Kol Nidre, Op 47
Max Bruch (1838-1920)
Max Bruch is remembered for his violin concerto in G minor and a handful of other works. It may come as a surprise to learn that he was highly regarded in the late 19th century, his name being mentioned with reverence alongside those of Bach, Beethoven, Bruckner and Brahms. However, his popularity took a nose-dive in the 20th century. When he died, aged 83, his music was largely forgotten. As the great critic Sir Donald Tovey wrote, ‘… the news came to many as a revelation that he had lived so long.’ Kol Nidre is one of the few compositions by Bruch to have stood the test of time. It is rhapsodic song for solo cello and orchestra partly based on the Kol Nidre prayer which is recited in synagogues during the evening service on Yom Kippur, also known as the Day of Atonement. As such, it might be regarded as being central to the Jewish tradition, but it is not as simple as that.
The prayer itself is written in Aramaic, not Hebrew, and its origin and message are held in suspicion by some branches of Judaism. Judaism itself held no special place in Bruch’s heart. He simply liked this tune, and borrowed it! Many of his contemporaries assumed that he must have been Jewish to have chosen the title and melody in the first place, and he became the object of anti-Semitic mutterings for a while as a result. At the same time, he has been accused by some cognoscenti of failing to capture the true character of this ancient melody and the prayer to which it belongs. That’s a lot of aggravation about one short cello solo, but it is a tribute to its composer that it remains a favourite among cellists and audiences.
The music is built around two melodies. The first, which gives us the title, is heard either side of the second, which is also borrowed, in this case from Isaac Nathan's arrangement of ‘O Weep for Those that Wept on Babel’s Stream’, by Lord Byron in a collection called Hebrew Melodies. The two strains provide ample scope for the expressive qualities of the cello to take wing. Undoubtedly, the opening phrases of the piece are the more memorable, evoking the nasal tone of the cantor in a synagogue, and the exoticism of the prayer’s melodic twists. The chant creates a sense of mystery for many listeners, and it is this feeling that lies at the heart of the music’s popularity. There are probably no two synagogues in which the whole melody is sung note for note the same as this version or indeed, each other, but the opening phrase is set in stone: once heard, never forgotten.
Max Bruch (1838-1920)
Max Bruch is remembered for his violin concerto in G minor and a handful of other works. It may come as a surprise to learn that he was highly regarded in the late 19th century, his name being mentioned with reverence alongside those of Bach, Beethoven, Bruckner and Brahms. However, his popularity took a nose-dive in the 20th century. When he died, aged 83, his music was largely forgotten. As the great critic Sir Donald Tovey wrote, ‘… the news came to many as a revelation that he had lived so long.’ Kol Nidre is one of the few compositions by Bruch to have stood the test of time. It is rhapsodic song for solo cello and orchestra partly based on the Kol Nidre prayer which is recited in synagogues during the evening service on Yom Kippur, also known as the Day of Atonement. As such, it might be regarded as being central to the Jewish tradition, but it is not as simple as that.
The prayer itself is written in Aramaic, not Hebrew, and its origin and message are held in suspicion by some branches of Judaism. Judaism itself held no special place in Bruch’s heart. He simply liked this tune, and borrowed it! Many of his contemporaries assumed that he must have been Jewish to have chosen the title and melody in the first place, and he became the object of anti-Semitic mutterings for a while as a result. At the same time, he has been accused by some cognoscenti of failing to capture the true character of this ancient melody and the prayer to which it belongs. That’s a lot of aggravation about one short cello solo, but it is a tribute to its composer that it remains a favourite among cellists and audiences.
The music is built around two melodies. The first, which gives us the title, is heard either side of the second, which is also borrowed, in this case from Isaac Nathan's arrangement of ‘O Weep for Those that Wept on Babel’s Stream’, by Lord Byron in a collection called Hebrew Melodies. The two strains provide ample scope for the expressive qualities of the cello to take wing. Undoubtedly, the opening phrases of the piece are the more memorable, evoking the nasal tone of the cantor in a synagogue, and the exoticism of the prayer’s melodic twists. The chant creates a sense of mystery for many listeners, and it is this feeling that lies at the heart of the music’s popularity. There are probably no two synagogues in which the whole melody is sung note for note the same as this version or indeed, each other, but the opening phrase is set in stone: once heard, never forgotten.