Beethoven’s *Missa Solemnis* is a grand mass composed for a large orchestra, chorus, and four vocal soloists, lasting around 80 minutes. Written near the end of Beethoven’s life, it stands as his most ambitious work both musically and spiritually. On the first page of the score, Beethoven inscribed, “Coming from the heart, may it go to the heart.”
The Beethoven biographer Jan Swafford captures its essence well: “*Missa Solemnis* is Beethoven talking to God, man to man. And what they talked about is peace. Creation was for Beethoven the magnificence in the world we inhabit; *Missa Solemnis* is meant to keep it thus.” Despite its profound significance, among Beethoven’s major works, *Missa Solemnis* is by far the least performed—and not just because it requires large forces. Conductors often struggle to grasp its mysteries and intricacies.
Simon Rattle, upon turning 70 last year, admitted that *Missa Solemnis* remains beyond his full understanding. Eleven years ago, Michael Tilson Thomas marked his 70th birthday with a momentous, staged performance of the work with the Los Angeles Philharmonic at Walt Disney Concert Hall. Gustavo Dudamel, who has conducted Beethoven since his teens, waited until after his 45th birthday last month to take on *Missa Solemnis*. His first performances over the weekend at Disney were the centerpiece of a month-long L.A. Phil focus on Beethoven.
This Beethoven celebration had begun a week earlier with a political statement. Beethoven’s incidental music to Goethe’s drama of liberation, *Egmont*, was updated with new text serving as an urgent call for protest in today’s era of authoritarianism and militarism. Here, Beethoven expresses a compulsion for triumphant glory.
In *Missa Solemnis*, however, the glory takes on a different character—that of stupefaction. By this late stage in his life, Beethoven had grown weary of weapons, the relentless drumbeat of soldiers, and the addictive emotion stirred by trumpet calls to action. His man-to-man dialogue with God is a form of celestial diplomacy. There is no compromise: we either care for our magnificent world at all costs, or nothing matters.
Dudamel clearly cares deeply. He conducted this massive mass from memory, undeterred by its demands. He brought from Spain two spectacular choruses—Orfeó Català and Cor de Cambra del Palau de la Música Catalana—totaling around 130 singers. Under the impressive direction of Xavier Puig, they sounded as if they had rehearsed for months.
The four soloists—soprano Pretty Yende, mezzo-soprano Sarah Saturnino, tenor SeokJong Baek, and bass Nicholas Brownlee—were robust and powerful. Positioned mid-orchestra, behind the violas and boldly in front of the timpani, they contributed to a richly textured soundscape.
*Missa Solemnis* follows the standard mass text but does not necessarily adhere to a straightforward liturgical narrative. It is a work of theater, dramatizing feelings—an approach the earlier Disney staging also attempted. Directors such as Peter Sellars and conductor Teodor Currentzis have long promised a major staged *Missa Solemnis*.
The Kyrie opens with a strong D-major chord from the large orchestra. What seems to be a clear downbeat turns out to be an upbeat. Down becomes up. Then, more than eighty minutes later, at the end of the Agnus Dei—when the great plea for peace reaches its ultimate transcendence—up becomes, in one of the most profoundly unsettling moments in music, down once again. In *Missa Solemnis*, we never quite know where we stand. Every expectation is thwarted.
Beethovenian peace, as portrayed here, is a nearly superhuman endeavor.
Dudamel’s approach seeks to be all-encompassing. He conducted without a baton, using his body expressively. His arms were often open wide, as if embracing the vast company of musicians on stage, holding the whole world in his hands. Tidiness was not always the goal. Grandeur and molding sound were. And above all, awe.
Throughout his career, Beethoven was the overwhelming master of awe, and in *Missa Solemnis*, he surpasses even the Gloria in this respect. His fugues are like draftsman’s renderings of heavenly splendor. Such awe demands the superhuman from singers, especially in this ensemble’s ravishing high notes. Yet Beethoven also questions every sentiment in the Mass. Grandeur can suddenly turn solemn, feeling almost like a ceremonial sleight of hand.
In the Sanctus, a solo violin suddenly appears, “descending like a dove from heaven,” as music scholar Hugh MacDonald nicely describes it. In that moment, the work transforms into a violin concerto with vocal soloists of transcendent allure.
The Agnus Dei begins in a grim realization that humanity’s great sins may carry no compensation. Then, astonishingly and without warning, one of Beethoven’s uniquely wondrous melodies takes over. Trumpet and timpani intrude in what sounds like saber-rattling, only to be shushed away as worthless. Peace returns, but just as it reaches its climax, it weakens. There is no grand Beethoven finale. *Missa Solemnis* simply stops.
Dudamel’s interpretation, unlike some of his typically fervent Beethoven performances, was more measured and reflective. Though the big moments were immense—especially aided by his fabulous chorus—the somber passages spoke deeply from the heart. The orchestra’s solo playing was eloquent, and the solo singers delivered extravagantly.
A particularly unusual feature was the violin solo. The L.A. Phil is currently searching for a new concertmaster, and Alan Snow, associate concertmaster of the Minnesota Symphony, sat in for these performances. He brought a silken, “descending dove” tone to his solos, though at lower volumes the sound became more a distant voice than a commanding soloist. Whether this was simply his natural tone or a deliberate choice by Dudamel remains uncertain, much like many elusive facets of *Missa Solemnis*. Nevertheless, its quietness beautifully exemplified the essence of peace.
When Dudamel first walked on stage, he received a strong ovation—as he always does, especially in his final season as music director. At the conclusion of *Missa Solemnis*, the reaction was a respectful standing ovation, rather than the typical rapturous cheering Dudamel usually earns with Beethoven.
In that moment, Dudamel earned something far more rewarding. It was not a time for applause, but for reflection.
True peace in *Missa Solemnis* comes not from victory, but from the ending of conflict—whether between nations, nature, or within ourselves. We still have too little to celebrate.
https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/story/2026-02-24/gustavo-dudamel-takes-on-his-last-major-beethoven-challenge