Every cherished note seemed to creep into a silent cathedral during the intimate Introit opening of Verdi’s Requiem, performed by the Queensland Symphony Orchestra and the Brisbane Chamber Choir Collective.

It was a soft, contemplative introduction to Verdi’s epic, reflecting on mortality and spirituality before the sheer terror of Dies Irae (Day of Anger) ensued. More than 250 performers unleashed hell into the QPAC Concert Hall, as Italian conductor Umberto Clerici slashed his baton like Halloween‘s Michael Myers and the choristers bellowed the promise that the world would be reduced to ashes on the impending day of wrath.

Not your usual Friday night out, but one that will linger chillingly in the memory as one of the greatest musical spectacles I’ve experienced. Verdi’s Requiem is one of many musical settings of the traditional Roman Catholic Requiem Mass (Messa da Requiem), yet despite Verdi’s lack of religiosity, his operatic interpretation – laden with fire and brimstone – reigns supreme.

The monumental composition originated from the Libera me, written to honour Giacomo Rossini. Five years later, in 1874, Verdi incorporated it as the final movement of his Requiem in tribute to Italian philosopher, writer and unification activist Alessandro Manzoni. The seven operatically styled movements explore humanity, death and the terror of judgement, contrasted with the optimism of redemption.

Clerici, who has been presenting ABC Classic lunchtime radio concerts featuring former QSO performances all week, culminated the series with a live-stream of the Saturday matinee on ABC Classic and ABC iview. It was, he said, his first time conducting the Requiem – a role he described as transformative. He executed it with vigour, embellishing every stroke of the baton with flourish.

The vast chorus – comprising the Brisbane Chamber Choir, Lumens Chamber Choir and members of university chorales and singers – was equally energised, belting out the Latin Mass and transitioning to whispered chant with ease. Director Graeme Morton explained in the pre-concert talk that only a few of the 152 choristers had previously performed this immortal epic, including himself. Yet their performance was outstanding, earning them the loudest cheer of the night.

Four trumpets above the audience and four on stage created the Tuba Mirum (Trumpets Sounding) effect, a fanfare announcing Judgement Day. Clerici crouched on the podium, then pounced cat-like, brandishing his baton in the incredible and terrifying Dies Irae. This iconic, doom-laden chorus – often used in horror films – is a recurring thread throughout the piece, contrasting its terrifying noise with sinister silences.

David Montgomery delivered Verdi’s stipulated well-tightened bass drum, which boomed and echoed around the concert hall, accompanied by Tim Corker on timpani for an ominous backdrop. The four soloists and chorus joined the twirling woodwinds, screeching strings and blaring brass in a cacophony borne of Choronzon’s abyss – shattering both the silence and the nerves.

Tuba player Thomas Alley performed on the large, serpentine cimbasso—designed in Italy in the early 19th century and similar in range to the tuba and contrabass trombone. Favoured by Verdi, who famously despised the tuba, it lent a distinctive edge to the lower brass.

Baritone Warwick Fyfe was eminently suited to the role, his sonorous, robust tone as rich as figgy pudding. His rendition of the haunting Confutatis (When the Cursed) was magnificent, and the combination of his bass, the chorus and the trumpets during Tuba Mirum was thrilling.

Italian tenor Matteo Desole was divine in the contemplative Lux Aeterna (Light Eternal), joined by the commanding mezzo-soprano Deborah Humble, renowned for her Wagnerian repertoire.

Virtuoso soprano Eleanor Lyons trilled like a nightingale throughout the Offertorio and took on the role of pessimist in the finale, Libera me – Verdi’s first composition for the work. As Lyons agonised over judgment after death, Alison Mitchell’s flute soared with optimism, bringing light and hope during both Libera me and Lux Aeterna.

The chorus chanted softly before a final blast of terror in Dies Irae, while Lyons wailed, pleading for deliverance until the orchestra faded into the ether, was met with rapturous applause.

Deliver, they certainly did. Although a traditional interpretation of Verdi’s Requiem, this performance was far more than the sum of its many parts – sending memorable chills as the Last Judgement was met with aplomb. Bring on the rapture, if it sounds like this.