Midlife Music Musings

Seriously Unserious

2008-04-17T06:05:00.001-07:00

I have a special relationship the ukulele: it is the perfect size and because it is tuned similarly to the top four strings of a guitar, I can actually pick it up and play it. Perfect for travel transport, also perfect for aging and increasingly arthritic hands. I also have a bad habit of making impulse purchases of ukuleles while on travel and without an instrument. I bought three on various Hawaiian islands, back in the days when I traveled there frequently for business. I bought my fourth yesterday while in Palo Alto. Actually, Gryphon Stringed Instruments has an amazing collection of ukuleles and I should count myself lucky to not have walked out with the New Renaissance Compass Rose Tenor ukulele: gorgeous looks and sound. I really don't need another high-end ukulele.

Instead, I walked out with the Fluke Cowboy Stensil concert. It is, as a friend put it, "so ugly it's cute." And, it is virtually indestructible: almost entirely synthetic, except for the laminate (i.e., "plywood") soundboard and wood neck. Even the fretboard is entirely plastic. However, the instrument is resonant and sounds as good, or better, than many other all-wood instruments in its price range. I have been assured that I can bring it anywhere with me and not worry about changes in temperature and humidity. What really grabbed me, however, is the stensil on the front. The thing about ukuleles is that they really are instruments of pure, silly joy: one cannot play one (even badly) and not have people smile. Multiply that by a factor of ten for this charming little instrument.

The ukulele has an honorable history. Derived from the machête da rajao, the instrument was brought to the Islands in the mid-19th century. The "classic" ukulele (Hawaiian for "leaping flea") is so small that there is really no expectation for a solid bass, so that the "lowest" note is raised an octave, yielding a tuning of g'–c'–e'–a'. Larger instruments now use wound strings and really sound like small guitars. (The high-end instrument I was foolishly tempted to walk away with yesterday sounded better than most guitars...) Like all instruments with limited resources, the ukulele has its own virtuosi who make it exceed expectations. While at the store, I also bought a book of tablature: a volume of the "Jumpin' Jim's Ukulele Masters Series" titled "The Classical Ukulele." Transcriptions include (I know this is difficult to believe) Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring, the entire prelude from Bach's first cello suite, and even Couperin's Les Barricades Mystérieuses. I guess I have my work cut out for me.

A Fistfull of Forqueray

2008-04-14T17:15:00.001-07:00

Antoine Forqueray (la Père) was was a good viol player, but not a nice man. His wife left him five times, accusing him of being "hot headed." They separated; he lived the good life, leaving his family impoverished. Indeed, he treated his son Jean-Baptiste-Antoine Forqueray (‘le fils’) very badly—to the point of imprisoning him and even having him thrown out of the country. Sounds like a family for the Jerry Springer Show...

Forqueray ‘le fils’ published his father's viol pieces twice after his death: one edition for the viol with figured bass, the other a keyboard transcription that provides us with some of the instrument's most engaging music. In fact, it's not really clear how much of this music is the son's and how much the father's. At least three pieces were by the son, and they are so similar to the rest that they are impossible to pick out. All pieces are so harmonically progressive that it is challenging to place them in the same century as la Père. Regardless of parentage, I find I grow more fond of this music over time. Especially, in the hands of the right performer.

My introduction was not good: Christoph Rousset's 2-CD collection was my first. It left me cold when I first acquired it, and listening to it today, I find it rushed and without grace, so much so that I have to wonder what was going on. Was Rousset bored, just uninspired, or perhaps under pressure by the label to win a marathon and squeeze the music into as few bits as possible? Either way, this is a Forqueray to avoid, but I do like the sound of the instrument: the 1761 Hemsch in Paris. I mention the sound because it provides a sharp contrast to my latest recording, by Blandine Rannou, which has a marvelous performance, but a disappointing sound.

Blandine Rannou consistently marches to her own drummer with her performances, especially in her selection of tempos. Her trademark is to boldly plod slowly, yet perfectly, so that one savors almost each separate note. This is not the limitation of technique, for she has considerable resources, but rather a reflection of her own unique vision. As I have said before, I like Rannou because her performances always make me think. In contrast, it seems that Rousset's later recordings do nothing by annoy me.

Rannou's 2-CD set include all five suites, and I could hardly imagine a more opposite interpretation from Rousset's. Her tempos are so broad that the order of the suites had to be rearranged to fit everything onto 2 CDs, even then the first suite is split across the two CDs. This is a Forqueray that breaths, that carries the essence of "Frenchness" in its perfect notes inegales, and that shows the harpsichord to be the better medium for the music. In fact, according to the notes, Rannou didn't just play directly from the 1747 edition, but enhanced it, based on her expertise in realizing continuo and working from the viol edition. To be honest, her changes aren't readily apparent, perhaps because they sound so natural. However, something went wrong with the sound. She plays on the well-recorded Hemsch copy by Anthony Sidey and I can't tell if the microphones were too close, the room too small, or some invasive engineer figured that the sound needed "improvement". Although the character of the instrument shines through, the sound is bloated and indistinct, a real disappointment for an otherwise fabulous recording.

While on the topic of Forqueray, it is worth mentioning a couple other recordings. Overall, one of my favorites is a recording I don't actually own, performed by Yannick Le Gaillard, and which doesn't seem to be available through any current source. Since I don't have the album notes, I know nothing about the instrument, which doesn't have as rich a sound as Rannou's, but better clarity of recording. Gaillard's performance is energetic, and has just the right touches of humor and pathos, a combination I would associate only with French music. The second recording of Forqueray that I procured after my disappointing Rousset was by Arthur Haas on the 1785 Jacques Germain. This recording includes only two of the suites, numbers five and two, but includes La Forqueray by Duphly and Rameau, yielding a very pleasing program. I still like this recording, but Haas lacks the "swing" of Rannou and Le Gaillard that makes this music so "French" to me, but he plays with warmth and sincerity. Even though Rousset has the more correct French "mannerisms", Haas' recording creates a much better impression, and overall, it has the best sound of them all—if only Rannou recorded her performance with this sound!

Laurent Stewart en Concert

2008-04-12T08:55:00.000-07:00

French harpsichordist Laurent Stewart has a special relationship with San Diego: last night he performed for a third time in the last seven years, establishing him as both a regular and a favorite. An unlikely favorite: Laurent's English is limited, at best, and he is generally not well known here in the U.S. Indeed, obtaining his recordings is an exercise in patience; it just took me four months to get the his recording of Marchand. Good news, however: he will apparently be recording on the Zig-Zag Territoires label—a favorite of mine—and I can only hope that word of his artistry spreads.

Stewart is a mature artist. His quiet demeanor, intense focus, and minimalist approach to hand movement doesn't suggest the showy virtuoso. However, his technique is in such abundance that his nonchalance inspires confidence. One can sit back and enjoy the music.

Although it can be unfair, or even dangerous, to limit any performer to a single period, there is no doubt in my mind that Stewart is one of the great voices for the 17th century repertoire. I vividly remember his first program here, split between Froberger and Louis Courperin: one of the most powerful solo performances in my memory. His second concert, about four years ago, focused on primarily Chambonnières and d'Angelbert, marks the start of my passion for those two; his performance of d'Anglebert's Tombeau de Mr. de Chambonnières remains etched in my memory as the most poignant.

Last night's concert bridged the 17th and 18th centuries. It opened with a suite in D minor of Louis Marchand, 1699. Marchand was, of course, a contemporary—possibly rival—of Sebastian Bach. Like Bach, he was something of an antiquarian, writing in a conservative style of the past. I have grown quite enthusiastic over his limited oeuvre: it really represents the best of the late 17th century, while cautiously looking forward to the next. I think it was wise to open with this suite, rather than the next by d'Anglebert: it is more accessible music, and the concluding Chaconne is powerful powerful and gripping. The suited opened with an unmeasured prelude, which I consider the ultimate test of an interpreter. Unmeasured preludes can easily be jumbles of notes, without meaning or direction. Under Stewart's fingers it made complete sense: every run, arpeggio, and embellishment had its place. Stewart is never academic, nor is he prone to excesses; behind the prelude was an intelligence and smoldering passion.

