Making the dead present

Heinrich Schutz's Musikalische Exequien has fascinated me for a long time.

This piece is interesting on many levels, and formed the basis of one of my undergraduate investigations. It was written at the time of the death of Count Heinrich Posthumous Reuss, one of Schutz's patrons. Reuss lived with a constant awareness of his own death, which was given concrete representation by the meticulous preparations for his funeral service. The coffin was engraved with all the texts of the Lutheran funeral liturgy, which were subsequently set to music by Schutz.

Now, this wouldn't be so remarkable in itself were it not for the third movement of Schutz's piece, which effectively brings the dead man to life. When you listen to the following track, bear in mind the physical disposition of forces around the church where the Count was buried. The main chorus stood in the usual place for the choir, by the organ. The three soloists -- accompanied by a separate continuo group -- walked around in the galleries of the church, creating the effect of disembodied voices in no fixed location.

To make sense of this piece, it is important to know that Count Reuss was a keen singer, and is said to have sung a good baritone.  Accordingly, Schutz's setting has one soloist singing in the baritone register, along with high voices that suggest angels. The texts they sing are as follows:

Chorus I:
Lord, now let you go your servant in peace
as you have said,
for my eyes have seen the Saviour
whom you have prepared for all nations
as a light to enlighten all gentiles
and as a glory for your people Israel.

Chorus II:
Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord,
they have rest after their works,
and their works will follow them.
They are in hands of the Lord
and there is no sorrow that them disturb.

Now, I didn't put this entry together as a document of my knowledge of seventeenth-century funerary music -- although this topic is engrossing.  Indeed, I think there's an important principle here that helps to animate present-day practices around the representation of the dead in funeral services.  A few weeks ago I wrote about the dilemmas of planning funeral services in light of republished documents from the local Catholic hierarchy.

At that time, I mentioned the practice of funeral directors providing photographic slide shows as a core part of their standard package.  I think there's an interesting parallel here between what Schutz was doing in 1635 and a funeral I played for this afternoon.

Schutz is one of the ultimate baroque musicians.  His music is every bit as dramatic as a painting by Caravaggio -- indeed, I would argue that while the northern German churches tended to avoid overtly dramatic visual art, this creative energy was more often than not channeled into literature, philosophy, and music.  The point of a painting by Caravaggio is that you are immediately hooked into the drama of the image; it engages you almost involuntarily, just by virtue of it's being there.  What's important is that the viewer is drawn into the drama of the piece, and invited to identify with one or other of the figures presented in the composition.  Who do you identify with in Caravaggio's depiction of Judas's betrayal of Christ?  Or, in what order of figures do you identify in this image?  Caravaggio has left the invitation open.

Similarly, Schutz's motet is an exercise in audience identification.  By the main organ, in an open gallery where the congregation could see them, is the large choir.  They sing the words of Simeon -- Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace -- a classical element in funeral liturgies from time immemorial, particularly at the deposition of the body.  The chorus represents the Count's family and his court.  Suddenly, the large chorus recedes, and in come the three soloists, who are invisible, and who were instructed to move around in the triforium of the church.  Disembodied voices, in no particular location.

Here is the Count made audibly present, accompanied by angels, essentially telling the gathered worshipers that things are OK: blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.  It is a stunning sleight of hand, which represents the dead Count at the moment of his burial.  Who do you identify with?  The chorus -- singing of commending the body and soul of the dead Count?  What must it have meant to hear a voice like the Count's singing of the blessedness of the dead?

It is now customary for funeral directors to provide a slideshow of family photos in the course of a funeral service.  This happens both in funeral chapels and in churches.

The standard slideshow consists of two contrasting tracks.  One is a soothing, consoling piece; the other generally more upbeat.  I would suggest that you go back and listen to the Schutz piece now: you will find that there is a similar contrast at work between the slow-moving chorus and the more agile lines given to the soloists.

The selection of photos is the usual life-and-times chronicle.  Childhood pictures, early adulthood, weddings, social occasions, relaxed family scenes, more formal portraits, and so on.  The slideshow does not merely document the deceased, however.  It documents the link between the living and the dead, because people sitting in the chapel are often featured in the photographs.  The slideshow goes well beyond an invitation to identify one's self with the deceased.  It is a document of relationships, and the music chosen is an essential element to reinforcing the emotions associated with this document.

A more subdued selection starts the slideshow.  This consists of early life photographs, although it quickly moves into the present generation of the family; photographs from the deceased's childhood are rapidly connected with pictures of their own children as infants, and that of any grandchildren.  Then there is a mixed selection of early- to mid-life photos.

Then the track changes.  We move into later life, with the odd flash back to wedding or debutante photos.  The kids grow up, the grandkids reach their present age, and finally, a photo of the deceased -- often in a pastoral setting, such as the beach or a paddock or park -- sitting alone.  This is often the only image where the subject appears alone; sometimes the image is tinkered so that the person disappears with the final chord of the music.

Some similar questions arise.  What does it mean to have the dead person made present in this way?  After all, in many cultures such a use of imagery would be highly disturbing, if not explicitly abhorrent.  What does the presence of these images mean for the content of funeral services?  Is the future of funeral ceremonies to be the telling of a lifestory, and little else?  How do photographic slideshows reinforce this trend?

I think this bears consideration in the light of the Schutz piece.  In both cases, there's an element of providing some consolation to the family through explicit representation of the dead, especially in the presence of a sealed coffin.  Where Schutz achieved this by using the Count's "voice," modern technology makes it possible to put the living in the frame with the dead.