A German Requiem Op. 45 - English version. A version of these notes is also available for performances in German.

Background
So successful was the first complete performance of Brahms' German Requiem at the Leipzig Gewandhaus in February 1869, that within less than a year there had been a further eleven performances in Germany and within ten years it had received more than a hundred performances throughout Europe, including a private English performance in 1871, a student performance at the Royal Academy of Music and a Philharmonic Society Concert in 1873. Following this auspicious launch, it survived all the vicissitudes of changing fashion presented by twentieth century to emerge in its rightful place as a mainstay of the choral repertoire in the twenty-first.

The early days of the Requiem were not without controversy, however, and two earlier partial performances of the work received very mixed reactions. The cold reception Vienna gave in 1867 to a performance of Movements 1-3, however, was in no small part attributable to the ruinous effect that an over-zealous timpanist had on the third (and, for that audience, final) movement! Hisses of disapproval came from a certain sector of the audience, and Eduard Hanslick, Vienna's leading music critic, while recognising the 'unusual significance and great mastery' of the work, concluded that the Requiem had little chance of success because it was so difficult to grasp and its subject matter was generally uncongenial. Even weightier issues concerned the church authorities in Bremen in 1868 prior to a performance of the entire work minus its fifth movement. Brahms' was prevailed upon to amend his text and incorporate those familiar Biblical passages that explicitly refer to Christ and redemption. But Brahms refused, explaining that he had deliberately passed over some of the most obvious choices and chosen other excerpts, because they best suited his musical purpose, an explanation certainly born out by the meticulous structure of each individual movement and the monumental musical architecture that is the result of their juxtaposition. In the end, the disquiet of the clerics had to be appeased by including in the same programme a number of items from Messiah, one of which was I know that my Redeemer liveth.

A number of people also took issue with the very title A German Requiem. Brahms' own comment, that he could "happily omit the 'German' and simply say 'human'," certainly gave the lie to those who thought they detected a whiff of German nationalism about the title, but did little to silence speculation about his religious beliefs. Even Dvorak was heard to lament, 'Such a great man! Such a great soul! And he believes in nothing'. Whatever his beliefs, it seems unlikely that Brahms, who even among his friends had a reputation as a taciturn, sometimes grumpy individual, would have laid them open for public scrutiny. Furthermore, he intensely disliked being associated with orthodoxy, religious or otherwise. As a baptised Lutheran, however, his experience of organised worship, however limited, would have been conducted in the vernacular. From this perspective A German Requiem seems a perfectly natural development from the vernacular settings of psalms and cantatas by his illustrious precursors Heinrich Schütz and J. S. Bach, who had previously set many of the same texts as those used by Brahms in the Requiem.

Nonetheless, the work is not a Requiem in the accepted sense, since it is neither derived from, nor is it designed to fulfil any of the liturgical functions of a Roman Catholic Requiem Mass. Instead, its text is Brahms' personal selection from the Bible and the Apocrypha, and its emphasis seems to be on consolation for the living, rather than prayers for the repose of the departed. But the monumental proportions of the Requiem certainly make it worthy of consideration alongside the greatest of its Latin counterparts, and, text notwithstanding, Brahms may well have used the title to denote that it belongs to the same broad genre of composition.

Freedom to chose the texts, however, afforded the composer far greater scope for structural cohesion and thematic economy than that provided by the diverse texts of the liturgical setting. Taken at face value, Brahms' choice of texts is clearly rooted in Christian redemption theology. As such, it is a product of its time. But it is in the way in which the texts are assembled and their musical treatment that Brahms confronts head-on the realities of life and death. In all probability a response to personal grief at the loss of his friend Schumann and his own mother, it still has the power to speak volubly to our secular society today. Examination of Brahms' deeply personal religious beliefs, however, is neither helpful nor pertinent to our appreciation of the Requiem. Even Brahms himself was unable to articulate its message, simply explaining his choice of texts with, '…because I am a musician, because I needed them…' . We would do well to take his explanation at face value and derive its message from our appreciation of the wonderful music it contains.

