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Haydn 2032: No. 18 – Il maestro di scuola

CD cover Haydn volume 18 Il maestro di scuola

Kammerorchester Basel, directed by Giovanni Antonini
76:29
Alpha Classics 1092

Regular visitors to the shores of EMR will know that this splendid cycle of Haydn symphonies has featured regularly among our reviews. Here, however, is the one that got away – or nearly did. For some reason it slipped through the net, but happily that can now be rectified. For anyone needing an introduction or perhaps a recap, this integrale performed either by Giovanni Antonini’s own Il Giardino Armonico or the Kammerorchester Basel in its period-instrument guise is planned for completion in 2032, the year of the tercentenary of Haydn’s birth.

Not the least intriguing aspect of the series has been the addition of music either by Haydn himself or other composers who have some kind of relevance to Haydn (look out for a surprise inclusion on No. 19). Here, that relevance will test the knowledge of all but the most assiduous Haydn scholar; I’m not ashamed to admit failure. The CD is named after the nickname appended to Haydn’s Symphony No 55 in E flat, the ‘Schoolmaster’, though it has to be said only after his death and for reasons that appear somewhat tenuous. From that nickname stems the additional piece here, the finale of the Symphony No 5 in G minor by Franciszek Lessel, a Polish composer who arrived in Vienna to study composition in 1799. The following year, he became a pupil of Haydn, with whom he studied until 1805, when perhaps as a parting gift he received from his ‘schoolmaster’ Haydn the manuscript of the Symphony No 56 in C, which it so happens is also included on the present CD. The Lessel is particularly interesting for showing that he has his own voice, being far closer to the early Romanticism of Weber than the classicism of Haydn. It also suggests that the ‘Sturm und Drang’ febrile intensity of the key of G minor in the hands of composers like Haydn and Mozart had passed, to be replaced by a quasi-folk-like spirit that involved few intimations of tragedy.

It is that magnificent C-major symphony that is the glory of the present disc. Composed in 1774, it is a fully-scored work including trumpets and timpani. As H C Robbins Landon noted in his magisterial study of Haydn, the opening motif features all the ceremonial pomp associated with the key of C, to be immediately answered by a thoughtful lyrical theme, what HCRL terms tension-cum-release structure, a device used by Haydn on more than one occasion. Here, it works in perfect symmetry and will play a major role in this opening movement, being particularly effectively worked in the development section. The succeeding Adagio, a sonata-form movement that leaves the trumpets and drums silent, is also planned on an ample scale with a notable contribution from bassoon, which makes the main theme’s first statement. The return of timpani and trumpets in the Minuet gives it a stately character to be contrasted with the graciously flowing Trio section. The final Prestissimo is a whirlwind of passing ceremonial fanfares, humour, hints of operatic finales, interpolated solos for violin and cello, and hunting calls that leave both player and listener breathless from the profusion of events.

The ‘Schoolmaster’, which also dates from 1774, nearly reaches the same level, its highlights being the slow movement that was compared with the incipit from a lost divertimento apparently known as ‘Der Schulmeister’ and the final Presto, a rondo that spends much of time in light-footed, light-hearted mode that is at one thrilling moment jolted out of its easy existence by an outburst of clamouring windwind and horns. Rather less significant is the earlier Symphony No 29 in E of 1765. The easy-going opening movement has folk-like characteristics, Haydn modifying the indication ‘Allegro’ with ‘ma non troppo’, advice I think that for once Giovanni Antonini has overlooked, the movement being taken just that little too fast. Otherwise, these spruce, incisive, beautifully pointed and played performances have all the merits to be found in previous issues in the series. Crackling opening movements and witty finales – how many of these take us into the opera house! – contrast tellingly with the warmth and thoughtfulness of ‘slow’ movements. I promise to try not to keep readers so long from a review of No 19!

