They couldn’t be more different. Riccardo Chailly uses modern instruments including similarly pitched oboes d’amore and viola da gamba, to support all-male choirs with a separate boys’ choir. Sigiswald Kuijken prefers period instruments (he plays the viola da gamba) and, like Chailly, male and female soloists; but unlike Chailly the soloists double as choristers while a single soprano represents the boy’s section. Why small forces? The booklet introduction to an interview with Kuijken says, “Groundbreaking musicological work in recent decades has brought him to performing the Passion with a drastically reduced ensemble and no conductor” – which is followed by Kuijken’s own explanation for his decisions.

He claims “everything indicated that Bach never intended his church music to be performed by a choir in the current sense of the word”. Large choirs and orchestras were a throwback to Mendelssohn where “theatricalism and grandiose forces fit perfectly with the 19th-century Romantic spirit”. Still relevant though is an assessment of the work by a 19th-century figure, Charles Sanford Terry. He described it as “the deepest expression of devotional feeling that the art of music affords, so intimately felt, unfolded with such sensitive emphasis and dramatic feeling that the music seems embroidered with tears and coloured with flames and blood.” Realising this all-encompassing event is a theatrical experience, the impact of which is not necessarily dependent on large numbers. But Kuijken appears to equate “theatricalism” with “grandiose forces” and understates many aspects of the work.

Chailly offers no thoughts about the music or performance. Yet it’s clear that he has studied this many-faceted masterpiece as deeply as Kuijken, but rejects the compromises that the composer had been forced to accept. And, in an interpretation conceived on a greater scale of involvement, Chailly tries to reach out to an ideal Bach might have had in mind. He and Kuijken, each in his own way, begin credibly but start to polarise at the chorale “Beloved Jesus, what have you done wrong?” (No 3). Kuijken’s dispassionate account makes little of the pauses in the music but Chailly treats each of them as a break for underlining the questions posed. Differences in attitudes to the recitatives arise as well. Most times Kuijken is low-key. He disallows his soloists from extracting the full potency of a narrative even at crucial moments (for example No 11, “The Last Supper”). Characterisation lacks weight and consequence. The significance of the Eucharist isn’t emphasised. In contrast, Chailly doesn’t lessen its import and empowers Johannes Chum and Hanno Müller-Brachmann to achieve heights of eloquence. All musicians in this performance are similarly empowered.

There are moments, however, when Kuijken rises to the occasion. His direction in Nos 33, 34 and 35 is very good. And his understanding of “Have mercy, O Lord” (“Erbarme dich”, No 39) is communicated through an accomplished if slightly detached portrayal by Petra Noskaiová but with excellent instrumental support. Kuijken is, in all cases, different from Chailly yet no less valid. What isn’t valid is his sometimes inexplicable indifference towards the text. The bass aria “Give me back my Jesus” (No 42) is so jauntily paced that its passionate message is obscured; and his perfunctory attitude to “If the tears on my cheeks” (No 52) achieves a similar result. It falls to Chailly to point the unflinching emotional thrust of these pieces; and his interpretation of No 52 is astonishingly far-sighted in thought and depth of feeling. Inspirationally, he establishes parity with the two violins by substituting a string bass line for the softer organ continuo (legitimate, as is Chailly’s practice of switching to bassoons) which intensifies the expressive possibilities of this alto aria; and Marie-Claude Chappuis is alive to every nuance and inflection he uncovers at a daringly slow but flexible tempo. The death of Christ is anticipated; and as the end approaches (No 61) Chailly tightens the tension. Jesus’s cry in the darkness, “My God, My God, why have you abandoned me?” reflects utter hopelessness, his demise on the Cross all the more sorrowful because the Evangelist’s words are so unerringly timed and enunciated.

Good as he is, Kuijken doesn’t evince such penetrative responses. Perhaps he preferred a less subjective approach; and many may agree with him. Certainly in terms of resolution and transparency, Challenge Classics’ SACD recording is finer than Decca’s. Yet Decca’s production team manages perspectives better, skilfully capturing the realism of Chailly “live” as he resolutely claws his way into the anguish within this work of profound spirituality, betrayal and public execution. And he hurts.