Johann Sebastian Bach: Cantatas BWV 179 — 199, 113
Magdalena Kožená, soprano; William Towers, alto; Mark Padmore, tenor; Stephan Loges, bass; Monteverdi Choir; English Baroque Soloists/John Eliot Gardiner
BBC OPUS ARTE OA 0816D [127:00]
The sheer audacity of it. In 2000, John Eliot Gardiner conceived a pilgrimage—not metaphorical but actual, literal, week-by-week traversal of Bach’s entire sacred cantata output, performed in churches across Europe and New York over fifty-two weeks. The logistical nightmare alone would have deterred most conductors.
Three or four cantatas learned each week, new venues, travel, the accumulated exhaustion of sustained intensity. That Gardiner and his musicians actually accomplished this borders on the miraculous—or perhaps the obsessive, which in matters of Bach may amount to the same thing. This DVD captures one concert from St.
David’s Cathedral in Wales, presenting BWV 179, 199, and 113, along with an hour-long documentary tracking the pilgrimage. The documentary proves revelatory: you watch faces drawn tighter as the weeks accumulate, Gardiner himself visibly gaining weight (the camera doesn’t lie), yet the commitment deepening rather than fraying. By the final New York concert, these musicians look both exhausted and transfigured.
But the music itself—ah, that’s where Testament has preserved something extraordinary. The evening’s centerpiece is BWV 199, “Mein Herze schwimmt im Blut,” for solo soprano and orchestra. Magdalena Kožená delivers what I can only call a definitive interpretation.
She doesn’t merely sing this cantata; she inhabits it with her entire physical being. The opening recitative already announces her intentions—this will be no polite, well-mannered Bach performance. Her voice, that distinctive timbre with its smoky lower register and radiant upper reaches, serves the text’s anguished penitence without a trace of mere display.
“Stumme Seufzer, stille Klagen” becomes, in Kožená’s realization, one of those performances you measure other singers against for years afterward. Marcel Ponseele’s oboe obbligato—his instrument’s reedy, slightly nasal baroque timbre perfectly balanced against the voice—creates a dialogue of such intimacy that the cathedral’s vast spaces seem to contract. The technical demands are considerable: Bach writes long, arching phrases that require both stamina and control.
Kožená manages them with apparent ease, though the documentary reveals the toll such singing exacts. What distinguishes her approach is the use of dynamics and — well — rubato within Bach’s strict framework. She’ll swell on a particularly charged word, then pull back to near-whisper—all without disrupting the underlying pulse that Gardiner maintains.
It’s interpretive freedom exercised with such musical intelligence that you never question it. Her German diction, too, deserves mention: clear, idiomatic, with consonants that articulate meaning rather than merely fulfilling a linguistic requirement. The two chorale cantatas frame BWV 199 effectively.
BWV 179, “Siehe zu, dass deine Gottesfurcht,” opens the program with its stern warnings against hypocrisy. Stephan Loges brings appropriate gravity to the bass aria “Liebster Gott, erbarme dich,” though I found his tone occasionally covered in the lower register—the cathedral’s acoustic may share responsibility here. Mark Padmore, by contrast, sings with that distinctive English clarity of line, his tenor focused and articulate in “Falscher Heuchler Ebenbild.”
BWV 113, “Herr Jesu Christ, du höchstes Gut,” closes the concert.
The Monteverdi Choir sounds tired—understandably so, given the pilgrimage’s demands—but their fatigue paradoxically serves the chorale’s penitential character. The opening fantasia, with its elaborate instrumental writing, receives a performance of controlled intensity. William Towers contributes a sensitive account of the alto aria “Fürwahr, wenn mir das kömmet — ein,” though his voice lacks the distinctive color that Padmore and Kožená bring to their contributions.
Gardiner’s direction throughout maintains his characteristic briskness without sacrificing clarity. The English Baroque Soloists play with that slightly raw-edged vitality that distinguishes period instrument execution at its best—this isn’t the smoothed-over, gentrified baroque of some ensembles. Tempos feel right, which is to say they feel inevitable rather than imposed.
The continuo section, particularly, deserves praise for its alertness and flexibility. The documentary portion proves more than mere supplement. Watching these musicians work through the year—we visit twelve cities along the route—you witness something like a collective spiritual exercise.
Gardiner speaks with characteristic intensity about Bach’s weekly compositional obligation, how these cantatas represent not just supreme artistry but practical, liturgical necessity. The parallel with his pilgrimage becomes explicit: both composer and performers serving something larger than personal ambition. One regret haunts this release.
Deutsche Grammophon’s decision to abandon plans for releasing the complete recorded pilgrimage represents a genuine loss to the catalog. The recordings exist—all of them, apparently—and one hopes that eventually they’ll find their way to release. The performances documented here suggest what we’re missing.
The video direction remains unobtrusive, serving the music rather than imposing itself. Camera angles occasionally reveal instrumental details—Ponseele’s embouchure, the violinists’ bowing—that illuminate the performance without distracting from it. The sound quality, both in concert footage and documentary, meets professional standards, though the cathedral acoustic creates occasional balances that favor the company over soloists.
This DVD belongs in any serious Bach collection, full stop. Kožená’s BWV 199 alone justifies the purchase—it’s that remarkable. But the complete program, combined with the documentary’s insights into this quixotic, magnificent enterprise, creates something rarer: a document of musical devotion that transcends mere documentation.
Gardiner’s pilgrimage may have been mad, but it was the productive madness that sometimes yields art of the highest order.
