Steven Devine harpsichord
219:39 (3 CDs in a card triptych)
resonus RES 10214
[dropcap]T[/dropcap]he first two discs of this comprehensive survey of Rameau’s keyboard oeuvre were released in the anniversary year 2014 to great acclaim. Here they are joined by a volume of transcriptions which, unusually for ‘complete Rameau’ collections, includes the lengthy suite from Les Indes Galantes. These movements have not always been accepted by players as genuine keyboard music, but Devine certainly makes an eloquent case (with help from Robin Bigwood in the three-hand pieces). His general approach inclines towards the thoughtful and restrained which is a welcome contrast to those virtuosos who set out to demonstrate that they are exactly that. Certainly, it seemed very suitable that the final volume ends not with the quite extraordinary La Dauphine but with Devine’s own transcription of the delicate Air pour Zéphire, played on the 4’ stop alone to mirror the piccolo of the original. There is a substantial introduction to the music (though in English only). However, the star that might have been withheld for this is re-instated as an acknowledgement of a rare outing for tempérament ordinaire!
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[dropcap]F[/dropcap]ine performances of fine music are on offer here. The disc’s title is justified in the sense that the three leçons do take up more than half the programme but the preceding works are far more than mere starters. The Litanies, especially, show M-AC at his very best, imaginatively deploying a lush six-part vocal ensemble topped out by two instrumental parts, all under-pinned by continuo, of course. The first and third Tenebrae pieces are scored for baritone and small ensemble, the second for haute-contre and continuo, from which the gamba sometimes emerges as a melodic foil to the voice. Samuel Boden’s singing of this exquisite music is simply superb – just the right mix of passion and dignity. The booklet essay (Eng/Fre/Ger) tells us what we need to know but the sung Latin texts are translated into English only. This is a notable release.
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The Final Harpsichord Works of François Couperin
Katherine Roberts Perl harpsichord
78:47
Music & Arts CD-1284
[dropcap]C[/dropcap]ouperin’s last four ordres are here played almost complete (selections only from no. 24) in a way that to me emphasises the melancholy tinge of this lovely music. Pacing is very deliberate, though not ponderous, the ornaments never sound crammed in and the phrases have time to breathe. The harpsichord (modern, after Dumont 1707) is well recorded and has an even tone with distinct yet blending registers. In this anniversary year especially it is a shame that the booklet (English only) is not a little stronger. The player’s note on performance is valuable but the Couperin biographical summary is more about reception history and we are told virtually nothing about the specific music recorded. Neither is there any attempt to even translate, let alone explain, the pieces’ titles. In these days of the download, I think that those who still purchase CDs deserve a bit more.
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Da Camera (Emma Murphy recorders, Susanna Pell viols, Steven Devine harpsichord)
77:16
Chandos Chaconne CHAN 0817
[dropcap]R[/dropcap]emember LP boxed sets? One of my favourites was and is a collection of Telemann trio sonatas for violin/pardessus, recorder and continuo played by a starry ensemble consisting of Alice Harnoncourt, Kees Boeke, Wouter Möller and Bob van Asperen. Well, Emma Murphy (playing alto recorder and voice flute), Susanna Pell (treble and bass viols) and Steven Devine (harpsichord) are more than worthy neighbours for them on my Telemann shelf, with only a small overlap in the programmes. I do think that the bass line needs the greater definition that a bowed instrument would bring but I’m still going to splash the stars around as everything else is so good. GPT’s music is endlessly inventive and attractive and the players relish the opportunities he gives them. The varied sonorities (when did you last hear voice flute and bass viol in conversation?) are a bonus and the excellent playing is supported by a lively note (Eng/Fre/Ger) and full details of the music and instruments. Go on, treat yourselves.
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[dropcap]T[/dropcap]he discovery of Telemann’s long-lost fantasias for viola da gamba is one of the great musicological events of recent times. But this music brings joy not just to scholars and players: it is also most attractive for those of us who ‘only’ listen. As always, Telemann writes with idiomatic flair for the instrument, making use of chords and changes of register to enrich what is, inevitably and for the most part, single-line music. And in Robert Smith he has an eloquent advocate – even in tone, sure in the judgment of pace and space, and technically adroit in music that is not without technical challenges, even if was written for the amateur market of the day. The recording venue (a small church) gives the sound just the right amount of bloom and the player’s note (in English only) neatly summarise both the music’s content and context. A release both welcome and exciting.
