Category: Recording

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Haendel – Inexorable amour: Cantate virtuose

Inexorable amour: Cantate virtuose

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brian Robins

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Recording

Kuhnau: Complete Sacred Works

CD cover Kuhnau Complete Sacred Works Meyer

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brian Robins

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De Wert: Nono Libro de Madrigali 1588

CD cover De Wert Nono Libro de Madrigali 1588

La Compagnia del Madrigale
57:18
Glossa GCD 922813

Although recognised, along with Luca Marenzio, as arguably the greatest of the ‘pure’ madrigalists, the reputation of Flemish-born Giaches de Wert (1535-96) has not translated into significant contemporary recognition. A quick trawl through the archives of EMR revealed only the odd work in collections, usually in association with de Wert’s significant influence on Monteverdi. The only real exceptions to this neglect I can trace are the Consort of Musicke’s recording of the 7th (of 12) Book of Madrigals (1581) (Virgin Classics, 1988) and a mixed selection of five-part madrigals by Cantus Cölln, under Konrad Junghänel (harmonia mundi, 1997). This makes this new issue of the 9th Book of Madrigals for five and six voices from La Compagnia del Madrigale extremely welcome, especially given the excellence of the six singers involved, all of whom are Italian.

Little is known of de Wert’s early years, but apparently he was taken as a child to serve as a singer at the court of the Marchesa della Padulla at Avellino near Naples. In 1588 he entered the service of the Gonzaga family, spending the remainder of his life in the employ of the powerful family in Mantua, but also in his later years in the restlessly experimental environment of the Este court in Ferrara. Book 9 was published in 1588 and consists of 14 madrigals, four scored for six voices, the remaining ten for five. The literary level of the poets drawn on is extremely high, including as it does Petrarch (five madrigals), Tasso (two) and Guarini, represented by a couple of poems highlighting the lighter and more cynical aspects of love. But more generally the mood is passionately serious, the often imitative polyphony closely woven and including telling passages of chromaticism. But despite de Wert’s close association with the sometimes reckless experiments of Ferrara-based composers, his use of dissonance never becomes a major feature of his writing. Around the time of Book 9, Wert’s close associations with Ferrara were enhanced by his hopeless love for the poet and singer Tarquinia Molza, hopeless given that as a widower whose wife had been guilty of taking part in a conspiracy to murder an aristocratic family, de Wert would hardly have been permitted to form a liaison with a lady of the court. Perhaps something of his personal agony informs the intensity of the setting of Petrarch’s canzone ‘Valle che de’ Petrarchlamenti miei se’ piena’. Here the raw pain of the chromatic inflection on the word ‘lamenti’ and its slow, melismatic lines barely lets up before culminating in the near-mystical eroticism attained by the end of the madrigal – ‘Here once I saw my lady, and along this path where naked she ascended into heaven, leaving on earth her lovely mortal body’.

At the other extreme is the enchantingly vital ‘Or se rallegri il Cielo’ (Now let Heaven rejoice). Joyously light on its feet, with exuberant, rapid exchanges between the voices, it was composed for the ‘Coronation of the Duke of Mantua’ in 1587, the duke in question being Vincenzo I, patron of Monteverdi and Rubens. But perhaps the most remarkable piece in the set is ‘Padre del ciel’, a setting of a religious canzone by Petrarch. Its progress is slow, solemn with little touches of melisma until the extraordinary peroration, the words ‘rammenta lor com’oggi fosti in croce’ (Remember how, on this day, You hung upon the Cross) set with a quiet dignity that is at the same time extraordinarily powerful.

I’ve already suggested that the performances are on a high level and so indeed they are. The blend of voices is exemplary, the purity and freshness of the two sopranos especially rewarding. Perhaps my only reservation is that there were times when it is possible to feel that the text might have been a little more passionately coloured; to suggest that while being aware that we remain in the world of the prima prattica that of Monteverdi and the seconda prattica is only just over the horizon. Yet by any standards these are splendid performances of great music that has been neglected for far too long.

