Two Steps, Then Paradise
by MJC
There are concerts we attend, and others we carry home with us in silence.
Mozart's Requiem commemoration of the 25th anniversary of September 11 belonged
unmistakably to the latter.
The evening brought together the Charlotte Symphony, Opera Carolina, and the Charlotte Master Chorale in a collaboration that deserves recognition, particularly through the leadership of David Fisk, President of the Charlotte Symphony; Kenny Potter, Artistic Director of the Charlotte Master Chorale; and Claudio Ferri, Artistic Director of Opera Carolina.
I came to this evening as a member of the audience, but also as someone for whom September 11 is deeply personal. Born and raised in New York, I carry memories of that day that cannot easily be translated into words. What moved me most, then, was not simply what happened onstage, but what I witnessed around me: people in tears, quietly overcome by the extraordinary ability of music to reach places words cannot.
Under Maestro Stefano Vignati, the Charlotte Symphony delivered a powerful yet profoundly sensitive reading of Mozart’s Requiem. In his hands, the orchestra and the Charlotte Master Chorale seemed at times to breathe as one, with the Chorale responding with extraordinary intensity, freedom, and depth.
The quartet of soloists brought another deeply human dimension to Mozart’s score. Soprano Yunah Lee sang with palpable emotion; tenor Arthur Espiritu, whom I had previously heard at the Metropolitan Opera, gave a particularly compelling performance; mezzo-soprano Lisa Chavez brought richness and dramatic presence; and bass Juston Hopkins completed the quartet with warmth and dignity.
The standing ovations were richly deserved. Yet this was not an evening that called for a conventional critique of individual performances. It was, above all, an act of remembrance.
Charlotte Mayor Ron Harrington’s moving remarks gave particular weight to the commemoration, reminding us why, twenty-five years later, we still gather to remember. Kindra Frazier, speaking immediately afterward, invited the audience to observe a minute of silence in memory of the lives lost on September 11—a simple gesture that filled the theater with an extraordinary sense of reflection and shared remembrance.
The only small imperfection in an otherwise extraordinary evening was the absence of the American national anthem at the beginning of the commemoration.
And then came the evening’s most poetic moment.
Before conducting Mozart’s Ave Verum Corpus, Maestro Vignati spoke about its opening notes as an ascent toward Paradise: two steps upward, and then you see Heaven.
After the final applause and a standing ovation lasting more than four minutes, there was none of the usual excitement of an audience leaving a concert. The foyer remained almost reverently quiet. People spoke softly; others simply walked away in silence.
Maestro Vignati came out immediately after the performance and remained near the exit to personally greet the audience. Many waited patiently to shake his hand or take a photograph with him, all with a remarkable sense of grace and discretion, as though no one wanted to disturb the emotion of what they had just experienced.
There was something profoundly moving in that departure. No celebration, no noise—only faces still marked by emotion and a silence that seemed to carry Mozart’s music beyond the walls of the theater.
It felt less like leaving a concert than leaving a sacred place.
For a brief moment, Mozart had taken us exactly where Maestro Vignati had promised.
Two steps upward.And then, Paradise.
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