Luogo e data di registrazione		MS&AD Shirakawa Hall, Nagoya (Japan) - July 2013
	Registrazione: live / studio		studio
	Producer | Engineer		Marion Schwebel (Take5 Music Productions) | Thore Brinkmann (Take5 Music Productions) | Akimi Hayashi
	Edizione CD		BIS - BIS-2001 SACD - (1 CD) - durata 73' 06" - (p) & (c) 2014 - DDD
	Note		-

COMMENTARY

Introduction This recording explores the modestly proportioned genre of secular cantatas by Johann Sebastian Bach. Nowadays this group of works, which suffers more than most from the loss of many of its members, contains only slightly more than twenty completely preserved cantatas. In addition there are a dozen or so cantata texts that Bach set but for which the music itself has not survived. In total we know of around fifty secular cantatas that Bach composed; in fact, however, their number must have been significantly larger. Most if not all of Bach’s secular cantatas were envisaged as occasional pieces, their text and music written to order, in exchange for a fee, and intended for specific occasions of widely varying character. They included festive and congratulatory music for court, political tributes (for instance to the Prince of Saxony and his relatives) and also works for celebrations among Leipzig’s bourgeoisie or academia. Among the various literary forms used in secular cantatas, Bach accorded particular significance to the so-called ‘dramma per musica’. In such works the libretto is constructed dramatically, i.e. the cantata has a plot, and the singers embody various roles. The proximity of opera is unmistakable, although the ‘drammi per musica’ do without the scenic element, confining themselves to verbal interaction. The libretti of these ‘dramatic’ cantatas are often based on mythological stories from antiquity, as told by Latin Classical poets such as Virgil (70–19 B.C.) or Ovid (43–18 B.C.). It was common to juxtapose the gods, demigods and other characters from this world of legend with freely invented allegorical figures – personifications of ideas that embody specific human characteristics or of abstract concepts such as time or fate. The ‘dramma per musica’ was especially widespread in the lofty realms of princely tribute and academic festivity: educated people were familiar with these literary traditions. And by delegating the unavoidable flattery to literary, fictional figures, it became easier for all involved not to take things too literally. The two works on this recording exemplify this type of dramatic cantata. Zerreißet, zersprenget, zertrümmert die Gruft, BWV 205 Tear Asunder, Smash, Lay Waste to the Vault The cantata with the subtitle ‘Aeolus Appeased’ was written for the name day of the Leipzig academic and later university professor Dr August Friedrich Müller (1684–1761) on 3rd August 1725, and was probably commissioned by the student body. Müller taught law and philosophy at the university and enjoyed exceptional popularity among his stud ents. It appears that some special event in his academic career was celebrated together with his name day in 1725, but we have no details of what that event might have been. The cantata text is by the Leipzig poet Christian Friedrich Henrici, also known as Picander (1700–64), who shortly after wards would begin a closer collaboration with Bach. One could well imagine the performance taking place outdoors during the evening, perhaps accompanied by a torchlight pro cession of students. The summer weather that would have been desirable for such an occasion is also – indirectly – the subject of the cantata’s dramatic happenings. First of all it takes us back to the world of antiquity and legend, to the Mediterranean, to the islands near Sicily, to Aeolia. There – according to Virgil’s Aeneid – Aeolus, the King of the Winds, holds the mighty autumn storms captive, letting them loose on the world at the appointed time. In the opening chorus they are already raging, stirring each other up, ready to break free from their prison, burst out and overcome the air, water and earth with their havoc. Aeolus appears and announces that, ‘after summer has soon ended’, he will release his ‘loyal subjects’, and give them free rein to cause chaos. Aeolus, himself rather churlish, is al ready looking forward to the time ‘when everything becomes disordered’ (third movement). Then, however, supplicants of all kinds make an appearance: Zephyrus, the soft west wind and god of mild summer breezes, asks Aeolus for compassion and invokes memories of idyllic summer evenings in the open air – without, however, fully managing to convince the King of the Winds (movements 4–6). Pomona too, goddess of fruitful abundance, attempts in vain to win over Aeolus. Finally Pallas Athene, god dess of wisdom and the arts, succeeds in making Aeolus relent, requesting that Zephyrus alone should attend the feast ‘upon my hilltops’ (i.e. on Mount Helicon, home of the Muses), and that no other wind should disrupt the celebrations in honour of the famous scholar August Müller (movements 7–10). Aeolus then summons the winds to return and to blow more gently, to the delight of Pomona, Zephyrus and Pallas, who immediately turn their attention to preparations for the feast (movements 11–13). Pallas invites everybody to the celebration (movement 14) and finally there is a vivat for August Müller. Wealthy patrons seem to have played