BWV 35 - Geist und Seele wird verwirret

Week 35 (31 December 2013 – 5 January 2014)

Recording: Helmuth Rilling, Bach-Collegium Stuttgart; Julia Hamari, alto

Although this is the first solo cantata encountered when following the Schmieder numbering sequence, BWV 35 was actually the second in a series of cantatas composed for solo alto in mid-late 1726 (the others are BWV 170 and BWV 169). For this work, scholarship suggests that “assembling” may be as apt a term as composing, since some components – notably the virtuosic sinfonia movements for organ that begin each section of the cantata – were apparently borrowed from earlier instrumental works. The challenging vocal music also suggests that a highly competent alto was available, perhaps a professional brought in as a substitute during a time of year when many students may have been occupied with family obligations.

One distinctive feature of this cantata is that Bach selected a text that exactly matched but also amplified the Gospel reading for the Sunday in question: the verses from Mark 7 describing Christ healing the deaf-mute man. The words are those of Georg Christian Lehms (1684-1717), a poet already met several times in this project, whose text explores figurative as well as literal meanings of the condition of being deaf and mute. In the first aria, the wonder of God leaves the awestruck believer taub und stumm. The ability to heal the deaf, mute, and blind is reiterated in the following recitative as proof of the miraculous nature of God. Following the sermon (which logically was surely based on the same scripture reading), the recitative invokes the command Hephata (“be opened”) to heal the recalcitrant who resists placing faith in God. And in the final aria, being released into eternal life with God represents overcoming the loss of senses at death.

If you can master the technical skills required to sing this cantata, you can probably sing just about anything in the Bach alto canon, as the three arias present an encyclopedia of rhythm, pitch, agility, and diction challenges. Any number of vocal exercises can be extracted for general training purposes, e.g., in the first aria M. 30-32 for rhythm and pitches; M.55-56 for rapid passage work; and M. 65-68 as an arpeggio study. This aria, centered on the verb verwirren (to confuse) makes more sense to me if the word is taken in the sense of cheerful or expectant bemusement, rather than in the negative connotation of confusion. After all, the text (and musical depiction) in the B section refers to believers describing God’s miracles mit Jauchzen. The one who contemplates divine greatness is at first so overwhelmed that she cannot comprehend human language or find words to communicate – but it is a positive, hopeful situation.

The technical handling of the somewhat disconnected phrases in this aria must be carefully thought through. In some cases the intent is for a true pause (M. 38), while in others a connection needs to be maintained (that is, the vocal mechanism should not relax but remain active – M. 11). Meanwhile, the continuity of the text itself needs to frame the singer’s musical decisions. This fairly long da capo aria should not be abridged since the B section is needed for textual completeness, but it could be used for a recital (although it is an endurance exercise).

The two long recitatives illustrate that there is fully as much interpretive skill needed in this cantata as in any operatic role. For instance, the lines: Du machst es eben/Dass sonst ein Wunderwerk vor dir was Schlechtes ist. What a concept to try to convey, when there are no theatrical gestures to help you, and only the most delicate musical scaffolding. The meaning that you find in the text must be conveyed through intellectual assimilation and processing of the words so that the subtle partnership between singer and composer is transparent to the listener and it is always the composer that is heard. In both recitatives and arias, Bach’s intent can only speak after you have done a lot of work.

The aria Gott hat alles wohlgemacht which concludes the first part of the cantata is as cheerful and elegant as you will find, a perfect choice for an all-purpose solo anthem for church, or for a bright opening to a recital. The characteristic melisma in M. 8-9 recurs several times in the same or a slightly modified format, so that perfecting that sequence goes a long way to mastering the aria’s technical challenges. The voice definitely needs to be kept light and flexible, without dark, contralto tones. The F major edition invites lower sopranos to partake as well, and that is certainly one solution to obtaining the right tone and weight for these pieces. I pulled this aria out many times over the past months when I wanted something optimistic and happy to sing – and it proved to be a wonderful warm-up piece as well.

The final aria is the most problematic both in meaning as well as structure. The 18^th-century Lutheran idea that one longs for death so as to be with God can be a challenge for our 21^st-century sensibilities. Here the text might also suggest that we can find release from the cares of everyday life by placing ultimate faith in God. The musical format is somewhat atypical, although the aria stands on its own, with its built-in organ introduction and postlude. Once again, the music calls for a light voice, or a lightened voice. That doesn’t mean it can’t be a full, rich sound, but that any heaviness is to be avoided (remembering that this aria was originally sung by a young male alto). The recording with Julia Hamari is the best I heard with a mezzo. There are two very difficult melismatic passages (M. 31-42 and M. 89-95) that will put this aria beyond most singers. While these passages are excellent training exercises, in actual performance they would be pretty treacherous. So if you are looking for a recital piece, there are better choices – this aria works best left within the cantata.

But the cantata done in its entirety is excellent concert material not only for a great singer but also for a fine organist. Another unique aspect of BWV 35 is that in addition to the solo organ movements, the organ is used as the obbligato instrument in the arias. A very cool graduate recital for an ambitious alto would be to marshal your colleagues to present BWV 34 and 35 on a program – you would seldom have the opportunity to do this outside a conservatory setting, and you will seldom find such a rewarding pairing.

The more I have worked with this cantata, the more I have become taub und stumm recognizing all the challenges and rewards of this music. “Assembled” or not, the end result is as unified a structure as you could ask, permeated with the master’s melodic genius. It’s truly a special work, and endlessly gratifying, for a soloist to attempt. I’ll often return to BWV 35 for study and just maybe at some point to perform that second aria!

Finally, an interesting tidbit concerning Bach’s librettist for this work. Lehms’ short but productive life also yielded a series of novels based on Biblical stories that were intended for general readership (i.e. both men and women), and he appears to have been an early advocate for women’s education as well as a proponent of recognizing their literary abilities: he compiled and published a collection of poetry by female authors. This was undoubtedly a controversial position for his time, and with his early death (from tuberculosis) we can only speculate as to whether he would have pursued any further initiatives. But certainly he never could have dreamed that nearly three centuries after his demise, his words would still be read, studied, and sung, by educated women (and men) all over the world.

