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ASO Visualizes Bach’s ‘St John’ Passion
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
CONCERT REVIEW Atlanta Symphony Orchestra. Thursday in Symphony Hall. Program repeats Saturday at 8 p.m. 404-733-5000, www.atlantasymphony.org
It took two-thirds of the evening to get it together. But once they had it, the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra’s production of Bach’s “St. John” Passion became a spectacle for the eyes and ears, the heart and mind.
And that’s just what everyone had hoped for.
In several cities, with several orchestras, conductor Robert Spano has worked with New York artist Anne Patterson and lighting designer Matt Frey to create a visual identity for concerts which, typically, offer nothing to look at except see-sawing violin bows and the conductor waving his arms. When the music-making is supercharged, that’s enough; most concerts, especially in Atlanta’s dowdy Symphony Hall, could use some help.
In recent seasons with the ASO, Patterson and Frey have added visual elements to a few concerts — “setting a mood” might be the best term — but with mixed impact. What was lacking? The artists seemed intimidated by the stiff, non-visual traditions of the symphonic experience, and lacked the confidence (or authorization) to make a bold statement on a par with the music.
Thursday with the ASO they offered their most compelling work to date for Bach’s bewitching Passion of Christ according to the tender and savage gospel of John.
With a slimmed-down orchestra, the ASO Chamber Chorus, a half-dozen vocal soloists and early-music instruments like the viola da gamba and the theorbo, Spano divided Bach’s two-part plan into three theatrical acts.
The opening, “Arrest and Denial,” was most troubled, in part because Spano chopped up every phrase into bits. If there’s one universal truth in music it’s that Bach loved his God; Love, in some form, should radiate from every bar. Perhaps taking a cue from the throbbing (or weeping) undercurrent at the beginning, Spano hacked apart Bach’s lyrical love and made a lot of the music neurotic, almost sterile. This condition dominated through the end of act two, Jesus’ “Trial and Crucifixion.”
Spano wasn’t the only one slow to find a convincing tone. Canadian tenor Thomas Glenn, as the Evangelist, sang his lines with purity and intensity, although he croaked on more than a few high notes: rather than a trusted narrator, Glenn seemed like an adolescent who was at times as uncertain and scared of the looming violence as the rest of us.
Finnish mezzo Monica Groop, with nuance but not much color to her voice, sang the sublime aria “Von den Stricken” (To deliver me) backed by two wonderful oboists, evoking a pair of swans, their long necks twined in graceful courtship.
The other vocalists — bass Andrew Foster-Williams (as Jesus), soprano Christine Brandes, tenor Thomas Cooley and baritone Russell Braun — likewise grew in stature and vocal allure across the evening. Members of the ASO Chamber Chorus, a force unto themselves, were at their delicate and fierce best in this music.
Then there was the aria “Erwage, wie sein” (Consider how his) accompanied by two violas, which played sorely, embarrassingly, out of tune. In more autocratic times, Spano would have promptly demoted these out-of-practice violists to the back of the section.
Patterson’s vision — she was credited with sets, costumes and stage direction — worked best when everything was formal, stylized and, in fact, non-dramatic. The singers came and went with colorful tunic tops. They stood on glowing low pedestals, first illuminated white, later shades of red. This didn’t reveal new or deep insights into the work, but probably helped engage the audience more thoroughly.
Frey’s lights, keyed to events in the score, often captured the rising and setting sun — in hues of yellows and pinks and blues — or spices like cinnamon, pumpkin or sage.
Enticingly, Patterson at the start hung long silk banners from the stage ceiling, stained blood red, looking like an open wound. After the opening chorus, with a start, the banners dropped heavily to the floor, like a limp body.
In act three, with steel-blue lighting, a slender beam was suspended from the rafters, evoking part of the cross, with a pattern of sticks (or small crosses at odd angles) projected onto the stage walls.
Yet during Jesus’ “Death and Burial,” where the harmonies hold still and eternal mourning clouds the world — and with Spano and company uncovering profundities every moment — Patterson and Frey’s visual additions were at once properly subdued and brilliant, elevating music and text into a complete and enveloping sensory experience.
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