Bach's Secular Cantatas, and Masaaki Suzuki

As the proud owner of around 250 recordings of Bach cantatas, I really, really do not need yet more. However, I bought a CD of two more Bach cantatas — secular cantatas, this time — and so enjoyed the two works … that I have now ordered six more secular cantatas. All feature the incomparable Masaaki Suzuki with his Bach Collegium Japan. The first CD of this batch that I bought has Carolyn Sampson as the soprano soloist, and I greatly welcome more recordings with Ms Sampson. She sings Ich bin in mir Vergnügt BWV 204 beautifully.

The words / libretti for almost all vocal music before Mozart are usually banal. I can never take to the words of Bach's church cantatas: “I long to die, so I can see Jesus again” and similar religious hocus-pocus. So the secular Bach cantatas make a very welcome change for me. Well done Johann Sebastian, and Masaaki Suzuki, and the BIS record company that year after year has supported Suzuki and his fine Japanese musicians.

Life, according to Igor Levit

The much-admired (by me) pianist Igor Levit has just released a double CD album with the title “Life”. As one would expect from Levit, the pianism is extraordinary, the musicianship exemplary with a formidable grasp of form, structure, and dynamics. So far: straight “A”s all the way. The nine pieces of music on the two CDs are a mixed bag. We start with Ferrucio Busoni's Fantasia after J.S. Bach, which rambles on agreeably for over 14 minutes. Bach would have done better, in a lot less time. We continue with Brahms' arrangement for the left hand of the Chaconne from Bach's second partita for solo violin, a very pleasant surprise. Confining the arrangement to just one pianistic hand means that the original violin music comes over without excessive additions and ornamentation and this, coupled with Levit's grasp of form, makes this a formidable recording of Bach's music. It also confirms my often-stated view that “authentic” Bach is a pretty meaningless term, given Johann Sebastian's casual ability to arrange or transcribe his music from instrument to instrument, and voice to voice. CD I continues with the “Ghost” variations by Robert Schumann, very nearly posthumous, and ends with a ten minute piece by Frederic Rzewski with the title A Mensch (a person, or human being). For me, once heard, forever pigeon-holed since Rzewski's piece does ramble on.

The second CD begins with Franz Liszt's transcription of the solemn march from Wagner's Parsifal; Liszt's transcriptions and arrangements of other men's music have usually appealed to me, as here. The real Liszt comes next, with 33 minutes of his Fantasia and Fugue on “Ad nos, ad salutarem undam” by Meyerbeer, a piece that goes on and on and suffers from the too-often prevalent gigantism of much music in the second half of the 19^th century; the adagio section, alone, takes up nearly 14 minutes. I've always regarded Franz Liszt as a flashy 19^th century pianist who is much over-rated as a composer, and this does little to change my long-held prejudice. Predictably, the Liebestod from Tristan and Isolde, as arranged by Liszt, comes over wonderfully; Liszt seems to have been at his best when faced with real music by the likes of Schubert or Wagner. In his playing of the Liebestod (as in his playing of Brahms's arrangement of Bach's Chaconne), Levit gives evidence of a sense of form and dynamics rivalling that of Otto Klemperer, or Sergei Rachmaninov.

Ferrucio Busoni's Berceuse is a pleasant piece of music, as is the concluding piece by someone called Bill Evans: Peace Piece – attractive, minimalist music that does, however, question the compilation's title: Life. Almost all the music on these two CDs is sombre and either piano, or pianissimo. Not music to listen to if you are deeply depressed, or contemplating suicide. I suspect that, in twenty or so years time when I near 100 years old, I'll strip out the Bach and Wagner pieces to a separate CD for lifetime listening. Liszt and Busoni are for lovers of pianism; I am a lover of the violin. And not of organs, or counter-tenors. Or harpsichords. I do, however, greatly admire Igor Levit as a formidable musician, chosen repertoire sometimes notwithstanding.

