Amateur choral societies are much more likely to venture into lesser known areas of the choral repertory without worrying about the box-office appeal which binds many other promoters. So it was good to see Hackney Singers and the Lewisham Choral Society programming a relatively unfamiliar work, and in addition one by a female composer, for the first half of their latest concert accompanied by the London Mozart Players conducted by Dan Ludford-Thomas. This was also the first time Fanny Mendelssohn-Hensel’s short cantata Hiob (Job) was being performed in London’s Royal Festival Hall, having been published as recently as 1992.
Battles fought for the recognition of female composers have been long and arduous. Problems often started in the home. In Fanny’s case she had not only the burden of being constantly compared to her gifted brother Felix, but also lack of support from her father. In 1820, when she was just fifteen, he told her that though music might also become her profession, “for you it can and must be only an ornament”. Happily, she was not completely deterred, writing over the course of her short life over 250 Lieder and 28 choral works.
Europe in the nineteenth century saw recurring outbreaks of cholera in urban communities. One of these, which took place in Berlin in 1831, prompted Fanny to write Hiob. In such times the vexing conundrum is posed: if God is good, then why is there so much evil and suffering in the world? Yet the biblical Book of Job is concerned not only with negative events in magnitude, but is designed to reflect a message of calm and peace that God has not completely abandoned his faithful. Such sentiments are reflected in Fanny’s three-part cantata, which begins in C minor and moves via a central and reflective arioso in C minor before the concluding exultation in G major. Hiob begins with the key question, “Was ist ein Mensch?” (What is Man?), repeated in fugal form throughout the opening Andante con moto movement. It is well crafted and owes much to the inspiration of Bach as well as Fanny’s elder brother. It is certainly charming but lacks a strong individual voice, without anything extraordinary in either the vocal or orchestral textures.
The two choral societies mustered a very large body of choristers, well over 250, spilling onto half the orchestral platform. Throughout the evening they produced a full body of sound but not always with sufficient clarity. As I have observed on a number of previous occasions, amateur singers often have a tendency to bury their heads in the score, especially if the work in question is less familiar, so that their notes are not uniformly projected outwards. I suspect that a little more detailed rehearsal would have yielded something more persuasive than what we had here, though the joyful ending made its mark.
This concert began with Brahms’s Tragic Overture. The programme note referred to “the turbulent, tormented character” of the piece. That is most certainly what it can be in the right hands. Alas, this performance suffered from the underpowered strings and a lack of momentum.
The two earlier works in this concert offered a series of meaningful links with the main work, Brahms’s Ein deutsches Requiem. This is sometimes subjected to unfair comparisons with other great stalwarts of the sacred repertory, lacking the fire-power of the Dies irae in Verdi’s Requiem or the spatial effects that characterise the corresponding piece by Berlioz. I think that is to misunderstand its essential nature. It is not a liturgical work, performed more often in concert-halls than in churches, and it avoids all reference to redemption through Christ. Brahms himself was devastated by the death of his mother – a key influence – but also manifestly affected by the publication in 1858 of Darwin’s On the Origin of Species. His composing friend Dvořák was later to opine of him: “He is such a great man, such a great spirit, but he believes in nothing.” No, this requiem which sealed the composer’s international reputation, is all about consolation. In really good performances the music gives you a big hug, telling you that you are not alone.
At 67 minutes in length this performance happily never got bogged down. It is quite a challenge for any chorus to sustain the long flowing lines at moderate speeds which delineate the first two movements. Brahms gives the chorus a lot to do: they are present in all seven movements, a number that has its own significance, in view of the completeness and perfection, both physical and spiritual, attached to it in biblical terms. Ludford-Thomas paid due attention to the need for varied dynamics, also allowing specks in the orchestral colour to emerge gently, like the harp at the end of the first movement or the excellent flute and oboe solos later. However, the timpani in the second movement could have been even more insistent – you must feel at this point that all earthly bounds are being strained to the limit – and I also missed the minatory horns (and Ludford-Thomas had four of them) which should crown the textures. On the other hand, the sopranos made a lovely comforting sound for the first iteration of the line “Das Gras ist verdorret” and together with the other sections created a rousing exultation for “Aber des Herrn Wort bleibt in Ewigkeit”.
A male soloist features in the third and sixth movements. Jonathan Brown’s warm, dark baritone was absolutely secure in his middle and lower registers, a little stretched in the upper reaches. He didn’t always project his words powerfully enough: “Nun Herr, wess soll ich mich trösten?” needed more emphasis. The soprano soloist is the Cinderella of the piece, appearing solely in the fifth movement. What kind of voice is ideal for a text that is there to soothe? I think there are parallels here with what is required in the closing movement of Mahler’s Fourth Symphony. You need clear articulation because the words spell out the consolation, but also a youthful freshness. Eleanor Pennell-Briggs certainly had that, and she negotiated the leaps in the tessitura skilfully, but the voice was somewhat on the thin side. She never quite achieved the celestial quality which is at the core of this movement.
The sixth movement is the most dramatic of all. I liked the soft singing at the start and the fine woodwind detail coming through, but crucial elements were missed. When the chorus sings “Denn es wird die Posaune schallen”, the three trombones were not nearly loud enough, and though the massed voices flung out their “Hölle, wo ist dein Sieg?” there wasn’t sufficient bite and defiance for the earlier “Tod, wo ist dein Stachel?” Nor was the ensemble tight enough for the complex fugal sections that followed.
Requiems are there to commemorate the dead. Brahms’s Requiem is more about the living and the accommodation we make with the trials and tribulations of this world. Music can so often provide the necessary succour in the restlessness and rootlessness of modern life. Writing later about his Second Symphony, Brahms commented: “I would have to admit…that black wings constantly rustle over us.” His Requiem gives us a degree of alleviation from some of the burdens placed upon us.
Alexander Hall
Brahms – Tragic Overture; Fanny Mendelssohn-Hensel – Cantata Hiob (Job); Brahms – Ein deutsches Requiem
Eleanor Pennell-Briggs (soprano); Jonathan Brown (baritone); Hackney Singers; Lewisham Choral Society; London Mozart Players, Conductor – Dan Ludford-Thomas
Royal Festival Hall, Southbank Centre London 12 February 2025
Photos © Andreas Grieger