It is not often that a concert program is both musicologically thoughtful and seamlessly merges with the space in which it resonates. With Mors et Vita, the choir Melpomene, under the direction of Jan Melaerts, brought a poignant tribute to sixteenth-century polyphony in the Sint-Bartholomeuskerk in Merksem. On Saturday, May 9, the boundary between Iberian expression and Flemish contrapuntal refinement faded organically. Central to the program was Pedro Rimonte (1565-1627), the Spanish chapel master whose masses were published in Antwerp by Phalesius – a fine example of how music traveled freely through Europe at that time and styles mingled effortlessly.
Whoever attends a concert by Melpomene knows, moreover, that there is always more on the program than a mere performance. Melaerts searches with audible passion for forgotten repertoire and hidden gems that are rarely heard live anymore. His ensemble – a tight-knit group of singers, many of whom have been making music together for years – throws itself repeatedly with great dedication into this music, and it was precisely that combination of musicological insight and visible engagement that gave this evening its particular intensity.
The opening with Parce mihi, Domine by Pedro de Cristo (ca. 1540-1618) immediately set the right mood. The restrained eight-part work was brought serene and transparent and functioned almost as a musical transition from the hustle and bustle of the day to a state of silence. The sober supplication from the Book of Job received a remarkably human tone: not great drama, but a restrained, almost fragile form of grief. The voices entered unerringly, with an almost ascetic purity in intonation, while the long phrasings maintained their tension effortlessly.
This was followed by the complete performance of the Missa pro defunctis by Pedro Rimonte. On paper, a requiem in the month of May might seem an odd choice, but this music breathes anything but sorrow. Rimonte wrote no requiem full of menace and darkness, but a mass for the dead in which warmth and comfort prevail. The performance emphasized this remarkable vitality, with a choral sound that continued to breathe and move. Moreover, as the concert was bathed in the last evening light, it reinforced the sense that this music radiates comfort and brilliance rather than heaviness.
The choral sound remained homogeneous across all voice groups. Melaerts opted for dynamic arcs rather than pronounced contrasts, which benefited the liturgical gravity of the work. Remarkable again was the role of the Melisma Gamba-Consort, which supported the vocal lines with a warm, almost organ-like sonority. The instruments breathed along with the choir and functioned not merely as accompaniment, but as an extension of the polyphonic texture.
After the requiem, a drum suddenly sounded, followed by an instrumental intermezzo with the viols that subtly shifted the mood. It provided ideal preparation for the subsequent In Paradisum from the Missa pro defunctis by Juan Esquivel de Barahona (ca. 1560-1626), which was performed with particular intensity by choir and instrumentalists. While Rimonte's mass was still marked by farewell, here the music seemed to actually open a door to paradise. The transparency of the upper voices was particularly striking: lightly sustained and almost hovering above the harmonic foundation. Hopefully Melpomene will also perform this mass for the dead in full someday, as this left us wanting more.
After the intermission, the perspective shifted from death to resurrection and light, with a series of Marian antiphons and motets – a logical choice in the month of May, though the combination with the funeral liturgy from the first part initially presented a surprising programmatic leap. Yet the transition proved coherent in content: Mary as "advocata nostra," as mediator between earth and heaven.
The motet O quam fulges in aetheris by Jean Mouton (ca. 1459-1522) sounded carefully and clearly structured, though compositionally it remained rather academic and emotionally somewhat distant. After the Gregorian Regina caeli sung by the male voices, a polyphonic setting by Diego Ortiz (ca. 1500-ca. 1570) followed, performed by seven soloists and accompanied by the viol consort. Here an intriguing arc of tension unfolded: from the sober Gregorian contours, the music grew toward a more rhythmic and almost dance-like vitality, as if the restraint from the first part of the concert was slowly giving way to light and movement. The lovely tenderness of the work also made one curious for more repertoire by this composer. In the performance, the soloistic setting did feel somewhat more vulnerable here; a double casting per voice might have provided even more carrying power and stability.
The absolute highlight of the evening followed with the monumental twelve-part Regina caeli by Nicolaas Gombert (ca. 1500-1556). By then the sunlight had faded, but the music itself began to shine. Gombert's polyphony unfolds like a richly woven tapestry without clear beginning or end points, in which voices continually flow into one another. Here Melpomene proved its maturity: despite the complex weave structure, everything remained remarkably transparent. The careful placement of the singers in the space allowed the antiphonal effects to come beautifully into their own without voices ever overwhelming each other.
Melaerts led his ensemble as always with restrained, refined direction. His gestures are economical but extremely functional: entries remain clear, breathing moments natural, and the text treatment reveals a deep understanding of Latin prosody. His years of experience translate into an ensemble that not only sings with technical reliability, but also responds flexibly to space and acoustics.
But Melaerts would not be Melaerts without one more unexpected turn at the end. With Zagaleja de lo verde by Juan Vásquez (ca. 1500-ca. 1560), the evening received a playful, almost theatrical finale. Trombone, recorder, four soloists and a visibly delighted choir suddenly brought color and movement after all the contemplation. Life stepped back in, as it were. The choir let itself be heard in a completely different voice here: lighter, more rhythmic and almost dance-like.
With Mors et Vita, Melpomene confirmed once again that Renaissance music need not be museum repertoire, but remains living heritage when performed with knowledge, imagination and audible devotion. Thanks to Melaerts and his committed singers, the audience discovered once more works that are rarely heard, but that undoubtedly deserve to be heard on an ongoing basis.