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共32首歌曲

在网易云音乐打开

艺人

Various Artists

语种

德语

厂牌

Harmonia Mundi ‎

发行时间

2009年01月01日

专辑类别

录音室专辑

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专辑介绍

Dorothea Röschmann, soprano

Andreas Scholl, alto

Werner Güra, ténor

Klaus Häger, basse

RIAS Kammerchor

Akademie für Alte Musik Berlin

Dir. René Jacobs

MUSIC FOR THE REFORMED CHURCH

It is well-known that the sixteenth-century Reformation introduced a more ‘democratic’ approach to the performance of music in the Church by entrusting the performance of the liturgical singing to the congregation instead of to the specially trained singers of the ‘schola’, who from a very early period had reduced the Christian people to silence during the celebration

of the religious service. In Protestant churches it became customary from the very beginning for the entire congregation torespond to the officiating priest with hymns in the vernacular sung in unison to melodies that were easy to memorise and to sing. This gave birth in the Lutheran Church to the immense treasury of German chorales initiated by Martin Luther himself, and in the French Calvinist Church to the 150 Psalms of David translated and put into rhyme by Clément Marot and Théodore de Bèze. All of the verses of this closed, but essentially biblical cycle were sung over a period of about six months, i.e. twice a year, during the services on Sunday morning, Sunday evening and Wednesday, which was a day of prayer. But we also know that among French Protestants this musical practice did not end when the faithful left the church or the schoolroom, because a place was allocated to the singing of the Psalms, in which children very soon participated, side by side with the family reading of the Bible, for the enhancement of domestic piety. It was also heard in the streets and shops and often punctuated the professional activity of craftsmen and artisans. Among the more cultivated classes of the population who practised polyphonic singing and playing at home as a learned entertainment, psalms and then sacred chansons gradually made their way into the repertoire and dethroned the secular chansons, now deemed foolish, vain and unseemly – in other words, immoral. From 1542 to the end of the sixteenth century many composers dipped into the literary and spiritual treasury of these Huguenot psalms and their relevant church melodies, using them in compositions of extremely varied forms, vocal and instrumental forces and length, ‘not for the purposes of being sung in Church, but to rejoice in God, especially at home’ (Claude Goudimel, 1565). Some of these psalms were developed into motets in which all the verses were set to music, resulting in large-scale compositions in several parts. Most of the psalms, however, were treated in a more concise style, with the melody in the tenor or the soprano, all the strophes being sung to the melody of the first one (Clément Janequin, Claude Goudimel, Claude Le Jeune, Paschal de l’Estocart).

But the art music of the Reformation is not limited to polyphonic psalm settings. The ‘chanson spirituelle’ is another, quantitatively no less important, aspect of it. This term denotes all music written to religious or moralistic texts other than paraphrases of the Psalms. Not compelled to use a pre-existing melody, they assume a freer, often more audacious character and are stylistically closer to the secular chanson. – M. H.

Tallis’s psalm tunes, written for a new metrical psalter by Archbishop Matthew Parker in 1567, represent the epitome of the Protestant musical aesthetic: austere, homophonic settings in which the clarity of the (biblical) words was paramount. Byrd’s motets, on the other hand, written for recusant Catholics and often setting Latin texts with subversive political overtones, surely represent the polar opposite; they are by no means austere, but exhaust the expressive capabilities of choral polyphony in response to the emotive qualities of the words.

Yet the two have more in common than meets the eye. Both were written with the intention that they would be performed by the faithful in the privacy of their own homes, rather than by professional choirs in chapels and churches. One can safely surmise that these would, for the most part, have been fairly small-scale performances, not necessarily one-per-part, as some have dogmatically suggested, but by few enough performers to gather round the dining-room table, or – for the well-heeled – in a private chapel. They were amateur performances, but not necessarily unskilful.

And, for all their austerity, Tallis’s psalm tunes are not without their own expressive possibilities; their overt simplicity is inevitably inherent in their genre: metrical psalms were conceived so as to be performable by as wide a range of people as possible. Much of the diversity of these settings depends upon the use of the different modes and rhythmic qualities to characterise each melody, giving each its own unique character. – M. O’D.

