by Melanie Eskenazi
The dedication of this performance to the memory of Otto Klemperer should have alerted any purists to the likelihood that this was to be a traditional interpretation, although in practice, at least as far as the chorales were concerned, Schiff seemed to be hedging his bets. While most of them did not have the skipping lilt typical of the more modern "authentic" style, neither did they quite manage the magisterial grandeur of, well, Klemperer. Nevertheless, this was an evening of overwhelming musical impact.
The Philharmonia, as Schiff remarks, still carries Klemperer’s "flame and ... spirit", and there was no doubting this here, especially in the wonderful solo contributions from the first violin in "Erbarme Dich" and the cello continuo in "Komm, süsses Kreuz." The choir of King’s College, Cambridge and London Voices, once they had settled after a somewhat squally "Kommt, ihr Töchter," gave moving accounts of both the more dramatic moments and the tender, consoling chorales. Of these "Befiehl du deine Wege" was a particular highlight. The final "Wir Setzen uns..." struck the right elegiac note, if not quite managing that ideal contemplative fermata.
The solo arias and the roles of the protagonists were variably taken. It is now some forty years since Peter Schreier made his debut, and, to put it kindly, it shows in his voice. He simply did not have the notes for many of the most high-lying, exposed lines, and had to resort to falsetto or quasi-Sprechgesang when a legato line was needed. Moments like the high note on "dankete" in the crucial "Und er nahm den Kelch und dankete, gab inhnen den und sprach" were uncomfortable, to say the least, and he was unable to deliver the necessary onomatopoeic response at "Und alsbald krähete der Hahn." However, his sense of drama remains, and he shaped his lines with all his renowned skill. Despite the threadbare voice, he held the audience like the Ancient Mariner, without once requiring a score.
The soprano, alto and tenor solos were taken adequately, no more, by three very young and beautiful singers who will surely do great things in the future; I have been impressed by Juliane Banse, the soprano, in Lieder recitals, but on this occasion she seemed to be singing without much commitment or passion.
Commitment and passion were qualities amply demonstrated in the performances of the two basses, the stars of the evening. Robert Holl’s Christus was kingly, deeply engaging and profoundly authoritative. His exchanges with the Evangelist had the genuine frisson of drama, and his superbly even bass-baritone was a joy to hear, especially in such sections as the moving "Nehmet, esset, das is mein Leib."
The lion’s share of the arias is taken by the bass, and in each case Thomas Quasthoff was a marvel. The audience hung on his every phrase, from the aching tenderness of "Weil es dem lieben Gott gefällt" to the deeply moving "O heilsames, o köstlichs Angedenken!" In "Komm, Süsses Kreuz" he sang the lines "Wird mir mein Leiden einst zu schwer, /So hilfst du mir es selber tragen" (Should my burdens be too heavy/I’ll put them on my Saviour King) with a poignancy that produced tear-shedding in the audience, while in "Am Abend, da es kühle war. ...Mache dich, mein Herze, rein" he displayed all those qualities which make him a master of Bach singing - nobility of tone and manner, consummate breath control, thrilling sense of drama, and sensitive understanding of the text. This kind of singing, full of reverence yet brimming with warmth, humanity and consoling strength, affectionately phrased, dramatically gripping yet warmly intimate, is an art which makes one glad to be alive. I am sure that it was Quasthoff’s performance which inspired the audience, after a respectful silence, to burst into enthusiastic applause in defiance of the announced instruction that such behaviour was strictly forbidden.