Nun danket alle Gott

BWV 192

 

...or “The Apotheosis of the Dance”, and, no, we’re not talking about Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony. 


Nun Danket Alle Gott, BWV 192, despite its brevity, is an absolute gem.  Some commentators have suggested that it is incomplete — its conciseness (three movements) and the absence of the tenor part being cited as evidence.  On the other hand, all three verses of the 1636 Martin Rinckart hymn which forms its text are present, and the balanced structure, bite-sized though it might be, of the two outer chorale movements sandwiching a soprano-bass duet is immensely satisfying.


Once again, we have a cantata whose original performance is shrouded in uncertainty.  Dürr suggests that it was written “most likely as a wedding cantata”, although the liner notes to the Rilling recording also cite Dürr as positing the Feast of the Reformation as the original impetus, a contradiction which I would assume has its origins in differing editions.  (My source is the 2006 English translation; Rilling’s is an earlier German edition.  Did Dürr change his mind, or is this simply a case of mistranslation?) Other sources suggest an unspecified festive occasion.  The dating of the cantata is based primarily on the fact that the same hand that wrote out the parts for BWV 51 wrote out these parts.  Whatever the cantata’s original purpose, the universally positive implications of its text — the first movement focusing on thanksgiving, the second petitioning God for joy, peace, and freedom from distress, and the third, praise — and the dance-like idiom of the musical score result in a work whose demeanor is sunny and angst-free.  I like to think of it in the light of John Eliot Gardiner’s observation that “...[T]o me it seems entirely apt — Bach’s particular way of celebrating the joyous throwing off of shackles achieved by Luther’s reformation.”


Given that overall character, a conductor’s focus on an underlying unifying essence of the dance is not an unreasonable goal, and the writing in Nun danket alle Gott lends itself to that kind of an interpretation.  Both the first and third movements incorporate ternary rhythms.  All three movements contain suggestions of the chorale melody.  An evanescent lightness, delicacy, and grace abound.  Personally, I’ve never accepted the justification for slower performance tempos used by some conductors and performers that Bach’s dance forms were a ‘stylized’ mode of expression.  According to that argument, since they weren’t meant to be danced, they could be eviscerated of their dance expressiveness.   To my mind, and I do realize that this is very much my own personal sentiment and opinion, performances that take the expressivity out of the dance suck the life out of the music.  What is a gigue without the rollicking and rolling of triplet figures?


All three movements of BWV 192 betray that dance logic.  The opening first-movement ritornello of woodwinds and violins percolates with energy.  Ideas are thrown back and forth in a joyful interplay.  As the voices enter, the sopranos can
hardly contain themselves.  For much of this first movement, they intone the cantus firmus.  At other times they seem to be struggling to break free.  “Let us play, too!”  (It is very strange to read through the score with the entire tenor part blank.)  The homophonic choral outburst of the cantata’s title phrase that ends the movement is an unrestrained shout of joy.


A piquant, pixiesh two-step marks the opening of the ritornello for the soprano and bass duet in the second movement.  Decisive eighth-note rests set off playful figures which provide continuity throughout the soprano-bass dialogue, in itself flirtatious and impetuously seductive.  The bass leads on the soprano in the first half of this binary movement, with the soprano coquettishly turning the tables in her response of the second half.


That playful interaction (attraction?) between the soprano and bass leads directly into the physical expression of an exuberant gigue.  The more I listen to Bach, the more I picture him as a lusty old fellow who channeled some of that libidinous energy into his music, and Nun danket alle Gott turns out to be a particularly appropriate vehicle (lending credence, perhaps, to the belief that this cantata may have first been performed as part of a wedding celebration?).


I do realize that this is a highly idiosyncratic and personal interpretation, but it’s one that works for me.  Please feel free to criticize, and please do.  I’d love to hear your reactions.


As usual, reading through the opinions and observations generated during the previous round’s discussion is nothing less than essential.  (Links to texts, discussions, musical examples, etc. can be found at http://www.bach-cantatas.com/BWV192.htm .) Since then, three
more complete recordings have been produced, those of Gardiner, Koopman, and Folan.  I’ve heard the Gardiner and the Koopman.  I suspect Brad — not to put him on the spot or anything — might be able to fill us in on the details of the Folan.


Have fun!  I am!










Highlights


           

I’ll state right at the beginning that it was the Gardiner recording that opened my ears to the joys of this cantata, and it is one of those discs which I consider indispensable.  His incandescent third-movement gigue absolutely  crackles with life!


Clearly, the dance idiom, for me, takes center stage, and at least one List member agrees:

“As to the dance element, the time signatures alone of the three movements lend themselves to such possibilities: 3/4, 2/4, and 12/8 respectively. The third movement chorale fantasia is classified as a gigue in Little-Jenne Dance and the Music of Bach and Finke-Hecklinger Dance Character in the Music of JSB. Imagine, dancing hymns! Why not. Bach sacred and secular cantatas are replete with dance elements, not just because they make good music but, I think, as Bach thumbing his nose at the Pietists, having his cake and eating it too! Remember all those dancing choruses and arias finding their way from dramma per musica to the parodied feast day oratorios, as well as those great closing choruses in the Leipzig Oratorio Passions: sarabande in BWV 244, minuet in BWV 245, and gigue in BWV 247, uniting a time to mourn and a time to dance.
As for Bach spicing up his cake with a little hanky-panky, that's quite possible. Virtually all of Bach's sacred and secular wedding cantatas, according to Finke-Heckling, have dance movements: BWV 196/4, 216/5,7; 202/3,7,9; 195/1, 117/3,7; 120a; 97/2,7; 100/3-5; 210/2,4,8; 197a/3, and 195/1. Caveat amoritus et musicantus!”