Brian Robins

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Recording

Duality

CD cover Duality Zimmermann Vanhal bassoon concertos

Zimmermann | Vaňhal : Bassoon concertos
Ondřej Šindelář & Sergio Azzolini bassoons, Risonanza Praga
75:17
Supraphon SU 4375-2

Of the two composers here, the better-known name is that of Jan Křtitel Vaňhal, born in the Hradec Králové region of Bohemia in 1739. His biography is fairly sketchy. Vaňhal’s initial musical training and experience in the 1750s being as an organist and choirmaster in the region of his birth, but later he was sent to Vienna to study courtesy of a countess who had noted his talent. The list of compositions composed during the time Vaňhal spent in Vienna is extensive, but particularly noted for the symphonies he composed there, in excess of 100 were written at much the same time Haydn was writing his middle period symphonies at Eszterháza. According to Charles Burney, the symphonies of Vaňhal at one time headed Haydn’s for popularity in England. The Bassoon Concerto in C is a relatively recently discovered work found in the archives of Prague Conservatoire, one of two bassoon concertos by Vaňhal in that key. It is by some way the most ambitious of the three works on the present CD, being scored for an orchestra that includes trumpets and timpani, though as might be expected the central Adagio cantabile dispenses with them to enable a rhapsodic lyricism that contrasts effectively with the outer movements. Ondřej Šindelář‘s playing here demonstrates one of the major assets of his splendid technique – the ability to draw and shape long cantabile lines with gracious ease. The only complaint, and it applies to all the concertos, is that cadenzas are too lengthy, in addition to being somewhat eccentric, including fragmentary little phrases that are presumably intended to remind the listener that the bassoon is capable of humour but belong to the 21st rather than the 18th century.

Anton Zimmermann is a much less familiar name, having been born in Breitenau (Silesia), today Široká Niva in 1741. In 1763 he is mentioned as a ‘highly respected’ organist at the cathedral in Hradec Králové. In 1770, he would move to Pressburg, now Bratislava, where he would remain for the rest of his life. There he became Kapellmeister and court composer to the Archbishop of Hungary, at whose behest Zimmermann created an orchestra said by the musicologist J N Forkel to be ‘in the very first place, ahead of Joseph Haydn’s orchestra at Esterháza’. Although listed in Supraphon’s booklet as being a work of Zimmermann, it seems the outer movements of the Concerto in F for two bassoons may in fact be by Vanhal, since they are identical to those of his own double concerto. The booklet notes suggest several possible answers to this conundrum, none especially persuasive. Leaving questions as to who composed what aside, the expansive opening movement allows plenty of scope for the two players to indulge in lyrical unison passages contrasted with spirited imitation, while the central Adagio concentrates on unison cantabile writing. The work concludes with a bubbly finale with particularly felicitous wind writing. Here Šindelář is joined by probably the best-known period bassoonist, Sergio Azzolini, in a performance that combines nimble virtuosity and pure-toned lyricism to advance an excellent argument for this fine concerto.

However, both the concertos discussed above have to give way to Zimmermann’s Concerto in F, an entrancing work that, for all its modest pretensions, has an easy galant charm not matched in either of the other concertos. Notable, too, is the wind writing which, particularly in the opening Moderato, is engagingly interleaved with the solo bassoon. The central Adagio has a touching beauty, which like hints in the Moderato does not preclude moments of melancholy, while the final enters more dramatic territory, allowing for bravura passages excellently played by Šindelář. Throughout, he is given fine support by the Prague period instrument orchestra. The CD as a whole is a fine addition to the catalogue, while bassoonists in search of repertoire are strongly advised to look at the F-major Zimmermann concerto, a real gem.

Brian Robins

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Recording

Mozart: The Horn Concertos

CD cover Mozart horn concertos Javier Bonet

Javier Bonet natural horn, La Real Cámara, directed by Emilio Moreno
73:22
Lbs Classics

We tend to think of Mozart’s horn concertos as a tidy and entertaining group of four works composed for a long-standing family friend, Joseph Leutgeb. They are in fact nothing of the kind, having been the subject of musicological detective work almost since the composer’s own time. Take, for example, the Concerto in D, K 412 & K 386b, known as No. 1, once thought to have been composed in 1782, but later shown by paper dating to have been left unfinished in 1791, the year of Mozart’s death. One fragment, the central Rondo, and a movement not included on the present CD, was completed the following year by Mozart’s pupil, Franz Xavier Süssmayr. What is included is a repeat performance of the final Rondo with the humorous running commentary Mozart added in Italian to the manuscript, much of it insulting comments directed at his friend Leutgeb, who one imagines laughing so much that he has difficulty playing his instrument – ‘Take a breath’… ‘Go, on’… ‘This is a little better’ … and so forth are among the more refined examples. Here the comments are read by the Italian actor Carlo Gianneschi; it was a happy idea to print them translated, Mozart’s scatology and all.