The first half concluded with a suite in G minor by d'Anglebert, 1689. As I said, it was fortunate that Stewart didn't open with this, not because of a deficiency of either the music or performer, but rather because the florid embellishments necessary to d'Anglebert's music may pose a challenge to those who aren't already intimate with this intimate style. Throughout the entire program, Stewart established his mastery of French ornamentation, making it sound natural, even integral to the music. I have sat on the fence over pronouncements on d'Anglebert's greatness, but I think it is time for me to make a stand: once you understand his style, his music is very much of the first class, and hearing it played as it was last night is one of Life's great pleasures.

The concert concluded with works by Rameau, bringing Stewart more firmly into the 18th century. Stewart took the Allemande from the 1728 Suite in A minor slowly, but not as slowly as Blandine Rannou. It worked for me, allowing me to really hear the notes, but I know many may favor a more vigorous, virtuosic tempo. La Triomphante was a triumph, although it seemed to me that Stewart might have been wrestling a bit with the instrument itself to negotiate the repeated notes. The finale was the solo harpsichord version of the premier concert from the Pieces de clavecin en concerts. This was a bold move, as this is fiendishly difficult music. Again, it seemed that Steward was struggling a bit with the repeated notes so prominent in La Coulicam; I think programming such a difficult piece late in a concert on a relatively unfamiliar instrument was daring. I might add that, while there were minor technical glitches, I think I noticed them more because so much of the concert was absolutely note-perfect. Whatever challenges presented themselves, Stewart always maintained the musical integrity of the piece, while preserving his nonchalance—and therefore my comfort that he was not going to "crash and burn." Note-perfect performances are largely a fantasy created by recordings, and I would take whatever minor imperfections to get the kind of energy and vision that a live performance can present.

We are fortunate to have a "regular" of Laurent Stewart's caliber in San Diego: he is always welcome here!

Crossover Calamity

2008-04-05T11:24:00.000-07:00

Someone Shoot the Percussionist, Please!

I consider Rolf Lislevand to be a most successful "crossover" early musician, but the trend for his recordings is not good. His "breakout" recording of Kapsberger (1993) was a revelation in its sound textures and energy. At the time I found the inclusion of percussion to be magical. His next crossover recording took on the codex of santiago de murcia (1999) brought similar imagination, including an exciting Latin energy that made the ensemble of baroque guitars sound more flamenco than Flamenco.

His 2001 recording based loosely on the guitar alfabeto manuscripts of Forscarini, Corbetta, and others struck me as less "authentic," and more pandering to the New Age tastes. The ensemble of that recording is quite distinguished, including Arianna Savall and Paolo Pandolfo—not to mention percussionist Pedro Estevan. There was no denying the energy and wonderful sound textures, but it is a recording that rarely tickles my fancy.

His latest recording of this ilk, Nuove musiche (2006), confirms what I consider to be a downward spiral: it is all energy and color, with little substance and some major annoyances. The worst of these annoyances are the bizarre percussion additions of Pedro Estevan: not only poorly conceived—to the point of randomness—and often tasteless. This is a recording you play twice and either give away to some unsuspecting family member or simply throw away.

Blame doesn't fall entirely on Estevan, although the consistent annoyances resulting his strange ramblings have eliminated any intent to listen a fourth time. The frantic strumming of the baroque guitars becomes glib and showy, reminiscent of some Las Vegas act. In fact, Lislevand reuses much of the Kapsberger he drew upon so effectively in his earlier recording, reducing the earlier masterpieces to caricatures. The recording opens with the ever-popular Arpeggiata, one of the most haunting harmonic progressions I can think of, then layers in a distracting and pointless percussion, and then a vocal, sung by Arianna Savall, one that is gratuitous, at best; the whole track sounds like a late night jam session in which the ensemble was so stoned that they were convinced they were creating something really deep.

The final track Toccata cromatica is the crowning assult. At one point Savall utters the words "non ho piú parole" ("I have no more words") and it is at that point that my patience is exhausted. I recognize that an intent of this recording is to demonstrate the application of modern tastes and improvisation to early music, a goal I hold to be admirable. The results just don't work for me.

There is no doubt that Lislevand has an ear for sound texture, and there are many intriguing sounds, including a very closely miked clavichord and a "nyckelharpa." In fact, instruments are all miked overly closely and the sound is very much that of a studio session. There are undoubtedly those who will like it, but I happen to think that this brilliant performer comes close to ruining some marvelous music.

Island Music

2008-03-29T08:26:00.001-07:00

I can't account for my fondness for English composers of the 19th and 20th centuries. With the exception of Vaughn Williams and Britten, they are mostly of the "second rank"—a claim that is sure to earn me the ire of some. For example, I have nearly everything of Elgar—who occasionally rises into the category of "first rank," but not consistently—and at least half a dozen recordings of the music of Arnold Bax—who occasionally sinks to bottom the category of "second rank."

I know there are some who claim that they "don't have time" to appreciate anything less than the best. If you listen only to music of the "first rank," you live in a smaller world and miss many pleasant moments. I would even argue that if all you listen to is "the best," then you can't fully appreciate just how good it is.

In scanning Fanfare, I saw an intriguing description of the music of Wlliam Sterndale Bennett by reviewer Arthur Lintgen:

There is much fairy music here. They could almost be played consecutively and function as something resembling another symphony. All of Bennett’s music sounds quite lovely. He has the same deft lightness of touch as an orchestrator as Mendelssohn, though his works are less melodically inspired.

Now, I really love Mendelssohn's "fairy music," so I ordered this CD [BENNETT The May Queen. The Wood Nymphs. The Naiades.1 Parisina. Symphony in g • Nicholas Braithwaite, cond; London PO; Philharmonia Orchestra • LYRITA 206 (64:35)].

This is, indeed, lovely music and very much like Mendelssohn. In fact, it might be even better than this recording gives credit. The sound of both orchestras (The Naiades is performed by the Philharmonia Orchestra) is top notch, as one would expect. Unfortunately, the direction under Nicholas Braithwaite is competent, but often timid and lackluster. Given a little more energy and "punch," I think this is music that could make an even stronger impression.

Bennett (1816-1875) had a close relationship with Mendelssohn; the master treated Bennett as a peer, not a student. Schumann noted an affinity in style between the two composers: "the same beauty of formn, poetic depth yet clearness, and ideal purity, the same outwardly satisfying impression, but with a difference." It seems that much of Bennett's career was stifled by the need to support himself by giving lessons; given more freedom, he might have risen to the first rank.

As for "the Island," there is no doubt that its people know how to appreciate music, both now and in eras past. It is no wonder that the likes of Handel migrated there, and was much beloved by Mendelssohn and many others.

Of the Second Rank

2008-03-23T13:36:00.000-07:00

One doesn't see a lot of references to Mozart's students. Haydn was his senior, and his longer lifespan reflects a style that both precedes and follows the younger Mozart. Beethoven apparently had hoped to study with Mozart, but it doesn't appear that they actually met (wikipedia has an interesting discussion of Beethoven and Mozart). An interesting name caught my notice: Francesco Pollini (1762-1846). Pollini was a student of Mozart, and became an important influence on 19th century piano technique, thanks to his 1811 Metodo per Clavicembalo.

Fanfare Magazine has become a valuable source of "leads" for new recordings; I especially look for reviews of recordings off the beaten track. So, when reviewer Laura Rónai wrote, 'One of the big pleasures of writing reviews is discovering the occasional fabulous composer who has been unjustly forgotten by posterity. An equal pleasure is finding a master of the second rank played with commitment and gusto by a first-class interpreter.' I figured I would have to explore that path.

Rónai nailed it when she describes Pollini as 'a master of the second rank.' His music is often brilliant, with many fine moments, but there is nothing that particularly grabs my attention, or sustains my interest. There are moments when I hear the seeds of ideas that Schubert or Mendelssohn knew how to turn into greatness. However, the music must be a delight to the virtuoso, providing ample opportunity to dazzle and impress. Indeed, the performing artist, Costantino Mastroprimiano, executes with joyous perfection; this is one talented musician who deserves music more worthy of his talent.

The recorded piano is described as a "fortepiano", but I consider it one of the early grand pianos. The notes on the instrument are untranslated, but it was built by Giovanni Heichele, Trieste, in either 1820 or 1825. It seems to be in very good condition, but I have to be honest: I find these early grand pianos to not be very satisfying to listen to. They lack the character of what I would call a "fortepiano" and the refinement of a more evolved piano. Like composers 'of the second rank,' I find such instruments of intellectual interest, but of the second rank.

