BWV 25 - Es ist nichts Gesundes an meinem Leibe

Week 25 (25 June – 30 June 2013)

Recording: John Eliot Gardiner, Monteverdi Choir/English Baroque Soloists; Malin Hartelius, soprano; James Gilchrist, tenor; Peter Harvey, bass

Finding subjects to write about has not been a problem on this project: the challenge, as this week, is to decide what topics to focus on to keep the notes at a manageable length. For example, who could resist trying to track down some facts about someone named Cyriakus Schneegass? That gentleman was a 16^th-century German theologian, writer, composer and music theorist who penned the words associated (in the context of this cantata) with the chorale tune which provides one line of the “tour de force of contrapuntal mastery” in the “opulent” opening chorus (John Eliot Gardiner’s description).

Following four measures instrumentally depicting the labored groaning of someone sore in body and spirit, the altos enter to initiate the fugue on the first half of the verse from Psalm 38. There are no long melismatic passages in this chorus, but Bach’s complex structure creates extended phrases that require staggered breathing and careful balancing (the alto part is easily covered up by the other voices and benefits from the addition of male altos – or tenors, if they can be spared).  This is a difficult movement and not a good choice to extract since it relies on the remainder of the cantata to balance its subject matter and musical content.

This movement is also the subject of a lengthy analysis in 19^th-century British writer, composer and music theorist Ebenezer Prout’s Fugal Analysis (1892). Prout chose the chorus as his final textbook example because

“In the same movement we find here combined an example of close fugue, double fugue with a separate exposition of each subject, fugue on a chorale, and accompanied fugue. Here, therefore, we have within the limits of 74 bars, a résumé of nearly the entire contents of this volume.”

Poor Prout probably spent more time analyzing this chorus than J.S. needed to compose it, and unfortunately, although he was a capable educator, Prout’s own choral works show a conspicuous lack of any comparable inspiration.

One of my preconceptions entering into the project was that Bach wrote music and then fit text into it – than which nothing could be further from the truth. Every musical idea in the cantatas flows from the contemplation of the text – or more accurately the ideas behind the texts. While the text of BWV 25 may seem overblown to modern readers, it would have sounded quite appropriate to its intended audience. For example, the German translation of the psalm verse includes the word Dräuen (threats), as opposed to the KJV’s “anger”. A God who is not just angry, but actively threatens the sinner with terrible punishments, aligns with the doctrine of original sin that underpins the cantata.

 

 

Excerpt from Psalm 38 in the German Lutheran Psalter

 

That doctrine, accepted by each congregant in the Thomaskirche, is elaborated by the tenor secco recitative, the words of which were described as going “beyond all endurable limits of tastelessness” by Albert Schweitzer. It’s difficult to understand this comment, given that Schweitzer must have been familiar with the historical context of the cantatas as well as the prolific (and mostly pedestrian) verse writing occurring throughout the century leading up to Bach that provided the bulk of the master’s cantata material. Some of the BWV 25 words are found in Johann Jakob Rambach’s Geistliche Poesien (1720) but this is not a verbatim source – the unknown poet appears to have improved it. More colorful bits of the recit, for example, Der andre lieget krank/An eigner Ehre hässlichem Gestank – a line “sanitized” in the 19^th-century piano-vocal score – trace directly back to Psalm 38 (KJV 38:5 “My wounds stink and are corrupt because of my foolishness”). For a composer creating a dramatic arc, only with the acknowledgment of the fundamentally miserable condition of man does a path to salvation become plausible and necessary. Eric Chafe notes that this recitative is “one of the most harmonically complex in the Bach cantatas”.

 

Excerpt from Rambach's Geistliche Poesien (1720)

 

The bass aria (its text also whitewashed in the vocal score) introduces the metaphor of Jesus as the healing physician (Arzt) who can provide the Seelenkur. The difficulty of this aria lies more in interpretation than vocal technique, and it is probably best left to study when you are hired to sing the cantata. The soprano aria, however, is suitable for either recital or church use by a high soprano. Following a recitative where the patient’s willingness to turn away from sin and be “cured” is mirrored by the musical turn from A minor into C major, this gentle minuet offers up one’s schlechten (I translate this as simple, or lowly) Liedern with the lovely promise that these will be perfected Wenn ich dort im höhern Chor/Werde mit den Engeln singen.

