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Mandolin on Stage

The Greatest Mandolin Concertos
Raffaele La Ragione, Il Pomo d’Oro, Francesco Corti
66:56
Arcana A524

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This exciting and enjoyable CD of concertos for early mandolins begins with the well-known Concerto in C major (RV 425) by Antonio Vivaldi (1678-1741). Raffaele La Ragione plays a copy of a six-course Lombard mandolin built by Tiziano Rizzi after an original by Antonio Monzino (1792). It makes a bright, crisp sound which stands out from the group of accompanying instruments, but I would rather hear Vivaldi not played with a plectrum as La Ragione does, but rather with the right-hand fingers, which produce a sweeter more mellow sound. In his contribution to the book, The Early Mandolin, Early Music Series 9 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989), page 38, James Tyler writes: “From the evidence examined so far, it is clear that finger-style playing was the norm for the mandolino in Italy, and I can find no evidence for plectrum-style playing until the second half of the eighteenth century.” However, La Ragione’s virtuosity and musicality are nevertheless impressive, and he brings life and vigour to his performance.

Il Pomo d’Oro is conducted by the harpsichord player, Francesco Corti, who adds his own embellishments, and keeps the ensemble tightly knit. The accompanying instruments from the group are two violins, viola, cello, double bass, harpsichord and theorbo. The theorbo is a welcome asset. It does much to create a warm, homogeneous sound. In the slow second movement the harpsichord drops out, and Miguel Rincon’s theorbo gently provides harmony, countermelodies, deep bass notes, and tasteful end-of-phrase fill-ins. Vivaldi’s third movement is typical of his style, with a plethora of broken chords, repeated notes, scalic passages, and round-the-clock chord progressions. Enjoy the third movement on YouTube.

There are seven items altogether: four concertos with a mandolin of some sort, interspersed with three items without mandolin. The first of the non-mandolin pieces is a lively Sinfonia in G major by Baldassarre Galuppi (1706-85). There is much repetition of four-bar phrases, and a lack of complex harmony and lyrical melodies. It is a romp designed to invigorate the soul. The other tracks without a mandolin are an Allegro presto from a Sinfonia in B flat major by Giovanni Paisiello (1740-1816), and an Allegro from a Sinfonia in D major by Franz Joseph Haydn (1732-1809).

The second concerto for mandolin is one in E flat major attributed to Paisiello. For this La Ragione plays a four-course Neapolitan mandolin by an anonymous Neapolitan maker c. 1770. Neapolitan mandolins are what most people today think of as mandolins. They have four courses of metal strings and are tuned in fifths. They are played with a plectrum, which gives a strong attack and enables super-fast tremolo notes. La Ragione’s instrument has a clear, full sound, which he uses to good effect, with a pleasing variety of tone and dynamic, particularly noticeable in a long unaccompanied passage towards the end of the second movement. The uplifting third movement is played with enthusiasm by soloist and orchestral members alike.

La Raggione also uses his Neapolitan instrument for a Mandolin Concerto in G major by Francesco Lecce (fl. 1750-1806). The second movement, Largo, is especially gratifying, with La Raggione’s bright, well-shaped phrases enhanced by the gentle notes of Rincon’s theorbo. The third movement, Allegro balletto, requires a fair amount of dexterity from La Ragione, with fast flurries of notes now in threes now in fours.

Another track to be found on YouTube is the Rondo from the Concerto in G major by Johann Nepomuk Hummel (1778-1837). For this Concerto La Ragione plays a four-string Brescian mandolin by Lorenzo Lippi after a late 18th-century original by Carlo Bergonzi II. With its four single courses it has a more delicate sound than the Neapolitan mandolin, which La Ragione turns to his advantage. He is accompanied by a small orchestra, in which flutes, oboes, bassoons and horns are added to the strings and harpsichord. The extra instruments help to create a fuller sound, and provide a welcome contrast of timbres. What cheerful music this is.

