Bach's Matthäus-Passion: Simon Rattle, Peter Sellars and Berlin Philharmonic: An Overwhelming Experience for the Soul

For the first time since I was 17 I did not spend the day of September 16th listening to, and obsessing over, Maria Callas.

 
I went, in fact, in about as far a direction as one could possibly go, spending nearly 5 hours with Sir Simon Rattle and the Berlin Philharmonic's boxed set of their now legendary live 2010 performance of Bach's Matthäus-Passion. While opera takes up the biggest chunk of my life, my favorite composer has always been this man who never wrote a single opera, and this work, in particular, for me stands high among the crowning achievements of western civilization.

Recorded live at the Philharmonie, Sir Simon and the musicians he assembled each give definitive performances - perhaps the greatest performances of their lives. It should come as no surprise, the most searing, perfect performance comes from Mark Padmore's Evangelist. I've heard him in the role before, but none of those performances gave an inkling, nor could they have prepared me for the intensity of his personalization, simultaneously exhibiting a fierce, determined strength with the naturalness of a storyteller, and a weary, Everyman broken by life's enormity and cruelty. These qualities increased tenfold as, in addition to his duties of the difficult role, Padmore acted out the role of Jesus, beautifully sung by Christian Gerhaher from a platform high above the stage.

While I've always preferred a deeper, more contralto sound - i.e., Janet Baker, Christa Ludwig or Kathleen Ferrier, Magdalena Kozena sings - and just as importantly here - acts out her role with a heartbreaking ferocity, and complete understanding of this music. Without the aid of stage make-up or other standard theatrical tricks, she looks increasingly more haggard, worn and broken as the Passion moves on. At the same time she radiates a glow of this woman who adored Jesus.  We feel her exultation, sorrow and grief. Her interactions with Padmore's incarnation of Christ, the chorus, and others are revelatory, and when, briefly, Bach allows the music to shine in a hopeful manner, she becomes as dancer. It is a remarkable performance.

Camilla Tilling (very pregnant here) allows her voice to soar and shine through Bach's score differently than the pretty, sad "flute and soprano" music we're accostumed to in so many performance. She infuses her music with both confusion at the situations at hand, as well as with a strengthened resolve to carry on. Tenor, Topi Lehtipuu sings the tenor recits and arias with a gleaming sound that is close to perfection. In fact, I'll go out on the proverbial limb and state his to be the best, most beautiful performance I've ever heard of this music.

The great baritone, Thomas Quasthoff captured shortly before his unexpected retirement, gets some of Bach's greatest arias, including my favorite aria from any composer, Mache dich, mein Herze, rein. Here, as Joseph of Arimethea, the sincerity of his desire to bury his beloved Lord by himself is overwhelming in every sense. Indeed, here, as in his earlier appearances in the Passion, his noble, gentle spirit, and natural sense of drama - acting through the music, is infused with a pilgrim's sincerity throughout, which had to be at the forefront of Bach's mind as he set these beautiful texts.

Interestingly, while he is known for his immaculate precision and control, Rattle, throughout the performance, allows his musicians - noticeably, the arias with small ensembles, or continuo (as well as "duets" between singer and instrumentalist) to take on a life of their own. Without their conductor's influence, they adjust their tempi, dynamics, shaping and conduct these numbers themselves, as Rattle takes a back seat, silently looking on.

The Rundfunkchor Berlin and the boychoir are nothing short of perfection in the blazing, challenges of the choral ensembles, and make the chorales - traditionally performed as breaks in the lengthy narrative - as integral part of the storytelling as any other. Rattle does not allow them to perform them "merely" as congregational hymns, instead inserting great pauses, adjusting tempos according to text, and otherwise revolutionizing the manner in which we hear these familiar tunes. As with every other aspect of this performance, this only adds to the experience in a way that personalizes the great passion story and cuts straight to the observer's soul.

Peter Sellars calls his staging, "a ritualization . . . a prayer," and it is clear from the entire ensemble, every participant is on board to share his point of view. In a bold move, Sellars asked the solo instrumentalists to, as he had with the chorus and soloists, to memorize their music, removing music stands, and allowing - almost forcing - an intimacy of exchanges between the participants that is unique and which enriches the experience.

The final moments here are almost impossible to endure. During the great recitative for the soloists and both choruses, all bid Jesus "good night," and offer thanks for his life, and for the sacrifice of it. The emotion here leads directly into the famous final chorus, as all move towards and surround the tomb and body of Jesus.  It is a mass of humanity circling, confused and broken, yet filled with a hope that is not merely born of desperation, but rather defiant against those who would deny their Lord. Their hushed, tender calls of Ruhet sanfte, sanfte ruht (rest thou gently, gently rest) fades into the hall, as they stand around the tomb, motionless.  Silent.  Silent, too, is the audience, and for just shy of sixty seconds (an eternity in the theatre) there is not a single cough, rasp, throat cleared or premature applause. It isn't until the stage lights go down that the audience begins its ovation - which goes on for some nine or ten minutes, everyone (including this home viewer) releasing what had been building up for hours.

I don't know if I can recall being moved by a recorded performance as deeply. I don't think I ever have. Those who know me can well imagine the sniffling, weeping mess I was by the final chord. Believer or non-believer, this is the greatest story ever told, and rarely has it beenj told so beautifully.

