Tag: Chamber music

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Beethoven: Complete Violin Sonatas

CD cover Beethoven Violin Sonatas Sato Chai

Shunske Sato violin, Shuann Chai fortepiano
236:02 (3 CDs)
Cobra 0094

If the ten sonatas Beethoven composed for piano and violin over a period of a little over a decade hardly have the significance of his string quartets, that is at least in part due to the genre itself. Traditionally, the violin sonata was fundamentally piano repertoire for ladies – let’s not forget they were invariably written for ‘piano and violin’, not the other way round. She would most likely play them with a male partner, perhaps the lady’s teacher. The ‘violin sonata’ thus remained largely the province of the amateur. Until Beethoven, that is. Already in the first group, the three sonatas of op 12, published in 1799 with a dedication to the composer’s teacher Antonio Salieri, there was sufficient difference for critical comment to note that they are ‘strange sonatas, overloaded with difficulties’. The following sonatas, in A minor, op 23 and F, op 24 (‘Spring’), dating from 1800/1801 were both dedicated to the wealthy young nobleman and arts patron Count Moritz von Fries, the latter of course having taken its place as one of Beethoven’s best-loved violin sonatas.

In retrospect, we can see this period as one in which Beethoven devoted particular energy to the composition of the violin sonata, all with one exception, op 96 in G of 1812, dating from a short period during 1802 and 1803. They include the three sonatas of op 30, the odd story of whose dedication to Tsar Alexander I – Beethoven never had any personal connection with him – is related in the excellent booklet note. Then there is of course the Sonata in A, op 47, generally known as ‘Kreutzer’ after its eventual dedicatee, the French violinist Rodolphe Kreutzer, the work also having a background story that does little credit to Beethoven. There are therefore no ‘late’ violin sonatas, but equally no place for pleasing music designed for young ladies, rather music designed to solicit patronage or, in the case of those of op 30, a declared intent to ‘strike out on a new path’.

The present integral set of performances is important because, like the cycle of the string quartets recently recorded by the Narratio Quartet, they reflect the new wave of interest in finding ways of conveying means of expressivity by employing technical devices known to have been in use in Beethoven’s day. These include particularly rubato and portamento, the first of which can if used with musical intelligence create an agreeable impression of improvisation, while the second, the ‘sliding’ from one note to another, is capable if employed with sensitivity of enhancing expression, though carrying with it the risk of sounding vulgar. Both can be heard used extensively though not thoughtlessly by the Japanese husband-and-wife team Shunska Sato and Shuann Chai, the latter playing on two Viennese fortepianos by Michael Rosenberger, one dating from 1800, used for all the sonatas with the exception op 96, for which Chai turns to an instrument built twenty years later. The earlier instrument is a delight, with a timbre ranging from full and powerful to the captivating sweet mellowness heard in the opening movement of the ‘Spring’ Sonata, a movement that also admirably captures the fluency of Chai’s playing. Sato’s tone is in general fine too, though just occasionally it can sound a little sour, at least as recorded, particularly in portamentos, which are broadly used with discretion, though there are inevitably times when the listener may feel they are being over- (or under-) used. An example of overuse for me would be the second, Adagio expressive movement of Sonata 10 in G, where the warm middle range of the fortepiano envelops the music in a rhapsodic dream perhaps slightly disturbed by an excess of portamenti. Elsewhere, one of the great charms of the performances is the light and often witty approach. I’ll choose as an example the first of the variations of the Kreutzer Sonata’s second movement. Here, the delicate butterfly flutterings of the fortepiano are exquisitely complemented by the violin’s delicate little interactions to form an enchanting Japanese tapestry.

It would be possible but probably tedious to continue enumerating many small points, but I do hope readers with a sense of enquiry will explore these vital and probing performances. They seem to me a part of a definite, but as yet largely unrecognised, and wider movement to re-examine the whole question of rhetorical expression and the release of emotion in music of the 18th and early 19th centuries.

