Bach B Minor Mass
Jan 25, 2014 - 2:00 PM
A Monument for Head & Heart: Bach's Mass in B minor
by Thomas May
The music gathered into that vast compilation known as the Mass in B minor spans more than three decades of J.S. Bach’s career. Bach himself never heard it from beginning to end, and the work remained unperformed in its entirety for over a century after Johann Sebastian prepared the final stage of his manuscript between August 1748 and October 1749. (The Sanctus is the only part of the work known for certain to have been performed during the composer’s lifetime.)
Not until almost the middle of the following century was a complete edition of the Mass published. Like many another work by Bach, it might have fallen into oblivion all too easily – an intolerable thought for anyone who has been moved by this monumental masterpiece. The turn-around in its fortunes – from obscurity to recognition that the Mass emblematizes Bach’s particular genius – was one of the dramatic results of the Bach revival that gathered steam in the nineteenth century.
In fact, the Mass in B minor also stands apart within the context of Bach’s modus operandi when writing sacred music, which normally was geared toward pragmatic liturgical use. Bach seems to have conceived the Mass as a grand, “abstract” compilation – as an artistic and spiritual testament – although he did subdivide the score in such a way that it could be performed either in whole or in part. Bach arranged the texts from the Ordinary of the Latin Mass into a vast structure comprising 27 individual movements. The unusual subdivisions in his surviving manuscript contain clues relating to the complicated genesis of the Mass in B minor.
Many details are still unexplained, but a basic chronology has emerged. Bach undertook a setting of the first two sections of the Ordinary (Kyrie and Gloria) in 1733, shortly after the accession of Frederick Augustus II as Elector of Saxony. Despite Luther’s stress on the language of the people to enhance communal worship, liturgical practice in Leipzig during Bach’s day allowed for full-scale musical settings of the Latin texts of parts of the Ordinary to be used on special feast days (i.e., the Kyrie, Gloria and Sanctus). Indeed, Bach had written a Sanctus in 1724 and went on to create four other so-called “Lutheran Masses” later in the 1730s.
In the case of the Kyrie and Gloria from 1733, Bach wanted to win the support of the new Elector, whose capital of Dresden had established itself as the advanced musical center of the German-speaking world. Frederick Augustus’s predecessor had converted to Catholicism to claim the Polish throne, and his long reign had thus reinstated a Catholic presence in this stronghold of the Reformation: Catholic and Lutheran musical traditions now coexisted in the Dresden Court.
Thus Bach’s musical offering, which would be appropriate for either religious context, was a smart diplomatic move, one which he hoped would give him extra leverage in dealing with his local enemies in Leipzig. He did eventually garner a new honorific title from Dresden as “composer to the royal court chapel,” but this had little practical effect on his situation. Bach remained at his Leipzig post for the rest of his life, though he continued to cultivate his contacts with the rich musical culture of Dresden, which was celebrated for its impressive collection of Catholic sacred music by such past masters as Palestrina.
Evidently Bach’s exposure to these older traditions triggered his interest in setting the remainder of the Latin Mass. Scholars now generally agree that Bach began assembling the score for the complete Mass in B minor in 1748. He incorporated the Kyrie and Gloria written fifteen years previously and now took on the Credo, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei. In terms of the work’s emerging architecture, these parts would have to be proportionate to the ambitious scale established by those preceding movements. (The Kyrie and Gloria together last about an hour and account for a good half of the Mass’s entire length.)
According to this chronology, the Mass would have been Bach’s final largescale project, completed in the fall of 1749. After this point, the composer’s advancing blindness made it impossible to continue work. The score’s handwriting bears moving physical witness to Bach’s deteriorating condition. In contrast to the fluid calligraphy of the manuscript of 1733 we find a painful, crabbed script, as seen on the final page of the “dona nobis pacem,” after which Bach inscribed the phrase “Fine: D.S.G.” (i.e., “Dei Soli Gloria”) or “The End: To God Alone [Belongs] the Glory.” The structure of the complete Mass allowed Bach to ponder the endurance of traditions of liturgical music that had survived through the centuries: this provided a foundation on which he could build a monument encompassing the full spectrum of his own genius.
Encyclopedic Scope, Not a Miscellany
One of the most startling facts about the Mass in B minor is that very little – if any – of the score assembled in 1748-49 consists of “new” music. Instead, Bach recycled material from earlier in his career. Musicologists use the somewhat confusing term “parody” to describe this process, in which preexisting music is retrofitted to new texts. Even the Kyrie and Gloria from 1733 are known to contain at least some parody elements. Some Bach specialists speculate that every movement in the B minor Mass originated from an earlier model in Bach’s catalogue, though many of these sources have been lost.
In his study of the work, George B. Stauffer explains that parody was valued as an aesthetic choice in the Baroque era; its architectural equivalent would be the tendency to build up and around a pre-existing structure or ruin. For Bach in particular, parody provided a method to refine and perfect earlier work. Rather than merely “recycle” an earlier piece, he subtly adjusted its music to the contour and meaning of the new Latin texts. Moreover, the Mass gave Bach a seemingly more permanent context in which to “store” a wide range of examples spanning his career. The earliest source goes back to one of his first cantatas, from his Weimar days, which was reconfigured for the Crucifixus. And Bach didn’t limit himself to sacred cantatas. He also appropriated secular vocal works and instrumental movements for the effort.
Yet Bach’s meticulous method of selection ensured that his B minor Mass encompassed not an arbitrary miscellany but stylistic range that was genuinely encyclopedic. His score extends across the range of international styles and genres of the high Baroque but also across time, from medieval chant to recent developments that would soon evolve into the Classical style. Bach’s mastery allows him to crystallize all of these cross-currents into a unified structure that embodies both his “musical science” and his most profound theological beliefs. At the same time, he weaves esoteric symbolism (see sidebar) together with such popular idioms as love duets and dances in an inextricable embrace, appealing to head and heart alike.
The great music scholar Wilfrid Mellers homes in on the deeper significance of Bach’s dramatic contrasts and references to day-to-day life in otherworldly contests. In Bach and the Dance of God – which contains some of the most richly insightful reflections ever made on the Mass in B minor – Mellers points to Bach’s “apprehension of mortality” in the Benedictus: “he has discovered what bliss and mercy mean, and makes from that knowledge a music purged…[T]he whole of the Benedictus’s purgatorical meditation is a ‘middle section’ to the worldly hubbub of the Osanna: a moment outside time that man may occasionally discover or rediscover.”
It’s hard not to resort to architectural metaphors in attempting to come to terms with the achievement of the Mass in B minor. Every parameter of the work – tonality, meter, scoring, stylistic character – is constructed with careful attention to symmetry and proportions within the larger whole. The B minor Mass has an immediate impact as awe-inspiring both in its immensity and in its intricacy of detail as a Gothic cathedral.
Rhetorical Range and Color
The introductory measures contain a threefold choral repetition of the basic plea for mercy that is concise yet overwhelming in its emotional weight. This, together with the harmonic richness of the five-part choral layout (as opposed to the more usual four parts), clues us in to the tremendous structure Bach is about to unfold.
An elaborate instrumental introduction prefaces the widely fugal treatment of the first Kyrie. Its pathos contrasts strikingly with the charming duet for sopranos of the Christe eleison, where Bach unabashedly turns to the secular idiom of an amorous operatic duet. The lighter, freer, more “up-to-date” pre-Classical writing here is then followed by an imitation of the severely controlled fugue associated with Palestrina and the “antique style” in the second choral Kyrie eleison. Yet Bach integrates these stylistic contrasts into a coherent tonal plan: the key of each movement traces an ascending B minor triad (B minor—D major—F-sharp minor), which conveys a sense of forward progression that continues on with the Gloria.
Set primarily in D major, the Gloria resolves the darkness of the opening B minor (the “relative minor” of D). The title “B minor Mass” – not Bach’s own, but a later invention of nineteenth-century publishers – is something of a misnomer, since the true home key of the work as a whole is actually D major. These two keys represent the emotional poles anchoring the Mass, outlined by the Kyrie and Gloria, respectively: an attitude of supplication that emphasizes the suffering of our human condition versus one of joyful praise for divine perfection and order.
Bach subdivides the Gloria into nine movements, neatly balancing choral and solo elements and displaying the brilliant rhetorical range and color of the Leipzig cantatas. He interweaves movements for chorus (accompanied by the full orchestral ensemble) with ones that deftly spotlight each solo voice together with each obbligato instrument. The opening Gloria in excelsis, for example, alludes to the nativity scene and the festive atmosphere of Christmas music, reinforced by the sound of timpani and trumpets, while galant stylishness in the sprightly Laudamus te (a duet for mezzo soprano [in this performance] and solo violin) is juxtaposed with Renaissance dignity in the Gratias agimus tibi. The dark anxiety of B minor returns for the Qui tollis and Qui sedes (a chorus followed by aria). Following the “royal” imagery (see sidebar) of the Quoniam, Bach caps the Gloria with a lofty five-part chorus in three-quarter time in the concluding Cum Sancto Spiritu.
Symmetry and Drama
The perfect symmetry of the palindrome underlies the massive Credo’s architecture. Initially Bach worked with a plan of eight movements, but at some point he decided to set the Et incarnatus apart as a separate movement. The result was to give the Credo a powerful and symbolically meaningful symmetry centered around three choral movements that encapsulate the essentials of Christian theology (Et incarnatus, Crucifixus and Et resurrexit). In this plan, the Crucifixion lies literally at the center of the Credo. These movements are surrounded by two solos, while pairs of choruses frame the entire structure. The opening pair, moreover, mirrors the concluding one: In both Bach connects material derived from Gregorian chant (the Credo itself and the Confiteor) with exuberant choruses.
While earlier Bach had alternated “modern” music with movements in “antique style,” the opening Credo in unum Deum uses counterpoint to juxtapose ancient chant simultaneously with Baroque language (the “walking bass” figure). The descending passacaglia pattern of the Crucifixus is the epitome of the emotive power found in Baroque word painting and prepares for the exultant resolution of Et resurrexit. Here dogma becomes bracing musical drama.
The Sanctus comes from a stand-alone setting written for the Christmas service of 1724, when Bach experimented with his most extensive choralinstrumental layout to date by writing for a six-part chorus. The Osanna expands the chorus to eight parts, while both sections draw on familiar dance rhythms, transforming the joy of bodily motion into a symbol of spiritual ecstasy. In the Benedictus, the dark pathos of B minor returns one last time. (Set as a duet for tenor and obbligato instrument, performance practice in recent decades has opted for flute over violin even though Bach’s score doesn’t specify the instrument here.)
