Editor’s note:Arachnophonia (“Arachno” = spider / “-phonia” = sound) 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.
While studying abroad, I was lucky enough to be able to attend a concert from the Staatskapelle Dresden, one of the world’s finest and most historic orchestras. Founded in 1548 by the Duke of Saxony, the Staatskapelle is now celebrating its 475th anniversary. The Staatskapelle plays in the famed Semperoper opera house, first built in 1841 in Baroque and Neo-Renaissance styles. Numerous composers have been linked with the orchestra throughout the years (most notably Strauss and Wagner), and the orchestra has held countless world premieres.
In 2009, the orchestra announced that Christian Thielemann would take on the role of chief conductor, a position he still holds. Thielemann, winner of the Richard Wagner Award and recipient of the Order of Merit of the Federal Republic of Germany, is renowned for his balance between technical precision and expressive interpretation. Under his leadership, the orchestra continues to shape classical music and fascinate its audiences.
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.
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!
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.
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
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.
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.
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!