Brian Robins

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Recording

Music for These Troubled Times

CD cover Music for these troubled times

Tallis, Byrd, Bull, Gibbons, Shalygin
Dmytro Kokoshynskyy harpsichord
79:16
Fuga Libra FUG867

This is the debut recording by Dmytro Kokoshynskyy, a young harpsichordist from Ukraine. In the accompanying booklet he relates how music provides him with the solace he deeply needs in the most challenging moments of his life, that no repertoire has done so more fully than the music of the English Virginalists, and that it was no surprise to him that this music filled his mind when his homeland was invaded in 2022. For its evangelists and admirers, these sentiments regarding the English virginalist school of composers are both gratifying and humbling. Dmytro also refers to Robert Burton’s celebrated book The anatomy of melancholy (1621) so there is ample subtext behind his choice of repertory for this recording.

Listening to this disc was, is, for this reviewer a compelling experience, and the choice of repertory is one element that goes towards this. The other two elements are the quality of the music, and the incendiary commitment of the performances. The pieces selected from the works of the well-known composers tend to exist beneath their radars. Gibbons’s supremely melancholy and profound pavan is usually elbowed aside by the admittedly great pavan for Lord Salisbury. Byrd’s fantasia with its vestige of Salve regina chant tends to give way to his pioneering and unsurpassed fantasia in A minor. Even Tallis’s mighty Felix namque settings tend to be prioritized for the organ. That said, its emotional variety renders the programme all the more enthralling – it is not stuck in trouble and melancholy, and Dmytro mentions Burton’s reference to “a pleasing melancholy”, a form of catharsis. In the cinema, a good director has the confidence and knows when to insert a flash of comedy into a predominantly serious film, and here Dmitry includes sunnier works such as Byrd’s John come kiss me now, Wakefield on a green (incomprehensibly attributed elsewhere to Byrd) and the attractive anonymous arrangement of Dowland’s Can she excuse (its modern printed source given wrongly in the printed booklet but correctly above). Applauding in passing the five powerful pieces by Bull, it remains to mention two others, one ancient, one modern. Seemingly the anonymous A Ground receives its premiere on disc here, and this is long overdue, being a work of substantial proportions for the period and of considerable excellence. Finally, KHORA by the Ukrainian/Dutch composer Maxim Shalygin is a thrilling and passionate response to Burton’s book, its highly appropriate title helpfully explained in the booklet.

This is a fine recording which is both moving and inspiring. It manages to be powerful without being oppressive, the wonderful music anatomized beautifully by Dmytro, none more so than Bull’s pavan and galliard for Lord Lumley, so as to externalize his own profound, innermost thoughts. From the turmoil of the Reformation, the English Virginalists provide catharsis four centuries later for a Ukrainian harpsichordist contemplating the invasion of his homeland, who in turn encapsulates this in performance and transmits it for the world.

Richard Turbet

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Recording

Bach: Mein Geist

CD cover Bach Mein Geist

Le Banquet Céleste, Julien Barre vc piccolo
70:30
Alpha 1190

The framing of the solo Cello Suite No 6 in D by two of Bach’s cantatas, BWV 115, ‘Mache dich, mein Geist, bereit’ and No 85, ‘Ich bin ein guter Hirt,’ is a somewhat unusual format. Alpha’s note-writer tries, none too successfully, to make spiritual connections, but more convincingly also explains the practical reason for the link. Both cantatas are among a group of Leipzig cantatas from Bach’s second cycle (1724-1725) that specify the use of the violoncello piccolo as an obbligato instrument, now considered also the most likely instrument intended for the 6th Cello Suite, though it is also possible Bach also had the viola da spalla in mind for it.

As it turns out, the performance of the Cello Suite by Julien Barre, co-principal cellist of the B’Rock orchestra, is the highlight of the CD, an extraordinarily beautiful performance of this happy, airy work. Not only does Barre produce an exquisitely nuanced timbre from his instrument, but his technique is impeccable, with cleanly defined and articulated passaggi always at the command of the music. In the opening Prelude, the outdoor spirit of the movement is perfectly captured, with braying hunting calls and the energy of the chase clearly suggested, while in the succeeding Allemande the generous spatial imagery is projected with a broad expressivity that gives this most extensive of the suite’s movements a timeless, musing quality. At the other extreme, the following Courante takes us back out into the natural world on a madcap gallop projected by Barre with virtuosic delight, while the wistful Sarabande features some splendid double-stopping and clean chordal playing. And so continues to the conclusion of this treasurable performance.