a part in the work’s origin, as Bach’s festive orchestra is un usually lavishly proportioned. In addition to the standard complement of strings and continuo, two flutes and two oboes, he calls for three trumpets and timpani as well as two horns – not to mention the viola d’amore, viola da gamba and oboe d’amore, all of which are featured as solo instruments in the arias. Bach could hardly have wished for a more colourful orchestra. The libretto, too, left nothing to be desired, giving Bach the opportunity to frame the entire piece with two splendid choral movements and to portray a very wide range of emotions in a series of musical images – from the raging of the wind at the beginning to the mellow lament of Zephyrus (fifth movement). It also provided plenty of opportunities to illustrate the events by means of numerous musical details. In this work Bach writes one display piece after an other. The opening chorus is a colossal portrayal of the powerfully raging winds, angrily rattling their prison gate. These are depicted musically by wild rising and falling scales, in the same and opposite directions, a turmoil into which the choir injects lively coloraturas and shouts of ‘tear asunder’. At the same time this movement, from a purely musical point of view, is a skilfully written polychoral concerto in which the various groups of musicians are effectively contrasted. Right at the outset the trumpets, strings and horns, in lively alternation, play the motif that is later associated with the words ‘tear asunder’ in the choir, while the flutes strike up the scale motif and immediately pass it on to the oboes, who in turn relay it to the strings. The interplay of the various groups of performers, in con stantly changing combinations of motifs and colours, dominates the entire movement. The second movement, a recitative in which Aeolus addresses the winds, is vividly illustrated by the orchestra. Almost untameable, the winds constantly rise up in protest; every time there is a pause in the King of the Winds’ speech, they make themselves heard vociferously. The following aria, ‘How I shall laugh merrily’, depicts Aeolus as a ruffian, looking forward to the chaos that the storms will cause. His laughter is heard in striking coloraturas, and the string orchestra portrays the general confusion. Then, however, Zephyrus’s recitative (fourth movement) shifts the musical emphasis: the roaring of the winds and the blustering of the King of the Winds yield to the quieter tones of the supplicant. Now we hear chamber music of a most exquisite kind. Quiet instruments – viola d’amore and viola da gamba – accompany Zephyrus’s gentle lament (fifth movement). The oboe d’amore, the personification of sweetness, supports Pomona’s attempt to soften the King of the Winds (seventh movement). And in Pal las’s aria (ninth movement), Bach uses a solo violin to illustrate the wish that the ‘pleasant Zephyrus’ might, with his gently breeze, fan the summit of Helicon; the charming solo line explores the instrument’s very highest register. In the dialogue between Pallas and Aeolus (tenth movement), the turning point of the action, Bach can not resist surrounding the name of the learned Dr August Müller with a halo of flute sound. The taming of the winds in Aeolus’s aria (eleventh movement) is presented by Bach in a musical costume that is without equal: it is accompanied only by continuo, trumpets, timpani and horns. Such an exquisite piece for wind instruments had surely never before been heard in Leipzig. At the end, nothing but joy prevails among the successful supplicants. The finale is a merry march in a concise rondo form, dominated by calls of ‘Vivat’. One can almost see the assembled party raising their glasses and drinking the health of the learned professor – and the instruments, too, constantly add their own ‘vivat’ motif to the festive mayhem. Vereinigte Zwietracht der wechselnden Saiten, BWV 207 United Division of Changing Strings This cantata, too, takes us into the ambit of Leipzig University. It was composed for the jurist Dr Gottlieb Kortte (1698−1731). The occasion was Kortte’s appointment as a professor extraordinarius. The festive performance probably took place on 11th December 1726, the day on which Kortte gave his inaugural address – from memory, as absent-mindedly he had left his manuscript at home. Kortte had just celebrated his 28th birthday – hardly older than his students – and he enjoyed particular popularity among the young academics. The instigators of the cantata performance were probably to be found among his students. Even the text may have been written by one of his students, namely Heinrich Gottlieb Schellhafer (1707−57), later a professor of law in his own right, who in his later years also wrote texts for works by Telemann. As was popular at the time, the text of this congratulatory cantata is placed in the mouths of four allegorical characters, and in Bach’s music these are distributed between the four vocal registers. The characters represent four academic virtues: Happiness (soprano), Gratitude (alto), Diligence (tenor) and Honour (bass). Bearing this distribution of roles in mind, it is by no means difficult to follow the events in the cantata. According to the opening chorus, the cantata is all about saying ‘with your exultant notes… what is the reward of virtue here’. First