The Music
The Requiem's seven movements form a huge arching musical structure remarkable for its symmetry about the central fourth movement. The first three movements, though preoccupied with the transitoriness of life, nonetheless have an underlying message of assurance. The central movement How lovely are thy dwellings fair offers a glimpse of celestial serenity and thereafter the mood of the second half is transformed by degrees into robust optimism. The work is brought to a close in quiet but unwavering confidence.

I CHORUS
Blest are they that mourn, for the Spirit shall give them comfort.
(Matthew 5: 4)
They that sow in tears reap a joyful harvest. Who goeth forth with weeping and beareth seed so precious, shall come home with gladness, his good sheaves with him bringing.
(Psalm 126: 5,6)

The first movement is in ternary form, with the words of the psalmist preceded and followed by Blest are they that mourn, for the Spirit shall give them comfort, from Matthew's account of the Beatitudes. Dark orchestral colours in the opening of the first movement evoke the desolation of the mourner. Against a background of repeated bass notes, divided cellos introduce a sombre stepwise theme, later taken up by the violas. The violins remain silent throughout the movement. In contrast, the different register and the relative purity of unaccompanied voices invest the words of the beatitude Blest are they with an other-worldly quality, before continuing their message to its climax with almost ascetic restraint. The words of the psalmist, They that sow in tears seem much more earth-bound by comparison. A dramatic change of key and the stylized sobbing of falling appoggiaturas (almost Bachian gestures) give way to the more animated quaver movement and imitation of shall reap a joyful harvest with an ease and inevitability that epitomises the text. Ingeniously, Brahms ties both beatitude and psalm together when the instrumental introduction of the movement reappears in the voices as Who goeth forth weeping. In turn this gives way once more to lively imitation depicting the joy of harvest, before the beatitude brings the movement to a serene conclusion.

II CHORUS
All flesh doth perish as the grass, and all man's glory as the flow'r of grass that fadeth. The grass doth lie withered and the flower thereof falleth.
(1 Peter 1: 24)
Be patient my brethren, be ye patient unto the advent of Christ. Even as the husbandman waiteth for the earth's precious fruit to ripen, for long he waiteth with patience till he receive the early and latter rain, so be ye patient.
(James 5: 7)
Surely the Lord's word bideth for evermore.
(I. Peter 1: 25)
And the ransomed of the Lord shall return and come to Zion rejoicing, gladness eternal shall crown their heads in Heaven above; gladness exceeding theirs shall be forever, grief and sorrow shall fly from them.
(Isaiah 35: 10)

The slow march-like opening of the second movement began life as the sketch for a symphonic movement and eventually became part of the Piano Concerto in D minor before this, the most impressive of its incarnations. With the sombre tread of a funeral procession, an orchestra predominantly of muted strings and woodwind sets out the recurrent theme of the movement. At its first repetition Brahms adds the lower voices singing the first two lines in unison of All flesh doth perish as the grass to a solemn chorale-like melody. The second part of the march begins with the sopranos and altos plaintively singing The grass doth lie withered in thirds before being joined by the full chorus, who sing a most anguished harmonic progression to the words and the flower thereof falleth. Sinister drum beats add to the sense of foreboding. A second repetition, heralded by a huge orchestral crescendo over a dominant pedal puts aside previous restraint in a climactic restatement of the chorale sung forte by the entire chorus with full orchestral accompaniment, before dying away, leaving just the lower voices. The brooding anguish of the march is magically supplanted by a brief episode of mellifluous music and idyllic serenity in Be patient my brethren and its delicate orchestration, especially the use of flute and harp is a special delight. A further full return of All flesh doth perish reiterates its sombre message, but a dramatically emphatic choral outburst of Surely the Lord's word bideth for evermore finally breaks through the gloom, leading to a bass led fugal chorus using the word gladness sequentially, and building to a dramatic climax. The chorus continues, with the sopranos' declamation - gladness exceeding theirs shall be forever - halted briefly by a last consideration of sorrow itself before allowing it to take wing in the full realization of its message - and sorrow shall fly from them. An unrestrained outpouring of joy follows, which rises to a climax before subsiding to a close of such serenity that it leaves the listener in little doubt that the joy depicted is eternal.

