Fragile

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A Requiem for Male Voices Pierre de la Rue (1460?–1518): Missa pro fi delibus defunctis Ludwig Thomas · Sting · Kurt Weill · Einojuhani Rautavaara Hans Schanderl · Knut Nystedt · Eric Clapton Die Singphoniker

Fragile – the famous song from Sting’s album “Nothing Like the Sun” is likewise the title of the new CD of the vocal sextet “Die Singphoniker”. Renaissance composer Pierre de la Rue and his requiem “Missa pro fidelibus defunctis” are the focus of this program of works, which all deal with the finite nature of human beings. The ensemble creates a mood of contemplation surrounding one of the basic themes of all times, contrasting the requiem, which was composed ca. 1500, with music of our age. Sting’s “Fragile” is just as much a part of this as music by Einojuhani Rautavaara and Kurt Weill, while gospel songs like “Deep River” and Eric Clapton’s “Tears in Heaven” are also incorporated.
The Singphoniker have just recently recast a number of positions, now cultivating old strengths with younger forces. Characteristic for the group is the sheer disarming ease of the upper voice, sung by a countertenor, resting on the powerful, incredibly colorful foundation of bass to tenor voices. When the Singphoniker sing so-called “light music”, it loses all its supposed superficiality, and they present so-called “serious” repertoire with a naturalness that rapidly helps listeners lose their guardedness

fragile
Encounter

We were supposed to learn de la Rue’s Missa pro fidelibus defunctis – a requiem of the Renaissance – for a concert. We had barely heard of the composition or the composer before. Always curious about unfamiliar material, we set to work. Having had some difficulty in unearthing the sheet music in the first place, an initial reading threw up a whole series of questions related to practical performance. The music was “only” available in the standard form for collected editions, which made it essential to work out an arrangement for the “singphonic” approach to singing. We had never come across a work with such a low register before. The deepest bass reaches down to contra B-flat. The “second lowest” bass should still be able to reach the great C. The composition also switches between various combinations of singers, from two to five voices. The editors point out that this deep register was widespread in the region at that time and they also suspect that the individual phrases were sung by different groups of singers. They assign the voices of Introitus and Agnus Dei to up to four basses and one tenor. Other parts of the mass are shared between a countertenor, two tenors and a bass. And rhythmically there are sections that seem unfamiliar to the majority of today’s musicians and are only used widely again in new music. The simultaneous overlapping of various types of beat, for example, was very common at that time. The sequence of movements is also interesting. The source text differs from the requiem settings that we are all familiar with, by following Introitus and Kyrie with the insertion of the Psalm “Sicut cervus desiderat” as Tractus, without the usual Dies irae here; it also differs from today’s standard liturgical sequence with the Tractus Absolve Domine. If we compare de la Rue’s dates (1460?–1518) to the history of the church (Tridentine Council 1545–1563), this departure could be explained by the fact that the form of the Requiem was fixed in writing for the first time there, which is why the Franco-Flemish composer chose this arrangement. Despite these many questions, the music that we were able to draw out of the requiem – from the first time that we sung it – immediately held a particular fascination. We found ourselves transported to a distant epoch, into a strangely alien space of sound, many of the details of which appeared to be unclear or shrouded in darkness. It was certainly mysterious, but it had a spiritual force that immediately captivated and overpowered our souls, awakening the desire to linger in this music. An exploration with all our senses of what an important musician of that time (we recognized that very quickly) has to say on the subject of “transience”. In this thematic aspect, we immediately felt ourselves close to de la Rue across the ages. This was, perhaps, a crucial connection right from the outset which, coupled with our artistic drive and an appropriate amount of curiosity, challenged our ambition to “crack” the parts that were as yet unknown to us.

