Non-‘period’ versions of the St Matthew Passion are something of a rarity these days though not in the pantheon of recording history where Ramin, Mengelberg, Furtwangler, Klemperer and Richter spring instantly to mind. Indeed, such is the universality of Bach’s peerless creative achievement that one should try to assess its impact beyond the relatively – dare one say it – insignificant and often speculative theories on the nature and size of the forces employed. In fact, Ozawa’s modern-instrument Saito Kinen ensemble (a sort of Far Eastern Chamber Orchestra of Europe) happens to be fairly modest and, as a reference point only, alludes sparingly to ‘period’ practices; this is more the case in the speed and articulation of choruses than in the arias where no such generalization can be made. That said, the largely excellent soloists all have wide experience of Bach performance at its most fashionably energized; Christiane Oelze and Thomas Quasthoff have recently been involved in Rilling’s secular cantata series and both John Mark Ainsley and Nathalie Stutzmann are well established in all the stylistic approaches to Bach performance.
Ozawa’s view of the St Matthew Passion is both intriguing, bewildering and intermittently penetrative. He clearly regards the work as a series of dramatic tableaux rather than a liturgically oriented evolution of spiritual realization – unlike, say, Klemperer and Richter. This is a conductor who recognizes the greatness of the music on its, and his, own terms, though he leaves us constantly wondering quite what his particular vision is over a broad span; even the transcendental final 45 minutes evolve without a firm sense of resolution (as much as there is one) or of lasting testament. Whilst there is a refreshing absence of mannered inflexion or gratuitous monumentalism, Ozawa’s stark realizations are more memorable in isolation (the duet, ‘So ist mein Jesus’, with the choral interjections on ‘Loose him, Leave him, Bind him not’ is remarkable for its unsettled neurosis) than as a prolonged identification with the human condition.
The pacing of narrative falls squarely on the shoulders of the Evangelist, John Mark Ainsley, whose eloquent delivery and vitally conceived narration are, structurally, Ozawa’s saving grace; the level of vocal dexterity, control and beauty of sound in Ainsley’s Evangelist is a rare thing indeed, though he doesn’t quite grow into ‘discipleship’ like Haefliger in Richter’s early account. Yet the way he harnesses his characterization, such as ‘and immediately the cock crew’ (‘krahete’ is wonderfully onomatopoeic), leaves us all the more frustrated at the often emotionally dislocating effect when Ozawa resumes at the helm. This brutal objectivization is evident in several key moments: ‘O mensch bewein’ seems deliberately unimbued with the understanding of repentence and illuminated anticipation with which Bach so graphically consummates the first part, and the chorales are efficient but fail to provide an embracing fermata of contemplation. ‘Wahrlich’ (‘Truly this was the son of God’), Bach’s most heart-stopping and finely etched contrapuntal incipit, may as well have been sung to ‘happy birthday’.
For all Ozawa’s avoidance of extended spiritual engagement, the hand-picked Saito Kinen instrumentalists are acutely sensitive accompanists (with the exception of the leader whose violin obbligato solos are under-par) and the chorus thrillingly dramatic in the crowd scenes. The ensemble responds well to the intensity of Stanford Olsen’s old-fashioned sounding ‘Geduld’ whilst the gleaming Christiane Oelze excels where Nathalie Stutzmann devours all with excessive swoopiness and approximate intonation. Thomas Quasthoff’s committed Christus takes time to settle (again mainly tuning), and yet his early exchanges with the Evangelist are compellingly fraught; this is a Jesus whose most human fears surface regularly. For authority and warmth of sentiment, look no further than Michael Volle, whose bass arias are wonderfully embracing. ‘Mache dich’ is a model of its kind.
In sum: there is a subtle originality here and one can see how Ozawa projects the work for a ‘global’ listenership (at least it isn’t billed for the millennium) but there are snags, not least the crafty side-stepping of Bach’s own religious ethos. Even if you don’t believe the story, you must play it for people who do! The insert-note is pure ‘Pseud’s Corner’.'