(The forgotten Composer from Dijon) Premier Livre de Pieces de Viole (1730)
97:50 (2 CDs in a wallet)
Astres Records As1
[dropcap]T[/dropcap]here is no greater musicological frisson than to be able to present something brand new to the world of Barqoue music, from a completely unknown source, or by an unknown composer, expanding both our knowledge and the specific repertoire. This is the intended mission of Jonathan Dunford and his highly capable and expressive entourage of musicians in revealing the works of Jean (Baptiste) Cappus. He was born in Dijon on the 6th October 1689, in the parish of St Medard, which six years later saw the birth of a one Jean-Philippe Rameau. His father, François, was a singing master, said to have been a good organist, and sang at Dijon cathedral; he died in 1716 after a full life. His mother, Anne Hervelin, passed away when Jean was three years old in 1692. Some of the early collections of “ Livres d’Airs” and Airs à boire” from 1690-1700 were most likely by his father; however, due to the context and location, the 1722 cantata, “Le Temple de la gloire”, given in honour of the illustrious house of the Counts of Saulx, at the Jesuit College in Dijon, seems to be the work of the son, following in his father’s footsteps. In 1728 we see the divertissement mis en musique, “Le retour de Zéphire”, published in Dijon and given at the same Jesuit College. In 1729 his divertissement, “Les Plaisirs d’hiver”, was performed before the queen at Versailles. The following year we see the publication of the “Premier livre de Pièces de Viole”, divided into four suites: the two major key suites are performed on CD1 and the two minor key suites on CD2 (D, G, d, a). They each open with a fantasie or prelude, moving through the common dance forms, yet sprinkled with some movements imitative of hurdy-gurdy or musette, and delightful character vignettes, plus topographical references all firmly seated in the Burgundy region. The Duke and Duchess feature, too, this collection being dedicated to Charles Henry Gaspard, Duke de Saulx, Lieutenant Commander of Duchy of Burgundy, Brigadier-General of the king’s army. The musicians on this recording embrace and deliver the requisite French elegance with deeply resonant “tawny” tones on their period gambas. We hear a comparable musical filigree and approach to that of a Ste. Colombe, and adhering especially to that of a Marais. The transition through the movements admirably displays the compositional prowess of Cappus, and perhaps belies sometimes a flowing violinistic agility. These special qualities obviously struck the right noble spheres and ears of music making, as these Suites received a mention in the November Mercure de France 1730. The well-rounded and responsive musicians on these discs have opened up the trail to this neglected composer and his works from Dijon, who deserves to join the bright constellation of the famous, as a most accomplished master in his own right. CD pull-out pamphlet only in French, tant pis! (See an article on Cappus by Jonathan Dunford by clicking HERE). One hopes, too, to hear more of this composer’s noteworthy works, perhaps his 1732 cantata, Sémélé (also known as “La naissance de Bacchus”), to further attest to the merits of this Dijon based composer, who rubbed shoulders with Rameau, and may have had lessons with Marais.
David Bellinger
To buy the CDs and find out more about Jonathan Dunford and Cappus, visit the website.
[dropcap]T[dropcap]his is a genuine Smorgasbord of delights from this section of Telemann’s oeuvre, filled with subtle tonal, and timbral blends and shades, superbly nuanced throughout the various movements with these specifically paired instruments. To the seasoned Telemannophile, these are indeed old friends, found previously on various recordings down the years. Yet here, we have a wonderful gathering of works, which would easily grace any baroque programme; played here by musicians with an intimate understanding of this richly contoured music; not a single accent is out of place in this bright treasury of works. From the opening lilting “Adagio” to the animated final “Allegro assai”, we are taken through a ravishing interplay of well-balanced instrumental colours by a consummate master of this genre, displaying an elegant concision and euphonic pleasure, never musically prolix or overstated. The musicians respond accordingly, with an unforced beauty that simply lets the music speak and breathe for itself; from the slightly spectral “Adagio” of TWV43:h3, to the stately bounce at the opening of TWV43:d3 (here in full Telemann markings, sometimes ascribed to Handel by dint of similarities to the opening of the G minor Oboe Concerto HWV 287, overlooking the Darmstadt source in the former’s name). Some of these qualities are already familiar to us from the range of wonderfully crafted and vibrant works within the famous collection, Musique de Table of 1733. The beguiling magic of every single movement is perfectly caught by this sensitive and responsive band of musicians, without any breakneck tempi, or over-egging of the already rich puddings! An exceptionally fine recording to adorn any inveterate Baroquophile’s shelves. Another listening treasure and pleasure on board the CPO flagship!
