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Haydn 2032: No. 19 Trauer

Haydn 2032 No. 19 Trauer

Il Giardino Armonico, conducted by Giovanni Antonini
78:22
Alpha Classics 1101

One of several fascinating aspects of Giovanni Antonini’s marvellous series of Haydn symphonies is the unexpected nature of many of the small bonus pieces he includes. The present release provides a particularly striking example, with two of Haydn’s so-called ‘Sturm und Drang’ symphonies juxtaposed with the brief stillness of Arvo Pärt’s Da pacem Domine, dedicated to the victims of the Madrid railway station terrorist attack in 2004, and Samuel Scheidt’s deeply sonorous Paduana Dolorosa à 4, published in 1621, at the start of the devastating Thirty Years War. For Antonini’s reasoning behind the interposing of these pieces with the Symphonies Nos. 52 in C minor and 44 in E minor, ‘Trauer’, you will have to read his note in the CD booklet. I very much hope you will do so, for it means you are likely to have come by another addition to the series. In addition, one of Haydn’s symphonies not part of the familiar numbered collection, No. 108 in B flat, is also included.

Symphonies No 44 (ca 1772) and 52 (1774) stand at the heart of the so-called ‘Sturm und Drang’ group of symphonies, works characterised by emotional extremes that, particularly in their opening movements, are expressed through jagged, angular motifs and a restless urgency that stands at the polar opposite of the misconceived (in several respects) image of Haydn as the genial ‘father of the symphony’. The E minor especially is a magnificent work, given an impressive strength and tension by its unison opening that never lets up, here in part at least because the razor-sharp playing of Il Giardino Armonico adds its own degree of intensity. This precision has, of course, been a feature of the playing of both the ensembles Antonini has employed in the cycle, and remarkably it has not been bought at the cost of affection or warmth. Those qualities are here particularly evident in the serenity of the Adagio, placed as the third movement after a display of contrapuntal wizardry in the ‘Canone in Diapason’ (i.e. at the octave). The Adagio gives the work its name (not bestowed by Haydn) and is believed to stem from the composer’s request that it be played at his own funeral, while the C minor was identified by the Italian poet Giuseppe Carpani as one of three (the others are Nos. 39 and 26 ‘Lamentatione’) composed for Holy Week and performed in the chapel at Eisenstadt.

The Symphony No. 108 missed out on being included in the catalogue of Haydn’s symphonies on account of it being transmitted in some sources as a ‘partita’ rather than a symphony. It is an early work, dating from 1762 and composed as a tribute to Haydn’s first Esterházy employer, Prince Paul Anton II, who died that year. But there is nothing funereal here in a work that opens with a bright, fleet-footed Allegro before continuing to a lively, spirited Minuet followed by an Andante displaying a graceful gravity. The symphony ends with a hectic, dynamic Presto. The long, sustained chords of the Pärt and profundity of the Scheidt make an ideal foil for the dramatic intensity of ‘Sturm und Drang’ Haydn. As suggested above, the performances of all these works maintain the highest standards previously well-established in this endlessly rewarding series.

Brian Robins

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Recording

A Musical Offering

CD cover A musical offering Bach's journey to Potsdam 1747

1747 – Bach’s journey to Potsdam
Le Caravansérail
67:21
Ramée RAM2508

BEWARE: this interesting and elegantly prepared CD is not another recording of The Musical Offering, but a musical offering by the trio Le Caravansérail, traverso, violin and harpsichord, presented in a card case illustrated by the elements of an 18th-century travelling picnic satchel.

The trio plays a number of works, including parts of BWV 1079 – the Ricercar a 3, the Sonata and the Canon perpetuus super thema Regium – and also a plausible version of BVW 1032, here reconstructed by Frank Theuns from its mutilated state and transposed to G minor. By C.P.E there is a sonata (Wq 143) and a Trio a Cembalo obligato e Violino (Wq 72), and by Wilhelm Friedemann a trio a 2 Flauti e Cembalo (Fk 49). Of the instruments, listed with their makers and the originals they are made after, the actual period survivor is Sophie Gent’s violin, a Jacob Stainer of 1676.

