This beautiful recording makes a most welcome return to the catalogue in
Harmonia Mundi’s mid-price Gold range. Campra has been hailed by some as the
missing link between Lully and Rameau, and he spent much of his career
shuffling between the theatre and the church, trying to please both. That,
perhaps, explains the theatricality of his Requiem Mass. Very little is
known about the work’s conception and genesis, though the booklet notes do a
decent job of filling us in on the speculation. Either way, it’s a beauty,
and this recording is perhaps the most sensual, sophisticated and
French-sounding one of them all.
The opening Requiem aeternam begins by spinning a delicate web of
sound that, unusually for a requiem, is in the major key and so speaks more
of consolation and devotion than grief. In fact, the work spends by far the
majority of its time in the minor key. The most dramatic yet subtle effect
of all is kept until the final phrase of the last movement which quietly but
poignantly slips into the minor key. It’s ingenious because it is so
discrete and so unexpected. The silky smooth strings of La Chapelle Royale
seem to caress this music, while the singers of the chorus spin gorgeous
skeins of sound, creating a truly sensuous experience, perhaps rather too
sensuous for the clergymen of the time. More of an air of mystery sets in
with the Kyrie and there is an edginess of the opening of the
Offertoire, though pastoral sweetness sets in at Sed signifier
sanctus Michael. The Agnus Dei begins for all the world like
an operatic aria, with the chorus coming in to give their comment
afterwards, and the Lux aeterna is positively upbeat, as if looking
forward to that day when perpetual light shines on us.
Herreweghe’s direction is supple and responsive. He keeps the music always
moving forward, and not only is he fully aware of the way it is pulled
towards both religion and the opera house, but he does a very good job of
steering an adroit course between the two. The occasional singing of the
soloists is very apt. The trio of men in the Offertoire, for
example, sound great, with an haute-contre who sings in a very
convincingly authentic style, and the sopranos, who join at Quam olim
Abrahae are beautifully sweet. The UK’s own Stephen Varcoe shows up as
a very French-sounding bass soloist, and his contributions to the
Offertoire and Sanctus, especially his trio with two
sopranos, are beautiful indeed. The recorded sound is also just right,
creating an acoustic that helps the sound to breathe without being too
echoey. Perhaps 43 minutes is a slightly mean timing for an entire CD, but
otherwise this gets a lot of praise.
Simon Thompson
Previous review: Jake Barlow