Excerpt from Title Page of Lehms' Teutschlands Galante Poetinnen
(Dass das Weibliche Geschlecht so geschick zum Studieren als das Männliche)

 

BWV 34 - O ewiges Feuer, o Ursprung der Liebe

Week 34 (17 September – 28 December 2013)

Recording: Rudolf Lutz, Vokalensemble/Instrumentalensemble der Schola Seconda Pratica; Margot Oitzinger, alto; Jens Weber, tenor; Fabrice Hayoz, bass

Yes, that was a mighty long week. But I have managed at last to escape the eternal fire-fighting that is my life to write about Bach’s eternal fires, both sacred and secular. The cantata is certainly not at fault for my tardiness: it’s a lovely work, and I have spent many hours in the company of both the full recording as well as multiple versions of the very special alto aria that, as the linch-pin of the piece, “helps to convey a special color and unity to the whole,” as Sir Hubert Parry describes.

The choral movements and aria derive from an earlier Leipzig wedding cantata, BWV 34a, which bears the same title since it uses the identical opening lines. The work, which does not survive in complete score, must have been composed for a notable marriage, perhaps for a member of the clergy as suggested by the recitative text Dir, dessen Fleiss in Gottes Hause wacht. Certainly the prominence of brass and percussion, as well as full chorus and four soloists, indicates that the event was one with “no expense spared”.

BWV 34 was subsequently assembled to provide music for another festive occasion, Pentecost, or the “birthday of the church”. Recent research cited in the liner notes for Suzuki’s recording indicates that the shorter, sacred version was first performed in 1727, with subsequent use as late as 1740, from which time the surviving manuscripts date.

The brilliant opening chorus evokes divine flames of virtuous love and faith – the ardor of the faithful – first with an instrumental prelude of rising and falling surges of strings and brass, then with the fugal 4-part choral setting depicting both the immensity of eternity and the dancing fire. Note the little syncopation on entzünde (ignite) that leads off the B section – not one detail is ever glossed over. This is an immensely rewarding choral movement, although the da segno form makes it long for use as an anthem, the A section stands on its own – for a nimble and energetic choir that can survive the melismatic flames. Lutz’s performance for the Bach-Stiftung sparkles, with the vocal parts clearly delineated in a warm acoustic.

In adapting his earlier work for Pentecost, Bach was provided (either by his own hand or by an unknown writer) a text focusing on the soul becoming the selected dwelling place of God. This idea of being chosen is emphasized through use of the word erwählen and its derivatives in the recitatives and aria. Note the repetitions in the alto aria (five in the A section alone) of auserwählten (literally, picked out from a larger group).

The magnificent Wohl euch, ihr auserwählten Seelen is surely one of the most beautiful alto arias in the cantatas. Bach reused the music from the earlier BWV 34a; however, in that work the text references the Biblical love story of Jacob and Rachel. John Eliot Gardiner suggests this music “may have had deeper personal significance to Bach than we can fathom today”, but he sagely withholds any further inferences. The meltingly tender melody and the manner in which the singer directly addresses the audience (congregation) bespeak sincere affection. The instrumental setting using two flutes and strings envelops the singer in warmth, and the vocal line must be equally buoyant and ethereal, particularly in the first section of the aria.

In the printed key (A major), the aria is appropriate for lighter altos and lower sopranos who can easily sing a B4 without any chest tone. In order to achieve the necessary ease and fluidity, there has first to be technical mastery, and this aria offers an abundance of challenges that develop and improve vocal technique. One difficult aspect for a female alto is the constant crossing of the lower and middle breaks, which can make achieving a blended sound difficult. Several excellent exercises can be extracted from the aria to facilitate this process, e.g. M. 20-22.

Although rather long (about 6 minutes) for use as a church service selection, the aria’s A-B-A’ structure permits using the last section in that capacity. It’s such a beautiful aria that it should be shared with your listeners even if that must be in an abbreviated form. But by reverting to the original text, what a perfect piece for a wedding (if anyone out there is still asking for Bach)! The original BWV 34a version opened the second portion of the cantata (Post copulationem), and apparently used only violin and continuo for accompaniment, making for a very natural adaptation for voice and organ. The music is available in the Breitkopf and Härtel edition of 1894 (on IMSLP).

Margot Oitzinger’s performance in BWV 34 (also available as a video clip on YouTube) is a wonderful example of a fresh, warm sound with naturally minimal vibrato that nevertheless maintains exceptional intonation. But do not neglect the recording by Janet Baker, which shows how a larger, weightier voice, when managed well, can produce the effortless quality needed in this aria.

A bass recitative summons the adagio choral declaration Friede über Israel, from which flows out the closing chorus of thanks. In an extraordinary passage resolving the brief contrapuntal opening, all four voices repeat dankt in emphatic unison (in the secular version, where this music concludes the first portion of the cantata prior to the sermon, the motif belongs to the word eilt). An instrumental interlude provides more celebratory touches before a short B section and recapitulation.

Given the opulence of the writing in the two surviving choral movements, it’s reasonable to assume that the lost final chorus of BWV 34a was probably something of a tour de force. The 1894 B&H full score includes the extant soprano and bass parts together with fragmentary strings and continuo parts, with the empty alto and tenor staves taunting you in their blankness. The manuscript alto part bears only a blank page where this music should have been – in the flurry to complete all the parts for the performance, the alto and tenor lines must have been written out on separate sheets that disappeared. If I could have some lost pieces found, it would be the other parts for this chorus, whose text alternates the famous benediction from Numbers 6 (May the Lord bless you and keep you) with other words of blessing, and concludes in a long sequence of Amens. A complete BWV 34a would be a significant addition to the repertoire.

Some time has passed and I’m behind in this project, but that was probably inevitable given the scope of the task as well as my hectic schedule. Among other events has come in October the publication of John Eliot Gardiner’s Bach book, Music in the Castle of Heaven. As I have worked through this first year and utilized so many of Sir John’s liner notes from his Cantata Pilgrimage journals, I found myself hoping that somehow these journals would be collected and published separately. And here they are! Well, perhaps not in their entirety, but much of that material has been incorporated here, along with a lifetime’s experience studying, performing, and living this repertoire. If you still owe a musician a Christmas present, here it is.

