Categories
Recording

Pleyel: 3 Sonatas for Keyboard, Violin & Cello, B 437-9

IPG Pleyel Klaviertrio
ARS 38 203
TT

[dropcap]T[/dropcap]oday it is hard to imagine that in 1790s London (and indeed in Europe) the music of Ignaz Pleyel enjoyed a reputation nearly the equal of that of Haydn, although efforts to pit them as rivals in England foundered on the friendship between Haydn and his one-time pupil. Incidentally, the generally poor notes for the present disc garble the story of Haydn’s unfortunate ‘appropriation’ of two of Pleyel’s trios; it is surely absurd to suggest that Haydn did so because he recognised that the latter’s fame had ‘eclipsed’ his own.

There were certainly a sufficient number of Pleyel piano trios to choose from. Between 1784 and 1803 he composed no fewer than 49 trios for keyboard, ‘with accompaniment for violin (or flute) and violoncello’ as such works were invariably designated during the 18th century. The present group dates from 1790 and was published in various European centres across Europe. All three are poised, highly agreeable works that display their composer’s craftsmanship in spades; if not the masterpieces the notes would claim them to be, neither do they measure up to H C Robbins Landon’s dismissive verdict that the mature Pleyel ‘debased the whole Haydn style’ when he started to ape the latter’s ‘popular style’. On the present disc both B 438 in G and B 439 in E flat conclude with the kind of ‘catchy rondo’ to which HCRL objects and while that of the G-major is not especially distinguished, among the many felicitous moments in the E flat-major’s Rondo is an episode with a delicious counter-melody for the violin. It is in fact the two-movement B 439 that is probably the pick of this group. The opening Allegro con fuoco of the same work is unusually dramatic by Pleyel’s standards, with some gruff Beethovenian exchanges between the piano’s lower register and the violin. Both the other works are in the expected three movements, the secondary subject of the opening Allegro molto adding spice to the proceedings with touches of chromaticism.

I have little but praise for the period instrument performances of the Austrian-based IPG Pleyel Klaviertrio, which are not only technically highly impressive, but also exceptionally musical. The fluency of fortepianist Varvara Manukyan’s playing of an 1830 Pleyel is especially admirable, the passagework absolutely even, beautifully phrased and cleanly articulated. This is one of an extensive series issued under the auspices of the Internationale Ignaz Pleyel Gesellschaft (IPG), based in the composer’s birthplace, Ruppersthal. I’m rather ashamed to say I haven’t previously come across it, but will now certainly look out for future additions.

Brian Robins

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Categories
Recording

Handel: Apollo e Dafne, HWV122

Ensemble Marysas, Peter Whelan
69:00
Linn Records CKD 543
+Il pastor fido (Overture)

A sparkling new recording of Handel’s lovely pastoral cantata

[dropcap]T[/dropcap]he composition of Apollo e Dafne  was probably begun towards the end of Handel’s extended youthful Italian tour, but it was completed (and presumably first performed) in Hanover, after he had become Kapelleister to the Elector, in 1710.

It is a work of considerable dramatic force and subtlety. Dafne’s well-known physical metamorphosis into a laurel tree, just as she is on the point of being ravished by Apollo, is matched by Apollo’s mental transformation, from self-satisfied confidence to humility; the music, as so often with Handel, characterises both with unerring skill. Try, e. g., either of Apollo’s first two arias – both are in major keys, with triadic and wide-ranging melodic lines and much showy coloratura. Then compare these with his (and the cantata’s) final movement – a deeply felt minor-key tribute to the newly-created laurel tree, with a sublimely simple, syllabically set, melody of few notes and narrow compass. Lest we should think Apollo’s change of heart too abrupt, Handel prepares the ground for us with his deeply lyrical ‘Come rosa’ in the midst of the cantata, with its luscious cello obbligato.

Dafne, too, is drawn with much care. Her delicious opening ‘Felicissima quest’alma’ is the essence of pastoral innocence, the upper strings pizzicato, the bass ‘arco’, a wondrous oboe obbligato and a vocal line of seemingly-endless melody. Her energetic next aria, after Apollo declares his passion, is in complete contrast – her repeated ‘sola’ makes her angry rejection of his advances abundantly clear.

Their two duets are also extremely cleverly contrasted; the first is a virtuoso slanging-match, with both voices hurling similar phrases back and forth. The next, however, pits Apollo’s slow, flute-laden lovesick yearnings against Dafne’s rapid rejections, with no shared musical material whatever. The lady is clearly not for turning….

