Bach

Bach: The French Suites – Jarrett (ECM New Series 1513/14)

| Tyran Grillo

J. S. Bach
The French Suites

Keith Jarrett harpsichord
Recorded September 1991, Cavelight Studio, New Jersey
Engineer: Peter Laenger
Produced by Manfred Eicher

Johann Sebastian Bach composed his so-called French Suites between 1722 and 1725 while still Kappelmeister to Prince Leopold. Although the title was a later addition and has nothing to do with its content (it is, if anything, Italian in form and convention), it does lend the collection a certain categorical charm. The first three suites are in minor keys, while the latter three are in major, leaving an invisible division to be drawn at their center. This does, in effect, create an open circle toward which one may bend an attentive ear at any point and still feel immersed in the suites’ totality.

As with his other Bach recordings for ECM, Keith Jarrett shows himself to be more than comfortable at the harpsichord, threading as he does a distinctive legato pacing into that instrument’s penchant for separation. In Jarrett’s hands, the music generally hovers in mid-tempo. He arpeggiates chords beautifully (note, for example, the Courante of Suite No. 1), approaches the more courtly dances (Allemande of Suite No. 2) with explicit grace, and puts plenty of meat on the bones of his trills (Gigue of Suite No. 1, Menuet of Suite No. 3). He also elicits a strikingly rich tone from the instrument’s middle range (Allemandes of Suite Nos. 2 and 3; Polonaise of Suite No. 6), and in others cultivates a gorgeously voluminous sound (Courante of Suite No. 2). Not surprisingly, Jarrett excels in the faster movements, and nowhere more so than in the Gigues (especially those of Suites Nos. 2, 3, and 4), yet the slower movements also convey a great humility. This isn’t merely because of his astounding virtuosity, but also because of his ability to expand the space in which he operates and because ECM highlights this expansion accordingly through attentive recording. Suite No. 4, with its touching Sarabande and luscious Air, provides some of the most varied atmospheres within any one suite. Suite No. 5 is another rich bouquet, its Allemande perhaps the most exquisite moment of the entire set. The Courante is wonderfully syncopated, while the Gavotte delights with its circuitous melody. The Gigue here is one of the album’s brightest highlights, combining a range of techniques in a spirited display of Shepard scale-like denouement. The Courante of Suite No. 6 flies off Jarrett’s fingers with ease, and the stately Gigue of the same brings everything to a masterfully contrapuntal conclusion.

On the whole, Jarrett performs splendidly. His technique is consistent, impassioned, and stripped to its essentials. These works may abound with courtly flair, but they also break from any of the restrictions that the circumstances of their composition might imply into moments of sheer enchantment. These suites are emotional endeavors through and through, and though they may not always be as consistently enthralling as some of Bach’s “heavier” works for keyboard, they duly remind us that it is never simply the artist’s responsibility to render such music captivating, but also ours as listeners to realize that not all music has to be in order to work its way into our hearts.

<< William Byrd: Motets and Mass for four voices (ECM 1512 NS)
>> Garbarek/Brahem/Hussain: Madar (ECM 1515)

Bach: Goldberg Variations – Schiff (ECM New Series 1825)

| Tyran Grillo

 

Johann Sebastian Bach
Goldberg Variations

András Schiff piano
Concert recording, October 30, 2001 at the Stadtcasino, Basel
Engineer: Stephan Schellmann
Produced by Manfred Eicher

“This is one of those few journeys that can be repeated again and again.”
–András Schiff on the Goldberg Variations

Bach, says Schiff, “was a composer with encyclopedic ambitions.” As such, one might say that the Klavierübung—of which the Goldberg Variations are the crowning jewel—was as much an attempt to fill in a musical gap, if not to elevate a preexisting one, in a form so concise that no one could claim its place. In their profoundly moving dance between the Apollonian and Dionysian, the Variations fold and refold themselves like a constantly shifting origami figure reusing the same sheet of paper. Likewise, the collection begins and ends with an all-encompassing Aria, so that by the end one spreads that sheet out to reveal a tightly knit symmetrical pattern of inimitable proportions.