The comparison of the state of humanity to the ailing populace of a hospital naturally led to the question of what “hospital” meant in Bach’s time. The early 18^th-century was a time of transition between convent care and the modern concept of a secular hospital. The Charité had recently (1710) been established in Berlin as a quarantine facility for bubonic plague victims, but within several years it contained a medical school and operating theater. The state of these facilities was primitive, and probably frightening to people accustomed to relying on traditional religious organizations to provide medical care – a hospital was definitely a place to be avoided since you stood a good chance of dying if you went there. While the many strands of medical knowledge were on the cusp of coalescing to become a science, in the meantime, anyone could label themselves a “doctor” regardless of educational background. Travelling “physicians” could be quite successful, effecting cures and then exiting before any bad consequences could definitely be attributed to them: an example being the “celebrity” eye doctor John Taylor who operated on Bach, which operation is suspected of contributing to the master’s demise several months later.

Although this has nothing specifically to do with the cantatas, last week the New York Times ran an update on the progress of Voyager 1, the space probe launched in 1977 that carries the “Golden Record” - the sounds of Earth hopefully sent as a greeting to some distant civilization. Although not quite providing “Bach, all of Bach, streamed out into space, over and over again” – Lewis Thomas’ famous statement that although by doing so the human race would be “bragging”, it was still the best conceivable way to represent humanity – the record does contain three selections of Bach’s music. All are instrumental – the only classical vocal or choral excerpt is Der Hölle Rache from Die Zauberflöte, sort of an odd choice but no one asked for my input. At the time Voyager 1 left earth, I was still in high school with all my mistakes in front of me, and my exposure to Bach was limited to an unfortunate experience trying to teach myself a 2-part invention.

Three centuries ago as Bach pursued his vocation in Weimar, did he ever look up at the clear night sky and wonder what was out there? The stars were no longer a mythical realm but something to be pursued, studied, and understood: Copernicus and Kepler had formulated the basic shape and motion of the solar system well before the master's lifetime. So perhaps he did wonder if the music he so devoutly offered up could be heard by a celestial audience. Now in a remarkable and historic achievement of technology and optimism, Voyager 1 is about to exit the solar system, to take Bach’s music to the heavens.

 

Voyager 1 Golden Record

 

  

BWV 24 - Ein ungefärbt Gemüte

Week 24 (18 June – 23 June 2013)

Recording: Ton Koopman, Amsterdam Baroque Orchestra and Choir; Bogna Bartosz, alto; Gerd Türk, tenor; Klaus Mertens, bass

The first item on the agenda this week was clearly the translation of ein ungefärbt Gemüte. Upon the subtle distinctions in the possible equivalent English words rests the flavor of the cantata, not to mention the approach to the gentle alto aria that opens the piece. Selecting the translation that best captures the poet’s intent, in the context of the composer’s time, is not an easy choice. For starters, the word Gemüte does not necessarily need to be translated literally since it is used to satisfy the rhyme scheme with Güte in the following line. Another consideration is that the text of the aria’s B section states that the ungefärbt Gemüte is the foundation for one’s life work. The phrase also links to the chorale (No. 6) where one seeks ein unverletzte Seel und rein Gewissen in a gesunden Leib. The prefix un-, which has the effect of negation in both English and German, may be a false path here, leading to a slew of “un” words: unadorned, undisguised, untarnished, unstained – any of which could justifiably be used. For me, the clue lay in a succeeding line, where vor denotes “before” – as in standing before God. In that position, what makes you beautiful? Not brilliantly-colored clothing or other artifices that distract from one’s true character, but attributes such as forthrightness, humility, and integrity. Given all this, I selected the translation “an honest character” – it probably won’t pass muster with a German-speaking expert in 17^th-century poetry, but it works for me.

The singer should also be aware that the word in the second line of the aria is indeed deutscher, as in "German". No exclusion is intended here, rather the broadest possible inclusion for the cantata writer’s entirely German-speaking audience. The adjective is an acknowledgment of a recognizable ideal of national character and a shared value system, albeit in a different sense than would prevail after 19^th-century unification created "Germany". The intention is similar to sayings such as “a British stiff upper lip”. So now I am up to “an honest character, full of German faith and goodness”.

