While the First Suite is by no means for beginners, it at least contents itself with a Prelude and six dance movements of reasonable technical demands. Framil approached the pieces respectfully and musically, adding just enough flexibility to allow the music to sing out as though improvised. That did not include exaggerations of rubato, but rather a tasteful flow of minor phrase liberties. The opening Prelude and closing Gigue were especially impressive in this regard.

The Sixth Suite, on the other hand, suffered its not-so-little problems with effort. The Sarabande came off as a tad labored, and intonation was not as flawless as it had been in the First Suite. As if to compensate, the famous Gavotte movement went along as charmingly as a country prance. Yet the whole of the Sixth did not seem quite ready for a prime-time matinee. Scholarly, yes, but Framil's fingers sounded a bit taxed by Bach's relentless demands.

Something of the sort paralleled the two Haydn performances. The C-major Concerto, while demanding, is reasonable, but the D-major Second is something of a monster, one of the most difficult in the repertoire. That Second exists almost as if Haydn were daring cellists to give it a try. The smallish orchestral accompaniment is scored only for pairs of oboes, horns, and strings, which leaves the soloist so exposed that the slightest slip glares. Everything considered, both of these three-movement concertos went quite well — if not flawlessly.

What's interesting is the stylistic contrasts between these two concertos. The C-major, written in 1761 (pretty early for Haydn) leans toward Baroque solo writing, while the D-major (from 1783) displays an almost Mozartian cello friskiness.

Apart from being a genius in his own right, Haydn was a constant and serious student, like Beethoven or Stravinsky, of the contemporary scene, which as always, is constantly evolving into something new. That couldn't have been easy, as most of his career was spent out in the country in the service of the wealthy, art-loving Esterháza estate. The princely Esterházy court orchestra boasted several of Europe's finest virtuoso musicians, not least cellist Anton Kraft, for whom both cello concertos were written. This largely accounts for their technical demands, which far exceed other cello works of the period. (Luigi Boccherini, himself a fine cellist, never went to such extremes in his concertos as Haydn did in the D-major.)

Framil's tempo selections throughout the program were right on the button, as could be expected from a musician with a doctorate from Indiana University's spiffy music school. The Adagio of the Second Concerto was especially memorable. Yet the larger surprise came from the playing of the Pacific Union orchestra under conductor Davis. The religious Napa school's orchestra includes some music majors and music faculty members, but half of the players belong to other departments. This was not playing to rival the Berlin Philharmonic, but it was quite able, with only a few momentary lapses in balance or intonation.

Years ago, I was privileged to attend a dress rehearsal of Sir Georg Solti and his merry Chicago band preceding performances and recording of Schoenberg's Moses und Aron. Solti asked that the singer and orchestra play straight through Act I with, “no stopping, no matter what.” This was done. Solti looked around, smiled a little, and said, “Not all I had hoped, but better than I feared.” That about covers my reaction to Sunday's Bach-Haydn concert.