This brand-new recording of Orfeo lacks thrills and grand vocal displays, and the results are beautiful indeed. Purposely eschewing what opera turned into within a half-century of this, the purported first entirely extant opera, Andrew Parrott, with 40 years of experience and scholarship under his belt, has opted to present a “favola in musica” rather than the later notation, a “dramma per musica”. The distinction is one of size, scope, and focus.

The performances that were given of Orfeo at the court of Mantua were neither fully-staged nor opulent; there is mention of a “curtain” but the room itself was salon-sized and the purpose of the event was to appreciate the combination of poetry and music. There were no singing stars; the purpose of the show was not virtuosity. It was an experiment for the heightening of the text by music.

With that in mind, this exquisite, delicate reading is a glorious alternative to, say, the Philip Pickett, René Jacobs, or Nikolaus Harnoncourt performances (let alone the heartbreaking Emmanuel Haim reading on Virgin), which are interested in Orfeo as a piece of theater, designed to “impress” and possibly stun. Parrott’s show places equal emphasis on the music and text—the words are delivered flawlessly, with strength where needed, but utterly devoid of melodrama. The drama is in the sadness of both words and music. It’s almost like Mozart in that respect: his operas rarely need to be “interpreted”; if the singers and players follow the music and text scrupulously, an effect will be made. It may not engender shock and awe, but the tale will be told, without over-emphasizing or exaggeration.

And that is what we get here. The first CD begins with the sound of a few people chattering, and the Gonzaga fanfare is first heard from a distance. Then it comes a bit closer—in a different key (this is not explained), which is a bit jarring but certainly makes us pay attention. The first voice we hear—La Musica—is that of countertenor David Hurley, perhaps the purest male adult voice I’ve ever heard (including Phillip Jaroussky’s). It is light as a feather, and music itself.

Charles Daniels is a wonderful Orfeo—sweet and gentle—and he handles the amazingly difficult “Possente spirto” and “Orfeo son io” in the third act beautifully, with every note clear and focused, but without any grandstanding. His legato (this entire performance is all about the unstoppability of music as exhibited by superb legato playing and singing from everyone) is a thing of wonder. Caronte, in the person of Curtis Streetman, also singing smoothly (and with a sensational trillo on the word “canto”), brings out some forte, impassioned pleading from Daniels’ Orefo—all the more effective since all else has been so understated.

Emily van Evera’s Messaggiera is a problem—her voice is too bright and she is too matter-of-fact for someone delivering such terrible news—but her Prosperina is so lovely that Christopher Purves’ Plutone must give in to her request. Faye Newton’s Eurydice is particularly effective in her final farewell, with its weird-and-weirder chromatic lines. Some might argue that the Infernal Spirits are not menacing enough; I would direct their attention to the accompaniment of the three trombones and two bass trombones, which add enough darkness to hide the sun. The only other concession to this being a staged work is the gradual disappearance of Apollo (finely sung by Guy Melc) and Orfeo near the opera’s close, since there is in fact a stage direction in the score that states that they “ascend”.

There are 29 instrumentalists, 14 of whom are string players; several of the singers play double roles. The harmonies in the choruses are spotless, with the men’s voices impeccably matched; this is some of the smoothest singing I’ve ever heard. Pitch is A=440 (most other recordings use A=465) which adds to the ease of production and mellow, sad telling of this well-known tale. The sound is pristine.

This may not be an only choice for a version of Orfeo; it’s an alternative, possibly thoroughly accurate reading of the favola. But its poetic approach is an ideal companion to the more aggressive, later 17th and early 18th century “operatic” readings mentioned above, with Haim’s probably first.

– Robert Levine, ClassicsToday.com

Expressive, atmospheric, intelligent performance.

I was highly impressed by and still very much relish my time spent with Daniel-Ben Pienaar’s Mozart’s complete Piano Sonatas on AV 2209. Fans of this set will find all of this promise further fulfilled in this Goldberg Variations, though as a reviewer it would have been an easier task to welcome slightly less well-trodden repertoire. Pienaar’s Bach is magnificent and, to a point, individual, but does it really stand out in such a crowded field?
 
Daniel-Ben Pienaar poses as many questions as he provides answers in his deeply considered and well written booklet notes for this release. He doesn’t point to specific influences with regard to his interpretations in this great keyboard work, but develops ideas on its place and time both in the present, as well as the alliances formed between the circumstantial and the timeless – qualities and values inherent in the music itself, and the ways in which these can be approached and adapted by players over time.
 