Perfect Dance

2008-03-22T05:20:00.001-07:00

The organizational schema I create for iTunes is a representation of how I mentally categorize the music I listen to. The default schema has categories: Alternative, Blues/R&B, Children's Music, Classical, Dances, Easy Listening, Electronic, Folk, Hip Hop/Rap, House, and so forth. This genre classification is worthless for me: 99% of what I own falls under "classical," which is fundamentally useless by itself. Instead, I have: Baroque Guitar, Chamber, Clavichord, Concerto, Flute/Recorder, Fortepiano, Guitar, Harpsichord, etc. This demonstrates my personal focus on the instrumental media; you could have just as easily organized by period.

The point I'm driving towards is that I have one category I have added, "Misc. Solo," which is where I put recordings I don't know where else to put. It is dominated by Andrew Lawrence-King, playing baroque harp. I just added a third recording of his, Chorégraphie, which makes me wonder if I need to add a new category. However, would it be "Harp," for which I don't have a particular interest in, or "King," to represent one of the most musical performers on any musical instrument, for any genre, anywhere?

For, indeed, Andrew Lawrence-King is one of the great musicians alive, and I don't think that has anything to do with the instrument. If he played the kazoo, I'll bet it would be a favorite. His latest recording is subtitled "Music for Louis XIV's dancing masters," and it is dominated by "Preludes by Jean-Henry d'Anglebert, Overtures & dances by Jean-Baptiste Lully & Andre Campra in solo settings by d'Anglebert." In other words, largely d'Anglebert on the harp.

The recording opens with on of d'Anglebert's unmeasured preludes, one in C. If the recording had no other track, it would be worth the cost: this is the most perfectly conceived and played unmeasured prelude I have ever heard. Period. By playing on the harp, King gets the best of both worlds: the sonority of the harpsichord and the expressiveness of the lute. Fundamentally, unmeasured preludes are a jumble of notes and making those notes make sense is a challenge not every musician rises to equally. King makes every single note make sense; he is that good.

The rest of the recording follows suit: 17th century music at its very best. King's feel for both the dance pulse and ornamentation is absolutely exquisite; I fear that in saying so, my claim will be either regarded as either glib or perfunctory, but "exquisite" aptly describes it. The program is a nicely "choreographed" collection of pieces, many of which I'm not familiar with because—to be honest—Lully has never been my cup of tea. King makes me love Lully. Also included are a couple of d'Anglebert's other harpsichord pieces, including another unmeasured prelude, and each equally moving. His performance of Ennemond Gaultier's Chaconne du Vieux Gautier, arranged by d'Anglebert for harpsichord, but played on harp, suggests that old Vieux Gautier should have played the harp, not the lute.

The "triple harp" is a curious instrument. It has three "layers" of strings that provide chromatic scales without pedals. It was so popular with Welsh harpists in 17th century London that it is often referred to as the "Welsh Harp." An interesting description can be found on the web site of Moch Pydery, a Welsh music group. I find the instrument to have a gorgeous bass, but I find the treble to be rather harsh, I'm sure the result of the short gut strings and the manner by which they are played: it is not as refined a sound as the lute, but in the hands of King, it is very, very expressive.

Mozart Musings

2008-03-16T09:41:00.000-07:00

In my search for new and interesting composers, I may sometimes sound as if I didn't appreciate the "masters" enough. Nothing could be farther from the truth! I'm long overdue to profess my love for Mozart. Is such a profession even necessary? Perhaps; Glenn Gould ranted against Mozart's piano music, yet went ahead and recorded it (to me, Gould's performance manages to trivialize most of Mozart, as if to advertise his contempt.)

My periodic revival of interest in Mozart almost always begins when I listen to a recording of Die Zauberflöte. I don't love opera nearly as much as the genre deserves (a separate discussion), but the Magic Flute never fails to draw me in.

Mozart's piano works are deceptively simple. I think most of us know that playing the notes of the "easy" Sonata, KV 545, is one thing. Playing them well is another issue. When I turned 40, I took up the study of piano seriously for a couple of years. I had acquired minimal skills and maximum bad habits through a year of introductory piano study at the San Francisco Conservatory when I was not even 20. Listening to too much Glenn Gould convinced me to make another attempt at the piano as the first pangs of middle age were setting in. Fortunately, I found an excellent teacher, a student of a student of Schnabel, who did everything she could to get me back on the right track. Her love of Mozart was deep and unconditional. Except that she kept referring to the recordings of Mitsuko Uchida, whose recordings of Mozart were still relatively new at the time.

"Just how bad could she be?" I asked myself. I did the only reasonable thing I could: I bought a CD and was immediately captivated. To this day, Uchida's Mozart remains a special pleasure: it is almost as close to "perfect" as I could ask for, with the possible exception that she plays the score as-is, without any embellishments. I understand: to do so as a modern pianist is just asking for trouble from the "purists." The "purists" are wrong; in spite of every argument they may make and evidence they may produce to suggest that Mozart didn't want others messing up his masterpieces, a little light variation or embellishment on the repeats is not only "musical," but an expected practice of the day. Still, I love Uchida's wonderful sound, her perfect command of nuance, and her mastery of Mozart's wonderful melodic lines.

Ultimately, I appreciate the modern piano for its perfection of sound and action, but I also appreciate the variety of sound and texture that the fortepiano can give. Whereas any modern piano pretty much sounds like a "modern piano," there are many different fortepianos, each with its own sound and personality. The fortepiano was rapidly evolving in Mozart's day (he, of course, was equally acquainted with the harpsichord and clavichord, but that is a separate topic.) I have collected several recordings of Mozart performed on fortepianos, each with charming sound, none of with the inspired insight of Uchida. I had nearly given up hoping for an excellent fortepiano recording until I saw a review of a new recording by Marcia Hadjimarkos.

The two names most associated with the fortepiano and Mozart are Stein and Walter. The Stein fortepianos are delicate instruments, actually softer in sound than the large harpsichords of the day, that are (in my mind) the next step past the instruments of Christofori. Walter built what is often considered the "next generation" instrument: more robust, with a richer sound. Walter fortepianos seem to be especially favored because they are still distinctly a "fortepiano" in sound, but capable of doing early Beethoven justice.

Getting back to Hadjimarkos' new recording: this very talented performer's recording oeuvre is far too small; I believe I own everything: her Haydn on clavichord, Emanuel Bach on clavichord and fortepiano, and now her Mozart on fortepiano. All are treasures. Her performances are full of life and creativity, with her own distinctive personality stamped on them. For her Mozart recording, she uses a fortepiano built by Christopher Clarke after Sebastian Lengerer (1793), who was a student of Stein. The sound of this instrument is glorious: this is the fortepiano I would want, if I could afford one of Clarke's instruments. The sound quality of the recording overall is excellent, with just the right amount of room ambiance. The program is conservative and designed to please, including the Sonatas in C minor, KV 457, C major, KV 545, and B flat major, KV 333, along with three rondos. I think programming the Sonata in C major, "sonata facile," is actually quite bold: such a well-known piece leaves the performer very exposed. She gives the repeats in opening Allegro just the right amount of embellishment. In fact, her execution of ornaments reflects limits of the fortepiano action: simplified to the point where one trill that is usually flubbed by us amateurs is appropriately made into an appoggiatura. She takes the Andante rather briskly, with the advantage that it carries the melodic line very nicely and the movement doesn't drag. I can't say enough good things about this recording: it is at least as good, if not better, than Uchida's recordings.

When searching for Hadjimarkos' new recording, I bumped into a slightly older (2005) recording that I had missed by Tom Beghin. Beghin is a real "thinking man's performer" who is always looking for some "angle" or special insight; he deserves to be much better known than he is. (A Belgian by nationality, he languished in the UCLA music department for several years before moving on to McGill University, in Montreal, where appreciation for "early music" is greater.)

The "angle" Beghin takes for his recording is centered around the Walter fortepiano Mozart owned when he died. This often copied instrument is now believed to have been "upgraded" with a newer action by Walter after Mozart's death, and so, doesn't represent the sound Mozart would have experienced. According to this theory, the original action was much more like the Stein instruments. Also, and this is quite significant, it is believed that the original instrument didn't have knee levers for the dampers, but rather hand stops; this obviously would have a significant influence on how the dampers would be used. Beghin's instrument was retrofitted with a second keyboard and damper hand stops, so that this particular instrument (build by Chris Maene) can be played both "before and after" for comparison of sound. This is intellectually very interesting, with two recordings of the Fantasia in D minor, KV 397. Beghin allows the characteristics of each "version" to dictate what he does with the music, and both interpretations are very nice. However, placing the same piece twice on a recording is musically bad programming (it is interesting that Hogwood did the same with the same piece on his recording, The Secret Mozart. I love that Fantasia and hate to see it overexposed like this.)

