Dying to Discuss Mozart's Requiem
Dies Irae
Requiem in D minor, K. 626
I'm Mozart, and I'm delighted to walk you through the Dies irae, the movement where my Requiem suddenly turns stormy. You'll hear an Allegro assai in D minor, with fiery, agitated orchestration, and you'll learn how it makes the day of judgment feel close and urgent. Anyone who wants to recognize our pieces when they hear them can learn that here, since my fellow composers and I teach it on this site, so give the Trainer a try .
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How To Listen When The Sky Is Falling
Before you press play, I'd suggest you don't try to follow every instrument at once, because the Dies irae is not that kind of piece. Listen first to the chorus, which carries the words and pushes forward with an almost breathless urgency. Then let your ear drop to the bass line and the strings underneath, which keep churning the way a storm keeps churning, and you'll feel why the orchestration is described as fiery and agitated. If you can only pay attention to one thing, notice how seldom the music lets you sit still, because that restlessness is the whole point.Why I Named It After A Warning
The title comes from the opening words of the medieval Dies irae poem, which I set in the part of the Requiem called the Sequence. Since the poem begins with those words, it felt natural to let the first section carry them as its name. The poem pictures a day of reckoning, and I wanted the music to sound like someone has just thrown open the doors and announced it. So the title is less a label than a first line of warning, and I made the music live up to it from the opening bar.Choosing A Shape For The End Of The World
I could have reached for a textbook shape here, but I never wanted one, because the Dies irae follows the poem. The Sequence simply follows the poem, which gives me six sections: Dies irae, Tuba mirum, Rex tremendae, Recordare, Confutatis and Lacrimosa. Each section has its own mood, so the form works more like a story told in chapters than like a pattern that comes back around. I'll take you through them one at a time, and you'll hear the story move from terror to pleading to sorrow.Section 1: The Alarm Goes Off
The Dies irae begins in D minor at an Allegro assai, which means quick and then some. The chorus enters almost at once, and the orchestra beneath it is fiery and agitated, with no slow introduction to ease you in. There is hardly any room to breathe, and the effect is of a crowd running in the same direction because something very large is behind them. Hold on to that urgency, because the following sections are partly defined by how they answer it.Section 2: Now The Soloists Have To Testify
After the rush of the opening, I let the music step back and bring forward the solo voices. Where the chorus sounded like a whole crowd, the soloists sound like individuals who have been called to answer for themselves. The mood grows more personal and more uneasy, and you can hear the tension of someone waiting to be judged. This is the first moment where I swap the sheer force of the opening for something quieter and more searching.Section 3: A King Enters, Nobody Sits Down
In the Rex tremendae the chorus returns, and the music becomes grand and heavy again. It has the weight of a throne room, with sound that seems to press down on the listener. Yet within that grandeur there are moments where the voices turn soft and plead, as though even the frightened are allowed a request. I wanted you to feel both awe and fear here, because the two were never far apart for me in this text.Section 4: The Gentle Interruption
The Recordare is where the storm finally eases and the music turns tender. The soloists take over, and they sing less like a courtroom and more like people speaking to each other in a quiet room. If you only have time for one place to relax in the Dies irae, this is it, and it makes the return of the turmoil hit harder. Notice how the pleading is gentle rather than desperate, because I wanted a pocket of mercy in the middle of all that judgment.Section 5: Flames Versus Prayers
The Confutatis is the part where I let two moods collide, and you can hear them argue. On one side the music is stormy and forceful, and on the other it turns hushed and almost whispered. That sudden switching between harsh and soft is the surest sign that the story is reaching its emotional peak. Listen for how each hushed phrase sounds braver because of the noise that came just before it.Section 6: The Pen Stops
The Sequence ends with the Lacrimosa, and this is where my own writing stops, after the first eight bars. I died on 5 December 1791 in Vienna, leaving the work unfinished, so the rest of the movement was completed by others. Joseph Leopold Eybler orchestrated parts from the Kyrie through the Lacrimosa before he withdrew, and my pupil Franz Xaver Süssmayr eventually completed the work. A sketch for an Amen fugue was found in the 1960s, and scholars still debate whether it belongs after the Lacrimosa, so even the ending is a conversation.Press Play And Stay A While
Now it's your turn, so find a quiet moment, press play and let the Dies irae wash over you. You don't need to remember every detail we talked about, just the shape of the story, from alarm to trembling to tenderness to sorrow. If you catch yourself holding your breath at the quiet moments, that's exactly what I hoped would happen. I hope you enjoy the journey through my Dies irae as much as I enjoyed writing it.---
I hope the Dies irae feels a little less like a storm to you now and a little more like something you can walk into with open eyes. Once you've heard how the chorus pushes forward and how the strings keep churning underneath, I think the music starts to tell you its own story. Did you enjoy this listen guide to the Dies irae of the Requiem? I'd love to think it gave you a few new things to listen for the next time the day of wrath comes around. There is still a lot of the Requiem left to explore, and the Dies irae is only one door into it. The Sequence goes on to the Tuba mirum, the Rex tremendae, the Recordare and the Confutatis, and each one has its own mood. After that come the Offertorium, the Sanctus, the Benedictus, the Agnus Dei and the Communio, which carry the music toward its close. I find it moving that I died in December 1791 with the work unfinished, and that my pupil Franz Xaver Süssmayr helped bring it to the end. Scholars still debate how much of the later movements is his own and how much follows my wishes, and I like that the question stays open. There is even a sketch for an Amen fugue, found in the 1960s, and nobody agrees on whether it belongs after the Lacrimosa. If any of that makes you curious, please click on the links provided to keep exploring the Requiem. Take your time with them, because this music rewards a second listening and a third. And when you press play again, I hope you hear something you missed before.