Arachnophonia: W.A. Mozart “Requiem”

Editor’s note: Arachnophonia is a regular feature on our blog where members of the UR community can share their thoughts about resources from the Parsons Music Library‘s collection.

All links included in these posts will take you to either the library catalog record for the item in question or to additional relevant information from around the web.

Today’s installment of Arachnophonia is by student worker Emma R. (class of 2021) and features a study score edition of Mozart’s Requiem. Thanks, Emma!

Mozart’s Requiem

Mozart Requiem mini score

What does it mean to compose a piece of music? Is it writing the notes on the page? Is it dictating the general musical idea? Writing the lyrics? What about the problem of orchestrations? If the composition is in the musical idea, can we know what a composer intended the piece to sound like? These kinds of questions can apply to many pieces by composers who do not work completely alone – both contemporary and long-dead. However, when considering a piece such as Mozart’s Requiem, these questions clearly take on greater than typical importance. As is commonly known, Mozart’s Requiem was left unfinished at the time of the composer’s death – a tale highly dramatized throughout the centuries since. But dramatization aside, this leaves serious questions for modern historically aware performers and listeners – questions which are not present when considering most other works. Who really wrote what parts of the Requiem? What did Mozart imagine when he conceived of the work?

Due to the unfinished nature of the work, the autograph does not contain all the answers. Portions of the autograph – the original handwritten version of the piece – are in Mozart’s hand and other portions are not. Significant portions were not completed at all. Orchestrations and – some scholars argue – entire sections, such as a hypothesized intended fugue – are missing. This doesn’t even begin to consider the lack of answers to many performance questions which impact the sound of the piece – articulation markings, dynamics, tempos, and more.

1st page of Mozart’s autograph manuscript of the Requiem
Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=853665

Currently, the version completed by Mozart’s student Süßmayr is considered somewhat the standard. However, this is still a decision that must be made prior to every performance of the work, as other versions – completed by Mozart scholars – do exist. I myself am not informed enough about Mozart’s style nor his compositional process to make normative statements about the potential distance between the composer’s likeliest intentions and the accepted completed version today, however scholars such as Friedrich Blume and Nathan Broder have. In their article, “Requiem but No Peace,” these scholars argue, for example, “that flutes, oboes, clarinets, and horns are wholly absent in the complete Requiem is entirely unMozartean and must weaken Süssmeyer’s (sic) credit…” (Blume and Broder 1961, 161). Furthermore, these authors argue that since Mozart tended to compose orchestrations in three rounds – the above mentioned winds in the last round – that the lack of these instruments is more likely due to the unfortunate death of the composer than due to his intentions to leave them out (160).

Can we really say that the Requiem as we hear it performed – perhaps Mozart’s most well-known work today is really written by Mozart? Is the Requiem we know actually what the Mozart Requiem would have sounded like had the composer lived long enough to see it completed?

This study score at the Music Library shows all parts of the accepted Süßmayr completion – including markings which denote portions from the manuscript judged to be in Mozart’s vs Süßmayr’s handwriting. (It’s a miniature score – so it isn’t large and bulky). Take a listen and read along. No matter who wrote it, it really is a marvelous work.

Croce-Mozart-Detail

Detail of a portrait of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart by Johann Nepomuk della Croce – Unknown, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=449108

Arachnophonia: Gilbert & Sullivan “The Mikado”

Editor’s note: Arachnophonia is a regular feature on our blog where members of the UR community can share their thoughts about resources from the Parsons Music Library‘s collection.

All links included in these posts will take you to either the library catalog record for the item in question or to additional relevant information from around the web.

Today’s installment of Arachnophonia is by student worker Emma R. (class of 2021) and features Gilbert & Sullivan’s 1885 operetta The Mikado. Thanks, Emma!

Gilbert & Sullivan

The Mikado

Mikado CD cover

Gilbert and Sullivan remain known over a hundred years after their deaths for their light comic operas which have been reproduced the world over. Of their fourteen operas, The Mikado is one of the most often performed. The Mikado is a love story, a political satire critiquing the British politics of the day, and like all of Gilbert and Sullivan’s operas, it’s a comedy.

