Harpsichord CD Reviews...
Johann Mattheson, Harmony's Monument
Colin Booth
The Twelve Suites of 1714
Sounboard Records: 2 CDs
Available: via the Soundboard website (coming soon)
The name ‘Mattheson’ probably evokes for most listeners either a story about turning down a post on learning that marriage to Buxtehude’s daughter was part of the job description, or the alternative legend about drawing a sword on Handel. The name may also be familiar as representing a large body of writing on musical topics, often referred to but rarely read. We have had too little opportunity to hear his actual music. Fortunately, the latest in a series of praise-worthy CDs by the maker and performer Colin Booth is about to correct that for us; and - still better - this recording does not simply offer ‘selections’, inevitably leading to a degree of either present frustration or future duplication, but offers on two discs the entire twelve suites. These works come close to Bach Partitas in overall design: the conventional suite structure being variously embellished by the addition of a fugue, an air, or one of the less usual dance forms; and in a number of cases there is a flourishing generally Italianate opening movement. As regard the style and texture of the movements themselves, however, the resemblance is (as expected) more to composers such as Reincken and Böhm, with roots in Froberger. There is a notable degree of originality in the thematic material: above all, these are intriguingly melodious pieces.
Colin Booth uses two harpsichords for the recording, both of his own manufacture: one is a two-manual adaptation of a one-manual original made in Hannover by Christian Vater in 1738; the other is a copy of the 1681 Vaudry in the Victoria & Albert Museum. The brass-strung Vater in particular can produce a ravishing sound: among many examples, the opening of Suite 3 is one that stands out. The use of tone-colours, giving varied interest without fussiness, is one of many positive features of this recording. Another is the extent to which the performer is happy to ‘write around’ the bare notes on the page when he feels the context prompts it. Such devices as the insertion of noticeable but not obtrusive breaks, the emphasising of rhythm by pointed articulation, a range of musically inventive and skilfully executed embellishments, and the extensive application of distinct levels of inequality are all sources of great interest. In every case, the listening experience justifies the player’s decision. Colin Booth seems to possess the happy knack of being neither enslaved nor intimidated by any particular style: he simply plays well, rather than playing according to this or that fashion. He seems to know instinctively when to offer something straightforwardly and what to treat with greater extravagance or flexibility. The opening Prelude, for example, he plays in a largely declamatory style with just enough ‘leading’ at the start of key phrases to give a sense that rhetoric is relevant here; the Tocatine to Suite 2 is played much more dashingly; the Fantasie that opens Suite No 5, on the other hand, is given comparatively flexible treatment: in each case, the performance style seems inherently right for the music. What one does not hear are the impossible extremes - the dry metronomic or the substitution of sentimentality for sentiment.
Mood and tempi are very well judged. Matteson’s allemandes tend to be very beautiful, easily spoilt by being pushed: here they are allowed to breathe, but never to drag. The weightier examples (such as the second movement of the opening suite, or the first movement of Suite 4) are given dignity, while lighter allemandes (such as in Suites 2 or 8) receive more playful treatment, with the rhythms nicely pointed. A remarkable movement such as the Suite 3 Allemande is given... remarkable treatment: played expansively, and exploiting fully the possibilities for a rich tone from the brass strings of the instrument. This is a performance one wants to hear again as soon as the track has finished playing. It is the kind of ‘romantic’ playing that is appropriate to the piece and its culture: baroque romantic, of course, not Victorian romantic. And that is by no means an isolated example: similar admiration could as well be expressed for the playing of the corresponding movements in Suites 6 or 12. More straightforward examples, such as the allemande to Suite 11, are allowed to roll forward with appropriate simplicity; but none of them is marred by inappropriate haste. Not that Colin Booth is reluctant to apply healthy forward movement where it is called for - as the Gigue to the first Suite soon demonstrates. But the playing there is still absolutely clear. A gigue simply does not have to be fast, and some prove very effective when taken moderately (as in, for example, the second and third Suites): the joy comes from the way in which rhythms are handled, not from sheer speed. So far from rushing through one gigue after another with a full registration and at destructive speed, as one hears rather too often, each one is played here in the manner which seems to suit it best: the delicacy applied to No 10, or the gentle and steady approach taken to the Gigue in Suite 12 are delightfully refreshing. The right style and speed for a courante is a matter for much debate. Again, Colin Booth takes a varied approach, letting the music dictate: he is not reluctant to give us a burst of speed (as notably occurs when he performs the Second Courant to Suite 9) when the piece is clearly of the ‘running’ type and has excitement in its character; others also run, but run more gently; but where the music is clearly more free and meditative, the approach follows - the first Courante is an excellent example, another is the Courante a la Françoise to Suite 4, which is played with a combination of beauty and dignity. Indeed, there is much in this recording that is beautiful - both in content and performance. The Sarabande from the opening Suite shows a degree of artistry that is maintained throughout - the paradox of subtle extravagance, with some intriguing variety in the repeats. Among the rest, perhaps it is the Sarabande in Suite 8 that most deserves special mention: the beautiful cantabile and mood of plaintive serenity achieved here simply have to be heard. There are notable high-points too among the less usual movements: the Air that stands at the centre of Suite 6, for example, is played with both grace and gravitas - the sort of listening experience that reminds us what music should really be about. It is one of many tracks of this recording which evidence that ineffable quality that comes from a combination of physical sound-production and spiritual engagement.
Even the booklet is valuable: the notes are entertaining, informative, and at times (in a positive sense) provocative. The section on composition and convention in particular manages to raise in a comparatively short space some extremely important points that could usefully become the subject of much debate.
We have unfortunately lost the way of talking about music that was common in the eighteenth century - as refreshment for the soul, elevation of the spirit, or fostering the divine element within humanity. This is a disc that inspires one to think again about that lost attitude: one cannot hear it without feeling in touch with something intensely civilised. But to conclude in more practical terms: the review having been written, this is nevertheless a disc to which the reviewer will return regularly - just for the sheer pleasure and deep interest that listening to it affords.
James Nares, Eight Harpsichord Setts
Julian Perkins
Avie Records: AV2152
Available: via the Avie website
This CD certainly gets off to a rousing start. Anyone who may previously have been playing a recording of clavichord music might be advised to adjust the volume setting. But that is far from being a criticism: this is music that needs to smoke, and our recitalist here, the young but accomplished Mr Julian Perkins, seems to realise that he must arrest his listener at the start. In that, and in much else, he succeeds. The opening prelude delights at once with some bristling runs and rapidly executed (and just slightly rhetorical) passage-work, interspersed with dramatic repeated chords. The player opts for just slight spreading on these powerful chords, which is eminently sensible given the character of the piece; but the degree of spread might just have been more consistent - and perhaps a little more generous. But the sense of bravura here is exciting.
Given that there are eight ‘Setts’ or ‘Lessons’ on the disc - plus a Suite by Handel - and that each Sett consists of at least three movements, it is neither necessary nor desirable to describe them all. That there is more than enough quality and variety of music here to make us grateful for the chance to hear it is beyond question. Though these pieces comprise sets of movements, they by no means stick to the typical sequence of a traditional suite: they have roots in the baroque suite (and some tendrils in the toccata) but are clearly moving towards the classical sonata. Correspondingly, the musically styles and textures are generally lighter than those of the high baroque.
Sett No 3 is interesting, however, for the extent to which it looks back - beginning with a Fugue and continuing with a Largo somewhat reminiscent of a slow movement to a Bach toccata; the following movement, however, is in a decidedly more forward-looking style. Perkins takes the instruction ‘Presto’ in quite a modern sense, too, which is fair enough, as the main character of the movement is its strong sense of running impetus. However, as a number of his tempi are quite brisk, one does sometimes feel that the desire for forward movement is getting the upper hand: the slow movements are certainly very welcome. Perkins’ handling of them is always interesting (the poised and graceful playing of the Larghetto in Sett 2, for example; or the flowing sense of line in the Andante to No 4). One could wish for nothing more than that he might sometimes let himself go a little. The playing throughout, however, is full of artistry, even if some listeners might wish for a little more emotional personality.