The numbers that form the programme are strung together round the concept of the arduous journey to Potsdam, at the end of which Johann Sebastian was thrust into the King’s presence to perform at once, only later to complete his fully worked and majestic contrapuntal chef-d’oeuvre. Writing the liner notes, Frank Theuns makes a good case for displaying the talents of the better-known of Bach’s family members together as a kind of holiday photograph album.

The group’s style of performance is French orientated, with lovely languid slow movements and vivid notes inégales, and swaying, dance-inspired faster movements of the sons’ galant style. Balance is good, and the decision not to use a string bass with the resonant bass register of the harpsichord is vindicated here.

Whether you will feel moved to buy this CD, I am not sure: the performance has merits, and the concept is worthwhile, but I am not sure I will return to it often. It is the kind of programme you would delight in finding on offer at a late evening recital in a busy festival.

David Stancliffe

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Recording

Bach: French Suites BWV812–817

CD cover Andrew Arthur Bach French Suites

Andrew Arthur harpsichord
108:51 (2 CDs in a single case)
Resonus Inventa INV1021

The French Suites on this pair of CDs follow the release of the Clavier concertos Andrew Arthur made with a small string band led by Theresa Caudle under the aegis of the Hanover Band that I much enjoyed and reviewed for the EMR in 2022 and 23.

Here he plays BWV 812, 814 and 817 on a double manual by Andrew Garlick of 2009 after a Goujon in the Paris Conservatoire of 1749 and is the instrument in Trinity Hall, Cambridge, where Andrew Arthur is a fellow; while BWV 815, 813 and 816 are played on an instrument by Keith Hill after a Taskin of 1769 in the Russell Collection at Edinburgh University. Both instruments are tuned in Neidhardt “fur ein grosse Stadt” of 1724 at A=415 Hz. They are a nicely balanced pair, and Arthur’s neat and lyrical playing makes them sing. The one by Keith Hill has an especially nutty character, reminding me of the tone of an oboe da caccia. These are not performances that are full of clanging post-Wanda Landowska neo-Baroquery effects, but something much more subtle, like the use of the lute stop in Menuet of 814 with a gentler 8’ for the Trio.

But almost more significant than the eloquent performances are Arthur’s fascinating notes on pages 8 – 11 of the booklet on sources and performance decisions. He traces the material from its first version in the 1722 Clavier-Büchlein for Anna Magdalena through to its sole surviving autograph made by Johann Christoph Altnickol which contains the later composed sixth suite, finished no later than 1725. Then there are the multiple versions made by pupils and other copyists, all of which Arthur has studied.

All this gives the performer today a challenge about which version to use and in which order to play the movements in each suite. Arthur lists the many manuscript sources, and invites to listener to appreciate his own choices in the performances he gives us. The context of his choices, underlined by the venue for this recording – Trinity Hall’s small-scale chapel – is one of comparative domesticity rather than the grand bravura performances of some more ‘soloistic’ versions of the French Suites available, and I very much warmed to this studied and studious version.

You will learn much, and will not tire of listening to them repeatedly.

David Stancliffe

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Recording

Sturm und Drang 4

CD cover Sturm und Drang 4 Alexandra Lowe The Mozartists Ian Page

Alexandra Lowe soprano, The Mozartists, conducted by Ian Page
73:44
Signum SIGCD1012

This invaluable series – reviews of vols 2 and 3 can be read on this site – continues with a group of works that have a loose association with the literary movement founded on Goethe’s The Sorrows of Young Werther (1774). It is however not too reiterative to stress again that there are no identifiable links between the music associated with ‘Sturm und Drang’ (‘storm and stress’) and the literary movement most famously associated with Goethe’s famous proto-Romantic novel. Neither are there cohesive connections between the music identified with the term.

Notwithstanding there are general characteristics that allow the term to be applied to certain works, among them the use of minor keys, dramatic, fiery outbursts and the undisguised expression of deeply-felt emotion. This unrestrained intensity of emotional outpouring can be heard from the outset of one of the earliest works on the present disc, Haydn’s Symphony No 45 in F sharp minor, ‘Farewell’ (1772). Here that fieriness is announced at a finely-judged tempo enhanced by the Mozartists, whose technically assured and idiomatic playing is indeed one of the distinguishing features not just of the present disc but of the series as a whole. ‘The Farewell’ is of course one of the better-known of the middle-period Haydn symphonies, owing its fame largely to the story of the composer’s none-too-subtle hint to his employer Prince Esterházy that his musicians did not want the long summer holiday at Esterháza to be further extended and wished to go back to Eisenstadt to their wives and families.