Semyon Snitkovsky

I have often remarked that fame is something dependent on great talent, plus great backers, great PR, and great managers. Plus a bit of luck. Unfortunately, great talent, by itself, will rarely buy world recognition, and fame. Take Semyon Snitkovsky, whose playing I have just been admiring on transfers from Melodya recordings. Born in the USSR in 1933, he died in the USSR in 1981 at the age of 47. Later in his career, he was a violin professor in Moscow and Budapest. Few people have heard of him (no backers, no PR company); similar to the case of Julian Sitkovetsky, another great violinist from the Russian lands during those turbulent years. Yet listening to Snitkovetsky playing the evergreen Glazunov violin concerto, plus a couple of Paganini caprices — alas, with piano; why? — and a Liszt Hungarian Rhapsody arranged by Hubay, here was a truly major talent of the violin. The Glazunov is thoroughly Russian in its nostalgia and fully equal to the more famous Heifetz and Milstein. He also plays the Vieuxtemps 4th concerto, a much neglected work by modern violinists. It's a superb performance, fully the equal of that by Jascha Heifetz many years before. Unfortunately, the same cuts are made in the orchestral parts, as if the orchestra were purely secondary and ornamental. Modern concert promoters and record producers seem rarely to schedule the Glazunov and Vieuxtemps 4th concertos, more's the pity.

The moral of the story? Just because you have never heard of them before, or because they never made the world stage, it does not mean they are not truly top-notch violinists, pianists, or singers.

Orpheus Britannicus

When it comes to the finest, most sophisticated wine, France takes the gold medal. When it comes to fine, sophisticated cuisine, the gold medal is probably shared between the Chinese, the French, and the Italians. When it comes to great music, the gold medal goes to Europe. No other area of the world has produced music that, 327 years after it first sounded, still enthrals listeners. I speak as one who this evening listened to Henry Purcell's ode Hail, Bright Cecilia, composed in 1691 and played this evening on a Franco-British CD by Marc Minkowski. Music for all time.

Marc Minkowski and his Franco-British team (or, more exactly, French team with British appendages) go on to play Handel's A Song for Saint Cecilia's Day (1739), to words by John Dryden. Who wins the gold medal: Orpheus Britannicus, or the Caro Sassone? In the end, there are three gold medals: Handel's music is the great crowd pleaser; Purcell's the more sophisticated, appealing to connoisseurs. The third gold medal goes to Marc Minkowski and his Franco-Britannic forces.

A lobby of musical extremists suggests that “all music is equally valid”. Which is plain nonsense. A young man beating a bongo drum is not going to be listened to in 327 years time. Great Music is music that transcends centuries and appeals to connoisseurs of generation after generation. Vide Purcell's Hail, Bright Cecilia, and Handel's A Song for Saint Cecilia's Day.

The Czech Violin Tradition. And Vaclav Snitil

For the inhabitants of a small country, the Czechs — including, musically, the Slovaks and Bohemians — have had a disproportionate influence on the musical world, especially that of violin playing. Composers include Dvorak, Janacek, Smetana, Fibich and Suk. Violinists are too many to list. The Czech recording company, Supraphon, has kept the Czech flag flying for countless decades. This evening I am listening to Vaclav Snitil (one of the horde of excellent Czech violinists of the past century) with Josef Hala at the piano. Snitil's sound is typically Czech: highly focused intonation, with sparing use of vibrato, judicious rubato, and excellent rhythmic sense. This evening for me he played music by Smetana, Dvorak, Fibich, and Josef Suk. An all-Czech evening and highly enjoyable. If every country in Europe made as rich a contribution to musical life, we would be swamped with outstanding music and musicians. And this is not even broaching the area of Czech orchestras and, especially, string quartets. The total population of the present day Czech Republic is only a little over ten million people. Add in just over five million for Slovakia. A remarkable musical race. For me, the soulful, melancholy nature of so much of Czech music is encapsulated in Vaclav Snitil and Josef Hala playing Dvorak's well-known Four Romantic Pieces Op 75. Sheer bliss.

Brahms' Hungarian Dances, and Baiba Skride

A memorable photo in my collection of photos of violinists is one of Padraig O'Keeffe, an Irish folk fiddler, clutching a bow and violin in one hand and a glass of (probably Guinness) in the other. This was the tradition of European folk fiddlers, at weddings, funerals, and village dances. I thought nostalgically of the photo listening to Hagai Shaham dispatching immaculately all 21 of Johannes Brahms' Hungarian Dances (arranged by Joseph Joachim). The dances are well known and bear repeated listening; Shaham's playing is superb, but this is Israeli-type violin playing, with hyper-efficiency and little warmth or human feeling. Going back to Joachim's (few) recordings, one discovers a different world. I don't think Padraig O'Keeffe would have warmed to Mr Shaham's playing, and the Hungarian village committees would probably not have re-engaged him. The military parade-ground feeling in Mr Shaham's recording is accentuated by the short intervals between tracks; one dance follows immediately on the previous.