Another fascinating piece of ‘mozartiana’ is the fragment of a Concerto in E, K494a. Started probably at the end of 1785 or early 1786, the fully-scored and expansive exposition is on a scale that suggests this will be the most ambitious and mature of the horn concertos. But a few bars after the soloist’s entry, the orchestra just stops, to be joined in silence by the horn a few bars further on. At least one attempt has been made to continue the fragment (Roger Montgomery on Signum), but here it is played as Mozart left it, creating a mystery around the would-be work that is both poignant and quizzical. Abounding with sufficient thematic riches for two concertos, the mystery is compounded by the fact that apparently Leutgeb knew nothing about it when Mozart’s widow Constanze showed it to him. One further work that needs explanation is the two-movement Concerto in E flat, K370b and K371, composed around the time Mozart moved to Vienna in 1781 and therefore the earliest of his horn concertos. The score was left with incomplete orchestration, a slow movement lacking altogether. Its subsequent history included being cut up as a Mozart souvenir and the rediscovery of some 60 missing bars as recently as 1991. The present performance is played in a reconstruction by Robert Levin. The nature of the solo writing, which includes octave leaps and is certainly different from the Leutgeb works, has led at least one commentator to the conclusion that it is the one horn concerto not composed for Mozart’s friend. But that perhaps also applies to K494a?

One of the most prized assets of a horn player’s technique was an ability to play legato with a smooth, continuous tone. Javier Bonet quotes the Mercure de France on the subject of Joseph Leutgeb, the publication noting that he ‘sings the adagios as perfectly as the smoothest, most interesting and most precise voice would’. It’s an encomium I’m more than happy to bestow on Bonet too, since although he displays a fine technique and the necessary agility where Mozart asks for it, something not always guaranteed – ‘There you go again, torturing me …’, it is the purity of line and vocal quality of the lyrical writing that remain longest in the mind. One need listen no further than the lyrical opening of K370b to be impressed not only by the cantabile line but the glowing warmth and affection of Bonet’s playing. Only in some of the cadenzas would I part company with him, since his playing at times carries them beyond stylistic bounds and length. The orchestra playing under Emilio Moreno, a doyen of the Spanish early music scene, is stylish and fully supportive

This is a thoroughly enjoyable CD, obviously made and played not just with a high level of musicality but also with affection. ‘O damn you, you’re talented!’, to quote Mozart again.

Brian Robins

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Recording

Handel: Chandos Anthems 10 & 6; Oboe Concerto

CD cover Handel Chandos anthems Musica Gloria

Musica Gloria, directed by Nele Vertommen oboe, and Beniamino Paganini harpsichord/organ
54:47
Et’cetera 1858

Musica Gloria is a young Netherlands-based vocal and instrumental ensemble whose CD ‘Georg Österreich’s Resurrected Treasures’ I welcomed warmly on this site. For their latest recording, they’ve moved forward around 30 years to give us two of the eleven anthems Handel wrote for James Brydges, shortly before he became Duke of Chandos in 1719, during his time with Brydges as resident composer (Johann Pepusch, another German émigré, was director of music). It is sobering to recognize that, had Brydges been alive today, he would almost certainly have been destroyed by the media. He elevated his country house Cannons (near Edgware) to a magnificence rarely found in England outside of royalty by means of fraudulently siphoning off large sums derived from his time as Paymaster General. So without it – over half a million pounds – no Cannons, no Chandos Anthems, no Acis and Galatea.

The Chandos Anthems were all written for the modest forces retained by Brydges, a small chorus and instrumental ensemble (without alto voices and violas) that obviously included an outstanding oboist. Here Musica Gloria field two voices-per-part along with pairs of oboes, recorders, bassoon and strings. As with the earlier CD, there is a marked impression that oboist Nele Vertommen is the driving force of Musica Gloria. Not only are her contributions to the anthems the highlights of the performances, but her playing of the solo part in the Concerto in B flat, HWV 302a, is throughout as finely nuanced and technically as assured as could be wished for.

