Luogo e data di registrazione		Predikherenkerk, Leuven (Belgium) - February 2008
	Registrazione: live / studio		studio
	Recording Staff		Eckhard Steiger
	Prima Edizione CD		ACCENT - ACC 25308 - (1 CD) - durata 65' 01" - (p) 2008 (c) 2009 - DDD
	Note		-

COMMENTARY on the cantatas presented here Cantatas BWV 13 – 73 – 81 – 144 The Cantatas BWV 13 – 73 – 81 – 144 were written for the second, third, fourth and fifth Sundays after Epiphany (the fifth is also known as Septuagesima). The Cantatas 73, 81 and 144 were composed for three succeeding Sundays in Leipzig (at the end of January and the beginning of February 1724), and Cantata 13, on the other hand, appeared two years later. “Meine Seufzer, meine Tränen”, BWV 13 for the second Sunday after Epiphany (the 20th January 1726). Bach’s autograph of this Cantata bears the title Concerto da Chiesa. This reminds us how Bach himself specifically liked to associate his cantatas with the Italian concertante style. The text is by Georg Chr. Lehms, who was the court poet in Darmstadt between 1710 and 1717. Lehms wrote four years of cantata texts, of which Bach set a good dozen from the first year (Gottgefälliges Kirchen-Opffer, 1711). Lehms’s style, typical of the Baroque, is ‘artificial’. He combined themes from the obligatory church lessons with sought after illustrative language. The poet has only retained certain ‘echos’ from the lessons for the Second Sunday after Epiphany (the Epistle to the Romans 12, 6 and the story of the Marriage at Cana from John). Jesus’s remark to Mary in the Gospel according to St. John, “my hour is not yet come”, was directed at the disciples, who at first waited in vain but finally had full confidence in God’s help. At the same time, a portrait of the wine and waterpot from the wedding at Cana was also used (cup of grief, wormwood juice, wine of joy). Bach has interposed the two chorales (nos. 3 and 6 in the Cantata, texts from 1626 and 1646). The Cantata is divided into two parts, the first dealing with the painful waiting and imploring, the second (from the middle of no. 4, “Doch, Seele, nein” – “Yet no, o soul”) with confidence in trust in God. The first movement is a wonderfully emotional tenor aria (“Meine Seufzer, meine Klagen” – “My sighs, my tears”) with two recorders, oboe da caccia and basso continuo. The key of D minor is very appropriate for this Lamento. Both recorders support each other almost continually; the oboe da caccia is used rather as a violin part set against the solo singer. It has frequent long melismas, and as such is nearly the most important soloist. The opening motif of the singer, introduced by the two recorders, illustrates the sighing and weeping, while the oboe da caccia immediately takes on its individual solo role. In the second part, the repeated motifs on “täglich Wehmut” (“daily melancholy”) and “Jammer” (“grief”) are particularly expressive. The descending line for the tenor on “Weg zum Tode” (“way to death”), and the chromaticism for the recorders on “So muss uns diese Pein” (“so must this pain for us”) should also be noted. There follows a secco-recitativo for alto (“Mein liebster Gott” – “My dearest God”), which is very lyrical in colour. The closing ‘a tempo’ on “flehen” (“implore”) illustrates for us, through widely jumping intervals, the futile search in all directions: God is nowhere to be found... The alto goes further in a figured Chorale with string accompaniment (no. 3). The Chorale is doubled by the wind instruments and sung quite simply; each verse is separate. The text, by Joh. Heermann (1626), insinuates how God (almost with ‘malicious pleasure’) withdraws His trust from the faithful. A cheerful gavotte-like dance music can actually be heard in the strings. God enjoys Himself without pity, while mankind seeks Him hopelessly and in vain. This mise en scène is almost unbearable, the contrast being shown incredibly sharply; one almost thinks of a ‘dance of death’ from earlier times. Afterwards, the soprano takes on the lament for the loss of trust in the secco recitativo (no. 4). “Mein Jammerkrug ist ganz mit Tränen angefüllet” (“My cup of grief is completely filled with tears”), wrote Lehms. And then at last comes the longed-for turning point: Enough now, o