Tag: Baroque

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de Lalande: Grands Motets

CD cover de Lalande Grands Motets Ensemble Correspondances

Ensemble Correspondances, Sébastien Daucé
80:20
harmonia mundi HMM 902625

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Michel-Richard de Lalande (1657-1726) is a rare example of a composer who knew nothing other than success and renown, a favourite of two French kings who served at Versailles for over forty years. Already in his twenties proficient enough to hold the position of organist at no fewer than four Paris churches, he first joined the court in 1683 as one of the sous-maîtres of the chapelle du roi. From there he went on to hold a number of posts culminating not only in leading the royal chapel, but in 1709 his appointment as maître da la musique de la chambre. He therefore became responsible for not only providing and directing the music for the king’s chapel but also providing secular music.

The main vehicle for the music of the royal chapel was the grand motet, a genre developed through composers such Henri Du Mont and Lully, but brought to a glorious fruition by Lalande, who wrote some 75 authenticated examples. Multi-sectional works scored for a substantial chorus and orchestra, the grand motet achieved a richly variegated texture by means of the introduction of solos and contrapuntal ensembles that contrast with the imposing grandeur of the largely homophonic choruses. The three included on this recording are the setting of the hymn Veni creator, composed in 1684, and a text that at Versailles had wider application than its usual Whitsun context, a large-scale and immensely imposing Miserere (Psalm 50) and an equally impressive Dies irae. This last departs from the norm in having been composed not for Versailles but the funeral of the Dauphine Marie-Anne-Christine of Bavaria at Saint-Denis, the historic location of princely funerals, in 1690. It became something of a fixture at state funerals and is believed to have been performed at the funeral of Louis XIV. In addition to the motets the recording sensibly separates the Dies irae and Miserere with a brief sample of Lalande’s secular orchestral music in the form of an extract from one of his Symphonies pour les Soupers du roi.

Over the past few years Sébastien Dauce’s Ensemble Correspondances has established a reputation enviable even in a country at present endowed with more than its fair share of outstanding early music ensembles and performers. The present CD will only enhance that reputation further. Given that the excellence of Daucé’s performers can by now be more or less taken for granted, perhaps the most notable aspect of these performances is the quite extraordinary depth and breadth he brings to the music where appropriate, particularly striking in the slower moving music of the Dies irae where Daucé creates a sublime spaciousness. The listener senses this right at the outset, where the period strings probe profoundly to bite into the rich orchestral texture, an impression only compounded when the profound strength of the opening chorus is added. Yet there is a wonderfully contrasted lightness and luminescence, too, in passages like ‘Quaerens me’ for two sopranos (the outstanding Caroline Weynants and Perrine Devillers). There is also a robust, uplifting vigour where appropriate. This applies especially to the later exuberant verses of Veni creator, brought to a resplendent peroration by the urgent vitality of the final doxology.

There are many, many more examples of the outstanding qualities of the performances that could be brought to notice, but I’ll restrict myself to a couple, the first of which provides a splendid illustration of not only the sheer variety of effect and texture, but also an acute textual awareness on the part of the composer that is one of the great qualities of Lalande’s compositions. In the Miserere the verse ‘Cor mundum’ (Create in me a clean heart, O God) starts with an exquisitely tender solo quartet, madrigalian in its weaving of imitative contrapuntal lines. The second part of the verse brings a greater urgency (‘renew a right spirit within me’) that Lalande responds to with lightfooted, dance-like verve, beautifully caught by Daucé. My other example takes us back to the Dies irae and the longest solo passage of récit and air in any of these works, the four verses commencing at ‘Liber scriptus’ and superbly sung and projected by alto Lucile Richardot, the possessor of a voice with the rare qualities of a genuine contralto.

I’m writing this in mid-January, which might seem a little early to start talking of ‘records of the year’. Notwithstanding I will be more than surprised if this superlative achievement is not way up there in the forefront of candidates.

Brian Robins

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Book

Georg Philipp Telemann: Vita e Opera del piu prolifico compositore del baroco tedesco

Cover of Gabriele Formenti Book on Telemann in Italian

Gabriele Formenti
XII+340pp. €37
ISBN 978-88-6540-267-2

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One is always rather delighted to see the spotlight turned on the composer who is (for good or bad) in the Guinness Book of Records under the heading “Most Prolific Composer”! Thus it follows, only the brave and bold dip into this monumental oeuvre and come out with a half-decent grasp of the scope and spectrum of these numerous works all neatly classified with their TVWV and TWV numbers; some are simply bedazzled by the scale of things and throw in the towel! So we salute Gabriele Formenti for even attempting this formidable and daunting task!