Separated by a reprise of the Osanna, the Agnus Dei mirrors the introspective humility of the Benedictus but also echoes the intimacy of the Christe eleison. Bach concludes with another cross-reference, setting the Dona nobis pacem to the same music as that of the Gratias agimus tibi of the Gloria. The result serves both as a unifying element and as an emblem of Bach’s (re)compositional art.
SIDEBAR: Esoteric Meanings Encoded in the Mass in B minor
Several lifetimes could be (and have been) spent attempting to decrypt the complex layers of meaning and suggestion Bach threads throughout the score. These include fascinating examples of numerological imagery: the letters spelling out “Credo,” for instance, add up to 43 in the system Bach used, and the word is proclaimed by the chorus 43 times.
He also scores in a way that alludes to familiar sonic imagery: the festive atmosphere of Christmas music is evoked in the Gloria, for example, by the celebratory use of timpani and trumpets. The Quoniam features bass and obbligato horn, often used to represent royalty and thus a signifier of Jesus. The conductor and Bach expert Helmuth Rilling suggests that the opening horn motif moreover symbolizes Jesus’ perfection because it outlines an octave (itself a symbol of perfection) and is shaped as a palindrome (two Ds an octave apart followed by C# and then the first two Ds in reverse), foreshadowing in microcosm the architectural design of the massive Credo movement.
Bach’s Score
The manuscript for the Mass in B minor (now preserved in the Berlin State Library) survives in a fragile state as an assembly of 188 pages, divided into four parts titled as follows: Missa (for the Kyrie and Gloria), Symbolum Nicenum (a more formal title for the Nicene Creed text, i.e., the Credo, which was sometimes applied to stand-alone musical settings of this part of the Ordinary), Sanctus, and Osanna/Benedictus/ Agnus Dei et Dona nobis pacem.
These make up the complete Ordinary of the Catholic Mass traditionally divided into five parts in a musical setting. Bach’s unusual subdivisions, though, turned out to contain clues to the making of the Mass in B minor which have been painstakingly teased out by scholars.
The music gathered into that vast compilation known as the Mass in B minor spans more than three decades of J.S. Bach’s career. Bach himself never heard it from beginning to end, and the work remained unperformed in its entirety for over a century after Johann Sebastian prepared the final stage of his manuscript between August 1748 and October 1749. (The Sanctus is the only part of the work known for certain to have been performed during the composer’s lifetime.)
Not until almost the middle of the following century was a complete edition of the Mass published. Like many another work by Bach, it might have fallen into oblivion all too easily – an intolerable thought for anyone who has been moved by this monumental masterpiece. The turn-around in its fortunes – from obscurity to recognition that the Mass emblematizes Bach’s particular genius – was one of the dramatic results of the Bach revival that gathered steam in the nineteenth century.
In fact, the Mass in B minor also stands apart within the context of Bach’s modus operandi when writing sacred music, which normally was geared toward pragmatic liturgical use. Bach seems to have conceived the Mass as a grand, “abstract” compilation – as an artistic and spiritual testament – although he did subdivide the score in such a way that it could be performed either in whole or in part. Bach arranged the texts from the Ordinary of the Latin Mass into a vast structure comprising 27 individual movements. The unusual subdivisions in his surviving manuscript contain clues relating to the complicated genesis of the Mass in B minor.
Many details are still unexplained, but a basic chronology has emerged. Bach undertook a setting of the first two sections of the Ordinary (Kyrie and Gloria) in 1733, shortly after the accession of Frederick Augustus II as Elector of Saxony. Despite Luther’s stress on the language of the people to enhance communal worship, liturgical practice in Leipzig during Bach’s day allowed for full-scale musical settings of the Latin texts of parts of the Ordinary to be used on special feast days (i.e., the Kyrie, Gloria and Sanctus). Indeed, Bach had written a Sanctus in 1724 and went on to create four other so-called “Lutheran Masses” later in the 1730s.
In the case of the Kyrie and Gloria from 1733, Bach wanted to win the support of the new Elector, whose capital of Dresden had established itself as the advanced musical center of the German-speaking world. Frederick Augustus’s predecessor had converted to Catholicism to claim the Polish throne, and his long reign had thus reinstated a Catholic presence in this stronghold of the Reformation: Catholic and Lutheran musical traditions now coexisted in the Dresden Court.
Thus Bach’s musical offering, which would be appropriate for either religious context, was a smart diplomatic move, one which he hoped would give him extra leverage in dealing with his local enemies in Leipzig. He did eventually garner a new honorific title from Dresden as “composer to the royal court chapel,” but this had little practical effect on his situation. Bach remained at his Leipzig post for the rest of his life, though he continued to cultivate his contacts with the rich musical culture of Dresden, which was celebrated for its impressive collection of Catholic sacred music by such past masters as Palestrina.
Evidently Bach’s exposure to these older traditions triggered his interest in setting the remainder of the Latin Mass. Scholars now generally agree that Bach began assembling the score for the complete Mass in B minor in 1748. He incorporated the Kyrie and Gloria written fifteen years previously and now took on the Credo, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei. In terms of the work’s emerging architecture, these parts would have to be proportionate to the ambitious scale established by those preceding movements. (The Kyrie and Gloria together last about an hour and account for a good half of the Mass’s entire length.)
According to this chronology, the Mass would have been Bach’s final largescale project, completed in the fall of 1749. After this point, the composer’s advancing blindness made it impossible to continue work. The score’s handwriting bears moving physical witness to Bach’s deteriorating condition. In contrast to the fluid calligraphy of the manuscript of 1733 we find a painful, crabbed script, as seen on the final page of the “dona nobis pacem,” after which Bach inscribed the phrase “Fine: D.S.G.” (i.e., “Dei Soli Gloria”) or “The End: To God Alone [Belongs] the Glory.” The structure of the complete Mass allowed Bach to ponder the endurance of traditions of liturgical music that had survived through the centuries: this provided a foundation on which he could build a monument encompassing the full spectrum of his own genius.
Encyclopedic Scope, Not a Miscellany
One of the most startling facts about the Mass in B minor is that very little – if any – of the score assembled in 1748-49 consists of “new” music. Instead, Bach recycled material from earlier in his career. Musicologists use the somewhat confusing term “parody” to describe this process, in which preexisting music is retrofitted to new texts. Even the Kyrie and Gloria from 1733 are known to contain at least some parody elements. Some Bach specialists speculate that every movement in the B minor Mass originated from an earlier model in Bach’s catalogue, though many of these sources have been lost.
In his study of the work, George B. Stauffer explains that parody was valued as an aesthetic choice in the Baroque era; its architectural equivalent would be the tendency to build up and around a pre-existing structure or ruin. For Bach in particular, parody provided a method to refine and perfect earlier work. Rather than merely “recycle” an earlier piece, he subtly adjusted its music to the contour and meaning of the new Latin texts. Moreover, the Mass gave Bach a seemingly more permanent context in which to “store” a wide range of examples spanning his career. The earliest source goes back to one of his first cantatas, from his Weimar days, which was reconfigured for the Crucifixus. And Bach didn’t limit himself to sacred cantatas. He also appropriated secular vocal works and instrumental movements for the effort.
Yet Bach’s meticulous method of selection ensured that his B minor Mass encompassed not an arbitrary miscellany but stylistic range that was genuinely encyclopedic. His score extends across the range of international styles and genres of the high Baroque but also across time, from medieval chant to recent developments that would soon evolve into the Classical style. Bach’s mastery allows him to crystallize all of these cross-currents into a unified structure that embodies both his “musical science” and his most profound theological beliefs. At the same time, he weaves esoteric symbolism (see sidebar) together with such popular idioms as love duets and dances in an inextricable embrace, appealing to head and heart alike.
The great music scholar Wilfrid Mellers homes in on the deeper significance of Bach’s dramatic contrasts and references to day-to-day life in otherworldly contests. In Bach and the Dance of God – which contains some of the most richly insightful reflections ever made on the Mass in B minor – Mellers points to Bach’s “apprehension of mortality” in the Benedictus: “he has discovered what bliss and mercy mean, and makes from that knowledge a music purged…[T]he whole of the Benedictus’s purgatorical meditation is a ‘middle section’ to the worldly hubbub of the Osanna: a moment outside time that man may occasionally discover or rediscover.”
It’s hard not to resort to architectural metaphors in attempting to come to terms with the achievement of the Mass in B minor. Every parameter of the work – tonality, meter, scoring, stylistic character – is constructed with careful attention to symmetry and proportions within the larger whole. The B minor Mass has an immediate impact as awe-inspiring both in its immensity and in its intricacy of detail as a Gothic cathedral.
Rhetorical Range and Color
The introductory measures contain a threefold choral repetition of the basic plea for mercy that is concise yet overwhelming in its emotional weight. This, together with the harmonic richness of the five-part choral layout (as opposed to the more usual four parts), clues us in to the tremendous structure Bach is about to unfold.
An elaborate instrumental introduction prefaces the widely fugal treatment of the first Kyrie. Its pathos contrasts strikingly with the charming duet for sopranos of the Christe eleison, where Bach unabashedly turns to the secular idiom of an amorous operatic duet. The lighter, freer, more “up-to-date” pre-Classical writing here is then followed by an imitation of the severely controlled fugue associated with Palestrina and the “antique style” in the second choral Kyrie eleison. Yet Bach integrates these stylistic contrasts into a coherent tonal plan: the key of each movement traces an ascending B minor triad (B minor—D major—F-sharp minor), which conveys a sense of forward progression that continues on with the Gloria.
Set primarily in D major, the Gloria resolves the darkness of the opening B minor (the “relative minor” of D). The title “B minor Mass” – not Bach’s own, but a later invention of nineteenth-century publishers – is something of a misnomer, since the true home key of the work as a whole is actually D major. These two keys represent the emotional poles anchoring the Mass, outlined by the Kyrie and Gloria, respectively: an attitude of supplication that emphasizes the suffering of our human condition versus one of joyful praise for divine perfection and order.
Bach subdivides the Gloria into nine movements, neatly balancing choral and solo elements and displaying the brilliant rhetorical range and color of the Leipzig cantatas. He interweaves movements for chorus (accompanied by the full orchestral ensemble) with ones that deftly spotlight each solo voice together with each obbligato instrument. The opening Gloria in excelsis, for example, alludes to the nativity scene and the festive atmosphere of Christmas music, reinforced by the sound of timpani and trumpets, while galant stylishness in the sprightly Laudamus te (a duet for mezzo soprano [in this performance] and solo violin) is juxtaposed with Renaissance dignity in the Gratias agimus tibi. The dark anxiety of B minor returns for the Qui tollis and Qui sedes (a chorus followed by aria). Following the “royal” imagery (see sidebar) of the Quoniam, Bach caps the Gloria with a lofty five-part chorus in three-quarter time in the concluding Cum Sancto Spiritu.
