Some might say that Philip Pickett's credentials for undertaking a large Bach choral project are not entirely obvious, especially as one who has built a reputation on realising masterpieces from much earlier periods, and for whom speculative approaches have almost become a trademark. That said - and despite his maverick, contextual theories on the Brandenburg Concertos - this latest project betrays no inherent discomfort with the mature baroque, with or without a polemic attached. In fact, Pickett parades no gimmick here at all, even hedging his bets on the chorus-size issue with a fortified, bit-more-than-one-to-a-part texture. So, straight away, we can tackle this from a purely musical perspective; and it turns out to be a thought-provoking and refreshing account on many scores.
Pickett has no theological axe to grind or contrived spirituality - prissy Bach wafting in 'ethereal loveliness' - of which there is a good deal flying about at present. This recording is also, however, very much a product of its age, a secularised vision performed with designer-like precision, effortlessly well-judged tempos, and often in meticulously pre-packed tableaux. On the latter point, the six cantatas are well characterised by Pickett, presented as set pieces of a kind which suits his imagination and sense of theatre. There is no flagging here (yet, admirably, he doesn't get the whole piece on two CDs by going at breakneck speed) and the exuberance of the main choruses are impressively articulated and controlled; the textures only seem thin when the counterpoint spreads out, as in the framing chorus of Part 3, when the tenor sound is a touch weedy. Occasionally in the large numbers it is the strings that are recessed, not the voices.
For all the surface finery, in places there seems to be a slight contradiction in the musical intention, particularly in the more lyrical arias like 'Schlafe, mein Liebster' and 'Herr, dein Mitleid'; here, tidy, short-breathed phrasing in the ritornellos seems at odds with the soloists' quest for a more extensive vocal line. Despite this, the dreamy singing of Michael Chance in the former (although he seems uncharacteristically tense in some arias) and the touching compassion in the duet of the latter, with Catherine Bott and Michael George, are still remarkably affecting. Paul Agnew's Evangelist breathes life into every word, recognises the stature of the sentiments and paces the narrative adeptly. One can quibble with the general climate of emotional restraint, though the short but astonishingly touching duet Arioso in Part 4 is as deeply felt as I can recall.
On one level, Pickett's approach throughout is that of a brilliantly measured survey. That perspective yields balletic and uplifting choruses and the natural ear for balance of parts and control of texture, such as in 'Fallt mit Danken'. There is also something refreshingly direct about 'Herr, wenn die stolzen Feinde' (the opening of Part 6), which is rightly viewed as Bach with his studs up, and not some dainty excuse for a dance. It is this no-nonsense approach - and some individual gems, though not the odd movement with rough oboe playing - which enables me to respect (if not wholeheartedly warm to) this new reading, as I do with both Suzuki and Schmidt-Gaden's accounts.'