Approach

We discussed the problem of the low register with experts in old music and listened carefully to the few recordings that had been made. Our conclusion then: the “profoundly deep” parts should sound as “profoundly deep” as possible. The tuning pitch was relative at that time, there was no concert pitch A with 440 Hz as there is today. We did not want to use instruments, the range of which could strengthen the bottom notes – which had also been the historical practice in previous performances. Our challenge was to explore the boundaries at the bottom of the scale as far as possible. At the same time it was obvious that vocal sound at the bottom of the range loses tonal intensity and dynamic scope, a limitation that was worth taking into consideration. In the end, we were able to find a transposition plan which made it possible to create “as dark a sound as possible” for the deep parts of the requiem, while making the most of the “specific singphonic possibilities”. Subsequently, we entered this sound space time and again, with the aim of making ourselves at home in it. We had actually felt comfortable in it right from the start. We noticed that after a lengthy absence, we always had to work hard to gain access to it again. Still today, many sections want to be discovered and illuminated anew every time. Singing de la Rue means leaving familiar singphonic ground for us, which, after all, ranges from Gregorian chants to contemporary music and therefore does not have many limitations. Once we had properly arrived there, we seemed to hover in the music, as it were. Everything seemed weightless. A stream of tones, transcendental and timeless in its effect. Like a perfectly constructed building, ideal in form, well proportioned, reduced to its essentials, as a result absolutely compelling in what it had to say, then, today and always. But are there differences in the way in which people – as interpreters and listeners – experienced the music at that time and experience it today? If so, what are they? Should historical transposition (or what we understand by that today) be a relevant approach to interpretation for us? In order to do justice to a composer of this sort, should we attempt to silence hundreds of years of music history, to suppress? All of this was part of the process of approaching the music.

Extension

Arriving in a space, accepting it and moving into it also means arranging it as you want it. The atmosphere and tonal characteristics of this work led us to the bold idea of bring ing it into contact with the music of today. After all, we had a theme: death, transience, the fragility of all existence. In this context, de la Rue’s work could be seen as the powerful stone structure of an old cathedral, a clear and dominant external form, into which contemporary accents can be placed, connected in terms of content, like newly designed stained glass windows. What would happen if we brought the music of today with us into this soundspace? To do so, we had to find the courage to break the work up, dissect it into its constituent parts. The question as to where the points of contact with the music of our age might be was the easier one. But which music would fit in? The most important principle in the search, even more important than the thematic connection, was respect for de la Rue’s composition. With that in mind, we set off on our search for potential “windows”. “Death and transience” is one of the central themes of humanity, and of music too. It does not always have to be a requiem, or even spiritual music. The “Singphoniker” would not be the “Singphoniker” if we had not truly attempted to break down every conceivable barrier in this undertaking that crossed many borders. In searching for connections and contrasts, we also came across the title for the program. It was “fragile”. A word that comes from the Latin (fragilis) and exists in English, French, Italian and German. Also a wonderful song by Sting. Finally, an arrangement had been found that seemed to us to be full of contrast and in which, at the same time, anyone who wanted to could find multiple connections (wherever we could we even gave consideration to related keys in the links, making many of the transitions more fluent). A piece by Ludwig Thomas forms the introduction: “Mein junges Leben hat ein End” (“My young life is coming to an end”). The melody is based on Sweelinck’s familiar work which is often played on the organ. Three verses of a contrapuntal vocal movement, in the style of the original. Then, still before the Missa begins, “fragile” by Sting. One of his most popular songs, also the first track on his live album recorded on September 11, 2001. The arrangement written by Patrick Ehrich for the Singphoniker opens up some new aspects of the original. Then, finally, de la Rue: Introitus. After the first two contrasting impressions, entry into the sound space that provides the framework and our first concentrated treatment of it. Then what is perhaps the harshest contrast: Kurt Weill’s “Zu Potsdam unter den Eichen” (“Potsdam under the oaks”) from his Berliner Requiem. A musical accompaniment for the funeral procession of a soldier who fell in the war: strange echoes of a march, aggression held back with difficulty, a blazing condemnation of senseless death. A secular “Lord have mercy on us”? That follows in spiritual form in the Kyrie of the Missa, which modifies Weill’s strong emotion. Rautavaara’s Baudelaire arrangement “La mort des pauvres” (“The death of the poor”) shows us in mysteriously hymnlike tones death as salvation from the earthly vale of tears. The moment in this composition in which, following tones that soar upwards powerfully, the gate to eternity, to paradise, seems to open, shining brightly, is indescribable. The following Tractus of the requiem “Sicut cervus desiderat” is perhaps the yearning for God turned into music. When will we finally leave everything earthly behind us and stand before God? In “Deep river”, too, this yearning for the promised land in which all is peace can be felt. At the same time, it is mixed with the hope of salvation in paradise. The Offertorium follows, the song that accompanies the offering. In this varied section, Gregorian intonations for one voice are followed by parts for two, four or five voice in various beats and tempos. Hans Schanderl’s composition “Whispers of Heavenly Death” fits in a very special way into the overall concept of the CD. Even the whispered beginning makes your ears prick up and draws you into its spell from the outset. The polyphonic network of lines repeatedly recalls distant epochs and creates moments of meditation of great peace. At the same time, expressive vocal sforzati provide exciting accents, combined with soaring, overpowering concentrations of sound that recur repeatedly. The music speaks of floods of tears, a whispering behind them. Through cloud formations, a distant star now shines. An insurmountable barrier becomes visible, which only the soul is able to cross. Its final tones flow almost directly into the Sanctus of the Missa. Centuries of musical development seem to have vanished at this moment, without any significance. For us, this is perhaps the most fascinating moment of this compilation, when the sounds melt to form a new whole. The Sanctus is solemn, tonally opulent, at the same time rhythmically varied, of great intimacy in the Benedictus. Magnificent music by a great master. In Nystedt’s “Peace, I leave with you”, words of St John are the template for music which, in gently varying shades of tone, tells of peace of a sort not found on earth, but which God alone can grant. Our greeting of peace. One last time we turn to the mass. The “Agnus Dei” for five voices rings out in dark colors reminiscent of the opening. A short “Lux aeterna” for four voices closes the requiem in a conciliatory, bright major key. Eric Clapton won a Grammy in 1993 for the pop ballad “Tears in Heaven” that follows. Despite the major key, the melancholic piece is about the grief of those who are left behind after the death of a loved one – in Clapton’s case, after the tragic accidental death of his four-yearold son. Remaining behind in the knowledge that they do not yet belong in heaven and must continue to find their way through the days and nights. Here, too, is the ancient motif of yearning for peace in the after-life and a heaven without tears. At the very end stands the Abendlied “Der Mond ist aufgegangen” (“The moon has risen”). The words of Matthias Claudius and the melody of Peter Schulz have a fixed place in the German repertoire of songs. Ludwig Thomas has found wonderful tones for the rising moon, the distant starry sky, the plea for peaceful sleep, a gentle death and being accepted into heaven.