‘The Lord is my light’ (no 10) notably sets a text drawn from no fewer than eight psalms, and ‘As pants the hart’ (no 6), which more conservatively restricts its source material to Psalm 42, are the anthems included here. Like all the anthems, they include contrasting solo and choral verses much in the style of the French petit motet, but above showing a clear relationship with the verse anthems of Purcell, a source and influence surprisingly not mentioned in the CD’s notes. Unfortunately, the performances do not match those on the earlier disc, though they may please those wedded to the Anglican tradition rather more than they do me. Like so much of that type of choral singing, there is a distinct lack of projection and communication, the performances being more concerned with making a beautiful sound than conveying a message. Diction is poor throughout, a caveat that applies equally to solos as it does to choral work. In ‘The Lord is my light’, this point is dramatically made in the mimetic choral writing at the words ‘the earth trembled and quaked, the very foundations also of the hills’, introducing the shuddering effect first used by Lully in his Isis (1677). Here it goes for little. Tempos are not always convincing either. The opening of ‘As pants the hart’ is disappointingly deliberate and understated, so by the time we reach the second, devastating line, ‘Tears are my daily food’, there has been no sense of build-up to those strong words. Obviously, as already suggested, there will be those for whom such things matter little, and they will likely find much to enjoy in the pleasing blend achieved by the beguilingly fresh-sounding voices. But there is more to this music than we are given here, and there should have been more music given on the CD, too. In this day when 80 minute CDs are no longer the exception, a mere 55 minutes is likely to raise eyebrows. So, sorry not to give more of a welcome, but the impression left is that the performers may not have been sufficiently versed in this music to bring a natural empathy to it.

Brian Robins

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Charpentier: Messe à 4 choeurs cori spezzati

CD cover Charpentier Messe a quatres chœurs Versailles

Maîtrise de Paris; Choeur de l’Opéra Royal, Consort Musica Vera, conducted by Jean-Baptiste Nicolas
68:56
Versailles Spectacles CVS164

Although the concept of spatial polychoral works for two or more choirs is particularly associated with the basilica of St. Mark’s in Venice and its many galleries that lent themselves to such works, Rome and other cities, such as Bologna, also developed a strong tradition of performing such spectacular music during the course of the 16th and 17th centuries. Throughout the period, visitors coming to Italy recorded their astonishment at the overwhelming effect that could be produced by music emanating from different locations, and indeed the chori spezzati tradition should surely be viewed as a feature of the counter-Reformation. Oddly, one country that seems to have made no attempt to create its own polychoral tradition was France. The single example of a French composer attempting to emulate it comes from Marc-Antoine Charpentier, with his Salve regina à trois choeurs and Messe à quatre choeurs. For reasons not known, Charpentier visited Rome for a three-year period during his twenties (1653-73), coming into contact not only with a wide variety of liturgical works by such masters of the polychoral tradition as Lodovico Agostini and Orazio Benevoli but also the oratorios of Giacomo Carissimi. Both profoundly affected his development as a composer.

The present disc interestingly compares the Messe à quatre choeurs with a group of works by Monteverdi, Giovanni Gabrieli, Benevoli (who Charpentier almost certainly encountered during his stay) and Agostini. The Monteverdi extracts from the 1610 Vespers, the ‘Sonata sopra Sancta Maria’ – very nicely done by the boys of the Maîtrise de Paris – or the six-part ‘Deus in Auditorium’, with its instrumental reference back to the opening toccata from Orfeo can however hardly be classified as polychoral works. Though born a generation apart, the career trajectories of Agostini (1534-90) and Benevoli (1605-72) follow a similar path, with both having studied at the Église Saint-Louis des Français in Rome. Later, both became music director of Cappella Giulia in Rome, though by that time Benevoli’s career had also taken him to a post in Vienna. The contrasting textures of Benevoli’s 24-part Dixit Dominus, as recorded in the Chapelle Royale in Versailles, seem too complex when taken at such a deliberate pace in a reverberant space, with little separation of the four choirs apparent. It should be noted that the timings for the works that proceed the Charpentier are incorrectly given in the booklet, the 1:26 given for the Agostini Magnificat, for example, more accurately timed at around 6:30.

