Anyone who thinks that Peter Schreier’s latest recording of Bach’s first surviving passion is bound to be a typical ‘big band Bach’ affair had better think again. This live performance from November 2001 is bursting with youthful vigour and regeneration. The opening chorus is unusual and memorable for its ensnaring imagery, the oboes’ pointillistic accents and the undulating strings contributing to a remarkable sense of foreboding. The crescendo towards the initial choral declamations are theatrical in a manner to which these Italian musicians respond most effectively.

Schreier himself, of course, knows every sinew of every line of both Passions; it is this familiarity which frees up the instinct and brings fresh insights. The urgency of the choral contributions is indeed one of this reading’s most compelling features. That modern pitch, and instruments, stretch the sopranos towards the odd technical mishap is rendered a marginal concern by the intensity of their engagement. The chorales are open-hearted, if lacking the introspective refinement of the best European choirs.

Among the clatter, chair squeaks and coughs of a live performance, Schreier takes the St John by the scruff of the neck as the directing Evangelist. In purely vocal terms, there is less of Schreier’s inimitably incisive delivery and bright enunciation of old (he ‘officially’ retired in 1999) but this is still a remarkably accomplished performance for a tenor closing in on 70, the odd croon aside. He tends to pace himself around the highs and lows of the dramatic narrative with all the benefits of experience and high cunning. Quite how he put up with the shenanigans of the organ and prominent harpsichord continuo is beyond me, the recitatives especially used as a chance to detract from the narrative with endless diversions of a sort which would have made Karl Richter blush.

‘Ach, mein Sinn’ – one of Bach’s most brilliantly economic creations (and one which Bach surprisingly omitted from his 1725 version) – is left to Markus Schäfer whose vocal quality is somewhat uneven across all registers, but the effect of the saccadé accompaniment’s biting accents is telling. Of the two basses, it is unclear who is Christus since they are both simply listed as baritones. Neither contribution is especially notable, the one singing ‘Betrachte, mein Seel’ is flat throughout and the other is far too blustery to make an ideal Jesus. The women are marginally more consistent, though again pitch appears to be a recurrent problem. Simone Nold’s ‘Zerfliesse’ is the most affecting solo contribution, exhibiting an easy Sylvia Rubens-like control in the upper reaches.

This is not to be likened to a disciplined studio-made Bach performance but as an occasional reading of the St John, pitting an elder statesman (compare Rilling, whose recent musical results also constitute a second wind in pure unremitting energy alone) against a committed but rough-hewn choir and orchestra. The result is a candid, if not especially profound reading of a work whose sheer physicality and direct emotional fabric can withstand all sorts. The solo vocal contributions – the maestro aside – are ultimately too variable for a recommendation for all but the curious. Those seeking satisfaction have the choice of Suzuki or Rilling, according to taste.