“Imagine that it is the 1770s and we are in a salon in Northern Europe — in Hamburg or Berlin.” With these words, Andrus Madsen, founding director of Newton Baroque and maestro of the fortepiano, opened this local period instrument ensemble’s “Feeling Obligated” on Saturday at Newton’s historic Nathaniel Allen House. In a quirky barn/gymnasium (with a bowling alley), used for decades as a school named after an educator, philanthropist, and abolitionist, the Ionic temple-front former homestead in West Newton hosted three instrumentalists and a mezzo soprano with selections by J.S. Bach, C.P.E Bach, and Johann Gottlieb Janitsch. How fitting, as Madsen used this relaxed environment, complete with scattered oriental rugs, to educate as well as entertain, with fitting selections for a frigid yet enchanted Epiphany Eve.
A Sonata in G Minor by an unknown composer opened the concert. Some say it was J.S. Bach himself, because it contains the “BWV” catalogue designation. However, it later appeared with the “Wq” label suggesting that Bach’s fifth child, Carl Philip Emmanuel had written it. “Isn’t it great that we aren’t sure who wrote it?” Madsen asked rhetorically. “That way we can appreciate and evaluate the piece in and of itself rather than in light of its composer.” I am reminded of literary critic Michael Higgs who said, “when you’re looking at a work of art for pleasure, often the artist just doesn’t matter too much when trying to understand or enjoy it.”[i] Relinquishing pretentions to truly appreciate art for art’s sake enables us to delve into the marrow of its meaning.
Madsen eloquently delivered the Sonata with Alison Gangler on the period oboe. Gangler added an obbligato of a gorgeous flight of notes with meticulous breath control over lengthy runs to Madsen’s fluid exactitude. (An obbligato is a musical line that is essential to the piece being played.) Father Bach certainly came to mind as the duet swam together in the luscious Baroque flourishes and patterns. The duo communicated with subtle cues, caressing the sonata through its three dulcet movements: from an inspirational Allegro, to a reserved Adagio, with a return to a robust Allegro.
Three arias by C.P.E. Bach featured the celebrated mezzo-soprano Kim Leeds, a cofounder of the ensemble Filigree.[ii] Like a filigree, Leeds’s performance sparkled with a golden brilliance. With a voice that reached trilling and thrilling heights, Leeds mesmerized to the point that I stopped taking notes for fear that I would miss the exuberance of her delivery. To preface, Madsen told how this trio of songs celebrated the New Year and Epiphany.
The second of the three (Neujahrslied, Wq 197-19) allowed Leeds to convey a sundry of emotions that peaked with a passion that filled the room as well as the hearts of those whose New Year wishes for unprecedented magic were already being fulfilled! Such buoyant hope continued into the final song with Madsen playing what he called “a bombastic keyboard part.” This is where I paused in my stenography. The only person who enjoyed the performance more than the auditors was Leeds herself; her eyes glowed from the bliss that emanated from her silken yet majestic human instrument.
As Marsden had predicted, the first-half closer Johann Gottlieb Janitsch’s Sonata da Camera in D Major, Op. 5, No. 1, “whet our appetites for a snack!” Madsen, Gangler, and Douglas Kelley on the six-stringed viola de gamba delivered a delectable treat.
Kelley was one with his instrument the moment he took the stage. His large grip scaled the fretboard pulling pristine tones from deep within the instrument’s body. The viol spoke for Kelley; at times the sound seemed to resonate from his chest. It is no wonder that composers from the Renaissance through the Classical period saw the viola de gamba as “the most perfect imitator of the human voice, which, in the wake of humanism, had been elevated to be the measure of all things musical, and therefore became a paramount medium for sophisticated music.”[iii]
Kelley embodied intense, resolute focus. He and Gangler traded their obligatory riffs over the gentle melody with which Madsen undergirded. The well-hewn chops of this threesome made me exultant as a witness to such elegant musicianship. Indeed, their website accurately states that they “are known for their enjoyment in taking musical risks together and imbuing their performances with a spirit of improvisatory spontaneity.”
Two selections by J.S. Bach separated by an improvisational “Fantasie” on the fortepiano followed intermission. The latter was, in Baroque parlance, ornate and filled with deep textures. At times it sounded like a ballad before morphing into an ominous storm moving in from the horizon. Madsen conjured the sound of rain with triadic trills that kept edging up the keyboard. It was a revelatory offering, as Epiphany should be!
The Andante from Bach’s Sonata in G Minor, BWV 1030a, which was unknown until 20 years after the composer’s death, made us, in the conjured German salon setting, feel as if we were its first hearers. It featured Madsen and Kelley. The exchanges between the players was sui Bach. Yet, for all its precision, this served as an appetizer for the finale.
Bach’s cantata Ich habe genug (I’ve had enough), BWV 82 cries out for the peace that accompanies death. Luke tells of Simeon who was promised that he would not see death until he beheld the Lord’s Messiah. Simeon sees the infant Jesus at the Temple when the latter was brought there by Mary and Joseph to be dedicated to God according to Jewish custom. Simeon takes the child into his arms and declares, “Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to your people Israel” (vss. 29-32, ESV).
Leeds delivered the text with consummate expression and earnest articulation. The same movement featured Gangler on the historic oboe da caccia: a goose-necked instrument that “sounds like it looks,” as Kelley lightheartedly mused. Indeed, Gangler brought solemnity to this pensive selection, adding color to the overarching tone of the cantata — one that complemented the vocal in a delicate dance around a difficult topic: the peace that comes with accepting one’s mortality. I found myself held by the lines:
Welt, ich bleibe nicht mehr hier. World, I remain here no longer.
Hab ich doch kein Teil an dir, I own no part of you
Das der Seele könnte taugen. that could matter to my soul.
Just as the cantata ends delicately without fanfare (as I imagine the end of life), a “peace that passes all understanding” pervaded the work. Madsen mused on how the overarching sentiment of “Ich habe genug” is an acceptance of one’s mortality, even a readiness for it, à la Simeon. As the evening’s climax, Newton Baroque provided music that extended far beyond mere notes.
Not only can music raise us to ethereal spheres, it can also provide welcome surprises, fitting us out for the start of Epiphany.
During the intermission, my wife and I salivated over a pepper jam spread that, along with the other refreshments, Hannah and Peter Marton, members of the Newton Baroque Board of Directors, provided. When I inquired where I could purchase a jar of this scrumptious jelly, I was informed by the couple that they made it from peppers they grew in their garden. As we resumed our seats for the second half of the performance, Hannah, who was sitting next to us, gave me a smile — along with the rest of the jar.
I left that evening with many gifts.
John Tamilio III, Ph.D. is the Pastor of the Congregational Church of Canton, a Professor of Philosophy at Salem State University, and a professional guitarist who plays solo acoustic and for the Boston-based classic rock band, 3D. His playing has been applauded by David Brown (Simon & Garfunkel, Billy Joel), Jack Sonni (Dire Straits), and Carter Allen (WZLX). An aficionado of classical music, particularly the Baroque era, Tamilio’s publications are vast, covering not only music, philosophy, and theology, but the poetry of T.S. Eliot as well. He resides in Beverly with his wife Cynthia.
[i] Michael Higgs, “Why the Arist Doesn’t Matter,” from The Aestheticist (online). Published August 28, 2018.
[ii] The three arias were Der 93. Psalm, Wq 196-26; Neujahslied, Wq 197-19; and Der 8. Psalm, Wq 196/4.
[iii] “The Viola da gamba: Origin and History,” from The Orpheon Foundation (online). Published 2019.