As with any pianistic interpretation of Bach, debates over medium abound. Whatever your instrumental preference, however, I put forward that Schiff’s clarity transcends any and all technical concerns. And let us not forget that the success of any recording lies as much in the hands of its engineers, instrument makers, and tuners. The clarity of this particular ECM recording, and its marriage with Schiff’s performance, is particularly refreshing, for it gives each variation such a firm position in the greater scheme of its placement that we cannot help but become utterly invested in its brief traversal. Schiff’s surgical precision lends itself particularly well to the faster variations—Nos. 1, 5, 8 (a personal favorite), and 21—as it gives them just enough added vigor to make them spring from their cages. For the slower variations—particularly Nos. 9 and 15—this approach means a validation of brevity, emboldening as it does the delicate lines they walk between speech and song. As for the more heavily syncopated numbers, such as 4, 7, 12, and 16, this feeling descends into one of rootedness. For me, Variation No. 14 is the prize and Schiff handles its demanding trills and hand-crossings with the utmost fluency, providing us with more than enough energy to work our way to the Aria’s reprise.

Listening to Schiff play Bach is always an uplifting experience, and nowhere more so than here. The palpable bond between him and the music speaks of a mutual love. The recording scintillates throughout, but is a live one, so everything from piano dampers to the occasional cough comes through. It is worth having in physical form for Schiff’s whimsical “guided tour” of the Variations included in the booklet. While this has the makings of a benchmark recording, I recommend that you also check out Keith Jarrett’s ECM recording of the same on harpsichord. The two make a lovely pair.

Bach: Das Wohltemperierte Klavier, Buch I – Fellner (ECM New Series 1853/54)

| Tyran Grillo

Johann Sebastian Bach
Das Wohltemperierte Klavier, Buch I

Till Fellner piano
Recorded September 2002, Jugendstiltheater, Vienna
Engineer: Markus Heiland
Produced by Manfred Eicher

One need only hear Till Fellner’s opening bars of the C major Prelude to know we’ve been taken in by a most heartfelt performance of The Well-Tempered Clavier. The Viennese pianist’s unparalleled grace and fluidity, aided by a rather “submerged” recording, serve to enlarge the visual field of the music at hand. And by the time we get to the C minor Prelude, we know there is no escape from this miraculous cage. Fellner always manages to keep himself at a distance, as if the music were coming from a dream he never wishes to abandon.

These pieces are like bits of life in concentrated form, each prelude a genetic signature and every fugue the trait it enables in the growing organism. Fellner bows to every movement and allows the dynamics to unfold from within. The faster sections in particular show a marked infusion of drama, each building through a slow fade-in to a more pronounced finish. Prime examples of this include the C-sharp major, G major, and B major Preludes, and the E minor Fugue. Fellner also makes the most of striking juxtapositions. The sprightly D major Prelude, for example, is all the more enlivening for being paired with the C-sharp minor Fugue’s beautiful lag. Yet never has a Bach interpreter so evocatively captured my interest in the slower movements, and no more so than in Prelude and Fugue in B minor. The A major Fugue and F minor Prelude go straight to the gut, and the F-sharp major Prelude practically weeps from the keyboard. Some of the album’s most emotional moments are to be found in the celestial G minor Prelude, with an opening trill that practically sings. And so, it is rather fitting that Book I should end on the somber B minor Fugue, seeming to regret its impending end while also fully resigning itself to the sentiment it has left behind.

Fellner has achieved something truly magical in this recording. Not only has be managed to “reopen” The Well-Tempered Clavier with his warmth, but he has done so by stretching it into a vaster tapestry, thereby allowing us to visualize every shadowy figure that passes through it. We distinguish mere snatches of form—an eye, a pair of parted lips, perhaps an extending hand—so that every nuance brings us closer to understanding the corporeal totality of the music. Fellner’s superb handling turns even the most staid movements into fresh listening experiences, while his airy separation and delicately applied arpeggios turn every polyphonic moment into its own soundscape. The album’s softness is, I think, as much a part of Fellner’s aesthetic as it is of ECM’s. Yet for all that Fellner brings to this project, the music comes through with renewed vigor, and that is the sign of a singular musician indeed.