BWV 33 - Allein zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ

Week 33 (10 September – 15 September 2013)

Recording: Ton Koopman, Amsterdam Baroque Orchestra and Choir; Franziska Gottwald, alto; Paul Agnew, tenor; Klaus Mertens, bass

For mid-September, here is a cantata originally premiered in September, nearly three hundred years ago in 1724. This chorale cantata opens with a large-scale, hybrid sinfonia/coro that blends the extensively-developed instrumental sections with straight-forward utterances of the Konrad Hubert hymn text. From the chorister’s perspective, this can make the movement seem fragmented, but in this case, it’s all about the text. If you want contrapuntal complexity and challenging fugues, look elsewhere. Expressing fundamental concepts of his faith, Bach allows the choral parts to focus on declaiming the words and assigns the complexity to the orchestra. The elaborate orchestral passages highlight the text, setting it off so that the audience can consider each statement.

The movement is in A-A-B-C format, with the sturdy A section affirming the role of Christ as comforter and beacon of hope. The soprano carries the cantus firmus. The declamatory B section clarifies that no mortal can provide a substitute for Christ as leader on the path out of sin and to salvation. Accordingly, the C segment begins with the imploring cry Ich ruf dich an. The soprano line presents the words with calm assurance; the alto/tenor/bass provide a rumbling contrast beneath them with a more urgent entreaty.

Emerging from this collective call are the individual calls in the succeeding recitatives and arias. Using text from an unknown poet that builds on Hubert’s 1540 hymn, Bach gives the soloists ample dramatic opportunity in the interior movements. The bass recitative following the opening chorus is a wonderful study in communicating the ambivalent moods of the seeker after faith, and it ends in a brief arioso with a nice melisma on the capstone verb erfreuen.

Then comes what John Eliot Gardiner refers to as “arguably one of the most beautiful of all Bach’s alto arias”. Having glimpsed ahead to the meltingly tender Wohl euch in BWV 34, I have to wonder what else is out there, since this project has already revealed quite a few beautiful mezzo solos. Wie furchtsam wankten meine Schritte is certainly one of them, but by the random chance of the catalog numbering, this beautiful BWV 33 aria, with its demands on phrasing, line and precise intervals, will be followed by that simple but gorgeous moment of gratitude in BWV 34, and then by the alto cantata BWV 35, where agility, technique and stamina will be tested in a service-length series of arias and recitatives. Good times (and lots of work) for altos!

In this cantata, the alto aria portrays the erring mortal’s hesitation in approaching true faith, but the wavering is mitigated by belief in Christ’s mercy and love. The timid steps – and the initial four consonants of Schritte need to precede the beat despite the context – are depicted by the motive of “drooping” thirds in the A section of the aria. The intervals require clean handling with no scooping, and in the written key the female alto voice has challenges in achieving blend across the lower break. Quick catch-breaths are definitely allowed and are preferable to the alternative of a too-fast tempo that enables unbroken phrases but runs counter to the sense of the text.

An interesting exercise is to play or sing the line with the droops removed, whereupon a stalwart melody emerges, quite similar to the positive statement that enters in the middle of M. 15:

 

Snippet of Alto Aria (M.13-15) - As Written and...

 

 

With a Little Less Uncertainty

 

This observation does not presume to illuminate Bach’s compositional process; rather, it suggests that his genius intuitively processed the potential of a simple structure and reworked it to meet the demands of the text, probably all on a subconscious level.

The unknown poet also enabled Bach to return to a favorite theme in this aria: through Christ’s death and resurrection, everything has been done for us already, dass er für mich genug getan. Emphasizing the insignificance of the individual, the musical line places für mich at the lowest pitch, with upward movement on dass er and genug:

 

At approximately 8 minutes, this great da capo aria is best used in recital – for structural reasons, it should not be abridged. Its chief difficulty lies in interpretation, as it makes few phrasing or technical demands. However, this does not detract from its value as a fantastic study piece. Even if you never plan to perform it, there is a wealth of education here in a far gentler and accessible format than many of the “big” arias.

The tenor recitative parallels the bass verse in its request for tolerance as the sinner makes his slow way to God’s mercy. It includes more wonderful language that allows word-painting such as the setting of verwirf in the first line, as well as whatever emoting fits within the overall shape of the cantata. The subsequent tenor and bass duet is an unusual pairing of the two lower voices. Beginning in a simple block form, the vocal lines become more intricate once the spirit is ignited (entzünde meinen Geist). The vocal lines are evenly matched, requiring both voices to have flexibility as well as robust, complementary timbres. The eight lines of text in the stanza are divided into four sections by their rhyme scheme creating an A-B-C-D structure, and Bach handles each segment differently. For the right voices, this duet would make an interesting choice for a worship service.

The final chorale reverts to Hubert’s text, which appears to be a German version of the Gloria patri and could be used in a similar capacity to introduce a Bach chorale into service music. Although BWV 33 was not composed for one of the high Sundays of the liturgical year, the master ensured with this conclusion that the congregation departed to the resounding statement that by their sincere acts of worship, they had pleased God Hier in dieser Zeit/Und folgends in der Ewigkeit. If the church calendar did not always provide significance, the musical offering did. For Bach, every Sunday was a high Sunday.

 

BWV 32 - Liebster Jesu, mein Verlangen

Week 32 (3 September – 8 September 2013)

Recording: Helmuth Rilling, Gächinger Kantorei Stuttgart/Bach-Collegium Stuttgart; Arleen Augér, soprano; Walter Heldwein, bass

The Schmieder listing (essentially the order in which the cantatas were published by the Bach-Gesellschaft) leads to some interesting juxtapositions. From last week’s philosophically challenging cantata calling for a large orchestra and choir to celebrate and examine the most significant date in the church year, BWV 32 provides a contrast in both musical and thematic scale. Written for a cold January Sunday following the Christmas and Epiphany observances, the cantata is as different as could be imagined from its numerical predecessor.