After dance number 12, I had had enough of Mr Shaham's brusque efficiency, and turned my attention to alternative violinists who have recorded all the Dances: Marat Bisengaliev (1994), Aaron Rosand (1991), Oscar Shumsky (1997) and Baiba Skride (2010). I chose the Latvian Ms Skride, since I like her playing but have not heard it for a while. She plays here with her sister Lauma at the piano, and the two make a fine duo, with lots of welcome rubato, and an ever-present warmth of feeling as if they are enjoying making music together (which they probably were). Their enjoyment communicates itself in their playing.

Pretty well every violinist who has ever lifted a bow has played and recorded a selection of these dances. They are highly attractive pieces of music and well repay repeated listening. In future, when I want to sit back and listen to a few of them, I'll reach out for Baiba and Lauma.

Toscha Seidel, Violinist

There is a well-known photo from the early years of the 20^th century showing a teenage Jascha Heifetz (“the angel of the violin”) accompanying on the piano a teenage Toscha Seidel (“the devil of the violin”) with a paternal Leopold Auer looking on. Heifetz and Seidel later emigrated to America, fleeing the chaos of the Russian revolutionary years. Heifetz had his brilliant career, eclipsing all violinists in America in the 1920s, 30s, 40s, and 50s. America, with its quasi- duopoly of RCA and CBS for classical recordings had only one slot for one major violin star, and Jascha Heifetz was so ordained. Major violinists such as Mischa Elman and Toscha Seidel were relegated to the “B” team. Yehudi Menuhin and Nathan Milstein managed to make international recording careers in Europe, as did Mischa Elman in some desperation towards the end of his performing career, followed by America-based violinists such as Bronislaw Gimpel, and Erica Morini.

Listening today to a recital compilation of recordings by Toscha Seidel, one mourns the fact that this fascinating violinist is not now well-known. There is fire and spirit in his playing, such as one rarely encounters elsewhere, coupled with an incredible technique. Few violinists nowadays would abandon themselves so recklessly (and impeccably) to short pieces by Mozart, Wagner, Brahms, Kreisler, Achron, et al. This is the Devil of the Violin (recorded variously in the 1920s, 30s and 40s). Seidel's playing in a 1941 recording of Korngold's Much Ado About Nothing suite (with Korngold at the piano) yields nothing to Heifetz in style and technique, but trumps even Heifetz

with an added vibrancy and emotion that will always make this my number one choice for this music. The new generation of fine violinists could learn a lot about putting everything into their playing.

Seidel died in 1962 at the early age of 63 years, suffering in his later years from acute depression. His few recordings of longer works, such as the Grieg and Franck violin and piano sonatas, suggest that, somewhat like Mischa Elman, he was above all the master of shorter pieces where violin sound and technique were paramount, though his performances of the Brahms violin concerto – alas, never preserved from radio recordings – were legendary, and one would have loved to have heard him in the Tchaikovsky violin concerto. I have nothing of his playing preserved in recordings after 22^nd July 1945, when he would have been 46 years old. This was an eloquent and moving account of Chausson's Poème, with the Los Angeles Philharmonic conducted by Leopold Stokowski. Most of his concertising was done for American radio stations, and the recordings were never retained.

The hackneyed saying “they don't play like that nowadays” is particularly true of Toscha Seidel (and of Mischa Elman). More's the pity. The last violinist to play with such inner vibrancy was probably Ginette Neveu (also in the 1940s).

Ning Feng plays Bach

Looking at a facsimile of the original scores of Bach's six sonatas and partitas for solo violin, one notices immediately a) the density of the notes and the part-writing and b) the complete absence of any performance indications, apart from tempo markings at the start of movements such as the fugues where the basic tempo is not obvious (for example, adagio, allegro, or grave). For the sarabandes, gavottes and rondos, no tempo markings are deemed necessary. There is a complete absence of piano, forte, crescendo, diminuendo, and other such performance directions.

