Texte paru dans: / Appeared in: |
||||
|
Outil de traduction ~ (Très approximatif) |
||||
|
Reviewer: Barry
Brenesal
Forqueray, Or the Torments of
the Soul is the title of this collection that purports to contain the
complete works of the Forqueray family. It’s incorrect, for while Antoine
Forqueray (1672–1745) and his first son Jean-Baptiste (1699–1782) are the
best-known members of the clan, 10 organ works by Antoine’s second son,
Nicolas-Gilles (1703–1761) also exist, as do a number of short vocal airs by
one “Forqueray le Neveu,” who is perhaps Antoine’s nephew, Michel
(1681–1757). (Three of the latter can be heard on a deleted Brilliant
Classics release, still available for download, entitled The Forqueray
Family. Soetkin Elbers is the soprano, and a stylish one with a very
French-sounding, sharply focused tone that’s quite pleasant to hear in these
works.) These were published a couple of years ago in Mary Cyr’s new edition
of the Forqueray clan’s works. I don’t mean to be picky, but if you market
an album as complete, it should be, well, complete, in so far as recent
critical scholarship has determined.
I’m a bit more understanding
about why both the harpsichord and viol da gamba versions of all five suites
Jean-Baptiste published are not included. Presumably this was done to avoid
adding a couple of extra discs to the cost of the set. However, short disc
lengths, with each averaging about 60 minutes, means that much more of both
versions of the suites could have been supplied; and the choice made
here—playing most of the selections with a harpsichord and then switching in
one or two pieces per suite to viol da gamba—doesn’t make much sense. Only
once, in the Third Suite’s La Du Vaucel, are both instrumental versions
heard, back to back. It’s a shame this wasn’t pursued as an editorial
decision through all five suites, since it would have provided some insights
into Jean-Baptiste’s thinking as an arranger as well as offering textural
variety.
The set also includes four
dances for viol composed early in Antoine’s career, and three dance
movements of his that were included in the so-called Lille Manuscript.
However, the latter is not presented in its original instrumentation of
three viols da gamba but instead is arranged for two harpsichords. (Dévérité
in a lengthy essay in the liner notes refers to their orchestral sonority. I
find them clattery.) There’s also what is described as a “bonus CD” which
repeats biographies of Antoine and Jean-Baptiste, as well as focusing on the
gossipy details of Antoine’s violent home life and the troubled relationship
(to put it mildly) he enjoyed with his son. Nicolas Lormeau narrates over
seconds of music that occasionally occur in the background, drawn from
elsewhere in the set. It’s in French, of course, which limits interest to a
degree on this side of the Atlantic.
Of greater value is one of the
four musical discs entitled “Pièces dédiées aux Forqueray,” that consists of
works depicting or dedicated to Antoine Forqueray. Some, like Rameau’s La
Forqueray, and both Duphly’s and Couperin’s works of the same name, will be
very familiar. Among the others, a wooden two-part gigue by Rameau’s son,
Claude-François, reveals little skill, while an allemande by Josse Boutmy
(whom I’ve only previously encountered on the album Five Centuries of
Flemish Harpsichord Music), is attractive and dryly humorous.
Charles-François Clément is represented by a range of sonatas that he
dedicated to Antoine Forqueray and his wife, Henriette-Angélique Houssou.
They’re pleasant enough works, though the harpsichord continuo contains too
much Alberti bass to hold any interest. Forqueray returned the favor with
his La Clément, which means the latter clearly got the best of the deal. A
pair of late 20th-century pieces are included, as well: Ana Giurgiu-Bondue’s
Carillons pour Forqueray and Pierre-Alain Braye-Weppe’s Tombeau de Forqueray.
I admit to personally finding neither inspired—though in fairness to both
composers, placing their music in close proximity to those of Couperin,
Rameau, Duphly, and Forqueray did neither any favors.
The harpsichordist on this
release is Michèle Dévérité. She ornaments sensibly, but I admit to finding
her pacing sedate. I thought at first that perhaps she thought other
performers let their ideas of Forqueray’s non-musical, choleric personality
influence the way they treated his music, and that her slower tempos and
very reserved use of agogics was in response to this. But she performs
similarly when playing Boutmy’s La Forcroy, and it limps along at the tempo
she’s chosen. Some of Forqueray’s less inspired pages, such as La Ferrand,
sound all the worse when the tonic-dominant see-saw and repetitive figures
are taken so sluggishly. I decided to run a group of comparisons utilizing the Third Suite in D Major. Of my recordings of the complete suites, I ended up selecting those featuring Blandine Rannou (ZigZag 80301.2) recorded in 2007, and that of Christophe Rousset (Decca 466 976-2) from 1999. Each of these three artists has a distinct approach to Forqueray’s works. While I found Dévérité difficult to listen to in La Ferrand, Rannou employs agogics to give the thematic figures more of an athletic bounce; and Rousset, largely ignoring agogics, is noticeably faster than either, generating interest through sheer exhilaration. Dévérité is at her best in La Tronchin, where she treats the ascending-descending bass line very sec, releasing each key quickly. Rousset again is very fast, and gives great prominence to harmonic changes by strumming the chords. Rannou treats the opening theme with a heavy use of agogics, emphasizing its heroic character. The gigue La Angrave, one of the three compositions acknowledged in his notes to the original edition as composed by Jean-Baptiste, has an almost Scarlatti-like feel to it at times thanks to the work’s short, easily transformed cells and harmonic angularity. Dévérité begins well, and is assisted by a very close recording sound, but unfortunately slows down towards the middle of the piece in a series of repetitive figures. Rannou is quicker, and slows only to briefly emphasize one or another of the quirkier aspects of the music, before resuming her original tempo. Roussel is predictably the fastest of all, with exceptionally clean articulation. For me, Rousset is the most exciting of the group, and some of these pieces can take that approach; but Rannou digs deeper, and conveys more of what’s going on in the music. She can miss, as the opening pages of her La Du Vaucel shows, taking an excruciatingly slow tempo, far more so than either Dévérité or Rousset. But in general I prefer Rannou’s reading. Dévérité is solid, but I personally find her too restrained in this music. However, she does furnish an antidote to readings such as the other two, which some listeners might find too heavily characterized. The set comes with Dévérité’s very detailed and digressive essay, both in the original French and translated into English. Unfortunately, a series of other essays on such interesting matters as harpsichord tuning and Marie-Rose Dubois, Jean-Baptiste’s musically very talented second wife, are not translated. If you already own a version of Forqueray’s suites in either the harpsichord or viol da gamba version, this might interest you for the content dedicated to Antoine’s few earlier works, or those that provide his portrait in music. However, there’s not all that much to this material, and the overly relaxed tempos and lack (for the most part) of agogics, to me, at any rate, under-represents this music. However, if your tastes run in the direction Dévérité has taken, I don’t believe you’ll find a more thoughtful spokesperson for that approach. | ||||
|
|
||||
|
|
|
|||
|
Cliquez l'un ou l'autre
bouton pour découvrir bien d'autres critiques de CD |
||||
