Bach Family: Motets
Works by Johann Christian Bach (1642–1703), Johann Bach (1604–73), Johann Michael Bach (1648–94), Johann Christoph Bach, and Johann Ludwig Bach (1677–1731).
Choir of Clare College, Cambridge; Timothy Brown, director. Liz Kenny, theorbo; Helen Gough, bass violin; Karl Dexter, organ.
Regis RRC 1045. Recorded 1995, St. Bartholomew’s, Orford. Compact disc, 53:52.
A Dynasty beyond the Cantor
One forgets—or perhaps never quite grasps—that Johann Sebastian Bach emerged from a musical clan that stretched back generations. The Bachs weren’t merely talented; they were, in their Thuringian fastness, a kind of musical guild, passing down craft secrets like medieval masons. This Regis disc, recorded at St. Bartholomew’s, Orford, in 1995, offers a glimpse into that pre-Johannine world, and what a revelation it is.
Timothy Brown and the Choir of Clare College, Cambridge, have given us eleven motets by four Bach relatives—great-uncle, cousins, even the father-in-law. The programming itself shows intelligence. We begin with Johann Christian Bach (1642–1703, not the London Bach), move through Johann Bach (1604–73), then encounter Johann Michael and Johann Christoph before concluding with Johann Ludwig. The chronological spread matters because you can hear the family style evolving, growing more complex, more assured in its command of double-choir sonorities.
The revelation here is Johann Bach’s “Unser Leben ist ein Schatten.” Lord, what a piece. It opens with these furtive, shadowy gestures—solo voices darting in and out like bats at dusk, sudden silences that make you hold your breath. The text speaks of life’s transience, and the music doesn’t merely illustrate; it embodies that flickering quality. Liz Kenny’s theorbo and Helen Gough’s bass violin provide the barest harmonic skeleton, but that’s precisely right. More would be vulgar. The vocal writing exploits what I can only call a palette of grays—not monochrome, but infinitely subtle gradations of darkness and half-light. That abrupt ending, though? I’m still not convinced it works. It feels almost like the page was torn off midsentence.
Johann Christoph Bach’s “Ich lasse dich nicht” shows the family’s increasing comfort with larger architectural forms. The piece builds its argument methodically—almost too methodically at first—but then suddenly flowers into passages of considerable expressive warmth. You can hear, quite clearly, the musical DNA that would eventually produce the Well-Tempered Clavier‘s fugues. The harmonic language is conservative by later standards, yes, but within those conventions there’s real invention.
Brown has assembled roughly twelve singers here, which sounds impossibly sparse for double-choir motets until you actually hear the results. The ensemble’s blend is extraordinary—matched vowels, synchronized breathing, that peculiarly English clarity of diction that never sounds prissy. They tackle Johann Ludwig Bach’s “Das ist meine Freude” with its athletic vocal writing, and you never sense strain. The quick middle section of “Unsere Trübsal” (that contrite opening phrase repeated, varied, deepened) receives a performance that understands the difference between mere repetition and genuine intensification.
The recorded sound is perhaps a touch dry for my taste, though it does reveal every strand of the contrapuntal texture. Karl Dexter’s organ contributions are so discreet as to be nearly subliminal—which is as it should be. This isn’t about instrumental display.
What strikes me most forcefully is how these pieces refuse to be mere historical curiosities. Johann Michael Bach’s “Herr, du lässest mich erfahren” anticipates his son-in-law’s techniques—that sturdy chorale melody emerging from florid solo work—but it’s not a primitive sketch for later masterpieces. It stands on its own terms, speaks in its own voice.
The disc runs just under fifty-four minutes, and I found myself wishing for more. That’s always the sign of successful music-making. Brown and his singers have done scholarly work here, but they’ve never let scholarship trump musical conviction. These performances breathe. They sing. They remind us that musical greatness, even in one family, can take many forms—and that the shadow cast by Johann Sebastian, however long, needn’t obscure the light his relatives generated on their own.
A fine achievement, this. Worth far more than the ten US dollars Regis was asking.