Bach: Sonatas and Partitas (ECM New Series 1909/10 & 1926/27)

| Tyran Grillo

Johann Sebastian Bach
The Sonatas and Partitas for Violin Solo
as played by John Holloway and Gidon Kremer

Recorded July and September 2004, Propstei St. Gerold (Holloway)
25-29 September 2001, Lockenhaus, Pfarrkirche St. Nikolaus, and 10-15 March 2002, Riga (Kremer)
Engineers: Stephan Schellmann (Holloway) and Niels Foelster (Kremer)
Produced by Manfred Eicher (Holloway) and Helmut Mühle (Kremer)

I first heard Bach’s Sonatas and Partitas for solo violin on vinyl under the bow of Thomas Zehetmair in his awe-inspiring Teldec recording, which remains my interpretation (and format) of choice. Ever since Zehetmair signed with ECM, I have constantly wondered what untold pleasures a repeat performance for the label might bring. Sadly, this has yet to be realized. Thankfully, however, ECM listeners have two complementary representations to choose from, and for this reason I review them side by side.

Looking Back
As one of the world’s foremost Baroque violinists, John Holloway brings four decades of intimate engagement with these masterworks to the proverbial table. Working from the original autograph score, Holloway takes meticulous care in observing every detail of articulation as a means of arguing for the composer’s own deeply informed knowledge of the instrument. His supple playing and humble approach make for one of those rare “historically informed” performances that actually dusts off the ravages of time and breathes cleanly rather than calling attention to its antiquity. Not only does he bring a visceral robustness to the Adagios and a refreshing regularity to the Prestos, but he also makes sure that every tempo in between is given its own dynamic quality.

I have always cherished the Allemanda of the B minor Partita over all, as it is the last piece I learned to play on the violin before I abandoned the instrument to focus on training my voice. It is typically the standard I go by when encountering a new version for the first time and I am proud to report that Holloway draws from it a wealth of seductive material for our auditory perusal. He adopts a similar posture in the Fuga of the A minor Sonata and in the Siciliana of the G minor sonata, both of which scintillate like dark pools in moonlight. But the true gem of this collection is the D minor Partita, where we encounter one of the most heartrending Sarabandes imaginable, an absolutely resplendent Giga, and as finely executed a Ciaccona as one could hope for. The C major Sonata brings out another exemplary performance, especially in the haunting vulnerability injected into the Allegro assai. The E major Partita is pitch-perfect. Its immediately recognizable Preludio shines with renewed verve in Holloway’s hands.

Looking Ahead
What can one say about Gidon Kremer? He is one of the leading innovators among contemporary classical performers, having inspired a wealth of commissioned music and a somewhat controversial discography of variable projects. Kremer first recorded these pieces for Philips in 1980 and returns to them here in a self-professed “final statement” on Bach. As any avid Kremer listener can expect, this interpretation is at once fiercely idiosyncratic and deeply aware of its roots. His G minor Sonata is appropriately subdued and sets an introspective tone for the entire performance. Kremer truly stands out in the fast movements, such as in the Double Presto of the B minor Partita and the delicately executed Allegro assai of C major Sonata, where he is able to put his dynamic energy on full display. He also puts his “GK” stamp on the more dance-like movements, such as his ravishing Tempo di Borea from the B minor Partita and the Gavotte en Rondeau of the E major Partita. This is not meant to imply, of course, that he is without sensitivity. Under Kremer’s agile fingers the Andante of the A minor Sonata weeps with unrivaled ardor, the Sarabanda of the D minor Partita stumbles with an unusually supplicatory air, and his C major Sonata Adagio brings a whole new sense of tortured emotion to a movement so often played with reserve. Kremer revels in the rhythmic possibilities afforded to him by the score, stretching out as many moth-eaten holes in its musical fabric as he can, so as to emphasize its polyphonic structure and harmonic integrity. He also shows a predilection for sharp attacks. Witness, for example, his crisp Ciaccona, which punctures the ether with the power of a thunderclap. And what of my beloved B minor Allemanda? It has taken some getting used to, but I can now appreciate Kremer’s halted style and flawless tuning, and the liveliness he brings to this somber dance is uniquely his own.

