The Baltimore Symphony Orchestra's performance of Anton Bruckner's Te Deum and Beethoven's Choral Symphony, which my wife and I attended on May 25th, was a spectacular finish to the season, and, for me at least, a profoundly moving experience. The conductor, Peter Oundijan was brilliant--brisk tempos--which let the music express itself without any hperromantic overlay; very expressive when he needed to be; he also managed to strike a near-perfect balance among the instruments. The orchestra was in great form. The singers were all good. There was a striking contrast between the two male singers, both of whom performed admirably. The tenor, Brandon Jovanovich, was thin and of small stature; he was dressed Eutopean-style in a black tuxedo with a white shirt and tie. The Bass, Morris Robinson, towered over him--a bulky 280 lbs or so compared to the tenor about half his weight. Mr. Robinson was dressed casually, in a dark sports jacket and sported no tie. The contrast didn't end there. The tenor was very involved in the music; his facial expressions indicated that he was joyfully--and, if need be--solemnly one with the score. Mr. Robinson often looked quite bored--but that's not how he sang!
I am writing this little piece, however, not to technically judge the performance--I leave that to professional musicians--but to discuss something in both pieces that affected me deeply.
The finale of Bruckner's piece begins with the soloists singing the following words: "In te, Domini, speravi, non confundar in aeternam." The text is of crucial importance here. The English, in my translation, is "I have placed my hope in you, O Lord, do not confound forever" or, in the standard translation: "O Lord, in Thee have I trusted, let me never be confounded." It begins simply enough, with the soloists singing sweetly, as if they really don't understand the implied meaning: how can a loving God allow suffering? Soon one can see, that is hear, that this problem was of great importance to the composer. the chorus takes it up, the orchestration deepens. The sopranos sing high and loud--We've trusted in Thee! How come no response! (That's what I interpret the music to be "saying," not the text.) The brass adds additional and painful solemnity to this question. Eventually a wonderful climax arrives: The chorus singing the same words, but with full force in a major key, transforms the meaning. Now the music "states"--gloriously--the following: I have trusted in Thee and Thou hast not let me down!" In this chorus Bruckner comes the closest, perhaps, in all his music, to doubt. He wrestles with the text, he doesn't let it go. It ends in a sublime statement of faith, which would not have nearly been so effective without the many bars of questioning that precede it. The program notes state: "Building in waves, he creates one of the most glorious climaxes in all choral music." After being moved almost to tears by this music, I consider that sentence to be an understatement.
Then came Beethoven's great choral symphony, beloved, deservedly, all over the world! I will limit my discussion to the striking parallel I found between the finale of Brucker's piece and that of Beethoven's. Once again the text is crucial: "Brueder, ueber Sternenzelt/muss ein lieber Vater wohnen." (Brothers, a loving Father must be living beyond the tent of the stars." my translation.) It is first stated very solemly by male members of the chorus supported by lower-register stings. Then it is taken up, very gently, by the women--after much back and forth, an extraordinary climax is reached by the chorus. These two lines were of crucial importance to Beethoven--and he sublimely lets us know it. The meaning of the text is very similar to the text Bruckner wrestled with. Beethoven is telling us, well, there just hast to be an answer to all the suffering we endure. It is beyond everything we know, or, metaphorically, "beyond the stars" but it is there. The glory of Beethoven's music is the transformation of "It is there" to "It is there!" I am reminded of Hopkins's glorious line, "There lives the dearest freshness deep down things." So deep that we shall never reach it but we can get very close in music such as this. After this confirmation of faith, the Ode to Joy theme returns, ecstatically transfigured.
