BWV 31 - Der Himmel lacht! Die Erde jubilieret

Week 31 (20 August – 25 August 2013)

Recording: Marcel Couraud, Stuttgarter Chor und Orchester; Friederike Sailer, soprano; Fritz Wunderlich, tenor; August Messthaler, bass
 

Struggling with an entry point for this week’s notes, I realized that the struggle was itself that point. This cantata first saw the light of day on an Easter morning in Weimar, before a congregation for whom its musical and theological significance was probably self-evident. Three centuries later, it poses questions for 21^st-century minds and ears that require serious contemplation, and a willingness to set aside not only our modern perspective but also our expectation that a successful Bach cantata follows an exact formula.

Because BWV 31 stays firmly within its liturgical function, it is puzzling in a way that the more conventional celebration cantatas are not. This is not related to scale, since Der Himmel lacht employs a large orchestra, as well as a 5-part choir (the fifth voice supposedly added later), and these performing forces are what would be anticipated for the greatest celebration of the Christian year. Nor is it related to Bach’s maturity as a composer or to comparison with his later works. By 1715, he had been on his own, first apprenticing and then in formal employment, for nearly two decades. He had already composed undisputed masterpieces, including another Easter cantata, BWV 4. There is no doubt he fully commanded his art. If some of the hallmarks of the later cantata cycles are missing, it is probably due to the different requirements of his Weimar post. Not until Bach arrived in Leipzig did he have the opportunity to single-mindedly pursue his goal of assembling a body of “well-regulated church music”.

The cantata’s unique structure is the mystery: it seems to contradict the celebration associated with Easter Sunday. Following the elaborate and appropriately festive instrumental “sonata” that opens the work and leads into a large-scale choral movement, the mood of jubilation gives way to three vocal solos set as recitative-aria pairs. Musically, the weight lies in the first two movements of the cantata: nothing that comes after balances them, although we would expect (for example) a show-stopping aria or another exultant chorus. The solo movements are shorter and more conservative than those in the Leipzig cantatas; the recitatives are long in comparison with the arias that follow. This “lopsidedness” can result in a tendency to dismiss the recits and arias, and by extension the entire cantata. But this is a Bach cantata, and it is not just about the music.

The text for the cantata is by Salomon Franck, who provided many of Bach’s cantata texts during his tenure in Weimar. Franck was a polymath: a theologian, an attorney, a scientist, an author. His texts are literate and intellectually engaging. Even when there are instances of florid language, the intent is to draw in his listeners through an emotional connection. In Philipp Spitta’s Bach study, he mentions the “transcendental mysticism” that he believes Franck and Bach shared, and he emphasizes that Franck’s text portrays the analogy between the resurrection of Christ and the promise of resurrection for the individual believer, with the arias depicting fundamental Lutheran beliefs. From the perspective of Franck and Bach, it is this idea of personal resurrection attained through belief and the practicing of their faith that directs the cantata’s structure. Celebration is all well and good, but this is the goal.

With all this in mind, we can begin the traversal of BWV 31. The Couraud performance utilizes an aggressive tempo for the opening movement, capturing all the jubilation of Easter morning. The conductor shows the considerable skill as a Bach interpreter that brought him – a Frenchman trained by Boulanger and Munch – to Stuttgart. Balance issues with the recording undermine certain elements such as M. 18-19, where the bass writing recalls the “raining” effect used in the opening of BWV 18, but overall it is a strong account of the movement. Likewise, the coro is excellently performed at a brisk tempo. Regardless of when the fifth vocal part was added, the chorus is a great achievement (“gigantic” is Albert Schweitzer’s adjective) and would make an excellent Easter anthem for a capable choir.

In the best tradition of later highly-contrapuntal choruses, this movement provides challenges for all voice parts, and comes with its own set of riddles. Studying the alto part, it is natural to question a pattern that occurs several times in the A section:

 

Snippet of Movement No. 2 - Soprano I/Soprano II/Alto Parts

 

Similar passages in other voice parts are consistently written in whole steps as shown above. Working with a public domain score from IMSLP, my first thought was that a printing error had crept in along the way as there didn't seem to be a reason for the difference. But not only is the sequence clearly notated in the manuscript, its function becomes apparent in M. 33, where a fugue is developed starting from the bass and adding the higher voices in sequence. The half-step, whole-step pattern in the alto is required to harmonize the chords on the last beat of the measure – it’s a brilliant detail.

The A-A-B-C layout of the chorus presents another puzzle – that of understanding Bach’s thinking in his contrasting settings of the B and C sections. The transition to the adagio B section makes sense – Der sich das Grab zur Ruh erlesen (He who has chosen the grave for rest). But what about the next line Der Heiligste kann nicht verwesen? Just translating it poses a problem – verwesen literally means to decay or decompose. But a literal rendering may not be what is needed given that the writer is trying to satisfy a rhyme scheme. Considering the text of the A section, a free translation of these lines could be “He may have chosen the grave as a resting place, but he, the most holy, cannot be held there”. Bach keeps the two lines together in the adagio, and then uses the second line for the triumphant C section fugue, where repeating the same words in a new musical context invests them with even more potency.

Beginning with the bass, representing the voice of mankind and followed by the tenor, as pastor or teacher and soprano, seeking to become spirit, the solo movements turn the focus to individual death and resurrection, a transition signaled in the lengthy bass recitative.

The bass aria can become plodding if the tempo is not maintained and the soloist fails to inject horizontal movement (as in this performance). The vertical structure of the string accompaniment, intended to convey a regal or stately quality, can work against the singer. The opening statement is followed by a series of three questions which we (in 2013) would expect to be positively stated as affirmations. Through the filters of time, linguistics, and theology, it is difficult to place oneself in Bach’s position viewing this text. Rather than rhetorical questions, these seem to function as an interrogation of one’s own conscience, doubting the proofs to which they testify. A bonus composition lesson from the master is to note how he saves the full realization of the ascending pattern on hochgelobter (M. 8) for the recapitulation (M. 27), craftily maneuvering down a third so that the aria can have an effective vocal climax.