By no means the least source of interest offered by this recording is the use of two original instruments: a Kirckman single manual of 1764 and ‘The Royal Harpsichord’ - a 1740 double-manual instrument by Shudi. The change of instruments occurs with the change of composer: the disc also includes a suite by Handel - which, rather helpfully to the purpose, was one of two described as ‘Lessons’ in a contemporary copy. It is both a late and early work - compiled in 1739 but using two movements dating from the composer’s youth. This is an eminently worthwhile inclusion on musical grounds, and the performance is excellent. The beautiful and tuneful Allemande at once establishes a more ‘giving’ approach here - no doubt quite justified. Flexibility in pulse and extravagance in embellishment could have been taken further - but that is largely a matter of personal taste; the important thing is that having opted for comparative restraint, Julian Perkins fills his performance with subtle sources of interest that cannot fail to keep the listener sympathetically alert and greatly contented - the introduction, for example, of a degree of inequality only as a six-note motif progresses, rather than applying it in a simple blanket fashion; or the integration of a decorative gesture leading back into a repeat. One could ask for nothing here - except, perhaps, more of the same: in particular, the repeats might have been given greater variation. The Sarabande is played beautifully - and with a little more extravagance: surely an exemplary performance. And congratulations, Mr Perkins, on not rushing the Gigue... This whole suite is an example of very graceful and intelligent playing: if Julian Perkins should decide to make an all-Handel CD, it could be confidently recommended on the strength of his playing here.
One is tempted to apply the adjective ‘charming’ to some of the Nares movements - such as the opening Allemand to Lesson 6. This may seem like faint praise, but the charm is considerable and in fact this movement is eminently enjoyable (reminiscent of Scarlatti in one of his lighter and sunnier moods); in that and in the following Courant, Perkins brings much skill and sensitivity to the task of maximising the interest without becoming unsubtle. Admittedly there are one or two less interesting movements - such as the finale to Lesson 5, which has a galant stylishness, but it is stylishness within a fairly simple dimension. However, Perkins’ claim that the pieces offer an intriguing tension between baroque and classical is certainly justified: the Fugue to No 7, for example, will soon convince the listener. And even when thematic and textural material is less involving (such as in the Allemand to No 8), he does an admirable job in bringing out what is there by his supportive communication of the rhythmic interest. His choice of timbre is often quite inventive (from the delicate to the mildly confrontational), though always reasonable Julian Perkins certainly demonstrates - without any excessive playing with devices - the range of colours on the Royal Harpsichord, which is clearly a rather wonderful instrument: for example, the second part of the slow movement to No 5, where he exploits the possibility for a really biting tone, or in the Courant of Sett 6, where the buff effect adds a sense of playfulness.
Really the only opportunity for lightly scathing criticism - though one offers it only with a smile - is provided by the booklet. It has many perfectly valid things to say, but adopts the unfortunate method of interposing them with sub-headings in the form of questions, rather as if the listener were a naïve and slightly recalcitrant child. However, one textual faux pas is easy to forgive when it is just a small part of such an interesting and worthwhile project, containing a whole bundle of musical pleasures. The playing is poised and polished in the slower and more delicate movements, and finger-work remains crisp to keep the sense clear in the more virtuosic sections. So... there is much here to praise, nothing significant really to criticise, and only one general source of reservation: the booklet calls the style of this music ‘exotic’, in which case the performer perhaps shows it in some respects more politeness than is appropriate. Overall, there is no question but that this is a disc to recommend warmly. Anyone who remains uncertain about buying a copy should listen to track 22, which is guaranteed to raise a smile of delight; then to track 17, equally certain to evoke sincere admiration for the performance: the conclusion should be obvious - it will be money well spent.
