Requiem Aeternam from Requiem (Mozart)
Inevitably reminiscent of the film 'Amadeus', and far from being Mozart's greatest work, nevertheless, to me, symbolic of Mozart. How one piece of music, only 5 minutes long, can combine passages of ominous, bass- and tlmpani-dominated dark, with the sweet optimism of sopranos and high strings, without a jarring or even an obvious join.
The film portrays Mozart feverishly trying to finish the mysterious commission which turns out to be his own Requiem. The veracity of this remains debatable: nevertheless, it remains a powerful allegory to the extraordinarily paradoxical life of the greatest creative genius of all time.
It is universally agreed that he was an insufferably awful person - although nowadays he would deserve recognition as the victim of a bullying father. I wonder what it would have been like to have known him, to what extent awe at his genius was outweighed by irritation at his manner.
I got into Mozart relatively late in life. As a child I was into Beethoven, Tchaikovsky and Handel. Playing percussion in school orchestra got me into the Strauss family. At O-Level, the syllabus included the study of six works and the life and times of their composers. We didn't study Fauré and his Requiem because Mrs B. felt it was better to do five properly than six superficially. In order of preference my favourites were Montiverdi's Beatus Vir, Schumann's Kinderscenen, Arnold's Scottish Dances, Mozart's Clarinet Quintet in A K.581, and Handel's Concerto Grosso Opus 6 No 6.
To my eternal shame, all I remember from the history side was that Schumann and some friends, influenced by the poetry of Goethë and Schiller, formed a group called the Davidsbündler. They were iconoclastic against those who preceded them, whom they dubbed the Philistines for their adherence to form (over substance), and most importantly, Schumann's talent largely emanated from the fact that he had syphilis. We learnt that the rash was only the first stage. This was followed by a stiffening of the fingers and toes - which curtailed his career as a concert pianist - and the final stage is a madness, from which flows genius.
To conclude, I would never hesitate to name Mozart as my favourite composer. Beethoven, in a distant second place, is well clear of a field of a dozen or so, whom it would be invidious - and pointless - to rank.