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De Lalande: Grands motets
[Emmanuelle De Negri soprano, Dagmar Šašková soprano, Sean Clayton haute-contre, Cyril Auvity tenor, Andre Morsch basse], Ensemble Aedes, Le Poème Harmonique, Vincent Dumestre
74:32
Alpha 968
[dropcap]F[/dropcap]ew composers of grands motets did grand with quite the instinct for brilliance of Michel-Richard de Lalande. Even in these relatively early works he displays a sure structural hand as solo récits, ensembles and grand choruses succeed each other in subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) praise to and of kings both divine and earthly. The performing forces are large, though not implausibly so, and the orchestral strings correctly distributed across a single violin line above three viola voices and the basses de violon. Splendid though the two shorter pieces are, they are inevitably over-shadowed by the powerhouse that is the Te Deum – core repertoire at the Concert Spirituel as well as at court – in which the choral writing reminded me more than once of Handel in ceremonial mode. As usual I wish that the lady soloists could display a little more care over their use of vibrato but the gentlemen are splendid, especially in ensemble. I have in the past found this director a little free-and-easy in matters of performance practice in earlier music and here, too, this is a bit of an issue. I just don’t believe that Lalande ever deployed recorders at the pitch we hear at the opening of the Te Deum. They really don’t add further lustre to what is already a colourful sound: it’s just an annoying squeak to me. But as with pretty much any Lalande programme there is much here that both impresses and gives joy. The booklet offers Fre/Eng/Ger essays but the sung Latin texts are translated into Eng/Fre only.
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Richard Egarr harpsichord
62:59
Linn Records CKD518
[dropcap]T[dropcap]he versatile musician Richard Egarr contributes to what is something of a succession of distinguished recordings devoted to keyboard music by Byrd. Only Pavana Lachrymae and the Praeludium and Fancie overlap with the selection on Colin Tilney’s choice of Byrd which I reviewed only recently for EMR. The disc under review here is another well-chosen anthology, wandering slightly further off piste than Tilney in including the exquisite pavan and galliard pair in A minor, BK 16. Here, the good news is that, notwithstanding Egarr’s assertion in his booklet notes that the attribution is insecure, on the contrary the attribution is as safe as it can be for a piece from this period that does not survive in a source directly connected to the composer: both independent sources give Byrd as the composer, and Egarr seems simply to have misinterpreted a passage in an article by David Schulenberg (“The keyboard works of William Byrd, Musica disciplina 47 (1993): 99-121, esp. p. 103); or, he has relied upon the first edition of Alan Brown’s William Byrd: keyboard music (1969) which was published before Robert Pacey’s discovery of the second independent corroborative source (1985) duly noted by Brown in subsequent editions (1985 revised reprint of 2nd ed.; 3rd ed., 1999). That said, Egarr delivers a fine rendition of this exquisite piece, highlighting the poignant opening strain of the pavan and the songlike opening strain of the galliard, epitomizing his performances of most of the rest of the contents of this disc.
Indeed, it is clear from reading his notes that this recording is a labour of love for Richard Egarr. He has already recorded the complete works for harpsichord by Louis Couperin, the French composer most worthy of being named in the same sentence as Byrd. On this occasion he has not sought to emulate Davitt Moroney again, but has focused on a dozen or so works by Byrd that seem to have particular resonances for him.
That said, it is perhaps just as well that he has limited himself to the one disc. Throughout the seven discs of Moroney’s boxed set, there are no quirky interpretations, besides an occasional flourish and the error of judgment over the choice of organ for most of the third disc; even here his interpretations manage usually to transcend the acoustic and other obstacles. Egarr’s disc is one of the best of its type, and comfortably takes its place among the stream of such recent distinguished recordings mentioned at the beginning of this review, but it is bookended by two distinctly quirky interpretations, a quirkiness which, if reproduced proportionally over the course of a boxed set containing over a hundred pieces, might well become irksome.