The Charpentier mass betrays its Roman ancestry from the outset. The opening Kyrie displays the contrasts of texture and weight that are apparent throughout, the solo (petit choeur) opening featuring some lustrous singing by soprano Pauline Gaillard. Here, the entry of the other three choirs is surprisingly and unexpectedly accompanied by timpani. Anyone who has listened to the Italian pieces first will by this time know that loud timpani beats are a feature of the recording and one that conductor Jean-Baptiste Nicolas discusses at length in his notes, noting it is an experiment. Nicolas, who is a musicologist, admits that there is no historical documentation of timpanists being paid for playing church services, but points to examples in painting. Although he argues well and without being dogmatic, I cannot but feel that this is an experiment that has not been successful, indeed one that might have been better suited to a concert than the permanency of a recording. Too often, the entry of timpani comes at the cost of choral clarity or the spoiling of a moment, the most invidious being at ‘Crucifixus’, which follows a transcendent ‘Et incarnatus’, especially touching at ‘et homo factus est’ (and was made man).

I am sure there are those that will find the addition of timpani adds a sense of grandeur and there are indeed some overwhelmingly impressive moments. But I don’t think it works within the context of works that are already giving the listener a considerable aural challenge. Others may find greater satisfaction in the recording of the Charpentier mass – sung within the context of appropriate chant – made by Ex Cathedra (Hyperion, 2003), particularly since it also includes the lovely three-choir Salve Regina. There is also a version by the outstanding Ensemble Correspondances that I’ve not heard (harmonia mundi). But I’m equally sure there are those for whom the visceral excitement of the new Versailles CD will carry the day.

Brian Robins

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Recording

Telemann: Auf Christenheit!

CD cover Telemann Auf Christenheit Kölner Akademie Michael Alexander Willens

Frankfurter Festmusiken 1716
Soloists, Kölner Akademie, Michael Alexander Willens
142:35 (2 CDs)
cpo 555584-2

Sometime around the beginning of 1712, Telemann wrote an application to the Frankfurt free city authority to apply for the post of director of music, stating in the process that he wished to ‘quit court life [he had been employed by the Eisenach court since 1708] and take up a quieter one’. He was appointed to the post in March. In Frankfurt, Telemann’s brief was not dissimilar to that of Bach in Leipzig, including composing church music and occasional works for civic occasions. Of these, almost certainly the most lavish were those celebrating the birth of the Hereditary Prince Leopold to the Habsburg Emperor Charles VI and the Empress Elizabeth on 13 April 1716, an event of great political significance since Leopold became the much-longed-for heir apparent to the Holy Roman Empire, hopes dashed only months later when the baby died in November. (A daughter, Maria Theresa, would become the first Empress to rule).

Plans for Frankfurt to celebrate were set on foot for May 17, Telemann being commissioned for a sacred work to words by Georg Pritius, the preacher of the sermon. The resultant work, ‘Auf Christenheit begeh ein Freudenfest’ (TWV 12: 1a/b), was planned on a suitably lavish scale, with full scoring including three trumpets and timpani. It is cast in two parts, the first to be given before the sermon, the second after. In that sense it follows the plan of many of Bach’s cantatas, but in others it varies considerably, not least the extensive use of accompanied recitative (accompagnati), often used to colourful effect including obbligato parts, particularly for oboe, for which Telemann had the participation of the Berlin virtuoso Peter Glösch in addition to a strong line-up of vocal soloists, some brought in from the court at Darmstadt. The arias are mostly of the strophic or through-composed type and are without exception full of incidental delights and colourful scoring. The entire work is indeed a joy, here enhanced by splendid singing from the soloists, all of whom deserve mention: Hanna Herfurtner and Elena Harsányi (sopranos), Elvira Bill (alto), Georg Poplutz (tenor), and Thomas Bonni (basss), the last named particularly characterful. The chorus consists of the same voices. This entrancing work is directed with idiomatic élan by the experienced Michael Alexander Willens,* it being worth adding that those concertante oboe parts are throughout superbly played by Katharina Andres.