I would never venture to say which of these performances is “better” than the other. Holloway plays at period pitch, while Kremer opts for a modern tuning, resulting in two entirely different experiences. Holloway’s opaque sonorities become Kremer’s airy glitter. These are both recordings to be savored and revisited. The reverberant acoustics and attentive microphone placement put Holloway’s a head above the rest in sound quality, while its somber undertones speak to the violinist’s humility in the face of Bach’s complex symmetries. Then again, Kremer’s staggering attention to detail and variation prove once again why he is one of the instrument’s sharpest proponents. I can only recommend both for their technical spread and complementary attitudes. Not to mention that the pieces themselves belong on any music lover’s shelf.

Bach: Goldberg Variations – Jarrett (ECM New Series 1395)

| Tyran Grillo

Johann Sebastian Bach
Goldberg Variations

Keith Jarrett harpsichord
Recorded January 1989, Yatsugatake Kōgen Ongakudō, Nagano, Japan
Engineer: Peter Laenger
Produced by Manfred Eicher
Harpsichord (1988) by Tatsuo Takahashi
(Double manual Italian/German style)

Although the original 1741 title page of the Goldberg Variations reads, “Composed for connoisseurs, for the refreshment of their spirits, by Johann Sebastian Bach,” one need hardly be a connoisseur of any kind in order to feel one’s spirits refreshed by this superb collection, the informal conclusion to the composer’s so-called Klavierübung, or “keyboard exercises,” which also includes the Opus 1 partitas. For his own rendition of the Goldberg, pianist Keith Jarrett has made an admirable decision in opting for the harpsichord, just as he did with his ECM recording of Book II of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier. Unlike the many piano recordings of these significant miniatures, all of which of course have their own merits, the harpsichord lends a certain quality of immediacy and uncompromised revelation to Bach’s music that is otherwise impossible to elicit. The opening Aria glows with the benefit of experience, a long look back at a full musical life that continues to burst forth with ever-inventive ideas, and sets the stage for the thirty variations to follow. The first of these immediately injects energy into the theme with effervescent syncopation. The fifth variation is a lively miniature in which the right hand remains centered at the keyboard as the left leaps back and forth across it. The seventh is a lively gigue in the French style, and the eighth mesmerizes with its stepwise chromatic flair and little waterfalls of thirty-second notes that close each section. The fugal tenth circles like a merry-go-round of trills and regular punctuations. For the thirteenth variation, a quaint sarabande, Jarrett makes clever use of the buff stop in the left hand, drawing out the piece’s inner gentility all the more. With its descending trills and gorgeous contrapuntal resolutions, the fourteenth overflows with an electrifying energy. The grandiose sixteenth is like a series of temples that keep getting torn down before they can be completed, but which remain standing just long enough to etch the firmament with their majesty, while the twentieth blossoms in a sweeping toccata of virtuosic proportions. A ring of arabesques lays the foundation for the twenty-sixth, which gives a harder pull on the collection’s red thread. The variations end with a recapitulation of the opening Aria, bringing the music full circle in its infinite wisdom.

Jarrett’s fingers are as committed as always, navigating the music put before them with practiced dexterity. The recording is somewhere between internal and external, capturing the nuances of its Japanese-built harpsichord with all the respect they deserve. Ultimately, the Goldberg Variations are more about affect than effect—which is to say they find permanence in their expressivity rather than in their emotional consequences—and the Jarrett/ECM partnership has produced yet another fine recording of music that should never go out of style.

<< AM 4: …and she answered: (ECM 1394)
>> Misha Alperin/Arkady Shilkloper: Wave Of Sorrow (ECM 1396)

Thomas Demenga plays Bach/Carter (ECM New Series 1391)

| Tyran Grillo

Thomas Demenga
plays works of J. S. Bach and Elliott Carter

Thomas Demenga cello
Hansheinz Schneeberger violin
Philippe Racine flute
Ernesto Molinari clarinet
Paul Cleemann piano
Gerhard Huber percussion
Jürg Wyttenbach conductor
Recorded October 1988 and April 1989, Zürich
Engineer: Peter Laenger
Produced by Manfred Eicher

In this, the first of Thomas Demenga’s Bach cycle for ECM, the ever-adventurous cellist pairs one suite of the Baroque master with the works of a master of a rather different sort: the American composer Elliott Carter.

