Sacred Symmetry
Masses for Double Choir
Josef Rheinberger: Mass in E flat major Cantus Missae Frank Martin: Mass for Double Choir
ST MARY THE VIRGIN CHURCH, WHEATLEY OX331LZ
Our concert in Wheatley celebrates two
European composers, Josef Rheinberger
(1839-1901) and Frank Martin (1890 – 1974).
Their lives were both spent in central Europe,
Rheinberger was born in Leichtenstein and worked
for much of his life in Bavaria, Martin was born and
educated in Geneva, working occasionally in Italy, France
and the Netherlands.
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COMPOSER NOTES
Josef Gabriel Rheinberger (1839 – 1901) was born in Vaduz, Liechtenstein. He began showing exceptional musicality at a young age, and at only seven he played the organ during church services. The family left Liechtenstein, and moved to Germany. At 12, the phenomenal young Rheinberger entered the Munich Conservatory where he soon outshone his classmates; he began composing. When he was just 19, the Conservatory offered him a professorship for piano and later for organ and composition, too – a post he kept until shortly before his death. After his grave was destroyed in World War II, his remains were transported to Vaduz.
Rheinberger belongs to a list of composers of the second half of the 19th century who, after years of being forgotten, have become a little better known and appreciated, both in music performance and research. His extensive published output includes nearly 200 pieces, with music for piano and organ, religious and secular choral works, solo Lieder, chamber music, symphonies, concert overtures, incidental music and operas. Sometimes unfavourably compared to Brahms, he is more usefully regarded as a south German Fauré for the gentle contours of his melodies and the softly rounded quality of his choral writing. Many are attracted to Rheinberger’s music for some of the same reasons they are attracted to the music of Brahms; they had the same influences and a very similar aesthetic sense.
Without trying to promote himself, Rheinberger became a successful composer of his time, to whom publishers, musicians and choirs came with requests for compositions. Having been appointed court music director for King Ludwig II of Bavaria, he played an important role in Catholic church music in Germany from 1877 onwards. Whilst composers such as Liszt and Wagner were revolutionising German music with the development of harmonic language to express poetic ideas in new musical genres such as the symphonic poem and music drama, there was also musical upheaval in the Catholic church through the Cecilian movement. Rheinberger was initially one of the leading figures of this movement, which, in a world of increasing secularisation, propagated a return to religious values of the past, expressing itself in a renewed interest in Gothic architecture and the 16th century style of the unaccompanied polyphony that he really admired in composers such as Lassus, Palestrina and Victoria. The aim of was to restore a traditional religious feeling by taking the musical ego down to essence within the structure. The paradox is the romantic outcome; Rheinberger subsequently broke away from the strict rules, which attempted to place church music firmly within the liturgy by deliberately suppressing musical individuality in favour of clear declamation of the text and a denial of all artistic gestures associated with the Enlightenment.
Rheinberger’s music is superbly crafted in a classical vein – ‘absolute’ music that generally avoids overt extramusical programmes or connotations. This, combined with his sense of melody and finely balanced harmonic development is what sets him apart from many of his contemporaries; he was also quite original, considering the relatively restricted idiom he chose. His work combined the contemporary conservative traditions of Munich‘s Roman Catholic church music with those of the Viennese classical period. His role models were Mozart and Bach: the result is music of great warmth and sensitivity, quintessentially romantic.
With his helpful and considerate nature and his open mind, and without a hint of ostentation, Rheinberger influenced a whole generation of musicians. Thus he stands at the end of the classical-romantic era as a great teacher and significant representative of a multifaceted music culture. The conductor, Wilhelm Furtwängler said “His guiding precept was always naturalness in music, reflected in his voice leadings, his feeling for form and his means of expression.”
Rheinberger was esteemed and admired by like-minded musicians of his own time, but he never won universal fame, and most of his music, with the exception of his organ compositions, is not that well-known today. In his last years he became increasingly aware that his compositions had become outdated and unwanted, and responded by writing, shortly before his death, “There is no justification for music without melodiousness and beauty of sound… music never ought to sound brooding, for, basically, it is the outpouring of joy, and even in pain knows no pessimism.”
His music is lovely, delicate, perfectly constructed and balanced. Listeners will appreciate its fine qualities, and be lulled by its beauty.
Messe in Es-Dur (Cantus Missae ex octo modulatione vocum concinnatus)
Rheinberger’s most famous work is the Mass for double choir in E flat, Op 109, written in 1878 and dedicated to Pope Leo XIII in the months immediately following his rejection of the ideals of the Cecilian movement. Though undeniably dependent on earlier models, the work exhibits the composer’s new-found freedom and flexibility in sacred music composition.
From the opening bars, the antiphonal writing harks back to the late Renaissance splendour of Venice’s cori spezzati (spaced choirs) tradition, and the ghosts of Bach and Mendelssohn are never far away. However, this music belongs to Rheinberger and shows to great effect his gloriously unpredictable powers of invention. At the heart of the Mass are the concise and largely syllabic settings of the long Gloria and Credo texts. Of note are a few moments of brazen word painting (as outlawed by the Cecilian movement) at the words ‘et incarnatus est’, ‘descendit’ and ‘ascendit’ in the Credo. The expansive Kyrie precedes these central movements, and the Credo is followed by an ethereal Sanctus, a gently dancing Benedictus, and an Agnus Dei whose carefully notated dynamic contrasts and elliptical modulations lead into an extended ‘dona nobis pacem’ section whose instrumentally conceived textures create a symphonic conclusion to this remarkable piece.
