Recording:
Hans-Joachim Rotzsch, Thomanerchor Leipzig/Neues Bachisches Collegium Musicum; Arleen
Augér, soprano; Peter Schreier, tenor; Siegfried Lorenz, bass
Last
week I was challenged to stay focused on the objective of this project: to get
acquainted and then move on. It’s meant to be a superficial, one-week stand: not
a discovery of all the secrets on a first date. The temptation (and it is
more powerful than I expected) is to get into a serious relationship immediately.
Having dallied too long with BWV 20, I then opened the massive construction of BWV
21, a composition twice the length of the previous cantatas, featuring a sinfonia, four choruses, and a neat
duet. So much to learn, and not even a short work week! So here I am, a week
behind – but with the plan to still complete BWV 22 “on schedule”…
With each
cantata, a base of knowledge is slowly being constructed, which inspires
questions as well as ideas for further study. At least with this cantata, I
don’t have to worry about attempting musical analysis: all the theoretical
discussion one could wish is in the chapter on BWV 21 in the textbook Analyzing Bach Cantatas by Eric Chafe. (This
is where someone like me, who has generally avoided terms like
“Phrygian mode” or “diatonic circles of fifths”, can wade in too deeply.) For
discussion purposes, I’ll stick with Dr. Chafe’s comment that BWV 21 is the
“quintessential representation of the inner dynamic of faith”. While I can
understand how that comment applies at a universal level – I found Bach’s
intent to be more personal.
Hubert Parry also devotes several pages to this cantata,
referring to it as “the best known of all Bach’s church cantatas”. This came as
news to me, but then Parry made that statement in 1909, and musical tastes
change. The cantata is certainly a major work, “on an exceptionally large
scale”, longer than the Magnificat.
There is a plenteousness (to borrow a nice word from Sir Hubert’s own anthem I was glad) of BWV 21 recordings, dating
back to 1947. The sequence of revisions made by Bach, as well as evidence the
cantata was performed multiple times in various locales during his life, indicate
that he also viewed it as a significant work, perhaps because it speaks positively
to a common human condition, one with which he was undoubtedly familiar.
This
cantata was labeled by its composer per ogni
tempo, i.e., not for a specific liturgical date. The subject is recognizably
modern, although with an 18th-century resolution. Sadness,
melancholia, hopelessness, profound despair – these are not creations of the 21st-century,
they have been around throughout recorded history. The text describes the state
of mind we term depression: that Bach’s libretto offers a remedy of faith is
not naiveté, but the only conceivable approach in his time. Acknowledgment of a power greater than oneself can do much to alleviate a sense
of overwhelming burden, and the challenges of everyday life in the 18th-century required strong faith as refuge and consolation.
Bach likely spoke from personal experience here – the
association of "negative" emotions with an intensely creative personality is
well-established. He undoubtedly had cause for periods of depression and sadness: being orphaned at an early age and shuttled between family members
would not have been made easier simply because that situation was more common in his time
than in ours. The high rate of infant mortality was a given, but that doesn't mean it made the loss of children easier. BWV 21 has been dated to the Weimar period, most likely 1713. In Spitta's biography, he mentions that Bach and his first wife lost twin babies soon after their birth, in February and March 1713: this must have been heart-breaking for both of them. And although experts agree that BWV 21 was essentially complete
in Weimar, in 1720 another trauma occurred when Bach
returned from a “tour” to find his young wife dead and buried. Put yourself in the
place of the young widower with four children, experiencing this severe blow,
complete with guilt at having been away when your loved ones needed you most. Ich hatte viel Bekümmernis, indeed.
Following
the somber sinfonia with its oboe and
violin duet accompanied by the walking bass line in the continuo, the opening coro begins with a halting repetition in
all voices of ich…ich…ich, as if the
speaker cannot overcome his distress sufficiently to articulate it. One by one,
the choral parts enter, sufferers finding the strength to admit their pain. Criticism
of the repetitive nature of the movement misses the point. In extreme grief,
the compulsive dwelling on certain thoughts is a cycle that can be very
difficult to break. Additionally, Bach often repeated phrases to serve a
structural purpose, as in this magnificently constructed chorus. The identical
figuration is used over and over in all voice parts for the word Bekümmernis
until the conclusion of the A section
where the alto line is varied to emphasize viel:
Motive - Movement No. 2 - Coro
Variation in M. 35 of Alto Part
The
short soprano aria is a moving depiction of an individual in the depths of
grief. The broken nature of the phrases emphasizes the weariness of the one who
despairs. The mournful oboe leads the voice on, drawing out the words not
intended for others to hear. The language is familiar to any who have been in
that dark place: the beklemmtes
(stifled) Herz, mental anguish, thoughts
of death. So much emotion is already in the music, but the singer still has
some room to personalize – as Arleen Auger does wonderfully while maintaining
the interiority of the piece.