Like Hadjimarkos, Beghin's performance is full of energy and passion. I find Beghin a little more prone to interpretive melodrama, taking more rhythmic license. I'm afraid that his instrument isn't as nice sounding as Hadjimarkos', either "before" or "after", although I prefer the "after"; nor is the recorded sound as nice: it seems a little too dry. In addition to the dual performance of the Fantasia, he places a sheet of paper on the strings in the Alla Turca to get a "drumming" effect popular with later instruments; this is mildly interesting at first, then grows wearisome. I find his use of the different pedaling resources to be very compelling, and overall his demonstration of the resources of both versions of the fortepiano illuminating. This is a recording that one listens to more because it is "interesting", than because of the program and performance itself. This is not to say that it isn't a very good recording that I will listen to often—probably minus the Alla Turca track.

Returning to Mitsuko Uchida: I'm sure I was an interesting—if trying—student on a number of accounts. After hearing how horrible Uchida's Mozart was too many times, I replied that I had purchased all of her recordings and found them to embody everything my teacher was trying to teach me. She was a little taken aback, then admitted that she had heard perhaps only one movement on the radio under less than ideal circumstances, and that perhaps she should listen a little more closely.

Crossover Lute

2008-03-09T10:34:00.001-07:00

The lute may have been the queen of instruments in centuries past, but it is a fringe instrument today with a cultist following. Difficulties in attracting audiences are worsened by fragmentation between the cults: acolytes of the renaissance lute view the baroque lute as a completely separate instrument, and vice versa. Lutenist Ronn McFarlane has made a bold move in recording a "crossover" program of his own compositions: new music on a renaissance-style lute.

McFarlane is perhaps best known for his exquisite specialization in the Scottish lute literature. He is a true virtuoso, a wonderful teacher, and I have been told one hell of a nice guy. I cringe every time I recall a first-hand story of him sharing a program with a guitarist in the middle of nowhere; by his half of the program the tiny audience was quickly dissipating. The life of the lutenist is hard.

McFarlane's own compositions sound like real virtuoso stuff, pushing the technique of the lute to the point that it sounds like ... a guitar. The closely placed microphone on the instrument makes this even worse; had I heard this recording without knowing what it was, I would have guessed it was a funny sounding guitar. There is absolutely nothing to the sound or music that suggests "lute." This is not to say that it is either a bad sound or bad music, but the instrument loses its identity on this recording.

The music is a clever—sometimes catchy—pop-style with roots in bluegrass banjo and guitar finger-picking. This is not deep stuff, but it is often appealing, excellent background music. It is played with energy, sometimes too much, often sounding like a caricature of playing one hears with members of the Los Angeles Guitar Quartet: strong beat, strong attack, exaggerated inflections. This hyperactive playing pushes some of the tracks, such as Chocolate Factory, just short of the point of true annoyance. Most of the compositions are notable for their busy preponderance of notes: adding to the busy, sometimes frantic ambiance. One track, fittingly titled Dowland's Goodnight, settles down and provides a suitable ode to both Dowland and the historic instrument.

All critical comments aside, I hope this recording achieves popular success, but that success would be with a very different audience than McFarlane normally performs to. It is a much better introduction to the lute than Sting's Dowland album.

The recording was released by Dorian, which miraculously is emerging from the ashes of bankruptcy. A very fine label, their survival means that McFarlane's recordings of the Scottish Lute are once again available. They are not to be missed.

Unexpected Pleasures

2008-02-26T10:28:00.001-08:00

I used to prowl for recordings, mostly at the dearly departed Tower Records stores. My serious collecting started just about twenty years ago. Frequent travel to the Silicon Valley left me all too close to the magnificent store nearest the Stanford University campus; I believe that proximity fostered a store with a particularly good selection. Of course, back then it was considerably easier to select titles, as I had very little. I remember purchasing my first recording of the Bach Inventions (performed by András Schiff); over the years I added many more recordings of the Inventions from that store. For a period, I was paid a per diem amount for meals that far in excess of what I needed for food, which helped to subsidize my new habit.

My selection tended to be conservative, focusing on the "big names," both in composers and performers. Nowadays it is almost the opposite: I seek out the lesser names. I'm looking for something new and startling. As it happens, a couple of recordings landed in my lap, neither recording something I would have picked out myself, both marvelous. The common thread is two performers: Shannon Mercer and Luc Beauséjour. Of course, the harpsichordist Luc Beauséjour is well known to me. I'm afraid I don't know my singers, so soprano Shannon Mercer was completely unknown to me. The pairing, in combination with other guest artists, seems to create some special chemistry.

I'm trying to build a stronger appreciation the vocal literature. What's not to appreciate? Ultimately, the problem is that I tend to identify with that which I might conceivably do, anbd I fear that singing falls into the category of inconceivable. Indeed, I met my wife at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music in 1970: we were the two freshmen told to take "remedial voice" coaching. I guess we were that bad! My first vocal tutor, a student from Berkeley, didn't return after our first disastrous lesson; I can only guess that she has had nightmares ever since. The second tutor was an opera singer, and I didn't return after an even more painful lesson; I have had nightmares since...

I don't feel authoritative enough to pass judgment on Mercer's voice, except to say that is it both pure and pleasing: it has character, is neither a Wagnerian opera voice, nor would I describe it as overly delicate. I'm more confident in assessing Beauséjour, who is a fine harpsichordist who seems particularly suited to the ensemble; he seems to be the common ingredient across many fine recordings.

The first recording (Analekta AN 2 9920) is devoted to a French composer I have had very little exposure to: Jean-Joseph Cassanéa Mondonville (1711-1772). The bulk of it is his Op. 5, a collection of sacred motets for harpsichord and voice or violin. In fact, the notes speculate that the composer may have intended the work for his wife, who was both a fine harpsichordist and singer, with himself filling in on violin. The notes are ambiguous over the score, but it would appear that the distribution of parts between the soprano and violin are up to the performers; if so, the small ensemble, including the very fine violinist Hèléne Plouffe, seems to hit things right on the mark. Opus 5 is really beautiful music, in fact, memorable music. The longest piece, Protector meus, is darkly dramatic, with inventive harmonic twists that make one sit up and pay attention.

The recording ends with a harpsichord and violin duo, taken from Mondonville's Op. 3. This, too, is memorable: really first class music that should be more a part of the standard repertoire. Ultimately, my search for overlooked masterpieces is captured in this excellent recording.

A second recording by Mercer and Beauséjour—so hot off the press that it is still sizzling (Analekta AN 2 9907)—takes on Sebastian Bach from a refreshing intimate angle: Bach and the Liturgical Year. It is appropriately subtitled "Arias and Organ Chorales" and this time we have Beauséjour on a small positif organ, along with addition support by oboe, violin, and 'cello in combinations that provide variety and color. This recording is one of charm and delight, and it seems that Mercer aims for a slightly sweeter sound.

My infatuation with Sebastian Bach's contrapuntal mastery has obscured my appreciation for his mastery of the melodic line. This program is full of tunes: great tunes complimented by the supporting instrumentalists. In particular, I find the duets with oboe to be especially appealing. Using a chamber organ adds to the delight, and Beauséjour piles on the charm with half a dozen solo pieces, including the Choral In dulci jubilo, that is sweet beyond words. He plays with a great deal of articulation, more than I am used to hearing on the organ; this style really enhances the counterpoint and brings new light to the organ literature.

My only complaint with the Bach recording is that the sound seems slightly dry. Perhaps the microphones are a little too close or the room just a little dead. This is a very minor issue that is perhaps directed mostly at the organ solos. Overall, the sound is rich and well-balanced. If one loves Sebastian Bach—and who doesn't?—I couldn't imagine not loving this recording.

I live for these unexpected pleasures.

Froberger Fantasias

2008-02-24T07:35:00.001-08:00

I have awaited Bob van Asperen's newest Froberger CD with great expectations. Not only I: it seems that searches for "Froberger" are a consistent draw to this blog, and I have received more messages in regards to my comments on van Asperen's recording than any other single subject. It remains a mystery as to why Volume 1 is so difficult to get in the U.S.; it is available through amazon.fr via a company in Miami, Florida, but not directly here in the U.S. Go, figure! Fortunately, Volume 5 is readily available.

