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!

 

 

 

BWV 21 - Ich hatte viel Bekümmernis

Week 21 (28 May – 2 June 2013)

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 18^th-century resolution. Sadness, melancholia, hopelessness, profound despair – these are not creations of the 21^st-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 15^th Thomaskantor following J.S. Bach, succeeding his teachers Ramin (12^th) and Thomas (13^th) 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:

 

 

 

BWV 20 - O Ewigkeit, du Donnerwort

Week 20 (21 May – 26 May 2013)

Recording: Philippe Herreweghe, Collegium Vocale Gent; Ingeborg Danz, alto; Jan Kobow, tenor; Peter Kooy, bass

Eternity. One of those philosophically and poetically charged words that have lost weight over the last century. Our ever-expanding ability to travel and to communicate has collapsed time and distance so that no aspect of human experience takes very long – most everything in our lives happens immediately or sooner. The imagination has no frame of reference to grasp a more existential meaning of eternity, so we use the word for comic exaggeration (for example, to describe the length of the first work day after a four-day Memorial Day break). But for the early Protestants, life and faith unfolded on a much different time scale, and the eternal damnation that is front and center in this cantata evoked a visceral response. Although some people in Bach’s congregations perhaps already heard the fire and brimstone threats as allegories, such warnings were still powerful reminders to resist worldly temptations. Forget heavenly eternity with angels, harps and unlimited zero-calorie chocolate: if you sinned during your earthly sojourn, eternity was going to be a long, hard, hot slog – without end.

 

The cantata structure is based on a hymn with text by Johann Rist set to a tune of Johann Schop (a violin virtuoso of the mid-17^th-century). The three choral movements utilize material directly from the hymn; Bach set the two chorales using identical music but different verses. The unknown poet was at work elsewhere, tacking conventional admonitions on some of the juiciest lines extracted from the original texts. Given the topic, these words are not exactly an easy sell to a modern congregation. If not performing the complete cantata, extracts are more suited to recital use, unless you really want to shake things up!

 

 

Excerpt of the Hymn O Ewigkeit, du Donnerwort from Himmlische Lieder (1652)

 

Although I used Herreweghe’s fine recording as the study performance this week (due largely to his always-excellent chorus and the absolutely admirable alto Ingeborg Danz), a whole other level of appreciation for what this cantata can be came from listening to John Eliot Gardiner’s “cantata pilgrimage” recording. The performance is high drama; it must have been one intense concert. Gardiner makes the opening choral statement of O Ewigkeit, du Donnerwort coalesce into a great declaration that sets the cantata in motion, complete with a precise “snap” at the release of Ewigkeit and the rumble of thunder in the A/T/B voices. The movement is composed in the style of a Baroque French overture: a slow section followed by a fast. A short orchestral sinfonia at the start and finish of the slow portion book-ends three significant “O” statements which are separated by short instrumental phrases.

 

The fast 3/4 section runs smack into the concluding pages (marked in the vocal score Tempo I, which is implied by the return to 4/4). I struggled to understand this section structurally. According to the rules the closing should reference the slow part; but with its operatic word-painting of the erschrocknes Herz we are really in new territory, in every respect. And the oft-quoted concept of tongue cleaving to the roof of the mouth, that forms the last line of the choral text – what exactly does that phrase mean? Perhaps fear so profound that the mouth dries out and the tongue sticks to the palate rendering speech impossible. OK, I haven’t experienced this (and don’t really want to), but if you think about that physical phenomenon, Bach’s musical interpretation makes sense, as the four vocal parts converge onto a final unison F on klebt and the instruments dwindle into silence.

 

The tenor gets assigned the “role” of the terrified sinner staring into the pit of hell. It’s a dynamite recitative and aria, and worthy singers will be few and far between. Paul Agnew is Gardiner’s tenor soloist, and although to my ears he is far from ideal (his voice has a pronounced beat whenever it is put under pressure), he has no competition in the florid passages, where his machine-gun articulation vividly informs the eternal Flammen and Feuer that await those who do not turn away from evil. It’s hard to believe what you are hearing, and this unmatched technical ability probably explains why he also recorded this cantata (although with a slower tempo on the aria) for Ton Koopman. Jan Kobow is smoother and slower for Herreweghe, and has fine technique for the difficult interval passages (M.73-77  – a fantastic exercise even if you don’t learn the entire aria).

 

The bass has not one but two substantial arias, the first ruminative and the second more extroverted. BWV 20 is one of the Leipzig cantatas designed in two sections, for pre- and post-sermon music. If at the opening of Part II trumpets and strings weren’t enough to rouse the dozing Lutherans, the bass enters vigorously with the words Wacht auf, wacht auf, verlorne Schafe. A nice touch of the master’s humor in the midst of all the hell fire. This aria seemed to be a natural for Fischer-Dieskau, and it’s hard to believe there’s anything he didn’t record, but a recording was not to be found. However, Dietrich Henschel on Gardiner’s recording is the next best thing to FiDi – dramatic but emoting within the constraints of the music.

