I've surveyed the chorus twice as to favorite works and the Verdi Requiem ranks right up at the top, perhaps second only to the German Requiem. So the chorus loves the work and it's clearly an audience favorite. Many people feel that this performance was the best we've ever been part of, and among the best we've heard anywhere. The chorus was big and we were darned good. Here's what Everett Evans said about us in his Chronicle review:
The Houston Symphony Chorus, prepared by Charles Hausmann, rose splendidly to its central role in the Requiem, with precise diction, roundly balanced sound and expert volume control. The choral singing could scarcely have been more exact and exciting than in the frenzied Dies Irae, joyous Sanctus and the complex fugal finale of the Libera me.
Note that he specifically picked out the most technical parts of the work as being "exact and exciting", which is an achievement when we've got over 160 singers. Evans continues,
Nor could one have asked any more from the soloists, a particularly well-matched team in the power, flexibility and expressiveness of their voices.
Bass-baritone Morris Robinson projected each note with booming force and gravitas fitting the work. Tenor Garrett Sorenson unleashed a rich, robust voice resounding with conviction.
Yet it was the two women who scored the greatest triumph. Mezzo-soprano Margaret Lattimore's vocals were distinguished by her rare intensity, gleamingly pure tone and strong dramatic instincts. Soprano Angela Meade sang with warmth, richness and brilliant high notes, perfectly placed. Pretty much everything either sang was extraordinarily beautiful — but especially such highlights as Lattimore's fierce solo in the Dies Irae section, Meade's pleading-for-salvation Libera me solo - and naturally, any duet passage between the two.
I've got to add to the enthusiasm about the two women soloists. I've done the Verdi Requiem a number of times and I don't think I've ever heard either role done better. But it was what happened when they sang together that was truly magic. They sang in a cappella duet a deceptively simple melody in octaves at the beginning of the Agnus Dei. This sounds simple but in reality is extremely difficult, and it was amazingly perfect. Margaret Lattimore told me that she's done the work a number of times and that often she's gotten sopranos with big vibratos and somewhat approximate pitch -- and that it was a relief to be able to work with a soprano that she could trust to be accurate so that they could work on more artistic things. Another really impressive thing was the way they both adapted their voices to each other, particularly when they were singing in the same register. From behind I often could not tell which one was singing. They obviously liked singing with each other and they were a true joy to listen to. Margaret Lattimore has sung with us a number of times before (Kaddish in 2010, Beethoven #9 in 2009, and Messiah in 2001), and she's always been good. This is the first time we've encountered Angela Meade, and I hope it's not the last. I'd like to hear her in just about anything. She has great flexibility and dynamic control, and a truly lovely voice.
Now to the conductor, Thomas Dausgaard. I have mixed feelings about him, as do many other people in the chorus. Let's start at the beginning. Just about every conductor that we have worked for puts his stamp on the work at the piano rehearsal, in the sense that the work "comes alive" with an interpretation unique to that conductor. This did not happen, as far as I (and many others) are concerned. He asked for some technical effects, changed a few dynamics, and drilled some sections over and over (more about that later), but at the end of the piano rehearsal I felt that the work sounded just about the same as it did at the beginning -- with a couple things added on. I found this discouraging, but thinking about why and how it happened I decided that in large part it was because he rehearsed us in the piano rehearsal with almost no rubato, pretty much entirely in strict time. This is extremely unusual for this work and I don't think that it's consistent with the style of the period as usually interpreted. My score is filled with notes of places where past conductors have flexed the tempo, sometimes to a very great extent. And indeed, when we got to the orchestra rehearsal we found that he was using rubato with the orchestra, but less with the soloists and still very little with us. As the orchestra rehearsals progressed it began to breath more, and the progression continued through the performances, which evolved in interpretation, until by the end we were participating in a number of tempo changes. He never got to the point with the singers of extreme rubato that we have had at times in the past, but I felt that this was basically his interpretation of the work. It certainly was not, in performance, as dry and lifeless as it was in the piano rehearsal.
Another interesting thing about the piano rehearsal was that he seldom asked us for things that involved singing technique or tone quality, except for repeatedly telling us to sing some parts as "normal" and others as "special". None of us understood what he meant by that, and in conversations later a number of theories emerged but there was never a consensus as to what he meant.
All these things, to me, indicate that he is not very experienced in dealing with preparing choruses. One of our most experienced singers commented, "I wonder how many times in the past few years this guy has conducted a chorus?"
There is another aspect of this conductor that probably needs to be said: He is not kind, at least to singers. There were several illustrations of this. In the piano rehearsal he drilled us over and over and over on more than one of the gut-buster passages -- without ever telling us why or what he wanted. Maybe he just wanted to tighten it up generally, but in one case it got to be so many times that I'll have to admit that I said to myself, "That's it -- I'm not singing this again". I looked around and, to my surprise, found that there were several other singers also tacet. I've never seen that happen before. Another small but irritating thing -- at the piano rehearsal he started the fairly lengthy Libera Me at two minutes to ten and ran the whole thing. In technical terms, I believe that's called a "dirty trick". And I'm told that he kept the soloists late in an afternoon rehearsal and wouldn't give them time before the evening call to have dinner. Apparently they were not pleased. There were other things, but I think that gives the flavor.
