Harpsichord CD Reviews...
C. P. E. Bach Harpsichord Concertos
Michele Benuzzi & Arcomelo
A full review will be posted here shortly.
James Nares, Harpsichord Suites
Julian Perkins
A full review will be posted here shortly.
J. S. Bach, Goldberg Variations
David Wright (Harpsichord)
Zum Records ZUMCD0720
Available: direct from the performer via this email link
If the beginning of this CD comes as a shock, it is a mild and salutary one. We have become so used to hearing baroque music at 415, that when this performance begins at what strikes the ear as a significantly low pitch, it is arresting. In fact David Wright has chosen to go down just one more semitone; but the combination of that drop in pitch with the sonorous tone of the instrument gives the impression that one is hearing something quite new. Good: we surely need that sort of re-appraisal, particularly when approaching a very familiar work that has already been somewhat over-recorded. The instrument in question is a German harpsichord, after Mietke, by Colin Booth: it is not only an extremely fine instrument in itself but is ideal for this repertoire - and not by any mean just because it is ‘correct’, but for the far more important reason that it lets the music speak, and speak very beautifully.
The Goldberg Variations always seems to arouse strong opinions, some people almost coming to blows just on the question of repeats, before they consider the actual playing. It seems foolish to outlaw a player’s interpretation just on a point of theory. David Wright opts for a middle view, which is reasonable, explained in a note, and fully justified in performance. And rarely is a repeat just a repeat. There are a number of interesting differences brought out in second versions, including intriguing additions to, and changes in, the decoration: they are sometimes extravagant enough to delight and excite those of us who are that way inclined, but should also be found quite subtle enough to avoid upsetting those with stricter views.
By the end of the first declamation of the Aria, David already has the listener on his side, by an irresistible combination of a fine sound and a high degree of artistry, keeping the theme moving while letting it live and breathe to the full. And that is a very necessary ploy, because the sheer pace with which he launches into Variation One might otherwise alienate some listeners: as it is, it comes rather as another joy. But that may mean that some adjusting back is necessary when one returns to a ‘traditional’ version. The contrast between this performance and (for example) the old Leonhardt recording is almost enough to provoke some gentle laughter: by comparison, the ‘maestro’ seems ponderous (even if expertly so). Pace is a very personal area of taste, in which reactions are often determined more by what one is used to than by any real judgement. When a tempo seems fast for the sake of it (as has so often happened in recent decades), it is an empty thing; when it obscures the music, it is indefensible. But that is not the case here. And in any event, David Wright’s performance is by no means driven by the issue of pace, which he handles in a flexible and sensitive manner. Interestingly, he takes the first canon (Variation 3) rather slower than Leonhardt: this is a particularly lovely track, played throughout with a sense of ever-moving calmness which is most appropriate. And such things - tiny in themselves - as the spread at the beginning of the second bar are just the sort of details that add up to a sensitive, individual, thoroughly musical experience. (Similar comments apply to David’s fine performance of the third canon; while in the second, one applauds his judgement in shedding any hint of the ponderousness that can spoil the piece.) When perpetual forward movement is at the essence of a piece, as in Variation 5, Mr Wright is not the man to hold back. And why should he? The playing is completely clear and crisp, so nothing is lost while excitement is gained. His playing of Variation 14 proves the point again - and, indeed, takes it further: even though some listeners may raise an eyebrow on the issue of tempo here, nevertheless the combination of an exciting pace and brilliant crispness makes for a really exuberant performance. But there is far more to this CD than just superficial excitement: the stylishness, for example, in Variation 7, the sense of mood in Variation 10, when - musically - the sun comes out and we cannot help but smile. And, perhaps surprisingly, it is often in the slower variations that one is the most deeply impressed.
The style and technique adopted for Variation 13 are intriguing. This is one of the most individual tracks, making arresting use of muted tones in a piece where one might expect the utmost cantabile; but cantabile is by no means just a matter of the physical length of sounds, and listening with an open mind, one quickly passes through acceptance to enthusiasm. This is extremely clever playing, setting a relatively short sound against an actively buffed one, and by no means making things easy by any quickening of the pace - if anything, the opposite is the case. The effect is one of elegant repose. More simple, but quite delightful, is the approach to Variation 18: superb control of touch in the right hand working in perfect partnership with the inherently beautiful tone of the instrument... the gentle Mietke bells certainly ring. Variation 24 is fine in a similar way, and to the same degree.
