Raphaël Pichon’s Bach B Minor Mass - The French conductor has found his magnum opus
- Seth Lachterman
- Dec 7
- 9 min read
Updated: 4 days ago
J. S. Bach B Minor Mass, BWV 232
Performers:
Raphaël Pichon, Ensemble Pygmalion
Julie Roset, soprano
Beth Taylor, mezzo-soprano
Lucile Richardot, alto
Emiliano Gonzalez Toro, tenor
Christian Immler, bass
Recording: Harmonia Mundi
The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed.
– G. M. Hopkins
Raphaël Pichon’s Bach B Minor Mass - a magnum opus
What is it about the B Minor Mass that has made it both remarkably popular and somewhat uniformly interpreted for almost seventy years? Compare this to Monteverdi’s Vespers of 1610 which sports as many performances as Bach’s Mass, but with widely varying performance approaches (the keys, the tempi, the instrumentation, the ornamentation, and the vocal scaffolding to name a few). Mr. Pichon has given us one of the most successful Vespers in the past decade with his instrumental and vocal ensemble, Pygmalion (see my review). Lately, he has been recording almost all the choral classics, even Brahms’s Requiem; his Bach Mass in B Minor may be his most artful and enduring. Yet, its success rests as much on the recorded tradition as it does on Mr. Pichon’s singular touches.
Besides an acclaimed new release on Harmonia Mundi, Pichon will be performing this towering masterpiece (sans his group, Pygmalion) with the Berlin Philharmonic on December 18-20. Since Pichon is an “early music” advocate, and Pygmalion brims with early Baroque interpreters (such as Pichon’s wife, Sabine Devieilhe, a spectacularly talented soprano), it leaves one wondering how he will leverage a brilliantly versatile traditional orchestra and the RIAS choir in Berlin. Several years ago, Ton Koopman, another icon of Baroque specialization, performed the Mass in Berlin and delivered what might be called a “well-tempered-modern-compromise.” The Berlin players, all savvy on historically informed performance, know how to adapt their instruments and phrasing to approximate what purists dogmatically insist upon. Just recently, we lost the controversial stickler, Roger Norrington, who insisted that any vibrato in string performance was verboten. How will Raphaël Pichon perform the Mass with less parochial forces in a symphonic space? Will his performance be deemed a simple compromise to popular taste that casts aside enthusiasts who can’t imagine enjoying Bach performed in modern concert pitch?
The answer, gleaned from this new CD and from Pichon’s morphing of styles to accommodate many other composers, is as much a tactical decision as it is a purely artistic one. He is certainly aware of all performance choices and the recorded tradition.
The history of great recorded performances of the Mass begins with the exceedingly successful and influential approach by Karl Richter who (1) used a large chorus that (2) sang in a “white diapason” style insuring that (3) the choral counterpoint was crystalline and foremost. Instrumental color was of secondary importance. In the decades that ensued, scaling down vocal forces (even down to one-to-a-part) and having the instrumental detail on an even footing became fashionable. The result of paring down bore little resemblance to the grandeur the music evinced. John Eliot Gardiner revived the Archiv label’s preeminence in a landmark performance in 1985. It sounded amazingly like the Richter with a substantial “white” (clearly etched lines, no vibrato, almost organ-like) choral sound, but with far greater instrumental color and warmer solos. This recording became a new standard, although, in my opinion, Gardiner’s touch with Bach has since moved to rapid-fire expediency.
Other approaches have been influential, primarily the “one-to-a-part” (allowing occasional instrumental support) which was first popularized by Joshua Rifkin in 1982. While the vocal counterpoint is certainly limpid in the spare contrapuntal sections, the lack of vocal reinforcement diminishes the clarity in more complex sections, especially in the double choral section (Osanna). Other recorded interpretations try to use a concertato style in which soloists are used for fugal expositions and are later reinforced by the full chorus. The success of this technique ultimately depends on the soloists’ techniques, instrumental balances in the tuttis, and the recording engineers. However, Philippe Herreweghe’s series of performances in the 1988 – 2013 solidified the basic Richter formulas while luxuriating in warmer solos, clearer instrumental parts, and a less mechanistic choral articulation.
Pichon’s Mass does accede to Richter’s choral approach: strong forces, dramatic contrast, and athletic (perhaps hyperathletic) choral vocalism. The orchestra and choir, however, are distanced. For those who want to hear instrumental beauty, choose one of Herreweghe’s
recordings.