Brian Robins

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Recording

Love’s Labyrinth

CD cover Love's Labyrinth Gonzaga Band Savan Newton Devine

Songs and Duets of Monteverdi and his Contemporaries
The Gonzaga Band (Faye Newton, Jamie Savan, Steven Devine)
deux-elles DXL1213
65:45

With the five-star artists of Jamie Savan’s Gonzaga Band, we know that the artistry of the players, their long history of working together in such small-scale projects and Savan’s meticulous scholarship in editing material will produce a programme that offers fine music in captivating performances.

To appreciate the interlaced threads that make up such a well-researched programme, you need to read Savan’s liner notes: these ten columns are a model for how to coax listeners into believing that they understand the nuances behind the choice of some obscure treasures, and to believe that we have been party to the way in which these pearls have been selected and strung together.

They perform this programme at A=440, and the keyboard instruments are tuned in ¼ comma mean tone. They include a harpsichord by Dennis Woolley after an original by Hieronymus Bononiensis (Rome 1521) in the V & A, a single-strung harpsichord by Colin Booth after a 1533 instrument by Domenico da Pesaro in Leipzig and an ottavino of his after a 17th-century original in the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna. The organ is a digitally sampled keyboard after the Goetze and Gwynne St Teilo Tudor Organ.

Faye Newton has a beguiling voice: clear as a bell, yet delivered with a technical mastery that makes her the ideal singer for this Italian repertoire that spans the cusp of the 16th to 17th centuries. Her neat Italian diction coveys the changing emotions of the poems perfectly and the choice and arrangement of material, ranging from solo songs through duets to four- and five-voice madrigals, explores every possible combination of instruments, and, as with the Gonzaga Band’s other programmes, we are left marvelling at how so much rich music can be contrived with such minimal resources. As Savan’s note suggests, ‘If Monteverdi’s five-voice madrigals were performed in the context of the musica secreta in the 1590s, with its emphasis on female vocal virtuosity, they would likely have been so in some kind of arrangement for upper voices with keyboards, as exemplified by Luzzaschi.’

This is a delightful programme, and a very good introduction to the power of song as it was being rediscovered in those formative years for modern music.

David Stancliffe

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Recording

Telemann: Violin Concertos

CD cover Telemann Isabelle Faust akamus

Isabelle Faust violin, Akademie für alte Musik Berlin, Konzertmeister Bernhard Forck
79:35
harmonia mundi HMM 902756

With this latest release on harmonia mundi, Isabelle Faust and Akamus Berlin display a considerable synergetic assurance with technical agility whilst approaching these selected Telemann works. Mostly known pieces, with even the Suite having had several previous outings on disc, as with the “Gulliver-suite”; the “Frog” Concerto in A major was first heard in 1998 on Decca. It is slightly ironic that the lesser-knowns on the menu are a circular canon by J. J. Quantz (formerly listed in the Appendix of the TWV as Anh. 40: 103), and a Fantasia, not TWV 40: 22 but TWV 40: 4! Eschewing the works the composer wrote specifically for violin, this piece is lifted from the flute fantasias c.1731, and might have been dispensed with for TWV 51: a2, or the impressive quartet sonata, TWV 40: 200.

This said, the “Relinge” Pond frogs concerto and Gulliver-suite offer scope of expression, and delightful wittiness to sweep the mind away, but it is these two splendid book-ends in this collection that really dazzle, showcasing both composer and soloist’s ability for Italianate panache a la Vivaldi, although the Suite (TWV 55: h4) is a “Brassage” (mixed-brew) of French and Italian. Faust and Akamus capture and own these excellent pieces with some true “Bravoura” and daring “ Rodomontade” (two movements from TWV 55: h4). Her “sleeping beauty” Strad (1704) is fully awake! All the music is couched in a smooth, accomplished synergy, and the polished trumpet playing of Ute Hartwich is pitch perfect and never overstated, the fine interplay in TWV 53: D5 with Faust is really quite captivating, this piece almost certainly aimed at Pisendel, the composer’s friend and gifted virtuoso at Dresden.