my soul, remember that God can change lamentation into joy... Though someone who now hopes for a joyful aria will be disappointed. In the Aria (no. 5) pain and lamentation is still (tremendously urgently) portrayed – and only in order to explain how even this cannot help “der Sorgen Krankheit” (“the disease of sorrow”). The bass portrays “Ächzen und erbärmlich Weinen” (“Groaning and pitifully weeping”) with impassioned intervals; an instrumental descant with a strange sound (both recorders in unison doubled by a solo violin) combines with the solo voice after a long introduction. The second part of the text again takes up the positive outlook which comes from trust in God. There appears “ein Freudenlicht in der Trauerbrust” (“a light of joy in a heart of sorrow”), in which plaintive intervals give way to more peaceful lines, but with an unaltered basic tempo in the basso continuo – the picture of changes in destiny, presented on the ever unchanging course of time. Through the repetition of the first part of the text the listener is directed back to the earthly vale of tears. The Cantata ends with a simple four-part Chorale (no. 6) (text by Paul Fleming, 1646) on a very wellknown melody, in which we are summoned to be tolerant and to trust in God’s counsel. “Herr, wie du willt, so schick’s mit mir”, BWV 73 for the third Sunday after Epiphany (Leipzig, 23rd January 1724 – thus in the first year of Bach’s appointment as Thomaskantor). The lessons for this day are, on the one hand, another instalment from the Epistle to the Romans ch. 12, 17-21 with further rules of life, and, on the other hand, from the Gospel according to St. Matthew ch. 8, 1-13. This passage from St. Matthew tells of great multitudes following Jesus when he came down from the mountain. There came to him a leper, who had heard the Sermon, and he knelt down before Jesus and said: “Wenn du willst, Herr, kannst du mich reinigen” (Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean”), whereupon Jesus put forth his hand, saying “Ich will, werde rein!” (“I will; be thou clean”). Immediately, his leprosy was cleansed. After this, a centurion (an important rank in the Roman army) from Capernaum came to him and begged him to heal his sick servant, who lieth at home. Jesus said he would come and heal him, to which the centurion answered gratefully “Herr, ich bin nicht würdig dass du zu mir kommst – aber sprich nur ein einziges Wort und mein Knecht wird genesen sein” (“Lord, I am not worthy that Thou shouldest come under my roof: but speak the word only, and my servant shall be healed”). Jesus praised the great faith of the centurion and said to him “gehe, wie du geglaubt hast” (“Go thy way; and as thou hast believed”) – and his servant was healed in the selfsame hour. The anonymous poet took his material from this Gospel story. Both stories had a strong effect on the minds of the people, for it illustrated the mystery of faith in a vividly didactic way. Here the poet surprises us by not speaking in the expected ‘proverbial’ way (recovery from illness through faith), but symbolically aims at the faith in Jesus and the omnipotence and goodness of God as the “Weg zur Genesung” (“path to recovery”) of our “geistigen Krankheit” (“spiritual sickness”) in the hour of our death, as A. Dürr so strikingly puts it. Bach’s setting is very close to the poem and uses its structure. The text of the Opening Chorus (no. 1) is a typical ‘collage’. The first verse of Kaspar Bienemann’s Chorale “Herr, wie du willt” (“Lord, as Thou wilt”) (from 1582) is interrupted three times by the Baroque author with pathetic pleas and cries, which the old verses bind into the whole as if under a dome. Bach ‘helps’ this idea by allowing the instruments to build up a strong unified web with the vocal parts. The instrumental opening immediately shows us the oboe motif, which is present throughout the piece (here again the dome idea!), and characteristically is always accompanied by the upper strings. The basso continuo only appears when the trumpet (here the slide trumpet) suddenly projects the four opening syllables (“Herr, wie du willt”) of the old chorale melody as a signal. After three such individual signals, the trumpet finally plays the whole first