I’ve written about Mozart‘s Requiem before – how it has become the Requiem by which we judge all other Requiems. The music runs the gamut of musical expression, and you could argue that it’s unabashed display of dark emotions foreshadows the end of the classical era and the beginning of the romantic.

The work is shrouded in mystery and legend. This is largely the fault of Mozart’s widow Constanze, who started spreading lies about the piece the day after Mozart died. This wasn’t completely her fault – if word got out that the piece was unfinished at the time of his death, she wouldn’t receive the payment for the work. She secretly had some of Mozart’s students finish the composition; to this day there is disagreement as to who finished which movements. She was aware that the person who commissioned the work might try to pass it off as his own music (the person was famous for doing so.) But, she also claimed that Mozart was poisoned and that he knew he was writing his own funeral music. That’s just good for business.

However, it’s important to note that in general, human beings like to make legends out of things they love, even if the legends end up being gross exaggerations of the truth. For example, he didn’t get tossed into a pauper’s grave, he had a regular middle-class tomb. His burial was not unattended, and there was no dark storm that day.

Like yesterday’s post, there is much scholarship surrounding this work, so it’s fair to say we know what parts Mozart wrote and which parts were finished by another composer. Even if it’s not 100% Mozart, it’s still a marvelous work, and the dark circumstances surrounding it add to its mysterious flavor. Listening to the Dies Irae, I can’t help but feel that Mozart was genuinely afraid of his own death.

The notion of observing Indigenous Peoples’ Day is quickly gaining momentum, and will probably soon eliminate Columbus Day altogether. Its first official celebration was, ironically, on the 500th anniversary of Columbus’ voyage, in 1992, in the form of a protest.

Like any other human culture, Native Americans have been making music for thousands of years. Sadly, with the decimation of their nations and people, there are only a handful of living Native American composers today. The good news is that efforts are being made to promote and encourage music by Native American composers, especially by the First Nations Composer Initiative, part of the American Composers Forum. One of the Institute’s advisors is Jerod Impichchaachaaha’ Tate, a member of the Chickasaw, who were among the tribes who walked the infamous trail of tears.

This work by Tate is a longer listen, but well worth it. The following description (slightly shortened) comes from Tate’s website:

Iholba’ (The Vision) is a work inspired by the composer’s native Chickasaw culture…. The musical material for Iholba is based on a Chickasaw Garfish Dance song and work is sung in the Chickasaw language. The text is original poetry by the composer…. The work is in two movements, entitled Halbina’ (The Gift) and Iholba’ (The Vision)…. Iholba’ is dedicated to my grandmother, Juanita Foshi’ Keel Tate.

I’m ending the last weekday of the Jewish High Holy Days with the final movement of Bernstein‘s Chichester Psalms. You can read about the piece and hear the first movement here. The second movement is famous for a beautiful solo sung by a young boy, singing the popular text “The Lord is my shepherd …”; this serene solo is contrasted by a choral “why do the nations rage …”.

The final movement, however, is my favorite. It opens and closes with music identical to what you hear in the beginning of the first movement, making this a cyclic piece (that’s a fancypants word that just means that musical material you’ve heard before comes back in a different movement or section, solidifying the multi-movement work as a “complete thought” as opposed a separate ideas pasted together for the sake of making a concert. The most famous example of this is the lover’s theme of Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique.) But after the angular melodic opening (it uses quartal harmony – harmony based on a wider interval (a fourth) as opposed to thirds (the longstanding standard)), the music melts into a gentle swaying lullaby. The meter is 5/4 – five beats per measure; this is also out of the ordinary, but Bernstein succeeds in making it feel completely natural. It also helps prevent the lullaby from falling into a “too-much-of-the-same-rhythm-seasickness”. The melody is deceptively difficult to sing; the close chromatic notes are hard to keep in tune.

After the lullaby, the cyclical quartal melody returns, but soft and sweet, with a feeling of gemütlichkeit. It’s almost like a mother rocking her baby to sleep, and as she puts it down in the cradle, she whispers the words of the psalm, “how good and pleasant it is …”