If just occasionally - as with Variation 20 - tempo does seem the dominant factor, producing excitement perhaps at the expense of profundity, one only has to look to the next variation for an example of an interesting and very subtle performance, in which a quiet sense of the seriousness of the variation increases with the broadening that is brought to the repeats. And Variation 22 matches the quiet seriousness of its predecessor with a quiet joy... the simple addition of ornaments in the repeat is another example of the subtleties that contribute to the overall pleasure and interest of a performance.
In Variation 25, the same sort of tone quality as in other slow variations is combined now with a truly architectural understanding. Particularly interesting is a manner of phrasing that seems to soar - yet effortlessly - across each octave leap. Though there may be some notably brisk movements on this disc, there is no reluctance to linger where lingering is appropriate: David takes very nearly eight and a half minutes over this variation, and one would not wish to lose a second of it. This is a really delightful track - affecting but also deep.
The performer seems to approach the final variations with a determination to avoid descending into mere heaviness. Clearly that approach is successful in Variation 28, where plentiful bravura never becomes an end in itself, being relieved by a certain lightness. The fast pace here is entirely convincing: it spoils nothing and makes a positive contribution to the mood of the piece - more moderately paced versions seem rather tame by comparison. Opinions may vary as regards 29: any loss of overt power and profundity is perhaps worth the gain, in that there is no trace here of ponderous heaviness. By the time we reach the Quodlibet, many listeners will surely end in the mood with which they began - charmed by, and converted to, the performer’s approach. The balance between the humour that is obviously given in the material and the profundity that its function as the summation of this great work dictates is well achieved. The final repeat of the Aria has just enough increased pathos - and just enough restraint - to make a close that is both moving and satisfying.
Overall, this a performance that can be confidently - even joyously - recommended. It is extremely entertaining, very skilful, and as much characterised by subtlety as by exuberance.
'Domenico Scarlatti'
Pamela Nash (Harpsichord)
K441, K442, K380, K46, K28, K27, K84, K125, K9, K140, K214, K208, and K209
Campion Records 2058
Available: via the Campion website
Anyone who has heard Pamela Nash play will know that her technique is exemplary, so the polish and command evident throughout this CD come as no surprise. Similarly, her performances are based on perceptive scholarship, so an understanding of Scarlatti and his roots is clearly there, enhancing a performance that is artistically as interesting as it is technically immaculate. At the same time, there is a healthy sense of an individual, personal performance.
The opening track (K441) immediately establishes the approach: absolute control and high precision, but combined with a very necessary impression of the sheer fun of the piece, with that rollicking section that seems like a call to come and enjoy the fair. This CD is full of examples of how technical excellence can actually serve the excitement. Miss Nash gives us some really bouncing base notes, which is of course so difficult to do on a harpsichord without ugliness - of which there is no suspicion here. The same expertise is demonstrated at the opposite end of the keyboard, with the hand-crossing to single high notes in K28. And to take one more example of a different aspect of flawless technique, one could point to the unobtrusive crispness of demisemiquaver runs in the same sonata. Though there is all the pace and bravura one could wish for in a performance of this repertoire, the key quality of the playing is finesse.
The programme is arranged by key, and happily the E Major section begins with the lovely K380. It is fascinating to compare Pamela Nash’s performance of it with one of the old romantic piano versions that still survive: here we have delicacy, but not an anachronistic one; and here the lyricism is combined with other qualities that recent scholarship has revealed - the essentially Iberian character, and the dance-like basis. Despite a quick tempo, the sense of the dance is clearly retained by some subtle pointing of rhythmic accents. The same sense of a vital rhythm - not merely lively but living - is found again in the otherwise very different piece that follows, K 46.