Labelled on the first page of the score as a Concerto in dialogo, the master presents an intimate, chamber piece that sparkles like a small diamond. The alto and tenor soloists, as well as the choir, are given their vacations, and minimal forces are utilized in this very personal statement of the believer’s encounter with God’s love manifested in Christ. With the appropriate array of talent and a suitable venue, this cantata could be performed by two soloists, an oboe, and a string quartet.

After a few measures of introduction, where the motive of yearning is plaintively depicted by the obbligato oboe, the dialogue begins with the lovely soprano aria from which the cantata takes its name. The singer portrays the soul in search of Jesus, fearful of loss and separation. But the mood is not one of despair, it is instead a most ethereal quest requiring the singer to float languid phrases and match the phrasing of the solo instrumentalist. The vocal part enters in imitation, contrasting the delicate figure for the adjective liebster with the longed-for object, Verlangen. Certain statements, such as Wo find ich dich? (M.15) need to be sung as simply as possible while the oboe churns beneath. The tempo should not be slow to the point where rhythmic integrity is compromised: some recordings show excessive freedom in the solo oboe part, which destroys forward movement as well as Baroque styling.

Beginning in M.35, there is a set of two long melismatic phrases focused on erfreue (which plays off the liebster motive) and umfangen (which riffs on the yearning motive). The 32^nd-note passages parallel the oboe part making ensemble quite difficult. The aria is in A-B-C format and provides a challenge suitable for a graduate-level recital – for the right voice it is stunning. A bit long (about 6 minutes) for a church service, though, and a great oboist is essential.

Arleen Augér is a fine interpreter who can teach you everything you need to know about performing this piece, but the voice is definitely a mature sound. Some listeners may prefer a more boyish sound, such as that of Agnes Giebel in the historic RIAS sessions with Karl Ristenpart conducting, or Rachel Nicholls in Suzuki’s recent recording. In choosing soloists to perform the entire cantata, one factor to keep in mind is that the soprano must be able to negotiate this aria but also hold her own in the upcoming duet (where in Rilling’s recording, Augér would be difficult to better).

The da capo bass aria is a long haul, necessitating very definite ideas on structure and pacing from the singer, but at 2 ½ minutes, the A section could be split off and used as a church solo. Either the obbligato violin or an appropriate organ registration needs to be used (preferably the former). As with the oboe in the soprano aria, the demands made on the violinist are equal to those of a fine concerto, requiring a top-notch player. I’m still puzzling over the interesting use of triple stops – what is Bach representing? It’s almost as if it is a moment of hesitation, or perhaps an obstacle between the perfect blending of soul and Christ which is to follow. The vox Christi invites the troubled one into his realm, but the soul must arrive there by seeking God with sincere faith.

The soprano and bass alternate lines in the following recitative as the Lehms’ cantata text, which at times seems abstruse, here weaves in the famous passage from Psalm 84 that begins Wie lieblich ist doch deine Wohnung. While I wanted to unearth some musical link to Brahms, the arioso has no such connection although it is evocative in its own right.

If you are a soprano and bass who get along, and want to give your audience and yourselves a treat, the soprano and bass duet is a delightful five minutes for either church or recital – easily my favorite cantata duet so far, although the range is a bit wide for an alto to attempt (but in Baroque pitch it may work for some "hybrid" voices with the appropriate vocal partner). The instruments associated with the soloists have remained separate until now, when Bach interweaves them with wonderful, ornate instrumental writing. Yet the association of oboe with soprano, and violin with bass, still persists in the background, as at the start of the B section. The text serves either sacred or secular purposes and needs the same leggiero handling in both. No flirting allowed here – it is Tamino and Pamina reunited after overcoming the odds. This is music that disperses the gloom of the most wintry day – Bach’s Leipzigers were forced to be uplifted despite themselves.

The chorale in bright G major brings again the melody Freu dich sehr, o meine Seele, most recently heard as the concluding movement of BWV 30 (with a different poet and text). There is some disagreement on the origins of this tune: a clear lineage does go back to the Genevan Psalter (1551). Bach probably knew the music from one of the many reprintings of the Psalmen Davids, the German translation of the Psalter by Ambrosius Lobwasser.

Psalm 42 Tune from Lobwasser’s Psalmen Davids (1576 Edition)

This cantata is filled with charm, warmth, and difficulty but would be immensely rewarding for both performers and audience. Numerous recordings are available, but the one I most want to hear features Elly Ameling and Hermann Prey as soloists – I can’t imagine a better pairing. Unfortunately, it has not been re-issued on CD (at least in the U.S.), so it required an extensive eBay search. But I did score a copy purportedly in near mint condition – which now makes two LPs I have acquired for this project that need to be transferred to CD! That will probably occur about the time I hit BWV 199…

 

BWV 31 - Der Himmel lacht! Die Erde jubilieret

Week 31 (20 August – 25 August 2013)

Recording: Marcel Couraud, Stuttgarter Chor und Orchester; Friederike Sailer, soprano; Fritz Wunderlich, tenor; August Messthaler, bass
 

Struggling with an entry point for this week’s notes, I realized that the struggle was itself that point. This cantata first saw the light of day on an Easter morning in Weimar, before a congregation for whom its musical and theological significance was probably self-evident. Three centuries later, it poses questions for 21^st-century minds and ears that require serious contemplation, and a willingness to set aside not only our modern perspective but also our expectation that a successful Bach cantata follows an exact formula.

Because BWV 31 stays firmly within its liturgical function, it is puzzling in a way that the more conventional celebration cantatas are not. This is not related to scale, since Der Himmel lacht employs a large orchestra, as well as a 5-part choir (the fifth voice supposedly added later), and these performing forces are what would be anticipated for the greatest celebration of the Christian year. Nor is it related to Bach’s maturity as a composer or to comparison with his later works. By 1715, he had been on his own, first apprenticing and then in formal employment, for nearly two decades. He had already composed undisputed masterpieces, including another Easter cantata, BWV 4. There is no doubt he fully commanded his art. If some of the hallmarks of the later cantata cycles are missing, it is probably due to the different requirements of his Weimar post. Not until Bach arrived in Leipzig did he have the opportunity to single-mindedly pursue his goal of assembling a body of “well-regulated church music”.

