Sunday Bach - Lent 3

Before winning the post of music director in Leipzig, Bach held the position of court composer in Weimar, and in that town the ban against concert music during Lent apparently wasn't so formidable as we actually have a cantata written for Oculi, the third Sunday in Lent - BWV 54, Widerstehe doch der Sünde (Stand firm against sin, Weimar 1714/15). This is a solo cantata (for alto voice) and very short time-wise, although this doesn't rule out complexity and depth. There are some highly unusual things in this cantata, including chromaticism, dissonance, and a fugue with the voice as one of the elements. The late Craig Smith of Emmanuel Music wrote a very interesting essay on this cantata:

At the beginning of his tenure as court composer in Weimar, Bach set several of the texts of J.C. Lehms. The Lehms texts are the most luridly bloody and preachy of all the Bach texts. They also have a raw power that suits Bach’s in-your-face style of that period. The opening aria of Cantata 54 is one of the most astonishing things in all of Bach. Sin is portrayed as a gorgeous, irresistible thing. One is reminded of the Andrew Marvel poems that refer to the jewel-like blood on the back of Jesus. The aria begins with a grinding and shocking dissonance in the orchestra. Gorgeous, lapping phrases build up like layers of velvet on this dissonant bass. The expressive voice part is like a rich, deep nap on the many levels of gorgeous chromatic harmony. Bach wants us, in this lengthy and incredibly expressive aria, to feel the push and temptation of sin. The lengthy recitative that follows clarifies his point of view. The fugal last aria is spikier but no less astonishingly chromatic. While this cantata is not very well known, it is a remarkable missing link in the Bach oeuvre and essential to our complete understanding of this composer. 

© Craig Smith

Today's performance is from a recording by the English Baroque Soloists and alto Nathalie Stutzmann under the direction of John Eliot Gardiner. Enjoy!

Photo © 2020 by A. Roy Hilbinger