The arrangement of the sonatas also has some infrastructure, so that after a double dose of almost relentless (but necessarily and correctly relentless) momentum, one meets a Scarlattian contrast: as 380 comes after 441 & 442, so 46 & 28 are followed by the beautiful K27, in which Miss Nash achieves a cantabile sound while never losing a decided sense of forward movement. The playing here can without exaggeration be termed ‘beautiful’, but it is a beauty conveyed entirely without loss of poise.
Every CD, however high the overall standard, has a track that just sends the listener into admiration over-drive. Pamela’s delicious performance of K208 is utterly irresistible. Using a buff stop (which, like every aspect of her instrument, is adjusted to perfection), she produces an entrancing sound that is muted and yet singing both at once. And the intriguing quality of this performance is doubled by an ability to sustain musically a perfect sense of line in an elegiac melody, despite the comparative lack of physical sustain that naturally results from using the buff. This is magical harpsichord playing.
The design ends as it began (K441/2), with another example of the performance of a linked pair, as K209 follows on from 208 to end the recital.
The harpsichord used is by Milan Misina after Taskin (1769). There is room for wide debate about what might be ‘authentic’ instruments for Scarlatti, the composer himself and the courts where he served being characterised by cosmopolitan elements; and of course there is a danger of such debate becoming too narrow. Whatever one’s thoughts in theory, there can be no doubt in practice that this particular instrument suits the music admirably. Its fine (arguably somewhat fluty) sound is balanced between the crisp and the singing, so the music is never clouded. The range of sound produced from this same instrument - from the trumpets in K140, to the delicate bells in K9 - only confirms that what matters more than the provenance of the instrument is its quality, the high skill of the player, and the rapport between the two.
This is indeed an extremely polished performance throughout, never lacking in the excitement that is often due, yet full of precision and elegance. It compares interestingly with the selection played by Jane Clark on her Scarlatti CD. The two performances are very different in style, but equal in the quality of both interest and entertainment that they offer. One would not wish to choose between them. And that, surely, is as it should be.
'School of Politesse'
Jane Clark (Harpsichord)
Pièces de Clavecin by François Couperin
Janiculum JAN D206
Available: via a link on the Janiculum website.
There can be no better way to explore Couperin than through these performances by Jane Clark, preferably considered in conjunction with the explanatory book, ‘The mirror of human life’: reflections on François Couperin’s Pièces de Clavecin by Jane Clark and Derek Connon. It is dangerous to summarise a book in a sentence; dangerous, too, to attempt a verbal reduction of a musical experience: but the central theory seems to be that the pieces are deeply meaningful, that their individual meanings are necessary to their overall significance as a commentary on humanity, and that those meanings stem from and contribute to the cultural milieu. But if that leads any potential listeners to fear a dry, pretentious, or self-conscious approach, they can be assured that the opposite is the case. This is Couperin for real people, a Couperin that is flesh and blood beneath the polished exterior.
Jane Clark is a crusader for Couperin. She communicates his music in a way that frees it from any ‘style’ that would make it obscure, and from any coterie that would make it exclusive. Her manner of performance is all about musical judgements that reveal truth, and which leave the listener free to enjoy and understand.
So, in the first Ordre, the ‘meaning’ - and so the humanity - of ‘La Milordine’ is brought out primarily by the simple expedient of a moderate pace. A gigue it may be, but in this performance the rhythm of a jig at the pace of a stroll dramatises the combination of gracefulness and absurdity in the imagined gentleman, and reveals both the irony and the indulgence in the portraiture. In the sixth Ordre, ‘Les Moissonneurs’ is made so very engaging precisely by the absence of ‘style’: Miss Clark simply plays what is written, and it is only by comparing her performance with another that one feels the weight of what she gives back to Couperin. She plays, for example, the second of the three opening chords with regard for both the shortness of the note and the length of the beat; she plays the groups of four quavers as four, not as one and three. It really is that simple - and that subtle; it is also, when such points are all heard together in performance, highly significant, for the result is a release of the true rhythm and mood of the piece. Such playing is (in the best sense) scholarly; it is also utterly captivating. The temptation to hit the ‘repeat’ button and play the track again as soon as it ends is sometimes irresistible.
