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Recording

Napoli 1810

Italian Romantic Music
Pascal Valois
61:26
Analekta AN 2 9195
 
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Pascal Valois presents a programme of music composed by three Italian composers who flourished in the early part of the nineteenth century: Niccolo Paganini (1782–1840), Mauro Giuliani (1781–1829), and Ferdinando Carulli (1770–1841). He plays a guitar by Cabasse-Bernard built c. 1820, and tunes it to A=430. I wonder if the 10th fret is placed incorrectly, because the high d” sounds flat 19 seconds into track 3 – either that, or the string was tuned flat. There is no information in the liner notes about the strings Valois uses, but there are unfortunately loud high-pitched squeaks as he slides his fingers along the three lowest strings which are wound. On the whole I like his interpretation, which I think is appropriate for music from this period. He brings out a clear melodic line which allows the music to sing, and he phrases here and there with tasteful rubato. His performance is enhanced by a pleasing variety of contrasting tone colours.

Valois begins the CD with two movements from Paganini’s Grand Sonata for Guitar M.S.3. Interestingly the original publication has the title “Grand Sonata a Chitarra Sola con Accompagnamento di Violino”. The violin adds little of substance, and it is thought that it may have been included as an afterthought. Valois manages perfectly well on his own without inviting a friend to join him on violin. As to be expected of the great violinist Paganini, his guitar pieces are tricky to play, and it is their virtuosity which makes them attractive to the listener.  In the Andantino variato Scherzando, for example, Valois’ fingers scamper up and down the neck with a variety of contrasting ideas – triplets,  fast scales, parallel sixths, tremolos, the melody in octaves, chords interspersed with flashy flourishes – but the harmonic structure is extraordinarily banal – just tonic and dominant with a modulation to the dominant in both sections, and with the brief respite of a passing subdominant approaching the final cadence.

There follow Six Andantes for Guitar Op. 320 by Carulli: Andante affettuoso con poco moto in G major, starting with the same first four notes as Silent Night, and ending with a 3-octave arpeggio to top g”, echoed by a few fluffy harmonics and a descending arpeggio in octaves; a nicely paced Andante con moto in E major, where a slow, gentle, lyrical theme is followed by an exciting sequence of arpeggios and later by a sudden, dramatic shift to E minor; Andante molto sostenuto in A major with passages of descending triplets, of slow-moving chords supported by repeated notes in the bass, and a rising chromatic scale from low E marked “ritardando” leading us back to the opening theme; Andante giusto in F major, which has many notes clearly marked with an accent in Carulli’s manuscript (see IMSLP) – not consistently observed by Valois; Andante legiero e grazioso in the soft key E flat major, with an exciting run of fast notes including a glissando in bar 23; and Andante risoluto in the bright key of D major to finish.

The history of the guitar – of the 4-course instrument of the 16th century, the 5-course instrument of the 17th century, and the 6-course instrument of the 19th century – has been bedevilled by a lack of bass notes, and compromises involving less than satisfactory inversions of chords have been inevitable. So it is with Giuliani’s Guitar Sonata Op. 15. At the end of the first and last movements he wants a big chord of C major, ideally with a low C in the bass. Unfortunately the lowest note available on his 6-course guitar is a third higher at E. Rather than make do with a root position chord with a high bass c, he writes a first inversion chord using that low E. It may sound odd, but better to finish with a first inversion than lose sonority in the bass.

Other pieces of music by Carulli are Guitar Sonatina Op. 59 No. 1, and Guitar Sonata Op. 159 No. 1. In his liner notes Valois says that both are world premiere recordings. The Sonatina  may have a certain charm, but it is not great music.  It consists of a slow Larghetto and a sprightly Rondo Allegretto. If you removed all the tonic and dominant chords, there would be little left to play. Some relief comes in the Rondo with a brief digression to the minor. The Sonata – just a Larghetto – is more satisfying, and benefits from Valois’ sensitive playing.