On one level, the one-voice-per-part performances of the cantatas earn high commendation, too, but they are marred by a significant flaw. BWV115 is a chorale cantata composed for 5 November 1724. From the outset, the text is dominated by rhetorical demands or commands to which the Christian must attend – ‘Mache dich, mein Geist’ (Make ready, my spirit) in the opening chorale. The following aria for alto scolds the ‘slumbering soul’ – ‘Ermuntre dich doch’ (Rouse yourself!). The only other aria, for soprano, continues the theme of man’s inadequacy in the eyes of God, ‘Bete aber auch dabei’ (But pray, too). It is, as Alfred Dürr wrote in his classic study of the cantatas, ‘conceived in vividly text-related terms’. It is, however, exactly this sense of rhetoric that is almost entirely missing from these neatly turned performances. Listen, for example, to alto Alexander Chance’s singing of that alto aria, ‘Ach schläfrige Seele, wie? ‘Ah, slumbering spirit, what?’ It is neat and capable, but diction is poor, and it lacks any real penetration of the text, so it is hardly surprising that the ear is constantly drawn from the voice to the expressive oboe d’amore obbligato of Patrick Beaugiraud.

BWV 85 dates from April 1725. It takes its topic from consideration of the famous words in the Gospel of St John, ‘I am a good shepherd’, which are quoted at the outset by the bass soloist in a kind of mixture of accompagnato and arioso. The cantata is unusual in that the four soloists come together only in the brief final chorale, the chorale in the body of the cantata being for solo soprano, here beguilingly intoned by Céline Scheen, whose bright, fresh voice is one of the pleasures of the recording. Here the rhetorical element is less to the fore, though I would still like a stronger emphasis on diction. Again, one of the great pleasures of the performance is the instrumental contribution, especially once again the violoncello piccolo, which makes a splendid obbligato contribution to the alto aria.

I’m conscious that there are many admirers of Bach’s cantatas for whom the rhetorical element, the strong impact of the words, means less than it does to others, and they will doubtless place less emphasis on the topic of rhetoric. They are likely to find few reservations. Nonetheless, rhetoric meant a great deal to Bach and his fellow congregations, and if we are to understand fully the precept and message of these timeless works, it is something that should be of importance to us, too.

Brian Robins

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Recording

Haydn 2032: No. 18 – Il maestro di scuola

CD cover Haydn volume 18 Il maestro di scuola

Kammerorchester Basel, directed by Giovanni Antonini
76:29
Alpha Classics 1092

Regular visitors to the shores of EMR will know that this splendid cycle of Haydn symphonies has featured regularly among our reviews. Here, however, is the one that got away – or nearly did. For some reason it slipped through the net, but happily that can now be rectified. For anyone needing an introduction or perhaps a recap, this integrale performed either by Giovanni Antonini’s own Il Giardino Armonico or the Kammerorchester Basel in its period-instrument guise is planned for completion in 2032, the year of the tercentenary of Haydn’s birth.

Not the least intriguing aspect of the series has been the addition of music either by Haydn himself or other composers who have some kind of relevance to Haydn (look out for a surprise inclusion on No. 19). Here, that relevance will test the knowledge of all but the most assiduous Haydn scholar; I’m not ashamed to admit failure. The CD is named after the nickname appended to Haydn’s Symphony No 55 in E flat, the ‘Schoolmaster’, though it has to be said only after his death and for reasons that appear somewhat tenuous. From that nickname stems the additional piece here, the finale of the Symphony No 5 in G minor by Franciszek Lessel, a Polish composer who arrived in Vienna to study composition in 1799. The following year, he became a pupil of Haydn, with whom he studied until 1805, when perhaps as a parting gift he received from his ‘schoolmaster’ Haydn the manuscript of the Symphony No 56 in C, which it so happens is also included on the present CD. The Lessel is particularly interesting for showing that he has his own voice, being far closer to the early Romanticism of Weber than the classicism of Haydn. It also suggests that the ‘Sturm und Drang’ febrile intensity of the key of G minor in the hands of composers like Haydn and Mozart had passed, to be replaced by a quasi-folk-like spirit that involved few intimations of tragedy.