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[dropcap]T[/dropcap]his is the penultimate disc in Pieter-Jan Belder’s admirable project recording the entire contents of the Fitzwilliam Virginal Book (FVB), the most voluminous source of early English keyboard music from the Tudor and Jacobean period. The manuscript’s uncertain origins and provenance have been discussed many times, most authoritatively of late by David Smith in his article “Francis Tregian the Younger as music copyist: a legend?” in Musical Times 143 (Summer 2002): 7-16. About half of this double album is given over to music by John Bull and, besides the other composers named in the disc’s subtitle, there are works by John Blitheman, Thomas Oldfield, Robert Parsons, Martin Peerson, Jehan Oystermayre, John Marchant and “Galeazzo”, possibly Galeazzo Sabatini, plus a number of anonymous works.
The attributed works on the shorter first disc are all by Bull. The previous discs in this series have tended either to be collections of works by various composers, or to be focused on one or two individuals. Both such approaches can be relished, and with this disc, we have the best of both worlds: an initial focus on Bull – which continues onto the earlier part of the second disc – followed by a miscellany of composers known and unknown to complete the contents. Belder plays modern harpsichords by Titus Crijnen and Adlam Burnett both after Ruckers (2014/1624 and 1980/1638 respectively) and a muselar of 2016 by Gerhard Boogaard after an original of 1650 by Couchet.
And so to the music itself and Belder’s interpretations. There are many anonymous works in FVB. Some such pieces are impressive, and others are not. It would be good to know the identities of all those who composed these anonymous works, but particularly those who composed the impressive ones. This is broadly illustrated on the first disc of this double album. It runs for only 48 minutes, and with one possible exception the central dozen pieces are all by Bull. They are bookended by three anonymous works at the beginning of the disc, with ten more to conclude it, and they fall into the two categories noted above: the first three works – Galiarda, Alman and Praeludium – are impressive pieces (which is of course why they were selected to begin the album) – sufficiently to make this listener want to know who composed them, particularly the fine, technically demanding and audibly Bullish Galiarda. The concluding ten obviously have to be included on what is a complete recording, but are like the fillers on old-style rock or pop LPs, which used to consist of one or two strong items plus several other less interesting tracks for padding. A few of them are at least inoffensive, and the final track, Martin sayd to his man, inexplicably picked up an attribution to Byrd during his tercentenary in 1923, in a pamphlet compiled by Gerald Cooper, who should have known better. The works by Bull vary between dances and pieces of a more ecclesiastical bent. The former all come across as very sprightly, especially the Regina Galliard, while both the Trumpet and Spanish Pavans have some pleasantly plangent moments, besides the characteristic touches – respectively military and elegant – implied by their titles. The ecclesiastical pieces sound well on the harpsichord. In Belder’s performances there is clarity and a comprehensible narrative, whereas many performances on the organ sound relentless and constipated, more of a harangue than a narrative (not difficult with Bull, to be fair) but Bull’s figurations around the cantus firmi are better suited to the harpsichord, and although an organ can sustain the cantus firmus, in practice the sustained notes can have the effect of clotting the texture. This is also true of two venerable pieces on the second disc which Belder releases from the oppression of the organ.
