Recording of the Week, Biber's Requiem from Vox Luminis

In today’s Recording of the Week, Lionel Meunier and his Vox Luminis ensemble juxtapose Heinrich Biber’s Requiem with an intriguing set of vocal and instrumental works, forming a snapshot of the emerging musical styles of Biber’s time and place. We hear first from the North Germans Christoph Bernhard and Johann Michael Nicolai, then from the Bohemian-turned-Salzburger Biber himself before the Austrian Johann Joseph Fux has the final word.

This quartet straddles the Catholic-Lutheran divide, while highlighting their extensive common musical heritage. The two motets by Bernhard that open the album illustrate the state of flux that Lutheran music was in at this time – one in German, the approved comprehensible vernacular, and one in Latin, theoretically an obstacle to participation in worship and set for abolition.

The first, Herr, nun lässest du deinen Diener, is a meditation on the Nunc Dimittis, opening with an expansive sinfonia that in Meunier’s hands is perfectly balanced between pathos and optimism. Here and elsewhere, every singer gets several turns as soloist or duettist, and not one comes up short – a record other consorts might envy. The main material is solemn, though never sombre, and is interspersed with a lilting triple-time refrain that recurs in three guises – soprano duet, alto and tenor, and finally bass solo.

Tribularer si nescirem seems like the work of a different composer entirely – an achingly expressive chromatic motif treated in madrigalian imitation in a way that could almost be mistaken for the earlier Gesualdo’s anguished polyphony. Whether Bernhard intentionally turned Romeward when setting Latin is hard to say, but the music certainly fits the text (a prayer recalling Christ’s compassion in various New Testament episodes) perfectly, and the performance does not disappoint. Even the livelier Vivo ego preserves the overall penitential mood, and the closing Miserere mei is spine-tingling.

Nicolai’s Sonata a6 affords the instrumentalists of the Freiburger Barockconsort their moments in the spotlight, with sparkling filigree from the violins and even the viola da gamba in places – Hille Perl in particular reminding us that there is far more to her than merely contributing to the continuo. Fascinatingly, there’s also more than a hint of Monteverdi in some of the harmonic progressions and agile duet passages.

The main event, though, is Biber’s Requiem. Its opening chords – simple, homophonic F minor – dispel the levity of the Nicolai and call our minds to more serious matters. The doubling of the lower three parts by trombones heightens the sense of solemnity, though like Bernhard, Biber is disinclined to wallow too deeply in misery. Not only his harmonies but also his scoring constantly hint at light overcoming darkness, above all the striking use of a solo violin atop the texture throughout. It’s suspected that Biber would have played this himself while directing; as a musical lighthouse for both the performers and the listeners it is highly effective, and Veronika Skuplik’s touch is never less than assured.

The Dies irae is supremely varied – a powerful tutti Rex tremendae contrasting with the weightless preceding Quid sum miser for two sopranos and alto underpinned by sensitive lute-playing from Lee Santana; sections where the text bounces like a ball between soloists, with alto Jan Kullmann particularly impressive; and interjections (some hushed and fearful, some forthright) from the full chorus. Bass Sebastian Myrus, who has taken a starring role in more than one of Vox Luminis’s previous albums, is on equally fine form here in several solo passages. The Requiem closes not in despair but in hope; a striking low-lying passage midway through the final Communio section glows like the embers of a fire, and the work ends simply and serenely.

It falls to Fux to conclude proceedings, with a cornett-led Sonata a4 and by far the most upbeat motet on the album: Omnis terra adoret, whose text features luxurious imagery of honey, flowers and fragrance. The same predilection for solos and duets is on display as in the other works – Benedic, anima mea, Domino for sopranos Cressida Sharp and Sara Jäggi is a particularly effective passage, and sung with a real sense of grace and poise between the two parts.

Though the notes accompanying this album admit that “on the face of it, the four composers […] have little in common”, it’s clear that a common strand runs through them – all are still partially in the shadow of earlier styles, and each represents a subtly different path into the evolving Baroque. As ever, Vox Luminis wear their musicology lightly, bringing no less vivacity and expression to these performances than they would to well-known staples of the repertoire.