Symmetry and Drama
The perfect symmetry of the palindrome underlies the massive Credo’s architecture. Initially Bach worked with a plan of eight movements, but at some point he decided to set the Et incarnatus apart as a separate movement. The result was to give the Credo a powerful and symbolically meaningful symmetry centered around three choral movements that encapsulate the essentials of Christian theology (Et incarnatus, Crucifixus and Et resurrexit). In this plan, the Crucifixion lies literally at the center of the Credo. These movements are surrounded by two solos, while pairs of choruses frame the entire structure. The opening pair, moreover, mirrors the concluding one: In both Bach connects material derived from Gregorian chant (the Credo itself and the Confiteor) with exuberant choruses.
While earlier Bach had alternated “modern” music with movements in “antique style,” the opening Credo in unum Deum uses counterpoint to juxtapose ancient chant simultaneously with Baroque language (the “walking bass” figure). The descending passacaglia pattern of the Crucifixus is the epitome of the emotive power found in Baroque word painting and prepares for the exultant resolution of Et resurrexit. Here dogma becomes bracing musical drama.
The Sanctus comes from a stand-alone setting written for the Christmas service of 1724, when Bach experimented with his most extensive choralinstrumental layout to date by writing for a six-part chorus. The Osanna expands the chorus to eight parts, while both sections draw on familiar dance rhythms, transforming the joy of bodily motion into a symbol of spiritual ecstasy. In the Benedictus, the dark pathos of B minor returns one last time. (Set as a duet for tenor and obbligato instrument, performance practice in recent decades has opted for flute over violin even though Bach’s score doesn’t specify the instrument here.)
Separated by a reprise of the Osanna, the Agnus Dei mirrors the introspective humility of the Benedictus but also echoes the intimacy of the Christe eleison. Bach concludes with another cross-reference, setting the Dona nobis pacem to the same music as that of the Gratias agimus tibi of the Gloria. The result serves both as a unifying element and as an emblem of Bach’s (re)compositional art.
SIDEBAR: Esoteric Meanings Encoded in the Mass in B minor
Several lifetimes could be (and have been) spent attempting to decrypt the complex layers of meaning and suggestion Bach threads throughout the score. These include fascinating examples of numerological imagery: the letters spelling out “Credo,” for instance, add up to 43 in the system Bach used, and the word is proclaimed by the chorus 43 times.
He also scores in a way that alludes to familiar sonic imagery: the festive atmosphere of Christmas music is evoked in the Gloria, for example, by the celebratory use of timpani and trumpets. The Quoniam features bass and obbligato horn, often used to represent royalty and thus a signifier of Jesus. The conductor and Bach expert Helmuth Rilling suggests that the opening horn motif moreover symbolizes Jesus’ perfection because it outlines an octave (itself a symbol of perfection) and is shaped as a palindrome (two Ds an octave apart followed by C# and then the first two Ds in reverse), foreshadowing in microcosm the architectural design of the massive Credo movement.
Bach’s Score
The manuscript for the Mass in B minor (now preserved in the Berlin State Library) survives in a fragile state as an assembly of 188 pages, divided into four parts titled as follows: Missa (for the Kyrie and Gloria), Symbolum Nicenum (a more formal title for the Nicene Creed text, i.e., the Credo, which was sometimes applied to stand-alone musical settings of this part of the Ordinary), Sanctus, and Osanna/Benedictus/ Agnus Dei et Dona nobis pacem.
These make up the complete Ordinary of the Catholic Mass traditionally divided into five parts in a musical setting. Bach’s unusual subdivisions, though, turned out to contain clues to the making of the Mass in B minor which have been painstakingly teased out by scholars.
Archival Recording
| Date | Review | Media | Reviewer |
|---|---|---|---|
| Jan 26, 2014 |
There is nothing small or insignificant about Johann Sebastian Bach. He is measurable only in the gigantic: his music, his appetite, his physical size, his ego, his family, his ambition and finally, his place in the pantheon of musical genius. "It is Bach," John Eliot Gardiner decl...
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There is nothing small or insignificant about Johann Sebastian Bach. He is measurable only in the gigantic: his music, his appetite, his physical size, his ego, his family, his ambition and finally, his place in the pantheon of musical genius. "It is Bach," John Eliot Gardiner declares, "making music in the Castle of Heaven, who gives us the voice of God - in human form." People make pilgrimages to Leipzig to hear his music performed, as it is daily in Thomaskirke. and to weep in gratitude over his grave for his enormous gifts left to us. Somehow, it is not impossible to believe that, were he to return from the grave, Bach would be immensely pleased.
However, he might have wished to be born earlier in the Baroque period, as that style was waning in popularity as he aged in favor of the newer Classical period. And by the time of his death, Baroque performance was virtually extinct. Nevertheless, the aging Bach managed to piece together a major work that we know as the B-minor Mass (BVW 232). Bach had written four other mass fragments in the Lutheran format (Kyrie and Gloria), but the evangelist composer had not written a mass in the form of the Roman Catholic Ordinary. In semi-retirement, Bach had more time to compile and compose than in his earlier years, when new Cantatas and other liturgical-oriented music must be written, each with its own deadline to be met. Among the hundreds of choral items already in his oeuvre were works that met his needs for the new Mass. He found an early Kyrie and Gloria that he had once referred to as "unworthy" in an introductory letter to Augustus III, the new sovereign of Saxony. In this setting, those movements are anything but "unworthy." In the pre-concert lecture, Maestro Grant Gershon, clearly explained how it is that Bach stands so large in the musical landscape: he could calculate (if that is the correct term) the horizontal counterpoint concurrently with the vertical chordal structure, where most other composers were one-directional. So how did the music sound, you ask? By far and away, it was a most satisfying performance. One could quibble about a tempo here, the use of hiccups in places Bach did not indicate in the score, but in the main, a really well worked-out approach. If one may make a prediction here, it will be fascinating to hear the next iteration of the B-minor Mass in seasons to come. Maestro Gershon has spent, as has the Master Chorale, a lot of time thinking through the piece, and rehearsing it to a polished state of resolution superior to most other extant performances and recordings. But one has a feeling that he and they will present us with even fresher and more distinctive ideas as time ripens the work in their collective minds. The opening chord - "Kyrie" - almost took the audience by surprise. The Master Chorale was ready for it, as was Steve Scharf's excellent Master Chorale Orchestra. At this point, Maestro Gershon chose to employ the melody, broken as it was, into two-note hiccups (not indicated at the outset in the original score, but to be found later in the orchestral parts), the result of which was more reverential than penitential, but the gorgeous altos' tone melted even the stoniest ear. The "Christe" duet was sung by soprano Suzanne Anderson and mezzo Adriana Manfredi; for those sitting further away from the stage than the immediate orchestra section, their contribution was unfortunately virtually inaudible. When the second "Kyrie" arrived, Maestro Gershon chose to employ the hiccup (Ky/ri/e) as each choral section introduced the main musical theme, but upon reiteration of the theme, had the Master Chorale revert to legato, allowing the melody to coalesce into place. "Gloria in excelsis" was joyously sung with all pistons firing. All the rehearsing paid off in clarity, with successive thematic entrances highlighted but not driven. The result is a revelation especially of the inner workings of the choral lines. But "Et in terra pax" became another string of broken two-note phraselets when first sung by each section in turn, which is indicated in the score for the strings, but not for the chorus. "Laudamus te" belonged to mezzo Callista Hoffman-Campbell, who sang it with satisfying strength and musicality, brilliantly accompanied by Concertmaster Joel Pargman. "Gratias agimus tibi" was again a total choral effort that was right in so many aspects: involvement in the emotional value of the text as well as beautiful choral landscaping and phrase shaping. Soprano Elissa Johnston (aka the Maestro's life partner) and tenor Jon Lee Keenan shared the "Domine Deus" duet. Both singers are consummate musicians and handled the sometimes low tessitura with a reliance on textual delivery. Mr. Keenan's otherwise musical voice tended to thin out on a certain vowel sound. "Qui tollis peccata mundi" brought the full chorus of 110 singers back into play, with the same beautiful results as before. "Qui sedes ad dexteram Patris" was mezzo Niké St. Clair's assignment, and she did not fail to deliver a rich, beautiful tone. "Quoniam tu solus sanctus" employs an accompaniment played by Steve Becknell on the double French horn together with a pair of bassoons accompanying the normally stentorian singing of Steve Pence, whose voice sounded at less than normal strength. "Cum Sancto Spiritu" revived the joy of the "Gloria" chorus, although the speed taken meant the sopranos couldn't quite manage a couple of their high notes as they flew by. Nevertheless, this provided a good place for an intermission (in spite of the official programme's advisory that there would not be one). While patrons enjoy their halftime coffee etc., a note about how different contemporary conductors approach the end of a section or movement. Baroque performance practice has undergone an enormous change over the past 60-75 years. Back then, slow used to infer piety. In a sacred work, allegro (which actually means "lively" or "happy") could not be taken literally, as it might infringe on the "holiness" of the performance. Or so it was thought. Starting with Gardiner, Nikolaus Harnoncourt, Gustav Leonhardt and others in the late 1960s, Baroque performance practices begin to light up with speedier tempi and greater attention to the use of ancient instruments (or authentic copies thereof), and the use of emotion inherent in the texts. As it turned out, some conductors became addicted to the ever-faster speeds, resulting in chaos and lost textual meaning. But in our own performance, Maestro Gershon chose to keep one of the cherished attributes of the clichéd mid 20th century performance practice: that of slowing, sometimes drastically, as a movement arrives at an "end station or cadence," and then taking a page from the retro-revisionist book, making a separation between the penultimate note and the final chord. Except on this occasion, those separations became a feature of their own. In several such places at the cadence in question, not everyone on stage looked entirely sure where the final note would fall as the momentary space varied from time to time. The performance continued with "Credo in unum Deum." Initial sectional entries were sung legato the first time, and then articulated in subsequent entries of the main theme. As to tempo, the Credo is indicated alla breve, but the note values are doubled in the score. One would think that Roger Wagner, whose inaugural Los Angeles Master Chorale's performance 49 years ago of the B-minor Mass in the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion was the inspiration for this weekend's celebrations, might have opted to take the tempo a couple of metronomic ticks slower. Soprano Suzanne Waters and mezzo Michele Hemmings duetted in "Et in unum Dominum" before the traditional emotional shift to the agonizing sorrow in "Et incarnatus est," said to be Bach's very last composition, and "Crucifixus," both of which were sung by the Master Chorale with the most exquisite pianissimos of the performance while losing none of their incisive textual delivery. "Et resurrexit" bursts out and forward, leaving sorrow behind and proclaims the victory of life over death. Baritone Vincent Robles sang the "Et in spiritum Sanctum" that would likely benefit from a bass-baritone voice, given its occasional dip into the bass range. The "Confiteor" movement is a strange bird, seemingly written by another hand. But here, Maestro Gershon achieved a masterful touch in making the inherent cantus firmus sing out whenever it appeared. Suddenly, the movement makes musical sense. "Et expecto" burst forth with the three "Bach" trumpets blaring perhaps just a bit too enthusiastically. Maestro Gershon allowed perhaps three or four seconds to elapse between the final notes of the "Et expecto" and a subito downbeat of "Sanctus." The oceanic triplets washing across the stage and from side to side are marvelous invocations of angelic hosts singing "holy, holy, holy." Clarity, together with holding back a bit on the opening waves allowed the Master Chorale to find ever-increasing power and joy before the music suddenly shifts into "Osanna in excelsis," sung with precise diction and choral balance. Pablo Cora employed his light tenor to good effect in the "Benedictus" before the "Osanna" returned with all the initial joy in place. No greater change of emotion could be envisioned than the transition from "Osanna" to "Agnus Dei" – one of the most iconic alto solos ever written, in which the soloist, on this occasion the excellent Janelle DeStefano, must negotiate awkward vocal leaps that take the singer from one tonality to the next, requiring a literal leap of faith that it will all work out. There are traps rhythmically as well: normal phrases are sometimes lengthened by a couple of measures. Calculating how much of a breath to take, and how to preserve it enough to achieve the phrase ending –a great challenge well met by Ms. DeStefano. The wind section of the orchestra deserves high praise for various obbligato accompaniments in solo sections of the score. Lisa Edwards contributed continuo support on the smallish portative organ, which was difficult to hear. All of which leads us to the grand finale: "Dona nobis pacem," a soaring prayer for peace resting on the fugal phrase: sol-la-ti-do that again and again emerged from the choral tapestry, building, slowly and inevitably with the orchestra to a thrilling, sublime, spine-tingling finish. Read Less |
LA Opus | Douglas Neslund |
| Jan 28, 2014 |
The Los Angeles Master Chorale resurrected Bach's B Minor Mass for the group's grand anniversary in Walt Disney Concert Hall on January 25 and 26, 2014.