A lot of analysis to arrive at those words! But once the context is established, the alto aria is an excellent Bach study, with one melismatic passage in M. 43-48 (coincidentally – or maybe not! – occurring on the word Handel) requiring some breath management. Otherwise the phrasing is not difficult and several pitch challenges provide good exercises. Ms. Bartosz in the Koopman recording chooses to use a trill on the dotted quarter-eighth combination in M. 11 and each similar occurrence; I prefer to take it as written, in keeping with the straight-forward nature of the text. As with all Bach’s music, recordings can make the piece seem simpler than it is, but this is a selection that would be appropriate for introducing a voice student to Bach arias. The text is general as well as uplifting, and the aria could be used either for recital or church (at just about any time of year).

The central choral movement is framed by tenor and bass recitatives, both of which conclude with arioso sections. The recitatives contrast the concepts of sincerity (tenor) and hypocrisy (bass). Both recitatives enumerate a perennial complaint as true today as in poet Erdmann Neumeister’s time: few people are sincere while many are devious. A fine onomatopoeic moment occurs in the bass recitative with gehecket (describing the “coughing up” of the beast Hypocrisy). Note that the public domain vocal score substitutes other words for gehecket as well as the surrounding text in M.3-5, you can get the correct words from online resources.

The lovely, short chorus based on text from the Sermon on the Mount provides a challenge for any choir. Following the opening statement of the Biblical text, a fugal section with concertist/repienist structure repeats the verse, but now emphasizing the instrumental effect of the interweaving voices and concluding with flourishes of trumpets. Koopman chose to use a male alto as the quartet soloist in this section, apparently to better balance the voices in this heavy texture. The ability to cram so many musical concepts into such a small package illustrates one of the more mysterious facets of the master’s craft. He somehow – through experience or intuition – knew the “correct” length for any given idea. There’s never too much music, and there’s never truncation.

The tenor aria in an A-B-A dal segno format is short and to the point, this also is a good choice for a singer just entering the Bach repertoire and wanting a recital or church aria. Technique is improved by the concluding repetitions of Gütig sein und tugendreich/Macht uns Gott und Engeln gleich, each increasingly complicated. The opening measures of the aria are shown in the interesting items below which come from the Bach Digital Archive. The perils of quill and ink were part of writing be it church music or love letters – both the copy with the spill and the re-written fragment are notated by one of Bach’s pupils and chief copyists at Leipzig, Johann Andreas Kuhnau (nephew of the Kuhnau who served as Thomaskantor prior to Bach).

 

Ach, Scheisse!

 

 

 

The closing chorale bears the weight of the moral with upwardly surging strings alternating with choral lines. A nice touch is the repetition in the alto and tenor parts of the concluding words und rein Gewissen bleib.

Some commentators criticize the text for BWV 24, which is a lot like criticizing the literary quality of the average 19^th-century opera libretto. It’s about the music, Bach started with the words as impetus, but he went on from there – these are not words that would still be given attention if not for their service as the framework for Bach’s music. In cases where that framework is wobbly, the music has shored it up: Neumeister’s words are ecclesiastical poetry intended to express theological concepts in simplistic terms that would resonate with a native 17^th-century audience. They are given depth and broader meaning for the 18^th-century and beyond by Bach’s music.

There is something to be said for living with a cantata for a week – playing it as I drive to and from work, listening while I work, practicing the appropriate sections, and reading over the texts before bedtime. This eliminates the tendency to dismiss the piece based on one or two hearings, as could easily happen if there was a deadline to get through a certain number of cantatas. Plunging into the details defines the entire character of the cantata, and I have been surprised at how repeated hearings have opened doors that I didn’t see on a first or second pass. BWV 24 is at first glance one of the more conventional cantatas: perhaps J.S. was still testing the Leipzig waters to determine how far he could push the envelope. However, in study and listening, it gradually reveals itself to be a personable, if introverted, statement of a basic, ecumenical principal of life. All you really have to do is act the way you wish others would act, with honesty, integrity and respect: the same principals animating the music of BWV 24.