The first pair of pieces is the Prelude and Fantasia in a, BK 12-13. I would put the Fantasia forward as the first indisputable masterpiece of European keyboard music. Byrd’s control over his almost riotous creativity is remarkable, with a succession of polyphony, homophony, varied tempi, sometimes almost anarchic rhythm, memorable melody and striking harmony are all rolled into a work that can be melancholy and buoyant with everything in between. How to approach such a work? Some performers rely simply on the note values and time signatures; others roll with them and respond in ways that are at best subtle but that can seem exaggerated. At first I felt that Egarr had overdone his response and entered the realm of exaggeration. Listening again after having heard the rest of the disc, I felt that it is perhaps more an expression of sheer enthusiasm, responding to Byrd’s own creativity; if after the first hearing I felt something like exhaustion, after the second I felt something more like stimulation. Egarr certainly sets out his stall here. On a less subjective note, he observes the repeat at bars 58-61 from the presumably authoritative source copied by Byrd’s pupil Tomkins; this is not given by Francis Tregian in the Fitzwilliam Virginal Book.
Thereafter matters become more grounded. This is an appalling pun as, after another Prelude, BK 1, Egarr plays two of Byrd’s “short” Grounds, BK 9 and 43. These are given performances whose lyricism belies the stark titles. It would be interesting to ponder the point in discographical history at which interpretations of this sort of work ceased suggesting that you might not like this sort of work but it is good for you, and started to proclaim the wonders of works which might have dull titles but were conversely beautiful. The conclusion of BK 9 is quite exquisite in Egarr’s hands.
And, speaking of dull titles, they do not come more dull than Ut re mi fa sol la and Ut mi re. Yet the former is one of Byrd’s most radiant pieces, with the latter tagging along not far behind. Original sources make it clear that the second piece should be played immediately after the first, making for a substantial musical edifice. Although Moroney’s performance of Ut re mi fa sol la on the organ is one of the triumphs of his boxed set – and indeed of the entire Byrd discography, notwithstanding the unwise choice of instrument and acoustic – Egarr coaxes his harpsichord to come as close as the instrument can to emulating what can be achieved on the organ by a gifted player. Undeterred by the constraints of his cantus firmus, Byrd produces a work as full of vitality as the Fantasia BK 13, and Egarr maintains an irresistible momentum through Byrd’s rhythmic and metrical adventures, revealing with clarity his counterpoint even in passages low in the registers such as at bars 48-49 while giving due dramatic emphasis to the sudden change from major to minor at bar 75. Egarr also gives the lie to Oliver Neighbour’s dismissal of Ut mi re which is admittedly not as fine a piece as its partner, but nonetheless has much to offer.
It is also a pleasure to welcome the Fantasia BK 62, Byrd’s longest essay in the genre, which seemingly made some impact in its day as both Peter Philips and Pierre Cornet subsequently used the same initial theme for their own fantasias. Egarr’s sympathetic but not indulgent treatment of the Pavana Lachrymae reflects Byrd’s own evident admiration for Dowland’s piece – one has only to listen to the passionate scalar passages in the final strain – and after another Prelude, BK 24, Egarr leads us through the sunny Fancie: for my ladye nevell treating the normally triumphal concluding phrase with something like poignancy or nostalgia. Perhaps the rising scale with which the fantasia begins was taken by Byrd from similar passages in his motet Descendit de coelis (second book of Cantiones sacrae 1591, the year copying of My Ladye Nevells Booke was completed) at the word “lux” in bars 66-73.
And so to the final item, The Bells, Byrd’s incredible edifice built upon a ground of two notes. This is a very personal reading by Egarr – he says in the booklet that it is the piece that turned him on to Byrd – yet ironically it is the one where he veers most away from what Byrd has written. Perhaps Egarr is emulating the sound of some actual modern bellringers whom he has heard, imitating their technique by adding extra notes to Byrd’s surviving texts, and not always doing so flatteringly, as in one passage where the parts seem – deliberately, one assumes – to get out of time with one another. It is a passionate and committed performance, one where the performer deserves to be indulged.
