Vitae Pomeranorum – Zaginiony Świat Muzyki Pomorskiej, Volumen 1
The FAMD.PL Orchestra, dir. Paweł Osuchowski
60:55
Recart 0014
[dropcap]T[/dropcap]he English version of the Polish in the heading is “The lost world of Pomeranian music”; Pomerania – in its send of Mecklenburg-Vorpommern across the north of Germany and Poland (to save you a trip to google.com!) – was apparently a hotbed of creativity. Anton Rösler was, in fact, born in Bohemia (like so many 18th-century composers) and is generally just one of many names that gets bandied about in discussions of the classical symphony. These lively and stylish performances of three four-movement pieces reveal a composer worthy of far more than a footnote! Particularly the symphony in G minor should be in every chamber orchestra’s repertory – the “hints of Mozart” highlighted in the booklet notes (printed on a large fold-out sheet) are extremely pronounced. What I especially enjoyed about the renditions was their honesty; the horns are rustic and (frankly) raucous at points, but what point do the players have? That is the very nature of their instrument, and it gives a truer account of the sound world inhabited by the composer. Rosetti died the year after Mozart and was only six years older than him, so his was another life cut too short. I have enjoyed listening to this disc many times over the past few weeks and shall definitely return to them when I am in need of uplifting.
Stefan Temmingh recorders, Capricornus Consort Basel
68:40
Accent ACC 24332
[dropcap]W[/dropcap]hen I first listened to this disc, I thought the record company had packaged the wrong ones into the sleeves; “no way this can be Vivaldi!” I thought… and I was correct. Had I read the cover correctly, though, I would have seen that, in addition to the “five and a half” authentic recorder concertos from the quill of the Red Priest, Temmingh and Capricornus Consort Basel give us preludes by his great admirer, J. S. Bach. Having spent a few weeks trying to get my head around the logic of such an arrangement, I have just read Temmingh’s booklet notes and find myself utterly convinced by his argument that, in order to admire properly the exuberance of the concerti, one’s brain first needs “cleansing” – the Bach (albeit instrumental arrangements) preludes act as the sorbet between courses. I was not persuaded by two of them (a pairing of psaltery and lute for one, harpsichord and organ for the other), and feel that another would have been better if the chorale melody had been taken by a wind instrument (although I expect it would have been less cleansing if Temmingh had played it on a large recorder…) The Vivaldi itself is fabulous, impressive without being showy, nicely paced and ornamented. Again, it was with the scoring I had problems; suggesting that the use of bass clef in violin parts when they play bassetto justifies using a continuo instrument for those parts (let alone that being a harp!) strikes me as silly – did Vivaldi’s harpist have a part showing the bassline and the bassetto? Has such a thing ever been seen? Still, I don’t want to end what is a very positive review of a wonderful recording on a negative aspect, which is more about my taste than the performances themselves which are first rate.
Christophe Rousset, director of Les Talens Lyriques
[dropcap]A[/dropcap]lthough the beautifully restored theatre in the palace of Versailles dates from a century after Lully’s day, it obviously makes for an appropriate venue for his operas. Indeed in the case of Alceste it did have a contemporary performance at Versailles, some six months after its premiere at the Paris Opéra in January 1674. That occasion marked part of the celebrations following the victory over Franche-Comté, when in July Alceste was given an open-air performance in the Cour de Marbre.