I could not resist ordering this re-issued recording to hear the great Fritz Wunderlich, despite the fact the tenor aria and recitative together are only about 3 minutes of singing. (The 2-CD set contains not just BWV 31 but also Magnificat and Easter Oratorio, so it’s a bargain.) Wunderlich was 26 when this recording was made and the fresh bloom of the voice is simply remarkable. Everything is effortless and natural: occasionally youthful impetuosity rushes over some interpretive details that perhaps may have been performed differently at a later date, but this is a minor quibble. He makes the preachy text palatable with an earnest reading. Marvel at the focus of the soft singing in M.9 of the recitative, or consider the handling of the little scale on flieht in M.13: the combination of perfect technique, consistent tone, forward momentum, balance of vocal weight, and consciousness of the connection between text and music. Listen and learn: how much the world lost when he died at thirty-five.

For the soprano, Franck’s text presents a concise and quietly joyful request for death – this is the most difficult concept in the cantata, one foreign to modern listeners. This aria might not be everyone’s choice to extract for solo use, but it’s a small masterpiece of compositional technique and creativity. Albert Schweitzer describes it as a “death-lullaby”: the obbligato oboe introduces the theme of downwardly cascading eight notes. The voice enters, and then in the accompaniment comes the chorale tune (laid into ¾ time) recalling a verse of the hymn text of Nikolaus Herman ending in Drum fahr ich hin mit Freuden. This is the point – not that one morbidly wants to die, but that in accepting our mortality, we can place our hope in that “last hour” when faith provides reassurance of an existence beyond the earthly world. The sequence of forte-piano passages for the oboe does appear in the extant manuscript from the cantata’s revival in Leipzig; this example can also serve as a guide for performance practice in the many cases where no dynamics are noted.

The final chorale returns to a 4-part chorus, and in an amazing passage, Spitta describes it as “appearing with distinct outlines from out of the dim twilight that has gone before…Bach’s genius consisted in anticipating its melody in the former number…as the flower prepares the way for the fruit.” Tadashi Isoyama’s notes for Suzuki’s recording of BWV 31 beautifully summarize the most distinctive feature of the chorale: “In an exquisite emphasis on the attainment of eternal heavenly life as the true joy of the Resurrection, the first trumpet and first violin soar above the chorus, shimmering like the halo for which the soul waits.”

Puzzles. Mysteries. Looking at the online scans of the surviving manuscript parts for BWV 31, one finds little in the master’s hand. Most of the parts date from later performances of the work, copied over and altered as the performing situation required. Researchers have tried to piece together the likely evolution of the score, but it’s basically a mystery how the cantata managed to arrive in its present-day form. Another puzzle – the cover page is in the writing of Carl Friedrich Zelter, a name familiar to lieder singers, but a man born eight years after Bach’s death. What is the connection? Zelter was a student of Carl Friedrich Fasch, who studied with C.P.E. Bach. This chain of custody for Bach’s musical legacy forged its most critical link when Zelter passed on his love of Bach to a promising young student named Felix Mendelssohn.

BWV 30 - Freue dich, erlöste Schar

Week 30 (13 August – 18 August 2013)

Recording (BWV 30): John Eliot Gardiner, Monteverdi Choir/English Baroque Soloists; Joanne Lunn, soprano; Wilke te Brummelstroete, alto; Paul Agnew, tenor; Dietrich Henschel, bass

Recording (BWV 30a): Helmuth Rilling, Gächinger Kantorei Stuttgart/Bach-Collegium Stuttgart; Christiane Oelze, soprano; Ingeborg Danz, alto; Marcus Ullmann, tenor; Andreas Schmidt, bass

From the first swinging measures of the opening chorus, I knew this would be a particularly enjoyable week. When producing festive music, Bach invested it with an innocent joyousness that foreshadows Mozart and Schubert. Unfettered by any of the burdens he undoubtedly bore, these pieces rise lightly and buoyantly, dispelling the gloom.

 

The provenance of the cantata provides one key to understanding that buoyancy. The music for BWV 30 was composed for a secular occasion less than a year before its “premiere” for St. John’s Day in June 1738. I wasn’t quite sure how to approach this first encounter with a pair of cantatas, one derived from the other. Not as simple as learning the music for BWV 30 and reading the text for BWV 30a as an afterthought – that method showed only a small part of the picture. Ultimately, starting at the beginning, with the original setting, was the best strategy – although it took longer than planned!

 

BWV 30a celebrated the ascendancy of Johann Christian von Hennicke, a self-made man (Albert Schweitzer refers to him as a “parvenu”) to the landed gentry as lord of the manor of Wiederau, a Baroque castle that still stands on the banks of the Elster River southwest of Leipzig. The cantata, Angenehmes Wiederau, utilizes a text by Picander (Henrici) which most commentators indicate was an attempt by the poet to ingratiate himself with the powers that had commissioned the project. Modern readers may find the words laughable (especially in English translation), but the libretto is probably typical for this type of occasion. Great literature wasn’t wanted; rather, conventional expressions of good will, gratitude, and homage to the new resident – hence the description Huldigungskantate.

 

 

Schloss Wiederau

 

What was wanted – expected and demanded – was original music being heard for the first time. It wouldn’t do at all for the attendees to recognize a tune they had just heard in church the week before. Part of the explanation for the huge number of cantatas generated by Bach’s contemporaries Telemann and Graupner is the expectation by their aristocratic employers for an endless supply of “new” music. Quality was a lesser concern: the goal was to have something uniquely theirs each and every time a musical entertainment was provided. For BWV 30a, Bach penned severable unique and memorable tunes. The breezy (but intricate) opening chorus is one of them, and with a sure theatrical instinct, Bach used it to book-end the cantata, changing the text but retaining the music unaltered. I bet the audience left humming this catchy tune – exactly what the composer intended!

