György Ligeti is one of the most well-known modernist composers of the 20th-century. In a talk delivered in 1993, Ligeti famously said “I am in a prison: one wall is the avant-garde, the other wall is the past, and I want to escape.” Ligeti struggled throughout his career to find his exact niche, and that struggle allowed him a level of compositional independence some composers failed to find throughout the many musical mutations of the 20th-century. Although some of his most famous avant-garde works such as Requiem, Lux aeterna, Atmosphères, and Adventures can be heard in Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, Ligeti also opened himself up to music of the past and present, absorbing Renaissance masses of Ockeghem and the virtuosic piano writing of Liszt, among others. He even studied the rhythmic polyphony of African pygmy tribes. Alex Ross says that “Ligeti escaped by never saying ‘no.’”

Born in 1923 in Transylvania to a family of Hungarian Jews, Ligeti was forced to weather some of the worst political turmoil being geographically caught between Germany and Russia. He lost most of his family members to concentration camps, himself being required to wear a yellow armband required by anti-Semitic regulations. Unfortunately, the nightmares did not end in 1945. While studying at the Franz Liszt Academy in Budapest, Soviets took control of Hungary – Ligeti was forced to stand by and watch his country be plundered yet again. While in Budapest, Ligeti kept a distance from music political in nature, despite some quiet dabbling in 12-tone composition. Instead, he buried himself in folk-music research. One reason Ligeti needed to resort to folk music was due to the fact that in 1948, Stalin banned modern music for the Republic of Hungary altogether. There is no doubt that Ligeti was aware of the fact that Béla Bartók had collected songs in the region of Transylvania where Ligeti’s family had lived for a time, as well. It was during this time that Ligeti composed the piece we play for you today, Régi magyar társas táncok (Old Hungarian Ballroom Dances) composed in 1949.

Scored for flute, clarinet, and string orchestra, the Hungarian Dances are Ligeti’s arrangement based on dances from the late 18th and 19th-centuries by János Bihari, János Lavotta, Antal Csermák and Márk Rózsavölgyi. Few composers could resist arranging the intoxicating melodies from Hungary. Brahms himself wrote two sets, as did Liszt, Schubert, and many others. Music critic Anthony Tommasini writes of Ligeti’s arrangement that “below the surface of this genial suite of dance tunes, you detect the young composer sticking it to the Soviet cultural police with seemingly ironic touches: sour voicing of chords; excessively filigreed clarinet riffs; sturdy bass lines that turn thumpy.” Each “dance” is short, and often binary in form. Sometimes Ligeti will write an actual repeat for the dance, while other times he writes out the repeat and embellishes the melody. With the primary themes given to the flute, clarinet, and upper violin, listen for the interplay of how these melodies change in timbre as they are transmitted from wind, to reed, to string instruments. You might even have an urge to get up and dance yourself with the fast-paced tempi encouraging you along. I would encourage you to be like Ligeti - never say “no.”

In times of grief, there is mourning. In times of loss, there is reflection. In times of passing, there is remembrance. The genre of the requiem, dating back to the first century with chants codified by Pope Gregory I, was meant to celebrate the memory of all the faithful departed on All Souls Day, the second day of November. For centuries, this genre has been the musical vehicle for those alive to mourn, reflect, and remember. But what about those living who have lost? How do we who have lost this past year – who are still here – go on?

Ein deutsches Requiem (A German Requiem), Op. 45 by Johannes Brahms (1833-1897) was composed primarily between 1865-1866, but not completed with a final movement until 1868. This was a time of great loss for Brahms, having not only lost his mentor Robert Schumann in 1856, but more recently his mother in 1865. Brahms substitutes the texts from expected requiem sources for those entirely independent of the genre. Instead, he chose a compilation of texts with no clear liturgical purpose. Jennens’ Messiah libretto is perhaps the only amalgam that holds equal brilliance. Musicologist Michael Musgraves states that the choice of familiar texts from Martin Luther’s Bible was more an expression of cultural identity than a theological statement. Brahms' choice of texts places his Requiem in a unique place within the other 19th-century choral works paired with orchestra. Weaving texts from multiple chapters of the Bible within each movement (only movements four and seven have text taken from one single source), Brahms relates his sources to themes of his own loss and sorrow, creating a personal, non-dogmatic sequence of thoughts. These texts are symmetrical, with those of deepest reassurance and consolation at the center of the work. This symmetry is also found structurally in the music.