Stewart McCoy

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Recording

Destouches Sémiramis

Les Ombres directed Sylvain Sartre and Margaux Blanchard
CVS038
127:38 (2CDs in a card box)

André Cardinal Destouches (1672-1749) was educated by the Jesuits and had a career as a Musketeer before resigning to study music with André Campra. His first ‘hit’ was the pastoral Issé in 1697, which was written for the court but immediately taken up by the Opéra in Paris. He rose to prominent positions in both contexts and Sémiramis was first performed in 1718. Influenced by the Italophile Campra, Destouches abandoned the traditional five-part string scoring of Lully and his followers and created a work that was perhaps too serious for its time: only now are we in a position to recognise his work as an important step along the road from the aesthetic of Lully to that of Rameau.

Not that it is without distinctive characteristics and merits of its own. There is an attractive melodic fluency; the integration of the principal protagonists, the orchestra and the chorus is impressive; and Act V especially has a tremendous dramatic sweep. But I have to say that I found the performance difficult to enjoy. The continuo and percussion sections seem over-staffed to my ears and I strongly suspect that some adjustments/additions have been made to the original scoring. However, it is the singing that I really struggled with and yes, it’s the v-word. The singers are absolutely un-reconstructed modern opera in their approach and simply come from a different sound-world to that of the orchestra. Some of the ornament singing is also very laboured.

The superficially impressive booklet (French, English and German though libretto only French and English) also fails to impress in its detail. Versailles have to get to grips with the quality of their translations. I have commented before on unidiomatic turns of phrase, but here there are mistakes as well.

In brief, this is excellent music disappointingly presented.

David Hansell

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Recording

Rameau Triomphant

Mathias Vidal haute-contre, Ensemble Marguerite Louise, Gaétan Jarry
77:20
Château de Versailles Spectacles CVS039

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I love the principle and the content of this recital, especially the inclusion of overtures, dances and ensembles so that we don’t choke on a surfeit of airs. It is a brave singer who undertakes a programme of haute-contre singing in any case, and Matthias Vidal was entitled to any breaks in the recording schedule which the programming allowed him. He certainly has the ranges – vocal and emotional – for these roles but I have to say that I enjoy the singing most when he is not at absolutely full throttle. At this point I find the vibrato just too intrusive alongside the period orchestral sounds, though this doesn’t happen very often. Similarly, the lesser soloists and the choir sound, to me at least, at their best when singing within themselves.

The main booklet (French, English and German) note is in interview style, which will irritate some, though there are some interesting comments from MV on the nature of haute-contre singing. As is, I’m afraid, more common than it should be in Versailles issues, there are some unidiomatic turns of phrase in the English translations of the biographies especially. Nice to see that our hero enjoys Offenbach, though!

 David Hansell

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Recording

Monteverdi: L’Orfeo

Ensemble Lundabarock, Höör Barock, Ensemble Altapunta, Fredrik Malmberg
105:39 (2 CDs in a cardboard box)
BIS-2519 SACD

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The arrival of this set gave me pause to wonder about the number of Orfeo’s I’ve reviewed in my time. It’s a fair few and I’ve actually lost track of the exact number, which is not that important anyway. What is important it is that leaving aside its crucial place in operatic history Orfeo is one of those rare operas that almost never fails to make a strong impression. The secret (leaving aside Monteverdi’s great music) is surely its uncomplicated directness, the ability for the central tragedy to penetrate the heart effortlessly. Could anything carry more grief stricken resonance than the simplicity of Orfeo’s single word response ‘Ohimè’ to the Messenger’s words, ‘La tua diletta sposa è morta’ (Your beloved wife is dead’), the exchange empty, devoid of passion?

