Enoch zu Guttenberg and Bach's St Matthew Passion

You may never have heard of Enoch zu Guttenberg. He is a star in Munich, where his annual performances of Bach's masterworks for Christmas and the Easter week, with "his" choir and orchestra, are highlights of the festival calendar. But he doesn't record much and I don't think they travel that much either. He now regularly performs at - and runs - a music festival on Herrenchiemsee, an island in the Chiemsee (a lake in the sub-alpine region not far from Munich). But his site lists a total of 6 (six!) concerts outside the larger Munich region for the whole of 2009, if I've counted correctly.

Some of his recordings turn up quite regularly on critics' shortlists, and the SMP recording I'll be coming to shortly elicited a heart-felt turn-down in Gramophone like I've rarely seen. He certainly has his own way with things. Perhaps it's worth noting that he's not "just" a conductor. He's part of a family of Franconian "nobility" that goes back some 800 years, was born in the family castle whose name he bears, is the son/grandson/great-nephew of people who got into serious trouble under the Nazi Government (his great-uncle was murdered by the SS after the failed attempt to assassinate Hitler in 1944), and he's the father of the newly-appointed German federal minister for the economy. He was also one of the founders, in 1976, of what would for a long time remain the only large, country-wide environmental non-governmental organisation in Germany. And that choir mentioned above - it's "just" a local, small-town choir that he started working with as a student, over 40 years ago. You believe him when he says "Ich kann nicht lau sein." ("I can't be tepid.")

Back to Bach. He has recorded the St Matthew Passion twice. I don't yet know the older recording (a certain someone is very kindly trying to get hold of it for me at the moment) but I know and like the second one.

Here's the review from Gramophone:

Contrived and fragmented musicianship built on questionable foundations

This is a traumatised reading of the St Matthew but, sadly, not in a way which has much to do with the subject matter. Rather, its driven undercurrent of neurosis and clinical dispatch – in the name of historical ‘good practice’ – nullify much genuine rhetorical fervour. This is especially surprising when you read in the lavish booklet that Enoch zu Guttenberg has ‘a personal affinity to the gospel which I place above the music itself’. Whatever, the music comes off second best in almost all respects.

Simplistic phraseology is his controlling means – and you feel that Guttenberg wishes no quarter given to anyone who might wish to render a line without defacing it with ticks, clips and bulges, not to mention breathless speeds (in the case of ‘O Mensch bewein’ like mice chasing each other’s tails). While the Orchester de KlangVerwaltung perform with technical aplomb on modern instruments, they have been stripped, like a Welsh dresser, of any evidence of previous use; it makes Helmuth Rilling’s new, lithe approach to Bach sound like Klemperer to a rabid authenticist.

One suspects that Guttenberg’s approach has as much to do with wishing to make a mark as with an over-riding desire to satisfy stylistic scruple. Consequently, gratuitous gesticulation pervade a choppy ‘Blute nur’, a frantic ‘Ich will bei meinen’ and ‘Gebt mir’, not to mention an opening chorus relegated to a kind of Morris dance whose broad 12/8 is effectively halved, shortening the tactus, perhaps in the name of religious exultance. The result leaves the listener in a quandary as to whether he has a right to seek any solace in the symbolic mysteries of this magnificent edifice.

There are a few survivors. Klaus Mertens’s Christus is experienced, animated and responsive. He brings a beauty of tonal coloration which is poignantly tinged with sadness. Marcus Ullmann has a genuinely dramatic instinct, projecting the narrative with immediacy if not always vocal ease. Anke Vondung is the only aria singer who can really hold her own against the tide of stock formulae (as in ‘Ach! Nun ist mein Jesu’), although Werner Güra’s admirable ‘Geduld’ deserves mention, as does Anna Korondi’s supremely controlled ‘Aus liebe’. Hans Christoph Begemann comes across as a vocally tense bass soloist, whose natural legato instincts are choked by the prevailing directorial prescription of micro-shaping.