The first decision a conductor must make with the Mass is what edition to perform. Many opt for the Friedrich Smend edition of 1961 which was largely based on the late 1748-49 autograph score. There are many problems with this edition mostly stemming from Smend’s adoption of score markings likely made by C.P.E. Bach. For example, in the Gloria, the “Et in terra pax” fugue theme is altered from J.S. Bach’s Missa 1733, the original foundation of the final B Minor Mass. Pichon, like many others, uses Missa 1733** There is a new edition of the Neue Bach Ausgabe (New Bach Edition), edited by Uwe Wolf, which uses X-ray analysis to distinguish Bach’s ink from the ink of various revisions. So, ultimately, future performances will have clear choices of variants.
Overall, the main criticism I have with Pichon’s Mass is the tempi of the D major choral movements: the ones obviously in a buoyant triple meter really seem too fast, perhaps faster than in most other recordings. Yet, the total timing of 1 hour and 47 minutes is broader than, say, Herreweghe’s 2013 recording that clocked in at 1 hour and 41 minutes. Perceived speed is also a result of phrasing and tempo contrasts. At times, Pichon’s sensitivity for innovative phrasing and dynamics will adds nuance and bristle to the choral speedway. At other times, the musical and harmonic heft and momentum is left unabsorbed by the listener. I think that the acoustic space between instruments and choir abets the impression of speed-induced pileups. We hear great excitement, for example, in the “Et expecto,” with its great forward thrust, but on other occasions, details derail, and complex passages simply get obscured.
On a positive note, Pichon’s choir excels in textual articulation, and the soloists are uniformly talented. The chorus does shine above others, even if the winds are never as luscious as we hear in Herreweghe’s four recordings.
Bach’s climaxes are always found in his opening movements. The opening Kyrie begins with a four-bar chest-beating exclamation begging for God’s mercy. It is, perhaps, the most arresting choral opening in all of Bach’s repertoire. This grand gesture should be performed by augmented forces; one can imagine this opening simulating an organo pleno (“full organ”), with all stops out, a practice Bach enjoyed when a grand impression was needed. Pichon sensibly knows that without an arresting and compelling Kyrie, the gravitas of the entire Mass would be compromised. His ensemble shines, and his tempo is stately and near-perfect. The two-note articulations in the melismata (“eleison”) compellingly evoke the Baroque rhetorical “sigh.” On the downside, however, the perceivable sonic space between orchestra and chorus defeats the purpose of the intended instrumental voice doubling. I assume that Pichon’s larger-than-usual chorus requires distance from the instrumentalists to prevent the latter from dominating.
Pichon takes the Christe at a very brisk tempo, which is not problematic until the vocal cluttering thirty-second notes in cadences. The second Kyrie, Bach’s majestic bow to the sixteenth-century stile antico, is beautifully done with the stretto section having a reverberant sheen.
In the opening of the Gloria, Bach introduces his golden polish of trumpets and drums in 3/8 meter, a color and meter that will permeate much of the Mass, and all is buoyant and majestic. In my opinion, the fugal “Et in terra pax” would have benefited from a concertato soli-tutti approach rather than using the full ensemble, but that option seems to be rarely done.
The violin’s articulation of the ritornello in “Laudamus te” is a bit sparing, and the pungency of the cadences’ accidentals are lacking. The “Domine Deus” is a magical duet for soprano and tenor, with flute, pizzicato strings, and an atmospheric continuo of harp-like sonorities played by theorbo, harpsichord, and gamba. In the “Qui tollis,” taken from Bach’s cantata Schauet doch und sehet, ob irgend ein Schmerz sei, BWV 46, Pichon indulges in some unexpected liberties with dynamics, but with an overall satisfactory effect. “Qui sedes,” featuring oboe d’amore and alto Lucile Richardot, was lovely. The difficult “Quoniam tu solus sanctus,” scored for obbligato bassoons features an overarching hunting horn (corno da caccia) part which famously challenges valveless brass players with notes that either require a “fist in the bell” (hand-stopping), or special finger holes for accurate intonation. The fine bass-baritone, Christian Immler, the punchy horn articulation, and the obbligato bassoons worked wonderfully together.
