Tuesday was "Baroque Day" at the Festival -- one of the many delightful traditions which has evolved through the years. Like all Festival traditions, it's flexible -- sometimes it spreads over more than one day (as this year). Sometimes it's only one concert, sometimes it grows to four or more.
The blockbuster of the day came first, leaving us free afterwards to enjoy music that was not less skillful (either in composition or performance) but definitely was less intense in its demands on audience attention.
The day began at 12:45 with pianist Leopoldo Erice giving a pre-concert talk about the structure of Bach's Goldberg Variations, the work which he was about to play. Erice's descriptions of the layout of the work were very informative and helpful. When he started talking about the numerological religious symbolism, I began to detect waves of disbelief coming from some quarters of the hall.
It's been an ongoing debate for decades whether the numerologists are really finding what Bach intentionally wrote into his music, or whether they are just blowing moonshine about. I lean towards a "yes" vote on the numerology, but I know many will disagree.
For that matter, the whole issue of how to perform the Goldberg Variations is a debate in itself. There are those who insist that only a harpsichord is acceptable. The true advantage of the harpsichord is the use of two keyboards, which is specifically indicated for 14 of the 31 variations. On the other hand, such instruments as the modern piano, the pipe organ, even a string orchestra, have much greater expressive possibilities.
On two points I definitely agree with Erice. One is that it's foolish to use a modern piano and not take advantage of those expressive possibilities. For this music, carefully structured as it is, remains above all music, and expressivness is built into its every bar. The other is the importance of playing all the repeats, in both halves of each variation.
So, to the performance. Erice amply demonstrated the value of the repetitions by changing such things as dynamics, emphasis on certain lines, and the ornamentation, from first to second halves. His playing, while not confined to a harpsichord scale of tone, certainly remained crisp and clear at all times.
It's an amazing experience to watch a pianist playing this music from the vantage point of a nearby seat. The incredible hand-crossings in such variations as # 11 are clearly seen (on a harpsichord the two hands would be on the two separate keyboards).
From Variation 20 onwards, the tone changed. From this point, almost all the variations are for two keyboards, and Erice's interpretation took on increased weight and power. Plainly he got the bit between his teeth as the bigger passages began to sound like the Romanticism of Franz Liszt, which we heard on Friday! The final two variations were played with immense authority and almost organ-like tone, and I could readily imagine an organist pulling out all of the biggest, heaviest stops at this point.
The reappearance of the Aria (the original theme) at the end is one of the supreme moments of music, its relative simplicity contrasting strongly with the complexities of the final variations. Erice's performance highlighted this contrast by dropping from the fortissimo of the final Quodlibet back down to a pianissimo for the entrance of the Aria.
Take it as a whole, this was a hugely impressive performance, and rightly earned an instant and prolonged standing ovation. It was very "unauthentic", but definitely true to Erice's own stylistic vision. Overall, I would class it as a truly thrilling account to hear once in a concert -- but it was not a performance I would want to live with for repeated hearings in a recording.
After this impressive start, we migrated up the hill to St. Andrew's Church for the next concert. Because of the heat, Jim Campbell began his pre-concert remarks thus: "Welcome to the good old days." Those of us who've been attending the Festival since before 2000 certainly knew what that meant. I didn't hear any train horns while we were listening, but there was no lack of traffic noise from outside, including some spectacularly loud motorcycle engines!
Inside, though, there was a whole different world of quiet and serenity. I'd been looking forward to this event, as Suzanne Shulman (flute) is one of my favourites among the recurring artists of the Festival. She was joined by guitarist Daniel Bolshoy for a recital of Baroque music arranged for this combination of instruments.
This program included solo Bach selections by Shulman, two sonatas by Scarlatti arranged from the harpsichord originals by Bolshoy, and works by Telemann, C. P. E. Bach, and J. S. Bach for both together. Hearing the Telemann reminded me, as I've often thought in the past, that his music is well worth exploring in more depth.
The C. P. E. Bach was revealing in another way. Although the instrumentation was unchanged from the Telemann, there was now a definite hint of the world of Haydn and Mozart in the music. It was a reminder that J. S. Bach was working at the very end of the Baroque era, in a style which was already rapidly becoming old-fashioned. It's said that his sons jokingly referred to him as "the old wig", and in C.P.E. Bach's "Hamburger" Sonata you could hear the new style moving in. The name, by the way, refers to the city of Hamburg, where C. P. E. hoped to secure a post. That didn't stop Shulmann from referring to it as a piece that needs to be played with relish!
The conclusion was the E minor sonata for flute and continuo by J. S. Bach, BWV1034. It's a fine example of J. S. Bach's best style, and sounded both delightful and commanding in this version. A wonderful recital all around.
The evening concert brought together an ensemble of a dozen players and soprano Leslie Fagan under the collective name of "Festival Baroque".
The program opened with a Sinfonia (or Concerto) for strings subtitled Alla rustica. It's a typical and truly delightful example of Vivaldi's compositional genius. This was followed by two arias sung by Fagan, which were "attributed" to Pergolesi. Giovanni Battista Pergolesi became immensely popular during his lifetime, which ended untimely with his death from tuberculosis at age 26. Certainly, it was a paying business for publishers to issue works by other hands while printing Pergolesi's name on the cover! Today, much of the music which used to be attributed to Pergolesi has been definitely shown to be by other hands.
