Jauchzet Gott in allen Landen!
BWV 51
...otherwise known as “Murder on the High C’s”.
The title of a CD featuring the “singing” of Florence Foster Jenkins, that designation seems to fit. There are three high C’s in this cantata — two in the first movement (with the repeat) and one in the third. Listening to my seventh (and last!) version this evening, the excruciating high-C shriek of the soprano, who shall remain anonymous, just about lifted me out of my chair. It was almost as if she, clearly close kin to Jenkins, knew that the only way she was going to achieve her goal was by forcing herself, in the first movement, to press on from the bottom of the run with the intention of getting to the top by sheer force of will. She did. Unfortunately, she left me shattered in a ditch along the way. She is the perfect example of the soprano who feels that the higher she sings, the louder she has to sing. Maybe it’s not a feeling. Maybe it’s the only way she can physically get there.
All kidding aside, if the soprano can’t cut it, it ain’t gonna work! And, all the more kidding aside, it is my understanding that high C’s should not pose that much of a challenge to a soprano. To my ears, they clearly did to this singer on this day.
BWV 51, the work itself, in previous years has proven to be a catalyst for discussion, much of it contentious, but all paying tribute to the magnetic effect it has on listeners. Last week, discussion included a version of a cantata (BWV 120a) for which there exists only a single complete recording. This week’s boasts a list of 61. Links to the eight pages of recordings and the extensive five-part discussion can be found at http://www.bach-cantatas.com/BWV51.htm . Perhaps it’s the sheer profusion of material related to this cantata, both in recordings and in the literature, that provokes so much controversy. Perhaps it’s the multiplicity of styles and contrasting ideas they represent. Perhaps it’s the focus on a single individual who, for the most part, has to carry the burden of making this all work. Everybody seems to have his own favorite.
With so much already having been written and easily available, I’ll keep these opening remarks brief: identification of the primary characteristics of the movements and a sampling of outstanding unresolved issues. For the past couple weeks, there’s been ample activity on the List, but precious little devoted to the music itself. Please feel free to weigh in on this cantata. With all that’s been said, what remains is still inexhaustible.
Determining the exact origins of BWV 51 has been complicated by several unusual characteristics. Ostensibly first performed in Leipzig on September 17, 1730, the Fifteenth Sunday after Trinity, indications are that the work may have been composed for an earlier unspecified occasion. The text and the celebratory style are unrelated to the scripture for that Sunday (which speaks of vanity and faithlessness), Bach originally indicated that the work could be adapted for general use (et in ogni tempo), and the designation Dominica 15 post Trinitatis only appeared subsequently. As Dürr and others have pointed out, the writing is Italianate in its scoring.
As a vehicle for the soprano, BWV 51 in its outer movements is a rigorous test of a soprano’s agility, range, and stamina, and in the middle movements of her ability to sing lyrically and with feeling.
Movement II: A recitative that is more lyrical arioso than declamatory in nature. Note the word painting — the lurching, staggering, uneven melisma — on schwacher (faltering) and lallen (stammering).
Movement III: A rapturous introspective dal segno aria with the soloist supported by an ostinato walking bass continuo set in triplets where the figures move constantly upward.
Movement IV: A chorale fantasia where the cantus firmus soprano melody — a verse from Johann Gramman’s hymn Nun lob, mein Seel, den Herren — is accompanied by a lively and irresistible violin duet and continuo. That, in turn, leads directly into the closing fugato ‘Alleluia’, prompting the return of the brilliant trumpet accompaniment. It has been suggested that the writing for soprano here is quite instrumental in nature, and the character of the closing takes more the form of a trumpet duet, where the soprano voice plays more the role of a trumpet. That theory is bolstered by the presence of the almost textless closing.
Unresolved is the question of whom Bach had in mind while writing the challenging soprano part, which along with its technical difficulties in range, agility, and stamina, requires an enormous variety of affective color. Was it written for a boy soprano or for a professional female or castrato? Adherents of each position trot out their evidence, and there seems to be reasonable justification for all of them, depending on one’s predisposition. There’s even the suggestion, well-reasoned, and one that I find attractive, that the piece may have been written for Anna Magdalena Bach and a Bach family celebration in 1730. Anyone interested in that theory can return to the “Discussions — Part 3” on the website where it is detailed and argued.
Unresolved, as well, and linked to the previous question, is the intended site of the performance, whether hall, auditorium, or church.
Also unresolved is the exact nature of the trumpet that was used in the initial performances, and the appropriate form of the trumpet and the style of playing to be employed in modern performances. Extensive argument and analysis, again, as with all these questions, is available in the earlier discussions.
Trying to compare recordings, with so many available, is a daunting task. For a long time I found myself listening almost exclusively to one version (Rilling/Auger), but in expanding my listening, I began to appreciate more and more the felicities of other interpretations. Sincere and technically secure performances are the rule, not the exception, and with so many performances available, the number that please is really surprising. I finally decided that the rating process involved too much nit-picking and that I would be better off being more indiscriminate in accepting what some might see as minor flaws. The less I criticized, the more enjoyment I gained from a larger number of recordings. Of the seven that I have, only one really disappoints me (the Florence Foster Jenkins impersonation of my first paragraph). The other six all make me happy, albeit for different reasons, perhaps. Whatever...
