First, this new German Requiem from Marin Alsop and the MDR Leipzig Radio choir and orchestra is among the very quickest renditions on disc—you’ll notice this almost immediately with the opening measures of the first movement, which may be the fastest ever recorded (closely rivaled but not beaten by Masur/Teldec and Gardiner/Philips). The question as to whether this matters is one of context, not of numbers, of specific points of quickness rather than total timing. However, in the first movement Alsop makes it known that she is not going to dwell, no matter how lovely the music, nor will there be time to savor those soaring lines, to meditate, to reflect on a phrase—we’re getting on with the show, and as it turns out, in her hands it proves to be a pretty darn good one.
Alsop has the luxury of a very fine chorus—neither extended high tessituras nor the brambly enunciative thicket of “Ja, der Geist spricht” make any trouble, and the ensemble sound, whether in the softest or most full-blown sections, is a joy to hear, and substantial enough to lead as it should, although the orchestra often is allowed (partly Brahms’ fault) to dominate where it shouldn’t. Yet regardless of who’s on top, the collective sound and unity of purpose of this orchestra and chorus we can assume are born of long familiarity and cultural/stylistic agreement, which are significant components of the success of this performance.
Other aspects, successful or not, depending on your point of reference, come directly from interpretive decisions by the conductor. While the first-movement tempo will be problematic for some—its deliberate pace seems to disregard not only Brahms’ “rather slow and with expression” instruction, but violates the prayerful, meditative nature of the music itself—subsequent movements, while similarly speedier than we usually hear, seem better able to accommodate—or absorb—a livelier treatment. In the fifth movement, the notoriously vocally unkind yet gloriously beautiful trial for soprano soloist, Alsop’s hurried-up pace actually works to everyone’s favor, allowing Anna Lucia Richter’s shining soprano to soar uninhibited by the slightest hint of strain or tension, a rendition that ranks with the best on disc.
There are disappointments, none serious but nevertheless notable for those who really know the work. In the second movement, “Denn alles Fleisch…”, that long, inexorable, pounding, and ultimately shattering crescendo just doesn’t pound and shatter the way it should, and that ubiquitous dotted-rhythm figure doesn’t make its ominous mark. In the third movement, baritone Stephan Genz, an otherwise competent soloist in this music, introduces a very odd affectation, placing an “h” before words beginning with vowels, resulting in the utterance of the very non-German “daß ein Hende” instead of “daß ein Ende”, and later “halle” (alle) and “hund” (und). While eschewing sentimentality or even a brief emotional squeeze here and there, Alsop proves susceptible to the all-too-common tendency to milk endings of the big fugal choruses, imposing (totally without authority from the score) momentum-killing pauses just before the final bars of the third and sixth movements (introducing a big, unwritten ritard in the approach to the latter). And for the really hard-core Brahms Requiem fans, you will miss the brief yet juicy weeping dissonance on “weinen” in the first movement, and you’ll be disappointed that the horn player actually diminishes to oblivion instead of crescendos toward the end of that downward arpeggio in the fourth movement (“Wie lieblich sind…”).
In a work with so many variables, it’s easy to find points of criticism, and as such it’s probably unlikely that anyone who loves this piece will find any one performance that gets everything “right”. For me, Herbert Blomstedt’s comes closest (as does Erich Leinsdorf’s no longer available version with the New England Conservatory Chorus and the Boston Symphony Orchestra—full disclosure, I happened to be a tenor in the chorus), yet Alsop’s rendition, swift as it is, makes a cohesive, articulate statement that, as Brahms intended, presents the work not as a languorous, weighty sermon but as a vital, relevant reassurance for the living who are both mourning the dead and contemplating their own mortality.
