Recording:
Karl Richter, Münchener Bach-Chor/Orchester; Edith Mathis, soprano; Anna Reynolds, alto;
Dietrich
Fischer-Dieskau, bass
Some
Sundays are definitely less fun than others. On Exaudi Sunday (from the Latin
verb meaning “to hear” or “to listen”), the joy of the Easter season has ended
several days before, with the Ascension. The faithful have been left behind – wanting
to remain faithful, but uncertain what will happen next. For this Sunday, the Gospel
passage from John talks about the martyrdom of these believers, words both
depressing in their inevitability and eerily relevant to today’s world.
The cantata
begins with a unique setting of the text foretelling the persecution of the
Christians. An instrumental prelude features the oboes intertwining in mournful
G minor, an echo-like pattern which will be imitated by the duet of the tenor
and bass. In the KJV, the verse they sing is translated as “They shall put you
out of the synagogues”. The Luther Bible is more general, with Bann possibly indicating a broader
banishment or exile. Three repetitions of this statement are provided, with the
character of a lamentation. All indications are these lines are to be sung by soloists
(which is how most recordings have done it), although the balance can be tricky
with the voices pitted against the oboes. Richter has the men of the chorus
sing this short section, and they make a convincing argument; however, sectional
voices cannot perform the ornamentation as cleanly as soloists, and the
contrast between the soloists’ sound and the great choral entrance that follows
is more musically and theatrically riveting. And this short cantata has an
element of oratorical theater, perhaps because Bach had finished the St. John Passion not long before.
The
duet and the chorus function as a unit, and need to be performed together. The attacca entrance of the choir replies to
the prediction of banishment with the ominous statement of death at the hands
of those who believe they are fulfilling God’s will. The interpretation of these words and music must evoke an atmosphere of terror. This is
a short coro, requiring careful
attention to text and dynamics to be effective, as the technical fireworks of
many Bach choruses are set aside here for more homophonic writing. The short
6-measure sequence beginning M.25, where each voice enters a 4th
below the preceding line, is a concise lesson in fugue-writing. The repeated
emphasis on Dienst highlights those
who would serve, as opposed to their enemies’ idea of “service”.
With the scriptural
themes established, the body of the cantata utilizes text from an anonymous poet,
who provides workmanlike verses in uninspired language. The A-B-A alto aria uses a sorrowful verse referencing pain, exile, and martyrdom – the word Bann referring back to the opening line of the cantata. Although
the A section is not too much of a
downer, it’s maybe not the thing for a Sunday anthem, and perhaps it’s an aria
that should stay within the cantata. However, it is an excellent study in
both intonation and rhythm, with the tension between the predominant triplets and
the dotted eighth-sixteenth figures (although not always performed this way, the manuscripts clearly show this notation). At a faster tempo, differentiation of these figures becomes
difficult, but the tempo should not be too lugubrious as there are some long
phrases, several on sustained notes that need to retain some energy even as
they set on top of the accompaniment.
The tessitura
is low, so contraltos will fare better here than higher mezzo voices, but
working on blending the scale passages is again useful technical work. The
singer should know the oboe part intimately, and modify the vocal timbre to
complement the instrument. A frisson is
achieved when the vocal line is clearly matched to the obbligato, and tempo is critical here. There is no shortage of
excellent recordings of this aria: Anna Reynolds has a deep, rich contralto
(and never needs to take a breath) in a recording that – except for some
excessive rallentando at the end of the A section (on both occasions) – holds up
very well forty years later. Helen Watts (Rilling) is also a contralto sound at
a faster tempo and with rhythmic liberties – not the best model here. Catherine
Patriasz (Herreweghe) provides a modern view, with a lighter voice, at a tempo
that loses some of the subtleties. I prefer a more legato approach (even if
that’s not “authentic”) – too much separation, especially in the triplets,
seems to alter the mood of the piece.
The tenor chorale employs the tune Ach, Gott wie manches Herzeleid, which
Bach would return to within the year as the foundation of his chorale cantata
BWV 3. Listening to the intricate opening chorus of that work again highlighted
the contrast with the simple vocal setting here. The vocal score on IMSLP has a
fabricated accompaniment – there is only one slim line of continuo, so if you
plan to sing this as a solo, listen to an exemplary interpretation like that of
Christoph Prégardien on Herreweghe’s version of BWV 44.
A secco recitative for bass reinforces the worldly danger to the
faithful. Richter has exemplary soloists – one reason his recordings are always
worth a listen – and here for a few measures we get Fischer-Dieskau in his best
Bach form, with a declamation that again shows the dramatic nature of this
cantata.
Bach saved most of his inspirations for the technically brilliant and engaging
soprano da capo aria, which is the
one selection from this cantata that can be effective in recital (although the
coloratura requirements are hefty). Despite the excellent musicianship of the
boy soloist in Harnoncourt’s recording of BWV 44, it’s painful to imagine a
child soprano tackling this piece – the necessary vocal technique to sing this
long aria properly makes it a work for the mature female voice, such as the
marvelous interpretation by Arleen Augér on Rilling’s recording. Particularly
in the marvelously dramatic passages that depict the turbulence of earthly Wetter (M.36 et. seq.), the strings
surge up like swirling winds, and a true soprano can ride this whirlwind to
great effect, at full voice but without strain. This movement “feels” like a
composition from an earlier time (perhaps Köthen?); it would be interesting to
investigate this hypothesis further.
The concluding chorale is a melody used
several times by Bach, and already met (with minor differences in the choral
setting) in BWV 13. The well-known hymn has a long history, beginning with
Heinrich Isaac in the 15th-century, whose song Innsbruck, ich muss dich lassen was later provided with a sacred
text, O welt, ich muss dich lassen. The
song Nur ruhen alle Wälder was
another adaptation by Johann Crüger and Paul Gerhardt, published in the mid-17th-century,
and still in print in Bach’s era. Bach used a verse from Paul Fleming’s text In allen meinem Täten – which he would
later use in its entirety for BWV 97.
Facsimile of 16th-Century Manuscript of Heinrich Isaac's Innsbruck, ich muss dich lassen
BWV 44 concluded Bach’s first cantata
cycle in Leipzig. Perhaps the gloom of the first part of this cantata speaks
not only to the scriptural basis, but to Bach’s own frame of mind as he
concluded his first year as the Thomaskantor. Week after week he had produced
stunningly beautiful and impeccably crafted music – including a monumental
oratorio – while balancing the varied demands of his position and attempting to
cobble together sufficient resources to perform this challenging music. He was
at the peak of his powers as musician and composer, yet his relations with his
bosses were never easy, and the record is clear that there was little to no
appreciation for his efforts. He may have felt a sense of professional
martyrdom, as well as concern that he could be cast out at any moment. But…es gehe wie es gehe. The progression
from the choral prophecies of doom to the sun breaking through the clouds in
the soprano’s ebullient aria is characteristic of the master: despite any
misgivings, he had faith in a higher power that all would work out.
No comments:
Post a Comment