As if this treat in wasn’t enough, festivities continued with a banquet for those entitled to attend and more plebeian celebrations – including military shows with cannons, etc. –for those that weren’t. In the evening, those still on their feet attended an open-air performance of a large-scale serenata by the city’s director of music, who it seems may have suggested it himself (what price a ‘quieter’ life!). In keeping with such festive works, the characters of Deutschland grünt und blüht im Friede (TWV 12:1c) are mainly allegorical, there being no dramatic content. The scoring is even more sumptuous than that of the church work, its forces being supplemented by a pair of horns and three (!) bassoons, while the choral writing is in eight parts, a point rather amusingly brought into the text by the chorus. In contrast to the church music, the arias are mainly in the expected da capo form, with plain recitative rather than accompagnato. Following an extended five-movement concerto, Germania and Irene reflect on the joys of the peace that has descended on German territories, articulating the relief felt by the respite from war, respite attained in the wake of the peace treaties agreed at the end of the War of the Spanish Succession. The mood set, articulated in an aria like Germania’s ‘Mein reich lebt in vergnügter Ruh’ (My realms live in happy peace), veers between the exuberant and more reflective, characterised by an alternation of cantabile writing – here beautifully sustained, if at the expense of diction, by Herfurtner, who also deals expertly with more florid episodes. Later, Mars – a role sung by Bonni with humour and gusto – appears on the scene but promises he’ll leave Germany in peace. The City of Frankfurt endorses the sentiments of Germania and Irene, which are further enhanced by the appearance of Mercury, bringing the news of the birth of the child that will ensure peace. The work ends with military splendour and the firing of cannons, reproduced on the recording. If perhaps not quite on the same level as the church music, the serenata is again an irresistible example of Telemann’s wonderfully fecund compositional skills. As with ‘Auf Christenheit’, the performance is near-exemplary and utterly compelling.

We’re told that the performance that May night was so successful that it was repeated not just once, but twice, which is extraordinary given that the work runs 90 minutes. Even more surprising is that Telemann revived the serenata when music director in Hamburg in 1733, a fate almost unheard of for an occasional work such as this, but fully deserved in this case. There are not many occasional works that have outlasted the occasion.

Brian Robins

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Bach: Johannes-Passion (1748 version)

CD cover Bach St John Passion Pygmalion

Julian Prégardien Evangelist, Huw Montague Rendall Jesus, Ying Fang, Lucile Richardot, Laurence Kilsby, Christian Immler, Etienne Bazola, Pygmalion, Raphaël Pichon
115:00 (2 CDs in a box)
harmonia mundi HMM 902774.75

This performance of the Johannes-Passion has everything: it has Julian Prégardien on fine form as the Evangelista, and a fine operatic baritone (new to me) – Huw Montague Rendall – as Jesus, as well as starry singers like Lucile Richardot and Christian Immler in the line-up. It has the violas d’amore and theorbo of the 1723 version, and the bassono grosso of the last. It has a complex continuo scoring involving cello, double bass, theorbo, harpsichord and organ – a quite substantial instrument with at least principals 8’, 4’ and 2’ rather than the usual little box organ based on an 8’ stopped flute: but we are given no details of this instrument (which I suspect is at some distance from the main body of the performers). This leaves Pichon free to vary the continuo line where (in the Evangelist’s recitative at least) the sonorous double bass is a constant at 16’.

The soprano aria Ich folge has just the ’cello and theorbo, and the agile yet mellifluous tenor Erwäge the theorbo likewise, with, I think, the harpsichord sometimes as well. These, and Huw Montague Rendall’s Betrachte, are beautifully sung as are the arias in Part II: Richardot’s Es ist Vollbracht has that out-of-this-world tone which makes her such a striking interpreter of texts like this, and Huw Montague Rendall has the lyrical depth to give us a matchless Mein teurer Heiland – not too jaunty and hurried but with that hint of a D major resurrection in the moment of death. Not everyone will like the underlying philosophy that the singers in the arias are accompanied by the instruments rather than equal partners with them, as Zerfliesse reveals most clearly.

The splendidly drilled choir of 6.4.4.5 (a little light on alto tone) always sings separately from the six principal singers; it is miked independently so that the balance between choir, orchestra (5.4.3.1.1 strings) and soloists can be balanced artificially. All this, of course, is standard recording practice, and makes for a fine dramatic whole, which Raphaël Pichon in his liner notes spells out in his enthusiastic way, showing that he understands Bach’s take on the theology of St John’s passion gospel: The hinge-point choral Durch dein Gefängnis is sung pianissimo and unaccompanied to make the point. But when every moment of the Evangelista’s narrative is milked for its drama, then we start to suffer overkill.

