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J. S. Bach: Trios pour clavier et violon

CD cover Encelade Bach trios for violin and organ

Odile Edouard violin & Freddy Eichelberger organ
162:15 3 CDs
Encelade ECL 1704

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An unexpected photo of the Railway Station in Erfurt, the capital of Thuringia, forms the cover of this well-presented 3CD recording of Bach entitled Trios pour clavier et violon. The three CDs are recorded using a different organ for each to which a different violin could be matched. Great care has been taken to find suitable organs built in the Thuringian style, though since most of the historic instruments are at Chörton (A=466hz) or higher, all three organs chosen for this project are all recent instruments at 440 or 415.

CD 1 opens with the Fantazia in C minor, BWV 562, played at A=440 on the 1997 organ by Denis Londe in Saint-Louis de Saint Étienne, after Silbermann, and chorale preludes in appropriate keys intersperse the violin works. The second organ (in the Temple de Boudry in the canton of Neuchâtel in Switzerland) is a copy of the actual Silbermann organ in Großhartmansdorf, and the third is by Quentin Blumenroeder in the Temple du Foyer de l’Âme, Paris and is at A=415. Details of their specifications are given in the booklet, which is in French and English. Colour photographs of the three organs and of Edouard’s three violins – Klotz (1757), Bodart, after Stainer (2012) and Hofmans (c.1700) – are on the inner folds of the case.

The nine ‘violin’ sonatas recorded here are the set of six with an independent part in the keyboard’s right hand (BWV 1014-1019), plus two others that are not trios, but simply have a basso continuo (BWV 1021 and 1023 – more like an incipient suite) and BWV 1028, the D major sonata for viola da gamba, of which there is a Bach autograph for violin and keyboard. They make a good group, with their interspersed organ pieces, and are performed splendidly, given that you are happy with the keyboard instrument being an organ, not a harpsichord.

These CDs are celebrating thirty years of Edouard’s and Eichelberger’s longstanding friendship and musical partnership, much of it playing 17th century music. Edouard makes the point that the balance of voices is easier to achieve between the violin and a decent-sized gallery organ with characterful registrations than a harpsichord. The sonorities of the different instruments in the different acoustics are instructive, and have their effect on the tempi as well as the articulation.

From the outset, it is clear that this is a quintessentially French style of playing: the inégales of the opening quavers of the Fantasia are splendidly extreme. And as the C minor sonata begins, it becomes clear that the difference between the string sound and the organ is more pronounced in the slower movements where the warmer string sound with its (fairly restrained vibrato) seems a very different voice, even when the right hand of the organ uses a tremulant. This difference in the way the sound is produced is less obvious in the faster movements, when a more colourful registration is possible on the organ, and the distinction between the way the notes on the organ are produced does not contrast so sharply with the bow strokes and that sense of beginning and growing into a note that is so characteristic of the violin. But by track 12, I was becoming wooed by the sounds and the overall balance. Try tracks 12 and 13 (from the F minor sonata) to judge for yourself.

CD2 takes us to Switzerland and a cleaner acoustic and here I feel the balance between the organ and the 2012 copy of a Stainer instrument is more successful. Again the organ is at 440, but here we seem to be in a more equal partnership: the quality of the individual 8’ ranks certainly helps to achieve the desired equality, and the left-hand registrations speak with amazing promptness and clarity. I especially appreciated the unhurried tempo in the Presto in the A major sonata (track 15).

In CD3 we are with the only organ of the three at 415, and immediately the powerful open principal pedal notes make their presence felt in the concerto-like opening movement of BWV1019, where the organ’s sesquialtera is a more than equal match for the violin. This trio has many similarities in its concerto-like feel with the G major organ trio sonata. This organ is certainly pretty punchy throughout this CD.

So here is a partnership of instruments that grew on me musically over the entire programme. As one who is primarily an organist, I found the choice of instruments fascinating and the playing impeccable, as you would expect. It opens a whole alternative sound-world which I hope our violinists will be keen to explore, even if the right organs will be hard to find. For my money, the Swiss copy of the Silbermann organ in Großhartmansdorf by Jean-Marie Tricoteaux provides the organ that best partners Edouard’s violin (here the Hofmans) and brings out her best playing.

