In the spring of 1724, Bach had flutes* doubling oboe or violin parts for the first time. For the first Sunday after Easter that year, he wrote a separate part for flute, in cantata 67. It is a pretty part, but not extremely challenging. In cantata 107 things get more serious for the flute players. If Bach was trying out a new player, he has now passed the test. So now, two weeks later, it is time for a truly virtuoso flute part. Bach goes all out in this cantata 94 Was frag ich nach der Welt for the 9th Sunday after Trinity, writing the opening chorus as a flute concerto, and including an exquisite aria for alto and flute. The cantata also includes a fabulous tenor aria with full string accompaniment, and a pretty soprano aria with oboe.

I recommend Bach Collegium Japan’s recording of this cantata, with Kiyomi Suga, Baroque flute; Yukari Nonoshita, soprano; Robin Blaze, counter-tenor;  Jan Kobow, tenor; and Peter Kooy, bass. Listen here on YouTube via a playlist I created.

If Bach was trying out a new flute player, scholars think this must have been Friedrich Gottlieb Wild (1700–1762). Wild studied Law at the University of Leipzig, and thanks to a letter of recommendation Bach wrote for him on May 18, 1727, we know that he studied with Bach at least from 1723 to 1727 and also played the flute and the harpsichord in some of his cantatas. Bach writes:

“… during the four years that he has lived here at the University, [he] has always shown himself to be diligent and hardworking, in such manner that he not only has helped to adorn our church music with his well-learned accomplishments on the Flaute traversiere and Clavecin but also has taken special instruction from me in the clavier, the thorough bass, and the fundamental rules of composition based thereupon, so that he may on any occasion be heard with particular approval by musicians of attainment.”

Wild didn’t get the job of Kantor at the Jacobikirche in Chemnitz in 1727, but was appointed organist of the St. Peter’s Church in St. Petersburg, Russia, in 1735. It is thus assumed that he continued as a student of Bach’s until 1735.

Wieneke Gorter, August 13, 2017.

*not to be confused with recorders, which Bach had included in his cantatas many times before. Watch this All of Bach video in which Marten Root explains the development of the flute in 18th century Germany, and Bach’s use of the instrument in his cantatas (click on “interview flute player Marten Root” in the middle of the screen). A good video explaining this instrument is also this one by Lisa Beznosiuk of the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment.

Today is a day of packing and organizing for our trip back “home” to California. I only have a little bit of time and very slow internet. So you’ll understand I was glad to realize (thanks to Eduard van Hengel) that for a discussion and recommendation of this Sunday’s cantata, I can refer you to The New York Times 🙂

In an article of January 27, 1991, reviewing Harnoncourt and Leonhardt’s entire series of cantata recordings, Richard Taruskin highlights Harnoncourt’s interpretation of cantata 178 Wo Gott der Herr nicht bei uns hält (8th Sunday after Trinity, 1724).

Find the Harnoncourt recording (with Panito Iconomou, alto; Kurt Equiluz, tenor; and Robert Holl, bass) here on YouTube. Find the text and translations here, and the score here.

Last week, for whatever reason, Bach didn’t use a librettist, and set the entire chorale text, every verse, to music. He either really enjoyed writing a chorale cantata that way, or his librettist was still a little bit under the weather, because for this cantata 178 Wo Gott der Herr nicht bei uns hält he used no less than six of the eight verses of the chorale verbatim.

Richard Taruskin’s entire review from 1991 can be found here. For your convenience, I’m directly quoting the excerpt that talks about cantata 178 here below:

“It feels not only invidious but ridiculous to be singling out one recording from a yard-high stack. But in Volume 41, released in 1988, the essential Bach speaks through Mr. Harnoncourt with a special vehemence. Cantata No. 178, “Wo Gott der Herr nicht bei uns halt,” begins with a French overture straight from hell, a portrait of a world without God in which (as Dostoyevsky later noted) all things are possible and there is no hope. Mr. Harnoncourt applies to the dotted rhythms the awful “gnashville” sound he has gradually developed for such occasions, the strings of the Concentus Musicus hurling their bows at their instruments from a great height, producing as much scratch as tone.