BWV 23 - Du wahrer Gott und Davids Sohn

Week 23 (11 June – 16 June 2013)

Recording: Karl Richter, Münchener Bach-Chor/Orchester; Edith Mathis, soprano; Anna Reynolds, alto; Peter Schreier, tenor

Conveniently, the two halves of the master’s audition for the job of Leipzig Thomaskantor sit side-by-side in the Schmieder listing. BWV 23 has only four movements, but is about equal in length to BWV 22, and also treats scripture from the Gospel of Luke – beyond that there’s not much common ground. Written when Bach was at Köthen (where he served as Kapellmeister following the Weimar period), the dating of this cantata originates with Philipp Spitta’s detailed investigation of the manuscript paper watermarks (a fine example of scholarship be it 19^th-century or 21^st). Spitta identified the watermark on the paper used for BWV 23 as the “wild man with the fir tree”, aligning it with compositions written on the same paper during the Köthen period. This discovery supported other evidence to place the cantata within the years Bach spent employed by Prince Leopold of Anhalt-Köthen. During this time, there was negligible demand for religious service music at the Prince’s court: although secular cantatas were composed there was only an occasional sacred piece. Although the watermark is not something you can usually see on the manuscript scans available through www.bach-digital.de, there is an extensive archive of watermarks on that site which provides some entertaining exploration.

So combining his older piece with the purpose-written BWV 22, Bach pulled together a convincing audition repertoire which taken together demonstrates the full range of solo, choral, and instrumental writing in the context of worship music. However, one of the rules of a process like this is that you don’t let other people control your fate. The choral material is less complex and shorter than in many other cantatas, demonstrating the composer’s skills without making extraordinary technical demands on the choir (if a choir was used for this “performance”). Perhaps Bach arranged for singers well-known to him to perform the solo parts – rehearsal alone would not help if the singer was not technically qualified. While the solos/duets are not as demanding as many of Bach's more florid vocal compositions, some rehearsals would still have been necessary to unify the instrumental and vocal pieces as well as to blend the choir or quartet of soloists. Assuming that due preparations were made, the Leipzig congregation received an amazing musical offering that Quinquagesima Sunday of 1723.

The extended dal segno duet for soprano and alto that opens BWV 23 movingly depicts the deepest spiritual wish for divine consolation. Omnisciently watched from der Entfernung – the outer reaches of infinity – the believer, cast out either through physical or spiritual deficiency, knows that Jesus has seen their pain and has come to bring healing. The duet provides phrasing challenges, particularly the sustained notes that occur in each voice as the other sings text on the words erbarm’ dich mein. Aim for a focused, moderately soft tone that keeps the pitch present, but facilitates breath management through the phrase. This is a lengthy movement, but if well-sung with a carefully thought-out interpretation, it is a beautiful and personal plea that will be effective in a church service.

The choral movement (No. 3) is structured as a refrain with verses sung by soloists: while the “solo” designation appears to be an emendation to the manuscript, it probably indicates Bach’s intent since the verses portray a more personal request. When the verses are sung with the entire sections (as on Richter’s recording), the clarity of the text and contrast with the refrain are lost. The refrain Aller Augen warten, Herr, which recalls the line from Psalm 145 “The eyes of all wait upon Thee”, is a textual refrain only, as the music is varied in each repeat of the words. Every voice part gets some testing material: for example, M.129-134 in the alto line is an excellent exercise and a good sight-reading snippet as well. The phrase allmächt’ger Gott can be a mouthful for non-German speakers. Whether the direction is to use a hard [x] or soft [ʃ] “ch” sound, if this word is difficult for you, there is no shortcut, you just have to practice until it comes easily. The movement also shows many potential musical usages of the grammatical comma: it can be used as a lift (M. 104 in the soprano/tenor parts); for phrasing (M. 103 in the alto/tenor parts where placing the final consonant on an eighth rest allows the bass text Herr to emerge); or simply sung in the line (M. 104 in the alto/bass parts).

The chorale movement (No. 4) was appended to the existing cantata for its use as a “probationary piece” and utilizes the Christe, du Lamm Gottes (Agnus Dei) originally from Luther’s Deutsche Messe. The choral setting of the tune links back to its use in the instrumental accompaniment to the earlier tenor recitative (No. 2). More through-composed than the typical Leipzig closing chorale, Bach sets the first verse in a solemn and straightforward A-B-A’ section (marked Adagio in the Breitkopf & Härtel full score). A carefully constructed Andante section follows, which builds in contrapuntal complexity through the final two verses of the chorale culminating in a concluding 8-measure Amen that is calling out to be extracted as a Lenten choral response (not that I need another side project, but it’s about time for the cantata project to bear some fruit!). The accretion of vocal and instrumental forces is accentuated in Richter’s modern instrument version, with an effective crescendo on the final Amen. Whether or not this was at all similar to what those Leipzigers heard that Sunday is debatable, but they definitely received their money’s worth!