Perhaps moving in the inspired, insightful and studious footsteps of Steven Zohn’s most excellent 2008 “Music for a Mixed Taste”, Gabriele Formenti, (also a baroque flautist) has assembled a veritable feast of useful quotes and notable musical examples.

The Telemann autobiographic chapters are well selected and cover the salient events, with the images being well chosen to aid the reader; rather like the 1980s hardback pocket pictorial biography by Walter Siegmund-Schultze. Visually, this study is well supplied, and it must be said the extremely diligent work cross-referencing, branching out into some fascinating musical associations and cleverly made observations do yield some musicological fruits to gaze at! Especially the Bach-Telemann links, some I was not aware of. Bravo!

The exploration of Telemann’s instrumental works is overall very neatly done with some very good observations, through the various phases and blendings of the “mixed taste” and the section on Corelli’s Op. 5 is particularly fine! The highly original graph regarding the distribution of instruments found in the Getreue Music-Meister (p 169) is a very clever presentation of the information! Nice, too, to see a “real“ image of a Calchedon from a Polish museum. It is mentioned in some Telemann cantatas, and elsewhere along with mandora, pandora-type  instruments. Formenti ought to have noticed, though, that the wind quintets are now classified in TWV44, thus what used to be “La Chasse” TWV55: F9 is now TWV44:10.

Next Formenti tackles the multifarious choral works, both scared and secular, each with their own specific genres. Thanks to a variety of recording projects, the cantata cycles are slowly revealing their treasures (for example, a complete “French cycle” is underway on the cpo label). 

Considerable use might have been made of Siegbert Rampe’s 2007 book Georg Philipp Telemann und seine Zeit and even the splendid earlier book by Eckart Klessmann, which has some amazing chapters especially towards the end.

The operas are dealt with quite well, although the author seems unaware that the secular arias “of unknown origin” are, in fact, from Telemann’s Germanicus. 

Moving onto the Passions, which for Hamburg total 46 individual settings, with 22 extant, plus the Danziger Choral-Passion of 1754 (TVWV5:53) which used the Mathew 1750 for the overall structure of its actual sung insertions. In this section of the study, Formenti relies on Jason B. Grant’s 2005 examination of the narrative style and its changes through the following years, dividing the Passions into three groups (1722-36, 1737-54, and 1755-67). The various settings seem to have been correctly assessed and the two known times that parodies, or borrowings from a previous Passion’s layout were used, have been identified. It is hard not to stress enough the truly incredible diversity here, and the sheer drama and emotively charged pathos evoked in increasingly Enlightenment style. Some of the later Passions display astounding depictions with extremely vivid and often visceral music. Sadly, in the catalogue listings at the end of this study some dreadful errors have crept in, e.g. whilst compiling the list of Passions, and given several times: “Ein Loemmlein geht und traegt die Schuld”. Good to see the Mark 1755 counted here, a fairly recent discovery made in Krakow.

To round off the vocal section, the impressive stream of works from the later years, the truly extraordinary cluster of late passion-oratorios! When Telemann seemed to gain a tremendous second wind of creative energy, and produced some real masterpieces. It is very good to focus on the 1759 setting of Klopsctock’s Der Messias, whose poetry has such an angular, awkward rhythm and flow, that it is quite amazing that Telemann managed to extract such a clever and smooth melodiousness, delivering impactful declamatory moments. Sadly, another work from this same poet in triumphant Easter vein has been lost!

In my opinion, it was an oversight not to include anything from the deeply impressive and moving Der Tod Jeu of 1755, which – although overshadowed later by Graun’s setting – clearly shows the enlightened evolution of this genre.

Alas, I do feel duty-bound to point out some printing errors (particularly in the titles of German works – was a native speaker ever asked to proofread the volume?) but also in Italian, e. g., “Il Gardellino”. As far as that extensive catalogue goes, there are numerous oversights: cantatas published by primalamusica.com for which I supplied translations go unnoted, as do Dr Ian Payne’s excellent Severinus Press editions of literally dozens of ouverture suites and concertos. Similarly, there is no indication that some of the large-scale church cantatas are based on the second series of the Harmonischer Gottesdienst, a perfect example of Telemann making the best use of his own material (where others clearly felt able to help themselves!)

In summation, this is a most admirable, valiant attempt to encompass the vast volumes of music produced by one of the most fluent and versatile masters of the age, a protean polymath, who embraced every aspect with all his artistic abilities leaving us a prolific legacy to examine, enjoy and contemplate. Formenti is perhaps more at home in the instrumental details, and this section is filled with many interesting observations. 