Setting aside the minor aberrations of the Quantz and the fantasia, this is a recording of quality with a real dash of showmanship, and should catch the ears of any would-be doubters of Telemann’s powers to provide music of calibre, wit, and heartfelt, dynamic melodic lines. This recording will seek out a wider appreciation and acclaim: Beauty and “Bravoura” have been awoken!

David Bellinger

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Recording

Haydn: String Quartets, op 33: 4–6

CD cover Haydn op 33 4-6 Chiaroscuro BIS

Chiaroscuro Quartet
57:22
BIS-2608

This release marks the completion of Haydn’s opus 33 set of six string quartets by the Chiaroscuro Quartet, the first disc having been reviewed on this site. The quartet of course takes its name from the Baroque painting device in which a brightly-lit subject is strongly contrasted with a dark background. There is little dark background – or indeed darkness of any kind – in these quartets, which, apart from marking Haydn’s arrival as the first great composer in the mediu,m are particularly notable for their joyous nature and displays of fun and good humour. It is no surprise to find five of the quartets carrying the rare (for this period) marking ‘scherzo’, rather than ‘minuet’, and more than one observer has suggested that Haydn must have been particularly happy during this period of his life (the early 1780s) to have written such engagingly light-hearted music. It was however Haydn’s greatest biographer H C Robbins Landon who pertinently reminded us that this was also the period when Haydn was in the first flush of his love affair with the singer Luigia Polzelli; it is certainly not fanciful to see in these spirited and joyous pieces the work of a man in love.

Of the final three quartets, it is No 5 in G that is the most ambitious and striking. It is believed to be the earliest of the group to have been composed, but its opening Vivace assai is marked by a confidence and dramatic drive that suggest something far more mature. Although the material, like so much of that in op 33, has folk-like connotations, the development in particular has an animated dramatic drive, while the end of the movement finds Haydn experimenting with a full-blooded texture of the kind we associate more with the Beethoven string quartets. The following Largo e cantabile movement is perfectly paced, showing both here and in the Largo third movement of the Quartet no 4 that the Chiaroscuros well understand the 18th-century meaning of “Largo”, quite different to the much slower tempo implied by later use of the word. Equally impressive here is the beautiful shaping of the melodic line by leader Alina Ibragimova, the movement essentially being an operatic aria in which the singer has been replaced by the first violin. The succeeding Scherzo Allegro introduces one of Haydn’s many moments of sheer fun, the joke being that the music constantly sounds as if it is going somewhere significant but never does, always just petering out just as it finally seems to have got going. It hardly needs saying that The Chiaroscuros need no encouragement to make the most of it. The Finale is a set of variations on an irresistible siciliano theme, the variants giving the opportunity for all the members of the quartet to show off their considerable talents.

I’ve concentrated on the G-major Quartet particularly, but of course its delights are replicated in the other two quartets to some degree or another. Perhaps mention can be made of the whirlwind finale of No 4 in B-flat, one movement where it might be possible to raise an eyebrow about the very fast tempo (it is marked Presto) but the Quartet bring it off with such winning élan and make so much of the jokey ending – silences and the introduction of pizzicato – that any impending criticism is rapidly silenced.

Throughout these two reviews, it has been my intention to convey the fact that these are very distinguished performances indeed. The Chiaroscuro Quartet have had a change of personnel since recording the first three quartets, Charlotte Saluste-Bridoux taking over as second violin from Pablo Hernán Benedi and thus making the quartet now an all-woman group. To their balance and superb technique the change has not made one iota of audible difference. That’s to say the Chiaroscuros remain one of the most technically accomplished period instrument ensembles playing today.

Brian Robins

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Recording

Beethoven: Late String Quartets

CD cover Beethoven Late Quartets Narratio Quartet

Narratio Quartet
241:06 (4 CDs)
Challenge Classics CC72982

This completes the Narratio Quartet’s path-breaking and challenging set of the Beethoven string quartets. EMR reviews of the two earlier sets issued can be found here and here respectively. For the sake of clarity, it should be noted that the F-minor Quartet, op. 95 of 1810, usually tacked on to the middle period quartets, is included in the present set, chronologically if not entirely stylistically a little incongruously since it predates the genuine ‘late’ quartets by 15 years.