I have come to think of Bruckner's finale of his Te Deum, Beethoven's finale of the choral symphony and Handel's aria from The Messiah, "I know that my redeemer liveth" as the three classic statements of faith in music--with the exception, of course, of everything Bach wrote. I will add a final question: What are we to do with this as modernists? I for one cannot believe any religion literally, and I doubt, in the twenty-first century, that I'm alone in this regard. But music, like poetry, cannot be put into prose. (I like to think that if I could go back in time to Bach's church in the seventeenth century, I would have understood perfectly every note Bach wrote. But after the music stopped, and the preacher began to talk, I can hear myself thinking, "What the hell is that guy talking about?") For me Bruckner's and Beethoven's faith is still resonant in that most of us, too, believe that there is a greater depth to our lives than that we are (usually) aware of. We can plummet these depths with great music, great poetry, with love, and with productive work. That's more than enough for me.
I am writing this little piece, however, not to technically judge the performance--I leave that to professional musicians--but to discuss something in both pieces that affected me deeply.
The finale of Bruckner's piece begins with the soloists singing the following words: "In te, Domini, speravi, non confundar in aeternam." The text is of crucial importance here. The English, in my translation, is "I have placed my hope in you, O Lord, do not confound forever" or, in the standard translation: "O Lord, in Thee have I trusted, let me never be confounded." It begins simply enough, with the soloists singing sweetly, as if they really don't understand the implied meaning: how can a loving God allow suffering? Soon one can see, that is hear, that this problem was of great importance to the composer. the chorus takes it up, the orchestration deepens. The sopranos sing high and loud--We've trusted in Thee! How come no response! (That's what I interpret the music to be "saying," not the text.) The brass adds additional and painful solemnity to this question. Eventually a wonderful climax arrives: The chorus singing the same words, but with full force in a major key, transforms the meaning. Now the music "states"--gloriously--the following: I have trusted in Thee and Thou hast not let me down!" In this chorus Bruckner comes the closest, perhaps, in all his music, to doubt. He wrestles with the text, he doesn't let it go. It ends in a sublime statement of faith, which would not have nearly been so effective without the many bars of questioning that precede it. The program notes state: "Building in waves, he creates one of the most glorious climaxes in all choral music." After being moved almost to tears by this music, I consider that sentence to be an understatement.
Then came Beethoven's great choral symphony, beloved, deservedly, all over the world! I will limit my discussion to the striking parallel I found between the finale of Brucker's piece and that of Beethoven's. Once again the text is crucial: "Brueder, ueber Sternenzelt/muss ein lieber Vater wohnen." (Brothers, a loving Father must be living beyond the tent of the stars." my translation.) It is first stated very solemly by male members of the chorus supported by lower-register stings. Then it is taken up, very gently, by the women--after much back and forth, an extraordinary climax is reached by the chorus. These two lines were of crucial importance to Beethoven--and he sublimely lets us know it. The meaning of the text is very similar to the text Bruckner wrestled with. Beethoven is telling us, well, there just hast to be an answer to all the suffering we endure. It is beyond everything we know, or, metaphorically, "beyond the stars" but it is there. The glory of Beethoven's music is the transformation of "It is there" to "It is there!" I am reminded of Hopkins's glorious line, "There lives the dearest freshness deep down things." So deep that we shall never reach it but we can get very close in music such as this. After this confirmation of faith, the Ode to Joy theme returns, ecstatically transfigured.
I have come to think of Bruckner's finale of his Te Deum, Beethoven's finale of the choral symphony and Handel's aria from The Messiah, "I know that my redeemer liveth" as the three classic statements of faith in music--with the exception, of course, of everything Bach wrote. I will add a final question: What are we to do with this as modernists? I for one cannot believe any religion literally, and I doubt, in the twenty-first century, that I'm alone in this regard. But music, like poetry, cannot be put into prose. (I like to think that if I could go back in time to Bach's church in the seventeenth century, I would have understood perfectly every note Bach wrote. But after the music stopped, and the preacher began to talk, I can hear myself thinking, "What the hell is that guy talking about?") For me Bruckner's and Beethoven's faith is still resonant in that most of us, too, believe that there is a greater depth to our lives than that we are (usually) aware of. We can plummet these depths with great music, great poetry, with love, and with productive work. That's more than enough for me.
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