All in all, despite the odd errata, this is a commendable monograph (in Italian), which may prove to be a stepping-stone for some, stimulating them to pick up an edition or recording and explore Telemann’s vast oeuvre further. 

David Bellinger

This review was rather savagely edited in the interests of space. You can read the original version HERE.

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Book

Bettina Hoffmann, I bassi d’arco di Antonio Vivaldi – violoncello, contrabbasso e viola da gamba al suo tempo e nelle sue opere

Cover of Bettina Hoffmann,  I bassi d'arco di Antonio Vivaldi - violoncello, contrabbasso e viola da gamba al suo tempo e nelle sue opere

xvi + 594pp
Studi di Musica Veneta, Quaderni Vivaldiani, 19
Leo S. Olschki Editore: Florence, 2020

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The astonishing presentation of so much research by Bettina Hoffmann, who is well-known as a viol and Baroque cello player, teacher and scholar, makes this tome a gripping read. The subject – the cello, the double bass and the viol around the time of Vivaldi and in his works – has more widespread relevance than one might expect, such as: the evolution of those instruments in Vivaldi’s time, his mode of teaching, different tunings, fingerings and bowings exploited in or required by his compositions, other precious, explicit and surprising instructions in his scores to add to our notions of 18th-century performance practices, and comparisons between sources in manuscripts or prints destined for other countries and cities other than Venice.

Each section, in fact, is a compilation of such studies. Hoffmann, like a detective, gleaned historical evidence creatively by investigation and speculation. It appears that she has dated, placed, and told us about all the cases in which a cello, a bass or a viol have solo functions in Vivaldi’s works. As only an insightful player could do, she points out unusual characteristics of various sources, for their own sake or for the specific occasions, courts or players they were composed; or why some movements appear in more than one composition and with different instrumentation. I imagine that this amount of reasoning, applied to possible circumstances, was actually very selective. I say this because it was not overwhelming: her speculations and conclusions are always intrinsically important.

The complexity of this book reflects its multiple topics. Since Vivaldi’s music is certainly ‘main stream’ its information is useful to players and listeners: bass instrument players can find sections on their specific repertory and their instrument’s historical techniques; the general reader interested in baroque music or in Vivaldi will be captured from the very first pages, after which they may or may not be able to put it down! Not being a string player myself, I found many surprising conclusions drawn from technical details. But because this tome of more than 600 pages will have something different to impart to every reader, I will try to describe its contents. At the web page for I bassi d’arco di Antonio Vivaldi, Olschki would do well to add a link to view its complete Table of Contents – in Italian called the Indice (index).

It is an outline with page numbers which almost functions as an index of subject matter. It presents the work’s four main Parts, with up to four chapters per part, up to eight sections per chapter, and numbered subsections. It is the quickest way to relocate information that is referred to later.

Part One (285 pages) includes the history, organology, techniques (body positions, fingering and tuning) and musical considerations necessary for appreciating the documentation in Part Two (180 pages) on Vivaldi’s contributions to the roles of bass string instruments in his compositions and in Baroque music generally. Part Three (circa 80 pages) discusses Vivaldi’s use of bass string instruments based on his specific indications, with Hoffmann’s deductions about performance practice from that evidence. Parts Three and Four (circa 45 pages) contain tables with information on Vivaldi’s works. The first table gives his specific, basso continuo instrumentation, such as when the bow strokes in recitatives are to be long, when the accompaniment is by bassoon, or without harpsichord, or pizzicato or piano or arpeggiato, or for organ or solo cello; and combinations of these variables. The next table shows what the ensemble formations were, by cities, institutions (churches, schools, etc.) and occasions. The Bibliography is a goldmine, in an amazingly helpful format: author’s name and one key word from the title are distinctly visible in the left margin; the full title and details are in blocks of lines on the right. An index of names only follows, which suffices thanks to the Indice of contents.

Illustrations, musical examples or specific events or persons are all apt to be referred to by a figure number or sub-section sooner or later. Once the prior mention was located I would write the page number in the margin to be revisited faster in the future. Every treasure hunt called for in the text was rewarding, because engravings, anecdotes, and examples tell different things in different contexts.