Purcell’s ‘full anthems’ were derived from the medieval antiphon. They are polyphonic and took their inspiration fromByrd and Tallis. The words come from the Old Testament, especially the Psalms, and were intelligible to everyone in the congregation thanks to their simple melodies, their ‘note-for-note’ counterpoint, and their syllabic setting of the words. Musical prayers written for the congregation, but not as part of the liturgy, the ‘full anthems’ played a role not unlike that of the Lutheran chorale. The poetic power of the biblical texts inspired the composer and excited his sensibilities. If one were to look for spiritual fervour in Anglican music of this period, it is in Purcell’s full anthems that it may be found, particularly in the admirable penitential anthems, Remember not, Lord, our offences, Hear my prayer, O Lord, and O Lord God of Hosts, composed between 1680 and 1682, probably for Westminster Abbey. They are of an often overwhelming expressive power and possess those qualities of restraint, dignity and simplicity peculiar to great Anglican church music. – C. H.

In 1577, eight years before the birth of Heinrich Schütz, the town of Weissenfels in Saxony, where the composer was to spend several years of his youth, was stricken by an epidemic of the plague that carried off six hundred and sixty victims, almost one-third of the population. In 1585 five hundred and ninety-six, in 1599 four hundred and ninety-two, and in 1610, more than nine hundred people perished in successive epidemics. Added to epidemics of plague and dysentery, there were the ravages of a particularly bloody war, the brutality of ideological conflicts, and the exactions of a hysterical justice: in 1589 – when Schütz was four years old – a hundred and thirty-three witches were burned in a single day at the convent of Quedlinburg/ Harz, not far from Weissenfels.

The entire century was haunted by the spectre of death, but the horrors of the real world were perhaps only the visible reflection of internal upheavals of a different kind of cruelty: it was only recently that Galilean man had been flung headlong into the solitude of infinite space; and, moreover, time was no longer measured according to the rhythm of the seasons, but in minutes and seconds, more precisely measurable and therefore more ineluctable. The old order no longer prevailed.

When we learn, too, that within a few years Schütz lost both his parents, his very young wife, his only brother and his two little daughters, we understand what he means when he speaks with moving restraint of his ‘almost wretched existence’, and we are in a better position to comprehend the agonising melancholy in the eyes looking out at us in the portrait of 1633 by Rembrandt, or the one painted in 1670 by an unknown artist. And when this man gives us the Musikalische Exequien we feel that he has long meditated on death, that he has known its afflictions, but that he has loved it, too, because death alone can deliver us from this world.

A man of letters, Schütz left us a body of poetry of a powerful Lutheran cast and of extremely accomplished formal quality. He introduces his Exequien with a disconsolate dedication:

Have these punishments and afflictions not sufficed / Wherewith Almighty God in righteous anger / At our grave sins and great wickedness / Through Bellona’s rage has tormented us, / But that this woe should now be taken from us / By Death’s ruthless fury in so despondent a time, / And thereby increase yet more our grief and pain?

These words are addressed to Heinrich Reuss Posthumus, the Lord of Gera, Schleiz and Lobenstein mit Plauer, who had commissioned the work. He was not a great prince, but a studious man of immense culture who nourished his melancholy nature with religious music. Martin Gregor-Dellin reports that in 1623 he commanded that ‘for the office of matins the young choristers be dressed as angels with green wreaths and lighted torches in their hands’. At the approach of his own death he bought a pewter coffin and had a selection of Biblical texts engraved on the inside. In 1635 he asked Schütz to set them to music with a view to his funeral, the details of which he had arranged with the most meticulous care. The first part of the Exequien is in the form of a series of verses from Holy Scripture and canticles in the order of ‘a concert in the form of a

German funeral Mass’. In fact the first strophes imploring divine mercy constitute the Kyrie, while the verses in praise of Godtake the place of the Gloria. – P. He.

Nikolaus Bruhns (1665-97), organist of the town of Husum, was already regarded towards the end of his short life as one of the greatest musical talents of his age, and modern musicology has once more, with hindsight, confirmed the high standing of his compositions. No less a figure than Johann Sebastian Bach, as reported by his son Carl Philipp Emanuel, ‘loved and studied’ the works of Bruhns and in his early years chose them, along with other north German and French masters, ‘as models’ for his own creations. Until recently attention has generally been focused on Bruhns as an organ composer, but in the past few years we have also become increasingly aware of his sonorous and expressive cantatas. The present recording presents six of them – exactly half of the total that has come down to us.

Bruhns came of a family of musicians that had been established in Schleswig-Holstein since the early seventeenth century. After initial studies with his father, who was a pupil of the celebrated organ master Franz Tunder, he was apprenticed to Dietrich Buxtehude at the age of fifteen. This instruction was to have a lasting effect on the young pupil, for from that time – as Johann Mattheson relates – ‘in composition . . . he especially endeavoured to emulate the famous Dieterich Buxtehude’. After a short period of activity in Copenhagen Bruhns was unanimously elected organist of the Domkirche in Husum early in 1689, when he was still only twenty-four years old, ‘since his like in composition and performance on all manner of instruments had never before been heard in this city’. However, he was to occupy this post for only eight years, since he died prematurely on 29. March 1697.