As noted in regard to the earlier sets, the Narratio’s period instrument performances are in some ways a reaction to the philosophy of the foundations of the 20th-century early music revival. That sought to be truthful (or authentic) in its treatment of the music of the past by means of the use of instruments of the period and faithful adherence to matters such as rhythm and tempo. Yet we know that such a ‘pure’ manner of interpretation was not the way music was played in the time of Mozart and Beethoven, that greater freedom was admitted to performance for the purposes of creating expressive gesture. That freedom included such features as rubato – rhythmic flexibility – vibrato employed for expressive purpose and portamento, the ‘slurring’ or sliding from one note to another. Needless to say, such means should be carefully thought through before use, and it is much to the credit of the Narratio’s that they have been thinking about and experimenting with the use of expressive devices in Beethoven’s quartets over a period of some 15 years. It is interesting to note too that this rethinking of what we call ‘period performing practice’ is increasingly extending to vocal music, where topics such as vibrato, rubato and portamento are also becoming questioned and debated. Finally, before brief observations on the individual quartets, it has been encouraging to note that throughout the Narratio’s set they have been happy to engage with Beethoven in one aspect of his music so frequently overlooked or forgotten – his wit and sense of humour. It stems, I think, from the 19th-century elevation of the composer to the status of a god, only to be the subject of awesome worship, not a great composer who laughs at us or invites us to laugh with him.

The String Quartet in F minor bids fair to be considered one of the knottiest of his works. Composed in 1810, a year that witnessed little productivity on Beethoven’s part, it was published five years later. Clues to the intensely personal nature of the work can be found in Beethoven’s designation of it as ‘quartetto serioso’ and his curious words to Sir George Smart when the composer sent a copy to London, ‘The Quartett (sic) is written for a small circle of connoisseurs and is never to be performed in public’. The Narratios attack the opening with uncompromising vigour, while the almost immediate lyrical response provides a fine example of their use of portamento and rubato. Lasting little more than five minutes, the movement here has a concise intensity that never lets up. This economy, the impression of saying nothing superfluous, characterises the quartet as a whole and is well caught by the Narratios who also make much of the lovely cantabile that forms the answering motive in the second movement.

It would be almost fifteen years before Beethoven returned to the medium. He then between 1824 and 1826 completed the five quartets now universally referred to as ‘the Late String Quartets’. These works, in particular the middle three (opp 130, 131 and 132), suggest a summation that not only expands the string quartet – structure, radical uses of tonality, texture, rhythm – to a degree that would inhibit the approach to the form by composers at least until the 20th century.

The Quartet in E-flat, op 127 occupied Beethoven between 1824 and 1825. Often considered the most ‘normal’ of the late quartets, it nevertheless stakes its claim to be unusual by including a slow movement that is virtually twice as long as any other of the three remaining movements. Marked ‘Adagio, ma non troppo e molto cantabile’, its nearly 15 minutes duration take us into a world of intense introversion that demands a concentration from both players and listener, here superbly achieved by the Narratios. The players also react well to the more animated central section, one of the many passages throughout these performances where the listener’s attention is drawn to the outstanding balance these players achieve. By contrast the Scherzo, with its constantly iterated perky theme reminding us how economical Beethoven could be with thematic material, shows us a more robustly committed side of the Narratios, the central folk-dance like Trio is celebrated with uninhibited pleasure and not a little of the good humour alluded to above.

