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Britten's War Requiem
17 November 2006
Westminster Cathedral
Review by Jane Garratt
Rain poured down as we waited to enter Westminster Cathedral for the performance of Britten's War Requiem, and the Cathedral tower jutted stolidly into the storm, eerily surrounded by floodlit squalls of water.
The nave of this Cathedral is stark, cold, very powerful and masculine without softness, a most fitting setting for this piece about war and the pity of war. The lower half of the walls are marble and the rest of the roof is made from red brick. Acoustically this is difficult because the brick and marble reflect sound differently, but visually the roof seems to stretch on endlessly providing a feeling of immense space for the music.
The Bach choir sang with complete assurance, sometimes so softly that they were hardly audible, sometimes producing a wave of sound that I could feel hitting my face. The "Dies Irae" was unforgettable, a menacing shout of anger and anguish which made the whole building vibrate. This contrasted dramatically with the Westminster Choristers, who were completely invisible to the audience but whose high, clear voices added an ethereal quality to the "Offertorium" and the "Sanctus".
The Philharmonia Orchestra gave a totally committed performance. The percussion elements produced a background rumble of drums and thunder against which the bugle calls, the bells and the harp all sounded clearly, while the strings and woodwind drove the piece forward towards the final terrible meeting.
Conducting so many performers must be a daunting prospect, but David Hill was entirely in control of both the musicians and the audience. From the first bar to the last he knew exactly what he wanted to achieve and managed to bring all the elements together, seamlessly.
Susan Bullock, singing Soprano, was separated from the other two soloists and was singing from above the orchestra in the pulpit. This allowed her voice to soar over the nave and the "Lacrimosa" was full of longing. James Gilchrist sang the tenor part with great control and honesty. His interpretation of "At a Calvary near the Ancre" was hauntingly beautiful.
The baritone role was sung by Simon Keenlyside. In the "Bugles sang" poem the sadness was chilling. In "The End" he completely destroyed the idea that these young men died gloriously. His voice was powerful, his emotion was deeply felt, but the emotion and volume never overcame the quality of his voice and we could hear every word.
For me the evening really came alive when the baritone and tenor sang together. In the very different poems "The next war", "The Parable of the Old Man and the Young" and "Strange meeting" the two men moved together from the bravado and reckless bravery of young men, to anger. Anger at the sheer waste of this conflict and at the pride of the men who allowed it to continue. They finished in resignation and the recognition that they were not enemies and could die together as friends.
The singers took us with them on the journey. You could feel the silent concentration of the audience, a silence charged with such intense emotion that it was almost a physical presence. We lived this incredibly powerful music together.
I've known this piece for more than thirty years. I've never heard it sung with quite as much impact as it was on Friday.
JG, November 2006