This is a probing intellectual interpretation which on occasion displays dazzling feats of speed, but which is more often a more introverted exploration of the piece. It is almost as if Pienaar is playing for his own satisfaction, and leaving it up to us to decide whether we want to listen and take the journey with him. The compact timing reflects brisk tempi at times, but the unhurried feel of the playing and a minimum of ornamentation also allows a highly selective observation of repeats to remain a credible choice. Pienaar doesn’t work much with ‘variation within variations’, so there is no sense we are being cheated out of colourful technical insights and improvisational touches by not hearing certain bars come around for a second time.
 
Comparisons can be made ad nauseam, but looking at another recent take on the Goldberg Variations by Nick van Bloss on the Nimbus Alliance label shows how personality shades identical music into fascinatingly different manifestations. Bloss is the more extrovert of the two, seeking wit in the music and cheekily expressing it with effects like an occasional extra octave wallop in the bass. This ‘vibe’ turns his performance into more of a public experience – no less well considered than Pienaar’s, but introducing Bach to the bustle and language of the street: the call of market traders and the revving of motors. Bloss’s Bach isn’t rough and ready, but is easily the more resistant to external knocks and blows, and in this way is more of a challenge to Glenn Gould’s 1955 Goldberg Variations, the recording which gave the work and its performer such a remarkable hit status at that time.
 
This is not to say Daniel-Ben Pienaar’s recording is weak-willed and softly undemonstrative, but there is a gentler side to his playing – perhaps also a side-effect of a rather rounded piano sound – which brings out the warmth in the heart of the music rather than its big venue street-cred. There is bounce and life where Bach demands it, in the first variation for instance, and this sets the pace for the first grouping of variations which concludes with a rousing Variatio 4. Extremes of speed are a feature of some variations, and Variatio 5 is the first such example, acting as little more than a prelude to Variatio 6. Pienaar’s sensitivity to Bach’s dance style is demonstrated in a Giga which barely touches the floor, so light is his touch on the keyboard. The second grouping of variations has its finale in a robust performance of the Variatio 10 Fughetta. Central to the next group is the expressive Variatio 13, in which the little inner rubati which Pienaar uses make the performance seem that much more reflective and yes, introverted. The sound appears almost to want to stay within the case of the piano, rather than broadcast to the last row of an invisible audience. This is not to say the playing is timid, but you could equally imagine this as a clavichord performance. Variatio 14 blows away the mood created in a horizontal shower of sparkling notes, again making it a sort of prelude to the gently eloquent lines of Variatio 15, which concludes another ‘block’ within Pienaar’s structuring of the piece.
 
The conjoining of variations is a feature of a slow, almost tentative sounding Variatio 20, which serves as a launching point for an arguable too swift and brutal Variatio 21, which goes at a speed too fast for our minds to keep up. The expressive highlights of Variatio 21, 22 and 25 are all done marvellously, though without extremes of slowness or attempts to seek too far beyond Bach’s notes beyond what is already so miraculous on the page. Pienaar does dive for pearls, but not in a disproportionate sense – no need for extra breathing apparatus, though the atmosphere is breathtaking. He writes of the ‘return home’ of the Quodlibet in the way that “the use of folk songs suggests quite literally a return to shared ancestral roots.” In this way the final repeat of the Aria is more of a coda and a release, the feeling of which is palpably expressed by Daniel Ben-Pienaar.
 
As a bonus to the Goldberg Variations we are given a continuous passacaglia version of the Fourteen Canons BWV 1087, which are based on the first eight bass notes of the Aria from the Goldberg Variations. I’ve been intrigued by these little gems for a while now, but while Pienaar’s more lively moments are good you have to get used to his overly straight opening and an occasional over-prominence of the bass line in places. If you want to discover these fascinating canons have a listen to the Hänssler Bach Edition Musikalisches Opfer CD 92.133 which, along with the canons BWV 1072-78 is the version which convinced me that J.S. Bach was one of the first minimalist composers, even to the point of momentarily confounding our reviewer. Pienaar’s programme concludes with a lovely prayer-like performance of Bist du bei mir from Bach’s Anna Magdalena Notebook, the source of the Aria from the Goldberg Variations, or at least where it sees its first appearance in Bach’s manuscripts.
 