This is an all-organ program that includes the complete Fantasias, complete Canzonas, and several of the Toccatas. What, you may ask, is the difference between these three forms? Reading up on Grove Online provides little illumination. The CD notes observe that 'No clear demarcation between them as been achieved...' and one would be hard-pressed to differentiate between a fantasia from a canzona simply by listening to them: both are fugal in nature, although the canzona seems to be slightly more rigorous. All three are much more exercises in counterpoint than the partitas (or suites), which are clearly inspired by the French lute style. As a result, the program on the recording is dense going; I find it helps to appreciate the music more by following the score; most of the pieces are from the Libro Secondo (1649), covered by the Rampe/Bärenreiter first volume, or the considerably less expensive Dover edition ($74 versus $17!)

The organ recorded is the Cipri Organ of S. Martino in Bologna, Italy. It was first built in 1556, pre-dating Froberger by fifty years, but has gone through multiple enhancements and restorations. It appears to be a relatively smallish organ, tuned in mean-tone, although the notes don't specify what kind of mean-tone. This is a topic of relevance, as much of this music often pushes the tonality, in Froberger's unique style, exploiting the "color" of the temperament. I have conflicting passions on this, loving the resulting color, but also missing the "purity" of more equal temperaments. I fear my modern ears have grown too accustomed to the consistent impurity of well temperaments. Let's just say I like it both ways, and this organ is full of color.

As I have confessed before, I don't consider myself any kind of authority on organ playing. However, it seems that van Asperen is often imprecise in his meter and makes little use of articulation. As a result, I often find it difficult to follow the voices, even with score in hand. By comparison, Rampe's organ playing seems to be tighter and more clear, but lacks the overall warmth of van Asperen. Also, as on his harpsichord recordings, there is very little additional embellishment. This is not to say that I don't enjoy the recording, but I am now more eager to hear how another organist would approach this remarkable music.

Like Volume 4, it is recorded in hybrid SACD format; I'm trying to figure out if I will ever care, as SACD players are still scarce and relatively expensive. Fortunately, the hybrid format supports both traditional CD and the higher resolution SACD, literally on different layers of the CD. Regardless of format, the Aeolus recordings all seem to have exceptional sound.

While van Asperen working towards recording all of Froberger, Richard Egarr has already recorded everything in four volumes, for a total of eight CDs. I haven't heard a whisper from anyone on this set, which has been out for several years.

Wireless Wonders

2008-02-22T09:36:00.001-08:00

The larger my physical CD collection gets, the greater my challenge in both storing and retrieving individual CDs. I have prided myself in remembering every CD I own, but I find my mind slipping: this is becoming a real challenge. The iPod/iTunes solves the problem of organization and retrieval rather elegantly, but what does the serious audiophile do? If one is dealing with digital recordings, i.e., not analog records ("vinyl"), it all boils down to bits. One could transfer all those bits to a central repository ("disk") and then the problem is simply one of converting those bits to an analog signal, which is then sent to the amplifier and then speakers.

Actually, this is exactly what a CD player does; the disk in this case is optical. The serious audiophile will spend thousands of dollars to ensure that conversion from digital to analog (via the "DAC", or Digital-to-Analog Converter) is of the highest quality—"reference CD players" can be a very big-ticket item, focusing not only of the DAC, but the mechanics. The latter aspect is mostly wasted money as far as I'm concerned: as long as the bits are retrieved correctly (it is almost impossible for them not to be), it is the electronic path that is critical.

As I said, the iPod (and similar technologies) solves this problem, but that solution is aimed at the more casual listener; connecting your iPod to an expensive audio system would be viewed by the audiophile as a self-defeating exercise. There are at least a couple of elegant high-end solutions to consolidating one's digital collection: the Olive Opus N° 5 and the Slim Devices Transporter. The cost of both of these will take your breath away: ranging from $2,000 to $4,000. Both have electrical/audio specifications that appear to be comparable with reference CD players. If you are convinced you need that top-end audio quality, perhaps these are cost-effective, while solving the challenge of storing and retrieving your collection.

Indeed, both products introduce an entirely new aspect: they are inherently networked devices—in fact, support wireless networks—so that the archived recordings and their associated data can be controlled and accessed across the network by multiple devices. This means that you could have multiple "receivers" tapping into the reservoir of music and that control can be achieved through relatively low cost networked tablets, like the Nokia n800. The more expensive solution from Olive is "all in one box": it is essentially a complete computer with network interfaces and internal disk, CD player, with high quality analog signal generation. Its strengths are also its shortcomings: its internals are obscured and you can't add additional disk after the fact. Furthermore, you pay a real premium for disk from Olive! Slim Devices offers a solution that might appeal more to the computer expert: both intelligence and data are put on an existing computer, the Transporter itself sits on the network and provides primarily the audio conversion. Add-on disk for PCs is unbelievably inexpensive; however, your PC must be powered on whenever you want to access your music.

It boggles the mind that you can fit thousands of CDs into such a small space, without paying a price. Except, in money, that is.

Precocious Partitas

2008-02-18T08:33:00.001-08:00

At the tender age of 23, French organist and harpsichordist Benjamin Alard has more music in his right pinky than I could aspire to in all my being. It is both humbling and inspiring. When genius is joined with artistry, amazing things result—as they did at a packed house concert yesterday afternoon.

We already know that Alard is on the "fast track" for success: he was the most recent first place winner at Bruges, a competition that awards first place only when true merit is demonstrated; the previous competition awarded only second place. It is not about playing all of the notes right, it really is about having something to say about the music. Alard has a great deal to say, and he doesn't waste it on trivial bonbons, he goes for the real meat.

Tall and lanky, Alard has the quiet intensity of a mystic. He doesn't carelessly dive into a work, but sits quietly in front of the keyboard as he first collects himself. He plays with supreme economy of motion and is modest when he acknowledges applause. I really get the feeling that it is all about the music with him. His technique is clean and secure; he is more likely to slow down a bit, rather than slop his way through a difficult passage. His command of harpsichord tone is as good as anyones'.

I was a bit concerned about his choice of program: three Partitas, numbers 1 (B flat major), 2 (C minor) and after an intermission, 4 (D major). The last time we had an all-Partita recital, the critic (a luxury we once had) left after 20 minutes, and deservedly so. It is a program with a lot of depth and variety, as each of the Partitas is a different "mix." Still, three Partitas can be heavy going. The selection and order was ideal. N° 1 is the lightest, full of charm, and an excellent "warm up." One of the first things I noted was that his tempi were spot-on for each movement. The Praeludium was full of grace and the Giga a playful flourish of hand-crossing

N° 2 in C minor is a complete shift in mood: serious and brooding. Alard played the Sinfonia with drama, not melodrama. He took the Allemande at the slowest tempo I have ever heard it played: not as extreme as Blandine Rannou has recorded for Rameau and Bach allemandes, but with just as perfect control. This partitia ends with a fiendishly tricky Capriccio, not a gigue, and Alard demonstrated both his secure technique under pressure and the clarity and control of the counterpoint.

Playing three partitas in one program with an intermission introduces a challenge of balance. In this case, saving the larger Partita N° 4 worked out quite well. This is an interesting one: although in a major key, it has the scope and seriousness of those in the minor keys. As with the other partitas, I was impressed with Alard's singing tone and command of articulation. His introduction of silence into the Sarabande was both bold and unique, at least in my experience. The closing Gigue must be one of the most difficult movement in all of the partitas; fortunately, Alard was not fading, but rather played with confidence and mastery. It was a brilliant conclusion.

Alard avoided playing an encore. I don't blame him: it was a full program, he must have been tired, and I think it would be a mistake to break the spell he wove around the three partitas. It was a thoroughly satisfying performance; basically, this is as good as it gets! Meanwhile, I have to wonder just how much more depth we can look forward to from this precocious artist: he already has more than musicians two and three times his age.

Well Tempered

2008-02-17T07:56:00.001-08:00

"My favorite..." can either be a game of delightful reflection or sign of an unhealthy inflexibility. I choose the former, knowing that I can (and will) change my mind. Having said that, if I really, really had to pick one work--and only one work--to accompany me on a desert island for and eternity of coconuts and fish, it requires almost no reflection on my part to select Book I of Sebastian Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier. (If I could also sneak in Book II, I would, of course!)

