Come Emmanuel

The St. Matthew was Emmanuel Music's 25th-anniversary present to us -- and to itself. It seems inconceivable that this noble enterprise, which has dedicated itself to Bach above all composers (offering, for example, the first complete cycle since Bach's own time of all his cantatas as part of the liturgy), had never performed what it probably considers Bach's greatest work. I've imagined this version so vividly -- perhaps because so many Emmanuel people have been involved with previous St. Matthew-defining performances by David Hoose and the Cantata Singers -- I began to assume I'd already heard it. And my imaginary performance was very close to what this real one turned out to be.

Craig Smith is a lower-keyed, yet roomier, more expansive conductor than Hoose, though they have similar ideas about the fundamental structure -- and humanity -- of this piece, especially the way the chorales intersect with and comment on the action (Hoose as both conductor and horn player isn't an Emmanuel alumnus for nothing). Smith contributed a singular lilt and buoyancy, a pace that never flagged, even at his slowest tempos. The problem of stage management at Emmanuel Church of all these forces (two orchestras, three choruses, 25 vocal soloists) was one reason for the 25-year delay, but everything flowed, and dramatic juxtapositions turned on a dime -- like the way the little scene in which the disciples ask Jesus which one will be his betrayer switches to the great chorale in which the chorus, speaking as the entire community of Christians, accepts the responsibility.

The thrilling chorus, in which all the soloists participated, was so together, each vocal line -- even in double choruses -- was distinctly audible, including the words. Phoebe Payne's Emmanuel Children's Choir, up in the balcony for the vast opening section, was truly seraphic. The orchestra was so beautifully balanced, you could hear every player as an individual participant, including that breathing-as-one instrument called the string section (these players probably dream in Bach). It was heartwarming to hear Emmanuel old-timers returning for this event: concertmaster Danielle Madden (whose pulsating, open-hearted violin obbligato for the great aria "Erbarme dich" surpassed even her own previous achievement); Peggy Pearson, the world's most eloquent Bach oboist, and violist Betty Hauck -- Emmanuelers from the very beginning; flutist Julia Scolnik; continuo players Suzanne Cleverdon and Michael Beattie (both on positiv) and Shannon Snapp Natale (cello); gambist Laura Jeppesen; bassoonist Thomas Stephenson (now president of Emmanuel Music's board); and more. And even more moving to hear such particularly splendid "youngsters" as Noel Vazquez (who sounded just like the tenor equivalent of Pearson's accompanying oboe), the heavenly young soprano Kendra Colton, David Kravitz, Majie Zeller, and Stephen Salters join the ranks of beloved regulars like Pamela Dellal (whose welcoming warmth made the first solo aria especially touching), the increasingly magnificent Mary Westbrook-Geha, Susan Trout, William Hite, Donald Wilkinson, Mark McSweeney, Gloria Raymond, and Lynn Torgove.

Smack in the center were the Evangelist of Frank Kelley and the Jesus of Sanford Sylvan, a powerful collaboration that goes back at least to the Cantata Singers in 1987. Kelley, in what must be his richest, most authoritative performance, maintains a certain "authorial" distance, which then makes his sudden outbursts of rage or grief all the more stunning. Sylvan now comes almost with his own vocal halo. His voice has gotten darker, deeper, broader, more radiant. The St. Matthew Jesus is less the human one than the incipient godhead, surrounded by an all-too-human community. So when Sylvan lives through the suffering of the "Eli, Eli, lama, lama asabthani," it's as if some doorway had opened and you are privileged to view -- darkly -- the meeting place of the human and the divine, where Bach lives.