 

Technically a dramma per musica (a verse text specifically written to be set to music), the Wiederau cantata specifies “roles”: Time (Soprano), Happiness (Alto - !), the River Elster (Tenor -?), Fate (Bass - of course). Since Wiederau was not a sacred venue, one wonders if Bach employed female singers (the tessitura of the alto aria suggests it was written for a female voice). Christoph Wolff indicates that members of Bach’s Collegium Musicum (a mix of students, talented amateurs, court musicians, and guest artists) were employed for this type of concert, as they were for the weekly public concerts held at Zimmerman’s Coffeehouse in Leipzig. Certainly at an important, “high-visibility” event like the Hennicke installation, Bach would have recruited his best “team”. Each soloist had significant music, both in recitative and aria, and also needed to be comfortable with the (minimal) acting requirements. With the exception of the tenor aria, the solo material all carries over to BWV 30; however, the context is usually completely opposite to the earlier version.

 

BWV 30a was probably intended to be performed keine Pause, whereas the church cantata is split into two sections, the first concluded by a chorale that is absent from the predecessor work. The bass receives the best material in both settings, with a substantial aria in each part of the cantata. His first, florid aria has a similar theme for both cantatas: the birth of St. John in BWV 30, and Hennicke’s arrival in Wiederau in BWV 30a. This challenging aria requires a vocal lightness to negotiate the many sixteenth-note triplet passages with grace, but for the right singer it’s a terrific recital or service offering. The second aria is actually more dramatic in the setting intended for church: the sinner renounces anything that leads him away from God, whereas at Wiederau there is a milder, general promise that Fate will uphold Hennicke and his progeny.

 

Overall, John Eliot Gardiner’s recording doesn’t leave much to be desired, and in his bass soloist, Dietrich Henschel, he has a fine singing actor as well as singer, who captures the contrasting moods. While his voice can occasionally sound pinched (perhaps a function of a vocal technique that also enables precision and agility in the florid passages), at his best Henschel channels the subtlety and coloration of Fischer-Dieskau.

 

Gardiner deems the alto aria to be “the pick of them all – an enchanting gavotte”, and refers to the “boogieing triplets” and the “sheer cheek and elegant cool” of the aria, which is indeed an unique tune and one that is highly enjoyable to sing. Following two repeated 8-bar instrumental motives, the alto enters with the first of four variations on the opening stanza of text. The second stanza gets the “cool” setting (see M. 57 et. seq.) and seems in danger of veering off into another century before being reined back in at M. 61. A lot of fun – but there is a danger of becoming too vertical, not to mention too precious, particularly since the text for BWV 30 – summoning sinners to grace – is not exactly lightweight. Perhaps to reinforce the difference from its secular version, the tempo chosen in at least two cases – by Richter with Anna Reynolds as soloist, and by Lorraine Hunt Lieberson in an Emmanuel Church recording – is extremely slow – almost in half-time compared to the lilting dance tempo employed on most recordings. The technical difficulties in the aria center around phrasing – it’s a good study in managing quick breaths without interrupting the flow of the line – and text: one problem for English speakers is the phrase und schreit, which occurs repeatedly.

 

The BWV 30 aria is a popular choice for Bach solo discs– e.g., Anne Sophie von Otter. However, for recital purposes, the original version could be considered – it’s no different than any opera or oratorio aria. While there does not appear to be a public domain piano-vocal score for BWV 30a, IMSLP has the Breitkopf & Härtel continuo-vocal score so it is possible to line in the alternate text. Note that the aria as written for BWV 30 is not a carbon copy of the secular version: while the text-music match is amazingly well-preserved, there are a couple rhythmic changes to accommodate the stresses of the new words, and in some instances the precise connections could not be retained. For Wiederau, M. 50 and 52 began with triplet scales on the noun Fülle and the adverb reichlich. In the church cantata, the word-painting had to be abandoned: the music sets ihr and auf.

 

The soprano aria begins with a figure reminiscent of the opening of the tenor aria in BWV 7, an earlier cantata for the same liturgical date (Birthday of John the Baptist). But the resemblance is momentary, and the aria goes off in its own unique direction. If used in recital, this piece would benefit from keeping its recitative, which has some nice poetry (for Picander) that is similar in both the Wiederau and sacred settings.

 

An enjoyable moment unique to BWV 30a occurs in the last recitative which employs all four soloists in turn and then as a quartet. The soprano leads off with a colorful vocal and instrumental depiction of lightening and tongues of fire that leaps off the page.

 

 

"Kein Blitz, kein Feuerstrahl" for Wiederau - Only in the Music for BWV 30a

 

In the Wiederau version, the tenor has a brief and effective aria in character as the river. With a couple minor changes (for example, delete Hennickes and substitute Gottes as the reference for the Namen being invoked), this is a tuneful piece without any huge difficulties that would make a nice recital piece. The tenor gets short-changed in the church version, with the master providing only a recitative, but there is possibly a reference therein to the earlier work, der angenehme Tag – the delightful day.

 

It’s delightful to imagine Bach and his musicians travelling down to Wiederau with their music and fancy-dress clothes; setting up for their concert; and performing as the new owner, his friends and his hangers-on sat around the schloss listening to the “world premiere” (possibly very uncomfortable in their elaborate attire on a September evening). Food and drink were undoubtedly plentiful, and the evening was probably a great occasion in the tiny burg, one talked about long after it concluded.