We begin with Bach’s Suite Nr. 3 in C-Dur für Violoncello solo, BWV 1009, a crowning jewel in solo instrumental literature. The Prelude glows with an improvisatory spirit, which Demenga captures with his usual tasteful flair. The Allemande dances lithely through a hall of contrapuntal bliss, while the Courante skips and slides like an exuberant child without a care in the world, leading us into a lilting Sarabande. The double Bourée is one of the most beloved moments in the Bach suites and blurs here with vivacious speed. The closing Gigue weaves is mercurial song with expert care, leaving us fully prepared for the imminent journey through the world of Carter.

Esprit rude, Esprit doux (1983) for flute and clarinet is a playful romp in distorted fields, where unfinished phrases grow in place of flowers and the wind blows only erratically. Enchanted Preludes (1988) for flute and cello trills and plucks its unsteady way through a wide open sea. Riconoscenza per Goffredo Petrassi (1984) for solo violin, now part of the Four Lauds, is as robust and neoclassical as the music of the Italian composer to whom it is dedicated. But the real treat here is the 1983 Triple Duo, a more formidable and complex work than the rest combined, for combine them it does, and then some. Scored for three duos—comprised of flute/clarinet, piano/percussion, and violin/cello—this piece is classic Carter. Its wily acrobatics twist and twirl with the grace of an intoxicated gymnast. The effect is like the striations of earth visible in an archaeological dig: what appears to be a random zigzag of tones and materials takes on a staggering unity in the larger context of time. One motif is quickly usurped by another, even as a third has already come and gone. This game of hide-and-seek continues for twenty minutes, ending as uncertainly as it began. As with much of Carter’s prolific output, we are left with more questions than answers, yet we never feel cheated, given as we are a veritable stockpile of musical information to sift through to our great delight.

The recording here is meticulous as always. The Bach is awash with warm reverb and sounds spectacular, while the Carter invites the listener with a more pressing immediacy. One can speak the world of Bach, but Carter’s music is surely not to be overlooked. Its fluidity and inextinguishable verve always make for a refreshing experience. Like the most intuitive sketches, it just manages to hold its shape in a jumble of possibilities. Which brings us back to Bach. “What’s the connection?” we might ask. Rather than attempt a feeble answer, I leave you with the words of Heinz Holliger, whose open letter says it far better than I ever could:

Although BA and CA coexist so peacefully beside each other in the alphabet, I am afraid that when the first jagged flashes of flute and clarinet rend the serene C major skies of Bach’s Gigue, your hand will rush to switch off the record player. I hope my plea does not come too late to stop this from happening. It would be such a shame if one fateful turn of the knob were to close off the new and fascinating sound-world just opened to you by those first flashes. Lie back and relax, listen, look, feel and remember the future; try to foresee the past. Let Zeus throw down from the new Olympus those shattering bolts of sound. Let the purifying spiritual storm (not just Esprit rude, Esprit doux) rage around you. You will be richly rewarded.

<< Abercrombie/Johnson/Erskine: s/t (ECM 1390)
>> Keith Jarrett Trio: Changeless (ECM 1392)

Bach: Das Wohltemperierte Klavier, Bücher I & II – Jarrett (ECM New Series 1362/63 & 1433/34)

| Tyran Grillo

Keith Jarrett never ceases to astound me: not because of his chameleonic ability to shift between jazz and classical music, but by the sheer passion and commitment he brings to both. On these recordings of Bach’s The Well-Tempered Clavier, Jarrett proves himself to be a more than consummate classical performer. That being said, I don’t think Jarrett is out to “prove” anything here. Neither does he seem interested in laying to rest—despite critiquing others’ approaches, particularly Glenn Gould’s, in his liner notes—the ongoing debate of authenticity regarding the interpretation of Bach (and if you ask me, perhaps not even Bach ever played Bach “authentically,” tailoring as he did his keys and tempi to the occasion). What Jarrett does seem interested in is taking his ego out of the equation as much as possible. And while one cannot, of course, completely disavow a performer’s presence, this presence can be intrusive and overblown all the same. For what it’s worth, Jarrett toes the line between restraint and levity, humbly approaching the music from below rather than attacking it from above. Essentially a series of preludes and fugues written for keyboard students and enthusiasts, The Well-Tempered Clavier consists of generally short pieces, each its own microcosm of energy and ideas. Jarrett opts for a no-frills approach, though he has made a bold decision in recording the first book on piano and the second on harpsichord. Nevertheless, whatever novelty there is of “Jarrett playing Bach” wears off quickly, allowing the listener to focus on the music rather than dissect the performance thereof. Quite simply, this is a singular talent playing music by a singular composer.

