In the canon of Requiems written by the great opera composers, it’s usually Verdi’s which is complained about as “too operatic”. But Mozart’s Requiem in D minor – the opening key of Don Giovanni – can be almost as operatic as Verdi's, if the chorus are in the right mood for it. Last night at Bulgaria Hall in Sofia, the National Philharmonic Choir were definitely in the mood for high drama, giving us a high octane fire-and-brimstone Requiem that thrilled from start to finish.
The preceding Beethoven Violin Concerto in D major had not indicated what was to follow, in a reading that seemed rather subdued; elegantly classical rather than Romantic. It did, however, reveal the Sofia Philharmonic Orchestra as a high quality orchestra. The string sound was clean and bright, ensemble was pin-sharp, the timbre of every woodwind instrument was rich, the solos attractively phrased. The sound of the two horns was gorgeous in their many interventions, particularly the hunting calls of the third movement. Under the attentive baton of Nayden Todorov, not a hair was out of place.
But the concerto lacked the wow factor. Soloist Francesca Dego gave us the cleanest of clean violin tones and faultless passagework, spinning silken threads with her scales and trills. But the licence to thrill was left on the table. The long notes of the second movement weren’t always sustained enough, the clarity of her high notes wasn’t enough to lift us to some more ethereal plane. Tempi were relatively slow and the work’s rhythmic contrasts weren’t accented enough to give us Romantic Sturm und Drang. We were left feeling that this orchestra could give a lot more.
From the first orchestral bars of the Requiem, the steady tread of the Introitus, it was clear that the experience was about to change, with marked accenting and urgent forward movement. From the moment the choir joined in, we knew that Classical elegance had been abandoned: these were singers deeply connected to the text and determined to bring out its meaning: “dona eis, Domine” pleaded; each syllable of “lux perpetua” was a hammer blow underlining the significance of the perpetual light that then bloomed with “luceat eis”. Todorov was a purposeful conductor, always precise, always involved, never histrionic.
The double fugue Kyrie, repeated to different words in the closing Lux aeterna, is a bear trap for choirs, because the texture is so thick that it’s all too easy to descend into mush. The secret is for each voice to signpost its main entry with firm accenting while the other voices leave the space for this; the National Philharmonic Choir accomplished this with aplomb. Meanwhile, the perfect accuracy of the underpinning strings helped to ensure that instead of mush, we had a high adrenalin roller-coaster ride. Following an explosive Rex tremendae, never was the plea of “salva me” so fervently intoned. Never has there been such open-eyed terror of judgement for the wicked as in the words “homo reus” in the Lacrymosa. I could quote a dozen more instances.
There were imperfections. Soprano Besa Llugiqi impressed with a deliciously sweet tone, but none of the other soloists will stay long in the memory. The Confutatis was on the manic side, with its contrasting “Voca me” an insufficiently soothing balm. While the balance was excellent in almost every respect, particularly impressive for trombone sound and voices fitting seamlessly together, the organ sound sometimes jarred.
But for me, the musicianship, high emotions and attention to text of this performance made it an absolute winner. Maybe some would prefer a more elegant, reverential rendering: I’m not one of them.