If there is any doubt that Beethoven was entering new territory, it can be firmly dispelled in the face of the opening of the B-flat Quartet, op 130 of 1825. In every sense – sonority and expansive breadth – this is music that occupies a landscape greater than had previously been attempted. It’s a moment that the Narratio Quartet captures to near perfection, the massive sound picture enhanced by the satisfyingly bronzed sound of bow on gut strings. This sense of being at one with the music pervades the work, planned on a unique scale that includes six movements. The penultimate of these is the formidable Grande (or Grosse) Fugue, a movement found so difficult by the original performers and friends of the composer that the latter persuaded Beethoven to write a more concise, user-friendly alternative. Today it is that movement that is more frequently played. Overall, the performance is an impressive illustration of the manner in which the players invariably and instinctively seem to be at one with the music. In this context, it should be mentioned that tempi, which I’ve not mentioned until now, are never a cause for concern. The intelligence of the players can also be noted that although they play the famous Cavatina ‘molto espressivo’ as Beethoven asked, they keep such external signs of expression as portamento and rubato under strict control. Music of such sublime simplicity and introversion has no need of such tools.

The only other movement among this set that the composer marks ‘molto espressivo’ is the Adagio of op 131 in C-sharp minor (composed 1825-26) and here was one of the rare cases I disagreed with the use of portamento, in the first violin’s opening upward sweep from G# to C#, a gesture subsequently imitated by the other players. Like the Cavatina, it is fundamentally a simple, but profound almost hymn–like subject that needs no adornment. Although the quartet is in seven movements (two of which – the second and fifth – demand and here receive a virtuoso response from the performers) it is fundamentally structurally closer to the tradition four-movement quartet. The third movement, a brief accompanied recitative, is for example clearly linked to the monumental slow movement, a sublime aria of the utmost tenderness which although passing through a period of more animated disquiet ends with music and performers totally at peace and at one.

As with the C-sharp minor quartet, the Quartet in A minor, op 132 of 1825 has multiple-movements, here five dominated by the expansive opening and third movements. The latter is headed ‘Heiliger Dankgesang eines Genesenen’ (a holy hymn of thanks of a convalescent to a Deity), a reminder that Beethoven had been seriously ill during the preceding winter. If this movement can thus be seen as autobiographical, then the same surely applies to the opening Assai sostenuto, which appears to arise out of the memories of some unrelated nightmare. Both these passages are played with deeply introverted concentration by the Narratios, the sustained bass chords of both passages played with rasping intensity. But op 132 is by no means a tragic quartet; as so often with the mature quartets, it passes through many moods, the final Allegro appassionato embracing both affection in its lilting opening and deeply troubling thoughts in the animated central section.

Beethoven’s final string quartet, op 135 in F, on first appearances appears to mark something like a return to convention. It is cast in four movements and, unlike its immediate forbear,s plays no longer than a quartet by Haydn or Mozart. But such appearances are deceptive and not only ignore the sublime third movement, marked Assai lento, cantante e tranquillo, which enjoys a profoundly spiritual inner life of its own quite as intense as the Cavatina of op 130 or the Andante of op 131, but the autobiographical element of the final movement. This has occupied Beethoven scholars since the work’s composition, with its opening quotation of the three-note motif, ‘Es muss sein?’ (must it be?), later answered ‘ja, es muss sein’ (yes, it must be).

Once again, there is an autobiographical explanation for the origin, if not for Beethoven’s use of the motif here in the final quartet movement he would write. The more I hear these quartets, the more I feel there is possibly an even greater personal element to them than we realise. Such thoughts have certainly been enhanced by these Narratio Quartet performances, which demand to be heard even by those familiar with this music. It should be added that they are presented in superb sound that aids the multitude of sonorities admirably. There will be things here that surprise, things to relish and, perhaps, things to disturb or even infuriate. One thing I can promise: you will not be bored.