But first, there are eight more pieces by Bull to consider, which begin this second disc. Herein is some more variety, with jigs, fantasias on plainsong and the hexachord, and galliards. It is the hexachord fantasia Ut re mi fa sol la which most challenges Belder’s capabilities. The figuration is relentless but Belder creates his narrative by responding sensitively to Bull’s implied changes of tempo, and by knowing either when to go at the figuration like a [pun alert] bull at a gate, or when to back off, like a good improviser in a blues guitar solo, with the result that he sustains interest over the near eleven minutes of what can, in the wrong hands, be a dry or exhibitionist exercise. Speaking of which, not even Belder make much of what the listing for the sleeve and booklet call the “Misere in three parts”; significantly Belder either forgot to write about this Miserere, or his thoughts were fortuitously omitted. In any event, it is difficult to make much of a positive case for it.
The final group of pieces to be considered are those that close the second disc and which are not by Bull. A few are by composers with established reputations, such as Gibbons, Robert Johnson and Peerson who flourished in the Jacobean period, and Parsons and Blitheman whose music was originally Marian and only subsequently Elizabethan. Another clutch of composers are unknown or obscure apart from their appearances in FVB: Oystermayre, Oldfield and Sabatini; Warrack and Marchant. Allowed to give a particularly good account of themselves are Tisdall and Inglott, two known but hardly familiar names. They certainly provide the two most striking pieces from this closing group. Tisdall’s Pavana Chromatica Mrs Katherin Tregians Pavan is dignified and full of fine and unexpected harmonies; it is well structured and altogether impressive. William Inglott was the organist of Norwich then Hereford then again Norwich Cathedrals, having been a chorister at Norwich under his father Edmund. A career as a practising musician does not guarantee quality as a composer, but Inglott’s Galliard Ground is another of the outstanding pieces on this album. I participated with Michael Walsh in reconstructing his Short Service for publication (by The Early Music Company, which publishes EMR) and performance (two morning canticles can be heard on Norwich Cathedral Choir’s outstanding CD Elizabethan Church Music Priory PRCD5044), and it is a fine example of its type. Of the “name” composers, Gibbons is represented by The woods so wild which is perhaps not out of his top drawer. Belder responds to the hectic, almost aggressive, figuration especially in the quite Bullish section numbered 5 (his version is all but a minute shorter than John Toll’s on the eponymous CD, Linn CKD 125, significant in a work lasting only 4-5 minutes) amongst some more reflective moments. It depicts a different landscape from the set of variations by Byrd, albeit the older composer’s deceptively bucolic opening leads to sterner stuff. While Johnson’s two almans are delightful, Peerson’s merely comes and goes, but his The Primerose is one of the classics of the virginalist genre. Of the unknowns. Marchant’s Allemanda is the most striking, appropriately for a man who taught James I’s eldest daughter “to play upon the virginalles”, though the single anonymous piece from this section, an Alman, deserves an honourable mention. Much more than an honourable mention is required by the two most venerable pieces on this album: Parsons’ In nomine, the most popular consort work of its day, arranged for keyboard by Byrd, his successor in the Chapel Royal, and who, like Tallis, seems to have quoted Parsons’ piece in an In nomine; and Blitheman’s “In nomine”, originally the third of a sequence of six settings titled Gloria tibi trinitas (the alternative designation for the In nomine) by Blitheman in the Mulliner Book. For reasons given above, these two pieces come over very well on the harpsichord thanks to Belder, with clarity and momentum, but it also helps that, in their own spheres, they are two of the finest examples of the In nomine in the entire Tudor instrumental repertory. Meanwhile one wonders whether Byrd “heard” his arrangement as being for the virginals, or for the organ, or for either, and if the last, whether he harboured a preference.
This is another fine contribution to a well-executed project. Purchasers of the preceding albums will be amply rewarded with this release, and unless one has reservations about consuming generous helpings of Bull, it is worth the attention of anyone with an interest in the English virginalists, as it contains uniformly fine performances of many interesting and intriguing pieces, beside a few masterpieces.
