A sense of expectancy swirled around the Concertgebouw on Thursday evening. Who is Dinis Sousa, the assistant conductor of the Monteverdi Choir and associated ensembles, making his debut with the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra along with Dutch soprano and long-time Monteverdi Choir favourite, Lenneke Ruiten? Would this relatively small period choir really be a match for the mighty RCO?
Opening the evening with an unaccompanied motet by Schütz, a sea of consonants from a text which would later inspire Brahms in his own setting of the of the same “Selig sind” text, wafted around the hall. A much more cheerful offering from Johann Christoph Bach followed, dotted rhythms morphing into lilting melodies full of swing and sway. All this was a foretaste of things to come: Brahms’ Ein deutsches Requiem.
Death comes to us all, something the young Brahms experienced first-hand at his mother’s passing. Enveloped in inconsolable grief, Brahms turned to the Bible for solace; to compose a requiem specifically conferring comfort on those left behind, made all the more poignant by the use of his native German rather than the usual Latin.
The Monteverdi Choir certainly channelled all the intended emotion. From the outset, sonorous and throbbing double bass and organ pedal notes, sounding an octave lower than written, invited us into a completely new sound world. Sousa had brought the period feel to the RCO who were duly transformed. The choir’s plaintive yearning built to a more jubilant “mit Freunden” before those same pedal notes sent us back to the pain of “Selig sind”. Such amazing power from a relatively small choir of just 46, melting away as the harps brought solace to all.
It is sometimes the case that choral conductors neglect the intricacies of the orchestral score in favour of choral textures and the soloists, however, this was not the case tonight. Sousa’s attention to detail and creativity was excellent. The trombone solo in “Denn alles Fleisch” enhanced the male chorus but did not dominate. Fluidity in the timpani motifs at the beginning of this movement signalled hope, ushering us onwards. Pent-up tension helped build drama in terrifying climaxes. French horn articulation, dry and clipped, producing an almost hypnotic effect by playing slightly on the front of the beat, contrasted with the harsh attack at the beginning of the last movement. The voicing of the piccolo and tuba ‘duet,’ and later the oboe and horn, granted the dead rest from their labours. All was in service of the text.
In the same vein, both soloists had much to offer. Christian Gerhaher seemed to beg his Lord “to know mine end” in the Evangelist tradition of Bach's Passions, both fearsome and nurturing, while Ruiten’s delicate opening note blossomed like a flower opening after the morning’s rain as she gently caressed all those in sorrow. With all the beauty of the music on stage, hearts were already rejoicing as her huge dynamic range was reduced to a whisper.
So why is the Monteverdi Choir so special? It is not just about the conductor, wonderful diction, silky smooth delivery of the text, immense discipline or the identity of individual sections of the choir. It is about the whole, and about creating unique sound worlds which move seamlessly as one. They are truly one of the finest choirs of their time.
