One of the most stunning arias in Bach‘s St. Matthew Passion is without a doubt Aus Liebe will mein Heiland sterben. This aria comes as a quiet interruption of the most intense part of Jesus’ trial before Pilate. The crowd is screaming for Jesus’ crucifixion, and Pilate, fearing a riot, gives them what they demand. In between two shouts of “crucify him”, comes the aria.

Even more stunning is the bizarre orchestration: flute and soprano dance together on two unique melodies, accompanied by two oboes da caccia (predecessor of the modern English horn) – basically a low-pitched oboe. The oboes, I should mention, are by no means low-pitched instruments, nor are they really well adapted at playing the part Bach wrote for them – a funny, pulsing sort of heartbeat.

Heard alone, the aria is so melancholy it hurts. Heard in context, between two loud shouts of “crucify him!”, it is as if Bach was able to pause time to illuminate a glimmer of love in a time of intense hatred.

Holy Week continues …

Yesterday I praised the beauty of Bach’s Passions. The problem is, those pieces are huge productions, requiring an orchestra (sometimes two), choir (sometime three), and a dozen excellent soloists. That sort of performance takes lots of people, time, and money.

The good news is that beauty can be found in the small as well as the large. Equally moving are Healey Willan‘s very functional musical settings for Tenebrae, a service where light slowly gives way to darkness. Willan sets the traditional responses for the service in a textbook choral style, making it accessible to small choirs and liturgically practical. The effect of the music is perfect – you can feel the weight and gravity of the day pulling on you. As an added bonus, you can hear and understand the text perfectly – something which can easily become lost in the counterpoint of the Bach passions.

1, 2, 3, 4,
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

Happy birthday Albert Einstein! To honor you, how about we listen to a 5-hour opera with no plot and no intermissions?

Minimalist composer Philip Glass‘ 1976 opera, Einstein on the Beach indeed doesn’t have an actual plot, but instead presents a repetitive music with counting numbers and repeated spoken phrases. You could say that it musically presents the inner clockwork of the mind of a genius – pondering and calculating things that most people can’t even begin to understand.

Having played a limited number of minimalist pieces myself, I can say that this opera requires the very best musicians. The concentration of mind and strength of muscle required is enough to give most players some PTSD.