The beginning of the book will intrigue all readers: the historical nomenclature for cellos, double basses and gambas couldn’t be more confusing. English readers speak of ‘the violin family’, not thinking that the ‘baby’, the older siblings and their mother were actually of ‘the viola family’, the violino being the ‘little viola’. So what is a violetta? It turns out to be a viola, because viola also referred to many of the larger instruments. A violone is a ‘large viola’, very often a cello, but sometimes a double-bass or a viol. To avoid that confusion the cello was sometimes called a violoncello or a violoncino – literally a ‘little big-viola’. If viola da braccio recalls the early distinction between the lira da gamba (lyra held between the legs) and the lira da braccio (lyra held by a raised arm) it was not exclusively yet another name for such a viola! Along with the viola da collo (‘neck’ viola) and the viola da spalla (‘shoulder’ viola), viola da braccio also meant a cello held across the player’s lap like a guitar, possibly with a cord behind the player’s neck: there is iconographic evidence, music, left-hand fingerings and tunings conducive to such a position! And so we come to the big violas, when a violone is not a cello, but a string bass, and therefore also called a violone grosso or violone grande, and finally a contrabbasso, Italian for the double-bass.

This first chapter on terminology is also full of examples of music, players, occasions, and iconography. It takes us north and south to various cities (Venice, Bologna, Modena, Florence, Rome and Naples), it tells us to wait to read about the violoncello all’inglese – a term used only once by Vivaldi; and it becomes obvious, when we get to it, that the viola da gamba will often be called a viola or a violone and that related instruments, strung in various ways may be identified by names such as viola bastarda, baryton, viola d’amore, viola all’inglese (a viola da gamba, called for by Vivaldi four times) or viola d’amore inglese. For practical reasons the rest of the book steers clear of all this confusion! Yet, since instrumental music flourished in so many places, musicians will encounter all of this terminology in the titles, incipits or instrumental parts of works, and this knowledge may be essential for finding music of this period. ‘Around’ Vivaldi’s time, in Hoffmann’s title, exceeds his lifetime, and means from before 1678 to well after 1740, considering that contemporaries overlap each other, and musicians who worked in Venice often came from many other important Italian and European cities.

The second chapter is exciting for musicians and teachers, because it concerns the cello, its role as a solo instrument, its tuning, experiments in its construction and the development of its fingering and phrasing techniques. Hoffmann takes us from Naples through central and northern Italy, and beyond to Vienna, Prague and into Germany.

In Venice Vivaldi’s career was happily tethered to the Ospedale della Pietà, one of four Church-run orphanages for girls born out of wedlock, who were rarely marriageable themselves. Those who were admitted to be in the Coro (choir) had the opportunity and obligation to study violin, viola, cello and bass under Vivaldi! The best ones played in his orchestra and lived their entire lives there as his musicians, assistants, and perhaps becoming maestre, teachers themselves, in their forties. The girls had daily group lessons of several hours with Vivaldi, in the presence of the assistants who watched and corrected them in real time, and then oversaw their practice in the hours after the lessons! The assistants were responsible for the girls’ punctuality, conduct and, if necessary, dispensed disciplinary measures. Fourteen of these assistants were the essential players in Vivaldi’s concerts. Hoffmann gives thumbnail biographies of those who specialized in playing bass string instruments. They usually started as singers and players of smaller instruments. Vivaldi (1678-1740) was present at the Pietà from 1703 to 1721, 1723 to 1729 and 1735 to 1738. One can imagine the accomplishments of those who qualified for such exemplary guidance, not to mention Vivaldi’s technical competence on so many instruments. The Pietà also had an extraordinary collection of rare types of instruments, which explains why so many compositions called for highly unusual instrumentation.

The sections on various cello tunings, structural characteristics and techniques (left-hand positions and fingerings, and right-hand positions and bowings) is fascinating, even for non-string players. It explains the consequences of the cello’s evolution. What is seen on the page cannot be separated from these objective transformations.

The third and fourth chapters, on the double-bass and the viola da gamba, follow the same lines of investigation – where they were played, how many strings they had, what tunings were expected, what fingerings. The viol was nearly obsolete in Italy, but nevertheless its use is documented at the Ospedale della Pietà by choir-masters Francesco Gasparini (in L’oracolo del fato of 1709 and 1719) for the Empress Elisabeth Christine and again for the Emperor Charles VI, and by Giovanni Porta (in Il ritratto dell’eroe of 1726), to welcome the return to Venice of Cardinal Pietro Ottoboni, and notably by Vivaldi’s use of five gambas in his oratorio Juditha Triumphans (1716). This is discussed later at length along with RV 719, his opera L’Incoronazione di Dario (1717), RV 579, his Concerto funebre (perhaps for the funeral of another choir-master at the Pietà, Pietragrua, who died in 1726) and RV 555, his Concerto con molti istromenti (perhaps also for Ottoboni’s return in 1726).