Some, of course, have taken this to mean that Bach conceived of the music being played dead-pan, as on a sewing machine, or mechanical typewriter. Musicologists and academics have frowned at anyone making an “unauthorised” ritardando, or staccato, or pianissimo. Not so Ning Feng, whose recent recording of the six I kept to hand rather than file away. For musicologists, this will be self-indulgent Bach with no sense of “18^th century style”, whatever that may have been, and leaving aside the question as to whether a 21^st century style increases the power and interest of the music. Were Bach to hand, he could give us his opinion. I suspect he would much prefer Ning Feng on his 1721 Stradivari, compared with old Hans Nothman on his Leipzig fiddle soon after 1720 when the unaccompanied works first saw the light of day.

The first partita has no real technical difficulties (even I could play it, in my day, although the Flight of the Bumble Bee speeds in some of the doubles as played by Ning Feng or Jascha Heifetz are beyond most mortals). The ten movements (five movements, plus five doubles) can seem to go on forever, with no great musical interest; the interest has to be in the violin playing, with subtle variations of tempo and dynamics. From recollection, first-rate violinists as varied as Lisa Batiashvili, Yehudi Menuhin, Johanna Martzy, and Alfredo Campoli gave dead-pan, routine playing. The great Russians such as Oistrakh and Kogan mainly avoided unaccompanied Bach. Mr Feng holds my interest well, through the violin playing rather than just the music. He has a wonderful sense of light and shade, piano and forte; the playing in the double presto of the first partita, or the famous andante of the second sonata, is quite breathtaking. He is an expert at phrasing, at establishing a line in the music, and of voicing in the fugues. The Ciaccona comes over really well, with expert chording and dead-on-target double stops (though I still prefer Alina Ibragimova's way of ending the Ciaccona piano, rather than forte, although she is pretty well alone in this).

Ning Feng's teachers include Antje Weithaas, a violinist I admire greatly and whose playing of the unaccompanied music of Bach and Ysaÿe I recently so enjoyed. Although I do not know the Weithaas recordings intimately, I fancy I can hear a strong influence from her in Feng's playing on this Bach set, especially in the use of varied dynamics. I was somewhat surprised that a 36 year old Chinese virtuoso could woo me so completely with the music of Johann Sebastian Bach, but Bach playing is seemingly independent of sex, race, or age. The two CDs constitute a two and a half hour celebration of the sound of the violin, and I enjoyed every minute of it. It's a nice touch that just as Bach was finishing his unaccompanied sonatas and partitas, Antonio Stradivari was putting the final touches to Ning Feng's violin on the other side of the Alps.

Simone Kermes, and Handel

Back from holiday (Burgundy, and Provence). What to listen to, after two weeks without music? Serendipity came into play, with Simone Kermes and Maite Beaumont singing the inevitable Handel opera arias and duets (with Il Complesso Barocco and Alan Curtis). Handel is very much “welcome back” music; emotions and intellect are not stretched. It's just lovely music all over again. Will I ever become tired of listening to Pena Tiranna? I think not. And Simone Kermes has one of those voices that sing the words and convey the emotions behind them, rather than simply mouth beautiful melodies.

Music for Moods

I have nothing in common with Sergei Rachmaninov. He was twice in exile; once from his beloved Russia, the second time from Europe convulsed in wars. He ended his days in what must have seemed to him a somewhat barbaric land, playing almost non-stop in order to earn money for himself, his family, and his entourage. This evening I sat peacefully in England, with no wars currently in sight; yet I really needed to immerse myself in the music of Rachmaninov, first the second symphony, then the second piano concerto. For the symphony, only Valery Gergiev and the Kirov orchestra would do. For the second piano concerto, only Boris Giltburg could be chosen. It was an all-Russian evening, and a highly satisfactory one, at that. Strange how moods dictate musical choice, which is one reason I always hesitated before buying in advance a ticket for a musical evening. Imagine turning out at 7:30 on a Thursday to hear Haydn, when your mood says “Rachmaninov” !

Arkadi Volodos

Just over a year ago, I was enthusing over a CD where the Russian pianist, Arkadi Volodos, plays thirteen piano pieces by Johannes Brahms. I returned to it today and admired it more than ever. Volodos plays with (apparent) simplicity; listening to him, each piece seems to receive its ideal performance. Cannot ever be bettered.