These two delightful arias are examples. Fagan chose these two in particular because they were used by Stravinsky as two sections of his 1920s ballet score Pulcinella, segments of which were later reworked by Stravinsky into the Suite italienne for violin and piano (which followed the arias in this concert). Thus we had two arias by "?", attributed to Pergolesi, which were later arranged by Stravinsky who later rearranged his own arrangement -- did you get all that?
All that music history is just so much water under the bridge as soon as Leslie Fagan walks onto the stage. She brings with her a lovely sense of fun, particularly when dealing with eminently comical material like this, and loves to enter fully into her characters, even in a concert setting. Not only that, but her spoken introductions are always entertaining and amusing too (a sample is given below). Her agile voice is very well-suited to this type of repertoire, making light of the fast runs and high notes, and helping to convey the amusing texts of the funnier arias.
The succeeding Stravinsky Suite italienne basically took the Baroque originals and, as violinist Moshe Hammer put it, "added some odd rhythms and some wrong notes." He and his pianist, Glen Montgomery, played with a delightful sense of the style and the somewhat jokey character of the music. Alas, that two movements were omitted including my favourite, the penultimate scherzino (which in the orchestral version features a hilarious duet for trombone and string bass).
After the intermission, James Mason took centre stage for an excellent performance of an oboe concerto in G minor by Handel. The grave introduction was taken at a nicely upbeat tempo, setting the scene for the brisk allegro to follow. The central Sarabande moved smoothly forward while maintaining a gentle contrasting character, and the final allegro wrapped things up in a vigorous manner.
Next, Leslie Fagan returned to give two of Cleopatra's arias from Handel's Giulio Cesare. The first was deeply tragic in tone, but the second was a piece of rip-roaring Handelian rejoicing -- which Fagan introduced between numbers with an off-hand "Get ready, folks, here we go!". This rapid fire aria came with all the flashy runs and ornaments for which Handel is renowned, and Fagan tossed it all off with style and skill to spare. Very impressive singing indeed!
The grand finale was Bach's Brandenburg Concerto No. 2 in F Major, with the full ensemble of strings, trumpet, flute, oboe and violin, and continue. This was a spirited performance, filled with energy and beautiful playing by all concerned, and brought the concert to a rousing conclusion thanks to the high-speed virtuoso performances of the entire quartet of soloists.
The Baroque "Day" really ended on Wednesday morning with the special "Concert at Cafe Zimmermann", an additional event held at the Seguin Valley Golf Club. The Cafe Zimmermann In Leipzig was a notable musical hangout where Telemann (and later J. S. Bach) organized musical events. These concerts were the only times women could be admitted to Cafe Zimmermann.
(And as Suzanne Shulman's husband quipped at this point: "Who made the coffee?")
In fact, the Seguin Valley club had laid out a notable spread of desserts, muffins, fruit and coffee and tea for us to enjoy. We also thoroughly enjoyed all the music in the warm acoustic of their log-cabin hall with it's high-pitched roof and hardwood floor.
The concert was a feast of Baroque music such as might have been heard at such an event, and included works by Telemann and three Bachs: Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach, Johann Christian Bach and daddy himself, Johann Sebastian Bach. Indeed, it was J. S. Bach's splendid Concerto in C Minor for Oboe and Violin, BWV 1060R, which closed the program in exuberant fashion. Along the way we heard a duet for flute and violin solo, a piece for solo oboe, an interesting Sinfonia (Telemann) with a martial trumpet part added to the strings and continuo, and more.
All of it was magnificently played, but alas, all of it paled in comparison with Leslie Fagan's performance of two arias from J. S. Bach's infamous Coffee Cantata, using a hilarious English translation by Daniel Lichti. Of course, as noted above, Fagan's cheery performance style of the aria about how much she loved her coffee, and the text together with it, were enough to set the audience chuckling. And that's when trumpeter Guy Few got in on the act. He came slowly walking down the aisle, matching perfectly P. G. Wodehouse's description of Beach the butler at Blandings Castle: "...a dignified procession of one." In one hand he held aloft a china cup and saucer, in the other a Tim Hortons take out cup. Ever so slowly, he went down on one knee in front of Fagan, still holding the cups high, while the whole audience dissolved into helpless shouts of laughter.
How any of the musicians managed to keep going, I do not know. Fagan herself let out a hoot of mirth, but then carried on. I couldn't have done it. I would have been helpless from the giggles and unable to sing! She took the china cup, took a dignified sip from it, and handed it back (during the instrumental ritornello, of course), and then finished the aria while Few ever so slowly rose to his feet and backed out.
As if that weren't bad enough, he repeated the stunt during her second aria about the wonderful man she would now marry. This time he came down the aisle holding aloft a wedding ring, placed it on her finger, and then remained beside her, hamming mercilessly. It was all Fagan could do to keep going, between laughs, and at one point she even turned to him and said, "Get out of here!" But keep going she did and finished the aria, still in excellent voice.
Poor James Mason had to come forward to introduce the next number amid a total uproar of hilarity. All he could say was, "How do you follow that?" (For the answer, see above, the Bach Concerto).
Every summer there always have to be one or two moments when the whole affair goes completely nutty like this, and they're always among my favourite memories. I think it's marvellous that a group of serious musicians aren't afraid to play the fool in public, at the same time as they keep playing and singing the music so well!
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