His energized, engaged, and romantic account of Haydn’s Die Jahreszeiten with the BB Period Orchestra and Chorus fully justified the high level of anticipation for the eminent French conductor Marc Minkowski’s debut as music director of Boston Baroque. On Sunday afternoon, the man’s charmingly genial French manner, thankfully devoid of the often-concomitant restraint, emboldened the players and singers to let loose quite viscerally. And yes, we mean a romantic account. Minkowski told us afterwards how his concept for the work stemmed in part from his understanding that Wagner had conducted it. Indeed, he told the women to channel Brunhilde in the terrifying summer storm chorus, “Ach des Ungewitter naht!” And for that matter, the bass-baritone soloist Brandon Cedel, who gets the first and last words in the oratorio, had the gravitas and pipes of a Wotan. After hearing the BSO play the Berlioz Symphonie Fantastique at Symphony Hall on Saturday night (“great, of course, but so loud!”), he averred that BB could consider doing Berlioz with something like John Eliot Gardiner’s vision. It’s not so unlikely considering how this band plays for Minkowski. Early Berlioz only stretches 15 years beyond Haydn’s death and Wagner’s first opera, Die Feen only 24 years. How about Berlioz’s Grande symphonie funèbre et triomphale from 1840 ? it’s a concert-hall rarity, and it would give the strings a break.

Minkowski had the orchestra, chorus, and soloists process in together, and in another departure from the dutiful qualities of some previous BB concerts, he provided pithy introductions to each section:

Part One: “Fate is knocking at the door.”

Part Two: “Warm, wet, storm, nap”

Part Three: “There will probably be some hunting, and when it’s finished, you can drink… a lot!”

Part Four: “Of course it’s cold; Haydn uses it to signify the dying of the human soul…but the resurrection will allow us to begin again.”

One of the players told us afterwards how Minkowski had demanded strong attacks and accents in the dramatic sections while encouraging vibrato and light portamento in the more introspective moments. We hear all this. From the getgo, the generous and big-hearted storytelling moved and excited us; after all, this is one of the greatest celebrations of the human condition from the most genial of composers. Minkowski was also interesting to watch. He knew when to relax and when to provide needed guidance. Of course he described a reliable beat, but he could also vibrate with 16^th notes and call down manna from aloft. He trusted the 32-voice professional chorus enough never to have felt the need to cue fugal entries, even in the “Juhe, Juhe der Wein ist da” chorus with the drunkenly interrupted fugal subjects.

Jordan Hall reverberated (in part, perhaps, because of the empty seats occasioned by the mistake of scheduling a concert on the eve of Yom Kippur, though we did get out before sunset) with a satisfying roar at times, especially when the four standing natural horns blasted in the Hunting Chorus. And Minkowski’s last-minute request for the three soloists to join the chorus in the tuttis certainly added something. Soprano Lauren Snouffer’s perfect yet warm tone soared über alles. She flirted admirably with her Lukas and reveled delightfully in how she flouted the nobleman’s advances.

Kudos to tenor Andrew Turner; he invariably brought shapely phrases and strong engagement. Apologies to him for how a cell phone ring spoiled the poignant end of his gorgeous, show-stopping entwinement with David Dickey’s oboe in the cavatina “Dem Druck’ erlieget die Natur.”

Clarinetist Dominic Giardino had a brilliant night; whenever the musical spotlight shone upon him, he produced stunning and meaningful lines.

The 40 numbers went by with such brilliant singing, playing and characterization that one feels almost helpless to supply callouts. Can I do any better than to recycle this paragraph from my review of Chorus pro Musica’s account from last March?

The antiphonally seated violins, blended, called and answered and terrifyingly tremulated as they told the tale. Cellist Michael Unterman and fortepianist Leon Schelhase handled the recitative continuo parts with flair and sensitivity to the singers. Timpanist Jonathan Hess nailed both thunderbolts and fatal gunshots. Trumpets and trombones shone with bliss in the concluding glory. And, oh those four horns…what an inspiring workout they had in the hunting chorus. Along with the choristers’ “Hört, hörts das laute Geton,” they stopped the show for a full minute.

What with all those big fugues, drunken revels, and glorious celebrations of virtue, the chorus had a great night sending us into our Day of Atonement thus:

Direct us in Thy ways, O God, and make us strong and brave.
Then shall we sing, And shall ascend
Into the glorious heav’nly realm.

Next time consider providing the audience with scores for the ode to wine and maybe tambourines. We shall all sing and ascend.

Afterwords:

Can’t something be done about the dim bulbs in the Jordan Hall firmament? The chorus looked jaundiced.

Boston Baroque’s literal and abridged English translation did not do the job. Also, it would have been helpful to have German and English side-by side.

Chorus pro Musica’s former artistic director Betsy Burleigh wrote some years ago: 

A conductor of Haydn’s oratorios faces the vexing choice of whether to perform in English or in German. There are inherent problems with singing a work in a translation, particularly music of the Baroque and Classic eras. This music is generated by, and inseparable from, the words; rhythm, melodic shape, accentuation, articulation, and harmony all very specifically mirror the rhythm, melody, and stress of the words. Changing the language almost always obscures the music. Yet Haydn clearly intended for The Seasons to be performed in the language of the audience; the first edition was printed with German, English, and French lyrics.

We append a five-column pdf comparing translations HERE. Try singing them.

And my preferred Paul McCreesh translation is HERE.

Lee Eiseman is the publisher of the Intelligencer