The cantata’s unique structure is the mystery: it seems to contradict the celebration associated with Easter Sunday. Following the elaborate and appropriately festive instrumental “sonata” that opens the work and leads into a large-scale choral movement, the mood of jubilation gives way to three vocal solos set as recitative-aria pairs. Musically, the weight lies in the first two movements of the cantata: nothing that comes after balances them, although we would expect (for example) a show-stopping aria or another exultant chorus. The solo movements are shorter and more conservative than those in the Leipzig cantatas; the recitatives are long in comparison with the arias that follow. This “lopsidedness” can result in a tendency to dismiss the recits and arias, and by extension the entire cantata. But this is a Bach cantata, and it is not just about the music.

The text for the cantata is by Salomon Franck, who provided many of Bach’s cantata texts during his tenure in Weimar. Franck was a polymath: a theologian, an attorney, a scientist, an author. His texts are literate and intellectually engaging. Even when there are instances of florid language, the intent is to draw in his listeners through an emotional connection. In Philipp Spitta’s Bach study, he mentions the “transcendental mysticism” that he believes Franck and Bach shared, and he emphasizes that Franck’s text portrays the analogy between the resurrection of Christ and the promise of resurrection for the individual believer, with the arias depicting fundamental Lutheran beliefs. From the perspective of Franck and Bach, it is this idea of personal resurrection attained through belief and the practicing of their faith that directs the cantata’s structure. Celebration is all well and good, but this is the goal.

With all this in mind, we can begin the traversal of BWV 31. The Couraud performance utilizes an aggressive tempo for the opening movement, capturing all the jubilation of Easter morning. The conductor shows the considerable skill as a Bach interpreter that brought him – a Frenchman trained by Boulanger and Munch – to Stuttgart. Balance issues with the recording undermine certain elements such as M. 18-19, where the bass writing recalls the “raining” effect used in the opening of BWV 18, but overall it is a strong account of the movement. Likewise, the coro is excellently performed at a brisk tempo. Regardless of when the fifth vocal part was added, the chorus is a great achievement (“gigantic” is Albert Schweitzer’s adjective) and would make an excellent Easter anthem for a capable choir.

In the best tradition of later highly-contrapuntal choruses, this movement provides challenges for all voice parts, and comes with its own set of riddles. Studying the alto part, it is natural to question a pattern that occurs several times in the A section:

 

Snippet of Movement No. 2 - Soprano I/Soprano II/Alto Parts

 

Similar passages in other voice parts are consistently written in whole steps as shown above. Working with a public domain score from IMSLP, my first thought was that a printing error had crept in along the way as there didn't seem to be a reason for the difference. But not only is the sequence clearly notated in the manuscript, its function becomes apparent in M. 33, where a fugue is developed starting from the bass and adding the higher voices in sequence. The half-step, whole-step pattern in the alto is required to harmonize the chords on the last beat of the measure – it’s a brilliant detail.

The A-A-B-C layout of the chorus presents another puzzle – that of understanding Bach’s thinking in his contrasting settings of the B and C sections. The transition to the adagio B section makes sense – Der sich das Grab zur Ruh erlesen (He who has chosen the grave for rest). But what about the next line Der Heiligste kann nicht verwesen? Just translating it poses a problem – verwesen literally means to decay or decompose. But a literal rendering may not be what is needed given that the writer is trying to satisfy a rhyme scheme. Considering the text of the A section, a free translation of these lines could be “He may have chosen the grave as a resting place, but he, the most holy, cannot be held there”. Bach keeps the two lines together in the adagio, and then uses the second line for the triumphant C section fugue, where repeating the same words in a new musical context invests them with even more potency.

Beginning with the bass, representing the voice of mankind and followed by the tenor, as pastor or teacher and soprano, seeking to become spirit, the solo movements turn the focus to individual death and resurrection, a transition signaled in the lengthy bass recitative.

The bass aria can become plodding if the tempo is not maintained and the soloist fails to inject horizontal movement (as in this performance). The vertical structure of the string accompaniment, intended to convey a regal or stately quality, can work against the singer. The opening statement is followed by a series of three questions which we (in 2013) would expect to be positively stated as affirmations. Through the filters of time, linguistics, and theology, it is difficult to place oneself in Bach’s position viewing this text. Rather than rhetorical questions, these seem to function as an interrogation of one’s own conscience, doubting the proofs to which they testify. A bonus composition lesson from the master is to note how he saves the full realization of the ascending pattern on hochgelobter (M. 8) for the recapitulation (M. 27), craftily maneuvering down a third so that the aria can have an effective vocal climax.

I could not resist ordering this re-issued recording to hear the great Fritz Wunderlich, despite the fact the tenor aria and recitative together are only about 3 minutes of singing. (The 2-CD set contains not just BWV 31 but also Magnificat and Easter Oratorio, so it’s a bargain.) Wunderlich was 26 when this recording was made and the fresh bloom of the voice is simply remarkable. Everything is effortless and natural: occasionally youthful impetuosity rushes over some interpretive details that perhaps may have been performed differently at a later date, but this is a minor quibble. He makes the preachy text palatable with an earnest reading. Marvel at the focus of the soft singing in M.9 of the recitative, or consider the handling of the little scale on flieht in M.13: the combination of perfect technique, consistent tone, forward momentum, balance of vocal weight, and consciousness of the connection between text and music. Listen and learn: how much the world lost when he died at thirty-five.

