And it was this profound musical playfulness that gave me my entree into "Bach 2000." My first instinct was to try some minor works I'd never heard of. Every informed classical music listener knows Bach's deep and richly detailed Mass in B Minor. But what about his much shorter Mass in F? Not a bad piece, actually, even if it seems -- judging by very high standards, now -- to sit a little too solidly in one unvaried place.
What really got me going, though, were Bach's six sonatas for violin and harpsichord, which I'd never heard (hardly remarkable, when you consider the sheer size of Bach's output -- nearly 200 sacred cantatas, for instance, or 16 CDs of organ works). The first one starts with a conversation between a melody and a bass line that rises soberly to meet it. The second begins quite differently, with both instruments smiling and assured, like people strolling through a formal garden. The violin enters much earlier in the third, and unfolds its own melody. But then the fourth flows like a liquid dance, the harpsichord serving the violin like an inspired accompanist, and the fifth suggested two companions, each with separate meditations, the violin in a smoky lower register not even hinted at in any of the previous works.
These might not make any list of Bach's most famous works, but I'm stunned just by the individuality of their first few bars -- and I haven't even gotten to differences in how they proceed from there. The first movement of the first sonata develops three distinct, conversational voices and ends with an unexpected violin cadenza. The first movement of the fifth, twice as long, evolves more formally, though the harpsichord sometimes tumbles over itself in sudden bursts of eagerness, and when yet another cadenza erupts, can't resist joining the violin.
I was engrossed, and stayed that way, no matter how much of "Bach 2000" I sampled. The pleasure grew and grew. Packaged with the CDs is a lively book on Bach by Wolfgang Sandberger; I could listen to every musical example that Mr. Sandberger cites. I could explore borrowings from one work to another, hearing, for example, that the start of Bach's Cantata No. 29 is a rearrangement of the first movement of the E major Partita for solo violin. When I listened to the violin version, I didn't love the performance; it seemed too fussy, full of tiny stops and starts and curtseys. I returned to the cantata, and almost laughed because Bach, I'd swear, agreed with me; he'd scored the music so it had to be played in a single, headlong rush.

Which brings me to comparisons between Teldec, Hänssler and Harmonia Mundi. I don't care about utter completeness, even though Hänssler says its set will include fully 100 pieces not recorded by Teldec. In dispute are very minor works, either fragments or pieces Bach might not have written. For guidance, I turned to Daniel Melamed, a Bach expert at Indiana University, who e-mailed that "There's no consensus. . . . Responsible scholars usually agree that some things can't be pinned down at the current state of knowledge, and that there have to be categories of works of doubtful authenticity." Many listeners won't care whether they hear these or not, especially since there are two more striking differences between the Teldec and Hänssler sets.
Teldec's suitcase, first of all, can be bought right now, in record stores; Hänssler's series, not yet complete, is available only by subscription (in the U.S., contact Collegium Records in Omaha, Neb.), which includes a bulk shipment of the 80 or so CDs released so far. (Hänssler also doesn't give you Teldec's extravagantly stylish packaging or the intriguing extra disk that documents many styles in which the "Passion According to St. Matthew" has been performed.)
But it's the musical difference between the two sets that's most important. The Teldec recordings, many of them led by Nikolaus Harnoncourt, probably the biggest name in the early music movement, are made with the instruments and vocal practices of Bach's own time; Hänssler's, under the direction of conductor Helmuth Rilling, a vigorous Bach authority, with modern forces.
The boy sopranos that sing the cantatas for Teldec -- women weren't allowed to perform in 18th-century Lutheran churches -- can be a shock, especially since, when they're soloists, they're not always equal to the music. (What, I wonder, did Bach think of the ones he worked with?) But then after you've listened to the early-music versions, Mr. Rilling's soloists can be even more of a shock -- superb singers, but implausibly plush in any 18th-century context. In the end, it's a choice: Do you want Bach with a decided 18th-century flavor or in modern dress? For me, the modern approach sounds strong but abstract, and the original-instrument performances more detailed and immediate (bringing with them, as I listened to one cantata after another, a dark immersion in Lutheran theology, in which human endeavor always brings sorrow, sin or failure).

But then the downside of "Bach 2000" might be that some of its early-music performances are very early. The heart of the collection is the 60 CDs devoted to the sacred cantatas, in pioneering recordings made from 1972 to 1989 by Mr. Harnoncourt and Gustav Leonhardt; it's painful to hear untamed baroque horns puffing to keep up with the shining initial chorus of Cantata No. 1. For other reasons, I'm also not drawn to many of the keyboard performances, except for the harpsichord Partitas, alertly played by Scott Ross. The organ works, in musically breathtaking versions by Ton Koopman, are spoiled by an odd recording fault; sometimes there's so much echo, and the sounds of the organ are so complex and harsh, that (for instance at the start of the "Orgelbüchlein") I quite literally couldn't make out what notes were being played.
The Hänssler set seems more consistent, though in profound music like the St. Matthew and St. John passions I found Mr. Rilling a bit too extroverted (an advantage in other pieces, like the first orchestral suite, where an oboe soloist contributes some joyful, probably improvised ornaments). Consistency, too, is a virtue of the Harmonia Mundi recordings (in polished, up-to-date original-instrument performances, with light-voiced adult sopranos), though maybe the organ music, played by Lionel Rogg, sounds a bit stodgy. The centerpiece of this series is the major choral works, conducted with glowing (if very sober) strength by Philippe Herreweghe, but if I had to pick one highlight -- and it stands out from all three sets -- it would be the four-CD box of Bach's orchestral music, the Brandenburg concertos and the four suites, pointedly savored by the Akademie fur Alte Musik Berlin.
The bottom line? Well, that's a consideration, isn't it, since you'd spend some $1,200 for "Bach 2000" (less for a "light" edition, without the cantatas), $1,900 for the Hänssler set (no price competition here), and a not inconsiderable $700 for Harmonia Mundi's edition. May I suggest, then, that any of the three would make a suitably lavish holiday gift for someone whose devotion to music deserves a long-lasting reward? Harmonia Mundi might be the safest mainstream choice, but, for those who like Bach on modern instruments, Hänssler will be a lively surprise, wonderfully played and sung. And "Bach 2000" remains my personal favorite, despite its problems, because when everything is working right, Mr. Harnoncourt's version of an 18th-century sound is so passionately evocative. I happily lost myself; I've never had such an enriching plunge into any composer's world.

Wall Street Journal, December 16, 1999