Sven Helbig on creating music of remembrance

The requiem is one of the most significant and profound musical forms in Western culture. The first known requiem dates back to 1470 and Franco-Flemish composer Johannes Ockeghem. Originally, a requiem was a Christian mass for the dead, dedicated to the memory of the departed, but today that strict structure is no longer mandatory, and nearly every musical genre has drawn upon the essence of this lamentation mass. The requiem continues to offer composers a way to explore the interplay between life and death, transience and eternity. 

About a year ago, in a moment of clarity, I realised that I could only respond to my own sense of horror and helplessness with a requiem. I had visited my grandfather in the town of Eisenhüttenstadt, near Berlin. He is 97 years old and the only member of our family who occasionally speaks about the war. On the journey home, I was deeply preoccupied with the fact that discussions of possible and ongoing wars have once again become part of daily life – in my circle of friends, my family, and political debates. As a human species, we simply cannot seem to escape this calamity.  I am profoundly moved by images from war-torn regions, and from that feeling, I began composing my requiem. 

Sven Helbig: 'I have not experienced war myself, but what interests me most is how one can find a way back to life from the powerlessness of disappointment, pain, and grief' © Claudia Weingart

When I returned home, I immediately started working on the music and lyrics for the piece, which I’ve titled Requiem A. The ‘A’ stands for beginning, departure and, specifically, breath. Breathing is life, and as a metaphor, it plays a pivotal role in both the music and the text. The idea came from my 14-year-old daughter, Ida, with whom I discussed the requiem extensively. Together, we found a beautiful entry in the Grimm Brothers’ dictionary: ‘A, the noblest and most original of all sounds, resounding fully from chest and throat, the sound a child produces first and most effortlessly, which most alphabets rightly place at their forefront.’ 

But how does one position the essential beacons within such a piece? How can one, especially in Germany, approach the issue of guilt? For Requiem A, I began by searching for a perspective from which to write the piece, much like a photographer chooses an angle from which to shoot. I have not experienced war myself, but what interests me most is how one can find a way back to life from the powerlessness of disappointment, pain, and grief. After wars, this is an almost insurmountable task. 

In the first bass aria, the lyrics state: ‘The sun rises from mist or smoke.’ Here, the war is hinted at, evoked as a memory, but it is not named explicitly. The notion of guilt is present throughout the work, but is not presented verbally, instead it appears in images. In the Sanctus section, for instance, the lyrics say: ‘Up there we went, hands stained with blood, ashes on our faces.’ 

'For the structure of the requiem, I envisioned a city partially destroyed and partially rebuilt' Dresden's Kreuzkirche (Holy Cross Church) © Adobe Stock

Rather than revisit the past, Requiem A seeks a beginning. And there must be clarity, which is why there is one distinct moment in the piece where its historical context is made unmistakably clear. I dislike the premature forward gaze that politicians often proclaim when they refuse to acknowledge guilt. Progress must begin with acknowledgment; only then can we move forward. Guilt and pride, in this context, go hand in hand. We often take pride in historical achievements we did not create but were accomplished by generations before us. Similarly, we must also be prepared to confront the guilt of actions we did not commit but were carried out by those same preceding generations. 

For the structure of the requiem, I envisioned a city partially destroyed and partially rebuilt. The Kreuzkirche in Dresden, where this piece will premiere next month, withstood the bombing of the city in 1945, but the Altmarkt around it was destroyed and was not rebuilt historically. The layout remained, but entirely new buildings were constructed. Similarly, Requiem A is built upon an old blueprint: the Kyrie and Agnus Dei sections are, so to speak, the preserved monuments, while some pieces, like the Sanctus, retain original elements but are supplemented with my own new texts – similar to the reconstructed Dresden Frauenkirche. In the traditional seven-part form of the requiem, Agnus Dei and Kyrie hold their original positions.

Even on the cover for the release by Deutsche Grammophon, the theme of transitioning from mourning to life continues. I’ve often heard that, after the war, the ruins of cities became playgrounds for children. Children have an incredible ability to adapt to new situations and find something positive within them. I photographed a jumping girl and placed her against an black backdrop. When I showed this to my long-term collaborator, singer-songwriter and former member of the Pet Shop Boys, Neil Tennant, he suggested depicting the girl much smaller against a broader background. He said: ‘everything is pitch black, but life resides at the core’ I immediately loved this idea. His words even became part of the text in the final chorus, translated into Latin: ‘Atra, omnia atrata, sed in nucleo vita est!’* (‘Dark, all is dark, but life resides at the core!’) 

It is a privilege to perform this piece on 9 February with outstanding artists and ensembles, ensuring the best possible rendition and interpretation. Bass René Pape has already sung the two arias for me, and I cannot imagine them being performed more beautifully – music-making cannot be more fulfilling than this. Beyond musical excellence, it is also a meaningful signal that such renowned Dresden institutions are embracing a bold and fresh perspective on the tragic events of 80 years ago. 

Additionally, I incorporate synthesizers into the requiem. Using electronics, I can generate frequencies that soar above or rumble below the choir and orchestra – deep basses and shimmering highs. Synthesizers have matured into sophisticated instruments with their own unique character, and I can no longer imagine creating music without this palette. Performances will also include live visuals by Icelandic film artist Máni M. Sigfusson, adding an immersive visual dimension to the performance.

I am looking forward to performing in historically significant locations this year, including with the Vienna Symphony Orchestra on Vienna’s Heldenplatz and with the Birmingham Symphony Orchestra and the Trinity Boys Choir in Coventry. Coventry Cathedral, as the place where Benjamin Britten’s famous War requiem premiered in 1962, brings with it a particularly profound legacy. 

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Requiem A is released as an album on 8 May on Deutsche Grammophon and will be available digitally, as well as on CD and vinyl.