BWV 38 - Aus tiefer Not schrei ich zu Dir

Week 38 (4 February – 9 February 2014)

Recording: Karl Richter, Münchener Bach-Chor/Orchester; Edith Mathis, soprano; Trudeliese Schmidt, alto; Peter Schreier, tenor; Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, bass 

Out of the depths I cry to you, o Lord. Whether in English translation, the Latin de profundis clamavi ad te, Martin Luther’s Aus der Tiefen rufe ich, Herr, zu dir in the German Bible (the Biblical text was set by Bach in his much earlier BWV 131), or his chorale paraphrase used as the basis for this cantata, few verses more powerfully and concisely express desolation than the opening line of Psalm 130. Included from early Christian times in the “Penitential Psalms”, the psalm is often used for funerals and occurs in many requiem settings. However, in Hebrew, the psalm is titled a “song of ascents”, carried over into Latin as canticum graduum, a “song of steps”. The speaker suffers, and seeks a path – an upward path – out of his despair.

The Hungarian writer George Klein introduces Pietà, his volume of essays, by examining the human ability to survive extremes of personal suffering – either physical deprivation or psychological depression. In the latter category, he cites several creative personalities who “won” this battle over self (Thomas Mann, Rainer Maria Rilke). Klein asks, “How [did] they build up their inner strength and use it to turn their personal demons into constructive and obedient little helpers...? It is not only the process of creativity that is driven by these tamed furies, but also the ability of the creative machinery to reach others. They are the source of the machinery…They are the volcanic crater and the narrow path along its rim where one can leisurely stroll.”

At the time Bach composed BWV 38, he was nearing the age of forty, and had already endured more hardship than most of us will have in our much longer lifetimes. Although his experiences may not have been that much different from his contemporaries, the susceptibility of a creative personality to these personal tragedies set him apart. That he profoundly felt these sorrows is etched into his music; that he triumphed over them is proven by the very existence of the music. In the midst of Not, Leiden, Sorgen, Sünden – Bach and his unknown poet find an answer to the sorrows and failures of life in the recurring theme of this cantata, Trost: holding the word up like a shield, even embedding it in the soprano recitative as the unheard text referenced by the instrumental chorale.

Despite the availability of four study recordings, I did not find a version of the opening chorus that gave me what I was looking for: a middle ground between high drama and historically-informed precision, with emphasis on pulling out the words Not and schrei as they crest the waves of the various vocal lines. Richter’s cluttered performance will grate on some sensibilities as it in no way represents the current Bach aesthetic. But he captures a desperation that is visceral and very true to the meaning of the text: every other version sounds subdued by comparison.

Although written in stile antico, the construction is dense and tormented, the music flows organically from the opening line of text, replicating into an outpouring of pain that continually resolves only to begin again (the next phase of the ascent). Bach brings all his tricks to the writing: fugues, chromatic lines, syncopation, all laid against the plaintive soprano cantus firmus. The marvelous descending chromaticism on the phrase Sünd und Unrecht (M. 103 et. seq.) is nothing less than the sound of shame. As with BWV 2, the instrumental score calls for a quartet of trombones. John Eliot Gardiner observes “what they bring to the overall mood, besides their unique burnished sonority, is ritual and solemnity.” This is a heavyweight chorus, opening a dramatic work that is severe in tone – the triumph is never achieved easily.

The short alto recitative is a dramatic monologue, a sequence of thoughts that requires shifts in tonal color. It also provides the ultimate expression of original sin with the opportunity to sing the untranslatable word Sündengräuel – a strong mixture of mortal sin, horror, and atrocity, all pointing back to the petitioner.

The tenor aria is the only solo aria in the cantata, and in Richter’s performance it is expertly interpreted by Peter Schreier. Study and learn: for example, how (M.34) he drives through sustained sorrow (Leiden) to turn the corner, modulating into Trost. The buoyant figures in the continuo are like air bubbles rising from the depths, pushing the drowning one toward the surface: this is a sturdy expression of comfort through faith. At around six minutes, this da capo aria with its lovely text is a worthwhile recital piece, especially if the obbligato oboes can be included to enliven the instrumental interlude that frames the A section.

The following soprano recitative is a bit unusual, beginning with the marking a battuta (“to the beating”, or, precisely in tempo). Why? I was not able to come up with a good explanation, except possibly the use of the instrumented chorale. But I suspect this recit was the result of the master tutoring a composition student, allowing them the opportunity to participate in writing a section of the weekly cantata – details in the setting of the text suggest other ideas are at play. Note, however, the diminished 7th chord on the word Zeichen – Bach’s game of deploying the musical accidental signs (F#, Eb, C♮) to underline this word. As with the alto recit, the text is a dramatic reading, requiring the soloist to act the part of a believer questioning herself. The words include a lovely metaphor for a soft, or weak, spirit with rain-softened ground. Arleen Augér (on Helmuth Rilling’s recording) shows how it’s done.

The recitative leads into an unusual terzetto for S/A/B soloists. One reason I used Richter’s version was the irresistible allure of his trio singers: Klaus Hoffmann notes the “operatic quality” of the terzetto, and who better to capture that than this “cast”. This may not be a purist’s “Bach”, but it is some great singing. Rilling’s crew uses more détaché which is very helpful for clarifying the vocal lines. But altos, be warned – you will not be heard in certain parts of this trio, which actually is a blessing in disguise, since it offers the chance to breathe discreetly. The image of chains drives the use of the three individual voices, intertwining and linking on to each other. The Trost we search for is never more present than in this movement, in the repeated figures of des Trostes Morgen, the morning of comfort, that are a comfort and a joy to sing.

Well, the cantata project incurred a significant interruption due to procrastination, a job change, a computer hard drive replacement, and a very busy spring, which included performances of Vaughan Williams’ magnificent Dona nobis pacem and Britten’s seminal War Requiem as well as many other works. Other than the unique experience of attending a dance concert choreographed to the Art of the Fugue at Holy Trinity Lutheran in New York (one of the few American churches regularly performing the cantatas, by the way), there has not been much Bach for me. I’m hopeful that I can get back on track now that life has settled down: this is work that feeds the intellect, the musical intelligence, and the soul. It was great to get back in the saddle this week, so onward and – like the master’s music in BWV 38 – upward!