Tommaso Traetta’s Antigona dates from the same year and is the dramma per musica that marked the start of the revival of interest in his music, having been recorded complete by Christophe Rousset as long ago as 2000 following a concert performance at the Beaune Festival. First given at the court of Catherine the Great in St Petersburg, it has a libretto by Marco Coltelini based on Sophocles’s great tragedy and shows the influence of the ongoing operatic reforms and French tragédie lyrique. The recitative and aria sung by Antigona near the start of Act 2 is one of the most exceptional passages. Antigona has come with her serving women to cremate her murdered brother Polinices. The superb accompagnato and aria ‘Ombra cara’/’Io resto sempre’ are darkly passionate and here projected with good diction and dramatic intensity by soprano Alexandra Lowe, though some may find her vibrato troublesome at times. But she manages a splendid trill at the cadence of the repeat, for me as regular readers will know, a saving grace for any singer!

With the exception of a lack of control in the upper register at odd moments, Lowe also does very well by the aria di furia ‘Vorrei punirti’, hurled at her fiancé Count Belfiore by the aristocratic Arminda in Mozart’s La finta giardiniera (Munich, 1775), a so-called dramma giocoso featuring comic, semi-serious and serious characters. But Lowe’s finest moment on the CD arguably comes not in singing but the spoken word. This is an extract from the Bohemian Georg Anton Benda’s melodrama Medea, written for a famous actress Sophie Seyler and first given in Leipzig in 1775. Melodrama, a dramatic work or part of one in which the spoken word is set within a musical context, fascinated Mozart when he heard Medea in Mannheim, but although he was obviously aware of the dramatic possibilities, he never himself used it apart from in parts of the abandoned Zaide of 1779-80. The passage here involves the terrifying climax of the adaptation of Euripides drama in which the thwarted sorceress Medea expresses her last thoughts and actions set against Benda’s highly dramatic score. Alexandra Lowe’s finely-nuanced performance is electrifyingly powerful, sweeping all before her.

Finally, the splendid three-movement Symphony in C minor by Frankfurt-born Joseph Martin Kraus, composed in Vienna in 1783, apparently dedicated to Haydn and the latest music in the programme. The work is archetypal Sturm und Drang, perhaps nowhere more remarkably so than in the slow Larghetto that precedes the main opening Allegro. Here the dissonant opening on high strings seems to be a prelude to some as yet unknown tragedy, the threat of which hangs over the superbly sustained brooding mood achieved by the playing of the Mozartists under Ian Page. Page’s total empathy with the music is indeed the single most distinguished feature of the performances both here and in earlier discs of a series further graced by his scholarly notes. And there are still three more projected CDs to come. They cannot do so soon enough!

Brian Robins

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Recording

Orlando Gibbons 400

CD cover Orlando Gibbons 400 Friederike Chylek

An English Keyboard Legacy
Friederike Chylek harpsichord
48:27
Resonus Inventa INV1022

Arguably the outstanding interpreter of Byrd’s keyboard music from her generation, Friederike Chylek turns her attention to Byrd’s younger Chapel Royal colleague (and possible though undocumented pupil) Orlando Gibbons, the quatercentenary of whose death occurred last year. To present Gibbons’ music in contemporary perspective, she includes a few works by Byrd himself, and by Byrd’s documented pupil John Bull, the date of whose birth fell between the other two.

Ms Chylek’s strengths are a wonderful grasp of melodic line, an impeccable sense of momentum, and superb clarity of contrapuntal discourse. It will come as no surprise to those aware of her other recordings that many of her interpretations on this disc are the best, or equal the best, of the works under consideration. Critics and musicologists (apart from the late John Harley) seem inhibited about celebrating and revelling in exotic or well-constructed chords in Tudor music. Gibbons’ Fantasia in A minor “in four parts” is adorned by the composer with several, and Ms Chylek plays these perfectly, with every note audible and immaculately balanced. I cannot think of a better version on disc, nor of the famous Pavan and Galliard for Lord Salisbury. The other works by Gibbons included on this disc are The Italian Ground, Galliard in C major (MB20/25), Fantasia in D minor (MB20/8), Ground in A minor (MB29/26), and The Queen’s Command.