The final chase is vividly portrayed – rapid solo violin figuration is pursued by slower solo bassoon, and all comes to an abrupt stop, just when one’s ear expects a da capo, in tumultuous accompagnato, as Apollo is thwarted.

Mhairi Lawson, as Dafne, and Callum Thorpe, as Apollo, are in complete command of all this glorious music, and bring it to life with enormous dramatic energy, ably partnered by Ensemble Marsyas’s superb playing (particular plaudits to all the splendid ‘obbligatisti’!) Peter Whelan shows equal virtuosity as bassoon soloist and as overall director.

The orchestra (and solo instrumentalists) shine further in the extended overture to Handel’s second London opera, Il Pastor Fido, (which may well have originated in Hanover as a separate orchestral work). I particularly enjoyed Peter Whelan’s bassoon solo in the Largo 5th movement, and Cecelia Bernardini’s sparkling passagework in the finale (Handelians might recognise the latter’s later reincarnation in the Organ Concerto, op. 7 no. 4)

The disc is completed musically by a couple of rarely heard movements for wind band (with energetically improvised percussion from Alan Emslie) which may have been written for Handel’s opera orchestra in the 1720s.

David Vickers provides characteristically scholarly and informative booklet notes.

Alastair Harper

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Categories
Festival-conference

A wonderful weekend in Utrecht

[dropcap]T[/dropcap]he Utrecht skyline may have changed dramatically since I last attended the early music festival, but some things remain reassuringly familiar – the friendliness and helpfulness of the Dutch, the wonderful array of foreign cuisine available to visitors, the quaint old buildings in the middle of the Netherlands’ fourth largest city and – most important of all – the fantastic quality of the concerts!

I was fortunate enough to enjoy several events on the last weekend of the festival which this year was devoted primarily to Venice. An hour or so after being guided to my extremely comfortable hotel (a stone’s throw from the main railway station and a brief walk from the main focus of the festival, the city’s amazing multi-space music venue, the Vredenburg), I attended one of the Eventalks, a series of diverse seminar-like lectures covering a broad spectrum of topics related to the theme of the festival and framed by music. Sandra Ponzanesi‘s “Postcolonial Italy: Quo vadis?” sought the roots of at least some of the current migrant crisis in Italy’s rather tardy forays into the European land grab in Africa; the suppression of native cultures and denial of education (typical of all colonial powers) and later generations’ acceptance of responsibility for such actions adds another level of meaning to how the death toll amongst aspiring migrants risking the crossing to an Italian island (the closest outreach of Europe to the Libyan coast) is perceived not only in Italy but elsewhere in the world. Olga Pashchenko  introduced and followed the talk with a nicely contrasted selection of harpsichord music by Bernardo Storace.

Later even that planned, my second musical event of the evening was a concert of Monteverdi by Cantar lontano, directed by Marco Mencoboni. As an earlier concert had overrun, we were obliged to wait for a while before we started, but the organisers very kindly laid on liquid refreshments – though it seemed a great idea at the time, as the minutes ticked by and the red wine kicked in, the likelihood of falling asleep became a very real one… Finally we started a little over half an hour late; however, barely had the first segment ended than another large crowd joined the audience, so the first piece was reprised to welcome them! This was followed by the Lamento dells ninfa, one of the composer’s (rightly!) most popular pieces. If the singing was dramatic, there was something of Monteverdi’s own instruction missing – while the three men’s voices are to keep time with the descending continuo bass, the soprano (who here had the most glorious voice!) is instructed to sing rather more freely, as if agitated by the letter she is supposedly reading. Similarly in Il combattimento  that followed, Tancredi and Clorinda (the protagonists of the work) were placed on opposite sides of the stage, facing outwards and rarely interacted with one another; the narrator, on the other hand, wandered around the stage – at times looking rather manic, if I’m honest – but giving the most passionate delivery of the wonderfully expressive text I have ever heard; indeed, although my lady friends had a particular interest in one of the lutenists, for me Luca Dordolo as Il testo was the star of this show. Another highlight was the virtuoso wide-ranging voice of the bass, and the pointed dissonant chords in Hor ch’el ciel.