Powered by 115 singers and a symphonic orchestra, this was the Chorale's eleventh performance of... Read More
The Los Angeles Master Chorale resurrected Bach's B Minor Mass for the group's grand anniversary in Walt Disney Concert Hall on January 25 and 26, 2014.
Powered by 115 singers and a symphonic orchestra, this was the Chorale's eleventh performance of the monumental work. The first was at the Music Center 49 years ago under the direction of Roger Wagner, the very first concert performed by the group. Music Director Grant Gershon conducted with his signature fluid style. Of special note was the Domine Deus: Elissa Johnston, soprano and John Lee Keenan, tenor. The two were perfectly paired, producing a clarion sound - matched by Geri Rotella, flute. Rotella is also a soundtrack regular: Blades of Glory, Bruce Almighty, Panic Room, Pirates of the Caribbean, and many more. Pablo Cora sang the Benedictus, another standout who handled the soaring score with deft mastery. Cora is also a staff singer at Saint Matthew's Episcopal Church in Pacific Palisades. The Master Chorale performs choral music that spans antiquity to modern compositions. Gershon has led more than 100 performances at Walt Disney Concert Hall, helping earn the Chorale three ASCAP/Chorus America Awards for Adventurous Programming. The Chorale is in its 11th season as resident chorus of Disney Hall, and 50th season as resident chorus of the Music Center. Upcoming Master Chorale events Tribute to Morten Lauridsen | March 16, 2014 | 48 singers with the composer at the piano. Minimalist Masterworks | April 6, 2014, Disney Hall | 32 singers with an instrumental ensemble. Read Less |
Examiner.com | R.D Foster |
| Jan 29, 2014 |
Critic's Notebook: The Bach and Handel works get independent, excellent performances by Los Angeles Master Chorale and English Concert, respectively.
Bach and Handel did not lead intersecting lives. Bach never left central Germany, while Handel became a cosmopolita... Read More
Critic's Notebook: The Bach and Handel works get independent, excellent performances by Los Angeles Master Chorale and English Concert, respectively.
Bach and Handel did not lead intersecting lives. Bach never left central Germany, while Handel became a cosmopolitan Londoner. Bach was a man of the church and had 20 children. Handel caught the theater bug and was not a family man (recent musicology presumes him to have been gay). But what are the odds that these two pillars of the Baroque would be born less than a month apart in the winter of 1685 and 90 miles away? And in another magnificent coincidence, each produced his most compelling spiritual summing-up, a resplendent working through of crises of faith, in 1749. That was the year Bach put the final touches on his B-Minor Mass and Handel wrote one of his late oratorios, "Theodora." So it was still another remarkable coincidence that these 1749 masterpieces happened to independently reach Southern California in magnificent back-to-back performances. A centerpiece of the Los Angeles Master Chorale's 50th anniversary season, the B-Minor Mass was given Saturday afternoon and Sunday evening at Walt Disney Concert Hall. "Theodora" is, in these parts, a rarity, but the English Concert happens to be celebrating its 40th anniversary with a touring "Theodora" (all four hours of it) featuring stellar singers, and the Philharmonic Society brought that to the Renée and Henry Segerstrom Concert Hall in Costa Mesa Monday night. The scores are not, superficially, alike, and neither were the performance approaches. The English Concert is one of London's best-known period-instrument groups and is led by an early music specialist, Harry Bicket. The Master Chorale, under its music director Grant Gershon, is the model modern chorus, comfortable in music of many centuries, attitudes and world cultures. In a new Bach biography, "Music in the Castle of Heaven," the conductor John Eliot Gardiner charts the B-Minor Mass as the composer's personal journey. Gardiner describes the role of the performer as that of guide, discoverer of revelation. The mass becomes for an audience a collective spiritual experience, with the goal not so much of religiosity as the attainment of communal peace. That was Gershon's approach. He sculpted choral surfaces and substances. The magisterial opening of the Kyrie became an exclamation of a monumental occurrence, the massed sound of a crowd as an earthquake suddenly begins cracking the ground. Journey's end, "Dona nobis pacem" (Grant us peace) is one of the most inspired passages in all of Bach, makes peace seem, against all reason, possible. Gershon's Master Chorale made Bach live. Just the opposite of a big Mass, Handel's oratorio is personal drama and tragedy. An early Christian martyr, Theodora resists governmental pressure to worship Roman gods, and she is doomed as is her lover, a converted Roman soldier, Didymus. They die together, unwavering in faith, as many do today in religious divides. Peter Sellars directed a famed 1996 staging of "Theodora" at the Glyndebourne Festival in England, in which the countertenor David Daniels was Didymus, the performance that made him a star, and he was Didymus again Monday. Bicket was the young harpsichordist in the Glyndebourne production. Both now are among our most authoritative Handelians. Handel thought "Theodora" contained his finest music. Though a study in constancy, his score ranges through human emotion. Handel's peace is personal and inner, and the battles waged and won by Theodora and Didymus are great and unobvious ones. But it is in the effect the lovers have on others - Romans and Christians and most of all Theodora's confidant, Irene - that the oratorio rises to its extraordinary inspirational heights. In fact, Irene and the chorus get the most moving music. The long performance was riveting in every way. Conducting from the harpsichord, Bicket was all business, shaping every phrase for its dramatic intent. Soprano Dorothea Röschmann was a zealously operatic Theodora and mezzo-soprano Sarah Connolly an ardently passionate Irene. Daniels approaches Didymus from the inside out, and the countertenor's eloquent fervor is reaching new depths. Tenor Kurt Streit (the Roman officer Septimius) and bass Neal Davies (the murderous president of Antioch, Valens) represented the power. The Choir of Trinity, Wall Street, sang the choruses with comforting exactitude. I wonder whether the English Concert has ever sounded better than it does now under Bicket. The B-Minor Mass is beloved; "Theodora" still needs its advocates. Disney was full at the Saturday performance I heard. The slightly smaller Segerstrom was not as well attended Monday. But the world obviously needs more than ever the collective peace and inner strength, the yin and yang of Bach and Handel, to regain its balance. What are the odds? Read Less |
Los Angeles Times | Mark Swed |
| Jan 29, 2014 |
Bach's Mass in B Minor is big. Really big. Compiled from new and recycled compositions over the first half of the 18th Century (completed in 1749) the piece consists of 27 movements in 5 parts. The full mass was not performed as a whole until nearly a century after Bach's death. The ...
Read More
Bach's Mass in B Minor is big. Really big. Compiled from new and recycled compositions over the first half of the 18th Century (completed in 1749) the piece consists of 27 movements in 5 parts. The full mass was not performed as a whole until nearly a century after Bach's death. The Los Angeles Master Chorale, celebrating its 50th anniversary, first performed the piece for their inaugural concert in 1965 at the newly opened Dorothy Chandler Pavilion (or as the late/great female impersonator Charles Pierce dubbed it: "Dot's Place"). Now it's back bigger and better than ever in the Chorale's home at Disney Hall.
For the occasion, musical director/conductor Grant Gershon assembled 115 singers, 12 of them soloists, and a 50-member orchestra with an expanded string section. The Kyrie got off to a bit of a shaky start as the orchestra overpowered the chorale, but the problem was quickly rectified and the momentum continued to build through the rest of the Kyrie straight through the lengthy Gloria to the intermission. The second half started off like gangbusters with the "Credo in unum Deum" sung with ever increasing passion until it reached a fever pitch only to be counterbalanced by the deeply moving and reverential "Crucifixus." Then it was off to the races again with each movement sounding more glorious than its predecessor grabbing the audience and not letting go until the final note. The chorale has never been in better voice and their rich full tones filled the hall. The soloists were accomplished and well chosen. Two of the most unique voices - soprano Suzanne Anderson and mezzo soprano Adriana Manfredi - were unfortunately drowned out by the orchestra during the Kyrie, making me wonder if their placement within the orchestra, as opposed to the front of the stage, had something to do with it. But then Vincent Robles had no problem filling the hall with his resounding baritone during the Credo. Saving the best for last, the final soloists truly captured the depth and enormity of the event: Tenor Pablo Corá was mesmerizing in his rendition of the "Benedictus," and mezzo soprano Janelle DeStefano soared into the heavens during her performance of "Agnus Dei." The orchestra was stupendous. The extra strings made the melodies as soothing as a Sunday stroll in the sun. The scaled down brass section (1 horn and 3 trumpets) made itself known in stellar fashion, blaring its processionals with commitment and triumph. Featured soloists were all amazing, but flutist Geri Rotella and cellist John Waltz were real standouts, and had the crowd hanging on their every note and sitting up in appreciation of their considerable acumen. Sometimes big is just big, but sometimes, as was the case with this Bach Mass, bigger really is better. Disney Hall was filled with majestic music and the crowd floated home on a cloud. Read Less |
Stage and Cimena | Tom Chaits |
A Monument for Head & Heart: Bach's Mass in B minor
by Thomas May
The music gathered into that vast compilation known as the Mass in B minor spans more than three decades of J.S. Bach’s career. Bach himself never heard it from beginning to end, and the work remained unperformed in its entirety for over a century after Johann Sebastian prepared the final stage of his manuscript between August 1748 and October 1749. (The Sanctus is the only part of the work known for certain to have been performed during the composer’s lifetime.)