ECM 1362_63

Johann Sebastian Bach
Das Wohltemperierte Klavier, Buch I (ECM New Series 1362/63)

Keith Jarrett piano
Recorded February 1987
Engineer: Martin Wieland
Produced by Manfred Eicher

Book I opens with one of the most significant musical utterances of the Bach catalogue: the Prelude and Fugue in C major (Gould’s recording of which was deployed into space on the Voyager Golden Record). Jarrett plays these with a strong sense of forward motion that sets the tone for a beautifully articulated journey through every major and minor key of the chromatic scale. Jarrett excels in the faster movements, of which notable examples are the G major and B-flat major Preludes, as well as the Fugue in E minor. But he shows an equal aptitude for those quieter moments, able to switch from sprightly (Prelude and Fugue in F major) to ponderous (Prelude and Fugue in F minor) in one fell swoop. Other gems in the latter vein include the C-sharp major Prelude, to which Jarrett brings a flowing pace that is fast enough to excite while also allowing the notes to breathe; the languid C-sharp minor Fugue; the sensitively handled E-flat major Fugue; the E-flat minor Prelude with its dexterous simplicity and emotive ritard; and the intimate A-flat major Fugue. Throughout Book I, Jarrett revels in his love for rhythm and a relatively bare aesthetic. The sound quality is accordingly muted, the piano recorded as if it were a harpsichord. Jarrett takes time with his trills, and while some might disagree with his pedal choices, for the most part they add a welcome splash of color.

<< Keith Jarrett Trio: Still Live (ECM 1360/61)
>> Tamia/Pierre Favre: de la nuit … le jour (ECM 1364 NS)

… . …

ECM 1433_34

Johann Sebastian Bach
Das Wohltemperierte Klavier, Buch II (ECM New Series 1433/34)

Keith Jarrett harpsichord
Recorded May 1990
Engineer: Peter Laenger
Produced by Manfred Eicher

Book II ushers in an entirely different sound when the piano is abandoned for harpsichord. Jarrett’s choice to do so may seem arbitrary, but I like to think it was more deeply thought out. On the surface Book I is more elegiac and perhaps therefore amenable to a pianistic performance. Book II, however, offers more in the way of the grinding syncopations and dance-like diversions more often associated with the instrument for which it was written. Where the piano seems an expansive medium, the harpsichord is a supremely tactile one that arrests us with its plucked immediacy, and the relay from one to the other gives us the luxury of both worlds, as it were. From the dazzling C-sharp major Prelude to the lush F minor Fugue, Book II is replete with gorgeous moments. The C-sharp minor Fugue is another wonderfully syncopated affair with jarring half-turns and unexpected phrasing. The harpsichord holds its own here in a variety of moods, ranging from vivacious (Prelude in D minor) and stately (E-flat major and A minor Fugues) to perpetual (E minor and A major Fugues,; Prelude in G major) and resplendent (Fugue in G major), while the final B minor Fugue caps things off with a rousing flourish.