 

If I had unlimited time and a travel budget for this project, I might try to unearth a contemporary account of the event (unlikely – but you never know what diligent research might yield…). There is not even an artist’s impression of that gathering. But some fragile remnants from that era have survived: examples of Hennicke’s Meissen porcelain place settings (that include his newly-minted coat of arms) can be found online – a Hennicke spoon is even in the collection of the Met Museum. Perhaps the plate below was part of the service the night Bach premiered BWV 30a?

 

 

Plate from the Hennicke Meissen Service c. 1740

 

So much has been lost – but we must be grateful for what remains. The original cantata and it’s “protégé”, most of all. And Schloss Wiederau somehow survived two centuries of declining fortunes, WWII, and Communism: it appears to be in the process of restoration, including its stunning trompe l’oeil painted ceiling. The manor is part of the “Bach tour”, and this beautiful area of Saxony looks like it is worth a visit! Maybe next year…

 

BWV 29 - Wir danken dir, Gott, wir danken dir

Week 29 (30 July – 4 August 2013)

Recording: Philippe Herreweghe, Collegium Vocale Gent; Deborah York, soprano; Ingeborg Danz, alto; Mark Padmore, tenor; Peter Kooy, bass

In Johann Sebastian Bach’s Leipzig, separation of church and state was an unknown concept. The annual installation of the town council, or Ratswechsel (literally “council change”), was held in the Nikolaikirche and included liturgically-based music and a sermon. The prosperous merchants and accomplished professionals who comprised the council were a tightly-knit group – vacant seats on the council were offered to prospects by existing members, not filled by public vote – and the yearly change was a rotation rather than a completely new set of governors. A festive and dignified occasion, one can assume that this event required a step up in musical effect from the normal Sunday service, and not surprisingly, Bach rose to the occasion with a piece that contains not just one but two of his “greatest hits”. By the time of BWV 29 (1731), Bach had considerable experience producing this type of music – it’s unknown how many cantatas he composed specifically for a Ratswechsel service, but he had written BWV 71 for this purpose while working in Mühlhausen (1708). Several other extant Leipzig cantatas also owe their origins to this requirement, although given that BWV 29 was subsequently repeated several times it can be assumed that Bach was not expected to produce a new work every year for the council seating.

 

 

View of Nikolaikirche in early 1900's

Even if you don’t think you know this cantata – you do. The sinfonia that opens the work is one of the most famous and frequently-performed Bach tunes, and is a reworking of a movement from an earlier (1720) violin partita (No. 3 in E Major, BWV 1006). As used in the cantata, the sinfonia is scored for organ (taking the violin solo part), strings and brass – the latter adding particularly festive colors. I was lucky enough to participate recently in a service where a world-class organist performed the solo organ version, and let’s just say if you want to introduce someone to Bach – or “classical” music for that matter – it is as good an entry point as you will find. Although not quite in the same league as a live experience, there’s a fine video available online of Dutch organist Willem van Twillert playing the sinfonia on the massive Baroque instrument in the Bovenkerk.

 

The other “greatest hit” of BWV 29 is the choral movement, which, as with BWV 28’s main chorus, is highly influenced by stile antico principles. If the music sounds familiar, it’s because the master subsequently used it almost without alteration in the Mass in b minor: it is the basis for the Gratias and Dona nobis pacem movements. In BWV 29, the words are taken from the German rendering of Psalm 75, but they express the same meaning as the Latin text in the Gratias. The long melismas on the crucial words gloriam  and dona in the Mass develop a weightier, more imposing texture; here, the focal points in shorter florid passages are verkündigen (to proclaim) and Wunder. Other than that, there’s not much difference in the choral parts. The instrumental scoring is likewise consistent between the cantata and the mass.

 

The structure of the cantata suggests that its sequence may have been interspersed with text as well as possibly framing the sermon. The chorus is a tough act to follow: in the Mass, the equivalent movement provides the concluding summation of the entire work. Here, the emphatic final chord would seem to be the cue for someone extremely important to stand up and make a speech. The tenor da capo aria would not seem to flow naturally out of this grandeur. It is a very pleasant and buoyant creation in ABA form, but not a showstopper. Rather long as written, the A section could be extracted to provide a very enjoyable solo (for both singer and audience). This abbreviated version also avoids a high B…just in case you want to.

 

An utilitarian bass secco recitative serves to remind those in attendance from whom all blessings flow. Here again, I don’t feel continuity to the following aria, but suspect perhaps a chorale or hymn occurred, allowing a transition to the sermon. This is all hypothetical, but it’s fun to speculate!

 

Perhaps influenced by needing to set the lovely and powerful word erbarmen, Bach chose for the soprano aria a sicilienne structure reminiscent of Erbarme dich in the St. Matthew Passion (1727). Here the choice of tempo keeps the aria formal and correct, mitigating any tendency for the dotted rhythms to become too dancelike. The aria is quite beautiful and difficult, and would be excellent in church or on a recital program. The section beginning segne die, so uns regieren needn’t be a deterrent – these days I regularly hear those sentiments expressed in pastoral prayers.

 

An unusual device employed in this cantata is the repeat of a solo vocal movement – another indicator the cantata may have been performed in two or more sections. Following the soprano aria and a short alto recitative that features a choral (congregational?) interjection, the alto performs the A section of Halleluja, Stärk und Macht, now in D major and with organ as the obbligato instrument. This is a great aria to use on a recital for the right voice – in the printed key it is already low-lying; in Baroque pitch it requires an authentic contralto (or male alto). Still, it’s a good workout and enjoyable training material for learning to traverse the low regions lightly and joyously, in keeping with the occasion for which it was written.

 

To wrap up the event, the closing chorale is longer and more imposing than in the typical church cantata, again using the brass to heighten the celebratory effect.