On Saturday morning, I joined a guided tour of the Dom tower where the town carillonneur, Malgosia Fiebig, gave an amazing recital including three of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Climbing more than 100m above the city was a thrill in itself, with the history of the building explained along the way. Then, after she played another concerto by Il prete rosso, she explained how, as well as the automated quarter hourly tones, the instrument can, and is, regularly used for recitals. The physicality of playing the carillon has to be seen to be believed, and yet she was able to coax different dynamic levels from what seemed an uncompromising instrument – it was very impressive!

One of my Utrecht hosts then took me and a colleague on a boat trip around the Utrecht canals with Wineke van Muiswinkel, one of the organisers of JACOB 3.0 (about which more HERE), which was a nice way to find out more about the city’s rich history. More of the afternoon was spent on touristy activities (including a trip to the charming Spelklok Museum – its motto “the most cheerful museum in the Netherlands” says it all!) and then I took in the various stalls at the early music trade exhibition in the Vredenburg. Mostly these consisted of instrument makers, but there were a couple of publishers, some music/book shops, and one promoting Alexander Technique.

The main event in the evening was Ensemble Correspondances, directed by Sébastien Daucé, exploring Charpentier’s time in Italy and its possible influence on his own music. This required a very large ensemble, since the main work in the second half was his mass for four choirs, which were assembled in four corners of the centrally placed main stage. They had ended the first half with other four-choir music but two of the choirs had been elevated to opposite galleries for this which gave an entirely different aspect to the music due to dynamic variation between the groups. Other music included a psalm setting for solo bass with violins, a motet for two sopranos with cornetti, and – for me the pinnacle of many high points – a portion of Legrenzi’s sequence for the dead which, as I have commented before, in at least one movement sounds more French than Charpentier’s himself; perhaps that is why it drew these performers’ attention? While I shared my friends’ overall delight with a fabulous concert, I had reservations about the orchestration of such music (not only doing so at all, but the actual choice and numbers of instruments, and – for example – the allocation of cornetti to double soprano lines of the two “less important” choirs), and I found the constant relocating of players and singers around the space distracting (especially for an encore).

The first half of Sunday was devoted to Jacob van Eyck. Well known by recorder players in the UK (where his increasingly virtuosic variations on popular tunes of his day often feature on exam syllabi) but unfamiliar apparently to the majority of Utrechters (as well as entertaining the population in a local park with his playing, he was among the city’s first carillonneurs!), van Eyck has largely been put on the map by Dr Thiemo Wind. He led a guided tour of the principle locations associated with the composer, explaining the history of the city as he went and offering contemporary images of the city that van Eyck never saw – he was blind! A rather special moment was Wind’s rendition of a set of variations on “What shall we do in the evening?” in the beautiful cloisters of the Domkerk.

A couple of hours later van Eyck’s music provided the inspiration for a new project, JACOB 3.0 – check out my review HERE.

The afternoon concert that I opted to go to was given by Cappella Romana, directed by Alexander Lingas, in the Willibrordkerk. The programme featured sacred music for the imperial Russian chapel by composers during the reign of Catherine the Great. Two not especially well-known Italians, Baldassare Galuppi and Giuseppe Sarti, were interspersed with pieces by Berezovsky and Bortnyansky and other slightly later Russian composers. The music was only occasionally formulaic in the sense that there were verses and responses – sometimes, rather oddly for unaccustomed ears, simultaneously. Otherwise, these were fine motets, beautifully sung by twelve voices, with solos all taken by members of the choir. If there was something that I missed it was the dark vowels typical of that part of the world, and the lack of any excursions off the bottom of the bass clef which are so typical of later orthodox music. And while it was technically impressive that the huge conference booklet reproduced the Old Church Slavonic texts in their beautiful script, perhaps a transliteration might have been a more useful addition to the Dutch translation.

After yet another delicious curry from NAMASKAR (a fantastic Indian place directly opposite the music venue!) I went to my second Eventalk, this time a very brief discussion of two early republics – the Venetian and the Dutch. James Kennedy touched on aspects of both that modern republics might like once again to consider adopting; honesty (the concept of which, he told us, was a renaissance extension of the notion of honour which came about through the development of international trade), compassion for the poorest in society (for both the Venetians and the early Dutch this was considered an obligation) and a sense of communal agreement in the political sphere – decisions should be made by discussion and compromise for the greater good of society at large, rather than a few vested interests. As usual, the talk was framed by keyboard music, once again nicely played (on organ and harpsichord) by Olga Pashchenko.