There are musicians who have a high profile because of all sorts of reasons. Often their recording companies, managers, and impresarios would like to convert them into pop music phenomena because, as we all know, pop musicians make lodsa money for themselves, their recording companies, and their managers. There are other musicians who are highly respected without all the PR razzmatazz; Kirill Petrenko, and Arkadi Volodos spring to mind among the modern highly respected musicians. Neither man appears to give interviews; Volodos lives quietly in Spain and records and concertises from time to time, playing what he wants to play. In terms of publicity seeking, he is the modern equivalent of Clara Haskil who just played what she wanted, with whomsoever she wanted. I am always sceptical about “fame” that is measured in column inches; real fame is when you sit down and listen to someone playing, singing or conducting and exclaim: “Gosh!” Which is what I did this evening listening to Arkadi Volodos playing Brahms.

The Songs of Mr Henry Purcell

Henry Purcell, who died in 1695 at the age of 36, is one of the greatest of the lesser known composers. He wrote incidental music for plays, semi-operas, songs, trio sonatas, anthems, cantatas, fantasias, odes, and a great number of chamber pieces.

I have just been listening to a 2006 song selection sung by the delectable voice of Carolyn Sampson. Purcell was a master of English song, of exotic harmonies and complex modulations. He was also a master of the ground bass as heard, for example, in Dido's lament (from the opera Dido & Aeneas), or in the song “music for a while”. Accompanying Ms Sampson on her CD is a varied collection of olde instruments. Songs include the well-known: Sweeter than Roses, The Plaint, Music for a While, If Music be the Food of Love, Fairest Isle, and O Solitude.

On to a second Purcell CD where the German soprano Dorothee Mields is accompanied by the Lautten Compagney Berlin on a CD recorded in 2009. I prefer the band on this CD; one can have too much of plucking lutes, theorbos, and harpsichords; not too surprising that they all died out somewhat hastily. Ms Mield's attractive singing is interspersed with instrumental pieces, including two chaconnes, a musical form to which Purcell was most attached. Most of the songs are taken from Purcell's contributions to semi-operas, a patchwork of theatrical plays with songs and music. There is duplication between songs as sung by Mields and Sampson; both women are wonderful, but in the end I probably prefer Mields, who lingers less and has a more interesting and varied instrumental backing.

On to a third Purcell song CD where a French group, La Rêveuse, plays a selection of instrumental pieces, including trio sonatas by Purcell and the Moravian Gottfried Finger, a contemporary of Purcell and Handel, who settled in England. Many of the pieces on this CD feature Purcell's famous basso ostinato, a true signature feature of much of his music. The ten songs on the CD are all sung by the French soprano Julie Hassler, who has a lovely voice and the best English diction of the three sopranos so far. You can actually follow the words she is singing, which is not always true of Sampson or Mields. I greatly enjoyed this CD, recorded in Provence in 2007.

On a fourth Purcell song CD we switch to a Scottish tenor for the songs. Paul Agnew is recorded close-to, and sings often at the bottom of his register. With a principal accompaniment by a bass-viol, the overall sound comes over as somewhat lugubrious. The accompaniment is “economy-mode” — bass-viol, theorbo, and harpsichord. A few instrumental pieces are interjected into the songs but, frankly, this CD recorded in France in 2009 simply did not hold my attention and I quickly became tired of the gloomy sound. The CD cover is bizarre, with a masked, naked woman in a 19^th century bathtub. The connection with Henry Purcell is not clear.

On to a fifth CD from my shelves, with Agnès Mellon accompanied by Christophe Rousset (harpsichord) and Wieland Kuijken (bass-viol, again). Yet another French recording from southern France (1992), albeit with a very basic accompaniment, with not even a theorbo in sight. Ms Mellon has a pleasant voice, and the two accompanists are highly proficient, if a little lacking in variety of timbre. The absence of plucking is welcome. (I know harpsichords are plucked, but they sound one up from the monotone lute and guitar family). The CD contains a good selection of songs, plus Purcell's trademark “grounds”. I enjoyed the 71 minutes of music.