III BARITONE SOLO AND CHORUS
Lord, make me to know what the measure of my days may be, let me know all my frailty, ere death o'ertake me. Lord God, all my days here are but a span long to Thee, and my being naught within Thy sight. Lo how surely every man living doth at his best live vainly. He goeth his way in a vain show, he is disquieted all in vain within his breast, his riches he knoweth not who shall gather them. Oh Lord, who will console me? My hope is in Thee. (Psalm 39, 4-7)

But the souls redeemed are in the hand of God, where earthly care troubleth not. (Wisdom 3: 1)

The consoling words of Isaiah are thrown into sharp relief by the anxiety of the psalmist, when, almost unannounced, the baritone solo asks, Lord, make me to know what the measure of my days may be. A superficial air of calmness in his music is short-lived, ruffled by the constant murmur of timpani, and a rising phrase at the thought of death only just contains the latent terror beneath. Likewise the swaggering effect of pizzicato cellos and basses fails to mask the disturbing implications of the psalmist's message when the chorus quietly takes up the psalm, with sinister drumbeats and the call of horns and trumpets in the distance.

A more overt sense of foreboding pervades Lord God, all my days here are but a span long to Thee, evident in the change of key and the characteristic rhythms of the soloist's arioso, taken up at key points in the orchestra. An even greater sense of urgency is given to its choral repetition by the repeated triplet accompaniment of the strings.

In the soloist's return to Lord make me know, his fear is unmistakable in the impassioned repetitions of ere death o'ertake me, and the chorus, sharing his anxiety, takes up his words without waiting. Once again employing the characteristic rhythms of Lord God, all my days here are but a span long to Thee the orchestra appends a chilling reminder of life's brevity.

Ironically a change to a major key and a lighter woodwind accompaniment seems strangely at odds with the falling scales of the baritone's gloomy message, Lo how surely every man living doth at his best live vainly. But unmistakable disquiet soon returns in the minor mode, mirroring the austere realities of He goeth his way in a vain show. When the choir finally takes up Lo how surely, there is no mistaking its earnestness.

The psalmist's final desperate question, Oh Lord, Lord, who will console me? is taken up with alacrity on his behalf in an imitative chorus whose angular striding subject vividly depicts his disarray and disquiet. Regaining composure, the chorus quietly reiterates its unresolved question one final time and its diminished harmony remains unresolved in the hushed woodwind chords that remain after the voices have ceased. The resolution, verbal and musical, comes with a breathtaking choral cadenza molto crescendo, My hope is in Thee. Its upward soaring triplet figures rise to a climax, building the harmonic tension and finally releasing it in the monumental fugue But the souls redeemed are in the hand of God, where earthly care troubleth not. Brahms treats this movement with increasing freedom and daring invention, his extended use of pedal points to heighten the harmonic tension is thought to be an analogy of the security against harm expressed in the text, and his use of long melismatic phrases and syncopation create a sense of ecstatic abandon.

IV CHORUS
How lovely are Thy dwellings fair, O Lord of Hosts, my soul ever longeth and fainteth sore for the blest courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh do cry to the living God. (Psalm 84: 1,2,4)

How lovely are thy dwellings fair marks a turning point in the Requiem, and represents the first intimation of the beauty of eternal life. As one might expect, given the subject matter, there are none of the violent contrasts of the earlier movements. Paradoxically, however, Brahms abandons lofty musical gestures in favour of a gently lilting secular style that gives us a glimpse of Heaven from a reassuringly Earthly perspective. This is Brahms at his most accessible and, in context, it is the perfect foil to the angst that precedes it. Not surprisingly this is the best known of all the Requiem's movements and enjoys huge popularity as a separate item with both audiences and congregations.