Then it was time for the very last concert of the season. Festival director Xavier Vandamme  gave a very brief introduction, confirming that the 2016 was the most successful Festival oude muziek in recent years, with ticket sales up over the past seven years by an incredible 80%!

There is a tradition of saving the best till last and in Le concert spiritual and the consummate showman Hervė Niquet, Utrecht certainly did that. Vivaldi with only women’s voices was the theme; not a new idea, of course, but there were slight differences in approach here. Not only were the tenor and bass parts transposed up an octave, but the solos were all sung chorally (so even those who sang tenor in the chorus also sang the solo soprano parts, etc.). The concert was exhilarating – tempi were brisk, the singing was fabulous, the instrumental playing was incisive and Niquet took every opportunity to play with the audience – which they lapped up and afforded him (of course) a standing ovation. Yet, from a musicological point of view, or even a HIP perspective, there were deficiencies, too – where were the wind instruments? (That said, I doubt if a baroque trumpeter could have played the final movement at such a speed!) If all the voices sing the solos, why don’t all the cellos play the continuo part? Why did one from each orchestra play some? Why were there even two orchestras, when only one work required that layout? One might argue that none of that matters, but if the programme notes ask “Does this mean we more closely approach Vivaldi’s intentions?”, such aspects of performance practice must be brought into question.

But let’s not end on a negative note! These were two and a half days of fairly hectic activity – though the festival and its fringe events offered many, many more! – giving a taste of music and life in Venice and its influence in musical history from Willaert (one of the feature composers, though I did not manage to hear any, alas…) to Catherine the Great’s Russia. Terrifically well-attended concerts, with deeply appreciative audiences and an army of ever-smiling, always helpful festival staff – Utrecht, thank you; it was an absolute pleasure!

Brian Clark

Thanks to the following for arranging my visit:

  • Residenties in Utrecht
  • Festival Oude Muziek
  • Gaudeamus Muziekweek​
  • Culturele Zondagen
  • Centre for the Humanities
  • Tourisme Utrecht

And on a personal note, I’d especially like to thank Marthe van der Hilst, Lidy Ettema and Juliëtte Dufornee for making my stay such fun!

Categories
Festival-conference

Sex and Alienation in Edinburgh

[dropcap]T[/dropcap]he musical partnership of Mark Padmore and Kristian Bezuidenhout is one which through a series of definitive Lieder recordings and concert tours has become synonymous with excellence. Thus it was that I approached their Queen’s Hall recital at this year’s Edinburgh International Festival with sky-high expectations.

The programme featured some of my favourite songs, Beethoven’s An die ferne Geliebte  and Schubert’s Schwanengesang, as well as some less familiar Beethoven songs. These opened the recital, establishing Padmore’s gloriously intense lyrical tone and Bezuidenhout’s delicate and authoritative touch upon the fortepiano, a copy by Rodney Regier (revised by Beunk and Wennink) of an instrument of 1824 by the Viennese maker Conrad Graf. Padmore’s perfect control of his head register led to some sublime moments in Beethoven’s Abendlied, and prepared us for a beautifully poised account of An die ferne Geliebte  which exploited fully the contrasts between the work’s dynamic passages and its more contemplative episodes.

The second half of the concert was devoted to Schubert’s Schwanengesang, less the valedictory song cycle that the title promises than a posthumous marketing opportunity for the publisher Hasslinger, who on the composer’s death simply lumped together all the remaining Schubert songs he had on his books. This rather unpromising context doesn’t prevent Schwanengesang  from gripping, moving and charming the listener by turns, but the challenge for great performers is to mould the music into some sort of unified cycle. Rather than being apologetic about the contrast between the texts by the great Heine and the less-than-great Rellstab, the performers simply gave each their due respect, performing each for what they are.

Where the Beethoven had been lyrically engaging, the duo’s account of Schwanengesang  took us into a whole new realm of expression. We were reminded that this was music written in a city where barely a century later high society would be queuing up at the door of Sigmund Freud, and Padmore and Bezuidenhout took us on a dark exploration of the desperation, alienation and mania that lurks just under the surface of many of Schubert’s settings of Heine. The percussive potential of the fortepiano and Padmore’s rich palette of vocal tones combined to produce almost overwhelming tension. We almost needed the sunny world of the Rellstab settings as an antidote. In response to thunderous applause from a discerning Queen’s Hall audience, the pair brought this powerful recital to an enigmatic conclusion with a mesmerising account of Beethoven’s Resignation, a song setting a text by Friedrich von Haugwitz in which the poet reluctantly accepts his lot in life – almost the finale to Schwanengesang that Schubert was unable to write.


