Cathedral of St John the Divine, New York, NY; January 26, 2024—When one thinks of musical settings of Christ’s Passion, one normally thinks of the high Baroque, particularly Bach’s St. John and St. Matthew Passions, arguably the pinnacles of the genre. Of course there are many more recent settings: Krzysztof Penderecki’s St. Luke, Osvaldo Golijov’s St. Mark, James MacMillan’s St. John, and Tan Dun’s strangely effective St. Matthew. The real masterpiece, able to stand with the two Bach Passions, is, to my ears, Passio, by the Estonian “Holy Minimalist” Arvo Pärt. Composed in 1982 and universally praised, it is unique in many ways, beginning with the scoring: Jesus is sung by a bass with organ, Pilate by a tenor, and the Evangelist is represented by a vocal quartet, along with an oboe, cello, violin, and bassoon. A chorus represents the crowd.
Pärt’s notated silences are as important as the notes. The effect on the listener is to feel a sense of dramatic suspension; you are always aware of time and the importance of the text—this is a mono-syllabic mass, one word per musical note, with no melismas. It’s a story happening in the real time that it creates without diversion. The opening and closing moments are anything but minimalist: in their brief minute-long statements they shake our notions of harmony until the final resolution in the D major Amen, which is the end of a journey that takes all of the previous tensions out of the air.
The bulk of the work is the story, told in Pärt’s signature tintinnabuli style, slow and contemplative, its tensions built-in and needing no external emotion, with a careful, non-interpretive recitation of the text. The tintinnabuli style relies on the A major triad; simply stated, the triad, consisting of three notes, sounds like a bell. Particularly in the words of the Evangelist (quartet) with instruments—one instrumental note as well as one syllable per word—the effect is eerie: the dissonances create the effect of almost electronic music. Pärt felt that the “melody and accompaniment” were the same thing—a concept easy to understand once it is heard. Having been steeped in plainchant and Renaissance music, Pärt’s entire “world view” is ancient, but the flow and the dissonances are strangely modern.
A recent performance at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in Manhattan’s Upper West Side mesmerized. Billed as “A Concert for Peace and Healing”, the Artefact Ensemble, soloists, and Experiential Orchestra were led by James Blachly. It was the slowest performance of the work I’ve ever heard (most are between 60 and 71 minutes; this one was 80 minutes), but Blachly kept the balance between sound and silence to Pärt’s instructions. (N.B. I’ve heard another Blachly-led performance come in at 70 minutes; a friend suggested that the lengthy decay time in the Cathedral would cause overlapping lines at a quicker tempo and I feel that that’s correct.) And the piece itself lends itself to the type of gravitas Blachly brought to it.
Jesus, standing aside from the throng, was sung by Enrico Lagasca, whose smooth, dark bass voice was atmosphere in itself. At Blachly’s tempos, Lagasca amazed with his breath control, particularly given Pärt’s long lines, many of which end on a lift of a third sung pianissimo. And his way with the text was just what was needed for this holy part. Haitham Haidar’s Pilate was strong and direct, the tenor having issues only with some of the high-lying phrases. Elijah McCormick’s wonderful soprano led the splendid Evangelist Quartet, the lack of vibrato effective. The instrumental quartet, one note at a time, managed to make its shadowing of the soloists sound even purer. The amazing chorus, sustaining mood, pitch, and expression could not have been bettered.
Pärt avoids sentimentality and does not give away his emotional hand; rather he presents his great story in a manner that speaks directly to the listener one riveting phrase at a time. It is no wonder that he is the most-played living composer in the world; the world needs his music.