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Music of the Elizabethan Avant Garde from Add. MS 31390
LeStrange Viols
66:22
Olde Focus FCR912
[dropcap]I[/dropcap]n 2015 the excellent LeStrange Viols, from New York, placed us all in their debt with a fine debut disc of rewarding music composed by the neglected but estimable William Cranford (FCR905). Now they compound our debt by offering this selection from a manuscript in the British Library which is one of the most important of Elizabethan musical sources.
Why open the disc with the premiere on disc of In aeternum? It is a neglected work by the similarly neglected William Mundy, which survives only in this source, one of several with a Latin title but no text (like his O mater mundi recorded by Hesperion XX) so it could be an instrumental fantasia or a choral motet. So why the sudden prominence? Probably because LeStrange Viols want listeners to discover that this is a work of surpassing beauty, and they play it accordingly. This is followed by the famous, or perhaps infamous, In nomine by the otherwise unknown Picforth. It is his only known work, but even his Christian name has not survived. Each of the five parts plays a single unchanging rhythmic value different from all other parts, yet this literally timeless work hangs together convincingly and mesmerizingly, sounding in many places like a cross between the famous Lento of Howard Skempton and the studies for player piano by Conlon Nancarrow. In other recordings the “alto” part, which is in triple time and gives rise to more syncopations that the rest, is not always audible under the more active “treble”, but here the LeStranges play every part except the cantus firmus itself pizzicato. This could emerge as a mere gimmick, but it successfully points up what Picforth is up to here, and although it sacrifices some of the sonorousness of his part- writing, it achieves a scintillating clarity. Other interpretations are available.
Altogether there are 26 pieces on this recording, but before moving on to summarize the rest of the contents, I will mention the third work, partly to emphasize that the disc gets off to such a stunning start. This is John Taverner’s Quemadmodum, another work with a Latin title but for which no text survives in any source. Like Mundy’s In aeternum it has been editorially fitted out in more than one edition with a convincing Latin text for vocal performance. If it is indeed by Taverner, it must be a late work judging by its stylistic debt to the Franco-Flemish school, and whether instrumental or vocal, it is one of the composer’s finest, and one of the best works of the Tudor period. Previous recordings by viols have all failed to do justice to Taverner’s wonderfully expressive part-writing in relation to the sonorities that he creates, but LeStrange’s interpretation is on a level with the best of those choral versions recorded by Contrapunctus, Magnificat and the Taverner Choir. The descending phrase that begins its second part “Sitivit anima mea” seems to have been borrowed by Byrd to begin the second part “Eheu mihi” of his eight-part psalm setting Ad Dominum cum tribularer.
I want to digress here briefly to discuss the attribution of Quemadmodum to Taverner, in the light of the work’s proximity on this disc to Mundy’s In aeternum and their being in the same manuscript. There are many similarities between the two pieces, the most striking being the recurrence in both pieces, especially in In aeternum, of the short phrase a b c a (at whichever pitch, the second note sometimes flattened, the third sometimes sharp, though obviously not in the same phrase) which often proceeds again to b, hence a b c a b. Doubts have been expressed over the attribution of Quemadmodum to Taverner, not least by Hugh Benham in his book about the composer (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2003, p. 249) who notes that one source (WB MCG) attributes it to Tye. It is in fact anonymous in 31390 itself. This leaves two other sources, in both of which it is attributed to Taverner (Benham, p. 57). Mundy’s In aeternum survives only in 31390. Other pieces by Mundy and works by Tye also appear in 31390, as well as the original In nomine, here correctly attributed to Taverner and with a fifth part added. Quemadmodum which as we have seen is anonymous in 31390, is Taverner’s most uncharacteristic work, if it is indeed by him. Tye is an even less likely composer, and nobody yet has proposed Mundy, but Quemadmodum seems a little too old-fashioned to be by the same composer as In aeternum. Perhaps Mundy, younger by three decades, was impressed by Quemadmodum – a cutting edge composition by English standards if by Taverner – and was inspired to incorporate some of its features, particularly melodies and sonorities, into his own work, while still imposing his own more modern stamp upon the latter.