Stewart McCoy

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Vivaldi: 12 Concerti Di Parigi

Venise – Vivaldi – Versailles No. 3
Orchestre de l’Opéra Royal, Stefan Plewniak
60:21
Château de Versailles Spectacles CVS065

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Ten of the twelve concerti in this Paris manuscript are known from other sources, suggesting that the manuscript was drawn up at relatively short notice as a presentation piece for a potential patron. The set is associated with a visit to Trieste by the Austrian Emperor Charles VI, in whose retinue was the keen amateur violinist Franz Stephan, who seems to have acquired the set. This perhaps explains why they are all ‘ripieni’ concerti, spotlighting the whole ensemble rather than a soloist. The subsequent enormous popularity of Vivaldi’s music in France can hardly be put down to these concerti, as they lack the sparkle and originality of several of the master’s other manuscripts and publications. Plewniak and his orchestral forces seem determined to make up for the risk of any musical mundanity with the sheer energy of their performance – however, this seems frequently to err on the side of aggression. Each energetic track is preceded by what sounds like a sharp intake of breath from all concerned, while the percussive attack on the stringed instruments is given further edge by some very choppy guitar playing. It is a pity that this element of aggression is allowed to creep into these performances, as many of the more relaxed movements are lyrically and tastefully presented. I don’t want to sound too unenthusiastic about this latest in a series of thought-provoking recordings to emanate from the Palace of Versailles, but at the same time it seems part of a fashion of ‘overplaying’ Vivaldi, when often his music should be allowed to speak more for itself.

D. James Ross

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Vivaldi: Flute concertos [op. 10]

Carlo Ipata, auser musici
47:30
Glossa GCD 923530

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This account of Vivaldi’s six flute concertos op10 (1729) takes the subtitle of the French publication literally, using single players on each of the four string parts, but adds considerable weight in the form of a double bass, while replacing the stipulated organ with a harpsichord and theorbo – it might have been interesting to hear what a difference an organ continuo might have made. However, the forces used here and the wonderfully rich Glossa recorded sound add a textural opulence to this music, which is most enjoyable and impressive. The opus 10 includes three famous ‘programmatic’ concerti, La Notte, Il Gardellino and La Tempesta di Mare, as well as three further concerti, two of which are reworkings of pieces for ‘third flute’ and the third of which was composed specially to make up the numbers. This publication was hugely popular, and if Vivaldi’s public didn’t feel short-changed by being presented with largely non-original material, neither should we at the relative brevity of this CD. The main reason for this is Carlo Ipata’s expressive flute playing, which it has to be said is more effective in the more dynamic movements than in the contemplative sections, where I occasionally felt he could have made more of Vivaldi’s simple lines. Overall, though, these are engaging and technically assured performances, and Ipata’s warm-toned flute is always in perfect balance with the orchestral forces. We hear so many exaggerated and otherwise ‘souped-up’ performances of Vivaldi these days, that something more restrained and tasteful, such as we have here, is a genuine treat.

D. James Ross

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Giuseppe Sammartini: Sonatas for recorder and basso continuo vol. 2

Andreas Böhlen, Michael Hell, Daniel Rosin, Pietro Prosser
73:20
AEOLUS AE-10306

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Older brother of the better-known Giovanni Battista Sammartini, Giuseppe has come to be somewhat eclipsed from the days when his name was mentioned in the same breath as Corelli and Geminiani. After training in Milan with his oboist father, Giuseppe took the well-worn route to London where he advanced from jobbing musician to entering the employment of Frederick Prince of Wales. By the time of his death in 1750 at the age of 55, he was rated as ‘the finest performer on the hautboy in Europe’. His 32 surviving works for alto recorder suggest an intimate knowledge of this instrument too, and indeed it was common at the time for musicians to double on several woodwind instruments. While Sammartini’s sonatas may not have quite the technical demands of Vivaldi’s recorder writing, they are to my mind much more idiomatic, reflecting the lively professional and amateur interest in the instrument. Andreas Böhlen’s accounts are strikingly musical and deftly ornamented, while the rapid passage-work is stunningly well executed. He plays a set of four alto recorders in F modelled on originals by Steenbergen, Bressan and J Denner, as well as an instrument in G by J C Denner, each with a distinctive and engaging voice. His continuo ensemble of lute, harpsichord and cello is superbly supportive and responsive, and used in various permutations to imaginatively vary the textures. As an ensemble, they are clearly all immersed in the chamber music of this period, and their performances are wonderfully expressive and evocative, as is David Lasocki’s comprehensive and stylishly written programme note. I enjoyed enormously volume one of Sammartini’s Sonatas by these performers, and this second volume has more than lived up to its promise. We look forward to further volumes exploring the rest of this gifted composer’s output.