David Stancliffe

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Recording

Johann Sebastian Bach: Complete sonatas for obbligato harpsichord and violin

CD cover Bach Complete sonatas Degand and Cochard

Stéphanie-Marie Degand violin and Violaine Cochard harpsichord
91:00 (2 CDs in a card folder)
NoMadMusic NNM 071

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This recording of the six ‘sonatas for obbligato harpsichord and violin’, as the duo reminds us in the brief liner notes that all the copies of these six sonatas that date from Bach day are titled, is the fruit of many years friendship and musical collaboration since the pair were students in the 1990s. The violinist is a protégé of Emanuelle Haïm, and co-founder of Le Concert d’Astrée, but also plays a wide range of more modern music. The harpsichordist is also a singer, and both their biographies in the liner notes are gushingly superlative. In spite of this, I was not altogether taken with their playing of these Bach sonatas.

They tell us how important it is to hear the right hand of the harpsichord part equally balanced with the violin, yet in the recording, the violin is overwhelmingly projected above the harpsichord, and played for my taste with an almost Brahmsian lushness. Either the engineers hadn’t taken the equality of the harpsichord seriously, choosing to regard it as simply the accompaniment of a solo, or the microphones were placed much too close to the violin. Either way, the performers should have corrected this and re-balanced the recording, as especially in the quicker movements with a lot of canonic writing like the first Allegro in the C minor sonata (CD 2.2) or of the F minor sonata (CD 2.6), the harpsichord is not just an unequal partner, it is barely audible at times.

As I grew increasingly dissatisfied, I turned again to my favourite recording of these sonatas made in 2000 by Trevor Pinnock and a youthful Rachel Podger, which is streets ahead of this one, both in balance and clarity of the part-writing and also in the musical understanding of Bach’s interweaving lines. Just compare the first two movements in the F minor sonata in the two recordings and feel the flow and direction in the long phrases from Podger and Pinnock (CD 2.9/10) through the wonderful key-changes in the first movement, where Degand and Cochard (CD 2.5/6) seem to lose their rather self-indulgent way. You really have to know where you are going when playing Bach if you are to take your listeners along with you.

The violin is by Joseph Catenari, 1710 and played with a Tourte bow; the harpsichord is by Ryo Yoshida, after a German one by Gottfried Silbermann. There is no information about temperament or tuning, nor anything about Bach’s music. For that, you need to go to Podger and Pinnock (CCS 14798) and the essay by Jonathan Freeman-Attwood.

All in all, I am sorry to say that I cannot find much to like in this version.

David Stancliffe

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Recording

Bach: The English Suites BWV806-811

CD cover of Paolo Zanzu playing Bach's English Suites on harpsichord

Paolo Zanzu harpsichord
130:40 (2 CDs)
Musica Ficta MF8032/3

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This recording of the English Suites by Paolo Zanzu, the young Italian/French harpsichordist, appears to be his debut solo Bach recording. A well-known and trusted collaborator in music projects of a wide variety, Zanzu teaches at the Brussels Conservatoire, and is the founder of Le Stagioni. He posts an impressive list of the people and groups with whom he has played and to whom he has acted as assistant director, including Bill Christie’s Les Arts Florissants, John Eliot Gardiner’s Monteverdi 450 project and the English Baroque Soloists, in the very brief liner notes in French, English and Italian.

He plays with a mature rhythmic flexibility, and I found myself warming to him the more I listened. As you might expect, his playing is not just note-perfect but carefully prepared, and the instrument is well-suited to the complex English Suites. It was built after a historic instrument of c. 1730 from the school of Gottfried Silbermann by Anthony Sidey and Frédéric Bal of Paris in 1995, with 8’ & 4’ on manual 1, and 8’ with harp and lute stops on manual 2. It is tuned at A=405hz in a Silbermann temperament.

