C.P.E. Bach’s Flute Concerto in d, Wq 22 dates from his years in Berlin during the reign of Frederic the Great. + Bach’s music was the immediate starting point for Hans Werner Henze’s conception of musical and aesthetic history as well as for his work as a composer, so for example in his interpretative transcription of one of Bach’s Fantasias. + Mozart is here represented by his Concerto for Flute and Harp, KV 299. + “The young Argentinean flautist Maria Cecilia Muñoz has astounding technique… beauty and refinement of sound…supple opulence and luminous tone.” (Wiener Zeitung, Austria)

BACH Mass in b • Georg Christoph Biller, cond; Reglint Bühler (sop); Susanne Krumbiegel (mez); Susanne Langner (alt); Martin Lattke (ten); Markus Flaig (bs); Thomanerchor Leipzig; Freiburg Baroque O • ACCENTUS 20281 (DVD: 114:07) Live: Leipzig 6/23/2013

Quite apart from the fact that it was probably never performed in Bach’s lifetime, it is hard for us in our day to see just how strange Bach’s Mass was in its own time. In is structured in four parts instead of the traditional five, it is highly demanding of both voices and instruments—itself not automatically a negative characteristic—and it is so massive as to be liturgically impractical. Strictly speaking, the “Mass” applies only to the Kyrie and the Gloria, required elements in any Lutheran main service, but also similarly used in some Roman Catholic services of the time. Though there are other, earlier large liturgical pieces—Monteverdi’s Vespers, for example—I cannot think of another concert Mass before it (but there likely is one somewhere). In hopes of getting a title, Bach sent the Missa, the first two sections, to the Roman Catholic Elector of Saxony on July 27, 1733, but its final, expanded, form comes from 1748–49. It was probably performed in Berlin in 1811 or 1812, but the first recorded performance was not before 1835, also in Berlin.

Little can be said of this piece that has not already been said hundreds of times. It is a monument that, like all great monuments, does not yield all its secrets at once. It is also one for which no recording, however sophisticated, can ever replace the experience of being there when it is sung, and I can further attest that nothing at all can surpass the experience of actually singing it. This said, it must also be noted that there is no lack of fine recordings: ArkivMusic currently lists 114, of which there seem to be about 8 DVD performances, with the present one also available in Blu-ray.

Georg Christoph Biller is in the no-longer curious position of competing with himself in the same place and in the same context, the Bach Festival in Leipzig, then in 2000 (DVD, Euroarts, rev. 30: 5), now in 2013. Though his sense of the timing of each section has not much changed over those years, there is a considerable difference in his overall approach.

First, while he is certainly up-to-date on all the current issues of historically-informed performance practice, he has properly felt free to adapt them to the forces at his command. Though the Thomanerchor as a whole counts just under 100 boys, aged 10 to 19, the choir on both recordings consists of something over 50. However fine the soloists are, this piece lives or dies by the quality of the choral singing. The Thomanerchor is not an amateur choir of cute children but, rather, a serious musical organization which makes a spectacular noise. Their sheer joy and complete technical proficiency leave no doubt that they know everything they need to know in order to project the ultimately exuberant spirit of this piece.

The first and most obvious difference between the two performances is the sound of the choir itself. Partly due to the bright recording and partly due to their articulation, the sound in 2000 was rather aggressive and deliberately heavily aspirated (E-le-he-he-he-he-he-he-he-i-son), which certainly makes each note in the run easier to sing but is choppy and not particularly graceful. The great pleasure of the new recording is that the choir has discovered that it can make a legato line that still articulates each note, and the result is a clarity of line that allows Biller to make each line go somewhere itself and not just be a sequence of notes. Then, too, here Biller uses a smaller group for certain quiet sections, such as Et incarnatus est/Crucifixus (And he was born/Crucified), in the Creed, for instance, to gain greater contrast with the following section, Et resurrexit (And he arose). In the Sanctus, he physically rearranges the choir, to set it up for the double-choir conclusion from the Osanna to the end.

The second difference is the orchestra. In 2000, Biller had the services of players from the Gewandhaus Orchestra in Leipzig, whose modern instruments added brightness to the whole sound. In 2013, he used the Freiburg Baroque Orchestra. Now, in addition to playing at the lower, so-called “Baroque,” pitch of around A=415 instead of at modern pitch of around A=440, the fewer overtones and resultant milder quality of these older instruments actually support rather than overwhelm the choir and soloists. For their solos, the instrumentalists stand.