D. James Ross

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Purcell: Royal Odes

Le Banquet Céleste, Damien Guillon
63:23
Alpha Classics ALPHA 780

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I have recently rather late in the day encountered ‘Perpetual Night’, the superlative CD (harmonia mundi) of 17th-century English repertoire by mezzo Lucile Richardot and Sebastien Daucé’s Ensemble Correspondances. Now here’s another disc from a distinguished French vocal ensemble to demonstrate compellingly how flawed our thinking is when we take on a proprietorial attitude to our own early music. That applies especially to Purcell, who many mistakenly tend to regard as quintessentially English and in so doing overlook the influence in his work of both French and Italian music.  

If Continental influences are undeniably at work in Purcell’s music, the concept of the celebratory royal ode was an entirely English one, though one might perhaps find some analogy in the sycophantic opera preludes addressed to Louis XIV by Lully and his contemporaries. Today their principal interest, leaving aside the astonishing quality – out of all proportion to their occasional purpose – of the music Purcell provided for them, is their commentary on and reflection of historical events. Thus of the three odes included here ‘From those serene and rapturous joys’ (Z 326) is the welcome ode for Charles II composed in 1684, in the September of which the king returned to Whitehall following a summer spent partly in Winchester, thus the poet John Flatman’s references to the ‘rapturous joys a country life alone can give’. Rather less easily explained are the references to the raising of Lazarus. But it’s a splendidly variegated work, with a French overture, florid Italianate solo airs, and a very English ground bass in the superb bass air ‘Welcome as soft refreshing showers’. The welcome ode for 1683, ‘Fly, bold rebellion’ (Z 324) is also linked to a specific historical event, in this case the so-called Rye House plot, a thwarted attempt to kill both Charles and his brother James earlier in the year. There is not unexpectedly considerable menacing tub-thumping, but the jewel of the work is the exquisite trio for two sopranos and countertenor, ‘But heaven has now dispelled’, in this performance the delicately interwoven filigree of the voices and ethereal lightness of touch forming a striking contrast with much of what has gone before.  

With the third and longest of these odes, ‘Why are all the Muses mute?’ (Z 343) we come to the first welcome ode Purcell composed for a new king, James II after his accession to the throne in 1685. The anonymous text is ostensibly largely a panegyric, though not without barbs and ambiguities, in which the new and unpopular Catholic monarch is throughout addressed as Caesar. Its opening is unique. Instead of the expected overture, we are drawn into the work by an introverted solo for high tenor set to the words of the ode’s title, here beautifully done with rapt concentration by Nicholas Scott. Only after this verse does Purcell introduce an instrumental prelude. Other highlights in a remarkable piece include ‘Britain, that now art great’, a ground bass air for countertenor – in this case, another of the CD’s stars, Paul-Antoine Bénos-Djian – succeeded by a ravishingly lovely orchestral ritornello.

The scale of the performances is similar to that employed by Robert King in some of his more recent re-recordings of the royal odes. That is to say two voices per part in choruses and single strings per part. King himself has recorded ‘Why are all the Muses?’ in this way, which reflects the kind of forces Purcell would have employed. Comparisons are fascinating, with Guillon generally taking a more lively approach than the latter-day King, whose stellar group of soloists are inevitably more individualistic than Le Banquet Céleste’s beautifully tuned and integrated ensemble. Both approaches have their own value, with the mostly French performers relishing the marvellous expressive qualities inherent in Purcell’s writing and, unsurprisingly, the strong feel of dance it includes. An outstanding disc that underlines convincingly the fundamental fact Purcell is fully exportable to and performable by our near-neighbours. Coincidentally, while working on this review a newsletter from Le Banquet Céleste arrived in my in-box. Upcoming are two concert programmes devoted to 17th-century English music. And that can only be good news for all of us.

Brian Robins

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C. P. E. Bach: Die Auferstehung unf Himmelfahrt Jesu

Lore Binon soprano, Kieran Carrel tenor, Andreas Wolf bass, Vlaams Radiokoor, Il Gardellino Baroque Orchestra, conducted by Bart van Reyn
69:15
Passacaille 1115

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In the press release the flautist and co-founder of Il Gardellino Jan de Winne speaks of CPE Bach’s oratorio Die Aufferstehung und Himmelfahrt Jesu as a ‘forgotten masterpiece’. Masterpiece? Yes, indeed this iconic work can deservedly be accorded such an epithet. But forgotten? That’s hardly an apt description for a work that has received distinguished recordings from such notable directors as Philippe Herreweghe (Virgin Classics) and different performances by Sigiswald Kuijken on CD (Hyperion) and DVD (Euroarts).