The registration possibilities of the instrument are very distinctive. The upper manual’s 8’ is pretty uncompromising in tone, and when used with the lute (and harp?) stop in the 2nd Bourrée of the First Suite, for example, is not only extremely rustic but bordering on the unpleasant. It reminds me of the coarseness of some rustic dances in the Brueghel mode!

This is presumably intended, as the rest of the Suites swing along with that fluency and attention to the patterning of threes and fours in the groups of quavers and semi-quavers that reveal how well aware he is of the very complex interplay of rhythmic nuance that is so characteristic of Bach. This maturity only comes to a secure, established and confident player who is at ease with himself as well as with the Bach. This is an enormously musical performance of a complex work which is not as frequently recorded as it might be.

I would urge those who do not have an up-to-the-moment recording of the English Suites on a characterful instrument to consider this one, played by a real musician who knows how to stroke life out of an instrument rather than batter it into submission.

David Stancliffe

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Recording

Vivaldi: Tamerlano

Dantone conducts Vivaldi's opera Tamerlano for the naïve complete series

Bruno Taddia Bajazet, Filippo Mineccia Tamerlano, Delphine Galou Asteria, Sophie Ennert Irene, Marina De Liso Andronico, Arianna Vendittelli Idaspe, Accademia Bizantina, Ottavio Dantone
Vivaldi Edition vol. 65
155:00 (3 CDs in a box)
OP 7080

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Volume 65 of naïve’s remarkable Vivaldi integrale brings us one of the last of the complete opera’s still to be recorded. Il Tamerlano is one of Vivaldi’s later operas composed not for Venice but the historic Accademia Filharmonica of Verona, whose appointment of Vivaldi as impresario for the 1735 Carnival season resulted in two operas, Adelaide and Il Tamerlano, both probably premiered in January.

Of the now lost Adelaide, we know nothing beyond the fact its libretto is most likely by Antonio Salvi (a text set by Handel as Lotario in 1729), while Il Tamerlano is a pasticcio assembled by Vivaldi from previously composed operas of his own and those of Giacomelli (3 arias), Hasse (3) and Riccardo Broschi, Farinelli’s brother, two of whose arias were incorporated. They are all identified in the booklet, though it’s quite fun to listen first and see how many one can identify as not being by Vivaldi. One of the most remarkable to my mind is ‘Sposa son disprezzata’ (As a bride I am despised), taken from Giacomelli’s Merope (Venice, 1734). It is an aria for Irene, the woman abandoned by her fiancée Tamerlano for Asteria, the daughter of the imprisoned Bajazet, who he has conquered in battle. Full of stabbing pain and dissonance, it serves as a reminder that Giacomelli still remains undeservedly neglected. Vivaldi was thus left with just the recitatives, including several accompagnati, to compose from the libretto by Agostino Piovene, a book first set by Gasparini as Il Bajazet in 1711 and subsequently by several others composers including Handel in 1724. The piecemeal nature of Il Tamerlano thus serves to remind present-day opera lovers that far from being a despised form it is often characterised as today, the 18th-century pasticcio was a valid form in itself, utilised by just about every major opera composer of the day, including of course Handel.

The reason it was possible to swap arias from one opera to another is because arias fall almost exclusively into one of two forms: generic expressions of human emotions such as love, hate, jealousy and so on, emotional expressions obviously as valid today as they were in the 18th century; or more impersonal so-called ‘simile’ arias that compared feelings or impressions with something in nature, like a storm at sea. Plot came a long way behind poetic expression and Il Bajazet is unusual in this period in having a strong, direct storyline that concerns the all-conquering Tamerlano’s relationships with the defeated, yet still proud and stubborn Sultan Bajazet and his daughter Asteria, the true heroes of the story (the original libretto was called Il Bajazet). Only with the death of Bajazet does Tamerlano renounce his philandering and turn to being the nobly forgiving and repentant ruler the sentiment of opera per dramma dictates he must finally be.