 

You won’t hear the short alto aria better sung than in Ingeborg Danz’s version, where the little ascending scale on entfliehe is released exactly as if the notes are fleeing along with the repentant sinner trying to escape hell. The words of the alto recitative are relevant to our over-stuffed lives today, and offer many interpretive choices depending on how you want to convey the idea of life’s transitory nature.

 

The alto/tenor duet that illustrates a final reason to tow the straight and narrow gets a spooky, ominous treatment in the Gardiner recording, due to the soloists’ vocal coloring and dynamics. It’s important to know that the Breitkopf & Härtel vocal score has a fabricated accompaniment for this duet that has nothing to do with the original scoring, which is for minimalist continuo. This excellent and challenging piece requires close cooperation between the singers on matters of phrasing and rhythmic precision – especially at Sir John’s tempo.

 

The vocal score on IMSLP was the victim of a poor scanning job, and in several places part of the top system is cut off. If you want to perform this cantata, don’t rely on the public domain copy. But given the amount of high-quality public domain material that I have already utilized for this project, a few pages here and there is no big deal, and for study purposes it worked. The other feature of this score is that there is a French translation laid in along with the original German. French? Well, Bach’s cantatas have been performed and even recorded in languages other than German (e.g. a recording in Japanese of BWV 21). And there was a 19^th-century Bach revival in France that included such proponents as Charles Gounod (introduced to Bach’s music by Fanny Mendelssohn) who came to believe that Bach’s works were “the unquestioned textbook of musical composition”.

 

This week finishes the first 10% of this project; I can hardly believe I’m there. Time as measured both in calendar days and in cantatas has zoomed by this year – exactly the opposite of eternity – and as I prepare to dive into BWV 21, I can only express awed gratitude that this gift has found its way to me. I’ve had the opportunity to meet twenty new friends, each with an unique personality: the cantatas have all the musical and intellectual qualities of people with whom one would happily make time to associate. Every week, I can’t wait to meet the next one. And guess what? I will be making time to do just that.

 

BWV 19 - Es erhub sich ein Streit

Week 19 (14 May – 19 May 2013)

Recording: Masaaki Suzuki, Bach Collegium Japan; Hana Blažíková, soprano; Gerd Türk, tenor; Peter Kooy, bass
 

Wer, wenn ich schriee, hörte mich denn aus der Engel Ordnungen?

The opening line of Rilke’s epic Duino Elegies references the angelic hierarchy of which St. Michael is the highest officer. He is the protector of the Christian kingdom in the mortal sphere and the leader of the Christian “army”, invoked in the offertory prayer in the Catholic mass for the dead:

Sed signifer sanctus Michael repraesentet eas in lucem santam

(May St. Michael the standard-bearer bring them into the holy light)

These words of promise and hope have given rise to one of the most beautiful vocal lines ever written for the soprano voice – in the Offertorio of Verdi’s Requiem; as well as an ethereal moment in the soprano choral part of Duruflé’s Requiem (which magnificent work took up all my "free" time last week, delaying the cantata notes – and it was absolutely worth it!). But it is Michael's role in the "war in heaven" – the battle of good and evil – that inspired this Leipzig cantata, which was composed to celebrate St. Michael’s feast day, Michaelmas. This holiday coincided with the harvest – the most important secular event in an agrarian society – and subsequently became the time in the German calendar for the payment of accounts and the completion of administrative duties prior to onset of winter. A significant occasion requiring significant music.

 

In the Biblical book of Revelation, St. Michael engages the forces of darkness at the apocalypse, and symbolically slays evil in the form of a dragon. This scene is much depicted in religious paintings and statuary (such as the woodcut by Albrecht Dürer, below). J. S. Bach would have been very familiar with this imagery; orphaned at ten years old, he went to the town of Ohrdruf to live with his older brother Johann Christoph, becoming his apprentice at the Michaeliskirche, which undoubtedly contained multiple representations of the saint.

