Kaddisch

There are concerts you remember for a long time. Unforgettable performances. Songs that remain forever tied to a duo. Normally you never really know if these sensations are shared; at most you exchange a comment with someone you know who was also at the concert. But sometimes the audience reacts in such an unusual and unanimous way that you know for certain the emotion was shared. That is what happened in 2013 at Wigmore Hall, in a recital by Simon Keenlyside and Malcolm Martineau. The first part of the program had been Wolf, and the second part began with Ravel: Un grand sommeil noir, Kaddisch and Don Quichotte à Dulcinée.

Kaddisch is the first of the Deux mélodies hébraïques, commissioned by the Russian soprano Alvina Alvi after hearing Ravel’s Chants populaires. That collection also includes a Chanson hébraïque, and it seems that this piece was what prompted the soprano to ask the composer for two more arrangements. The songs were premiered by both of them in June 1914; years later, in 1920, Ravel created an orchestral version. The text of Kaddisch is a prayer of praise to God recited in most Jewish religious services and also commonly used as a funeral prayer. If I am not mistaken, this mélodie only sets the central part of the prayer, which is longer.

Beautiful as the song is, it has always seemed to me difficult to place in a recital. It is moving, without doubt, but it is closely tied to a religion; it is as if one were singing a Pater Noster (are there songs with the text of the Pater Noster?). Of course, the spiritual dimension can transcend a specific religion, and there are many lieder that are practically prayers; there are even explicitly religious lieder, but I feel it is somehow different.

I still don’t know whether my doubts were confirmed or dispelled that day at Wigmore Hall. After Un grand sommeil noir came Kaddisch, and within seconds I realized something had changed in the hall. There was silence—there is always silence at Wigmore Hall—but this was a different silence, deep, with an unusual stillness. To put it simply, we were all glued to our seats. That Kaddisch sung by Simon Keenlyside was intense, overwhelming, and unlike any other. And the proof that I was not the only one who felt this way came when the song ended. That immobile silence lingered for a few more seconds and then, suddenly, the entire hall burst into applause, completely unexpectedly, interrupting the song cycle (something an expert audience like that would never do). I noticed people catching their breath, having forgotten to breathe, and others discreetly wiping away a tear. Rarely have I experienced such a collective emotional moment in a recital. And although this is a personal perception not corroborated, I would say that the emotion was also felt on stage.

Ten years later, in an interview I did with the singer and shared with you, I asked him about this song, and among other things he told me:

“I did it when my grandfather died and then when my father died. When I was a student, in the French song class, I was learning it and my French coach said, no, no, that's too extrovert. Well, I'm Jewish, and I went to a synagogue just to hear the music. And the Jewish cantors were very extrovert, extremely extrovert, they sang like a helden tenor, so that's the way it should be sung. And why? Because Kaddisch it's about life and death, and if you sing about life, you sing with all your body. ”

It has taken me a long time to share the memory of that recital in London, because I couldn’t illustrate it as I wished. Now that has changed, because coinciding with the 150th anniversary of Ravel’s birth, Malcolm Martineau has released the complete songs (a highly recommended disc) recorded with various singers, and it is Keenlyside who sings the Deux mélodies hébraïques. A recording is never the same as a live performance, but I trust that if you listen to this song I am sharing, you will get a sense of what was experienced that evening and, above all, you will gain a different perspective on the song.

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