For the soprano, Franck’s text presents a concise and quietly joyful request for death – this is the most difficult concept in the cantata, one foreign to modern listeners. This aria might not be everyone’s choice to extract for solo use, but it’s a small masterpiece of compositional technique and creativity. Albert Schweitzer describes it as a “death-lullaby”: the obbligato oboe introduces the theme of downwardly cascading eight notes. The voice enters, and then in the accompaniment comes the chorale tune (laid into ¾ time) recalling a verse of the hymn text of Nikolaus Herman ending in Drum fahr ich hin mit Freuden. This is the point – not that one morbidly wants to die, but that in accepting our mortality, we can place our hope in that “last hour” when faith provides reassurance of an existence beyond the earthly world. The sequence of forte-piano passages for the oboe does appear in the extant manuscript from the cantata’s revival in Leipzig; this example can also serve as a guide for performance practice in the many cases where no dynamics are noted.

The final chorale returns to a 4-part chorus, and in an amazing passage, Spitta describes it as “appearing with distinct outlines from out of the dim twilight that has gone before…Bach’s genius consisted in anticipating its melody in the former number…as the flower prepares the way for the fruit.” Tadashi Isoyama’s notes for Suzuki’s recording of BWV 31 beautifully summarize the most distinctive feature of the chorale: “In an exquisite emphasis on the attainment of eternal heavenly life as the true joy of the Resurrection, the first trumpet and first violin soar above the chorus, shimmering like the halo for which the soul waits.”

Puzzles. Mysteries. Looking at the online scans of the surviving manuscript parts for BWV 31, one finds little in the master’s hand. Most of the parts date from later performances of the work, copied over and altered as the performing situation required. Researchers have tried to piece together the likely evolution of the score, but it’s basically a mystery how the cantata managed to arrive in its present-day form. Another puzzle – the cover page is in the writing of Carl Friedrich Zelter, a name familiar to lieder singers, but a man born eight years after Bach’s death. What is the connection? Zelter was a student of Carl Friedrich Fasch, who studied with C.P.E. Bach. This chain of custody for Bach’s musical legacy forged its most critical link when Zelter passed on his love of Bach to a promising young student named Felix Mendelssohn.

BWV 30 - Freue dich, erlöste Schar

Week 30 (13 August – 18 August 2013)

Recording (BWV 30): John Eliot Gardiner, Monteverdi Choir/English Baroque Soloists; Joanne Lunn, soprano; Wilke te Brummelstroete, alto; Paul Agnew, tenor; Dietrich Henschel, bass

Recording (BWV 30a): Helmuth Rilling, Gächinger Kantorei Stuttgart/Bach-Collegium Stuttgart; Christiane Oelze, soprano; Ingeborg Danz, alto; Marcus Ullmann, tenor; Andreas Schmidt, bass

From the first swinging measures of the opening chorus, I knew this would be a particularly enjoyable week. When producing festive music, Bach invested it with an innocent joyousness that foreshadows Mozart and Schubert. Unfettered by any of the burdens he undoubtedly bore, these pieces rise lightly and buoyantly, dispelling the gloom.

 

The provenance of the cantata provides one key to understanding that buoyancy. The music for BWV 30 was composed for a secular occasion less than a year before its “premiere” for St. John’s Day in June 1738. I wasn’t quite sure how to approach this first encounter with a pair of cantatas, one derived from the other. Not as simple as learning the music for BWV 30 and reading the text for BWV 30a as an afterthought – that method showed only a small part of the picture. Ultimately, starting at the beginning, with the original setting, was the best strategy – although it took longer than planned!

 

BWV 30a celebrated the ascendancy of Johann Christian von Hennicke, a self-made man (Albert Schweitzer refers to him as a “parvenu”) to the landed gentry as lord of the manor of Wiederau, a Baroque castle that still stands on the banks of the Elster River southwest of Leipzig. The cantata, Angenehmes Wiederau, utilizes a text by Picander (Henrici) which most commentators indicate was an attempt by the poet to ingratiate himself with the powers that had commissioned the project. Modern readers may find the words laughable (especially in English translation), but the libretto is probably typical for this type of occasion. Great literature wasn’t wanted; rather, conventional expressions of good will, gratitude, and homage to the new resident – hence the description Huldigungskantate.

 

 

Schloss Wiederau

 

What was wanted – expected and demanded – was original music being heard for the first time. It wouldn’t do at all for the attendees to recognize a tune they had just heard in church the week before. Part of the explanation for the huge number of cantatas generated by Bach’s contemporaries Telemann and Graupner is the expectation by their aristocratic employers for an endless supply of “new” music. Quality was a lesser concern: the goal was to have something uniquely theirs each and every time a musical entertainment was provided. For BWV 30a, Bach penned severable unique and memorable tunes. The breezy (but intricate) opening chorus is one of them, and with a sure theatrical instinct, Bach used it to book-end the cantata, changing the text but retaining the music unaltered. I bet the audience left humming this catchy tune – exactly what the composer intended!

 

Technically a dramma per musica (a verse text specifically written to be set to music), the Wiederau cantata specifies “roles”: Time (Soprano), Happiness (Alto - !), the River Elster (Tenor -?), Fate (Bass - of course). Since Wiederau was not a sacred venue, one wonders if Bach employed female singers (the tessitura of the alto aria suggests it was written for a female voice). Christoph Wolff indicates that members of Bach’s Collegium Musicum (a mix of students, talented amateurs, court musicians, and guest artists) were employed for this type of concert, as they were for the weekly public concerts held at Zimmerman’s Coffeehouse in Leipzig. Certainly at an important, “high-visibility” event like the Hennicke installation, Bach would have recruited his best “team”. Each soloist had significant music, both in recitative and aria, and also needed to be comfortable with the (minimal) acting requirements. With the exception of the tenor aria, the solo material all carries over to BWV 30; however, the context is usually completely opposite to the earlier version.

 

BWV 30a was probably intended to be performed keine Pause, whereas the church cantata is split into two sections, the first concluded by a chorale that is absent from the predecessor work. The bass receives the best material in both settings, with a substantial aria in each part of the cantata. His first, florid aria has a similar theme for both cantatas: the birth of St. John in BWV 30, and Hennicke’s arrival in Wiederau in BWV 30a. This challenging aria requires a vocal lightness to negotiate the many sixteenth-note triplet passages with grace, but for the right singer it’s a terrific recital or service offering. The second aria is actually more dramatic in the setting intended for church: the sinner renounces anything that leads him away from God, whereas at Wiederau there is a milder, general promise that Fate will uphold Hennicke and his progeny.