I was particularly interested to hear Ms Chylek’s take on Byrd’s Pavan and Galliard for Philippa Tregian. Besides being one of the greatest pairings of this sort in the entire repertory, the second strain, in its understated way, paradoxically reaches a profundity achieved by only the most gifted composers and, particularly in the varied repeat, delves where nobody had been before in keyboard music. Playing this passage requires the utmost clarity of line and steadiness of tempo. Of previous recordings, only Colin Booth on his all-Byrd The Melodious Birde matches Ms Chylek’s sensitivity to Byrd’s intense introspection.

She also plays two sets of folksong variations by Byrd. Callino casturame is again the equal of any other recording and has a good claim to be the best available, bringing out all that is delightful in Byrd’s fresh textures and affectionately creative ruminations on the original theme. John come kiss me now is a rite of passage for Byrd recitalists: a longer work that requires a sense of ebb and flow while controlling the overall shape, plus a dazzling technique to cope with Byrd’s teeming enjambment across sections later in the work. Suffice to say Ms Chylek copes with all this capably.

Bull is represented by just two pieces. Predictably but appropriately, Bull’s Goodnight closes the album. The other piece is his Country Dance and this leads me to my one reservation about this disc. This seems to be the only available recording of the work, and is therefore an excellent choice. (On all the available evidence we can securely ignore Thurston Dart’s typically whimsical protestation over the attribution of this piece to Bull.) However, the running time for the entire record is only 48’27. I fully understand that constraints of time and/or money might well be in play here, but another half hour of music could have been accommodated. It would have been wonderful to hear Ms Chylek playing Gibbons’ heartfelt Pavan in d minor (MB20/16) and – even on a disc celebrating Gibbons – a couple of Byrd’s pavan and galliard pairings from left field, such as BK 16 (Dowland would have given his right arm for the theme opening the Galliard!) or the majestic and sonorous BK 76-77, glory which only survives in a playable form by the skin of its teeth and so should be cherished all the more. That said, such is the concentration of excellence on this disc – in Ms Chylek’s playing and in the music itself – that any reservations remain just that and are not complaints. Indeed, I warmly recommend it.

Richard Turbet

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Recording

Handel: Theodora

CD cover Handel Theodora Alarcon

Soloists, Chœur de Chambre de Namur, Millenium Orchestra, conducted by Leonardo Garcia Alarcón
166:16 (3 CDs)
Ricercar RIC 485

It has hardly been a well-kept musical secret that my enthusiasm for the work of Leonardo Garcia Alarcón has over a long period of time been distinctly lacking, particularly in the instance of his over-bloated performances of 17th-century music. It therefore came as a considerable surprise when he started on a series of Handel’s oratorios that has turned out to be outstanding and which to date includes Solomon (review HERE), Samson, and Semele. Now he has turned with equal success to what for many is the greatest of all Handel’s oratorios, Theodora.

If that is a verdict that today would be endorsed by many, it was by no means always the case. First performed in the spring of 1750 at Covent Garden, Theodora was distinctly unsuccessful. In the no-nonsense words of Handel enthusiast the Earl of Shaftsbury, ‘The Town don’t like it at all’. Several explanations can be advanced, one non-musical. Days before the premiere, London had been rocked by unusually strong earth tremors and a number of its citizens had deserted the capital in fear. More directly, there is the nature of the oratorio itself. Its libretto by Thomas Morrell, the author of some half a dozen of Handel’s librettos, is unique in that its text is the only one set by Handel that is not drawn from the Bible. Rather, it was based on early Christian history as related in a 17th-century romance by Robert Boyle, The Martyrdom of Theodora and Didymus (1687). Handel is known to have entertained a particularly soft spot for the oratorio, the disappointing reception of which caused him considerable pain. His enthusiasm is not difficult to understand. To a greater degree than usual in oratorio librettos the dramatic possibilities in the story of Roman force opposed to Christian faith are self-apparent. We therefore have at one extreme the uninhibited exuberance of the Roman revellers as they celebrate their pagan festival, at the other the quiet, prayerful confidence of the Christians. That it is the latter that inexorably come to dominate the work can be illustrated in a comparison that shows of 24 arias only five have a marking of allegro or quicker, an exceptional statistic for an 18th-century dramatic work. That, too, may provide further explanation for the disappointment of early audiences; they were simply not used to the idea of an elegiac Handel and missed the overwhelming choruses.