Not until almost the middle of the following century was a complete edition of the Mass published. Like many another work by Bach, it might have fallen into oblivion all too easily – an intolerable thought for anyone who has been moved by this monumental masterpiece. The turn-around in its fortunes – from obscurity to recognition that the Mass emblematizes Bach’s particular genius – was one of the dramatic results of the Bach revival that gathered steam in the nineteenth century.
In fact, the Mass in B minor also stands apart within the context of Bach’s modus operandi when writing sacred music, which normally was geared toward pragmatic liturgical use. Bach seems to have conceived the Mass as a grand, “abstract” compilation – as an artistic and spiritual testament – although he did subdivide the score in such a way that it could be performed either in whole or in part. Bach arranged the texts from the Ordinary of the Latin Mass into a vast structure comprising 27 individual movements. The unusual subdivisions in his surviving manuscript contain clues relating to the complicated genesis of the Mass in B minor.
Many details are still unexplained, but a basic chronology has emerged. Bach undertook a setting of the first two sections of the Ordinary (Kyrie and Gloria) in 1733, shortly after the accession of Frederick Augustus II as Elector of Saxony. Despite Luther’s stress on the language of the people to enhance communal worship, liturgical practice in Leipzig during Bach’s day allowed for full-scale musical settings of the Latin texts of parts of the Ordinary to be used on special feast days (i.e., the Kyrie, Gloria and Sanctus). Indeed, Bach had written a Sanctus in 1724 and went on to create four other so-called “Lutheran Masses” later in the 1730s.
In the case of the Kyrie and Gloria from 1733, Bach wanted to win the support of the new Elector, whose capital of Dresden had established itself as the advanced musical center of the German-speaking world. Frederick Augustus’s predecessor had converted to Catholicism to claim the Polish throne, and his long reign had thus reinstated a Catholic presence in this stronghold of the Reformation: Catholic and Lutheran musical traditions now coexisted in the Dresden Court.
Thus Bach’s musical offering, which would be appropriate for either religious context, was a smart diplomatic move, one which he hoped would give him extra leverage in dealing with his local enemies in Leipzig. He did eventually garner a new honorific title from Dresden as “composer to the royal court chapel,” but this had little practical effect on his situation. Bach remained at his Leipzig post for the rest of his life, though he continued to cultivate his contacts with the rich musical culture of Dresden, which was celebrated for its impressive collection of Catholic sacred music by such past masters as Palestrina.
Evidently Bach’s exposure to these older traditions triggered his interest in setting the remainder of the Latin Mass. Scholars now generally agree that Bach began assembling the score for the complete Mass in B minor in 1748. He incorporated the Kyrie and Gloria written fifteen years previously and now took on the Credo, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei. In terms of the work’s emerging architecture, these parts would have to be proportionate to the ambitious scale established by those preceding movements. (The Kyrie and Gloria together last about an hour and account for a good half of the Mass’s entire length.)
According to this chronology, the Mass would have been Bach’s final largescale project, completed in the fall of 1749. After this point, the composer’s advancing blindness made it impossible to continue work. The score’s handwriting bears moving physical witness to Bach’s deteriorating condition. In contrast to the fluid calligraphy of the manuscript of 1733 we find a painful, crabbed script, as seen on the final page of the “dona nobis pacem,” after which Bach inscribed the phrase “Fine: D.S.G.” (i.e., “Dei Soli Gloria”) or “The End: To God Alone [Belongs] the Glory.” The structure of the complete Mass allowed Bach to ponder the endurance of traditions of liturgical music that had survived through the centuries: this provided a foundation on which he could build a monument encompassing the full spectrum of his own genius.
Encyclopedic Scope, Not a Miscellany
One of the most startling facts about the Mass in B minor is that very little – if any – of the score assembled in 1748-49 consists of “new” music. Instead, Bach recycled material from earlier in his career. Musicologists use the somewhat confusing term “parody” to describe this process, in which preexisting music is retrofitted to new texts. Even the Kyrie and Gloria from 1733 are known to contain at least some parody elements. Some Bach specialists speculate that every movement in the B minor Mass originated from an earlier model in Bach’s catalogue, though many of these sources have been lost.
In his study of the work, George B. Stauffer explains that parody was valued as an aesthetic choice in the Baroque era; its architectural equivalent would be the tendency to build up and around a pre-existing structure or ruin. For Bach in particular, parody provided a method to refine and perfect earlier work. Rather than merely “recycle” an earlier piece, he subtly adjusted its music to the contour and meaning of the new Latin texts. Moreover, the Mass gave Bach a seemingly more permanent context in which to “store” a wide range of examples spanning his career. The earliest source goes back to one of his first cantatas, from his Weimar days, which was reconfigured for the Crucifixus. And Bach didn’t limit himself to sacred cantatas. He also appropriated secular vocal works and instrumental movements for the effort.
Yet Bach’s meticulous method of selection ensured that his B minor Mass encompassed not an arbitrary miscellany but stylistic range that was genuinely encyclopedic. His score extends across the range of international styles and genres of the high Baroque but also across time, from medieval chant to recent developments that would soon evolve into the Classical style. Bach’s mastery allows him to crystallize all of these cross-currents into a unified structure that embodies both his “musical science” and his most profound theological beliefs. At the same time, he weaves esoteric symbolism (see sidebar) together with such popular idioms as love duets and dances in an inextricable embrace, appealing to head and heart alike.
The great music scholar Wilfrid Mellers homes in on the deeper significance of Bach’s dramatic contrasts and references to day-to-day life in otherworldly contests. In Bach and the Dance of God – which contains some of the most richly insightful reflections ever made on the Mass in B minor – Mellers points to Bach’s “apprehension of mortality” in the Benedictus: “he has discovered what bliss and mercy mean, and makes from that knowledge a music purged…[T]he whole of the Benedictus’s purgatorical meditation is a ‘middle section’ to the worldly hubbub of the Osanna: a moment outside time that man may occasionally discover or rediscover.”
It’s hard not to resort to architectural metaphors in attempting to come to terms with the achievement of the Mass in B minor. Every parameter of the work – tonality, meter, scoring, stylistic character – is constructed with careful attention to symmetry and proportions within the larger whole. The B minor Mass has an immediate impact as awe-inspiring both in its immensity and in its intricacy of detail as a Gothic cathedral.
Rhetorical Range and Color
The introductory measures contain a threefold choral repetition of the basic plea for mercy that is concise yet overwhelming in its emotional weight. This, together with the harmonic richness of the five-part choral layout (as opposed to the more usual four parts), clues us in to the tremendous structure Bach is about to unfold.
An elaborate instrumental introduction prefaces the widely fugal treatment of the first Kyrie. Its pathos contrasts strikingly with the charming duet for sopranos of the Christe eleison, where Bach unabashedly turns to the secular idiom of an amorous operatic duet. The lighter, freer, more “up-to-date” pre-Classical writing here is then followed by an imitation of the severely controlled fugue associated with Palestrina and the “antique style” in the second choral Kyrie eleison. Yet Bach integrates these stylistic contrasts into a coherent tonal plan: the key of each movement traces an ascending B minor triad (B minor—D major—F-sharp minor), which conveys a sense of forward progression that continues on with the Gloria.
Set primarily in D major, the Gloria resolves the darkness of the opening B minor (the “relative minor” of D). The title “B minor Mass” – not Bach’s own, but a later invention of nineteenth-century publishers – is something of a misnomer, since the true home key of the work as a whole is actually D major. These two keys represent the emotional poles anchoring the Mass, outlined by the Kyrie and Gloria, respectively: an attitude of supplication that emphasizes the suffering of our human condition versus one of joyful praise for divine perfection and order.
Bach subdivides the Gloria into nine movements, neatly balancing choral and solo elements and displaying the brilliant rhetorical range and color of the Leipzig cantatas. He interweaves movements for chorus (accompanied by the full orchestral ensemble) with ones that deftly spotlight each solo voice together with each obbligato instrument. The opening Gloria in excelsis, for example, alludes to the nativity scene and the festive atmosphere of Christmas music, reinforced by the sound of timpani and trumpets, while galant stylishness in the sprightly Laudamus te (a duet for mezzo soprano [in this performance] and solo violin) is juxtaposed with Renaissance dignity in the Gratias agimus tibi. The dark anxiety of B minor returns for the Qui tollis and Qui sedes (a chorus followed by aria). Following the “royal” imagery (see sidebar) of the Quoniam, Bach caps the Gloria with a lofty five-part chorus in three-quarter time in the concluding Cum Sancto Spiritu.
Symmetry and Drama
The perfect symmetry of the palindrome underlies the massive Credo’s architecture. Initially Bach worked with a plan of eight movements, but at some point he decided to set the Et incarnatus apart as a separate movement. The result was to give the Credo a powerful and symbolically meaningful symmetry centered around three choral movements that encapsulate the essentials of Christian theology (Et incarnatus, Crucifixus and Et resurrexit). In this plan, the Crucifixion lies literally at the center of the Credo. These movements are surrounded by two solos, while pairs of choruses frame the entire structure. The opening pair, moreover, mirrors the concluding one: In both Bach connects material derived from Gregorian chant (the Credo itself and the Confiteor) with exuberant choruses.
While earlier Bach had alternated “modern” music with movements in “antique style,” the opening Credo in unum Deum uses counterpoint to juxtapose ancient chant simultaneously with Baroque language (the “walking bass” figure). The descending passacaglia pattern of the Crucifixus is the epitome of the emotive power found in Baroque word painting and prepares for the exultant resolution of Et resurrexit. Here dogma becomes bracing musical drama.
The Sanctus comes from a stand-alone setting written for the Christmas service of 1724, when Bach experimented with his most extensive choralinstrumental layout to date by writing for a six-part chorus. The Osanna expands the chorus to eight parts, while both sections draw on familiar dance rhythms, transforming the joy of bodily motion into a symbol of spiritual ecstasy. In the Benedictus, the dark pathos of B minor returns one last time. (Set as a duet for tenor and obbligato instrument, performance practice in recent decades has opted for flute over violin even though Bach’s score doesn’t specify the instrument here.)
Separated by a reprise of the Osanna, the Agnus Dei mirrors the introspective humility of the Benedictus but also echoes the intimacy of the Christe eleison. Bach concludes with another cross-reference, setting the Dona nobis pacem to the same music as that of the Gratias agimus tibi of the Gloria. The result serves both as a unifying element and as an emblem of Bach’s (re)compositional art.