 

I thought I should hear that violin partita and went looking for a recording, of which there are many fine ones. But I discovered one needn’t be limited by the original instrument! Mendelssohn arranged the work for violin and piano (yes…it’s a Romantic piano part underlying the Baroque fiddle line…); Rachmaninov adapted it for piano solo. The selection has been recorded using Celtic harp; harp and organ; guitar; marimba; and perhaps most famously for listeners of my generation, the Moog synthesizer version in the 1968 album Switched-On Bach by Wendy Carlos.

 

What would the master have made of all these mutations? As both a keyboardist and string player, he had already decided the music worked equally well in both realms. The permanent assignment of a tune to any one instrument was foreign to how the musical profession worked in his time: if his violin soloist didn’t show up, he couldn’t just call up the orchestra manager and hire a replacement. The solo got assigned elsewhere, to whatever instrumentalist could play it. Likewise, substitutions often had to be made to enable amateur musicians to experience a piece of music; hence the art of arranging, and the evolution of the plethora of choices above.

 

The choice I made was a version with violoncello piccolo which, in another unexpected gift bestowed by this project, led me to a wonderful recording by the great Dutch baroque cellist Anner Bylsma. An interview with Bylsma from 1998 (http://www.cello.org/newsletter/articles/bylsma.htm) completely enthralled me – although targeted to string players, there is much of interest here for all musicians: words of wisdom from someone who obviously takes the music, but not himself, tremendously seriously. For example, this response when asked about various forms of “authenticity” in performing Bach:

 

There is a much better word than “authentic.” It is the word “true.” Somebody plays something and it rings true. It is meant honestly, comes from the heart, and gives pleasure. It's more of a feeling that you must be playing the way the piece was meant to be played. But this feeling never stays with you, since it is very ephemeral.

 

The cantatas are a demanding world – to study, to listen to, and to perform. To achieve what Bylsma describes, to find the way they were meant to be sung and played, can be emotionally and mentally fatiguing due to the amount of information that needs to be processed, and it can take a long, long time to get there. As the past months have taught me, they are also immensely rewarding because of this. But if you want to take a break from climbing that mountain, and lower your blood pressure a few points: pour a glass of merlot, turn down the lights, put on Bylsma’s extremely acoustically-present recording and enter into the essence of Bach. The critical and analytical functions can be put on hold – with playing this inhabited by intellect and experience, there is no point in second-guessing.

BWV 28 - Gottlob! nun geht das Jahr zu Ende

Week 28 (23 July - 28 July 2013)

Recording: Ton Koopman, Amsterdam Baroque Orchestra and Choir; Deborah York, soprano; Bogna Bartosz, alto; Jörg Dürmüller, tenor; Klaus Mertens, bass

John Eliot Gardiner’s Bach Cantata Pilgrimage concluded in December 2000 with a stop in a wintry New York City to perform a group of post-Christmas cantatas, including BWV 28. At this point, his Monteverdi Choir and English Baroque Soloists had been on the road for the greater part of the millennial year. In Sir John’s words, “The music we had spent a year grappling with is technically challenging: it is often a high-wire act demanding phenomenal precision, flexibility and virtuosity...It requires you to soak yourself in the idiom, and you need “Bach miles” on the clock before you feel able to interpret these cantatas with relative ease and full conviction.” I’m starting to understand what he means!

 

Even assuming the instrumentalists and singers in the Thomaskirche had already traversed plenty of “Bach miles” (or kilometers), they had their own high-wire act 275 years earlier. Within an 8-day span, Bach premiered five cantatas: BWV 110, 57, and 151 for Christmas, 26 December and 27 December respectively; BWV 28 for 30 December, the Sunday after Christmas; and BWV 16 for New Year’s Day. None of this music is easy – not even a professional adult choir and soloists would be able to essentially sight-read BWV 28 and come close to a competent performance. Most likely, the majority of music had been completed in time to allow sufficient study and rehearsal; in some cases, extant music from other cantatas or simply the “odds and ends” accumulated in the composer’s desk from his endless and prolific labors may have been used to construct new works. I suspect a study of this group of cantatas would be very instructive concerning Bach’s compositional techniques – but for me, that will have to wait a couple years! Meanwhile, prior to this week, I have experienced only BWV 16 – admittedly one of my favorites so far, and as befits music for a New Year’s celebration, much less restrained than BWV 28. But knowing his plan for BWV 16 may account for Bach’s providing the relatively sedate BWV 28 for the “in-between” service – or vice versa.

The cantata is a song of thanks for the year that is ending. Undoubtedly, misfortunes have been experienced, but in choosing his texts, the composer decides to focus exclusively on the blessings that have occurred. There is a spirit of optimism, reflected in musical settings that alternate between quiet joyfulness and reverence. Gardiner observes that following the choral movement (No. 2), the balance of the cantata is anti-climactic. Musically this may be true, but I can imagine Bach thinking about the “attention span” (to use the modern term) of his listeners, so that the ornate soprano aria and complex chorus naturally lead into more lightweight material. Closing the piece with a familiar chorale, the masses were then released to prepare for New Year’s celebrations.

Opening a cantata with an aria is atypical for Bach, and the text could have been set chorally, so it’s interesting that he decided to start with a movement for soloist. But it’s a bravura piece, and a difficult workout, even for a professional adult soprano. (Listening to the young soloist on Harnoncourt’s recording, it’s questionable what one of Bach’s Thomaskirche lads would have been able to do with this.) With a range of E4↗A6, and concentration in the upper half of that range, the aria requires a high soprano with some heft in the voice. The text requires as much interpretive care as the notes: as an example, the contrasting settings of gedenke and gedenken: sustained in the B section of the aria for the imperative form and then as the foundation of an extended melisma for the infinitive. The aria includes several difficult passages which make excellent exercises: the aforementioned gedenken in M. 92-98 and a tongue-twisting passage in M.105-108. Both excerpts can be used to advantage by all sopranos and (with slight modifications) by altos as well. Although the text is specific to the New Year, the aria could be extracted for service use at that time, subject to the availability of a great accompanist.

