Johann Sebastian Bach: Cantatas — Volume 15
Cantata No. 40, “Darzu ist erschienen der Sohn Gottes,” BWV 40; Cantata No. 60, “O Ewigkeit, du Donnerwort,” BWV 60; Cantata No.
70, “Wachet! betet! betet!
wachet!,” BWV 70; Cantata No. 90, “Es reißet euch ein schrecklich Ende,” BWV 90 Yukari Nonoshita, soprano; Robin Blaze, countertenor; Gerd Türk, tenor; Peter Kooij, bass Bach Collegium Japan/Masaaki — Suzuki BIS CD-1111 [67:35] The question that haunts every Bach cantata project—and there have been many—is whether the director understands that less can be more. Masaaki Suzuki understands.
This fifteenth volume in his ongoing traversal of the sacred cantatas brings together four works from late 1723, Bach’s first full year in Leipzig, when the composer was still finding his footing with a new job, new forces, and the relentless weekly demands of the liturgical calendar. These aren’t the most famous cantatas in the repertoire. But Suzuki treats them with the same scrupulous attention he’s brought to the entire series, and the results—recorded at Kobe Shoin Women’s University in September 2000—repay that care handsomely.
The instrumental forces are deliberately modest: twelve choral singers, three to a part, and a chamber-sized company that never overwhelms. Some will object to this approach, preferring the fuller sound of Gardiner’s English Baroque Soloists or the more robust textures Koopman sometimes favors. But Suzuki’s restraint serves a purpose.
Listen to the opening aria of BWV 60 — where the countertenor enters against those gently sighing strings—the balance is exquisite, each strand of the polyphonic texture audible without artificial spotlighting. The engineering helps, of course (BIS rarely disappoints), but the fundamental conception is Suzuki’s. His soloists form an ensemble in the truest sense.
Robin Blaze, whose countertenor has darkened slightly since his early recordings, brings an almost baritonal richness to his lower register while maintaining the ethereal purity one wants in this repertoire. He’s become one of the indispensable Bach singers of his generation—no mean feat in a crowded field. Peter Kooij deserves special mention.
His brief aria “Höllische Schlange” in BWV 40 is a marvel of fluid legato and dramatic inflection, the kind of singing that makes you forget about vocal craft and simply listen to the words. Too many basses in this repertoire sound earthbound, even stolid. Kooij’s voice has an uncommon liquidity—he can negotiate Bach’s sometimes ungainly melismas with an ease that suggests natural speech rather than athletic display.
In BWV 70, the aria “So löschet in Eifer der rachende Richter,” where he’s paired with obbligato trombone, he matches the instrument’s burnished timbre without trying to outshout it. That takes intelligence and restraint. Gerd Türk remains one of the most reliable Bach tenors working today.
His voice isn’t large—it never has been—but he knows how to shape a phrase, where to lean into a dissonance, when to let the line simply unfold. He appears frequently on this disc and never disappoints. Yukari Nonoshita, the soprano, has less to do (only one solo in BWV; 70), but what she does is done with precision and a pleasingly unforced tone.
The choral singing is lean but never undernourished. Suzuki’s twelve singers produce a sound that’s transparent enough to reveal inner voices yet substantial enough to project the architecture of Bach’s counterpoint. The opening chorus of BWV 70, “Wachet!
betet! betet! wachet!,” with its urgent repeated imperatives, crackles with energy—the small forces paradoxically create greater intensity than many larger ensembles manage.
One could quibble with certain tempo choices. The opening movement of BWV 90 feels slightly cautious, as if Suzuki were holding back when a more assertive approach might heighten the text’s warning of divine judgment. And occasionally—very occasionally—one wants a bit more color from the continuo players, a sharper rhetorical edge in the recitatives.
But these are minor reservations in the face of such consistent accomplishment. Suzuki’s Bach cantata cycle, now well past its midpoint, has established itself as probably the most distinguished complete disc project since… well, since ever.
You can almost hear the rosin dust settling on the strings.
Rilling’s pioneering set has historical importance but sounds dated. Gardiner’s pilgrimage year recordings are magnificent but incomplete. Koopman’s cycle is more uneven.
Suzuki just keeps delivering volumes of this quality, year after year. The four cantatas here may not be household names, but they contain some extraordinary music—the dialogues between Fear and Hope in BWV 60, the vivid pictorialism of BWV 40’s opening chorus, the eschatological urgency of BWV 90. Suzuki and his musicians serve this music with devotion that never tips into piety, scholarship that never sounds academic, and technical mastery that never calls attention to itself.
This is Bach playing of the first order. Essential listening for anyone following this series, and a fine entry point for those just discovering it.