The concert performance given on 12 December was a continuation of Christophe Rousset’s peerless cycle of Lully’s operas, having been first given at the Beaune Festival in the summer. It also appeared on CD contemporaneously with the Versailles performance. Alceste was the second of Lully’s thirteen tragédies en musique. Like nearly all of them it has a libretto by Philippe Quinault based on the work of a classical author, in this case, Euripides’ Alcestis. To the considerable annoyance of the classicists of his day, Quinault took considerable liberties with the story of Alceste’s self-sacrifice to save her husband King Admetus (Admète) from death, in particular introducing a love triangle by making the hero Hercules (Alcide) a rival for the attentions of the queen. Worse still from the point of view of the purists, Quinault introduced a secondary and largely comic trio in the shape of the confidant(e)s Céphise, Lychas and Stratton. Today we are more likely to welcome the variation such mixed genres provide, but it is interesting that Lully and Quinault would quickly lead the way in dropping comic scenes, thus presaging a similar move by Italian opera by some two decades. Quinault’s libretto is indeed notable for its diversity, containing as it does a Prologue set on the banks of the Seine, a seaport and a sinking ship (act 1), dramatic battle scenes that inspired Lully to colourful pomp and brilliant orchestral effects (act 2), the darkness of the funeral obsequies for first Admetus, and later Alceste (act 3), Hercules’ journey to Hades to redeem Alceste, complete with a comic Charon, who worries that the massive hero will sink his boat (act 4), and a final act in which Admetus is initially overcome with joy by the return to life of Alceste, then distraught that he has lost her to Hercules, to whom he promised Alceste should the hero bring her back from Hades. Ultimately all is of course resolved by Hercules nobly returning her to her husband.
Lully sets all this in the flexible alternation between the récitative he had evolved from the declamation he had studied in the theatre with the airs derived from the airs de cour of the earlier part of the century. Completing the picture is of course dance, the divertissements that concluded each act. If later tragédies en musique are marked by greater maturity and development of the genre, the score of Alceste is remarkable for its assurance and a use of the orchestra unrivalled by any other composer of the day. The playful character of the love games of the young Céphise with her suitors, contrasts strongly with the moving gravity of the mourning for both king and queen; it is a mark of the flexibility Quinault brought to his book that the flirtatious Céphise plays a deeply touching role in the lamentations for Alceste.
Rousset’s performance maintained the extraordinarily high quality of his previous Lully opera readings. Indeed, given that he here had a cast as near flawless as one has a right to expect the impact created will remain long in the mind. The revelation of the evening for me was mezzo Ambroisine Bré’s Céphise, pertly coquettish, yet also capable of deeper emotional responses. This is a lovely voice, fresh and evenly produced across its range, while also highly accomplished in the execution of ornamentation. Bass Edwin Crossley-Mercer, a Roussset stalwart was a rich-toned and authoritative Alcide, a figure of considerably greater sensitivity than the usual portrayals of Hercules as a rather dense strongman. As his rival, the haute contre Emiliano Gonzalez Toro was a dignified Admeto, infinitely touching in his farewell scene with Alceste, deeply impressive in the king’s conflicting emotions at the start of act 5. Judith Van Wanroij’s Alceste was marked by a touching, empathetic warmth that extended to real understanding not only for her husband, but also Alcide, the other man who would give her his love. The many remaining parts were divided between five singers, each admirable, of whom Spanish soprano Lucia Martín Cartón and bass Douglas Williams particularly impressed, the latter as Lycomède, the warlike villain of the piece, and Charon. The Namur Chamber Choir have become the ‘go-to’ chorus for large chunks of the Baroque repertoire, their alert response and excellent characterisation here typical of their stellar work. Les Talens Lyriques responded with the finesse and fervour they invariably bring to their playing under their founder, who is now unshakably established as the outstanding Lully interpreter of our (and probably any) day.
Elinor Frey cello, Suzie LeBlanc soprano, Lorenzo Ghielmi harpsichord, Esteban La Rotta theorbo
74:38
passacaille 1026
[dropcap]A[/dropcap]s well as presenting Angela Maria Fiorè (1660-1723)’s output for cello, this disc introduces a fairly recently discovered repertoire of opera arias featuring solo cello by such composers as Pollarolo and Marc’Antonio Ziani, in addition to less well-known names like Monza, Sabadini, Magni and Ballarotti. Beautifully recorded with a total of just four musicians, the programme is balanced between instrumental and vocal pieces, and shows not only that there is no need for a stringed bass for such repertoire, and how, even at this early stage in its development, late-17th-century Italian cellists (and composers) already recognised the exceptional singing quality of the instrument. Frey and LeBlanc display both warm lyricism and agile virtuosity – neither the arias nor the sonatas are lacking in technical demand. Ghielmi and La Rotta’s continuo realisations are richly inventive; I especially enjoyed the simple sounds of cello and theorbo alone, the elegantly shaped bowed lines contrasting with the gently pointed bass notes and occasional flourished chord – simply exquisite. Full marks then for discovery and execution!