Analyses of Vivaldi’s music for the bass string instruments occupies the Second Part of this volume, pages 287 to 467: Sonatas for cello and bass, Trio sonatas, Chamber concertos and sonatas with more instruments, Concertos for one or two cellos and orchestra, Concertos for various instruments and orchestra, in all of which a cello or cellos are soloists; sacred and operatic vocal music in which the cello has obbligato parts; the technical aspects of these works; and detailed descriptions of the works for the viola da gamba mentioned before. Players can find the entire repertory covered, sources compared with respect to their authenticity, datability, reliability, quality or lack thereof, and the purposes apparently considered by the various scribes. Hoffmann’s insight is particularly evident.

For the nine Vivaldi cello sonatas, Hoffmann points out the sloppy bowings in the Paris and Neapolitan manuscripts compared to the consistency of those from Wiesentheid, but warns that the latter may testify to the scribe’s own, or his patron’s, preferences! Just when we hope that the beautifully engraved first edition by Le Clerc (ca. 1740) will be decisive, Hoffmann again warns that the markings are incoherent, that every page is maddening, and often simplified to make the works commercially more appealing. This section, by forewarning cello players, should inspire them to follow a musicological approach in studying any work. (We are lucky that the internet may facilitate some of the necessary comparative source reading.)

Hoffmann presents questions, answers, interpretations and tentative conclusions. No one can infallibly discern Vivaldi’s originality with so many variables, but it is the work of every musician to seek tentative certainty. I keep in mind a tenet from the philosophy of aesthetics: when judging between opposing interpretations, the ‘right’ one is that which is more meaningful, or beautiful, or profound.

Olschki’s beautiful soft cover and flaps do not show Bettina Hoffmann, but to Italian followers of early music she needs no introduction. I imagine that she gets feedback from many of them. English readers looking for repertoire or insight can find every work listed or discussed; the tables and bibliography offer information and leads with few linguistic obstacles. You will have to dip into it piecemeal, until it is translated. I found it very enjoyable to read. The vocabulary is scholarly, but the sentences are not long: they reflect how scholars speak. This added pleasure in reading to that of discovery and I was sorry to get to the end!

Barbara Sachs

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Recording

The Soule of Heaven

CD cover The Soule of Heaven Ferrabosco B-Five

Pavans and Almaines by Alfonso Ferrabosco I & II
B-Five Recorder Consort | Sofie Vanden Eynde lute
63:16
Coviello Classics COV92108

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This lovely CD presents a cross-section of the consort music Alfonso Ferrabosco, father and son, as it might have been heard at the Court of Elizabeth, and later that of James I, played by the five-part recorder consort established in 1609 by the Bassano brothers. The title of the CD comes from the epithet thought up for Ferabosco II’s music by that master of epithets, Ben Jonson. Constantly buffeted by complications of their catholic faith, it is amazing that both Ferraboscos managed to produce such sublime music. It is played with a simply awesome blend, luminous tone and superb musicality by the B-Five Consort and their lutanist, Sofie Vanden Eynde, who contributes an occasional lute solo to the proceedings. Further variety is provided by the consort occasionally migrating up through the smaller recorders to alter entirely the character of the music they are playing. The clinching virtue of this charming CD is the superbly idiomatic virtuosic ornamentation which pervades these performances. Lovely repertoire and stunning performances – so what is not to enjoy about this production? Well, the programme notes. A deeply irrelevant of piece of creative writing by Annemarie Peeters embodying the headings of the pieces in the programme purports to illuminate, but actually just annoyed me – I think I would have been even more annoyed by this stupid squandering of an opportunity to inform if I hadn’t been soothed by the lovely playing. Fortunately a brief biographical sketch of the two Ferraboscos’ lives almost saves the day, although this could have been expanded, with an explanation of the music, into a very presentable programme note. I can’t be the only one driven to distraction by this new fashion of replacing ‘proper’ programme notes with spacey effusions that have little or nothing to do with the matter in hand? Get in a musicologist to write your programme note, and if you’re lucky then you would have something to match the superlative quality of this recording!

D. James Ross

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Recording

The Taste of this Nation

CD cover The Taste of this Nation Spiritato

Clara Hendrick mezzo-soprano, Spiritato directed by Kunga Ujszászi
74:26
Delphian DCD34236

