Berlioz
Grande messe des morts, Op.5
Julien Henric, tenor
London and BBC Symphony Choruses
London Symphony Orchestra
Sir Antonio Pappano
Reviewed by: Ates Orga
Reviewed: 15 August, 2026
Venue: Royal Albert Hall, London
‘If,’ Berlioz wrote from his sick-bed in January 1867, ‘if I were threatened by the destruction of my entire works save one, I should crave mercy for the Messe des morts.’ Given its size and demands, performances are relatively rare hence always special. It received its Proms premiere in August 1960, pre-flying saucer RAH acoustic, conducted by John Pritchard with Charles Craig in the ‘Sanctus’, an occasion I caught in mono on the radio. Physically, my Proms encounter came in 1967, post-flying saucers, this time under George Hurst with Gerald English. The ‘Tuba mirum’ overwhelmed. But it was Colin Davis’s LSO account with Ronald Dowd in St Paul’s Cathedral in June 1969, marking the centenary of Berlioz’s death, that set the benchmark. Orchestra and chorus beneath the dome, offstage brass high in the clerestory, sixteen funeral drums fading at the West end (Berlioz, master of the hushed tutti) – exceptionally behind the audience, an eery perspective – resonance, reflections and overtones in dazzling flight for nearly an hour-and-a-half.
Antonio Pappano feels and understands this music. He brought motion and intensity to the ten sections, artistic hands shaping long-breathed phrases (as delicate or large-gestured as context and dynamic called for), each orchestral detail pointed and tight (the offbeat string chords in the ‘Lacrimosa’ for instance, sharply etched). He steered a cultured course between theatre and chasteness (‘grandeur but also austerity’ in his words), digging deep into gravity, sonority and timbre, using the hall’s reverberation to pace pauses and clarify harmonic rhythms. He pertinently reminded us that Berlioz is about finesse and rarefied textures not just leviathanesque volume (only three movements unleashing his full forces). He may not have had at his disposal the optimum string strength specified in the 1837 Paris autograph (25.25.20.20.18), but he achieved a sovereign balance overall, the combined London Symphony Orchestra (led by Andrej Power), BBC Symphony Chorus and London Symphony Chorus (directed by Neil Ferris, Mariana Rosas) acutely disciplined and responsive, the vocals piercing the densest walls of sound in the second movement. With the French lyric tenor Julien Henric, standing before the organ, the D-flat ‘Sanctus’ floated in wreathes of exalted poetry, his high notes and dynamic softenings lingering long around the rotunda, the flute and antiphonal violin-quartet solos, the burnished cymbal and gran cassa pendulums of the reprise, casting more than their usual spell. Given Berlioz’s specified positioning of the offstage E-flat brass bands – ‘at the four corners of the grand group of choral singers and instrumentalists’ – I’d have preferred more compass-point distancing, less semi-circular proximity. In terms of sightlines though, the placement worked well – ensuring some of the cleanest accuracy and ensemble to come my way in recent years – everyone powering to the same beat.
David Cairns turned 100 in June. High art of another age, his programme notes, perennially fresh, graced the evening, letting us quietly rethink. Berlioz’s ‘remodelled [Requiem] text becomes the “libretto” of a kind of music drama, an enactment of the Requiem Mass at which the worshipper is imagined as actually witnessing the events described in the liturgy. At the end, having experienced the Dante-like vision which forms the substance of the eight movements from “Dies irae” to “Sanctus”, the congregation returns to the here and now, and the service resumes, taking up again the music of the opening movement’. Shunning melodrama, symphonically grounded, sailing the flag of Berlioz the post-Napoleonic romantique révolutionnaire, Pappano took us on the journey, nobly.
A beautifully expressive and graphic review, recalling the many impressive details of the Proms performance from the woodwind subtleties to the percussive and E flat gargantuanism with perfect clarity and perspicacity.. Illuminating too the invocations of past performances and how the current one compared. Also the Dante reference – who indeed ever came closer to realising in sound the cataclysmic vision of the medieval Italian nobleman?
Three of us were over from Ireland. Went to the Albert Hall for the first time. The English and BBC laud this summer festival and other friends have been and been unimpressed. Venue is way too big so even a large chorus failed to make much impact. Decent performance, plenty of orchestral detail, but emotionally under-powered. One of us, Charles, saw the National Youth Orchestra concert and the supposedly wonderful audience applauded between movements. Embarrassing, childish or what. You need to get a sense of perspective on these concerts.
Thanks Graham. I am not sure that the Albert Hall is too big – it is great for pop concerts and large sporting events – it’s too small for the largest events which the O2 caters for (20,000 people at the O2 as compared with around 5,000 at the Albert Hall). I do however agree that the acoustic is far from ideal, and efforts to improve it over the year – mushrooms overhead – have made it bearable, but it still isn’t the best. However it is an iconic building and since 1941 when it moved from Queen’s Hall it has been the permanent home.
As for audience applause, this is frequently brought up by reviewers and performers alike. Often it is an education issue – concert go-ers are unfamiliar with modern concert etiquette (I say modern because applause between movements was quite usual in Mozart and Beethoven’s time) and some music – the end of the third movement of Tchaikovsky’s 6th symphony for instance – cries out for applause. And to end, the NYO is a youth orchestra and so it is more than likely that there will be people attending who maybe going to their first orchestral concert – let’s not be too elitist – I would choose enthusiasm for music over no-clapping rules any day. Now audience members who insist on talking throughout a concert…now they are a different matter.
Thanks, I and my friends are musicians. Yeh, the acoustic is lousy, but came as a shock to realise that this wonderful audience, or maybe those in the arena have decided to applaud willy nilly. Didn’t happen before. Must find out when it started. Your comment about the Pathetique is incorrect. The movement strives towards a resolution it never finds and it’s futility is designed to lead into the desolate finale.
Applause mid-symphony/concerto has been around for as long as I can remember. Likewise I am a musician – a viola player so I may be stretching the definition a little. I think we shall have to disagree on the Pathetique – while I agree with how the third movement leads to the tragic finale (not sure that I agree that it never finds resolution), when it is heard in concert halls there is almost always applause between the third and fourth movement – the music almost writes it into the score. Some conductors I have seen move without a break quickly to the opening of the final movement to emphasise this connection – in my experience this never really works – there needs to be a gap between the movements and jolly-old-audience will ensure that someone will start to clap while the aficionados scowl. Ever has it been so.