Each music-lover has their “Requiem” of choice. The Heroic will want to be mourned under Verdi’s; tender souls feel represented by the ethereal melodies of Brahms or Fauré. But, it is safe to say that nine of ten music-lovers prefer Mozart’s unfinished “Requiem.” More than a masterpiece, it is arguably the most gracious sacred work in the classical repertoire.

However, such immense graciousness and elegance do come with a cost. First, it does not take much intellectual refinement to clearly perceive how much of the work’s nuances are lost in the parts that were mostly composed by Franz Xaver Süssmayr instead of Mozart. Far be it from me to be precious about a composer’s autograph, but in the case of the “Requiem” it is disturbing how feigned its sense of “completeness” is. All the beautiful musical building that leads to “Lacrimosa’s” first bars seems almost to have vanished completely by the time we reach “Agnus Dei.”

The other high cost of Mozart’s elegance is how exposed the performers are in their most minimal movements. Mozart’s music is like translucent glass that pitilessly exposes even the most minor mistakes in phrasing. In the case of Ivor Bolton’s rendition, beyond the master of Salzburg’s scrutiny, there was also the strikingly dry acoustics of Teatro La Fenice. In the back of the orchestra, I could hear the horsehair of the cello bow on the attack before the strings began vibrating. That is an issue when we are dealing with pieces that are usually thought to be performed inside cavernous cathedrals. On a personal level, I enjoy drier acoustics, though they are unforgiving; they uncover many aspects of musical articulation that otherwise might be overlooked. Also, my spine chills whenever I can enjoy the most minimal unvoiced consonantal articulation in a human voice (the final “t” in “tenet”).

Bolton’s reading of Mozart’s “Requiem”—though not devoid of pleasures—seemed to be a missed encounter among instruments, acoustics, and a conductor’s ambitions. Instead of navigating the dry acoustics of La Fenice and the idiosyncrasies of its chorus, the conductor tried to escape from them. All of the musical phrases were more consonantal than they should have been. In a Church, it makes sense to prime for consonants; otherwise, the text is lost in the echoing gothic walls. But, in Venice’s wooden opera house, everything sounded overly punctuated and sometimes even scissored: musical phrases that defined themselves by their commas instead of their vocal liaisons.

When dealing with a mostly operatic chorus and a very operatic group of soloists in one of the most quintessential opera houses of the world, one should embrace the environment. In the first part of the concert, occupied with a good reading of Cherubini’s “Lodoïska’s” overture and a congenial rendition of Haydn’s Symphony no. 95, Bolton managed the sonorities of La Fenice’s orchestra well—the timpani were in a state of grace, and the cellos and double basses were good too. But when we reached the vocal part of the concert, Bolton seemed to ignore the nature of La Fenice’s choir: they are not the children’s chorus of Westminster Abbey, but rather Verdi’s chorus par excellence.

So, if Bolton was conducting a “Va, Pensiero” choir, why did he deploy such fast and light andamenti? From the “Introit” until the “Lacrimosa” Bolton set a pace that felt faster than Usain Bolt running. This was particularly damaging when the speedy “Introit” was followed by an impossibly fast “Kyrie,” disrespecting the chorus’s own tempo and what they would need properly to convey a more coloratura phrase. The “Tuba Mirum” had the most mistuned and unrhythmic trombone solos, as if the brave musician were trying to catch up instead of graciously leading the music.

In spite of my severe words about Bolton, I am more than sure that he is an extremely qualified conductor, and it is my core-belief that Mozart’s score is particularly exacting in its phrasing demands. What could be masked in Cherubini and Haydn becomes blatantly loud in Mozart. Still, a solidly performed Mozart’s “Requiem” is something that is always worth going to see.

Certainly, the most impressive aspect of the night was the soloist quartet. Perhaps soprano Valentina Farcas’ voice is a bit more strident than is the usual fashion for singing Mozart nowadays, but still there were interesting musical ideas coming from her throat, especially in the quartets.

I was more than impressed by Swiss tenor Mauro Peter. A beautiful amalgam of a lyric tenor with some subtle spinto overtones, his voice shone beautifully as the beacon of a certain Mozartian style that can still gesture towards a more operatic sound. It was, to a certain degree, a performance that balanced the demands of the score with those of the room.  The quartets were spot on, though there were a few distractions in the breathing during the “Benedictus.”

Last time that I heard mezzo Cecilia Molinari, was in the most insidious and dull opera production that I have ever seen in my entire life, Salzburg’s “Falstaff.” I was more than glad to hear her singing a beautiful “Ricordare.” Her voice, extremely beautiful, seems to mold well in a more lyric repertoire, showing much power of expression especially in the core of her musical phrases. Her singing emphasized the ever-lasting sound of the vowels, avoiding over-punctuation.

Bass Milan Siljanov has a generous voice and great concentration. Not even the unfortunate mis-encounter with the trombone in “Tuba Mirum” made him lose focus and quality of phrasing. Not unlike Molinari, Siljanov phrased extremely well, but he also did not shy away from the muted “t’s” at the end of many Latin verbs.

In dealing with the soloists, Bolton might have shown his best feature of the night. In a sacred repertoire where conductors often overwhelm the singing in the name of the orchestra, Bolton preserved the dialogue between instrument and conducting that seemed to not happen with the chorus.

Perhaps the biggest proof of Mozart’s unforgiving elegance was how conspicuous the chorus and soloists were in all of their sitting down and standing up. I perfectly understand that the singers are not obliged to stand for the whole concert, but some of their standings up were louder than a Wagnerian Tuba and happened before the final chords of a movement—instead of during the pauses. It is a small thing but makes a world of difference. In the precious universe of Mozart, especially in his sacred music, there is an illusion of solemnity that is dispelled when performers seem abruptly to go on to the next step. In a certain way, Bolton’s anxious tempi seemed to infect even other aspects of the night: an urge to keep moving, instead of ceasing the moment. Still, a night with well-intentioned Mozart is still a very phenomenal thing.

But the most ungracious thing of the night was a screaming lady at the very end of the piece. In that sacred moment of silence between the final chord and the applause, she decided to voice her opinions about the piece. Such selfish behavior, completely disrespectful to an audience that managed a full Requiem without much noise (they did not even cough!), it was even more importantly, disrespectful to the musicians who,  had their share of problems but who were there on stage, fully, trying to make Mozart happen. It was a tart goodbye to a performance that had some very pleasurable moments. If I complained about the overly punctuated phrases of Bolton, it is important to say that the marked basses, cellos, and timpani did not disappoint in making beautiful things. I still have inscribed in my head the marked phrasing in “Lacrimosa” and their pulsating beats in the bassline. Mozart has ways of making his music unforgiving, but also extremely remarkable.