The “chorale-recitative” that follows illustrates the futility of human effort with a bass that is continually and arbitrarily disrupted. It is played with greatly exaggerated dynamics to underscore — needlessly, most proper authenticists would insist — the bare message of the notes. After an aria depicting a Satan-engineered shipwreck with nauseous melismas and a chorale verse evoking persecution with a crowd of discomfitingly close and syncopated imitations, we reach the heart of the cantata.

A glossed chorale verse about raging beasts finally dispenses with word-painting, which depends on mechanisms of wit and can be taken as humor. It harks back instead to the wellsprings of the Baroque in grossly exaggerated speech contours, something akin to wild gesticulation.

Now Bach the anti-Enlightener comes into his own, with a frantic tenor aria, “Shut up, stumbling Reason!” (“Schweig nur, taumelnde Vernunft!”). Past the first line the message of the text is one of comfort: “To them who trust in Jesus ever, the Door of Mercy closes never,” to quote the doggerel translation in the program booklet. But Bach is fixated on that fierce and derisive opening line — indeed, on just the opening word. Out of it he builds practically the whole first section of his da capo aria, crowding all the rest into a cursory and soon superseded middle. Over and over the tenor shrieks, “Schweig nur, schweig!,” leaping now a sixth, now a seventh, now an octave. Meanwhile, the accompanying orchestra, reason’s surrogate, reels and lurches violently.

This one is not for you, Dr. Burney. Hands off, Maestro Norrington. There is no way this music can be fun. In fact, it is terrifying — perhaps more now than in Bach’s own time, since we have greater reason than Bach’s contemporaries ever had to wince at the sound of a high-pitched German voice stridently shouting reason down.”

Wieneke Gorter, August 5, 2017

The Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes by Jacopo Tintoretto, circa 1545-1550, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

1724: Bach has returned from his visit to Köthen (see previous post).

2017: I am still in Europe, but my daughter’s choir tour is done, and so is my daily commitment to write a blog for the parents who stayed back in California.

As I continue to follow Bach in 1724, the cantata for today, the 7^th Sunday after Trinity, is cantata 107 Was willst du dich betrüben. If you only listen to one cantata this summer I suggest you listen to Herreweghe’s recording of this one. You will not regret the perfect combination of some of Bach’s best writing with Herreweghe’s sensitive interpretation. Find Herreweghe’s recording (from 1993, with Agnès Mellon, soprano; Howard Crook, tenor; and Peter Kooij, bass) here on YouTube. Consider purchasing it here — this album also contains the beautiful cantata 93 from two weeks ago. My favorite movements are the fabulous opening chorus, the bass recitative and aria that follows, superbly sung by Peter Kooij, and the tenor aria because of the flutes. I also love Agnès Mellon’s angelic singing in the soprano aria.

Find the text and translations here, and the score here.

A few weeks ago I explained that Bach started his second Leipzig cycle with a series of chorale cantatas, and that he would stick to that same format for nine and half months (read more about this in this post). He built all 44 cantatas in this period on a similar foundation: setting the verses of the chorale verbatim for the opening and closing choruses, while setting poetry based on the verses for the inner movements. While Bach collaborated with a librettist (probably the same one) for all of these cantatas, there was one exception within that 1724/1725 series: all of the words for cantata 107 Was willst du dich betrüben were copied verbatim from the chorale text.

We can only speculate as to why this happened. His librettist might have been sick or away.  Or did Bach perhaps compose this cantata during his visit to Köthen (see last week’s post)? We only know that he and Anna Magdalena performed at the court in Köthen, but we don’t know how long they stayed there.

I have loved this cantata 107 since I first heard it on the Herreweghe recording in the early 1990s. Just listen to that opening chorus: Bach’s excellent and poignant writing combined with the fabulous sustained lines of the Collegium Vocale chorus (read my posts about their sopranos here and their altos here) and Herreweghe’s calm tempo, and continuous focus on the direction and destination of the musical lines.

I am in movie-script mode again and taking the liberty to imagine Bach writing this cantata in Köthen, maybe even performing (parts of) it there too with all the wonderful musicians at that court, and Anna Magdalena singing the soprano aria. Bach could very well have been inspired by the change of scenery, time away from his hectic Leipzig house, and enjoying the company of his former colleagues in Köthen, all excellent musicians. If we follow this train of thought, it is not surprising that he assigns 2/3 of the principal music in the opening chorus to the orchestra and only 1/3 to the choir, and writes the closing chorus as if it were one of his orchestral suites.