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With this imaginative CD Spiritato open a window on the London music scene just prior to the arrival there of Handel. Resident musicians such as the three represented here were already introducing the Italian taste to the English – it has to be said that they are very much ‘silver’ composers, and I found myself constantly wondering what a first-rater like Purcell would have been writing in their place had he survived. Perhaps the best known of our trio, and probably the best composer among them, is Prussian-born London resident Pepusch, whose four cantatas beautifully sung by Clara Hendrick vividly bring the scene to life, and directly prefigure the operatic world of Handel. The most striking of these is his ‘While pale Britania sate’, the very impressive precursor of so many similarly patriotic numbers by Handel and in which Hendrick duets stirringly with the group’s trumpeter, William Russell. Perhaps the biggest surprise for me were the Concerti Grossi of Obadiah Shuttleworth, music I was completely unfamiliar with. Perhaps wisely relying on the inventiveness of Corelli, Shuttleworth reworks this composer’s op 5 Violin Sonatas into very effective concerti grossi. In doing so, he usefully introduces Corelli’s music to London, but more than that he too is preparing the way for the greater master to come, Handel and his ground-breaking op 6 Concerti Grossi. Of the three composers represented here, the most English and the one who owes most to the previous generation of English composers is William Corbett. There are constant echoes of Purcell, although his Sonata for Oboe and Trumpet recalls the work of the Czech-born but London resident Godfrey Finger. With these wonderfully passionate performances, Kinga Ujszászi and Spiritato prove powerful advocates of this largely unfamiliar music, and make a powerful case that even in the few years between the death of Purcell and the arrival of Handel England was anything but a ‘Land ohne Musik’.

D. James Ross

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Recording

Buxtehude: Sonate à doi

CD cover Les Timbres Buxtehude

Les Timbres (Yoko Kawakubo violin, Myriam Rignol viola da gamba, Julien Wolfs harpsichord)
131:04 (2 CDs in a card triptych)
Flora 4320

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These first two publications by Buxtehude, printed at the composer’s own expense, proved so successful that his future as a published composer was secured. It is only in relatively recent times that we have begun to rediscover Buxtehude’s versatility in a range of genres, and it has once again become apparent why it is to Lübeck and to Buxtehude that the young J. S. Bach headed to perfect his art. These 14 trio sonatas are firmly in the stylus phantasticus, the quirky and inventive manner prevalent in Germany and Italy at the time, and like all European music at this time, they flirt with French and Italian flavours over a ground of thorough Germanic counterpoint. If not quite as flamboyant as his contemporary Heinrich Biber, Buxtehude is a more consistent musician, although at the same time writing attractive melodies which both beguile and surprise. These small-scale pieces are charming in their inventiveness, and these wonderfully imaginative performances are technically impeccable and beautifully persuasive. The recording is very vivid and captures just the right degree of resonance. These artfully presented CDs make an excellent introduction to the composer’s wide range of musical accomplishments and are deeply enjoyable in themselves.

D. James Ross

 

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Recording

Stradella: Complete Violin Sinfonias

Stradella: Complete Violin Sinfonias

Ensemble Giardino di Delizie, Ewa Anna Augustynowicz
125:31 (2 CDs in a single jewel case)
Brilliant Classics 96079

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This double CD set presents all 12 of Alessandro Stradella’s Violin Sinfonias and two of his Sinfonias a tre played by Ewa Anna Augustynowicz, who also directs a continuo ensemble of cello, archlute/guitar/theorbo and organ/harpsichord. In keeping with the music of a man who knew how to live dangerously, there is a wonderful almost improvisatory spontaneity about these performances, which incorporate inspired ornamentation. In the Sinfonias a tre, in effect trio sonatas, the archlute takes the second melodic voice while the organ plays continuo, an approach which works very well indeed. Instrumental music is only a very small part of Stradella’s output, but his confident writing for this chamber ensemble with its vividly wayward approach to harmonic progressions and mercurial changes of rhythm is wonderfully engaging, especially when played with such imaginative musicality as it is here. Augustynowicz plays a warm-toned and declamatory Baroque violin by the Ravenna maker, Marco Minnozzi.

D. James Ross

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Recording

Florish in the Key

Florish in the Key The solo violin in London 1650-1700

The solo violin London 1650-1700
Peter Sheppard Skæved
72:48
athene ath 23211

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This CD relies on several elements – firstly the activities of the 18th-century musical publishing magpie, John Walsh, who between 1700 and 1704 produced Preludes or Voluntarys – a Variety of Compositions by all the Greatest Masters in Europe. In a period in London which saw an insatiable appetite for music for the talented amateur to work away at on his own, which at the same time could open his mind to the wider potential of Europe, this collection enjoyed considerable success. Secondly, by borrowing from the best composers at the time, Walsh ensured that the quality never faltered. Thirdly, Peter Sheppard Skaerved’s imaginative accounts of the music on a wonderful 17th-century violin, the Charles II, at one point a feature of one of Charles II’s violin bands, using a little early baroque bow by Antonino Airente, are lovely airy readings, lightweight but eloquent. And fourthly, Skaerved’s comprehensive programme note evokes the period context of the music superbly. Finally, there is the choice of programme – after an engaging selection from the Walsh publication, Skaerved chooses to end the CD with a tribute to the great 17th-century violin virtuoso, Thomas Baltzar, on a wonderfully mellow 1629 Amati violin. A CD which could so easily have degenerated into the experience of the neighbour of an aspiring early 18th-century gentleman violinist constantly practising, turns out to be so much more – both a genuinely intriguing musical journey and a fascinating window opened on the world of the early violin.