Third, the five vocal soloists in the later recording sing from amidst the choir rather than, as earlier, at the front of the church balcony on which everything is performed. While we certainly hear them clearly, they are, as a group, inherently less powerful and less characterful than the quartet used in 2000. This may partly be a recording strategy, but they are well balanced with respect to the orchestra.

The production work in this DVD is exemplary. The concentration is all on the performers: There are no side trips to interesting corners of the church and only occasionally to the audience. The only timing glitch is in that given for the Dona nobis pacem (Grant us peace) at the very end: The music actually takes 3:02 and the rest of the 6:11 claimed is given over to applause and bows. It is a real mistake that none of the members of the orchestra nor the fine instrumental soloists is named anywhere in the material or on the DVD, and the web site of the Freiburg Baroque Orchestra is no help in trying to identify who they are. And who are the two boys also given a separate bow at the end?

The smiles on the faces of the boys afterwards tells us that they had a good time. I had a good time too, and wanted nothing so much as to get up there and sing with them. This is a fine performance: Bach is well-served by everyone, and it goes on my next Want List. Much recommended.

FANFARE: Alan Swanson

This is the second volume in prestigious NHK series devoted to never before released live recording of great conductors. Here we have another great figure of the 70s and 80s, Gunter Wand. He conducts the NHK Symphony Orchestra in a classical program: Mozart's Serenades precedere by two Haendel's orchestral showpieces. Gunter Wand studied composition with Phillip Jamach and piano with Paul baumgartner but was a largely self taught conductor. During his nearly seven decade long career he was honored with the German Record Award and the Diapason D'Or.

It was "the great meanings of the ancients" that drove Goethe to Italy and Mendelssohn to Scotland. Literati and musicians are united by a preoccupation with the past, searching for themselves in the foreign and distant. This is more than mere intellectual curiosity; to receive fresh stimuli for one's own work from the ancients is like an act of self-assurance through questioning those masters who form the canon of knowledge and to whom new voices must be gallantly added. By showing personal reverence through artistic references, artists have always created new forms of expression in the footsteps of the past. Bringing such interactions to light is the goal of this album. The collected works show examples of how pioneering this attitude is. It was Mendelssohn who was the impetus for the Bach renaissance in the mid-nineteenth century. It directly affected Clara and Robert Schumann as well as Franz Liszt, whose piano transcriptions of Bach's organ works open the recording. Like many composers, Liszt was drawn to Italy, whose cultural heritage, including Renaissance paintings and poems by Dante Alighieri and Francesco Petrarch, captivated him. Petrarch in particular appealed to Liszt and Schumann. The latter read his poems and translated them; Liszt set them to music. Dante's "Divine Comedy" was also omnipresent. Liszt's resounding Dante reading concludes the series of selected works that push us back, as it were, into the future.

Telemann’s legacy is extremely extensive and comprises all the customary musical genres of the time. Typical of Telemann are cantablie melodies, inventively applied timbres and, especially in his late works, unusual harmonic effects. The instrumental works frequently reveal the strong influence of French and Italian music, and occasionally folkloristic Polish influences. Stefan Schilli, solo oboist of the Bavarian Radio Symphony, has strongly committed himself to this repertoire; this forms the basis for the creation of the present CD with Schilli’s “Accademia giocosa”.

Also available on Blu-ray

The Daily Telegraph describes Nikolaj Znaider as "the most stimulating young musician playing today, drawing on musical intelligence, perception and dynamism to give performances of rare intensity.” This release presents one of the world's foremost violinists playing two landmark concertos, accompanied by the Leipzig Gewandhausorchester,  "one of Europe's finest orchestras" (The Guardian), under the baton of its music director Riccardo Chailly. 

It was the Gewandhausorchester that, in 1845, first performed Mendelssohn’s Concerto for Violin and Orchestra in E minor. Mendelssohn himself had conducted Beethoven's Violin Concerto in D major several times and helped this milestone in the history of music to its great breakthrough.