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Le Concert Spirituel, Hervé Niquet
60:31
Alpha Classics Alpha 400
[dropcap]T[/dropcap]his is a welcome first recording of this Benevoli Mass, one of the glories of the Roman colossal baroque. Written for four four-voiced choirs, Niquet doubles up each choir with another one, in a manner typical of Roman performance practice in the 17th century. Taking advantage of balconies in the recording venue, the groups are split up at a considerable distance and each has its own conductor to relay Niquet’s beat (there is a video of part of the recording on Youtube at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v6mHJNKOSXs). This again reproduces Roman practice. Less typical of that practice, however, is the strong presence of wind instruments. By the 1660s when this Mass was probably written, cornetts and sackbuts were very rare in Rome; singers predominated, supported by violoni or bass violins and organs, with a few violins. Niquet here uses a choir of cornett and sackbuts as well as one of dulzians, so that the sound world is both wind-heavy and old-fashioned, too early 17th-century Venetian perhaps, to be true to Benevoli. The recording engineers have done sterling work and the effect of being placed as a listener at the centre of all of these groups is very effective, but the winds overpower the singers at times and, particularly, muddy the texts. That said, the orchestration is successful and there are quieter moments and good contrast between textures, though some singing with organ only would have been welcome in the Mass – in the Christe, for example. The long full tutti sections at the end of each movement are enormously powerful and performed with a strong sense of momentum and inevitability. The other works on the CD provide lots of contrast, from the motet Regna Terrae for twelve sopranos, to some excellent instrument-only playing in Palestrina’s Beata es, virgo Maria and in a Frescobaldi canzona. Monteverdi’s Cantate Domino, sung as an Introit, is anomalous and serves only to emphasise the Venetian quality of the sound throughout. Even more anomalous is the plainchant, performed quickly and rhythmically in a medieval manner with drones, rather than the slow festive unornamented way we know was sung in the 17th century. Benevoli’s sixteen-voice Magnificat is included as a communion motet, which is strange, but is a welcome addition nonetheless. Something of an odd mix then, from the purist’s point of view, but an exciting result which certainly gives us a vivid appreciation of Benevoli’s individual voice. The group uses transcriptions made by the late Jean Lionnet, a crucial figure both in researching Roman baroque music and in encouraging its performance by French groups. It is hard to believe that it is twenty years since his untimely passing.
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De Profundis, Robert Hollingworth
70:49
hyperion 68257
+Assumpsit Jesus Petrum, Assumpta est Maria, De profundis, Magnificat primi toni, Surge propera amica mea, Veni dilecte mi & Versa est in luctum
[dropcap]F[/dropcap]or those of us more used to hearing Renaissance and early baroque Spanish polyphony sung by mixed choirs and at relatively high pitch, this recording comes as both a surprise and something of a revelation. De Profundis is a relatively large group for this music: six or seven singers per voice part in an all-male line-up with falsetto voices on the top line. Its name reflects its ethos in performing at low pitch and, on this recording, is directed by Robert Hollingsworth who uses the opportunity to aim for a more balanced and inter-dependent sound than that of other groups. The result is a very homogenous texture with excellent tuning and close attention to the text. A bassoon adds depth to the bottom line, both in the polyphony and in the tutti sections of the plainchant, as was customary in Spanish cathedrals. The Mass movements are broken up with idiomatically-sung plainchant and offertory and communion motets. Then come five further motets and an alternatim Magnificat. It is a well-chosen programme which shows the breadth of Vivanco’s achievement, from the expressive depths of the motets De Profundis and Versa est in luctum to the riotous counterpoint of the Mass’s Osanna and the motet Assumpta est Maria. My own favourites were the two Song of Songs motets, Surge propera and Veni dilecte mi which, while largely homophonic, are particularly fine examples of word-setting and expression. The choir sings with great commitment and forward momentum, maybe too much of the latter at times in the Mass where a bit more contrast would not have come amiss. Bruno Turner has given a guiding hand throughout and has written his usual highly informative liner notes. The group is to be congratulated on a very well-planned and successfully executed project.