V SOPRANO SOLO AND CHORUS
Ye who now sorrow, ye who mourn, hear ye, for I again will see you and fill your hearts with rejoicing, and no man taketh your joy from you. (John 16: 22)

So I will comfort yon, e'en as a mother's love doth comfort. (Isaiah 66: 13)

Now behold me, for but a little while sorrow and travail were mine, and I have gotten unto me much rest. (Ecclesiasticus 51: 27)

The contemplative mood continues in the lovely fifth movement for soprano solo and chorus. A gently lilting orchestral introduction with muted strings gives way to the woodwind and pizzicato strings that form an accompaniment to the long lines and chromatic inflection of the soprano solo. Typically, Brahms allows her beautiful melody to characterise sorrow itself, before first assuming her prophetic authority and then taking on the joyful lilt of the introduction with the words for I again will see you and fill your hearts with rejoicing. But Brahms gives its most intimate words of consolation to the choir who take up the same music mezza voce in longer notes (augmentation) to the comforting words of Isaiah. A change of key and a mood of greater reassurance comes with the soprano's Now behold me, and the choir respond once more with Isaiah's words, this time gently animated by quaver movement derived from phrases of the soloist. A varied reprise follows, in which John's message is repeated and the chorus, led first by tenors, reiterate in augmentation the movement's central message So I will comfort you e'en as a mother's love doth comfort. A touching coda, reaches completion when the soloist's ye who sorrow and the choir's I will comfort cadence tellingly together, and three closing orchestral bars complete the ethereal effect.

VI BARITONE SOLO AND CHORUS
On this earth we have no continuing home, therefore we seek one to come. (Hebrews 13: 14) Therefore I shew unto you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, on the morn the last trumpet soundeth. Then shall sound the trumpet, and the dead shall all be raised from corruption, and we shall all be changed.

Then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Now death is swallowed up in victory. Grave, where is thy victory? Death, O where is thy sting? (Corinthians 15: 5-52, 54-55) Lord, Thou art worthy of praise and glory, honour and power, For Thou hast all things created, by Thy holy will they are and were created. We render praise, and glory, and power to Thee. (Revelation 4: 11)

The relentless pizzicato bass and casual purposefulness of the chorus On this earth we have no continuing home belies the gravity of its words, (especially when it resumes in imitation) recalling similar music in the third movement. But complacency is replaced by disquiet with the baritone's prophetic words from Corinthians and the choir's growing agitation. It culminates in a graphic depiction of the last trumpet by orchestra and choir, followed by a torrent of choral declamation portraying the resurrection of the dead. A further interjection by the soloist unleashes a frenetic choral outburst punching home the prophetic message and leading inexorably to a climax on Death, O where is thy sting. It is followed by a monumental fugue on Lord, Thou art worthy of praise and glory. With characteristic freedom, a second more gentle contrasting theme for the words For Thou hast all things created, by Thy holy will they are and were created is incorporated, and in an object lesson of choral sonorities, the movement builds to a huge final cadence.

VII CHORUS
Blessed are the dead which in the Lord are sleeping, from henceforth. Yea, saith the Spirit, they may rest from their labours; their works do follow after them. (Revelation 14: 13)

Against a sumptuous accompaniment of rising string appoggiaturas (once more evocative of Bach), the sopranos confidently announce Blessed are the dead which in the Lord are sleeping, from henceforth; its designation, Feirlich in the original score denotes in ceremonial style. An altogether more reverential tone accompanies Yea saith the Spirit, they may rest from their labours; its low vocal writing, horns and trombones briefly evoking a sense of awe. But it is short-lived, and the very same words to which are added their works do follow after them, are given a new more positive meaning by expressive woodwind phrases and sextuplet figurations in the strings. As if to point up this magical transformation, it is repeated, beginning in a different key and forming a seamless transition into a reprise of Blessed are the dead. But Brahms reserves one final symbolic transformation for the final bars when, little by little, the music of the very first movement emerges as the sublime subject matter of the Requiem's final coda.