The rest of the disc consists of either mainstream consort works, such as In nomines (highlights are the two pieces in seven parts by Parsons, the first of which has an alternative but discredited attribution to Byrd), and textless pieces that are known, or presumed, to have been composed for voices. One of the many charms of this disc is that several of the composers, like Picforth, are quite obscure, yet their music is most enjoyable. Edward Blankes, Clement Woodcock, Nicholas Strogers, Osbert Parsley, Mallorie and Brewster all receive their well-deserved day in the sun with some delightful consort music, and there are also appearances by prominent European composers such as Clemens, Croce, Wilder (albeit he was based in England) and Janequin, besides the less familiar Flemish composer Jacquet de Berchem – not to be confused with the now better-known older French contemporary Jacquet of Mantua. The majority of the Europeans’ works represented here are instrumental versions of songs.
It remains to mention three motets by major English composers which survive with their Latin texts but which appear in 31390 in an ostensibly instrumental garb. Sheppard’s Dum transisset a6 is a Respond of surpassing beauty. The repeats are not included, neither is the intervening plainsong, but this still makes for a satisfying musical entity. Byrd is represented by two pieces. His first In nomine in five parts (an attribution to Mundy in one source is scored out) might originally have been composed for only four, with a fifth added possibly by the composer himself. The performance here is strikingly rustic compared with the urbanity of Fretwork’s version on their complete recording of Byrd’s consort music; interestingly Phantasm eschew the work altogether both on their own complete recording, and on their earlier disc which Byrd shares with Richard Mico, perhaps favouring the deleted attribution to Mundy. O salutaris hostia is by a country mile Byrd’s – and indeed most other Tudor composers’ – most discordant piece, as the young musician – perhaps playfully, perhaps satirically, certainly determinedly – bulldozes a three-part canon through the work. More peacefully, Tallis’s O sacrum convivium is the most familiar of such pieces on the recording, but still disconcerting in this version not just for the ironed-out word-setting, but for some strikingly different accidentals, both present and absent in 31390, compared with the more familiar vocal version from his Cantiones sacrae published jointly with Byrd in 1575.
LeStrange Viols’ performances are all that one could desire. This really is a delightful disc from beginning to end – the exuberant Me li Bavari by Croce. Tempi are judicious, and balance such that all the parts can be heard clearly in both the prevailing polyphony and in the more occasional homophony. Nearly all the viols played are from the Caldwell Collection of Viols (in Oberlin, OH), instruments of the 16-18th centuries from England, Germany, France and Brabant. This recording is easy to obtain on the internet, and well worth purchasing.
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[dropcap]A[/dropcap]ny first recording of music by such a major figure as Claudio Monteverdi should be celebrated; the fact that his Scherzi Musicali (published by his brother, who also contributes two pieces, in 1607) have not previously made it on to disk is that 17 strophic arias sung in three parts but up to six sopranos and a single voice, separated by ritornelli in which the violinists and recorder player compete to add as many ornaments as they can, accompanied by keyboards, pluckers and a symphonia with drone, might be a challenging experience – and so it turned out. Enthusiastic as the singers are, and sweet as their voices might be, they should not have been persuaded to consent to allowing themselves to be recorded; I gain nothing by being hyper-critical, so will leave the review there. To be fair, though, I don’t think I ever want to hear another recording of the set – perhaps one or two pieces in the context of a more varied concert.
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Elena De Simone mezzo-soprano, Ensemble Il Mosaico
61:17
Tactus TC 690801
[dropcap]T[/dropcap]here are ten arias from eight different operas on this CD running between four minutes to well over eight, and they amply display Hasse’s gifts both in melodic terms but also in knowing the voice for which he was writing. While the objective of the project is noble enough (to bring Hasse’s music back to wider notice), the realisation may not have the desired effect. The problem is not with the performers, but rather with their number; with the best will in the world, a string quartet with violone and harpsichord cannot recreate the sound world of an orchestra, and a whole disc of just one singer and a string ensemble would struggle to sustain anyone’s imagination beyond a few arias – perhaps a few recitatives, or a couple of sinfonias from the operas with woodwinds and brass might have helped. I mean this not as criticism but as encouragement to continue exploring Hasse’s music but with a broader palette!
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