The Neubeuern Community Chorus are finely attuned to Guttenberg’s wishes and acquit themselves with the kind of vigour and commitment which is evident in the DVD of the Passion live from Klosterkirche Alpirsbach in Bavaria, with Hermann Prey as Christus (ArtHaus 8/02), even if their large number inhibits a certain flexibility. The main difference is that the recording studio has seemingly shorn the conductor of any aural memory (essential in giving music new perspectives of integrity and meaning) and the work of its inner strength through an adherence, above all, to second-hand ‘period’ gesture as his guiding principle.

If he were an out-and-out iconoclast, I could just about forgive him (and the misguided, if graphic, penultimate appearance of ‘O haupt’ might suggest that). As it is, neither Bach, the poet, the gospel nor the performers come close to his intended ‘summa theologica’, or more seriously, are allowed to reveal themselves inspired by the human frailty, grandeur of purpose and elegance of expression – let alone sheer beauty – which lies at the solar plexus of the St Matthew.

Jonathan Freeman-Attwood

Put off? Don't be.

I think Jens F. Laurson from MusicWeb International may be (inadvertently) going some way towards explaining JFA's dislike:

On my “Easter Pilgrimage” last year, I heard Enoch zu Guttenberg’s Matthew Passion on the Munich leg of the tour. Guttenberg and his Neubeuern Choir are a local musical force, much loved and admired in the region. His pick-up band, which he coyly named “SoundAdministration Orchestra”, consists of members of the best European orchestras (Berlin Philharmonic, Concertgebouw, et al.) and local players — including soloists from the Munich Philharmonic and the Rosamunde String Quartet. Guttenberg’s performance of the Matthew Passion around Easter are an institution, known to be consistently individual, ‘unique’ interpretations. When I sat in the Philharmonic Hall on Good Friday to listen to what was my fourth Matthew Passion in six days, I spectacularly failed to get it.

Part of the problem: I listened lazily. I didn’t participate; I simply wanted to let the music do the work of enthralling me. A miscalculation, as it turned out, because as I did not bother with the text, the musical choices of Guttenberg ended up annoying me to no end. Unable or unwilling to put them in context, I found the interpretation awkward, the performance disappointed me, and that disappointment angered me.

A few weeks after Easter I was sent the Guttenberg 2003 recording (apparently just now issued or re-issued outside Germany by Farao and not the same performance reviewed by Peter Quantrill on DVD here). Knowing several expert ears to be very fond of Guttenberg’s very particular interpretation, I had the chance to give it another try, to give it its due time, respect, and engagement. That made all the difference.

Guttenberg’s version might well remain controversial to many listeners. Uninitiated listening might have it seem that when Guttenberg passes the chalice, he hands it over with a cup of crazy. But it isn’t that simple and it wouldn’t be doing the performance justice to declare it wilfully romantic or completely over the top. There is rhyme and reason to all he does. Not only that, as a musical interpretation of the gospel of St.Matthew, it becomes one of the great Matthew Passion recordings there are.

Whatever Guttenberg does in the Matthew Passion, he does not out of a sense of license or sheer, unmotivated exuberance — but out of a sense of duty to the text and Bach, and the impression the Matthew Passion must presumably have made on the original audience. The cry “Barabas”, for example, is not a short, punctuated staccato interruption, it is an extended, surprisingly slow and devastatingly disturbing cry that tears through the fabric of the music, analogous to the when the veil in the temple is torn as Jesus dies on the cross. The dissonant chord which, to our ears is no longer shriekingly dissonant, is played out so harrowingly that the dissonance is again audible.

The chorale “Wenn ich einmal soll scheiden” initially sounded dour to my ears — now I find it as touching as could be, because I hear in it the utter reluctance to part. The whiplash of the continuo string instruments and the frenzied violins in the recitative “Erbarm es Gott!” depicts the beating of Christ about as vividly as the Mel Gibson film.