The choral movement is characterized as stile antico and its scheme suggests it is a step on the path that leads to the great choruses of the Mass in b minor – the Gratias and Dona nobis pacem (themselves derived from the choral movement in the upcoming BWV 29). Bach appears to have been experimenting with this form, but there is nothing unfinished about this movement. Rather, to quote Hubert Parry, this is a “chorus of vast extent [that] occupies a niche almost by itself.” Monumental is not too strong an adjective, and the more you listen to various recordings, the more it becomes apparent that it is this massiveness that has defeated even the greatest conductors. Manifold details, such as the series of chromatic passages on Hat dir dein Sünd vergeben where one voice hands off to another (M.50 et. seq.) –  and that “forgiveness” resolving in D major at M. 68 only to immediately turn around and modulate through several minor keys to illustrate the second part of the verse (und heilt dein Schwachheit gross). Karl Richter comes closest to realizing something of the composer’s intent, but his large chorus is too overwhelming right from the start. The tempo and dynamic considerations are crucial in building this edifice, and while it is the right length (under 4 minutes) for a church anthem, the complexities and subtleties require more effort on the part of both conductor and singers than is usually achievable in that environment. But if you like singing the fugal portions of the Brahms’ Requiem, you will particularly like the final page of this chorus – which is as “Brahmsian” as anything that came a century and a half later.

The bass recitative and arioso may have been an idea “on the shelf” waiting for an appropriate home: for starters, the text from Jeremiah has nothing to do with the liturgical calendar. It doesn’t quite “feel” like Bach to me, perhaps due to the way in which some of the text is set, and stylistically it seems an odd fit as well. Whereas the tenor recitative is clearly similar to previous moments where the master uses the harmonic progression to amplify the glorification of God. Note the lovely moment in M.6 where the viola underlines the voice on the word herzlich – a detail sincerely and prayerfully brought out in Peter Schreier’s performance for Richter. You will not hear this recitative better sung than in that recording.

The brief (2 minutes on Koopman’s recording) but interesting fifth movement is a dancelike alto and tenor duet that sets the mood for the upcoming New Year’s celebrations. The movement falls neatly into three sections, which could be viewed as the past (thanking God for the previous year); present (the current song of praise); and future (hope for same or better in the coming year). The descending arpeggios in the basso continuo add to the dancing effect. The duet is a great study in every way – from working on maintaining the momentum of melismatic lines and not falling behind on all the tied notes (use ‘em to breathe!), to (for female alto) staying “on the voice” while navigating a difficult portion of the range. Much is to be learned from performing this duet (it can be used for December/January services), but the matching of voices is critical: originally conceived for a male alto and lighter tenor voice, other combinations can encounter problems in balance.

The chorale was probably sung by the congregation as well as the soloists, and musically is almost (but not quite) the same as the closing chorale of BWV 16 which utilizes the same words. The verse is the New Year stanza from the hymn text Helft mir Gotts Güte preisen by Paul Eber, a 16^th-century Lutheran pastor and associate of Reformation leaders. Klaus Hofmann, the commentator for Suzuki’s recording of BWV 29, attributes the tune to Wolfgang Figulus, briefly a Thomaskantor and a contemporary of Eber’s. I have not time or scholarship to determine if that is in fact accurate, but the lovely set of hymnbooks published by Figulus in 1575 contains what appears to be this melody, as well as another setting with Eber’s name attached. The books contain some of the most graceful ornamental lettering and embellishments that I have encountered. Perhaps the designs are not perfect, as could be achieved today with a computer-generated image, but they are beautifully, honestly, human – the relics of a world which, distant from Bach's era and far more so from our own, still looked forward with optimism and faith to a New Year.

 

 

Excerpt from Wolfgang Figulus' Vetera nova carmina sacra (1575)

 

BWV 27 - Wer weiss, wie nahe mir mein Ende

Week 27 (16 July – 21 July 2013)

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

 

When I first saw the title of this cantata, I knew it was not a place I wanted to be this week. However, it came next in the sequence, and somehow, it ended up being completely appropriate.

The subject is death and when it will come for us, with the overarching theme being that we should conduct our lives so that no matter when you are taken, through a life of faith you have done your best to become worthy of salvation. According to Lutheran doctrine you then “die in grace”: the physical remains in the grave and the spirit ascends to heaven to await the resurrection of the perfected body. A tall order to strive for each day of our lives: we all have our inopportune moments, large and small, at which we fall short of that aspiration. Meanwhile, our modern culture continually denies death, suggesting there will be unlimited time to achieve our goals as well as to make amends. But the reality is that on a daily basis we see some who have lived well taken too soon, their potential still left unfulfilled; while others, disintegrating in their own errors, would find it a blessing to be taken but must live out their allotted time to bear the consequences of their actions.

BWV 27 (1726) was written for the same liturgical date as BWV 8 (1724), but the earlier cantata wears its subject of mortality far more lightly. BWV 27 is more solemn in both text and music, less certain of salvation, less confident in convincing us we will be well out of a bad situation when the summons arrives. Compositionally, Bach continued to experiment with new styles and elements – although there are phrases here and there that sound familiar, possibly intentionally referencing earlier work (one of the downsides of this project is that some of the connections that can be made with greater familiarity of the works will have to wait for a later date).

The choral movement that opens the cantata is a creative interweaving of text by the unknown poet with a stanza by the prolific 17^th-century poet Ämilie Juliane von Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt (née Countess of Barby-Mühlingen), another of the rare female characters in this project, but one who as her noble name implies had ample leisure to contemplate scripture and recast it into about 600 hymn texts. In this coro, the interpolated responses, taken in turn by the S/A/T soloists, are quite inventive, particularly the lines for alto – the leap from Hin geht die Zeit, her kommt der Tod to Und endlich kommt es doch so weit/Dass sie zusammentreffen werden is a fine literary device and not obvious. The overshadowing of life by the inevitable is emphasized through repetitions of Tod and Todesnot.