Something new?

What are we left with in the end? The destruction of the unity and coherence of a unique requiem composition? An over-ambitious arrangement of individual pieces of music with a set of contrived links? Clumsy transitions, if you can even call them that? A strange stylistic puzzle, perhaps even the violation of music torn from its “natural context”? We had to keep asking ourselves these questions and checking our answers to them as assiduously as possible.

Something new!

At the end of our encounter with … approach to … and extension of the material and theme, we believe that there is a strong chance that a new whole has been created. In concerts with this program arrangement we have become certain that – the thematic links apart – flowing connections can be created across perceived eternities of musical history and also across styles that seem to be galaxies apart through song in particular. The way in which the voice, which has been the human instrument since our origins and the essence of which has always remained the same, spontaneously creates powerful and profoundly organic connections repeatedly leaves us speechless. At least we have a kind of certainty that this is what happens, a certainty that grows from this root and that we feel deep in our souls as singers. Then all we can do is hope that our listeners will feel the same about the composition. It would be wonderful if the sound space of the CD invited listeners to keep spending time in it in contemplation, discovering as they do so new facets and hidden variety. And we also allow ourselves to hope that it is music in particular, which is so fleeting and appears to lack substance, that is able to convey a sense of soul, transcendence, death and transfiguration. And that perhaps relaxing and listening to this music for a brief moment – or a perceived eternity – can even lift the burden of time from our shoulders and bring us a step closer to heavenly realms.