Ottavio Dantone and his Accademia Bizantina have for a while now been the performers of choice for the operas in the Vivaldi Edition (along with a number of orchestral issues). It is not difficult to see why. In 2019 they produced a superlative account of Il Giustino (1724), an issue matched by this Il Tamerlano, which might be described in a single word: electrifying. Rarely does a studio recording have the febrile excitement we encounter here, a performance in which Dantone has galvanized every one of his performers into singing or playing with an intensity that ranges from anger to distress, from tenderness to evocation of the gentleness of the turtledove. It is founded on Dantone’s belief in the sanctity of text, a belief that provides a foundation for all his opera performances and which involves extensive work on recitative. Virtually every word is invested with meaning and expressed by an outstanding cast that has bought totally into the approach. It would be difficult to envisage more convincing performances of Bajazet, originally a role for tenor, but here commandingly sung by the light baritone Bruno Taddia, of Asteria, a glowing, finely-nuanced assumption by Delphine Galou or the supremely accomplished Tamerlano of Filippo Mineccia, now surely well up near the top of the countertenor league in a crowded field. Of the remaining roles soprano Marina De Liso is a near-flawless Andronico, the Greek Prince who would save Bajazet and loves and is loved by Asteria. Arianna Vendittelli (Idaspe) and Sophie Rennert (Irene) complete a cast that matches Dantone’s fervent advocacy, though neither is free from the common failure of lack of vocal control above the stave. It remains only to note that ornaments are mostly fluently and stylishly added, though as usual cadential (and other) trills are largely noticeable by their absence. But we do get an even more rarely heard ornament from Vendittelli in the shape of a perfectly executed messa di voce in Idaspe’s opening aria.

It hardly needs saying in conclusion that Dantone’s Il Tamerlano is a magnificent achievement, unquestionably one of the most important issues of a wretched 2020 redeemed in part by some truly remarkable recordings.

Brian Robins

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Recording

Colista: Sinfonie a tre

CD cover of Colista Sinfonie a tre

Ensemble Giardino di Delizie
74:53
Brilliant Classics 96033

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Lelio Colista seems the classic example of a prolific and admired composer, who (having failed to publish his music) has slipped into obscurity, with many of his compositions having been lost. He moved in the culturally rich ambience of late 17th-century Rome, rubbing shoulders with the likes of Cesti, Stradella and even Corelli, and as the ‘go-to’ continuo lutanist played in all the ground-breaking performances of the day. These nine Sinfonie a tre and single Ballo a tre are all taken from the Giordano 15 manuscript at the Biblioteca Nazionale in Turin, and reveal an inventive and accomplished composer at the height of his powers. The Ensemble Giardino di Delizie playing in the pleasingly resonant acoustic of the Church of St Francis in Trevi, take an energetic and imaginative approach to this fine music, alternating organ and harpsichord, and archlute and guitar in their continuo group and playing with sensitivity and considerable musicality. Undoubtedly reminiscent of the music of Corelli, there is a busy freshness about Colista’s writing which makes the loss of much of his larger-scale music disappointing, but certainly makes these world premiere recordings a very welcome addition to the catalogue. These days, a strikingly high percentage of my review CDs feature performances by Italian ensembles of Italian music of the late 17th and 18th centuries, and both the quality of the music and the standard of the performances is generally very high indeed. Notwithstanding the ubiquity of Corelli and Vivaldi, it is good to see these musicians delving further into their very rich and still largely unexplored Baroque heritage.