It’s a moment that comes off with the devastating effect it must in this exceptional new recording from Sweden. It combines the forces of three early music ensembles based remarkably not in the capital but the south of the country. Brought together under the direction of Fredrik Malmberg, a young conductor making a name for himself in Europe, the performance is especially noteworthy for its near-infallible sense of style (the addition of percussion, which Monteverdi’s published full score does not call for, is in places an aggravating aberration). Above all it has been thoroughly prepared – no fewer than four Italian vocal coaches are credited – not only underlining the critical importance of the text but also in relation to ornamentation, which is invariably sung with great assurance, accuracy and precise articulation.

The cast is led by the tenor Johan Linderoth, a Baroque specialist who has worked frequently with Paul Hillier and has a particular penchant for music of the 17th century. If the timbre of his voice lacks the beauty of the most recent outstanding exponent of the role on record, Emiliano Gonzalez Toro (Naïve), it more than makes up for it in a totally idiomatic and sensitive account. As it must, the ornamented version of ‘Possente spirto’ stands at the centre at the performance and even if Linderoth doesn’t quite achieve the diamantine accuracy of Gonzalez Toro (or indeed the great Nigel Rogers) it is nevertheless a formidable accomplishment. The ‘second’ death of Euridice at the end of act four is another heart-stopping passage, vividly bringing home the moral that Orfeo has been punished not for disobedience, but because, in the words of the Chorus of Spirits that ends the act, he has not achieved ‘victory over himself’.

While it is a truism that any performance of Orfeo stands or falls on its eponymous hero, many of the supporting roles make their own demands. The present performance generally fulfils these admirably, particularly in the cases of Kristina Hellgren, who sings La Musica and Proserpina, Christine Nonbo Andersen (Ninfa 1 and Euridice) and Maria Forsström (Messaggiera). Both Hellgren and Andersen are fresh-voiced sopranos and Baroque specialists and stylists of a kind we now rarely seem to encounter in the UK. Listen, for example, to the exquisite way the former ornaments the many strophic verses of La Musica, or the perfect sense of stillness she achieves in its final lines, an evocation of nature paused. Andersen is a lovely, fragile Euridice, infinitely touching in ‘Ahi vista troppo dolce’ (act 4). Forsström is a fine mezzo who sustains the Messenger’s long story with commanding presence and a vivid communicative sense. Steffen Bruun’s Charonte is rather lugubrious, but Karl Peter Eriksson is an imposing, yet sympathetic Plutone. The roles of the various shepherds, infernal spirits and so forth are all more capably filled in what is a fine team effort.

The instrumental playing is of a high standard, my only minor caveat being some over-fussy arpeggiated continuo work from the plucked strings when chords would have been more telling and less obtrusive; Euridice’s ‘Io non dirò’ (act 1) is an example. But in sum this is a remarkable achievement and to realise just how remarkable try to imagine an Orfeo of this calibre given by early music ensembles based in the south of England.

Brian Robins

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Recording

A deux violes égales

Sainte-Colombe · Marin Marais
Myriam Rignol, Mathilde Vialle
79:39
Château de Versailles Spectacles CVS043

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Pretty much everything everything makes this offering from Versailles highly desirable: if EMR still used stars I might even give it five! The repertoire and sonorities are sublime (try Marais’ Tombeau de Mr Méliton – played here by the two bass viols with theorbo); the performances are often exceptional; the essay (French, English and German) fluent and interesting; the photographs were taken in the Hall of Mirrors; and there are nearly 80 minutes of music. The only negative element is the occasional unidiomatic phrase in the translated biographies.

I recognise that a recital on low pitched instruments may not be to all tastes, but it really isn’t all lugubrious: the final Couplets de Folies (Marais) are positively frivolous. Give it a go!

 David Hansell

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Recording

[Pierre Danican] Philidor: Suites for Flute[s] and B. C.