The tenor recitative is straight-forward, and may be a student effort not entirely by Bach. But for singers – listen to Peter Schreier’s clean, definite attack on the high A (M.9) – this is how it’s done.

The “chirpy” (John Eliot Gardiner) alto aria was unapproachable at first. Welcome Death as it stands waiting at the foot of my bed? Are you kidding? A bit too macabre for me. And that last line – which despite various attempts to find an alternate translation, basically says one takes their “plagues” – their troubles – to the grave with them. Who needs to hear (or sing) that? One of the few things we supposedly can look forward to is that when we pass, earthly cares are left behind. Perhaps what is meant is that your problems go to the grave and stay there – they come to an end for you, and also cease to trouble those who are left behind. The long instrumental introduction, originally scored for oboe da caccia and harpsichord, precedes an aria that breaks down into three sections. The end of the third section, Alle meine Plagen, which is highlighted by short but aching descending chromatic segments on Plagen, moves directly into the recapitulation of the first line of text, which can now be informed by that concept of taking the Plagen along with you when you die.

The subject matter and structure of this aria relegate it to the context of the cantata only. For performance, it requires a lighter, brighter alto voice – the tessitura is low, and a deep, woofy sound completely submerges it in woe, not at all what Bach intended. While not joyful like the arias in BWV 8, there is positive acceptance and a true believer’s vision of salvation. The degree of chirpiness I leave to the individual interpreter.

An unusual feature of the bass aria is the abrupt transition between the ruminative statements of Gute Nacht and the “tumultuous” orchestration underlying the repudiation of the Weltgetümmel. This is where the conductor makes a huge difference, in pacing and making the quick changes logical to the listener. While by the time of this recording (1977) Fischer-Dieskau was not fleet-footed on melismas and trills (it’s an excellent illustration of vocal discipline stemming from a solid technique that he gets it to work at all) it’s hard to imagine a better interpretation. For instance, there’s the coloring and buoyancy in the arpeggiated passage in M. 24 – a technical characteristic I’ve never heard in any other voice, but that also appears in his lieder readings. Then the matchless analytical approach that provides the ability to sing that “Good night” in so many different ways: from regret, resignation, or sadness to near-exasperation. It’s conceivable this aria could be extracted and used in recital by the right singer, but it’s not a beginner exercise.

Bach knew good tunes when he heard them – he knew good settings of those tunes as well. With a sure instinct, he placed a five-part setting by mid-17^th-century Leipzig organist and composer Johann Rosenmüller as the closing chorale. It’s a lovely piece, suitable for a memorial service or other somber occasion.

The Richter recording is about as perfect a treatment of this work as I can imagine. Giving this great scholar-artist his due does not in any way diminish subsequent generations of Bach performers. There was a moment in time, following the war, in which German artists who had lived through the 1940’s treated as a sacred duty the interpretation of the composer who, most uniquely theirs, also ultimately belonged to the whole world and was a path back to civilized connection with that world. The performance of these works was serious business to all involved, with an artistic engagement, as profound as any worship, which shines through every one of Richter’s recordings.

The lavish resources brought to bear on this brief and little known piece astound us today: Schreier appearing just for a recitative and a couple solo lines (that could just as easily be allotted to a chorister); the other soloists all huge stars of their era; the precision of Richter’s Münchener Bach-Chor; and his large orchestra – all marshaled and rehearsed to perfection. The conductor, who nursed an ambition to conduct Verdi and Wagner (ja, who doesn’t?), brings an operatic sweep to this work, and his forces are absolutely committed to each gesture. True, it’s not historically informed in the musicological sense, at a time when Harnoncourt and others were taking what Richter’s work had kept active in the repertoire and were imposing authentic practice “rules” on it. But on that topic, I love this Richter quote, included in his New York Times obituary: “You can’t live by rules alone. People make rules because they have no lives.”

In thinking about this cantata, and the quality of this specific performance, I wanted to learn more about Richter’s career and life, most particularly his early death at the age of 54 – an age I have within my sights and which no longer seems “old” in any respect. According to remembrances of his contemporaries, at the time of his fatal heart attack in 1981, Richter had been “preoccupied with presentiments of death” for some years. Maybe that lies behind the darkness that I sense in this recording – beneath every word and note he so carefully crafted from the podium, perhaps Richter was personally confronting the ideas that permeate this cantata, somehow knowing he was not to be blessed with “old” age.

Nevertheless, he achieved immortality – at least as far as it is possible for mortals to guarantee it – not only in his many recordings, but in a track included on that Voyager Golden Record mentioned back in the notes for BWV 25. A movement from Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 2 conducted by Maestro Richter is “somewhere out there” beyond our solar system, launched into the unknown the same year as this cantata recording was made.

 

Karl Richter in the 1970's

 

BWV 26 - Ach wie flüchtig, ach wie nichtig

Week 26 (9 July– 14 July 2013)

Recording: Helmuth Rilling, Gächinger Kantorei Stuttgart/Bach-Collegium Stuttgart; Arleen Auger, soprano; Doris Soffel, alto; Adalbert Kraus, tenor; Philippe Huttenlocher, bass

Although two of the original “rules” of the cantata-a-week project were to not work ahead and to never look back once finished, I have abandoned the latter entirely (it’s too enjoyable hanging out with old friends), and with BWV 26 the former. Several weeks ago, while working on BWV 25, I put in the CD of Helmuth Rilling’s recording, which contains several cantatas in BWV order. I was multi-tasking and just let the CD play on after the conclusion of BWV 25. Immediately, the opening chorus of BWV 26 startled me into full attention – what exactly was going on in this fantastic music? The movement was over before I could realize what had happened, and an extremely florid, punishing tenor aria had started. No surprise there, but what was the context? I decided to make a compromise and listen again, but not do anything more until it was actually time to work the cantata.