Those vocal works by Bruhns that have survived probably all date from his time in Husum. Although in many respects they show a clear affinity with the vocal style of his teacher from Lübeck, they also display definite personal features that mark them out as a high point in the cantata repertory before Bach. Such signs of individuality are to be seen, for example, in the choice of poetry to be set, in the elegantly proportioned and tuneful melodic writing, and above all in the subtle formal working-out of the compositions, which is capable of giving appropriate expression to the many varied patterns of the texts on the one hand, whilst on the other creating structuring and unifying relationships on a musical level in order to achieve a polished and coherent whole. In this respect Bruhns provided important sources of stimulation for the composers of the early eighteenth century, and not least for the young J .S. Bach.

The listener is struck by the spaciousness of the Easter cantata Hemmt eure Tränenflut, described in the single surviving source as ‘Madrigale’. Its text derives from a cycle of cantata poems published in 1690, and also set by other composers. With its concertante introductory tutti movement, its diversely laid out aria-strophes and its closing movement quoting the music of the Easter chorale Christ lag in Todesbanden, this is a work that stands on the very threshold of the eighteenth-century church cantata. – P. W.

The late 1730s form one of those grey areas in the biography of Johann Sebastian Bach for which hardly any meaningful evidence is known. Nevertheless, this precise period, when the Thomaskantor was moving into his sixth decade, lays claim to special attention, for it marks a significant turning-point in his oeuvre that leads on to his enigmatic and unique late works. It must remain an open question whether Bach’s increasing interest in intricate contrapuntal mysteries in this last phase of his life, so very contrary to the spirit of the age, was triggered off or encouraged by external circumstances or whether it was the logical consequence of his artistic development. However that may be, we can clearly recognise different emphases in his late works, foremost among them a reinforced tendency to turn back to earlier creations. This period of renewed reflection obviously includes the series of four missae breves

(‘short’ in the sense that they comprise only the Kyrie and Gloria sections), whose extant autograph scores can be dated to 1738 on the basis of their watermarks.

It is uncertain whether Bach foresaw that the church cantatas, with their heavily metaphorical and sometimes graphic texts, would be barely palatable to future generations. In any case, after completing the cantata cycles he began to reuse what he saw as their most successful components, now yoked to the ‘timeless’ Latin text of the Ordinary of the Mass. The four Masses BWV 233-236 consist for the most part of parodies and reworkings of cantata movements. Once musicologists had discovered these parodic connections, the four ‘little’ masses were long considered second-rate music; as is demonstrated by the small number of recordings available, they have not been able entirely to shake off this odium even today. But when one listens to the works with unprejudiced ears – as the present recording invites us to do – it soon becomes apparent that Bach succeeded in placing the movements drawn from cantatas in an entirely new and perfectly coherent context. Moreover, the far-reaching modifications to the sonorities of the original model frequently attain such proportions as virtually to amount to a new creation.

Despite their extremely varied overall character, the four works are all based on a standard formal scheme. The Kyrie is invariably a choral movement, sometimes in several sections, whereas the more extended text of the Gloria is split into five movements: at the beginning (‘Gloria in excelsis Deo’) and end (‘Cum Sancto Spiritu’) come two large framing choruses, while the remaining text is divided into three solo movements (arias). It is worthy of note that Bach took over the bulk of the movements from just four cantatas, but then actually used every suitable movement from those works – that is to say all the arias and freely composed choruses. To these are added individual movements from at least seven more compositions.

Only the Mass in F major BWV 233, with its festive scoring for horns and oboes, contains a movement that had been linked from the outset with the text of the Mass. Its opening chorus goes back to an isolated setting of the Kyrie that Bach probably wrote as early as his Weimar period (1708-17). The extraordinarily elaborate contrapuntal structure is distinguished by its combination of two cantus firmi: above the densely worked texture of the three upper voices, Bach quotes the German Agnus Dei ‘Christe, du Lamm Gottes’ in the wind instruments, while at the same time a melodic fragment of the Kyrie from the Lutheran Litany is heard in the bass. The opening movement of the Gloria and the first aria probably come from a now lost cantata, while the second and third arias are taken from the cantata Herr, deine Augen sehen nach dem Glauben BWV 102, also utilised for the G minor Mass. A fitting conclusion is provided by an adaptation of the extended opening chorus from the Christmas cantata Darzu ist erschienen (BWV 40). – P. W.