SIDEBAR: Esoteric Meanings Encoded in the Mass in B minor
Several lifetimes could be (and have been) spent attempting to decrypt the complex layers of meaning and suggestion Bach threads throughout the score. These include fascinating examples of numerological imagery: the letters spelling out “Credo,” for instance, add up to 43 in the system Bach used, and the word is proclaimed by the chorus 43 times.
He also scores in a way that alludes to familiar sonic imagery: the festive atmosphere of Christmas music is evoked in the Gloria, for example, by the celebratory use of timpani and trumpets. The Quoniam features bass and obbligato horn, often used to represent royalty and thus a signifier of Jesus. The conductor and Bach expert Helmuth Rilling suggests that the opening horn motif moreover symbolizes Jesus’ perfection because it outlines an octave (itself a symbol of perfection) and is shaped as a palindrome (two Ds an octave apart followed by C# and then the first two Ds in reverse), foreshadowing in microcosm the architectural design of the massive Credo movement.
Bach’s Score
The manuscript for the Mass in B minor (now preserved in the Berlin State Library) survives in a fragile state as an assembly of 188 pages, divided into four parts titled as follows: Missa (for the Kyrie and Gloria), Symbolum Nicenum (a more formal title for the Nicene Creed text, i.e., the Credo, which was sometimes applied to stand-alone musical settings of this part of the Ordinary), Sanctus, and Osanna/Benedictus/ Agnus Dei et Dona nobis pacem.
These make up the complete Ordinary of the Catholic Mass traditionally divided into five parts in a musical setting. Bach’s unusual subdivisions, though, turned out to contain clues to the making of the Mass in B minor which have been painstakingly teased out by scholars.
The music gathered into that vast compilation known as the Mass in B minor spans more than three decades of J.S. Bach’s career. Bach himself never heard it from beginning to end, and the work remained unperformed in its entirety for over a century after Johann Sebastian prepared the final stage of his manuscript between August 1748 and October 1749. (The Sanctus is the only part of the work known for certain to have been performed during the composer’s lifetime.)
Not until almost the middle of the following century was a complete edition of the Mass published. Like many another work by Bach, it might have fallen into oblivion all too easily – an intolerable thought for anyone who has been moved by this monumental masterpiece. The turn-around in its fortunes – from obscurity to recognition that the Mass emblematizes Bach’s particular genius – was one of the dramatic results of the Bach revival that gathered steam in the nineteenth century.
In fact, the Mass in B minor also stands apart within the context of Bach’s modus operandi when writing sacred music, which normally was geared toward pragmatic liturgical use. Bach seems to have conceived the Mass as a grand, “abstract” compilation – as an artistic and spiritual testament – although he did subdivide the score in such a way that it could be performed either in whole or in part. Bach arranged the texts from the Ordinary of the Latin Mass into a vast structure comprising 27 individual movements. The unusual subdivisions in his surviving manuscript contain clues relating to the complicated genesis of the Mass in B minor.
Many details are still unexplained, but a basic chronology has emerged. Bach undertook a setting of the first two sections of the Ordinary (Kyrie and Gloria) in 1733, shortly after the accession of Frederick Augustus II as Elector of Saxony. Despite Luther’s stress on the language of the people to enhance communal worship, liturgical practice in Leipzig during Bach’s day allowed for full-scale musical settings of the Latin texts of parts of the Ordinary to be used on special feast days (i.e., the Kyrie, Gloria and Sanctus). Indeed, Bach had written a Sanctus in 1724 and went on to create four other so-called “Lutheran Masses” later in the 1730s.
In the case of the Kyrie and Gloria from 1733, Bach wanted to win the support of the new Elector, whose capital of Dresden had established itself as the advanced musical center of the German-speaking world. Frederick Augustus’s predecessor had converted to Catholicism to claim the Polish throne, and his long reign had thus reinstated a Catholic presence in this stronghold of the Reformation: Catholic and Lutheran musical traditions now coexisted in the Dresden Court.
Thus Bach’s musical offering, which would be appropriate for either religious context, was a smart diplomatic move, one which he hoped would give him extra leverage in dealing with his local enemies in Leipzig. He did eventually garner a new honorific title from Dresden as “composer to the royal court chapel,” but this had little practical effect on his situation. Bach remained at his Leipzig post for the rest of his life, though he continued to cultivate his contacts with the rich musical culture of Dresden, which was celebrated for its impressive collection of Catholic sacred music by such past masters as Palestrina.
Evidently Bach’s exposure to these older traditions triggered his interest in setting the remainder of the Latin Mass. Scholars now generally agree that Bach began assembling the score for the complete Mass in B minor in 1748. He incorporated the Kyrie and Gloria written fifteen years previously and now took on the Credo, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei. In terms of the work’s emerging architecture, these parts would have to be proportionate to the ambitious scale established by those preceding movements. (The Kyrie and Gloria together last about an hour and account for a good half of the Mass’s entire length.)
According to this chronology, the Mass would have been Bach’s final largescale project, completed in the fall of 1749. After this point, the composer’s advancing blindness made it impossible to continue work. The score’s handwriting bears moving physical witness to Bach’s deteriorating condition. In contrast to the fluid calligraphy of the manuscript of 1733 we find a painful, crabbed script, as seen on the final page of the “dona nobis pacem,” after which Bach inscribed the phrase “Fine: D.S.G.” (i.e., “Dei Soli Gloria”) or “The End: To God Alone [Belongs] the Glory.” The structure of the complete Mass allowed Bach to ponder the endurance of traditions of liturgical music that had survived through the centuries: this provided a foundation on which he could build a monument encompassing the full spectrum of his own genius.
Encyclopedic Scope, Not a Miscellany
One of the most startling facts about the Mass in B minor is that very little – if any – of the score assembled in 1748-49 consists of “new” music. Instead, Bach recycled material from earlier in his career. Musicologists use the somewhat confusing term “parody” to describe this process, in which preexisting music is retrofitted to new texts. Even the Kyrie and Gloria from 1733 are known to contain at least some parody elements. Some Bach specialists speculate that every movement in the B minor Mass originated from an earlier model in Bach’s catalogue, though many of these sources have been lost.
In his study of the work, George B. Stauffer explains that parody was valued as an aesthetic choice in the Baroque era; its architectural equivalent would be the tendency to build up and around a pre-existing structure or ruin. For Bach in particular, parody provided a method to refine and perfect earlier work. Rather than merely “recycle” an earlier piece, he subtly adjusted its music to the contour and meaning of the new Latin texts. Moreover, the Mass gave Bach a seemingly more permanent context in which to “store” a wide range of examples spanning his career. The earliest source goes back to one of his first cantatas, from his Weimar days, which was reconfigured for the Crucifixus. And Bach didn’t limit himself to sacred cantatas. He also appropriated secular vocal works and instrumental movements for the effort.
Yet Bach’s meticulous method of selection ensured that his B minor Mass encompassed not an arbitrary miscellany but stylistic range that was genuinely encyclopedic. His score extends across the range of international styles and genres of the high Baroque but also across time, from medieval chant to recent developments that would soon evolve into the Classical style. Bach’s mastery allows him to crystallize all of these cross-currents into a unified structure that embodies both his “musical science” and his most profound theological beliefs. At the same time, he weaves esoteric symbolism (see sidebar) together with such popular idioms as love duets and dances in an inextricable embrace, appealing to head and heart alike.
The great music scholar Wilfrid Mellers homes in on the deeper significance of Bach’s dramatic contrasts and references to day-to-day life in otherworldly contests. In Bach and the Dance of God – which contains some of the most richly insightful reflections ever made on the Mass in B minor – Mellers points to Bach’s “apprehension of mortality” in the Benedictus: “he has discovered what bliss and mercy mean, and makes from that knowledge a music purged…[T]he whole of the Benedictus’s purgatorical meditation is a ‘middle section’ to the worldly hubbub of the Osanna: a moment outside time that man may occasionally discover or rediscover.”
It’s hard not to resort to architectural metaphors in attempting to come to terms with the achievement of the Mass in B minor. Every parameter of the work – tonality, meter, scoring, stylistic character – is constructed with careful attention to symmetry and proportions within the larger whole. The B minor Mass has an immediate impact as awe-inspiring both in its immensity and in its intricacy of detail as a Gothic cathedral.
Rhetorical Range and Color
The introductory measures contain a threefold choral repetition of the basic plea for mercy that is concise yet overwhelming in its emotional weight. This, together with the harmonic richness of the five-part choral layout (as opposed to the more usual four parts), clues us in to the tremendous structure Bach is about to unfold.
An elaborate instrumental introduction prefaces the widely fugal treatment of the first Kyrie. Its pathos contrasts strikingly with the charming duet for sopranos of the Christe eleison, where Bach unabashedly turns to the secular idiom of an amorous operatic duet. The lighter, freer, more “up-to-date” pre-Classical writing here is then followed by an imitation of the severely controlled fugue associated with Palestrina and the “antique style” in the second choral Kyrie eleison. Yet Bach integrates these stylistic contrasts into a coherent tonal plan: the key of each movement traces an ascending B minor triad (B minor—D major—F-sharp minor), which conveys a sense of forward progression that continues on with the Gloria.
Set primarily in D major, the Gloria resolves the darkness of the opening B minor (the “relative minor” of D). The title “B minor Mass” – not Bach’s own, but a later invention of nineteenth-century publishers – is something of a misnomer, since the true home key of the work as a whole is actually D major. These two keys represent the emotional poles anchoring the Mass, outlined by the Kyrie and Gloria, respectively: an attitude of supplication that emphasizes the suffering of our human condition versus one of joyful praise for divine perfection and order.
Bach subdivides the Gloria into nine movements, neatly balancing choral and solo elements and displaying the brilliant rhetorical range and color of the Leipzig cantatas. He interweaves movements for chorus (accompanied by the full orchestral ensemble) with ones that deftly spotlight each solo voice together with each obbligato instrument. The opening Gloria in excelsis, for example, alludes to the nativity scene and the festive atmosphere of Christmas music, reinforced by the sound of timpani and trumpets, while galant stylishness in the sprightly Laudamus te (a duet for mezzo soprano [in this performance] and solo violin) is juxtaposed with Renaissance dignity in the Gratias agimus tibi. The dark anxiety of B minor returns for the Qui tollis and Qui sedes (a chorus followed by aria). Following the “royal” imagery (see sidebar) of the Quoniam, Bach caps the Gloria with a lofty five-part chorus in three-quarter time in the concluding Cum Sancto Spiritu.