It is that disparity of mood that forms one of the reasons for Alarcón’s success with the work. In this he is fortunate to have at his disposal the superb Namur Chamber Choir, which portraying either the verve of the Roman mob or devotional Christians does so with total commitment and impeccable sense of style. This ability to capture the dramatic essence of the work applies to Alarcón’s direction of the splendid Millenium Orchestra, which plays with an impressive depth of sonority, particularly in the lower register, which belies the slim number of performers (two cellos, one double-bass). Alarcón’s overall direction captures the oratorio’s individual character to outstanding effect, producing a performance exuding colour and far removed from the staid monochrome English oratorio tradition. This being Alarcón there are of course controversial or eccentric elements. The contrast of tempo is further exaggerated by a tendency to take slower ones too slowly and vice versa, although there is nothing here that jars too much. What does jar from time to time is the conductor’s propensity for a continuo section that is ripely constituted and ripely active in its production of arpeggiations, broken chords etc etc. It is quite extraordinary how conductors and theorbists (in particular) seem unable to understand that florid continuo realisation is not only egotistical but unmusical and ill-mannered toward singers, from whom it diverts attention. The changes from harpsichord to organ keyboard continuo within a single number are at times disconcerting.

The soloists – Sophie Junker (Theodora), Dara Savinova (Irene), Christopher Lowrey (Didymus), Matthew Newlin (Septimus), Frederico Projecto (Messenger) and Andreas Wolf (Valens) – will be largely familiar names from the earlier Alarcón oratorio recordings. They form a fine team, led by Junker’s bright, innocent-sounding Theodora, some less convincing ornamentation notwithstanding. But the major kudos go to the coal black bass of Andreas Wolf, in his element as the strutting, bullying governor Valens. For reasons not explained, Irene’s aria ‘Bane of Virtue’ (Part 1) is cut.

There is already an exceptional Theodora in the catalogue in the shape of Paul McCreesh’s Archiv version, one of his finest recordings. Its lack of reservations of the kind noted above leaves it as the standout recommendation. Yet, as with his previous Handel oratorio recordings, there is a compelling commitment about Alarcón’s performance that I would not now wish to be deprived of.

Brian Robins

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Recording

Vieni, o notte

Vieni o notte Francesca Aspromonte Boris Begelman

Cantatas and sonatas by Alessandro Scarlatti
Francesca Aspromonte soprano, Arsenale Sonoro, directed by Boris Begelman violin
69:00
Aparté AP428

Much of the music included in this intriguing collection serves as a reminder that Alessandro Scarlatti was one of a small body of musicians – Corelli was another – who was a member of the Roman Arcadian Academy. Remembered today in the music world for its major role in the reformation of dramme per musica, the literary society sought to return to the purity of classical Greek simplicity. The Arcadians turned to pastoral themes, explored at its soirees held in the palace gardens of Rome’s sacred and secular nobility. The three extended chamber cantatas include two that are actually termed serenatas, the term used for outdoor works given in the evening. While all three feature night as a trope, there is no evidence of composition for Arcadian concerts.

