Buxtehude, Froberger, Bach, Weiss: German Baroque Music, for Guitar

Description

Plucked-string instruments are among the oldest in music history: and shortly after the invention of the monochord – on which the basic properties of the intervals were discovered – the idea came about of combining several monochords in a single instrument. In antiquity, it is true, the strings of many plucked-string instruments were played mainly individually, in a melodic fashion; yet, the very possibility of plucking two or more strings at once paved the way for the earliest concept of instrumental polyphony. Instruments similar to the lute are found in almost all developed musical civilisations, regardless of chronology and geography. While their common roots, or at least their shared principles, are easy to grasp, their evolutions at times took very different itineraries. Moreover, their history, and that of their repertoire, dovetails – particularly in the West – with the history of keyboard instruments. On the one hand, in fact, some keyboard instruments act on strings which are plucked by jacks: this is the case, most notably, of the harpsichord. In this case, from the viewpoint of timbre and sound, these instruments are closely related with others in which a similar sound is produced by plucking the strings manually, without the aid of keys. On the other hand, the similar performing technique brings together keyboard instruments which may have entirely different strategies for actually producing the sound. The pipe organ and the harpsichord are no more related with each other, from the viewpoint of timbre and sound production, than the flute and the lute, but are similarly played by the performer’s hands. This ambiguity, far from constituting a problem, triggered countless musical experimentations, cross-exchanges, and hybridizations. Indeed, under certain viewpoints, the transition from lute to harpsichord and vice versa could be easier to accomplish, at least in terms of repertoire, than that from harpsichord to organ. Lute and harpsichord, in fact, belonged primarily to the secular sphere, and there they could share the repertoire of, for instance, dance suites; in spite of their very different performing techniques, their kinship of timbre and their shared capability to play several sounds at once rendered them close to each other when this repertoire was at stake. This Da Vinci Classics album brings the parallelism even further. It inserts, within the tête à tête between harpsichord and lute, a third party, i.e. the guitar. In principle, it shares with the other two interlocutors those same qualities we have just listed. However, in practice, it lived a life of its own, at times impervious to the positive contaminations with other instruments and repertoires. What has been attempted here is, therefore, a very welcome artistic undertaking – one rarely realised, although not entirely unheard-of. The possibility of playing keyboard music on the guitar is in fact widely acknowledged, and particular attention has been given, by a handful of musicians, to the Baroque repertoire. Yet, the objective difficulty and complexity of this initiative limit its scope, lending an aura of uniqueness to efforts like this one. The programme opens with a transcription after a keyboard work by Dietrich Buxtehude. Born in Helsingborg in 1637, Buxtehude was a polymath and one of the most important musicians, let alone organists, of his era. Buxtehude came from a musical family; his father was an organist and moved regularly, during Dietrich’s childhood, depending on where his duties called him. Particularly during their stay in Elsinore, Dietrich received a good musical education, which he would later deepen and broaden through contacts with some of the great performers of his time. Having accomplished his training, Dietrich followed in his father’s footsteps, becoming the titular organist of Elsinore, and later of Lubeck. Here he would remain, in a city which was known as the “organs’ city”, and with a very stimulating cultural context. In turn, Buxtehude would greatly contribute to the improvement of musical life, in particular through his Abendmusiken, concerts of spiritual music which became increasingly complex, refined, and lavishly gorgeous. In spite of Lubeck’s geographical position, at the northernmost corner of Germany, Buxtehude’s fame travelled like wildfire, and attracted crowds wishing to hear them. Among those enthusiasts, as is well known, was also Johann Sebastian Bach, who outstayed the leave he had requested and obtained from his employers in order to learn as much as possible from his elder colleague. The scores for Buxtehude’s Abendmusiken, sadly, have all been lost. The same seemed to have happened to most of his works for solo harpsichord, but, fortunately, many scores have surfaced in the twentieth century. His Suite BuxWV 237 belongs in a group of works written for a keyboard instrument without pedals; the preferred attribution to the harpsichord or to the clavichord is of course reinforced by the presence of dance pieces and rhythms. While the