Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Grande Messa in Do minore, KV 427

What, over thirty and living alone?.. And what about cooking, cleaning, ironing!? 

Well yes, I live alone and equally “well yes,” it seems that especially in the native prison of Veneto, the fundamental elements for a worry-free life are these: settling down emotionally (but even without much affection), saving “the money” and having children to whom “the money” saved will eventually go. 

Some just can't understand that there can be evenings when even if the house is tidy, the laundry is dry and ironed, even if you've already made yourself a damn plate of pasta, a strange and mysterious melancholy sticks to you, making you envy even the sulking couples on the couch, as they watch in tracksuits and slippers “The Island of the Famous,” so unconsciously sad that they can't even mock what they're watching.
In these moments, there's an urgent need for a jolt, something to prod your stagnant and withered thoughts, anything that might chase away this pervasive torpor that has become one with you.

And it may seem impossible, but sometimes all this can be achieved simply by pressing “play” on the right record.

Mozart! Everything is in his music, I know no one better than him who has managed to interpret the feelings of the human soul to then put them there, within heart’s reach.
The Great Mass in C minor is one of those compositions that should be more “ridden” than listened to, trying not to be unseated by those sudden changes of pace when the swaying and gentle step makes way for a mad and uncontrollable gallop that then abruptly stops before the worst can happen, bringing us back to the peace that seemed irretrievably lost just a moment ago. And in this journey with the steed Amadeus, one is so full of emotions that the space once occupied by that intrusive Miss Melancholy is completely gone.

This mass, like the more famous Requiem, is left unfinished; Mozart wrote it in Vienna in the summer of 1783 as a vow that his wife Constanze would safely overcome the difficulties experienced during the pregnancy of their first child (who died at two months old). It was then performed in Salzburg, at the church of St. Peter, also in an attempt to reconcile with his father after fleeing to Vienna and to ensure that he would accept the new bride, who for the occasion took the role of the soprano.
In the Kyrie, the whole Mozartian spirit is already there, the initial pace is solemn yet at the same time desolate, tragic, a direct descent into hell amidst the cries of the desperate invoking mercy. But suddenly, suddenly this relentless invoking “Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, Kyrie eleison” moves into an oasis of peace and composure, as if to reach the luminous and radiant peak of paradise, one must necessarily go through the heaviest and darkest hell. 

And it's a continuous alternation of sensations and different feelings, sometimes so opposite and contrasting that they seem like alternate, liberating shocks that destabilize all the fossilized boredom you've brought home from the day. It’s music that shatters this disarming lethargy to the ground, only to raise it and hurl it back to the ground again, just as it’s barbarically done to “tenderize” octopuses.
All this thanks to the duality of Mozart's nature, where jest and drama, biting melancholy and the most candid joy, the lightest and sweetest mellowness and demonic terror constantly sniff each other, sometimes barely brushing against, sometimes brutally and unreservedly interacting, yet never undermining the formal rigor and graceful balance typical of the classical period. 

For a sublime example of this, one should listen to the unfinished andante “Et incarnatus est” from the Credo, where the singing and counter-singing between the soprano and the orchestra infuse such engaging sweetness that instantly rejects the envy previously felt towards those two on the couch, indeed you would wish they too could gather this music in their laps to then embrace with a tension never before experienced.
A recommendation: do not be discouraged by those for whom the word “mass” brings to mind the usual Sunday appointment; for some, this might represent nothing but a “show,” this is a work of art that has the extraordinary power to elevate and engage anyone with a modicum of sensitivity, regardless of faith. The fact that by elevating oneself, one feels closer to the sky or further from the earth makes little difference.