Is this a conception that Johann Sebastian would recognise? Most disconcertingly for me, the exchanges between the Evangelista and the turba are between people on different planets: However sharply the turba sing and however beguiling the Evangelista woos them into his story, they yield two different sound worlds. This will be true of all performances in which the singers are divided in the modern way into being either soloists or members of the choir. This performance contradicts – as do many modern takes on the Johannes-Passion – not only what we know about how Bach conceived his music but also about how it was received. Bach’s principal singers were the basic chorus – the core participants in his Passions – to which others were added. It was emphatically not like opera, a spectacle out there with distinct roles at which we, the distant spectators, marvelled. It is we who are the participants: We are both the agents of the drama and at the same time the worshippers in church on Good Friday. A performance of the Johannes-Passion that strives for the pinnacle of excellence in its individual components may fall down on the one thing that is absolutely essential – the interconnectedness of the individual parts to the whole.

Listeners need to make up their own minds about performances like this, which many will admire and assume that this is just what Bach would have wanted. It will fill concert halls and sell the CDs. But for me, the central factor – the integrity of the whole – is missing.

David Stancliffe

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Recording

Baroque Anatomy – 5 The Eye

CD cover Baroque Anatmoy 5 Bach Telemann

Marcello Gatti flute, Alessandro Tampieri, violin, Accademia Bizantina, directed by Ottavio Dantone harpsichord
65:23
HDB Sonus HDB-AB-ST-006

Behind the rather curious heading lies an intriguing project by the consistently innovative director of Accademia Bizantina. It involves the recording of Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos issued not as a set of all six in the usual way, but rather giving each a CD to itself and surrounding it with works by Bach or his contemporaries that have a connection in instrumentation or other reason. The anatomy part the title is a rather obscure conceit, the explanation for which I leave readers to discover from Ottavio Dantone’s notes if they buy the disc, which is so exhilarating that everyone ought to at least hear it, better still, own it.

To finish explanations, there should by now be no reason not to have worked out that the ‘5’ in the title tells us that the first Brandenburg to be featured is No 5 in D, BWV 1050. The obvious companion included is the Triple Concerto in A minor, BWV 1044, which features the same three solo instruments: flute, violin and harpsichord. Also closely related as to instrumentation is Telemann’s Concerto for Flute and Violin in E minor, TWV 52: e3. Finally Bach’s eldest son Carl Philipp Emanuel moves us from the Baroque to the galant with his Flute Quartet in A minor, Wq 93, a late (1788) work actually scored for just flute, violin and harpsichord (which plays two parts) that at least in its playful outer movements is surprisingly close to the spirit of the rococo for a minor key work by CPE. A more expected mood comes with the central Largo e sostenuto, which inhabits the profoundly expressive world of Empfindsamkeit so closely associated with CPE Bach. Described in the notes as having five movements, the Telemann E minor Concerto is more accurately in four movements, the extremely brief Adagio that links the third and fourth movements acting purely as a bridge. Its opening movement has no tempo indication and is indeed one of the few places where Dantone’s chosen tempo might be queried, it sounding rather peremptory at such a very brisk speed.

No such caveats arise with the Bach concertos. Dantone has long been an exceptional exponent of Bach’s instrumental music and both are outstanding performances, notable above all for his ability to achieve an excellent balance, every contrapuntal strand thus emerging with exceptional clarity. To outer movements can be added a buoyancy and at appropriate moments a quite delicious and irresistible lightness of touch – try the opening of the final Allegro of Brandenburg 5 for a fine example. In contrast, a movement like the central Affettuoso of the same concerto breathes an aura of ineffable tranquillity, its cantabile beautifully spun by the soloists who are not averse to subtle touches of additional ornamentation. Indeed, this is most likely the moment to stress that the playing of all three soloists is first-rate throughout. Dantone’s own contribution underlines his special credentials as a Bach interpreter, seizing his great moment – the magnificent cadenza at the end of the opening Allegro of Brandenburg 5 – with a display of supreme virtuosity that is always within the bounds of sheer musicality. At the other end of the scale, listen to the sweetly empathetic exchange between flautist Marcello Gatti and violinist Alessandro Tampieri, the long-time leader of Academia Bizantina, in the beguilingly lovely Adagio of the Telemann Concerto.

Whether or not you buy into Dantone’s concept for presenting a set of the Brandenburg Concertos, there can be no argument that it is a quite exceptional start to the series. These performances joyously live and breathe a mastery and musical virtuosity that is there to illuminate the music, not the performers.