Met's Marvelous Pelléas Prima

As heard over Sirius last night (and early this morning), Simon Rattle made a splash in a truly sensational (and long overdue) debut at the Metropolitan Opera last night with a fascinating and generally ravishing performance of Debussy‘s generally despised “Pelléas et Mélisande” (apparently to a mostly sold out house). The orchestra responded positively to him and was in breathtaking mode from start to finish, each scene imbued with the character of the piece. A different reading than I’m used to from Levine with this score, and I rather liked it.

While I generally prefer a tenor today as Pelléas, Stéphane Degout is a wonderful baritone Pelléas and his voice contrasted nicely with a noticeable weight difference between him and Finley’s beautifully brooding Golaud.

I had to laugh after Act I when someone began to applaud and was promptly “shushed” by the audience! Since when is it bad manners to clap at the end of an act? (Yes, I know, Parsifal, Wozzeck have “those” moments, but entirely different situation.)

Like all good Geneviève’s, Felicity Palmer made me wish Debussy had given her a bit more music.

I was pleasantly surprised to hear Willard White sounding still so robust (particularly for an old King!). Willard White's utterances in Act IV were mind blowing! His final line in scene ii Si j'étais Dieu, j'aurais pitié du cœur des hommes moved me to tears (as it should). Followed by the postlude leading into the next scene - with that delicate melody in the winds before the strings come in, Rattle and the band brought absolute perfection. Along with the final intermezzo in Wozzeck it's almost too much emotion - overwhelming is an understatement. Followed by Yniold's scene about the sheep meant as much to me as everything else in this sad tale. Debussy as genius. (no little credit to Maeterlinck.). Why is this amazing child’s name still not on the Met’s website?

I loved Kožená's Mélisande - a very different approach than I’m used to in this role and a welcome challenge. There were so many details and changes in sound that this already complex creature of mystery, seemed to have even more dimensions - some a bit disturbing (but fascinating) and some rather stunning, such as the little throaty "catch" in Kožená's voice to Golaud, “avec Pelléas? Mais Pelléas ne voudra pas.”


Degout was wonderful all night, but in Act IV scene ii (my favorite scene of the entire opera) he poured on emotion that had almost been hidden all night. Good God, he was amazing. And Kožená's first "Pelléas" here was so different than I've heard before. One word - his name, instead of an announcement there was this "doom" already present in her sound. In one word. Masterful.

And the heat was on in that scene, at one point, (which must have been worked out w/Rattle) Pelléas' interrupts Mélisande ("non") in a manner I can't recall hearing sound so spontaneously. Details. Details I could hardly imagine! Weirder still, was as Kožená sang this scene I found myself for the first time EVER hearing this opera, thinking of Carmen . Something in the growly, defiant voice of Mélisande that threw me. I liked this different, approach to this mysterious heroine.

Degout's sound here, too, was darker - more covered than I typically want, but at "Et maintenant je t'ai trouvee ... je 1'ai trouvee!" (my ultimate test for any Pelléas) his medium sized voice exploded with an intensity that was glorious. (He cracked slightly a minute later on the second (and high) "Vien" following it, but understandably.) K's Mélisande felt almost too "cool" here - not innocent as most Mélisandes (maybe why I thought of Carmen?) and only in danger, seemed momentarily freed, finally matching Pelléas' now fully naked passion. Stunning fusion of great music and drama.

Pelléas' murder was absolutely horrifying - with Degout's making the outbursts sound almost as being made on the spot. Remarkable. As he died it sounded as though he shouted, "Golaud!" I don't recall this in this staging before (and, in fact, have never noticed a Pelléas yelling out like that).

Rattle's way with the prelude to Act V was ravishing.

As good as he was earlier, White's Arkel sounded like a balm in the final act - a more robust, virile King than usual. The contrast against, Mélisande's weakened state (or resolve?) was immense. Rattle slowed down the music for Golaud's entrance into the scene, so each utterance of "Mélisande" bore with it this enormous feeling of great heaviness to the sound - the effect, powerful.

Finley's big final scene utterly destroyed me. Golaud's range of emotion from penitent to (again) jealous rage, then confusion that when weighed against the sudden change in the now gentle Mélisande's responses (with Kožená now finding a rare, delicate tenderness) could not have been more intensely dramatic. I can only imagine what the effect felt like in the house. Here, Golaud's passion matched Pelléas', pound-for-pound. No, they may not have been full brothers, but they shared something major (and not just Mélisande!) As he finished the phrase, "Je vais mourir ici comme un aveugle" Finley added a sob to the final syllable that cut me to the core. Chilling.

Arkel's final monologue was infinitely touching, with White striking a noble balance between kingly duties and emotional collapse. I liked the Rattle's approach to the final pages; a bit more fractured yet somehow beautifully held together with a slight ritard in the tempo. Wistful, I'd call it.

Margaret Juntwait conducted a wonderful interview with Carol Vanness who came off as pure class. I did crack up at Margaret asking how Carol got along with that famous Nozze cast of von Stade and Battle! LOL! Vanness dodged it nicely, but it would've been a bit of fun to hear her “go off” on the topic! I was touched when she mentioned how she now occupies Giorgio Tozzi’s former office and how she thinks of him every time she enters. Very cool.

Given the lateness (post midnight) it was interesting to notice a sort of "rushed" curtain, but to a wildly enthusiastic house. A most remarkable performance.