At the age of fifty and at the peak of his creative powers, the Kantor of St Thomas in Leipzig embarked on an undertaking of a scale that could possibly have been suggested by the model of the famous Lübeck ‘Abendmusiken’ of Dietrich Buxtehude. Bach had already become acquainted with this type of oratorio-like work in several parts during his study trip to north Germany (late autumn 1705). Three decades later he planned a six-part cantata cycle for the principal churches in Leipzig, a work whose narrative continuity and formal design endowed it with a wealth of internal correlative references and an external cohesiveness in the sense of a work conceived as a unified whole. This composition soon became known as the Christmas Oratorio: its six parts were destined to be performed on the three days of Christmas, on New Year’s Day, on the Sunday after New Year and on the Feast of Epiphany of 1734-35. However, the prescribed alternating order of the performances between the Churches of St Nicholas and St Thomas, as well as that between the main and the vesper services, meant that only the congregation of St Nicholas had the privilege of hearing the work in its entirety. These contemporary audiences must have been greatly impressed by the work’s masterly combination of the formal richness of the cantata with a careful selection from

the scriptural Christmas narrative.

The inner unity of the work, its uncomplicated directness, and its omnipresent optimistic tone stem from the nature of the Christmas story itself as well as from the centuries-old tradition of its artistic representation. The festive overall tone, with the predominance of major keys and the abundance and variety of dance-like movements, is partly due to the fact that almost all of the arias and the choruses not bound to chorale settings originally belonged to secular cantatas and were only later adapted to their new context by being rearranged and provided with new words.

The secular cantatas that donated a major part of their music to the Christmas Oratorio in 1734-35 owe their existence to Bach’s taking charge of one of Leipzig’s two collegia musica in 1729. This extension of the Kantor’s activities to embrace the functions of a municipal Kapellmeister gave him the opportunity until well after 1740 not only of presenting an extensive repertory of his own and other composers’ instrumental and vocal works in regular public performances with his own ‘Bachisches Collegium Musicum’, but also of organising higher quality special concerts whose main attraction was usually a ‘dramma per musica’. Among these ‘extraordinaire’ productions there was an open-air performance on 5 September 1733 of the cantata Laßt uns sorgen, laßt uns wachen (BWV 213), a new version of the popular mythological theme of Hercules at the crossroads between pleasure and virtue, and on 8 December 1733 of Tönet, ihr Pauken, erschallet, Trompeten (BWV 214) – the former in honour of the eleven-year-old heir of the Elector, the latter in praise of the Saxon Queen-Electress. The arias and choruses of the first four cantatas of the Christmas Oratorio in particular are mainly derived from these two birthday cantatas.

The multitude of recycled movements should, however, not cause us to forget those that were written especially for this work. These include all of the Evangelist’s recitatives, the various accompanied recitatives, as well as no.22 (which, exceptionally, was left without any specified accompaniment), and almost all of the chorales in a simple setting or with an obbligato instrumental part. Bach himself most probably composed the strange, chorale-like tune in the fourth cantata which, interspersed and counterpointed with recitative passages, is set to the chorale stanza ‘Jesu, du mein liebstes Leben’ (Johann Rist, 1642); the daring splitting-up of words and tune, in order to be able to create a twofold movement (nos.38 and 40) around the ‘Echo Aria’, has no parallel in the rest of Bach’s work.

Another new composition is the intensely contemplative ‘Schließe, mein Herze’, which Bach obviously thought of as the spiritual centre of the whole work – and not only of the third cantata. After abandoning the original idea of reusing a piece from a secular cantata, he embarked on a new composition, a movement in B minor with flutes and strings. Although it was relatively fully sketched, it too was abandoned and replaced by the definitive version of the aria.

It is hardly possible to exaggerate the extraordinary and unique qualities of the G major Sinfonia (No.12) that introduces the nocturnal scene in the second cantata with the shepherds abiding in the field followed by the angelic message. There is nothing in all music to parallel the almost naive realism with which the joyous music of the angels with flutes and violins in ‘perfect’ 12/8 time and the initially hesitant sounds of the shepherds’ pipes first alternate with one another, then become more and more closely interwoven in a constant play of light and shade, until the two instrumental groups finally join together in a skilfully handled eight-part texture. When confronted with the intense inwardness and fervent sincerity of this composition it is difficult to resist compiling a scale of preferences; however, if one accords the original and the ‘reprocessed’ movements of the Christmas Oratorio equal rank and weight, it will probably be agreed that the work’s crowning glory is this pastoral Sinfonia. – H. J. S.

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