To conclude, this is a superbly expressive and atmospheric recording of the Goldberg Variations. One may not quite agree with the occasional extremes of tempo, but there is little doubting the jigsaw-puzzle accuracy and attention to detail with which Daniel-Ben Pienaar has formed his shaping of this masterpiece. Subsequent to my review of the Mozart sonatas I was contacted with regard to the piano sound, which one commentator found rather ‘harsh, full of reverb, somewhat lacking in definition’. I’m still quite happy with the sound quality of this, though I partially take the point about the reverb and definition. This Bach was recorded at the same location and the reverb is less by comparison; the instrument that touch closer to the microphones, something which can make all the difference. It’s perhaps not quite ‘demonstration’ piano sound with a little more mid-range bloom than makes for perfection, but is still very good.
 
-- Dominy Clements, MusicWeb International

HANDEL (tr. Gibley) Sonatas: in G, HWV 365; in a, HWV 367a; in C, HWV 369; in d, HWV 362; in F, HWV 377; in d , HWV 360 • The Brook Street Band • AVIE 2118 (55:58)


Handel wrote cello sonatas? Surprisingly, he seems to have written none. Nevertheless, composers and musicians of the Baroque era freely transcribed music as the desire or need arose, and so it is not an outrageous idea to make cello sonatas out of six of Handel’s sonatas for recorder and basso continuo. In the present case, this has been done by harpsichordist Carolyn Gibley, who is half of The Brook Street Band. (The other half is cellist Tatty Theo.) Gibley has transposed the sonatas into keys more suited for the cello. Sensibly, she has chosen to accompany the cello with harpsichord alone (Handel also suggested bass violin), presumably because the cello and the bass violin would make a poor match—and also because there are only two musicians in The Brook Street Band, I imagine!


Although I love the sound of the recorder, I was not displeased to hear these sonatas played on the cello. This is some of Handel’s most intimate and salubrious music, and while there is a good variety of tempos, moods, and textures, the music works consistently to unknot whatever tangles the workday has introduced into the soul. This is true whether it is played on the recorder or on the cello. Obviously the two instruments affect listeners in different and personal ways, but there’s nothing about Gibley’s transcriptions that falsifies Handel’s originals, at least as far as my ears are concerned.


Theo plays a Baroque cello dating from circa 1741 (probably 10–20 years after Handel composed these sonatas), and Gibley plays a 1990 Alan Gotto harpsichord based on an instrument built by Mietke circa 1710. The instruments blend together nicely. Theo’s cello has a lean, attractive sound, with more muscle and sinew than modern instruments. Even when Theo’s playing is at its most energetic, her cello sings. As the sole continuo player, Gibley is very much an equal partner, and she fills out Handel’s harmonies with imagination and period-style grace. Together, Theo and Gibley make a joyous noise, even if the joy is of the more mellow variety.


The engineering is wonderful, and Theo’s booklet note helpfully clarifies some of the confusion related to the provenance of the original sonatas. I can’t imagine anyone disliking this CD, unless they are opposed, in principle, to its underlying concept.


FANFARE: Raymond Tuttle

Johann Sebastian Bach's organ artistry made a powerful impression in St. Catherine's Church when he applied for the coveted organist's post at the Principal Church of St. James in Hamburg in 1720. Since Bach, unlike his rival, was unwilling to contribute the immense sum of four thousand marks as his "dowry," he did not prevail but instead found a new job in Leipzig a few years later. In Leipzig he initially discharged other duties before he again came forward as an instrumental composer with a dazzling cycle of organ chorales in 1739. Andreas Fischer has freshly recorded this "Third Part of the Clavierübung" on his very own St. Catherine's organ - certainly in a rendering that would have brought joy to Bach, who could "not praise enough" this instrument "outstanding in every respect."

The goal of the Telemann Festival Days in Magdeburg is to perform the works by Georg Philipp Telemann in concert with artists of international rank. The focus of the festival program is formed by full-length, magnificent compositions including operas, oratorios, passions, and cantatas. Telemann’s "absolutely stunning productivity" (Georg von Dadelsen) manifests itself in special measure in his cantata oeuvre. And in the cantatas heard on this new CD, recorded during a concert held at the next-to-last day of the festival, Telemann again proves to be among the eighteenth-century’s most important composers of sacred music.

Throughout his life Telemann collaborated with outstanding poets who wrote his sacred music texts mostly for complete annual cycles. This practice enabled him to design each annual cycle – seventy as a rule - with two cantatas for each Sunday and feast day, in accordance with distinctive program concepts. Telemann's compositions of great variety are often opulently endowed with a full instrumental ensemble and in this way emphasize the significance of each particular feast day. Telemann often goes far beyond the customary expressive intensity of the traditional two-part form involving the setting of biblical quotations, resulting in highly gripping and brilliant music!