phrase of the melody. Here also the full vocal ensemble enters at last, rather simply, with the first two lines of the chorale in four-part harmony. The trumpet reinforces the soprano line. An intermezzo by the oboes, lasting a bar and a half, separates the first two lines. The intermezzo also serves, after the second line, as a transition to the first recitative ‘commentary’ (here from the tenor). Abruptly, we are thrown, through an unexpected modulation, into the ‘new’, Baroque lines (“Ach! aber ach!” – “Ah! woe is me!”); but the recitative is only a mock-recitative, because the oboes and trumpet (with the upper strings) meanwhile go on with their rhythmical contributions, and so suggest to us time and again “Herr, wie du willt” without saying a word. With insertions from the instruments a free declamation is not possible. After the tenor has finished his declaration, we come, through an instrumental transition (again with the beginning of the chorale melody!), to the third and fourth lines of the old chorale, which once more – with the involvement of the strings and trumpet – are sung in four-part harmony. After that, there follows again the oboe intermezzo and the wordless signal “Herr, wie du willt”, which leads though to the second solo commentary (bass). This time we land more gently on the next new-Baroque text (“Du bist mein Helfer” – “Thou art my helper”), in which the content is also more sensitive. This ‘bass’ declamation – like the tenor’s before – is meanwhile combined with the familiar instrumental motifs. Bach retains the alternating structure; lines five and six of the old chorale now follow, presented in homophonic four-part harmony. With a slight ‘displacement’ we are then led to the last new-Baroque section of the text. The soprano notes how often we wrongly understand God’s deeds and blessings as curses and punishment, instead of recognising the eternal healing power of God’s will. In addition, this declaration is accompanied by the oboe motifs, and the signals for “Herr, wie du willt” by the trumpet and the high strings. And in case we have still not understood these signals correctly, we get them three times – this time with text – sung in four-part homophonic harmony (also played by the instruments as before). Bach cannot leave it here, but with the sudden appear ance of a dissonance on the very last “willt” (which is only resolved by the instruments later) reminds us that God’s will is sometimes incomprehensible – or apparently false – to us; in cauda venenum – the sting is in the tail – thus we can understand the technique used here by Bach. After this very special opening chorus there comes a Tenor Aria (no. 2) “Ach, senke doch den Geist der Freuden herzen ein!” (“Ah, pour then Thy spirit of joy into my heart”) with obbligato oboe and basso continuo. The piece is built on the deliberate combination of descending (“Ach, senke doch”) and rising lines (which indicate Freude well). Throughout there is a very lively counterpoint. In the first part of the text both the upper voices (oboe and tenor) interact with each other in a concertante fashion and are accompanied by a functional basso continuo, which directly depicts the rising line and is repeated from time to time in the course of the aria. In the second part, however, the basso continuo is on equal terms with the oboe and the tenor. It repeatedly takes on – alternately with the tenor and the oboe – the descending motif from the first part (on “senke doch” there), in which the motif is used in the context of the wavering joy from “spiritual sickness”. The joy here becomes sick and feeble, and thus “descends”. At the same time Bach illustrates the wanken (to waver) and the zagen (to be timid) with chromatic syncopations for the tenor over a steady bass rhythm. One can only be astonished at how Bach time and again takes his formal elements from the text, and never becomes lost in fragmented, dry ‘instructions’. There follows a short secco recitativo (no. 3) for bass, which leads directly into the Bass Aria (no. 4) with strings. The secco portrays mankind, which never wishes to think of death. The Christian, however, “in Gott gelehrt, lernt sich in Gottes Willen senken und sagt: Herr, so du willt” (“who knows