Picture Format: NTSC 16:9
Sound Formats: PCM Stereo, Dolby Digital 5.1, DTS 5.1
Region Code: 0 (Worldwide)
Running Time: 84 Minutes

BACH Six Cello Suites • Carmine Miranda (vc) • CENTAUR 3263/4 (2 CDs: 130:10)


Since reviewing Truls Mørk’s version of Bach’s unaccompanied cello suites in 29:5, no fewer than six more accounts have crossed my desk. In chronological order, they were Jean-Guihen Queyras (31:4), Sara Sant’Ambrogio (33:3), Luigi Piovano (34:5), Hekun Wu (34:6), Tanya Tomkins (35:1), and Richard Tuncliffe (36:1). Some of the cellists used conventional cellos, others period instruments. All but two, however, had one thing in common: They were uniformly awful, though each in its own way, ranging from barely tolerable to downright execrable. The one I kept coming back to as my preferred and strongly recommended set throughout those reviews was the first on this list, the one by Jean-Guihen Queyras, with Hekun Wu being a close runner-up. Both, by the way, performed the suites on cellos in modern configuration.


Bach’s six cello suites are like a Siren’s call to cellists of all persuasions, luring many of them to ruin. And the thing is there’s no reason for it. Was it a singular achievement for Bach to write such technically challenging works for an instrument that was relatively new at the time, and a melody instrument to boot, one that takes even more kindly to intensive double-stopping than the violin? Yes. But are the cello suites comparable on levels of musical scope and intellectual depth to the unaccompanied violin sonatas and partitas? Not even close. There are no massive fugues in the cello suites and nothing that approaches the dimensions of the D-Minor Violin Partita’s Chaconne. The cello suites are exactly what their title tells us they are—six sets of relatively short, stylized baroque dances. Yet for cellists—and for some listeners, I think—they’ve taken on an import that may be beyond their actual significance in Bach’s output, virtually becoming every cellist’s initiation rite.


So, how does the young Venezuelan cellist, Carmine Miranda (b. 1988), fare in his initiation into cellodom’s manhood? Well, first a few words about this young artist, who is likely unknown to readers, as this is his recording debut; he was 22 when he recorded the Bach suites for Centaur in 2011–12. Miranda’s early training took place in his native country, where he studied at the Carabobo State Music Conservatory, then in the Latin-American Academy of Violoncello, and finally at the Simon Bolivar Conservatory of Music (the institution that spawned the famous “El Sistema”). Miranda then traveled to the States to study with Ross Harbaugh at the University of Miami, followed by further coaching under Yehuda Hanani at the University of Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music where Miranda obtained his bachelor’s and master’s degrees and is a candidate for a doctorate.


In the U.S., he has performed at Carnegie Hall, Bowdoin Music Festival, the Bach Annalia Festival in Cincinnati, the Young People’s Festival in Chatham, N.Y., and is on the artist’s roster for the Close Encounters with Music Series in Great Barrington, N.Y., both under the direction of Yehuda Hanani and others.


Among Miranda’s awards are first prize at the 2005 Alhambra Music Competition, the National Prize for best soloist from the FMEA (Florida Music Educators Association), and the 2008–09 University of Cincinnati Cello Competition. He has collaborated with recognized international artists such as Yehuda Hanani, Awadagin Pratt, Rodolfo Saglimbeni and performed as a soloist with several chamber ensembles and orchestras, recently including the Caracas Municipal Symphony Orchestra. He is also the founder and member of the Troika Piano Trio comprised of violinist Joshua Ulrich and pianist Assaf Sommer.


Miranda, who authored his own album note, makes no mention of the instrument(s) he uses for these performances, how he handles the scordatura tuning of the Fifth Suite—does he retune his cello according to the original manuscript or use the modern standard-tuning edition?—or what he does to accommodate the Sixth Suite, believed to have been originally written for a five-string violoncello piccolo. His note speaks only of his personal impressions of, and responses to, the emotional and spiritual character and quality of each of the pieces. At one point, in fact, I was quite taken aback to read, “Interpretation of the suites has nothing to do with what is correct, accurate, and historical, but it rather has to do with going deep within the soul of the writing…” That raised a red flag for me, not to mention an eyebrow. I couldn’t help but think to myself that only the immodesty of youth could be so callow and cavalier with respect to the years of serious musicological research that have attempted to ascertain what is “correct, accurate, and historical,” and to the many veteran cellists who have spent more years studying these works than Miranda has been alive. But the proof, as they say, is in the hearing. And so I decided not to allow my annoyance with Miranda’s words to influence my judgment of his playing.


