Why Is Randall Thompson's "Alleluia" So Mournful?

Isn’t the word “alleluia” supposed to be a shout of joy?

First, the occasion: the opening of the Berkshire Music Center at Tanglewood. Let’s see–”Tanglewood” is the summer home of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, an outdoor concert venue in rural Massachusetts. The Berkshire facility (which at some point was renamed as the Tanglewood Music Center) opened in 1940 under the leadership of Serge Koussevitsky, the BSO’s music director at the time. The Tanglewood venue had been active for three years, and Koussevitsky saw an opportunity to expand the facility into a summer music camp for students. He decided to commission a piece by an American composer for the student body to perform at the opening ceremonies.

So far, so good. Koussevitsky had requested some kind of big, bold, celebratory piece—a “fanfare”–but Thompson found himself unable to write anything joyous in 1940, as World War II was building in intensity. France had just fallen when Thompson got the commission. So, instead, Thompson delivered something soft, slow, and mournful-sounding

Thompson himself said that it is:

a very sad piece. The word “Alleluia” has so many possible interpretations. The music in my particular Alleluia cannot be made to sound joyous. It is a slow, sad piece, and…here it is comparable to the Book of Job, where it is written, “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

There is a bit of humor, though, in the circumstances of the piece’s premier:

Preoccupied with another commission, Thompson submitted Alleluia on the very day of its first performance. In fact, when choral director G. Wallace Woodworth finally saw the score, a mere 45 minutes before taking the stage, he noted that it consisted of the oft-repeated word alleluia and the final amen and is said to have told the singers, “Well, text at least is one thing we won’t have to worry about.” (from Britannica.com.)

The work has become Thompson’s most famous and most performed work.