D. James Ross

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Recording

Leopold I: Il sagrifizio d’Abramo, Miserere

CD cover Leopold I oratorio

Weser-Renaissance, Manfred Cordes
76:00
cpo 555 113-2

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Leopold I inherited the imperial crown unexpectedly in 1654 on the death of his brother, having been groomed as the second son for a career in the church. He never fully adjusted to his imperial role, relying on a team of advisers and politicians to run the empire, intervening only occasionally when necessary. This had the advantage that while his contemporary Louis XIV (unfortunately labelled Louis IV in the English translation of the notes) engaged in a series of expensive and largely disastrous military adventures, Leopold consistently managed to stay out of these. Instead, Vienna flourished culturally, and Leopold engaged fully in its burgeoning musical life. His surviving compositions suggest a man with more than dilettante musical skills, and this is borne out by his oratorio Il Sagrifizio d’Abramo, remarkably his first attempt at the genre and generally pretty persuasive. In his own lifetime, as here, Leopold’s compositions would have benefited from being performed by the very finest singers and instrumentalists, and Weser-Renaissance give their customary very polished account of this music. His setting of the Miserere for four voices and strings is strikingly impassioned and extremely effective, all the more powerful for its pared-down textures. Weser-Renaissance recorded this CD at the end of their 2015/6 season exploring music composed by and associated with Leopold I, and there is an impressive authority about these performances which reflects the understanding they gained from this approach.

D. James Ross

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Recording

Beethoven Arranged

CD cover of Beethoven arrangements for tenor and chamber ensemble

Ilker Arcayürek tenor, Ludwig Chamber Players
71:09
cpo 555 355-2
12 Variations on a theme from Handel’s oratorio Judas Maccabaeus, Septet op. 20, Adelaide, An die ferne Geliebte

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This CD features a performance on modern instruments of Beethoven’s famous and seminal Septet in tandem with modern arrangements for instruments and tenor voice by Andreas N Tarkmann and M Ucki of the Beethoven songs ‘Adelaide’ and the extended ‘An die ferne Geliebte’, and an octet arrangement of Beethoven’s homage to Handel – a set of variations for cello and piano of ‘See the Conquering Hero Comes’ from his Judas Maccabaeus. The performance of the Septet is delightfully detailed, while the modern arrangements for chamber ensemble use the Septet as their model, and make very effective use of the available combinations of wind and stringed instruments. It is easy forget how ground-breaking and influential Beethoven’s Septet was when it first appeared in 1800, directly inspiring Schubert’s (in my opinion far superior) Octet and much of the larger-scale chamber music of the Romantic period. My favourite track on the CD is the Tarkmann arrangement of ‘An die ferne Geliebte’, possibly because it was the strongest composition to start with, but also I think because of the way the imaginative octet instrumentation enhances the original. Iker Arcayürek is a thoughtful and highly expressive solo tenor, who responds positively to being accompanied by a chamber ensemble rather than the customary piano. My one reservation is that in allocating the original piano part, the arrangements feel free to make demands on the modern instruments (particularly the clarinet) which would simply have been beyond the scope of the instruments of the period. Playing modern instruments, The Ludwig Players make light of this, but these remain obviously modern arrangements for modern instruments.

D. James Ross

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Recording

Ockeghem: Les Chansons

CD cover of Chansons by Ockeghem Cut Circle

Cut Circle, Jesse Rodin
133:40 (2 CDs in a hardbacked book, CD size)
Musique en Wallonie MEW1995

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It is always a joy to anticipate listening to music by Ockeghem, who was born at St Ghislain, near Mons, probably between 1410 and 1420, and died in 1497, probably at Tours.  This pleasure can, however, be tempered depending upon the quality and interpretation of the music. Not only do we as listeners have our own agendas for hearing music, but also performers have their agendas for performing it. For instance, it is possible for the listener to tolerate an indifferent performance which is nonetheless interpreted acceptably, while excellent musicians can have bees in their bonnets which result in performances which sound ghastly or just plain silly. Indeed, sometimes within one recording project, interpretations and performances can vary between the sublime and the ridiculous. So while there are few finer prospects than listening to the entire corpus of songs by Ockeghem, there remains the question of what the performances will actually sound like: will repeated hearings seem an attractive proposition, or will there be aspects of them that seem like continually running one’s tongue over a sore in the mouth?