 

Overall, John Eliot Gardiner’s recording doesn’t leave much to be desired, and in his bass soloist, Dietrich Henschel, he has a fine singing actor as well as singer, who captures the contrasting moods. While his voice can occasionally sound pinched (perhaps a function of a vocal technique that also enables precision and agility in the florid passages), at his best Henschel channels the subtlety and coloration of Fischer-Dieskau.

 

Gardiner deems the alto aria to be “the pick of them all – an enchanting gavotte”, and refers to the “boogieing triplets” and the “sheer cheek and elegant cool” of the aria, which is indeed an unique tune and one that is highly enjoyable to sing. Following two repeated 8-bar instrumental motives, the alto enters with the first of four variations on the opening stanza of text. The second stanza gets the “cool” setting (see M. 57 et. seq.) and seems in danger of veering off into another century before being reined back in at M. 61. A lot of fun – but there is a danger of becoming too vertical, not to mention too precious, particularly since the text for BWV 30 – summoning sinners to grace – is not exactly lightweight. Perhaps to reinforce the difference from its secular version, the tempo chosen in at least two cases – by Richter with Anna Reynolds as soloist, and by Lorraine Hunt Lieberson in an Emmanuel Church recording – is extremely slow – almost in half-time compared to the lilting dance tempo employed on most recordings. The technical difficulties in the aria center around phrasing – it’s a good study in managing quick breaths without interrupting the flow of the line – and text: one problem for English speakers is the phrase und schreit, which occurs repeatedly.

 

The BWV 30 aria is a popular choice for Bach solo discs– e.g., Anne Sophie von Otter. However, for recital purposes, the original version could be considered – it’s no different than any opera or oratorio aria. While there does not appear to be a public domain piano-vocal score for BWV 30a, IMSLP has the Breitkopf & Härtel continuo-vocal score so it is possible to line in the alternate text. Note that the aria as written for BWV 30 is not a carbon copy of the secular version: while the text-music match is amazingly well-preserved, there are a couple rhythmic changes to accommodate the stresses of the new words, and in some instances the precise connections could not be retained. For Wiederau, M. 50 and 52 began with triplet scales on the noun Fülle and the adverb reichlich. In the church cantata, the word-painting had to be abandoned: the music sets ihr and auf.

 

The soprano aria begins with a figure reminiscent of the opening of the tenor aria in BWV 7, an earlier cantata for the same liturgical date (Birthday of John the Baptist). But the resemblance is momentary, and the aria goes off in its own unique direction. If used in recital, this piece would benefit from keeping its recitative, which has some nice poetry (for Picander) that is similar in both the Wiederau and sacred settings.

 

An enjoyable moment unique to BWV 30a occurs in the last recitative which employs all four soloists in turn and then as a quartet. The soprano leads off with a colorful vocal and instrumental depiction of lightening and tongues of fire that leaps off the page.

 

 

"Kein Blitz, kein Feuerstrahl" for Wiederau - Only in the Music for BWV 30a

 

In the Wiederau version, the tenor has a brief and effective aria in character as the river. With a couple minor changes (for example, delete Hennickes and substitute Gottes as the reference for the Namen being invoked), this is a tuneful piece without any huge difficulties that would make a nice recital piece. The tenor gets short-changed in the church version, with the master providing only a recitative, but there is possibly a reference therein to the earlier work, der angenehme Tag – the delightful day.

 

It’s delightful to imagine Bach and his musicians travelling down to Wiederau with their music and fancy-dress clothes; setting up for their concert; and performing as the new owner, his friends and his hangers-on sat around the schloss listening to the “world premiere” (possibly very uncomfortable in their elaborate attire on a September evening). Food and drink were undoubtedly plentiful, and the evening was probably a great occasion in the tiny burg, one talked about long after it concluded.

 

If I had unlimited time and a travel budget for this project, I might try to unearth a contemporary account of the event (unlikely – but you never know what diligent research might yield…). There is not even an artist’s impression of that gathering. But some fragile remnants from that era have survived: examples of Hennicke’s Meissen porcelain place settings (that include his newly-minted coat of arms) can be found online – a Hennicke spoon is even in the collection of the Met Museum. Perhaps the plate below was part of the service the night Bach premiered BWV 30a?

 

 

Plate from the Hennicke Meissen Service c. 1740

 

So much has been lost – but we must be grateful for what remains. The original cantata and it’s “protégé”, most of all. And Schloss Wiederau somehow survived two centuries of declining fortunes, WWII, and Communism: it appears to be in the process of restoration, including its stunning trompe l’oeil painted ceiling. The manor is part of the “Bach tour”, and this beautiful area of Saxony looks like it is worth a visit! Maybe next year…

 

BWV 29 - Wir danken dir, Gott, wir danken dir

Week 29 (30 July – 4 August 2013)

Recording: Philippe Herreweghe, Collegium Vocale Gent; Deborah York, soprano; Ingeborg Danz, alto; Mark Padmore, tenor; Peter Kooy, bass

In Johann Sebastian Bach’s Leipzig, separation of church and state was an unknown concept. The annual installation of the town council, or Ratswechsel (literally “council change”), was held in the Nikolaikirche and included liturgically-based music and a sermon. The prosperous merchants and accomplished professionals who comprised the council were a tightly-knit group – vacant seats on the council were offered to prospects by existing members, not filled by public vote – and the yearly change was a rotation rather than a completely new set of governors. A festive and dignified occasion, one can assume that this event required a step up in musical effect from the normal Sunday service, and not surprisingly, Bach rose to the occasion with a piece that contains not just one but two of his “greatest hits”. By the time of BWV 29 (1731), Bach had considerable experience producing this type of music – it’s unknown how many cantatas he composed specifically for a Ratswechsel service, but he had written BWV 71 for this purpose while working in Mühlhausen (1708). Several other extant Leipzig cantatas also owe their origins to this requirement, although given that BWV 29 was subsequently repeated several times it can be assumed that Bach was not expected to produce a new work every year for the council seating.