If I had money, and time, this week would have found me blasting off for Leipzig and Bachfest 2013, http://www.bach-leipzig.de/index.php?id=618&L=1. Check out the PDF of the festival brochure for the line-up of all-Bach, all-the-time. What a fantastic event this appears to be, including creative approaches to draw younger audiences into the world of J.S. without compromising the core mission or musical quality. There’s a big difference between attracting an audience and bringing them to a higher-level of understanding versus pandering to current tastes by portraying the music as something’s it’s not – when all that is needed is what it is. Leipzig and Bachfest are definitely on the list to achieve before this project concludes!

The Festival awards a “Bach Medal” (actually made of Meissen porcelain) each year to a prominent exponent of Bach’s music: the list of past honorees reads like a summary of every major figure in Bach scholarship and discography over the last quarter-century. Certainly this is a high honor for a musician who has specialized in Bach – it would be difficult to think of a greater one. This year, the recipient is Peter Schreier, in whose honor this week’s recording was selected. Although the tenor has only a recitative in BWV 23, Schreier’s precise singing, sensitive phrasing and subtle reading of the text mark him as an interpreter at the highest level. He has served this music not only as a singer but also as a conductor and teacher. As I move through this project, his name will continue to appear many times, and for that let us truly be thankful – he is one of the greats. Congratulations, Herr Schreier!

 

2013 Bach Medal Recipient – Kammersänger Peter Schreier

 
 

BWV 22 - Jesus nahm zu sich die Zwölfe

Week 22 (4 June – 9 June 2013)

Recording: Rudolf Lutz, Chor/Orchester der J.S. Bach-Stiftung; Markus Forster, altus; Johannes Kaleschke, tenor; Ekkehard Abele, bass

The performing arts are unique from most professions in that in order to get a job, you usually have to demonstrate that you can actually do the job through an audition. This as opposed to something like engineering, where you produce a resume, buy a nice suit, do an interview, and providing you show a few signs of intelligent life, you get a job offer to do – something that you will have to learn how to do on the job. However, one thing that is common to all careers is that for the best jobs, there is not only a highly-competitive field of capable applicants, but there are political favorites and those with an inside track.

 

J.S. Bach had already mastered his profession when the opportunity to become the Leipzig Thomaskantor arose when Johann Kuhnau died in June 1722 after having served in the position for over twenty years. The office was (and is) filled at the discretion of the Leipzig City Council. In this case, Bach was not their first choice: Telemann was the preferred candidate, despite some professional disputes with Kuhnau, but Telemann opted to remain in Hamburg. The “insider” was Christoph Graupner (1683-1760), who had been a student of Kuhnau’s. However, Graupner’s employer upped the ante so the prolific composer would stay with him. That decision had long-range consequences for Graupner, restricting his career to that of a provincial talent. Bypassed by musical history, he was left in the shadows of Bach, Telemann, Handel, and others, despite a vast and miraculously intact output that includes 1,400 church cantatas (“no”). Graupner’s rejection of the Leipzig offer also forced the Council to entertain option #3, Johann Sebastian Bach.

 

 

Thomaskirche and Thomasschule in Leipzig (1723)

 

Bach’s audition in February 1723 consisted of leading two cantatas he had written, BWV 22 and BWV 23. The audition date was the last Sunday before Ash Wednesday, referred to as Estomihi (from the opening of Psalm 31 in Latin), the last performance of cantata music until Palm Sunday. BWV 22 is believed to have been composed close to the time of performance: BWV 23 is thought to be several years earlier. So while I fleetingly toyed with working on these cantatas together, it didn’t make sense from a compositional standpoint.

 

The first movement of BWV 22 is a cleverly assembled demonstration of useful cantata-writing skills. After a short introductory sinfonia and a brief tenor line (in a future context this would be recitative for an Evangelist), the bass sings the scripture from Luke as the vox Christi. This florid arioso was perfectly intelligible to the Leipzig congregation but still with an indication of what they would be in for eventually (e.g. the dissonance in M.6 and M.34 and the inherent dramatic potential of the repeated phrase wir gehn hinauf). The movement concludes with a brief fugal coro intended for soloist/ripienist arrangement – an amazingly inciteful interpretation of the text about the disciples not comprehending Jesus’ foretelling of the events of Holy Week. As the voices are added, the confusion grows – it’s a masterful presentation of fugue and counterpoint in a tiny package. Also instructive is that Bach chose to use only two verses of the Biblical passage – the actual prophecies of Christ’s trial, scourging, and death are omitted. A lesser composer would have put it all in, sacrificing focus and concision while attempting to set a weighty text that intuitively would require music out of proportion to the rest of the verses.