C. P. E. Bach Harpsichord Concertos
Michele Benuzzi & Arcomelo
Concerto in C minor Wq 37, Concerto in G minor Wq 6, Concerto in D major Wq 18
La Bottega Discantica: Discantica 126
Available: via the Bottega Discantica website
A key factor that distinguishes the performance of early music now and previously is, of course, the simple realisation that so much of the repertoire can be performed not just adequately, but often to advantage, by small forces. The Italian ensemble Arcomelo exemplifies that principle well. Nine string players make an excellent job of conveying the power and range in these three concerti by the most famous of the sons of Bach. But of course it is not merely a question of adequate volume and power - important though that may well be: they add to it a very impressive vibrancy that would be largely lost by a more sizeable ensemble. Their sense of cohesion, inter-reliance, and intimate ensemble is truly excellent. If there is any overall fault to note, then it is a ‘good fault’. In seeking to avoid making the harpsichord artificially prominent, they have perhaps erred too much on the side of caution. The soloist is often rather over-powered by his own ensemble.
The opening work is the Harpsichord Concerto in C minor Wq 37, where the performance of the very first movement (Allegro assai) establishes the musicians’ ability to convey both its genial and its dramatic elements. In the Andante ed arioso which follows, the intimate understanding between members of the group enables the string players to support and mirror flawlessly the expressive devices that soloist Michele Benuzzi employs - with obvious justification, given the style of the music. The right-hand wandering melody exemplifies this performer’s extraordinary talent for tonal beauty. In appropriate contrast, a happy jig-like movement dances along at a brisk, but not cloudingly excessive, pace. Many listeners may feel C P E is rather close to his J S roots here; and yet, there is a clear element of his own original flavour. It is a flavour presumably to be labelled ‘classical’; and yet - as Benuzzi’s delicately lingering mini-cadenza demonstrates - its emotional quality anticipates the romantic even as it establishes the classical, and lingers with the baroque.
The bold opening movement of the Concerto in G minor Wq 6, with its dramatic gestures, at times seeming to foreshadow Beethoven rather than Mozart, brings out the skill of this ensemble in handling a varied emotional palette: they let the music frown at times here - but it is always a handsome frown. The Largo that follows provides an opportunity for the strings to excel, adding a deep richness to their tone, which well suits this more melancholy and generally ‘dark’ slow movement. The third movement (an Allegro) fully proves what the opening movement established: that this ensemble, though they may excel in the languid movements, are more than competent in handling other moods. The biting opening chord of a repeated motif is taken to the very edge of aggression, without advancing over it. But this is emotionally (as well as musically) sophisticated material, of course: dashingly performed passage work on the harpsichord leads appropriately into a brighter section. The skilled fingers of the soloist transform a tone that is silver in the slow movements into diamond clarity here. And there is a suitably exciting gathering of spiritual momentum through to the end of the piece.
As one might expect from the choice of key, the Concerto in D major Wq 18 is a predominantly genial work: the ensemble produces an appropriately bright tone in the opening Allegro, and the soloist concentrates on the sense of forward movement that is so essential, allowing himself no more than the occasional and subtle restraining of the tempo here - just enough to establish that the music is still thoughtful. In some respects it is a movement that looks back to Leipzig - there is even, perhaps, a touch of Vivaldi. The Andante is taken at a good balanced pace, and the melodic line is shaped without disturbing the essentially flowing character of this tuneful movement. The initial mood is calm and almost - perhaps deceptively - carefree; but solo passages lead a partial transformation, as a darker wistfulness is superimposed upon the sunny calmness. Arcomelo prove themselves absolute masters of both the expression and control of feeling here - the strings mirroring perfectly the mood and character of an earlier moment of more extravagant emotion from the harpsichordist, to end the movement on a beautifully controlled dying appoggiatura. And that is merely one example in a recording packed with such artistry. With a good healthy stress on the ‘molto’ in the final Allegro di molto, Arcomelo bring their first CD to a most genial but still dramatic close. It seems most unlikely that anyone listening to it will fail to look forward eagerly to their future recordings - hoping only, perhaps, to hear the harpsichord a little more forward in the recording next time.
This CD is eminently worthwhile for the quality and interest in the music alone; the skilful and sophisticated playing, capturing the range and depth of emotion so essential to the style, makes it an essential acquisition for all listeners interested in the music of this period.
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.