The thirteenth Ordre is one that puts to the test theories of meaning, just as it puts to the test a performer’s ability to range from the poignancy of ‘Les Rozeaux’ to the dramatic satire of ‘Les Folies’. While Miss Clark’s approach may be ‘simple’ (in the positive sense that it does not seek to impose any pseudo-stylishness), it is far from simple in any pejorative sense: the full variety and power of the drama is brought out wonderfully in this Ordre. Again, one only sees what is really at stake by comparing this performance with those that, in an effort be graceful and stylish at all times and at all costs, lose the theatricality and render the meaning bland beneath the gestures. But while Jane Clark’s playing is eminently free of gesture, it confidently points out the meaning by musical emulation of theatre: witness the characterising not only of each movement but, where appropriate, of each section (such as in ‘La Coquéterie’), and the fearless but obviously justifiable catching of the forward movement in ‘La Frénésie’.
But it is by no means only in the more extrovert dramas that this performance can excite a listener. The various shades of poignancy are all handled with delineation, from the more or less ironic languishing of ‘Les Langueurs-Tendres’, to the unaffected portrayal of human frailty in ‘Les Rozeaux’ and ‘Les Pavots’, to the satirical despair of ‘L’âme-en peine’ - a tombeau for a whole society, perhaps. And if listeners feel their emotions stirred - as well they might - it is the more genuine for being prompted by playing that explores feeling without indulgence. ‘Les Rozeaux’, for example, is played with the utmost beauty, but correctly ‘sans lenteur’.
Couperin’s final Ordre, the twenty-seventh, is notoriously and gloriously enigmatic. It can be seen as personal, reflecting on a career that was known to be at its end; it can also be seen as universal - commenting on the role and status of the artist in society. In either case, the meaning operates through the medium of theatrical metaphors. Perhaps the most wonderfully puzzling piece is the penultimate movement, ‘Les Chinois’: like other great examples of self-referential play (one might compare the interior dramas in Shakespeare), it works on the principle that art reflects truth all the more when at its most consciously artificial. Arguably, we see two views of the artist: first comes the apparently open claim to grandeur, and then the ironic claim - and it is the ironic claim that is, ironically, so much more real. At that glorious moment when runs turn into a rhythmic motif on repeated notes (and, as one might dare to interpret it, the ass turns into Art), Miss Clark’s playing becomes a worthy image of Music - and at the climax (‘Lentement’), it becomes simply heroic. Listeners not made of stone will show a marked tendency to throw their arms in the air. Now... in full accord with the enigma, that view of the piece may not be what Miss Clark intended; it may not be what Couperin intended: but it is there, nevertheless, for any who wish to hear it. The line between intention and meaning is always thin and wavering: what this Ordre and its performance can ultimately demonstrate is that meaning is above all a plural thing.
This CD is a record of performances that manifest a confidence in the true judgement that comes from knowledge and experience, and the avoidance of anything superficial that clouds communication. It only has two faults: firstly, that some movements have been omitted (obviously necessary in order to include five works from across the whole spectrum on a single CD), and secondly that there is only one disc. Jane Clark has performed the entire Pièces de Clavecin at the Bate Collection in Oxford and elsewhere: we may hope that she can yet be persuaded to record a complete set. In the meantime... this is a disc to take to the desert island.
'Portrait of an English Harpsichord'
Steven Devine (1756 Kirckman Harpsichord)
with Catherine Martin (Violin)
Works by Nares, JC Bach, Gladwin, Arne, Kelway, Gibbs, and Handel
Finchcocks Press FPCD004
Available: direct from Steven Devine's website, or for download from magnatune.
It is with some shame that even those of us who purport to be especially interested in early English music find ourselves still occasionally coming across a composer whose name is only vaguely familiar and whose music we cannot claim to have heard before. But it is also an opportunity. Stephen Devine has done a considerable service in making several such composers better known with his CD ‘Portrait of an English Harpsichord’. The instrument used for the recording is a 1756 Kirckman from the Finchcocks collection, which gives the CD a substantial additional interest. Of the seven composers represented, the ‘ordinary listener’ will probably only know three; yet all are undeniably worth hearing and studying further.