First, what of the music itself? How could this be other than wonderful when it consists of all twenty surviving songs with secure attributions to Ockeghem? In fact, this double album consists of 24 songs, two other items being his arrangement for four voices of a song for trio by the (probably) Spanish composer Juan Cornago, and his arrangement in two parts of the famous O rosa bella nowadays attributed to the English composer John Bedyngham, plus Ockeghem’s lament for Binchois Mort tu as navre and Josquin’s lament for Ockeghem himself. Half the items can be heard sung by another American ensemble, Blue Heron, on Johannes Ockeghem: complete songs volume one (Blue Heron BHCD 1010), which I reviewed for EMR on 21 February 2020. The majority of the songs are rondeaux, many of the rest virelais. Although there is a prevailing tone of melancholy throughout the oeuvre, there are subtleties of emphasis, illustrated early in the collection by downright depression in Presque transi or passionate devotion in Ma maitresse, the mood punctured by the boisterous L’autre d’antan which takes its cue from references in the text to dancing. Then melancholy is restored by the agonised introspection of Ma bouche rit. And so it continues, the first disc concluding with the three-part version of the ululatory Je n’ay deuil, followed by the assertive Les desleaulx and finally Tant fuz, its introspective first stanza contrasting with a more animated second, reflecting the structure of the virelai. The second disc continues in a similar vein: melancholy or downbeat songs interspersed with others of a different disposition, all with the same variety of outlook, intensity of expression and musical magnetism. The disc begins with S’elle m’armera/petite camusette, another of the few songs in four parts, its text described in the excellent booklet (written by the conductor Jesse Rodin) as both silly and ridiculous but with its musical integrity intact thanks to Ockeghem’s versatility. Disc 1 includes Ockeghem’s arrangement for four voices of Juan Cormago’s cancion Qu’es mi vida, already mentioned, and the other arrangement mentioned above occurs on disc 2, an altus discantus added to Bedyngham’s discantus in his famous O rosa bella, a project which provoked one musicologist to ask petulantly why Ockeghem bothered! Listeners can also enjoy his rightly famous Fors seulement l’attente, placed before his own Fors seulement contre seemingly a riposte which takes over its tenor. In some cases it is the entire structure of a piece which creates the impression, such as the almost contorted canon which is Prenez sur moy while in others it is a detail such as the intriguing downward octave scale in the bass part of Ung aultre. Finally, the disc, and the entire double album, concludes with Mort tu as navre, Ockeghem’s sublime lament a4 for Binchois, a work impressive even by Ockeghem’s elevated standards.

Does the performance of these works match their musical standard? In insight, yes; in commitment, yes; in technical expertise, yes: listen, for example, to the fine singing low in her register by the soprano Sonja DuToit Tengblad in the riveting La despourveue. Nevertheless, the listener’s personal taste must come into play. On the minus side, the first word of the first track, Josquin’s lament for Ockeghem, is bellowed, and with plenty of alternative versions available, I shall not return to listen to this overly assertive interpretation again, albeit the reasoning for this clarion call is provided in the booklet, and might well meet with the approval of other listeners. In one or two songs such as S’elle m’armera some singers use knowingly affected portamento, which becomes irritating upon repeated hearings. On the plus side, every note in every song is democratically audible, and its relationship with every other note is clearly expressed, the harmony and the melody, in other words the vertical and the horizontal, musically comprehensible. Great care is taken in conveying the unique meaning of each song: listening to the songs can be like observing the interior workings of so many sophisticated timepieces; yet it is perfectly possible to listen to all these works simply for pleasure, for the sheer beauty of the music itself, and for the emotions they express. The singers use very open vowel sounds but apart from a small scattering of instances, this is not otherwise jarring. The fabric of Blue Heron’s performances is more finely spun, and they – very sparingly and tastefully – use instruments, so there is sufficient overall difference between the two sets to offer either choice, or the pleasure of possessing alternative perspectives on (for now) half of the pieces. As for Cut Circle, the intensity and intelligence of their performances won me over after a disastrous start, as subsequently did their audible – and infectious – enjoyment in performing these exquisite and enchanting songs. 