D. James Ross

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Recording

Vivaldi: Cantatas for soprano 1

CD cover Vivaldi cantatas for soprano 1 Arianna Vendittelli

Arianna Vendittelli, Abchordis Ensemble, Andrea Buccarella
62:42
naïve OP7257

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It cannot be stressed too often just what an extraordinary project Naïve’s complete Vivaldi Edition is. With their striking, sometimes bizarre covers featuring models – this one a very 21st-century young woman adorned with a ruff and blossom in her tousled hair – each CD adds to a total of issues that with this addition devoted to soprano cantatas reaches volume 68.

By definition the Edition has introduced many new works to the catalogue, but Vivaldi’s 30-odd cantatas have in general been reasonably well represented on record and all six here (RV 650, 652, 669, 667, 660 and 665) are or have been previously available on CD. That is not to detract from the present issue, which, while not flawless, has a great deal to recommend it. Not the least of the appeal comes from the beguiling quality and personality of Arianna Vendittelli’s soprano, which heard at its best gives to these pastoral cantatas of love in its various guises an empathy and seductive warmth that is irresistible and frequently touching. Ornaments are neatly turned and passaggi negotiated with an agile ease, though I fear as so often it is necessary to report there is no convincingly articulated trill to be heard, though Vendittelli deserves credit for at least attempting this most elusive, but essential of decorations.  

If only that were the whole story, but sadly it is not. In common with so many singers today Vendittelli exercises less than perfect control over her higher register, which is too often unevenly produced. This is particularly in evidence in the most ambitious and outstanding of these cantatas, ‘Sorge vermiglia in ciel, la bella Aurora’ RV 667. In four movements alternating recitative and aria, it is, as it not uncommon, the complaint of the lover whose affections are not returned but who will still remain faithful to the loved one, in this case Sylvia. The passion and fervour are barely contained and the cantata, which concludes with a full-blooded aria di furia was obviously written for an exceptional virtuoso castrato or soprano, with expansive often awkward vocal leaps in all four movements. The opening recitative allows Vendittelli to reveal impressive chest notes in the lower register, but in the aria ‘Nasce il sole’ the lack of control is cruelly revealed, with the difference in volume between the chest notes and upper head notes running counter to everything we know about the technical requirements of the day (cf. Tosi). Yet what is disappointing is that both here and elsewhere Vendittelli shows she has a lovely mezza voce perfectly capable of ‘touching’ (Tosi’s word) upper notes. There’s an especially noteworthy example in the final aria, ‘Vedrò con nero’ from the delightful lighter cantata ‘La farfalletta s’aggira al lume’, RV 660. Here the word ‘splendor’ is positively caressed on its final appearance with each repetition. I relish, too, the undulations of the B section of this aria, with their little hints of portamento.

The singer is given well-played continuo support by the members of the Abchordis Ensemble (here harpsichord or organ, cello, chittarone or archlute) and bassoon (in slighter RV 669 and 665), but it is not always tastefully judged. This applies particularly to movements where the plucked instrument is given full reign to make a tiresomely over-intrusive contribution, while the introduction to the opening aria of RV 660 sounds positively twee rather than capturing Vivaldi’s delightful evocation of flitting butterflies and meandering bees. Nonetheless, and as stressed above, Vendittelli brings to these cantatas much that is to be cherished and relished. For that reason the CD is welcomed as yet another valuable addition to the Vivaldi edition.    