to speak is Diligence: addres sing himself to the students, he canvasses for allegiance and promises his followers happiness and honour (movements 2−3). Then Happiness and Honour themselves appear and confirm: indeed, for those who are diligent, the dwellings of honour and the cornucopia of happiness will not remain locked away (movements 4−5). After that, Gratitude joins in and points out Kortte: these are no empty promises; in this man everything has come true. Preserve his memory, etch it into marble or, better still, raise a memorial to him by means of your own actions (movements 6−7). In the last recitative Diligence, Honour and Happiness attest how deeply they feel devoted to Kortte, and Gratitude urges the friends of the appointee to join in with the good wishes of the four allegorical figures: ‘Long live Kortte, may Kortte flourish!’ Bach set this attractively conceived libretto in music that is even more appealing, and he did so – as always – with great care and artistry. Admittedly profundity and depth of meaning were not uppermost in his mind – and there is no reason why they should have been, in such cheerful ‘Studentenmusik’. At two places in the score he had recourse to an earlier work: the Brandenburg Concerto No. 1; its third movement appears here, skilfully transformed, as the opening chorus, whilst its second trio (originally for horns and oboes) is rescored as a postlude to the duet aria of Happiness and Honour (fifth movement). Bach’s musical style reacts to the text, as usual, with great agility – to the ‘rolling drums’ mentioned in the opening chorus and which do in fact ‘roll’ – and likewise, in the middle of the final chorus, to the ‘laurel’, the tendrils of which curl mellifluously in the two flute parts. In the seventh movement there is a particularly original illustration of the text. Gratitude demands a memorial for Kortte: ‘Etch this remembrance into the hardest marble!’ Bach sets this as a beautiful, contemplative aria with two flutes. Within this music, however, he already depicts the stonemason working on the marble: we hear his hammer blows chiselling the name into the stone, quietly but un mistakably, in the unison strings. One wonders if Bach ever imagined that his music might serve as a musical memorial, making the professor’s name familiar in centuries to come. © Klaus Hofmann 2013 Production Notes BWV205 The only extant material for this composition is the original full score (Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin, Mus. ms. Bach P 173). The orchestral parts no longer exist, but the instrumentation can be ascertained, since it is quite clearly written down at the beginning of the manuscript. An interesting question concerns the viola d’amore in the fifth movement. In Bach’s time, the leader usually played such solos. In this case, however, he would have been required to play the violin in the tutti in the third movement, change instrument to the viola d’amore during the short recitative in the fourth movement, while having an extremely challenging solo for the violin ahead of him in the ninth movement. This would seem like a nearly impossible demand on the player. Apart from in this work, the viola d’amore appears in Bach’s vocal music only in BWV36c, BWV 152 and the St John Passion, but in none of these works is it clear who in the orchestra played this instrument. In BWV 205/5 the viola da gamba is also required, so in the case of this instrument, too, one of the players must have switched instruments in the course of the work. A final brief remark regards the trumpets and horns. Following our recent practice, the brass instruments adopted for this recording are constructed entirely according to original baroque practice, which means that they lack the so-called tone holes (or venting holes) with which the intonation may be adjusted on a modern-day ‘baroque trumpet’. In consequence, it is physically impossible for their 11th (Fa) and 13th (La) overtones to be completely in tune. It is, however, our firm belief that the sound, undisturbed by the use of any holes, remains rounded and vivid, and that the player is able to achieve a more legato and singing character. We hope that the listener will enjoy this ‘natural’ character which should also be close to the original sound that Bach himself will have heard. BWV207 The original full score (Mus. ms. Bach P 174) and the orchestral parts (St 93) at the Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin are the reference materials that remain of this cantata. Although the original manuscript has survived, many questions arise regarding the performance of the piece. Several problems must be addressed, for example in the woodwind parts for the first movement, which include notes outside of the instruments’ ranges. Also, the two parts marked for the oboe have not been transposed and we can only assume that they were written for oboe d’amore. As for the flutes, the second part often descends below the instrument’s lower register so that the player must double the first flute part each time this occurs. Another problem is that in the original full score, there is an independent movement called Marche; however, it is unclear where it should be inserted within the composition. For this performance, we have decided to play the movement as a prelude to the final chorus. © Masaaki Suzuki 2014