It is that magnificent C-major symphony that is the glory of the present disc. Composed in 1774, it is a fully-scored work including trumpets and timpani. As H C Robbins Landon noted in his magisterial study of Haydn, the opening motif features all the ceremonial pomp associated with the key of C, to be immediately answered by a thoughtful lyrical theme, what HCRL terms tension-cum-release structure, a device used by Haydn on more than one occasion. Here, it works in perfect symmetry and will play a major role in this opening movement, being particularly effectively worked in the development section. The succeeding Adagio, a sonata-form movement that leaves the trumpets and drums silent, is also planned on an ample scale with a notable contribution from bassoon, which makes the main theme’s first statement. The return of timpani and trumpets in the Minuet gives it a stately character to be contrasted with the graciously flowing Trio section. The final Prestissimo is a whirlwind of passing ceremonial fanfares, humour, hints of operatic finales, interpolated solos for violin and cello, and hunting calls that leave both player and listener breathless from the profusion of events.

The ‘Schoolmaster’, which also dates from 1774, nearly reaches the same level, its highlights being the slow movement that was compared with the incipit from a lost divertimento apparently known as ‘Der Schulmeister’ and the final Presto, a rondo that spends much of time in light-footed, light-hearted mode that is at one thrilling moment jolted out of its easy existence by an outburst of clamouring windwind and horns. Rather less significant is the earlier Symphony No 29 in E of 1765. The easy-going opening movement has folk-like characteristics, Haydn modifying the indication ‘Allegro’ with ‘ma non troppo’, advice I think that for once Giovanni Antonini has overlooked, the movement being taken just that little too fast. Otherwise, these spruce, incisive, beautifully pointed and played performances have all the merits to be found in previous issues in the series. Crackling opening movements and witty finales – how many of these take us into the opera house! – contrast tellingly with the warmth and thoughtfulness of ‘slow’ movements. I promise to try not to keep readers so long from a review of No 19!

Brian Robins

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Recording

Duality

CD cover Duality Zimmermann Vanhal bassoon concertos

Zimmermann | Vaňhal : Bassoon concertos
Ondřej Šindelář & Sergio Azzolini bassoons, Risonanza Praga
75:17
Supraphon SU 4375-2

Of the two composers here, the better-known name is that of Jan Křtitel Vaňhal, born in the Hradec Králové region of Bohemia in 1739. His biography is fairly sketchy. Vaňhal’s initial musical training and experience in the 1750s being as an organist and choirmaster in the region of his birth, but later he was sent to Vienna to study courtesy of a countess who had noted his talent. The list of compositions composed during the time Vaňhal spent in Vienna is extensive, but particularly noted for the symphonies he composed there, in excess of 100 were written at much the same time Haydn was writing his middle period symphonies at Eszterháza. According to Charles Burney, the symphonies of Vaňhal at one time headed Haydn’s for popularity in England. The Bassoon Concerto in C is a relatively recently discovered work found in the archives of Prague Conservatoire, one of two bassoon concertos by Vaňhal in that key. It is by some way the most ambitious of the three works on the present CD, being scored for an orchestra that includes trumpets and timpani, though as might be expected the central Adagio cantabile dispenses with them to enable a rhapsodic lyricism that contrasts effectively with the outer movements. Ondřej Šindelář‘s playing here demonstrates one of the major assets of his splendid technique – the ability to draw and shape long cantabile lines with gracious ease. The only complaint, and it applies to all the concertos, is that cadenzas are too lengthy, in addition to being somewhat eccentric, including fragmentary little phrases that are presumably intended to remind the listener that the bassoon is capable of humour but belong to the 21st rather than the 18th century.

