My favorite B-Minor Mass Recordings:
1: Thomanerchor/Freiburg Baroque/Georg Christoph Biller 2013: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NCWMUt0KmY4
2. Wiener Singerknaben/Concentus Musicus Wien/Nikolaus Harnoncourt 1968 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K5jIVFDp8lc&list=PLOvDSA4hBTlMIQMhEVorMh6CHbE15_TeY
3. Thomas Hengelbrock/Balthasar Neumann Ensemble https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kvExf77nRs4&list=RDkvExf77nRs4&start_radio=1
4. Mazaaki Suzuki/Bach Collegium Japan https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O1jV2EMLiSo&list=RDO1jV2EMLiSo&start_radio=1
5. Rundfunk Chor Leipzig/Neuisches Baches Collegium musicum/Peter Schreier
6. Capella Amsterdam/Frans Bruggen https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-gw318qPDhk&list=RD-gw318qPDhk&start_radio=1
7. Netherlands Bach Society/Jos van Veldhoven https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3FLbiDrn8IE&list=RD3FLbiDrn8IE&start_radio=1
8. Arcangelo/Joshua Cohen https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dF2p_nO0pVI&list=PLmOSt1fomrMWP9LGxZEbbgoaQj2W-J7pz&index=1
9. Gachinger Cantorei/Bach Collegium Stuttgart/Helmuth Rilling https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-gw318qPDhk&list=RD-gw318qPDhk&start_radio=1
10. Bavarian Radio Symphony Chorus and Orchestra/Eugen Jochum https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ZDBAWLSbMo&list=RD6ZDBAWLSbMo&start_radio=1
Runners Up: Gustav Leonhardt,
What do all these performances have in common?
Synthesis and diversity.
They do not banish the old, they do not fully trust the new. They do not make everything fully grand, they do not make everything nothing but intimacy. They look at a two hour work and realize that every new moment needs a variety of expression to hold audience attention.
There are all sorts of ways to do it. The Biller has the Thomanerchor, a sound that Bach surely would recognize 300 years later as his own choir. There is something about that sound that is simply perfect, more authentic than any authentic instrument. It fits Bach as well as the Vienna Philharmonic fits Strauss waltzes. But the reason I love Biller best is that he paces it like a mountain climb. From moment to moment, we aren't just conscious of the immediate moment but of everything which came before and everything which may yet come. It is an act of supreme architecture. If a great objectivist like Toscanini or Klemperer lived today, this may well be how they'd have done this extremely objective spiritual music. But it's more than just objectivity, it's a dialogue, or a compromise, between two sides of a fraught discourse, both of which have important points to make.
On the one hand, there is the old world of Bach: soporific tempi and too large choruses who can't sing it even so. And yet, amid all that boredom are 20 minute segments of absolute transcendence, transcendence which often vanishes from more recent performances. What makes Bach so loved is his harmonies, his part writing, his counterpoint. Why would anyone ever want to breeze through it at a speed at which it can't be appreciated?
So surely there has to be some compromise: surely great musicians can intuit a place where we can still be sent to heaven, yet not fall asleep for the rest.
I believe the way to do it is though the form. In Bach's greatest 'summa' works, to approach it movement by movement for cumulative impact, where you can feel precisely how one movement leads to the next, how every moment before leads to the moment after. These are works greater than they can ever be performed, but they don't just exist to move us or excite us, they exist to quiet us, and more than any other composer, the 'quietus' of Bach is the point.
On the other hand, Joshua Cohen does the opposite of Biller: he creates an opera of contrasts. In every movement he seems to be saying which approach works better, the old or the new? In the outer movements of the Gloria, he goes full Gardiner and creates an outright Dies Irae of noise, but in the more reverent choruses on the Gloria's inside, he plays them with broadly paced reverence. The solo movements are not dances, nor are they meditations, they're conversations, and set at the conversational speeds where you can best hear the text and understand how one movement moves into the next. Is it architecturally coherent? Maybe not, but then again, neither usually are cathedrals.
But Harnoncourt does it very differently. I don't think we imagine how revolutionary that first recording of the B-Minor Mass sounded. For some people it was rage inducing, for others it must have been like seeing the stars for the first time. But now that the revolutionary effect has worn off, it seems like one of the most traditional recordings ever made. Most of the tempi are so much more sensible than we generally hear today. The strings are so much more polished. The boys choir sounds downright normal compared to one voice per part stuff. More importantly, this is perhaps the first attempt to present the B-Minor Mass as a truly alive work of art in which contrast and development exist in dialogue: instead of spiritual valium.
And then there's Hengelbrock. In some ways it's even more my favorite than Biller. I disagree intellectually with a lot of how he paces it, but the music breathes so naturally that it's almost impossible to notice the tempos. So many Bachians care so much about precision, making their forces stamp every bar precisely on the beat: Hengelbrock, like so many of my favorite standard instrument conductors, couldn't care less about getting a crisp rhythm. Like the world's most natural podium musicians, he seems to want more that every musician take ownership of their playing and express themselves freely. If the attacks are constantly spread out, some ahead of the beat, some on, some behind, he doesn't care at all. The sincerity of expression, the commitment of every player, matters more than the ensemble.