Richard Turbet

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Monteverdi: Il Terzo Libro de’ Madrigali

Concerto Italiano Monteverdi terzo libro

Concerto Italiano, Rinaldo Alessandrini
64:33
naïve OP 30580

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Monteverdi’s appointment to the court of Mantua in 1590 or 1591 brought to the young composer new opportunities, not the least of which was contact with the Mantuan maestro di cappella Giaches de Wert, one of the great madrigalists of the day, and two of the greatest poets active at of the end of the 16th century: Giovanni Guarini and Torquato Tasso, both occasional visitors to Mantua. Monteverdi’s arrival was also near- coincidental with the recent succession to the duchy of Vincenzo Gonzago, whose expansion of court musical activity included the establishment of a consort of singers modelled on the famous ‘concerto delle dame’ in the rival court at Ferrara.

Put all the above ingredients into the mixer and you arrive at Monteverdi’s third book of madrigals, Il terzo libro de’ madrigali, published in 1592. For Guarini, whose erotic poetry provided the bulk of Monteverdi’s settings in Book 3, and the taste for the sensual combination of high voices established at Ferrara it is necessary to look no further than the delicate tapestry of the first half of the opening madrigal, ‘La giovinetta pianta’, the luminescent texture employed in talking of ‘the tender young plant’ perhaps less potent than in more serious texts but sensuous none the less. All the madrigals in Book 3 are scored for five voices, still of course a cappella at this point in the composer’s development. One of the remarkable features is the manner in which Monteverdi consistently alternates contrasts of colour between high and low voices and texture between polyphony and homophony, nearly always to dramatic purpose. These characteristics are well illustrated in the final madrigal of the collection, the two-part ‘Rimanti in pace’, to a text by Livio Celiano, a pen name for Angelo Grillo. The declamatory poem is part direct speech and part narrative, the composer clearly differentiating the two by giving the parting Tirso’s departing words to his Fillida, ‘Stay and peace be with you’, given to upper voices, while those narrated are darker and more homophonic. The brief cycle comes to a shattering conclusion with the reiteration of Fillida’s unbearably poignant motif, ‘Deh, cara anima mia’ (Tell me, dear heart of mine … who takes you from me?).

Such settings mark a foretaste of the innate dramatic gifts that would eventually lead to Monteverdi becoming the first great opera composer. They are even more in evidence in a pair of three-part cycles in which the text is drawn from episodes in Tasso’s Gerusalemme liberata, the first, ‘Vattene pur crudel’ describing the fury and then torment of Armida deserted by Rinaldo, the second the distress of the Christian knight Tancredi after he has killed the Saracen warrior-maiden Clorinda, a topic to which Monteverdi would return memorably in Book 8 almost fifty years later. The former, again a declamatory alternation of direct speech and narrative, the latter vividly descriptive at the point at the end of part 2, where Armida, faint from extreme emotion, lapses into unconsciousness as quiet dissonance takes over before the third part opens with a magical evocation of ‘nothing but empty silence all about her’ greets the reviving Armida.

The madrigal ensemble of Rinaldo Alessandrini’s Concerto Italiano has gone through several reincarnations since he first started recording Monteverdi’s madrigals. Indeed Alessandro reminds us in a booklet note that it is fifteen years since his last complete madrigal book recording (Book 6). The present ensemble is at least a match for any of its predecessors, with both individuality – the two leading sopranos, Francesca Cassinari and Monica Piccinini, have pleasingly differentiated voices – and an excellent blend that retains enough clarity to allow contrapuntal strands to stand out clearly. Diction and articulation, too, are excellent. Just once or twice I did wonder if Alessandrini was making a little too much of tempo contrasts (‘O primavera’ is an example), but such doubts are rapidly banished within the context of such exceptionally musical performances.

Brian Robins        

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Josquin: Masses

The Tallis Scholars complete their survey of Josquin's masses

Hercules Dux Ferrarie, D’ung altre amer, Faysant regretz
The Tallis Scholars, Peter Phillips
71:40
Gimell CDGIM 051