My second visit to the 2016 EIF saw me at the opera for a performance of Mozart’s Cosi fan Tutte. All very conventional you may think, but not so. This was a production of the Festival d’Aix-en-Provence, Korea National Opera and EIF featuring the Cape Town Opera Chorus, The Freiburger Barockorchester and a stellar line-up of soloists directed by Jérémie Rohrer. Da Ponte’s dark comedy of manners is transported to pre-war Abyssinia under Italian occupation, a point established from the start by a parched north-African set and an opening anti-Mussolini satirical song played on a gramophone.

So not Mozart as we know it. But to deal with the positive aspects first this beautifully nuanced performance was archetypal Mozart in almost every respect. Sandrine Piau’s coquettish Despina and Rod Gilfry’s raddled Don Alfonso were perfect foils for one another, while the dashing young lovers Joel Prieto and Nathuel di Piero and their ‘intendeds’ Lenneke Ruiten and Kate Lindsey were technically and musically superb. In the pit the authentic sounds of the Freiburger Barockorchester lent true authority to the overall sound and the evening was an unalloyed musical delight.

BUT – and it is no mean but – the production was problematic. In advance of the run we had all been sent a letter warning us about its explicit sexual nature, and indeed it seemed as if quite a number of the potential audience members voted with their feet, opting for a refund. My objections, however, stemmed not from prudery but from the fact that the transfer of context simply didn’t work. The casual racial and sexual abuse of the local Africans was disturbing, and the heroes’ transformation into black soldiers was startling, but ultimately this attempt to add morally unsettling depths to da Ponte’s rather trivial story foundered on the fact that this is very much a light if cynical comedy. The necessary slapstick moments hopelessly defused any sexual tension, and some of the more graphic onstage displays were simply embarrassing – no sex please, we’re British!

As one audience member put it succinctly to me, ‘If you are aspiring to Mozart’s sound-world in the pit and musically onstage, why not go the whole hog and present the whole opera as he conceived it?’ Why not indeed. It was not quite a production to listen to with closed eyes, as the set and direction were both visually pleasing, but the chief delights were in the sounds of the period instruments expertly played, Rohrer’s crisp direction and the lovely supple voices of the young cast.

D James Ross

Categories
Recording

Morales: The Seven Lamentations

Utopia Belgian handmade polyphony
TT
Et’cetera KTC 1538

[dropcap]A[/dropcap]n uncommonly interesting issue; the first, as far as I am aware, to bring all Morales’ surviving lamentations together on one disc.

The complex musicological issues surrounding their recent publication are discussed in Eugeen Schreurs’ scholarly sleeve notes; further detail can be found in Cristobal de Morales, Sources, Influences, Reception, edited by Owen Rees and Bernadette Nelson (Boydell Press 2007) and in Michael Noone’s excellent notes to Ensemble Plus Ultra’s disc Morales en Toledo  (Glossa GCD 922001, 2005). The story behind Noone’s discovery and reconstruction of the first Lamentation (track 9 on this recording) is particularly notable, involving the collation of a poorly preserved (and modified to suit later liturgical changes from the Toledan to the Roman rite) manuscript of Morales’ time from Toledo Cathedral, a copy in Puebla Cathedral in Mexico and a contemporary lute and voice intabulation by Miguel de Fuenllana.

Performances are exemplary; Utopia perform with crystalline clarity, bringing Morales’ austere and sublimely beautiful polyphony to darkly glowing life. They have taken the sensible decision to structure their programme on purely musical, rather than liturgically correct, grounds, and include a couple of appropriate pieces of Toledan plainchant, elsewhere discernable as cantus firmus material, which helps to place the polyphony in its musical context.

The notes are well-written, but I would have liked a little more detail on the individual pieces (e. g., vocal scoring, cantus firmus usage, provenance); they are sometimes also confusing in referring to the Lamentations by their liturgical placing, rather than by the order in which they are sung on the recording.

No matter – the music and the performances are what count here, and both are absolutely first class. I particularly enjoyed Morales’ kaleidoscopically varied settings of the Hebrew initial letters which introduce each verse of the Lamentations. In short, this is a lovely disc.