Abendlied (Evening song)
Probably Rheinberger’s best known work, this short piece was composed when he was 15 years old, and revised a decade or so later. It exemplifies the Cecilian ideals of a cappella polyphony, purity of expression, and clear, mostly syllabic word setting. ‘Bleib bei uns’, the hospitable disciples urge the stranger they meet on the road to Emmaus. The harmonies flicker between major and minor as evening shadows darken. The six unaccompanied vocal parts overlap in short imitative phrases that convey a sense of serene entreaty. The opening rhythmic pattern repeats itself on the words ‘und der Tag hat sich geneiget’, but in shorter note values as the travellers quicken their steps toward the supper that awaits them at their destination.
Blieb’ bei uns, Stay with us,
denn es will Abend warden; for evening shadows darken,
Und der Tag hat sich geneiget and the day will soon be over.
There are some composers who do not achieve significant recognition until well into their thirties or forties, or even later. It may be that, like Vaughan Williams and Tippett in this country, they are musical late developers, but in the case of the Swiss composer Frank Martin (1890 – 1974) whose work was little heard until he was over fifty, the reasons were somewhat more complex.
Unlike his French contemporary, Olivier Messiaen, whose sensual, flamboyant music sprang from the unshakeable certainties of his Catholic religion, Martin, similarly devout but brought up at the opposite end of the Christian spectrum, in the Calvinist tradition, experienced faith as a private, inner struggle which found its musical expression in an intensely personal style. He was a meticulous and extremely self-critical composer and would lock away his manuscripts for long periods until he was certain that what he had written was capable of standing up to his own rigorous critique of its musical and intellectual basis. It took him many years to find his own distinctive musical voice and it wasn’t until 1941, when his oratorio Le vin herbé was performed for the first time, that he felt he had at last developed a style with which he could be satisfied. It was also his belief that his own compositional efforts paled into insignificance in comparison with the supreme genius of his great idol, Bach. All these factors helped to limit the opportunities for performances of his music. However, the 1941 concert seemed to act as a catalyst and thereafter his music became much more widely performed.
Martin was born in Geneva, the son of a Calvinist pastor, and by the age of eight he had started composing. When he was twelve he heard a performance of Bach’s St Matthew Passion, an experience which left an indelible impression on him. Following his father’s wishes he eventually entered the University of Geneva to study mathematics and physics, but soon decided instead that he was going to devote himself entirely to his music. His unique style draws on a wide variety of influences, including Renaissance music, French Impressionism and Schoenberg’s twelve-note system, but above all, Bach.
The first four movements of the Mass for Double Choir were completed in 1922, the Agnus Dei being added four years later, but Martin did not allow the work to be performed until 1963. After its premiere he explained why it had remained unseen and unheard for all those years: ‘I considered it to be a matter between God and myself,‘ he wrote. ‘I felt that a personal expression of religious belief should remain secret and hidden from public opinion.’
Martin’s Mass is notable for its flowing rhythmic and melodic vitality – always at the service of the words – and the juxtaposition of austere, restrained music, often based around a pedal note, with rich harmonic writing of considerable passion and great beauty. Although there are no actual plainsong themes in the work, the influence of Gregorian plainsong is never far away, not least at the very opening where a simple, flowing alto line gradually unfolds, soon to be taken up by the sopranos and then supported by the full choirs.
Unusually, the Gloria begins calmly, with accumulating chords announcing ‘Gloria in excelsis Deo’. This leads into the movement proper, which after an energetic ‘Quoniam’ ends with a quiet ‘Cum sancto’ – another original touch. The Credo opens with appropriately strong statements from each choir. After a quietly ecstatic ‘Et incarnatus’, a passage which was particularly dear to Martin, comes the ‘Et resurrexit’, an exuberant canon based on the pentatonic scale.
In the Sanctus, gently undulating chords from the tenors and basses support an eloquent, falling phrase from the sopranos. The climax of the movement, and one of the most powerful moments in the whole work, is the section from ‘Pleni sunt coeli’ through to the final, ecstatic ‘Osanna’.
The separation between the two choirs is most marked in the eloquent Agnus Dei, which Martin added in 1926. The second choir provides a steady rhythmic foundation over which the first choir, mostly in unison, sings a plainsong-like melodic line that echoes the music of the opening Kyrie. The work reaches its peaceful conclusion with the two choirs combining for the final, heartfelt ‘Dona nobis pacem’.
Since its first performance in 1963 the reputation of Martin’s Mass has steadily grown, and it is now recognised as one of the great masterpieces of unaccompanied choral music.
Canon pour Werner Reinhart
Canon pour Werner Reinhart, “L’homme aux mains d’or” – the man with the golden hands, and a 1920 portrait of him is called “The Man with the Golden Heart”. Who was Werner Reinhart? He was a wealthy Swiss philanthropist who was a generous patron of composers and writers. It remains a matter of debate as to whether the Renaissance poet Pierre de Ronsard’s words set by Martin indicate gratitude for patronage, or perhaps some regret that he was unable to attract the sort of support given by Reinhart to such creatives as Stravinsky, Rilke and Hindemith.
Si j’avais un riche trésor Ou des vaisseaux engravés d’or, tableaux ou médailles de cuivre, Ou ces joyeaux qui font passer tant de mers pour les amasser Où le jour de laisse revivre Je t’en ferais un beau présent. Mais quoi! celà ne t’est plaisant; Aux richesses tu ne t’amuses Qui ne font que nous étonner; C’est pourquoi je te veux donner le bien que m’ont donné les Muses.
If I possessed a rich treasure, or ships engraved with gold, paintings or copper medals, or those jewels that require crossing so many seas to gather them, where the day brings life once more, I would make you a beautiful gift. But what! That doesn’t please you; you find no amusement in riches that only astonish us; that is why I wish to give you the good that the Muses have bestowed upon me.