Brian Robins

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Recording

A Tribute to Mikhail Vysotsky (1791-1837)

A Tribute to Mikhail Vysotsky (1791-1837)

John Schneidermann & Oleg Timofeyev (Seven-string guitars), 74:38
Prima Classic PRIMA075

Mikhail Vysotsky was a Russian guitarist who was born in 1791 in the village of Ochakovo. He moved to Moscow in 1813, where he performed as a virtuoso guitarist, and was in demand as a guitar teacher. In his liner notes, Oleg Timofeyev describes Vysotsky as “Disorganized and impractical in daily life. Vysotsky drank himself to death by 1837.” Vysotsky wrote music for the Russian seven-string guitar, which had become extremely popular by the beginning of the 19th century. Timofeyev notes that there are about a hundred of Vysotsky’s compositions which were published: preludes, fantasias, dances, transcriptions of piano music and opera arias. There are a few pieces which survive in manuscript. The twelve tracks on the present CD are variations on popular Russian songs. The first eight tracks are performed by John Schneidermann, and the last four by Oleg Timofeyev.

The first track, “Along the street”, is Vysotsky’s take on a well-known Russian song. It is a jolly piece, with variations involving continuous quavers, with slurred notes and harmonics thrown in here and there for variety. There are little touches of chromaticism which brighten what is straightforward conventional diatonic harmony. Vysotsky is in good company: the Spanish composer Fernando Sor, wrote variations for two guitars on the same song in his “Souvenir de Russie”.

“Show yourself the clear moon” is in a similar vein. There are grace notes and similar decorative effects, and attractive scalic passages running up and down the neck of the guitar, but harmony is limited to the folk singer’s three-chord trick of tonic, dominant and subdominant. One variation switches to triplets, followed by another which consists of dotted rhythms.

A more sombre mood pervades “Mother I have a headache”. It is in a minor key, and a feeling of unease is created by occasional diminished sevenths. Schneidermann plays expressively with a delicacy of touch, so it is unfortunate that there are occasional obtrusive noises from the strings as he slides his finger along them. Perhaps this can’t be helped, but it does stand out at 3.07. In contrast, portamento slides are used to good effect in “Variations on a Tyrolean Theme.” Vysotsky’s music is designed for easy listening, and Schneidermann’s nimble fingers create a charming performance.

Oleg Timofeyev is responsible for the last four tracks. I like his interpretation of “I used to know no worries”, which is a delightful piece full of contrasts. The very high notes towards the end are particularly satisfying. The music for track 11, “My strip of land”, is available online at IMSLP, where it has the title “Is it not the Field, my little Field”. I wonder if Timofeyev used a different source for the recording, because there are so many places where what he plays does not match the IMSLP score. Variation 6 begins with a passage of 20 single notes. Timofeyev plays them as harmonics, apart from c# which is not available as a harmonic. The result is unsatisfactory, since the c#s obtrusively sound an octave lower than the other notes. It is clear from the IMSLP score, that the first 13 notes should be played normally at the written pitch, and only the last seven notes should be played as harmonics.

One welcome feature of the CD is Oleg Timofeyev’s commentary in the liner notes: He provides information about the songs and their text, about Vysotsky’s life, and the musical context in Russia. “Russia of that time was a place of constant singing everywhere. Coachmen in carriages, rowers in boats, women washing the laundry – everybody was singing in villages, towns and cities.”

Stewart McCoy

Categories
Recording

Telemann: Six trio 1718

CD cover Telemann Six trio 1718

Les Timbres (Stefanie Trouffes traverso, Antoine Torunczyk oboe, Yoko Kawakubo violin, Myriam Rignol viola da gamba, Julien Wolfs hpscd/org); Harmonia Lenis (Kenichi Mizuuchi recorders, Yukiko Murakami bassoon, Yuki Koike violin, Elena Andreyev violoncello, Akemi Murakami hpscd/org)
78:28
Flora5925