A sixth CD features the Dutch baritone, Maarten Koningsberger accompanied by a solitary theorbo in a recording made in 2008. The pair get through 26 songs by Purcell, one after another, with no respite. I was fully prepared not to like this: a baritone and a theorbo, in Purcell? But I was quickly won over. Koningsberger has an attractive and expressive voice, and is the first singer of the six so far where you can follow the words as he sings, without frequent course to the libretto. Purcell's vocal writing is rarely straightforward, and with many of the singers above, even gluing oneself to the libretto is no guarantee of following the texts. A big thanks to Koningsberger for his diction and clear enunciation. With just a theorbo, and 26 songs one after another, you essentially get just the song, the whole song, and nothing but the song. Not such a bad thing, it turns out, since most of the songs are very short (as recorded here – typically between two and three minutes). The choice of songs eschews the standard “Best of Henry Purcell” selection, making this a highly useful CD for those wishing to explore Purcell's lesser-known oeuvre, an oeuvre that is pretty vast, despite him dying so young, alas. Interesting to note that, even back in the 17^th century, “popular” music was obsessed with love, and sex. Plus ça change ….. Anyway, Mr Koningsberger and his theorboist won me over, despite my forebodings when I first loaded the CD on to its tray.

On to CD number seven and back to the soprano voice, featuring a 2006 all-Canadian recording with Karina Gauvin and the instrumental group Les Boréades. The CD contains 21 tracks, with a generous helping of instrumental interludes. Unlike Mr Koningsberger, Ms Gauvin sticks mainly to Purcell's best known songs. Her diction is admirably clear (unlike many other singers) and Les Boréades make a welcome contribution, and a change from the somewhat monotonous backing on some of the other CDs. This CD was — somewhat unexpectedly — a big hit with me. Good music, good singing, good accompaniments. And a nice rendition of the popular “When I am laid to Earth” with its ostinato ground bass played by Les Boréades.

CD number eight features Emma Kirkby 36 years ago in distant 1982, with a small backing group of a viol and pluckers, plus an occasional violin obbligato (Catherine Mackintosh). There is some lovely singing on this CD, and “The Plaint” with violin obbligato has probably never had a better performance than here. Ms Kirkby's pure young girl voice was a great hit during the final two decades of the last century, and it still comes over with good effect despite all that has happened since. The 16 tracks of songs and airs make for happy listening. There are no instrumental episodes. All in all, a CD I was surprised to enjoy so much.

Coming full circle, the final Purcell song and airs CD from my shelves returns to Carolyn Sampson, recorded live in London in 2015 with the usual small backing group. The lute, bass viol and harpsichord contribute instrumental interludes, some of them by Purcell's contemporaries. That is sometimes a plus in a song recital disk. Ms Sampson has a lovely voice but, as in her 2006 recital commented on above, I do have problems with following what she is singing, even glued to the libretto; lose your place, and you probably have to wait for the next song until you can start following again. Maybe this is because the Canadian, French and German singers above take more care over their English pronunciation, or maybe because Ms Sampson seems to indulge in a lot more ornamentation than the others. The lute plucks on solidly behind her, but I miss the more imaginative background accompaniment provided by some of the others in this round-up. There is a harpsichord suite with five movements, and a lute selection with three pieces; more plucking than in a commercial hen-house, and I really did not enjoy it.

In conclusion: The 17^th century was a rich one for English music; the golden age was prolonged into the earlier 18^th century with the importation of the Saxon Handel after which, apart from a few sparks from time to time, music in England went into a terminal decline that has lasted right up to the present. “Das Land ohne Musik” as someone once said. People — perhaps above all the competitive Americans — are usually looking for “the best” when one reviews nine different CDs of roughly the same repertoire. There is no “best” here. I would eliminate Paul Agnew, since it all is rather gloomy and depressing. I would also eliminate Maarten Koningsberger, reluctantly, since it's a CD for an excellent overview of Purcell's lesser-known songs, rather than a CD to sit back and enjoy. Despite being a fanatical admirer of Carolyn Sampson, I would probably eliminate her two CDs remarked upon here, partly on the grounds of unimaginative accompaniments and instrument choice, mainly on the grounds of frustration trying to follow the words she is singing. Which leaves me with one German, two French and one French Canadian to fully survive this current round-up. Fear not; I have many CDs of Purcell operas and semi-operas, plus Odes, fantasias, and Anthems, so I'll be returning (with pleasure) to Mr Henry Purcell in due course.