James Nares (1715 - 1783), whose Lesson 1 in G Major opens the recital, is a composer whom, until recently, few listeners beyond specialists would have encountered; suddenly, however, his name seems to be cropping up regularly. Yet few people, even now, are likely to possess any Nares on either paper or CD, so the opportunity to hear his music, rather than just his name, is valuable. A sequence of chords makes an arresting beginning to a generally dramatic first movement, which arguably looks back somewhat to earlier toccata traditions; it certainly establishes the player’s skills in declamatory performance and the considerable power of the instrument. A simpler, very tuneful central movement demonstrates the complementary qualities - a harpsichord that can sing as well as declaim and a performer who can shape a melodic line as well as dash off a run. In short, the listener is likely to be ‘hooked’ before two tracks have gone by. The accompanying notes describe Nares, with obvious justice, as a composer who mixed old and new elements: the second two movements are clearly inclining to the new more obviously and consistently than the first; the finale is perhaps the most ‘classical’ - and so forward-looking - of the three.
Johann Christian Bach (1735 - 1782) will be one of the more familiar names on the list; but his solo keyboard music is not often heard - unlike that of his two famous elder brothers. Stephen Devine has chosen the Sonata Op 5 No 6 in C Minor. The well-known anticipation of Mozart is evident, but there is different interest too in this piece: the use of an ‘antique’ form - fugue - and a notably Italian flavour. The last movement is distinctive and most appealing: the performer leans into the rhythm just enough to point its interest without any exaggeration.
Thomas Gladwin (c1729 - ?1799) provides the first of two opportunities to hear the baroque violin, played by Catherine Martin, in combination with the harpsichord. We become so used to the harpsichord as either a solo or an accompanying instrument, that it is an interesting change in itself to hear the normal roles reversed - violin accompanying harpsichord: the two performers are in such accord as to sound at times almost like a single instrument of a new timbre. Gladwin’s Sonata No 5 in G Major is a pleasant work, sounding at times very Handelian and yet technically - as was fashionable - showing the influence of Scarlatti.
Though the name of Thomas Arne (1710 - 1778) may be very familiar, his keyboard music is probably not. Again Mr Devine has done us a service here, for the piece is likely to surprise listeners by the extent to which it is new and galant in style - and to delight by its quality, particularly the enthralling opening cantabile movement, which is brought out very stylishly here by some gentle play on the underlying pulse.
Joseph Kelway (c1702 - ?1782) contributes the longest piece in the collection, a four-movement Sonata, No 4 in C Minor. It is another piece which might be described as rooted in Handel and influenced by Scarlatti - but by no means lacking in individual character. Again, it is arguably the elastic lyricism of the slow movements - both the opening Allemande and the Largo - that is particularly notable.
The baroque violin returns, now very much in the leading role, for the Sonata No 2 in A Major by Joseph Gibbs (1698 - 1788), another quite substantial four-movement work, which is inventive and places some demands on the violinist: not surprisingly, they are more than met by Catherine Martin. She plays an original instrument, Milan 1745.
Stephen Divine has taken the eminently practical step of matching this largely unfamiliar repertoire with what is probably the most popular piece of English baroque keyboard music: Handel’s Suite No 5 in E Major, which ends with the famous ‘Harmonious Blacksmith’ variations. It is realistic programming not merely because it will sell copies, but for the more elevated reason that a mixture of Handel and others offers the best representative picture of English keyboard music in the period. It is a very controlled performance: by no means relentlessly measured - there are touches on brake and accelerator and some subtle play on rhythm at times; but the ornamentation is discreet. Repeats are usually taken simply as repeats, rather than as opportunities for much increased or varied decoration: when change occurs (notably the repeat of the second section of Double 2), it is especially refreshing. The changing of manuals at speed to alternate forte and piano the scalic passages of the finale is handled with aplomb. The music itself gives an impression of mounting pace, and the performer has chosen to let that speak for itself against the background of a generally moderate tempo.
All in all, this is a CD that neither harpsichord enthusiasts nor English music enthusiasts will want to be without. It has the three essentials: thoroughly worthwhile and interesting repertoire, expert playing that points out unobtrusively the interest inherent in the music, and an instrument of great historical interest restored to peak condition.