standard succession of the dances is respected, Buxtehude inserts an unexpected addition in the form of a second Sarabande. From the musical viewpoint, Buxtehude seems to draw from a variety of styles and influences, deriving from France a predilection for the style brisé, and from Germany some aesthetic guidelines which can be traced back to the influence of J. J. Froberger. And it is precisely to Froberger that this recording turns immediately after. He was and still considered as one of the greatest masters of the harpsichord in his century. Froberger, like Buxtehude, came from a musical family and was initiated to performance by his father, who owned a magnificent musical library, and who sang as a tenor in the Hofkapelle. Johann Jakob followed in his footsteps already as a child soprano; however, when his talent was discovered by the Swedish Ambassador, Froberger was invited to join him as a court musician in Vienna. While he spent long periods in Vienna in the subsequent years, Froberger owed much also to Italian music, which he studied in the Peninsula: first and foremost to Frescobaldi, who was unanimously revered as the masters’ master, but then also Athanasius Kircher, the learned Jesuit. Froberger’s eventful life led him eventually to Paris, where he would die. From his august mentors, Froberger derived, among other elements, a taste for, and a deep knowledge of, the stylus phantasticus. The catalogue of Froberger’s surviving Partitas for the keyboard numbers approximately thirty works, and is constantly being updated thanks to new discoveries and doubts about the authenticity of works already known. His A-major Suite, FbWV 608, is found in a set issued in 1656, and is particularly appreciated for its luminosity, lightness, and clarity. Each of the movements it is composed of is clearly characterized – gravity in the Allemande, singing style in the Sarabande, which still does not eschew provocative harmonic patterns and itineraries. The Courante seems to establish a musical “concord” with the Allemande, with which it shares part of the motivic component. The Gigue, as it often happens, is a tour de force in terms of a whirlwind of notes and ideas, all woven with each other through counterpoint, but still maintaining a character of freshness and spontaneity which is invariably captivating. If Froberger’s music paved the way for Buxtehude’s, so did the latter pave the way for J. S. Bach, who, as has been said, was a keen admirer of the organist from Lubeck. The Suite recorded here is a particularly apt choice for this experiment in timbral transformation, since it has been transmitted in two versions: one destined for the Lautenwerk, or “lute-harpsichord”, and another for the lute proper, though doubts have been cast over the latter version’s authenticity. The traditional order of Bach’s suites is slightly disrupted here: for one thing, the Prelude is followed by a Fugue, replacing the traditional Allemande and Courante; for another, the Gigue is provided with a Double. So, the first part of this Suite seems to allude to the Sonatas, among Bach’s violin solos, whilst its second part is closer to the Partitas. Bach, in turn, was not only eager to learn from the masters of the past, but also from those of the present. In particular, at the latest in 1739, he met with Sylvius Leopold Weiss, arguably the greatest lute virtuoso of the era. So impressed was Bach that he created some pieces for him. It has been maintained that the two of them, i.e. Weiss and Bach, competed in a kind of musical duel; however, the anecdote is probably spurious. What is certain is that Weiss, in spite of his extraordinary accomplishment (or perhaps for that same reason) was very jealous of his works, and published very little, favouring a more intimate, personal relationship with the score he had created. Weiss’ ability was unequalled, as a later chronicler recounts: “Anyone who knows how difficult it is to play harmonic modulations and good counterpoints on the lute will be surprised and full of disbelief to hear from eyes-witnesses that Weiss, the great lute-player, challenged J. S. Bach, the great harpsichord and organ-player, by playing fantasies and fugues”. Certainly, Bach did appreciate his colleague’s skill, and was very glad to arrange some of his music, as the most evident token of appreciation one could wish for. The work recorded here comes from the London Manuscript, which is the single most important source for Weiss’ music, including nearly 250 tablatures for solo lute. Together, these works reveal the net of relationships between musicians of different generations, but united by the same pattern of transmission of music, of its styles, of its gestures. They evolved in time, while maintaining a unique unity of their own. It is precisely for this reason that these masterpieces stand victoriously the test of time, and even the more demanding test of transcription: by listening to these works, we fully understand how a change in timbre not only does not damage the true masterpieces, but rather allows us to hear them with new ears.
Chiara Bertoglio © 2022