|
EARLY MUSIC REVIEW
Bach Cello Suites,
January 20, 2001
|
By Durwynne Hsieh
The most striking thing about a concert of three cellists playing three different Bach solo cello suites is how different their approaches to this music can be. Of course, if a dozen cellists are discussing the Bach suites, you're going to hear at least 13 opinions on how to play them. But the concert of the American Bach Soloists on Saturday at Berkeley's First Congregational Church, with Baroque cellists Elisabeth Le Guin, Kenneth Slowik, and Tanya Tomkins, truly drove the point home. Juxtaposed with Le Guin's high-spirited and at times experimental rendition of the Fourth Suite was Tomkins' introspective yet sensual reading of the First Suite. And contrasting with those was Slowik's rational interpretation of the Second Suite.
As a cellist myself, I have my own predilections about Bach. But regardless of the approach taken with these pieces, regardless of the myriad interpretive choices and historically researched details, what makes me want to pay money for a ticket and come back for more, what makes me want to pull out my dog-eared score and play through it, is a cellist who engages me fully in the performance. In this concert, the most successful in doing so was Le Guin, whom I felt best captured the spirit of the music.
In remarks both during John Lutterman's friendly and well-informed preconcert lecture and during the concert itself, a great deal was made of Le Guin's innovative and experimental ornamentation in a couple of the movements of the Fourth Suite. Le Guin postulated that many cellists have difficulty adding ornamentation to make repeated sections more interesting because the written score already contains Bach's suggested ornamented version. One solution she proposed is to play a "simpler" version, removing Bach's "suggestions" the first time through and then replacing them on the repeat.
Although this idea is interesting and its execution was effective, all of this was secondary to the fact that Le Guin was drawing me in fully. In the Prelude, I felt I was on an improvisatory journey, with a dramatic pause before a cadenza-like passage and an almost whimsical tag ending. I had to restrain myself from dancing in my seat during her peasant-like Bourées. (The suites are supposed to be suites of dances, are they not?) Her playing — alive, joyful, generous, and full — made me lose myself for a moment. Tanya Tomkins, who opened the concert, surprised me with her First Suite. The piece has always seemed bright and relatively glad. But Tomkins made an effective argument for a much more introspective and perhaps privately sensual suite, especially through the slower movements. She lingered on many notes, caressing them with a certain reverence, pulling a gorgeous and deeply felt sound, especially in the lower register. Striking also was her highlighting of especially meaningful moments by playing them with a delicate piano, delightfully pure in tone and true in intonation. I was less convinced, however, about some of the faster movements. The Courante and the Gigue seemed rushed and needed at least a little more breathing room. The Menuets might have been infused with more energy and punctuated with stronger articulation. As played, it was hard to imagine them as dances, even in a gentler era. I am not sure why I had trouble connecting with Kenneth Slowik's performance of the Second Suite. He did begin with a bold declamation of the three signature notes at the front of the piece. He played with strength and assurance. There was energy. Yet I found myself repeatedly focusing on minutiae: trying to follow the implied polyphonic lines, noting the way he was holding the bow, paying close attention to lapses in intonation. In the past when I have found myself concerned with such details, it has sometimes been because the performer seemed to lack emotional involvement in the piece. Perhaps this was the case here. Perhaps his performance appealed more to the more intellectually inclined in the audience. After these performances, about which my companion, a nonmusician lover of music, commented that they made her think harder than she was accustomed to do in concerts, the closing works, a few short pieces for four celli, with Paul Hale as the fourth cellist, were a welcome contrast. My favorite was the Allegro from Telemann's Concerto for Four Violins, in a transcription for four cellos, which exuded brilliance and enthusiasm and showcased the sensitive and communicative chamber music skills of the quartet. (Durwynne Hsieh is a cellist and composer who lives in the East Bay.) ©2000 Durwynne Hsieh, all rights reserved |