Wieneke Gorter, July 27, 2017.

Köthen court plan

There is no cantata for Trinity 6 from 1724.  A little research gives the reason: Bach took a trip with his wife Anna Magdalena to the court of Köthen, where they had both worked until their move to Leipzig in 1723.

According to The New Bach Reader, the court account books state the following for July 18, 1724:

“To the Director Musices Bach and his wife, who performed, in settlement rthl* 60”

We don’t know what they performed and for exactly how many days they stayed, but Bach was back in time to compose and rehearse the cantata for Trinity 7 that year.

*rthl = Reichsthaler

Wieneke Gorter, July 15, 2017.

Kaisariani monastery near Athens, Greece

For today, the 5th Sunday after Trinity, I’m running out of time to write a post about the beautiful cantata 93 Wer nur den lieben Gott lässt walten Bach wrote for this Sunday in 1724. So I’ll just give you my favorite recording (by Herreweghe, with soloists Agnès Mellon, soprano; Charles Brett, countertenor; Howard Crook, tenor; and Peter Kooij, bass), the text & translations, and the score.

My reason is a good one: I’m on tour with my daughter’s youth choir to Greece, and I’m in charge of the blog for that tour (so parents who stay at home know we’re still alive and happy) and that’s taking up most of my limited wifi time on the island of Syros. It’s a really hard life being a blogger here 😉

I’m very happy, because at the beginning of this week I got to see the 11th/12th century Kaisariani monastery, about 10 kilometers outside of Athens. I found out about this building once while looking for images for this blog. The cross-in-square, domed church has some beautiful wall and ceiling paintings dating from the 18th century; those in the narthex date back to 1682.

I loved seeing the paintings “live” and took lots of pictures to use in future blog posts, but also very much enjoyed the quiet (only a handful of other tourists were there), the forest air, and the gardens:

Wieneke Gorter, July 15, 2017.

There is no cantata for the 4th Sunday after Trinity from 1724, because that year it fell on the same day as The Feast of the Visitation. See my previous post for a longer explanation, and for a list of upcoming cantatas.

In my effort to follow Bach’s compositions in the order in which he wrote them in 1724, I sometimes get a bit confused, because in 2017 the Sundays of the church year are exactly one week later than in 1724. Where it gets tricky is around the Feast days of St. John and the Visitation of Mary, which are always on the same date: June 24 and July 2 respectively.

See how the dates of 1724 compare to the dates of 2017 in this table here below, and you’ll understand my dilemma for today: in Bach’s time, if the feast of the Visitation fell on a Sunday, it would cancel out the theme and thus the cantata for that Sunday. That is why there is no cantata for Trinity 4 from 1724, and why Weekly Cantata will be on break next week.

So officially, I should present you only with the cantata for the feast of the Visitation today, but since we are listening in order of 1724, I give you some highlights of cantata 135 Ach Herr mich armen Sünder first. My favorite recording of this cantata is by Bach Collegium Japan with countertenor Pascal Bertin, tenor Gerd Türk and bass Peter Kooij.

The cantata is the last of the set of four I described in this post, and thus has the cantus firmus in the bass in the opening chorus, very well done by the basses of Bach Collegium Japan. Listen to this entire recording on Spotify, or to just the tenor aria and the bass aria on YouTube.

While the boy sopranos have a bit more work in the opening chorus (as was the case the last two weeks), there is again no soprano aria in this cantata. The Leipzig congregations haven’s heard a soprano solo since Trinity Sunday.

But then, on July 2, 1724, they get to hear the cantata for the feast of the Visitation: cantata 10 Meine Seel erhebt den Herren. With a soprano aria directly after the opening chorus, and a virtuoso one too. It might be that a talented new student had enrolled in the school, or Bach was finally ready training one, or there is a talented boy visiting for the holiday.* There is a very nice live video of Ton Koopman performing this in the St. Thomas Church in Leipzig during the Bach Festival there in 2003, with Deborah York singing the soprano aria.

*Read more about the possibility of musicians visiting for this feast day in my post from last year about the Visitation. Read more about the soprano problem in this post.