It has been suggested that these elegant trios were inspired by members of the Collegia Musica or indeed by known virtuosi or even gifted amateurs; they do mark a progressive statement from the earlier examples in Telemann’s “self-publishing” enterprise, pushing the scope beyond the Italianate sonata format with added “spice” and dynamics. Rather fittingly, we have two ensembles embracing the wonderful scope of tonal colours offered by the varied instrumentation, from flute and recorder and oboe, alongside violin, to a second violin, and with Trio VI violin with violoncello or bassoon, the latter chosen here (all with continuo). To top off this well-presented disc, we have two of the much later trios from Essercizii Musici (1739-40) with viola da gamba, and the recorder, alongside an obbligato harpsichord part, given a slight variation in selected movements with organ. The two ensembles share the limelight and delight, with some very articulate and fluent playing capturing the essence of these progressive, well-conceived trios with their distinctive (semi-canonic) tonal interplay; heard keenly in the D major with two violins, and violin and bassoon in F featuring some very nimble playing. Perhaps another outing for the oboe might have been considered, the E flat major work from the Essercizii Musici set?

Overall, these pieces hold their unique, engaging charms on this crisp, mellifluent, collaborative recording. Whether inspired by musicians from his immediate circle, or intended for the growing number of customers who subscribed to his published music, they highlight Telemann’s alert understanding of the trio form and his ability to use the spectrum of instrumental colours to hand. The booklet (in English, French and Japanese) has plenty of biographical and incidental quotes. This is a generous offering of Baroquery, for more than just one sitting.

David Bellinger

Categories
Recording

Charpentier: Les Arts Florissants

CD cover Dallas Bach Charpentier Les arts florissants

Dallas Bach Society, directed by James Richman
65:35
Rubicon RCD 1128

The cover illustration of this issue and listing of the New York Baroque Dance Company among the artists enticingly suggests this might be a DVD rather than CD. The impression is enhanced by a passing observation made in his somewhat bizarre notes by Dallas Bach Society director James Richman, but visits to Rubicon’s website and YouTube bring no further suggestion that there is a film. So quite where a Baroque dance company fits into an audio recording must for now remain a mystery.*

Like a number of works such as Racine and Lully’s Idylle sur la paix, Les Arts Florissants (H.487) owes its existence to the Ratisbon Truce of 1684, the signing of which brought an end to war between Louis XIV’s France and the Holy Roman Empire and Spain. It was written for Charpentier’s long-term patron Madam de Guise, and was doubtlessly performed at her hôtel along with another celebratory work, the brief La Couronne de Fleurs (H.486). A charming conceit, Les Arts brings together the various arts to celebrate the king’s victories in their own brief contributions, seconded by a Chorus of Warriors relieved at the cessation of battle. Meanwhile, Discord still clamours for the return of war, a sentiment opposed and overcome by Peace (La Paix). The five scenes are punctuated by dance, as would be expected in a French work of this kind.

It is probably fair to say that Dallas is not the first place you’d associate with French Baroque music, but James Richman here directs an appealing performance particular notable for the contribution of the members of the Dallas Bach Society. In keeping with the original performing circumstances the instrumental forces are small, just pairs of flutes and violins with cello, gamba, theorbo and harpsichord continuo. The playing throughout is of high technical quality, only just missing out on the final degree of idiomatic rhythmic lift. The eight vocalists are also commendable in their grasp of style, but it is unfortunate that a resonant church acoustic has blunted the already poor diction of most of them, an honourable exception being stand-out soprano Haley Sicking, who is also better with ornamentation than her colleagues. Indeed, with her fresh but attractively rounded soprano, Sicking’s La Paix brings constant pleasure.

It would have been good to add the companion La Couronne, as does the larger-scale performance on Versailles Spectacles, but here we have instead a nine-movement Sonata a 8 (H.548) scored for the same forces as those employed in Les Arts Florissants. Not a perfect CD, but one that shows that French Baroque musical art can indeed flourish far from home.

Brian Robins

* The answer may lurk somewhere on their website…

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Festival-conference

Ambronay 2025

Ambronay Festival 2025

COMING SOON!

Over three weekends next month, this wonderful festival that takes place in an abbey not far Lyon, Annency and Geneva covers everything from trio sonatas to the B minor mass, and from “a duet for clown and viola da gamba”(!) to Mozart’s precocious “Die Schuldigkeit des Ersten Gebots”. Performers include well-known ensembles such as Vox Luminis, Ensemble Correspondances, Cappella Mediterranea and Pygmalion, but also – a trademark of this talent-fostering organisation – plenty of young artists who will undoubtedly continue to grow as a result of such exposure.