Anton Zimmermann is a much less familiar name, having been born in Breitenau (Silesia), today Široká Niva in 1741. In 1763 he is mentioned as a ‘highly respected’ organist at the cathedral in Hradec Králové. In 1770, he would move to Pressburg, now Bratislava, where he would remain for the rest of his life. There he became Kapellmeister and court composer to the Archbishop of Hungary, at whose behest Zimmermann created an orchestra said by the musicologist J N Forkel to be ‘in the very first place, ahead of Joseph Haydn’s orchestra at Esterháza’. Although listed in Supraphon’s booklet as being a work of Zimmermann, it seems the outer movements of the Concerto in F for two bassoons may in fact be by Vanhal, since they are identical to those of his own double concerto. The booklet notes suggest several possible answers to this conundrum, none especially persuasive. Leaving questions as to who composed what aside, the expansive opening movement allows plenty of scope for the two players to indulge in lyrical unison passages contrasted with spirited imitation, while the central Adagio concentrates on unison cantabile writing. The work concludes with a bubbly finale with particularly felicitous wind writing. Here Šindelář is joined by probably the best-known period bassoonist, Sergio Azzolini, in a performance that combines nimble virtuosity and pure-toned lyricism to advance an excellent argument for this fine concerto.

However, both the concertos discussed above have to give way to Zimmermann’s Concerto in F, an entrancing work that, for all its modest pretensions, has an easy galant charm not matched in either of the other concertos. Notable, too, is the wind writing which, particularly in the opening Moderato, is engagingly interleaved with the solo bassoon. The central Adagio has a touching beauty, which like hints in the Moderato does not preclude moments of melancholy, while the final enters more dramatic territory, allowing for bravura passages excellently played by Šindelář. Throughout, he is given fine support by the Prague period instrument orchestra. The CD as a whole is a fine addition to the catalogue, while bassoonists in search of repertoire are strongly advised to look at the F-major Zimmermann concerto, a real gem.

Brian Robins

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Mozart: The Horn Concertos

CD cover Mozart horn concertos Javier Bonet

Javier Bonet natural horn, La Real Cámara, directed by Emilio Moreno
73:22
Lbs Classics

We tend to think of Mozart’s horn concertos as a tidy and entertaining group of four works composed for a long-standing family friend, Joseph Leutgeb. They are in fact nothing of the kind, having been the subject of musicological detective work almost since the composer’s own time. Take, for example, the Concerto in D, K 412 & K 386b, known as No. 1, once thought to have been composed in 1782, but later shown by paper dating to have been left unfinished in 1791, the year of Mozart’s death. One fragment, the central Rondo, and a movement not included on the present CD, was completed the following year by Mozart’s pupil, Franz Xavier Süssmayr. What is included is a repeat performance of the final Rondo with the humorous running commentary Mozart added in Italian to the manuscript, much of it insulting comments directed at his friend Leutgeb, who one imagines laughing so much that he has difficulty playing his instrument – ‘Take a breath’… ‘Go, on’… ‘This is a little better’ … and so forth are among the more refined examples. Here the comments are read by the Italian actor Carlo Gianneschi; it was a happy idea to print them translated, Mozart’s scatology and all.

Another fascinating piece of ‘mozartiana’ is the fragment of a Concerto in E, K494a. Started probably at the end of 1785 or early 1786, the fully-scored and expansive exposition is on a scale that suggests this will be the most ambitious and mature of the horn concertos. But a few bars after the soloist’s entry, the orchestra just stops, to be joined in silence by the horn a few bars further on. At least one attempt has been made to continue the fragment (Roger Montgomery on Signum), but here it is played as Mozart left it, creating a mystery around the would-be work that is both poignant and quizzical. Abounding with sufficient thematic riches for two concertos, the mystery is compounded by the fact that apparently Leutgeb knew nothing about it when Mozart’s widow Constanze showed it to him. One further work that needs explanation is the two-movement Concerto in E flat, K370b and K371, composed around the time Mozart moved to Vienna in 1781 and therefore the earliest of his horn concertos. The score was left with incomplete orchestration, a slow movement lacking altogether. Its subsequent history included being cut up as a Mozart souvenir and the rediscovery of some 60 missing bars as recently as 1991. The present performance is played in a reconstruction by Robert Levin. The nature of the solo writing, which includes octave leaps and is certainly different from the Leutgeb works, has led at least one commentator to the conclusion that it is the one horn concerto not composed for Mozart’s friend. But that perhaps also applies to K494a?

