St John Passion in ADDA Alicante with Ruben Jais and Coro Labarocco de Milano

It is at least forty years since I heard a concert performance of a Bach Passion. It is probably a decade since I heard a complete performance. I am not a believer in Christian myth. I cannot participate in a performance of such a work as the composer anticipated that its intended audience might. For me, it’s a story, some of which might actually have happened. That makes a performance of the work very similar to anything else based on the text of a story, such as an opera, oratorio or song. So my appreciation of the work is solely from the perspective of someone interested in music.

But Bach’s Passions were not works assembled as a singular artwork. The purpose was clear: to tell a story, but also to provoke religious sentiment. This second objective is not possible for me, but then I do know enough about the events to realise what the intention might have been.

The music is necessarily episodic. Three different forms predominate. These are, of course, choral sections, where the singers are largely cast in the role of the voices of the people. Then there are the dramatis personae who have solo roles, some of which are expanded into arias, which, frankly, are present purely for the musical, not dramatic effect. And then, listed last but certainly not least, there is the role of the evangelist, the storyteller. The part, usually sung by a tenor voice, without vibrato or affectation, so that every word can be heard, is crucial. Without it, there would be no story. And, in this performance, in Alicante’s ADDA auditorium, the amazing performance of Bernard Berchtold in the role brought the evening literally to life.

There was a slight flaw in the staging, however. The solo arias were delivered by members of the chorus. Though they did have a featured platform from which to project, this was set at the back of the orchestra, immediately in front of the rest of the chorus. I understand the logistical difficulties of bringing the solo voice to the front of the stage, but equally placing it behind the orchestra perhaps diminishes the voice’s presence in the hall. It was clearly audible, but for me these sections, which should stand out, did not. In the second part, we heard the two violins accompanying an aria at the front of the stage, whilst the voice was almost at the back.

Structurally, the music now seems more modern than I remember. JS Bach’s practice of pitting solo voices against selected instrumental sonorities seems to be very contemporary. There were the violins, of course, but a particularly successful passage has a bassoon predominant and oboes, flutes and cors anglais play significant roles.

But I have to reserve the real praise for Bernard Berchtold’s performance as the evangelist. The voice was perfectly suited to the role. The delivery was interpretive and conveyed both meaning and nuance. The crystal clarity of the sound was always interesting to listen to, and the voice did not tire, as many often do, in this long and exacting role. I am sure that Bernard Berchtold has sung this role before, and I am equally sure that he will be offered many more opportunities to do so.

Coro Labarocca di Milano gave a controlled but committed performance throughout. Johannes Held’s Jesus was convincing and the ADDA orchestra offered their usual perfection. Ruben Jais was also perfection, in a quiet way.

Saariaho's La Passion de Simone

It's a comment both on current availability and prevailing mentality that I choose to write a piece about a television experience, albeit via the internet. There are not many concerts around during this year of lock down.

The broadcast in question was courtesy of Operavision and, given rules on social mixing around Europe at the time of the recording - last October - it is no surprise it came from Sweden. It was a performance of the oratorio La Passion de Simone, based on the writings of Simone Weil composed by Kaija Saariaho on text by Amin Maalouf. This is a piece for orchestra, chorus and soprano that its composer describes both as an oratorio and an opera. The latter is stretching concepts, because there is only one character and no action. There are also electronics, which extend further than the taped quotations from Simone Weil's work that mark the movements, to include at various points augmentation to the orchestral sounds in order to change textures, add depth or surprise.

The structure is fifteen movements, each representing one station of the cross, the whole representing a passion play. The underpinning idea is that the life and work of mystic, political thinker and philosopher, Simone, Weil, was like that of a modern Christ, who gave her life to identify the shortcoming in the rest of humanity. This does not seem to come across in the music, perhaps because, in updating the idea, Saariaho and Maalouf have completely transformed the image into something both contemporary and unfamiliar.

Simone Weil was academically successful, a classmate of Simone de Beauvoir, and one time Marxist. She was born into a middle-class professional Jewish family and excelled from the start, but not in the realm of health. And her eyesight was none too good…

She took a job in a factory at one stage to fully understand what it was to be a worker. She took up arm on behalf of the anarchists in Spain, before her comrades took the rifle away from her on account of her eyesight’s inability to aim it. She had always had a “spiritual” streak, it seems, and later on went on to formulate a pantheistic version of Christianity, apparently rejecting her Judaism. She eventually, aged 34, finished up in hospital in Britain with tuberculosis. And died. The judgment was that she had in fact starved herself to death. The basis of Saariaho’s piece is that this was an act of personal sacrifice to atone for the sins of humanity.  The case is made.

Saariaho's music is all about timbre and texture. It tends to sound one paced, though it rarely is. It deceptively seems to offer a wall of experience but close up that expanse of sound comprises many miniscule shards. The chorus acts like a commentator, not quite like an evangelist as in Bach, but always playing a secondary role compared to the presence of the soprano soloist. The principal character is not only the voice of Simone Weil, but also a commentary on her writing, an interpreter, sometimes even a third person critic, probably the voice of the author. And Sophie van Otter's performance is so good it is impossible to describe. One aspect of the text which I do not understand is the repeated references to Simone as if the narrator is a younger sister. Simone had no younger sister, so this is perhaps the personification of the rest of humanity who have adopted her as a sibling in gratitude to her gesture of solidarity.

But overall, as so often with Saariaho, we are left with a sense of something having passed us by, greeted us perhaps, held our attention for its duration, but without ever really revealing itself to us. It may be an enigmatic style, but it may also be something deeply personal, as the composer revealed in the barely comfortable interview that followed. It may be shyness, a desire to remain apart, removed from direct contact. It was also revealing to hear the composer say that this was only the work’s second production in 14 years.