Daily Blague

I sit reading, half-listening to recordings of Bach cantatas. I know about twenty, perhaps thirty cantatas well, but there are over two hundred in all. Some of them are very short, it's true. I've probably listened to twenty or thirty just once, because, say, they were on the other side of the LP. When I was young, and didn't have many records, I listened to the other side of the LP whether I was crazy about it or not, but later on this wasn't necessary. Now I rarely hear anything new. The other day, though, I ordered two CDs, Volumes 24 and 25 of the BIS series of recordings of the cantatas by the Bach Collegium Japan, led by Masaaki Suzuki. Each CD that I ordered features a favorite cantata (BWV 8 and 78), and yesterday I got round to listening to them.

And now I can think of nothing else but the alto aria, "Wie furchtsam wankten meine Schritte," from Allein zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ, BWV 33. "How fearful were my steps; but Jesus heard my prayers and showed me the way to His Father." The tune is more an arabesque than a melody, centered on octave jumps and syncopation. The muted violins play it in unison, while the rest of the strings pluck the harmony. The singer starts out with it but soon wanders off into contrasting material. Cadences seem to resolve themselves before I'm quite ready for them to do so. The aria is as hushed as the snowfall. I've never heard anything like it.

I've been listening to the Bach Collegium Japan's recordings of the Passions, on alternating weekends, while doing the dusting. Last Saturday, I thought I'd try something different and pulled down Herbert von Karajan's 1973 recording of the Saint Matthew Passion. I bought the CD twenty years ago at least, and in those days it wasn't so old. Now it's hardly listenable. I almost took it off during the opening number. It's so slow! So ponderous! So allmächtiger Bach! But the singers are glorious, and I got into the swing (or lack thereof) eventually.

Actually, I made a second discovery yesterday, sort of. For months now, I've had Angela Hewitt's recording of the Partitas in the changer (along with the keyboard concerti and - a very nice match - a CD of the Brahms violin sonatas that a friend burned for me). I can't remember what I was doing, but suddenly I was entirely engaged by music that resisted familiarity. I'd "heard" it dozens of times, but now I was almost badgering it, as if I were tonguing a loose tooth. The music never went where it seemed about to go, and to call it "hesitant" would be an understatement. Eventually I grabbed the jewel box and discovered that I had just made personal acquaintance with one of Bach's big-time masterpieces, the Sarabande from the Sixth Partita.

Tomorrow night, Angela Hewitt won't be playing any Bach, at least according to an article in the Times today. Kathleen will be stuck at the printer, so Ms NOLA's going to accompany me. Can't wait!