The fluttering, genteel tenor of Rufus Müller, and his role as St. John the Evangelist, might be enough to ease the spirit of Easter into any autumn day. But to be accurate, it was the entirety of the American Classical Orchestra (ACO), under the helm of Thomas Crawford (cooperating with a host of vocal treasures, including that of Rufus Muller, Teresa Wakim and Paul Max Tipton) that brought out the luster of J.S. Bach's liturgical masterpiece, St. John Passion on November 3rd at Lincoln Center.
Adhering to its mandate, that is, employing period instruments -- within reason -- American Classical Orchestra's choice to use an organ instead of a harpsichord served as a far less punctuated, less stately, but more embossed continuo. This restored the deeply pious sensibilities that moved Bach to write most of his compositions. All but certainly, this included the work he premiered at St. Nicholas Church in Leipzig for 1724's Good Friday celebrations: St. John Passion, the earliest extant passion of Bach's.
In what some might think an explosive exposition for a liturgical backdrop, a wave of drama overtook Alice Tully Hall after just the first measure. When St. John Passion erupts, one feels a sense of impending terror -- an immediacy that, in a way, feels to be a close ancestor to the types of decisive expositions we see passed down through western music: from Mozart to John Williams. Decidedly, it takes a special kind of composer to convey these emotions within the first measure, when our defenses are at their least permeable. Discussing the piece, American Classical Orchestra's conductor, Maestro Thomas Crawford, admitted:
"I performed the St. John Passion fifteen years ago and have not heard this music since then. When I began studying it again last month for our November performance, I was reduced to a pool of shivers and tears at the beauty."
Despite the ever-present fluidity found within Bach's music, drama does have a tendency to collect in certain intervals, notably at each fermata. In his pre-concert lecture, Thomas Crawford explained that the fermatas are the most glaring question mark for any interpreter of Bach's works. In the face of such unparalleled precision, the notion that anything would be left open to imagination seems to defy Bach's character. Nevertheless, there are occasions when Bach yields to performers' discretion and, as Crawford notes, in St. John Passion he would exercise that discretion on six occasions.
By the time Rufus Müller began singing as the Evangelist, the sudden shift from orchestra-fired anguish to solemn verbal homily (aided only by the organ) was almost jarring. Yet, once the audience hastened to follow along with the German text provided in their playbill, they were quick to realize the talents of the lauded tenor whose voice carried throughout Alice Tully Hall as both an inspiring orator and a vocal artisan all in one.
The beacons of the evening were, at every step, the soloists of Bach's signature arias, including Daniel Bubeck, Dann Coakwell, Steven Caldicott Wilson, Joseph Beutel and Paul Max Tipton (playing the role of Jesus). The soloist who seemed to capture everyone's heart, however, was Teresa Wakim, soprano, particularly in the final aria of the night, "Zerfließe, mein Herze, in Fluten der Zähren" ("Dissolve my heart, in floods of tears"). It was here that the audience heard the melodic prowess of Bach, not merely as laying foundations for western music but suddenly as foreshadowing the very harmonic motifs that would come to dominate Russia in the 19th Century and Jewish music through to the 20th Century in eastern Europe.
Witnessing the oboe reach into its lowest range beside a soaring flute, amidst passages of pure despair, seemed to validate Crawford's remarks about how "as a statement of humanity, this music sounds as if it could have been written 500 years earlier or 500 years from now." Further set aflame by Teresa Wakim's soprano and heavenly crescendos, Crawford's earlier confessions of "shivers and tears" were made more than apparent in this memorable performance.
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