- CPO [Translated from German notes]

TELEMANN Herr, wir liegen für dir mit unserm Gebet, TWV 1: 781. Es wollt uns Gott genädig sein, TWV 1:544. Es spricht der Unweisen Mund, TWV 1:533a. So ziehet nun an, TWV 1:1390. Wertes Zion, sei getrost, TWV 1: 1606 • Gotthold Schwarz, cond; Siri Karoline Thornhill (sop); Stefan Kahle (ct); Susanne Krumbiegel (alt); Tobias Hunger (ten); Gotthold Schwarz (bs); Bach Consort Leipzig; Sächsisches Barock O (period instruments) • CPO 777 7532 (70:36 Text and Translation)


It is no surprise that Telemann, along with Johann Sebastian Bach and Christoph Graupner, can be considered the main composers of the Lutheran cantata during the first half of the 18th century. After all, the Harmonisches Gottesdienst was meant to provide first-rate but easily performable cantatas in cyclic form for the year for places that were missing larger vocal and instrumental forces, and this published set is only a small tithe of the works that he was to write for the church. Thus, calling this set of five works Luther Cantatas , as the title of the disc has it, rather begs the question of redundancy. Nevertheless, when three texts of that number are by Erdmann Neumeister, the main promoter of the genre, such a rubric should be accepted.


These works are all outgrowths of the Magdeburg Telemann Festival, which annually seems to unearth and perform an almost inexhaustible supply of the composer’s music, and the 21st season was devoted to the theme of his connection with Luther. As was usual with Telemann, the structure of these cantatas varies considerably. The first, Herr, wir liegen für dir , is conventional, with pairs of arias and recitatives bookended by the choral “Dictum” and a final chorale. In the second, the usual recitative is omitted altogether, and it is prefaced by a nicely suspensive sinfonia, while in the third Telemann dispenses with the arias, allowing the threefold choral repetitions (two chorales and a final chorus) to be separated by brief recitatives, the second of which does have a brief devolution into a duet Dictum at the end. The movements can be rather conventional, such as his square setting of A mighty fortress in the final cantata Wertes Zion , or the other chorale tunes. But he also inserts moments of harmonic and melodic boldness, such as the tortuous melismas of the aria “Weg, ihr Sünden” in the first cantata, which get spun out by the bass as if to underscore the text “kränkt mich nicht” (do not constrict or grieve me). The second cantata even ends with a gnarly contrapuntal “Amen” fugue that seems startling, given the almost homophonic nature of the preceding chorales. Telemann is also quite inventive in terms of his use of instrumentation. In the first aria of the first cantata, “Was ich an Gerechtigkeit,” the two flutes (traversos) weave a gentle crystalline minuet around a flowing soprano line that is like a clear brook. In the first duet of the second cantata, Es wollt uns Gott , the oboes are wonderfully throaty, with their darker tone colors emphasizing some curious harmonic inflections that support the parallel thirds of the solo voices. In the last cantata, Telemann uses his high trumpets both as soaring clarion calls and as fanfares. In the chorus, “Seid böse, ihr Völker,” the admonitions of the voices are punctuated by a militaristic brass line, which is suddenly interrupted by plaintive minor-key insertions that provide abrupt and effective dramatic contrast.


In short, these are all excellent examples of the Lutheran church cantata of the time, equal to the same sort of works that were being turned out by Bach over in Leipzig. Conductor Gotthold Schwarz keeps the ensemble clean and crisp, with a nice variety of tempos that emphasize Telemann’s contrasts. He also functions as bass soloist, with a light tone that handles the often twisting lines well. Soprano Siri Thornhill has a bright voice that can sound, as in the aria “Was ich an Gerechtigkeit,” innocent and reticent, just what the Affekt requires. Countertenor Stefan Kahle and alto Susanne Krumbiegel are flexible, as is the precise tone of tenor Tobias Hunger. In short, not only are these fine examples of Telemann’s style in cantata writing, the performances support and present them in a way that promotes their compositional features. My only quibble is that I seem to hear a pair of horns in the background of the straightforward chorale “Ein feste Burg,” which are not mentioned in the list of personnel. That does provide a nice support for the voices, but they should have been mentioned. Other than that, this is a disc that Telemann collectors will want. Recommended.


FANFARE: Bertil van Boer

Baroque master Telemann set the St. Luke Passion in 11 different versions. He did so because he composed for 5 of Hamburg’s principal churches and had the task of setting the passion narrative from the Gospel of Luke in alternation with those in Matthew, Mark, and John at regular y year intervals. He did not want to repeat himself in this performance series.