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Ewa Rzetecka-Newiadomska
54:34
DUX 1437
Z. 660-663, 666-669
[dropcap]T[/dropcap]he Polish harpsichordist Ewa Rzetecka-Niewiadomska joins a growing list of players to have recorded the whole of Purcell’s posthumously-published eight suites for harpsichord. She takes a particular interest in English music and has clearly made a detailed study of these suites, showing an ability to characterise both the very short movements and the more extended ones. Her tempi are on the relaxed side, especially in the Almands which, as the most substantial movements, carry most of the musical weight. She brings considerable swing to the Corants and is playful in the Hornpipes. Her readings of the other movements, too, bring out the variety of Purcell’s forms and ideas. She plays on a Taskin copy by Bruce Kennedy which has a bright sound – perhaps too bright at times, but providing good clarity on this recording and allowing for contrast in registration. There is some very idiomatic ornamentation on repeats of sections. I particularly enjoyed her playing of the Second Suite in G minor, the most substantial of the set. Purcell’s Suites were probably intended more for teaching purposes than for public performance, and some movements can seem rather slight and undeveloped in the form in which they were published; this recording certainly makes the most of them and presents them in a most convincing light.
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[dropcap]T[/dropcap]his is the second recording made by Byron Schenkman on instruments preserved in the National Music Museum in Vermilion USA. In contrast to his earlier one (‘The Art of the Harpsichord’) this CD concentrates on a single composer, Domenico Scarlatti. Schenkman has chosen four instruments to represent the variety of keyboards prevalent in the generation following Scarlatti’s death in 1757. The earliest is a fortepiano by Manuel Antunes built in Lisbon in 1767; there is also a single-manual Portuguese harpsichord in Florentine style from 1790, the only surviving instrument by José Calisto. Then there are two big double-manual harpsichords, one made by Jacques Germain in Paris in 1785 and the other by Joseph Kirckman in 1798. The twenty sonatas are well chosen to demonstrate the differences between the instruments. In the liner notes John Koster quotes Ralph Kirkpatrick’s observation that Scarlatti’s writing was too colourful to need a wide variety of registers. The Calisto harpsichord with its resonant bass certainly bears this out, but it is also good to have the Kirckman’s machine stop to do full justice to Scarlatti’s echoes and crescendos in K248. K208 shows off the fortepiano’s cantabile while K61’s variations put the same instrument through its paces. The bright C major K100 suits the brashness of the Germain harpsichord. Schenkman’s playing is exemplary: clear, without affectation and with subtle ornamentation. He has chosen a good mix of well-known and lesser-known sonatas, all in pairs apart from K61. John Koster has once again provided highly informative notes on the instruments and the music. In a very crowded field, this Scarlatti recording sticks out for the intelligence and bravura of the playing and the chance to hear four outstanding period instruments in top condition.