‘Notte ch’in carro d’ombre’, H 480 and ‘All’hor che stanco il sole’, H 33 are both multi-movement works with an instrumental introduction scored for solo soprano, two violins and continuo. Both probably date from the early years of the 18th century, while ‘Silenzio aure volanti’, H 662 has fewer movements and is identified in the singer’s booklet note as dating from a little earlier in the 17th century. What all three works share is a narrative pursued by characters whose names are familiar from pastoral poetry – Tirsi and Amarilli in H 480, unnamed in H 662, and Fileno and Clori in H 33 – and a freedom of form that ranges over plain recitative, accompagnato, arioso and aria, at times blurring the boundaries between them. In the early movements of H 480, night and its shadows are evoked by the restless lover in the hope that now day is done they will lead the lover to his beloved under cover of darkness. The mood in the opening sections is restless, yet at the same time evocative of night’s mystery and secrecy. The mood is beautifully captured by Francesca Aspromonte, whose rich, almost burnished soprano never spreads or becomes too fulsome. Her ornamentation is restrained but stylish. My only slight reservation concerns the final aria, where the exhausted Amarilli calls for death as a permanent answer to the pains of love. Here Aspromonte is arguably a little too overtly operatic. The instrumental support is fine, although throughout the programme the continuo playing is not infrequently too keen to assert itself and is indeed often more of an obbligato character than basso continuo. It is, as I have observed on numerous occasions and will doubtless do so on numerous more, one of the greatest plagues of modern Baroque performance, with lutenists in the forefront of culprits.

H 662 opens with a long, melismatic line, a call to the winds to be still, ‘Silenzio aure volanti’ repeated at the end of the first passage of recitative, actually more quasi-arioso, a mark of the freedom with which this text in particular is treated. The superb H 33, for which this is claimed as a first recording, explores the sequence of emotions passed through by the rejected lover. At its heart is the exquisite aria ‘Aure placido e serene’, a call to gentle breezes to convey the tears of the forlorn lover to his beloved, that finds Aspromonte employing her mezza voce to particularly exquisite effect.

The vocal works are punctuated by two of Scarlatti’s Sonate a Quattro senza cembalo, No 4 in D minor and No 3 in G minor. Both are scored for strings alone and are cast in four movements, serious works that unflaggingly explore fugal writing or contrapuntal textures. Although some of the movements of the sonatas were included in a set of Concertos cobbled together by Benjamin Cooke and issued in 1740, they are not be confused with the more famous set of 12 Concerti Grossi by Charles Avison, published in 1744, which were drawn mainly from harpsichord sonatas by Domenico Scarlatti. They are persuasively played by Arsenale Sonoro, making a positive contribution to a CD of all-round interest to a general audience in addition to fans of Francesca Aspromonte.

Brian Robins

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Recording

Haendel – Inexorable amour: Cantate virtuose

Inexorable amour: Cantate virtuose

Marie Lys soprano, Orchestre de l’Opéra Royal, conducted by Gaétan Jarry
73:26
Versailles Spectacles CVS 168

One of the rare singers that seem equally at home in Italian or French Baroque repertoire, the Swiss soprano Marie Lys remains for me something of a paradox. Capable of exquisitely sensitive portrayals such as that of the eponymous role in Christophe Rousset’s recent issue of Lully’s Proserpine – listen here, for example, to the seductive caressing of the words, ‘no, non partir’ (do not leave me) in the second aria from Crudel tiranno Amor, HWV 97 – she is at the same time prone to force the voice above the stave to the point of it sounding ill-produced and shrill, as it does in the earlier parts of the lavishly virtuosic Il delirio amoroso, HWV 99.

Of the four cantatas with orchestral accompaniment on the disc, HWV 99, which has a text by Handel’s Roman patron, Cardinal Benedetto Pamphili, dates from 1707, being one of the few that can be precisely dated. Uniquely among Handel’s cantatas, it includes two instrumental movements. Handel scholar Ellen Harris has suggested the text involving an Orpheus-like trip to Hades by the shepherdess Clori in a quest to recover her unfaithful lover Tirsi may have a religious sub-text, which, given the sophistication of the members of the Roman Arcadian Academy, among them Pamphili, is not beyond the bounds of possibility. The performance exudes extravagance from the outset of the opening aria, which is treated immediately to a long ornamental flourish of the kind we might more reasonably expect in the da capo, where in fact it is similarly treated in what to my ears goes beyond virtuoso singing to enter a display of vulgarity also embraced by the obbligato violin. As the mood passes through frenetic visions of hell to lighter observations of the pleasures of Elysium, so Lys’s tone loses its strident edge, there being much to charm later in the work.

