San Francisco Classical Voice

If there was a weak link among the soloists, it was Maeda, who seemed nervous throughout the evening's opening number, the Orchestral Suite in B Minor, BWV 1067. These nerves undoubtedly contributed to the noisy breaths and strangely irregular phrasings that plagued many of her solo lines, most noticeably in the virtuoso passagework in the double of the suite's polonaise, where Maeda must have felt the most exposed. Maeda's shortcomings, however, may not have entirely been her fault. All of Bach's orchestral suites possess an infamous reputation among instrumentalists as unfriendly and difficult. The entire ensemble seemed tightly wound from the suite's start to its finish. A bit of rushing from Terakado and Maeda in the fugal section of the overture led to some judicious hand waving from Suzuki, and, despite his efforts to the contrary, the outer sections of this movement seemed to exhibit only accidental tempo relationships.

The group performed the suite's sarabande at a lugubrious speed, missing opportunities for definition and shaping that the work's angular “French” nature might suggest. On the other end of the spectrum, the polonaise and its accompanying double suffered from breakneck speeds, and headlong forward motion from the ripieni didn't give Maeda much time to breath (let alone think), which may have contributed to shortcomings mentioned above. Inexplicably, the group also omitted the second bouree, a brief dance that would have helped the first bouree to sound not quite so miniature, compared with the surrounding movements.

The final two sections saw a marked improvement in quality, however. Maeda settled nicely into the menuet, leading graceful articulations of phrasing and demonstrating a real sensitivity to the work's subtle harmonic inflections. Maeda's nervous energy actually helped the concluding badinerie. The famous work sizzled under her masterful control, and the audience's beaming faces revealed that their enjoyment stemmed not only from the fact that they now finally knew the name of their favorite cell phone ringtone.

If the orchestra had suffered a few ensemble problems in the opening selection, these faded from memory within seconds of the opening of the Harpsichord Concerto in D Minor, BWV 1052. Critics often lament this work's awkward nature, citing its unidiomatic solo harpsichord lines, largely monophonic in construction, as evidence that the work may have originally been conceived as a violin concerto. (For a recorded “reconstruction” of this hypothetical violin concerto, see Elizabeth Wallfisch's recording, Virgin Classics 61558). In sharp contrast with many harpsichordists, however, Suzuki chose a sensible tempo for the opening allegro, taking the time to emphasize the work's eccentric gestures and irregular phrase lengths.

For the first time in a live performance, I heard the fabulous interplay between viola and harpsichord, which permeates not only the sections where the bassi drop out to leave the viola as the lowest accompanying instrument, but also throughout the orchestral texture, where the viola and the harpsichord's left-hand part often act in close counterpoint. This wonderful clarity of conception and execution also bolstered the problematic second movement, again presented in a fantastic and eccentric manner that befitted its improvisatory gestures. The final movement brought the concerto to a breathtakingly swift conclusion. Its effect was only slightly hampered by a healthy dose of wrong notes from Suzuki, which a slower tempo may have helped to mitigate.

Tempos were more carefully considered for the Concerto for Two Violins, BWV 1043, where Ryo Terakado presided over the group with an authoritative, though respectful, posture. Both Terakado and Wakamatsu shone throughout the work, imitating each other's apparently extemporized ornamentation and eliciting intentional “chiffs,” scrapes, and other such sound effects from their instruments. The entire ensemble produced an ethereal sound throughout. The soloists were clearly audible in both concerto grosso and concertante sections, but never overtly dominated the texture. The continuo group seemed to possess one mind, their musical and bodily gestures always in wonderful concert, and consistently provided a steady framework for the more flexible motion of the parts above them. Suzuki founded BCJ in 1990, and it was in this concerto that the longevity of their association most clearly contributed to a remarkably unified whole.

Suzuki programmed the famous Brandenburg Concerto No. 5, BWV 1050, as the last piece on the program. Gradually wresting control of the ensemble from Terakado and Maeda, Suzuki's flamboyant harpsichord gestures wowed the audience with their virtuoso sparkle. Suzuki pounded headlong into the movement's famous cadenza without ceremony, and a sudden, breathtaking velocity stunned the gaping audience to my left and right (including an elbow in my side and a loudly whispered “Wow!” from a fellow I'd never met).

I was less enthusiastic, wishing that Suzuki had chosen a speed that would have allowed for more than flash. In the resonant acoustic of Berkeley's First Congregational, the phrasal articulations that must have been present to Suzuki's ear were elided together for those of us in the sixth row, and the whole was reduced to what might be paradoxically described as a “mushy sparkle.” Nonetheless, Suzuki's dramatic gestures and long mane of silver hair contributed to a veritably Lisztian effect. At the conclusion of the final movement, his hands fell from the keyboard, and his whole body reclined backward in a dramatic “Whew!” gesture. The audience collectively exhaled prior to appreciative applause. BCJ didn't get the near-obligatory Berkeley Standing Ovation (which they really deserved) but were at least granted the honor of an encore.

As Scott Edwards's fine erudite and informative program notes pointed out, the works on Saturday's program suffered long neglect throughout the 19th century. Critics complained of the violin concerto's “mechanical” qualities, and of the D-minor harpsichord concerto's “academic” nature. In light of these now antique gripes, it seems ironic that Saturday's program read as a veritable “top 10 list” of Bach's popular concert works in the 21st century. Not content to leave unrepresented the most celebrated work of all, the BCJ offered the famous “Air on the G String” as a touchingly appropriate encore.

Johann Nikolaus Forkel, Bach's first biographer, is often criticized by modern academics for his frequent, naïve references to music as the “universal language.” We may now understand that musical communication is as contingent upon cultural codes as any linguistic system. Nonetheless, sitting in Berkeley, listening to works written in Cöthen being performed by musicians from Tokyo, one was tempted, even if for just one magical moment, to believe in the transcendent, communicative power of music. At the very least, BCJ's historically informed yet highly individualized and authoritative performance clearly demonstrated one thing: to call Bach's music “Western Art Music” nowadays is to apply a serious misnomer.