Maurice Duruflé, like Dutilleux, and even Ravel, is one of those
French composers whose catalogue of works is slim, but each piece
within it is polished like the finest jewel. Most of his music
was written for choir or organ, but even including what little
orchestral and chamber music he produced, barely three CDs would
be needed to contain his complete works.
The Requiem
was commissioned by his publisher, Durand, and exists in three
forms. The first, with full orchestra, appeared in 1947. The
composer completed a version for organ alone the following
year. Then, in 1961, he prepared a third, for small orchestra
including harp, timpani, organ and three trumpets. Duruflé
gave two reasons for creating this third version. The first
is predictable, the practical problems involved in assembling
a full orchestra, but the second is more interesting. He wrote
that “an organ alone might seem insufficient in certain passages
… where the expressive timbre of the strings is necessary.”
Wonderful though the organ version is, I agree with this.
Whichever version
one gets to know, Duruflé’s Requiem is one of the most
beautiful works in the choral repertoire. Like much of his
music, it is based on Gregorian chant, and what he does with
these melodies is little short of miraculous. I can only urge
readers who do not already know the piece to set to and put
things right immediately. For those happy to get to know it
in its organ-accompanied version I have no hesitation in saying
that they cannot do much better than invest in this disc.
The choral singing is quite superb, and whilst few listeners
would be fooled into thinking that it was a French choir,
the Vasari Singers certainly avoid any suggestion of the English
cathedral tradition – a flavour that which not suit this work
at all. Too many English performances present it as an example
of Gallic restraint and emotional self-control. There is a
marvellous serenity about much of the music, it’s true, but
there is passion too, as well as doubt and even fear. One
wants to congratulate this team for avoiding the understatement
of too many English performances. The final two pages of the
Introit provide a good example of this, as well as
the superb climax of the following Kyrie. If only Jeremy
Backhouse had encouraged his altos to adopt a more exultant
tone in their glorious solo at the beginning of Domine
Jesu Christe then my satisfaction might almost have been
complete, especially if he had retaken the Agnus Dei too,
where the singing seems marginally less convinced. On the
other hand the Hosannas in the Sanctus are stunning,
as are the two dramatic passages. Jeremy Filsell tackles
the ferocious organ part marvellously well and we even have
Robert Cohen, balanced a little closely, as cello soloist
in the Pie Jesu. Sarah Connolly is fine here, finding,
almost to perfection, the fine line between prayerfulness
and human anxiety. I say “almost” because I would have preferred
less vibrato in louder passages, but the same problem is much
more pronounced in Christopher Maltman’s two short solo passages,
to the extent that they are all but ruined for this listener.
This is a very
fine performance indeed, and one I will certainly come back
to when I want to hear the organ version of this magnificent
work. As to other choices, there is a very fine performance
on BIS by the St. Jacob’s Chamber Choir of Stockholm conducted
by Gary Graden (BISCD602) but it is cooler than the present
performance and I wouldn’t prefer it overall. However, the
disc also features some of the most beautiful solo baritone
singing I have ever heard from Peter Mattei, both in the Requiem
and in the sublime Mass Cum Jubilo for unison baritones
and organ.
The four short
Op. 10 motets are also extremely beautiful. The Vasari Singers
are as impressive technically here as they are in the Requiem,
but I don’t think they tell the whole story. I find the choir
too cool, too restrained in these pieces, falling slightly
into the trap, in other words, that they so successfully avoided
in the main work. This is especially true of the first motet,
Ubi caritas. By moving the music on – doing only what
is marked in the score – a certain urgency can be achieved.
There are one or two harsh sounds here too, especially in
Tu es Petrus, difficult enough to bring off in any
case. I find these performances too spiritual, even ethereal.
French choirs find it easier to avoid this, and to hear what
I mean you should listen to the performances on Naxos (8.553196)
conducted by Michel Piquemal, less well in tune, to be sure,
but more human. The Requiem is also to be found on
this disc, in the small orchestra version, with Didier Henry
a very good baritone soloist and Béatrice Uria-Monzon an outstanding
mezzo.
It was so obviously
a good idea not to complete the disc with more Duruflé, and
brave to give us music by a composer so little known, that
I’m disappointed not to be more enthusiastic about the rest
of the programme. Jean-Jacques Grunenwald was, like Duruflé,
an professional organist for much of his life, and if his
catalogue of concert works is almost as slim, he was a prolific
composer of film scores. His setting of what we now call Psalm
130, De Profundis, is an ambitious work in three movements.
Much of the organ writing will discourage those temperamentally
allergic to the instrument – enormous, thick dissonant chords
over long held pedal notes. There is a lot of it too, as the
choir is silent for much of the time. The choral writing is
relatively unvaried, homophonic with piquant harmonies not
always directly suggested by the words. The second section
rises to a massive climax which seems pasted in rather than
inevitable and hard won. The final section could almost be
by another composer, with sugary harmonies for women’s voices
rising progressively to the upper registers to suggest perpetual
light, “a clear vision of ecstasy” as Adam Binks writes in
the informative accompanying note. Grunenwald’s setting of
Tu es Petrus is similar in style to the second part
of the Psalm, forthright and declamatory. The booklet prints
the same brief text as for Duruflé’s motet, but Grunenwald
actually continues further with it. The performances are committed
but feel less secure than those of the Duruflé works. If Jeremy
Backhouse thought it worthwhile to resurrect this music it
is presumably because he is convinced by it, but I must confess
to finding not a single memorable musical idea throughout.
William Hedley
see also Review
by John Quinn June RECORDING
OF THE MONTH