 

 

View of Nikolaikirche in early 1900's

Even if you don’t think you know this cantata – you do. The sinfonia that opens the work is one of the most famous and frequently-performed Bach tunes, and is a reworking of a movement from an earlier (1720) violin partita (No. 3 in E Major, BWV 1006). As used in the cantata, the sinfonia is scored for organ (taking the violin solo part), strings and brass – the latter adding particularly festive colors. I was lucky enough to participate recently in a service where a world-class organist performed the solo organ version, and let’s just say if you want to introduce someone to Bach – or “classical” music for that matter – it is as good an entry point as you will find. Although not quite in the same league as a live experience, there’s a fine video available online of Dutch organist Willem van Twillert playing the sinfonia on the massive Baroque instrument in the Bovenkerk.

 

The other “greatest hit” of BWV 29 is the choral movement, which, as with BWV 28’s main chorus, is highly influenced by stile antico principles. If the music sounds familiar, it’s because the master subsequently used it almost without alteration in the Mass in b minor: it is the basis for the Gratias and Dona nobis pacem movements. In BWV 29, the words are taken from the German rendering of Psalm 75, but they express the same meaning as the Latin text in the Gratias. The long melismas on the crucial words gloriam  and dona in the Mass develop a weightier, more imposing texture; here, the focal points in shorter florid passages are verkündigen (to proclaim) and Wunder. Other than that, there’s not much difference in the choral parts. The instrumental scoring is likewise consistent between the cantata and the mass.

 

The structure of the cantata suggests that its sequence may have been interspersed with text as well as possibly framing the sermon. The chorus is a tough act to follow: in the Mass, the equivalent movement provides the concluding summation of the entire work. Here, the emphatic final chord would seem to be the cue for someone extremely important to stand up and make a speech. The tenor da capo aria would not seem to flow naturally out of this grandeur. It is a very pleasant and buoyant creation in ABA form, but not a showstopper. Rather long as written, the A section could be extracted to provide a very enjoyable solo (for both singer and audience). This abbreviated version also avoids a high B…just in case you want to.

 

An utilitarian bass secco recitative serves to remind those in attendance from whom all blessings flow. Here again, I don’t feel continuity to the following aria, but suspect perhaps a chorale or hymn occurred, allowing a transition to the sermon. This is all hypothetical, but it’s fun to speculate!

 

Perhaps influenced by needing to set the lovely and powerful word erbarmen, Bach chose for the soprano aria a sicilienne structure reminiscent of Erbarme dich in the St. Matthew Passion (1727). Here the choice of tempo keeps the aria formal and correct, mitigating any tendency for the dotted rhythms to become too dancelike. The aria is quite beautiful and difficult, and would be excellent in church or on a recital program. The section beginning segne die, so uns regieren needn’t be a deterrent – these days I regularly hear those sentiments expressed in pastoral prayers.

 

An unusual device employed in this cantata is the repeat of a solo vocal movement – another indicator the cantata may have been performed in two or more sections. Following the soprano aria and a short alto recitative that features a choral (congregational?) interjection, the alto performs the A section of Halleluja, Stärk und Macht, now in D major and with organ as the obbligato instrument. This is a great aria to use on a recital for the right voice – in the printed key it is already low-lying; in Baroque pitch it requires an authentic contralto (or male alto). Still, it’s a good workout and enjoyable training material for learning to traverse the low regions lightly and joyously, in keeping with the occasion for which it was written.

 

To wrap up the event, the closing chorale is longer and more imposing than in the typical church cantata, again using the brass to heighten the celebratory effect.

 

I thought I should hear that violin partita and went looking for a recording, of which there are many fine ones. But I discovered one needn’t be limited by the original instrument! Mendelssohn arranged the work for violin and piano (yes…it’s a Romantic piano part underlying the Baroque fiddle line…); Rachmaninov adapted it for piano solo. The selection has been recorded using Celtic harp; harp and organ; guitar; marimba; and perhaps most famously for listeners of my generation, the Moog synthesizer version in the 1968 album Switched-On Bach by Wendy Carlos.

 

What would the master have made of all these mutations? As both a keyboardist and string player, he had already decided the music worked equally well in both realms. The permanent assignment of a tune to any one instrument was foreign to how the musical profession worked in his time: if his violin soloist didn’t show up, he couldn’t just call up the orchestra manager and hire a replacement. The solo got assigned elsewhere, to whatever instrumentalist could play it. Likewise, substitutions often had to be made to enable amateur musicians to experience a piece of music; hence the art of arranging, and the evolution of the plethora of choices above.

 

The choice I made was a version with violoncello piccolo which, in another unexpected gift bestowed by this project, led me to a wonderful recording by the great Dutch baroque cellist Anner Bylsma. An interview with Bylsma from 1998 (http://www.cello.org/newsletter/articles/bylsma.htm) completely enthralled me – although targeted to string players, there is much of interest here for all musicians: words of wisdom from someone who obviously takes the music, but not himself, tremendously seriously. For example, this response when asked about various forms of “authenticity” in performing Bach:

 

There is a much better word than “authentic.” It is the word “true.” Somebody plays something and it rings true. It is meant honestly, comes from the heart, and gives pleasure. It's more of a feeling that you must be playing the way the piece was meant to be played. But this feeling never stays with you, since it is very ephemeral.

 

The cantatas are a demanding world – to study, to listen to, and to perform. To achieve what Bylsma describes, to find the way they were meant to be sung and played, can be emotionally and mentally fatiguing due to the amount of information that needs to be processed, and it can take a long, long time to get there. As the past months have taught me, they are also immensely rewarding because of this. But if you want to take a break from climbing that mountain, and lower your blood pressure a few points: pour a glass of merlot, turn down the lights, put on Bylsma’s extremely acoustically-present recording and enter into the essence of Bach. The critical and analytical functions can be put on hold – with playing this inhabited by intellect and experience, there is no point in second-guessing.