about God, learns to bow before God’s will, and says: Lord, as Thou wilt”). These words both begin the aria and are repeated sixteen times by the singer during the course of the piece, and actually are clearly declaimed like a passacaglia rhythm on a steady bass. To ‘answer’ this ‘passacaglia motif’, “Herr, so du willt”, Bach time and again uses a faster downward motif in the strings. Perhaps the calm, obedient reverence of Christians before God’s will? It sounds roughly like that to us. As a third element (the third building block of the whole), Bach uses the rhythm of the opening syllables, “Herr, wie du willt”, repeatedly in the strings, but now in double time, with a large interval jump (occasionally an octave), followed by two repeated notes. Because of that this motif almost works as a signal throughout the whole aria. On the words “Todesschmerzen” (“pains of death”) and “Seufzer” (“sighs”) the strings also involve themselves in the repeated sighing figures of the singer. On the words “so lege meine Glieder in Staub und Asche” (“so lay my limbs in dust and ashes”) the key (we had just arrived in D major) slides rapidly towards the minor key. With the text “so schlägt, ihr Leichenglocken” (“so tolls thy death knell”) a mournful pizzicato suddenly rings out from all the strings. The death knell... Under the last repetition in the text of the “Herr, so du willt” the faster semiquaver motif in the strings finally rings out one time in an upward instead of a downward direction, as if it now wishes to devote itself to the will of God on high. As a conclusion (no. 5) there is sung simply a verse (the last) from the Chorale “Von Gott will ich nicht lassen” (“From God I never wish to depart”) by Ludwig Helmbold (1563); the text is a fitting summary of the basic idea of the Cantata. “Jesus schläft, was soll ich hoffen”, BWV 81 for the fourth Sunday after Epiphany, 30th January 1724. The lesson for this Sunday is from the Gospel according to St. Matthew 8, 23-27. Jesus enters into a ship with many of his disciples to cross the sea. A great tempest arises. Jesus is asleep and does not even wake up. The disciples were fearful and awoke him. He must save them, but He says to them: “Ihr Kleingläubigen, warum seid ihr so furchtsam?” (“O ye of little faith, why are ye fearful?”). Then He arose and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm. This legendary picture of Jesus’s divine power inspired the (anonymous) author to write his poem. In Baroque theatrical style he devises a symmetrical plot around this heroic theme. In the first episode (nos. 1 to 3) it takes place in the absence of the hero; in the second (nos. 5 to 7) it develops in his presence. Between the two episodes he quotes verbatim the key words in the Gospel story: “Ihr Kleingläubigen” (“Ye of little faith”) (no. 4). A lamento-like Alto Aria (no. 1) “Jesus schläft, was soll ich hoffen” (“Jesus sleeps, what should I hope”) opens this Cantata. The mood is dejected, lonely as the poet sees the abyss of death open up before him. The music illustrates the sleep, but at the same time sadness and helplessness. Two recorders double both violin parts an octave higher almost throughout the piece; though in one place they go their own way. The tone of the recorder is often connected with pain and sadness, loneliness and sorrow (see, for example, the tenor arioso in the St. Matthew Passion: “O Schmerz! Hier zittert das gequälte Herz” (O pain! Here trembles the suffering heart”). Small fragments of the motif with narrow intervals and long held notes for the voice (on “schläft” – “sleeps”, and “offen” – “opens”) emphasise the melancholy atmosphere; the combined sound of quiet strings and recorders is extremely effective. A few times the long motionless notes are played by the instruments (recorders or strings). As was to be expected, the concept is appropriately illustrated in the music, for example “Todes Abgrund” (“the abyss of death”) with descending and “hoffen” (“hope”) with ascending lines. The following secco recitativo for tenor (no. 2) is a passionate complaint and question (“Herr, warum trittest du so ferne?” – “Lord, why goest Thou so far away?”). The devoted listener can note how every word, every phrase receives its