Isolated discs of Bach cantatas are a rare commodity these days as complete surveys and mini-series dominate the market. Among current period practice luminaries, Sigiswald Kuijken is surprisingly unrepresented in the oeuvre on record. It is revealing too that he has chosen three particularly intimate and refined examples of Bach’s sacred vocal art. His approach is largely motivated by the chance to realise ‘a personal understanding that is fully in accord with Joshua Rifkin’s conclusions and those of his ever-growing band of followers’. This refers of course to the soap opera of whether Bach’s ‘chorus’ should be a chorus at all, or just comprise soloists (by and large) singing the choruses and chorales. Whether one is tempted to insert ‘-wagon’ after ‘band’ is another matter, though it is worth noting that Kuijken’s statement is unsupported by the fact that leading Bach practitioners of the current scene (Gardiner, Koopman, Leusink, Suzuki, Herreweghe, Coin et al) have chosen altogether different paths. Where is this band?
If one accepts that arresting musical interpretation transcends historical reasoning, whether conclusive or speculative, on chorus size (from miniscule to gargantuan), Kuijken’s performances can be regarded from any perspective as examples of supreme delicacy and refinement. As it happens, this is evident far more in the instrumental palette and shaping of phrases than in the choral contributions. La Petite Bande have always boasted a wonderfully alive string timbre and this stands out in the great aria, ‘Die Welt kann ihr Lust’ which comprises the final aria of No 94. Add to this the lithe, fragrant and intimate dialogue between flute and oboe (Barthold Kuijken and Patrick Beaugiraud respectively) and one can see how the choice of works was arrived at. Es ist das Heil uns kommen her (No 9) is certainly consummate chamber music of the kind that Bach further developed in the 1730s; dated around that time, it luminously and unobtrusively floats a chorale around a taut motivic web of which Kuijken is a natural executant. Relatively unsparkling, Karl Richter came as close as any to lifting this music from the page – rare for him in the stodge of mid-’70s Bach. In this recording, the single voices hardly ‘gain in transparency’, as Kuijken suggests in his note, since the collective vocal timbres are decidedly unfocused, muddying rather than defining the texture. The chorales represent the exception.
Soprano Midori Suzuki is a notable protagonist in her namesake’s cantata series for BIS, a very capable singer if not exactly irradiating personality. Her aria in No 187 is, however, a gem and she is disarmingly accompanied by Beaugiraud’s oboe. She and the more celebrated Magdalena Kozena appear together in the duet (an ‘ich folge’-like conceit on faith as the two soloists are tracked by an obbligato flute and oboe) yet communication is remote and the effect a touch pedestrian. Kozena fares much better in both the beautifully inflected arias in Nos 9 and 94. The pick of the crop, however, is the flexible singing of baritone, Jan van de Crabben, as accomplished in recitative (of which he is well endowed as ‘narrator’ in No 9) as in his arias. Knut Schoch made a significant appearance in Jan van Leusink’s super-budget series but his tenor sound is decidedly less ingratiating than his persuasive musical instincts.
In summary, these three Trinity cantatas are shown great sensitivity in matters of imagery (how exquisitely the rejoicing triplets clamber over each other in the beguiling little chorus which opens No 94) and intermittently there is arresting music-making here. Inconsistent vocal contributions and muted conviction leave one affected, but not entirely fulfilled