<< Anouar Brahem: Barzakh (ECM 1432)
>> Arild Andersen: Sagn (ECM 1435)

… . …

At every moment during the 4+ hours it takes to get through The Well-Tempered Clavier, Jarrett allows the music into his heart and releases it verbatim. He exercises little dominance over the score and follows it as closely as he can. Where some interpreters turn these purely didactic exercises into showpieces, Jarrett lets them stretch their limbs and remain comfortable where they are. Oddly enough, the fact that Jarrett had already been playing Bach for 22 years before recording Book I, and the harpsichord for nine before recording Book II, has done little to staunch the flood of insults thrown his way for even attempting such a feat. Yet I find much of the criticism leveled against him to be rather self-defeating. “He’s so pretentious,” people say, “trying to establish himself as a serious classical pianist when everyone knows he’s a jazz musician,” but then in the same breath call him out for not taking a more avant-garde approach to the canon. What these hypocrisies fail to acknowledge is the kindred spirit Jarrett brings to one of the most monumental works in Western art music. We do well to remember that Bach was also a master of improvisation and that his skills as such were at the heart of his comparably prolific output. I, for one, have heard many recordings of The Well-Tempered Clavier, and would never resort to calling any of them bad, uninspired, or somehow incorrect, for what and where is the “original” interpretation to which they might be compared? Regardless of whether or not one cares for what Jarrett has done with Bach, his utter devotion to the music at hand reduces the debate to a simple matter of preference over quality. And so, when Jarrett proclaims that “This music doesn’t need my help,” I propose that we take him seriously. What this music does need is our help, which we can offer by setting aside our own pretensions and listening with open minds.

Thomas Demenga plays Bach/Holliger (ECM New Series 1340)

| Tyran Grillo

Thomas Demenga
plays works of J. S. Bach and Heinz Holliger

Thomas Demenga cello
Heinz Holliger oboe
Catrin Demenga violin
Recorded September 1986, Kirche Blumenstein, Switzerland
Engineer: Jakob Stämpfli
Produced by Manfred Eicher

With this disc Swiss cellist Thomas Demenga inaugurated a five-album series, each of which pairs a different Bach cello suite (the last contains two) with more contemporary material. While one might easily see the Bach as “filler” in an otherwise intriguing series of modern selections (or vice versa), there is something refreshing about Thomas Demenga’s project that pushes it far beyond the realm of gimmickry.

First is a tripartite selection of works by the inimitable Heinz Holliger, who along with the likes of Kaija Saariaho is, in this reviewer’s humble opinion, one of the more important composers of our time. From its opening bars the Duo für Violine und Violoncello exhibits Thomas and sister Catrin Demenga’s superb dexterity and dynamic control. The music jump-starts immediately with a forceful pizzicato from the cello as the violin swells from silence like an automaton whose siren is slow and sure. After this intro the duo begins a subtle interplay of trembling leaps, foreshadowing the timid Trema soon to come. The regularity of the opening is buried here, the execution more melodic. The instruments remain relatively stationary, looking up through a canopy of notes at a vast sky. But then the violin circles above, the cello arising with it before both descend into silence, at which point they are resuscitated by the same linear melody in slightly different scales, like a transparency bumped ever so slightly out of alignment. This process is quiet at first, but suddenly accelerates, as if drawn to an invisible source of inspiration. The journey grows ever higher before reaching its plateau: an aerie of vultures whose scavenged collection lies heaped on the forest floor. The piece ends with a brief series of false starts, ending on the third escape.

Studie über Mehrklänge für Oboe solo is a classic for the instrument, and one of those rare pieces that is firmly rooted in the conceptual yet which is also “musical” and a joy to listen to (I have seen apparently conservative audiences mesmerized by its effects). The piece requires of the oboist—in this case Holliger himself—to engage not only in circular breathing almost throughout, but also to overblow the instrument, creating an array of multiphonics, which Holliger shapes into a highly compositional palette. The highlight comes with Holliger’s fluttering technique toward the end and the series of weaving tonal lines that follow, gathering speed as they are jostled from one side to the other in a wilting exploration of the woodwind’s demise. The piece fades in a single high tone, briefly exposing its constituent harmonics.

Trema für Violoncello solo is, as its title implies, a traumatic piece. Demenga handles it studiously, bringing an intensity to the playing that seems to grow from the notes themselves. The piece shivers, running even as it stumbles, hoping and waiting for that moment when all else has expired, leaving the moonlit night to carry its secrets into the dawn, when nothing but art is alive. Demenga has managed to pull off an extraordinary feat here, implying through sound and technique the entire narrative of which the music is composed. There is nothing wasted in Trema, as every note seems to connect to the last and to the one forthcoming, collapsing as a figure who can no longer face the world.