own typical expression. It is remarkable, for example, how the section “...den rechten Weg zu reisen” (“the correct road to travel”) suddenly brings repose in the middle of this expressive stress, after which, with the cry “Ach, leite mich” (“Ah, lead me”), it becomes dramatic again. The tenor adds to this with a stormy Aria (no. 3). The text starts in the first two lines in dactylic rhythm; strictly speaking, in the amphibrach metric foot – short-long-short – which with constant repetition is similar to the dactylic long-short-short – “schäumenden Wellen von Belials Bächen” (“foaming waves of Belail’s brook”). The next two lines become iambic (short-long), where a moral reflection interrupts the description of the raging waves: “Ein Christ soll zwar wie Felsen stehen” (“a Christian should really stand like a rock”). The last two lines follow again in the same rhythm as the first: “Doch suchet die stürmende Flut” (“but seeks the raging flood”). Bach has portrayed the foaming waves by letting the first violins play rapid rising and descending lines continually, while the lower strings perform a wave-like movement. At certain points this suddenly falters, but equally suddenly starts again. This rapid violin line anticipates the vocal part, which follows it for the first time on the word “verdoppeln” (“redouble”) [at this point the velocity actually doubles from semiquavers to demisemiquavers!]. Now comes the central turning point of the work with no. 4 (Arioso for bass and basso continuo). As already mentioned, the poet here places verbatim the quotation from St. Matthew 8, 26 in the middle of his text. At this point, as Jesus reproaches his frightened  disciples: “Ihr Kleingläubigen, warum seid ihr so furchtsam” (“O ye of little faith, why are ye fearful”) the bass embodies the voice of God (Vox Dei). This section is composed as a straight duet for two bass parts, one vocal and one instrumental. It is a constant ‘one after the other’ imitation, in which the listener receives an ‘earbashing’ Kleingläubigkeit five times and Furchsamkeit ten times. The voice of God goes further in the next Aria (no. 5) for bass with all the instruments, and orders – in the words of the poet – the aufgetürmten Meer (mounting sea) to schweigen (calm) and der Sturm und Wind (storm and wind) to verstummen (be silent). Here again the words yield a mass of possibilities for tone-painting, and Bach hardly misses a single one: so, for example, the rising line on “aufgetürmtes Meer”; the deep, long-held note on “Meer”; the short, isolated and imperious “Schweig, schweig; the “Verstumme” (frequently followed by a pause in the voice); also the rising line for “auserwähltes” (chosen) child (to Heaven); the chromaticism at the close of the second part on “kein Unfall je verletzet” (“shall never suffer disaster”). Here the score is almost a picture, a painting for those who can read it correctly! A short secco Recitativo (no. 6) for Alto and basso continuo describes, so to speak, the reaction of the faithful (the previous unbelievers?), who know that they are saved when Jesus speaks: “Wohl mir” (“How happy I am”). Note how Bach uses the enharmonic change between “Sturm” (a b flat as the seventh of c) and “aller Kummer fort” (b flat is a sharp, the tritone of e). In this way he modulates cleverly from C major (“der Wellen Sturm”) to b minor, thus down a semitone: calming down after the extravagant (“aller Kummer fort”)! This Cantata comes to a close with a simple fourpart Chorale (no. 7), the second verse of the song “Jesu meine Freude” by Johann Franck (1653). “Unter deinem Schirmen / Bin ich vor den Stürmen / Aller Feinde frei” (Under thy protection / I am in the storm / free from all my enemies) – well-known to all Bach lovers from the Motet “Jesu, meine Freude” (“Jesus, my joy”), though this verse is set as a five-part movement there. “Nimm, was dein ist, und gehehin”, BWV 144 This Cantata for Septuagesima Sunday was written by Bach for the 6th February 1724 – thus a week after Cantata BWV 81, two weeks after BWV 73. Why the authenticity of this Cantata is doubted by a few academics is incomprehensible to me; Bach’s autograph score has come down to us, as well as several ‘close’ copies. Stylistically there can