Musica ad Rhenum
110:25 (2 CDs in a single jewel case)
Brilliant Classics 96032

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There is much well-mannered music and music-making here. The selections from Pierre Philidor’s Opp 1, 2 & 3 (pub. 1717/18) give us a judicious mixture of suites for solo flute and continuo and two unaccompanied flutes, and the continuo, when present, is ‘limited’ to harpsichord and bass viol. What a relief! The overall sonority is further enhanced by the low pitch (A=400Hz) which gives the bottom register of the flutes a rich ‘woodiness’. A particular feature of the notation of this music is the frequency with which battements and flattement (fingered vibrato) are requested, rather than being left to the player’s discretion. I wonder if Philidor felt that his contemporaries were too discreet in their application of these very French devices. Needless to say, all are included here, and their frequency may surprise some listeners even now.

The booklet (in English only) offers a note that manages to be both historical and personal in an engaging way, though there are no performer biographies.

David Hansell

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Recording

Haydn: Les Heures du Jour

Haydn 2032, vol. 10
Il Giardino Armonico, Giovanni Antonini
78:36
Alpha Classics Alpha 686

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For the latest instalment (the tenth) in their superb cycle of Haydn symphonies, Giovanni Antonini and his Il Giardino Armonico turn their attention to the earliest of Haydn’s symphonies to have retained a regular place in the affections of the composer’s admirers. In part, this is almost certainly due to the programmatic context of the trilogy, each of which bears a title devoted to the times of the day: morning, noon and evening. Yet equally special is the extraordinary concertante element in the three works, which could almost be thought of as an updated version of Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos.

An explanation for the profusion of solo passages can be found in the background to the symphonies, which date from 1761, the year in which Haydn was appointed vice-Kapellmeister to Prince Anton Esterházy. That year also coincided with the expansion of the group of chamber musicians employed by the prince to a full orchestra including a number of exceptional musicians. It seems the idea for an orchestral work that colourfully depicted a storm came from Esterházy himself and Haydn not only duly obliged in the final movement of ‘Le Soir’, in which we hear the first raindrops, thunder and then the full force of the storm, but added two further symphonies enabling him to exploit to the full the capabilities of the new orchestra. This Haydn did by providing both his wind and string players with numerous opportunities to shine in the many solos he gives them over the course of the trilogy.

Perhaps one of the most memorable programmatic moments occurs right at the start with the slow introduction to ‘Le Matin’, a depiction of a sunrise from the first rays, here barely heard, followed by a crescendo which spellbindingly builds dissonance upon dissonance. In Antonini’s hands it’s a wonderfully controlled breath-taking moment, dispelled only by the brightness of the morning’s sunny, cheerful allegro, led by the first of a number of outstandingly played flute solos. Among other special moments in a set of works teeming with incident is the highly original slow movement of ‘Le Midi’, cast as a full-scale opera seria accompagato recitative followed by an expressive adagio aria. The recitative starts out broadly, but bursts into a highly dramatic central section before again subsiding to more contemplative mood that leads to the aria, largely a duet between violin and cello, but also incorporating other solos.

The performances maintain the near exemplary standard that has been a hallmark of the entire series. Outstanding playing, superbly balanced orchestral sound, swinging between exhilarating, full-blooded verve and the most delicate, filigree textures, they are in the main also beautifully paced.  Antonini avoids the trap of taking final movements too fast, which would obscure some of the many points they have to make. Only in the case of the bassoon-coloured Andante (ii) of ‘Le Soir’ did I feel the tempo might be a little slow, but it is so lovely, with wonderful contributions from the solo cello, that to make too much of it would be excessively ungrateful.

In keeping with previous issues there is an addition to the symphonies, in this case Mozart’s well-known Serenade in D, ‘Serenata Notturna’, obviously an appropriate encore to a group of works concerned with times of day. Its three movements are as stylishly conveyed as would be expected, the timpani that give the first movement in particularly that feeling of mocking pomp crisply played. The final movement is played with a great sense of fun, with what sound like spontaneous and witty embellishments adding to a sheer joie de vivre that Mozart would surely have relished.

In sum little more need be said. If you’re following this series you’ll need no encouragement from me to add this CD to the collection. If you’re not, well, it’s time you were!