 

An intriguing question is how or if this movement may represent Bach’s ideas for a St. Luke Passion. (The composition by that name that exists in clear copy made by J.S. and was assigned BWV 246 is not by the master.)  The St. Matthew and St. John Passions are extant, and reputedly portions of a St. Mark, but of St. Luke – if indeed there ever was one – not a trace, except perhaps this movement.

 

An unknown poet provided the balance of the cantata text, which is thematically tied together by the idea of the believer being pulled or drawn (ziehen) after Christ, and understanding what the disciples did not. The alto aria, although probably not good recital or service material, provides an excellent study in phrasing and breath control, particularly the last page, beginning M.62 with some challenging intervals that cross the middle break in the voice as well as an extended expressive passage on [ɑ] (first part of the diphthong in Leiden).

 

A long bass recitative begins with a figuration on laufen, characterizing how quickly the speaker will follow Jesus when called. Within the context of this movement, Bach serves notice that he will be providing drama along with worship, providing an interpretative range that can be heard in comparing various recordings of this work. The recitative concludes with an accompagnato melisma on Freuden that leads into a gracious dal segno tenor aria. With the exception of a tricky passage in M.105-106, this is not a difficult piece for either singer or audience and could be a nice selection for recital or for use in church at Lent.

 

Both the tenor aria and the final chorale speak of the death of the spirit, figuratively the “killing” of the sinful part of human nature to allow the good to flourish. Speaking of metaphorical death – poor Hubert Parry must have come close in the service of Bach scholarship – several places in his book reveal that he was not overly fond of the oboe (referred to in the best tradition of “British French” as the hautboy) that of necessity appears so prevalently in the cantatas. There is much use of the oboe in BWV 22, including the obbligato part in the alto aria. In the concluding chorale movement, the prominence of the oboe caused Parry to opine:

 

“The effect of a figure of the kind persisting without break or variety is often liable to become tedious, and in this case the situation is accentuated by the perpetual motion being maintained by the hautboy, whose poignant tones when long reiterated produce an effect of weariness, which in extreme cases amounts to physical distress.”

I’m guessing that the oboe playing Sir Hubert usually heard was not at the level of the English Baroque Soloists!

 

The last movement where this perpetual motion occurs is a departure in format from other Leipzig chorale movements. A flowing instrumental line introduces and then is interspersed with the verses of the chorale. Commentators mention that the accompaniment was intended to reference Kuhnau’s style. For this chorale, Bach uses a famous tune with text by Elizabeth Cruciger, the first female poet and hymnist of the Reformation. The story of the Bach cantatas, their composition as well as their scriptural and musical origins, is generally a story of men, which is to be expected for the early 18^th-century. Cruciger, who was from the nobility and married into a family that was prominent in the Reformation (her son succeeded Philipp Melanchthon at the University of Wittenberg, while her daughter married Martin Luther’s son) perhaps did not break the mold so much as get lucky when her hymn was included in one of the first Lutheran hymn collections, the Erfuhrt Enchiridion (1524). I can’t be certain if she produced any other texts, but this artifact survives today in the German Lutheran hymnal, the Evangelisches Gesangbuch – an impressive achievement nearly five hundred years later.

 

Bach’s audition piece has done well in recorded performance, as Rilling, Gardiner, and the RIAS recording under Ristenpart, featuring a very young Fischer-Dieskau, are all worthwhile additions to a collection. The recording by the J.S. Bach-Stiftung was overall a fine effort, representing the latest thinking in historically-informed performance by an excellent orchestra, capable soloists and a fresh-sounding choir. The aspect of live recording brings pros and cons – my impression is that the fine-tuned performance was somewhat inhibited by striving for digital perfection, with a resulting lack of individuality and spontaneity, such as appears in the Gardiner Cantata Pilgrimage recordings. But there are always tradeoffs, and this is a performance that easily handles repeated hearings – already the Stiftung’s project has produced a substantial body of audio/video work that will be a remarkable 21^st-century document for the cantatas. And with any luck I’ll get to be in the audience for one of them next year in St. Gallen!