Then came the 4^th of July, a trip to New York City, and a week off from Bach. So I had to wait to dive into the world of Ach, wie flüchtig. The wait was generously rewarded.

Something about the style of the words recalled a comment I previously made about the unknown poet “working overtime”. Looking back in the notes, that observation was made on BWV 5, and revisiting that text side by side with BWV 26, I suspect that if you found the author of one, you would also find the author of the other. It’s no coincidence that both cantatas were apparently composed in the same period (mid-late 1724). Both start from a textually solid chorale verse and expand its theme in a unified narrative that employs more sophisticated language and richer metaphor than the average cantata text. The content and sequence of the recitatives and arias are carefully thought out and executed. Structurally there are certain similarities: for example, both texts include tenor and bass arias which use the same rhyme scheme.

In response to this strong textual foundation, Bach produced a pearl without flaw. Within its context, this piece is a perfect work of art. I’m realizing more and more that this can be said of many of the cantatas, but it is especially true in those cases where a superior text was mated with evocative music.

The opening chorus that first caught my attention depicts the brevity and insignificance of man’s earthly existence in multiple ways: first, the movement itself is brief, clocking in at around 2.5 minutes. The rapidly ascending and descending instrumental passages, occasionally moving in opposition, create an evanescent and swirling quality, ein Nebel bald enstehet/Und auch wieder bald vergehet – an effect which can be enhanced through managing dynamics. The marcato choral passages in the three lower voices are short, jagged phrases set against the cantus firmus in the soprano. However, the phrase Ach wie flüchtig, ach wie nichtig takes some not-so-brief practice for non-German speakers – exaggerating the naturally stressed syllables helps.

Some Bach arias have little melismas included for word-painting and rhythmic variety. The tenor aria So schnell ein rauschend Wasser schiesst is a melisma with a little aria surrounding it. So you think you can sing con agilita? Maybe you will think again after looking at this. The facility required to sing this music is not something everyone can develop, no matter how much you practice. Among the pitfalls are extended passages meant to be in rhythmic unison with the flute and/or violin – extremely difficult to accomplish and extremely obvious when it doesn’t happen. Then there are the ascending passages that need to gracefully top out in a high G or A that does not become a yelp. And finally, getting it right one time is not enough, so the dal segno repeats all of the really hard stuff again. It falls in the category of “many are called but few are chosen”, and the chosen ones simply do it naturally.

Having first heard this cantata performed by Rilling, I stayed with that recording for this week, and with Adalbert Kraus he has perhaps the finest recorded performance of this aria. It just all flows out, in perfect time and apparently without effort, at a tempo that definitely bolsters the watery imagery. Bach has used the voice instrumentally but also expressively. As with what could be considered a sister aria in BWV 5, the fluidity of the vocal line illustrates rapidly flowing waters, in the present case of water accelerating as it approaches the edge of a waterfall where it will lose its continuity (i.e., identity), separating into droplets. This aria is a terrific exercise: not many will come anywhere near Kraus’ innate ability, but you will be considerably improved (and humbled) by trying.

The alto recitative begins with a characteristic melisma on Freude. What I have been attempting to do here is accelerate through the first three-quarters of the phrase and then put the brakes on at the end as joy turns to sadness – I’m still working on that and will be for…awhile. The recitative can be broken down into the three “inevitability” statements, the acknowledgment of the inexorable workings of time, and the finality of the grave that annihilates (vernichtet) even the greatest of human endeavors. This is a challenging recitative, serving a keystone function in the cantata, and requiring careful consideration of the text: for this reason it is also a good piece to practice from memory.

The bass aria, (like its BWV 5 counterpart, Verstumme, Höllenheer), uses repetition to emphasize a single word, Verführung (seduction), but this is hardly the only point the composer makes. Once again the difference in the raw materials available to Bach when given such colorful words as törichten, wallenden, zerschmettert translates into an atmospheric and memorable aria. For an interesting illustration of how tempo illuminates music, compare the Richter and Rilling performances of this aria. Richter’s faster tempo produces an urgent, ominous quality from the outset; however, the tempo should in part be dictated by the speed at which the soloist feels comfortable with the melismatic passages, and Theo Adam has trouble staying on top (or ahead) of the freight train. The tempo chosen by Rilling and his soloist, Philippe Huttenlocher, is slower but the interpretation is more subtle: from a vertical, thoroughly “Lutheran” B section, the soloist emerges in the C section with a more dramatic interpretation, encouraged by the rauschen und reissen of the continuo. The B’ recapitulation further intensifies the warning of the text, and with a long descending figure on törichten neatly ties the text together before the instrumental dal segno.

The soprano recitative is one that may not have been written by Bach – I suspect that if there had been time to get to it, the master would have done better by a phrase like entgeht dem Staub und Asche nicht. The entire passage, describing the ultimate destruction by death of those who fancy themselves kings on earth, would seem to require at least as much elaboration as used in the alto recitative; however, this is just a standard recitative – perhaps the only slight blemish in the pearl. The closing chorale provides contrast to the opening movement, especially if a majestically slow tempo is used. The cantata began with the frenetic exposition of human inconsequence; here it ends with the grounded reminder that the only path away from nothingness is through faith in eternal life through God.

Unlike most of the previous cantatas, BWV 26 does not lend itself to extracting arias or choral movements – it is such a cohesive whole that the components by themselves can’t reach true fulfillment without their framework, without the inherent logic of what came before and what follows. And like its subject, the cantata passes ever so swiftly: at only fifteen minutes in length you wish there somehow could be more. But that's the point - what there is, is just right. Add anything else and the sphericity is destroyed. So add this small but perfect pearl to the string, tie the knot, and open the next oyster.