One of the most prized assets of a horn player’s technique was an ability to play legato with a smooth, continuous tone. Javier Bonet quotes the Mercure de France on the subject of Joseph Leutgeb, the publication noting that he ‘sings the adagios as perfectly as the smoothest, most interesting and most precise voice would’. It’s an encomium I’m more than happy to bestow on Bonet too, since although he displays a fine technique and the necessary agility where Mozart asks for it, something not always guaranteed – ‘There you go again, torturing me …’, it is the purity of line and vocal quality of the lyrical writing that remain longest in the mind. One need listen no further than the lyrical opening of K370b to be impressed not only by the cantabile line but the glowing warmth and affection of Bonet’s playing. Only in some of the cadenzas would I part company with him, since his playing at times carries them beyond stylistic bounds and length. The orchestra playing under Emilio Moreno, a doyen of the Spanish early music scene, is stylish and fully supportive

This is a thoroughly enjoyable CD, obviously made and played not just with a high level of musicality but also with affection. ‘O damn you, you’re talented!’, to quote Mozart again.

Brian Robins

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Handel: Chandos Anthems 10 & 6; Oboe Concerto

CD cover Handel Chandos anthems Musica Gloria

Musica Gloria, directed by Nele Vertommen oboe, and Beniamino Paganini harpsichord/organ
54:47
Et’cetera 1858

Musica Gloria is a young Netherlands-based vocal and instrumental ensemble whose CD ‘Georg Österreich’s Resurrected Treasures’ I welcomed warmly on this site. For their latest recording, they’ve moved forward around 30 years to give us two of the eleven anthems Handel wrote for James Brydges, shortly before he became Duke of Chandos in 1719, during his time with Brydges as resident composer (Johann Pepusch, another German émigré, was director of music). It is sobering to recognize that, had Brydges been alive today, he would almost certainly have been destroyed by the media. He elevated his country house Cannons (near Edgware) to a magnificence rarely found in England outside of royalty by means of fraudulently siphoning off large sums derived from his time as Paymaster General. So without it – over half a million pounds – no Cannons, no Chandos Anthems, no Acis and Galatea.

The Chandos Anthems were all written for the modest forces retained by Brydges, a small chorus and instrumental ensemble (without alto voices and violas) that obviously included an outstanding oboist. Here Musica Gloria field two voices-per-part along with pairs of oboes, recorders, bassoon and strings. As with the earlier CD, there is a marked impression that oboist Nele Vertommen is the driving force of Musica Gloria. Not only are her contributions to the anthems the highlights of the performances, but her playing of the solo part in the Concerto in B flat, HWV 302a, is throughout as finely nuanced and technically as assured as could be wished for.

‘The Lord is my light’ (no 10) notably sets a text drawn from no fewer than eight psalms, and ‘As pants the hart’ (no 6), which more conservatively restricts its source material to Psalm 42, are the anthems included here. Like all the anthems, they include contrasting solo and choral verses much in the style of the French petit motet, but above showing a clear relationship with the verse anthems of Purcell, a source and influence surprisingly not mentioned in the CD’s notes. Unfortunately, the performances do not match those on the earlier disc, though they may please those wedded to the Anglican tradition rather more than they do me. Like so much of that type of choral singing, there is a distinct lack of projection and communication, the performances being more concerned with making a beautiful sound than conveying a message. Diction is poor throughout, a caveat that applies equally to solos as it does to choral work. In ‘The Lord is my light’, this point is dramatically made in the mimetic choral writing at the words ‘the earth trembled and quaked, the very foundations also of the hills’, introducing the shuddering effect first used by Lully in his Isis (1677). Here it goes for little. Tempos are not always convincing either. The opening of ‘As pants the hart’ is disappointingly deliberate and understated, so by the time we reach the second, devastating line, ‘Tears are my daily food’, there has been no sense of build-up to those strong words. Obviously, as already suggested, there will be those for whom such things matter little, and they will likely find much to enjoy in the pleasing blend achieved by the beguilingly fresh-sounding voices. But there is more to this music than we are given here, and there should have been more music given on the CD, too. In this day when 80 minute CDs are no longer the exception, a mere 55 minutes is likely to raise eyebrows. So, sorry not to give more of a welcome, but the impression left is that the performers may not have been sufficiently versed in this music to bring a natural empathy to it.