Brian Robins

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Bach: Klavierwerke

Rinaldo Alessandrini harpsichord
79:02
naïve OP 30581

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For his lockdown solo release, Rinaldo Alessandrini has chosen three groups of pieces, each linked by a key – A minor, D minor and C minor. Each group has the pair of preludes and fugues from Das wohltemperierte Klavier I & II at its heart, and the A minor group has the praeludium  BWV 931, the inventio BWV 784 and sinfonia BWV 799 before them and the fantasia con fuga BWV 904 after. In the D minor group, the praeludium BWV 940, inventio BWV 775 and sinfonia BWV 790 come before them, and the sonata per il cembalo solo BWV 964 comes after, while in the C minor group it is the praeludium BWV 934, inventio BWV 773 and sinfonia BWV 788 coming before them with the fantasia BWV 906 and finally the ricercar à tre voci from the Musicalisches Opfer BWV 1079.

This makes an architecturally elegant yet suitably diverse programme for his recital, recorded in 2019 in the Parco della Musica in Rome on a 1984 copy by Kees Bom of a Dulcken original.

Alessandrini’s playing is lyrical and relaxed, but the sense of shape and direction in his playing gives the music clarity and momentum. The harpsichord is well-recorded and it sounds mellow, as it should, and the counterpoint is well-articulated.

All in all, this is a very satisfying recital and I was particularly glad to hear BWV 964, the sonata for cembalo solo after the sonata for violin in A minor BWV 1003, which I do not recall hearing in this incarnation before. What a lot there is to learn from Bach’s reworking of his own compositions: here his inventive mind and fevered imagination compete to provide fresh insights that are both subtle and intellectually challenging.

David Stancliffe

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Recording

Pachelbel: Organ Works · Volume 1

Matthew Owens, The Frobenius Organ of The Queen’s College, Oxford
71:03
Resonus RES10285

It looks as if this is to be the first volume of a complete recording of Johann Pachelbel’s organ music and that in itself is to be warmly welcomed. Pachelbel’s organ music occupies a seminal place in the development of a style of composition that is more southern German than northern in style and forms a bridge between the freer, more rhapsodic style of composers like Frescobaldi and Froberger and the more tightly worked contrapuntal compositions of the more northerly school. Although he moved to Eisenach and then Erfurt after a spell at St Stephen’s in Vienna, he later moved to Stuttgart and then to Gotha before returning to his native Nuremberg.

When James Dalton persuaded Queen’s to commission a new mechanical action organ on which he could teach from Frobenius in 1962, there were mutterings: how could such an instrument accompany the psalms to Anglican chant let alone Stanford in Bb? But its beautiful workmanship and clear voice soon won hearts as well as minds, and it remains not only the first but arguably the best Werkprinzip instrument on which to play the Baroque repertoire in England to this day. While it is not a copy of any particular historic instrument, it is undoubtedly inspired by the school of organ builders who created wonderful instruments across north Germany, Holland and Denmark, and is perfect for that repertoire.

But I am not sure why Matthew Owens chose this instrument for Pachelbel. Will all the volumes be recorded there? Pachelbel’s music contains preludes, toccatas, fugues and sets of chorale partitas, as well as chorale preludes. But it also contains music influences more by the Roman Catholic tradition of Italy and Austria, like the Magnificat 5th tone fugues (P314-325) recorded here, and I would have liked to hear some of the splashier music played on an instrument that is less precise and perhaps more colourful, owing more to the central and southern German schools of organ building.

But that said, I enjoyed Matthew Owen’s playing tremendously, and warmly welcome this first CD. Because of the clarity of the Frobenius and the cleanness of his playing, not a note is lost. Yet something is missing: many southern German instruments include a tierce in their chorus mixtures and the Frobenius pedal Fagot is no substitute for a full-length Posaune. It is in the Ciacona in F minor that I think the Frobenius scores most highly, where the variations can be scaled up subtly without needing excessive contrasts in volume.