Un’alma innamorata, HWV 173 also dates from 1707 and has a text by Handel’s most significant Roman patron, the Marquis of Ruspoli. It has been conjectured that it may have links with a love affair Handel is rumoured to have had in Italy with the Florentine soprano Vittoria Tarquini. The composition of the cantata coincides with a visit Tarquini made to Ruspoli in June, and it is pleasing to imagine it was premiered by Tarquini on the occasion of a banquet held in her honour. The cantata takes a lighter look at love through the eyes of a young man. With its largely syllabic setting of the text, the mood of the opening aria is innocently guileless, a mood captivatingly conveyed by Lys in the opening section but rather less persuasively in the more animated central part.

The other two cantatas are less familiar. Although composed in Rome, Sans y penser is the only cantata Handel set to a French text or more accurately two French texts, being taken from two ariettes. Here the singer takes the roles of both Silvie and Tirsis in a captivatingly faux-naif exchange of alternating recitative and aria. It suits Lys perfectly, as does the lovely opening aria of Crudel tiranno Amor, sung with an alluring lack of affectation. This is a strikingly more mature cantata composed for Margherita Durastanti, one of the composer’s favourite sopranos, in London in 1721, its three arias all finding their way into Handel’s new opera Floridante, premiered at the King’s Theatre in December of that year.

Gaétan Jarry’s direction tends to emphasize the Italianate side of Handel, a legacy of the visit to Italy, of course, drawing from Versailles’ Opéra Royal orchestra playing of considerable warmth. His choice of continuo is odd, the use of cello, double-bass, bassoon, theorbo and harpsichord or organ more reminiscent of a continuo group one might expect in a French opera orchestra than a Roman ensemble. All in all, this is very definitely a mixed bag. Listen to Il delirio amoroso and you may not wish to carry on; go to Sans y penser and you are likely to be captured to the point of near rapture.

Brian Robins

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Bach: Sonates en trio

Bach Sonates en trio Les curiosités esthétiques

Les Curiosités esthétiques
En Phases ENP022

This is a delightful CD of elegantly played trio sonata movements. The surprise for readers of the EMR lies in the choice of instruments: a traverso (Jean-Pierre Pinet), a violoncello da spalla (Vincent Roth), and a pianoforte (Vincent Bernhardt).

The traverso is a copy by Giovanni Tardino of the only surviving instrument so far (2015) discovered by the famous maker Pierre-Gabriel Buffardin, who is credited with inventing the screw cap at the end of the crown and the telescoping adjustable foot-joint which made it possible to adjust the tuning. He is likely to have been a teacher of Quantz.

The copy of the Bartolomeo Christofori pianoforte by Kerstin Schwartz dates from 1995. The original – one of three surviving instruments – dates from 1726, and by this time Christofori was making his hammer heads from rolls of several layers of handmade paper, glued together; the strings were brass, with gauges not much different from Italian harpsichords. ‘The quiet, lute-like sound…’, writes Kerstin Schwartz, ‘took some getting used to, because it was such a completely different sound than what was known from the Viennese pianos of the end of the 18th century.’

The violoncello da spalla, popularised by Sigiswald Kuijken with La Petite Bande, was invented – according to Ernst Ludwig Gerber’s famous dictionary of 1792 – by J. S. Bach in Leipzig in 1724 with the aim of facilitating the bass part in difficult and fast passages. The basso continuo line before this time was normally entrusted to a kind of bass violin called a violone, sounding at 8’ pitch. This is the instrument, rather than the viola da gamba, of Bach’s earlier versions of BWV 1027, used in this performance, and a study of Bach’s reimagining of the viola part in cantata 199 in later performances reveals that it was subsequently played on a gamba and then on a violoncello piccolo. There was considerable interchangeability among these melodic instruments once we step away from our preconceived notions of ‘string basses’.

When he died, Bach’s estate included two bassetgens and two lute-harpsichords. The timbre of the pianoforte is such that when I first listened to the CD (which I always do ‘blind’ lest I be influenced by my preconceptions), I imagined that it was one of those lute-harpsichords I was hearing.

So I found the performances captivating – beautifully balanced, clear and distinctive – and utterly plausible. The booklet is a mine of information, and, as far as I can judge from my own research for Unpeeling Bach, gives a warranty for performances of these trios in this form.

Apart from these technical considerations, the performances here showcase the skills of these players and are a welcome addition to the way in which we can hear Bach’s chamber music and have our preconceptions challenged.