Symmetry and Drama
The perfect symmetry of the palindrome underlies the massive Credo’s architecture. Initially Bach worked with a plan of eight movements, but at some point he decided to set the Et incarnatus apart as a separate movement. The result was to give the Credo a powerful and symbolically meaningful symmetry centered around three choral movements that encapsulate the essentials of Christian theology (Et incarnatus, Crucifixus and Et resurrexit). In this plan, the Crucifixion lies literally at the center of the Credo. These movements are surrounded by two solos, while pairs of choruses frame the entire structure. The opening pair, moreover, mirrors the concluding one: In both Bach connects material derived from Gregorian chant (the Credo itself and the Confiteor) with exuberant choruses.
While earlier Bach had alternated “modern” music with movements in “antique style,” the opening Credo in unum Deum uses counterpoint to juxtapose ancient chant simultaneously with Baroque language (the “walking bass” figure). The descending passacaglia pattern of the Crucifixus is the epitome of the emotive power found in Baroque word painting and prepares for the exultant resolution of Et resurrexit. Here dogma becomes bracing musical drama.
The Sanctus comes from a stand-alone setting written for the Christmas service of 1724, when Bach experimented with his most extensive choralinstrumental layout to date by writing for a six-part chorus. The Osanna expands the chorus to eight parts, while both sections draw on familiar dance rhythms, transforming the joy of bodily motion into a symbol of spiritual ecstasy. In the Benedictus, the dark pathos of B minor returns one last time. (Set as a duet for tenor and obbligato instrument, performance practice in recent decades has opted for flute over violin even though Bach’s score doesn’t specify the instrument here.)
Separated by a reprise of the Osanna, the Agnus Dei mirrors the introspective humility of the Benedictus but also echoes the intimacy of the Christe eleison. Bach concludes with another cross-reference, setting the Dona nobis pacem to the same music as that of the Gratias agimus tibi of the Gloria. The result serves both as a unifying element and as an emblem of Bach’s (re)compositional art.
SIDEBAR: Esoteric Meanings Encoded in the Mass in B minor
Several lifetimes could be (and have been) spent attempting to decrypt the complex layers of meaning and suggestion Bach threads throughout the score. These include fascinating examples of numerological imagery: the letters spelling out “Credo,” for instance, add up to 43 in the system Bach used, and the word is proclaimed by the chorus 43 times.
He also scores in a way that alludes to familiar sonic imagery: the festive atmosphere of Christmas music is evoked in the Gloria, for example, by the celebratory use of timpani and trumpets. The Quoniam features bass and obbligato horn, often used to represent royalty and thus a signifier of Jesus. The conductor and Bach expert Helmuth Rilling suggests that the opening horn motif moreover symbolizes Jesus’ perfection because it outlines an octave (itself a symbol of perfection) and is shaped as a palindrome (two Ds an octave apart followed by C# and then the first two Ds in reverse), foreshadowing in microcosm the architectural design of the massive Credo movement.
Bach’s Score
The manuscript for the Mass in B minor (now preserved in the Berlin State Library) survives in a fragile state as an assembly of 188 pages, divided into four parts titled as follows: Missa (for the Kyrie and Gloria), Symbolum Nicenum (a more formal title for the Nicene Creed text, i.e., the Credo, which was sometimes applied to stand-alone musical settings of this part of the Ordinary), Sanctus, and Osanna/Benedictus/ Agnus Dei et Dona nobis pacem.
These make up the complete Ordinary of the Catholic Mass traditionally divided into five parts in a musical setting. Bach’s unusual subdivisions, though, turned out to contain clues to the making of the Mass in B minor which have been painstakingly teased out by scholars.
Archival Recording
| Date | Review | Media | Reviewer |
|---|---|---|---|
| Jan 26, 2014 |
There is nothing small or insignificant about Johann Sebastian Bach. He is measurable only in the gigantic: his music, his appetite, his physical size, his ego, his family, his ambition and finally, his place in the pantheon of musical genius. "It is Bach," John Eliot Gardiner decl...
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There is nothing small or insignificant about Johann Sebastian Bach. He is measurable only in the gigantic: his music, his appetite, his physical size, his ego, his family, his ambition and finally, his place in the pantheon of musical genius. "It is Bach," John Eliot Gardiner declares, "making music in the Castle of Heaven, who gives us the voice of God - in human form." People make pilgrimages to Leipzig to hear his music performed, as it is daily in Thomaskirke. and to weep in gratitude over his grave for his enormous gifts left to us. Somehow, it is not impossible to believe that, were he to return from the grave, Bach would be immensely pleased.
However, he might have wished to be born earlier in the Baroque period, as that style was waning in popularity as he aged in favor of the newer Classical period. And by the time of his death, Baroque performance was virtually extinct. Nevertheless, the aging Bach managed to piece together a major work that we know as the B-minor Mass (BVW 232). Bach had written four other mass fragments in the Lutheran format (Kyrie and Gloria), but the evangelist composer had not written a mass in the form of the Roman Catholic Ordinary. In semi-retirement, Bach had more time to compile and compose than in his earlier years, when new Cantatas and other liturgical-oriented music must be written, each with its own deadline to be met. Among the hundreds of choral items already in his oeuvre were works that met his needs for the new Mass. He found an early Kyrie and Gloria that he had once referred to as "unworthy" in an introductory letter to Augustus III, the new sovereign of Saxony. In this setting, those movements are anything but "unworthy." In the pre-concert lecture, Maestro Grant Gershon, clearly explained how it is that Bach stands so large in the musical landscape: he could calculate (if that is the correct term) the horizontal counterpoint concurrently with the vertical chordal structure, where most other composers were one-directional. So how did the music sound, you ask? By far and away, it was a most satisfying performance. One could quibble about a tempo here, the use of hiccups in places Bach did not indicate in the score, but in the main, a really well worked-out approach. If one may make a prediction here, it will be fascinating to hear the next iteration of the B-minor Mass in seasons to come. Maestro Gershon has spent, as has the Master Chorale, a lot of time thinking through the piece, and rehearsing it to a polished state of resolution superior to most other extant performances and recordings. But one has a feeling that he and they will present us with even fresher and more distinctive ideas as time ripens the work in their collective minds. The opening chord - "Kyrie" - almost took the audience by surprise. The Master Chorale was ready for it, as was Steve Scharf's excellent Master Chorale Orchestra. At this point, Maestro Gershon chose to employ the melody, broken as it was, into two-note hiccups (not indicated at the outset in the original score, but to be found later in the orchestral parts), the result of which was more reverential than penitential, but the gorgeous altos' tone melted even the stoniest ear. The "Christe" duet was sung by soprano Suzanne Anderson and mezzo Adriana Manfredi; for those sitting further away from the stage than the immediate orchestra section, their contribution was unfortunately virtually inaudible. When the second "Kyrie" arrived, Maestro Gershon chose to employ the hiccup (Ky/ri/e) as each choral section introduced the main musical theme, but upon reiteration of the theme, had the Master Chorale revert to legato, allowing the melody to coalesce into place. "Gloria in excelsis" was joyously sung with all pistons firing. All the rehearsing paid off in clarity, with successive thematic entrances highlighted but not driven. The result is a revelation especially of the inner workings of the choral lines. But "Et in terra pax" became another string of broken two-note phraselets when first sung by each section in turn, which is indicated in the score for the strings, but not for the chorus. "Laudamus te" belonged to mezzo Callista Hoffman-Campbell, who sang it with satisfying strength and musicality, brilliantly accompanied by Concertmaster Joel Pargman. "Gratias agimus tibi" was again a total choral effort that was right in so many aspects: involvement in the emotional value of the text as well as beautiful choral landscaping and phrase shaping. Soprano Elissa Johnston (aka the Maestro's life partner) and tenor Jon Lee Keenan shared the "Domine Deus" duet. Both singers are consummate musicians and handled the sometimes low tessitura with a reliance on textual delivery. Mr. Keenan's otherwise musical voice tended to thin out on a certain vowel sound. "Qui tollis peccata mundi" brought the full chorus of 110 singers back into play, with the same beautiful results as before. "Qui sedes ad dexteram Patris" was mezzo Niké St. Clair's assignment, and she did not fail to deliver a rich, beautiful tone. "Quoniam tu solus sanctus" employs an accompaniment played by Steve Becknell on the double French horn together with a pair of bassoons accompanying the normally stentorian singing of Steve Pence, whose voice sounded at less than normal strength. "Cum Sancto Spiritu" revived the joy of the "Gloria" chorus, although the speed taken meant the sopranos couldn't quite manage a couple of their high notes as they flew by. Nevertheless, this provided a good place for an intermission (in spite of the official programme's advisory that there would not be one). While patrons enjoy their halftime coffee etc., a note about how different contemporary conductors approach the end of a section or movement. Baroque performance practice has undergone an enormous change over the past 60-75 years. Back then, slow used to infer piety. In a sacred work, allegro (which actually means "lively" or "happy") could not be taken literally, as it might infringe on the "holiness" of the performance. Or so it was thought. Starting with Gardiner, Nikolaus Harnoncourt, Gustav Leonhardt and others in the late 1960s, Baroque performance practices begin to light up with speedier tempi and greater attention to the use of ancient instruments (or authentic copies thereof), and the use of emotion inherent in the texts. As it turned out, some conductors became addicted to the ever-faster speeds, resulting in chaos and lost textual meaning. But in our own performance, Maestro Gershon chose to keep one of the cherished attributes of the clichéd mid 20th century performance practice: that of slowing, sometimes drastically, as a movement arrives at an "end station or cadence," and then taking a page from the retro-revisionist book, making a separation between the penultimate note and the final chord. Except on this occasion, those separations became a feature of their own. In several such places at the cadence in question, not everyone on stage looked entirely sure where the final note would fall as the momentary space varied from time to time. The performance continued with "Credo in unum Deum." Initial sectional entries were sung legato the first time, and then articulated in subsequent entries of the main theme. As to tempo, the Credo is indicated alla breve, but the note values are doubled in the score. One would think that Roger Wagner, whose inaugural Los Angeles Master Chorale's performance 49 years ago of the B-minor Mass in the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion was the inspiration for this weekend's celebrations, might have opted to take the tempo a couple of metronomic ticks slower. Soprano Suzanne Waters and mezzo Michele Hemmings duetted in "Et in unum Dominum" before the traditional emotional shift to the agonizing sorrow in "Et incarnatus est," said to be Bach's very last composition, and "Crucifixus," both of which were sung by the Master Chorale with the most exquisite pianissimos of the performance while losing none of their incisive textual delivery. "Et resurrexit" bursts out and forward, leaving sorrow behind and proclaims the victory of life over death. Baritone Vincent Robles sang the "Et in spiritum Sanctum" that would likely benefit from a bass-baritone voice, given its occasional dip into the bass range. The "Confiteor" movement is a strange bird, seemingly written by another hand. But here, Maestro Gershon achieved a masterful touch in making the inherent cantus firmus sing out whenever it appeared. Suddenly, the movement makes musical sense. "Et expecto" burst forth with the three "Bach" trumpets blaring perhaps just a bit too enthusiastically. Maestro Gershon allowed perhaps three or four seconds to elapse between the final notes of the "Et expecto" and a subito downbeat of "Sanctus." The oceanic triplets washing across the stage and from side to side are marvelous invocations of angelic hosts singing "holy, holy, holy." Clarity, together with holding back a bit on the opening waves allowed the Master Chorale to find ever-increasing power and joy before the music suddenly shifts into "Osanna in excelsis," sung with precise diction and choral balance. Pablo Cora employed his light tenor to good effect in the "Benedictus" before the "Osanna" returned with all the initial joy in place. No greater change of emotion could be envisioned than the transition from "Osanna" to "Agnus Dei" – one of the most iconic alto solos ever written, in which the soloist, on this occasion the excellent Janelle DeStefano, must negotiate awkward vocal leaps that take the singer from one tonality to the next, requiring a literal leap of faith that it will all work out. There are traps rhythmically as well: normal phrases are sometimes lengthened by a couple of measures. Calculating how much of a breath to take, and how to preserve it enough to achieve the phrase ending –a great challenge well met by Ms. DeStefano. The wind section of the orchestra deserves high praise for various obbligato accompaniments in solo sections of the score. Lisa Edwards contributed continuo support on the smallish portative organ, which was difficult to hear. All of which leads us to the grand finale: "Dona nobis pacem," a soaring prayer for peace resting on the fugal phrase: sol-la-ti-do that again and again emerged from the choral tapestry, building, slowly and inevitably with the orchestra to a thrilling, sublime, spine-tingling finish. Read Less |
LA Opus | Douglas Neslund |
| Jan 28, 2014 |
The Los Angeles Master Chorale resurrected Bach's B Minor Mass for the group's grand anniversary in Walt Disney Concert Hall on January 25 and 26, 2014.