Renaud Capuçon's Encore CD - Capriccio

You probably need to be a dedicated fan of violin encores to listen to 21 of them, one after another, all in the space of 75 minutes. This evening I had meant just to sample Renaud Capuçon's 2006 CD Capriccio, but I ended up listening to every note, with considerable enjoyment. All of the 21 pieces on the CD are all-too familiar, with arrangements by Heifetz, Kreisler, Prihoda, and a few others. Composers range from Mendelssohn and Schubert, through to Strauss and Schumann, passing on the way Stravinsky, Debussy, and Korngold. Virgin Classics, and Capuçon, avoided the annoying habit of interweaving unknown contemporary pieces that no encore lover needs to bother with.

Of course, as well as having a dedicated fan listening, you need a really expert violinist playing to hold attention over 75 minutes of encore pieces. Renaud Capuçon's suave tone, expert technique and exemplary musicality show why he is one of my favourites of the modern violinists. He favours flowing tempi, no bad thing in music of this kind which can stagnate if the player wallows too much. Somewhat to my surprise, the CD appears still to be available — deservedly so, in my view. Lovers of violin playing should snap it up at once.

Handel's Alcina

As I recounted in this blog all the way back in 2009, I first came across Handel's opera Alcina – the love-lorn sorceress – back in September 2007 when I attended a performance at the Théâtre de Poissy. The theatre opened in 1937 with a performance of Gounod's Faust (I was not there), and its size and acoustics made it a natural venue for a concert performance of Handel's opera. The town itself seemed to contain a high proportion of people from south of Marseille, so it was difficult for a francophile North European like me to find somewhere to eat, either before or after the performance. But my car was still there after the end of the work, with all four wheels in place, so I was happy. The evening has stayed fixed in my mind, even nine years later. Immediately following that performance, conducted by the late lamented Alan Curtis, the work was recorded in Italy by pretty well the same forces I heard in Poissy. Joyce DiDonato was the sorceress, and the supporting cast included Karina Gauvin and Maïte Beaumont as Ruggiero.

DiDonato, as well as being a superb singer, can always act with her voice; her cries of “Traditore!” in the aria Ah! mio cor, schernito sei! rival Callas's cries of “Mori!” in Tosca. And you cannot get better than that. Three hours went quickly listening to Handel this Sunday. As is now my wont, I dispensed with the libretto with its tiresome “plot”, and just sat back and enjoyed the music, the playing, and the singing. I appear to have a rival recording of the work conducted by William Christie in 1999 with another all-star cast including Renée Fleming, Susan Graham, and Natalie Dessay. I really must take it off the shelf and give it an airing; a man cannot have too much Handel. My hang-up is the memory of the live performance I attended in Poissy with Alan Curtis conducting, plus Joyce DiDonato's characterisation of Alcina. A surfeit of sorceresses.

Addendum: since writing the above, I have listened to the William Christie recording, and I prefer it. Christie's direction is tauter, with a superior presence of rhythm; Alan Curtis comes across as a bit too laid back. And Christie has a superior cast: Curtis's Ruggiero, Maïte Beaumont, is outclassed by Christie's Susan Graham, and Curtis's Morgana, Karina Gauvin is no match for Christie's Natalie Dessay. The Alcinas are a bit more problematic; Curtis's Joyce DiDonato is superb, as is Christie's Renée Fleming. But Fleming, who was a pretty woman with a wonderful voice in 1999, suffers from the soprano diction syndrome where it's often hard to make out in what language she is singing — Italian, English, French, or Serbo-Croat. No such problem with the superior actress, DiDonato, who articulates clearly in excellent Italian. Alcina is very much an opera for the soprano voice, and the men are mainly cardboard cut-outs. Commendably, neither Christie nor Curtis resort to male altos, counter-tenors, or castrati (nor female baritones). 18th century audiences may have enjoyed freaky voices, but I do not. A pity Christie did not poach DiDonato for his recording, since then he really would have had an all-star cast and knocked the competition for six.

Gioachino Rossini's Cenerentola

It is not often you will find me sitting back enjoying an evening of 19^th century Italian opera. But here I was today listening with great enjoyment to Gioachino Rossini's La Cenerentola. Handel in the 18^th century, like Rossini in the 19^th, were the Andrew Lloyd Webbers of their time (though with infinitely more talent). They wrote music for money, and therefore music that their fans would like, and pay for. Over 200 years since it was written, one can still sit back and enjoy Cenerentola. For me, no need for a libretto (let alone a DVD). In a good performance, the music and the singing tell you who are the villains, who are the heroes and heroines, who is sad, who is happy, who is noble, who is down-at-heel. It's easy-listening, sing-along music, but written by a supreme artist. No depths are plumbed; no heights scaled; we just enjoy the experience, tapping our feet on occasion. No harm in that.