Composed in Hamburg in 1774, it has in keeping with the spirit of the times in north Germany a poetic rather than liturgical text, in this case, one by Karl Wilhelm Ramler that had been previously set by other composers including Telemann and Graun. It takes an overtly emotional response to the events of the resurrection and ascension of Christ, in addition to a long recitative for bass at the start of the second of the oratorio’s two parts recapitulating the events of and leading up to the Crucifixion. The recitative, which is part narrative and part direct speech is divided into alternating passages of plain recitative and accompagnato, thus contradicting the impression given in the libretto that it consists near wholly of the latter. It is a text well suited to both the ‘Sturm und Drang’ of the 1770s and Bach’s employment of the related Empfindsamkeit, the highly expressive sentimental style particularly fashionable in Berlin and north Germany. Thus the work encapsulates both these elements in the bass’s first aria ‘Mein Geist, voll Furcht und Freude’ (My soul, full of fear and joy), the conflicting yet at the same time parallel emotions expressed in music of quasi-Romantic turbulence and intensity. Exhilarating, mystical and tender by turn, Die Aufferstehung looks both back to the world of Bach’s godfather Telemann in its use of such a device as its ritornello chorus and forward to that of Haydn’s Creation and Beethoven. The latter indeed looms large over the concluding numbers, the bass aria ‘Ihr Tore Gottes’, all brass fanfares and dynamic thrusting against restraint, and the final chorus with its unison passages for male chorus and vigorous fugue.

The performance holds up well against its distinguished predecessors. Bart Van Reyn’s direction and the fine playing of Il Gardellino capture well the varied moods of the work and while his chorus may not quite match the very best groups it is well balanced and responds with both fervour and, where needed, a sensitivity clearly apparent as early as the lovely opening chorus, ‘Gott, Du wirst seine Seele’. Tempos are on the whole well judged, though the fugue that concludes Part 1 sounds rushed and consequently untidy. Unusually most of the important solo work is given to the male soloists, the soprano not appearing at all in Part 2. The singing of bass Andreas Wolf is outstanding – rounded and richly toned, while articulating both text and music with clarity. Kieran Carrel is a light lyric tenor who sings extremely capably without quite effacing memories of Christoph Prégardien, Herreweghe’s soloist. Lore Binnon sings the little allotted to the soprano with an appealing purity and freshness, although her ornaments are not always confidently turned. As is so often the case, there was sadly no evidence of a vocal trill throughout the entire performance.

This finely executed and dramatically convincing Die Auferstehung can certainly stand alongside the earlier versions of one of Bach’s most influential and significant choral works.

Brian Robins

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Telemann: 12 Fantasias for Solo Violin (without bass) 1735

Tomas Cotik
62:48
Centaur CRC3949

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Quite a few violinists (50+?) have thrown their hats into the ring to tackle these neatly-crafted works, which do clearly befit the definition of Fantasias, breaking rules of form and giving a sense of an improvisatory flow; more than this, we have clever capsules of music expounding the sonata forms of the past, juxtaposed with more progressive Galant elements, plus some suite-dances and rustic sections, as per the final “Giga” movements in the Fantasias nos 2, 4, 9 and 10, that mirror the over twenty closing movements found in the extant Suites. These well-thought-out fantasias come some twenty years after the composer’s first publication (1715) and just after the famous “Musique de Table” 1733, and sit alongside the publication of other fantasias for solo flute and gamba, and the Sonates Corellisantes of 1735. The opening “Capriccio” of the A major work no 5 is conceived within an overt Corellian mode and style. In a printed catalogue of 1735, Telemann listed the violin fantasias as: “12 Fantasias for violin without bass, of which 6 include fugues and are: ‘Galanterien.’” These pieces offer up some real “roller-coaster” mood swings and stylistic changes with some passing lyricism for melodic effect, and some have that “ear-tricking” double-voice effect, found in the flute fantasias too. Here also that famous rustic style closing nos 11 and 12. In nearly all the fantasias, Tomas Cotik has keenly and clearly articulated these modes and moods with deft fingering and technique, shaving off minutes in many, except no 6 in E minor which exceeds all the recordings I own by some two minutes! There’s an often pulsing, strident acceleration and almost “explosive” delivery from this Marc de Sterke (2000) violin with baroque bow, which makes for a formidable display of technical ability, yet this can detract slightly from a more even- tempered approach given by others notably Andrew Manze (1996), Rachel Podger (2002) and Angele Dubeau (1993/5). Maya Magub on the CRD label (2012) held a finely balanced “middle way” with some lovely subtle embellishments. Here, sometimes, I felt the envelope was often being “pushed”, which I dare say would count as sparkle in the concert hall, yet on repeated listening might feel more like over-exuberance, an involuntary frisson! The slower introspective moments were well interpreted, so too the openings of no. 7 and (Dolce) no. 8 (Piacevolmente), yet I found the opening Prelude of the G major (no  2) had oddly applied tremulous “shudders” and the final Menuet from the F minor (no 3) became all rather spikey to my ear! This brings to a head the instant dichotomy of how to interpret these works in a fluent chain of musical ideas that look back to the old and forward to the Galant; each violinist must find their own path and method of delivery within the intended guiding improvisational flow. These versions are unabashedly driven, backed by a slick technical ability, yielding a bold, fleet, forthright ride through the challenging yet rewarding contours of these mixed modes, occasionally dance-infused, and forward-looking Fantasias.