Alastair Harper

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Categories
Recording

Zelenka: Sei Sonate

Zefiro
104:10 (2 CDs in a cardboard sleeve)
Arcana A394

[dropcap]T[/dropcap]hese two CDs were originally recorded and released by naïve in the mid 1990s; recorded out of numerical order, sonatas 5, 6 and 2 are on the first disk, while 1, 3 (in which a violin replaces one of the oboes) and 4 are on the other. Both sets involve a theorbo and deep string bass (contrabbasso on CD1 and violone on CD2), all played by different players. The wind soloists are constant (and what a stellar line-up – Paolo Grazzi and Alfredo Bernardini on oboe and Alberto Grazzi on bassoon); Manfredo Kraemer is the violinist. Where for most composers six trio sonatas would comfortably fit on a single disc, Zelenka’s expansive contrapuntal themes mean that it is not unusual for individual movements to exceed six minutes, and there is even one which lasts more than eight minutes! In these performers’ hands, though, the music unfolds organically and simply fills the space; it certainly never feels too long, and in some sense (at least as far as this listener is concerned) Zelenka could easily have sustained movements of even greater length, had he chosen to do so. Bravo to all concerned!

Brian Clark

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Categories
Recording

Telemann: Complete Violin Concertos Vol. 6

Elizabeth Wallfisch, The Wallfisch Band
62:18
cpo 777 701-2
TWV 51:a1, 55: F13, h4, 40:200

[dropcap]T[/dropcap]his disc of two concertos proper and two “ouvertures in concerto style” was actually recorded way back in 2011; such is cpo’s extensive backlog that even fine performances – which form part of a very impressive series – must still wait five years for public consumption. The first work is essentially a concerto for four-part strings out of which a solo violin grows (TWV 40:200); the second (TWV 51:a1) also survives as an oboe concerto (and has appeared thus on a previous cpo disk), but is here given a very persuasive performance. For me, though, the most interesting music were the two overture-concertos (essentially, think the Bach “orchestral suites” with a solo violin part), both lasting over 20 minutes. The second is unfortunately referred to as a Concerto in B major on the cover (it’s actually in the minor), but the typo is the only thing wrong with it; Libby Wallfisch effortlessly emerges from the full band sound then blends marvellously back into it. This is all the more impressive when in concert (at least those I found online) she (and her fellow soloists) take the “modern” approach to concert giving by standing out front, but clearly she firmly believes in the primus inter pares approach to what is still essentially chamber music. I wonder how many more installments of this fabulous survey of Telemann’s concerted music with violin(s) remain in the cpo vaults for future release – I’m sure every single one of them will hold some new delight!

Brian Clark

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Categories
Recording

Fux: Concentus Musico-instrumentalis

Neue Hofkapelle Graz, Lucia Froihofer, Michael Hell
121:34 (2 CDs in a jewel case)
cpo 777 980-2

[dropcap]O[/dropcap]ut of interest I played this in my car recently while ferrying colleagues to a meeting just to gauge their impressions of the music. Although what one might call fans of classical music, none of them has a particular interest in the HIP approach. One thought it sounded quite French, another more Italian, one thought it sounded like Handel, the other like Purcell. In fact, that was precisely how I myself reacted to hearing these seven richly varied works from Fux’s collection; with one exception (a “sinfonia” for recorder, oboe, “basso” and “cembalo”), they are primarily “orchestral”, though the texture varies from a4 (purely strings), through a8 (adding a woodwind trio) to a8 (a pair of trumpets add lustre to the sound). The Neue Hofkapelle Graz further vary the sound by using single strings for some pieces and multiples for the rest. This gives a great overall impression of the ways such music would have been performed in Fux’s day. The recorded sound is excellent and – apart from the occasional superfluous use of percussion – I thoroughly enjoyed both discs. While such additions are perhaps part and parcel of a live performance (which only lives on in the memory), for a recording they are an unnecessary distraction (and not something one can “un-hear” on subsequent listenings).

Brian Clark

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Categories
Book

RECERCARE XXVII/1-2 2015

Journal for the study and practice of early music
LIM Editrice [2015]. 222 pp, €24 (€29 outside of Italy) ISBN 978 88 7096 8125
recercare@libero.it; lim@lim.it – www.lim.it

The current issue of Ricercare  has six studies in English and one in Italian, all with summaries in both languages, and a list of books received, but no book reviews. The journal is dedicated to Italian musical culture, and, as usual, the articles are presented in roughly chronological order by subject matter. This time four are confined to the 17th century, the first two on earlier periods.