Brian Robins

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Recording

Divine Impresario

CD cover Divine Impresario Randall Scotting Academy of Ancient Music

Nicolini on Stage
Randall Scotting countertenor, Mary Bevan soprano, Academy of Ancient Music, directed by Laurence Cummings
78:37
signum classics SIGCD986

This CD concentrates on the career and repertoire of Nicolò Grimaldi, one of the first celebrity castrati and better known to his adoring public by the stage name Nicolini – the famous theatre-goer Samuel Pepys mentions the first of the Italian castrati to visit London in the years prior to Nicolini’s residence, although he is unimpressed. Famous for his stage presence as much as for his fine mezzo-soprano voice, an account of Nicolini wrestling a lion while dressed in a pink flesh suit and singing “Mostro crudel che fai?” by Francesco Mancini evokes this bizarre phase in operatic history – I leave you to devise your own Pink Panther jokes. Such was the impact of this implausible scene on audiences that they demanded that the lion be ‘revived’ for a series of encores! Perhaps for those of us with vivid imaginations, it is fortunate that Randall Scotting spares us Mancini’s setting, singing “Mostro crudel” in the setting by Riccardo Broschi, the brother of one of Nicolini’s successors as star castrato, the legendary Farinelli – towards the end of his career, Nicolini actually appeared onstage in Venice with Farinelli. Scotting has a mellow mezzo-soprano voice, and in his account of lyrical numbers such as Mancini’s “E vano ogni pensiero” he goes a long way to explaining Nicolini’s enormous popularity. Fortunately for us, in addition to performing music by the likes of Gasparini, Porporo, Ariosti and Giaj, Nicolini spent some time in London working with the young Handel, and undoubtedly influencing the young composer’s impressive early efforts at opera. As well as giving ravishing accounts of the slower, expressive arias, Scotting is more than capable of negotiating the virtuoso demands of some of the more flamboyant music audiences came to expect of their castrato idols. He also joins forces with HIP royalty, Mary Bevan, for three lovely duets, while he benefits throughout from beautifully idiomatic orchestral support from the Academy of Ancient Music under the direction of Laurence Cummings, who also contribute a fine account of the Sinfonia from Handel’s Rinaldo. As intriguing as the arias from Rinaldo and Amadigi, in which Nicolini premiered the title role, are the arias and duets by the less familiar composers, part of the ferment of operatic activity in the early 18th century.

D. James Ross

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Recording

Telemann: Complete violin concertos vol. 9

CD cover Telemann Complete violin concertos vol 9 Huber van Heerden L'Orfeo

Julia Huber, Martin Jopp, Lucas Schurig-Breuß, L’Orfeo Barockorchester, directed by Carin van Heerden
61:17
cpo 555 699-2

This recording represents the conclusion of a 22-year project to bring to the fore the varied works for one, two, three and four violins (with and without bass), including nine suites with solo violin, and TWV55:g8 with two.

Originally under the directorship and lead violin Libby Wallfisch (co-founder of the orchestra), the previous eight volumes display such admirable qualities right from the outset back in 2004.

Now it is time for the former “understudies” Julia Huber and Martin Jopp to step up and shine in these works coming from the Eisenach period 1708-12. One can hear the agile binary effect for two violins right from the fanfare-like opening intrada of the D-major concerto (a premiere). It is easy to imagine Telemann’s old musical sparring partner, the dance-master, composer Pantaleon Hebenstreit (1668-1750, inventor of a kind of dulcimer) on the instrument alongside him as they bounce off each other in vivid, engaged interplay. Julia’s 1680 Mantuan school violin has an incisive tone which often fizzes through the passages, or casts a wistful spell of melancholy in the slower movements, like both the opening and third movements of the G minor double violin concerto (quite a rare piece, for which Prima la musica! receives warm thanks for supplying the parts material here.)

In the penultimate work, the superbly contoured G major concerto, Julia Huber’s solo playing is most articulate. In the final Presto, she captures the dynamic spirit with a splendid little cadenza.

Closing the CD, the exquisite ripieno concerto in E minor, whose first movement was expanded in Dresden to make a kind of sinfonia to a cantata. Some wonderful writing here catches the ear, not least the tender Cantabile second movement, then the final, vigorous gigue–styled Presto.

Amongst these fine early examples of Telemann’s violin concertos, we have yet another take on the viola concerto, reputedly one of the earliest for this instrument.

This series has been like the vibrant and florid cover photography, a bright, vivid transit through some very noteworthy pieces, some of Telemann’s most engaging and entertaining works for violin(s).

David Bellinger