David Stancliffe

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Recording

Kuhnau: Complete Sacred Works

CD cover Kuhnau Complete Sacred Works Meyer

Opella Musica – camerata lipsiensis, directed by Gregor Meyer
8 hours 58 minutes (8 CDs)
cpo 555774-2 

Once in a while a recorded project transcends commercial considerations to become nothing short of historic documentation. Such is this present collection of the complete surviving sacred works of Johann Kuhnau (1660-1722), Bach’s predecessor as Kantor at the Thomaskirche in Leipzig. Its academic credentials are indeed further established by the set being produced in conjunction with a new critical edition of Kuhnau’s works by David Erler, the countertenor of Opella Musica. Publication by Breitkopf and Härtel is currently in progress. Several of the individual issues have been reviewed by colleagues Brian Clark (vol 1) and David Stancliffe (vols 3, 5 & Zittau8), but the issue of the complete set seems an appropriate moment to attempt to place Kuhnau not only in the context of his time but also that of the sacred music of Bach.

Born to a Bohemian family that fled the Counter-Reformation, Kuhnau studied in Dresden and Italy before becoming interim Kantor at Zitttau and then a law student at Leipzig University. In 1684 he was appointed organist of the Thomaskirche, practised law and also found time to direct a collegium musicum. One of the last of the great musical polymaths, in 1700 he published Der musicalische Quacksalber, a novel satirizing modern trends in music and which mentions his now-lost opera Orpheus. The following year, Kuhnau was appointed Kantor of the Thomaskirche, a position that embraced civic in addition to religious duties. He retained it until his death, composing a huge amount of music of which only a small portion is extant.

The nearly nine hours of music spread across eight CDs includes works that look back to the 17th-century religious concerto and those that remind us that the modern cantata style of Bach is close at hand. In addition, there are a handful of Latin works, including a splendid and lavishly scored – three trumpets, timpani, two oboes and strings (five-part in ,Magnificat vol 3), and ‘Spirate clementes’ an exquisitely-wrought trio for two sopranos, bass and continuo on vol 8, which also features a concluding miscellaneous group of mostly secular vocal works including strophic songs and choruses written for plays. It would obviously be impractical to attempt analysis of the 40-odd works here, so I will content myself with a few general points that come to mind after listening to the discs over a period of time. But before doing so, there are a few observations regarding the performances which strike me as being close to ideal for a project such as this. All the choral works are sung one-voice-per-part, being finely balanced both as to ensemble and against the sometimes brilliantly conceived instrumental accompaniment. A total of five voices are employed throughout the set, giving it a pleasing unity. All are highly proficient singers more than capable of sustaining the melismatic writing Kuhnau at times introduces, especially in works like the Missa brevis for bass and strings that display Italian influence (vol 4). Just occasionally, as in this work, a more rhetorical, text-based approach would have been welcome, but at least the slight degree of understatement ensures there are going to be no aggravations on repeated listening. My only other small caveat relates to the many strophic songs and choruses, where one might have expected ornamentation to provide variation in the verses. The instrumental contribution deserves nothing but praise, and overall this is a very fine achievement that deserves fulsome congratulations.

Returning to the impressions gained from this unique overview of Kuhnau’s sacred music, there is one striking aspect that contradicts the received view of his conservatism. This gained much traction from his sometimes fractious relations with Telemann, whose poaching of Thomaskirche students for opera did not sit well with Kuhnau. Yet Kuhnau himself had played an important role in the founding of the opera company in Leipzig. More importantly, his music is consistently coloured by tone-painting given a strong character by its embellishment with daubs of chromaticism. Chorale cantatas are few, but the lovely Christmas cantata ‘Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern’ (vol. 7) (also of course set by Bach in his cantata BWV 1) is an enchanting exception. So how can we relate Kuhnau to Bach, who was certainly influenced by his predecessor? For me, for all his intellectualism, arm’s there remains in Kuhnau’s music a certain element of naivety that is not applicable to Bach. His God is a more approachable being than that of Bach, who almost always remains at a majestic arm’s length.

This set, an obligatory acquisition for anyone with an interest in Baroque sacred music, comes with a booklet including expansive (but microscopically printed) essays in German and English. For English translations of the German or Latin texts, you will need to go online.

Brian Robins