David Bellinger

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Asioli: Cello Sonata, Piano Sonatas

Francesco Galligioni cello, Jolanda Violante fortepiano
70:06
Brilliant Classics 95908

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The fortunes of Bonifazio Asiola very much mirror the rise and fall of the Napoleonic Kingdom of Italy – in 1807 at the age of 38 he is appointed director of the Milan Conservatory by the French Viceroy only to be forced into early retirement by the fall of Napoleon in 1814, although he continued to teach and compose until his death in 1832. Labelled a ‘Sonata per Clavicembalo e Violoncello Obbligato’, Asioli’s Cello Sonata is very much in the new idiom where the cello usually takes the melodic initiative while the piano tends to accompany, although the demanding keyboard part is also allowed to sparkle. This is a substantial work with wonderfully idiomatic writing for the cello – it was after all in Italy that the cello had originally emerged from its traditional continuo role to become a solo instrument. This work was composed in 1784 as a Divertimento for cello and piano, although by 1817 when it was published it had acquired a name more befitting its substantial nature.

We also hear two of Asioli’s three Piano Sonatas op 8, published around 1790, works of considerable musical variety and charm. They are given powerful and expressive renditions by Jolanda Violante on a copy of a bright and incisive Walter & Son fortepiano of 1805, while Francesco Galligioni plays wonderfully eloquently on a late 17th-century Cremonese cello. The excellent programme note by Licia Sirch mentions in passing a wealth of other work by Bonifazio Asioli, and on the basis of these three attractive sonatas, he is a name we should watch out for. But for the vagaries of history, he would probably be much more generally appreciated.

D. James Ross

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Schubert: Complete Symphonies & Fragments

L’Orfeo Barockorchester, Michi Gaigg
277:25 (4 CDs in a double jewel box)
cpo 555 228-2

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Any project to record the complete Schubert symphonies is a challenge. He is famously the composer of an ‘unfinished’ symphony, but in fact Schubert was a serial ‘unfinisher’ of symphonic material, and even the total number and indeed the numbering of his complete symphonies are contested. In the early 1980s, the Academy of St Martin in the Fields recorded Schubert’s ‘10 Symphonies’, including impressive reconstructions by Brian Newbold using the surviving fragments. Subsequently, a number of period instrument ensembles have settled for the eight complete symphonies. The present recording takes an alternative approach, presenting the eight complete symphonies – renumbered so that the ‘Unfinished’ is now number 7 and the ‘Great’ is number 8 – as well as all the related surviving fragments and overtures. Some of these, such as D729 are substantial, in essence, a fair proportion of two movements, whereas others D74A are tiny, coming in in the middle of the action and then cut short. There is a definite academic interest in hearing any orchestral sketches Schubert left behind, and once you are prepared for the shock of a section cutting off in mid-flow, they do also make interesting listening. Besides, you can always select only the complete symphonies to listen to if that is what you want. These are live recordings, with some retakes added later, and have all the excitement of the concert performance about them. Just occasionally there are tuning issues, fluffs, and some extraneous noises, but nothing to interfere with the overall enjoyment. Michi Gaigg’s direction finds the magic in even the slightest of fragments, and she and her forces rise well to the challenge and scale of the later symphonies. She also has an unerring instinct for tempo, and has an excellent line-up of woodwind principals to take full advantage of Schubert’s famously rewarding woodwind solos. I am not sure how often I will be listening to the fragments, but these definitely do inform what I think are excellent accounts of the complete symphonies.