The overly enunciated chorale “O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden” irritated me in the live performance. Musically, I’m still not particularly fond of the hacked-off stop-and-go performance the choir turns in. But realizing how this symbolizes the broken bones of Christ, how he has suffered, and suffers under his wounds does make it a truly, appropriately pitiful moment. If the interpretive device with which Guttenberg conveys that scene isn’t actually very pleasant, well… neither is the scene he depicts.

The coup of Guttenberg’s interpretation of the Matthew Passion is that he elevates — or rather: uncovers and restores — the climax of Matthew’s gospel as the highpoint of Bach’s work. It’s often missed because it is so short, but it’s unmissable in the story. It is at Matthew 27:54 and part 63b (NBA) in Bach, when at the end of the crucifixion scene, after the gruesome death of Jesus and the ensuing earthquake, the rough heathen Roman executioners and their captain (of all people!) are the first to grasp the meaning of what has happened before them. Their hearts change and they acknowledge (“Due chori in unisono”): “Truly… truly: this was the Son of God.” (Notably, it’s the only time Bach lets both choirs sing unisono.)

Two bars, not even 20 notes — but here elevated to the pinnacle of the whole work. Forty (!) seconds so intense, so heartfelt, so earnestly passionate, that absolutely without fail I tear up every time I hear it.

Guttenberg ’s Matthew Passion is a religious one. In the extensive interview included in the liner notes, he may admit to knowing no better than the next guy whether God exists or not, but declares his love for the gospel of Matthew and — this is crucial — how he puts the text of the gospel above the music. As a Bavarian (Upper Franconian) Catholic, emotionality is important to Guttenberg, and conveying the emotion of the gospel by whatever means (including HIP methods) is his sole goal. The result is an utterly baroque reading of BWV 244.

I like to imagine how a few Bach lovers who appreciate the work of Rifkin, McCreesh, or Junghänel roll their eyes at this, exclaiming how the last thing they need is a “baroque” reading of Bach… before becoming aware of the inherent absurdity of that sentiment.

But emotionality in the 21st century is different from Bach’s time, our ears perceive music differently, and the means to recreate a reaction to the text of the gospel will have to be different, too. We will never know how Bach’s performances sounded, much less how he wanted them to sound and why. Chances are it sounded much more like Butt’s version (except not nearly as good) than Guttenberg’s. And yet Guttenberg might be closer to Bach than Butt in the way he presents the Matthew Passion.

Bach’s Matthew Passion could just be taken as a piece of music. Indeed, the miracle of the Matthew Passion is how great it is, even if we don’t ‘experience’ it. That even the naked music of the Matthew Passion will move us, faithful or faithless. Perhaps not to our every core, but substantially still. But to be moved truly, one needs to partake and understand what Bach says or what Bach gives voice to. Because the Matthew Passion has, in and of itself, meaning, it ought not only be listened to, but experienced, too.

Guttenberg’s interpretation redirects us toward that meaning, but it also profits from knowing it in the first place. A sensitive soul may intuitively get Guttenberg’s musical explanations of the text, but that means that knowing the text is a prerequisite. It is, incidentally, the only prerequisite. Belief is not – because the Passion’s meaning is independent of belief or faith. Neither Guttenberg’s performance nor this review is an attempt to proselytize, merely a call to understanding Bach’s music beyond the notes.

Even if you accept all of this, it need not mean that you have to like the interpretation, musically. After all, the intention, good as it may be, isn’t all-important to the result. But it is important enough — especially in a work like the Matthew Passion — not to be separated. If you don’t separate it, then the Guttenberg recording becomes deserving of our utmost attention and benevolence. And it will, if approached like this, reward generously — through Bach — in ways that musically smoother and less controversial recordings will not.

There's plenty more critical acclaim when you look at the label's page for the recording. You can sample the recording for yourself here. Or buy it (Gramophone lists it as "deleted" but it seems to be still available). Or have a look at the comments for more suggestions.

Admirers of "stately" versions, be warned though: this is probably about as far away from Klemperer et al. as you can get, short of adding a rhythm section to the line-up.

Happy Easter!