Go Arai oboe, Daniel Deuter violin, Thomas Fritzsch viola da gamba, Inka Döring cello
75:23
Coviello Classics COV91712
[dropcap]A[/dropcap]lthough there can be little doubt that Bach wrote music for his friend and colleague, Abel, there is no more than circumstantial evidence to suggest that this set of six two-movement quartets was among them – the gamba player “has been able to restructure the former viola part”. Be that as it may, these four performers give very convincing accounts of them, which gave me a new appreciation of Bach’s music; with very few exceptions, any pieces I have ever played have had neither substance nor depth, but there are movements here that reveal a higher level of intensity, a clever ear for counterpoint and a satisfying structural sense. That said, I’m not sure I could listen to the whole disc through many times. The booklet is full of Gainsborough reproductions of the main suspects in the history of the publication, and a new edition of the music is available so anyone inspired can explore it for themselves.
I Musicali Affetti, RossoPorpora
73:33
Tactus TC 591304
[dropcap]B[/dropcap]iagio Marini’s is one of those names most fans of 17th-century know, but only for a handful of chamber works. This recording of an entire publication (only now possible because the missing continuo part has been reconstructed) is extraordinarily rare, and this all the more welcome. Widely travelled and sought after, Marini’s vocal music (as the brief but informative notes tell us) accounts for by far the majority of his output. His opus II broadly alternates instrumental and vocal pieces. I find his music for more than one melody part vastly superior to that for solo voice or instrument. The duets for tenors stand out on this recording and would have been worthy companions for similar pieces by his boss in Venice, Monteverdi. For the most part, the singing is good to very good, sometimes (Track 7, Perché fuggi na’ salti, or Track 17, Deh non coglier più fiori, for example) much more than that – the soprano’s passaggi and gorgie are fabulous (it’s a pity the sleevenotes don’t identify individual singers to allow me to give full credit). The set also includes a DVD which has a short documentary on Marini and the history and contents of the publication with nice literary insight, as well as some musical extracts and demonstrations.
Edited by Brian W. Pritchard – Jill Ward
Doblinger: Diletto Musicale DM1493
ISMN 979-0-012-20427-5
56pp (including 12 of notes and one of critical commentary, the former in English and German, the latter only in English) + two parts for Violin (24pp) & Violoncello (16pp)
[dropcap]Z[/dropcap]ani produced three sets of violin sonatas, of which this is the last, printed in around 1743 by Hue of Paris. The six pieces (D, e, B flat, g, E, c) are all cast in the four-movement sonata da chiesa form; the slight majority are binary in design, though there are a reasonable number of through-composed pieces. They lack any of the virtuosity of Leclair’s sonatas from around the same time, so they are probably an excellent stepping stone for students with the Frenchman’s music in their sights. The violin part is laid out perfectly and avoids page turns, but the more compact part for the cello does not quite manage to be totally user friendly, and there are two places where the cellist will have to make a copy of a third page. That is a small quibble with an otherwise excellent production.