We encounter some difficulties toward the end of the Gloria: the chorus “Cum Sancto Spiritu” is simply too fast. In the fugue, measures 60-64, the vocal counterpoint gets knotty and muddled; In measure 126, the scintillating trumpet triplets are all but blown away with the tempo.
Similarly, the opening of the Credo, “Credo in unum Deum,” is irritatingly fast, more with a “prancing bass” rather than the appropriate “walking bass” line. Bach connects this bass line with the ensuing “Patrem omnipotentem,” pitting a lively fugue in syncopation against chordal utterances of the Credo. Pichon brings out the joyous interplay that culminates in a clarino descant of the fugue subject.
The duet “Et in unum Dominum” for soprano and alto beautifully weaves closely imitative overlapping lines with echoing instrumental parts. Bach added the moving “Et incarnatus est,” to the score in the last year of his life when he was compiling the full Mass. It is in that stile antico that harkens back to the sixteenth century. It is notably dignified and uses two-note descending motifs denoting mourning or tears.
However, Pichon’s “Crucifixus” is not only fast (2’31”), but expresses a vision and affect far afield from an expected lamentation. The text, “He was crucified also for us under Pontius Pilate, suffered and was buried,” is expressed with more anger and defiance than anguish. The all-important Baroque lamento affekt of this movement, drawn from Bach’s earlier cantata Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen, Zagen, BWV 12, is absent. In Pichon’s vision, the descending ground bass is somewhat manic in tempo, and the accompanying chords are too strong and almost menacing. However, for new listeners unfamiliar with this movement, Pichot’s approach might be more readily accepted and even preferred. Also, we’re living in angry and resentful times! The final cadence, modulating to major, at point of death, is unconvincing for me in Pichon’s agitated context. All is well with “Et resurrexit,” except I would have welcomed a solo bass-baritone, consistent with a concertato interpretation instead of the choral basses in the center section. The trumpet parts and the ejaculatory high D are thrilling. “Et in spiritum sanctum” was as beautiful as I’ve heard it, as was the “Confiteor” with its cantus firmus infusion balancing the opening Credo chorus.
There’s an option to perform the closing measures of “Et expecto,” a cadential formula, a tempo with a crisp abrupt stop. Richter’s classic 1961 recording demonstrates this approach. Thus, the words venturi saeculi, amen are rousingly sung without abating momentum. Choral cadences that close fast movements, in the opinion of many conductors, should have a tasteful slowing up at the cadence. However, there is a compelling argument to avoid slowing down. In the score, Bach only indicates a quarter-note followed by a quarter rest with a half rest. The slur over the “a –“ syllable (in “amen”) gathers two beats and leaves the final D detached. The key to the correct interpretation lies in the cantata that is the source of this movement: Gott, man lobet dich in der Stille, BWV 120, from the chorus “Jauchzet, ihr erfreuten Stimme.” The phrase of this chorus, “Steiget zum bis Himmel ‘nauf,” parallels the text venturi saeculi, amen. There is no cadence in the cantata, and the chorus continues in a ritornello, precluding any tempo change. There is a substantial performance history before Richter in letting the movement end thusly (even by Otto Klemperer!). I agree with Pichon’s decision here. The music “gathers to a greatness,” as G.M. Hopkins would say, with the momentum of a promised resurrection.
The Sanctus is stately, not uncomfortably fast or slow. The ensuing fugue, “Pleni sunt coeli,” metrically balances the triplets in the first section. The Osanna follows with great energy and expands the scope of voices to a double chorus. The phrasing by tenor Emiliano Gonzalez Toro and flutist in the “Benedictus” was impeccable. Lucile Richardot’s voice was not as compelling as I had hoped in the Agnus Dei; it exhibited a certain edginess to the phrases. Finally, the “Dona nobis pacem,” a chorus which unifies the old contrapuntal style and the festive baroque radiance, was noble and climactic.
Even with an occasional excess in speed, Pichon’s ensemble always sounds grand and infused with new ideas, ensuring that a fresh listening of a masterpiece is never wasted. The upcoming performance in Berlin will undoubtedly be a bit different using the sterling musicians honed to a different repertory, but I expect it to be memorable.
Young ears cast from the crucible of violence and turbulence might perceive the possibility of beauty and grandeur in this civilization.
** To my ears, Pichon takes the dotted eight-note in the first entry (soprano) of the fugue's exposition, but uses even eigths after that.
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