Lucia Marchi  is an Italian musicologist who teaches at Northeastern Illinois University and DePaul University of Chicago. She has done critical editions of Ingegneri and Marenzio and in ‘For whom the fire burns: medieval images of Saint Cecilia and music’ she takes us back to the 14th- to 16th-century iconographic and literary treatment of Cecilia (a Roman of the 5th century) rather different from the familiar Baroque image of her. There are numerous surprises, from her hatred of played music to the cult figure she cut in the Trecento for surviving her brutal tortures, and the theme of fire, which her chastity protected her from. A hidden reference to her as the object of a courtier’s love in a caccia  by Nicolò da Perugia opens the door to speculation on sacred symbols in secular music, and especially in the Middle Ages.

Bonnie J. Blackburn, of Oxford University, writes about Nicolò Sconvelt, a German lutenist and lute maker who achieved fame in the Scuole of 15th century Venice. Blackburn discusses a great deal of documentation, about other lute makers as well, and includes plates of Gentile Bellini’s ‘Procession in Piazza San Marco’ (1496) and Lazzaro Bastiani’s ‘Donation of the relic of the true cross’ (1494), containing portraits of the musicians who are known to have been hired for the event. Documentation tells us that Sconvelt became a maker of lute strings late in life, and the Bastiani painting shows him in the process of putting three new strings on a lute. Details about his last years are documented by two wills he made, one in 1498, the other five years later.

The lengthy title of Marco Di Pasquale’s study sounds more obscure than it is, and it doesn’t translate readily into English. A clarifying paraphrase would be ‘Giovanni Gabrieli and one union of organists, and four [unions] of other [sorts of] musicians: unpublished documents on musical [freelance] trade union cooperation in Venice at the beginning of the 17th century’. After the compagnia  of eight of the most famous organists, there were three unions of violinists and one of singers (priests or monks). Documents are included after this thorough discussion, but there are more questions than conclusions about other, undiscovered, such unions, and how they operated. Di Pasquale teaches history of music at the Conservatory of Vicenza, very close to Venice, but his main research is on the 19th century, so his study calls attention to the need for other scholars to delve into archives to fill out the picture.

Rebecca Cypress, whose new book is Curious and Modern Inventions. Instrumental Music as Discovery in Galileo’s Italy  (University of Chicago Press), contributes to this issue: ‘Frescobaldi’s Toccate e partite .. libro primo  (1615; 1616) as a pedagogical text. Artisanship, imagination, and the process of learning’. She wants to focus, also here, on the strategies of learning. Readers will find her examples of formal changes, rewritings, and substitutions that Frescobaldi made for the second printing of Book One noteworthy, but his keyboard works were already conceptually and technically advanced in their first printing. Comparison with the intabulations that Diruta included in Il Transilvano  obviously show an enormous development. Only Diruta was writing a tutor, to be used autodidactically, and Frescobaldi was publishing his music. In addition, some of the revisions were simply necessitated by changes in the layout – he removed or shortened some pieces in order to add or lengthen others. So it just isn’t a fact or logical assumption that Frescobaldi’s purpose was didactic, or that his toccatas and variations constitute a method for acquiring the skills to play them, as Cypress concludes.

Diruta, in his imaginary dialogue with an emissary from the Transylvanian court, was symbolically exporting the keyboard technique he had learned from his Venetian masters. The notational limitations of movable type for printing music make even his simple examples relatively hard to read, his economical verbal instructions essential. He warned that his apparently dogmatic Good/Bad paired fingerings would even have to be reversed, sometimes, to negotiate ornaments, accidentals or particular rhythmic figures smoothly. Therefore, regarding fingering and hand movements, his avant-garde pedagogy was based on the adaptation of the body when the mind had prepared for the physical realization of difficult passages.

Frescobaldi’s Toccate… of 1615, on the other hand, was the first engraved keyboard print for cimbalo, a print visually comparable to a fair manuscript. Cypress never mentions this crucial innovation, a highly enhanced opportunity to notate simultaneous passages, effetti  and affetti, in a tablature free of the constraint of voice leading, where the two staves showed which hand was to play which notes. His aim was to circulate his own challenging music, and not to write a keyboard ‘method’. His remarkable prefaces about the agogics of his often spontaneous-sounding music seem to me an obligatory reminder to players of their rhetorical role, not because the pieces themselves are didactic, but because even engraved music requires creative interpretation. He was writing for consummate musicians.