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Ensemble L’Amorosa Caccia, Fabio Antonio Falcone
73:43
Brilliant Classics 95326
+Crequillon, de Monte & Willaert
[dropcap]V[/dropcap]alente’s 1576 Intavolatura made use of a unique number-tablature which doesn’t specify all note durations, or how the parts relate polyphonically, features which it shares with lute tablatures. This recording, like earlier ones by Rebecca Maurer and Francesco Cera, makes use of the edition published in 1973 by Charles Jacobs. What distinguishes it is the use of an ensemble of two singers and four instrumentalists to perform some of Valente’s pieces, rather than playing all twenty-one on the keyboard. The ensemble also performs three chansons on which pieces by Valente are based: Willaert’s Qui la dira, Crecquillon’s Pis ne me peut venir and Monte’s Sortez mes pleurs. These demonstrate the range of his influences and this recording brings out, more than previous ones, the variety of styles in the publication. There are dances in which a recorder takes the top line, adding some idiomatic ornamentation, as well as ground-bass variations, contrapuntal fantasias and ricercars, and arrangements of vocal pieces with diminutions. Using the ensemble in this way helps us appreciate that Valente’s keyboard tablature is just a way of presenting this music for publication, and that it can work just as well with other forces. Particularly informative in this regard are the two arrangements of Sortez mes pleurs, both by Valente. The first is lightly ornamented in the top voice but otherwise sticks closely to the polyphony (labelled ‘con alcuni fioretti’); in this recording, the top voice of the chanson is sung over this first keyboard arrangement, making the relationship very clear and embedding the melody in the mind before the second, much more ornamented version (labelled ‘disminuita’) is played. Falcone plays on a harpsichord after Trasuntino and a virginal after Domenico da Pesaro, both constructed by Robert Livi; these, or similar instruments by the same maker, were also used by Francesco Cera in his 2004 Tactus recording (TC 532201). Falcone is persuasive in his interpretations, adding some convincing inequality to groups of short notes. Occasionally he could have followed the recorder player in treating the ornamental figuration a bit more freely – I would suggest that it is not always necessary to take this tablature quite so literally. Recording quality is excellent throughout. The Neapolitan Valente’s is an interesting voice and this recording certainly helps to promote his importance.
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Luca Scandali (Graziadio Antegnati organ 1565)
79:59
Brilliant Classics 95259
[dropcap]T[/dropcap]he Graziadio Antegnati 1565 organ in the Basilica of Santa Barbara, Mantua, survives largely intact in its original configuration. Designed for Duke Guglielmo Gonzaga and his organist-composer Girolamo Cavazzoni, it has nine ripieno stops, two flutes and a fiffaro, as well as two sets of split keys in each octave. It was also designed to fit the acoustics of the basilica, something captured well on this recording, from the arresting organo pieno used for the opening Padavano toccata to the lighter-registered canzonas by Pellegrini. Neither composer was associated with Mantua – Padavano worked mainly in Venice and Pellegrini in Milan – but their music was certainly written with instruments of this kind in mind. Padavano’s four surviving toccatas (one attributed) are based largely on slow-moving harmonies decorated by quick figurations, with some imitative sections. His two ricercars are complex contrapuntal constructions. Published in 1604, all are quite serious pieces demanding concentrated listening. It works well to break them up, as here, with groups of Pellegrini’s sectional canzonas published in 1599 which show a lighter idiom and some fine inspiration. Scandali uses the canzonas effectively to demonstrate the variety of registrations possible on the organ. Overall this is an excellent match of instrument and repertoire, and a convincing demonstration of this highly significant organ’s possibilities.
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Giovanni Paganelli harpsichord
54:40
Brilliant Classics 95611
[dropcap]T[/dropcap]hese eight Divertimenti da Camera were originally published for a single instrument (violin or recorder) and basso continuo but were immediately republished in a transcription for solo harpsichord by an unknown hand, with the upper part given some elaborate decorative figuration. Originally published in 1722, two years after Bononcini’s arrival in London, they were republished in 1742, renamed as Suites. Most consist of four short movements arranged in the da chiesa slow-fast-slow-fast configuration; two use just three movements in slow-fast-faster order. They are familiar from various recordings with recorder but this seems to be the first recording of the harpsichord versions. Their relative neglect, in favour of the keyboard suites of Bononcini’s younger rival, Handel, is regrettable since this is attractive music and well worth listening to on the harpsichord. It shows influences of the various national styles current at the time. Paganelli plays with stylistic panache, providing good rhythmic drive and making effective use of agogic accents and contrasting registrations. The liner notes are informative about the music but provide no information about the harpsichord – clearly a big double-manual instrument. Recording quality is excellent, combining close miking with a resonant acoustic. A satisfying recording.
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