Rose Consort of Viols; Choir of King’s College, Aberdeen; David J. Smith, harpsichord
Vox Regis VXR0004
66’32
[dropcap]T[/dropcap]his outstanding disc derives from David Smith’s edition of the consort music of Peter Philips and Richard Dering (2016) for the series Musica Britannica, in which it is number CI. As part of the volume’s launch in 2016 the Rose Consort visited Aberdeen and gave a recital from the contents, and also recorded their contribution to this disc. Additionally, David Smith provides a few pieces for keyboard by Philips, and yet another Choir of King’s College, besides those from Cambridge and London, this time Aberdeen, sings two motets by Philips. The consort works by Dering are particularly striking, not only for their unfamiliarity, but also for their sheer quality. Stylistically midway between Byrd and Jenkins, audibly parallel with, but distinctive from, Gibbons, the two fantasias in six parts, numbers 1 and 3, are well-wrought, substantial works with their own unique narrative rhetoric; those in five parts, numbers 2 and 5, are less philosophical but have more in the way of striking themes. Best of all is the second of Dering’s six-part In Nomines, which has a singular take on this briefly fecund form. Both the keyboard and consort versions of Philips’s Paget pavan and galliard are included, as are both of his settings for keyboard of Dowland’s Piper’s galliard, one version quite plain and true to the original, the other more varied right from the off. There are also Philips’s settings for keyboard and consort of dances by Morley and Holborne. The programme is bookended by two motets in eight parts by Philips: Hodie in monte and Beata Dei genetrix; both works are for double choir, and in either case one choir consists of voices in four parts, while the other choir consists of respectively one and two soloists and viols. Although it is known that instruments participated in the performances at the court in Brussels where Philips, a pupil of Byrd, worked in exile, the precise nature of this participation is not certain, so this distribution of forces is one hypothetical reconstruction of how such works might have been performed. One other uncertainty on this disc surrounds the authorship of Dering’s third fantasia in six parts: it is anonymous in both of its sources, but is within a sequence of four such fantasias, one of which is attributed to Dering in another source. It certainly sounds convincingly like the work of the other six-part fantasia on the disc, which is the one attributed to Dering.
With the Rose Consort listeners know that they will be hearing consummate performances. David Smith is not only the world expert on Philips now, but is also himself a fine harpsichordist. The Choir of King’s College lives up to its illustrious name, with the Canadian soprano Frauke Jürgensen in fine solo voice. The selection of material for this programme is excellent, and judiciously organized. The more familiar music by Philips is its own recommendation, but the disc is worth buying for Dering’s music alone.
Luc Loubry & François Baptiste bassoon, Michel Lethiec clarinet, Piet Van Bockstal oboe, The Prussian Chamber Orchestra, Hans Rotman
68:00
Et’cetera KTC 1603
[dropcap]R[/dropcap]egular readers will know that I am a fan of Vanhal’s music, and his affinity with woodwind instruments; even modern players seem to share my enthusiasm, and while clarinet and bassoon somehow manage not to offend my HIP-sensitive ears, I’m afraid oboe and unchallenged (?) string players don’t (that is in no way meant as criticism of the oboist, who plays beautifully!); so, while the solo episodes with their lighter accompaniments of violins and violas work, tuttis are uninspired and lacking in air that isn’t produced by some artificial dynamic or other. To be fair to The Prussian Chamber Orchestra, some of the slower movements are rather more successful, but the approach is generally neither inspired or inspiring. So some outstanding solo playing of some honest music, but it could have been so much better.
L’Art de la modulation
Ars Antiqua with Elizabeth Wallfisch
65:07
Nimbus Alliance NI 6347
[dropcap]T[/dropcap]hese six delightful “Quatuors pour un Hautboy, 2 Violons, et Basse” were published in 1755. Gambist Mark Kramer’s notes say relatively little of the music (in all honesty, there is not much he could have said, since these are the composer’s only surviving chamber works) but they do a marvellous job of setting the scene, describing the transition of taste and artistic and musical styles as the strict order of Louis XIV’s France gave way to the Age of Enlightenment. Philidor was better known in his own day as a master chess player, capable of playing three games simultaneously while blindfolded; thus, writing music in four parts in ever-varying combinations was no complex task for him. These are enjoyable pieces, very nicely played, but they are less contrapuntally complex than Telemann’s of three decades earlier, and – in terms of the rococo filigree that Kramer highlights – they scarcely rival the many quartets produced by Janitsch, his Berlin-based contemporary. Ars Antiqua perform sinfonie 3, 4 and 6 with flute instead of oboe. Their inclusion of a harp is probably justified on the basis of the instrument’s popularity in French music tooms of the period, and I suppose the original gamba player might have read over the keyboard player’s shoulder. Yes, these are quartets for six! And thoroughly entertaining they are, too.