After such a draining piece we arrive at Bach’s Suite No. 4 in Es-Dur für Violoncello, and hear its counterpoint as if for the first time. Regardless of one’s familiarity with the suites, in the context of such pairings they take on a host of new colors. Demenga plays competently and without flourish, interested only in drawing out the music’s inner darkness. His playing of the Sarabande is particularly beautiful and speaks of a musician not lost, but found therein.

Of course, it is only when human involvement and intervention brings such music to our ears that we feel inclined to see it as a part of us. The trajectory of performance is determined by many choices on the part of composers, musicians, and listeners. Nothing is achievable for the solo artist without some awareness of these gaps. What distinguishes performers are the ways in which they seek to fill them. Thus, with every nuance, Demenga gives a great gift not only to us but to the composers, whose work multiplies with every listening experience.

The recording is top-notch overall, but particularly crystal clear in the Bach. We hear every finger tap and sympathetic effect, every rustle of movement that goes into its steady sound. This is a New Series classic in my book and a prime example of ECM’s often bold programming choices.

<< Edward Vesala: Lumi (ECM 1339)
>> Thomas Tallis: The Lamentations Of Jeremiah (ECM 1341 NS)

Christoph Poppen: Morimur (ECM New Series 1765)

| Tyran Grillo
Version 1.0.0

Morimur

Christoph Poppen baroque violin
The Hilliard Ensemble
Monika Mauch soprano
David James countertenor
John Potter tenor
Gordon Jones baritone
Recorded September 2000, Monastery of St. Gerold, Austria
Engineer: Peter Laenger
Produced by Manfred Eicher

Drawing on the research of musicologist Helga Thoene of the University of Düsseldorf, Christoph Poppen and the Hilliard Ensemble take great care in juxtaposing the monumental “Ciaccona” from J. S. Bach’s Partita in D Minor BMV 1004 alongside (and against) various Bach chorales, through which cryptic synchronicities are brought audibly to light. These “chorale quotations”—believed by Thoene to comprise a “tombeau” (i.e., epitaph) for Bach’s deceased wife Maria Barbara in the larger context of Christ’s death and resurrection—are transformed here into an entirely new experience that traces the intangible borders between life and death. And indeed, the title of the album, Morimur, connotes “death as a passage to life” and reflects the numerology therein as an equation for transubstantiation. Chorale passages are interspersed between movements of the refracted Partita, thus allowing us insight not only into the hidden connections of violin and voice (insofar as the Ciaccona is concerned), but also into the nearly tangible sinews that hold together the Partita as a whole. Poppen’s violining digs ever deeper into its source, as if overwriting the original manuscript with heavier ink.

This is a very challenging album to encapsulate in one review, for it is a listening experience like no other. With each new turn it offers hitherto unexplored avenues of creation. As a mere listener, it may be easy for me to dismiss the intense scholarship that has gone into this recording and simply enjoy it for the contemplative music it contains. After all, much of what lies hidden between the Ciaccona and its companion chorales is perhaps more obvious to the trained eye on paper than it is to the casual, if not enraptured, ear on disc. At the same time, I cannot help but think that the connections drawn out through its attendant scholarship are vastly important for the sole reason that this program would not exist in its present form without them. That being said, I feel that Bach’s ciphers stimulate the heart without the need for a direct correlation in numbers. In other words, we don’t necessarily require those connections to be spelled out for us as a guidebook to what remains fundamentally communicative.

Music never ceases to amaze and entice with its potential for infinite variation. The intersections drawn in Morimur are omnipresent and need not always be so contrived. Bach’s music, especially as it is rendered here, reminds us that sometimes those transparent bridges between our intellect and the environments around us are also the most fleeting and unexpected. Contrary to what we might expect from a project so described, this is not about solving some age-old code left for only the most astute of posterities. It is, rather, about uncovering those mysteries that never go away and make us who we are: mysteries of faith, of love and absolution, of desire, and of death. Therefore, I see this album not so much as a reflection of Bach’s often-touted genius, but of his humility.

<< Seim/Brække/Johansen: The Source and Different Cikadas (ECM 1764)
>> Susanne Abbuehl: April (ECM 1766)