Texte paru dans: / Appeared in: |
|
|
Outil de traduction ~ (Très approximatif) |
|
|
Reviewer: James
A. Altena When a work is as thrice familiar and often recorded as Bach’s St. Matthew Passion, the scratching of an itch to say something new about it (as opposed simply to saying what is already known about it as well as possible, a splendid but grossly underrated option) becomes increasingly hard to accomplish. While the period performance movement blew a great blast of much needed fresh air into once fustian renditions of Bach’s oratorios and cantatas, its more extreme extensions into OVPP/OPPP (one voice/performer per part), despite gaining academic respectability, have found few takers in the recording studio, even after so accomplished a realization as the 2003 Paul McCreesh recording for Archiv. Instead, the winds of musicological change now seem to be blowing in the direction of finding and recording as many variant editions of scores as possible. In the case of the St. Mark Passion, where only a libretto but no actual music survives, musicologists have had a field day, reconstructing some 20 different versions to date. Of course, where an actual score exists, the limitations are much stricter; but even so, the St. John Passion has offered manifold opportunities to mix and match variants from the versions Bach produced in 1724, 1725, 1728/1732, and 1739/1749. Now it seems, has come the turn of the St. Matthew Passion; in January 2014 Signum released the first-ever recording of the early 1727 version, by the Yorkshire Baroque Soloists under Peter Seymour, and now Richard Egarr follows a year later with the second. Unlike with the elaborate volume Bach made of his revised 1736 version of the score, no manuscript in his hand survives of the 1727 version; instead, we have a copy made c. 1755 by Johann Christoph Farlau, a student of Bach’s erstwhile pupil and subsequent (as of 1749) son-in-law, Johann Christoph Altnickol. Egarr does not specifically mention what edition he uses of the 1727 score; a modern scholarly one was published in 2004 as part of the Neue Bach Ausgabe (Series II, Volume 5b), edited and with a preface by noted Bach scholar Andreas Glöckner, but Egarr in his booklet notes mentions only a Bärenreiter publication of this edition as “just about to become available” in 2007 when he began conducting the early version. While the differences between the 1727 and 1736 versions are not major—certainly far less in scope than those of the various reworkings of the St. John Passion—they are nevertheless significant. The most important of them (in sequential order of occurrence) are as follows: 1) In 1727 the two orchestral/choir groups share a single continuo part, whereas in 1736 each has its own distinct continuo line. 2) The chorale “Ich will hier bei dir stehen” is not present in 1727. 3) The tenor/choral recitative passage beginning “O Schmerz! Hier zittert das gequälte Herz” employs traverse flutes instead of recorders. 4) Part I ends with an entirely different and much simpler chorale (“Jesum laßt ich nicht von mir” instead of “O Mensch, bewein dein Sünde groß”). 5) The aria “Ach, nun ist mein Jesus hin!” is assigned to a bass rather than an alto soloist. 6) The bass recitative/aria sequence “Ja, freilich will in uns das Fleisch und Blut....Komm, süßes Kreuz” has its accompaniment scored for lute instead of viola da gamba. There are also manifold lesser adjustments to the scoring. For example, the ripieno choir of the great opening chorale is rescored for winds and organ continuo (a practice also observed in OVPP recordings such as that of McCreesh—though to my great annoyance reviews of those never seem to mention it). In the 1736 version, some violin solos are assigned to the lead of one orchestra choir with antiphonal accompaniment from the other orchestral choir, a division not present in 1727. Ornamentation is also generally simpler at certain points in the 1727 version. Egarr avers that “heretical as it may seem to say, I prefer the original 1727 score to Bach’s own 1736 revision.” Suspecting that most people will continue to favor the final version instead, Egarr urges listeners to keep an open mind and not remain stuck in the same aural rut. Borrowing a famous passage from Douglas Adams’s The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy—“the only thing that went through the mind of the bowl of petunias as it fell was Oh no, not again”—he urges his readers, “Don’t be a bowl of petunias.” Assuming readers of these lines to be of the non-petunia persuasion and interested for musicological or other reasons in having a recording of the 1727 version, the question is: How good is this recording? The answer? Good, but not as good as it could have been, or needs to be in order to make Egarr’s case. And the main fault, I fear, lies at the feet of Egarr himself. As the total set timing of 146:38 shows, this is easily the fastest version of the St. Matthew Passion ever committed to disc. Several previous versions have barely managed to get in around the 160-minute mark and be squeezed onto two rather than three CDs; but this one has over 13 minutes to spare, and yet is stupidly, inexcusably spread out onto three full-priced discs. At every turn Egarr emphasizes Bach’s utilization of various dance forms; but the score is a Passion setting, not an apotheosis to the Baroque dance, and the constant breathless rush from one movement to another without respite or variation loses the contemplative aspect so necessary to a successful performance. The other major problem lies in his solo sextet; while all are capable singers, except for Thomas Hobbes (the fine soloist for the tenor arias) they mostly have voices tempered more with stainless steel than with silver, who sound as if they would be more at home in 19th-century Romantic opera than in Baroque oratorio. The worst offenders are mezzo Sarah Connolly and bass Christopher Maltman, whose voices turn a touch unsteady under pressure, and bass Matthew Rose as Jesus, who is too gruff in timbre to sound otherworldly in either a humanly gentle or a divinely omnipotent fashion. The normally estimable James Gilchrist is also in less than his best form as the Evangelist, sometimes coming off as a tad petulant and whiny instead. The two vocal choirs total 20 voices—10 members apiece, with a 3/2/2/3 distribution of voice parts in each choir. (Curiously, they actually sound thinner in tone and less robust than the mere vocal octet employed by McCreesh in his landmark 2003 OPPP version.) For the instrumental forces, each orchestral choir has three first and second violins, one violist, and pairs of flutes and oboes; the first choir doubles the oboes on oboes d’amore and oboes da caccia and adds a lute, and the continuo ensemble comprises a cello, double bass, bassoon, chamber organ, and two harpsichords, for a grand total of 28 players. The recorded sound is first-rate, and the set comes in a lavish 100-page CD-sized book format. It is also, in my estimation, much better sung than the competing Seymour version (reviewed by George Chien in this issue). Despite my criticisms, I should stress that this is definitely not a bad recording. Indeed, it is in many ways a good one; but, as I said, it could and should have been even better. And, for all of Egarr’s passionate advocacy, I continue to find the 1736 revision superior in every way. If having a recording of the 1727 version of this mighty masterpiece is important to you, then by all means buy this set; but as for me, I’m quite content here to remain a bowl of petunias. | |
|
|
|
|
Cliquez l'un ou l'autre
bouton pour découvrir bien d'autres critiques de CD |
|
/5060340150051.jpg)