Listen. Enjoy. Respond.
Highlights
Not surprisingly, Jauchzet Gott in allen Landen! generated some of the most voluminous corrspondence of the summer. Once again, my purpose here is not to be comprehensive, but only to record for myself comments of personal interest that reflect my own direct involvement. For the whole story, visit the website. You won’t be sorry!
Brad Lehman noted the following with respect to a performance and a recording of Wilhelm Friedemann Bach’s arrangement, which built upon his father’s original: “Finally, there is documented a Friedemann reperformance of Cantata BWV 51 in Halle, based upon trill additions in the parts for first violin and trumpet as well as two new parts for 2nd trumpet and timpani. Christine Schaefer's recording of that version is excellent, with Goebel/MAK.”
My reaction? “The Goebel/Schaefer/MAK recording was one I didn't listen to very
often, and I think a large part of that was the WAY in which I listened to it. I think I too often get into the comparative mode, where I play several versions of the same music side-by-side, and when I do that I get too critical about insignificant details. In the case of this recording, I also found the shock of Goebel's tempo somewhat disorienting. Accustomed to the slower tempos of my other six recordings of BWV 51, Goebel's sounded, not just noticeably quicker, but aggressive, as well. After reading Brad's recommendation, I went back and listened to it all by itself, completely out of the context of the "normal" performance tempos for this work. (Goebel's is a good minute-and-a-half faster than the next fastest recording and more than three-and-a-half minutes faster than my longest.) Heard by itself, what I had previously experienced as aggression now became an expression of celebratory excitement. Certainly, the additional trumpet part and tympani, in themselves a radical departure from the original scoring, may have contributed to the overall effect, but, for the first time, I was able to experience with fresh ears the clamorous exhiliration of the opening aria and the closing Alleluia. Being able to internalize that experience made it much easier to appreciate the beautiful job Schaefer does with the inner movements.
I do have one question, however. Others have commented on how pleased they were that Goebel had slowed things down for this recording. The tempo here seems challenging enough (which Schaefer handles with aplomb)! Could it — and in particular the opening aria — possibly be played any faster?”
Another List member asked about the reference in my introduction to the “Italianate” scoring, to which I responded: “With respect to the scoring, Simon Heighes, in the Bach volume of the Oxford Composer Companions edited by Malcolm Boyd, states, ‘It is scored for a soprano, obbligato trumpet, and strings, a combination found in Italian cantatas, such as “Su le sponde del Tebro” by Alessandro Scarlatti (1660-1725), but unique among Bach's cantatas, and with few if any direct parallels in the German cantata repertory as a whole.’ He goes on to point out: ‘ “Jauchzet Gott” is similar in structure to the Italian solo motet (da capo aria—recitative—da capo aria, leading into an “Alleluja”), but Bach added a chorale before the final movement. The opening movement is related to the trumpet arias of contemporary Italian opera seria, dominated throughout by fanfare figures and virtuoso word-painting, though its heroic tone is here directed toward the praise of God...It [the chorale] leads directly into the final “Alleluja”, one in a long line of such coloratura movements typical of the Italian motet...’
With nothing other than a general impression on which to base it, I would also like to suggest that the arioso-like nature of the recitative might be more typically Italian than German. (For Ed's benefit, I would like to add that that observation is mere speculation on my part. Long live speculation!)”
Animated discussion took place re. the gender of the soloist. It was pointed out that: “The Catholic Church has always officially condemned the practice of
voluntary or coerced castration while continuing to enjoy its musical
benefits from the late 16th century until 1903 when Pius X reestablished the
Sistine Chapel and introduced boys. Until that time, only falstettists [sic] and
castrati sang in the papal choir.” That prompted me to share the following:
“Compare this to Charles Burney's comments in his journals from his continental trip in 1770: ‘[I]t is my opinion that this cruel operation is but too frequently performed without trial or at least without sufficient proofs of a dawning and improvable voice — otherwise there could never be found such numbers of them in every great town throughout Italy without any voice at all — or at least without one sufficient to compensate for the loss.’
A footnote (presumably interpolated by H. Edmund Poole, the editor of the 1969 Folio Society edition of Burney's journals) adds: ‘According to Samber “when they used to cut children in their most tender Infancy, there were 200 Eunuchs made, which proved to be good for nothing”: the children were thus made doubly miserable, they were maimed in body and their voice was good for nothing “and it is certain, nothing in Italy is so contemptible as a Eunuch that cannot sing”.’
The reference to Samber is to Robert Samber's 1718 English translation — Eunuchism Display'd — of Charles Ancillon's 1707 Traité des Eunuchs.”
And I think it only fitting that I close this piece by reporting that the “murderess” of the beginning of my introduction was highly praised by two different BCML members during the course of the subsequent exchanges, Chacun à son goût!
Sunday, July 20, 2008