D. James Ross

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Frescobaldi: Complete unpublished works for harpsichord & organ

Roberto Loreggian
<TT> (6 CDs in a double CD case)
Brilliant Classics 96154

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This collection of six CDs marks the conclusion of Roberto Loreggian’s impressive journey through the complete keyboard music of Frescobaldi, begun back in 2008. While Frescobaldi was a careful preparer and editor of his music for publication, providing a significant canon of authentic pieces, a surprising amount survives in manuscripts scattered all round Europe. This recording has 166 pieces in total, all unpublished during the composer’s lifetime, but issued in 2017 by Etienne Darbellay and Costanze Frey as the final part of their complete edition for Suvini Zerboni. Only a handful are thought to be in Frescobaldi’s hand, but many have been identified as in the hands of collaborators and pupils such as Nicolò Borbone and Leonardo Castellani. Some are substantial pieces; others are short sketches, trial runs for later published pieces, teaching exercises, etc. Authenticating them is a complex business and has occupied scholars over many years, most notably Claudio Annibaldi, Etienne Darbellay, Frederick Hammond, Christine Jeanneret and Alexander Silbiger. Discussion continues about many pieces, and some at least are more likely to be by Frescobaldi’s pupils or followers. Silbiger maintains an online catalogue (Frescobaldi Thematic Catalogue Online (sscm-jscm.org)), hosted by the Journal of Seventeenth Century Music. He has attached F numbers to all pieces attributed to Frescobaldi, published and unpublished, thought to have at least the potential of having been composed by him; for the most part, these F numbers are attached to pieces in Loreggian’s recording, though some have been missed out. Hammond hosts an annotated catalogue of all sources on his website (Girolamo Frescobaldi: An Extended Biography – Frederick Hammond, Bard College), using Silbiger’s F numbers. Between them, these two websites provide the information necessary to contextualise Loreggian’s achievement; the liner notes provide only basic information about the sources.

For those already familiar with the works of Frescobaldi, listening to this recording is at once a disorientating and stimulating experience. Much of the language is familiar and sometimes whole sections are recognisable, but pieces are curtailed, go off in different directions, or use the basic building blocks in an altered way. It is fun speculating whether this or that piece is really by the composer. Above all, the recording provides a crucial insight into the workshop of Frescobaldi, his pupils and followers, and the raw material from which his published pieces emerged fully varnished. There are few surprises here: all the standard genres are found, with lots of random dance movements in particular. There are also sets of partite on familiar themes as well as canzonas, ricercars and toccatas. Some of these last are thought to be late works by Frescobaldi, but might also be by his pupils: they are certainly very accomplished. In particular, a set of three toccatas copied by the musician and engraver Nicolò Borbone in Ms. Chigi Q IV 25, and eleven canzonas also copied by Borbone and now in British Library Add. Ms. 40080, are well worth listening to. There are plenty of other gems too. At the other end of the scale, some pieces are extremely cursory, lasting less than a minute in some cases. Pieces seem to have been ordered by choice of instrument, rather than according to any particular criteria, with no attempt to single out the exceptional from the merely ordinary.

Loreggian has done a very impressive job, taking the pieces equally seriously, and giving them all the same level of attention. He plays on two organs: that built in 1565 by Graziadio Antegnati for the Cappella Palatina in Mantua’s Ducal Palace, and one made by Zanin Organi in 1998 for the Chiesa di S. Caterina in Treviso. He also plays on two modern copies of 17th-century Italian harpsichords by F. Gazzola and L. Patella. All work very well for their chosen pieces and are sensitively registered; recording quality is excellent throughout. There is one surprise in the registration, but I won’t spoil the fun by revealing it! Loreggian has a real gift for making the music sound as if he is improvising it – it is easy to imagine Frescobaldi himself in the room with the listener. As a performer, he is steeped in the musical language of the period and responds with great fluency to the changing declamatory rhythms and affective figures so typical of the composer and his milieu. He is to be congratulated for making all of this music, warts and all, available to listeners. This is a collection to dip into repeatedly for rewarding insights and is a very welcome addition to Frescobaldi discography.

Noel O’Regan