If you’re lucky enough to be in the area, check out the programme here: Dossier de presse_Festival 2025 (in French only, and accurate at the time of printing!) and support Ambronay’s initiatives if you can!

Categories
Recording

Northern Light

CD cover Northern Light Richardot Daucé Ensemble Correspondances

Echoes from 17th-century Scandinavia
Lucile Richardot mS, Ensemble Correspondances, directed by Sébastien Daucé
81:39
harmonia mundi HMM 905368

The subtitle of this collection introduces us to a rare repertoire of sacred works (plus a short suite of dances by Sebastian Knüpfer (1633-1676), Kantor of the Thomaskirche in Leipzig from 1657). It takes its inspiration from a collection gathered by Gustav Düben, a member of a musical family that had strong connections with the Swedish court for nearly a century. The collection suggests that unlike royal courts with a strongly nationalist repertoire – that of Louis XIV is a prime example – the Stockholm court heard music by an eclectic range of European composers and musicians, including both Germans and Italians. The present CD reflects that variety by featuring music by both, including among the latter motets by Vincenzo Albrici (1631-96), one of an itinerant family of Roman musicians and a member of the court of Queen Christina of Sweden prior to her abdication in 1654 and later in Dresden, where Giuseppe Peranda (1625-1675) also worked under Schütz. The motets of both are laid out as solo verses interspersed with a refrain for a vocal ensemble.

At the time of the accession of King Charles XI in 1675, Düben led a court ensemble of 16 singers and musicians of varied nationality. Most of the music included on the present disc is reminiscent if not the equal of the smaller scale works of Schütz and features primarily works for an alto soloist with accompaniment for strings and continuo. The most ambitious piece is a birthday motet for the king ‘Jubilate et exultate’, a celebratory work adapted from an Advent motet by Franz Tunder originally in German. It seems the adaptation of works was common practice among Düben and his associates, another being ‘Ack Herre, låt dina helga änglar’, a Swedish-language adaptation of another work of Tunder’s. It is a reflection on joining Christ in death of sombre beauty, as is the lamentation on the death of Charles in 1697. It is by Johann Fischer (1646-1716 or 17), whose original music is lost but the poetry of which is here fitted to another lament by the composer.

Many of the works included are simple strophic settings, but one that is strikingly original is ‘Es war aber an der Stätte’ by Christian Geist (c1650-1711), a north German singer and organist that worked in the Danish and Swedish courts during the 1670s. Scored for solo alto, the first part is a narrative about the entombment of Christ. That is followed by a deeply felt and bitter lamentation in four strophic verses laced with a falling chromatic figure that serves to accentuate the agony. It is worth adding that the one work here that will be known to many is also the best, Johann Christoph Bach’s tear-drenched lament ‘Ach, dass ich Wasser’s g’nug hätte’.

All this music, much of it deeply devotional, is performed by Lucile Richardot and the peerless Ensemble Correspondances with a quiet authority that all but defies criticism. Richardot is not only the possessor of a richly burnished mezzo with a particularly distinctive contralto range and superbly controlled delivery but, and perhaps more importantly, she is one of the most expressive singers of Baroque repertoire currently active, as anyone that has heard her magisterial Penelope in Monteverdi’s Il ritorno d’Ulisse can testify. Add to that a technique that includes an ability to turn ornaments with clean precision and you have a set of performances to cherish. The several items that require a vocal ensemble in addition to Richardot can boast the participation of such fine singers as soprano Caroline Weynants and the outstandingly talented young tenor Antonin Rondepierre.

There are some recordings that are difficult to describe because they are so ordinary. Then there are those hard to do justice to because their apparent ordinariness and lack of sensationalism cloaks attributes more elusive but no less valuable. This is one of those. There’s no great music here, just supreme art concealing art.

Brian Robins