On the other hand, Dausgaard certainly produced a superb performance of the Verdi Requiem. He was easy to follow (although he did have a somewhat confusing tendency to mouth the words significantly after the beat from the stick), generally expressive and extremely reliable in terms of giving cues. In fact, I think that he's one of the most reliable conductors for cues we've ever had, which says a lot since he was conducting without a score. (Eschenbach, who also conducted from memory, was also very reliable in this way). I ended up with great respect for Dausgaard -- but I have to say that I don't like him very much. I believe that many other people in the chorus felt the same way. One person said, "I think that we will take something from these concerts with us when next we perform the work. I know I will. [But] I am not fond of the guy either. He is very aloof".
Oh, one other thing I have to chronicle. In over twenty years of singing with the HSC I have never seen anything as hilarious on stage as Anne Campbell leading a column of women down the row of seats -- and meeting face to face Thomas Everidge leading a column of men the other way down the same row of seats. The men saw Anne coming, took a quick horrified look -- and scrambled over the seats into the row below, which is where they were supposed to be. I don't think that's ever happened before. I don't think I've ever laughed so hard on stage.
One final note: the bass, Morris Robinson, was an All American offensive guard at The Citadel. He's one massive guy -- and a lot of fun.
Here's what some other people said about the performance. First, from John Proffitt
I think Everett indeed nailed it in his closing line in the Chronicle review! ["But this rendition of the Verdi Requiem, which repeats tonight and Sunday, is a feast of great music-making all around. Count it one of the must-hear concerts of the season."]
Dausgaard is an idiosyncratic conductor, but inspired: I thought so in rehearsals, as frustrating as they could be at moments, and I certainly thought so Thursday night when for the first time -- neither orchestral rehearsal really got this -- he and we unleashed that "apocalyptic maelstrom of sound" in the Dies irae. Exactly the impact Verdi wanted, I think.
His comment on the "particularly well-matched team of soloists" was also right on. They were a privilege for us to collaborate with, IMO. There were many very special moments in their singing, but one that must stand out -- and is the mortal fear of every soprano who sings this work -- is the pianissimo high B-flat towards the end! Angela definitely lived up to her name at that breathtaking moment.
One very important aspect of that wonderful performance escaped mention in the review .... Maestro Dausgaard conducted from memory, and in this complex work few conductors commit themselves to that level of total mastery of the score. The moment I noticed and realized -- no podium, no score -- was right at the very opening, right before our first hushed entrance, appropriately enough.
What an experience! And tonight and tomorrow to make it even better.
George Howe says:
Well said, John. I concur. I am very thankful, however, for not having to sing on Friday night. The seven highly intense rehearsals and concerts in nine days is about the limit of what I can do and still feel that I am contributing.
One long-time friend of the chorus opined after the Sunday performance that some of Mstro Dausgaard's movements were distracting. I responded that his directions to the chorus on Saturday and Sunday were clear, precise, and emotionally communicative. There were a couple of times, however, when his mouthing of the words followed by a split second his direction to us. To my ear, we followed his direction and not his mouth. I hope we get to sing for him again, but if we do, I would hope someone would communicate to him that our Texan ears don't hear as fast as his clipped English accented speaking voice.
The last comment refers to the piano rehearsal, in which he was often not audible to those of us near the back. Sarah Clark responds:
Yesterday his mouth was definitely behind his beat during one portion (I think it might have been when we were singing "Salva Me"). I also had the sense that we went with his direction, but it was entirely disconcerting--made me watch his beat even more carefully (and pray for him to stay with it!).
As noted above, I noticed the "late mouth" in several places, as did several others. And I wouldn't call it a "split second". Carolee Weber says,
I was sooo happy to be in the audience this afternoon to hear the performance of Verdi! It was really so very wonderful. I got chills and tears at the opening and the ending and several times in between. I was cheering inside at the end of the very fast Sanctus. The soloists were incredible, both individually and as an ensemble. I was so glad the audience was patient at the ending and we all had some moments of silence to revel in it all. I know many of you are sick and you all are exhausted after a strenuous week. Thanks so much for giving it your all. I appreciated it and enjoyed it and I'm so glad that I was able to witness such a marvelous musical moment.
Denise Holmes quotes a friend:
From a friend who was in Saturday's audience (his wife was a soprano concert soloist at one time)
Tonight's performance was transcendantly exquisite, as much as thrill to hear as it must have been to sing! I know you enjoyed it!
And the final word from Anne Campbell on the train wreck on the sixth row:
Much to my HORROR, the men LEAPT away from me down to their row. Oh, my, it destroys a girl’s sense of femininity. I may NEVER recover! Can you IMAGINE walking toward a group of nice looking men and they take one look at your and LEAP off cliffs (well, 12”) to avoid you?
All I could think was OMG did I come on the wrong row? I didn’t know WHAT to do – then they LEAPT!!!!!