But one way I completely agree with Hengelbrock and don't with so many others is in how much he gives to the soloists vs. the choir. There is a much more nuanced perspective to the One Voice Per Part debate: the choruses probably couldn't do a lot of the things Bach asks them to do, and if they did it, they had to rehearse with great dedication, and surely there's no way that hard-working Lutherans had enough time in their schedule to get to the whole thing. On the one hand, I find the OVPP one of the dumbest ideas in a movement full of dumb ideas. On the other, I think there were a lot more solos than we generally suppose. I think Bach reserved them for the climactic moments and had a few key virtuoso runs that he worked them on like dogs and let his temper scare them into practicing at home. The rest was probably soloists.
That's what synthesis means.
Another approach, one I greatly appreciate without loving is the Veldhoven. Veldhoven is pretty magnificent at pacing, and he has a lot of lovely singers (the Mass is more than its conductor after all...), but he doesn't have enough of them. Like Hengelbrock, he reserves a lot of singing for soloists, but my occasional question is why? I know it's often thought Bach didn't have more than, say 10 or 15 singers, but how can there be such a thing as a composer who writes on the grandest possible scale for compromised forces? If Bach had the chance for 50 or 60 professional singers and a fully complemented orchestra to boot, would he ever have refused it?
There are objectivists like Gardiner, so full of drama that I feel my nerves frying. There are objectivists like Herreweghe, so full of beauty that I fall asleep. In lieu of Herreweghe, allow me to recommend Veldhoven. In lieu of Gardiner, let me recommend Suzuki as many people do.
He has all of Gardiner's instrumental virtuosity and most of the singing virtuosity, but he has one element Gardiner never has: joy. Long before Gardiner was widely known as the Nelson Muntz of music, his performances struck me as rage given sonorous air. They have many, many virtues, including humor, including even fun, but they are without joy. You cannot look at Suzuki's Petrenko-like manner on the podium and conclude that he is anything but a joyful human being. Even without visuals, Suzuki's rhythms are absolutely infectious. Every time I hear someone say about Bach 'it's supposed to be a dance' I throw up in my mouth a little, but under Suzuki these not just lace-and-powder dances at Rococo court, they're the dances of musicians who are genuinely enjoying themselves. Certain movements I find too quick, and surely the B-Minor Mass is supposed to be a little more solemn than this, but in every case, Suzuki's decisions make sense on their own terms. I find his Domine Deus much too fast, but it's an enthusiastic dance, and it turns the Qui Tollis into a shock: one moment ago we were dancing at a tavern with a comely girl at church, now we are in her funeral cortege.
But then there's one that comes from a place even beyond personality. I'm not a huge fan of Frans Bruggen: the Mozart and Beethoven and Schubert that sends everyone else into ecstasy just seems non-descript to me and occasionally borderline incompetent (listen to the beginning of his final Mozart 39 and how the already slow tempo gets slower and slower...). When you watch Bruggen, he rarely seems to actually conduct: he's just keeping time with one hand, and it shows. So many of his performances are uninflected, unaffected, and simply bland. I don't know what other people see in this guy except a musician who carries good taste into vulgarity. But Bruggen was a baroque flautist long before he was a conductor, and here he's on home turf. I'm never convinced he understands a single composer after Haydn, but Bach he gets. Bach doesn't require a shader, just a guiding hand and the players do the rest. This is Bach playing so natural I feel like I'm listening to Schubert. How does one even speak of interpretation in a recording like this? It's just a stone perfectly polished by the sea.
The one thing I wish we had is more recordings of trad-instrument Bach in concert halls with musicians of impeccable taste and spirituality. Rilling is great, and god knows there are enough recordings from him of the B-Minor Mass, but Rilling never quite hit the sweet spot. All his recordings oscilate between a vocal line beautifully sustained and runs with staccatos so emphatic they seem etched by bullets. With regard to speed, his first recordings were too traditional and pastoral, then he began to sound like he was taking cocaine in the organ loft.
Peter Schreier, however, is one of the great musicians of our lifetimes, and whenever he took up the baton for choral works, the results were excellent; rarely moreso than here. Schereier even recorded this twice, and unfortunately, of the preferable one I can only find highlights on Spotify. The highlights seem to give us the outline of a performance of absolutely impeccable pacing and architecture, along with some of the most beautiful singing and playing you've ever heard. Occasionally you get some weird mannerisms, like a piccolo trumpet playing the horn part in the Quoniam, or weird decrescendos in Crucifixus, but they stand out because so much is so right, including a gradual realization that the Crucifixus is poco a poco ritarding from nearly the halfway point. It's magnificent! Those East German musicians behind the curtain were some of the greatest on earth: with all the impeccable training of the west but isolated from the luxury padding of the Karajan era.
If this music truly belongs to everybody, then we need this master 'bach' on the symphony subscription schedule. We need the whole world of 'Baroche' music on the schedule. Symphony orchestras are unfortunate creatures that play the same 100 hits over and over and over again.
There is a parallel universe out there where we don't listen to the same B-Minor Mass over and over again for a week, but rather use our time to investigate a massive world of potential lost treasures. Some of it's crap, but there are a lot more jewels out there than we think there are. There are great musicians out there: both composers and performers, and there would be still more if ideology didn't corrupt us all into dismissing what should be entertained.