The recitative marked for tenor was recorded by
John Eliot Gardiner using a soprano, perhaps due to text considerations in
the overall arc of the cantata; however, having the soprano segue from the
poignancy of the aria into this recitative feels uncomfortable to me. The tenor
aria portrays a more restless despair, including a difficult four-measure
section describing the stormy waves threatening to overtake the tormented soul.
That phrase separates the good from the great, and depending on the conductor’s
tempo, not even the great ones may be able to pull it off without error.
In the chorus
that concludes the first part of the cantata (Movement No. 6), there is a
wonderful moment when the chorus cuts off after a short fugal section and there
is a brief oboe interlude. If you isolate M.33-36 what you have is a beautiful
line straight out of some unknown work of Johannes Brahms! A lovely, startling moment
in this exquisite chorus – I feel sorry for the preacher who had to follow it!
The
Seconda Parte opens with a recitative
and duet for soprano and bass. This theatrical and complex set is the heart of
the cantata. A person wants to believe the future will be better (i.e. have
faith in God to resolve situations favorably) but is weighed down by unbearable
sadness and a desire not to exist, feeling she has no worth and no love. The
person thinks she is in a hopeless situation, an Unglückshöhle. The Vox
Christi conveys the divine message of consolation, hope and unconditional
love. Back to Dr. Chafe’s comment, this can be taken to represent the duality
within one’s own soul – pain that negates faith versus faith that can cure
pain. But the duet could just as easily be a love duet, and indeed in Gardiner’s
recording, the meltingly tender singing has the consoling figure seducing the
mourner back into life - perhaps a young husband trying to convince a sorrowing wife that she is loved despite all the vagaries of life. The point of text repetition here is that reassurance
needs to be on-going – one time may not do the trick. This duet is excellent
training material, although it may not be effective outside the cantata. And
note that in baroque pitch, this duet (as well as the soprano aria) is within
reach of some altos – the difference in timbre can provide an interesting
alternative, depending on the partnering bass voice.
The third choral movement
(No. 9) has a meditative feel, and is built around a chorale tune, sung first
by the tenors and then given to the sopranos. Here the prescription for
melancholy is doled out with unsentimental practicality, but the Psalm verse
that frames it brings non-judgmental consolation.The happy da capo tenor aria, where the soul has climbed out of the valley
and looks forward to better times, is appropriate for church use by either
tenor or soprano. As Bach arias go, it is less difficult than most and so a
valuable study piece as well.
The monumentality of the final choral movement is
fully realized in Rilling’s performance, less so when a faster tempo is used (Gardiner),
but JEG adds a nice timpani line (the timpani part in the full score is a blank
stave, I guess to indicate the timpanist should improvise whatever is
appropriate). After the powerful statement Das
Lamm das erwürget ist, the soloists introduce the principal material in
fugal form, followed by a choral repetition of the same music that builds into a
concluding Alleluia, amen. It’s
joyful and optimistic music, the triumph of faith – however you want to define
that – over mental and emotional tribulations. The last measure of the movement needs
to be a rhythmically uncompromising declaration of Alleluia, as demonstrated by Gardiner’s choir, or else the ending
can seem abrupt. This is an impressive and fun-to-sing chorus that can be used
as an anthem for a variety of occasions.
The assignment of the vocal parts in
the choruses will vary by conductor. Both Gardiner and Rilling use a concertist/ripienist distribution (per the orchestra score) so that their solo quartets lead, although once the textures become
heavy, Rilling switches to full sections. Rotzsch uses either a subset of the
chorus or the entire personnel at a lower dynamic – it’s hard for me to
distinguish. The proportions are what matter, the size and dynamic of the choir needs to evolve from that of the soloists. The tessitura of the alto line lies low throughout the piece, and it makes
sense to add tenors to the alto part where needed in a modern mixed
choir.
About Hans-Joachim Rotzsch – with
one exception, he is possibly the artist most fully-imbued with the spirit of
Bach’s Leipzig to be represented on disc. Born in Leipzig, he spent the war
years as a student of Kurt Thomas in the performing arts high school in
Frankfurt, then returned to study at Leipzig with Günther Ramin (who came
to Leipzig at age 12 after acceptance into the Thomanerchor and is the
aforementioned exception). Trained on organ, composition, conducting as well as
voice, Rotzsch first worked as an oratorio soloist (tenor). He became the 15th
Thomaskantor following J.S. Bach, succeeding his teachers Ramin (12th)
and Thomas (13th) in that position. So if musical DNA counts for
anything, with Rotzsch, the Thomanerchor, and the Collegium, recording in Leipzig, perhaps we are
about as close to hearing “Bach” as it is possible to come.
So I purchased the boxed set of the complete cantatas recorded by Helmuth Rilling. Although I’m a big Rilling fan, there are going to
be a few misses in such a large undertaking – BWV 20 was one I felt lacked his
characteristic punch – but for general familiarization and pure listening
pleasure, you can’t beat this set. It’s not a perfect edition – you have to
hunt through the liner notes (they’re on a CD) for the soloists on any given
cantata – but at less than $1/CD, it is one outstanding bargain. Here it is –
one of the monuments of Western civilization contained within about 6 cubic inches:
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