The performance I listened to this evening was recorded in 1971 by the LSO conducted by Claudio Abbado, with an exquisite Teresa Berganza as Cinderella. It takes all your cares away. Rossini made it big in Paris, and one can understand the enthusiasm of the fashionable connoisseurs. Great stuff. Tempts me to embark on another opera evening soon.

Mikhail Pletnev conducts Shostakovich

For many, many decades, I have loved the music of Dmitri Shostakovich. His music “speaks” to me in a way that his contemporaries such as Prokofiev, Stravinsky or Bartok never do. I love the kaleidoscopic changes of mood in his music. I love his gift for coming up with memorable tunes, themes and motifs. I love his mastery of the orchestra, in his orchestral works. I love his dyed-in-the-wool “Russian-ness”. I love his lineage going back to the music of Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninov.

So I was more than delighted when a friend sent me a new CD where Mikhail Pletnev conducts the Russian National Orchestra on Pentatone. The works on the CD are Shostakovich's fourth and tenth symphonies. So far I have listened to just the magnificent tenth symphony, one of my favourites. The fourth symphony is somewhat daunting and needs mental preparation. Needless to say, this new recording of the tenth symphony is superb; very Russian in the orchestral sound and playing, superb in Pentatone's recording. Is it superior to my hitherto favourite, Vasily Petrenko conducting his Liverpudlians? Hard to say, from memory. Enough that Pletnev and his Russian forces earn my admiration from the beginning, to the end (as do Petrenko and his Liverpool orchestra).

Pierre Rode

Pierre Rode (1774-1830) was a violin virtuoso, a pupil of Viotti, and a contemporary of Beethoven, Paganini and Heinrich Ernst. He gave the premier of Beethoven's Kreutzer sonata. He wrote music almost exclusively for the violin, including 13 violin concertos, most of which have been recorded by the violinists' friend, Naxos, with Friedemann Eichhorn as soloist. His music is tuneful and well written for the violin, as one would expect. The virtuoso aspect of Rode's violin music is mainly centred upon the bow arm, with every variety of bow stroke being called upon. Unlike Paganini or Ernst, the left hand is not obliged to indulge in violinistic circus tricks, with double stopping being rare, and harmonics even rarer.

A generous friend gave me the latest Rode-Eichhorn instalment, a CD of the 11^th and 12^th violin concertos, with two sets of variations for violin and orchestra. This is carefree music to which one just sits back and enjoys life. Eichhorn has become something of a specialist in this music and he plays with aplomb and a scintillating right arm; Rode would have nodded in approval. The Naxos recording is excellent. One is left wondering why we do not hear these concertos more often, rather than the 8-9 “standard” works that are always trotted out year after year. And when were concertos by Rode, Viotti, Vieuxtemps, Hubay et al. last recorded by companies such as DG, Decca or Warner? Thank heavens for Naxos.

Playing Bach: Pau Casals, and Beatrice Rana

I listened again to the six suites for solo cello by Bach. The cellist was my all-time favourite in this music: Pau Casals, recorded in the mid- 1930s and re-released by Pristine Audio. Casals plays very much from the heart which, to my mind, is the secret of Bach playing, and I had the same reaction and degree of admiration listening to Beatrice Rana's recent recording of the Goldberg Variations. There are internal harmonies and rhythms in Bach's music that you sense when you play the works. I used to play the cello suites (albeit transcribed for viola) and arrogantly thought that I played them as well as anyone else …. except Casals, who was always hors concours in these works. For Bach playing one really needs to forget musicologists and erudite PhDs in ancient music. Bach's music is very much alive, if you play it with feeling and understanding. In evidence, M'Lud: Pau Casals and Beatrice Rana. Different generations, different instruments. Different works. Different countries of origin. But eternally valid, to my mind. Forget “recent scholarship has revealed that …" Bach's music is not an historical artifact. Bach's music demands a subjective, human reaction.