The opening three-note “Selig” motif provides the unifying melodic thread for the work. Based firmly in F-major, we see this thread not only in the first movement, but in the second as a continuation of the opening commentary developing this theme as well. Both the motive and harmony will return in the final movement. The third movement presents the first major fugue of the work, with the second fugue happening in the sixth movement, another mirror parallel. The center movements, four and five, both include texts celebrating hope with songs of praise and blessedness. Harmonically, the outside portions (1,2,3,6, and 7) can be seen as the following harmonic progression based in F-major: I-IV-vi-V-I. The fifth movement in G major greatly enhances the link between Eb (fourth movement) and Cm (fifth movement) by complementing the dominant harmonic function of the opening of the latter movement.

Within this elaborate labyrinth of carefully planned mirrored texts and harmony stand powerful moments within each movement. The opening movement “Selig sind, die da Leid tragen” presents not only the opening “Selig” motif (F-A-Bb) but also incorporates the use of the Lutheran hymn They Who Leave All to God. Flowing into the second movement, Brahms moves the tempo to a slower “Langsam” march in three, with the emphasis on the second beat (similar to a Baroque sarabande). The movement has been described by my mentor and teacher Betsy Burleigh as “The world’s longest and slowest crescendo.” The movement also incorporates the chorale melody from Bach’s Cantata no. 27, mvt. 1. The “Selig” motive is now found in reverse, (Gb-F-Db). The movement closes with the first fugal passage on the text “Die erloseten.” The third movement is the first solo appearance of the baritone, almost reminiscent in tone of Mozart’s Don Giovanni. After the solo introduction, Brahms unleashes one of the most sophisticated and complex double, pedal-point fugues in the choral-orchestral repertoire: one fugue in the choir, one fugue in the orchestra, over a D-natural pedal point of low brass for over 36-measures. The “Selig” motif is found here in the descending pizzicato bass (F-E-C).

The fourth movement “Wie lieblich sind deine Wohnungen” represents blessedness and is perhaps the most famous due to its beautiful melody found initially in the sopranos, doubled by the flute. The fifth movement showcases the solo soprano, with some drawing parallels to the movement being dedicated to his mother, composed last in 1968 while preparing the final version of the score. In February 1865 Clara Wieck Schumann wrote “we all think he wrote it [the requiem] in her memory.” The movement is ternary in form (A-B-A), adding another level of symmetry here in this middle movement. The sixth movement showcases not only yet another baritone solo, but also another double fugue on drama and death (symmetrical with the third movement). The first fugue grows from the “Selig” motif, before a significant metric modulation from 3/4 to 4/2 finds a new fugue with the two themes overlapping at the end of the movement. The final movement returns the listener to F-major and the identifiable “Selig” motif on the exact same pitches as initially presented in the first movement. Brahms had a deep appreciation for Bach and his use of symmetry within his works (Jesu Meine Freude and St. John’s Passion are just two primary examples). The symmetrical arch found here in Brahms’ Requiem most certainly was one of the many reasons the piece catapulted Brahms to similar fame after its premiere.

Another point of discussion surrounding Brahms’ Requiem is orchestration. In the original scoring, Brahms only utilizes the entire orchestra in the second movement. All the other movements remove specific instruments, including the first movement’s notable absence of violins and most brass. Today we present to you a reduced orchestration of Brahms’ initial scoring. Completed in October 2010, composer Joachim Linckelmann jumped on the opportunity to utilize the instruments left sitting silent by Brahms in many of the movements to create this chamber orchestration. This choice allows for a smaller choral ensemble as well, creating a more intimate version of the Requiem. According to my research, this will be the first presentation of this arrangement in Arizona.

The Requiem was a concert work, not in Latin, and never intended for liturgical use. After the premiere of the work, Brahms said he could happily omit the word “German” from the title and simply say “A Human Requiem” instead. By “Human,” Brahms indicates that the primary emphasis of his text is on the comforting of the living, not the spiritual destiny of the departed. Perhaps the most memorable moment in this mammoth work occurs in the sixth movement when pulling initially from 1 Corinthians 15:54-55, the choir states “For death shall be swallowed in victory! Death, O where is thy sting? Grave, where is thy triumph?” These questions are immediately followed by a text from Revelation 4:11 “Worthy art thou to be praised, Lord of honor and might, for thou hast earth and heaven created, and for thy good pleasure all things have their being, and were created.”

May we all take comfort that death does not triumph over all things good that were created and that have been. Instead, may we be filled with hope; the hope of life that we have experienced, and still are to experience in the days ahead.