And continuing with the exploration of the dance element, another list member picked up on earlier comments and submitted this marvelous post: “[T]his led me to think about the dance rhythms in Bach, generally speaking.
My discussion takes a bit of a circuitous route here, but while I have been letting the topic free float in my mind I have been working on two projects. The first is the decoration of a bushel gourd - and thinking about the use of musical instruments in primal religion and society made from these objects of nature. A few weeks ago I had the unique but brief opportunity to visit with a Native American Indian medicine woman. She happened to be at the gourd farm in Casa Grande, Arizona, when we took our granddaughter to explore the bins of vegetables that are nature's canvas. This lovely woman about my age was purchasing gourds to make instruments for the Native American Indian ceremonials. To just add a word about these events, they are designed as healing festivities which bring restoration and harmony to the people. That being a very brief comment, I have also been studying a book on Navajo (American Indian) philosophy, and the combination of these factors and thinking about J. S. Bach using dance rhythms reminded me that he often selected dance rhythms as a basis for his many organ works, and they are often found in the cantatas. (Buxtehude, too, I believe.) I don't know if people will think my analogy goes too far here, but I have an idea Bach found life and healing in these rhythms.
To come a little more into context, the rhythms of the dance, though varied are well documented in the Hebrew worship in scripture directly or indirectly as one looks at the cadence of verses and stories. The people of God danced...but we also have the fateful story of the dance before the golden calf so the dance matters but discretion is a factor. I will bear correction on this if warranted. By the time [of] the Christian scriptures I can't recall worship in this fashion, but maybe this is a senior moment.
Were Bach's rhythm's libidinous, as has been suggested, or were they a product of the wholeness of life and creation in a healing fashion?
Incidentally, though the topic hasn't really come up in a while, the matter of Bach's twenty children surfaces from time to time. This discussion has largely come from the male contingent in our group, but I got to thinking about the fact that Bach also happened to marry women who were perhaps for that time unique in their capacity for bearing so many children. It takes two to tango, as the expression goes, and birth, maturation, marriage and children all fall ((neatly)) into the plan of creation. I think Bach was awfully smart and ever so aware—and certainly not afraid to use the common meter for communication musically.”

A third correspondent returned to the gender question and its specific overtones of homoerotic confusion, and then extended it to implications of the erotic impulse in the cantatas in general: “In many cantatas, there is a real question of eroticism and its musical expression. 'Komm in mein Herzenshaus' from Cantata 80 is full of unavoidable double-entendres despite its allegorical dress. Even more ‘shocking’ are the two duets in Wachet Auf. This is music of full-blown eroticism (no pun intended) — the opening duet is as sexy as the closing duet of Monteverdi's Poppea. And then add to the mix that this is a schoolboy soprano singing to an adult bass and you are right in the centre of this Baroque fascination. At modern performances of Wachet Auf, I've seen female sopranos and male basses hamming it up as if it was an opera performance. That's not what Bach's congregations saw or heard. I suspect we can never recover how Bach's listeners heard music like this.”


Understandably, perhaps, there are those who stubbornly adhere to the ‘stylized’ interpretation of Bach’s dance movements, i.e., “I personally think that the 'dances' under consideration are so stylized that it is often questionable whether they meet the requirements of the eponymous dance, much less remind the listener of same...”


That’s a sentiment which I clearly do NOT share, as is evident by my response —

“But does the fact that a dance form is ‘stylized’ mean that one now has license to rob the music of the rhythmic pulse that is the essence of dance? Certainly, there may be other factors that might dictate such a choice, but in the absence of those factors, I see no justification for stripping the music of its vigor.  One doesn't have to be able to actually physically dance the piece, but there is nothing wrong with communicating a sense of the potentiality for movement. One qualification of that, I guess, might be with respect to dance movements in the cantatas, where the church fathers might want to discourage eighteenth-century Lutherans from dancing jigs in the aisles at Sunday services!”


The issue unresolved (surprise! surprise!), a List member left us with the following thoughts:

“There are really two questions here:

1) Was actual courtly dance music performed with the same tempos, articulation and dynamics as the ‘dance’ movements in the Brandenburg Concertos? If I’m not mistaken, we don't have any Bach scores for music which accompanied dancing. It's interesting to look at Mozart's orchestrated marches and dances which were clearly practical dance music with very little artfulness — not too many notes! When these forms appear in the operas and symphonies, they are given a degree of refinement and development which just doesn't exist in the sock hop music. Without Bach's dance music to compare, it's impossible to be conclusive, but the dance forms in the keyboard works have become sophisticated art forms.

2) What were the practical performance differences between sacred music and secular music? Was the secular cantata, Tonet Ihr Pauken, played differently when it became ‘Jauchzet Frohlocket’ in the Christmas Oratorio? Were tempos slower and more ‘solemn’, was there less frivolous ornamentation, was articulation smoothed out to sound like antique polyphony? I find it hard to believe that Bach performed the same music in two different ways. And this is where I think that Mattheson and his contemporaries over-emphasized differences in the two styles — differences which didn't exist practically — in order to deflect criticism from non-musicians that impious secular music was creeping into the church and displacing traditional music.”


This same post closed with an intriguing image:

“Dance sidebar: At last year's Toronto International Bach Festival under Helmut Rilling, the intern conductors were treated to a morning of practical dance instruction in gavottes, minuets and the like by the period choreographer of Opera Atelier. I hope they conduct better than they dance.”


 

Sunday, July 27, 2008

 
 
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