 

Albrecht Dürer, Saint Michael Fighting the Dragon, woodcut (1498)

A lifetime’s absorption of these images is converted into the challenging dal segno chorus that opens the cantata. The ebb and flow of battle is reproduced through the convoluted pairing of melismatic and declamatory vocal parts. The trumpets and timpani occasionally surface over the warriors, but the competing choral lines, now dominated by sopranos and altos, now by the tenors and basses, surge over the instruments. St. Michael’s opponents, the dragon and serpent, are portrayed with nearly equal vehemence in the B section, with the triumph of the saint through the support of his army depicted with more cohesive structure in the C section. It's a chorus that should be done more often, and it offers a conductor so many options – if I were in that line of work I'd find this one irresistible. The precision and unity of Suzuki’s Bach Collegium is very impressive, perhaps offering a window into what Bach envisioned when he composed. For my taste, he eclipses even John Eliot Gardiner’s astonishing Monteverdi choir, which is unleashed upon this movement at a tempo that any other chorus would deem cruel and unusual – and that is probably far faster than anything ever imagined for Baroque choral and instrumental forces. For something closer to what Bach probably heard that Sunday in Leipzig, the RIAS Cantata Project recording from 1950 under Karl Ristenpart is historically interesting.

 

The lovely and very difficult soprano aria uses the voice instrumentally, in combination with two oboe d'amore and continuo. An error in the text in the old Breitkopf & Härtel vocal score should be corrected before learning the aria: the words seine Heere (first occurrence in M.14-15) should be replaced by Mahanaim. This makes all the difference from an interpretive standpoint: a holy army sent to keep the peace, versus the creation of a figurative utopia at any place where believers arrive. Undoubtedly the most challenging section of this aria is the 6-measure long melisma (M. 56-61). At the graceful and moderate tempo that is appropriate for the aria, nobody can make it through this passage without some tactful breaths. For some hints on how to do this, Malin Hartelius (Gardiner) and Hana Blažiková (Suzuki) take similar approaches in singing this aria. Neither are over-powering or technically dazzling, but they are excellent Baroque stylists. The aria itself is probably best used within the cantata, as it depends on the oboe d’amore color for tonal variety as well as melodic architecture.

 

On the other hand, the tenor recitative and aria are possible recital material. This is one of the loveliest tenor arias encountered to date, and while there is some difficult ornamentation written into the part, and another long melisma (M. 89 et. seq.), overall it is very friendly to the voice. However, it is 7-8 minutes worth of music, with Bleibt bei mir repeated about twenty-four times, so the singer needs to have confidence he can keep things interesting. Some judicious editing could be considered with sufficient study of the piece. A chorale tune is overlaid by an obbligato trumpet in the original, but a similar effect could be achieved with organ accompaniment. Note that in this aria there are also several mistakes in the public domain vocal score (check the Emmanuel Church translation or any recent recording for guidance).

The bass and soprano recitatives are perhaps in that category of pages composed by a student under the master's direction. Both seem somewhat uninspired and lacking in detail, although it may simply have been that Henrici's simplistic texts did not inspire Bach as did some other poets. Likewise the chorale setting that ends the cantata. And who could blame him if he did enlist some help? It's not like there wasn't already a surfeit of genius in the coro and solo arias!

 

This project has already taken me to many enjoyable, fascinating places. But because Bach’s music is part of the cultural heritage of Germany, it is inextricably linked to that country’s history. Music is portable through time, it becomes interwoven with history in a way that static works of art cannot. And that means the project will also take me to some disturbing, haunting places, as it did this week.

 

If on the trail of Bach facts you look up the history of Ohrdruf, what you will find is that the Nazi concentration camp located there was the first camp liberated by the Allies in 1945 (with the merciless irony of history, two hundred and fifty years after Bach arrived in 1695). General Eisenhower and other Allied commanders saw first-hand the victims, living and dead. General Patton reportedly said the camp was "one of the most appalling sights that I have ever seen" and could not enter some of the areas for fear of becoming physically ill.

Did some of the same townsfolk who worked at the camp attend services in the Michaeliskirche before it was destroyed in 1945? Did they sing Bach’s music in the midst of their wartime duties, perhaps even BWV 19, seeing themselves as the mighty and righteous army led by their patron saint? Did they seek shelter in the Michaeliskirche as the Allied raids rained bombs down around them, not recognizing that history had reversed their roles? Did they forget the gentle warning contained in the soprano recitative instructing them to love Michael and his angels, not alienate them: Und sie mit unsern Sünden nicht vertreiben oder auch betrüben (and with our sins never drive them away or disturb them)?

The last traces of the Ohrdruf that Bach knew were destroyed in the war, the angels long since departed. The bell tower of the Michaeliskirche, pathetically patched together during the succeeding Communist era, was finally restored after German reunification. For the last several years, a committee has mounted a Bachtage music festival, using the music of its most famous resident to continue rebuilding the area's cultural tourism industry. Certainly, demonstrating the survival and continuity of Bach's music is a powerful response to what happened at Ohrdruf during the Holocaust, a bridge to a future where the stains can be less visible. But the historical record is what it is, and Ohrdruf will never wipe those stains out completely. Not even Bach can do that.

Wer, wenn ich schriee…