Fortunately, I don't have to make such a decision. However, I don't think a month goes by without me listening to the entire Book. I even have the Henle pocket score, which I sometimes break out to follow along; I find it especially useful for the fugues. I like it on everything, harpsichord, piano, and (of course) clavichord. Indeed, the recording I listen to the most often is by Jaroslav Tůma on a magnificent clavichord by Martin Kather--sadly difficult (if not impossible) to get. I don't want to get into the endless and meaningless discussion of the "intended instrument" was: this is pure music that transcends mediums.

I recently came upon a recording by Luc Beauséjour, one of North America's finest harpsichordists, newly released on the Naxos label. I really wasn't in the market for another recording on harpsichord, as I am very partial towards the recording by Pierre Hantaï. In fact, the two recordings make a very nice contrast in styles. Hantaï plays with great abandon, rhythmic freedom, and variety of tempi. I also like the instrument he uses, after an anonymous Thuringian instrument, ca. 1720: it is a bold, fresh sound, although it doesn't have much variety between the two 8' registers. Like everything Hantaï records, you are probably going to really like it, or very much dislike it.

Beauséjour is probably a safer bet for the conservative, although my first listening left me a little lukewarm on two accounts: I didn't particularly like the sound of the instrument through headphones and I thought his approach was perhaps a little too straightforward and cerebral. However, it was definitely not a "throw-away", and I find I grow to appreciate it more with each listening.

Let me address the issue of sound with an observation that I have come upon since I have acquired my nice, new stereo: headphones can be wonderful, but they are most definitely not the same as listening to a lifelike reproduction in a room with good acoustics. My stereo system creates an image that is so lifelike that I can picture a harpsichord where the speakers are; it is uncanny. The experience with headphones is not the same; they may actually get you too close to the sound. I think it is also possible that when I am listening with headphones, I am listening to a compressed audio file that just may be stripping out enough of the dynamics and harmonics to further alter the sound. (Regardless of the acoustic superiority of my larger stereo, I continue to listen via iPod and headphones even more: it is an issue of convenience.)

And, so I find my initial response to the sound of the Beauséjour recording to not hold up: it is a fine, if not particularly distinguished instrument that serves the music well. (It is worth noting that its buff stop is very nice, as demonstrated by the prelude in F-sharp.)

Beauséjour's approach is very uncomplicated and tempi are on the brisk side: it is a very "pure" reading. For those who find Hantaï excessive, this might have a lot of appeal. I find there is room in my World for both. Which brings me to the interesting question for my hypothetical island: just how many recordings of my "favorite" can I bring with me, because just one wouldn't do.

The Great Southwest Lute Drop

2008-02-09T05:45:00.000-08:00

This is an unlikely place for a refined baroque lute. It is just about the middle of nowhere, in the great American Southwest: 20 miles northeast of Tombstone. It is beautiful, desolate, and amazingly well-connected. It is wondrous how wireless technologies have transformed the World. I have both cell phone and WiFi for my computer. All the comforts of home, including a baroque lute.

Actually, I am simply a delivery boy for this instrument. My friend Eric, who lives in Las Cruces, New Mexico, bought a beautiful baroque lute that resided in Los Angeles. Safe and economic shipping of musical instruments is becoming a real challenge these days. I was already planning a trip to southeastern Arizona, about two-thirds of the way, so I offered to bring it with me and would would make the exchange.

This is a "theorbed" lute, with a long, straight neck, so that the lowest four courses have additional length to sound with a deep richness. It is bigger than my French lute in every way: it has 13 courses, a longer string length, and of course a longer neck. It was a pleasure to try out this very German lute. The additional two courses really change the "feel". Indeed, I can barely reach them with my small hands.

One of my concerns has been the relative humidity here: during the day it often is below 10% outdoors, and barely 30% inside the motel room. I left the instrument in the case most of the week so that I wouldn't shock it with a sudden change, but eventually it had to come out. It survived.

The exchange was made last night, so I will no longer have a mysterious black case in my motel room. I wondered what the motel cleaners thought when they saw it; I suspect that it is the only lute in all of Cochise County, almost certainly the only baroque lute!

While here, my wife has been busy, leaving me with a lot of time to explore. There is a great deal to see, however none of it is close by, so I have driven over 1,000 miles (1,600 km) so far. Although Tombstone is only 20 miles away, as the crow flies, it is a 60 mile drive. One of the shorter excursions, I might add. While driving, I listen to CDs; I brought a collection of about 40. What a sublime experience to be traveling down an empty country road, surrounded by stark mountains and desert, listening to Mahler's Das Lied von der Erde.

Epic Miklós

2008-01-25T06:24:00.000-08:00

I assume that as soon as most readers realize that I am writing yet again about Miklós Spányi's epic project to record all of Emanuel Bach's solo keyboard works they will quickly move on to their next favorite music blog or Internet activity. What is this obsession, they may ask? Yet, I know there are others like me, or this monumental effort would die. Recordings are expensive to produce and by the time you reach volume 17 there must be some kind of critical mass. In doing such a complete survey, there are sure to be some recordings that are more memorable than others. We are now into some of the especially interesting works, and so I couldn't wait for this latest release.

Volume 17— at last! It has been six months since I wrote about volume 16, which I still consider to be especially noteworthy because it records the first three Württemberg Sonatas; volume 17 finishes that collection, and I think that the final three sonatas on it are of particular interest.

The Württemberg Sonatas were published when Emanuel was a young man of 30, five years before Sebastian Bach's death. One wonders what Papa Bach thought of them, as these are far, far away from his own style. I consider them revolutionary in both scope and inspiration, and I cannot imagine how there could be only one complete recording of them when there is an endless supply of recordings of Haydn's much more mundane works. Why haven't modern pianists tapped into this wealth? (Glenn Gould claimed that he intended to to record all of Emanuel Bach's works, but apparently stopped after the first Württemberg Sonata; we should probably be grateful he ceased, as that recording is really Gould at his most stilted.)

Once again Spányi has recorded on his copy of the Horn clavichord built in 1999 by Joris Potvlieghe, an instrument that he clearly favors. Although this particular design has a certain metallic nasal quality to my ears—as opposed to the very sweet sound of Potvlieghe's own Saxonian design that can be heard on the first three volumes—it is remarkably expressive, with a very wide dynamic range. Spányi's command of it, indeed of all the clavichords he has recorded on, is absolutely authoritative. He is a remarkable technician (in addition to being a musician—an important distinction); I witnessed playing an essentially flawless recital on a tangent piano some years back. I mention this because his interpretations are not restricted by his technique, but rather by his concept.

Much of Emanuel Bach's work was aimed at the amateur market: shorter pieces with only moderate technical demands. Spányi can knock these off in his sleep; indeed, I have heard that he can improvise similar pieces convincingly. I think he is weakest with the lightest fare: I far prefer Marcia Hadjimarkos and Tom Beghin for the Petites Pièces—Spányi tends to "over-think" these charming trifles. His approach to the much meater Württemberg Sonatas is a different story: here is an artist with a deep understanding and a lot to say.

Volume 17 consists of the last three sonatas, and I think these are some of the most interesting pieces in the collection so far. Each sonata has its own character and idiosyncrasies, and it may be that the idiosyncrasies contribute to descriptions like "quirky" or "abrupt" that are often linked to his music. The opening sonata, in b-flat, has a genial and galant that is more akin to his smaller works, but a larger scale. The fifth sonata, in e-flat, has a grand opening theme that is interrupted by a quirky syncopation mid-way. The notes by Darrell Berg describe this as a kind of "French overture", but it is much more of a fantasy, a kind unique to Emanuel Bach. The second movement is in the astonishing key of e-flat minor and is a three-voice fugal fantasy with great passion. The sonata ends with a very upbeat allegro: full of wit and bounce.

The jewel is the final sonata, in b-minor. The opening moderato is a large movement, over twelve minutes long—almost as long as his "average" complete three-movement sonatas. There is an real feeling of improvisation, especially as Spányi presents it: one could just imagine Emanuel playing it on his fabled Silbermann clavichord for Charles Burney.

I have always favored the first two volumes, which feature the "Prussian Sonatas"— also larger and inventive works. I find volumes 16 and 17 to be similarly compelling, and the more I listen to them, the more I appreciate them. Perhaps not everyone is cut out to be a "fanatic" in collecting the complete series. I would seriously consider at least these four: volumes 1 & 2, 16 & 17. As for a confirmed fanatic, I can't wait for volume 18.