also be no possible doubt, even if this Cantata has no impressive structure. Bach himself called this Cantata “Concerto”, as is the case with many other cantatas. The Gospel lesson for this Septuagesima Sunday is from St. Matthew 20, 1-16, the controversial Parable of the labourer of the eleventh hour, where it is made clear how it is in the Kingdom of Heaven (and whether we will go there...?). Each receives his due – however not according to human judgement, but according to divine purpose, which often conflicts with our feelings. The work begins with a typical four-part Motet movement (no. 1) in the old polyphonic style, on the key phrase of the St. Matthew passage “Nimm, was dein ist, und gehe hin” (Take, that thine is, and go thy way”), taken verbatim by the (unknown) poet. The declamation of these words is respected in the simplest and clearest way in Bach’s composition, so that this movement ‘reaches’ the listeners very directly and with the vividness necessary for the sermon. The main motif permeates the entire text and has an almost imperious character. As a direct counter-motif Bach uses a repetitive combination of the syllables “gehe hin” (“go thy way”) in the fast tempo (through this it has an almost descriptive function: the “going” takes place, so to speak, in front of our eyes). In another place he also uses longer note values for these three syllables, which gives a calmer horizontal polyphony, and produces rather the endless ‘width’ and third dimension for us, in which we can and must ‘go our way’. This brilliant Motet movement is followed by an Aria (no. 2) for alto and strings, “Murre nicht, lieber Christ” (“Do not grumble, dear Christian”). The author of the text takes his subject from the First Epistle of St. Paul to the Corinthians 9, 24 to 10, 5. Moreover it is very close to the Gospel lesson for the day: the labourer from the early hour complains when the master pays the labourer from the eleventh hour the same amount. Bach has given the text an almost dance-like sound (the minuet is not far away) – the picture of a definite ‘worldly’, ‘human’ reaction to God’s requirement? The ‘complaint’ itself is even clarified for us by the repeated quavers in the bass. What follows is noteworthy: the main four-bar motif on the words “murre nicht” is occasionally used in exact reverse order (as in a mirror). Undoubtedly Bach also wants to feign here the ‘reverse’ understanding (the ‘non-complaint’) by way of contrast. There follows a simple Chorale (no. 3) from a song by Samuel Rodigast (1674), “Was Gott tut, das ist wohlgetan” (“Whatever God does, that is well done”), after which the sermon started perhaps – though this Cantata does not have the usual two-part dimension, and does not have the “prima/secunda pars” marking. However that may be, we are further taught with a Tenor secco recitativo (no. 4), that “moderation” is a rule for life, in contrast to “greediness”, which only causes “grief and sorrow”. The monologue ends with the sung ‘arioso’ conclusion “Was Gott tut, das ist wohlgetan” (the chorale text just heard), in which, on the last syllable and in a refined way, the fallacy of ‘our’ frailty should be compared to God’s perfect “wohl-tun”. A Soprano Aria (no. 5), with obbligato oboe d’amore and basso continuo, develops this idea of moderation further. In this quiet three-part movement the soprano and oboe d’amore engage in peaceful dialogue in perfect balance. The instrumental bass emphasises the dialogue with a steady andante pace (as the ‘andante’ idea so often does in Baroque music), and, so to speak, symbolises time or even eternity. The voice ends the aria with the word “Genügsamkeit” (“moderation”), repeated seven times in various ways (once quasi-unaccompanied, which possibly is supposed to represent non-action). The Cantata ends with a further simple four-part Chorale (no. 6) on a text by Albert, Duke of Prussia, 1547, “Was mein Gott will, das g’scheh allzeit” (“What my God wishes, should always be done”). Note that in the last verse, on the last word (“verlassen” – “abandon”), Bach unfolds a complex polyphonic texture, to describe well, in a dramatic ‘roundabout’ way, “abandon”. Sigiswald Kuijken Translation by Christopher Cartwright and Godwin Stewart