Powered by 115 singers and a symphonic orchestra, this was the Chorale's eleventh performance of... Read More
The Los Angeles Master Chorale resurrected Bach's B Minor Mass for the group's grand anniversary in Walt Disney Concert Hall on January 25 and 26, 2014.
Powered by 115 singers and a symphonic orchestra, this was the Chorale's eleventh performance of the monumental work. The first was at the Music Center 49 years ago under the direction of Roger Wagner, the very first concert performed by the group. Music Director Grant Gershon conducted with his signature fluid style. Of special note was the Domine Deus: Elissa Johnston, soprano and John Lee Keenan, tenor. The two were perfectly paired, producing a clarion sound - matched by Geri Rotella, flute. Rotella is also a soundtrack regular: Blades of Glory, Bruce Almighty, Panic Room, Pirates of the Caribbean, and many more. Pablo Cora sang the Benedictus, another standout who handled the soaring score with deft mastery. Cora is also a staff singer at Saint Matthew's Episcopal Church in Pacific Palisades. The Master Chorale performs choral music that spans antiquity to modern compositions. Gershon has led more than 100 performances at Walt Disney Concert Hall, helping earn the Chorale three ASCAP/Chorus America Awards for Adventurous Programming. The Chorale is in its 11th season as resident chorus of Disney Hall, and 50th season as resident chorus of the Music Center. Upcoming Master Chorale events Tribute to Morten Lauridsen | March 16, 2014 | 48 singers with the composer at the piano. Minimalist Masterworks | April 6, 2014, Disney Hall | 32 singers with an instrumental ensemble. Read Less |
Examiner.com | R.D Foster |
| Jan 29, 2014 |
Critic's Notebook: The Bach and Handel works get independent, excellent performances by Los Angeles Master Chorale and English Concert, respectively.
Bach and Handel did not lead intersecting lives. Bach never left central Germany, while Handel became a cosmopolita... Read More
Critic's Notebook: The Bach and Handel works get independent, excellent performances by Los Angeles Master Chorale and English Concert, respectively.
Bach and Handel did not lead intersecting lives. Bach never left central Germany, while Handel became a cosmopolitan Londoner. Bach was a man of the church and had 20 children. Handel caught the theater bug and was not a family man (recent musicology presumes him to have been gay). But what are the odds that these two pillars of the Baroque would be born less than a month apart in the winter of 1685 and 90 miles away? And in another magnificent coincidence, each produced his most compelling spiritual summing-up, a resplendent working through of crises of faith, in 1749. That was the year Bach put the final touches on his B-Minor Mass and Handel wrote one of his late oratorios, "Theodora." So it was still another remarkable coincidence that these 1749 masterpieces happened to independently reach Southern California in magnificent back-to-back performances. A centerpiece of the Los Angeles Master Chorale's 50th anniversary season, the B-Minor Mass was given Saturday afternoon and Sunday evening at Walt Disney Concert Hall. "Theodora" is, in these parts, a rarity, but the English Concert happens to be celebrating its 40th anniversary with a touring "Theodora" (all four hours of it) featuring stellar singers, and the Philharmonic Society brought that to the Renée and Henry Segerstrom Concert Hall in Costa Mesa Monday night. The scores are not, superficially, alike, and neither were the performance approaches. The English Concert is one of London's best-known period-instrument groups and is led by an early music specialist, Harry Bicket. The Master Chorale, under its music director Grant Gershon, is the model modern chorus, comfortable in music of many centuries, attitudes and world cultures. In a new Bach biography, "Music in the Castle of Heaven," the conductor John Eliot Gardiner charts the B-Minor Mass as the composer's personal journey. Gardiner describes the role of the performer as that of guide, discoverer of revelation. The mass becomes for an audience a collective spiritual experience, with the goal not so much of religiosity as the attainment of communal peace. That was Gershon's approach. He sculpted choral surfaces and substances. The magisterial opening of the Kyrie became an exclamation of a monumental occurrence, the massed sound of a crowd as an earthquake suddenly begins cracking the ground. Journey's end, "Dona nobis pacem" (Grant us peace) is one of the most inspired passages in all of Bach, makes peace seem, against all reason, possible. Gershon's Master Chorale made Bach live. Just the opposite of a big Mass, Handel's oratorio is personal drama and tragedy. An early Christian martyr, Theodora resists governmental pressure to worship Roman gods, and she is doomed as is her lover, a converted Roman soldier, Didymus. They die together, unwavering in faith, as many do today in religious divides. Peter Sellars directed a famed 1996 staging of "Theodora" at the Glyndebourne Festival in England, in which the countertenor David Daniels was Didymus, the performance that made him a star, and he was Didymus again Monday. Bicket was the young harpsichordist in the Glyndebourne production. Both now are among our most authoritative Handelians. Handel thought "Theodora" contained his finest music. Though a study in constancy, his score ranges through human emotion. Handel's peace is personal and inner, and the battles waged and won by Theodora and Didymus are great and unobvious ones. But it is in the effect the lovers have on others - Romans and Christians and most of all Theodora's confidant, Irene - that the oratorio rises to its extraordinary inspirational heights. In fact, Irene and the chorus get the most moving music. The long performance was riveting in every way. Conducting from the harpsichord, Bicket was all business, shaping every phrase for its dramatic intent. Soprano Dorothea Röschmann was a zealously operatic Theodora and mezzo-soprano Sarah Connolly an ardently passionate Irene. Daniels approaches Didymus from the inside out, and the countertenor's eloquent fervor is reaching new depths. Tenor Kurt Streit (the Roman officer Septimius) and bass Neal Davies (the murderous president of Antioch, Valens) represented the power. The Choir of Trinity, Wall Street, sang the choruses with comforting exactitude. I wonder whether the English Concert has ever sounded better than it does now under Bicket. The B-Minor Mass is beloved; "Theodora" still needs its advocates. Disney was full at the Saturday performance I heard. The slightly smaller Segerstrom was not as well attended Monday. But the world obviously needs more than ever the collective peace and inner strength, the yin and yang of Bach and Handel, to regain its balance. What are the odds? Read Less |
Los Angeles Times | Mark Swed |
| Jan 29, 2014 |
Bach's Mass in B Minor is big. Really big. Compiled from new and recycled compositions over the first half of the 18th Century (completed in 1749) the piece consists of 27 movements in 5 parts. The full mass was not performed as a whole until nearly a century after Bach's death. The ...
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Bach's Mass in B Minor is big. Really big. Compiled from new and recycled compositions over the first half of the 18th Century (completed in 1749) the piece consists of 27 movements in 5 parts. The full mass was not performed as a whole until nearly a century after Bach's death. The Los Angeles Master Chorale, celebrating its 50th anniversary, first performed the piece for their inaugural concert in 1965 at the newly opened Dorothy Chandler Pavilion (or as the late/great female impersonator Charles Pierce dubbed it: "Dot's Place"). Now it's back bigger and better than ever in the Chorale's home at Disney Hall.
For the occasion, musical director/conductor Grant Gershon assembled 115 singers, 12 of them soloists, and a 50-member orchestra with an expanded string section. The Kyrie got off to a bit of a shaky start as the orchestra overpowered the chorale, but the problem was quickly rectified and the momentum continued to build through the rest of the Kyrie straight through the lengthy Gloria to the intermission. The second half started off like gangbusters with the "Credo in unum Deum" sung with ever increasing passion until it reached a fever pitch only to be counterbalanced by the deeply moving and reverential "Crucifixus." Then it was off to the races again with each movement sounding more glorious than its predecessor grabbing the audience and not letting go until the final note. The chorale has never been in better voice and their rich full tones filled the hall. The soloists were accomplished and well chosen. Two of the most unique voices - soprano Suzanne Anderson and mezzo soprano Adriana Manfredi - were unfortunately drowned out by the orchestra during the Kyrie, making me wonder if their placement within the orchestra, as opposed to the front of the stage, had something to do with it. But then Vincent Robles had no problem filling the hall with his resounding baritone during the Credo. Saving the best for last, the final soloists truly captured the depth and enormity of the event: Tenor Pablo Corá was mesmerizing in his rendition of the "Benedictus," and mezzo soprano Janelle DeStefano soared into the heavens during her performance of "Agnus Dei." The orchestra was stupendous. The extra strings made the melodies as soothing as a Sunday stroll in the sun. The scaled down brass section (1 horn and 3 trumpets) made itself known in stellar fashion, blaring its processionals with commitment and triumph. Featured soloists were all amazing, but flutist Geri Rotella and cellist John Waltz were real standouts, and had the crowd hanging on their every note and sitting up in appreciation of their considerable acumen. Sometimes big is just big, but sometimes, as was the case with this Bach Mass, bigger really is better. Disney Hall was filled with majestic music and the crowd floated home on a cloud. Read Less |
Stage and Cimena | Tom Chaits |