Able Abel

2008-01-17T07:32:00.001-08:00

It should come as no surprise that I have an affinity for the viola da gamba, if only because of its indirect relationship with the lute—more especially the vihuela. The vihuela, which is tuned and played like a lute, was played in two forms, by hand and by bow. I believe the hourglass shape of the instrument lends itself better to bowing than the pear shape of the lute. Indeed, hold a vihuela vertically and it looks like a small viol. Indeed, the Italian name of the vihuela was viola. There is no escaping a connection.

This focus is somewhat unique with me because I tend to favor solo instruments that I have played (however ineptly). I feel a greater connection when I understand the mechanics and have at least a glimmer of an idea of the secrets. The bow is beyond my comprehension, but it is magical, giving an instrument the expressiveness of the voice. I guess I'm attracted to the viol because it is what a lute would sound like if it could sing like a human. And, of course, there is the wealth of beautiful 17th century French music devoted to the bass viol.

Like the lute, the viol was a dying instrument in the 18th century. By mid century it was basically dead in France (as was the lute), but lived a niche existence in the German-speaking countries. One of the very last masters was none other than Carl Friedrich Abel, student of Sebastian Bach, pal of Johann Christian Bach. In fact, like J.C., Abel migrated to London, where the two promoted concerts for a while. Abel briefly reinvigorated interest in the instrument through exceptional musicianship. There is an interesting story that he intentionally eschewed technically challenging music to assure he could play both beautifully and effortlessly; I don't have a problem with that, as I would much rather hear a beautiful, but simple, piece played perfectly than some complex machination as an athletic workout.

I had heard snippets of Abel's solo gamba music, but just snippets—in particular, an arpeggio study that shows of the instrument very nicely. Paolo Pandolfo plays three pieces, including one of these arpeggio pieces that he names Arpeggiata, on his marvelous CD, A Solo, (perhaps I should write of that recording later, as it is a favorite). I was excited to learn that there was a new recording devoted to these pieces by a performer I had not heard of before, Susanne Heinrich. This has turned out to be a marvelous recording on all three fronts: the music is memorable, the sound is top notch, and the performance has just the right combination of heartfelt simplicity that seems to live up to Abel's reputation. This is a collection of individual miniatures, four have been formed into a brief "sonata", but there is little of great weight here. Many of the pieces have the charm of Sebastian Bach's cello pieces. A special favorite is a masterful three voice fugue, WKO 196, that I'm sure would have made Abel's teacher proud.

I very much like Heinrich's warm and enthusiastic, yet sensible approach. She takes the same "Arpeggiata" (WKO 205) with as much feeling, but less license than Pandalfo—a very nice contrast between a German and Italian artist. I didn't recognize Heinrich as a soloist, and was surprised to learn that she is a frequent member of the Palladian Ensemble, a favorite of mine (a sad commentary on how carefully I study the names of the individuals); I have nearly all of their recordings—the ones I don't have are oversights!

I'm not done with the able Abel: like Krebs, he is one of those students of Bach that is too easily overlooked.

New Year - New Music

2008-01-02T08:56:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! This will be the fourth year of this blog, which began in 2005. 2007 was a busy year, with a record 71 postings for the year; as of today this blog is averaging 17 daily visitors from around the World. One can glean a very limited amount of information about readers. Individual identities are protected, but I can get information about the approximate origin and details of the reader's browser environment. As of today's reports, the top languages of the host browsers are English (not surprising), French (a surprisingly strong second), Danish, German, Dutch & Flemish, Portuguese, Italian, Spanish & Castilian, and finally Chinese!

This is rather surprising, as this really started as an experiment to "play around with" what was then the newest rage in the Internet world. I continue primarily as a frequent exercise for the craft of writing. Although I don't bind myself to the rigid structure of the formal essay, it is my goal that each entry have at least some point, and they seem to hover around 500 words per essay. A normal paperback has about 300 words per page, and if so, my accumulated opus so far is over 250 pages: a small book!

Although the bulk of my focus has been on music of the 17th and 18th centuries, I do listen to later music. In fact, I want to write briefly about a topic that I think is of critical importance to the harpsichord, that of new music. Without new music, the instrument is just a relic of the past; to stay alive and vibrant any instrument needs new compositions for it. Every period of history has tended to view new music (well, new anything) with suspicion, at best, open hostility, at worst. In a discussion about new music, one harpsichordist I know implied with supreme derision that he could produce better music with a roll of toilet paper and ... well, I'll leave that to your imagination.

There is a fundamental challenge to define exactly what we mean by "new." I suspect that there have be doctoral dissertations devoted to this potentially complex topic, but personally believe it generally has referred to changes in one or more of three areas:

Media, including musical instruments and other sources of sounds. This is largely uncontroversial in cases so long as the source of sound complies with the established harmonic language. Beyond that, we end up with arguments over "beauty versus noise".
Rhythmic language. The rhythmic language of Western Music up through the better part of the 19th century is incredibly conservative relative to other cultures, so there was a lot of opportunity here. What happens when structured rhythm is abandoned altogether or becomes so complex that the structure can't be perceived?
Harmonic language. Ultimately, this is the source of challenge. Through whatever indoctrination we go through, we come to accept a harmonic language as being inherently "beautiful". You can push the rules and create tension that some accept as beautiful, but at some point things break for most of us. It is interesting to note that serialism is almost 90 years old, so it is by no means "new". I, like many I know, struggle to appreciate the "beauty" in an atonal environment.

Because the harpsichord has strong roots in the 16th through 18th centuries, I think those who listen to it tend to have conservative musical tastes, and so it is no surprise that the "average" harpsichord enthusiast is very suspicious of "new" music. This is worsened by what I perceive as a synthetic approach to composing music: an intellectual construction in which the above three factors are abandoned to create something that is by defnition "new." Difficult as it is to get an audience for any harpsichord recital, the thought of trying to promote a concert devoted to such new music exceeds my pain threshold. It is a conundrum, finding "new" music that is also appealing.

Fortunately, there is an organization that is devoted to promoting new music for the harpsichord: Aliénor. I have to give a little "truth-in-disclosure" at this point: although I am not a board member of this non-profit organization, I contribute financially and I felt strongly enough about the importance of it to establish the web site a little over a year ago. As a result, I keep in touch with the executive director, Elaine Funaro, a superb harpsichordist who I fear is learning the hard way how time-consuming such ventures are. Key to Aliénor is the international competition they hold every four years, soliciting and judging new compositions. The response to the call for scores this last year was apparently unprecedented, coming from literally around the World. They have just recently made the first round, resulting in six candidates for the solo category and three for duos. Final competition and judging will happen March 6-8 in North Carolina.

Judging this competition must be a real challenge. Aliénor seeks music that the public will want to listen to, so those composers submitting "cutting-edge" scores that break all the rules are going to be sorely disappointed. In fact, not everything is to my taste, some of it is too conservative (or downright silly), while some of it just doesn't satisfy my aesthetics. However, much of it is very inspired and all of it makes me think about what I like—and dislike—in music. We take so much for granted: having to think occasionally is a good thing.

So, this new year I will resolve to write a bit more about new music. It is, after all, the future.

Stocking Stuffers: Le Clavecin Français

2007-12-30T08:51:00.000-08:00

2007 draws to a close, and it does so on a very bright note: a pair of very fine harpsichord recordings that suddenly appeared out of seemingly nowhere. Some bemoan what they perceive as the demise of the recording industry, particularly for classical recordings and even more especially for early music recordings. I don't see it that way: I am overwhelmed by the number of excellent recordings made available—more than I could hope to listen to, let alone afford. Obviously, this is not a high-profit industry, and it seems that many recordings—at least in the early music arena—are labors of love for which the producers hope to meet their costs, let alone make a small profit.

As travel becomes more expensive, live concerts are becoming economically unfeasible; recordings are increasingly the best way of sharing a performer's art. While the loss of live performance is tragic, one no longer has to live in a major metropolitan area to get broad exposure to really great music. It wouldn't surprise me if I were to see evidence that lesser known composers have a larger audience today than in any other time, including their own. (For which matter, even the masters have broader exposure: Sebastian Bach couldn't brag about millions of listeners of his music in his day!)