The problem? The Mikado is set in a highly fictionalized version of Japan, a culture which at the time [Editor’s note: The Mikado was first produced in London in 1885] was not well understood by the British public. Traditional performances use costuming, makeup and stage presence in ways that today can be considered stereotyping and offensive, not to mention the fact that often, the singers performing in the opera are not of Asian descent. In the century following its original production, more and more attention fell on the problematic aspects of the opera.

This year, the music department at the University of Richmond is presenting the Tucker-Boatwright Festival in collaboration with Boatwright Library, which this year focuses on the representation of the “other” in music and the arts at large, titled “Beyond Exoticism“. An advertising poster for a course tied to the festival included this photo of a production of The Mikado, and the headline “so, what do we think of this?”

Over the years, a number of productions have attempted in different ways to approach the show in a different light to remove the problematic aspects. One New York production, for example, created a new prologue which suggests that the whole show occurs in the mind of a Victorian British person suffering the hallucinogenic effects of a head injury. Other productions have changed the setting, for example, to Renaissance-Era Milan, or to a 1930s-Era British hotel.

1930s set Mikado

The Mikado raises a lot of tough questions about the proper place for historical musical and artistic works which today can be viewed as highly problematic or even offensive. I couldn’t possibly claim to have any of the answers. Luckily, Gilbert and Sullivan operas have a history of being open to modern interpretations, re-wordings, or re-settings, leaving the door open for future directors to present The Mikado as they see fit.

In the meantime, check out this audio recording from the D’Oyly Carte Opera Company, the original producers of many of Gilbert and Sullivan’s operas, at the Music Library, think about these hard questions, and come join this important discussion at the “Beyond Exoticism” events this year.

Arachnophonia : Brahms “Ein deutsches Requiem”

Editor’s note: Arachnophonia is a regular feature on our blog where members of the UR community can share their thoughts about items in the Parsons Music Library‘s collection. All links included in these posts will take you to either the library catalog record for the item in question or to additional relevant information from around the web.

Today’s installment of Arachnophonia is by Music Library student worker, Emma R. (class of 2021) and features Johannes Brahms’ “Ein deutsches Requiem” which was composed between 1857 and 1868. Thanks, Emma!

Johannes Brahms

Ein Deutsches Requiem

Brahms Ein Deutsches Requiem

For some strange reason, ever since I was a child I was drawn to classical music. It wasn’t forced on me by my parents through piano lessons or anything similar – in fact, my dad used to, and occasionally still does bemoan my lack of interest in his “oldies” (considering mine are centuries older, I question the use of this term) and acoustic singer-songwriter favorites. A memorable (and embarrassing) moment when I was entering sixth grade illustrates this complete disconnect from reality and a lack of common sense – I asked the 20-something DJ at the 6th grade ice-cream social/dance party to “please play some Mozart so I could hear myself think.” Yes, this actually happened, and no, it did not go over very well (clearly). I’ve grown somewhat over the years; my Spotify account tells me that in 2017, Sia’s “Chandelier” edged out the “Dies Irae” from Mozart’s Requiem, coming in at 46 and 47 most commonly played, respectively, but there’s still something about a good “Kyrie” or a sumptuous aria or an intriguing overture that synthesizers just can’t match.

Richmond Symphony Chorus

In recent months, I’ve been listening to the Brahms Requiem more than any other album or song (I fully expect to find each movement on Spotify’s analysis of my 2018 habits). I walk across campus humming the key motives and it plays on my speakers as I do my hair or study for an exam. I’m sad to say I hadn’t discovered this piece before this year. The reason for this sudden infatuation? This piece will be the first I will perform as a member of the Richmond Symphony Chorus, with performances in the middle of November. From the night of the first rehearsal – a complete read through of the piece – cover to cover – in August, I was hooked.

Brahms score

Unlike the typical Latin text of the classical requiem, Brahms wrote entirely in German, and as such was free to abandon the standard movements and sections dictated by the traditional text. While I might bemoan the loss of a Brahmsian rendition of the “Dies Irae,” this gave him the ability to craft a framework of his own. My personal favorite moment of the Brahms is the second, though after a particularly intense rehearsal on the sixth I was about ready to shift my allegiances. I’m still loyal to the second though, for the reason of a specific 20 second section occurring at 9:34 – 9:54 of the second track of this recording. This moment, for me, captures the glorious beauty of wonderful music that truly stands the test of time, and let’s be honest, that soprano part is just so fun to sing!

Johannes Brahms c. 1866

Johannes Brahms c. 1866