October 2020!
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This is the final disc in The Tallis Scholars’ complete recording of Josquin des Pres’s masses. Perhaps it is just as well, because this reviewer is running out of superlatives for the music itself and for this choir’s performances of it. Peter Phillips makes substantial claims for these works in his accompanying notes, and it could indeed be said that, so varied is Josquin’s treatment of the Mass text throughout the entire series, many of the eighteen works could almost seem to have been composed by different composers. (Indeed, the Josquin canon has come under intense musicological scrutiny in recent decades, and Missa Da pacem, included in the series, is more likely to have been composed by Bauldeweyn, notwithstanding conflicting attributions to Josquin. This is clearly stated in the recording’s booklet.) This final disc provides some of the knottiest music in the series, and some of the most challenging for the listener. Much of it is music of obsession, with Josquin’s repeated use of one particular motif of four notes in Missa Faysant regretz set beside the egomania of Ercole I d’Este of Ferrera, dedicatee of Missa Hercules Dux Ferrarie. To illustrate this one can do no better than to quote Peter Phillips’s note in the accompanying booklet: “To understand how this Mass is constructed it is necessary only to remember that Duke Ercole liked to hear his name sung obviously and often. To this end Josquin took his name and title, HERCULES DUX FERRARIE, and turned their vowels into music by way of the solmisation syllables of the Guidonian hexachord, giving a very neat little melody: … re ut re ut re fa mi re … He then writes these eight notes to be sung 47 times …” The remaining piece Missa D’ung aultre amer is the antithesis of such constructions, being an essay in brevity and simplicity based upon one of Ockeghem’s finest chansons, no doubt as an act of homage by Josquin to the man who might have been his teacher.

A digression. Having seen the British gentleman I am about to mention with his wife at a concert of music by Byrd in the Wigmore Hall, London, a few years ago, I will of course no longer hear a word said against him, but I cannot resist mentioning the resemblance of Ercole, whose portrait is reproduced on the front of the accompanying booklet, to the prominent politician Lord Heseltine. I draw no conclusion other than that they share an ability to appreciate great Renaissance composers.

And as Byrd said of his own music in 1611, “a song that is well and artificially made cannot be well perceived nor understood at the first hearing, but the oftner you shall heare it, the better cause of liking you will discover.” Repeated hearings of the music on this disc keep revealing its felicitous qualities. The obsessive aspects of the music become part of a bigger, broader musical picture as Josquin manipulates them to support the overall construction and rhetoric of his masses. As Peter Phillips notes in his booklet, approaching the point from a slightly different direction, this is strikingly illustrated in the third Agnus of Missa Faysant regretz where, for the only time in the work, Josquin has the sopranos sing the complete superius line from the rondeau by Walter Frye (one source has Binchois) on which the mass is based, over the intricate counterpoint in the three lower parts. Missa D’ung aultre amer is eccentric. A remarkably brief Gloria clocks in at below two minutes, with a motet Tu solus qui facis mirabilia replacing the Benedictus, the final section of which, “Audi nostra suspiria”, begins with a striking passage in the style of mediaeval faburden, comparable with a similar briefer moment at “qui locutus est” in the Credo of the Missa Hercules Dux Ferrarie, and the entire mass concludes with an exquisite cadence.

For all Ercole’s entitled narcissism, it is mountainously to the credit of Josquin that his mass can be appreciated on its own terms as a piece of music without an awareness – or at least without taking any notice – of the repetitions of the autarchic Ercole’s name, no more than one needs to focus upon the plainsong while listening to an In nomine. In the accompanying booklet, Peter Phillips notes favourite passages in this and the other masses. These are the insights of someone who has conducted and indeed lived these eighteen works, experiencing them profoundly from the inside. From the humble outside, I would particularly mention the many wonderful passages in two parts in this mass, particularly “pleni sunt caeli” from the Sanctus, and all the duets in the first Agnus. Overall it is one of the major masses in this remarkable series.

The series began with what was even then almost frighteningly fine performances of the Missae Pange lingua and La sol fa mi re. The former gained all the attention, but for this listener it was the latter which left me even more astonished at both the music and the performance: I expected Pange lingua to be great, but was taken aback at the quality of a work more from the margins of Josquin’s output, its qualities laid bare by the forensically beautiful singing of The Tallis Scholars under Peter Phillips. And here they still are, 34 years later, doing a major work full justice and laying bare the glories of two more of those marginal masses.

Richard Turbet