The sets of chorale variations follow a pattern that sets up a challenge for an organist: how do I register these within an overall framework that underlines the mood of the chorale involved without falling for the temptation to seek variety at any price? With a small organ, however beautifully voiced, there are limits to the possible registrations – limits exploited tellingly in the three chorale preludes (P843 and 844, and P106). With the clarity of Queen’s chapel, we hardly need what I usually lament the absence of – the detailed registration for each piece. Nonetheless, I think this ought to become standard practice for either the liner notes or an accompanying reference to a website.

I much look forward to the next volume.

David Stancliffe

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Recording

Scarlatti | Caldara: Appena chiudo gli occhi

Cantatas for solo voice with violin
Giuseppina Bridelli, Quartetto Vanvitelli
76:57
Arcana A487

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As noted in reviews for EMR down through the years, there is a special art to performing chamber cantatas, one all too frequently not satisfactorily met. They are not, as the impression is often given, operatic scenas, suited to being sung with full-throated dramatic intensity, but rather intimate works invariably composed for princely patrons and intended for a sophisticated invited audience. As such, they demand a subtlety of vocal interpretation and close attention to textural clarity that allows them to communicate directly to their audience. These quite exceptional performances achieve this level to a rare degree.

However, before going into further detail about those performances, a few words about the works. Among the literally thousands of cantatas composed, those for voice with a solo violin are comparatively rare. The scholarly note suggests there may be as few as three examples by Alessandro Scarlatti, two of which are included here. In the striking Dove fuggo? A che penso? the rhetorical questioning of the opening recitative is preceded by fantasia-like flourishes from the solo violin, doubtless a reflection of the deranged state of mind of the girl who wishes to hide herself away from torment. In general, however, in the arias that include the violin, voice and instrument duet on equal, often imitative terms, though in the aria ‘Povera Clori’ from the same cantata the violin reflects the text by acting as an echo, while it complements the more elaborate vocal writing of ‘Zeffiretto amorosetto’ from Caldara’s Vicino a un rivoletto by imitating the ‘augelletto garruletto’ (garrulous little bird) sent by the lover to his beloved. All four cantatas here are fine works, the palm perhaps going to the most extended, Dove fuggo?, an alternation of no fewer than four pairs of recitatives and da copo arias, but although less elaborate Scarlatti’s Appena chiudo, which opens with an instrumental sinfonia and has alternating pairs of recitatives and arias, is an affecting setting of a text in which the sleepless lover is haunted by images of the absent beloved. Also worthy of special mention is the unexpectedly profound aria ‘Ahimé, sento il mio core’ that concludes Caldara’s Vicino.

And that aria provides an excellent entry point to consider further Giuseppina Bridelli’s singing of these cantatas, for several of her strengths are on full show there. Not the least of these is the sheer tonal beauty of her mezzo, which is not only evenly and securely produced across its range, but capable of colouring the text with the finest of shades. Here, too, one notes the exquisite shaping of the long phrase that indelibly paints the word ‘languendo’ (languished), the ravishingly lovely mezza voce, the rock-steady chest notes, and Bridelli’s totally stylish and beautifully articulated ornamentation (which includes trill) of da capos. And throughout all four cantatas, the impression is convincingly conveyed that every word has been given significance, the recitatives projected with excellent diction. In short, these are not only beguilingly lovely performances but a display of the highest musical intelligence.

In addition to the cantatas, the excellent Quartetto Vanvitelli plays a five-movement sonata for violin and continuo by Giuseppe Valentini (1681-1753) taken from his opus 8, published in Rome in 1715. It is particularly notable for its gracious opening Andante, much the most substantial movement, which is played with beautiful pure tone by the Vanvitelli’s violinist  Gian Andrea Guerra. Finally, having so often complained of obtrusive continuo lutenists, it is only fair to make a special point of praising the perfectly judged contribution of Mauro Pinciaroli. This is a special recording in every respect.    

Brian Robins