Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750)
Glorious Bach – DVD
Cantata No. 61, Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland, BWV 61
Cantata No. 147, Herz und Mund und Tat und Leben, BWV 147
Magnificat in D Major, BWV 243
Christine Schäfer, soprano; Anna Korondi, soprano; Bernarda Fink, alto; Ian Bostridge, tenor; Christopher Maltman, baritone
Concentus Musicus Wien/Nikolaus Harnoncourt
Arnold Schoenberg Choir/Erwin Ortner
Recorded 2000, Kloster Melk Benedictine Monastery, Austria
BRILLIANT (originally TDK) DV-ADCNH [82 min.]
Harnoncourt has always been a moveable feast.
Those of us who followed his complete cantata cycle with Leonhardt in the 1970s and ’80s—boys and men; only, lean instrumental forces, that fierce angular urgency—might feel a certain whiplash watching this Melk Abbey concert from 2000. Here’s a choir of forty or fifty. Women everywhere.
The Concentus Musicus swelled to some thirty players. Has he gone soft? Not exactly.
What Harnoncourt has done, really, is acknowledge that dogma makes for dull religion. Bach himself was pragmatic about forces when circumstances allowed—and the Magnificat, after all, practically demands a certain heft. This isn’t a retreat to Romantic bloat; the period instruments remain, the articulation stays crisp, the rhetoric pointed.
But there’s breath in these performances, space for the music to expand into the baroque splendor of that extraordinary abbey church. The visual element matters more than one might expect. Seeing Harnoncourt’s physical engagement—those economical gestures that somehow contain both precision and — well — freedom—clarifies much about the performances.
He doesn’t conduct at the musicians; he breathes with them. The camera work is intelligent enough to show us what matters: the oboist’s embouchure during the tender “Seufzer, Tränen, Kummer, Not” from BWV 21 (wait, wrong cantata—these are 61 and 147), the violin section’s unanimity of bowing in the famous chorale from 147. Ian Bostridge is the revelation here, though “revelation” seems the wrong word for someone we already knew was extraordinary.
In the opening movement of BWV 61—”Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland”—his tenor has that peculiar combination of fervor and restraint that this Advent music requires. Yes, he looks uncomfortable. Tense shoulders, that odd hunched posture.
One worries, frankly, about vocal longevity when the physical apparatus seems so at war with itself. But the sound that emerges! Focused, pure, with just enough vibrato to warm the tone without romanticizing it.
His duet with Schäfer in the same cantata—”Komm, Jesu, komm zu deiner Kirche”—achieves that rare quality of sounding both intimate and liturgical. These aren’t operatic lovers; they’re theological interlocutors. The slight breathiness in Schäfer’s upper register (is it the acoustics of Melk, or a deliberate choice?) adds vulnerability without sacrificing clarity.
Schäfer herself commands attention throughout. Her “Bereite dir, Jesu, noch itzo die Bahn” has the right combination of anticipation and serenity—not easy to pull off. She understands that Bach’s soprano lines are architectural, not merely decorative.
Each phrase has weight and direction. The Magnificat brings different challenges. Here the scale expands, the textures thicken, and one gets a clearer sense of what Harnoncourt has been after with these larger forces.
The opening chorus blazes—those trumpet fanfares (natural trumpets, one assumes, given the slight waver in intonation that’s actually rather thrilling) cut through the choral texture without overwhelming it. The Arnold Schoenberg Choir, prepared by Erwin Ortner, sings with remarkable unanimity of vowel color while maintaining individual clarity. This is no small feat in that resonant acoustic.
The trio “Suscepit Israel”—Schäfer, Korondi, and Bernarda Fink—is exquisite. Fink’s alto has that dark, almost plummy quality that grounds the other two voices. The oboes weave around them like illuminated marginalia.
One wishes the camera had lingered here longer instead of cutting to audience reaction shots (a persistent irritant throughout). Christopher Maltman sounds slightly out of his element, if we’re being honest. His “Quia fecit mihi magna” has the notes — certainly, but lacks the kind of theological gravitas that, say, a Matthias Goerne might bring.
The voice is handsome enough—warm, well-projected—but Bach’s bass-baritone writing demands more than handsomeness. Still, he doesn’t embarrass himself. The famous chorale from BWV 147—”Jesus bleibet meine Freude,” though we really shouldn’t use that German title since Bach didn’t—gets a reading that avoids sentimentality while remaining affecting.
Harnoncourt’s tempo is judicious, neither rushed nor wallowing. The strings’ articulation is clean without being brittle. One hears the dance in this music, which so many performances bury under layers of false piety.
Technical quibbles: the audio engineering is distinguished, capturing both the immediacy of the performers and the bloom of Melk’s acoustic. The video direction could be more sophisticated—too many generic audience shots, not enough focus on instrumental detail. And why, in 2000, is the image quality merely adequate rather than exceptional?
But these are cavils. What we have here is Harnoncourt at a fascinating transitional moment, having shed some early-music orthodoxies without abandoning the insights that made him revolutionary in the first place. The performances have authority, spiritual depth, and—not least—beauty of sound.
Bostridge alone makes this essential viewing for anyone interested in Bach interpretation practice at the turn of the millennium. The Brilliant reissue (originally released on TDK) makes this available at bargain price. At full price it would be recommendable.
That particular brightness of period instruments catches the ear.
At Brilliant’s typical pricing, it’s nearly obligatory for Bach collectors.
