warmer, as compared to the famous soprano solo in the Requiem by Fauré.
My own personal favourite moments are found in the middle of the score. First, there's the rapidly spinning ostinato of the Sanctus, which leads up to a resplendent full climax. Then comes the Pie Jesu, followed by the Agnus Dei. The most lovely movement of all for me is the Lux aeterna which then follows. A free chant melody intoned by cor anglais is followed by another chant from the choir in unison, repeated at a higher key (led by the oboe this time), and then the line Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine is sung on a unison monotone while the orchestra weaves a beautifully harmonized chant in slow chordal fashion around the voices. The effect is absolutely magical.
I pity anyone who automatically dismisses any music written since 1900, because in so doing they are depriving themselves of one of the most purely beautiful musical compositions I've ever heard. It was sung with full orchestra at the very first concert of the Toronto Mendelssohn Choir which I ever attended. Some years later, I had the privilege of singing it myself (in the organ-only version, alas) in the fine church choir at St. George's United Church in North Toronto. I've only ever heard it performed once since then, and again it was the organ version. I'd certainly love to hear this wonderful piece performed live with the full orchestra again.
If you seek a recording, there's a good selection available, and all three versions are represented. The one I treasure in my collection is Andrew Davis's CBS (now Sony) recording from London, made in the 1980s, in which the warm and resonant acoustic supports and enhances the all-important woodwind parts to splendid effect.
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