Powerful, eloquent St. Matthew Passion

By Ellen Pfeifer, Globe Correspondent, 04/24/2000

CAMBRIDGE - Conductor-composer-organist-professor of sacred music, 30-year-old Julian Wachner has been making a name for himself in Boston for several years now. This listener, however, heard him for the first time over the weekend in a Good Friday performance of Bach's St. Matthew Passion. It was an experience akin to one's first exposure to the young Peter Sellars. There was genius here and no mistaking it.

There has been no shortage of fine performances of the Passion in this city. But none compared in setting forth the terror, the anguish, and the inherent hope of this narrative so central to the Christian faith. It was clear from the opening section, with its complex antiphonal dialogue among choruses, double orchestra, and children's choir that this would be an extraordinary performance. When had one ever heard the words so distinctly? All those articulated K's and T's in "Kommt, ihr Toechter" commanded one to listen and lament. Wachner's strong pulse, too, set up an irresistible momentum that swept the listener along and didn't put us down until 3½ hours later. Throughout, Wachner emphasized the almost dancelike quality of the rhythms and the transparency of the textures. He also made the most of the work's extraordinary theatricality and vivid text painting. So, for example, in the middle of Jesus' interrogation by Pontius Pilate, Bach inserts the Soprano aria, "Aus Liebe," with its character of sorrowful reflection. This is followed by the Evangelist and crowd who shout, "But they cried out the more, saying: Crucify him!" In Wachner's performance, the peace and repose of that aria was absolutely shattered by the shocking dialogue that followed with such horrific abruptness.

No matter how familiar the story, this Passion struck the listener with the forcefulness of first hearing. Of course, Wachner had a dream cast of performers. With just about one exception, the sextet of vocal soloists represented an ideal of poetic eloquence and vocal mastery. The Back Bay Chorale, joined by the children of the Performing Artists of Lincoln School, sang as if ignited by a divine spark.

The orchestra, which has been performing Bach cantatas weekly for many years at Boston's Emmanuel Church, knows the composer with an intimacy enjoyed by only a few ensembles in the world. Its principal players perform the obbligato solos with an expressiveness born of long experience in the style and context. (How shameful, then, that the management of the Back Bay Chorale chose not to list the orchestra personnel in the program although every chorister was named.) Among those who should be singled out for praise were the two continuo sections, including organists Michael Beattie and Linda Osborne-Blaschke, cellists Beth Pearson and Michael Curry, bassoonists Tom Stephenson and Ron Haroutunian. There were also splendid solos (and duos) by Julia Scolnik on flute; Peggy Pearson and Barbara LaFitte on oboe, English horn, and oboe d'amore; Sarah Roth and Danielle Maddon, violins; and Laura Jeppeson, viola da gamba.

As the Evangelist, tenor Frank Kelley demonstrated that he is becoming Boston's definitive narrator of the Bach Passions. He became deeply involved in the events, telling them with all their inherent horror, pain, and shock. Stephen Salters, as Jesus, gave real human dimension to the role, although he was too dependent on his score to have maximum effect. Baritone Sanford Sylvan, who has been a magnificent Jesus, took on the roles of Judas, Pilate, Joseph of Arimathea, and the unnamed baritone solos. Everything he sang was profoundly moving, but none more so than "Mache dich" with its sweet balm.

Tenor William Hite spoke directly to the heart in the aria "Geduld!" Soprano Anne Harley chirped with pretty, bright tone but inadequate breath support through "Aus Liebe" and "Blute nur." But it was mezzo-soprano Pamela Dellal who conveyed listeners to the sublime heights. Partnered by the equally inspired violinist Danielle Maddon, the two performed "Erbarme dich" as if it were the last music anyone would hear on this earth. After that, one could happily shuffle off this mortal, coil.

This story ran on page B8 The Boston Globe on 04/24/2000.
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