Brian Robins

Categories
Recording

Fantasia Bellissima

CD cover of Fantasia Bellissima Hofstötter

The Lviv lute tablature
Bernhard Hofstötter lute
41:51
TYXart TXA18115

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The city of Lviv, one of the main cultural centres in Ukraine, has had many names over the years, including the Polish Lwów, German Lemberg, and Russian Львов (Lvov). The University Library has in its possession a manuscript (UKR-LVu 1400/I) which contains music notated in French and Italian lute tablature. This manuscript, referred to by Bernhard Hofstötter as “The Lviv Lute Tablature”, is the source of the music for the present CD. Confusingly, in the CD liner notes Kateryna Schöning refers to the book as the “Cracow Lute Tablature”. An early owner of the book, Schwartz-An[drzej] Czarny, wrote in the manuscript that he was from Crakow, and gave the date 1555. The watermarks show that the paper was made not far from Crakow. A description of the lute music with incipts may be seen on line at  – Piotr Poz´niak (Cracow), ”The Kraków Lute Tablature: A Source Analysis”, Musica Iagellonica, (2004) ISSN 1233–9679. This manuscript is not the same as “The Cracow Lute-Book”, vol. 2 of Valentin Bakfark Opera Omnia, ed. Homolya István and Dániel Benkö, (Budapest: Editio Musica Budapest, 1979), which is a modern edition of a printed source: Valentin Bakfark, Tomus Primus (Crakow, 1565).

Bernhard Hofstötter claims that his recordings of pieces from the Lviv lute book are “World Premiere Recordings”. You could argue that Oleg Timofeyev beat him to it back in May 2011 with his recording, The Lviv Lute (Sono Luminus DSL-92134) recorded on 21st May 2011, with 19 pieces from the manuscript. However, Timofeyev’s recording is with his group Sarmatica, and the music has been arranged to be sung and played by various instruments. Hofstötter plays the music, albeit with some artistic licence, as it is in the manuscript, intabulated for solo lute, so I think his claim could be justified. He plays a 7-course lute after Vendelio Venere by Renatus Lechner, which is very bright in the treble (either that or the recording engineer makes it bright).

The first and last track, “Tarzeto”, consists largely of variations over the ground IV, V, I, I. To create extra excitement Hofstötter starts strumming that chord sequence about half-way through, and speeds up towards the end. To some listeners, strumming may seem out of place for the lute, yet there are occasional examples in extant lute sources, e.g. Hans Newsidler’s “Gassen hawer” (1536). It’s a matter of taste, of course, but I would prefer not having Hofstötter’s extra excitement. I think the piece is fine as it is, and does not need turning into something resembling Gaspar Sanz’s well-known Canarios for baroque guitar. A facsimile of the music (ff. 31r-31v) may be seen on line in Piotr Poz´niak’s article cited above. There is no strumming notated in the manuscript. Hofstötter’s oft-repeated IV, V, I, I sequence actually comes only twice at the end of the piece in the manuscript, not numerous times at the beginning as he plays it. As notated, it’s a nice piece, rather like a calata by Dalza on a good day.

There are three fantasias by John Dowland in the Lviv manuscript. Track 2 is an upbeat interpretation of Fantasia no. 6 (Poulton & Lam). Hofstötter understandably looks for ways of making the music expressive – adding occasional ornaments (good), rolling chords, e.g. the second chord of bar 7 (effective in enhancing the following 7-6), easing off in bar 21 (nice, because it helps a change of mood), and bringing the music to an overdramatic stop in bar 23 (not nice, because it loses momentum). One thing I really do not like is the exaggerated séparé of four two-note chords in bars 3-4. It interrupts the flow (one of each séparé pair must by definition be out of time), and it obscures the two-part polyphony.

Hofstötter plays 19 pieces altogether. (There are twenty tracks, but Tarzeto appears twice.) Some are very short. Passo e mezo (track 11) lasts a mere 24 seconds, although it makes musical sense when followed in the next track by a matching Saltarello (52 seconds of which the last 12 seconds are silence before the next track starts). Scattered among the jolly dance pieces are some song intabulations – Claudin de Sermisy’s “Le content est riche”, Pierre Sandrin’s “Doulce memoire”, Jacquet de Berchem’s “O s’io potessi donna”, and Clément Jannequin’s “Or vien ça, vien”. Valentin Bakfark’s “Non dite mai” with its title looks like a song intabulation, but it is a galliard. A modern transcription may be found in vol. 3, pp. 51-2 of the Bakfark edition mentioned earlier.

There is much variety. Strumming returns in a setting of La rocha el fuso, but it is used sparingly – just for the fast repeated chords of one section. It is very effective, and I think appropriate here. Particularly pleasing is Hofstötter’s performance of Giovanni Pacoloni’s well-named Fantasia bellissima, which is used for the title of the CD. There is a slowly-paced rendition of Dalza’s Pavana alla Ferrarese – the tempo has to be slow if only to be able to fit in all the fast notes at cadences and elsewhere. From a later age comes Dowland’s Forlorn Hope Fancy (Poulton and Lam, no. 2) with its lugubrious descending chromatic motif. All in all, the Lviv lute tablature is an interesting source, not widely known even in the lute world. Hofstötter has done well to bring it to our attention with a lively and pleasing performance.

Stewart McCoy