Let me make one more digression: many of Bach’s keyboard compendia were conceived for teaching expression, execution, and composition. So why do editions of the Inventions  and Sinfonias  not even respect their unique, methodical, original order, the order in which one is supposed to study them? Of Frescobaldi, Cypress says that many figurations are used repeatedly for practice in doing them! If it’s far-fetched to think his music had that purpose, it is not a criticism of Frescobaldi that he neither aspired to the methodical utility of Bach’s Klavierübungen  nor stooped to the mechanical approach we associate with Czerny. Let’s remember that Venice (and Rome) were full of valent’uomini  (virtuosi), but none played as famously well as Frescobaldi. He not only engraved his works for their benefit, but hinted at essential aspects of style beyond the pale of musical notation. Yes, these were instructions, but for those who would know exactly what he meant.

Chiara Granata  (‘ “Un’arpa grande tutta intagliata e dorata”. New documents on the Barberini harp’) and luthier Dario Pontiggia  (‘Barberini harp. Data sheets’) give us a thorough look at the instrument itself, the Roman instrument builders of the time, and hypotheses about the most plausible makers and the probable time of manufacture, based on new documents. In fact, Recercare, from its very first issue in 1989, is a periodical of studies, not about studies. The title means Research. In this joint article one finds a wealth of historical cultural information, as well as the most detailed drawings, photographs and measurements of the instrument. It is all here, from the sizes of every hole on the soundboard, to the string spacings in tenths of a millimeter, and much more.

Cory M. Gavito, a jazz keyboardist and musicologist at Oklahoma City University, is about to spend a year in Florence at Harvard’s Villa I Tatti, the best musicological library in Italy, to dedicate his sabbatical year to the theme of his present article: ‘Oral transmission and the production of guitar tablature books in seventeenth-century Italy’. His 2006 University of Texas dissertation The  alfabeto Song in Print, 1610 – ca. 1665: Neapolitan Roots, Roman Codification, and “il Gusto Popolare”  viewable at http://docplayer.it/7328855-Copyright-cory-michael-gavito.html was a detailed history of this vast subject, which should generate countless studies, analyses and discoveries of interest to singers and accompanists. The present article is just one. The widespread addition of chord progressions in a popular alphabetically coded notation (translatable into 5-course guitar tablature, but indicating by single letters specific positions of strummed chords) is also a suggestive adjunct or alternative to figured basso continuo. Here Gavito compares some lesser-known settings from this repertory, concluding from the concordances that as they circulated they became models for other songs. Loosely referred to as ‘oral practice’ (actually oral and instrumental, transmitted aurally or in writing), they infused and merged with new composed pieces by prominent composers. Thanks to the autodidactic function of these guitar books, starting from Montesardo, we have a multitude of them today, a vast amount of material from which we can plausibly trace music revised and incorporated in compositions by the likes of Monteverdi, Brunelli, Marini, Landi, Saracini… perhaps an ever-growing list extending throughout the 17th century.

Barbara Sachs

Categories
Sheet music

E. A. Förster: Six String Quartets, op. 16

Edited by Nancy November
Recent Researches in the Music of the Classical Era, 101
xx+306
A-R Editions, Inc. ISBN 978-0-89579-827-5 $260

[dropcap]I[/dropcap]t is only a matter of months since I reviewed November’s fine edition of the composer’s op. 7 quartets. Five of the pieces are cast in the four movement scheme, while the sixth lacks a Minuetto. Much of the introductory material is concerned with arguing against both contemporary and more recent criticism of the quartets (the former found them too heavy for polite entertainment, while the latter essentially laments the lack of more structural control – which could, of course, apply to music by anyone other than Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven!); even the most superficial of flicks through the volume argues against her assertion that the music is not dominated by the first violin, and although closer inspection does, indeed, reveal passages where the balance is more subtlely handled, it is surely by having to look for such things that the underlying truth of the accusation is confirmed. Whether or not the music is too expansive to support its own weight by its virtues will only be proven by period instrument performances and I would urge such a quartet of specialists to take up the challenge and support this venture in trying to expand the repertoire we hear in the concert hall. Since this is a reference volume, the placement of repeat signs a few bars after a page turn is not that important, but I feel it would be easier to gain an idea of the overall shape of a piece if the two things coincided and, in most cases, this would have been managed with a little typographical thought. Still, this is a fine piece of work, and I hope it will be rewarded by an up-turn in interest in Förster’s output.

Brian Clark

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