Which brings me to two recordings I found in my Christmas stocking: both products of Plectra Music, a label that advertises itself as "Early music on antique instruments." Sounds like my kind of record company! Both are recorded on the 1707 harpsichord by Nicolas Dumont: 300 years old, it is one of the most stunning harpsichords I have on recording: it has a sharp and clear sound that seems to bridge the gap between the 17th century French instruments and the lush "late" instruments that followed to almost the end of the century. In both cases this instrument seems to have been recorded with the right equipment in the best of acoustic conditions, resulting in an incredible "three-dimensional" sound in my living room! Plectra promises that these recordings are the first of 'a series of recordings surveying the harpsichord music of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century France performed on antique instruments.' Oh, boy!

Both the repertoire and performances live up to the promise of the instrument. The first recording covers the complete harpsichord works of both Louis Marchand and Louis-Nicolas Clérambault, performed by Davitt Moroney. Other recordings I have by Moroney are very solid and capable, but have failed to inspire me in the way this one does: he plays with vigor and imagination, with perfect command of articulation, ornamentation and the application of notes inégales that gives the music that perfect lilt. This is an incredibly stylish performance, enhanced by the fact that recordings of these two important French composers are few; indeed, I don't have another recording of Clérambault.

The second recording is by Arthur Haas. I have always liked the two recordings I have by him, by d'Anglebert and Forqueray. This recording, split between the contemporaries Elisabeth Jacquet de La Guerre and Françoise Couperin, shares the same expansive warmth: this is a very good recording, but not quite the jaw-dropper that Moroney's is. In fact, the music of Françoise Couperin—here represented by much of his Second Ordre—is much better known, and therefore probably subject to personal preferences. It is interesting to note that all of the pieces on this recording are in d minor, and so avoids the tonal variety or interest that one gets from programs represented by more tonal centers. [As much as I love Bach's Kunst der Fuge, by the end I've had it with d minor for a bit.]

I can only hope that Plectra Music has a fabulous 2008 and that we can look forward to many more recordings of this quality. These are both high on my list for recommendations.

Stocking Stuffers: WFB on Piano

2007-12-28T08:58:00.001-08:00

I wrote recently about Wilhelm Friedemann Bach, bemoaning the shortage of recordings devoted to his music; in particularly short supply are recordings of his solo keyboard works. In my research I came across a new recording on the Oehms Classic label by Anthony Spiri. Spiri is yet another talented American musician who has relocated to Europe, and who is described as 'dedicating himself particularly to the works of Bach's sons Wilhelm Friedemann, Carl Philipp Emanuel and Johann Christian and is one of today's chief exponents of their works on the modern piano.' I wasn't aware that there was room for even one "chief exponent", but I am grateful: he is a marvelous artist and clearly a gifted pianist with a clear and delicate touch.

Of course, this recording was caught in my self-imposed "pre-Christmas" moratorium that forced me to wait to listen to it this week, but the wait was well worth it. This recording is similar to the one by Hélène Salom that I like so much: an excellent program that is nicely balanced (with almost no overlap with Salom's program). As the cover advertises, the program consists of three each from the Fantasias, Fugues and Sonatas.

The CD opens with an undated fantasia in c minor, a complex and appropriately moody piece that I intended to criticize as being played too legato, until the nicely paired fugue in c minor (a favorite of mine) was played with a great deal of articulation. Consequently, I consider the legato part of the artist's concept, rather than a romantic pianistic throwback. This is an important point to me, as I am suspicious of modern pianists who are tempted to "normalize" everything to fit nineteenth century pianistic ideals. In fact, Spiri has a very nice touch and demonstrates imagination and control of both his dynamics and articulation throughout. One thing I miss is that he plays all of the repeats straight, without modification, rather than with variation and embellishments, as frequently demonstrated to such great effect by Miklós Spányi on his recordings.

The first sonata, in D major (Falck 3), is a large work that is much more technically demanding than most of Emanual Bach's works: just short of 20 minutes with one repeat left out. This interesting sonata is available in the second of two Henle editions (Ausgewählte Klavierwerke). I was about to complain about a shortage of available sheet music, but I see now that Alfred Publishing now has a very inexpensive Kalmus edition with all nine sonatas (ISBN 978076926138). Indeed, I see that editions of basically all his works are now available, and most for considerably less cost than the Henle editions.

It is a source of fascination and amazement to me that Sebastian Bach's sons all had such differing personal styles. There is no confusing Friedemann and Emanuel; perhaps they are closest in style in their fantasias, which shouldn't be too much of a surprise. Friedemann has a "signature" in which he frequently contrasts triplets abruptly next to blocks of sixteenth or eighth notes, yielding a 3:4 or 3:2 jolt in the flow, which often presents a quirky, even ragged, effect. Also, he favors more traditional counterpoint, often three-part, in contrast to Emanuel's two-part galant style, and the technical demands of all his music is beyond my means.

The program includes a second sonata in D major, whose date is uncertain, that is half the length and considerably less complex than the first sonata. Spiri's very interesting notes mention that this sonata was intended 'to avoid old-fashioned counterpoint and reduce the technical demands...' and goes on to state that the 'almost complete refusal to modulate must be an acid commentary upon the fashionable, musically flat sonata style of the day.' Although not as technically demanding, this sonata (which I think has a great deal of charm) has a great deal of bravado: there is no confusing his music with that of his brother, who wrote more in "the fashionable" style of the day. (Emanuel made a tidy profit selling his music, and there is no doubt that he catered to both the style and technical level of the amateur of the day, whereas Friedemann clearly exercised more stubborn independence.)

The recording ends with a sonata in G major that has no date, but which seems to be very late in concept: if I had not heard it, I probably would have guessed that it was a work of Haydn I had somehow missed. On close listening, it is definitely not Haydn, but it has Haydn's lightness and good humor, a work that matches genial countenance found in the oft-reproduced Weitsch portrait.

This recording is a delight of programming, one that revives three sonatas that I don't believe are recorded elsewhere, and that makes creative use of some of the best of Friedemann's fantasias and fugues. Although Spiri makes the modern piano work well with this music, and we should be grateful that he has made this recording, ultimately I miss the character and bite of earlier instruments. The modern piano is just too smooth and too homogeneous a sound to bring out the best of this music.

Stocking Stuffers: CPEB on Organ

2007-12-27T07:35:00.000-08:00

November can be a trying time because I'm expected to save any new recordings to serve as "stocking stuffers" next to the Christmas tree. You think I would get smart and get all of my orders in by early October! Actually, I only had four recordings to wait for, and they all have proven to be well worth the wait.

The first of these is a recording of Emanuel Bach's works for the organ. I specifically searched for such recordings and found the field to be quite limited. This is somewhat complicated by the fact that I just don't know the organ world the way I know the harpsichord, clavichord, or lute worlds, so the selection was a shot in the dark. However, I have always had very good luck with BIS recordings, and the CD on that label and performed by Jacques van Oortemerssen is highlighted by a caption "A BIS original dynamics recording," which sounded promising. It did not disappoint.

Emanuel Bach isn't remembered as a organist and the surviving works specifically for the organ are very limited. Indeed, this music is very characteristic of his other works, so it is not a "throwback" to his father's organ music. Consequently, if you are not interested in his music (in which case, many of the entries in this blog must be devoid of interest...), it is my guess that this music will leave you equally unmoved. Conversely, if you love his other keyboard works, the organ pieces add a new dimension of color to a style we have grown to love.

The four sonatas on this recording all date from 1755, so we are dealing with a mature composer mid-career, and with plenty to say. Of course, he was to live another 33 years. These works are definitely of the galant empfindsammer stil and thus are dramatic and tuneful, not erudite contrapuntal works, although the final track is a fugue from possibly 1756 that demonstrates that Emanuel was his father's son.

I don't have much confidence to critique organists, yet: I'm not fully versed in the nuances of performance and the "technology" around organs remains something of a mystery. I'm still baffled by descriptions like "He removed the4 Quint 3' from the Hoofdwerk, moved the Holfuit 1 1/3' from Rugwerk to Hoofdwerk and added a Vioncel 8'." (This is, of course, referring to modifications of the organ, not the performer.) However, it seems that Oortmerssen has a keen grasp of the style and uses the resources of the instrument with inventiveness and sensitivity. I am starting to get a slight feel for differences between organs and the one used on this recording strikes me as being just a little coarse; it is worth noting that it is a mid-19th century instrument, first built a full century after the music was composed. However, the quality of the recording sound does seem quite good, with very nice ambient acoustics that aren't too dry or too reverberant.

Sadly, this recording represents the bulk of Emanuel's organ works. If there were more pieces, I would get them: this music is a wonderful perspective on a favorite composer.