J. S. Bach: Mass in B Minor, BWV 232

J.S. Bach’s Mass in B Minor, the last major piece he completed, is a miraculous union of different styles, new music and movements recycled from existing compositions. The German composer conceived its Kyrie and Gloria in 1733 as an offering to the Elector of Saxony, in the hope of securing the title of composer to his Dresden court. He expanded the work to include the complete text of the Ordinary of the Latin Mass in the late 1740s, building its Credo and, among other movements, the “Osana” and sublime “Agnus Dei” from music written for his cantatas, and adding the Sanctus that he composed for performance on Christmas Day 1724. “The world had changed totally around Bach,” Raphaël Pichon tells Apple Music Classical. A new, simpler “galant” style of music had come into fashion, concluding a long music tradition stretching back to the early 17th century. “Bach was so deeply connected to this tradition; he was also totally aware of the new music. He needed this synthesis of his own work with the new, and had this amazing memory of his pieces from the past, even from 35 years earlier, to reuse in the Mass in B Minor. It’s a bit like a ‘Pentecost’ for him, with all these different musical languages, vocabularies and grammars coming together in a perfect, totally unified kaleidoscope. That’s the genius and also the mystery of this piece.” Pichon’s recording rests on three decades of practical experience and study. He first sang Bach’s Mass as a 10-year-old chorister with the Maîtrise des Petits chanteurs de Versailles, and returned to it many times during his subsequent career as a countertenor. Pygmalion’s debut recording, made under Pichon’s direction in 2008, two years after he founded the ensemble, was devoted to Bach’s shorter settings of the Lutheran Mass. They progressed to record the original version of the Mass in B Minor and strengthened their Bach credentials with revelatory readings of the composer’s motets and St Matthew Passion. Their take on the complete Mass grows from the immensity of its monumental opening, strikingly serious in nature and much slower than usual for period-instrument performances. “It was a unique gift to perform the B Minor Mass after the experience of recording its first version,” recalls Pichon. “When you spend time with the complete set of parts that Bach sent to Dresden, you discover key information that’s still missing from editions of the Mass today. For example, the cello part of these first amazing bars of the Kyrie is marked molt’adagio or ‘extremely slow’ in Bach’s own hand. This is a really rare thing in his music. For me, this molt’adagio means that the tempo is disconnected from the natural heartbeat. It’s full of resistance; it’s not fluid; it’s not easy; it’s a fight to go from one bar to the next. With that in mind, it’s like shouting but with so much despair that there’s resistance in your voice. It’s not 30 singers and 20 players any more. This tempo creates the sensation that you are together with all humanity.” Bach placed the “Crucifixus” at the work’s heart, a stark symbol of Christ’s humiliation on the cross. The piece is routinely performed as a reverential, slow sarabande. Pichon’s reading begins by reinforcing the stabbing rhythms in the upper strings before drawing out the pathos and abject shock of the crucifixion. “It’s terribly difficult to record this piece, because we will all die with our questions about interpretation. ‘Crucifixus’ stands for the worst expression of humanity, an act committed by a community of liars, so the tempo is acid, full of poison. If we were to perform the ‘Crucifixus’ next year, it would be different as this question of tempo remains open. There are never certitudes, just questions.” Other highlights include the hunting horn solo in “Quoniam tu solus sanctus”, a tour de force from Anneke Scott; bass Christian Immler’s commanding performance in the same; virtuoso choral singing in the “Cum sancto spiritu” and “Et resurrexit”; and first trumpet playing of divine brilliance. Then there is the dramatic contrast between the contemplative close of “Confiteor”, with its unsettling harmonic shifts, and the ecstatic “Et expecto” that follows. Pichon sees Bach’s music here as both an expression of hope and a confession of faith. “This transition is a moment of pure honesty, of pure dedication to the triumph of light,” he notes. “We feel this triumph of light again when Bach repeats the music of the ‘Gratias agimus tibi’ as the final movement. It’s a sensation of going back home, like the Prodigal Son returning; there are no clouds in the sky anymore, just this brightness of D major. This is one of the most extraordinary pieces ever written, a deep journey into the human soul.”