The year 1845 was a fairly busy one for Mendelssohn. Covent Garden had put on Sophocles's Antigone using the composer's incidental music (1841), and although the total effect was partially compromised—at least initially—by inadequate staging, the score itself appears to have been well received. Punch printed an hilarious cartoon (it made Mendelssohn laugh for three days) where ''the chorus-master, with his plaid trousers shewing [sic] underneath, is a masterpiece, and so is the whole thing, and most amusing'' (Mendelssohn's own words, quoted in the 1940 edition of Grove). The six organ sonatas were in the hands of the copyists, the sixth book of Songs without Words was shortly to be published, 'a symphony' was well in hand, thoughts of an opera were still germinating and the incidental music for Oedipus was completed.
Antigone was originally commissioned by King Friedrich Wilhelm IV (see JW's considered review of the Capriccio CD, 3/94). Then, after declining to compose choruses for the Oresteia, Mendelssohn agreed to provide incidental music for Racine's Athalie (which contains the famous ''War March of the Priests'') and Sophocles's Oedipus. Major elements of Oedipus's compositional style are already familiar from Antigone, most notably the double choruses (each of which is in four—and later eight—parts) that Mendelssohn used for the play's strophes and antistrophes. ''Where is he hiding...'' enquire the first (right-hand) chorus: ''... call him everywhere'', respond their opposite numbers—a tense, pensive and poised opening, very much the sort of thing we remember from Elijah. However, unlike that great score, Oedipus's dramatic continuity is dependent almost entirely on spoken declamation by the leading protagonists. True, there is some effective colouring of both text and action, but readers averse to CDs of spoken word with musical accompaniment might feel short-changed at having so much talking and and so little musical 'meat'—at least, that's if they view Oedipus from a quantitative standpoint. Qualitatively speaking, however, there are some wonderful episodes to savour, the finest being the first meeting with the men of Colonos (track 1), the chorus's pleas for leniency towards Oedipus (track 8) and best of all, a six-minute chorus (a ''Hymn to Athens'', track 3) that compares, in its grandeur and consolatory spirit, with the best of Elijah or St Paul.
I suppose your reaction to this work will depend on whether you view the idea of Mendelssohn's ''falling back'' to those earlier works (JW's justifiable stance) as purely pragmatic or as an inspired 'return to self. Personally speaking, I take the latter view: dialogue-heavy as they often are (excepting items 3 and 6), the constituent parts of Oedipus will enrich any self-respecting collection of nineteenth-century choral music, while all devoted Mendelssohnians should investigate without delay, especially as the performance and recording are exceptionally good.'