Instantly, from the very first bar of the G-Major Suite, the cellist that came to mind was Pablo Casals, a comparison that elicits no higher compliment. In my above-mentioned review of Tanya Tomkins’s Bach suites, I noted how slow and super-romanticized her readings were; she takes 3:16 for the opening Prelude, a full half-minute longer than Jacqueline du Pré, who, at 2:35, is hardly fast. So, I went back to Casals’s 1950s recording and found that he dispatched the Prelude in two minutes flat and without any rhythmic distensions or distortions. What about Carmine Miranda? 2:09. I don’t know if Miranda studied Casals’s recordings, but if he didn’t, it’s truly uncanny how closely he channels both the letter and the spirit of the great cellist’s example.


It’s really difficult to express in words the beauty of Miranda’s performances. His cello is a modern instrument, or at least one updated with modern fittings and tuned to modern pitch, but the tone it emits is lighter in weight than that which we often hear in versions played on modern cellos. Of course, much of that can be attributed to Miranda’s bowing. He doesn’t dig into the strings to produce guttural sounds. The tone is clean and clear and intonation perfect. But one expects more than technical proficiency, dexterity, and finesse; and more—much more than that—is what one gets from Miranda’s readings.


Alluded to above is the fact that these are suites of dances, and time and again, in extolling the virtues of Jean-Guihen Queyras’s performances, I’ve remarked on the way in which he manages to capture the essence of each dance step. Miranda, it seems to me, goes one step further (no pun intended). He hears, and allows us to hear, the historical roots of each dance and whence it comes, which is pretty funny when you try to square that with his comment that interpretation of the suites has nothing to do with the historical. Yet listen to Miranda’s courantes, and you will hear not just rapid tempos, but the very definition of the Renaissance dance as described by Thoinot Arbeau, the 16th-century French theorist who tells us that the courante was danced with fast running and jumping steps. If Miranda didn’t learn this from reading music history, he knows it intuitively, for it’s not just his accelerated tempos but the effect of rhythmic arrest you would observe in a dance that involved running forward several steps, then making a sudden jump, hop, or jerk to stop short the forward motion. In Miranda’s hands, the suites don’t just sound dance-like , as in stylized baroque refinements, they sound like actual Renaissance dances.


Likewise, Miranda’s sarabandes are played with the stately gravitas that would have been à la mode for a processional court dance in 17th-century France. Interestingly, the sarabande had its origins as a fairly fast dance a century earlier and quite likely in Mexico or Central America. When Spanish colonists brought the dance back to Spain with them, it was banned in 1583 for being obscene. It wasn’t until the sarabande made its way to Italy and then France that it became the slow, triple-meter dance that was widely adopted into the baroque suite.


I’ve never heard Bach’s cello suites played in quite this way, and while I wouldn’t want to be without the versions by Queyras, Hekun Wu, Casals, and János Starker, Carmine Miranda’s will not only join them, it will stand out as perhaps the most original and imaginative interpretations of the suites I’ve heard.


Centaur’s recording, too, is outstanding, capturing Miranda’s cello fairly close up but with sufficient air around it to allow for a natural sounding bloom, yet without any annoying echo effect. An album note states that the recording was made without any editing. This is a definite buy recommendation for both connoisseurs of Bach’s cello suites and those who appreciate cello playing at its best. I’d have to say that Carmine Miranda has passed his initiation with flying colors. Welcome to the ranks of the world class players.


FANFARE: Jerry Dubins

Francois Couperin was one of the finest French Baroque composers and keyboardists. In fact, he was known as “Couperin the Great” to distinguish him from the rest of his talented Couperin family. This release features some of Couperin’s finest works, including Huitieme Concert “Dans le gout Theatral,” and “Les Ondes.” All works on this recording are performed on period instruments by the acclaimed Aulos Ensemble.

The spotlight is on Argentinean native Tomas Cotik in this program of works for solo violin by Telemann, Bach, Schubert and fellow countryman Astor Piazzolla. Mr. Cotik, whose studies began in Argentina, continued his educational pursuits in Germany, Canada and finally the US where he earned his Doctorate at the University of Miami. Alongside his recording and teaching obligations, Mr. Cotik and frequent duo partner pianist Tao Lin received critical acclaim for their Schubert: Complete Works for Violin and Piano, V.1 release, including a Recording of the Year nomination from MusicWeb Int'l.