Brian Robins

Categories
Recording

Charpentier: Messe à 4 choeurs cori spezzati

CD cover Charpentier Messe a quatres chœurs Versailles

Maîtrise de Paris; Choeur de l’Opéra Royal, Consort Musica Vera, conducted by Jean-Baptiste Nicolas
68:56
Versailles Spectacles CVS164

Although the concept of spatial polychoral works for two or more choirs is particularly associated with the basilica of St. Mark’s in Venice and its many galleries that lent themselves to such works, Rome and other cities, such as Bologna, also developed a strong tradition of performing such spectacular music during the course of the 16th and 17th centuries. Throughout the period, visitors coming to Italy recorded their astonishment at the overwhelming effect that could be produced by music emanating from different locations, and indeed the chori spezzati tradition should surely be viewed as a feature of the counter-Reformation. Oddly, one country that seems to have made no attempt to create its own polychoral tradition was France. The single example of a French composer attempting to emulate it comes from Marc-Antoine Charpentier, with his Salve regina à trois choeurs and Messe à quatre choeurs. For reasons not known, Charpentier visited Rome for a three-year period during his twenties (1653-73), coming into contact not only with a wide variety of liturgical works by such masters of the polychoral tradition as Lodovico Agostini and Orazio Benevoli but also the oratorios of Giacomo Carissimi. Both profoundly affected his development as a composer.

The present disc interestingly compares the Messe à quatre choeurs with a group of works by Monteverdi, Giovanni Gabrieli, Benevoli (who Charpentier almost certainly encountered during his stay) and Agostini. The Monteverdi extracts from the 1610 Vespers, the ‘Sonata sopra Sancta Maria’ – very nicely done by the boys of the Maîtrise de Paris – or the six-part ‘Deus in Auditorium’, with its instrumental reference back to the opening toccata from Orfeo can however hardly be classified as polychoral works. Though born a generation apart, the career trajectories of Agostini (1534-90) and Benevoli (1605-72) follow a similar path, with both having studied at the Église Saint-Louis des Français in Rome. Later, both became music director of Cappella Giulia in Rome, though by that time Benevoli’s career had also taken him to a post in Vienna. The contrasting textures of Benevoli’s 24-part Dixit Dominus, as recorded in the Chapelle Royale in Versailles, seem too complex when taken at such a deliberate pace in a reverberant space, with little separation of the four choirs apparent. It should be noted that the timings for the works that proceed the Charpentier are incorrectly given in the booklet, the 1:26 given for the Agostini Magnificat, for example, more accurately timed at around 6:30.

The Charpentier mass betrays its Roman ancestry from the outset. The opening Kyrie displays the contrasts of texture and weight that are apparent throughout, the solo (petit choeur) opening featuring some lustrous singing by soprano Pauline Gaillard. Here, the entry of the other three choirs is surprisingly and unexpectedly accompanied by timpani. Anyone who has listened to the Italian pieces first will by this time know that loud timpani beats are a feature of the recording and one that conductor Jean-Baptiste Nicolas discusses at length in his notes, noting it is an experiment. Nicolas, who is a musicologist, admits that there is no historical documentation of timpanists being paid for playing church services, but points to examples in painting. Although he argues well and without being dogmatic, I cannot but feel that this is an experiment that has not been successful, indeed one that might have been better suited to a concert than the permanency of a recording. Too often, the entry of timpani comes at the cost of choral clarity or the spoiling of a moment, the most invidious being at ‘Crucifixus’, which follows a transcendent ‘Et incarnatus’, especially touching at ‘et homo factus est’ (and was made man).

I am sure there are those that will find the addition of timpani adds a sense of grandeur and there are indeed some overwhelmingly impressive moments. But I don’t think it works within the context of works that are already giving the listener a considerable aural challenge. Others may find greater satisfaction in the recording of the Charpentier mass – sung within the context of appropriate chant – made by Ex Cathedra (Hyperion, 2003), particularly since it also includes the lovely three-choir Salve Regina. There is also a version by the outstanding Ensemble Correspondances that I’ve not heard (harmonia mundi). But I’m equally sure there are those for whom the visceral excitement of the new Versailles CD will carry the day.

Brian Robins